A/N:Hm, it's late. :) UPDATE: I've totally forgotten that we don't see Gracia pregnant. I have no idea why I thought she was, but apparently I'm just going crazy. So, this chapter and the first are going to be a little edited.

How Lucky We Are

Chapter Two

"The Song of Peace"

-

The man Maes had been pulling out of the office was trying to pull back and hide his face. Maes, who turned out to be more of an enthusiast than I thought I was going to meet, didn't give up, and soon had him straight, and facing me.

Just where he didn't want to be, apparently—because in a heartbeat, I recognized him.

It was silent for a moment; everyone was staring, wondering why their boss had a defeated look on his face, staring anywhere but my eyes, and why I was gaping with wide eyes at him.

The things I could have done, rushed by my eyes. Me screaming. Me rushing at him and hitting him. Me accusing.

For one second, the forgiveness I'd been taught didn't matter, because I never thought, in a million years, that the first day I was brought into a place that had plenty of the military men I hadn't had contact with in years, I'd see the man who did everything. The man who stole any childhood memories I might have had with my parents. The man who'd killed them, and plenty others. Enough to be worth his life, and so many, many more.

I gulped, and shut my mouth—because suddenly, I'd seen it in another, completely different perspective.

I had no idea how long we'd been standing exactly like that, but I was glad that everyone stayed silent. So many things were going off in my head that I wasn't sure if I should have been taking up a days time with all the synapses.

Finally, I saw that my forgiveness was right—and that letting the problem go was the wrong way to go about it. I should have seen what I saw now. I should have seen all the people he had killed, and how he must have felt, as just a soldier, meant and hired to kill, with no choice but to do his job if he was going to change anything.

The trigger was that look, that defeated, apologetic look that, even though he was looking anywhere but at me, was directed at me, for what he'd done.

Then, I felt so, so sorry. I felt pity like no ones business.

My eyes popped, as I saw that he was crippling under my glazed line of vision. I wrapped my arms around me (because I couldn't have done this any other way) and walked forward, towards him, slowly.

Now, I could have disregarded my recognition, and just smile and pretend to be ignorant.

Instead, I tilted my head so that I captured his gaze, even if he didn't want me to, and said, quietly so that only he, I, and maybe Maes and Lieutenant Hawkeye because they were close, "I accept your apology."

I saw the confused looks from Lieutenant Hawkeye and Maes; apparently they did hear. He looked up, actually meeting my eyes, and stiffened his back straight. His shoulders pulled back, and only then did he look like the man I'd expected when I first heard about Maes' boss.

His lips pressed together, as if he didn't know what to say.

There was a collective gasp as he said, just as quietly, "Thank you." Then, he left, into his office, closing his door. I felt bad, because inside, I'd been hoping for a better reaction. I realized then, though, that I was probably going to spend a little more time around him, now that I was living with someone who reported to him.

Then again, I thought, I didn't exactly get the vibe that Maes worked under him. Perhaps they were just good friends that shared information, because they seemed to close to be in any work relationship.

I had explaining to do later, apparently, because Maes sent me a look that screamed, "Explain. Now," in the worst way.

I moved my head in the direction of the door, just like I'd seen my Aunt Isabelle do a million times, and I felt a little giddy to have a reason to do it myself, even if that was a little silly.

We walked out in tough silence, even though I was content. I was pleased, knowing that I'd have time to sort everything out later, and that what I'd just done was enough, for now.

I smiled, lazily, at Maes, and said, "I can't wait to meet your wife."

As expected, he grinned, and said, "Oh, just you see, my wife is the best! She's completely gorgeous, no person her age is prettier!" In the moment where I thought he would take out more pictures like ones he'd shone me in his car, though, he said, "But I'm not leaving this subject. What happened back there?"

He was hesitant, now, though, as if he thought he shouldn't know. I guess you have that a lot, in the military.

My Aunt Isabelle told me, every now and then, about some troubles the military faced. She'd never told me a bad thing about them, though she spoke seldom of any government issues.

She'd never once mentioned what someone, specifically the military or otherwise, felt about killing when they weren't enjoying it, but she always said things about people who sinned because it was part of their job, or because it was expected, and that we should seek those out, and give them the strength to realized their wrongs.

I'd seen that Roy Mustang, the name to the face I'd seen in my dreams for weeks at a time, had realized and felt bad for his wrongs.

"Well," I started, not really knowing how to say something like this. In the end, I just said it, knowing that it shouldn't effect anything. "He's the man who killed my parents." I felt like tacking on a sir, that sentence was so cold.

I was glad that Maes took that better than I though he would. He became serious, and looked straight forward as we walked. "Well," he said, "He's done that more than once, I suppose."

In the car, on the way to his house to unload and meet his wife, though, he said, "Thank you for forgiving him, though."

Maes' wife, Gracia, greeted me with a bigger smile than I'd put on all day.

Their daughter was more than adorable, imploring me to play with her blocks the entire time after moving my things and around dinner time.

Time had flown by, and the sun was far away when we walked up his steps. I was ushered inside, and was thankful for the warmth, something that stayed inside Central's houses, apparently, but not in it's streets.

Maes and I lugged in all of my things—there wasn't a lot, but you couldn't tell when we were taking breaks halfway up the stairs—into the one of the two spare bedrooms that Maes had at the end of the hall upstairs.

We settled down to dinner soon, though, and I was able to rest while I ate a delicious meal made by Gracia. "This is great," I told her, and Elicia, their daughter, agreed. Aunt Isabelle never cooked—she hated being cooped up in a hot kitchen, even though ours was so open, and I always ended up making our meals. She always complimented me, though, even if it was because if I was happy I would never make her do anything in the kitchen.

We worked together like that well. I would work the field, and keep the house clean, and cook our meals, but she was good with numbers. We went down to the town every other week, and she would be incredible at selling all the various goods we'd grown.

One craft she did well, that I wasn't in charge of, was making toys.

Most of the toys she made, she gave away. I didn't get many—just one every other birthday. Others she would send far away, and sell over the phone.

Gracia smiled across the table at me, and said, "Thank you, Paisley."

She was so motherly, I was surprised that she didn't have more children already. Of course, I didn't mention that. After being around Maes for more than a couple hours, though, I figured that she'd just been maternal in the first place—and marrying Maes just intensified to need to be caring and wise; Elicia wasn't really any less enthusiastic than Maes, either.

I felt like I should be thanking them for their hospitality, but in some way it just didn't feel right to. Of course, I was grateful, and would tell them that often, but anything formal seemed out of place.

Knowing there was more tension than openness in the air, I left to go to sleep in my new room.

Unlike the last time I was traded, though, my small nightmare wasn't about my parents.

I was standing somewhere high.

The wind was rough, but not enough to knock me off. I didn't know what I was wearing, or if I was even myself—all I could see was what was happening beneath me.

It was a battle, unlike anything I'd ever seen before. Smoke and dust flew up from the ground as explosions went off in different places, and people fought against each other. Lightning seemed to spring up from the ground, and the land moved in masses.

Suddenly, my head shot up, and I saw giant machines moving over head, flying. My eyes burst open in surprise. I'd never seen flying aircraft before, although I'd certainly heard of it.

I looked to my left, and saw a boy with long blond hair rushing towards me. He grabbed me, screaming "You've got to get out of here, Paisley!"

Then, I woke up.

A/N: Wow, I keep cutting the story at these places, don't I? Oh well, you'll forgive me (hopefully). Before I go, I have to shout out to three people who gave me awesome reviews. Thank you guys, I loved them. Also, a thank you to anyone who's already put my story on their favorite or story alert list—you're awesome! Turtles.