Poor Little Fool

Disclaimer: I don't own FMA, I just like to play in it's world for awhile. I do own any OCs I've created for this story
Author's note: post series/movie. This chapter contains some frank talk about sex, and a few bad words.

Chapter Four: Processional


Alphonse flopped down on the couch in the sitting room, his head in a whirl. Every shred of common sense was screaming at him, you're getting married in an hour and half, why are you sitting - no, no! DON'T!! Don't lay down!

His big brother was right, he was getting too wound up, and a little lie-down would do him good. Alphonse took a couple of deep, cleansing breaths before he let his body sink into the over stuffed piece of furniture. His breath steadied, muscles relaxed, and his nerves gradually ceased their jangling. His brain was still going a mile a minute, but it felt so good to close his eyes and relax for a minute - just a minute.

Two minutes later, Edward looked around the doorway and smiled at the soft snore which could be heard coming from Alphonse.

He tip-toed back into the kitchen and his breakfast, sat back down and recommenced eating. Edward slowly chewed and swallowed his eggs and sausages, and sipped his coffee while reading the headlines in the London Times. But his brain was on auto-pilot because his mind was elsewhere, a mile down the lane, thorough a classic English garden, and into a rambling three story Georgian-style house of red brick.

Claire? What has happened to you?
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He'd slept disgracfully late last Saturday,was it really just a week ago? after that rather energetic session of lovemaking, until one p.m. Well, rather Alphonse woke him up at that time by dropping an ice cold washcloth on his bare back and shouting, "WAKE UP, SLEEPYHEAD!"

Edward had rolled over and given his little brother a basilisk glare, but Al saw his "dirty look" and raised him a "hairy eyeball".

"Brother, the tailor is waiting." Alphonse frowned and waved his left wrist in front of Edward's face. He meant for Edward to see the time, but the watch moved too fast, and Edward didn't have his glasses on, so all he saw was a white and black blur.

"Forrwhut?" Edward slurred, his higher brain functions were still in that twilight area between sleep and wakefullness, and they wanted to go back to the forner state right away. His eyes closed and his head dropped back on to the pillow.

"Final fittings of our wedding suits, brother! C'mon! Get -," he tugged hard on Edward's left arm, pulling him far enough off the bed so he landed head-first on the floor with a soft clunk! "UP!"

"RRRR!" Edward growled angrily. After shedding all his clothes and crawling into bed at three a.m., he hadn't been able to sleep for an hour and a half because his brain had was still in it's alert state of watchfulness. Not until a reddish band lit the eastern horizon, signalling the arrival of a scorching July day was he finally able to enter the Dream Kingdom.

Sleeping - preferably in the nude - was the only way to endure the heat.

"Is he still in bed, Alphonse? Do you need any - oh!" A voice came from the doorway, and the speaker froze just as Edward froze. Half in and half out of bed, he looked up at the doorway to see the blurry form of George Bates, the professor of Anthropology standing there. Edward knew the reason for his hesitation, his state of undress meant Bates could see his right arm of automail, plus the myriad scars on his back. Edward blushed crimson, his artificial limbs were the single reason he never worked out in the school gymnasium, because he would then have to use the men's showers where everyone could gawk at the cripple and pity him.

And Edward hated to be pitied. He swallowed hard and blinked several times, trying to wake up. "Sorry, sorry," muttered Bates, his right hand over his eyes. "I didn't see anything."

He backed up and out of sight, so Edward slid the rest of the way to the floor, but his feet were still tangled in the bedsheets, which he dragged along with him. Alphonse just shook his head, but he didn't say anything. He knew Brother was embarassed, and any words would just add to his discomfiture. But he did bend over and unwind the tangled sheets from around his feet, then searched around in the pile of Edward's discarded clothing for his boxers, and handed them over.

His face still red, Ed muttered "Thanks, Al" as he slipped them on. He stood up and cautiously crept to the doorway, but Bates had gone back downstairs. "I'll be ready in five, Al." he threw back as he walked to the bathroom.

