Title: Love

Characters: Edward, Winry and Alphonse

Genre: Slice of Reality/Angst/Hurt and Comfort

Type: AU or AR

Words: 4,360 (without AN or Intro)

Love:

(noun) a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person

(noun) a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection, as for a parent, child, or friend

(noun) sexual passion or desire

There is no need for a university study. There is no need for a thousand year old Chinese philosopher. There is no need for a licensed doctor or physiatrist. Everyone, even idiots, considered love to be the most confusing thing in the world.

Love is always unpredictable, completely irrational, illogical and the most insane thing in this world that God had created. There is no manual with clear cut rules to explain how you fall in and out of love or how you can choose who you fall in love with.

Love is nothing less and nothing more. Love, like life, is what you get. Whatever you do, whatever you say, whatever you feel, whatever you see, whatever you hear, there is no rewind button you can press to go back in time and fix your past mistakes. What you give is what you get.

My mother was one of the strongest women that I have ever met. She had two jobs, a waitress by day and a bartender by night. She was, in my opinion, brilliant; but education meant success and there was only so far someone could reach with only a high school diploma.

She had genuine feelings to go to college, she really did. All during high school, she saved money from her part time job and babysitting duty with the goal of going to school to become a preschool teacher. However, she had met my father and safe to say it was love at first sight. They were only a couple years apart, she was a sophomore when he was a senior, and they were by far the most beautiful people in the entire school. To no one's surprise it didn't take very long my father to notice my mother and it was even less of a surprise when they started dating.

They were by all means the perfect couple. They rarely fought and if they did it wasn't anything that they couldn't solve with an easy compromise. They enjoyed each other's company and didn't feel the large pressure to have sex before they were ready. Their different personalities caused them to bond like best friends and it was no surprise that there wasn't a single secret between the two.

It wasn't until her senior year that they finally hit a bump in the road. The night of her graduation they went to a friend's party where by accident they each drank a cup of spiked punch. In a blurred moment of misjudgment, they had sex. A month later, a pregnancy test proved she was pregnant with me.

Either out of responsibility or love, my father married my mother buying her a diamond ring with his savings that he had been collecting ever since he could remember. With money from his jobs, he bought her a rather cheap but nice house in the middle of the rural valley called Resembool where they raised me without any harsh prejudice or hate from both their families and peers. A year later, my mother became pregnant with my little brother, Alphonse.

When Al turned three, a major war broke out between the country we lived in and the country right across the desert. The country's population had been in a serious decline for years. When there weren't enough men enlisting on their own free will, they created the draft, forcing all eligible men from the ages eighteen to forty participate in the war.

Our father was one of the first soldiers to be drafted and one of the first not to come home. I began to resent my father for leaving. I was a child, unable to process the seriousness of the situation called war. All I know is he got up and left and his going away forever lead the image of my mother's pained face, when those military dogs came to inform us of our father's passing, forever be burned in my mind.

From then on she changed. She always carried out her regular duties, dragged herself to work, cooked two meals every day, and thoroughly cleaned the house daily. Every morning she took us to the school right across from the church and in the afternoon she would come to pick us up. In the evening, she would make dinner and by nine o'clock we were already tucked into bed as she weaved a story about our father. I never wanted to hear those stories, but I forced myself to listen because even the mention of my father brought back the ghost of her old warm smile.

One day in the summer she would take us to wherever we wanted, whether it be a park or the zoo and when the anniversary of my father's death came upon us, we always went to his grave, bearing a small bouquet of lavenders from her garden.

As she did all these activities, she gradually lost all her vigor and vitality that accompanied them. Sometimes at home, she would stop working in the middle of task, something that was considered taboo before, and would place herself in the chair resting on the porch and quietly would sing our father's favorite song to herself.

One day, while she was cooking, she collapsed. While I tried to help my mother up, Al ran next door and managed to get our neighbors to phone the house doctor.

What he told us didn't shock us in the least. In his words, our mother was very sick and he didn't expect her to live for more than a few months. From that moment, she was bed ridden. She was forced to quit both her jobs; something that we noticed made her very restless. With sympathy, her former superiors mailed us her last paychecks.

Using the money she saved in a safe, we bought the medicine the doctor prescribed. To make it easier, we grew most of our food in our garden and if we had extra we sold to neighbors, using the money to pay for our mother's medicine. Yet there was nothing we could do. No matter how much food we made for her, however long we prayed, how hard we cried, how much medicine we helped her force down, the disease had slowly began to claim more and more of her life. Silently, all we could do is watch her fade away.

