Boomerang
~ Lady Eldaelen ~
The other half of the family had given them a few minutes alone, most of which was spent in comfortable silence leaning against the porch railing, side by side. At the sounds of footsteps on the stairs inside, Ed stretched an arm around his smaller companion's shoulders, drawing her into an easy embrace.
"You remembered to pack everything you want, right?"
"Yes, Pop."
"Your notes? Extra journals? Favorite pens?"
The front door swung open and with an exasperated chuff, the third family member frowned at his father's ridiculousness. "Dad, Sis is only going to Ishbal, not the moon."
Ed and his son squared off in identical stances, arms crossed, backs straight, matching tufts of unruly hair flitting in time with the wind. Winry had commented on multiple occasions that her boys even walked the same, a bewildering occurrence she never could figure out since her automail had long ago altered Ed's gait and their son still had the same two legs he was born with.
"Yes," Ed needled with good-natured joviality. "Just like you and your mother only go to the store to buy a dozen screws yet somehow we end up having to add on to the shop's storage room by the time you get home."
"That's not the same! Automail takes way more... stuff... than alchemy!" This was declared in the most serious of tones, as all rational explanations should be when they are absolutely correct. Which, of course, this was.
Ed bit back a laugh and nodded in complete understanding. "Even if that may be true, what am I always saying?"
Two sets of innocent eyes crinkled in delight as mischievous grins spread across their faces, a sight Ed was all too familiar with to fear anymore. He ignored the unspoken hint that he had walked right into this one.
"Stop picking on your sister or I'll send you to Dublith?"
"No alchemy at the dinner table?"
"A little lower and to the left-ah, right there, babe?" Winry added as she stepped through the still-open entry. She proceeded to lock up their house as Ed protested, then immediately backtracked on his reaction to his family's responses.
"No! Uh, well... yes, yes, and absolutely yes." He slid behind his wife, hands finding the curves of her hips, chin hovering dangerously low near the base of her neck. "We will pick that conversation up again later..."
Winry dropped her keys.
"Parent overload! Gross out!"
"Papa!"
"Ed, honestly."
"Cut the dramatics, you know how I feel about your mother," He waved a hand to keep further protests at bay. "And anyway, the answer I was looking for was 'Whatever you think will happen, won't-'"
"-So plan accordingly," the entire family answered together.
"Your sister may just be going to Ishbal," Ed continued, picking up his daughter's two suitcases and leading the way down the steps, "but for all we know, she very well might end up on the moon before she's through."
"I still can't believe she's apprenticing with the Fuhrer."
"He's not the Fuhrer, I just call him that as a joke. Anyway, the title is 'President' now, Mr. History."
"Fuhrer, President, Flame, whatever. It's still a pretty impressive gig for a shrimp."
"Hey!"
"Enough, you two," Winry interrupted before chaos took over. "We'll miss the train if we have to clean up after another of your fights." She shooed her children along. "Honey, don't worry, even your father and Aunt May grew taller eventually. And you, son, no complaining. We offered to let you go to Rush Valley last year."
"No thanks, I like it better at home."
Ed paused mid-stride to peer over his shoulder and study his family like it was the first time he'd seen them. "Kid, you are so your mother's son."
This was observed in the most serious of tones, as all rational declarations should be when the are absolutely correct. Which, of course, this was. His children smiled, his wife winked, and Ed wondered how he ever could have thought that equivalent exchange was as good as he was going to get.
"I still don't see why you won't do it." Winry picked up again after the kids had pulled ahead for some last-minute sibling squabbles and she had taken one of the suitcases so they could hold hands.
"Come on, Winry, you know alchemists are an odd bunch. Teaching your own kid is just weird. There's something about passing down that kind of stuff to your offspring... it practically guarantees all the recessive bad genes and ingrained habits from multiple generations will surface. Besides, if anything were to go wrong, it's not like I'm able to intervene."
"You know Al would love to-"
"Al's too much of a softy. He'd go easy on her. And I do not need to have a bunch of perverted Xingese princes harassing my little girl."
"Izumi, then."
"I'm a protective parent, not a sadist." Ed shuddered reflexively, but he couldn't keep a fond grin from curling his lips. "Why are we going over this again? The schools here are as bad as the one in Risembool, which our oldest has circumvented by becoming a gear head like you. Now our daughter is showing a real interest in gaseous state alchemy, the biggest specialist that we know in blowing hot air is Mustang, and he owes me. Owes us. It's time to start cashing in on some of that."
Winry conceded that she couldn't argue his point.
It was only after they had said their goodbyes and the train was moments away from leaving did Ed say more.
"Come to think of it, Hoenheim would have been the best teacher for her. Too bad he couldn't have held out for another couple decades."
Winry thumped his shoulder.
"I was kidding!"
"Do you think we're doing the right thing?"
"Of course not! But we are." Ed raised his hand for a final wave. His daughter pressed her hand against the window as the train pulled away from the platform, her eyes bright and eager and only the tiniest bit uncertain for her future.
"Besides, we have nothing to worry about. She knows the way home."
Notes: Unsubmitted idea for lj's fma_fic_contest prompt 81, Papa!Ed. For some reason, I always picture a Papa!Ed channelling Tamaki Suoh when dealing with his daughter. Wonder why... And I was deep in the throes of an Avatar-watching bender -heh, bender- whilst writing this, so the title can totally be blamed on Sokka. Water Tribe, out.
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