Chapter Text
WHOLE LIVES CHAPTER 1: "FLOWERS IN THE DIRT"
A Sequel to HALF LIVES
by The Binary Alchemist 2010
Somewhere underground in a Central Military Cemetery...
"GAAAAAAHHHHFUUUUUCCCKKKKK! AL!"
"Sorry, Brother—I guess we tunneled a little further than I thought."
It was the way the thin beam of his electric torch emphasized those ghastly vacant eye sockets, rimmed in grey-green mold, that made Edward Elric shriek like his mother had done that time she accidentally stepped on a dead mouse in the pantry in her stocking feet. He bolted upward and a shower of dirt and brittle bits of splintered old casket landed on his head. "Well, back the fuck up, will ya? This is….shit, how did I let you talk me into this?"
Behind the black knitted cap that concealed everything but his brilliant gold eyes, Alphonse smothered a laugh. It hadn't been Al's ideal to tunnel under the fence and half way through the cemetery at three o'clock in the morning—that was Ed's bright idea. They could have simply arranged something with the caretakers to let them in before dawn-but no. It only reinforced something Ed had growled when watching Maes Hughes make an ass of himself over his daughter for the umpteeth time"Y'know, Al—love makes people stupid." And you're no exception, Ed. He clapped his hands, quickly sealed up the grave vault they had accidentally disturbed and clapped once more, tunneling through about eight feet of dirt and worms until the moonlight broke through overhead.
"Fuckin' bastard," Ed was knuckling the dirt out of his eyes and spitting out bits of god-knows-who out of his mouth and blowing his nose vigorously. "He better hopes he dies of the flu before I come back and kill his ass."
"He'd do it for you," Al pointed out earnestly. Ed jerked off his glove and shoved a finger up his right nostril. He snorted hard and something black and chunky came out. He made a disgusted sound. "Don't you dare flick that on me," Al warned.
Behind the other knitted hood a sharper set of amber eyes shot daggers at his black clad companion. "It's not like it's a booger or something. It's hard. "Could be dirt…could be a metacarpal or… the tail end of the dead guy's coccyx."
Al groaned at the pun and gestured for Ed to pipe down. "Got your compass?"
"Yeah…lemme get our bearings….hmmmm….this way…"
Crouching down low, the brothers made their way up the crest of the hill through an eerie landscape. "Moonlight on those head stones…kinda makes 'em look like teeth, huh?"
"Shut up, Ed."
Row 16, section 2. They'd made it and thankfully not drawn attention to themselves. "Good…so far, so good." Al glanced at his brother. "You've got the bundle?"
"Yeah. Let's do this and get the fuck—"
"Watch your language," Al hissed. "Show some respect. Remember where we are."
Ed nodded and unzipped the small haversack he had strapped on his back A small white bundle was laid on a small marble slab carved with the wreath of honor.
"Is it all right?"
"Yeah. Padded it pretty good before we left so nothing's crushed."
Edward and Alphonse stood quietly together, the warm spring air making them sweat heavily under the hoods and the sweaters and heavy black pants. "The things we do for love…" Al repeated softly.
Ed nodded."Even when it's not your own."
"And you're okay with this?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
Al shrugged. "I don't know…I mean…it was a long time ago…"
Ed tugged his glove back on. "You weren't there in the tunnel with Envy. You don't know…if this helps that pain—even a little-I don't have a problem with it at all."
Al nodded, although he still wasn't quite sure he understood. "Let's go home, Brother."
Ed hawked and was about to spit out more dirt—then remembered where he was. He spat into his glove and wiped it on the seat of his pants. "Gross." He zipped up the rucksack, laid his hand briefly on the headstone, and then headed back down the hill.
Alphonse lingered for a moment, his fingers brushing against the name and date on the stone. "The things we do for love…."
#
"You WHAT?"
"Did it. It's done." Edward padded barefoot out of the bathroom, naked except for a towel wrapped comically around his hair in a manner that looked so feminine that it negated the appeal his naked body ordinarily held for His Excellency, Fuhrer President Roy Mustang, whose head was so stopped up if he'd been inclined to give his lover a blow job he'd have died of suffocation.