To us, the image of her dying in bed never gave us nightmares. In the back of our minds we knew we tried and we both acknowledged that it would be better if she just died. She was suffering. Even though she had us, we knew she felt terribly alone without our father and my resentment for him only grew stronger.

I believed if he had never had left for the war and never had died, mother wouldn't be sick. She wouldn't be lying here in bed in agonizing pain, unconsciously calling out his name. She would be laughing, talking softly as she made dinner. I would be arguing with her that I didn't want to drink the glass of milk she placed in front of me and Al would be giggling in his chair, glancing at our father's face to see his reaction.

The disease, ironically enough, didn't take her life. The church across from our old school was giving away candles to raise money to repair the breaking roof. Two boys, about our age, had tried to be helpful and bought two candles. In the flash of what was a great idea, they lit the candles and walked around the neighborhood, asking people to donate a few cents to the church.

When they got to our house, the younger of the two accidentally tripped over the edge of the stairs leading up to the porch. Out of instinct, he dropped the candle and held out his arms to so he didn't take too much damage from the fall. The candle rolled out of his reach, lying face forward on the porch.

The house by that time was old and in need of major repair but, at the time we were more worried about our mother's condition to raise enough money to fix the house. The candle quickly caught flame to the house, the fire rapidly spread in just a matter of minutes. Our weak mother was unable to muster the strength to escape and all alone she was burned alive.

It didn't take me long to realize that we were alone, orphans in a war stricken world.

We were able to evade the social workers for a week, and during that week we stayed at a friend's house. In the short amount of freedom, I trained my little brother how to fight. He was a natural, nothing I didn't expect with his calculative mind, and it wasn't long before he was able to bring me down to my knees and have me shouting Uncle.

Now you may be asking why I trained him. Well it's a simple answer. I didn't have any clue what was going to happen in the future so if we ever got separated I wanted to make sure my brother could defended himself if I wasn't there.

The social worker sent us to a nearby orphanage. We spent a week there. We didn't talk to anyone; we just clung to each other, desperately praying every night for our mother to come back alive, sweep us in her warm arms and take us home.

I can't tell you how many fights we got into and how many punishments we received. I felt like an animal in that orphanage. Starved for food and love, I protected my brother from everyone and everything, viewing the whole world as a possible threat that could tear him away from me any second.

During our final days at the orphanage we caught the attention of a famous doctor John Alchemy. After visiting us for three days, he adopted us.

He lived alone. From the time we spent with him he wasn't dating anyone and he never introduced us to any other family members, so we assumed he was an only child. All he had was his expensive lonely house and us. From what we could tell he only truly loved one thing and that was science and medicine. He taught us everything he knew, even home schooled us so we were prepared if we wanted to go back to school. When we weren't with the doctor either studying or eating, we were outside training so we didn't lose our hard earned reflexes.

He died during the week I turned 18. In his will, he left us everything. He gave us his house, his life insurance money, his cars and even his precious books that he treasured more than the world. With the intent to make Al have an easier life, I enrolled him into the local high school and I got two jobs for extra cash.

A year later, I did something that I believed I would never do in my entire life. I enlisted into the army. When I was younger, I vowed to myself I would never become a military dog like my bastard my father did. The war brought nothing but pain and death and the last thing I wanted to do was give Al another hardship to add to his already long list.

Yet I was defeated by an annoying man called Roy Mustang. He was a famous recruiter, known for tricking young men into joining with false promises. He told me with one look at my face he knew that I would be a good solider but in the back of my mind I knew it was just another one of his pretty lies. He finally convinced me by promising the full protection of my little brother and they would pay any college tuition he had, the only catch was I had to enlist. Feeling backed into a corner, I filled out the necessary paperwork, signing my life away to the devil's pawns.

When I went home, I immediately told my brother. His reaction was one that I had already predicted and even though I prepared myself the sight still scared me. He clenched his teeth together; his fingernails bitterly dug into the palm of his skin, the betrayal in his eyes dulled the warm cinnamon color.

My brother was never one to get mad unnecessarily and because of that I had never even seen him get agitated. He was livid and deep inside guilt tugged at my heart. I promised myself I would never hurt him and right at this moment that was the very thing I was doing.

He demanded to know why, why would I do something as stupid at that. I could tell at that point he was ready to break, I could see the muscles in his arm itching to punch me in the face.

Calmly, I told him my reasons. His eyes widened, his pupils slightly contracted, his lips relaxed out of their tight line and his fingers, with a little blood soaked into his trimmed nails, dropped out of their clenched position. There was only one word to describe his reaction- bafflement.

