Hey, it's been a nice long while, hasn't it? Anyway, here's something I finally typed all out. My first posted FMA fanfic. A little one shot on Elicia Hughes in the future.

A young girl walks down the street. Her hair is blond and longish. She bounces a little; there's something awfully young about her. Still, the melancholy look in her eyes betrays years she will never regain. And there's a harsh edge to her face, something found in fierce fighters' faces. She is lithe and agile, but there is also a quiet strength in her figure. A bouquet of flowers rests in her hand.

There are some things I don't understand. There are some things I'll never understand. My name is Elicia Hughes and it has been 13 years since Papa died.

I'm 16 now. It has been thirteen long years since the last time I saw Papa alive. The day before he died was the day I had turned three. I remember it clearly. He came home with his arms full of toys. We had a big party. The funniest part that I'll always remember was when everybody wanted to play with me. The little boys started to tug at my arms and Papa pulled out his gun. I didn't understand at the time. It's funny now. Sort of.

Winry was there. She's the one who fixed Mousie; I mean the mechanical mouse toy Papa had gotten me that I still have, by the way. I like visiting her. She lives in Resembool now. She's like an older sister to me. And… she knows what it feels like to lose someone special. The Elric brothers (I can't stop thinking of them as big brother and BIG big brother) are gone now. No one's really explained why to me. They disappeared when I was around five, or so it's been said. She doesn't dwell on it though. I asked her once, since she never saw them die, did she ever hold out hope? Did she ever hope they were still alive? She looked at me, putting down the automail she'd been working on. Then she said,

"Silly, of course they're not dead. I know that. I also know that they aren't coming back. So I'm living. They will be. They are. You should too."

I still miss Papa. I feel a little bad that I never really got to know him. Now that I'm fifteen instead of three, I know that nobody is always happy. I mean, around me he was always happy. I only saw him frown once, when he thought I wasn't looking. It was late and he was looking at paperwork and he sighed and he frowned and he swore. I squeaked. He saw me and he picked me up and took me back to bed. I was going to ask him what that word meant, but he asked me how old I was and I had to try and figure that out, so I never was able to ask him. I learned what it meant eventually, not to mention a few other words too. Anyway, as soon as I put up two fingers and answered two, my Papa was ecstatic. That's how I remember him mostly. Uncle Roy says that that's how he remembers Papa too.

Uncle Roy lives with Aunt Riza now. Sometimes, they ask me to baby sit for them. I don't mind it all that much. Maes Edward Mustang and little Allie Hawkeye Mustang are two of the best little kids in the world. Maes (it still feels weird to hear Papa's name) is seven now. He looks like an exact replica of his father, but acts more like his mother. He's quiet and almost severe. It's like watching a miniature adult. He's very cute though, not just because he's Uncle Roy's son, but because he's so devoted to his sister. His sister looks exactly like Aunt Riza, but she has her father's dark hair. It's very pretty when she has it down, which she often does. She's not as fond of clips as her mother is, though Aunt Riza has been wearing them a lot less ever since she left the military. And she acts like her father too. She's only four, but she's already learned to charm anyone with a cute little smile and she's very stubborn and overconfident. His brother and his guns watch her like a hawk. It makes their parents happy. They're both behaved though; it'd be hard not to be with Aunt Riza as their mom, though Allie has been trying to snap a lot lately whenever her mom scolds her. When she said she'd learned it from "Daddy", Aunt Riza looked mad. Uncle Roy whistled and tried to walk away. Them Aunt Riza pulled him away by the collar to talk about "respect". Allie learned her numbers pretty quickly though, and now, everyone's watching her to see if she'll have the same aptitude for alchemy as her father. She has talked an awful lot about wanting to learn how to make "the pretty hot things that come out of Daddy's hands".

Uncle Roy never did achieve his Fuhrer and miniskirt-policy dream. Him and Aunt Riza got married three years after the Elrics disappeared. Uncle Roy had just been promoted to his old rank of "Colonel". Then he dropped out of the military. Nobody would ever really tell me why. Except for Uncle Jean, of course. He told me that there was one woman that Uncle Roy had always wanted to see in a miniskirt and less, and that she meant more to him than a whole military of mini-skirted women. His cigarette burnt all up and we had to find water to put out the fire on his head while dodging the bullets Aunt Riza shot at him. She said it was to give Uncle Jean his daily amount of necessary exercise.

