Nature abhors a vacuum. "Empty" is not a natural state for any void that can easily be filled. And if nature senses a void, sooner or later something will fill it. When Edwaudo Heinriech died on his own side of the gate, it left a void that was, in the natural order of things, filled in all but instantly. However, when Edward Elric left his own world for the second time, with no way to return, he left a void of his own... and nature filled the gap.

He awoke on a stone floor, cold, hard, and covered with debris. Groaning softly, the figure levered himself up into a half-sitting position and glanced around through long blond hair that was apparently his. He tucked the loose strands behind his ears, absently noticing that it was coarse but clean and untangled. He seemed to be... in a ruin of some sort, though not much was left. Charred earthen walls rose a good eight feet above his head, a few scorched-looking pylons sticking up like shark's teeth around the edges. A house, or a church, he guessed, long since burned out if the accumulation of leaves and mud beneath him was anything to go by. Now why was he lying in a ruin...?

He didn't remember, he realized. It should have been surprising, but somehow the only feeling it inspired was a cold sort of dread, listing rapidly towards fear. It didn't require memories to know that waking up without them wasn't a good sign. He pushed himself to his knees, then his feet, wincing slightly at the soreness in muscles unused for god alone knows how long. Thinking about it, he didn't remember anything. Not names, not faces, not where on earth he was or where on earth he needed to be.

Well.

Stretching his arms above his head, he let out a long breath of air in something that was almost a sigh, then drew in another. It was cold and sharp and tasted of the very beginning of spring; flowers and herbs and the faint scent of ice and pine borne on wind from the north. The scent was so new, so beautiful, he savored that lungful, and another, and another before letting his eyes slide open again and turning his mind to the problem of escape. The basement walls were just a little too high to climb easily... but they had been lined with brick, and enough had slid out of the wall to make risky hand and toe holds. Still, not the best option.

Turning slowly, the young man surveyed the room with surprising good cheer. The situation was at least, not immediately dire, and the sun was pleasant on his skin. The air was crisp and cool and moist, and he found himself wearing something very like a smile. Closer inspection of the walls showed where a stair had been, before... only a few charred boards remained, the scraps of a carved banister rail. For the first time I wondered what the house had looked like; it had probably been very pretty, if that last sample of ruined carving was anything to go by. Snatches of something, memory? Dream? Floated through my mind. A simple wooden table and a vase full of flowers; chipped flower china and a woman's smiling face... something about the memory stung, though, and he didn't fight when it drifted out of focus again.

The stairs were clearly out; holes in the wall it was. Picking a place where a dozen bricks were missing, he slipped his toes into the slot. They were bare, he noted wryly. He was wearing a loose tank-top, black leather pants, and his toes were cold. Quick as a whisper, the young man was up the wall and standing in rich black mud in which flowers were already starting to push through. Whoever he was knelt down to examine them, and heard his breath escape in an audible gasp as waves of something crashed over him.

It was called firefly grass, he recalled-- long thick strands scattered with flowers shaped like tiny stars, little stars you could hold on your hand and wish on. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes and he swallowed them back fiercely, though he couldn't say why to either. He rose sharply, abruptly, and began to walk, picking a direction completely at random. The golden-haired man walked down the path in the early spring sunshine, and let the garden gate swing shut behind him.

"Ed! Edward!" The voice was female, shouting and laughing behind him. Instinctively, the young man with no name turned to the source of the calling. A woman was running towards him, gray-shot blond hair making a banner behind her. Before he could react, she reached him—and threw her arms around him in a suffocating hug. "Edward. You were gone so long." He watched her, frozen, not sure how to react. Edward could be his name. But how was he to react to this... stranger? The odd woman looked up, and read the pure non-comprehension on his face. Slowly, she withdrew, and looked him over with a care that seemed strangely at odds with her haphazard greeting.

"I'm sorry. Who is that?" He surprised them both by speaking; his voice was a mellow tenor, and his phrasing formal. The woman looked down and blushed, and he took the opportunity to examine her more closely. She was not tall-- a little below average hight, and with a lean, wiry build that spoke of hard physical labor most of her adult life, as did tanned, weatherbeaten skin. She had pale blond hair streaked liberally with gray, but crow's feet around her sparkling blue eyes were her only other concession to time. All in all, she looked to be in her early forties or thereabouts. Right now she was blushing like a young girl, fierce blue eyes clouded and narrowed in something very like pain. The expression didn't suit her at all, made her seem older.

"I'm sorry." She said, not answering the question. "I mistook you for someone else." She looked down at her feet, holding one hand to her mouth in embarrassment, and the young man felt suddenly that something about her seemed very wrong. Images flashed through his mind again, a young blond woman laughing... Blinking sharply, the man with no memory acted on impulse. Long, slender fingers reached out, tucked themselves under her chin, and gently lifted her face up to look at him.

"No harm, no foul." He wasn't sure where the words came from, but they felt right. The tone was to formal, but the words were familiar. "He must have been someone very special to you." The young man watched the stranger carefully for her reaction, and felt a pang of relief at her odd half-smile.

"He was like a brother." She said, throwing her shoulders and drawing up to her full hight so his fingers fell away. "You look very much like him." The tone was almost wistful, but contained a firm energy that seemed to suit the woman much better. Then she jumped, as though remembering something, and blushed again. "Where are my manners? I'm Winry Rockbell." She held out one fine-boned hand.

The man with no memory responded instinctively, holding out his own hand—drawing it back quickly when he realized it was the wrong one, the left. By the time he'd held out the proper hand, she'd traded as well, and she chuckled softly. "Ed always did that too." She flashed him a bright grin that made her seem twenty years younger. The blond-haired girl drifted through his mind again, but the image was gone before he could pin anything down. "So what's your name, anyway? We don't get many travelers through here."

The golden-eyed stranger pulled himself up to his full, though not considerable height, drew a deep breath—

"I don't know." he answered.

AN: So. Despite the lack of direct idea theft, I owe several attributions for this fic. The rest of this paragraph is shout-outs, and you can skip it if you like, but I'd prefer you check out the brilliant authors and artists who inspired this. First, to BinaryAlchemist, for her fic Fifty Trips Around the Sun, which reminded me why I love the series. Second, to NumiNami for her utterly amazing Pride!Ed drawings.

I have no idea if this fanfiction will be continued. If you review, the odds are a LOT higher. Constructive critism welcomed, frankly, even just saying "I read it." would be apreciated. Hopefully, I'll see you next chapter.