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Here are a few more themes from my little self-challenge.

Disclaimer: I own not anything involving Full Metal Alchemist. It belongs to Arakawa Hiromu.

Blue (after Episode 51 spoilers, PG)

Night. Beautiful stars up above, nothing like those at home but there just the same...

Music playing nearby, the click of heels and the swish of dresses in harmony with ballroom and folk dances alike.

Tonight the Fuhrer announced the changes he had been working on so long.

A mostly independent civilian government.

More stringent limits on wars and what could be used in them.

Official additions to the human transmutation taboo.

Changing the face of Amestris forever, in the nicest way possible.

She'd automatically been invited as a matter of social etiquette, both the heroine of the hour and a victim of Bradley's machinations. She wasn't used to the fashion of Central and while she and her grandmother had been well repaid for their aid after the coup, she didn't have the funds to match anything the nobles and high-ranked military families could put together.

A simple dress made of plain cloth.

Simple blue jewels in her ears, alchemized by a newly-ten-year-old Alphonse who felt she needed something new for the party. He'd been invited too, but with the body of a child he had the natural sleep schedule of one as well.

And so 'The Doctors' Daughter' stood alone on a balcony, hair flying in the wind, while the rest of the country celebrated.

Footsteps behind her, a familiar clicking and dragging she'd come too know well. "Good evening, my Fuhrer."

"You know you don't have to call me that, Miss Rockbell."

"And you know you can call me by my first name, sir." She glanced over her shoulder at him.

He was leaning on a cane, left arm still in a sling several months after the coup.

She giggled. "They make slings to match formal uniforms?"

"When necessary, yes."

"May I speak with complete honesty?"

"Miss Rockbell, I don't think I've ever heard you speak with anything but complete honesty."

"You look like one of those little metal soldier toys that just stands there and can't even bend."

He sighed. "I know. Military tradition and so on."

"Then break tradition. It's not exactly like there's anyone to tell you no on that sort of thing, my Fuhrer. Unless you gave that much power away." She laughed again, then stopped smiling. "Besides, it doesn't suit you, sir."

He raised his eyebrow ever so slightly.

She shook her head. "Nevermind. It doesn't matter. They'll be missing you inside by now."

"And you haven't been inside for the past hour."

"I'm not the leader of the country."


"I'll face the noblewomen if you'll face the political types. Deal?"


They both moved towards the archway back into the building. Just before entering, she turned to him on a whim and whispered just under her breath, "You do look good in that shade of blue, sir."

She raced off into the crowd at a somewhat stately high-heeled dash.

Why did I even say that?

White (after Episode 51 spoilers, PG)

She was standing at the edge of the dance floor, laughing as Havoc tried to get yet another young lady to dance with him.

Most of the people there were laughing. The first girl to accept was still limping around on a slightly twisted ankle with shoes in hand. No one else was willing to take the risk.

She stepped forward, said something.

Everyone grew quiet. The circle reformed as she left her shoes at a table—?She's going to dance with him in bare feet? After what just happened?—and stepped forward to meet Havoc's hands.

He started inching his way closer, trying to remind himself that it was not a Fuhrer's place to help little foolish—How can a girl so emboldened by beliefs and honor ever be called foolish?—automail mechanics get from dance floors to their medical kits when things go wrong.

For go wrong he was sure they would.

And then she nodded to the musicians and something like a country dance but not quite started.

It took a moment for Havoc to settle into the pattern of slow movements and long spins, but once the two had settled into the rhythm of motion they were glorious.

She looks better in that simple white dress than the interim Prime Minister's wife does in that web of alchemized monstrosities. He looked away for a moment, blinking. Damnit, she really can temporarily blind people with all that sparkle.

The dance ended with both putting weight on outer feet, hands outstretched between them and as high as nature would let them go.

He could faintly hear her say, "And that is how country doctors dance."

If only my leg were strong enough again...

He catches the thought, rejects it.

Even if their personal past did not preclude such contact, the little lady in the long white dress was far too pure for the blood-stained.

She deserves so much more than someone like me can ever offer her.

Family (after Epsiode 51 spoilers, PG-13)

He and the old mechanic were alone. It did not happen often, for she liked to give him his distance and he preferred to avoid her as much as any severely injured patient can avoid a doctor. The young one insisted on being there most of the time, so that was not hard—he was sure she did it so that the moment news came of her friends' survival she would know. He hadn't the heart to remind her that the two alchemists might not be ever coming back; the look in her eyes told him she needed no reminding.


