Written in response to NeoDiji's challenge. I don't care if it sucks, I finally finished it! Thank you, Jesus! I am also too lazy at this point to come up with a title more creative than what it is. Ta! (runs off to work on the next chapter of LF).
Heaven
There was a white light.
Bright and pulsating to a silent, unknown rhythm from the end of a long tunnel; the walls of this parturient tube swirled and writhed within themselves, resembling silvery mist and oil in water . . . But somehow, just when it seemed as though they might crash in on themselves and drown out that gorgeous light, the walls would shift again and retain their tubular form. It all reminded her eerily of being born . . . and she found this highly unusual, since birth was one experience of her life that she couldn't recall with particular ease.
The light at the end of this swirling vortex smoothed over her skin with warm hands and called to her in a crooning voice . . .
There's room for you now. You can come.
And she wanted desperately to listen to that voice and join that wonderful light at the end of that impossible tunnel. She let a tranquil smile possess her features, reaching out with both hands towards the corona and feeling the weight of the Light against her palms . . .
But . . .
She frowned. And the Light shifted . . . almost questioningly . . .
There's something that I must finish. Before I can stay with you . . . I have to see something through . . . though I don't know what it is . . .
She reluctantly pulled back her hands and clutched them together, pressing them against her chest and lowering her chin to meet them. I have something I must finish . . .
And so, she turned her back . . . and the Light understood and withdrew its own outstretched hand, leaving her be for now. She would let it know when she was ready, but for now . . .
For now . . .
Trisha Elric turned her back on heaven.
"Hey Mom," said the tentative voice, barely above a whisper. Trisha Elric, who had been staring at the ladybug slowly traveling over the back of her own headstone, thinking back to the day she had met the Light, was snapped out of her spectral reverie by the new voice.
Can . . . c-can it really be true . . . ? she asked aloud, knowing that the visitor wouldn't be able to hear her.
He was much bigger than she remembered him being on his last visit and had new, strange clothes to fit his amazingly taller form—the grey trousers, white button-down, and tawny vest certainly looked good on him. Instead of the braid that she had become accustomed to, his soft, blonde hair was pulled back into a dignified ponytail at the crown of his head. His features had taken on harder edges and had gotten more defined over his absence . . . and, though his usually tanned skin had lost some of its bronze tone, he was by no means pale or sickly looking. He looked different, yes . . . but she recognized him in an instant . . .
Her son.
Edward . . .
The alchemist stared down at the grave with obvious trepidation, unsure of how he should approach the subject that had been on his mind as of late. A lot of things had happened to him and Al over the past . . . how many years was it again? Five . . . six? He couldn't be certain anymore. Time on the other side of the Gate flowed differently than in Amestris . . . Either way, a lot of time had passed between his last visit to this cemetery and now.
A lot of things had happened . . . both good and bad . . . and his mother deserved to hear them.
"I'm sorry . . . that I haven't been by to visit you lately," the young man that was her eldest son stated quietly. "I've been . . . really busy." Trisha Elric smiled softly as the blonde before her shifted back and forth uncomfortably, and poked at the ground with one of his black oxfords.
I can always tell when you're nervous about something, Ed. All the fancy clothes and growth spurts in the world can't change that . . .
"Al and I both. We wished that we could have come to see you . . . more often, but . . . that just wasn't possible where we were."
Alphonse? My Alphonse? So, he's all right? The ghostly woman clasped her hands together and pressed them to her chest. Her youngest son had only just been returned to normal—out of that horrible suit of armour and back into the youthful, vibrant being he had once been—when he had disappeared from her life once again . . . She wasn't sure what had happened to her boys . . . and seeing how news was not passed along easily to the dead, she was forced to wait and worry.
But they were back now. They were back and Edward looked wonderful and healthy . . . and it seemed as though Alphonse had turned out equally all right. They were both okay.
Trisha released the breath that she had been holding for the past five years.
"I want to tell you where we were . . ." Edward admitted in his hushed tones, his head lowered, watching the actions of his own feet without much interest. His flaxen fringe was obscuring his eyes from view, but the woman could hear the hurt in his voice. "You're our mother and you deserve to know where your only sons disappeared to; we owe you at least that much. But it's . . . complicated. Where we were . . . it was a whole other world. It was . . . painful and lonely and I missed it here so much."
