Sometimes, Ed wonders what his mother would say if she could see him now. Not often, of course, because he is so busy with the steady beat of alchemy, alchemy, alchemy and Al, Al, Al.
Al has to get his body back. Ed has to get better at alchemy, he has to be be the best so he can do things, more things, that no one else can do. He has to fashion a Philosopher's Stone and save his little brother from the clutches of a metal suit and himself from a collar and leash provided by the military.
There is nothing else that matters.
But sometimes, when he is waiting for a train or drifting between being awake and being asleep, Ed thinks about things that don't matter. He thinks about his mother, about their mother. He says I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry and it isn't enough, but nothing ever could be. There is a hole in his heart and a sin on his head that cannot be absolved.
Would you be proud, Mom? Would you understand that we needed you back? Or would you cast us out, cast us down like so many others? I know what I did was wrong...I'm trying to fix it, Mom. I'm going to get Al back to normal again.
He imagines her in heaven (he doesn't believe in heaven). Sometimes, it looks like it does in pictures; stained glass and white puffy clouds and cherubs with harps and rosy cheeks. Other times, it looks like the house he burnt down in Resembol.
She would smile at him sadly and touch the arm that isn't flesh and bone, but metal and wires. She would ask what happened and he would tell her. She would cry and he would cry, but she would forgive him. She always forgave him.
He would tell her all about the adventures he's had since she died. He would tell her about seeing the truth and about becoming a state alchemist and about the people he had helped, the people he had saved and the people he had failed. He would tell her about Azumi and Armstrong and Hawkeye and the Bastard Colonel.
Then she would chide him for his language, but not too harshly. She might ask him about Winry or Pinako. He would tell her about how Scar killed Winry's parents and about how he stopped her from becoming a murderer. He might even tell her about how pretty Winry looked the last time he saw her or about how he thought he might like her a little (a lot) more than he was supposed to.
She would laugh and hug him. He would blush and push her off, but be happy all the same. But then she would ask about Ed's father, about Van Hoenhiem. Ed might tell her about how he found the man by her grave with a world of sadness in his eyes (gold like Ed's, Ed hated those eyes). Ed might not tell her about how angry he was at first, but she would see it in his face and prod until he let her know how mad he was at his father.
He would tell her that Hoenhiem left him and left her and left Al and that bastard didn't care about us, Mom. She would hug him and she would smell like flowers and warmth like she was supposed to and not blood and ashes like he made her to.
She would tell him that his father loved him, always. She would tell him that he needed to forgive him. Ed would refuse because fuck you, old man. I can do this alone. She would chide him for language again, but her eyes would be sad and she would hold his hand, if he wanted.
He might change the subject, might tell her about how Al kept trying to save kittens or about the time he almost died in Lab 5 or about Nina.
Or they might sit and just be (be happy, be at peace, be forgiven, be together). But then the light would fade because the sun sets everywhere, even in heaven, and Ed would lose sight of his mother's face in the darkness.
He would be alone again.
That is what Ed thinks about sometimes. About what his mother would say if heaven was real and she was looking down on him and his struggles from on high.
But heaven is a story for kids (he's not a kid anymore) and Ed's mother is dead (I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry).
She can't watch him and be proud. She can't forgive him. She can't do anything at all. She's gone into dust, into ashes, into nothing at all.
Thinking about things like this are a waste of his time.
A/N: I'm on a roll with angst lately. Seriously. I am a very depressing person, as evidenced by this happy little piece. Review, favorite, all that good stuff.
Also, I'm working on a multipart FMA fic that should be up in a few weeks…so be on the lookout for that. (I swear I can write something other than angst-filled oneshots!)
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. Ever.