"Hm," Al mused at the words writing themselves out in Lily's familiar script as the blue-feathered quill danced over the parchment. "Tell me that the last by-product is all hers, at least. Not yours."
As her hand covered his, Al watched his sister's face distort into something that signified 'happy'. His lips twitched in an answering smile.
For the first time since the battle, Al didn't wish for silence. He was curious to hear the sound which would have went with that opened mouth, those shaking shoulders. The jerking of the quill trying to keep up and put the random sounds into letter patterns - 'ahahaha' - just didn't convey the experience.
So Al laughed alongside with her, feeling his throat and chest contract as the air escaped from his lungs. He laughed echoing her, unselfconscious and free, just as he always laughed as a child, always prompted by his sister's laughter because from the first moment it was released, it always seemed like such an impossibly-right and only-proper action to repeat.
Just as in childhood, they sat now with their heads bent together over a table. Over a child. Both grown up and hardened and twisted by their own particular losses, their own particular paths. But despite what the world might have called them today, despite the names or the guards at the door, the lack of magic in the room, or the uncertainty of tomorrow, life was still... surprisingly, randomly, unexpectedly brilliant.
It was good right now, at this particular moment.
And Al wasn't about to let it slip by.
"Only in your letters," he informed her later. "And although that's an immeasurable concept, it's mutual."