One Wish, a fullmetal alchemist fanfic

Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist does not belong to me—probably for good reason. (Nor, should I add, do I own the Elric's cat, "Socks." I can't remember who came up with said kitty, but after reading their fanfiction I can't imagine any other cat with our favorite incestuous alchemists. XD So kudos and credit to that author!)

Author's Note: Not much to say about this one except that I hope you enjoy. XD

Warnings: Elricest. Mild, post-movie AU-ness. No big, glaring spoilers (provided you know who Alfonse Heindrich is.) And stuff. ;)

The fervent scratch of a pen on parchment suddenly came to a halt. ". . . Hey, Brother?"

"Yeah, Al?"

"If you could wish for anything in the world, what would it be?"

Golden eyes darted sideways, curiosity glittering behind an amused twinkle.

"I'd wish for the Philosopher's Stone, of course—to gain back all we've lost. Why? Wouldn't you?"

"No."

Thin eyebrows shot to the other's hairline, shock painted on his features.

"What. . . ? Why not? Don't you—?"

Gloved hands lifted swiftly, palms up; waving away the worry.

"Oh, no, I want to find the Stone, Brother—I really do! But if I had one wish, I wouldn't waste it on that."

". . . ? Then what would you wish for?"

"I'd wish. . . (there was an embarrassed rattle of metal) . . . that we could be together forever."

Pale cheeks darkened; the boy looked away. ". . . stupid. Why throw away a wish on something you've already obtained?"

A start; a pause; a laugh. "I guess you're right."

Silence.

". . . we'll always be together, won't we, Brother?"

He smiled. "Forever and ever."

XXX

One Wish

xxx

"When I'm with you

I wanna be with you forever

I want you right here beside me forever

One thing you should know

No matter where I go

We'll always be together

. . .Forever and ever."

xxx

—"Forever and Ever"

XXX

Mornings in Munich were always the same—loud and somewhat hazy, full of bustling street-carts and pedestrians. Shopkeepers chatted merrily with their early customers while fixing up signs and finished daily orders; waving to one another, addressing other store owners with quick, sharp tongues. Laugher. Jokes. Cheer. There was a general happiness, clung to by the people despite the stories the newspaper boy was selling. Politics were fervently discussed outside each window—quietly, in hushed voices. Dangerous topics, they were; quickly abandoned by the jumpy speakers when automobiles lumbered by: clattering down the cobbled streets as distant trains' belched smoke, screeching like banshees from the nearby station.

His gauzy curtains fluttered against the open window, the bright red fabric beautifully contrasting the gray autumn sky. A tired, amber eye peeked timidly out from behind thick, ebony lashes, observing the cloth as it danced in the gentle breeze.

'Dammit. . . it's morning already?'

Apparently so, and accordingly, —as if to answer his rhetorical question—, he heard a cheerful voice whisper: "Brother. . . Brother, are you awake? It's time to get up. You'll be late for work."

Which is, of course, the last thing anyone wants to hear at 7 AM.

In retaliation, the grown man groaned; rolling over and pulling his navy comforter around his head, like a cloak. "Five more minutes, Al," he grumbled crankily, hiding his face in his pillow.

Al chuckled at the childish antics, shaking his head from the doorway. "No, Brother. Now. C'mon. Or else you won't have a chance to eat anything before you leave."

Edward muttered something obscene under his breath, curling into a tighter ball underneath the warmth of his comforter.

". . ." His younger sibling arched an eyebrow, reminiscent of their mother when annoyed. "Brother," he said once more, though in a much darker tone—as if a warning. "I mean it."

And that was that.

Sighing, the blonde mumbled his assent, crawling so pathetically out of bed it was if he were on his way to death row. Alphonse smiled, biting back another laugh. "Don't be so overdramatic, Ed. Now hurry up, or you'll be late. You don't want to set a bad example for your students, now, do you?"

"Like they listen to me anyway," was Edward's dry response, but he grinned sleepily to show that (in spite of all the evidence to the contrary) he was really in a descent mood. In return, Al happily beamed— as he always did— spinning around and heading back into the kitchen, leaving Ed alone to freshen up and dress.

"Shitshitshitshit—!"

