Poor Little Fool

Disclaimer: I don't own FMA, just the OC's I've created for this story.

Summary: Trapped in the machine world, Edward and Alphonse have resigned themselves to making new lives here, as teachers at a small private college in England. Al is engaged to be married to the squire's daughter, while Edward starts an affair with a married woman.
Beta: Serenanna

Chapter Two: Affaires de coeur


Sometime between three and four o'clock of a Saturday morning, Edward dragged himself home to the old stone house he shared with Alphonse. His key didn't scrape when he inserted it into the lock because he'd oiled it earlier in the week so there would be no noise to wake his little brother up. The hinges of the front door had been oiled also, so they didn't squeak when he stealthily opened it, then closed it behind him. Edward tiredly slipped off his coat and hung it in the hall closet (hinges also oiled, natch), then his shoes. After making sure the door was locked, he tiptoed down the hall to the kitchen and the back stairs to his bed room.

I've given up my precious virginity,

Edward could have taken the front stairs, but going that way meant he would have had to pass close by Al's bedroom. It would be just his luck if his brother was waiting up for him, all knitted brows, glaring eyes, and frowning mouth. He could point out till he was blue in the face that he was a big boy now and could stay out till long after his bedtime, but Al would continue to worry about him, especially after he learned what Edward was up to.

I've been deflowered by that woman.

He snuck up the stairs, moving in a kind of zig-zaggy way to avoid the treads he knew would creak - but he missed one - and the sound it made seemed loud enough to wake the dead. Edward froze in position, his breath in suspension, but no light clicked on, no sleepy voice called "Brother?" Edward eventually resumed breathing again, and he gently moved his left foot off the offending tread, and back one to a solid step he knew would be quiet. Once he made the upper hallway, he snuck a cautious peek back at Al's door. It was slightly open, and soft, even breathing issued from inside the room.

I feel like a whore, I should be ashamed of myself.

Edward continued to walk cautiously, the hall was a minefield of loose and creaking floorboards. If someone were to have seen him, he would have appeared to be dancing as he moved left and right, and occasionally backtracked to avoid making any unneccesary noise. After what seemed to be an eternity, he finally reached the safety of his bedroom at the far end of the hall. There was a creaky floorboard just inside the door, and he took one big step over because treading on it would make a noise which would be certain to wake Alphonse up. He pushed the door almost shut, before going to his dresser and pulling open (the glides waxed to avoid any squeaking) the bottom drawer.

What I've done is immoral and illegal.

Edward began undressing right on the spot, just tossing his clothes into an untidy pile before pulling on his flannel pajamas. Winter nights in old houses tended to be chilly, and he padded quickly over to his bed, but climbed in slowly. The springs tended to squeak loudly if he jumped in too fast. He pulled back the top quilt, then the four thick woolen blankets, and finally the flannel top sheet just enough to slide his legs and body in. His bed was cool, but it quickly warmed up from his body heat, and he soon drifted off to the Land of Nod. But before he lost consciousness entirely, one last thought bubble drifted across his brain.

But I think sex feels wonderful!
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Edward hadn't exactly planned on having an affair anymore than Claire had. A couple of months before, he had innocently walked down the lane (more like a wide footpath) which doglegged down the hill from his home to a certain vantage point halfway way down. The long-dead builders of the stone wall which defined the boundries of the lane had thoughtfully built in a low stone bench right about there. It had become Edward's habit to come here in the early evening to claim a seat, smoke a cigarette and watch the sunset. Nothing could come close to the brilliant sunsets of Risembool, but the colors reflected into the sky over Hampden Welles - reds, oranges, purples, blues - were almost as spectacular.

He only smoked once, maybe twice a day, but Alphonse didn't like it when he smoked in the house. He would wrinkle his nose and squint his chocolate-brown eyes when he smelled Edward's Dunhills. If he did happen to light up indoors, Edward would invariably get the lecture about the health risks of smoking, the numbers of people who died because they'd fallen asleep while smoking in bed, how smoking made his teeth yellow and his breath stink, not to mention the inevitable scorch marks on the furniture. After a few of these lectures, Edward always went outside to smoke what he called his bedtime cigarette, for no matter how keyed up he'd been during the day, that first puff of smoke made his mind go all slack. Just a few puffs, held briefly in his mouth and then quickly exhaled did the trick. The rest were like icing on the cake.

If he was able to have just that one cigarette at dusk, he slept like a baby all night and woke up in a cherubic mood. But if, for some reason, such as it was pouring rain, or the lane was slick with ice, and he wasn't able to get outside, his sleep was fitful and restless. And his mood the next day would always be rotten - unless he could find time for a smoke during the lunch hour - then he was all sweetness and light for the rest of the afternoon. His students learned not to bother him on days like this. Yet if someone needed to bum a cigarette, or a light, he would oblige. But he needed twenty minutes strictly without interruption. If he could get that, the terrible Professor Elric would retract his claws for the afternoon.

