Chapter Text
Ed can’t quite believe it’s real.
It’s a whirlwind, a cacophony, everything that has happened––his father caught in Envy’s jaws, him being shot and thrown across dimensions, seeing Al, seeing Winry, the war, flying back, fully expecting never to see anyone he knew again, Alfons’ death, and then…
It hasn’t sunk in, yet, that Al––his baby brother, his pride and joy––is standing before him in the flesh, looking like hope. Looking like home.
Ed still blinks at Al, eyes darting between him and Noah, like he’s asking are you seeing the same things as I am? Is this real?
There’s a million things running through his mind––Alfons is dead (Alfons died for him, Hohenheim died for him), Noah is covered in blood, what does he do with the flat, they need to get papers for Al, how the hell will they explain this to the authorities and also close the Gate without alchemy–
He doesn’t notice his rapid breaths until he feels Al’s hand (his warm, human hand) on his arm.
“Are you okay, Brother?”
Ed looks at Al, at his wide grey eyes, his freckles (when did he get them?), his bright red coat he likely stole, that copycat, and something in him relaxes. He unclenches his fists, loosens his shoulders, and smiles at Al.
“Yeah, Al. I’m okay.”
For the first time in years, he thinks that maybe, he will be.
Alfons’ funeral is a somber affair.
Ed has to stop himself from staring at Al for too long and not see the ghost of Alfons cross over his features. He wonders how Alfons’ mother must feel, seeing the copy of her son by Ed’s side. Actually, he knows. It feels goddamn awful and heart-wrenching.
You replaced him, you never even bothered to get to know him, you selfish piece of sh–
Ed shudders and rubs his eyes. He hopes his sleepless night doesn’t show, that the whisky on his breath has been brushed away. He had to. His automail (and his heart) was hurting too much.
His mind flickers to Winry. He didn’t say goodbye, again. Two years of dreaming about her and the moment he’d come back, how he’d tell her “I’m home, Winry, let me be your home, take me home” and they’d–
No, no. None of that. Now’s not the time for regrets. He can’t cry over spilt milk.
He buries his grief as Alfons’ coffin is lowered into the ground. Deep into the earth, locked away for no one to see.
He bites his lip to keep the stinging in his eyes from spilling over. He doesn’t deserve to cry over something that’s his fault. Not when he wasted Alfons’ sacrifice and came back, and for what–
Something nudges him in the rib and he turns to see Al nod in Noah’s direction. The music is blaring and she is magical, ethereal in her moves and the emotion they convey. Ed finds himself transfixed, his curiosity piqued over the kind of magic dancing creates.
“She’s really good,” Al beams, voice full of admiration.
“Yeah,” Ed sighs. “She is.”
Al takes some time to warm up to Noah.
Maybe it’s the awkwardness of him being 13, far from the 17 he should be if Ed hadn’t fucked up again. Ed finds it funny, almost cute.
“Al, she’s not some supernatural creature, it’s fine! Just ask her questions about dancing or whatever, she won’t bite!”
Al huffs and puffs and clings to him like a lifeline. Ed can’t help but find it endearing. How can he blame Al for wanting him close when they ended up separated for so long?
Noah bridges the gap like a line artist, graceful and agile.
They’re sitting by the fire with the other Roma and she extends a hand to Al.
“Want to learn how to dance?”
Al looks at him hesitantly. Ed grins and smacks him on the back, urging him up.
Noah winks at him as she leads Al towards the circle where people are dancing and takes his hands in hers, showing him a beginner move.
Ed leans his head on his hand, watching his brother bond with the person he considers his friend, and smiles.
Al and Noah come back, faces flushed with sweat and joy, and pull Ed up with a mischievous glance at each other.
“Your turn now!” Noah teases, taking his hand while Al takes the other.
“Hey!” Ed protests. “Leave me alone! I’m a lost cause anyway. I’ll break your toes if I step on them!”
“Nonsense,” Noah laughs as her and Al bring him out into the open and coax a few moves out of him.
It’s ridiculous. Nonsensical. Frivolous, even.
And yet, Ed can’t help but have fun. Can’t help the smile that turns into a grin that becomes a laugh as he, Al and Noah spin and jump to the music until they collapse, breathless and giddy.
It’s only later, when Al has gone to sleep, that Noah comes to sit with him by the dying fire and hands him a beer.
Their hands briefly touch in the exchange. Ed takes the drink without a word, though his skin feels warm where her fingers just were.
They sit in silence for a moment. Ed lets out a silent sigh.
“You were thinking about Alfons, right?”
He tenses up, wants to protest and lie. There’s no use. Noah has seen right through him.
There’s no point in hiding. So he lets himself be seen.
“Yes.”
Noah pulls him into a wordless hug and Ed breathes in her touch.
Their travels take them across the country, across borders. Ed discovers the snowy mountains of Norway, auroras borealis green spanning across the sky, and the refreshing dips in a fjord.
He sees the pyramids in Egypt, speeds down Parisian sidewalks with Al, baguettes in the back for them and Noah, marvels at the beauty of architecture, pasta and the dolce vita in Italy. The world is a marvel, their home is a gift he feels the need to protect more than ever.