There was no time for much more than a quick wash, so Edward settled for splashing cold water on his face. That helped to wake him up, then he used a washcloth to give his underarms a lick and a promise at the sink. He'd sweat quite a bit last night - the thought made him blush again - and he probably smelled to high heaven. He rubbed the sparse whiskers on his face. Do I have time to shave?

Edward decided against it,if he had to, he would visit a barber in town after the fitting. He walked back to his room and found Al getting clothes out of his dresser, underwear, and socks had been laid on the foot of the still unmade bed, Edward never did more than just pull the sheets and the top spread back up, it's not that anyone else saw this disaster area called a bedroom except Al. People were waiting downstairs, so Edward quickly pulled off his boxers in exchange for the fresh pair, pulled on the socks while alternating hopping on one foot, then the other, and took the long-sleeved white linen shirt Al gave him and pulled it on. Jusdt about to button it, he hesitated, then took it off again.

Edward did not need to say a word as Al handed him the pot of deodorant cream, a concoction of alum and other drying ingredients. It was de rigeour in heat like this. Edward dug his fingers into the jar, and made a mental note to buy another jar at the chemist's while he slapped the white mess into his armpits. After he handed the jar back to Al, he wiped off his fingers on his discarded underwear and grabbed the shirt again.

If we were in Risembool right now, I would be skinny dipping in the Rain River. He could almost feel the cool waters closing over his head, banishing the furnace like heat of an Amestrian summer. A brief flash of homesickness briefly tugged at his heartstrings.

Linen was a nice, cool fabric, but even it had it's limits in such heat. In just a few minutes, it would be sticking uncomfortably to his skin. And ditto for the pair of lightweight tan chinos Alphonse next gave handed to him. Edward sat down on the end of the bed to pull them on while Al rummaged through his shoe rack, and came back with a pair of light brown tasseled loafers, and his hair brush. Edward stayed sitting to slip them on before taking up the brush and running it through the worst of the snarls.

Edward kept extra hair ties on the handle of the brush because it saved time having to look for one. He slipped on over his right wrist, and once he had the hair mostly untangled, he tossed the brush to the side, and slipped the tie on, twisting it on itself a couple of times. Edward stood up again and walked over to his dresser, then pulled open the upper left hand drawer - the glove drawer. He hated the thought of having to dress head to toe in this heat, but he also hated the thought of people staring at his right hand.

He picked up one pair, then started when Al put his hand over his and pushed it back down. "The cat's out of the bag, brother, so no need to suffer any further."

As usual, Alphonse was right. He looked at his watch, which unaccountably he had forgotten to remove last night. O.K., so he fibbed a little, it had taken him seven minutes to get dressed. He spun around to head out the bedroom door, but stopped when Alphonse coughed discreetly.

"Glasses, brother?"

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The entire wedding party was waiting in the sitting room when he came clattering down the front hall stairs and entered the room, and every pair of eyes promptly clamped on to his right hand. Edward flushed slightly and covered it with his left, then blushed harder. He held the hand out for all to get a good look at.

"I lived with my father in London during the War, and during one of the Zeppelin raids some of the rubble of a bombed building landed on me while I was running to shelter. My right arm was crushed." Edward didn't mention his left leg because he wouldn't be showing that off.

The understanding was instant and unspoken. The four men: Bates, King, another chemistry professor, Barker - professor in the new field of mechanical technology, and one of the few staff members Edward could stand. And Dahl, professor of history - might sneak glances at his hand, and even pose a few question as to how it functioned. But all were too polite, too well-bred, too British to openly stare at it.

The long case pendulum clock in the sitting room struck the quarter hour,they were late! Mr. Soames would wait only so long for them. He normally closed at two o'clock, but as a favor to the Squire, he agreed to stay open a little longer for the groom's party to be fitted. The little group, with Alphonse in the lead, left the sitting room quickly and went into the hall. Like a good host, he opened the door and held it open while everyone filed out to Bate's large Ford motor car.

On the doorstep, Edward paused and groaned, the heat hit him like a sledgehammer over the head. He felt like keeling over right there and refusing to move until the sun went down.

