I was reading a random royxed (feat. a devious Maes Hughes doing his daughter's hair squeaks CUTE) when I wondered what Elicia would grow up to be like without that man around.

NOTE: Fullmetal Alchemist does not belong to me. Ira and the other names mean Wrath in different languages. There may be errors in grammar and there are definitely MAJOR spoilers. I REPEAT, MAJOR SPOILERS! Also, the format might be a bit hard to read. If it's that difficult, flame. Maybe I'll post a different version that's easier to read. If it's not, review with happy thoughts!

Bob Ross: Happy clouds!

No. Not happy clouds. But please, beat the devil out of the brush.

EDIT: What. The. Blazes? How did this turn into a love story on me! I have no control of my own fics. How wonderful. WrathxElicia? Well, I can say I've never seen one of those before. Besides this one. Implied RoyxRiza.

SECOND EDIT: Thanks to Nelja I realized I made a huge mistake. DUH, Wrath can't practice alchemy without Ed's arm and leg. That is now FIXED. Also, I added a few things said Nelja request (I'm nice that way, haha) so I split this one shot into two parts.

AND SO I PRESENT TO YOU:

The One-Shot I Wrote Instead of Updated My Other Fics

AKA

That Man.

I spun around. It was him. It was my father. I recognized him from the pictures. But he was dead. How could it be?

In a flash of light, my father turned into my mother.

My mother looked down at herself and grinned. This wasn't my mother, my gentle, loving mother. The smile was too wide, the stance too broad, the hair too short. The last time I took this form was the time I shot your father, she told me, the grin still plastered on her face.

Immediately, it all fell into place. Envy. The knives were in my hands before I could even think about it and they flew towards my mother. She dodges easily, and laughed. Like father, like daughter, she giggled. Then she turned into a tall figure, wear tight fitting clothing and with long spikes of green-black hair hanging over its face. Homunculi.

Greet your father for me, he whispered as he ran towards me and—

Ira was there and he was pushing Envy away. Envy landed heavily on his back, several feet away, knocking over a number of gravestones in the process, but I knew it would take more than that to hurt him. I decided that this is the best time to run, so I grabbed Ira's hand and we ran. We didn't stop; we didn't even look at each other. We just ran, it didn't matter where.

All we heard as we left the graveyard was an angry bellow.

Wrath.

We collapsed in a tired heap in the library. It took us several minutes before we could speak. But as soon as I could, I did.

Wrath, I asked him. Is that your real name?

He didn't answer. No questions, I remembered suddenly. But that didn't matter to me anymore. If he was really Wrath then . . . he had been lying to me the whole time. That had been another rule, one set down silently by me. No lies. Secrets, yes. But no lies.

Why didn't you tell me? I knew why he hadn't but I asked anyway. He didn't answer. We didn't talk about it. Our whole relationship was built on denial and we didn't know how to change it now. I stayed that next week at his house, feeling safe there, like usual. It had come to see Ira as a security blanket of sorts. It would take more than finding out his real name to break the habit. We talked and teased and trained, as if we were still Ira and Elicia, the mysterious alchemist and the Knives Alchemist.

Neither of us saw Envy that week. Or at least, that's what Ira told me. I believed him, because I trusted him, even then.

Even now.

The day I was due to leave for another insignificant mission, to oversee some mining in the north and report back in a few days, I spotted that same green-black hair in the crowd as I was about to climb onto the train. I knew he had done that on purpose—shown himself to me. I also knew I had to follow. I didn't have Ira to back me up, but I didn't care. I would avenge my father.

I thought I heard someone call my name. I ignored it.

He led me to an alley, where he turned and faced me, that same grin spread on his face. Should I turn into your father, so that you can see him, he asked me. One last time?

Shut up! I threw my knives at him, like I had the last time. He dodged them, like he had the last time. Except this time I had a plan. While he dodged, I dropped to the ground and drew a sloppy—

A kick interrupted by work and I found myself on the ground, gasping desperately for air. He was standing over me, and I could see the gun. Like father, like daughter. Had he said that, or had I?

It didn't matter. I closed my eyes and imagined my father, and my mother. I whispered a silently goodbye in my head to them. I whispered a goodbye to all my friends and this land.

No. This isn't the way I wanted to die. My father hadn't died like this, lying on the ground, waiting to die. He would have fought. He would get up and kick Envy's ass. And that's what I would do, too. I ripped off the necklace I was wearing, and I held it in the palm of my hand, morphing it into a tiny—but sharp—dagger. I plunged it into his leg.

The shot missed. Barely. I pulled myself up to my feet, and I faced the homunculi.

And he shifted into Ira. It was Ira's smile, Ira's shy gaze, Ira. Ira.

And it was Ira's hand that brought up the gun and pulled the trigger.

No. It was Ira who pulled me down at the last minute. It was Ira who covered my eyes. I heard a cry of surprise, and the scratching of chalk. I fought to get away from Ira, but his grip was too tight. I couldn't move, or see, a bit. But I heard the scream. I whispered Ira's name, and I curled up closer to him. I didn't want to see anymore.

When he let me go, I saw Al standing in front of me, a small man at his side. Behind them . . . a transmutation circle stained with . . . blood. Rags that could have belonged to Envy.

He was dead? He was dead, then. I just hadn't known there would be so much blood. My knives, which were still on in the ground from when I threw them at Envy, were drenched in red. I didn't want them back.