Roy Mustang sat up in bed, stared at his lover, and then snatched the bottle of pills from his nightstand. He scanned the label. It was one of those new-fangled antibiotics. Dr. Knox told him it would beat the hell out of his respiratory infection so he could finally kick this lethal flu that had him flat on his back for the better part of a week. May cause upset stomach, loose stools and nausea. Take with food. Nothing about causing hallucinations or bizarre dreams. "Edward…if you had gotten caught-"
"—I'd have probably gotten a pissed off call from my ex-wife for getting arrested and that I'm setting a bad example for my kids….yeah, yeah, whatever."
"And she'd have been right. The idea-Ed, I can't believe you'd do something so—"
"So fucking important to you. And we both know why it\matters so much-and if I didn't love you and all that crap I'd have stayed home ...instead of…of…goddamn it, Roy! I had pieces of some dead guy stuck up my nose-and you're just…bitching at me!"
In a moment of rarest insight and wisdom, Roy Mustang decided not to pry further into the significance of that last reference and instead held out his arms. "Sorry…come here…get under the covers and get warm."
Tossing the damp towel towards the open bathroom door and missing, Ed slid under the blanket and curled up against his lover's side. "Fuck…it was almost bad as runnin' round in Gluttony's guts with Ling—'cept I was pretty sure I wasn't gonna get farted out at some point-"
"Shut up, Ed."
"Fuck you, Roy."
"Gladly. Turn over."
"Hold that thought." Ed chuckled and kissed his lover's stubbly cheek. "Let's wait until we're sure you're not contagious…and you've shaved…"
Roy grinned in the dark and waited until Ed was almost asleep. Then he began to sing very, very softly: "The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out—the worms play pinochle on your snout…"
"I hate you."
#
She had waited at the gate until the groundskeeper locked it fast, tipping his hat to her. Oh, it wasn't like he knew her name. He knew her pain. Knew it had not lessened over the years. Knew that somehow it comforted her to be here, to be close to what…remained. The marble slab was tidily swept. No weeds intruded. All was as it should be.
He had married her on the 14th of the month. "Lucky seven twice," he told her with a soldier's logic. He had spent the night with his army buddies, but he had sworn that 'the last thing I want is the touch of another woman."
He had placed the engraved golden band on her finger and she had never taken it off, refusing even to lay it on his breast before they covered him with dirt and left him in the dark. She would wear it until she died—because her heart was dead. She lived for her child, for Elicia and for the grandchildren she hoped would someday carry on that spark of life so brutally snuffed out by something that wasn't even human—for the sake of a man who ruled her country but never crossed the threshold of her home.
When she and Elicia arrived, the gates hadn't been unlocked yet. "We want to be the first to visit Daddy," her daughter understood. Elicia was all a-quiver; oh how she loved these little talks with Daddy, to bring him the pretty sheaf of white lilies as was the custom in Amestris…
"Mommy? It's there again!"
And once again, she bit her lovely lips—those lips that had caressed every inch of his beautiful body, over and over and over, with such profound tenderness-and schooled her expression as to conceal the sickness and anger that churned inside her.
Someone had gotten there first, after the gates were locked last night and before they opened in the morning. A thick sheaf of snowy, fragrant lilies, wrapped in white paper from the best florist in town. And buried in the heart of the bouquet was a single red rose. A galling slap in her face that made the tears well up and the anger burn like acid in the pit of her stomach.
He loved you, Gracia. He was the most faithful of husbands and fathers—the best of friends. You were the center of his existence., the lilies proclaimed.
And the red rose added, but we loved one another first.
"There's no card for Daddy, sweetheart. They must have been put here by mistake" The words sounded almost calm and normal. "Go find a lonely grave and put them there—I'm sure the other person would like to be remembered too—but let me see that first." She plucked out the single red rose and as her daughter cheerfully ran between the gleaming headstones, placing individual roses on lonely tombs, she tore the flaming rose to bits, scattering the petals in the dirt….
…..TO BE CONTINUED…