The next (last?) part of the desert fic

[mikkeneko]

I'd planned to snitch a line from the Ozymandius poem to go as the title to this, but out of the blue it suddenly named itself Sand Cathedrals, so I'll probably go with that unless something better comes up.




On the fifth day, he insisted on a bath.

"It's wasteful," I told him. "This is not a Western city."

Ed rolled his eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you? I can make more. If I have to go one more day without washing the filth off my skin, I'm going to go insane."

At least he had the sense to do it in sections, using no more water than he had to. He transmuted a basin underneath the spring, to catch the water before it sank back into the ground. He even spared a bit of the blanket to make a washcloth, and stripped down to his skin in the cave, washing standing up.

I should not have looked. The forced intimacy of the cave, of the nights sharing warmth, were bad enough, for my body and the state of my soul. I should have averted my eyes; I should have purged my thoughts and cleansed my spirit.

I should have died in Lior.

I looked.

He was frighteningly, compellingly attractive. For all his small size and years, his body had the definition of an adult. His pale, Westerner skin was badly burned and cracked by the desert sun, but it had the beginnings of an adaptive tan to it. The automail arm and leg, glinting white and gold in the intense sunlight, attracted rather than repelled; the same as his coloring, which should have been foreign and alien. They were brands, marking him with sin, signing him as unforgiven.

I understood about brands.

I did manage to look away; the image of him seared my eyes. It hardly mattered, since he continued to make happy, relieved noises as he splashed, and while I could shut my eyes, I could not shut my ears.

"Your turn, you bastard."

I opened my eyes. "What?" He was clothed again, as much as he ever was, skin scrubbed pink and hair still dripping. He had a feral grin. "No."

"Yes. You stink and I'm sick of it. If I'm going to sleep with you, you are getting a bath, period. Don't your people ever bathe?"

I glared. "Don't insult my people," I said, with a hint of a rumble to my voice. "We are not barbarians. Of course we clean ourselves, but survival is more important than sensibilities."

"Geez, sorry." Ed waved the apology aside impatiently. "Fine, call it a matter of survival. If you don't clean up, I'll kill you myself."

I stared steadily at him, until he began to fidget; however, he showed no signs of backing down. "Fine."

With only one arm, and that not working all that well, I was humiliatingly unable to care for myself. Ed pushed his way in without asking, grabbed the washcloth, and briskly scrubbed my back for me. Glares and judicious threats did nothing to sway him, or drive him away.

Keeping my body from reacting in an all too obvious way was an entirely new kind of penance.



The wind was picking up, towards evening, peeling the tops and sides of the dunes to the east and carrying them away, in twisting towers and spirals of sand. Here, fortunately, the wind kept down to a stiff breeze that quickly dried my skin and hair. It did feel good to be clean; one more step towards feeling human again.

A long, slow road.

Edward came out and plopped down beside me, hair unbound, raking the fingers of his human hand through it in an effort to get the water out. "Man, I'd kill for a bar of soap," he grumbled, and shook his head. Drops of water went flying, hit the ground and were immediately swallowed.

I looked at him and for the first time it was like a switch was turned, and it was no longer the Fullmetal Alchemist that I saw. The image of him before had always been of the State Alchemist, enemy and victim; and then the image of Alphonse Elric's older brother, shadows and shades of my own. My own brother, whom I had loved and hated and admired and despised, who was something crazy, but never wrong.

This would be the first time I had ever looked at him and seen nothing but a teenaged boy, all the affectations of adulthood which only served to cover up the frightening insecurity of adolescence underneath. It was more disturbing than reassuring.

He shook his hair out again, and bent forward to redo the plait. The sight of him seared my eyes, and I had to look back to the sunset.

"You keep doing that," Edward grumbled, looking up at me from under his bangs.

"What?"

"I've seen you look right into the sun and not even flinch," Edward complained, straightening up again as he pulled the plait over his shoulder. "But for some reason, every time you look at me you squint like you need sunglasses."

"Mm." It was strange, really; in the rainy West I had worn glasses to hide my coloring from prying eyes. Here in the desert, where the sun was strongest, I had no need of them at all.

Except for Edward. For some reason, the light of him blinded me.




