FMA: Ling/Ed "Haunted"
Title: Haunted
Pairing/Characters: Ling/Ed, Alphonse
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Maybe some spoilers, angst
A/N: I found it! XD This was the fic that I lost . . . in a really dumb place. *coughs* Also generously beta'd by
kageotogi, who kept this fic from being more redundant than it needed to be. XD
Summary: Alphonse Elric wanted nothing more in the world than the ability to hate Ling Yao.
Haunted
Alphonse Elric wanted nothing more in the world than the ability to hate Ling Yao.
He used to wonder what that said about him. However, as he used alchemy to let himself into his brother’s small home, he found he didn’t care anymore.
One small light burned in the house. Without bothering to think about it, Alphonse knew it was in his brother’s study. He stepped over piles of books and carefully dodged trembling mountains of articles as he made his way there.
The house looked like a tornado had hit a library. No unnecessary items rivaled the books and papers besides the pictures liberally scattered through the mess. More often than not, Alphonse caught glimpses of his own face, as well as the occasional picture of Winry, Edward’s fellow soldiers, and assorted people. The picture of a grimly smiling Izumi Curtis made Alphonse automatically shiver, and he hurried on.
Even more papers and books were piled in the study, making the living room and hall look empty in contrast. Shaking his head, Alphonse made his way over to his brother’s desk. The small blond was slumped over some scribbled notes, a pencil still in his hand.
“Brother . . .” Alphonse whispered, and Edward Elric stirred instinctively at the sound of his little brother’s voice before lapsing back into a deep sleep. Sighing, Alphonse brushed his fingers against Edward’s forehead. When his brother didn’t move again, Alphonse walked to the couch and quietly moved the books on it to the floor. Just like he knew the sole light belonged to the study, Alphonse knew Edward had made this more his bed than the actual bed in his bedroom.
Moving Edward to the couch was easier than Alphonse had hoped it would be. He slipped one arm under Edward’s knees, braced the other against Edward’s slumped back, and lifted with his knees. Dr. Marcoh had informed the brothers that Edward’s time supporting Alphonse’s body had permanently stunted Edward’s growth, a fact that grieved Edward but made him easier to carry. The lack of Edward’s automail helped, too, but right then Alphonse wished it were more difficult to carry his big brother.
The man was as light as a child.
Alphonse placed Edward on the couch and dragged an afghan Mrs. Hughes had made over his brother. Edward didn’t stir, and Alphonse took a moment to kiss his forehead and whisper, “Sweet dreams,” before moving to find the phone.
In the end, Alphonse had to find the outlet first in the living room and search from there before he found the phone. It was hidden under not one, but three tomes on chimerical alchemy. Sighing wearily, Alphonse sat down on one of those books and dialed.
“Mustang,” the Fuhrer said briskly.
Alphonse closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. “Hello, sir.”
“Hello, Alphonse.” The briskness had faded, replaced by a weariness that Alphonse had come to associate with any of Edward’s colleagues. At least, as of late. “How is he?”
His ponytail was a hard rock between his head and the wall. Alphonse shifted his head a little. “As bad as you thought. Thank you for calling me.” A memory of too pale cheeks flashed through Alphonse’s mind, and he rested a hand over his eyes.
“Thank you for responding so quickly.” The Fuhrer paused, and Alphonse knew what he was thinking, what the man was about to say. “Can you help him?”
The expectation in those four words seared Alphonse. “I can bully him a little. Would you be able to give him more assignments? Keep him busy? Don’t give him time to breathe.”
Another pause, this one a little more uncertain. Good. “Of course, Alphonse,” Mustang replied rather than ask all the questions Alphonse knew lay on the tip of that clever tongue. “Anything specific?”
“He’s the People’s Alchemist,” Alphonse replied promptly. “Use assignments that work with that. When he’s in Central, assign him research, particularly on chimerae. Make him work in a lab rather than here. See if anyone will volunteer to help him carry his books.”
Another pause. Alphonse could hear the man scribbling notes. “I see. How long will you be able to stay, Alphonse? All expenses will of course be covered.”
Alphonse wanted to decline that last part, but hopefully most of that expense would be focused on getting his brother to eat. “At least two weeks. There is nothing pressing waiting for me at home.”
Except Winry and Alphonse knew his wife would understand. She had been the one who had packed his bag when Alphonse had been on the phone.
Speaking of that, he really had to get it off the front step.
“All right.” Fuhrer Mustang sighed. “Thank you, Alphonse. We were at a loss.”
