Rainjoyswriting - Distance.pdf - FMA Fanfiction - Mojaunicorn

Distance

"Hello?"

"Roy?"

For half a second complete blankness, and then - "Ellie?"

A pause, and a small, strained, amused breath. "You are the only person who calls me

that."

"I haven't heard from you since - well. Since your last letter."

"I'm sorry, I've been - Roy, it's Mother. I think I'm supposed to ask you if you're sitting

down."

"I take it Mother is dead."

A pause, but only for a moment. Then she said, quite quietly, "Yes."

"How?"

"Last night, in her sleep. She'd been ill for some time, the doctor says it was a stroke."

"I'm sorry. I should have asked if you're alright."

"I don't. I. Roy, the house is full of Aunts."

"I'm sorry."

"The - the funeral will be on Wednesday. I know your - job keeps you busy but . . ."

Silence.

"I'm sorry."

"Roy, it's her funeral."

"I'm sorry, Ellie, it's not pettiness talking, I'm really not that twisted a human being. My

husband's unwell. I can't leave him, someone has to mind Maes as well - I can't leave

him."

"It's her funeral ."

"Then finally she won't be able to disapprove of my choice on the matter."

"You really-"

"Ellie, I'm sorry, he's unwell. Are you alright? Do you need me there?"

"I have coped without you for almost thirty years, Roy, I'm sure I shall manage."

Quietly, "Are you alright?"

"The house is full of Aunts." she snapped at him. "Am I grieving, am I sad? I don't even

know. I believe I'm in shock. I believe the only thing I'm capable of grieving for now is my

own life. I- I'm getting hysterical again, I have got to stop this, I have got to make myself-"

"Ellie . . ."

"I'm fine. I have things to organise, I have to arrange food for the Aunts to disapprove of

after the funeral. The will is being read tomorrow, I'll call to tell you-"

"I don't want anything that was theirs."

"As you didn't so much as write in twenty years, I shouldn't keep your hopes up in that

regard." A pause, both of them still, no sound of movement over the line. And then, "Is he

very unwell?"

". . . he's seen the doctor. He just needs someone to take care of him, he's not good at

being gentle with himself."

"I'm sorry. I hope he improves."

"Thank you. Ellie . . ."

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry."

". . . yes. So am I. I'll call tomorrow night."

"Goodnight."

In that thoughtful aside that apparently hadn't changed in the twenty-eight years since

he'd last seen her, she murmured, "This is not how I envisaged telling my brother that his

mother is dead. Goodnight, Roy." and hung up.

Roy stared at the telephone for a moment, then put it back in its cradle. He stared at the

wallpaper behind the telephone for a moment. Then he turned for the staircase, walked

slowly back upstairs.

As he passed Maes' door he murmured, "No more reading now, Maes." and by the time

he'd opened the door to the bedroom he shared with Ed, he could hear Maes laying book

and torch on the floor. Roy closed his eyes for a second before he looked at Ed in the bed,

made himself smile, and closed the door behind himself.

"Was Al spazzing out again?" Ed said in a rough voice from the tangle he'd made of the

covers. "Tell him to stop calling, I'm fine, soon as I'm even finer I'm gonna smack him

with the bloody telephone-"

"It wasn't Alphonse. How are you feeling?"

Roy walked over, lifted and resettled the covers over Ed, brushed the hair from his heat-

damp face. Ed looked up at him from weary yellow eyes like low storm clouds, like old

bruises. "I'm alright."

It was his oldest lie, he didn't seem to know how not to say it. He'd said it two nights ago

when his spiking fever drove him from the bed and when he didn't come back, Roy

followed him to the bathroom, sitting with his back to the bath and clenched in half with

pain, shaking and sweating and even though he'd flushed the smell of vomit lingered in

the air. I'm alright. It was like he was pathologically unable to admit to needing

something, like the words just didn't exist in his vocabulary. I do not feel well. Could you

call a doctor? He chatted away in Ishballian to Maes and he'd learned ancient Cretan

right along with him, but I don't feel well was beyond him.

Roy touched the backs of his fingers to Ed's forehead, frowned, murmured, "I should

take your temperature again."

"The pills, the pills fuck you up too, I'm getting better. I am getting . . ."

"I know you are." Oh, Edward. "I know you are . . ."

"Are you alright?"

Roy looked down at him, tweaked the covers some more. "Hm?"

"You're - you look pale."