I woke in the dead of night to a weight on my chest and a hot mouth over my own. I opened my lips to gasp, and Edward apparently took that as an invitation; his tongue slipped into my mouth and stroked along the underside of my palate. The touch sent tingles racing through my body, down my spine.

Startled, I tried to move, to sit up and push him off me; but he had leverage and strength and I had neither. Sometime before my wakening he had shed his pants, the last of the clothes left between us, and every inch of his skin against mine was glowing heat.

I had not much experience with kissing. Edward took the lead, drawing down a nd following an abortive move to pull away; he knew how to do things with his lips and tongue that I couldn't have imagined. His hands swept over my chest, searching. The touch roused me, in more ways than one; I freed my hand from where it had lain trapped between our bodies, and grabbed his wrist as his metal hand reached for me.

I still could not feel much through the fingers of that hand. It was hard to say which, metal or flesh, was the more artificial limb, but it served me, and I resisted his pull. After several seconds, he shifted his weight and rose up above me, hair hanging down in a tangled curtain, obscuring his face in the moonlight.

"Why'd you do that?" he whispered, tugging against my grip. "Are you saying you don't want this?"

I held my tongue. There was no right answer. "No" would be a blatant lie, considering the fire still dancing in my mouth and my groin; but "yes" would be unforgivable.

Ed grinned; I saw the flash of moonlight off his canines. "There's nobody else here but us," he said quietly. "And after all that's happened, what's one more sin?"

Specious logic, I knew. Claims like that paved the road to hell. Did they pave the way out again?

Yes. I wanted it. I wanted someone, I wanted him. I let go of his wrist, the only acquiescence I could offer, and reached for him.

I needn't have bothered; with my own hand mostly numb and the light so bad I didn't know what I was doing. Edward obviously did. He had a route planned out and he forged along it eagerly, pushing and prodding me to greater heights of desire. He hissed and moaned and made appreciative noises over me, like he had while bathing.

I couldn't find the breath to make noise at all, but I felt it. I felt every touch of his hand on my skin, shivered at the contrast of warm skin and cool metal, hot blood and cold air. He pushed his way between my legs, impatient but not rough, and did his damnedest to unmake me. Some older part of my pride might have objected, if things like dignity and pride hadn't long since been forgotten on the path I had walked.

I needn't have worried. It was careful and rough and so very, very good, far more satisfying than anything I had ever done with a woman. I finished first, and reached for him, still moving over him; I only wanted to feel him.

When he came, he shouted his brother's name in my ear.




"Look, I already apologized. Stop being mad."

I didn't turn around. "Go back to sleep, Fullmetal."

A growl, and a thump like a fist striking stone. "Oh, so now I'm 'Fullmetal,' am I? Not Edward?"

"I'm not Alphonse."

No, I wasn't Alphonse. And Edward wasn't my brother. But that did not make what we had just done one bit less shameful. I was more angry at myself than at him. For my weakness. For my desires. Edward was a teenager, confused and lonely and hormonal; I was not any of those things.

I was not most of those things.

I was not a hormonal teenager, at least. I should have known better than to give in to temptation, give Edward what he thought he wanted. It wasn't me; I knew it wasn't me. Bad enough to give in to debauchery, knowing that neither of our hearts were here.

"I know that! Geez! It's not what you're thinking, okay? I don't want to fuck Alphonse."

"Shut up." I didn't want to hear it. "Go back to sleep."

"Like hell. Just listen to me, will you? I don't want to have sex with Alphonse. He's my own brother, for God's sake. And besides that, he was like... he was twelve when I last saw him -- really saw him, I mean. I know I'm messed up, but I'm not that sick, okay?"

I stared up at the moonlight, and didn't answer.

"I'm serious." Edward swore with frustration, then sighed. "I wasn't imagining that I was doing stuff with him. All right? I was just... thinking abut him."

I turned my head. "Thinking about him."

"Yeah." I could see him out of the corner of my eye; he frowned, and wrapped his arms over his chest.

"You think about your brother during sex."

He stared at the ground; his voice, when it came, was surprisingly soft. "I think about him during everything."