"I TOLD you you'd be late if you dawdled—"

"Crud!" Edward cursed heavily as he tripped over his own feet, still trying to work on his leather jacket. To an oblivious onlooker, it might have looked as if he were having a seizure, with all that shaking and jiggling. (Al, the only spectator in the house, simply shrugged at the sight—rolling his eyes as he crouched beside his brother.) The apple he'd grabbed for breakfast was jammed into his mouth, enabling his previously-busy fingers to begin tying his shoe laces. "Al, do you know where my briefcase is?"

"It's by the stove," Alphonse replied without missing a beat. "You put it there to burn last night, remember?"

"Oh yeah. . ."

Edward snickered at the thought, clearly relishing the idea of all those term papers going up in smoke. Not that his students would see the humor in that, but. . . For the second time, Al just rolled his eyes—though in apparent good humor. Still, as he watched Ed stand, scampering to retrieve his things as he ate his apple, a small, guilty frown appeared on his lips.

The blonde noticed this almost immediately. "Mm?" Spitting the apple core into the trash, he tilted his head; long golden ponytail tickling the small of his back. "What's wrong?"

Again, Alphonse smiled, albeit a bit hesitant. "Oh, nothing. I just feel bad that I couldn't make you something better to eat."

The other waved the comment to the side, nonchalant as could be. "Fruit is perfectly fine!" Edward sang, overly jubilant. Suspiciously so. All the same, he winked, cheerful. "I probably need it, anyway. And you know what they say about apples and doctors." With that, he snatched up his briefcase, walked swiftly to the door, and—

"Ahem."

Paused, glancing sideways.

Alphonse grinned expectantly up at him, standing right beside the doorway, pointing demandingly at his face. Then he waited. Edward, scatterbrained and still not-quite-there, blinked, momentarily nonplussed, before chortling— "Sorry about that. . ."— and swooping down to kiss him tenderly on either cheek.

The younger boy blushed a blissful shade of fuchsia. "Have a great day, Brother!" he then chirped, leaning out into the hallway as his older sibling rushed on. "And at least wait until you're out of the building to start smoking!"

Half-way down the corridor, Ed's fingers stilled around the cigarette in his pocket. 'He knows me too well,' the man mused, as if annoyed.

But he was smiling.

Though he was no longer a student, Edward Elric couldn't deny that the school day had a tendency to drag. Relentlessly. Cruel and unusual punishment in its own right. Especially on Fridays.

Not to say that he didn't like his job, of course—because he did. The information was interesting and the university kids were bright enough. They had fun together. But after hours upon hours of formulas and explanations, even he was prone to be lulled into boredom; unable to resist that undying, juvenile urge to gaze wistfully out into the distance. And it didn't help that his classroom was one of the few blessed with huge, paned-glass windows that spanned from one end of the wall to the other: hanging like a gigantic portrait of a cityscape against a gun-metal sky. It was enchanting; beautiful as a light snow began to fall.

But there were even more beautiful sights to behold. . .

Edward grinned into his cupped hand, watching his little brother as he waited patiently underneath a tree near the campus gates, checking a nearby clock for the time. Five more minutes. . . then both the day and the students' test time would be over. In preparation, the professor removed his reading glasses, setting them upon a stack of books.

As if noticing this abrupt movement, Al started; looking up at the third story window and waving, beaming beneath his orange scarf.

And Ed, to his own horror, turned a little pink; discreetly wiggling his own fingers in reply.

"Sir?"

"!" The blonde gave a funny jolt— as if waking from a dream— before twisting in his chair to face the inquisitive countenance of one of his undergraduates; a girl with long, pale hair and bright blue eyes. He always felt an odd twinge in his gut when he was with this particular student: she looked an awful lot like Winry. "Can I help you, Miss Stryver?" he asked quietly, so as not to distract the rest of the class (and to keep the embarrassment in his voice well-masked).

"Um," she cleared her throat, clearly flustered as she turned in her paper, toying with a necklace. "Well, Mr. Elric, I. . . I still don't really understand how to find the molecular structure of crystalline solids, so. . . I was wondering if I could stay after tonight and get some help."

The bell rang; the sound of scraping chairs and exuberant voices echoed incessantly off of the ancient stone walls as teenagers leapt to their feet, scuffling forward to turn in their tests and get the hell out of there. Even Edward stood, gathering up his coat, hat, and briefcase. "Sorry, Miss Stryver," he apologized, though not unkindly. "But someone is waiting outside for me today. Perhaps Monday. . . ?"

