Mirrorworld ch 40 pt 2
Since Ed had so many hours to while away, Al tried to come up with as many ideas as possible to keep him amused. Proper alchemy books weren't allowed, but a book of alchemical riddles didn't seem to bother the guards. Ed couldn't see the arrays, but having to imagine them gave the riddles another element, made them take longer. He was very good at them.
Other times, Al read to him - the newspaper, novels, anything that Ed found an interest in. Once, he brought a joke book and told terrible jokes until Ed couldn't help but laugh.
Those were his days: getting up early to steal half an hour with Ed before he had to be at work, spending the entire day at the lab watching the clock until the time he could return to his brother. A week passed, like that.
He grew adept at keeping Alfons away from Ed. Alfons was there often, sometimes reading to Ed from some notebooks in that weird language of his, sometimes reading to him in Amestrian while Ed poked fun at his pronunciation. But beyond the occasional welcome hug, he was mostly relegated to sitting across from Ed and watching him longingly. Once, when Al returned from using the bathroom, he found Alfons right next to Ed, one hand on Ed's knee, leaning close to say something to him. When he saw Al there, Alfons dropped his hand, looking abashed, and moved away.
"Alfons…" Ed reached out, snagged his sleeve. Alfons froze, locked between Ed's hopeful hand and the flat expression on Al's face. He met Al's eyes, then deliberately pulled his arm away, and returned to his usual spot. For a moment, Ed's hurt was plainly visible, and he opened his mouth to say something, but didn't. Ed retreated, right there in front of Al's eyes, pulled the hurt back in on himself.
He didn't - he didn't want this. But he didn't know what else to do. He couldn't just give up on his brother.
The middle of that night, he was woken by Alfons, thrashing around on his bed in the dark. After a very brief debate with himself, he rolled out of bed to wake him up. Nightmares sucked, he knew that first hand. He navigated his way across the room in the dark, but before he reached Alfons' bed, he had woken with a soft cry. Dimly, Al could see his silhouette sitting up in bed, panting shallowly with a wheezing edge.
Al shifted from foot to foot, and decided that since he was up anyway- "You okay?"
"Ahhh!" Alfons jumped, clutched his chest, and started coughing. Al sighed.
"I didn't know you were up," Alfons said sheepishly, once he had gotten his breathing under some semblance of control.
"You're noisy," Al answered, and sat down on the edge of his bed uninvited. "It's a wonder I ever get any sleep."
Alfons moved over, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked at Al. "You complain an awful lot."
Al was insulted, but Alfons continued speaking, his voice getting a bit softer.
"Edward's sort of like that. But he never complains about what really matters."
Al was pleased for a moment, then felt a rush of unease. Everybody had always used to say how different he and Ed were, and of course he wanted to be like Ed, of course he did…. He covered it up and lashed out.
"You want to know what matters?" he snapped. "I hate my job. It's boring and they treat me like an idiot."
Alfons tried to say something, but Al cut him off.
"And don't you say anything, you have no room to talk. You're building automail, while I'm stuck writing-"
"You think I like automail?" Alfons said. "I was never the best at electronics. I don't know anything about automail, and I don't know anything about biology, and my coordination is still bad. I'm a rocket scientist, and maybe I'll never be able to build a rocket here because your world is such a damn mess. Be thankful you're at least using the skills you trained for!"
Al… hadn't thought of it that way. He hadn't considered that Alfons might find working on automail as miserable as he found his own job.
But then, he thought, shouldn't Alfons have thought of that before he left his own world to follow Ed?
Alfons seemed to find his silence encouraging, because he started talking again. "Look, Al, I know you don't really like me… it would be hard to miss that, really," he tried to laugh, "but I don't want to fight with you. I won't take Ed away from you-"
"Shut up," Al snapped, jumping to his feet. Alfons who was so, so innocent and guileless, who pretended that everything would be happy, who was kind to people and patient and older and everything Al should have been. "Just shut up. Don't you realize it, you bastard? You already have."
Alfons was left gaping, and Al just couldn't look at him anymore. He half-ran the few steps back to his bed, grabbed his pillow and blankets, and left. He didn't slam the door behind him.
The sofa was uncomfortable, but less than spending another minute in his double's company.
-
After that, Al grew even more frustrated with his work. He started spending more time on his arrays, trying to make even the simplest of them conform to Chamberlin's Aesthetics Principles, even though it took a lot of rerouting of energy to make it happen. Artistic arrays were not normally widely used.
