Hi everyone! New chapter, and I hope this one's good, too.

--

Dying Not To Hurt You

Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist or any of the Fullmetal Alchemist characters in any way. I only own Patricia, her father, her mother and Sean and Loraine Lewis and my plot.

Chapter two: Who Does He Think He Is?

The only things you will remember are your name, the Gate and your moment of Death...

The sentence rang in Patricia's head as she woke up. Still a bit sleepy she sat up. She started to look around. The room... she didn't recognize it. There was just the small bed she laid in, a fragile wooden chair and a lamp without lampshade. The walls were painted in a dull green color and in the middle of the old wooden floor there was an old mat. The little window with the thick green curtains on the west wall didn't let more light in than necessary.

She tried to get up and find somebody who could explain why she was here, but she couldn't feel her left leg.

Then it all came back to her; lying on the floor shot through the chest, that huge stone gate, the voice taking away all she ever had, all the information of something she didn't know about being forced into her head... That black-haired man with those warm black eyes looking down at her.

"Hello? Somebody?" she whispered.

The floor planks squeaked as someone walked over them. The doorknob turned and the door opened. In the doorway a muscular man stood.

"Where am I"? Patricia asked the man as he went in and sat down on the chair.

"Well, I can answer that question. You are in Rush Valley, 'Automail Capital of the World.'"

"Oh. Is that so...?" Patricia didn't know where Rush Valley was, so it didn't help much.

"What's 'automail'?" she asked the man.

"Don't tell me you haven't heard of automail," he replied.

"As a matter of fact, I haven't. But more important, who are you?"

The man looked around in the room.

"Who? Oh, you mean me! I'm Sean Lewis, and you?"

"Trisha. Patricia Taylor. How did I get here?"

"I found you in the middle of the street bleeding to death. I took you here and got you a doctor," Sean said simply.

"Oh. Thanks."

"You must be dehydrated! Wait a second and I'll get you something to drink." Patricia watched Sean disappear through the door. He came back half a minute later with a big glass of water.

"Hm," he muttered and handed her the glass. "Now what should we do with that leg of yours?"

"W-what do you...?"

"Well you can't stumble around like that, can you?" Sean said and pointed at her non-existing left leg.

"Oh, that," Patricia said with a heavy sigh.

"As I see it you have two choices. Either automail, or an ordinary artificial leg."

"Ermm... what's automail?"

"Oh, yeah, you didn't know that, did you? Well, automail is a mechanical limb, which works just like normal. The worst about them is that you have to attach all your nerves to the thing. I'm not gonna play doctor and say it won't hurt a bit, 'cause in the end it hurts as hell. Makes it kind of painful, but without nerves it won't work, you know."

Patricia stared at him. A mechanical limb...?

"And as it happens, I am a decent automail mechanic myself! So if you want automail, I can start working on it immediately. Free of charge!"

"I-I would really appreciate if you could make my automail," Patricia said.

"Are you sure? I mean, it'll hurt a lot, and since you're a girl..."

"THE FACT THAT I'M A GIRL DOESN'T MEAN THAT I'M WEAK!!"

"O-okay, then I'll start at once!" Sean said smiling.

--

Building the leg took about six days. During that time Sean and his wife Loraine took very good care of Patricia. Since she couldn't walk normally, Loraine would come with every meal to her bed, even though she objected loudly and said that if they just could borrow her some crutches or a cane or something she could come and eat with them. But, no, Loraine continued to bring her food like the stubborn lady she was.

Later - exactly a week from when she had woke up in the Lewis' house - Patricia's automail surgery took place.

The only real hard thing was to stay awake. Her brain wanted to shut down to help her shield the pain out, but she wouldn't let it. She had to stay awake.

And, oh yeah, pain came frequently, never stopping until several hours after they were done. She didn't feel the last three hours of pain; the pigheadedness of Patricia Taylor finally got to an end and she fainted.

She was out cool for almost eight hours, and when she woke up she was curious. She tried her new leg little by little, and soon she was standing on her own two legs. Shakily, but still standing. It did feel a little strange to not have a leg in flesh and bone, but the machinery worked absolutely fine as a replacement.

