Better Living Through Alchemy

It was in a sense, too perfect. Even though the manners matched and as a Colonel, she couldn't help but be pleased, but the pleasure of dating a gentleman was growing rather thin. It was like him, however, to try to be the perfect companion, the perfect compliment to a career she'd devoted her entire adult life (and honestly a little before true adulthood) to. He would never want to shame her or give her reason to think he was base or insensitive, because that was just Alphonse. Perfect to almost a fault. It was comfortable, of that there was no doubt, and comfort was an important commodity, but there was this little nagging feeling, right at the base of her skull, that somehow the scale remained balance and untipped... well, what was wrong with comfortable?



Comfortable meant no surprises. That wasn't such a bad thing as one might suppose. It meant order from chaos; it meant accomplishment in ruling one's destiny. It was everything she desired, but as time passed and her attraction deepened, she found it was nothing she wanted. There must be some way to engage him, to make him shake free of his self-imposed properness and be... well be Alphonse.



She was used to command; she was confident in her abilities to steer her subordinates in the direction she desired them to go. She rare had to issue an outright command and in this she took pride, but with Alphonse it wasn't as cut and dry. When she hoped he would take the initiative, he deferred. When he was invited to be in charge, he delegated. It was enough, in a way, to make her own head swim. Why is it he was so much easier to read when they weren't... this? And what was this, anyway?



It was... comfortable. She tapped her pen on her desk and frowned slightly. Across the room, First Lieutenant Pharr cleared his throat but she didn't look up, she just gave a little wave of one hand. She needed to find some common ground between them and then push him off onto the curb. She needed to make him question what was for, what could be, and she just needed him to do something. Something other than being lovely, perfect, completely flawless Alphonse.



As if on cue, he walked in. Hayate paraded at the end of his leash and Alphonse bent to release him of it. He smiled as the dog made his way to the pillow behind Riza's desk and flopped over onto it.



“You wore him out,” she said with a small, half smile.



“I carried him most of the way,” Alphonse grinned, curling the leash up his hands and pocketing it, “Are we still on for lunch?” he asked, tilting his head.



The Colonel rose from her desk, dropped the pen on it and straightened her jacket. She went around the desk to his side and slipped her fingers into the crook of his elbow when he offered it. He turned and nodded to First Lieutenant Pharr, who gave them both a grin and a broad wink, and lead her out the door, slowing his stride and pace to match her own.



“I hear the symphony might play in the park on Saturday,” he said, turning his head to look down at her, “We could take lunch, I could make it,” she felt a little twinge then. Her choice of career hadn't lent itself to making her culinary proficient, therefore it was Alphonse that did most of the cooking. While she thought it absurd that such a notion should bother her, (for she was never in her own opinion, womanly) it did.



“I should really learn to do more than boil water,” she murmured.



“I don't mind,” Alphonse said cheerfully, “in fact, I rather like it. I used to cook for brother all the time when we were traveling. I'm grateful that it is actually tasty rather than just serviceable. Ed wasn't much for offering his opinions as much as he was for just shoveling it in.”



“I'm not sure I want to go to a concert on Saturday,” she said, “I've been rather neglectful of my personal regiment. Why don't I teach you something I can, and in exchange you teach me to cook?”



Alphonse looked surprised for a moment, then pleased and she almost got the impression of an all over wag, like a puppy so happy to see you its enthusiasm can't be contained in a mere tail, that it must make a full body demonstration.



“That sounds intriguing,” he said, a smile tugging the corners of his lips, “So what did you have in mind for our outing?” he grinned.



“The firing range,” she replied matter-of-factly, “I have a couple of rifles I need put through their paces.”



She was rather impressed with his ability to keep his grin in place while the rest of his facial expressions retreated to hide behind his neck.



****



“This is a repeating rifle,” she said, lifting the weapon from its case. It was long and had a polished wooden handle. When Al commented on it, he was corrected.



“That is the stock,” she said with authority, “It has a lever action, it can fire several shots before being reloaded, hence the term repeating,” she informed him.



Al felt like there might be a test afterward.



“This rifle belonged to my grandfather,” she said and that made Al must less inclined to touch it, “It's a 66, it can only use a rim-fire round. This other rifle is a 76, it can use the more potent .44 center-fire round.”



“Oh,” Al said.



Riza flipped the rifle in her hands, then pointed and a litany began that Al struggled to keep up with. He was sure it would be on the test.



“Side plate, magazine follower, carrier spring, mainspring, firing pin,” she ticked off as her finger darted over the gun’s metal parts, “trigger, stock...” she trailed off when she glanced up at him, “Alphonse, are you alright? There won't be a test,” she reassured him.



He let go of the breath he had been holding and tried to give a light laugh that came out sounding like a man being reprieved from the gallows.



“Oh I knew there wouldn't be any test,” he said, “I was just interested you know, you are so knowledgably and it's a great hobby, only it isn't a hobby to you is it? I mean to say, you are a marksman and an expert. You have trophies and medals and commendations... and oh say, what is this part again?” he riveted on the rifle in her hands and pointed.



She wanted to kiss him.



Instead, she pushed the rifle into his hands. His eyes widened and he handled it gingerly, like a new uncle with his infant niece. The look he gave her reminded her of small helpless things facing danger.



“I'll set up a target,” she said, and turned to walk down the stall to the end. She pulled over a bale of hay and set up a cardboard target, already peppered with buckshot. She walked back down to where Alphonse was doing a good impersonation of a wooden solider; he hadn't moved a muscle since she'd put the rifle in his hands. She opened the ammo box she'd brought with them and took out two shells.



“Now we'll load the rifle,” she said. Alphonse smiled and nodded in such a slight manner that not a hair moved out of place.



“Alphonse, the rifle isn't glass and it won't go off if you are merely holding it,” she coaxed, “Now here, take these.” She pried one of his hands free and slipped the two shells into it, “See this impression here?” she pushed the flat metal plate in with her finger, “Put the shells one at a time in here, with the brass part pointing toward the stock.”



Al took a few deep breaths, then nodded again more firmly and pressed one of the shells to the plate. He fumbled it and it dropped the floor. His eyes went wide and he jumped back. Riza bent down and picked up the shell.



“It's safe Alphonse, it won't go off just because you drop it. The rifle on the other hand could, if the lever has been cocked.”



He reached out to take the shell from her fingers, but she curled her fingers over his for a moment. He was trying, very hard, only to please her. She knew his feelings about firearms, both he and his brother had avoided them like the plague.



His eyes were trained on her hand holding his; he flicked them up to catch her gaze for a moment.



"Here," she said quietly and took the rifle from his hand, turned it and smoothly slid the shells into the chamber, "Now, hold it like this." She demonstrated once and handed the rifle back to him. He hiked it up to his shoulder, and she stepped behind him, reaching up to adjust his grip, "Don't hold it against your shoulder, it has a kick." She had to lean against his back to correct his stance and he went still, but then she felt him relax all over. They stood there for a moment like that, touching, moving together for a common purpose. They had moved together for a common purpose many times, but this was the first time they moved together for themselves.