"?" She blinked, taken aback. 'Someone's waiting. . . ?' "Uh, sure," she verbalized slowly, still a bit surprised—but her lips quickly quirked upwards as she returned to her senses. "Oh, of course! That's just fine. Then is it okay if I stay a little bit longer to gather up my stuff? I promise to lock the door on the way out."

He grinned at her, nodding. "Thank you. I'll see you on Monday."

"See you Monday," she repeated, coloring a bit as she watched him snug on his hat and leave with the rest. 'Too bad. . . Guess I'll have to ask Grandma for help again.' And thus her feet began shuffling in the direction of her desk— ". . . Hmm."—but oddly, brought her to the window instead. (Curiosity has the unfortunate tendency of overriding everything else.) 'I wonder who's waiting for Mr. Elric. He's so cute and young; maybe it's a girlfriend. . . ? Or a wife? His child? He doesn't talk about his personal life at all. . .' Pressing her hands to the cooling glass, she strained her eyes, searching.

But to her disappointment, she couldn't find a single new face in the stamped of students as they fled the school grounds.

They meandered lazily down the busy roads, taking in the sights and sounds and smells of the familiar outdoor market that never seemed to get old. Alphonse smiled at a group of young children as they tossed around a cloth ball; Edward waved at the shopkeepers who called him by name, asking how he was doing. It was a nice walk, brisk but unhurried—and it felt good to be out in the open air. But he did have things to do. . .

He finally slowed beside a large wooden pushcart, taking in the familiar torn banner and leafy, potted ferns which so beautifully shattered the monotony of the slate-gray street. For once strangely patient, the blonde waited noiselessly for the plump woman behind the cart to notice him. (Which she promptly did, beaming as her previous customer scuttled away.) "Edward!" she then cried in her robust, booming voice—thick with lingering Russian. "Goodness, is it Friday already? Don't the days just fly?"

"If you say so, Annabelle," Ed returned with a hum, flashing her a teasing leer. He had a soft spot for the chipper widow; so strong despite all her losses. "Sorry. . . I know they're out of season, but do you have any more Snapdragons?"

She winked, a few strands of her red hair escaping its tight bun. "Why do you even bother asking, dear? For you, I have anything." Turning away for a moment or two, she began to dig through her hidden stockpile of potted plants, kept warm and moist inside wooden boxes and crates. While waiting, Edward lit himself a cigarette, ignoring Al's reproving glances. "They're not gonna kill me," he muttered, blowing a rippling wreath of blue smoke into the frosted air. Alphonse snorted.

"I'm sorry, did you say something, dear?" Annabelle asked, straightening with a bouquet of small flowers, tilting her head inquiringly. She handed him the fistful of blossoms as he tossed her a coin, grinning.

"Nothing of great consequence. Thanks, as always—and my love to your kids. See you next week!"

". . . So we're off to see him again, are we?" Al murmured as they took their leave of the open-air shop, pushing through the crowds of loitering Germans. All were talking animatedly, huddling to fight off the cold.

In response, Edward felt his mouth twitch—forming an amused grin. No, the bitter tone was not lost on him. . . "Why, little brother," he cooed, patronizingly evil in his enjoyment of the moment. "You're not jealous, are you?"

Alphonse's cheeks exploded with magenta; he attempted to hide his face with his vibrant-colored scarf. "No, of course not," he insisted tartly, though firmly just the same. "I know that Alfonse was an important friend to you, so. . ." The younger boy cleared his throat, fiddling with his mittens. Edward couldn't help but snicker.

"You are jealous!"

"No, I'm not!" Alphonse tried again, though sounding more and more like a child as he pointedly looked away— positively glowering. And really, that just made the situation all the more amusing. . .

"Aww, poor Al," the blonde chortled, removing his smoke with two long fingers and flicking off the ash on the tip. "Would you feel better if I bought you flowers, too?"

"Shut up!"

Unlocking the door to their apartment was Edward's favorite part of the day—because it meant that the day was over. Well, the hard part was, anyway: the part with the rules and responsibilities. Now all that was expected of him was that he eat his vegetables and not harass the cat.

Speaking of which. . .

