Mind Body and Soul

Author's note: You can blame Chrosis for this latest update for kicking my butt into gear and (pulling me away from my recent sprees in One Piece and The Real Adventures of Jonny Quest) back into FMA. This one's for you, Chrosis! Enjoy!

Author's second note: I reread the A/N for Ch. 2 and realized Chrosis sent me a reminder email for that chapter as well! Here's a double thanks for the continuous reminder! I tend to drift through fandoms, juggling many at one time, and often wan and wax like the moon through them and others.

Chapter 3:

Sometimes, Edward felt that something was lacking, as if he was missing a piece of himself. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but when he was alone, pooling over ancient tomes and crinkling his nose as dust lifted from crinkled and aged pages, he felt as though a comforting shadow should be looming by him, just out of the corner of his eyes.

Sometimes, when exhaustion haunted his grasp and made his eyes gloss over, he thought he could see a gleaming bulky figure out of the corner of his vision. He never mentioned it to Dante, some blockade halting any words he might say to her.

Sometimes it bothered Edward that he couldn't remember life before Dante. Sure, he felt and dreamed glimpses and broken, fractured images that left his heart aching with yearn. He didn't know why or how he knew what he knew, or why it made so much sense to be able to read an entire text, understand it, apply it, and even adapt it.

During one meeting with Dante, the words came tumbling out of his mouth as he griped his head in frustration. That entire night had been a blur, as if he had drunk too much of Dante's wine. She had pet his hair, eyes soft and words sickly soothing as she whispered words of understanding, how he was a genius and a prodigy and he was just that brilliant.

Edward leaned back from where he was hunched over his recent endeavor at tackling a thousand page, hundred year old tome, regarding the more primitive practices of alchemy before it underwent the process of modernization. He ran a gloved hand over tired eyes and let the other hand pinch the bridge of his nose in hopes of halting the forming headache.

His nights were few and, dare he admit it, extremely pleasant. Dante had disappeared off into her own private alchemic lab as she was apt to do from time to time for days on end. The lab was one of the few rooms from which he was strictly forbidden to enter in Dante's glorious mansion. He didn't question the rule, although curiosity nibbled at his conscience, he was equally leery of approaching the room for fear of what he could potential find. There was a dark presence to the woman who housed him, one which sent warning bells ringing in the younger alchemist's mind.

The golden haired youth let his mind wander as he tried to formulate plans and process his thoughts to better understand the situation. Something about it sent his very being on edge sometimes, but he also knew there was no other way of life than the rather stagnant existence he found himself playing out.

Dante had been a constant in his life for as far as his memories reached. Her and the homunculi, creatures she said had no souls. He didn't need her to tell him such-few texts referenced them and the symbols they bore denoting them as such, but texts were there. And the memories-a grinning face, a smiling woman that screamed home, a curvaceous body, a military-esque man-that slammed into him before floating back under the surface from whence they came.

Edward's human hand drummed against the table lightly as he continued to muse. A frown etched into his golden countenance. He propped his automail hand onto his chin and relaxed stiff shoulders.

Dante was a beautiful woman, no doubt. She often chose to wore dark outfits and dresses that seemed to compliment her dark hair, almost lavender eyes, pale skin, and mysterious features. Her lavender eyes spoke of knowledge, but also of years beyond what she could physically experience.

The alchemist often thought it possible that she could just be like those who had old souls, where a soul simply felt as if it had experienced more than it actually had-a previous life per say, should one believe in reincarnation. Or was it possible she witnessed atrocious human acts that aged her before her years, shattered illusions of the world and reality. Still, there was a dangerous, cold and calculating aura that surrounded her...

He flushed as he continued thinking about her. His fingers stopped their drumming and clenched into a fist beside the open book. While Dante made no illusions about what she wanted, and even commanded from Edward, he still felt uncomfortable on occasions doing what she requested or ordered. Luckily, something seemed to be stopping her from shedding the inner layers of her clothing. Now, for some unknown reason, she left her under-gown on when she ordered his attentions. Although his mind screamed at him, he couldn't deny the workings of his body, and his often mechanized actions-as if he was running on autopilot.

Edward exhaled and sunk deeper into the chair. It seemed as the months dragged on, her sexual appetite seemed to wane-or at least that she was restraining herself more than usual. Edward discovered her wearing more high-collared shirts and wondered-or hoped-that it was a phase she was going through, one which would last for a long period of time. Being with Dante, his lover, didn't seem as what he had read when he stumbled upon in a fiction section of the massive mansion library.

There was something about the entire situation that seemed wrong, and the feeling was growing as the days continued. After Dante had kissed him goodnight, something sunk in his stomach like a pit. He couldn't help feeling as if there was somewhere else he was meant to be doing, something else he was supposed to be taking care of.

"Yo, pipsqueak." Edward jerked from his thoughts. Irrational anger and adrenaline rushed through him at the words and he reacted, body moving on instinct as he clapped his hands. His automail turned into a blade as he knocked the chair over and spun to face his enemy.

He blinked, unable to rationalize his behavior as he met the wide, grinning face of Envy. "Envy." Golden eyes studied the homunculi as he clapped his hands together once more and reverted his arm to it's original form. For some reason, there seemed to be some sort of glee at his reaction in Envy's dark eyes.

Envy's couldn't deny the thrill that raced through his veins at the alchemist's reaction to his typical greeting. Pre-Dante the pipsqueak would have been prepared to battle, all while shouting angrily about his height and the insult. Kid was certainly always worth a laugh. Dante Edward, as Envy had begun referring to him as, since he assumed there would eventually be a Post-Dante Edward-one that would be good for working out some of the building stress with some well placed blows-wasn't nearly as fun as Pre-Dante Edward (or how he assumed Post-Dante Edward would be).

The old bitch was holed up in her lab again, cooking up her special little recipe that scattered the blonde's brains enough that he no longer had enough sense to be repulsed by Dante's attentions and wants. He gagged at the thought and almost felt sorry for the pint-sized alchemist.

Edward was growing impatient as Envy continued to stare at him with a mixture of emotions the youth gave up trying to identify. He resisted the urge to tap his feet in annoyance, but didn't bother trying to hide it from his face. "What?" He snapped, hoping it was enough to jolt the annoyance from wherever his thoughts had taken him.

Envy slowly blinked at him and, if anything, his grin seemed at bit more forced. He spun on his feet and exited the library's double doors. He called over his shoulder, "Dante wants to see you in her sitting room." as he made his escape.

He left the alchemist there, clenching his fists by his side as he stalked and stomped his way through the large house towards a barren, dark, and distant room Dante had ordered him to.

He slammed the door to the room designated as his-something he thought of with a scowl at the thought of the love and affections his mother sent and gave to him-and turned to look at the cracked unframed mirror hanging in front of his bed. He stopped in front of it and stared his reflection down.

TBC