"Riza," Al said softly.



"Cock the lever," she whispered back, "Put your fingers through it and push it down until it stops in one clean move."



His right arm moved forward, his right knee bent and she moved with him, her hand sliding along his arm and moving down his side to his waist.



"Bring it up and aim toward the target, remember not to rest it against your shoulder," she encouraged.



He raised the rifle and bent his head forward; she felt his body move against her and she steadied his left arm. She leaned a bit to the side to see past his shoulder.



"Are you ready?" she asked.



"As I'll ever be," he said, turning his head just slightly.



"Focus on your target," she said. She was a bit surprised when he didn't turn his head back right away, but she saw a smile tug at the corner of his mouth and he looked back at the target.



"Don't jerk the trigger, squeeze it," she said softly in his ear, "Slow and steady, I'm right behind you."



He took a breath and held it. She felt it through his back and she went still as well. There was no sound at all until the report of a rifle bounced off the firing range walls and the man, (yes, the man) before her released his breath and took another. She stepped around him to see how he had done. He was a little to the left of center, but his aim was true. He lowered the rifle, holding it with more ease at his side and he smiled at her.



"Well done," she said, "You have always been a fast learner."



"I can't help but be a good student with such an expert teacher," he said. That lovely, easy flattery he handed out like sweets to an indulged child.



"Shall we try the other rifle?" she said, moving to him, reaching for the gun in his hand.



"Riza," he said again and she looked up at him, "I don't want to mess this up. I have a feeling you're looking for something from me, but I don't know what. I feel that it isn't my place to ask, I mean I feel I should know, but I don't. I've waited for this chance for a long time," he searched her eyes with his.



She reached up and cupped his cheek, the pad of her thumb stroked over it. His eyes closed, he turned his face into her hand, his lips pressed into her palm.



"You terrify me," she admitted and his eyes snapped open, "I fear what you expect, not only of me, but of yourself. In this... we are alike. I thought I knew what I wanted once and I had a chance to have it, but when I did have it... well it turned out that it wasn't what I was looking for. It always seems there is an agenda that is not my own, but one I need to make happen. I've never had my own cause. I always integrated myself into someone else’s; something I found worthy and in that way, I thought myself worthy. It's different with you and it may be presumptuous to think that I am your cause, so that makes me afraid of what it is I might be messing up," she didn't move her hand and he didn't move his cheek.



"No," he said, "I'm through with causes and so are you. I mean, haven't we given enough, can't we just have this? I promise I won't expect anything, I'll just take it as it comes, I'm good at that. My whole life to this point has been nothing short of one day at a time. You can tell me what you want; you don't have to be afraid, not of me, never of me."



"But I don't know what I want," she said softly.



"Then let's find out, together. Let's just be together," he said, "That is all I want."



It was easy to step against him, feel the warmth of his side and the weight of his arm as it went around her. His fingers splayed across her back and he rested his hand there and when he kissed her this time, it was different. They had kissed, yes, in all this time standing side by side hoping to be what they wanted to be, but there was something else in this kiss, almost a release. Sometimes the things you know are just as frightening as the things you don't know. As she curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt, as she tilted her head back, yielding to the pressure of his lips, she decided not to be afraid anymore.



****



Al lifted his other hand, intending to put his arms around her and was momentarily baffled by the rifle there. He couldn't press that to her back, and he tried to stretch and lay it on the nearby table, (without removing his lips from hers), but he couldn't quite reach. When he tried to pull away a bit, her fingers bunched tighter in his shirt and the tip of her tongue met his. He momentarily forgot to breath, along with remembering anything that might be in his hand. The thing in his hand became an annoyance, because really, he should have his arms around her and she should be pressed up against his... yes, she should be, so he opened his hand to drop whatever it was that was preventing him from being able to pull her against him. It fell with a clatter and she jumped, her eyes widening, but now he had both arms around her and their stomachs touched. Their stomachs! No one ever touched him there but himself, and maybe Ed, when they were fighting.



She pulled back a little, but he followed and it caused them to over-balance slightly. She took a few more steps back until she came to rest against the back wall. He could feel the seams of the gloves she wore as she gripped his shirt at his sides. There was some subtle shift and her leg moved to the side. Somehow, his happened to be right there to slide between them and when finally, they both had to breathe, their foreheads still touched.



She wet her lips and he tried to slow his breathing. They stood almost locked like that for several seconds, lost in this air around them.



“I... I suppose we should try the other rifle now,” she said and looked up at him. He took a moment to focus on her words instead of her lips, but then he nodded slightly and stepped back. He turned around and froze at the sight of her grandfather's rifle lying on the floor.



“I'm so sorry!” he cried, rushing forward and scooping it off the ground. He held it gingerly in his hands as she walked over.



“Forgive me, Riza. I don't know what came over me; I shouldn't have just dropped it like that. Please tell me it's alright...”



She reached up and put her hand on his cheek, stilling his frantic rush of words. She then lowered her hands and took the rifle from his grip, inspecting it and flipped it in her hands.



“No harm done,” she said, “These rifles were built for endurance, that's why it’s still around to be handed down in the first place. “



Al watched her carry it back to the table and lay it in its case, then pull open the second one. She looked over her shoulder and smiled.



“What is it you plan to teach me to cook?” she asked.



He hadn't the vaguest idea.



****



“Our menu for tonight is simple. We are going to roast a chicken with potatoes, carrots and onions. I used to make this all the time, it's one of Ed's favorites, but you don't have to make bread, he'll just eat store bought, he's not picky,” Al waved his hand.



“Well, that is valuable information if for any chance I should get to cook Ed a meal,” Riza said with a half smile.



Al reddened slightly, but nodded firmly.



“Right, well first off we need the roasting pan,” he went over to the cabinet beneath his oven and pulled out his trusty roaster. It was speckleware and he was quite proud of it, having bought it on one of his many military sojourns; he carted it all the way home in his pack. It spent many years in the General's cupboard and Al was tickled to have the General hand deliver it to his door after he'd gotten his apartment.



“I bet you'd forgotten this,” Roy had said with a small smile on his face. So in a way, it was like Riza's gun, only it hadn't been handed down properly. Only from Al to Roy to Al again, but that counted.



He sat the roaster on the counter and then went to the icebox and pulled out his chicken. It was a fine bird, a four pound roasting hen, freshly plucked with all the giblets and other bits stuffed in a neat, waxed bag, tucked in the bird's body cavity for your gravy convenience. He quickly pulled the little waxed bag out and showed it to Riza.



“Always take this out first,” he cautioned. It was many the cooking novice that roasted the bag and its contents, making a kitchen that smelled for days.



“What is it?” Riza asked.



“It's the innards,” Al supplied and started to expound on their many uses, but Riza made a slight face, “Just throw them away,” he said hurriedly.