Edward looked up—almost as if he was looking right at her—and Trisha could see how his gorgeous golden eyes had darkened to a murky amber . . . "I don't want to burden you with that place, Mom. So . . . just let me keep that for now . . ."
Oh, Edward, Trisha murmured softly, pressing a hand to her own ethereal cheek. She was unsure of what she could say to ease his obvious pain . . . but then remembering that she couldn't be heard anyway . . .
The blonde man slowly turned his head away, looking off in the direction of the Rockbell home. "Alphonse is gonna come by later to talk to you," he said simply. "He's got some good news . . . about him and Winry."
Trisha's ears perked up a bit at this. Hm? Alphonse and Winry? Edward's face was now turned away from her, but the woman could still see the small smile playing on her son's lips.
"Yeah," the alchemist continued. "He said that I should keep quiet about it, cause he wanted to tell you himself . . . but since you're gonna find out anyway, I might as well. He and Winry finally got together. They're gonna be tying the knot soon . . ."
You mean they're getting married! she asked excitedly, the glee she felt apparent in her silent voice—the urge to simply jump up and down on the spot with elation was almost overwhelming. Her baby was getting married! Honestly, if she wasn't already dead, Trisha was sure that she would have died of happiness right then and there.
Edward turned back to her grave with a sigh, oblivious to his mother's spectral merriment just yards away; letting a grin that didn't reach his eyes cut across his face, he said to the headstone, "He'll be coming by later to talk to you about it, so don't mention anything, okay?"
Trisha stilled herself and nodded with a wide smile, even if Edward couldn't see her doing it. I won't. Don't worry, dear.
Rolling his shoulders back and shoving his hands down into the pockets of his trousers, Ed lifted his head back to look up at the clear sky. "He wanted to tell you himself . . . But, I also have some news. And I wanted to tell you on my own, as well."
Oh? Trisha tilted her head to one side questioningly.
The blonde was silent for a long while, staring up at the cloudless Resembool sky, before he finally said with quiet simplicity, "I met someone."
The woman blinked. Met someone?
"I'd known them for a long time before Al and I went away," Edward continued on, unaware of Trisha's confusion. "It was only after I'd had that time away from them that I realized . . . I cared about them. A lot, actually. So . . ." Edward relinquished a wispy sigh and lowered his face once again, now speaking to the grave. ". . . after me and Al got back this time—after all that we saw in that place—I figured out that I couldn't let a chance at a . . . relationship slip away, just because I was afraid of rejection."
Realization sparked within the depths of Trisha's mind. Oh, you met someone! You're dating them! How wonderful! Both of my boys settling down—what more could a mother ask for?
Ed shrugged lazily, once again looking over towards the Rockbell home. "Yeah . . . turns out he felt the same way . . . So, we're giving it a shot. It might work, it might not work, but hey . . . no chance at all if we don't try, right?"
Trisha watched the small smile appear on her son's face and felt herself smile, as well. He looked happy. More so than he had in all the past times he had come to visit her. Whoever this person was that he was seeing must be good for him. I wonder who it is, she thought suddenly. She had always imagined that it would be Edward and Winry settling down together; even as children, the young girl had been drawn to Trisha's eldest child. However, now that she knew that the blonde girl and her Alphonse were together, she was very curious as to whom Edward was currently seeing.
"I want you to meet him," the alchemist said suddenly, unknowingly offering up an answer to Trisha's unasked question. "I'll go get him."
As her eldest son turned and walked away, Trisha pressed an ethereal palm to her face in contentment. How sweet. He wants me to meet his girlfriend! Edward is just so thoughtful . . . I wonder what she'll be li—
Trisha Elric's own brain nearly gave her whiplash in its violent halt; flailing wildly, it scrambled backwards through the snippets of Edward's speech, only stopping when it had firmly grasped onto one word.
Him.
"I want you to meet him."
"I'll go get him."
Her son's girlfriend was a him. Not her; him. Her Edward was dating another man. So . . . that meant that . . . Edward was . . .