"Two days until they operate on that arm, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am." His rank was enough to let him remove the honorific from use, but he always felt the need to say it.

"Hmm. You'll be sick... well, sicker... for a while afterwards, Dog." Only she would dare call the Fuhrer of her country a dog. It made her both highly admirable and highly annoying at times, but he deserved every minute of it, after all. "General anesthesia isn't used lightly even now and you'll be on heavy painkillers for the first few weeks."

She ran a hand perilously close to the bandages over his shoulder and he wanted to burrow back into the pillows and submit to whatever tortures she could devise all at once.

"Poor injured thing."

"What?" he breathed.

"Well, you are. Just because a dog is a dog doesn't mean it doesn't have its own sort of spirit and worthiness to breathe, or haven't you noticed how well we keep Den?"

She was scaring him.

"You've used the dog analogy yourself before for yourself, haven't you?"

He had to nod weakly.

"Loosen up, Fuhrer, it's not a declaration of worth and I've so far never meant it as such."

He relaxed involuntarily and something moved in completely the wrong way somewhere. The gashes ached and his empty eye socket started itching again. He couldn't stop the fast little pain breaths or the slight groan that escaped his lips.

She was closer in a second. "You're on as much painkiller as we dare give you right now, but I can give you a sedative if it would help."

"I'll be fine in a moment," he hissed. Once the worst had passed, he whispered, "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"An old healer law called Tres Moriena, if you really want an answer."

He was suddenly intrigued. "Tres Moriena?"

She sighed, sat beside the bed just in the right spot that he could look at her with his right cheek resting on the pillow and no strain on his shoulder.

"We fight pain, Mustang, I and all my family for as long as anyone can tell. We have since the days when the old ways of the world fell. In those days the world was wild and many evil things were happening. People stole and killed to survive and repented in anguish once their stomachs were full and they knew what they had done. In their hunger they attacked the fledgling healers the same as they did everyone else. The ground was damp with the tears of mankind at the world we all had made for ourselves in folly. The numbers of men were few and the taking or giving of life for life put the survival of those left behind in jeopardy. Even so, something had to be done for the hands already lost were a threat to the same survivals.

"And this 'Tres Moriena' was an answer to that."

She nodded. "It was a way to repay the debt of the hands the community had lost by giving back to the survival of that community. It was attempted at great risk and often at great cost, for that was its purpose." She closed her eyes and leaned back with her pipe in hand. "In the old languages of this world, it means Three Deaths."

He was silent, trying to imagine what such a law could be or why the country doctors would ever give anything such an ominous name at all.

"Death had to be risked, approached, or even fulfilled three times in service to the community or family that had been wronged. Those most wronged could chose what counted and what did not; some set heavy burdens and others light. It all depended."

He closed his eyes. A debt I cannot repay. I couldn't even kill myself all those times I had the chance.

Her hand on his shoulder next to the bandage again. "Another inch and that would have been a collapsed lung. Another inch after that and it would have been a hemorrhage into the lung. Another two or three beyond that, just a doubling of the existent slice, and it would have hit aorta, vena cava, and trachea. Un moriena."

The same hand, gently touching his face beside the horrible pile of gauze that covered the ruin of his face. "Another tiny bit over in any direction, or your skull turned a bit more at impact, and that would have been much more than an eye that you lost. Duon moriena."

He trembled uncontrollably as he felt her hands settle on his unprotected throat.

Please, just make it fast. You're a healer, I know you know how to take apart what you put together...

"There is a scab here, so slight that no one but a healer used to blade injuries could tell the significance. Bradley nicked you ever so slightly just below the larynx. Hardly a scratch, not even worthy of gauze, but another inch deeper in and this cut you probably didn't even consciously notice might not have given you enough time left before your brain died from lack of oxygen to even figure out what had happened to you. Tres moriena, Mustang. I am the closest living adult relative of the slain and those they left behind. I hold the debt fulfilled."

He felt tears start quietly rolling down the side of his nose. "'s not that simple..."

"No, it is not. But that is what you need to know now about such things. Rest and heal, Dog, for things will soon get worse before they get better." She pulled the blankets up around his chin. "Are you sure you don't want that sedative?"


The pressure of a cup at his lips, the sweet and bitter taste of whatever set of herbs she was using this time, a moment of blinking as she smiled that enigmatic Mrs. Rockbell smile that suddenly did not seem half as dangerous as it had before, and he was asleep.

For once, the horrors of the past left him alone.
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