He was at his desk calculating angles when one of the other workers approached him. An older man, his hair already graying, dressed in a neat suit. Al finally noticed him hovering - it was another one of the alchemists, he was pretty sure, but for the life of him Al couldn't remember his name - and when they made eye contact, the man stepped over.
"Um, do you need something?" Please not sewage purification again.
"I was wondering if you could help me," the man said, laying a sheet of calculations down on the desk in front of him. At the bottom of the page were array components, not yet arranged.
Al looked back up at him warily, wondering if this was some sort of trick.
The man stepped over, and pulled Al's latest array over to him. "This array is beautiful. Never seen anything like it, outside of books." He shook his head. "It's obvious you're overqualified for this job. I've worked here for fifteen years, and not only are your arrays more elegant than anybody else's, you make them both balanced and intricate at the same time."
"I don't want your job-" Al began, alarmed, but stopped when the man shook his head.
"I shouldn't think so. You can do much more. But while you're here, I'll be damned if I don't try and learn a trick or two."
His skills appreciated, somewhere away from people who compared him to his brother, compared him to who he had been.
"It's fine," he said, and actually flashed the man a quick smile. "I don't mind." He wondered at the kind of courage it took for this man to be asking for help from somebody so much younger.
But I'm really nineteen, he reminded himself.
The man pulled over another chair, and Al began to explain just where he had gone wrong. Later, when they finished, he sheepishly admitted that he didn't know his name.
"Barnes," the man said, and looked slightly amused.
"I'm Alphonse-"
"Elric. I know." Barnes turned to leave, the completed array tucked under his arm, a pencil behind his ear.
That day was exceptionally good, because on the way back from work Al had a stroke of brilliance. He bought Ed a picture puzzle, fifty pieces, one of the carefully-cut expensive ones. Ed would be able to put it together even without seeing, and it would give him something to while away the hours with. Al didn't like how often he found Ed daydreaming.
Ed was pleased, and set the puzzle up on the dining room table that very evening. He refused offers of help from both Al and Alfons, and sat painstakingly sorting through the pieces by touch.
"But what's it a picture of?" he asked.
Al shifted. "A rabbit," he said. "But that's okay, right?"
Ed shook his head, but smiled a bit. "Remember the first rabbit we snared on Yock Island?"
"Yes," Al said, and this time he was telling the truth. He had those memories.
"Does it look like that rabbit?"
"No, this one's black and white. It's some sort of domestic breed."
"A cow rabbit, huh?" Ed paused in his sorting, and cocked his head. Alfons laughed, Ed looked pleased with himself, and Al had to fight to keep his mood from souring.
The puzzle grew, slowly but surely, as the days passed. Al's job was slightly more tolerable, now that he had Barnes to talk to. Once, he even found himself wondering what Barnes would say about Alfons, if he would have any useful advice. But that meant explaining the whole sorry mess, and it wasn't something Al was willing to do. Saying it would make it real.
At least Alfons wasn't mentioning their little conflict to Ed. Or at least, Al assumed he wasn't, because Ed didn't confront him. Alfons probably wasn't talking because the whole thing was a stupid farce anyway, Al told himself.
Some evenings, after visiting with Ed, he sat with Harris until late while the lawyer picked his brain for tidbits which could help with the trial. When asked, Harris said he was still gathering information, but from the way things were looking, soon enough they would have to come up with plausible enough cover stories. Ed never asked how trial-related issues were coming along. Al figured he had enough of that with Harris, and didn't press.
It was the middle of the third week, and Al arrived to find that the puzzle, which had been growing steadily on the table, was nowhere to be found. Ed sported a black eye and split lip, and was in a terrible mood.
"He just attacked with no warning," a guard said coolly when Al confronted him. "As I reported several times already."
Al didn't care. "And the puzzle?"
The guard didn't blink. "It fell on the floor, and Elric went ballistic."
Right, fell, Al thought savagely. But there was no proof, and Ed wouldn't say anything. All he asked, when he had calmed down a bit, was that Al look over the small stacks of his clothes in his room to make sure they were still color-coded the way Ed had arranged them.
"My socks get mismatched," Ed said. The socks that Al himself had helped pair up by color.
Even now, his feet sported one black and one white sock, and Al was torn between saying something so that Ed could fix it, and allowing Ed to know that somebody he couldn't see had been enjoying mocking him.
