Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Playing With Fire ❯ Fire Sign ( Chapter 1 )

So, well. Um. <I>Well</I>, this is my first serious fanfic. That is to say, it's the first one written with the intent of posting. However, for those of you who saw the phrase “this is my first…”, don't worry. I'm a good writer. That probably came off as horribly egotistical, but it's the truth. The only reason I'm able to admit to being good is because I've been told that so many times and it's finally sunk in.

 

So, about the fic. A friend and I came up with the idea last year and I've only just now started working on it (this should give you an idea of the level of procrastination I'm capable of). This was a good thing, seeing as my writing style has gotten better and so has my general level of creativeness. I'd say that this is one of my best works (aside from the 160+ monster), mainly because I have a working plot.

 

This part is written by me. And edited by me. And I have the spelling/grammar check set on formal (but not so formal that it gets annoyed at first person usage).

 

</b><center>Playing with Fire</center></b>

 

<I>Because if you play with fire, you're going to get burned</I>

 

<center>Fire Sign</center>

 

“Bring the defendant in,” Judge Amelia called, rubbing her eyes. The last case (shoplifting) had been unusually long and difficult, owing to the far too numerous parents and step-parents that vixen had. One was sure of her innocence, another convinced of her guilt, her father didn't give a damn, her step-mother was worried, and her aunt (who had custody of the little witch) was drunk. Needless to say, Amelia wasn't particularly happy to see the next defendant.

 

The defendant, unlike most of the numerous teenagers that passed through Amelia's juvenile court, was not slouching, scowling, or wearing pants that defied laws of gravity. Instead he was dressed in black slacks and a bright white shirt. His hair was a different story. Amelia, who'd seen just about everything from skinheads to mullets, raised an eyebrow. The boy, (Edward H. Elric, according to the transcript) wore his hair like a girl; long and French-braided. Amelia had never seen anything like that before.

 

“The transcript says you were originally detained and arrested for setting the San Diego City Firehouse, Resembool District on fire, is that correct?” Amelia said with a straight face. One of the bailiffs snickered, but fell silent when Amelia looked at him. This was a courthouse, not Comedy Central.

 

“Yes, ma'am,” the boy said. Amelia searched his face for any sign of insolence. There was none. Strange, Amelia thought, twisting her gold wedding band. She glanced at the transcript. It stated that Edward was believed to have pyromania. Amelia hid a smile. She'd always been interested in pyromaniacs. Her brother had been one, before he burned himself to death in an abandoned building.

 

“And you're appealing that conviction?” Amelia asked, reading from the transcript.

 

“Yes, ma'am,” Edward said.

 

“The transcript reads `Edward H. Elric has recently been diagnosed with pyromania and is currently taking Luvox for the symptoms.' Is that correct Mr. Elric?”

 

“Yes,” the boy replied. Amelia riffled through the papers before coming to the one dealing with guardianship and custody. Edward's was surprisingly short, but just as confusing as the previous defendant's. Instead of having five names crammed on to two lines, it was eerily blank. The only other time Amelia had come across a transcript like this was when she was dealt with a sixteen year old from somewhere in Eastern Europe. Apparently, reaching one's sixteenth year there was such an achievement it warranted full rights. Edward, however, was clearly both American and under 18.

 

“It states that you aren't living with any legal guardian or parent, can you explain?” Amelia asked. A look of surprise and apprehension jolted across Edward's face. Amelia carefully hid a smirk. Most of the juvenile delinquents she saw didn't realize she looked for things other than obvious guilt in determining the length and degree of the defendant's punishment.

 

“Umm,” Edward said with a nervous glance around the room. “Pinako was a friend of my mom's. She was a doctor before she retired and helped my mom—

 

“I'm afraid that wasn't the question,” Amelia said gently.

 

“Oh!” Edward exclaimed. He bit his lip nervously before continuing, “My mom, she,” Edward paused before finishing. “She died. Of cancer, last year.”