That Tuesday evening, he lounged on the stone bench and stared at the sky, his mind blank. Edward quite liked the bench, it was deep enough he could sit comfortably, and low enough he could put both feet flat on the ground. The curl of smoke from his Dunhill ranged straight up into the still air, and sound carried without a wind to blow it apart. Edward noted the squeak of nearby gate hinges, but he paid it no mind until a feminine voice spoke to him.

"Is that a Dunhill?" His eyes refocused from whatever far away vision they were seeing, to the woman who had stopped a few feet away from him. Edward usually preferred to be alone, but he smiled at her in recognition.

"Um, yes it is, but it was the last one in the pack, sorry."

"No, no, that's quite all right, I have my own, and I was wondering if you'd like to try one. It's a Galoise, and I think they are better than Dunhills."

"Oh, really!?" Edward's Dunhill wasn't even half smoked, but he dropped it to the ground and crushed it out under his heel before taking the Galoise she offered. Purely as a reflex, he stood up, and his right hand dipped into the pocket of his coat to pull out a silver-plated lighter. Claire already had her cigarette between her full, red lips, so Edward stuck the one she gave him between his before clicking the lighter between them. He allowed her to light up first before igniting his own, and being a gentleman, Edward offered her the bench. She accepted with grace, and for perhaps five minutes, they smoked in silence, until Claire broke the peace.

"I notice you don't inhale all the way," Edward smiled at her again, Claire had shiny auburn hair under her fashionable hat, her dark green eyes sparkled, and her complexion was a creamy white overlain with a faint blush which looked natural and not applied by a brush. Claire was also quite petite, and he had nearly a full head on her.

"No, I seem to get the full effect just by holding it in my mouth for a bit. And thank you for this, by the way; I think the smoke tastes smoother, and it even smells less acrid." Edward looked at her again, while pretending not to. Her dress was covered by a long coat in a dark green check, which matched her hat, but he couldn't say if her ankles and legs were shapely because her feet were encased in galoshes.

"You are quite welcome, Mr...?"

"Elric, Edward Elric. Professor of Physics, but it's a meaningless title anyways, so Mister is fine."

"And I'm Claire, Claire Travers," she paused and thought for a second before adding, "Mrs. My husband is with the East India Company, he's stationed in Hong Kong."

Edward was a gentleman, so he bowed to her, and she inclined her head. As a proper married woman, she didn't shake hands with men she wasn't well acquainted with. But that didn't mean she couldn't look at him, and Claire thought Edward was handsome. Well, he was too thin, and didn't fill out his clothes very well, which looked a bit baggy on his frame. His hair was too long to be fashionable, but it was clean and neatly trimmed, the high ponytail hanging thick and lush. In contrast, his chin and cheeks were clean-shaven, showing off a sharp jawline, and facial planes. Above the chin, his nose and eyes were well shaped, although the latter seemed too large for his face,but their unusual golden color balanced out that flaw. Despite all the flaws, Claire always thought slightly imperfect men were more interesting, that is what had attracted her to Sam, and the young professor would make an excellent lover. Now the preliminary introductions were over, she could gradually broach the subject to him and see how he reacted.

Far too soon it seemed, their cigarettes were just stubs, and the night was drawing over the remains of the sunset. Edward suddenly realized he hadn't watched it, but then he also realized it had paled in comparison with the woman he'd been talking to. He dropped the cigarette to the ground before he crushed it out. He bowed to Claire again and said goodnight, then partly turned to leave, but her next words stopped him.

"See you here tomorrow?"

"Er, yes, that would be very nice. Tomorrow evening then, just before sunset." Edward felt like an awkward teenager again, why was he spouting such stilted words? He analyzed the situation in his mind and concluded he just didn't have the gift of small talk, especially with women.

They went their seperate ways, both feeling like there was something to look forwards to. Tomorrow.
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Claire never waited at the stone bench for Edward, because she hated to wait and she knew she would eventually start to pace impatiently for the young man. The town was small, and there were eyes and ears everywhere, and before long the gossip would start. So she paced in her bedroom instead, and when she saw him sitting there, she got her coat and hat, and came outside as if she was going for a walk. For two weeks, they chatted about inconsequential things while watching the winter sunsets. Occasionally, one of the neighbors would stop by and watch with them. It all looked so innocent, for which Claire thanked God, because she was losing her nerve.

It took another week for her to tell him about Sam.

Claire gave him the whole chapter and verse, how they met on a church outing as teenagers, 'walked out' with one another while at college, the day he drunkenly proposed to her while punting on the Cam. When she said 'yes', he got so excited, he dropped the ring into the river, and then jumped in after it. She talked about their wedding day, their early travels as the Company moved Sam around, and then a series of miscarriages, which dashed their hopes of raising a family. And in a small voice she finally said

"I've recently found out he's been cheating on me, and he has been for years."