He still wakes up with a scream lodged in his throat most mornings. His dreams take him down roads of agony where Al is lost to him forever and Winry is taken past her breaking point, with him unable to do anything but watch in horror as she bleeds out in a human transmutation circle.
He doesn’t tell Al. There’s no need to instill doubt in his brother’s mind, so Ed quiets his beating heart with a sip from his flask and gets on with his day, occasional automail pain be damned.
Noah is there, always. She knows, with just a touch, whether to hand him a cup of coffee of Armstrong-like strength or a soothing cup of chamomile.
On such a morning, he grabs her hand and gives it a squeeze.
“Thank you,” he says. “For being here.”
Something sprouts between them as winter turns to spring and nature blooms.
Ed finds himself enjoying time spent with her, delights in her smile and her quiet presence. He finds comfort in touch, not flinching when she brushes against him or they walk with shoulders touching.
One night, she takes him out for a spin, and through the twists and turns and pas de deux, he finds his heart beating to a new rhythm. One he hadn’t allowed himself to feel since a fateful trip to a butcher’s warehouse taught him that those closest to you will be used against you.
Alcohol flowing in their veins, the air starts to fill with its own buzz.
When her lips meet his, it’s like being drunk on the best cocktail imaginable. He loses himself in the blurred thoughts zooming in and out of his mind, the slurred images and the music around them fading out to the beat of their hearts singing.
It’s like stepping through a portal to a new world of sensations and sounds that send his senses into orbit, through the fabric of time of space.
Like a bottle hidden in the lapel of a coat, they sneak out to explore each other and stay out until dawn.
This time, it’s his hormones spreading wildfires through his veins that make his head spin and tie his tongue, as Noah peels his shirt off and trails her hands down his arms, down his stomach, down to the button of his pants, which come undone as easily as she’s just unmade him.
He doesn’t notice his breath quickening, or his hands shaking with nervous anticipation. He’s lost in her soft curves and the allure in her eyes as she lies down and reaches for his hand, tumbling him on top of her.
He doesn’t register what’s happening. But suddenly he’s naked, she’s naked and he’s on the doorstep to a tantalising softness, a universe off-limits for so long; one she’s allowing him to enter, permission given with heated kisses and hands gripping his hair.
Ed had heard tales through the grapevine, from loose soldier lips to Havoc’s endless quips; it doesn’t compare to the abyss of ecstasy he feels with Noah. He holds her after, stroking her face with his flesh hand.
When she kisses his knuckles, he feels her lips on his heart.
It takes them a few tries for Ed to learn his hands can produce pleasure too.
He can’t help but stare at them in awe. His bloodstained hands- the hands of a killer –have created something so wonderful, so powerful, without alchemy.
A few days later after many tries and a whole lot of cursing, Noah’s smile when he hands her the flower crown (as a thank you for trusting him and giving him hope again) makes it all worth it.
“So, Ed, did you get into a fight last night?”
Ed blushes all the way to his scalp and hides his face in his towel. “What makes you say that?”
Al smirks. “Like the mark on your neck and the scratches on your back when you went to shower? Are you giving me a cat for my birthday?”
Ed’s mouth falls open, words (and pure, unadulterated embarrassment) strangling him.
Al embraces him. “I’m happy for you, Ed. You deserve it.”
She’s the song that takes his heart dancing.
She’s his new drinking habit, and he’s intoxicated by her. She’s his anchor to the earth while his other senses leave for starry skies.
The world blurs and falls away until it’s just the two of them, caught in their endorphin (and whiskey) fuelled haze.
He’s her Shamballa, she’s his memory of home.
She’s the promise of a new beginning, a new world where he can actually be happy and make a home in it.
The realities of the world end up catching up to them: Al has to be put in school, and Ed needs a stupid dumbass bitch degree if he wants to get closer to the bomb.
They return to Munich with a heavy sigh, the feeling of summer vacation being over and school starting next week.
No, literally, school starts next week for Al and Ed has to report to his new university.
But they’re together and Noah is here, always there while they cook, read, shop for supplies and share stories from all their travels into the early hours.
As he hangs another picture frame of the three of them, Ed looks over to Noah and Al sprawled on the couch.
This is home.
Luckily Noah is there to put water on his sore thumb when he inevitably misses the nail with his hammer.
It’s on a dark and stormy night, when his automail flares from the drop in pressure that Ed goes to find his long lost friend in the liquor cabinet.
Only two swigs, he promises himself. Enough to kill the pain and allow him a decent sleep. Tomorrow he’ll have to find another way.
It’s not a perfect existence.
Some days, he longs for the pastures in Risembool, the grey air of East City and the faces in Command. He misses the unit, Hawkeye and Black Hayate. He misses Granny and their bickering. He finds himself wishing for Winry to walk through the door and hit him with a wrench to the skull. The lack of her is a void in his heart, only filled by Al and Noah coming home and taking his mind off his pain and his walks down the path of nostalgia.
Hughes, Gracia and little Elisa come for dinner and Ed marvels at the garden that’s grown from the ashes.
It took a minefield of loss- his mother, his home, his friends -to get here. But he has Al, he has a goal, and he has Noah.
Maybe, just maybe, they’ll be okay.