The man standing next to Al's hair was in a braid very much like Ira's. And his left arm—and if I was correct in my assumptions, his right leg as well—was made of metal. Could it be . . .?

He smiled at me widely, and greeted me friendlily. He said his name was Edward.

Edward Elric. How, I asked him. They told me you disappeared through the other side of the door. . .

I found a way through, Al said firmly, but he wouldn't speak any more of it. Neither would his brother. I wondered why that was . . . wouldn't they be glad that they could be together after all these years? They were serious. And they both completely ignored Ira.

I found out later how they had gotten Ed back to our world. Al had realized that only human transmutation would clear a path to the door. So he did it. I don't know who it was, and I don't think I ever want to find out. But that means there's another homunculi out there, somewhere. It worries me sometimes, but I've learned to not think about it.

Ira's still my security blanket.

I don't know what Al saw, but he was quite the same after he brought his brother back. What did he give up in exchange for his brother? The little bit of innocence he had left? His smiles are usually forced and sad. His eyes always look poignant. It seems that only Winry and Ed can stir any bit of happiness into him at all.

The three men walked me home, in complete silence the whole time. My mind was revolving with silent unanswered questions, but I didn't have the bravery to ask. I owed them my life, what favors could I possibly ask of them? I remembered fleetingly that I should have been at a mission at the moment.

Al, as if he had read my mind, told me not to worry about my mission, he would take care of it. So responsible, Ed teased lightly, but he looked proud. Then he turned to me, as studied me gravely. You're so much like your father, it scares me, he told me, a sad gleam in his eye. No doubt you're going to be completely obsessed with your kids, when you have them.

Then he looked at Ira, and his eyes grew cold. Wrath, he asked, how is your mother? Is Izumi still alive?

I saw Ira tense at the name, and I placed my hand on his shoulder gently, just so that he wouldn't do anything irrational. He shot me a pained look before turning back to Ed. Izumi? I remembered Al taking me to see one day, when I had first told Al that I was studying alchemy.

Al had asked her if she would teach me. This had shocked me as well as her, it seemed. With one glance we both seemed to agree with each other, Izumi and I. I would never have left my mother on her own, and she knew that she wouldn't have the strength to teach me. And so I went home.

This woman was Ira's mother? That strong, awe-inspiring, kinky-haired woman? Well . . . of course. If he really was Wrath. . .

She's not my . . . She's well. No, not really. She's still holding on, if by a string.

So you've seen her recently? Al asked this, looking surprised.

I see her every month like clockwork. Sometimes she sees me, sometimes she doesn't.

It seems I have to go see her, then, Edward finished, and the two reunited Elric brothers left with two friendly farewells to me, and cold glares at Ira.

Once they were gone, I turned to Ira. We didn't say anything. Envy was dead, but it brought me no relief. I still had no memories of my father. I was still standing there, staring at Ira. It didn't change anything, and I felt like an idiot for ever thinking it might.

So Izumi is your mother? How come you've never taken me to see her?

I wish she wasn't my mother. But one can't choose their parents, can they? He said this so bitterly, so angrily, so guility, that I felt I had no choice but to drop the subject. It wasn't my life, it was his. I had no right to barge into his privacy like that.

You didn't need to keep it from me, I began, but he cut me off.

I'm Wrath. I'm a homunculi, Elicia. If I had told you that when he first met I would have scared you off, no doubt about that. He lifted his sleeve and showed me the scar that seemed to connect the arm with his body. Elicia, after the door took away Ed's arm and leg from me, I killed an alchemist and used his arm. I was murdering people before you could even grasp the concept. With that he began to turn away, towards the door. I grabbed his arm before he could leave.

No. You're Ira, I responded firmly, my empty hand balled up into a fist. I made my nails dig into my flesh so I wouldn't cry. You're Ira, I repeated. Roy has killed people too, and he's like a father to me.

I have no soul, Elicia. I'm not even human. Don't compare me to your precious Mustang.

Don't talk like this, Ira.

How else do you want me to talk? Hello, Elicia, how are things on this fine day? Would you like to come over and play? He laughed cynically.

Stop it, Ira, I yelled.

What do you expect from me?

I don't expect anything, Ira.

Liar.

Fine, I said as I let go of his arm. Leave me here then! If you really have no soul, then why did you make friends me with? Why didn't you scare me away when you had the chance? Why did you save me? I slapped my hands across my mouth, stubbornly trying to hold back the tears. I would not cry. I was not weak; I was strong like my father. I was the Knives Alchemist. I whispered through my hands, almost hoping Ira wouldn't hear me, if you really have no soul then why did I fall in love with you?

Father, I'm in love with one of the creatures that killed you. Do you hate me?

Ira didn't move. I turned away from him, and I refused to let a single tear escape. I had not cried for my mother, because I had long ago realized crying solved nothing. Crying wouldn't bring me my father, or memories of my father, or my mother, or Al, Ed and Ira's lost childhoods. I would not cry for Ira. I waited to hear the sound of a door closing.

Instead I felt his arms wrap around my waist, as he pulled me into his embrace from behind. I'm still a homunculi, Elicia, he murmured, his warm breath curling around my ear. This doesn't change things.

I still love you, I replied curtly. Of course this doesn't change things.

I barely remember that man. A touch there, a hug here, a flash there. But I don't need to remember him. He's there, somehow, in those moments after Ira's left the bed, right before a difficult decision, after a painful death, during a long and tiresome lecture.

Everyone tells me I remind them of my father.

Good.