It was my turn to stare. He ran his hand through his hair, then clenched his fingers in the strands. "I think about him day and night. Worrying about him. Wondering where he is. Wanting him back here. I can't stop it. I try to think of other things, but it just never goes away. I have to think about other things or I'll go crazy. But I still -- can't -- stop."

Being a distraction was not all that great a promotion from being a substitute, but Edward's misery was palpable. I hadn't been terribly angry to begin with. I used to get so angry, so very angry; but now it seemed I'd lost the trick of it. "Go to sleep, Edward."

Ed gave a shaky, unsteady laugh. "Oh, so now I'm Edward again?"

His words were flippant but his tone was wretched. With a small sigh, I levered myself up again and returned to the cave. My shadow filled the entrance, blocking off the rest of the light; I could only pick out Edward by his own glow. I sat on the end of the mattress, legs folded under me, and reached out to touch his hair. "Go to sleep."

"I should have known better than to try and get any sense out of you. It's like talking to a parakeet." He crawled forward, dragging the blanket with him. "Fine. I'll beat a better answer out of you in the morning, then."

He pillowed his head on his thigh, and closed his eyes. When his breathing had evened and slowed, I put my hand on his head and stroked his hair.

The last time I had put my hand on his hair, it was soaked from the rain, and the air was full of screams and blood and gunpowder. I had killed five men that day already and Edward was just another name on my list.

His eyes were the first that had held mine, unafraid, as death came for him, but that would not have stopped me, back then. I could have killed him in an instant, then, if not for the pleas and cries of his brother in the background, begging him to run and save himself, begging for his life. Begging for his older brother to be spared.

You saved me...

Edward slept. I did not. I watched the sky creep towards dawn, and searched the horizon for a smudge of crimson.



When Edward woke, it was hard to tell which he missed first: my presence, or the Stone.

Either way, he gave a shout and a moment later came scrambling out of the entrance to the cave, hair and eyes wild and his pants still not on. He looked thoroughly disheveled, not that I was in any mood to enjoy the view.

Edward stopped short when he saw me, facing the sunrise and holding the Stone in my hand. I could feel it, barely; slightly warm and far too slick to be natural stone, more like oiled steel than glass. It didn't matter. I had known the moment I touched it, known what I had suspected all along; what Edward, too, must know, even as he fiercely denied it with all of his strength of will.

"I intended to die in Lior."

That stopped Edward in his tracks. I didn't look up, keeping my eyes on the center of the Stone.

"My brother had sealed his power into his own body, and then into mine. The array would have used that body as a focus, and the Stone would have crystallized inside my heart."

Edward's mouth dropped open, and he took a step forward. "But," he said, in a strangled tone, "that didn't happen -- I mean, obviously it didn't. You, you didn't die."

"I did."

"But --" A sharply indrawn breath "Then that means -- you must have seen -- the Gate?"

"Is that how you see it?" I glanced up at him, bemused, then back down. "If that's your word for it... then yes. I did pass through those doors. I died and I would have remained dead if Alphonse had not intervened."

"Al?" Ed whispered. "How?"

"The Crimson Alchemist had transmuted the metal of his body into a bomb," I said. "He told me that the only way to save him was to transmute his body into something else.

"As I told you before, I am not an alchemist. And by this time the soldiers were already moving into the city, fully willing to kill anyone and anything that crossed their path. I did the only thing I could do. I prepared the only transmutation I knew how. I sealed my arm into his body; I made him into the focus of the Array."

I looked up at last, at the end of this. Edward was pale, his eyes terrible and terrified. I thought he might kill me then, just to stop from hearing what I said next.

"It was your brother, not I, who received the power of the Stone; he chose to use this power to return me to life."

"But -- Al?" Ed was begging, now. "What happened to Al?! Where did he go!"

"He didn't go anywhere, Edward." I made my voice as soft as I could; harsh as the desert wind, that wasn't much. "He has been with you. You've known it all along."

"NO!"

"You've known it," I interrupted, pushing on past his anguish, "or else you would not have kept the Stone close to you, every moment waking or sleeping; you would not be so desperate to hide the Stone from the eyes of anyone who would want to use it. You would not have buried your head in the sand and refused to look at the truth."