He wanted to hurt the guards, wanted to follow them home and beat them bloody. For a moment, he wondered wildly if he could somehow trade his own eyes for Ed's, spare his brother at least this much. He would do it in an instant, but Ed would never thank him for it.
"Do you want another puzzle?" he asked. Ed shook his head, eyes downcast.
"It's okay, Al. I have other things to do." It was a lie, but Ed was right.
There really wasn’t any point.
He would have reassured his brother that it wouldn't be long now until the trial started, and then things would be moving towards a resolution - but Ed wasn't looking forward to the trial. None of them were. The chances of winning were slim, and their alternative was fleeing the country. And Ed didn't know about that plan, anyway.
Only two and a half weeks left until the trial, and Al was used to the routine. So he didn't think there was anything strange about Ed going to his room to get something, because Ed liked to do things himself, to prove he still could. He didn't think anything of Alfons going to the bathroom, because why should he care?
But Ed was taking longer than he should, so Al set aside his book and went to make sure he didn't need help. He turned down the short corridor (two steps, three steps), meaning to head for Ed's room.
Until he saw the open bathroom door, and the image burnt itself onto his retinas, imprinted onto his very brain, down to the last detail. Alfons was pressed against the wall, slumped a bit with his legs braced outwards, and Ed was against him, and they were kissing. Ed had his back to him, but Al could clearly see the arch of his brother's body, the way his arms wrapped around Alfons' neck, holding him close. Alfons' hands were all over his brother's backside, and Al was frozen in horror for too long before he managed to tear himself away and stumble back to the living room.
It was real. His heart was trying to pound its way out of his chest, and he felt vaguely nauseous. This was no farce, no joke. Because he couldn't pretend that Ed was confused, or that Ed didn't want this, because Ed couldn't be confused into holding somebody like that. Ed wouldn't let somebody do that to him if he didn't want it, Ed was his big brother, Ed was indomitable.
Al's knees gave way, dropping him to the sofa.
He had lost. He had lost years ago, when he was still trying to convince everybody that Ed was alive, and Ed was growing up and falling in love with somebody from another world. With Al from another world.
Eventually Ed came back, and Alfons came back, and they talked about stuff. Or Alfons read to him, or maybe Al did. He couldn't keep track of anything. When talked to, he answered, and tried to act like everything was okay. Maybe he managed.
The two of them looked so normal. Alfons still got embarrassed whenever he was caught staring at Ed, Ed tried to act like he wasn't stuck in prison. Had Al not seen them, he wouldn't have suspected.
Did this happen every time Al turned his back?
For the first time, the end of the visit came as a relief. Al left - found himself outside - and had to pause, try and replace the image that appeared every time he closed his eyes. Against each wall, their image superimposed itself. Everywhere he looked were couples.
And he still had to share a car with Alfons on the way back.
"He's very depressed about the puzzle," Alfons said. As if Al hadn't noticed. "It was very important to him, because you gave it to him. He wanted to show you that he could do it, so he wouldn't let me help."
Al turned away from the window, where his elbow leaned against the frame, and glared at Alfons.
But he couldn't keep it up, he couldn't hold Alfons' gaze, not those eyes that always looked at his brother with such adoration. Al looked back out the window, pulled his right knee up to his chest.
The car was stifling.
When they pulled up in front of Gracia's Al was out of the car and up the stairs almost before it had rolled of a halt. He tore into the house, and nearly ran Gracia down in the hallway. She paused, and touched him on the shoulder gently.
"Al, what's the matter?"
Everything. Al looked up, bit his lip.
Did nobody else realize how wrong this was? What if it didn't bother anybody else because they all liked Alfons better?
He shook his head, ducked past her, and ran upstairs. He pretended not to hear her call his name.
Dinnertime came and went. Nobody called him down, for which Al was thankful. He didn't think he could deal with them right now. The clock ticked away, and every minute that passed was one minute closer to when Alfons would inevitably come up to bed. Coming to a decision, Al changed quickly, got into bed, and turned out the light, what turned out to be a bare few minutes before Alfons entered the room.
He hesitated in the door, his shadow falling across the square of light from the hall.
"Al?" he whispered uncertainly. "Are you awake?"
Al didn't move, kept his breathing even. Apparently deciding he was asleep, Alfons began getting together his stuff for bed. Al almost wanted to laugh when he realized that Alfons was making exaggerated efforts to keep quiet and not wake him up.
So considerate.