We don’t know what’s bothering him, and we don’t know what to do about it.
Alphonse nodded, even knowing the man couldn’t see him. “It’s all right.” I know you don’t know. “Just keep him busy.” And I’m not going to tell you. “Thank you for your concern.” So don’t ask.
Alphonse could hear the man’s soft breathing. “It’s no problem,” Mustang said eventually. “Good night, Alphonse.”
“Good night, Fuhrer,” Alphonse returned politely and then hung up the phone.
After he retrieved his bag and found a semi-empty place on the floor for it, Alphonse returned to the study to check on his brother. He huffed when he saw that Edward had plopped onto his back, shirt sliding up to bare his belly. “You are determined to make yourself sick, aren’t you?” he scolded the older man, pulling his shirt back down and dragging the afghan back over him. Edward’s only response was a half-hearted snore.
Sitting carefully on the couch, Alphonse watched his brother sleep. The lone light highlighted his brother’s sharp cheekbones, and Alphonse thought wryly to himself that only Edward could make that look elegant rather than half-starved.
Touching his brother’s cheek, Alphonse remembered his mother sitting beside the window every day, staring expectantly at the road leading to their house. Years passed without their father, and still she faithfully waited, always believing he would return. Other men from town had attempted to court her but she had turned them all down, waiting for one and one alone.
Edward wasn’t waiting, but he was secluding himself from others all the same.
All for one and one alone.
Alphonse pressed a kiss against his brother’s forehead and felt tears behind his eyes once more. As before, he pushed them back.
“Surely there has to be some middle ground, Brother,” he whispered. “Something.”
But Alphonse didn’t believe his own words.
Love conquers all, Alphonse had been told all of his life, but no one ever mentioned all the piddling things that got in the way. Like a pathetic little disease that ate at one’s insides until there was no one to wait for the fair prince to return home. Like infinitesimal rules of nature that demanded and demanded and gave nothing in return but pain.
Like something as minute and wretched as incompatible desires, incompatible dreams, and far too many kilometers to count.
Alphonse wanted to hate Ling Yao for daring to be as driven and willful as his brother, but, kilometers away, Xing rested with an Emperor and no Consort, and there was no sign that Emperor Ling was ever willing to change that.
Pairing/Characters: Ling/Ed, Alphonse
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Maybe some spoilers, angst
A/N: I found it! XD This was the fic that I lost . . . in a really dumb place. *coughs* Also generously beta'd by
kageotogi, who kept this fic from being more redundant than it needed to be. XD
Summary: Alphonse Elric wanted nothing more in the world than the ability to hate Ling Yao.
Haunted
Alphonse Elric wanted nothing more in the world than the ability to hate Ling Yao.
He used to wonder what that said about him. However, as he used alchemy to let himself into his brother’s small home, he found he didn’t care anymore.
One small light burned in the house. Without bothering to think about it, Alphonse knew it was in his brother’s study. He stepped over piles of books and carefully dodged trembling mountains of articles as he made his way there.
The house looked like a tornado had hit a library. No unnecessary items rivaled the books and papers besides the pictures liberally scattered through the mess. More often than not, Alphonse caught glimpses of his own face, as well as the occasional picture of Winry, Edward’s fellow soldiers, and assorted people. The picture of a grimly smiling Izumi Curtis made Alphonse automatically shiver, and he hurried on.
Even more papers and books were piled in the study, making the living room and hall look empty in contrast. Shaking his head, Alphonse made his way over to his brother’s desk. The small blond was slumped over some scribbled notes, a pencil still in his hand.
“Brother . . .” Alphonse whispered, and Edward Elric stirred instinctively at the sound of his little brother’s voice before lapsing back into a deep sleep. Sighing, Alphonse brushed his fingers against Edward’s forehead. When his brother didn’t move again, Alphonse walked to the couch and quietly moved the books on it to the floor. Just like he knew the sole light belonged to the study, Alphonse knew Edward had made this more his bed than the actual bed in his bedroom.
Moving Edward to the couch was easier than Alphonse had hoped it would be. He slipped one arm under Edward’s knees, braced the other against Edward’s slumped back, and lifted with his knees. Dr. Marcoh had informed the brothers that Edward’s time supporting Alphonse’s body had permanently stunted Edward’s growth, a fact that grieved Edward but made him easier to carry. The lack of Edward’s automail helped, too, but right then Alphonse wished it were more difficult to carry his big brother.