Ed sighed as a familiar ball of fur began to rub against his feet, purring expectantly as a coat and hat were lazily dropped upon the ground. "Hello, Socks," he drawled, purposefully stepping over the cat.

From the doorway, Alphonse frowned. "Ed, Socks is hungry."

"So am I," Edward called from his place in the kitchen, head stuck in the icebox. He pulled out a few strips of bacon before turning to a loaf of bread, nonchalantly closing the lid with his foot. "And because I'm bigger, my needs win."

"Brother!" Al protested, stalking into the kitchen with the cat on his tail. "Don't be mean. At least let him have some milk!"

". . ." At the stove, Ed stiffened, hair nearly standing on end. ". . . he can have the whole damn bottle, for all I care." And he dutifully poured a sloppy saucer of the 'white shit' for the gleefully mewling hairball, cringing as the kitten began lapping up the treat. Al; unlike Edward, (who apparently wanted to vomit at the sight); began to fuss like a proud parent as he watched the cat eat. . . then turned to his brother, who had already returned to making his own dinner. His lips parted in a tender smile, reaching out. . .

The blonde jumped slightly in surprise as a pair of icy arms snaked around his middle, a soft kiss pressed to the back of his neck. "Al. . ." Ed breathed at the sudden contact, face reddening as a tongue darted out to swath a path down his throat. He turned in his little brother's arms. "You're freezing!"

Double take; silence. Then Alphonse burst out laughing, sniggering all the harder when Ed blushed, realizing that that might not have been the most romantic thing to say. But he had never been much of a romantic person, and his younger sibling was aware of that. So once the giggles had subsided, Al tried again, giving his elder's hands a loving tug. "Well, then, I guess you'll have to come warm me up. . ."

He didn't need to suggest it twice.

In contrast to mornings, nights in Munich were quiet— subdued and peaceful, the only sounds the whistle of wind and the muted storytelling of mothers. It stood like a little lost world beneath the glitter of stars; the light which flooded from their homeland. Edward stared pensively into the darkness outside the window, feeling an unwanted rush of questions bombard him. They came to revisit him once in a while, unexpectedly; his lingering doubts and fears. . . gnawing on his weary soul like starving animals. 'Are the others okay?' 'Is the military still corrupt; recovering from revolt?' 'How many wars have I missed?'

And then. . . then it came. The question.

He closed the book in his lap with a sharp snap.

"Brother?"

Glancing away from the velvety night, Edward drank in the sight of Al's profile—his lithe body leaning cutely against his own, long auburn hair tumbling over his shoulders in glossy waves, happy and healthy and all he'd ever wanted. The boy looked curiously into his sibling's tawny eyes; he'd been reading over his brother's shoulder until 'rudely interrupted.' "Brother, what's wrong?"

"I was. . . just thinking," Ed muttered, sounding somewhat strained. He turned away, distracted. Alphonse continued to look utterly bewildered—and now a little worried.

"Brother. . . ?" he repeated, brushing his lover's shoulder with concerned fingers. "Brother, what's the matter?"

Edward didn't respond for a moment, apparently gone—lost in his endless supply of thoughts. This happened from time to time; was one of the abnormal normalities of Ed; and Al was just about to let the inquiry die when, after a long beat and a deep breath, Edward stunned them both by asking the question that had been nagging at the back of his mind for the past three years.

"Al. . .

What are you doing here?"

"—?" Alphonse gaped at his brother for a moment, at a complete loss. "What do you mean, what am I doing here?" he then laughed, prodding the blonde in the side with a joking smirk. "Where else would I be?"

But for once, Ed didn't rise to the bait. He simply continued to look out at the sky, unable to keep his fisted hands from trembling. "You've been dead for years, Alphonse," he hissed, choking on a bitter lump in his throat. "You know that. You got sick. . . right after you came through the Gate." Slowly, hesitantly, as if afraid he might break, Edward turned to face his baby brother once more, a fading crimson streak staining his cheek in the wake of a tear. "Shouldn't you be in Heaven right now, or something. . . ?"

". . ." There was a pause, a pained swallow; as if the younger Elric was trying to suppress a sour memory. But after a moment, a gentle smile overtook the teenager's cherub features, cold arms encasing his sibling like a prayer.

"Who says I'm not?"