I really don't know where this came from. My subconscious is angsty D:

He left her after a night filled with kisses and the words,

"Keep an apple pie warm for me, kay?"

It felt like he was gone for so long. She tried to wait for him.

She wasn't supposed to see it. The war, the fight he left her for. She should be in Resembool, tucked away in her basement waiting for the storm to pass. She wasn't. She had found her way into a war zone, just in time to see him run past towards the enemy, a grim determined look on his dirty face. She almost didn't recognize him, dressed in blue uniform, golden hair and eyes dulled from dirt and pain and blood. But when she did, she couldn't help it. It bubbled up her throat, glorious and strangled.

"Ed!"

She saw him stop, saw him turn towards her, eyes lighting up briefly before they darkened, a fierce look on his face. She saw his lips from her name, sound drowned out by gunfire. Saw the bullet hit his side, saw him fall, eyes wide and scared. Saw the blood pool out around him, flesh arm stretched towards her, fingers clenched in pain.

She heard her own scream, choked and weak despite the emotion she felt. Heard the "man down!" of the other soldiers, heard the "It's Fullmetal, sir. Over." And the 'beep' of the radio releasing a message into the air.

She saw his body, barely alive, be carried away to the medical tent where people who weren't her got to touch and bandage and try to heal him.

She screamed and thrashed and panicked and struggled and cried as the people tried to drag her away, comforting voices whispering in her ear, familiar, though she couldn't give them faces.

And then she woke. She sat up, rivers flowing from her eyes, goose bumps covering her cold, sweaty skin. Bringing her palms to her eyes, she pressed, as though if she pressed hard enough she could stop the thoughts that always followed this dream, the one she'd been having all week.

I killed him.

The war was over now. They were just wiping out the last of the enemy when he'd died. It had been a short battle. A month or two at most. Now was time for the burials.

So she got up, put on her black dress, tied up her hair and slipped on her shoes. Outside, a car was waiting. Inside were the comforting voices that had spoken to her seven days ago. Sympathetic, pained, already tear-stained faces. They didn't matter.

Everything since that day was blurred, like a photo that had been handled before it had been allowed to dry. She didn't remember eating, sleeping, laughing. It didn't matter.

When they reached the cemetery, the very one in which her grandmother, dog, mother, father, in-laws and husband will forever rest, she saw the overwhelming amount of friends and comrades that had shown up for him. She had asked for a separate burial, one in Resembool, next to his mother and father, than the mass military one the provided to every fallen soldier. It felt too impersonal.

Alphonse was there. Upon seeing him, she threw herself into his arms, sobbing and mumbling apologies. He understood. He was one of the few who did.

The service was brief. She spent it embracing Riza, who to her surprise, was crying almost as hard as she was. She barely heard her mumble, "You're right... this is rain." She didn't understand. It didn't matter.

By the time everyone had left her alone and returned to their own lives, the cold stone slab was covered in flowers. It reminded her that he wasn't here. Gone. Dead. The flowers were so alive and beautiful and colourful. Not at all like death. She wanted to take the flowers away, replace them with something more appropriate. Like stones. They were cold and unfeeling, like he was now, in death. It hurt to see the flowers, like horrible imitations of him before.

If things had gone differently, she would be with him right now, deep in the ground, but also in some place far away, without pain or fear or worry. She would be with everyone she's lost, and not alone like she is now. But she can't.

She drops a hand to her stomach, like a silent promise to his unborn memory that she would stay alive and wait for the day she would be with him again.

She turned away from his grave, towards the house she knew would never feel his presence again.

Her apple pie promise will never be filled.

Huh.

I may make a sequel of sorts, about Winry and the baby, if I get some good feedback. So let me know what you think (:

You Are the Moon will be updated soon (: