A/N- It's that time of the year again; the time when I completely go crazy with writing and story ideas! Seriously; the Plot Bunnies are multiplying like crazy and rabid. Here's one that was biting especially hard. ON MY FACE. So to speak, anyway. It was just THAT persistent. Anyway, enjoy, my lovely readers. This here is my first FMA fanfic! I have high hopes for this one, because I feel like my other fics suck. Badly.

Updates will be made whenever my busy schedule permits and I'm done tweaking everything to perfection. ;D

Comments are appreciated, and it would be a big help to know what you liked about the story. Constructive criticism is encouraged. But dish it out gently. I'm a sensitive soul who doesn't learn well from harsh critique. Thank you! x3

Disclaimer- …Can you not see that it pains my soul to say I don't own this beautiful series? Why must you force me to say something you already know?

Snap

Prologue: Those That Remain

The sky didn't seem to know today was inappropriate for beautiful weather. It was hot as anything and the sun was brilliant in a sky of deep blue despite the tragedy weighing down on a mob of black-clad mourners. Perhaps it was reassurance; a sign that the lost soul had found relief from pain at last and they were living in eternal bliss, but those attending that funeral did not seem to see the meaning this sunny day could've held, too preoccupied with their feelings of sorrow to notice.

There was no sound any louder than a muffled sob smothered by a handkerchief, hand, or a tissue; loud noises it seemed in this fragile atmosphere would be as disrespectful as the sunshine. Even the two young boys at the very front of the mob, the sons of whom had passed away and who should have been crying the hardest, were quiet. The younger, Alphonse, allowed silent tears to pour down his cheeks, but Edward, the older of the two, had long since run out of tears to cry and now stood in cold silence, head hanging solemnly.

There was something haunting in his eyes, dull and somewhat lifeless. He was almost like a wax figure, standing at the grave; frighteningly realistic, yet with something wrong, no, missing in the eyes, the shine that indicated life, which told you what you were looking at was not real.

A few words were said, condolences were offered, hugs were exchanged, and flowers were placed on the grey slab that now marked the final resting place of Trisha Elric. The crowd slowly began to dissolve as the day grew older until there were a few, close friends of the Elric family, who stayed behind to say their goodbyes and attempted to bring solace to the two brothers who had just lost their remaining parent. Everyone seemed to be telling them the same thing:

"It'll be okay."

"I'm so sorry for your loss, you poor, poor dears."

"We're all here for you if you need us."

"She's in a better place."

No matter what anyone said, though, the agonizing hurt of loss didn't stop squeezing at their hearts, crushing it until it felt like it would burst and all that misery would contaminate any hope for life ahead they had left.

Suddenly, Alphonse unexpectedly burst into tears. It happened without reason or warning. Loud sobs bubbled up in his chest and tore out his throat in heaves, his tiny form trembling uncontrollably with an onslaught of waterworks and cries of anguish. A few heads turned in surprise at the sudden noise before their mouths thinned into frowns of sympathy and they looked away, feeling as though it wasn't appropriate to watch such an honest display of emotion. Edward took his brother's trembling wrists, but he jerked them away and wiped at his watery eyes furiously. He looked somewhat embarrassed that he'd completely lost it in front of his big brother, though it was obvious that he was too distraught to do anything to stop. But Edward assured him that he didn't mind and he wouldn't think less of him by placing a hand on his head and mussing up his neatly combed hair. He was never the type to give hugs, but once his hand had fallen from his brother's head, he overcame his reluctance as he embraced his younger sibling with one arm, curling Alphonse in towards his shoulder. It was a short hug, not even three seconds long, but it held a meaning so subtle and enormous, it didn't matter.

Alphonse calmed down considerably, but Edward decided that it was best he took him home where he could sort out his grief in a much less depressing environment. So, he took one of Alphonse's skinny wrists and led him away to the entrance of the cemetery. He let go when he was sure his brother could walk without him having to lead the way.

For a moment, Edward lingered as Alphonse slowly shuffled ahead, casting a meaningful glance at the graveyard. His topaz eyes looked sad, lost, and lonely behind the strong façade he put up for his younger sibling. The decision he made then was clear in his expression; that he would be back later when no one else was around. For now though, he would comfort his brother.

After all, he was the only family he had left.

~*\O/*\O/*\O/*~

She was the last one remaining in the cemetery. Everyone else had left hours ago and the day was beginning to fade, making way for the night. Lucetta Elric stood in front of the grave that now belonged to her daughter, long black dress fluttering in the country breeze. She was tall and slender, and looked to be in her mid-fifties. Her medium length, chestnut-going-grey hair was pulled back and fastened behind her head with a large black bow and she gripped a black, plastic purse with a silver clasp in her hands. She had the purse open, displaying a wrinkled collection of tissues and handkerchiefs, ready to be used in case a few tears slipped out. For now though, the only sign of her grief was a frown.