Fabric rustled. Alfons was getting undressed, and Al couldn't keep from thinking of how Ed probably undressed him-
He couldn't even wish Alfons gone. Ed had chosen him, Ed loved him. Al rolled over, and fought to keep his breath from catching on the lump in his throat.
Whenever Alfons was the least bit unhappy, Ed always asked after him. He never asked about Al.
The next day, for the first time, Al didn't go visit his brother.
-
The house arrest should have been an improvement, Harris thought on his way up. In certain ways, it was. On good days, Ed was far more receptive than he had been at the prison.
But at the same time, Harris was beginning to have serious worries about his mental health. Ed sometimes seesawed between depression and a kind of mania, where he talked too much and too loud, and pretended too hard that he was with the program. Harris had the suspicion that he was far more afraid of the upcoming trial than he let on, but Ed wouldn't admit to anything, and Alfons was vague on the subject.
Then there was the time Harris had found him in bed, as if asleep - except his eyes were open, staring. Shaking had roused him, fairly quickly. When asked, Ed had denied any knowledge of what Harris was talking about.
Thank god, today Ed was both awake and alert, and showed no signs of strangeness. Harris set his briefcase down on the coffee table, dismissed the guards. He and Ed exchanged the barest of pleasantries; they met often enough to render them meaningless.
"Have you given thought to our trial strategy?" Harris asked.
Ed twisted his hands in the hem of his dull blue flannel shirt, and finally nodded shortly, surprising Harris. A cooperative Ed would be a nice change.
"So you're giving me the go-ahead with the strategy we've discussed."
"I have a different idea," Ed said, and that was unexpected.
"I was under the impression your knowledge of law is limited."
Ed ran his flesh hand through his bangs. "Alfons has been reading to me," he admitted, as abashed as if Harris had caught them at something. "And I thought-"
As Ed detailed his plan, Harris couldn't help but rub at his temples in frustration.
The idea was legally sound, cleverly utilizing a loophole in the law. But there were several severe problems with it.
For one, it brought to light several bits of information Ed hadn't thought to share with him earlier. For another, it was completely insane and would never work.
He told Ed so, and did not mince words.
Ed hardly blinked, and the stubborn frown didn't leave his face. He had been thinking about this a lot. Oh dear.
"Equivalent Exchange," Ed said, sticking his chin out. "If you look into the evidence to support this idea, I'll give you an okay for your plan."
Harris leaned back against the back of the sofa, crossed his arms, and regarded his client through narrowed eyes. "You'll stop complaining about putting everybody in danger?"
Ed squirmed a bit. "…Is mostly enough?"
It was probably all Harris would get out of him. "Agreed, then." Gathering this evidence meant that Ed would be forced to cooperate with a doctor for a change. There were upsides.
"In that case, walk me through this… idea of yours again." Not that he really needed it. The story was chilling enough that its details would probably remain with Harris for a good long time.
It explained so much. So very much.
Ed sat up straighter and began talking. Now that he knew what to expect, Harris noticed other details - the detached, almost ironic way Ed told the story, for one. Disassociation, he thought. The damage to Ed's psyche must have been considerable.
Really, he had never had a client as thoroughly, all-around depressing as Edward Elric.
-
Alfons leaned his head on the streetcar's window and stifled a yawn. It had been a long day, the automail had been exceptionally frustrating, and even if it wasn't even 7 o'clock, he was seriously ready to contemplate a nap, or maybe just sleep the night through.
He had to visit Edward, though.
That thought woke him up, and he felt a trickle of unease. He didn't have to visit Edward. He wanted to. He missed Edward so very much, and he knew that once he got there, his tiredness would be forgotten. It always was.
And yet, coming home to an empty bed no longer seemed so strange to him.
It was like his life had rewound. He was working for his keep, again, living at Gracia's (even if she wasn't the Gracia he knew), and Edward wasn't there.
For no apparent reason, he found himself remembering the first time he had met Edward, when asked to show him around during their studies in Transylvania. Edward had been strangely quiet at first - brash around everybody else, but uncomfortable and sad around Alfons. Until one night when they had both been slightly drunk (or had Edward been drunk at all? Had he been faking it even then?) and started discussing rocketry. Alfons had been introduced to Edward's brilliant mind, and the first of the stories of Amestris. That time, Alfons had hugged him drunkenly and told him everything would be okay.
Maybe that was when everything had started.