“My grandfather was very fond of gizzards,” she said, rubbing her elbow and still making that slight face, “He tricked me into eating one once. He liked them fried, my grandmother use to fry them for him all the time.”



Al wasn't sure which side of the fence to lean on. It was obvious she had a strident dislike for gizzards. On the other hand, it might be a fond memory of her grandparents, the way she told him about her grandmother frying them. He decided to be cautionary.



“I'm not sure all that fried food is healthy,” he said nodding.



Riza hugged her elbows and nodded, tilted her head and looked at him. She looked so relaxed and causal, Al didn't realize he was holding the chicken upright by the wings and dancing it back and forth until she commented on it.



“Are you... draining it?” she asked.



“What? Um... okay put the chicken in the roasting pan, no wait, rub it with butter first, butter makes the skin brown,” he dropped the hapless poultry corpse and went back to the icebox for his butter.



He demonstrated the butter rubbing technique handed down through just one generation of his family, then scrubbed and rough-chopped vegetables, answering all her questions about why you had to poke holes in potatoes before putting them in the oven. He closed the oven door with a satisfied thump and winded set his counter top timer.



“And that's all you do?” Riza sounded skeptical, “I was lead to believe cooking was more complicated than this.”



“That's all you do,” he said, wiping his hands on this sink towel, “Now we wait patiently and then reap the benefits of our labors in about an hour or so.”



She looked at him expectantly, like obviously he had something planned in which to while this hour away before dinner. He felt rather flat footed and did a mental scramble.



“Why don't we go into the living room, I'm sure there is something we can do in there,” and he did a little wince because really, he hadn't meant to say that last part out loud.



But she smiled and nodded and preceded him out the kitchen door into the living room area. They both stood around for a moment and then she sat down on the couch. Sophia, who had been curled up in Al's armchair, took her languid time in unfolding, stretching, yawning and leaping down to cross the floor and jump up beside Riza. She was there to leech body heat, which seem to be her primary duty as a feline and she began to insinuate her princessly self in Riza's lap.



“Sophie,” Al started and moved to rescue the Colonel from being shed upon, but she shook her head.



“It's alright, I like Sophia, she's a very mannerly cat,” Riza said. She ran her fingers into the fur along Sohpia's back and Sophia arched accommodatingly, then flopped and curled up. Al stood undecided for a moment, then sat down on the couch beside Riza. Not too close, but close enough to be touching if either of them really wanted to.



“How are things at the office? I don't get to meddle nearly as much as I used to, how is Clayton doing?”



“He's been fine; very busy. How about you lately? What are you doing to keep busy? I know we see each other, but it seems like since we are... dating,” she seem to test the word out, to see if she liked it, “I find that I know less about what you do when I'm not with you. Perhaps I didn't think about it before, which is not to say I wasn't interested, but it seems more relevant now.”



I'm relevant!



“Well, I'm trying my hand at alchemy for hire,” Al said, trying to keep from bouncing beside her.



RELEVANT!



She smiled and nodded her head, asking him to continue.



“I haven't gotten any clients yet,” he confided, “But I did pick out paper for my office stationery and I'm having business cards made. Do you know Handle Printing on Madison? He assured me that the stock choice was very professional.”



“First appearances are very important,” Riza confirmed, “I'm glad to see you taking such a serious interest. You are brilliant Alphonse, and it would be a shame to put such talent to waste in the likes of an office job.”



He felt that he could slide a little closer and he did so, but subtlety. He leaned back on the couch and toyed with the idea of putting his arm along the back of the couch behind her.



“What sort of alchemic services will you be providing?” she asked.



“I'm good at construction and chemical compositions,” Al said confidently, “Also any little odd job that might come my way. I'm not beyond small household repair or identifying substances. I've even toyed with an alchemic way of producing frequencies that would drive rodents out of cellars,” he nodded. He'd been very pleased with that little find, although the neighborhood dogs had been rather upset.



“That would be an invaluable service,” Riza said, still stroking over Sophia's back, “Especially in places such as food warehouses and medical facilities, places where cleanliness is important.”



Al went for it. He threw his arm up along the back of the couch. The side of his hand touched her, just below the nape of her neck; but she didn’t' pull away. As a matter of fact, after a few moments, she leaned back into it. In all his time, in all his travels with Ed, facing things untold and other worldly beings in dimensional gates, he'd never been held in a firmer trap. He didn't dare move.



“I hope by this time next year,” he said airily, “to be done with this renter’s existence. I've had my eye on some property just outside of the city. There are some nice parcels of land available and I've always wanted a house. The house Ed and I grew up in was very roomy and we had the entire outdoors to explore. I think I want something like that again, something to really call my home.”



“You were without for a long time,” Riza said, lifting her eyes to his, “So young and groundless, I often worried about that.”



“It was fine, that's the life we made for ourselves. We did have some stability, I always knew when we came back to base that someone would be there waiting for us, if not missing us. It made it alright.”



“I think back on that and I think maybe there was something more I could have done,” she said, “But that's just worrying about things that can't be changed. I was always told to move forward; I took that advice to heart.”



She was looking at him again. Al had tried many times over to read this woman's heart through her eyes; he was never very successful, but just this time in just this place, he decided to make an educated guess. Instead of answering, he leaned forward. When he tilted his head, she parted her lips and that was all the invitation called for.



She raised her hand, but he caught it. The slow side of her lips against his as he turned more to his side sent feelings to places he didn't know he had. She smelled fresh and clean, with just a hint of something else that he couldn't identify. It wasn't sweet, it wasn't cloying, it was just a female scent. He held her wrist aloft as he tasted her, but she was no novice to the experience. She opened her mouth. Somehow she taught him invasion without him realizing it and the sound she made tightened his groin in such a way as to be painfully embarrassing. But he wouldn't give it up, not for a moment, not for an instant and in that same second, not for a lifetime.



She used her free hand to grip his shoulder and used her weight to tug him toward her as she leaned back toward the arm of the couch. Sophia made a displeased mew and leapt to the floor, but Al hardly noticed. All Al felt was his body, settling against her side, her fingers tightening on his shoulder and her mouth claiming all his senses. Somehow she'd gotten her wrist free from his grip and her other hand slid behind his neck, her fingers threading into the hair at the back of his head.



It was some strange dream, some gate phantom. He'd had them, late at night when everyone else was asleep, sitting alone in his hammered steel, wishing for things beyond the leather grip of a gauntlet. This was one of those 'someday' things he always promised himself, but never truly believed he would achieve. It was his escape from the cold reality; it was the comfort that his brother couldn't give while he slept. She pulled her mouth from his and for that single devastating moment he was almost alone again, sitting in a darkened hallway so the creak of his armored joints wouldn't pull Ed from his well deserved sleep. But then there was warmth on the side of his jaw and he tilted his face toward it as it moved down to the side of his neck. The hand on his shoulder moved a bit and he felt his collar lightly move along his neck, then the warmth was there too.