Uncle Jean is always raspy sounding now. Everyone keeps saying it's because he smoked so much. He still hasn't stopped. Everyone keeps telling him he'll die an early, long and drawn out painful death of lung cancer, but he always says that he doesn't care. He was pretty happy when Uncle Roy got married. I don't remember exactly what he said, but it was something about finally getting to play the field. He was Uncle Roy's best man. He sighed and pulled me aside one day, later, when I was older, and told me that it should have been my father standing in his place. It made us both quiet for a bit. Usually when he tells me about Papa, it's something about all the times Papa called Uncle Roy on the military's private line. Uncle Jean says that Papa would do it all the time and that he'd never actually be talking about military business. Uncle Jean has a wheezy laugh. It's sort of funny.

Uncle Roy likes telling me about Papa. He told me that Papa would use every moment to brag about me and Momma. He said that one time Papa sent him so many pictures that he had to get an all new file cabinet to store them all away. He filled the whole thing up and there were still some left over.

Something nobody ever really talks to me about is the night Papa died. All I know is that he was found dead with a picture of me, him, and Momma on him.

I really miss him. I wonder if he can see me now; I wonder if he approves of me. I've got his knives and I've learned to throw them. I'm getting pretty good at it. I don't tell Momma though. When I'd first found some of his knives, I showed them to Momma and she started to cry, said something about how they hadn't been able to protect Papa. She cried some more when I asked if she knew anyone who could teach me how to throw them. So I don't tell her. It was Winry who helped me out. We found someone who could teach me, and Aunt Riza found me a place to train. They must have known how much I wanted to connect with Papa. I'm strong now and can protect myself. Are you proud of that, Papa?

The girl stops bouncing and sighs a little bit. She's getting close to the grassy fields.

Winry told me something else when I was ranting about how no one would tell me about Papa's death. She said,

"Some things are too painful to share, Elicia. You know that. Your father knew that too. Once, I wondered why Ed and Al wouldn't tell me anything. Your father said,

"Men express themselves through their actions more than their words… They would rather shoulder the pain themselves than cause their loved ones to worry.'"

She let me think about that for a while.

The young blonde girl keeps bouncing along. She twirls and dances to music nobody hears but her. She chases a butterfly among the soft green grass and worn down stones. Finally she stops at a particular grave. She lays the flowers she's been holding onto it. The tone of her voice changes; it seems as though she is talking to someone now.

I understand that now, Papa. But you were wrong. It's not just men who do that; Momma's tried her hardest to never let me see her cry, just like I almost never saw you worried or almost never heard you swear. I understand that now, but I still don't understand how or why you died. I feel so helpless sometimes because I can't do anything about your death except learn to deal. I can't go off and avenge you; the people who killed you are already gone. I just love Momma the best I can and go on living.

There's something I haven't told anyone yet. I wanted you to be the first to know. Papa, I'm going to join the military. I'm going help people and be strong like you were. I just have to find a way to tell Momma and everyone else. If you're watching, then Papa, could I ask you a favor? Would you watch over me? Your guardian angel must have been off duty the night you died but if you were my guardian angel, I'd always feel safe.

Okay. I'm gonna go tell Momma now. Hope you haven't gotten thrown into Hell for bragging about me and Momma too much.

And Papa?

I love you.

The young girl bounces away. She's said what she needed to say, done her weekly visit. She's concerned with the present, not the past, trying to think of a clever and mild way to say, 'Hey everyone, I'm going to join the military!' The sun beats down on the cemetery and a gentle breeze disrupts the flowers left on the grave. But while a stray petal or two flies away, the rest stay. They are pinned to the grass in front of the grave by a clean shiny knife.

Maes Hughes looks down from Heaven and smiles.

"Didn't I tell you my daughter was the best? Look at her, all grown up. She looks just liked her mother did when…."

God and the rest of the angels smile tiredly, and then turn away.

They've heard this a million times and more. The little girl had hit upon it exactly. They had sent Maes down to Hell, but even the devil couldn't take it and had sold his own soul to himself to send Maes back up to Heaven. They shake their heads as one of the angels who hadn't been able to clamber away fast enough was roped into Maes' endless ramble.

"And then, when she turned three, she…"

Fin

As always, reviews are very much loved and appreciated.

-Hajan Rana