Alfons noticed his stop too late, and had to scramble to get off the streetcar in time. Outside, he tightened his scarf, put his hands in his pockets, and headed to the now-familiar building which was Edward's current prison.
He was lucky that evening. The guards inside were ones he knew, and were of the more sympathetic breed. The ones who didn't switch the contents of the salt and sugar bowls, who didn't move the carpets just to mess with Edward's head. One sat at the dining room table, a crossword puzzle forgotten in front of her, eyes now trained on them. In the kitchen, another one was drinking something hot over a book.
His heart skipped a beat when he saw Edward. Even after so long.
"Nobody else is here?" he asked, looking around, as if somebody would materialize in the small room. Guards didn't count.
Edward hugged him - practically fell into him - and shook his head. "Al's stuck at work, he sent a message." His voice was slightly muffled by Alfons' chest, and the warmth of him was distracting - but not enough for Alfons to forget the other people in the room and relax into it.
Edward pulled away, and shot an unfocused, worried glance at Alfons' collarbone. "Do you think he's angry at me?" he asked in a small voice.
"Al's boss is an idiot," Alfons said, squeezing Edward's shoulders. He wanted to switch to German. "He's absolutely not angry, if anything, he's annoyed that he's being forced to work overtime."
Besides, Alfons thought, Al seemed more depressed than angry, lately.
"Okay," Edward said, accepting. Alfons thought of everything he was keeping from Edward - the strain, his dissatisfaction with his job, Al's severe dislike of him, and felt unspeakably guilty.
Alfons stepped back. He wanted to touch Edward, run his fingers over his cheekbone. But the guard was watching.
"What do you want to do?" he asked. "Should I read to you?" Alfons always brought at least three books - one alchemy, one law, one fiction - to fit whichever whim might strike Edward.
Edward ran his hand down Alfons' arm, raising goosebumps even under two layers of fabric, and touched Alfons' hand.
"Let's go to my room," Edward said. Alfons was torn. He couldn't blithely take Edward's hand and go prancing off into his room right in front of the guards - but he couldn't hang back, either. He couldn't reject Edward in front of anybody else.
So he followed as Edward led, the back of his neck burning, eyes firmly trained on Edward's ponytail.
For Edward's sake, he would pretend they were alone.
Lacking a latch, the door to Edward's room swung back and forth on its hinges, squeaking softly. Alfons took a moment to steady it before stepping forward, and hoped desperately it would stay in place. It probably would do nothing to block sound.
Oh God.
But Edward was waiting for him, looking hopeful, so Alfons wrapped his arms around him, pulled him flush against his chest, and kissed behind his ear. Edward shivered and made a small sound, which Alfons tried not to flinch at.
Edward apparently didn't notice, though, because his only reaction was to turn in Alfons' arms, pull his head down, and kiss him. Edward's flesh hand tangled in his hair, and his automail was heavy on Alfons' neck, but the taste of his mouth was plenty distracting. Almost enough to forget the latchless door.
"I want to see you," Edward breathed, fisting his hands in Alfons' shirt. "It's like… you're only real when I'm touching you, you always sit so far away. Sometimes I don't know if you're still there, I'm afraid to ask because what if you left and I just forgot-"
Alfons kissed him again, pulled him close and ran his tongue over Edward's lips, slipped into his mouth.
He was so hot under his two layers. When Edward ran a hand under his shirt, letting in air, it was a relief, even though his fingers burned against Alfons' skin.
"I'm right here," Alfons mumbled into Edward's neck.
Edward tugged at his sweater in annoyance, unable to get it over Alfons' head while Alfons was busy with his collarbone.
"What happened to button-downs?" Edward griped. "Alfons, get this off." He laughed, only a bit bitterly. "I don't even know what you're wearing."
Taking off the sweater meant pulling away, which meant letting go of Edward's shoulders and getting his lips off Edward's skin. The effort it took was monumental.
"You want a description?" Alfons asked breathlessly. Color stained Edward's cheeks and his eyes were alight, his hair a tousled mess. Alfons couldn't remember a time when he had ever wanted Edward more.
"Yeah."
Except if somebody was listening at the door…. Alfons ignored the thought. "A-" brown sweater, he started to say, then changed his mind.
"Jeans," he blurted, before he could think of all the reasons this was a bad idea. "…Tight jeans. And a silk shirt." Which would probably look really stupid together. Alfons wanted to bury himself.