Along his neck, to the divot of his throat and then over slightly onto his collar bone. He couldn't think what to do, how to reciprocate all this pleasure and he felt his throat work, then her hand was on his and his hand was on her side. He spread his fingers there, seeking as much contact as he could get. Her hand returned to his back, a slow side down his spine and her lips touched the underside of his chin.



Helpless and new, it was petrifying. He wanted, he wanted so much, but he wasn't sure what it actually was and frustration began to creep from his belly toward his throat. He was supposed to know things. He was supposed to be brilliant, so why was it when he had everything he wanted, he knew nothing? It was just another degrading and cruel thing; his existence dangled right in front of him and horribly out of his reach.



“It's alright to touch me,” her voice came, soft and simple and out of nowhere.



He let go of a breath he had been holding, bowing his head down. Her hands where rubbing then, gentle massaging circles.



“I don't want to mess this up, I can't mess this up,” he sounded so pathetic and squeezed his eyes shut.



“You can't mess this up, Alphonse,” she said to him and then she cupped the back of his head and pulled his face down to hers, “Not even if you try.” He felt her breath against his lips. He couldn't open his eyes, but he could open his mouth when she kissed him again. His palm was so warm, and it slid easily over the fabric of her shirt, the place between his thumb and forefinger came to rest against something on her chest... his eyes popped open.



She made a small, indeterminate sound and arched toward him, and he wasn't sure what that meant, but somehow his hormones managed to wrestle control away from his cognitive thoughts and his hand moved up and over and rested right on top of what he'd just been touching. He was so astonished, so completely flabbergasted, he pulled back to confirm with his eyes what his sense of touch told him.



He was touching her breast. Her BREAST! He just had his hand, right there on it... and she wasn't screaming, or slapping him or trying to roll out from under him. She was allowing him to touch... her breast! It was funny, the few times Ed had gotten his hands anywhere near one of these he'd been flattened by the offended party.



Of course, Ed was gay; he probably wasn't doing it right.



She was smiling at him and she did that little back arch again, pushing her breast into his hand. She just pressed it there and made another little sound. He ran quickly to his mental filing cabinets and looked under both breast and female anatomy. It was a very interesting mental dialogue concerning the mammary gland and its ability to produce milk when certain hormonal changes took place in a woman's body. He tossed it over his shoulder and dug to the very back of the cabinet looking for porn... of which he had none. He cursed his squeaky clean, lily-white, chicken livered younger self and tried to draw on his instincts of just being a man and horny.



Of course, he use to read what laughingly might be called porn, but really it was just washed down purple prose and did him not one iota of good. All that time wasted on the damn Duke! Okay, he could do this, he was after all, an adult. Adults had sex. He was just getting a late start. It was high time he had sex and he definitely wanted to have it with Riza. She liked him, she was letting him touch her breast and that, in itself, was proof enough that he should have sex. After all, women only let men touch them in places that would normally get them brained when sex was in the offing.



Sex took place in a bed. It was a healthy and preconceived notion, but then again, he should know that nothing was an absolute. After all, his brother and the General has proved, by very active demonstration, that a kitchen table was perfectly acceptable, (and it was a place he never wanted to eat again. Iit actually took some doing to get up the nerve to set a plate on it after that) and if that was true, then a couch would work nicely. When he leaned down to kiss her, (to distract her from the fact that he had his hand on her breast, but then again how could he do that? She knew perfectly well where his hand was!), she tilted her chin up as his lips descended. Instead, he kissed her throat, then the side of her neck. He worked his way slowly down into the 'V' of the neck of her blouse and stopped a moment to just inhale. There was that scent again, almost clover and spice, it was Riza and he groaned into it softly. Beneath his palm her nipple hardened and he felt liquid and heat and was all at once lost.



It went in slow stages, a learning experience for both. For him, it was a whole new vista, things he'd thought about, dreamed about, made flesh and blood and taste and smell. For her it was the places he liked to be touched, the things that elicited the most delicious of sounds, the furrow of his brow, the regulation of his breathing. Buttons gave way to skin and his lips found and traced the line of her bra over the swell of her breast. He felt her fingers then, the pull of his belt against the back of his waist and then the loosening as it came free of its buckle. This was real, this was happening and the air had an aroma and miasma of... smoke. A charred smell, like something burning.



“What's that smell?” Riza asked, her voice a delicious tremor against the side of his neck.



“I don't know,” he said with a light pant, “It smells like something burning.”



“What could be burning?” she asked and peppered light kisses down the side of his neck. How she expected an answer while she did that was beyond him. When he was released, he pondered the possible combustibles around them. From the way he felt it might be the couch beneath them, but he tried to tick off the possibilities as she worked at the buttons of his trousers. It wasn't cold enough for the furnace, he had no candles burning... something cooking?



She came to the same realization at the same time.



“Chicken!” they cried in unison, both leaving the couch at the same time. They tangled briefly and almost went over, but managed to stay upright and run for the kitchen. The air in the kitchen was thick and smoke was billowing from around the door in the oven. Al grabbed his oven mitts and opened the oven door, receiving a face full of charred chicken aroma for his troubles. He shut off the knob and stood back waving his hand in front of his face.



“This always happens when I try to cook something,“ Riza said behind him, sounding almost fretful. He turned to look at her and was mesmerized. Her hair was down and splayed over her shoulders. Her shirt was unbuttoned almost to her navel and the bone color of her bra stood out against her skin. Her lips looked a bit swollen and overall she looked flushed. He actually felt the front of his trousers move.



“Chick... um chicken is done,” he croaked.



“Very well done,” Riza sighed, “I'm sorry Alphonse, you went to all this trouble and look what happened. I don't think I'm meant to cook.”



Sorry? What was she sorry for? She had nothing to be sorry about EVER. She let him lay on her, she let him touch her, she let him taste her. She was standing here in his kitchen close to half dressed and she was sorry?



All he could think about was dragging her to the floor, but the kitchen floor was hardwood and he hadn't cleaned it recently...



“Never be sorry,” he said. It was a misnomer but he didn't care. “It's salvageable,” he stooped and pulled the pan out of the oven and sat it in the sink. “All we need is a little determination, things will work out fine.”



As it turned out, they worked out fine indeed. The coffee table served as their dinning table. Some of the potatoes weren't too bad and the chicken was dry, but if they dug deep enough with the fork, it was edible.



“See?” Al said, fishing her another piece from the breast bone, “It had a few trials, but it worked out fine in the end.”



She took the piece he offered on the end of his fork and took a bite, then leaned close and pressed the rest to his lips. He smiled and opened his mouth, taking it from her fingers. She finished off the morsel with a kiss.



“I never lost faith,” she told him when they parted, “And I never will.”



He could put his arms around her. He could pull her close; he could kiss her now when he wanted to. For something he thought never could be to be so right...



Ed always said there was no magic in the world, but he was wrong. Neither of them noticed when Sophia jumped up onto the table and helped herself to the rest of the chicken's sorry carcass.