She would need to get more used to the leg, rehabilitee and such. She counted it would take her about six months. Sean had said that it would take nine months, but how much time can it take getting used to something that'll be yours forever?

Later, she would know that it can take an eternity to get used to anything, and that 'forever' is a very strong word.

--

Four months later, October 16th

"I'M SICK AND TIRED OF THIS HELL HOLE!" Patricia screamed while kicking away a rock. She'd been thinking a lot lately. Mostly about her automail leg, but also about her few memories. It did concern her, what the Gate had told her, that they took her leg and memory. 'The only things you'll remember are your name, the Gate and your moment of Death'? It just didn't make sense. Well, what do, really?

Then there was this dream. She dreamed almost every night of the man with the black eyes saying "Thank you, miss, and have a good day." It freaked her out every single time. She always woke up wanting to scream.

And as she walked around Rush Valley thinking, she bumped into someone. She looked up to say sorry, but saw that it wasn't an ordinary human. He wore armor, and was about six feet tall.

Beside the armored man was a blonde guy, not taller than 5'5''. She knew that because she was barely 5'2''. His long blonde hair was put up in a braid – very manly – and his eyes were golden yellow. He wore black leather pants and a little black jacket which revealed his right automail arm. There was also a blonde girl, a little taller than the braid-guy, who had a light green top and a black miniskirt. In her hand she had a wrench, and she didn't look afraid to use it.

The short one turned to her. He looked at her a moment, before saying "Why the fuck are you staring?"

Patricia got speechless. She simply didn't know what to say. Besides, what should one say in a situation like that? She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times.

"N-no reason, sorry," she stammered.

The boy glared at her a second and turned to see what was going on a bit down the road. There was a crowd of people around two men. One of them was large with two huge automail arms, and the other was rather skinny.

"Come here, people!" the skinny one shouted. "Come here and see Automail Arm wrestling!"

The curiosity got a firm grip on Patricia, and she walked over, wondering what it was, this 'Automail Arm wrestling' was. She saw that the braid-guy, the armored man and the wrench-girl followed her, obviously curious they, too.

When Patricia got there, she pushed herself into the mass of people saying "sorry, shorty coming through." She squeezed through the crowd and got in the absolute front, just so she could see over all the giants.

She saw a brown-haired girl lying on the ground with something that appeared to be shattered wood around her.

"Very close!" the skinny man said.

"If you want, I'll give you the name of a good mechanic," the man with the automail arms said in a rough voice.

The girl on the ground stood up and ran away.

"Is there no one else who dare challenging the champ?! What about you, sir?" The skinny man pointed at the armored man. "Sure, you look big and strong, but how'd 'ya like to prove it?"

"You mean me? N-no, thank you."

To Patricia's big surprise, the armor-man had a light voice, just like a little boy. Either, he was a small boy playing in the huge armor, or, he was a man with the tiniest voice ever.

"That's too bad! Hm, what about...?" the skinny man pointed at the braid-guy. "Nah, I couldn't possibly ask this shrimp to take on the champ! HAHAHA!"

"I'M NOT A SHRIIIMP!!" the braid-guy screamed. He became furious, and the armor-man had to hold him back so he wouldn't attack the skinny man.

"WOW, you're a feisty shrimp, aren't 'ya!? You look like you salvaged that automail from the bottom of a scrap-heap! HAHAHA!"

The wrench-girl's eyes went black, and said with a voice angrier than the braid-guy's "Alphonse, let go of your brother...!"

The armor-man, now known as Alphonse loosened the grip on his brother, saying "yes, ma'am."

Patricia started to wonder. How could it happen that the two of them were brothers? Alphonse seemed to be a lot older than the braid-guy, like being braid-guy's father or something. But, obviously not. They could go on and be brothers as much as they liked, Patricia decided not to give a damn about them anyways.

--

Song of the day: Thnks Fr Th Mmrs – Fall Out Boy