"You're lying," Ed said desperately, "you're lying, you have to be --"

"Take it," I said, rising up and coming to crouch in front of him, holding the Stone out before me. He recoiled, backing away as if I'd offered him a hot coal. "Take it and look, really look for a change. You don't need eyes like mine to see it. Your brother's soul is here."

Edward was trembling. Reluctantly, he opened his hands in front of him, and I dropped the Stone in; feeling an almost palpable shock at the loss of contact. Edward flinched, hard, and then raised his cupped hands to his face, lips moving on some soundless plea.

With a little cry, he ran his fingers over the faceted lines of the gem; an eight-pointed star, with the flaw in the very center, shaped like a hook to catch and hold, to bridge the gap between the material and the ethereal. "No," he moaned, a look of anguish on his face. "No legs, no hands, no eyes, no voice, no no no...."

He choked, and tears spilled over from his eyes, running down his cheeks in sheets. He doubled over, rocking back and forth on his heels, and the tears dripped off the point of his chin to slide down the Stone still held in his upturned hands.

I wondered if Alphonse could feel them.





It was nearing sundown before I approached him again. He had retreated into the cave, to the very back by the spring, as far as one could get from the sunlight. He didn't look up until I dropped into a crouch in front of him.

"I thought you might kill me."

"What would be the point?" Ed murmured dully. "You did it to save him. I'm not stupid. You didn't do anything worse to him than I did on that night -- "

His voice cracked, and he had to stop and take a deep breath. I waited a beat, but he didn't say anything more.

"I am sorry."

"What are you apologizing to me for?" Ed ran his fingers over the facets of the Stone, unceasingly. "I'm not the one who's suffering."

"He's not suffering, Edward," I told him; softly, but with finality. "His spirit is sleeping. He knows you are near, and he is content."

He looked up at me, eyes huge with hope at first, then sudden suspicion. "How the fuck do you know?" he demanded.

"It was he who gave me my life again." I looked down into the depths of the red jewel; to my eyes, as brilliant as a small sun. "As well as the rest." I gestured with my new arm. "Apparently that leaves traces that can't be erased."

Edward relaxed, slowly, then managed a smile. "Well," he said, "you said you gave him your arm. And he gave you a new one back. It's equivalent trade, isn't it?"

It isn't equivalent exchange. It's just the right thing to do. "I doubt it," I said.

The sound of the spring was loud in the silence.

"You know," Ed said suddenly, after a while, "I think you might have got the wrong idea. It's not you who's on the run from the military, with me hiding you, y'see. It's me who's on the run." Another rusty, humorless chuckle. "First time we met you were a criminal and I was a cop, or close enough for government payroll. Now I'm the fugitive, and you... you're free. You could go anywhere, do anything you want."

For that, there would have to be something I wanted. "The military will be looking for the ones responsible for Lior."

"Yeah, but they'd have to know it was you, first." Ed grinned. "Hell, you don't know anything about military records, do you? They don't know a thing about you except that you're an Ishvarite male with a scar on his forehead and strange tattoos on his right arm. I could count the number of people who've seen your face up close with my automail off. You could probably walk into any military station and nobody would know."

I gave him a look that hopefully wasn't as confused as I felt.

Apparently it was, because his expression registered astonishment. "You mean you didn't notice?"

"What?"

"Seriously? You're fucking with me, right? You seriously didn't know?" He scrambled forward, face animated once more, although he still kept the Stone cradled protectively close. "What an idiot!"

He reached automail fingers towards my face, and I tensed -- but all that happened was that he brushed them across my forehead, then down the bridge of my nose. And as light as that touch was, I felt it. I felt it.

I found myself over the basin of the spring before I'd even realized I was moving. And there was my reflection -- dark, blurred, and wavering, but there was no mistaking it.

Edward was saying something to me, a teasing tone slowly giving way to guarded concern, but the language was all noise to me right now. Because this was, this was --

The Stone, perhaps, could give life to the dying -- that was why men sought it. The Doors of the Dead could grant men new eyes, to see past all illusion. Alphonse might have granted me a new arm, to replace what I'd given him -- but this.

This was not in the realm of mortal men. Only Ishvarra could grant forgiveness.




I decided to leave the spring. Originally I'd wanted it destroyed, but perhaps it would help some other fugitive or traveler.

"Will you be all right?" I asked. "Both of you."

