Anything
She's there again. Sitting in the rocking chair beside the crib, holding a small, pink onsie. Her tear stained face illuminated by the gentle glow of the moon.
He's tried everything, but nothing has helped. Her heart still aches for the child she carried. The one that didn't make it into the world.
"Darling, please, come to bed. You need to sleep..." She gave no response to his words, only rubbed the soft pink fabric between her fingers as another tear fell from her puffy, deep blue eyes. She thinks that she failed him, she thinks that it was her fault.
He would do anything to see her smile again.
Anything.
She's so thin. It's been three months since she's ate a good meal. She's pale, she hasn't been outside since it happened. She's cold, all of her happiness and warmth crushed by depression. She's dying, her heart beats inside her chest but is torn apart, aching with each beat.
"Winry, it wasn't your fault, please, can't you see that?" His words laced with pain. He hates seeing her like this, consumed by agony.
He would do anything to hear her laugh again.
Anything.
He looks into her eyes, nothing. They're dull, lifeless. A tear slides down his cheek, he wants his wife back. The happy, playful, loving woman that he loved more than he could fathom. That woman died at the hospital though.
He would do anything to have her back.
Anything.
She's suffering, the woman she used to be, dead. Only her body remains, filled with sorrow. A puppet of her former self.
He has to do something.
He leaves her side, returning with an object. His golden eyes overflowing with tears as he chokes back a sob. He brings the object up to her head, his automail hand shaking.
"Winry? I love you... please, just say something to me!"
No response. That was all it took.
The sound of gunfire rang throughout the house, blood spattered on his face.
"Are you with her now? Are you holding our little girl? Are you happy?" He drops to his knees, his body shaking as he stares at the bloody mess in front of him.
"I'll be right there, darling. Just hang on, okay?" He raises the gun to his head, pulling the trigger.
She's not sad anymore.
He did the one thing out of everything that he didn't want to do.
He killed his everything, because anything just wasn't enough.