"C'mon brother!" Al took him by his right arm and dragged him down the flagstone path to the gravel drive. "I know it's bad, but we'll go to the pub after this, it'll be nice and cool there."

A ragged cheer from the group assembled by the car greeted Al's promise of libations later on with glee. The Dog And Pony was near the upper reaches of the Thames, with a shady back garden right by the water, so it was a popular place in weather like this. "The sooner we get this done," agreed Bates, already in the driver's seat. "The sooner we get our reward."

Dahl, King, and Barker clambered into the back of the motor, and Alphonse prodded Edward in with them before he slammed the door, and then took the front passenger seat. As he was to be the groom, Bates had insisted Alphonse be given the "seat of honour" which was usually occupied by Bates's wife. He turned the key and the car rumbled to life immediately. He engaged the clutch and drove around the circular driveway and down the hill towards town.

All the windows of the large car - Bates had eight children, with a ninth on the way, so the space was needed - were wide open. The resulting wind noise made talking impossible, and Edward closed his eyes and enjoyed the breeze which dried the film of sweat upon his face. Bates was a careful driver, but he was lead footed enough they reached the tailor's shop in just under five minutes. Disappointed, Edward opened his eyes to find Barker looking at him with some concern.

"I'm fine, Barker, I just wish this ride had lasted longer, the air felt so good."

James Barker didn't believe that is what was truly bothering his eccentric colleague, but he played along. "Yes, Edward, I understand that. I know of this swimming hole just south of town where a man can still go skinny dipping without fear of being seen by ladies. But, with school being out, there is always the threat of mischievous children stealing your clothes!"

"I'll take that risk Barker, and just walk back into town naked. That'll give the local gossips something to talk about." Both of them smiled at the mental picture as they climbed out of the car and followed the others into the tailor's shop.
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The furnace-like heat hardly abated with the setting of the sun just after nine o'clock that evening. The fitting had been a huge pain. Plus, to his great displeasure, Edward had been obliged to strip to his underwear and change into the full wedding suit, because Mr. Soames had wanted to check the length of his dress pants. Feeling like he was a store mannequin on display, Edward had stood motionless on a small dais as Soames - his mouth full of straight pins - knelt in front of him and adjusted the hems.

Edward hated every minute of the ordeal, and the feeling of being stared at by everyone, especially after Soames inadvertently exposed his automail leg and his assistant loudly commented upon the sight. Which made him nervous. And being made nervous also made him sweat, he could feel the drops rolling down along his spine and under the waistband of his boxers. Even worse was changing in the same room as the other men. Now he regretted snapping at the mild-mannered King, "Yes, my leg was crushed too!" when the other man stared at his metal limb a second too long.

The Dog and Pony had been as cool and quiet as everyone had anticipated, but Edward took no joy in it. He took the "make amends" pint King gave him with a rueful smile and a nod, but still sat bitterly nursing it at a table by the river, lost in his own thoughts. The rest were busy good naturedly joshing Bates about his body hair. When he took his shirt off in the changing room, even Edward had been astonished by the amount of dark fur which sprouted from the man's chest, shoulders, and back.

"You shouldn't be surprised," Bates laughed back. "I have a five o'clock shadow, not just at five, but also at noon!" Edward had often seen Bates during the noon lunch break, towel, razor and mug of shaving cream in hand, walking towards the men's restroom. On Visitor's Days at the beginning and end of the school year, he would shave three times a day.

"At least you have hair!" replied Dahl in mock outrage, for he was as bald as a billiard ball, and younger than Alphonse to boot. King, who's brown hair wasn't receding, but getting thin laughed along with him, and even Edward summoned a brief smile.

The smile vanished a few minutes later when Barker, who had a thick head of red hair opined "Now you are getting married,Alphonse, we have to work on finding a suitable wife for your brother."

Edward flushed a dull red, "Thank you no, Barker, I already have a girlfriend, and no, we don't plan on getting married." Because she already is married to someone else! was his unspoken thought.