He'd given up slamming doors when R.D. came into their lives. It was too many times the small terrier was on his heels and it could prove painful, so he shut it firmly instead of slamming it off it's hinges... which is what he wanted to do. He could breathe here, he could think. He could just stand here for a few moments and sort through all this turmoil and all this rage. It was his job to think things through; it was his job to put things in perspective. He reached up and ground the heels of his hands against his temples. It was his job to make sure Ed got everything he fucking wanted because everything had been taken away from him. It was his job to be there to protect him, even from himself. It was his fucking God given right to be Ed's goddamned lover!



He couldn't think here. In the bedroom, it was too close and he could almost smell him, that fucking prince and his fucking girl-smelling flowery cologne. He forced his hands down, took several deep breaths and headed for the bathroom. He reached up and ripped his collar open, stopped in front of the vanity and leaned his hands on the countertop. He pressed his fingertips against the counter, pressing harder and harder, bending his fingers, willing his fingers through it. If somehow he could just will these things inside him twisting his stomach and guts into knots, he could breathe again, he could figure this out. He raised his head slowly, looking at himself in the mirror. He didn't see his eye because he never did; he never looked at himself when he looked at himself. Instead, he saw a half oval shape of black felt that obscured half of his face and the string that wrapped around his cheek. He didn't even look human; he was a void, only half there. He forced his hand up and slammed his palm against the mirror, covering that half of nothing and by doing so, he was forced to look at what little remained of the man.



“He said he loved me, he told me to trust him, he said that nothing was going on!” It ended on a half shout and he lashed out, throwing his arm the length of the vanity, sweeping everything before it in uncontrollable fury. A bottle of tonic and cologne scattered before his wrath, the porcelain shaving mug and its brush bounced off the back tile and skittered to the edge, toppling toward the tile floor. He made a halted motion to save it, then he just watched. It struck on its handle and it snapped off easily, flying in a different direction. It was heavy porcelain and the main cup didn't break, but a large chip shattered at the lip and skittered behind the toilet. The brush rolled away, coming to rest in a crevice of tile and grout.



It was broken. It was all broken and shattered. He felt blind and he felt sick and he grabbed at his temples again, fingers threading into his hair there and pulling. What was he supposed to do? What if it all fell apart? He gritted his teeth, squeezing his eye shut. His knees felt beyond his control and he stumbled back a step, then turned quickly and sat on the toilet seat, struggling for air. It was so thick in there and so close.





I thought I had found, for all my life, I thought this was what I was waiting for. What do I do NOW?



It was unlike himself; he had no answers.



What good is any of it? I thought I could make it right, make it safe, make it the way it was supposed to be. I thought he would understand!



I knew him, but I didn't.



He's supposed to love me! He was the only one, I thought... but that doesn't matter now, does it? He's a liar! He can't be a liar; he wasn't supposed to be the liar! Why doesn't he know this? Doesn't he know what he is to me?



Maybe you've shown him, but he's as blind as you.



He came to me! He came to my home, he pushed his way in! I tried to tell him, he said he was willing! But he was a boy, he wasn't a man, he only thought he was! Did you know that? Did you see inside of him what he would become and did you want to use that?



Maybe it's been me all along.



His eye was stinging. He shoved his hand over it and leaned, his forehead came in light contact with the edge of the vanity. The edge hurt, but he stayed there, letting it support him because he no longer lacked the will to support himself.



What did you expect?



He wanted to claw at his ears, but if he did that, he would have to show his face, his miserable ruin of a face. He had been fifteen; how could he show is face to anyone? They would look at him and they would know. He was a scavenger, praying upon the pain and confusion of children. In his hunger he consumed innocence, but Edward was never innocent, not really. A child with eyes that jaded couldn't possibly be innocent.



Because you never gave him a chance to be.



The half cry startled him in the quiet of the bathroom. He bit down hard on his lower lip to keep it in.



I am the bastard, there is no excuse. I can't say I had to be, that I needed to do what had to be done. I can't deny that I hungered for power and looked for any avenue to gain it, and in you walked, all spit and fire and determination. How could anyone resist? But still, it's no excuse. I wanted you; I took you and made you mine. I kept you at my side, I kept everyone else away. I wanted to own you...



But it didn't quite work out that way.



What is it? What is it that you see there when you look at him that you don't see in me? What can I do, what can I say? I have no pride!



He slid back with a jerk and his back connected with the wall on the opposite side of the toilet, he straightened up, turning his hidden face to the ceiling.



Please, make it stop, make that the final kindness. I can take everything else, if only you'll make it stop and when you go, take all that you are with you. I'm nothing without motivation, Riza tried to tell me. I took your life from you; I took your choices and your innocence, but it's equivalent exchange, because I gave you mine in return.



He dropped his hands into his lap, his head still resting against the tile, his eye still trained on the ceiling. He was called fire, but really he was just an ember waiting for the air to breathe him to life. He'd had it and lost it and found it again; he really was a lucky bastard, but never in the ways that really mattered. He knew why it was hard to breathe in this small place; because what had made it bearable was slowly ebbing away.



“Blow me out,” he informed those who were listening, those where were watching his fall, “Before you go, it's the only descent thing to do.”



His place in hell was assured.



****



I didn't do anything wrong!



The closing of the bedroom door jarred him into action. He pushed off the wall and stood panting in the hallway, clenching and unclenching his fist, wondering at this strange reaction. Why did he feet so unwelcome in a place he came to know as his home? He started up the hall and stopped, turned back toward the living room, but there were no answers there. Where was he supposed to go? Roy was in the bedroom, what was he supposed to do?



I did nothing wrong!



He had every right to go anywhere he liked in his home, he wasn't a stranger here! He lived here; he and Roy and R.D. He turned back up the hall, then back to the living room; he literally turned circles looking for a way out of somewhere he never wanted to leave.



You smell like him.



He found his hands on his neck, rubbing. He brushed at his shirt and his sleeves. He whirled and strode up the hall, marched straight to the bedroom door and reached for the knob. The tale tell click of claws on hardwood told him R.D. had decided to follow him, but the little terrier stopped a bit away and tilted his head.



“I'm going in there,” he told the dog, “He can't stop me. I live here, too.”



There was noise from inside the room, muffled by the door and sounding far away. It sounded like something breaking and he jerked his hand back before it touched the knob. R.D. danced back a bit in alarm; he must have heard the noise as well and he wagged his stub of a tail once in uncertainty when Ed looked at him.



I wasn't really kissing him! He kissed me and it was... I told him that I loved you... no, I said you loved me.



He cupped his hands over his nose and breathed deeply. All he could smell was salt and oil and sweat.



I wouldn't have done anything, I swear! I didn't ask him to like me, I didn't know why he liked me the way he did. It didn't make any sense; I'm loud and obnoxious, rude and tactless. People don't like me!



Only he did, better than he should have.



I didn't know that other people would like me that way, it's only been you. No one but you!



