The Cycle of Pain and Hope
By Teenangel
Summary: a different ending to FMA, from Alphonse getting his body back to far into the future. Mostly following the life of Ed's daughter. Not what you expect at all! Blood, violence. Future fic. edxwinry alxelysia. spoilers.
Author's note: some things may not be accurate to the anime, bear with me. And I swear this story has a happy ending!
Disclaimer: Got bored the day after finals, college student, so broke, wouldn't even bother
1961-Resembool
Michael Elric-Hughes sat in a black military standard car, parked in front of his parents' house. He straightened his new uniform and polished his Lt. Colonel pin on his collar, then combed his hair a few times, and straightened his uniform again.
Allison groaned from the back seat, "Stop wasting time and get out of the car, or do I have to make it an order."
"Well, some people care about their appearance, especially on special occasions," he said, fixing a pesky lock of hair.
"Are you saying I don't care about my appearance." She wanted to yell at him, but the energy wasn't there; stupid long car rides.
He laughed, "You wear a red shirt to hide when you're wounded, and you braid your hair to get it out of your face, appearance is more then just practicality." They left the car and stepped onto the porch. Michael skipped knocking and barged right in, almost slamming the door into his father's face.
"Nice going, trying to kill him," Ali snapped.
Al smiled, "Allison, Mike, wow! This is a great surprise!"
Mike pulled on his collar, "I got a promotion, Lt. Colonel, now."
"Lt. Colonel pain in my ass," she muttered, "Uncle Al, what is that on your face."
"Yeah dad," he raised an eyebrow, "it looks weird, almost evil on you."
"It's just a goatee," he chuckled, "try something new."
Elysia came in through the back door with apples bowled in her apron. She smiled at her son, a few wisps of gray hair flying over her eyes as she went into the kitchen. Ali observed as Al stared where his wife had stood, like he was glaring at something else, a secret, a fear.
"Come on, dad," Mike patted him hard on the back, "mom knows how to age gracefully, why don't you give up the goatee and stop dying you hair."
Al grinned back, but Ali felt it wasn't sincere.
XXXXXXXX
Michael's sisters came for a celebratory lunch. The youngest, Marion, still lived with them, but Lisa, twenty and the spitting image of her mother, had taken over the old Rockbell place. Funny, how they still called it that sometimes, even after the name had died out, a residue from a past that Ali and her cousins were never apart of.
Marion stopped her ballet twirling in the orchard and turned to her cousin, who sat leaning against a tree; Ali was in her thirties, but Marion thought she looked like a child when she pondered, "What are you thinking?"
Ali picked up a stick and started poking the rotten spot of a fallen apple, "Nothing, actually, just trying not to fall asleep, so peaceful out here."
"Yes," said Marion plopping down next to her, "but by peaceful are you saying your bored to death."
She shrugged, "Well, there is nothing to kill here, so…hey I'm just kidding."
A red delicious fell in front of them, just like that from life to death, but Al always reminded them, the apple would come back to life again, another tree, if given the chance. Ali sighed and pulled her jacket closer; the sun was shining, but it felt cold.
"Are you okay?" a hand brushed Ali's cheek, "you look real white, and you feel warm." Ali didn't answer, just closed her eyes and rested her forehead on her knee; rest, that's all she wanted. Marion prodded her, "Come on, shorty, no falling asleep."
Ali didn't scream at the comment, not even glare. She felt it in her skin, in her bones, in the pull of her chest as if her lungs couldn't breath, "I can't get up," she stated, "please get, Al, please get him."
After a few failed attempts of trying to help Ali back to the house on her own, Marion finally left her cousin just at the edge of the orchard, lying on the grass looking up at the sky. "I promise I won't move," Ali joked. Marion sprinted back to the house.
She and her father returned a couple seconds later, but Ali had passed-out. Al hesitated to pick her up. His big brown eyes stared down at her prone, pale form, laying over it an image of his mother fainted on the kitchen floor, and an image of his brother collapsed with a scattering of apples. It all seemed like one event, a constant for him with in his life, an endless tragedy.
XXXXXXXXX
"Hey, Allison," Michael tickled her nose with a feather.
Ali opened her eyes, "Lt. Jackass," she muttered.
"Lt. Colonel Jackass," he corrected. Ali glared, then looked around. She was in Michael's old room, probably because it was on the first floor, easier to get to. Al must've carried her back, or maybe Mike, she couldn't remember.
Al came in ushering his son away. His face was straight, but his eyes were looking left, remembering, "The doc came already, you have it, too."
"I've suspected for awhile," she said, embarrassed to admit it.
"Here," he handed her a glass of orange liquid, "the doc brought this. He says its not perfect yet, your one of the first to receive it. It won't cure you, but it will suppress it."
Ali took it staring at a hope neither her grandmother or father had imagined, "I'll live. Live like normal?"
He nodded, "You have to drink one glass every month to keep it suppressed, for the rest of your life."
"Small inconvenience," she said, and chugged the drink, gagging at the horrible sticky bitter flavor; it was like licking earwax, "why are good things always so gross."
Her Uncle Al swallowed a laugh, sometimes he would think he was talking to Ed, then he'd remember. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he took her hand and pressed it against his cheek. She felt warm tears slip between her fingers, and pulled Al into a hug.
"It's okay," she whispered, "no one's dying today."
"I know," he said, "it's not that…Ali, I don't die my hair."