 

Amelia looked properly shocked.

 

“That was unfortunate, and I am sorry for your loss,” Amelia said, missing Edward's surprised smile as she reshuffled the papers. She never understood how the transcripts could be so thorough in some places and completely vague in other areas. How was she supposed to be able to make an unemotional and detached judgment about a child who'd recently lost his parent.

 

“Can you tell me a bit about who you were living with before your arrest,” Amelia said, glancing down at the place labeled Father/Male Guardian/Alternative Female Guardian. It too was blank.

 

“I was living with Pinako, her granddaughter Winry, and my brother Al,” Edward said, his voice thickening when he reached his brother's name.

 

“Were you happy there?” Amelia asked, before realizing just how stupid that question was. Of course he wasn't happy. His mother had just died. And he was obviously troubled because normal kids don't set the local fire station on fire.

 

“I guess,” Edward shrugged.

 

“They didn't hurt me or anything.” Edward added, misinterpreting Amelia's look.

 

“Why did you set the fire?” Amelia satisfying her burning desire to question a pyromaniac's motives. Granted she had a list of symptoms in her sheaf of papers, but it was so much more thrilling to hear it first hand, before the doctors and analysts had sterilized it.

 

Edward looked intensely uncomfortable and shifted around.

 

“I,” he started, before stopping as his face burned red. “I've always liked fire. It's rather … interesting to watch.”

 

Amelia nodded. Most people found flames mesmerizing. However, she'd heard that pyros got a little more than just aesthetic pleasure from the flames.

 

“It was weird, I'd get, umm pretty, err excited when I thought about fire.”

 

“Excited, can you explain further?” Amelia asked trying not to sound over eager. This type of questioning brought back memories of the real courts, before she decided to have a family and work part time. This case was a real treat compared to the previous one. That one merely reminded her of being a new judge, assigned to the most trivial cases.

 

Edward flushed a deep crimson. Amelia raised her eyebrows imploringly. Edward looked at his feet before starring beseechingly at Amelia. Amelia's expression did not change. Eventually Edward cracked.

 

“Excited in that way,” Edward tried to elaborate, waving his hand vaguely.

 

“Be more precise Mr. Elric,” Amelia said allowing her impatience to creep into her voice. She didn't have all the time in the world and she was already off schedule. As soon as she was finished here, it was off to her daughter's kindergarten graduation. Something Amelia wouldn't miss for the world, let alone an adolescent pyro.

 

Edward sighed and tried again.

 

“Sort of like when I'd think of a gu—rl,” Edward said not lifting his eyes from the floor.

 

“Aroused?” Amelia supplied dispassionately. Edward nodded silently, practically radiating embarrassment.

 

“And what did you feel after you set the fire?” Amelia asked, glancing down at the list of symptoms. He fit the list perfectly. Of course he might've already been asked these questions, but the embarrassment seemed real.

 

“A release,” Edward supplied simply, refusing to admit that it had less to do with the fire and more to do with certain movements of his hand.

 

“Are you familiar with the symptoms of pyromania?” Amelia asked leaning forward.

 

“Aside from my own, no. The doctors asked questions about practically every mental illness,” Edward replied with a shy smile. Amelia glanced at the reams of Edward and the psychiatrist's conversations. There were certainly enough papers to indicate they had been searching for more than pyromania. In fact, some of the questions seemed to be geared toward depression and bi-polar disorder.

 

“Your change of plea has been accepted. Edward H. Elric is hereby cleared of charges against due to relevant insanity/mental illness. But before you go Mr. Elric, I want to make sure you realize that the court can't just let you live with a family friend, especially when your father is still alive,” Amelia said, catching Edward's look of horror and shock.

 

“I—

 

“Your Honor,” Edward's hitherto silent lawyer spoke. “His father cannot be found at the moment.”

 

“Explain,” Amelia said in her chilliest voice.

 

“The are no records of Hohenheim's death, but all the contacts we have are outdated,” the lawyer said, Amelia squinted at him before recognizing him. He was Ned Simmons, DA and general aide of the courthouse.