For Alphonse's sake, Edward gritted his teeth and endured the razzing and endless questions of Who is she? Someone we know? Well, describe her, at least! When he could get away with it, Edward answered their questions in mumbled monosyllables, and when he couldn't, he lied until he blushed with shame. Fortunately, they mistook the blush for simple embarrassment about airing his private life.

When the pub clock struck the hour of three o'clock, Edward finally got his excuse to leave, "Excuse me, but I just remembered I'm out of cigarettes and the tobacconist's closes in half an hour." He paused and asked, "Does anyone want to come with me?"

Assurances of "No, I'm all right", and "No, but thank you for asking" came his way and Edward murmured, "I'll be back soon, don't get drunk without me."

A chorus of "We promise!" and laughs followed him as he left the garden and re-entered the pub by it's back door, then out the front and down Hampden Welles's high street. His professed destination was the tobacconist's shop. What Edward had left out was his real destination: the chemist's, for another packet of french sleeves - condoms. He would see Claire again tonight for another session of lovemaking - oh, hell, he told himself, let's be honest, we fucked like bunnies last night. And I can't wait to do it again!

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The bell above the door jangled loudly as he came in to Mr. Bottles's shop, and Edward half hoped his son would be working at the counter. Jedidiah Bottles was a relic from the Victorian days, a dignified grey-haired man with huge mutton chop whiskers, and strict morals. He didn't approve of condoms, and called them the devil's raincoats, nor did he approve of single men - like Professor Elric buying them. He'd given Edward an intimidating Moses-like glare when he first asked for a packet of them. In his humble opinion - which wasn't really humble, it had been a mistake on the part of the government to legalize condoms. God wouldn't give people more children than they could look after - and if He did, it was due to the sins of the parents.

But then he didn't approve of a lot of things: family planning, women wearing trousers, smoking (by either gender), drinking (ditto), women going to university and having careers, fast motorcars, couples dancing too closely, the "big band" music coming from America (he disapproved of America on the principle any country which willingly slapped away England's paternal hand should be left to rot), non-Methodists, the reading of any book but the Holy Bible on Sunday, and long hair on men. Which meant three strikes against the elder Professor Elric in his book: long hair, he smoked, and he taught women, plus he taught them physics at that.

Fortunately, his son Hezikiah was on duty today. He had only a few of his father's hang-ups, and his outlook on the modern world was generally liberal. Meaning he gave Edward far less static when he asked for a packet of condoms. In Hezikiah's view, selling prophylatics to unmarried men would mean one less child born out of wedlock to an anguished single lady nine months later. Or one less hurried "shotgun wedding".

Actually, he was more like his mother, a hopeless romantic who wanted to see everyone paired up. Now that Alphonse would be getting married in a week, Hezikiah hoped Edward would meet some nice single lady at the wedding and willingly embrace matrimony.

Which was truly ironic coming from a man who was in his early forties, and still a bachelor. Which wasn't his fault as his father's temperament had scared off any potential mates, so Hezikiah fervently wished his father would retire, and soon, before it was too late for him.

Edward and Hezikiah exchanged cordial pleasantries during the brief transaction, money and merchandise exchanged hands, and then he was gone to his next stop. Edward liked Hezikiah, but if he stayed too long at the shop, the older man was sure to start hinting it was time Edward got himself a wife and started a family before he got too old. Just like the way Hughes used to nag Mustang. Edward pursed his lips tightly and swallowed the small lump in his throat. Thinking of home - and the knowledge he would never see Amestris again - still made his eyes mist over. He mentally cursed the Gate as he entered the tobacconist's shop.
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Edward looked at his watch in the fading light - 9.07 - and snuck a glance over to Claire's bedroom window - but no light snapped on, the agreed-upon signal it was safe to come in. Where was she? He hadn't noticed any signs of life in the house all day, which shouldn't surprise him normally. In this heat, Claire was probably down in the basement, reading a novel. She'd recently told him when the heat of summer became too much,she would retire down to a spot she'd cleared out near the stairway, and furnished with a lamp, a small table, and a comfortable armchair.