She dashed away the single tear which rolled down her cheek, freezing as it did so, she had more to tell. "He's got a mistress in Hong Kong, and - and *sniff* he's had children with her!"

The last three words came out in a sort of wail, and the tears came too fast for her to brush away. Suddenly, Claire felt herself enfolded in a warm embrace, and rough cloth against her cold, wet face. Claire's head was tucked underneath Edward's chin while his right hand stroked her hair, and her back was rubbed by his left. Edward didn't say anything, he didn't know any words which didn't sound hackneyed or trite. So he just held her, and tried to comfort her with his hands while she had herself a good cry.

Human contact. Claire wrapped her arms around him, and dug her cold hands into the fabric of his coat. It was touch Claire craved the most, just knowing she was held by sympathetic arms as she sobbed out the pain of her betrayal, the shame, the resentment, the anger, and the feeling of being powerless. He understands, ran her thought, he knows how it feels to be hurt. When her weeping slowed to sobs, she pushed away from Edward,and he promptly let go.

"I feel so silly, crying like a little girl over this," Claire blushed, and she was about to apologize for that too, when she realized it had gotten so dark, he probably couldn't see her face.

"Not at all," she heard his reply as a soft cloth - his handkerchief - was pressed into her right hand. "But what I can't understand is," Edward continued, "is why you put up with the way he's treating you."

Claire's heart sank. Of course, he wasn't from her 'class', Edward would not understand how marriages above his 'station' worked. The men did what they pleased, and the women could do nothing but accept it. That is the way things were, the way they had always been, and the way they would always be. Men like Sam could not only take mistresses, they could even have more than one, because society condoned their behavior. Of course, there were some rules the men had to follow, such as keeping their family lives, and their private lives seperate, and not embarrassing their wives with public, near to home displays of mistressy. Be discreet.

Wives had little recourse, because their lives were so restricted. Only the wealthiest and most independent of them could afford to keep lovers in London, or Paris. Things had changed somewhat in the 20th century, but not enough. If they were caught, the shame of a public divorce, and a loss of social status would surely follow, but the if the husbands were caught, they only got society's version of a slap on the wrist. Men could get away with it because they had 'needs'. Women weren't supposed to have lovers because they (supposedly) didn't have sexual 'needs', and if they did (and then only 'depraved' or 'sex mad' women did) their 'needs' were only to be satisfied by their husbands. Only the most blatant, the cruellest of unfaithful husbands suffered comparable punishment.

Sam had been truly blatant, but he was half a world away and he thought he could easily get away with it. He'd installed Claire in this big fancy house seven years ago so she could 'rest' after her last miscarriage. When the Company moved him back to Hong Kong, he went alone on the excuse travelling so far would be too much for her delicate system to take. But the letter from her former neighbor said his oldest child was TWELVE, which meant he'd taken up with this woman - no, this slut, whore, tramp on a prior visit to Hong Kong. They had been married only two months, practically newlyweds when he was first posted to this British colony, which means his eye was wandering before their marriage bed was even cold. That had been 13 years ago. She was such a - a FOOL, and he must laugh at her every day, Sam and his BITCH.

Claire's resolve returned in full force. She wanted revenge, but taking Sam to divorce court wasn't the solution, for that would bring her shame into full public view. Oh, as the wronged party in this, she would get the full sympathy of the town. But nothing else. Sympathy eventually wore out it's welcome, and it wouldn't be very satisfying anyways. She knew it was wrong, but her insides were boiling anew with anger. So if Sam had a lover, she would take a lover too, take this young professor into her bed. She could be discreet, no one would know, well, maybe Sissy, but her maid knew how to keep her mouth shut. There was just one problem.

Sex often ended in pregnancy, and she couldn't have that. Even if she didn't miscarry, she would eventually show. If the worst happened, and Claire's pregnancy went to term, she could claim the babe was adopted. No, that wouldn't work either. There was a fifty-fifty chance it would have it's father's golden eyes, and blond hair. Tongues would wag, and the gossip would eventually reach Squire Armstrong's ears, his daughter was engaged to marry the other Professor Elric. The Squire was noted for his strong morals, and he would make Sally break the engagement if her brother-in-law to be was having an affair. There were ways to avoid pregnancy, but obtaining them presented their own problems. She was a married woman, but with her husband out of the country, the town chemist would think it quite odd for her to come into his shop and ask for French sleeves.

She could ask Edward. The question was: how to do it without appearing desperate? How to convince him she really did desire him for himself, and not to assauge her hurt? She had to choose her words carefully, she'd heard the gossip about his temper, his iron-fisted rule of his classroom, and the minor scuffles he'd had with angry students or their fathers.

