Hi, everyone! This particular fic was written a few days ago when I was really connected with my ghost friend, so I was trying to channel for him, since he wanted to write another fic. I lost my connection to him a few times, so the parts in this fic that don't fit as well are due to my trying to piece things together, and not his fault, heh. Hope you enjoy it!
Disclaimer: I do not own FullMetal Alchemist.
I can still remember running through the green meadows as children, me and my brother. We didn't have a care in the world. When we would tire, we would both flop down on our backs and look up at the bright, blue sky above us, wondering at the majesty of it all. My little brother used to ask me questions from time to time such as why was the sky blue or the grass green. Being the scientific mind I always was, I would tell him, in exact scientific detail just what made these things so, without any flowery explanations so often painted over the facts by so many people these days.
I remember that we would often get up from our place on the ground to go and run by the river. I would help Al find perfectly flat and smooth stones, and teach him how to skip them across the water. He was never as good at it as I was, but he always tried. Once in awhile he'd actually succeed, though most of the time his so-called successes were really only the result of having just hit a rock underwater, and the skipping stone merely bounced off of it.
I remember sitting on the shore, talking with him, wondering about the deep questions of life, all the while trying to come up with scientific facts which had no place in such deep questions. The sun would begin to set behind the clouds, and the sky would color itself a mixture of orange, pink, and purple, and yet we'd still be out talking and discussing things with each other. If we stayed out too late, as so often happened at times like this, Mom would flash a light from the top story window, and we'd come running home, knowing that it was time for dinner, and then afterward, to get ready for bed.
I remember the smell of Mom's special cooking, everything made in the way that only she could prepare them. She was one of the very few people who could actually use milk in a recipe and still have it be palatable to me. One of her best recipes was a certain kind of stew she made. She said it had been passed down to her from her mother. I had never known her mother. She had died when me and Al were really small. If she was anything like our mother was, then I bet she was really sweet.
I remember the times when we would get ready for bed. We'd change into our nightclothes and then hop into bed, and eagerly await the moment when our mother would ascend the stairs to tuck us in and tell us a bedtime story. She was pretty much the only person in the world that I would allow to tell me fairy tales. Somehow, they just seemed more magical coming from her...and I guess that I'll actually accept them if they're more magical than everyone else portrays them.
When she would finish her story, she would plant a kiss on our cheeks or foreheads, turn off the light, and then tell us to go to bed and wish us sweet dreams. We almost never argued with her, and rarely ever woke up from a bad sleep due to a nightmare...at least, not that we couldn't handle. The one time that I did have a terrible nightmare that sent me into a hysterical frenzy, she put together a small pouch of herbs, tied it with a ribbon, and told me to put it under my pillow. I couldn't see the science in that, but I did it anyway. I haven't had nightmares of that nature since. I don't believe in magic...though it seems that Mom had some sort of magic she was always able to use on me.
That day when we first saw her fall ill, I suddenly realized how terribly lonely I would be if ever she was gone, and for the first time, I feared for her life. I finally was starting to understand a bit of what Winry had been through as a child, and how our talk of bringing the dead back with a forbidden practice had honestly not been of any help to her. Maybe I allowed my thoughts to run way ahead of themselves, I don't know...but as you know the story, my beautiful mother passed on not long after that. We were now alone.
Just before she left this world, she removed a locket from around her neck that she had been wearing for years, and handed it to me. Our father had given it to her as an anniversary present before we were even born. She wanted us to remember her and our father, and the love that we all shared for each other. That was one of the final things she said to me. Al had been spaced out at the time from crying, so he hadn't even heard the dialogue between us. I decided that I wouldn't tell him about the locket too quickly, not until he'd dealt with his grief a little bit first. Al's much more sensitive than me, and I didn't want him hurting any more than necessary.
Once she was gone for good, I finally took a second look at the locket. It was shaped like a heart, had gold inlays all around it, as well as a number of words that had been engraved into it. On the very front were the words "Together for Eternity". Once I opened it up, there on the right was a small poem, composed of only a couple stanzas, but it was rather difficult to read unless one squinted. The left side of the open heart held room for a picture, but there was none there at the time. My mom had been waiting to get a picture of our whole family together to put there, but had never gotten the opportunity. I was able to find a picture of just the three of us, however, and I placed that in the location that had been reserved for a picture. I didn't want to have our father be in the picture anyway. He had been part of the contributing factors to Mom's death...he didn't deserve to be in the picture on her locket.
I carefully closed the heart and continued to stare at it for awhile longer. She was gone. I knew it in my head, but my heart was having a difficult time accepting the matter. I wasn't sure if I could possibly adjust, let alone survive, without her. Just then, I began to hear footsteps in the room adjacent to this one. I hurriedly placed the locket around my neck and tucked it under my shirt where it wouldn't be seen. Al stepped into the room and asked me if anything was wrong. I shook my head. Everything was fine. It was as fine as it would ever be without Mom around.
I turned and began to walk out of the room with slumped shoulders, but my feet no longer dragged along the floor. Even if I could not adjust without Mom in my life, I would still live to help my little brother adjust. He needed me for the time being. That, at least, was reason to continue living. I would live so that he could live. Then Mother wouldn't have died in vain, especially since Al was the splitting image of her. "Mother," I whispered so that no one but me could hear, "I'll do my best to help him grow up to be just like you. He'll become a wonderful man someday, just as you were the most wonderful woman there ever was. Don't give up hope in us yet. You won't have died in vain."
I turned again and walked out of the room. Al didn't need to see me weep. I ignored his questioning gaze and made my way into a private room. I'd recover soon. After all, I had a purpose to live for now. In spite of my objections, however, Al came walking into the room, carrying a small pouch with him. He said he had found it while straightening out my bed, and was wondering what it was. I hadn't seen that pouch in years. I took it in my hands and brought it to my face. The scent of the perfume my mom always wore met my nostrils immediately, and I finally couldn't hold back the floodgates any longer. One tear, and then another began running down my cheeks.
Al threw his arms around me and asked me repeatedly what was the matter. I just shook my head, I couldn't answer him properly. I sniffed the pouch again, and once again smelled the familiar scent coming from it. It definitely smelled like my mother. I missed her then more than ever before as I held the little pouch in my hands and cried into it. Al didn't know what the pouch signified, but he leaned over and sniffed at it too, and also picked up on the smell, which caused him to start tearing up alongside me. We both knew...no matter how much we healed, no matter what we would go through from here on, the pain from this point in time would always be remembered. Our mother was someone that could never be forgotten, not in this lifetime, or the next. She would always be remembered, forever and ever.
Hope you enjoyed that. Let me know what you think, if you wish. Thanks for reading.