Edward leaned back on the stone bench and huffed smoke out from between his lips - there was no wind, so the smoke curled up right in front of his eyes, and obscured his vision for a moment. He heard the back door slam from the direction of Claire's house, good, maybe she's just come up from the basement. He didn't blame her for hunkering down on the lowest floor in search of relief from the heat. After getting back from the pub, he'd stripped to his boxers and gone down to the basement of the Old Vicarage, where he and Alphonse had fitted out a space in one of the storerooms as a work out area. They'd hung a heavy punching bag from one of the massive oak beams in the ceiling, built a rowing machine which proudly sat in the middle of the room, and collected an odd set of mismatched dumbbells from local jumble sales.

To work off his steaming sexual frustration in particular - and frustration in general, Edward had pulled on the one old, cracked pair of boxing gloves they had and spent an hour pummeling and kicking the punching bag until he was utterly spent and soaked with sweat. He'd come back upstairs after his heart beat slowed to a managable rate and took a long, freezing cold shower. But all this only took him to 6.30. A light supper of a green salad, day old rolls, and a chilled white wine gobbled another half hour, but it still meant two more hours to kill until he could go down the lane.

The clothes he'd worn earlier that day were still damp with sweat, and they smelled too, so he tossed them in the clothes hamper. Edward went to his dresser where he extracted another pair of tan chinos, and white linen button down shirt. He "made" his bed, and then unmade it. After he sniffed the sheets, he decided they, and the pillowcases also smelled of sweat, and he stripped the bed. After he stuffed the sheets into the hamper with the rest of his dirty clothes from the week, he got fresh sheets from the linen closet in the hall and remade his bed - slowly.

Edward still had too much time left, so he made a circuit of his bedroom, and picked up stray articles of clothing, bits of the newspaper, some dishes, professional journals, and books from the library downstairs, how ever did 'The Collected Tales of Arsene Lupin' wind up UNDER my bed? But that was too much exertion and he was sweating again. He sat on the edge of the bed for five minutes and tried to relax. He couldn't wait to see Claire again. To see her smile, to hear her voice, hold her and smell her clean hair and skin, kiss her soft lips and explore her body with his mouth and fingers...stop it!

He shook his head roughly, and the tightness in his groin, plus the swelling in his pants gradually eased. The sweat was pouring down his face again. Dammit,Claire would wrinkle her nose and tell him he reeked of maleness. Edward bounced up off the bed, gathered the clothing and stuffed it into the hamper, it was getting quite full and he couldn't close the lid. The papers, journals, and dishes he took down the back stairs into the kitchen. The dishes went into the sink, and the rest went onto the counter, he would tie them together later.

Edward went back to his bedroom and stacked the books on a wooden chair by the door to be returned to the downstairs library, he could do that tomorrow. Then he went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. After he turned off the tap, he rubbed his wet hands on the back of his neck. Ahhhh...

By 8.50 he was jumping out of his skin and unable to wait any more. The packet of Galoises went into the front pocket of his shirt, the lighter in the right pants pocket, and the condoms in the left. He came downstairs to find Alphonse sprawled on his stomach on the wooden floor of the library, reading The Beano, with a glass of ice water next to him. Edward already had an unlit Galoise stuck between his lips when Alphonse looked up. He waved and muttered, "I've got my key, don't wait up" around the the cigarette.

Then he was gone. Alphonse looked at the space his brother had so recently vacated in the hall, dust motes, and probably the very atoms of the air were still vibrating. He shook his head mournfully, Edward's caginess about his 'girlfriend' had already made him suspect she might not be 'free'. He only avoided Al's questions, or prevaricated when he couldn't, if he knew Al would disapprove of his actions.

Don't let her husband catch you, Brother.
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Edward had lit the Galoise soon after opening the gate and entering the lane. He took a puff, held it in his mouth for a few seconds, then exhaled. As if on cue, his muscles relaxed and his racing mind began to slow down. Tonight, they would take it slow. He would let Claire be on top tonight and she could set the pace. If she thought it was too hot, Edward thought they could make use of her reading chair in the basement...