He scrubbed his hands up and down his face, then jump and held his breath. He thought he heard a noise from the bedroom again, but if he had, it didn't sound again.



Open the door, shout at me, hit me; I don't care. I live here too, you can't just shut me out like this...



He should go in there; he could say he thought he heard a scream or that he heard something break. Those were good reasons, but he didn't need reasons because he lived here and this was his home. He felt a brief surprise at the feeling of fear blossoming in his chest.



He wouldn't make me leave. He couldn't, this is my home.



Who was he trying to convince?



He listened hard, almost but not quite pressing his ear to the door, but there was nothing now. He hated the sounds coming from that room, the room where he should be but wasn't, but he wanted to hear them again so he'd have his excuse.



When they didn't come, he retreated down to the room at the end of the hall. This was Al's room, no matter where life took his brother now; this would always be his room.



Save me.



Shameless; utterly and completely without shame. Don't get him involved in this, don't mess up what he's got; let him have his good. You can take it, you can take it, you've lived through worse.



When I thought I'd never come home and never see him again...



And now here it is again, with only himself to blame.



We didn't do anything! He never touched me like you, he never felt like you. I don't even know why he liked me.



The room was dark, only illuminated by the light from the end of the hall and he moved into it, half heartedly pushing at the door to close it. He stood beside the bed and he sat on the edge. It was strange to be so empty and blank. He put his elbows on his knees and lowered his face into his hands.



I didn't mean to let him kiss me the way he did, I just didn't know what to do. He liked me and it was exciting. I wanted to ask you about it, but I was afraid and then I was alone. If you love me so fucking much, why am I the last person you think of anymore? You just know I'll be here waiting? Is that loving someone, taking them for granted like that? I'm sorry! He paid attention to me and the only person who ever paid attention to me like that was you.



He was sure his automail joints where leaving impressions on his cheek, so he dropped his hands and just leaned back until he was prone on his brother’s bed.



He'd done it again, his own special brand of 'fuck-up-your-life' alchemy. It came so easily to him it's a wonder he practiced the other type at all. He stared toward the ceiling, not really being able to focus on it in the darkness.



If he tells you to get out, will you go? Or will you be that pathetic puppet you think he's made you into?



He knew the answer to that, his brows dipped down in the center and he pressed his lips together tightly.



I don't want to go, I'm sorry! I wanted to tell you, but you started shouting and I couldn't help it, I really didn't do anything!



He brought his hands up to his face again, laying his fingers over his eyes, resting his palms on his cheeks.



So you’ll go back to that? Listen to yourself... 'I'm sorry!' Just like a fucking blubbering twelve year old. That's all I've ever been to you, someone to garner apologies from. I'm always doing things to apologize for; I'll just jot this one down on the list. 'Ed screws up the only good thing he's ever had for himself.' That fits nicely with all my other inadequacies. Fuck, fuck, FUCK. What do I do, Al? What do I do?



He waited in the dark for Al to give him the answers, but Al was busy elsewhere and he was left to his own devices.



What is it that I've done? Why are you leaving me behind? I'm not who I used to be, I can't stand still and run in place while you go out to rule the world. I don't want to rule, I don't to follow; I just want to live here with you. We have a chance, don't you see? Wasn't that enough pain and terror for a lifetime? Why do you want more?



He turned onto his side, pulling his knees up toward his stomach, the warm and cool of his hands resting over his face. He heard the slight creak of the door hinges; he must not have shut it all the way. There was a click-click across the floor and then a slight indention on the bed behind him. One circle, two... then the little dog curled up, his side coming to rest against Ed's lower back.



We love you! Why isn't that enough for you? Me and Al, we made you our family because you didn't have any. Why wasn't that enough for me? You gave me reasons to be who I am; good reasons. You gave me thirteen little boys who have shown me that people do like me. Why couldn't I be content with that?



R.D. gave a sigh and a snuffle. For a moment there was the briefest touch of a cold, wet nose he could feel through his shirt, then it was gone.



You love me; I said that to his face but I never told him I loved you. Without you, why am I here? What's left for me? I didn't say it because I didn't think I had to, it didn't matter if it was spoken aloud because I knew and that was enough. He liked me and I wanted him to, I wanted the attention because you never look only at me. I'm never the only thing on your mind. Who told you to rule the world? Who said that's what you had to do?



He curled up tighter, wanting nothing more than to feel nothing, but he'd never been good at that.



I just want what everyone else has, my home and my family. Why is that such a selfish wish for me? Why is that always taken away? I didn't attempt alchemy to have love this time. I was happy to take what I could get, but something is wrong with me because I'm never content.



He opened his eyes behind his fingers.



And neither are you. We have to learn to be content with what we have and I have to practice what I preach. I think I'm such a good teacher, but in the end I'm a very lousy student.



Don't make me go.



I love you.



****



He wasn't aware he'd gotten up and moved until he was once again standing in the bedroom proper. He reached up to finish pulling off his shirt and let it drop to the floor, not bothering to toss it near the hamper. He was so tired and he just didn't want to think anymore. There was nothing more to think about, nothing left to drag himself over the coals for. He was what he was and apparently it wasn't enough. He turned and sat down on the bed, took off his boots and just sat like that for a while, looking at the pattern on the throw rug beside the bed.



I've never had a selfless thought in my life, have I? There's always been some ulterior motive, hasn't there? Everything I thought I knew, thought I believed in... that was nothing.



When he had lived his life alone, holding everyone around him at arms length, these questions were easy to ignore.



Even as you move ahead, you leave me better in your wake. I should have known I wouldn't be able to hold your attention forever.



What was there to pride when there was nothing to be proud over? He didn't want to rule the country for such a paltry thing, but it was interesting how the same emotion could have two such distinct meanings. Pride was nothing without power and even in power, he wanted nothing to do with pride. But just let someone mention to him how outstanding the young alchemy professor was, let them say he's a gifted edition to the academy staff. He had enough pride then to move mountains and he didn't deserve it.



He is responsible for his own accomplishments. Even if the position was of my making, I had nothing to do with it. He took it out of my hands long ago, made it much more than it would have been otherwise. He's brilliant, he doesn't need my help.



And he doesn't need my company.



And he doesn't need my love, because he can find that on his own.



He doesn't need me.



What do you expect? I don't know, because in my eagerness to be something you could be proud of, I lost sight of the reason I was doing it in the first place.



Here I am, trying to lay everything at your feet again.



Save me.



Don't go.



I love you.



****



Why was taking responsibility for Al's life so much easier than taking responsibility for his own? Now Al has handed him back his obligation, he is the only one who has truly left his past behind for the promise of his future.



Teach me, please. Show me how to do it, I don't think I can. For every step I take forward, it feels like there is a current pushing me back. It's so close I can taste it, but I can't get my hands on it. Push it toward me.



A pathetic, selfish child, wanting everything handed to him. Why? Because you worked so hard to get it all back? Doesn't that make you any more deserving of a handout than anyone else? You forgot who put you into that position in the first place.



