Mmmm... I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist. Even the crappy 2003 version that I still sort of love, just considerably less than the rest of it.
So, hello world of fanfiction I had abandoned for so long! Yadda yadda, I was gone, stuff, and excuses, and blah blah blah, here I am. These are one-shots.../...drabb...les... with Heidrich included, because even though he was a shitty doppleganger, I liked him as a character by himself. :D Anyway!
"I've seen other Americans," Alfons says one day, out of nowhere, because it's something that he's been worrying over since day one. Since the moment he met Edward.
Edward, who, at this moment, looks up from his book and blinks at him with momentary confusion. It only takes his sharp mind a second to analyze his words, his expression, everything, and Alfons can tell just by the look on his face that whatever he's about to say next is sarcastic plus one thousand. So he continues speaking.
"...but!" He has to be quick to interrupt, but once he has Edward intent once more, he almost always listens intensely to everything he has to say, "none of them had golden eyes. I thought it was an American trait, but apparently it's not. I'm not even entirely sure how it's possible at all."
"That's because it's not," Edward answers simply, as if it is the explanation for everything, "not here, at least, and I'm not American."
He immediately turns back to his book, deeming the conversation over. He's wrong.
Alfons isn't quite sure how he can say something like that and then pretend like he doesn't expect questions to be asked.
"You said that you were," he points out, moving toward his golden-haired friend and promptly removing the book from his hands. He knew from experience that this was the only way to ensure Edward wouldn't lose track of the fact that they were talking, or, more likely, purposefully pretend that he was distracted. (Because Edward always listened attentively to everything that he had to say, but if he didn't want to talk, then he... Well... Wouldn't.)
His cry of protest was ignored as Alfons settled into the chair on the opposite side of the table, tossing the thick volume somewhere behind him. This was something that he's pretty sure he would not have done a few month prior, but Edward was constantly rubbing off on him. His friend's hands followed the movement, in an act that looked equal parts childish and comical, his mouth agape.
He's flirting dangerously with the beginnings of a full-blown "smart ass Ed" now and he knows it. Hopefully, though, the conversation will serve to sober him up a little.
"...and you can't have gold eyes if it's impossible," he pointed out, feeling quite positive that there was no possible way to refute that without expounding on the fact that Edward was... mentally unstable. Perhaps admission to his lunacy could be brought about?
"You're the one who said it wasn't possible in the first place, arsloch," Edward grinds the words out between sharply clenched teeth, his foul tone matching his tremendous grimace. Said yellow-amber eyes flickered menacingly, as if even that feature alone knew they were questioning its very existence, "I just agreed with you."
"I just don't see how –"
"The DNA configurations have more available possibilities in Amestris, though it was rare even there, because golden-eyed people had been all but exterminated. The melanin in my eyes is of a much more radical combination than your own, or any other person here, they're –"
"On Earth?" Alfons pondered aloud, hiding his snicker of amusement rather horribly, and honestly considering accusing him of being an alien, just for kicks.
"Yeah, Alfons, on Earth," Edward's response comes in the from of a long, drawn out exhale of breath, a clear sigh, and there was a certain amount of patience in his tone. The change was immediate. He'd deflated him.
He locked down the same way he did every time that Alfons laughed at him.
He hadn't meant to, not really.
And he shouldn't care, Edward would forgive him – he always forgave him, immediately, for everything – and he was crazy...
...but he couldn't help but feel guilty as he watched the golden-eyed man slink away.
Not to mention he was sure he'd never find out another thing about the eyes he'd been so curious about. There wasn't a chance in hell.
Way to go, Alfons.