Oh dear, Trisha murmured to herself.
Not too much time had passed before Trisha heard footsteps approaching her grave—normally, she wouldn't have noticed something so trite, but her ears had been on high-alert ever since her son had walked away to retrieve his . . . partner—and she swallowed thickly.
"Hey Mom, I want you to meet Lieutenant Roy Mustang," Edward's voice suddenly sounded from behind her. "My . . . boyfriend." Trisha took a steadying breath and then turned to face the two men. The first thing that occurred to her, upon seeing her son's companion, was that Edward had excellent taste.
The man was gorgeous.
The ghostly woman took in the immaculate military uniform and the polished boots, the somehow perfectly-balanced posture of rigidity and relaxation that spoke of dignity and grace, the way one gloved finger was hooked apprehensively into the cuff of her son's sleeve, and his face . . . Even the pale scars running across his cheeks and the swathe of black cloth that covered his left eye couldn't mar his statuesque beauty.
"Roy," Edward said, turning his head to look up at the man, "this is my mother. Trisha Elric."
The lieutenant—Roy Mustang, wasn't it?—smiled softly and dipped at the waist in a short bow, his black hair falling down before his eyes. "A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Elric," he said to the headstone upon righting himself; his voice was calm, enunciated, and of a deep tenor, emanating from down in his diaphragm, and Trisha Elric very nearly swooned.
Well, she thought to herself, feeling the blush in her cheeks. He's polite . . .
"All right," Edward said suddenly, gently patting Mustang's arm. "I'll leave you two to it, then."
Mustang turned his head to fully face the blonde, unable to glance askance with his bad eye, and asked somewhat warily, "What should I say to her?"
Ed, who had already begun to walk away, looked back over his shoulder at the man and smirked. "Say whatever you want to. Not like she's gonna bite or anything. I mean, she's dead, right?"
Trisha huffed indignantly and Mustang rolled his eye. "You're lack of etiquette and tact never cease to astound me, Ed."
The blonde alchemist snorted and swore and then stalked away in a huff, crossing the small cemetery and depositing himself at the base of a tree. Trisha watched this and sighed in exasperation.
Even at twenty, he still has that temper . . .
She sighed once more and looked back to the dark-haired man; he had one corner of his mouth pulled up in a smirk and was staring off in the direction that Edward had gone off in, gently shaking his head. "He's something else . . ." Mustang looked back down at her grave. "Isn't he?"
Trisha felt herself smile. No truer words were ever spoken, I'm sure, she stated quietly . . . and Mustang smiled as if he heard her. "He's had it tough these past few years," he explained, ". . . and I'm just glad that Edward is still undeniably Edward."
The spectral woman regarded the man for a long moment—taking in his sincere smile and the light behind his eyes—before she slowly nodded and spoke: You and me, both . . .
A comfortable silence fell between them, though only one person there was truly aware of it. The wind rustled the leaves above them and dusted across the lieutenant, obscuring his ebony hair and causing his butt skirt to flap back and forth in spastic vigour. Trisha, unaffected by the sudden breeze, fiddled with her apron and skirt, smoothing them both out unnecessarily.
"I . . ."
The woman looked up at the sound of Mustang's smooth voice. He had his mouth open, its corners pulled down thoughtfully, and his one eye focused on her headstone. "I really do . . . love your son, you know?"
Trisha's breath caught and she unknowingly clasped her hands together.
The alchemist—she could tell by the transmutation circles sewn onto the backs of his gloves—reached up and ran a hand through his windswept hair nervously. "I think that I fell in love with him from the first moment I saw him . . . No, wait. God, that makes me sound pedophilic . . ." The dark-haired soldier screwed his eye shut and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance; Trisha felt herself smile sympathetically. "What I mean is," he tried again. "What I mean . . . is that it kind of snuck up on me. It just happened in gradual increments . . ." Roy Mustang sighed. "I had already fallen in love with him before I realized that I had fallen in love with him . . . if that makes any sense at all . . .