Unable to process the response, he hurriedly left the house, slamming the door behind. That night he stayed at a friend's house and for the first time I was alone. The next day when he came home and saw me packing the items in the house that belonged to us, I swore he almost cried.

"I understand." When I heard those two words, I felt relief flow into my soul. I knew it would take him some to forgive me, it would be the same for me, but I knew that if he at least understood then it would make things easier.

"I know that you wouldn't be exactly happy to have this but I think both of them would want you have this instead of me." He then handed me my grandfather's gold engraved watch, the watch my father clutched as his life slowly poured out of him with his blood.

I grabbed the watch, my ignorance had dried up and vanished like my hatred, and suddenly all I could feel was cold pride.

"When I return home, you'll be the first one I see." That's what was engraved on it. My grandfather told that to my grandmother, who he had just married before he enlisted. He gave her this watch to remember him when he left and after he died she held onto, and passed it down to my father.

Looking up to my brother, I spoke the same simple but meaningful words. "When I return home, you'll be the first one I see." He blushed and I knew at that moment that my silly, faithful little brother had been returned to me.

"Come on, there waiting for us outside." And with those final words we left the doctor's house. Later in life, I went back to the house. It had gone through five owners and five remodels. They changed the house so drastically that I couldn't even recognize the outside. The changes weren't bad ones though and I could tell by a glance that the house was a lot homier than when my brother and I lived there.

Six years, that's how long I served in the army. Not once in that six years did I get a major injury. I easily became famous and respected, mostly noted for taking down several of the most wanted men on the FBI's watch list. Sometimes I dreamed I would leave the army on my own free will when my contract ended. However, life had other plans for me.

Friday, October 13th at 21:00, my platoon was sent to patrol an area of the desert that was under suspicions of being occupied by Ishabal terrorist. Once we entered the area we were attacked. Giving the order, we shot back. The gunfight had lasted not even 20 minutes when they started to retreat. I stood up and that's where I made my mistake. One man was still remaining and before I could even duck, two bullets had ripped through my right arm and my left leg. The bullets completely destroyed my nerves, and my limbs were dying and fast. Quickly my fellow brothers in arms drove me to the nearest the hospital tent. They gave me a brief summary of my situation. They told me my limbs were dying and they needed to amputate them soon or I would lose my life. Without any emotion or feeling, I did the only thing I could. I gave them permission to amputate.

Al didn't even gasp at the sight of his maimed brother. He didn't cry or shout or hug me, he failed to act the normal expected reactions. Instead he punched me in my lonely arm and smiled. I could see the relief in his eyes. He was glad that I made it out alive of a war that had claimed three members of his small family. He was glad that the brother he looked up to and adored was still here with him, to continue to accompany him through life. He was just glad.

I learned later that Al was already graduated head of his class at one the most famous Ivy League schools in the country, Alchemy University, named after the doctor. He was now working at the one of the main institutes for trying to discover the cure of cancer, and he already came up with a partial treatment for breast cancer that was very successful.

He had moved out of the neighborhood for family members of men and women in the service, bought his own two bedroom apartment, waiting for the day for his older brother to come home.

Winry, if your reading this letter, then you probably can guess what happens next. It was a nice apartment and luckily for me the elevator was near enough so I didn't have to wheel myself across the whole building.

A week after I settled, I was going to go to the store while Al was out at work. The door across from us opened up and there you were. I knew it had been years since I saw you, almost two decades, yet I wasn't prepared for you to turn out as beautiful as you were.

Your short cropped blond hair grew down to your waist in soft gentle curls; a sleek shine replacing the oily grease that accompanied you when you were in your childhood. Your eyes were wider, brighter with crescent moons in your shining orbs. Your face was covered with light make up, nothing to harsh and your body developed from the flat chest little girl to an appealing womanly shape.

You weren't surprised either at my rather helpless state. Instead you wrapped your petite arms around my shoulders, pressing your warm hourglass figure into my chest. At that point you began to sob, crying out. You didn't need words to convey your feelings because I knew them. I knew then that you weren't crying for my pitiful state but because God had granted you the chance to see me again.

Awkwardly I wrapped my arm around your waist. It had been years since I had been with a woman and I couldn't help but feel a little antsy. The feeling faded quickly and when I buried my head into your warm shoulder, I knew I had found home. In your ear I whispered to you I'm home and I remember as you cried harder and harder.

After your tears ran dry, you detached yourself from me and at that time all I can remember is feeling very cold, as if you sucked all the warmth out of me during our hug. I remember inviting you to go grocery shopping, and even to this day I can recall how dazzling your smile was.