 

“Here,” Amelia said scribbling down a court order, “Mr. Elric can leave with the Rockbells until his father shows up.”

 

Edward looked elated.

 

“But, Mr. Elric, I want you to realize that your father has sole custody and that you will be living with him when he shows up,” Amelia said. “Is that clear?”

 

“Crystal,” Edward replied with a sad smile.

 

“Court dismissed, you are a free man Mr. Elric,” Amelia said with a smile.

 

 

Ed walked out of the courthouse and was promptly blinded by the sunlight. He blinked several times. How long had it been since he had see the whole sky without it being marred by barbed wire?

 

Ed counted in his head, he'd set the station on fire in the in late July and it was now November, if he remembered correctly. That was five months. Had it really been that long, Edward thought, tugging at his shirt collar. Even though it was the beginning of winter in the rest of the world, it was stifling in San Diego.

 

“Waiting for your ride?”

 

Ed spun around to see a brown haired woman dressed in varying shades of fuchsia, complete with fuchsia satin trimming on her leopard skin stilettos. Ed stared at her. He would've remembered her if she'd been in the court room.

 

“I'm Amelia,” the woman said, pulling out a pair of over sized sunglasses and putting them on. “I was your judge.”

 

“Oh,” Ed exclaimed, “I didn't—

 

“It's okay, most people don't,” Amelia said. Ed stared at her. It was true, this fashionista bore no resemblance to the stern woman in courtroom black.

 

“So who's picking you up?” Amelia asked, scanning the streets for her ride. Her niece was picking her up and she was looking for the telltale signs of the car (screeching brakes, yelling pedestrians, and the blur of pink).

 

“I—I think Pinako is,” Ed lied. In truth he had no idea of how he was getting home. He didn't even know if the Rockbells had heard of his retrial let alone his acquittal.

 

“If you want you can barrow my cell,” Amelia offered, still searching traffic for her niece's fuchsia Corvette.

 

“Thank you,” Ed said as he took the leopard print (trimmed with pink rhinestones) from Amelia's hand.

 

“Don't mention it,” Amelia said as Edward dialed the Rockbells' number. It rang three times before someone picked up.

 

“Hullo?” It was Al.

 

“Al!”

 

“Who is this?” Al asked sounding terribly confused.

 

“This is Ed, your brother,” Ed said, surely Al recognized his voice.

 

“Er, I'll get Pinako,” Al said. E frowned, why wasn't his brother happy to hear him?

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hi, Pinako, this is Ed,” Ed said hoping that she'd remember him.

 

“Any news on your sentence?” Pinako asked, sounding slightly preoccupied.

 

“I've been acquitted.”

 

“That's good to hear, so when are you getting out?” Pinako asked.

 

“I'm already out,” Ed said, trying to hide his annoyance. He still didn't see why Al didn't want to talk to him.

 

“Oh!” Pinako exclaimed, “Where should I pick you up?”

 

“Um, I'm at the courthouse on—

 

“Eastwood and Crescent, opposite Laundromat and Sushi bar,” Amelia supplied not taking her eyes off traffic. Ed dutifully repeated back the instructions.

 

“Okay, I'll be over there in a jiffy,” Pinako said hanging up.

 

“Here's your phone,” Ed said handing the animal print and glitter monstrosity back to its owner.

 

“Thanks, and Edward, don't be surprised if your family is a bit distant,” Amelia said “You've been gone for how long?”

 

“Five months,” Ed answered.

 

“Yes, that's long enough to learn how to live without someone. But don't worry, I'm sure that once you all adjust, you're going to be fine,” Amelia smiled. “That's my ride!”

 

Ed starred as a bright pink Corvette skidded to a stop right in front of them. The driver was the typical beach babe complete with wet marks from her bikini. Ed eyed her dispassionately. She wasn't his type.

