((Disclaimer: Ah, these are getting harder to think of. Okay, okay, here's one: I don't own FMA. Short, simple, and to the point, neh? But it's missing something... something... random is needed... Oh, look, I'm out of space for it.))

Author's Note: I adore this one. I really do. Even though it's overly dramatic and, I suppose, cliche, I really do like it. Until last night, when I realized, "Oh, hey, Ranfan and Ling are fifteen." That was an 'adlfjaslkdfj' moment. Anyway, yah, enjoy. 'Cause even though I realized that, I still like it. Lastly, no Greed here.

'Interesting' Tidbit: I think I finally realized why Lesson Five bothered me so much. I don't really see Ling and Ranfan as ever getting married. ... I think I may slowly be progressing towards the dark, lemony side of things...


I'll Be Okay

Lesson Nine: Trust Me


"I'll be okay. Trust me."

Ranfan lay on the bed, sweat shining on her skin; the sickly yellow sheen she had taken on alarmed Ling. He sat next to her resting place, gazing at her fleshed hand. The indecision on whether to grasp it or not was torment, raging in his head as a storm

He left it there.

"You're thin."

Her blunt words brought his black eyes up to her lighter brown ones. She was smiling feebly, her hand making a weak movement, as if she were trying to point at him. He tilted his head to the side and smiled sadly.

It hurt.

She was trying to get him to stop worrying. To forget about her, if only for a moment. She was trying to push him away, distract him, for his own good.

"Go eat. You need nourishment. I won't disappear."

She was trying to get him to leave, because she knew that watching someone die was more painful than being the one to die.

It hurt.

Ling's eyes traveled down her sunken chest to the large, almost distended, swollen bulge that was her stomach. The being inside of her was different than the one inside of him had been, but it was killing her more surely than his ever had.

It was his fault.

And he abhorred himself for it.

"Please, Ling, don't worry."

She was pleading with him now. How could he not worry?

She was lying there, bleeding, hurting, dying. And he was sitting there, healthy; fine but for the fact that she was dying there, right in front of him.

Ling barely registered Ranfan's repeated attempts to distract him and get him to leave, at least until she murmured of that cursed creature.

And she did it with a smile.

"The baby kicked."

Ling stood then, his hands curling into fists as his chair clattered to the ground. He left. Just outside the screen door, he collapsed, unable to go farther, and violent, dry sobs wracked his trembling frame.

Physicians and specialists passed, and the hours with them.

Inside the room, he heard screams of pain followed so quickly by weak whimpers he once wondered if it was still Ranfan alone making the noises.

When the screams became too loud and too painful, and the whimpers so quiet but agonizing that he could not stand them, he would block the both of them out, trembling with fear and heartache.

Eventually, two servants took him to their room. His and Ranfan's.

Where it was created.

Ling stared at the bed, unable to keep images from that night away.

Bare skin on bare skin, heavy breathing and low moans the only sound to be heard; the taste of the other thick on their lips.

It had been a split-second decision, a split-second moment of unendurable passion

…But it had a lifetime of consequence.

And Ranfan's time was shortening by the second.

He couldn't stop it.

No one could.

She was going to die.

All their battles and this would finish her.

This would finish his protector, his friend, his lover.

And it was his fault.

Ling eventually passed into a fitful sleep, that same night coursing through his head time upon time again. This time, though, it ended with Ranfan, pale, bloodied, and dead in his arms.

When he awoke, Ling stayed in that bed, that same bed where that night of passion had gone too far, feeling no emotion, until the grandfather clock he had brought from Amestris announced the coming of noon. Only then did he stand, walking without thought; traversing through the halls until he reached the chamber where Ranfan lay.

And to him, each step was thunderous, weighing more and more heavily on his conscience.

Each sound was shattering. Each smell was staggering. Every touch was agonizing.

When he finally opened the screen door, his feet stopped, frozen to the ground under them.

He saw her there, pale, motionless, and covered in her own blood.

He wanted to die right there, with her.

He was prepared to.

What he wasn't prepared for, however, was for her to open one tired, chocolate-colored eye. Then the other. Finally, she smiled feebly, exhausted, and pulled back the blankets covering the lump on her bare, shuddering chest.

There, lying curled up soundly and without a care in the world except ensuring the thumb in her mouth stayed in place, was a small, red, wrinkly-eyed child with a thick hatch of black locks covering her head.

And she was the most amazing being Ling had ever seen.

His hatred for the creature was lost, and in its stead a new, boundless love for the human being Ranfan held so gently. Even her metal, unfeeling hand was holding the child as if she would break.

He saw that she held nothing but love and compassion for the child.

Their child.

Ling lifted Ranfan from the lying position she was in and sat behind her, cradling them, both mother and child, against his body.

Ranfan looked up at him and smiled, stroking the girl's soft cheek.

"I told you to trust me, didn't I?"

Ling smiled.

"I should've listened."