There are no excuses.



If I hold on with the automail, it will never get tired and I can hold on forever.



If he created my life, then I let him. If he was the only thing I've known, it's because that's how I wanted it to be. If he is the master of my fate, I can think of crueler ones. I didn't do such a good job at handling my own fate, did I?



He is my family, as much as Al.



He is my lover.



I don't need anyone else.



I don't want anyone else.



I have to tell you.



He uncurled, pushed himself up with his hands. R.D. jumped up and watched him slide off the bed.



“Wish me luck,” he said with a small smile at the little dog, “I'm going to need it.”



R.D. cocked his head and wagged his tail and Edward took that as a true sign of a dog's good wishes. He opened the door and slipped into the hallway, it was mere steps to stand outside the door to the rest of his life. He curled his fingers, raised his hand to knock, but stopped before he did.



What he had to say, he wasn't going to ask permission to say it; that's not how he worked.



I don't have to lose myself to be with him. He accepts me as I am... he always has. You'd think someone trying to run my life would try to teach me better manners.



He grabbed the knob with his automail hand and twisted, he could break the lock if he had to, but it wasn't locked and he pushed it open. The door swung back on its hinges and stuck the wall behind it loudly. They both jumped and stared at each other, Ed in his rumpled shirt and trousers, Roy in his bare chest and military issue pants.



All that needed to be said hovered between them. A mere few yards of words lie between what life was now and what it was going to be. He'd traveled so many places before; he'd traveled to find that thing that would make everything right again. He'd done it all before, he could do it all again.



“I don't want him!” it burst out of him. If he tried to do this rationally, if he tried to be in control of what was pushing and shoving to be heard, he wouldn't be able to tell him what he needed to hear.



“I love you, I don't want anyone else, I was telling him that. I was letting him down easy because he is my friend and I wanted to keep him as my friend. I let him kiss me; it wasn't the first time, but I never let him touch me. That is only for you. He never touched my body, he never touched my soul, he only touched my lips. I never let him in, there is already something in here,” he slapped his automail hand on his chest, “It's been there for a long time, I'm not giving it up! You can't make me give it up, no matter what you say. I love you, I fucking love you. That is enough for me; I'm going to learn to take my own advice. I came all this way and I'll be damned if I'm going back. You don't have to believe me; you don't have to trust me. I did stupid things, but you should be used to that. I'm not asking you to excuse me, I'm just asking you to think about it. Maybe trust me again? You can tell me what you need to; I'll listen to anything you have to say, but while you are saying it, I'll still love you,” he trailed off then, suddenly feeling conspicuous there in the doorway, begging for his life in a wrinkled shirt.



He waited for what seemed like forever and then the General stood and walked toward him. He wasn't going to run this time; he was going to hold his ground. He felt his muscles lock and his eyes widen as the General's hands cupped his cheeks, slid back into his hair, then dropped to his shoulders. The General's arms went around his back and pressed his chest to his own. Ed’s chin was tilted up, resting on the General's shoulder. He wasn't sure if putting his arms around him was what he should do, but he wanted to, so he did it anyway.



There were no words because after a few moments, none were needed. The words were all done now. He felt the General's chest hitch against his, he felt the press of the General's finger tips as he rubbed his hands slowly up and down Ed's back. He felt the scrap of fabric as his untucked shirt rode up and down his flesh. After a while, a few words came and he closed his eyes.



“I'm so sorry,” Roy whispered just behind his ear, “Did I make you feel like that? Did I make you feel like you needed to look for something else?”



“Maybe, but I shouldn't have. I think I was afraid. Sometimes you are so hard to talk to. I know you are only trying to make the world right,” he said whisper quiet himself, “I know better than to be selfish, at least I should know better.”



He knew, he knew! Roy let go of a sound that made Ed's arms tighten around him.



“What? What did I say?” Ed's voice rose a bit. He went up on his tiptoes and hooked his chin harder over Roy's shoulder. “What are we doing? What are we going to do? You can't bring me this far and abandon me now, I won't let you. I need you, you need me. We're just stuck like this, we can't help it.”



Ed made an almost squeak when Roy buried his face in the side of his neck. His fingers worked worried circles next to Roy's spine.



“Why aren't you saying anything?” Ed pleaded, “You always have something to say. You never let me just say what I want... I mean you do, but you always have something to say back.”



Roy shook his head, face still hidden. He couldn't speak because it wouldn't be intelligible anyway. Ed was wound up enough without adding anything to it. He was always thrived in strife; his guilt machine was well oiled and fine tuned. He always waited eagerly for the next order of business to feed into the fire in its belly, Roy would not be fuel.



“Roy,” Ed appealed, “Just say something; I need to hear you say something.”



I will give you anything.



“I'm so glad you fucking love me,” he managed, mumbled against Ed's shoulder.



“You still believe me?” Ed's voice dipped low, “Even after that, you believe me?”



I have to, because if I don't, I'll come apart.



“You know I do, I really do,” Ed's voice gained volume again, “I'm not as good at saying it like you are, I don't know how to make it sound sincere like you do. I fail at being romantic; I'm not stupid enough to think I don't, but I mean it, even if I can't say it like you need to hear it. You need to give me some slack about it, you know what I mean,” his voice was dropping again into that embarrassed mumble he had mastered so well.



Roy nodded into his shoulder. Ed smelled like oil and sweat; he smelled good. He began to back up, tugging Ed with him. He reached out and snagged the door, checked the doorway for a wayward terrier, then he shut it. Ed allowed himself to be turned and backed to the bed. He allowed himself to be pushed over and when the General crawled up beside him and pulled him close like a living rag-doll, he made no objections. In fact, he clutched back on his own and tangled his brown covered legs with blue ones.



Ed watched the General look at him as they lay facing one another, almost nose to nose.



“If you tell me to stop, I will,” the General said, “I am your creature and I lost sight of that. I didn't mean to, I took you for granted. You are the one thing in my life that should never be taken from granted. Not when you were taken from me so easily and you came back. How did I lose sight of that? I shouldn't be asking you, I should know the answers myself,” the General reached up and wound his fingers into Ed's bangs, rubbing them between his fingers.



“No, it's okay, you can ask me,” Ed said, “I want you to ask me, I want to help and I want to know what's going on in your fat head. We're both dick-heads, but if we can at least understand each other, then we can warn the other one when they are doing the dick-head thing... or not,” Ed bit his lip.



The General laughed and when he did, everything, all of it, just flew away. It was just Roy and it was just Ed and they were at home, lying around on the bed.



He was at home, with his lover who was also part of his family.



“I agree, we are both dick-heads, so what are we going to do about it?” the General asked.



“I don't know, I don’t think it's something we can really change,” Ed said, “But at least we know it.”



There was a little bit of silence then, but at least it was companionable. Roy's hand moved along his side and his forehead came to rest against his own.