"It's the light. Come on, Edward, go back to sleep. You said you were tired, so sleep."

He mumbled into the pillow, "Was waitin' for you to get back."

He was curled on his side; Roy placed a hand between his shoulder blades, beside the

hard edge of the automail plating through his t-shirt, metal-cold against overheated skin.

"I'm back," he said softly. "So sleep."

Ed's body was too warm, Roy had touched his husband a thousand times and more and

knew from feel when something was wrong. Even if he was too warm already he knew

what Ed wanted, and climbed into bed beside him, put his arms around him. Ed turned

awkwardly, swallowed, nudged his nose to Roy's chest like a miserable dog. Roy kissed

the top of his head and whispered, "If it gets worse-"

"It won't. I'll sleep, it won't."

His pathological hatred of hospitals didn't make this any easier either. Roy held him hard,

harder than he meant to while Ed was so weakened but Ed just mumbled, "You sleep

too."

"Yes."

It was only a small lie. He turned the lamp off and stared into the dark over Ed's head,

slowly stroking his back, listening to his low breath as he slept.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He came home from work on time and so, essentially, early - a measure of how

concerned everyone had been, that Riza gave him both the weekend off and early

releases on Monday and Tuesday. Ed was slumped on the sofa in Roy's dressing gown,

with the radio on so he could pretend he was listening to that while he drowsily watched

Maes, surrounded by crayons and paper, drawing on the rug in front of the fireplace.

Roy leaned in, kissed Ed's forehead to sneakily check his temperature; just a very little

too warm, which could easily be attributed to the stuffy living room. "How are you

feeling?"

He smiled up at Roy. He looked washed out, exhausted, but not so ill anymore, not

dazed-eyed and a little delirious, not the man who'd trembled in the bed and kept calling

Maes 'Al' just two days ago. "Alright. Tired. How was work?"

"It was fine." He could feel Maes' attention from the rug. "And how was school, Maes?"

"We're going on a trip."

Roy knew, he was organising security for it. "That's nice. Where are you going?"

"City farm." Maes said, and held up a picture of a . . . cow. It was cut through with thick

crayon lines and coloured yellow and blue. "Cubist," Roy murmured, and Maes beamed.

"City farm my arse," Ed said, claiming Roy's shoulder by depositing his head heavily onto

it, his arms fastening around Roy's elbow. "Coupla scrawny-lookin' cows and an elderly

goat."

"They have chickens," Maes said defensively.

"We should take him to Riesembool again, we haven't been since the spring. The

cousins'll be enormous ."

Roy thought about cutting this evening in half, neatly slicing a line between before and

after he said, Edward, my mother is dead. But he'd been pretending he didn't even have

a mother for so long now that the words felt false, so he said, "Have you eaten?" and Ed

grimaced, put an arm around his stomach.

"No. Don't . . ."

"Some soup?"

"I'll puke."

"Toast? I'll make you some toast. Have you been drinking enough?"

"Yes, mother." Ed snarked.

Roy didn't even let his step hesitate as he passed through the doorway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He'd already got Ed into bed when the telephone rang again. Ed moaned into the pillow,

"I'll throttle him, it's only a fucking infection, I don't have the fucking plague -" because Al

had already called twice during the day, but Roy just kissed him beside his ear and

smoothed the sheets over him. "I'll get it."

At first Eleanor left little pauses as she spoke, as if thinking through full sentences cost

her too much.

"We read the will."

"I don't want anything that was theirs."

"Then give it to charity, throw it out of the window, set fire to it, you always enjoyed that."

"You can have it."

"What would I do with-? More money won't give me my life back-"

Why would his mother leave him anything, unless to leave him as confused and

suspicious as he felt? Though it was the proper thing to do. That had usually been reason

enough for his mother. "Ellie - are you alright?"

"No. Clearly, no. No. No . My entire life. Do you understand that? You left and I was stuck

with them, I didn't know how to leave them until I couldn't get out anyway and now I am

fifty years old and I have never had a life-"

"Ellie-"

"-and my mother is dead and has left me the goddamned house so I can rot in it just like she

did - and one of the Aunts just heard me swear and now I am doomed and I just don't care

anymore, I just don't care I want to-"

"Ellie-"

"Die. There's nothing left. I should just die and get it over with. All I'm going to do for the

rest of my life is sit in this damned house dying very, very slowly-"

Rainjoyswriting - Distance.pdf

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