 

“Eva, out, I'm driving,” Amelia called as Eva tossed her the keys and moved over into the passenger seat.

 

Ed waved goodbye as Amelia pulled away from the curb. He flinched as Amelia gunned the engine and went from zero to sixty far too quickly. This was by far one of the strangest days he'd ever had.

 

Ed sighed. If J-hall hadn't been so terrible, he would've felt guilty about getting out on account of pyromania. The reason he had set the fire hadn't been poor impulse control, well, his lack of impulse control did contribute to it, but wasn't the cause.

 

He didn't set the fire because he wanted to watch it burn or watch the firemen put it out. He did it because he was drunk and dared to.

 

It all started a few months after his mother's death. Ed had been sitting in one of the back allies getting ready to light a leaves on fire. He remembered the bright red of his lighter and how it glinted in the sun light. He'd just been about to slip his hand down his board shorts and boxes when something crashed outside the alley. Ed froze, his hand hovering right above his waistband.

 

“Don't come back ya stupid cat!” someone shrieked as a cat yowled. Ed smiled and his hand continued its deviant journey downwards. Ed stroked his rough patch of hair, imagining someone else's hot hand down there. With a practiced flick Ed set the first dry leaf on fire and simultaneously grasped himself firmly. Edward threw his head back and let loose a throaty moan, before trailing long nailed fingers up and down his length. Jacking off to fire was so much more satisfying than doing so to other images. Ed never thought about what that meant, he was too busy enjoying how it felt.

 

After a good five minutes of delicate teasing, Ed reluctantly sped up his pace. He couldn't take long otherwise his absence would be noticed. He was so involved in his task at hand that he failed to notice the crowd of tough looking boys gathered around.

 

“Jacking off to fire,” one of them muttered “Now that's hardcore.”

 

“Told you he was pyro,” a tall lanky kid muttered, smirking triumphantly.

 

“I'd have never guessed, he always seems like such a—” a gangly black haired

kid said.

 

“Teacher's pet,” his red streaked twin supplied.

 

“Yeah,” a red head said breathlessly, starring at Ed's hunched figure.

 

“Think he's hot, Jeff,” the red streaked twin taunted.

 

“Does he light your fire?” the black haired one added.

 

“Shut up!” Jeff said speaking louder than he should.

 

“Shhh,” the tall towhead with a gash across his right eye said. Everyone fell

silent. “Mark, Davis, don't tease Jeff. He can't help it, and besides, he's the one who found out about Pyro.” The towhead pointed at Ed when he said the last remark.

 

“But—

 

Mark was cut off by one of Ed's particularly loud moans.

 

“He's going to come!” Jeff whispered.

 

“Watch him often, do we?” Davis taunted in a whisper. Jeff shoved him.

 

“Slash—

 

Jeff's whine was cut off by Ed's keen. Jeff watched as the small boned boy stiffened before suddenly relaxing into a boneless heap. Jeff couldn't help but admire the blonde's supple form and the way the sun glinted off his long golden hair. The boy was far prettier than any girl, or at least, that's what Jeff thought.

 

Mark stepped forward. Jeff flinched. The poor blonde was going to be rudely ripped from his pleasant state of mind.

 

“Don't,” the towhead said placing a tan arm across Mark's chest. “Wait till he can think a bit clearer.” Jeff bit back a smile. He always liked watching the look of satiated happiness dance across the blonde's face.

 

 

Ed relaxed back into the crate. He smiled slightly as he felt the San Diego sun warm his face. It was a beautiful. Still it was getting late, and he needed to be home before Al started to worry. With that thought, Ed slowly opened his eyes.

 

Instead of seeing the abandoned alley, like he had expected, Ed saw bare legs and flip flops, with one pair of sandals. Ed blinked several times, and when the legs did not disappear, looked upward.

 

He was met with the sight of four boys. Two of them looked similar enough to be brothers, if not twins. The only difference that Ed could see was that one had chosen to streak his dyed black hair with red. The other was a bare-chested redhead who nearly gasped in shock when he met Ed's eyes. Ed smothered a snort. Most people had that reaction to his so-called golden eyes. (They were hazel, dammit!).

