He hoped Al would never remember. He deserved to forget that night. To live in ignorant bliss. He was so very deserving of the ignorance a new start could give him. Ignorance of what Ed could never...
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine, damnit not mine!
Warnings: ...I dunno. Little depressing? Not graphic. Slightly more grammar-Nazi friendly, god knows the first draft wasn't. Drove my beta reader insane! : D I'm so mean to her... for those grammar Nazi's out there, please note that the mistakes in this thing are intentional. Rated for very slight swearing and brief sexual reference of non-graphic origin.
Note: This is my entry to the Steelandsparks Anniversary contest. Didn't win, but I was fangirled several times :)
Don't Forget, Ed thought.
No, never forget. Always remember. Not allowed to forget. Never allowed.
The relief of forgetting could never be his. Should never be. He would never forget, not ever. His eternal punishment would be to never forget. He was willing. He would welcome his punishment.
He hoped Al would never remember. He deserved to forget that night. To live in ignorant bliss. He was so very deserving of the ignorance a new start could give him. Ignorance of what Ed could never forget. Would never forget.
Edward sat in a dark den. No artificial lights, very little moon, eyes gazing blankly at the window across the room. Thousands of tiny rivers running down the glass, brief flashes of bright light. The pounding of small droplets all threatening, beating, trying adamantly to shatter glass and splinter wood; pound through the beams and ply wood, mimic thousands of little termites feasting on delicious wood.
How very fitting, an idle thought, amusement sparkling in unbelievably inhuman eyes, glazed golden that stared out into the storm. Just like that night. Not even the sky would let him forget. It would all aid him in his quest to never forget. Always remember.
Remember his stupidity. His stubbornness.
His little brother had been nervous. Unsure of their intentions. He didn't object. Didn't insist Edward stop, that they didn't know enough yet.
They knew enough. Hadn't they been studying vigorously for so long? They were ready, weren't they? They could do it. It wasn't that difficult. Simple calculations, full ingredients, perfect transmutation.
35 liters of water, 20 kilograms of carbon, 4 liters of ammonia, 1.5 kilograms of lime, 800 grams of phosphorus, 250 grams of salt, 100 grams of saltpeter, 80 grams of sulfur, 7.5 grams of fluorine, 5 grams of iron, 3 grams of silicon, and trace amounts of fifteen other elements. Blood for the memories, right? Simple.
It wasn't impossible.
And it wasn't simple.
Ed hadn't moved all evening, sat motionless on the sofa, his eyes blank as he watched the storm. Rain shadows ran down his face. His hands sat motionlessly in his lap, legs crossed on the sofa, hair left loose and tangled, his shirt disheveled and shorts bunched up from his position. From one corner of the room, the hallway to the door, a figure watched him; his form leaned comfortably against the wall with arms crossed.
His coat was a little wet, from what had missed the umbrella and landed on his person. The water didn't bother him. He wouldn't melt.
He had arrived home nearly five minutes earlier and stood to watch the blond in that unseeing, unfeeling, trance. It wasn't a surprise. He remembered the day, because how could one forget a day when one's lover liked to imitate the living dead?
A small sigh escaped slightly parted lips and Roy pushed away from the wall to shrug off his coat and hang it up. His shoes were abandoned as he ignored Ed, climbed the stairs to their room to shed his uniform and pull on clothes that were much more comfortable for around the house. Upon his return down the stairs, Roy flipped on a couple of lamps, and left a small brush on the coffee table.
In the kitchen he set a kettle of water to boil and brought out two mugs. Three spoonfuls of chocolate powder went into one, and two in the other with a spoon in each. The hot water was soon added.
He returned with the two mugs, set each on the table and sat beside Ed. The blond hadn't flinched, had hardly noticed Roy. Roy picked up the brush, manipulated his lover's mussed hair and began to work out the tangles from his odd angle. It had become an annual ritual with Roy coming home to find Ed dead to the world, Roy working out the knots in Ed's long hair so that he wouldn't whine about it the next morning, and Roy turning on some lights and making cocoa.
As per ritual, when he finished with Ed's hair, Roy sipped at his cocoa and cracked open a book. He captured Ed's flesh hand and stole it over to his own lap to lightly stroke the back with the pad of his thumb and he held that hand as Ed sat in his dead state and blankly watched the rain. Roy found it slightly odd that every year, on the same day, the same storm would return and try its damnedest to pound his home to pulp in its attempt to get to the blond.
He had tried to snap Ed out of it the first time. It didn't work, of course. Afterward, Ed had explained, reluctantly, what had happened, apologized for scaring his lover to near death and made it up to him with breathtaking sex that was meant to reassure Roy that Edward was very much alive and very inclined to stay that way.
Twelve strikes signaled midnight, and Edward blinked. He closed his eyes, hands moving to his face, and rubbed lightly. He let out a sigh. The cocoa on the table was cold, but that was easily taken care of with a single clap. The mug was steaming again, and Edward sipped gingerly at his chocolate.
Beside him, Roy closed the book and set it aside, his hand now on Ed's automail leg as he watched the young man.
"I'm sorry." Ed whispered, voice raw from the full day of inactivity. "I don't know why you put up with me. With this."
"Love isn't a good enough reason?"
A weak shrug in response.
Roy's hand traveled up, lightly squeezed Ed's shoulder, and moved to rest on the back of his neck. A soft kiss found his temple and Ed sighed again and finished off his cocoa.
Gentle hands down bare sides, tickling over exposed hips, an exposed stomach. A mouth lightly kissing, licking, everywhere- every piece of flesh and metal. Connecting repeatedly with another needy mouth determined to reassure, to apologize, to love.
They danced in a slow rhythm, arms holding, caressing, touching; Ed's legs holding, pulling, desperate to keep Roy close, to meld them together so that they could never be apart. Never be separate. Never be two, just one. A whole of one being.
As Ed panted, felt the sweat slide down sensitized skin to be absorbed into the mattress beneath him, his mind wandered, mused. He had begun his ritual when he was young, shut himself away for the day until midnight when he would reawaken and pull himself together again, sleep for the next day and his inevitable missions. His determination was a driving force when he was that age. He was always alone, somehow managed to convince Al to spend the day off somewhere with books, animals or their friends in the military.
When things had happened between Roy and himself, their relationship, he had hidden it nearly the same way he had with Al. When he moved in, he had slipped up and scared Roy. He refused to let Ed hide from him afterward, insisted he be there for his lover as much as he could.
He loved someone, and that someone loved him back just as much if not more. Roy stuck with him, through every anniversary. He had created a ritual of his own, a ritual Edward didn't completely know. (He couldn't know unless he forgot. And he could never forget, would never.) Roy was with him, promised to always be with him. Even when he refused to forget, tortured both of them with his living-death for the six plus hours after Roy got home.
A thought crossed his mind as they succumbed to their completion, moaning, breathing, loving together.
He didn't deserve Roy. Was so little compared to the man, the ambitious man that had helped him, guided him, loved him. Roy was a man that deserved so much more. No pain, none of the pain that Ed had put him through.
He had ruined so much, fucked up his life so royally, his brother's life.
What right did he have to love and be loved?
-- The end --
Small modification made to this version, but otherwise it's in pure form. (as in from LJ)