But Edward was smiling, and looked sort of interested, fingers curled in the rough fibers of his sweater. He licked his lips, and asked, "What color?"
Which would be best? Alfons' heartbeat was too loud to think, so he tossed the question back. "What do you think?"
Edward stilled, ran his fingers down the front of Alfons' chest, and pressed his hips closer. "Blue," he breathed, and smiled at the thought.
Alfons should have known.
Edward pulled him down into another heated kiss, and Alfons tried not to notice that kissing was actually sort of loud.
Undressing was a better distraction. Alfons discarded his sweater, and the shirt underneath joined it on the floor. Getting Edward's clothes off around the automail was a bit complicated, and they both cursed when his shirt got caught on his elbow.
They tumbled onto the bed. Edward was thinner than he had been last time they had done this - what, two months ago? His ribs jutted a bit under Alfons' questing fingers, and his stomach and thighs were no longer rock-hard. But it didn't bother Alfons. Nothing bothered him, not the automail humming in his ear, or his fingers catching in the dip of the scar on Edward's stomach.
At one point, when Edward rolled him onto his back and straddled him, he could hear the words echoing in his memory: you're the girl, right?
His stomach turned over, and he hardly noticed he had stopped moving until Edward froze, worried.
"Alfons?" he whispered. "Did I do something wrong?"
He could flip them over, change their positions, and Edward wouldn't complain or mind. Looking up at Edward's sightless eyes, which reflected uncertainty that was too close to the surface these days, he knew that Edward would do whatever he wanted right now.
Damn it, he had nothing to prove.
"No," he murmured back. "Edward, make me forget."
And for a time, Edward did.
Afterwards, they even dozed off for a bit, Edward with his head on Alfons' shoulder, left arm around his stomach, and hair absolutely everywhere. Alfons thought, vaguely, that he could probably go for another round. But Edward was tired, it was painfully evident in his boneless collapse.
He must have slept a bit, as well, because Edward was kissing him awake. Alfons smiled and nuzzled his face, kissed at the stubble right beneath his lower lip.
"Alfons?" Edward began. "There's something…." He trailed off, and swallowed.
It took Alfons a few minutes to realize why that tone was enough to wake him up and cool his passion. It sounded like the tone Edward used when he talked about his death.
"What is it?" Alfons looked up into Edward's too-open face, the worry on it clearly readable.
Edward sat up, dropping his feet over the edge of the bed. He hid his face. "We should shower. Come on."
Alfons didn't push.
He helped gather up their clothes into two piles, then peeked out the door to make sure nobody was watching. Several times. When he was as sure as he could be that the coast was clear, they both dashed the few steps to the bathroom. This door did have a latch, but no lock.
"You want to go first?" Alfons asked. Normally they would bicker over it, but he wasn't in the mood.
Edward blushed furiously, and mumbled something about showering together, and was obviously relieved when Alfons agreed.
They hadn't ever done this before, Alfons thought. For some reason they had always traded off showers - maybe because Edward struggled with his prosthetics and didn't want Alfons to see, maybe because Alfons didn't have patience to deal with Edward's shedding, maybe because Alfons sometimes sang and Edward made fun of him for it. Alfons stepped into the narrow cubicle after him, and Edward turned on the water.
"It's too hot," Alfons said, flinching away from the spray. Edward turned towards him and frowned.
"What are you talking about? This barely qualifies as warm. "
This was probably another reason they didn't shower together.
"Turn it down a bit! What are you trying to do, see if you can get the water to boil?" Alfons yelped. He tried to push past Edward to get at the knob, but just ended up scrabbling uselessly against his arms.
"You're being melodramatic. Quit it, Alfons, no horsing around in the shower!" But he turned down the temperature a bit. "Happy now? Or should I get you some ice?"
Alfons crossed his arms. "I'm happy." Even though the water was still a bit on the hot side. Now that he wasn't suffering anymore, he could appreciate the way it ran down Edward's body in rivulets, how his wet hair trailed down his back and stuck to the sides of his face. Edward was sort of self-conscious, but he let Alfons scrub his back and wash his hair, and made approving noises when Alfons rubbed shampoo into his scalp.
A few minutes of this, and Alfons was getting kind of turned on. He tried to keep from rubbing against Edward, who was very clearly not up for it yet, but Edward noticed anyway. He pressed Alfons against the wall of the shower and jerked him off, while Alfons dug his fingers into his back and whispered praises into his mouth.