While sitting on the bench, his heartbeat quickened at the sound of footsteps crunching on the path in the garden of The Lupins, which was the quasi-official name of the Travers house. But something was off about them, they sounded slow, and ponderous, and the maker of these sounds seemed to have trouble breathing, a mouth sucked in air with a wet, wheezy sound.

Something is wrong.

Smoke still filmed his vision, so Edward sat 'chilly' on the bench, deliberately keeping his gaze unfocused. The footsteps and wheezing came closer, and whoever that person was took one deep, clattering breath and spoke.

"Hullo, any chance of a smoke?"

Edward let his eyes refocus before he slowly raised his head to look at the source of the query. A rather chubby man stood before him, too fat to be called "plump", yet not quite enough to referred to as "corpulant". He was a few inches taller,and nearly a foot wider than Edward. The man wore brown cotton slacks, and a starched white shirt which wilted in the heat, along with the man who wore it. He was bareheaded, his short cropped black hair thinning on top and shining with hair oil, or maybe just sweat.

His eyes were blue, and must have been quite prominent at one time, but now they were sunken into sunburned folds of fat. Even his nose and mouth appeared smaller than they should be, as if they were sinking into a soft, round pudding. Over the shirt, he wore a vest which matched the slacks, and brown shoes shone to a high gloss. It occurred to Edward this man knew he was overweight, but he didn't care because he was going to dress well despite that.

Edward took these impressions in the space of perhaps five or six seconds, then he plucked the packet of Galoises from his shirt pocket, shook one out and stretched out his left arm to offer it to this stranger. The man pulled a face, "Oh, you smoke those Frog cigarettes too? My wife does, I usually can't stand the things myself, but I'm dying for a smoke, so these will have to do."

"My wife"?

A ball of ice began to form in the pit of Edward's stomach, and his brain was frizzling as a horrible idea took shape. Or maybe it was the heat which made his synapses fire all at once and explode, like popcorn tossed into a bonfire.

"My wife"!

Moving like he was drunk and underwater, Edward fished out the lighter and the fat man bent his sweating, greasy face down to the flame. A sweat drop rolled down from a puffy cheek and plopped onto Edward's hand, and he had to fight the urge to recoil and exclaim in disgust. He was briefly surprised it didn't burn him like acid. He was even more surprised a thought like that had flowered in his gear-stripped brain.

The man straightened up, and took a big drag, which consumed half the cigarette in one go, and puffed out a huge gust of smoke, which rose in the still air like a column from the funeral pyre of Edward's dreams. Two little words had just brought his comfortable world crashing down with the finality of a slamming coffin lid.

"My wife".

Edward surreptiously wiped his left hand on his chinos. He faked a coolness he did not feel,leaned back on the stone bench and took a shaky drag of his own cigarette. The fat man gave him a friendly smile, and held out his right hand.

"Where are my manners? I'm Samual Travers, formerly Hong Kong representative of the East India Trading Company. I've just come back to England for a little holiday."

Reluctantly, Edward switched his Galoise to his left hand, then held out his right, automail hand to shake. Sam's eyebrows raised slightly, which gave him the look of a startled baby, before they resumed their previous level. The two men shook hands with formal politeness, and Edward was glad he'd had to use his right hand. This way, he wouldn't have to feel Travers's pale and puffy mitt.

"Edward Elric, Professor of Physics at the college, charmed."

"Elric, eh?" Sam assumed an incouciant position, left hand holding the cigarette, propped up by the right arm curling (or trying to) around his chest. One foot stood up on the shoe heel in front of the other, his head cocked, and an odd smile on his fat mug.

"I'm trying to find out something rather important. My lovely better half won't tell, so maybe you can help me out." He cocked his head the other way, like a fat little bird would eye a juicy bug.

About to take another pull off his cigarette, Edward lowered his left hand and looked speculatively at Sam. He expected a question about physics, or the college, so he nodded and replied, "I can't promise anything, but I'll try to help you."

Sam pursed his lips and half smiled, and half smirked in a way Edward seriously did not like. He was completely unprepared for the question:

"Are you the bastard who's been fucking my wife?"