 

The last boy, a towhead, was dressed differently. For one he was the owner of the sandals. Secondly, he wore a loose unbuttoned shirt instead of the regular tank top. However the thing that really set him apart from all the rest was the scarred-over gash across his right eye. Ed gulped slightly. He'd just been caught jacking off to fire (as opposed to naked girls) by some of the toughest kids in school.

 

“Interesting … fetish you have there,” the towhead spoke confirming Ed's thoughts.

 

“Err you see it—

 

“We're not going to make fun of you,” the red streaked guy said with a dangerous smile.

 

“Shut it, Mark,” the towhead said elbowing Mark Red-Streaks into silence. “Like I said, we don't want to make fun of you. We'd like you to join us.”'

 

Ed just starred at them. It wasn't exactly normal to have four guys watch him jack off and then offer to befriend him. Still, Ed didn't want to know what would happen if he said no. Besides, Russell had made it clear that he didn't want to hang out with some gay-ass fag. The only other choice was hanging out with Winry, a surefire way to commit social suicide.

 

“Sure, why not?” Ed said, making no move to rise. The towhead gave the redhead a significant look. The redhead smiled slightly before offering Ed his right hand. Ed cursed silently. He hadn't had a chance to clean his hand after pleasing himself.

 

The redhead's smile didn't waver.

 

Ed reluctantly grasped the redhead's hand, blushing at the sticky mess. The redhead's only reaction was to smile and drag Ed to his feet. Suddenly Ed had a very good view of a tanned toned chest and a nipple piercing. Ed's mouth watered and his cock twitched. Piercings were another one of Ed's numerous fetishes.

 

“I'm Jeff, pleasure to meet you,” the taller boy drawled, tugging Ed closer before releasing him. Ed took a step back.

 

“I'm Ed,” he said, noticing the Jeff still hadn't cleaned his hand.

 

“I'm Mark,” Mark stated, “That's my twin, Davis.” Davis nodded.

 

“That's Slash,” Jeff said, jerking his head towards the towhead. It was Ed's turn to nod.

 

“You know how to surf?” Slash questioned his eyes challenging Ed.

 

“Of course,” Ed said responding to the unspoken challenge.

 

“Got a board?”

 

Ed nodded.

 

“Get it and meet us back here in five,” Slash said in his deep, deep voice that Ed found rather sexy. Ed turned and walked off a few paces before glancing over his shoulder. Jeff was the only one still looking. He caught Ed's eye, before raising his right hand and giving it a long sensuous lick. Ed's eyes nearly popped out of his head. That was either the most erotic thing he'd ever seen or the most disturbing, Ed wasn't quite sure.

 

Not wanting to seem completely standoffish, Ed waved hesitantly back. Jeff smirked in return and continued to “clean” his hand. Ed shivered. Sure the redhead was attractive, but something about him didn't seem right. Ed knew Al would never stand for it. Though Al would never stand for anything like … that. Al was still trusting, naïve, and Catholic.

 

Ed was brought back to the present by a squeal tires. He looked up, expecting to see the fuchsia Corvette. Instead he was met with the more terrifying sight of Winry behind the wheel of Pinako's ancient station wagon. Pinako looked equally terrified, though not as shocked as Ed felt.

 

Pinako got out of the station wagon looking a bit shaken. Ed hoped that it was only because of Winry's parallel parking skills (or lack thereof).

 

“Out Winry,” Pinako said upon exiting the car.

 

“But—

 

“You're not allowed to drive with passengers,” Pinako said, snatching the keys. Ed breathed a sigh of relief. As it was, he got terribly carsick, making even the shortest rides pure misery, unless he was loaded up on that one drug, Dramamine was it? But he had been told not to take any sort of drug without checking to see how it would interact with the Luvox. Ed wasn't particularly inclined to see how a new, flighty driver would affect his motion sickness.