"You silly girl," she muttered with a shake of her head. "You've got everything confused…you're not supposed to go before me…"

A thought ran through her mind, something she'd said a long time ago, when things weren't so complicated and twisted up in knots.

He's going to be the death of you! He's got wanderlust in those veins; he won't sit still for long, and who's going to be the one left behind when he leaves?

"And I was right, wasn't I?" she said quietly, but there was no triumph or victorious tone in the statement, only bitterness. In fact, she wished more than anything that she'd been wrong when she'd said that. Even then, it had never occurred just how right that prediction had been. Had she known the reality, how would that have changed things? Had she known, would Trisha still be alive and happy?

But no; that was selfish, wasn't it? After all, that might have meant her grandsons wouldn't be alive, and the lives Trisha had touched…what about that? Dwelling on what could have happened was not wise to think about; what was the point of wallowing in self loathing and pity over something you didn't do, or could have done better, something that didn't and never would happen? There was a difference between hope and wishful thinking.

The grass hissed with the sound of approaching footsteps and Lucetta surfaced from her thoughts, turning round to see Pinako Rockbell making her way over. The small old woman was also dressed in black, a pearl necklace hanging down her front that bounced and swung slightly as she walked. Lucetta noted that her trademark pipe was nowhere in sight. She imagined she'd done away with that singularity for the occasion. (Occasion. What and awful word to describe this situation. It was a dysfunctional euphemism; meant to be less offensive, but coming off rather insulting or disrespectful.)

Several steps later, the two were standing side by side, staring down at Trisha's headstone with mixed emotions. A weighty silence set in, like heavy, flannel sheets, but without the cozy warmth, and like wrinkles in those sheets, there were words waiting to be said. But there was one particular wrinkle that Lucetta desperately wanted to, needed to smooth. She mustered up her courage, and let the words fall from her mouth.

"Was she happy, Pinako?"

A fond, albeit sad, smile formed on the other woman's lips at the question and she replied, "So happy."

With these two simple words, a lump unexpectedly formed in Lucetta's throat and the corners of her eyes burned with the beginnings of tears. "I'm glad," she managed to say through her constricted throat. Her mouth permitted a weak, trembling smile onto her face. "I'm glad I was wrong about that."

Curiosity was evident in Pinako's expression, but she didn't press. Lucetta was grateful for that. For some reason, she felt as though she wouldn't have the heart to explain. Instead, she focused her gaze on the headstone once more and read the words neatly engraved on it for what seemed to be the hundredth time.

Trisha Elric

1878-1904

It occurred to her then, clicking in her head as she realized Trisha had never changed her last name; Elric was her maiden name. A sour frown curved her lips.

"Hoenheim didn't have the decency to marry her?" She asked it tartly, rhetorically, as though she'd swallowed something vile. "He didn't even show up today, did he?"

"Of course not. If he could have come back sooner, he would have," came Pinako's reply. The look she gave Lucetta pleaded for her to listen. "I know you blame him, but…he really did love Trisha."

"Hmph. Maybe so, but that doesn't mean he was good for her," Lucetta argued stubbornly. Her flash of contempt disappeared as quickly as it had come and she exhaled heavily, letting her expression soften again. "After all, look what's happened now. I had hoped I'd never know the pain you felt when you lost your son and daughter-in-law, but…here I am, standing before my own daughter's grave."

This conversation of daughters and sons reminded Pinako of a very important matter that was left in the open.

"Will you be taking in Edward and Alphonse? Now that their mother is gone, you're their only blood-relative," the shorter woman stated.

"Me?" Disbelief was evident in Lucetta's tone as she stared down at Pinako with a surprised expression that Pinako didn't entirely understand. "I'm barely better than a stranger. You've been more of a grandmother to them than I could ever hope to be." She gave the other woman a very sincere and serious look. "Please. If it's not too much to ask, I'm leaving them in your care. Trisha…she would have wanted you too as well, I think."

"If you're sure…"

Lucetta nodded in affirmation.

"All right then." A chuckle pushed past Pinako's lips. "What choice did I have anyway? I'd still be watching over them even if Trisha was still alive."

Lucetta smiled with gratitude towards her, and then glanced at the sky. The sun was just skimming the horizon, grazing over the tops of the hills in the distance.

"It's getting late," she commented. "If I don't get moving, I won't be able to find my way to the inn. I don't want to sleep past the time the train arrives tomorrow. It may have been a long time since I've lived here, but I'll always remember how dark it gets at night in the country. Can't even see your own hand in front of your face." She smiled a little at this.

"Be careful out there," Pinako urged, earning a chortle from the other woman.

"Please, Pinako. I live in Central."

That was the last thing she said before she left the graveyard and started down the dirt road. And only then, when she was walking alone down the path did her tears fall, leaving a trail of wet spots on the dirt.

A/N- Feedback would make my day. I want to make this story as awesome as possible!

The things I do for you people…xDDDD