Genre: Fullmetal Alchemist
Title: And So She Cried
Rating: PG?
Warnings: Angst?
Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own FMA. But GOD I wish I did.

AN: I was going to write some fluff, but this came out instead. Oh well.

They are not children.

She had been aware of this for a while, but still it seemed so strange to think of it that way. After all, they were the same age as her, and often acted even more immature; yet they were so much older.

Whenever they came around she would watch them go about their days, acting happy and carefree, as if there was nothing in the world that was wrong. Yet there was a stiffness to their steps, a forced feeling to their smiles—subtle things, but all the same signs to her that they were hiding feelings that were dark and sad.

She wished that she could make them young again. She wanted to see them run and play, to tease her while at the same time try to make her happy. She wanted to hear them laugh; truly laugh, with all of their heart, a laugh that would come up from the depths of their souls with no silent whispers of sadness. But most of all, she wanted them to cry.

It seems cruel, to wish to see tears running down the cheeks of ones you care so much about. But they never cried. And if anyone in all of the world deserved to do so, to collapse in upon himself and just cry out every ache and every wrong, it was these two. They were so young, and yet had suffered through so much pain; it was probably why they had grown so fast. And why they did not think they could cry.

But she could cry. She had no reservations about letting her pain show. If she was sad she cried, and so what if the world saw her? Those were her feelings, her truth, and she had no reason to hide them, or hide from them.

But they are different. They don't think that way—they can't afford to, not in the world that they had put themselves in. They can't show any weakness to the people around them, and they certainly can't show any to themselves. If that were to happen, they probably would just break down and fall apart. And so, they can not cry.

But she can. She can cry for herself, and she can cry for them. For everything that is sad, hurtful, and simply not right, she can cry. Even if they do not want her to, she can take everything onto herself and give the pain a place to channel through, letting the tears fall down her face. It may not be very much, but she will do anything that might take away some of that hurt.

They are not children, and they are not adults. Caught somewhere in the middle, they are in a painful place that she cannot move them from. This is not something she can fix; she knows that all too well. And so she cries, doing whatever it takes to help them down the path that will take their pain away.

They are no longer children.

And neither is she.