Author's Note: This was one of those pieces that come to you in a sudden brainwave, usually when you have the least amount of time to actually write it out. But I managed to scribble it down while the idea was still fresh and hot in my mind, and I feel like I bridged some sort of gap with this. I've always liked Hohenheim, especially in the manga, but somehow writing this made me understand him at a deeper level than before.
I know why you hate me. You think I don't care. You think that's why I left, or at least that's why we have no basis for a relationship. The thing is, Edward, you just don't remember when I was there, and you can't believe how much I care. But I do.
You don't remember the first time I held you, so soft and fragile in my arms. You don't remember gazing into my eyes with your shining, newborn shards of gold. You don't remember falling asleep, your tiny fingers curled around one of mine.
And there were the diapers and the baths, when I took over for your mother. Patting you on your small back, pacing up and down, rocking in the rocking chair so you could go to sleep. And there was the first time you smiled at me, so warm and precious it made my heart melt.
Do you remember what your first word was? "Papa." I remember, even if you don't, how you clapped your hands and giggled over and over, "Pa-pa, pa-pa, pa-pa!" And how proud I was, how filled with joy. I taught you how to walk, did you remember that? Your mother would carry Alphonse, and I would hold my arms out to you. Come, come to Papa. That's right, you're doing good, Edward. And you would stumble and fall, but you know what? You always got back up again, before I could even reach over and help you. I remember the first time you made it to my arms without falling. And I held you, held you close, my son.
You don't remember our last conversation either, do you? I knew I would have to leave, but the night before I did I took you on my knee when you came trotting into my office. "You know that I love you, right?" I asked you, holding your small warmth against my chest.
And you laughed with your sunny, overjoyed smile and said, "Yeah!" As if it was so obvious I couldn't possibly be asking seriously. I wish you remembered that.
But then, there are things I don't remember either. I don't remember the first book you read all by yourself. I don't remember your first day of school, walking nervously onto the playground holding your brother's hand. I don't remember tooth fairy visits, or lopsided snowmen, or teaching you how to swim, or playing catch with you, or showing you the secrets of alchemy.
I don't remember giving you tidbits of fatherly wisdom. Not how to pick your fights, or how to stick up for those who have no power, or how to ask a girl out on a date. All the things I should have said, and never did. Crying doesn't make you any less a man. Failures aren't dead ends, but new opportunities.
Human transmutation is the most dangerous and foolish kind of alchemy, and if you attempt it you might die.
I wasn't there for you, Edward, or for Alphonse, and for that...I can make no vindication. You are well justified in hating me for that. There are so many times I curse myself for not being there for you boys and your mother. If only I could have been the sacrifice. If only I were the only one to suffer, the only one to be crippled by alchemy.
I wish I could hold you again, my son. I wish you would look up at me and smile that sunshine-bright smile. Call me Papa again. But I know you never would, and I acknowledge your right to hate me to my ancient guts.
But I am your father, and I reserve the right to love you just the same.