The man was as light as a child.
Alphonse placed Edward on the couch and dragged an afghan Mrs. Hughes had made over his brother. Edward didn’t stir, and Alphonse took a moment to kiss his forehead and whisper, “Sweet dreams,” before moving to find the phone.
In the end, Alphonse had to find the outlet first in the living room and search from there before he found the phone. It was hidden under not one, but three tomes on chimerical alchemy. Sighing wearily, Alphonse sat down on one of those books and dialed.
“Mustang,” the Fuhrer said briskly.
Alphonse closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. “Hello, sir.”
“Hello, Alphonse.” The briskness had faded, replaced by a weariness that Alphonse had come to associate with any of Edward’s colleagues. At least, as of late. “How is he?”
His ponytail was a hard rock between his head and the wall. Alphonse shifted his head a little. “As bad as you thought. Thank you for calling me.” A memory of too pale cheeks flashed through Alphonse’s mind, and he rested a hand over his eyes.
“Thank you for responding so quickly.” The Fuhrer paused, and Alphonse knew what he was thinking, what the man was about to say. “Can you help him?”
The expectation in those four words seared Alphonse. “I can bully him a little. Would you be able to give him more assignments? Keep him busy? Don’t give him time to breathe.”
Another pause, this one a little more uncertain. Good. “Of course, Alphonse,” Mustang replied rather than ask all the questions Alphonse knew lay on the tip of that clever tongue. “Anything specific?”
“He’s the People’s Alchemist,” Alphonse replied promptly. “Use assignments that work with that. When he’s in Central, assign him research, particularly on chimerae. Make him work in a lab rather than here. See if anyone will volunteer to help him carry his books.”
Another pause. Alphonse could hear the man scribbling notes. “I see. How long will you be able to stay, Alphonse? All expenses will of course be covered.”
Alphonse wanted to decline that last part, but hopefully most of that expense would be focused on getting his brother to eat. “At least two weeks. There is nothing pressing waiting for me at home.”
Except Winry and Alphonse knew his wife would understand. She had been the one who had packed his bag when Alphonse had been on the phone.
Speaking of that, he really had to get it off the front step.
“All right.” Fuhrer Mustang sighed. “Thank you, Alphonse. We were at a loss.”
We don’t know what’s bothering him, and we don’t know what to do about it.
Alphonse nodded, even knowing the man couldn’t see him. “It’s all right.” I know you don’t know. “Just keep him busy.” And I’m not going to tell you. “Thank you for your concern.” So don’t ask.
Alphonse could hear the man’s soft breathing. “It’s no problem,” Mustang said eventually. “Good night, Alphonse.”
“Good night, Fuhrer,” Alphonse returned politely and then hung up the phone.
After he retrieved his bag and found a semi-empty place on the floor for it, Alphonse returned to the study to check on his brother. He huffed when he saw that Edward had plopped onto his back, shirt sliding up to bare his belly. “You are determined to make yourself sick, aren’t you?” he scolded the older man, pulling his shirt back down and dragging the afghan back over him. Edward’s only response was a half-hearted snore.
Sitting carefully on the couch, Alphonse watched his brother sleep. The lone light highlighted his brother’s sharp cheekbones, and Alphonse thought wryly to himself that only Edward could make that look elegant rather than half-starved.
Touching his brother’s cheek, Alphonse remembered his mother sitting beside the window every day, staring expectantly at the road leading to their house. Years passed without their father, and still she faithfully waited, always believing he would return. Other men from town had attempted to court her but she had turned them all down, waiting for one and one alone.
Edward wasn’t waiting, but he was secluding himself from others all the same.
All for one and one alone.
Alphonse pressed a kiss against his brother’s forehead and felt tears behind his eyes once more. As before, he pushed them back.
“Surely there has to be some middle ground, Brother,” he whispered. “Something.”
But Alphonse didn’t believe his own words.
Love conquers all, Alphonse had been told all of his life, but no one ever mentioned all the piddling things that got in the way. Like a pathetic little disease that ate at one’s insides until there was no one to wait for the fair prince to return home. Like infinitesimal rules of nature that demanded and demanded and gave nothing in return but pain.
Like something as minute and wretched as incompatible desires, incompatible dreams, and far too many kilometers to count.
Alphonse wanted to hate Ling Yao for daring to be as driven and willful as his brother, but, kilometers away, Xing rested with an Emperor and no Consort, and there was no sign that Emperor Ling was ever willing to change that.