"After he disappeared for those first two years—that was when I realized how important his presence had been to me. When everyone else said he was dead . . . I knew better. Ed is too stubborn to die . . . That and I didn't want to accept the fact that I had let something that important slip away from me without fighting harder for it . . . I disappeared within myself for a while, not quite willing to fight anymore. Part of it was Edward, but the other was a sort of grievance for my own sins . . . Either way, I only reappeared when Ed made his return."
Mustang took a moment to chuckle. "It was good to see him again . . . Gave me something to live for. And then . . . I had to watch him disappear all over again. I knew that it had to be done—we both had our own goals to accomplish, and his had to take place . . . elsewhere . . . But that didn't mean it hurt any less. The only thing that consoled me was the fact that I got to say goodbye this time. I went on with my own life, slowly re-climbing the ranks; I hardly dared to dream that either Ed or Al would come back again . . . but two years later and there Edward was, looking no worse for wear and telling me that he had missed me. You can guess the rest . . ."
The brunette woman tilted her head to one side, considering all that the man before her had just confessed. It was certainly shocking . . . In one afternoon, she had discovered that, not only was her eldest son in a relationship with another man—and one much older than him, by the looks of it—but also that said man was in love with Edward. It wasn't something that she had been expecting.
However, Trisha Elric was a woman that took things in stride—she had certainly accepted her own death with grace—and this was no different . . . If this man truly made Edward happy, then she would graciously welcome him into her family.
Drifting over to stand before him, Trisha laid one gossamer hand upon his shoulder and smiled up at him. She knew that he couldn't see her, but intuition told her that he could still sense her presence there . . .
Mustang swallowed hard and a smile lit his previously saddened face. "Thank you, Mrs. Elric . . . Just do me one favour?" The alchemist dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and brought a hand up to shield his mouth, in case Edward happened to be looking over their way. "I haven't told Ed that I love him yet. I'm just waiting for the right time . . . so, if we could just keep that between us for the time being?"
Trisha laughed out loud, safe in the knowledge that her new son-in-law, as it were, couldn't hear her. Your secret is safe with me.
"So . . . what'd you think?"
Edward Elric once again stood over the grave of his mother, tracing the etched lines on the headstone with his eyes; Roy had already said his peace and departed, heading back to the Rockbells', where the couple was staying for the time being.
The blonde had been rather apprehensive about bringing Roy Mustang to his hometown, knowing full well the man's past and how it interwove with that of his childhood friend . . . But Roy had been adamant. He insisted that Ed wasn't the only one that needed to clean his slate.
"Tabula rasa," he had said simply, then kissed a blonde temple, and had gone back to his work, leaving the younger alchemist blinking in bleary-eyed confusion.
Sighing heavily, Ed shuffled his feet and pushed his hands further down into his pockets. "I know that you're probably wondering what I see in him. I mean, he's not much to look at—"
That was a total lie; Ed thought that Roy was sexy as fuck, but he wasn't going to tell his mother that, deceased or no.
"—and he isn't exactly the brightest crayon in the box—"
Also couldn't be farther from the truth: the man was a brilliant alchemist and tactician, a schemer, and still had a level enough head to know how to stay low on the radar. He was a fucking genius.
"—and god knows that he can be an arrogant, egotistical bastard sometimes . . ."
. . . Okay, so that part was true. Two out of three wasn't bad, right?
Edward shut his eyes wearily, feeling his bangs brush against his closed lids and across the apples of his cheeks. "But . . . he's still good. He's a good soldier . . . and a good alchemist and friend and . . . a good boyfriend."
The blonde man was hesitant to use the word lover, not only because he was speaking to his own mother, but because the two of them had yet to have sex. They had both agreed from the get-go that it was for the best to take things slow—Ed being the hopeless virgin that he was and Roy with his long list of failed relationships . . . It was just easier for them to not fall into bed together first thing.
Lowering his face to shield the blush that had crept into his cheeks at the memory—from who, he wasn't sure—Edward continued speaking. "He's a good man. He's just . . . good. And I'm pretty sure that I'm falling in love with him . . ."