Honestly, I could go on and on about you but since I only have limited amount of time I will just tell you what I found the most memorable about you.

The first memory was my twenty eighth birthday. Two years had passed since I had been forced to retire out of the war. With the money left from the doctor's will, I applied to go to a medical school. I wanted to become a doctor. Even though it had been years since he had been alive, I remembered everything he had taught us and I felt it was my duty to continue his legacy as his adopted son.

Al, you and I were sitting at the dinner table, eating the cake you made when you randomly shouted you had something to tell us. You informed us excitedly how you made a new type of advanced prosthetic limbs and asked if I would I be willing to try.

It has been years since then but I could vividly remember my thought process. The war was to me reality and involuntarily I became a realist. You didn't hope or believe. You either followed orders or left. However, there was something about the way your eyes light up and the edges crinkled, I began to think, what did I have to lose? With just one look you managed to manipulate your warmth to convince me to change my rock hard beliefs. Truthfully, at that point I had finally started to accept my handicap and so I just smiled and agreed, hiding my real feelings inside.

Through the immense pain, I didn't cry or scream as you connected the fake limbs. I gritted my teeth and thought of that warm dazzlingly smile of yours. I thought about all the years I made you worry and I wanted one moment where it was unnecessary.

The surgery, just like you had predicted, was a success. Even though I was staring at the very limbs that gave me back my old life, my mind refused to believe it. I knew in the past that you preferred to play with machine parts then dolls but I don't think I could have predicted you could build something as complex as an arm.

I remembered your tears of joy when one of the heads of the most famous prosthetic shop called you and offered you a job, asking you to show them the new prosthetic. Even several doctors called you to ask you to demonstrate the surgery.

For a year of my life I was treated as a test subject. As a man with a fragile ego, I hated every moment. But every time you turned your dazzling smile to me, somehow I found a new reserve of energy to suck it up and wait it out. I didn't want to hurt your feelings. You were living in your dreams. They already were printing books about your life and your incredible new invention. Even years later with new technology and models, you're still the goddess of prosthetics. You're the revolution of machines and because of your invention you saved lives. I didn't want to disappoint you because of my selfish feelings.

After the whole catastrophe with the invention, I asked you to be my girlfriend, like a fumbling high school student. You just laughed and said you've been waiting for forever for me to finally ask. You told me you had a crush on me ever since we were kids and when I had left you took it really hard. Your bright eyes faded for a moment and you refused to meet my gaze. Finally you glanced up at me and I already knew what you say next.

"Ed, I love you. So please don't leave, not like that again." Tears leaked from your eyes and I pulled you close, in two arms. I vowed from that point to never hurt you again.

Two years later, I proposed to you. It wasn't anything special or distinguishing about it, it was your normal proposal with your normal wedding ring. Though I could tell by your eyes that day meant the very world to you.

Yesterday, you informed me about our child. How many years have we been waiting for this day? One year? Two years? Maybe even three?

Winry, you don't know how much I wish I was with you, holding you rather than in this hospital bed telling some man what I want to tell you myself.

I'm sorry. I was supposed to be there. I promised you that I wouldn't leave. I promised I would never hurt you like I did years before.

I know I have no right but can you please listen to my selfish wishes just for a minute. I wish for this child, whatever gender they may be, to grow healthy and strong. I wish for them to follow their dreams, for whatever they maybe. I wish for you to be happy, whether that is alone with my memory and our child or with someone else by your side. I wish for you to forgive me, even though I never once deserved your forgiveness.

And for my last wish, I selfishly wish that you will never forget me. I don't care if the rest of the world doesn't know me but even for a minute, don't forget me.

Yours truly,

Edward Elric

Alphonse Elric and Winry Elric watched as Edward Elric was buried six feet under the ground. His coffin was covered by their countries flag, to represent his time in the military. They buried him in his uniform, the one that almost took so many of his families lives away. Clutched in his hand was a gold carved watch, with the words when I return home, you'll be the first one I see.

From a distant, two little boys silently thanked their savior and clutching hands, they walked away, thankful for the new life a brave doctor had given them.

Alright, I swear I am alive. I'm not dead. Long story short, I have been very busy and been having some family and computer problems so you have to forgive me for the long wait. I am half way done with the next drabble, which by the way if your curious is pain. I have a challenge for my readers. I want you to guess how Edward dies. I will give you two hints. One it has something to do with the two little boys at the funeral. Second it mirrors how one of his relatives mentioned in the letter died. The person who guesses close to how Edward dies will get a preview of the next drabble and may ask one question about it. I know it's not the greatest prize but there is so much I can offer you. See you guys soon.