More Ling/Ed.  Unrelated to the other Ling/Ed fics.  Character death, angst, possible OOC-ness, etc.

Selfishness

Edward’s right arm felt cold on his right knee, as his left knee felt cool under his left arm.  However, he made no move to change his hunched position, nor did he make a move to blink his too-dry eyes.  He barely felt the discomfort, anyway.

. . . Alphonse . . . Alphonse . . . Alphonse. . . .

Something warm and musky settled over his shoulders.  A moment later, steam wafted under his nose.

“If you’re not going to eat, you should at least drink,” Ling murmured, kneeling beside him.

Edward never looked away from the setting sun.  Al had always preferred sunrises.  Always optimistic, Al saw each sunrise as a new opportunity.

How ironic that at sunrise—

“Edward, please!”  The desperation in Ling’s voice surprised him.  In all the time they had known each other, he had never heard that tone from him.  For the first time in a while, Edward blinked and focused on something besides the sky.

“I’m not thirsty,” he mumbled.  Or hungry or tired or any of that bullshit.  He didn’t want any of that bullshit.

“Please, at least drink,” Ling coaxed, holding up the cup of tea again.  “If you can’t stomach any food, this should at least help you feel better.”

Ling flinched a little, as if realizing what he had just said.  Edward closed his eyes.  For the first time, he realized that it was Ling’s jacket over his shoulders.

“I’m not thirsty,” Edward repeated, but he took the tea cup anyway.  He knew he should be annoyed by the relieved slump of Ling’s shoulders, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.  The tea sloshed in the cup as he drew it to his lips.

The tea sloshed. . . .  A drop landed on his hand.  Edward stared at it, fascinated.

Then with a choked sob, Edward threw the cup across the yard.  Ling jumped, but he didn’t care.  “Why?!” he shrieked, slamming his fists on his knees.  Pain exploded along his nerves.  “Why?!  We had come so far, got so close!  Why like that?  Why?!”

Edward buried his face into his hands and sobbed brokenly.  Ling tentatively wrapped his arms around him, and Edward curled against his chest.  Ling’s hand rubbed up and down his spine.

“I don’t know,” the other boy murmured.  “But it was over quickly.  He didn’t feel a thing.”

Edward punched Ling’s chest, aware just enough to use his left hand.  “Of course not!” he retorted savagely, the break in his voice taking the strength from his words.  “He has . . . hadn’t felt a physical thing in years.  But Al could feel fear and helplessness.  He needed me, and I wasn’t there!”

Ling tightened his grip, his hand never pausing on Ed’s back.  “There was nothing anyone could have done.  He was doomed as soon as he hit the water.”

Shuddering, Edward clutched at Ling’s shirt.  An unexpected meeting with Scar . . . one good strike . . . Alphonse, screaming, falling into the water. . . .

Within thirty seconds, the harsh current had wiped the blood seal away.

That had been Scar’s perfect moment.  He could have done anything right then.  Edward had been defenseless, howling like a madman over the now truly hollow armor.  All the killer had done, however, was say something in Ishbalian and flee.

“I want to hate him,” Ed wept into Ling’s collar.  “I want to say it’s all his fault.  But I can’t . . . I can’t. . . .”

Because it’s all my fault.  If it wasn’t for me, there wouldn’t be a blood seal to be washed away.  It’s all my fault.

Ling’s other hand begun to stroke Ed’s hair.  That was only the second non-sexual time Ling had done that.  The first time had been when he had dragged Ed away from Al’s “corpse.”

“It’ll be all right,” Ling whispered.  “It’ll be all right.”  He cleared his throat a little, awkwardly.  “About Scar . . . are you. . . ?”

Tears streaming from his eyes, Edward stared at Ling.  “Going after him?” he whispered.  A harsh laugh forced itself from his too-tight throat.  “What’s the point?  It won’t bring my brother back.  I’ll be just another murderer.”

Again came the sudden relaxation from Ling.  Edward pressed his face into Ling’s throat, willing the familiar musky scent to comfort him.  It was hard.  The only scent he wanted was the cool, metallic aroma of Al’s armor.

“I’m not going to do anything stupid,” he continued, his voice thick, “so don’t start on the whole ‘Protect Ed from himself’ bit.  I learned my lesson.  I’m not going to try to bring Alphonse back.  And I’m not going to hurt myself or any dumb shit like that.”  Edward closed his eyes tightly.  The tears still didn’t stop.  “A corpse can’t help anyone.  Al would never forgive me if I did that.”

A shudder raced through Edward’s chilled frame.  His flesh knuckles were white against Ling’s shirt.  “And a corpse can’t stop the homunculi,” he whispered.

Ling kissed Edward’s hair.  Then he lay down on the dark grass, pulling Ed with him.  He didn’t say a word, and when Ed looked up at him, his dark eyes were distant.  Closing his own eyes again, Edward leaned against the Xingian prince.

All this time, all these fights, and Al was killed by a fucking river!  How can I possibly believe in a god when someone like Al dies while a sinner like me lives?

Will anyone remember Al like he was?  Will anyone remember how his hair lightened every summer or how he’d always let blackberries melt in his mouth or how he always, always get dirt under his fingernails, even if he’d been inside all day?

All I wanted was to touch his face again.  Even if it was only with one flesh hand, I’d give anything to do that.

Ling’s tight hug alerted Edward to the fact that he was crying anew.  Still, Ling didn’t say a word.

I can’t let myself stop.  There’s still too much to do, so much you were supposed to help me with, Al!

I’ll never ask for your forgiveness, Al.  I let you down too many times to ask for that.  But I’ll try to make you proud of me.  I haven’t forgotten what you told me that day, when we first me Scar.  I’ll live by that.  I’ll learn from my sins.

Please . . . Al. . . .

After Edward cried himself to sleep, Ling finally stopped stroking the young man’s hair.  Instead, he studied Ed’s face.  It was still dirtied and bruised from the fight earlier.  For some reason, Ling kept expecting to see Al’s blood there.

“It’s not your fault,” he said aloud.  “It’s mine.  You couldn’t go into the water after Al, but I could.  I was too busy watching Scar to get to him in time.”  Ling smiled bitterly.  “And the worst thing is I don’t regret it.  Because I’d prefer to let Scar kill him than you.  And if you knew that, you’d hate me forever.”

He kissed Edward’s cheek.  Ling tasted blood.  “Or maybe you wouldn’t.  But I won’t risk it.”  He chuckled mirthlessly.  “I respect you more than you’ll ever know.  Even after all this, you won’t take the easy way out.  But I’m selfish.  I can’t do what you’re doing.  And I can’t do the right thing by giving you up.”

Ran Fan was still waiting in the abandoned cottage behind them.  Gently, Ling scooped Edward up, feeling the tension that remained even in slumber, and walked towards the cottage.

Behind the pair, the tea cup remained in the yard, shimmering porcelain scattered.