For some reason that he couldn't explain, Ed held his breath then, waiting for the proverbial hammer to come crashing down on his head. Several moments of tense silence passed, only the trilling of warblers and the distant sound of a cow mooing breaking through the still scene; finally, when Edward was sure that he wasn't going to be struck down on the spot for what he had just confessed—because really, there was only so far you could push Fate before she fought back—he hesitantly straightened his posture and brought his head up.
"Don't tell him that, though," he entreated with a small smirk. "We don't need anything going and tipping his already precariously balanced ego . . . It might kill us all."
A pause; nothing but the gentle Resembool summer swirling around them, stroking Ed's frazzled nerves and running its warm fingers through his hair.
"Mom," he began softly, lowering his gaze. "I . . . I'm sorry. I must be . . . such a disappointment to you. I mean, you have to think that maybe if I'd been a better son, the Bastard wouldn't have left us . . . and you'd still be here. Then, I go and almost get Al killed, I join the military, I let . . . all those people die . . . and then I go and fall for the very man who killed Winry's parents . . ." The blonde alchemist chuckled then, the sad sound tearing its way out of his throat and into the air around him. "You must hate me for what I am . . . And I know that it can't make up for it . . . but I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I'm such a failure . . ."
Edward could feel the burning in his eyes and the tightness in his chest and throat, but he refused to let the tears fall. He wasn't going to cry over his mother's grave—not again . . .
Edward.
The blonde started and quickly lifted his head, turning a full circle on the spot to see who had spoken to him—but the cemetery was eerily empty of anyone living, besides himself. "That's it," he said with a quiet sigh. "I'm going crazy. I must be; cause that sounded just like—"
Edward.
Ed literally felt his heart bungee out of his ribcage and down into his toes. It can't be . . . "M-mom?" he whispered to the open air; a warmth spread suddenly across his cheek—almost like a hand had settled there—and he felt an otherworldly peace settle over him, lifting all of the weight of the past few days—months, years—off of him.
Edward, the calming voice said to him. How could you think that I could ever hate you . . . or that you'd be a disappointment to me? You are my son. The choices you made are what shaped you into the man you are today . . . and I couldn't be more proud of you. You are my son and I love you . . .
Ed reached up and pressed a hand over the warmth on his face, feeling it radiating against his own palm and hearing the voice of his mother in his head for the first time in a long while . . .
Edward Elric cried tears of joy over his mother's grave.
Ed made sure to wipe away the last remnants of saline water on his cheeks before he pushed open the front door of the Rockbell home. There were various sounds and smells wafting out of the kitchen and the alchemist figured that Auntie Pinako must have been cooking supper . . . And, judging from the voices, Roy was attempting to lend his assistance. Edward considered going and rescuing him, but then thought better of it—he could also hear Winry's voice. So, he grinned and shook his head . . . Better to let the man be baptized by fire, he supposed.
At least, that way, it was poetic justice.
Making his way away from the kitchen, Ed pushed open the door to the living room and made a beeline for one of the sofas. Alphonse was reclined in one, taking up the whole thing while he read one of his novels, and Ed resisted the urge he felt to sit down on his brother's legs. Choosing to flop down on the second divan instead, Edward picked up his own book and opened it to where he had left off on the train ride over.
"So . . . ?" came the sudden inquiry from Al's direction, sounding gently and wry at the same time. "What'd she say?"
Edward pursed his lips thoughtfully for several moments, listening to the sounds of Pinako yelling from the kitchen, before he finally replied:
"Exactly what I expected her to."
Trisha Elric firmly believed that family and love were two of the most important things in existence—not just life. She had learned shortly after her passing that they could transcend even the barriers of death . . .
She had spoken to her son and had restored his faith—and at the same time, her own faith—in the bond of family. Edward had been through so much and now seemed truly happy with what he had . . . and Trisha thought that this Roy Mustang, even from their brief meeting, would match Edward perfectly. Alphonse was settling down with Winry, who the woman knew would be good for him.
They were happy. They had family and they knew love . . . Her sons were safe and happy and that was what Trisha Elric had been waiting for.
So, only then did she once again feel the warmth and gentle weight of the Light on her shoulders, hearing a voice that reminded her of her husband's calling down to her . . .
Her sons knew happiness, love, and family.
So, only then . . .
Heaven came.