"I want revenge, Edward, but I can't divorce him. The cards are all in his hands, he could order me evicted from this house, with just the clothes on my back. Maybe not even that, his money bought these clothes, and he is within his rights to take them."

Edward said nothing in reply, his cigarette finished long ago. He stood there quietly next to her sitting on the bench (sometime after he'd let go, she had sat down there), his eyes gleaming in the moonlight reflected off the snow. His breath puffed out white from between his teeth as he asked a carefully considered question: "What sort of plan do you have in mind?"

Time stopped. Edward had just given her an opening to state her desires. Claire felt rather dizzy, as if an abyss had opened beneath her feet, and she was standing, indecisive on a narrow bridge, held up only by frayed ropes above it. Then she realized the cause of her dizziness was not breathing, so she sucked in a deep breath of the night air, which had gotten quite chilly, so her back teeth throbbed with dull pain.

She finally spoke, choosing each word with extra care, "I shall take a lover, a man whom I can respect, a man who respects me, a man who knows the risk he is taking, the risk we both are taking. It's not going to be wholly about sex, so he has to be a man I can converse with, because..." Claire trailed off as her mind went blank.

But Edward took up the slack. "Because you desire mental, as well as physical stimulation - am I right?"

Claire was so overwrought, she could have burst into tears at that moment. He hit it spot on! "Exactly right, Edward, someone like, a man like - you." She swallowed hard, and fought the urge to look up at him from under her eyelashes. She wasn't like one of those coquettes, those ingenues she saw at the pictures every Saturday night. Nor was she a damsel in distress who needed 'rescuing', she was a mature woman who was going to get a little 'even' with an unfaithful spouse. So she kept her gaze straight forward, dry, and clear eyed, dreading his response would be to walk away. But he stayed still, perfectly still, as if digesting this information.
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For his part, Edward's mind was in a whirl. He'd expected her to consider taking a lover, but, but ME!? He quite liked Claire, admired her even, but enough to sleep with her? After the occurances of that fateful night when he was eleven, and maimed in a failed human transmutation, Edward had kept other people at a distance. He didn't want anyone else to get hurt, he didn't want to get hurt. Sure, he loved his little brother, but that was a platonic, asexual love. He'd met and liked his sister-in-law to be, but they would never be more than cordial to one another. He was over thirty years old and emotionally stunted, he'd never even kissed a woman, much less been in bed with one. Kissing full on the lips, mouths open, hungrily exchanging breaths, tongue sliding against tongue...

What am I doing?! His mouth had suddenly gone dry, and he put his hand over his lips as if trying to force those thoughts back into the dark, primitive underbrain they'd come from. A deep, ancestral part of him said YES wholeheartedly to this whole lover idea. It desired Claire greatly and it telegraphed this desire to his civilized upper brain by flipping some neural switch which made the muscles in his groin tighten. Edward glared down at his traitorous crotch. STOP THAT! He needed to think clearly, and his long-suppressed hormones going haywire - some twenty years too late - wasn't helping him any.

This was taking a huge risk. It could cost him his job, hell, it could cost Alphonse his job, as well as his future bride. Claire would lose her social status and be shunned. But he would become a pariah, a social outcast. It would destroy Al, no he couldn't do that to him. On the other hand...

He was lonely. What?! Where had that come from? He was lonely, he desired human contact too. Hugging Claire had been an impulse move because he couldn't stand to see women cry. But it had felt so good, his body had been crying out for someone to hold him and he had hated to let her go. And now Claire was offeirng him more hugs, and kisses, and maybe - just maybe - the kinds of things couples did, naked, and in bed,between the sheets...that's quite enough! Edward bit the inside of his cheek until the pain brought his primitive impulses under control.

If we are careful, if we are discreet... Claire knew how to be discreet, and she could teach him how to be too. Alphonse would never find out, no one else would find out, they could be lovers and keep their secret. He bent down and put his face right near her's. "Claire? Why me?"

Her answer - she'd been thinking about it all the while his brain had been chasing it's tail made him feel his decision was the right one.

Claire lifted her head slightly, her chin held defiantly as she told him, "You are smart, and witty, and you make me laugh. You understood how I felt, and you gave me comfort without strings attached. I think you are interesting, and..." Now Claire blushed, and Edward not only saw her cheeks darken in the moonlight, he could almost feel the heat rising from her face.

"And...handsome." For some reason, that last word caused a warm thrill in his heart. He put his hands under Claire's arms, and drew her to her feet before he wrapped his arms around her for the second time that night. Claire just sighed as she melted into his embrace. She had not been so happy in such a long time and it was like greeting an old friend.

Hello, happiness.
Author's note: In case you are wondering why I haven't advertised this story in the forum, I haven't been able to get into the forum! I was so frustrated by my inability to log on, I then tried to register for a new account. But when I entered the security numbers, the system said they didn't match! I wonder if anyone else is having the same trouble.