Series: Brotherhood/the manga
Word Count: 498
Characters: Sig/Izumi, Truth, Sig and Izumi’s child
Summary: It’s just easier this way.
Warnings: Angst, spoilers for Brotherhood/the manga involving Izumi.
Notes: Poor Izumi! ;________; I’ve always felt so sorry for her. Written for Prompt 76: The Truth at fma_fic_contest. Tied for second place.
Izumi opens her eyes but sees nothing for a moment—nothing but white. Then, she sees a door, and she can make out the form of a young woman sitting before it. The figure has no defining characteristics. It is as white as the emptiness that Izumi has found herself within.
“Who are you?” she ventures to ask.
“I am known as many things,” the mysterious figure replies. “God, the world, the Truth.”
Izumi can’t say that she understands. “I’m--”
“You are not the first Alchemist to come here,” the form interrupts. “You will not be the last. I know why you are here. What are you prepared to sacrifice?”
Izumi thinks of how her (living, breathing) son will feel in her arms, once he is returned to her. “I will give anything,” she replies. “I will give anything to have him back.”
The figure smiles, and it is not friendly. “We shall see, Alchemist.”
There are things grabbing at her now—dark things with ugly faces and cold hands. They pull her through the door, and she feels uncomfortable, unsettled. She seems nothing and everything—sees things that have happened and are bound to happen in the future. It’s too much, too much—
And then, she sees her child; she hears his heartbeat, his cry, and she reaches for him.
She opens her eyes again (when had she closed them?) and finds her husband kneeling over her, shock and horror and concern scrawled all over his handsome face.
“Sig,” she weakly whispers, “the baby….”
Her heart shatters again when she learns that the thing curled up in the middle of her array is not their son, and not even human at all.
Truth had only shown her what she would never have.
She screams and then sees red (when had she started bleeding?), and then everything goes blissfully dark.
She learns when she wakes up that she will never have the chance to become a mother again. Truth took that from her, too.
(Equivalent Exchange—it’s such a joke.)
When the doctor finally leaves (after berating her for the crime – the sin – that she has committed), her husband moves to sit on the edge of the bed. His arms encircle her protectively.
“What did you see?” he asks quietly, his voice broken.
Images come flooding back to her, familiar and unfamiliar things, but at the forefront of them all is the image of their son, smiling and laughing and growing up as every child should.
But it isn’t real.
“…Nothing,” she finally whispers, holding onto her husband tightly. “Everything was white—I didn’t see anything beyond that.”
(Because the white-on-white nothingness is far more forgiving than the endless blackblackblack darkness. It’s easier to tell her husband that she saw nothing than to tell him that she saw their son, only to have him taken away from her all over again.)
It isn’t a lie, exactly.
It’s just a different shade of the truth, that’s all.