It had to end eventually. They were clean, and time was running out. Alfons got their towels and wrapped Edward in his, sat down on the toilet lid to let Edward rub his hair dry.
From behind him, Edward threaded his fingers through Alfons' hair, ran his hand down to trace the line of his neck and shoulders.
"Alfons," Edward said, and took a deep breath. "You - you know I really love you, right? I - please don't be angry at me."
Nonplussed, Alfons nodded, knowing Edward could feel it, and wondered what was going on. "I'm not angry."
"You're doing okay, right? Even - without me?"
What was the right answer? "You know I would rather be with you." Alfons tried to keep his voice steady, and didn't turn around. He could hardly move for how shallow his breath came, and the acrobatics his heart was doing in his chest. "If this is about the trial, Edward, we're not going to let you die."
They were speaking in German. He could allow himself to say it.
"That's not it." Edward's hand still worried at his hair, in short, tense strokes.
"The blindness?"
"No."
Alfons was running out of ideas, but maybe now Edward would finally explain.
"Remember when I went to pray? Before we left?"
Alfons nodded, mouth dry, hyperaware of Edward's warmth behind him.
"I tried to make a deal. I said that if somebody had to pay a price, it should be me."
Alfons twisted around, looked up at Edward. "What price?" He could hardly get the words out. "What price?" he repeated, when Edward just shook his head helplessly. "Edward!"
"Nichievo," Edward whispered.
-
One week to the trial. Just one more week, and they would all quit their jobs, because none of them were willing to be away while Edward's fate was being decided. When they weren't working, Harris had them running errands, collecting last bits of data, digging up crucial last minute information.
In addition, Harris drilled them mercilessly on their cover stories. None of them had heard Edward ever admit to doing Human Transmutation. Al would simply say he remembered nothing of the episode. Alfons would be kept off the witness stand, if at all possible. If not, he was to claim to be an illegal immigrant from a country to the north of Amestris, who had been taken in by the Rockbells. He spent his evenings memorizing maps and history. Harris reassured him this was just a precaution. From what he had seen, the prosecution had no interest in him.
He had almost no free time to ponder Edward's problems, though they gnawed at him mercilessly. With the way Edward was constantly meeting with various people, being rushed to checkups, and who knew what else, he didn't get any chances to try and pry more information out of him. Alfons managed to comfort himself with one thing. Despite Edward's talk of paying prices, there was nothing visibly wrong with him. If Edward didn't drop dead (the thought made Alfons' stomach twist), chances were he'd be okay for a bit longer. Once the trial started up, Alfons would try and get him alone again, maybe get some more information. He was through with watching Edward suffer.
Al was still hostile and quiet, but seemed to have perked up a bit with all the work that needed to be done. Either way, he wouldn't appreciate Alfons asking if he was okay, so Alfons didn't bother.
Since none of them could sleep the night before anyway, Mustang brought them over to his base for a clandestine meeting dealing with the preliminary issues of breaking Edward out, should escape be necessary. Once Alfons had reassured them he could provide plans for a plane big enough to carry about twenty people, they spent the rest of the evening arguing about possible destinations.
It was better than lying in bed and staring at the ceiling.
They all met at Edward's apartment before the trial to get him ready. This time, he wouldn't be shuffling in chains, wearing a dull, ill-fitting prison uniform. They dressed him in a tight black sleeveless shirt which showed off his muscles and his automail, polished to gleaming by Winry. Black leather pants and a wide brown leather belt completed his costume. Gracia brushed his hair and braided it neatly, despite Edward's complaints that he could do it himself.
He looked like the Fullmetal Alchemist.
And when he entered the courtroom, not a single person present could keep their eyes off him. This wasn't just any alchemist standing trial for terrible alchemy. It was the Hero of the People.
They stood, and sat, and court was called into session.
"Now begins trial number 46502, the State of Amestris against Edward Elric, accused of the crime of Human Transmutation, on a day between the 10th and the 12th of February, 1910. How does the defendant plead?"
Before Harris could open his mouth, Edward scrambled to his feet.
"Guilty," he announced, to a stunned silence.
"Innocent!" Harris tried to pull him back into his seat, but Edward fought.
Justice Tsamis looked sternly at the two of them. "Mr. Harris, is there a problem?"
Harris sat down, defeated, and shook his head. "No, Your Honor."
"And how do you plead?"
Harris closed his fingers around Edward's wrist and said, "Guilty, Your Honor."
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