The List

Summary: Over the course of four years, Al had accumulated a list of exactly 1,352 things he wanted to do when he got his body back. These are just a few.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. I just sort of borrow the characters and twist them into my own plots for my, and others', amusement.

Number 18

"I don't care if the cafeteria doesn't have it—find some!"

Al winced slightly at the sound of his brother's voice thundering through the closed door to his private room—a gift from the Colonel, pulling a few strings to ensure Al's comfort as a sort-of farewell present to Ed's enslavement via military affiliation. He might not have been able to clap his hands and unleash an unfathomable amount of destruction and chaos at the slightest whim any more—but nobody was quite so dumb as to forget that Ed didn't exactly need Alchemy to be intimidating. Barely taller than the average fifteen-year-old and able to make a face ominous and terrifying (or maybe just stupid) enough to have foot-soldiers confused and very willing to follow any order in the madhouse that was Ametaris' government with a sharp salute and quick as lightning 'yes, sir!'. Al sighed, too worn out (from just being awake) to try and chastise his brother for abusing authority he didn't even technically have anymore.

If Ed didn't calm down soon, someone (probably the Colonel or that scary sister of Major Armstrong's) would find their way to the source and make him shut up.

And really, though Ed was only causing such a ruckus for Al's benefit (frivolous though it was) he was growing irritated with the shouting. He was slowly but surely forming the mother of all migraines, but even so, wouldn't dare tell the not-quite-the-pipsqueak-he-used-to-be older Elric to put a sock in it.

He let out a shaky breath and sank just a bit further into his sheets, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to get used to the sensation of so much hair flooding his face and shoulders from every angle. Split-ends and choppy, uneven growths of the neglected mess frizzed up and clung to his skin—making him itch in the worst ways, and agitating him even more because even after half a week, he still wasn't used to any of the hundreds of innocuous little sensations and feather-light touches that a normal person wouldn't even register in daily life.

He'd almost managed to relax again, maybe even drifted off into another light nap, but was just as quickly thrown out of it with a vicious bark of laughter coupled with the door to his room literally flying open and smashing into the wall that held it. Al couldn't see it with the curtains surrounding his cot blocking the view, but he would be willing to bet that the hinges were more than a little disjoined.

Ed strutted in with a box wrapped in bright yellow paper in his hands and a shit-eating-grin threatening to split his face from ear to ear as he proudly made his way up to the side of his silently irate brother's side.

"You so love me right now." he grinned cheekily.

Al snorted. "At the moment, it's debatable. I think I saw the windows shaking when you were yelling." He deadpanned, enjoying the startled look on his brother's face—but closed his eyes and forced himself to sit up as best he could when Ed's grin just got wider. "Please tell me that's what I think it is."

Ed smugly lifted his chin, basking in the glory of achieving the ever-so-daunting task of getting a few military goons to do his bidding—like the evil overlord that he totally was. Or so Ed liked to sometimes think, anyway. "Bet your bony ass it is, little brother," he gloated as he sat the box down on the edge of the bed and started the menial task of untying and unwrapping the novelty packaging.

Al's mouth started to overflow with saliva when the paper wrappings were tossed aside, and (with a little difficulty from not quite having his motor functions in his right hand completely recovered) Ed lifted the lid of the box, and the scent of freshly baked, sugary, much-too-unhealthy-for-someone-recovering-from-severe-emaciation bits of deliciousness wafted to his nose.

The younger brother's eyes nearly rolled back into his skull from the ecstasy.

"You sure you're ready for something like this?" Ed asked, reaching into the box and pulling one of the little pieces of heaven out and looking at it more closely. Apparently, they weren't exactly what he had thought they'd be, or, had forgotten in his haste to make sure that Al would get exactly what he wanted when he wanted that they could very well rot his brother's weakened, mineral deprived teeth out in a single bite.

Al didn't care. He shot Ed a look that clearly and efficiently told him to shut up and hand them over. Now.

To which Ed, almost as if just because he was being issued a challenge, promptly shoved the apple fritter in his mouth and ate the entire thing in two bites.

Al didn't really care. There were still five more.

And they lasted all of two minutes.

He was pretty sure that he'd developed a cavity, or maybe even might have heightened his risks for diabetes with his out-of-whack metabolism, and later, when he was fighting off nausea because there was a reason people don't eat that much sugar in one sitting, he bore it with a grin.

Number 18: Eat Fresh Apple Fritters With Ed.

Check.

And they were delicious.

R&R

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