“Thank you,” Ed said suddenly, “I mean, for letting me be who I am, even if it's not what you might want me to be. Besides Al, you're the only one I give a damn about accepting me. Gah, I hate feeling embarrassed about saying shit like this to you, I shouldn't be because we're lovers and we're family. At least I can say this shit to you, I'm glad you didn't make me leave.”



The General jerked and Ed was once against pulled to his chest. Whenever he tried the mushy stuff, Roy always got like this. It was embarrassing and it was the most fucking wonderful thing ever.



“Time to come clean, since you are really putting me to shame here,” Roy said, his voice a little funny, “I was terrified you were going to come in here and tell me you were leaving. I didn't know what I would do, I really didn't. I can't think of my life without you in it,” the General's hug was tight and good. He was saying mushy stuff and it was okay, it was better than okay.



“I thought you'd want me to leave,” Ed said. It felt so good to just talk about it, if they could just get it out and over with and be done.



Roy just shook his head. Ed could feel the movement of it buy his chin brushing back and forth across the top of his skull.



“No, you're stuck with me,” Roy said, his voice still slightly off, “If you had left I think I would have come and gotten you. I think we would have had to flee the country because I'm sure roasting a Xingian to death is some kind of crime.”



Ed felt a wicked little thrill all up his spine and down his chest and it settled in his crotch. It was a guilty sort of joy and he smiled because the General couldn't see him. He was jealous! He was jealous and that was great. Really, that was just the best thing Roy could have said... ever.



“You like that don't you,” Roy's voice no longer sounded funny, “You're grinning like a loon, I can tell. All I have to do to make you happy is mention murdering someone who has no fucking business touching you in the first place?”



Damn it, why did he always know what was running through Ed's brain. How did he fucking do that? All those times he claimed he couldn't read minds? He was a fucking liar. Ed couldn't reward such blatant lying.



“No,” he said drawing it out, “I really wish you wouldn't kill the Prince and make us both fugitives. I like this house, it has big closets.”



“Again with the closets,” the General sighed, “So, what are you going to do about him?”



Ed went still; this must be some sort of test. Well, maybe he deserved it and maybe his answer is something they both needed to hear.



“I won't see him anymore if you don't want me to,” he said, and it hurt because, damn it all he did like the scheming fucker, “I told him we could just be friends and I told him if he didn't want that I would never see him again. I really told him that, Roy.”



“I know you did,” the General murmured, “It's a hard call, Ed. I don't want you to see him and that's my honest answer, but this is give and take you know. If you don't want me to run for Prime Minister, you can tell me that, too.”



“I don't, but when I say that I feel so fucking selfish,” Ed said quietly.



“Then we feel the same,” Roy said, “We have to figure out what we can live with and what we need to live without. If you want to continue to see the Prince, I really can't say anything about it. All I can do is trust you to do what is right, but you seem to be good at that. If you told him you could only be friends, then that is good enough for me.”



“If being Prime Minister is important to you, then ditto. Only, could you do it less? You're never around anymore... I got lonely,” Ed confided, “Gah, how is it you make me say all this stupid stuff?” He leaned forward to briefly hide his face against the General's chest.



The General gripped him by his hair and pulled his head back with a gentle tug.



“I am sorry, you know, you and your brother at the most important things in my life. I'm going to tell myself that every day so nothing like this ever happens again. Do you forgive me?”



“Do you forgive me?”



They both took the kiss as a yes.



After that, clothes were shed, blankets were pulled back and pillows were squashed. The need to touch and be close was almost overwhelming.



“Spring break is coming up,” the General murmured against his Ed's jaw. He peppered kisses there as well.



“Yeah,” Ed said, “Three whole weeks of lying on the couch in my underwear, I'm looking forward to it.” He sighed and tilted his head back to encourage kissing on his throat. The General was never slow on the uptake of these hints.



“Let's go somewhere, just you and me. Maybe a lake and a cabin, what do you think? We'll go away and clear our heads and come back ready to face the world again.”



“What about all your meetings?” Ed asked.



“Screw those,” the General said, “I owe you, remember? Let me make up to you Ed, tell me what you want to do. I'll do it.” Ed's throat worked under his lips.



“Okay then, just you and me. Not even R.D., you think Havoc would watch him?”



“Better to ask Fuery, who actually knows something about dogs.”



“Right.”



“Where am I taking you?”



“Surprise me.”



“I think I can do that.”



“Am I going to have to take a suit?”



“Why is that your first priority when we go somewhere? What's wrong with a suit? You look damn good in a suit, it makes me want to grope the fuck out of you in a dark corner.”



“....really?”



“No, I'm just saying that. Yes, especially when your hair is down. You're sexy Ed, suck it up. I have a hard time with you at functions because I keep wanting to put my hands and mouth all over you.”



The little pleased sound that came from Ed's throat worked all kinds of chemistry in Roy's stomach. He pressed along Ed's side, drew lazy circles on Ed's stomach with his fingers.



“You know, you ruined me. I bet there are a lot of women out there who hate your guts.”



“I don't care,” the grin was almost blinding, “But listen to that, damn, think much of yourself?”



“I never went without a date,” Roy returned smugly, “Or without Havoc's dates. I had them lined up at my office door, you saw it.”



“Whoop de shit,” Ed snorted.



“Jealous?” the General cooed.



“I don't think so! Unlike dick-headed, bastard, slacking Colonels, I had a job to do! The only reason you had time to even look at women is because you foisted everything off onto us,” Ed pushed at the fingers on his stomach; they were getting a little ticklish. He pushed them lower to get them off the sensitive area.



“You were so jealous,” the General said, tilted his head down and caught Ed's earlobe between his lips.



“Was not, stoppit,” Ed grumbled without any conviction, “And even if I was, so what? You're jealous of His Royal Moochery, so we're even,” the note ended smugly.



“Ah, touché,” the General said, the tip of his tongue traveling the rim of Ed's ear.



Ed was smiling to himself and the General noticed when he left the ear to kiss his temple. This whole painful mess, it has given Ed something. He cupped his cheek and turned those smiling lips his way.



“Shit works out, huh?” Ed said, meeting his eyes, “When we first got home I thought the world was ending, but now it's like... almost, it's starting over.”



Roy smiled himself; he stroked the pad of his thumb over Ed's cheek.



“Hello, my name is Roy Mustang. I'm a General in the army with a stable job and possible high political position. I'm in love with you, will you stay around and keep me sane and grounded and let me make your life good?”



Ed swallowed and licked his lips. He shifted, his cheeks going pink and his eyes darting away.



“May... maybe. My name is Edward Elric. I'm a Professor of Alchemy at the military academy. I've seen you around and uh... I'm in love with you, too. We're both dick-heads, so we should get that right out in the open so there are no surprises. Do you think I could live here and make this my home and you my family along with my brother? That's what I really want; I think you'd be good at it.”



Roy pulled Ed over onto his side facing him again, tucked him up against his chest and Ed pressed himself there, wanting the contact as much as Roy wanted to give it.



“Yes,” they said simultaneously.



Starting over.