Ed grinned, a tired and painful smile. "We'll keep out of sight," he said. "And I'll be damned if I don't find a way to fix this -- somehow -- without hurting him."

I didn't doubt him.

"Where will you go?" Ed asked.

"I don't know." I thought I might search for my people; I thought I might wait on that until I had found more of myself. Somewhere out there, in the spinning cathedrals of sand.

"Do better than that," Ed said impatiently. "What if I -- you know. Want to see you."

I looked at him with some surprise; he was biting his lip. Not with shyness. He feared a conflict of obligations.

I made it easy on him. I smiled. "When Alphonse returns," I told him, "ask him -- he will know how to find me."



This might be the end. Might not. I wanted something a little more. I'll see if it comes to me tomorrow, then recheck everything, put it together in a grand post, and show anax. Phew.

Comments

[lily22.livejournal.com]

I would type a random jumble of letters here, but somehow I doubt you'd appreciate that. All I can really say is WOW.

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

*laughs* I think the 'wow' gets the same point across.

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Er... actually, I lied. I posted first at 4:45, looked at it again, then added the 150-word section at the end which basically encapsulated everything else I wanted to add. Bringing it to a grand total of 10,000 words even. Now I kind of don't want to break that balance. XD

[tir-synni.livejournal.com]

*mewls* I was sniffling at one point. You know you want to do more. *nods solemnly*

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Which point? *wants to know for notch-cutting reasons*

[tir-synni.livejournal.com]

When the truth about the stone was revealed. *sniffles some more*

[herongale]

I think you should basically end it here. The story is complete as is.

*adores*

I will post a complete review when you put it all together. :)

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Basically did. Just added a few lines.

[nanchan21.livejournal.com]

This is a gorgeous piece of fiction. It was sad, hopeful, hot, and all sorts of other things that I cannot currently untangle from my jumbled brain. The one part that really sticks out for me is the image of Ed being too bright for Scar to look at directly. Again, simply gorgeous.

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Thanks! I was kind of fond of that image, since I was bastardizing a few mythologies for it.

[zalia.livejournal.com]

*stares incoherently at screen*

Wow.

Ummm, that covers it I think ^^;

I think the bit about Alphonse having gotten rid of Scar's scar was my favoutie. Very poignant.

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Well, it's up to the reader to decide whether that was Alphonse's doing or not. :) Scar doesn't seem to think it was, but hey, he's not always terribly rational.

[cephiedvariable.livejournal.com]

*cough*

Um, although I am a great admirer of your writing I'm posting here for a rather random and awkward reason.

I, erm, am just wondering what your policy on friending is? I've realized lately that my random stalking of writers I like's journals is rather rude since I feel awkward commenting if I'm not friended so... uh...

wouldyoukillmeifIfriendedyou? ^___^;; *ded*

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Of course not. :D Anyone may friend me. This is a writing blog, so I may not friend back, but all my posts are public.

[devils-devotion.livejournal.com]

Dude, you should friend Cephie back. She writes asskicking fics, and honestly, if you've friended me, she's like, a 1000 times better. O.o

[materia-indigo.livejournal.com]

Then I'm going to friend you too, if that's all right!

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

It certainly is. :)

[asidian.livejournal.com]

Guh. Must comment here too. But this fic kicked my ass -that- much. *still in -pain-*

Line that made me cry the hardest: '"He's not suffering, Edward," I told him; softly, but with finality. "His spirit is sleeping. He knows you are near, and he is content."'

...oh, gods, it's doing it -again-. ;_;

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

...yeah, I really liked that line. ^^; For all its melodrama.

[devils-devotion.livejournal.com]

You know what? I like your proposed ending. It was a trifle dramatic, but it certainly doesn't leave you with a feeling of hopelessness, and that's really what's important to me about fic endings. ^^ Everything about this story was so utterly digestible, and I enjoyed every minute of it.

I think Ed's bit about how he thinks about Al during EVERYTHING he does was my favorite. It struck me as being absurdedly true, and it was nice that it's not misconstrued in a pairing way. (You know, openly, at least. XD;;)

Eeeeee, this was lovely. Here's hoping anax likes it. ♥

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Apparently he does! *dances*