Disclaimer - FMA is not mine. at all. unfortunately.

well, people requested i do some more Hohenheim and Ed writing. and this is what happened. POSTSERIES. no real spoilers apart from the location, which i dont really go out and state, but it is still slightly spoilerific.lyrics are from "Father of Mine" by Everclear. unbeta'd, as usual. anyone wanna volunteer for that job? -fireun

"Father of mine
Tell me where have you been
You know I just closed my eyes
My whole world disappeared"

It was utterly bizarre, completely non-intuitive, waking up and knowing that his father had created the smell of breakfast cooking that gave the morning aira homey sort of ambiance. The oddity was not the out of character action of his father being domestic; it was the mere presence of the man. There was something depressing about realizing his absence was more familiar than presence.

Ed stretched, loath to crawl out of comfortable blankets into what was sure to be a rather chill autumn morning. "Damn cold, wet city…" he muttered before finally succumbing to the enticing scent of fresh coffee. Coffee must have been created by someone grumpy to have to be awake some cold morning years ago. It made perfect sense. Wincing at the way flesh pulled at cold uncomfortable prosthetics, Ed hauled himself out from the comfort of two quilts. It was rare he made it to bed, much less managed any decent amount of sleep.

Pulling on pants and pulling shut the shirt he had slept in he listened to the sound of Hohenheim move around the kitchen, and couldn't help a crooked sort of dark smile. "If he has been in there long enough to actually cook, it is about time for him to break or burn something. I swear, the man is as bad cook as he is a father. Attention span of a butterfly on a caffeine overdose."

His mother had been an excellent cook, always knowing exactly what her young son and husband had wanted and knowing the perfect way of making it. Ed had tried for years to mimic that masterful menu, and while he had fallen short, he liked to think he was at least a passable cook. After that bastard old man had left…well, someone had to help mother around the house. He might not be a domestic genius, but he was definitely far above the bastard trying to win some affection through ineptly prepared breakfast.

"Father of mine
Take me back to the day
When I was still your golden boy
Back before you went away
I remember the blue skies, walking the block
I loved it when you held me high
I loved to hear you talk"

It was an awkward tableau, though to any casual observer it would seem as natural as any morning setting. Hohenheim sat across from his son, reading a paper and munching on toast liberally dosed with jam so as to cover the charcoal flavor. Ed sipped coffee, declining to even attempt toast that smelled like Mustang after a particularly busy day. The casual observer would have missed the set to Ed's jaw, the intermittent clenching and unclenching of facial muscles that had nothing to do with drinking bitter coffee. The casual observer would fail to notice the fact that while Hohenheim was most definitely looking at his paper, he was not paying it any attention. He was working out how to attempt conversation with his son.

"How is your research going?" There. That was a neutral enough topic…

He withdrew that opinion as soon as Ed turned flashing gold eyes in his direction. "Why? Want me out of here so fast, old man?"

Hohenheim wanted to flinch. Or smack that glaring face. He didn't quite know which would result in the less destructive reaction. Option three then, be a man about it and pretend it never happened. Or hurt. "Why don't you have some toast? Strawberry jam was your favorite when you were young. It was hellish to find some this time of year."

It was Ed's turn to want to hit the other man. He hated it when Hohenheim brought up the past, when everything had been perfect and good. He hated remember tussling with his father outside the house while mother worked in her garden; he hated the laughter, the smiles, the embraces. "What the hell do you care, bastard? You're the one that fucking left. For all you know I could hate strawberry now."

Hohenheim's face grew shuttered after Ed's outburst, falling back into a neutral familiarity between vague acquaintances as opposed to the sort of desperate warmth it had contained previously. "I apologize. I should have asked. If strawberry is not to your liking let me know what is so I may remedy the situation."

Changing jam flavors isn't going to fix shit…Ed wanted to say it out loud, wanted to start a fight…but instead, for some reason took a long drink of still too-hot coffee, and concentrated on the ache in his shoulder. "I need to bathe. Arm is driving me nuts today. Hot water should help." He muttered, pushing away from the table.

It cost Hohenheim the world to nod impartially, but he did, for anything more would have set off another, most likely more vicious, argument.

"Father of mine
Tell me where did you go
You had the world inside your hand
But you did not seem to know
Father of mine
Tell me what do you see
When you look back at your wasted life and you don't see me"

Ed soaked, the perfect bliss of a hot bath ruined by the look that had been in Hohenheim's eyes. He had seen the same brand of unhappiness in Al's when they had quarreled, in his mothers when he had shouted about hating the then absent Hohenheim. It was an aware, powerless sort of hurt, one that was denied words through its very nature. There was nothing that could be said. That bastard shouldn't be able to look like that. He had left his family. He deserved every word shot at him.

Ed sank deeper into the tub, exhaling bubbles into the water. Baths were sacred, not at all meant for sulking in….it wasn't fair. With a resigned huff he stood, letting the water run off him in steaming rivers. Not only had that bastard ruined his family; he had now ruined his bath.

Toweling off then angrily dressing Ed stomped his way back to the kitchen, needing to snarl at something. Never mind his stomp didn't contain the sure authority it had back where he belonged; where automail actually worked and he had Winry to keep it is top shape. He was irate, and being irate involved stomping. It was a time-honored way of showing ones displeasure.

He made it to the kitchen, opened his mouth to snarl at the old man, and stopped, mouth stuck hanging open in dumbfounded silence. There, on the table next to Ed's coffee cup (which Hohenheim had apparently not washed in case Ed wanted the remainder of his coffee) was a bottle and a note.

'Salve for your shoulder muscles. Rub some on the leg as well, just in case. Went to get some more, as I am positive this will help with what the cold weather is doing to you. –H.'

Ed had snapped at him, fought with him, and the man went to purchase medicine for him? Where was the damn logic in that? Hell, Mustang made more sense! Ed slumped into his usual chair and glared at the salve. What did that damn man want from him? They were good as strangers…no, worse. They had the memories of a life that had been ruined, and they were both constantly thinking back on that whenever they saw each other, trying to measure what they had lost against what they had.

"Which is a piss poor comparison." Ed snapped, shoving the salve aside.

The sharp movement stressed the already aching muscles of his shoulder, causing them to convulse and cramp, bringing tears to Ed's eyes. He hunched down, clasping his limb to his stomach in an attempt to loosen the strain on those abused muscles. Not at all the proud, strong front he wanted to present Hohenheim. When the man entered, he attempted to straighten, to ignore muscles screaming with pain.

"You should have soaked longer." Hohenheim's voice was quiet, patient.

"Shut up old man." Ed growled.

"Did you use the salve?"

"What does it look like to you, genius?"

Ed wanted him to leave, so that he could hobble to the safety of his room, but Hohenheim didn't leave, instead he moved closer, kneeling beside the young man and peering at his face in concern. "Go away!" Ed snapped, using his usual defense- anger.

Hohenheim paused, considering, and then settled one large hand on Ed's good shoulder for a brief, solid instant of contact, then stood. "Rub the salve into the sore areas twice a day until the weather settles into winter. It is the temperature changes that are making the muscles ache."

"I know that, bastard."

Hohenheim cracked a crooked sort of smile, nodded once, then made himself scarce so Ed could uncurl and take care of his pain in relative privacy.

"The hell are you smiling at, you bastard?" Ed muttered, grabbing the bottle of salve and making his way slowing back to his room.

"I never understood you then and I guess I never will"