Soccoro
Izumi knows, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that she will be dead before the month is out.
Izumi knows, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that she will be dead before the month is out. She can sit up on her worst days, and make it as far as the front door on her best. She can feel her body shutting down. Her feet are always numb when she wakes up, and her fingers fumble over buttons and the pages of books.
For months Al has shadowed her, listened and related to her. On some days, when she couldn't get up, he would drag a chair up to her bedside, and together they would lay books out on the bed, around her legs, and study alchemic arrays and equations. Now he is gone, and the house is quiet. Earlier in the week Sig had carried her outside so she could wave him off. She knows she won't see the Elric brothers again in this lifetime.
She isn't afraid anymore. The fear has long since been replaced by a deep, knowing regret that she will leave her husband with a cold bed and an empty house. She watches him, watching her. She knows she is growing thin and pale, and knows that it hurts him beyond words to see.
No coffin, she says one night when he has laid down beside her. No clothing. No nothing. Just wrap me in white linen and lay me in the ground.
He listens mutely, and nods when she is through. Then, with a gentleness that has always amazed her, he gathers her up against him and begins to cry. He doesn't shake or sob or give any indication that he is anything but all right, but she can feel the wetness against her temple.
Fin
AN: And that wraps up this depressing little trilogy about married couples who don't get to grow old together. Almost made myself cry again. I'm a wuss... Poor Sig...