tir_synni

Not a Slut!Ed ficlet.  Just a gen ficlet inspired by me wondering about Ed's reading habits.  Seriously, has anyone seen that boy read just for the hell of it?  *blinks*

The Written Word

Motionless, Edward Elric stood in front of the Central National Library. Two flesh hands grasped two flesh arms. Two flesh feet planted themselves firmly in the sidewalk. And two old, golden eyes stared at the large building in front of him.

He remembered the first time he had held an alchemy book. It had been thick and battered and filled with strange marks. At the time, that had been all that had been needed to incite a young Edward’s curiosity. When he had seen his mother smile at his and Al’s show of alchemy, it had inspired him to pick up another book, then another and another, just to keep his mother smiling.

When a dying Trisha Elric had revealed that their alchemy had reminded her of their bastard of a father, those happy memories had shattered.

The next time Edward had picked up an alchemy book, it had been with his mother’s tombstone clearly in his mind, his words to Al still ringing in his ears:

Let’s bring Mother back.

In his hunger to restore his family, Edward had devoured dozens of books. He had read constantly, to the point where Al told him he had been turning pages in his sleep. The complex formulas and symbols and archaic texts had been mere child’s play to him, and he had treated them as such.

Edward never forgot the feel of his limbs being torn from his body.

Edward never forgot the monstrous creature dying in the middle of the basement floor.

Most importantly, Edward never forgot his most precious person screaming out for him to help, please help, Brother! Help, Brother! as his body disintegrated.

After that, it was more than a year before the blond picked up a book again. Once more, he studied human transmutation, but he mostly focused on the Philosopher’s Stone. That search took him and his brother through countless towns, endless danger, and many unsuspecting lives.

In the end, Edward had succeeded in his quest. His beloved brother was whole, he need not ever suffer again from the pain of automail, and Edward had openly cheered when Winry had congratulated a blushing Alphonse with a kiss.

He just wished he could clean the blood from his hands . . . Hughes’ face from his mind.

He had never gotten the chance . . . to say . . . "thanks."

Edward bit his lip, staring at the towering building. State alchemists unassumingly walked in and out of its doors, most of them never realizing the power that rested in their hands. Not just power over one’s own life but power over hundreds, if not thousands, of lives. Power too easy to abuse, misunderstand, and underestimate.

Edward licked his bruised lips. Several people were beginning to give him odd looks. He barely noticed.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had ever read for the love of reading. He always concentrated on the destination. His mother’s happiness. His mother’s life. His brother’s restoration. Did he ever pick up a book and lose himself in the pleasure of its pages? Or were books just more tools, no more special than a hammer or nails?

"Hey, Boss." Edward stiffened, then relaxed as he recognized Jean Havoc’s voice. "Are you just going to stand there all day?"

He heard the worry in the man’s voice, and he turned to smile at the blond man. Those warm, concerned eyes never left his face. Edward’s smile became a little realer.

Of course . . . without books . . . without the journey of getting to the front flap to the back. . . .

"Nah," he dismissed, flashing Havoc a fanged grin. "I have a couple books Al loaned me at home. They’re fiction, but he says they’re pretty good."

Havoc smiled back, the move jangling the cigarette in his lips. "Want me to drive you, Boss?"

He couldn’t help it; Edward chuckled. "Sure. Mind taking the scenic route, though? Want to see how that new damned Fuhrer wrecked the place since his ascendence."