 

Winry practically flounced around the front and yanked open the door to the front seat. Ed sighed again. He hated riding in the back, mostly because Trez Pies always breathed down Ed's neck and slobbered on his ear. The smell of his saliva did nothing to help the motion sickness.

 

“Everybody in?” Pinako asked. No one answered. Strange, Ed thought, normally Winry's pretty chatty. Though perhaps there wasn't anything thing to tell. But that hadn't stopped her in the past. Ed remembered how often he and Al had to stop her and tell her that they'd been there and didn't need to hear it again.

 

He stared out the window, trying not to lose the little breakfast he hadn't eaten. The food at juvie hadn't been too bad, but he doubted that he would've been calm enough to eat anything that morning.

 

“So Ed, are you glad to be back?” Winry finally asked, when they were five minutes away from home.

 

“Yeah,” Ed said about to go on but everything he had to say seemed stupid or just wrong. Telling them how much he hated it there sounded too much like complaining and saying how much he missed them just sounded sappy and sentimental.

 

“We missed,” Winry said. “It's been different without you.”

 

“I missed you guys too,” Ed said, only now it didn't sound sincere it all. More like he was trying to remind them that he had feelings too. He had the urge to smack himself. Today was just going to be one of those days where no matter what he said, it'd be wrong. Aside from the fact that he wasn't throwing up yet and the fact that Trez Pies hadn't thrown up on Ed. Those were two things that would've happened if everything was going wrong. So now it was everything minus two, which left a large number of things that were still going wrong.

 

“So what's the verdict? Are you home to stay?” Winry asked, turning around to look Ed in the face.

 

“Well,” Ed said, folding his hands. “Sorta. Apparently, Pinako's not my official guardian and the judge wants me to live with Him.”

 

“No,” Winry gasped. “Al too?”

 

“She didn't say anything about Al,” Ed said with a smile, “Just me.”

 

“But they don't know where he is, do they?” Winry asked. She had never met Hohenheim only heard about him from Ed and Al. However, since Ed and Al had completely different opinions of Hohenheim, Winry didn't know exactly what to expect.

The most she had gotten out of Ed before it disintegrated into angry ranting was `He's a bastard' and later `She'd still be alive if he hadn't left!' Al on the other, had only said `I don't remember much, but he was nice.' Though, recently Al had admitted that it had seemed that Ed was Hohenheim's favorite, not that Al had minded at the time. He was more of his mother's son.

 

“Well, they're trying to find him,” Ed said with a shrug. “I bet it's going to take awhile, though.” Winry gave Ed a wry smile. It was probably a good thing that he didn't remember how close he'd been with his father. That would only make it worse.

 

“I'm sure he'll let you live with us,” Pinako said, keeping her eye on the road. Ed grimaced. He didn't even want to think about his… that bastard. It was all his fault, if you really thought about. If his father had been there he wouldn't have gone into that ally on that day, and he wouldn't have… met Jeff, gotten his first kiss from a guy, surfed on Jeff's champion level (but it was a girl's board) surfboard. Still, he wouldn't have gone to juvenile hall.

 

You can't blame all that on him, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Al mentioned. Ed ignored it. Perhaps not all of it was That Bastard's fault. Ed had to take a little credit for himself. But Trisha never seemed to recover after that letter and photo He'd sent. The doctors said that her remission hadn't been caused by any amount of stress. Ed didn't believe them completely. After Hohenheim left, Trisha lost the will to live.

 

“Yeah, I mean, well you didn't see his last letter, but apparently his girlfriend left him,” Winry said flippantly.

 

“Really?” Ed asked, torn between hearing about His downfall and grinding his teeth at the mention of That Tramp.

 

“Well, he's single now,” Winry said, flipping her bangs out of her eyes.

“Do you know where—

 

“No, there wasn't a return address,” Pinako said.

 

“Oh,” Ed said, torn between outrage and gratitude.