Fullmetal Alchemist © Hiromu Arakawa
NOTE: for full effect, please play: "I Can Go The Distance" from Disney's Hercules. Thank you.

Go The Distance
"Smile. It's enchanting."

.:.

I have often dreamed, of a far off place...

Somewhere in Risembool, there were children laughing. Risembool, the ever embodiment of paradise. With it's gently rolling hills of emerald green, stretching on for miles upon the eye could see. Crystalline blue rivers that flowed throughout the whole town, trees that embodied strength and honesty and gave shade to it's citizens. The smell of fresh, warm air; the cool breeze, the musical sound of birds chirping and kids playing that made your heart melt; a place where all seemed perfect. Where it seemed as though if you went, you would smile and you wouldn't have to even frown again.

This is where he was born. And he could not be prouder.

Standing on top of the hill, a young man with light blonde hair as bright as the sun, gold eyes that shone, a dark coat over his broad shoulders and a tall, easy stature. The corner of his mouth twitched upward, even though he stared down at nothing more than what seemed to be the saddest scene in all of Risembool; a pile of darkened grass, colored black by the ashes that would never cease to be there. Some small, drifting parts of wood.

If he could close his eyes, he could see the memory flash in his mind's eye; a burning house, the dark of the night, where rampant flames licked the sky endlessly. He remembered feeling as serene as he did now, because that was the last moment he could allow himself peace; not until now, years later, when he was staring down again and remembering, could he feel that he had truly let go. Flames, dancing flames, all the rage and sadness and bitterness that had encompassed the house that once stood in the exact some place, burned down into a clean slate. He felt a pang in his chest as he remembered the day; he closed his eyes shut, squeeszing them before opening them again.

The blonde licked his lips, calming himself. Breathing. He knelt down, tucking his legs beneath him, even though it was a childish position he hadn't done in years. It didn't matter; in front of here, he always felt like a child. Staring at the dark slab of stone, eyes focused.

"I haven't seen you in a long time."

Nothing answered him except the rustle of leaves. A reminder, a calming gesture; he could do this. It wasn't that big of a deal, except that it was everything as well. This was his life. It used to be his life. He had let go on this day with his brother, but it didn't mean that it was fully gone. Instead, it chose to live in his memory, an ever lasting beat of a heart that would never beat again.

The blonde took in a deep breath. "I missed you."

A caressing whisper that seemed to come from nowhere, a voice he missed oh-so-dearly; "I missed you too."

Deep and powerful, like a river tumbling over the rocks; a smile, for him, for his wife, for his friends, for the world. Gold eyes that twinkled and shone in innocence, in happiness, frigid wind running against his face and making his whole persona seem brighter, Real. Like he was just there, an arm's length away.

Alphonse Elric grinned, laying his head against the slab of dark concrete, reminiscing on this day and his chest surging with emotions. He closed his eyes once again and breathed in deeply, let it out lightly. Smiled, a brilliant smile that glowed. "I love you, brother," he murmured, and he almost laughed when he heard the response.

"Ditto."

...where a great, warm welcome will be waiting for me...

Winry blew a piece of lemon blonde hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear and absentmindedly continuing to scrub pots and pans in the kitchen sink. On days like these, Winry felt as though she was a completely different person. Feeling like she wanted to sit around and do nothing, stare at the blue sky and the golden sun, close her eyes and feel the sunshine on her face, the taste of when Edward kissed her lips and her hands and her cheeks and her ears, whispered that he loved her more than anything in the world when they were alone, smiling at her softly when he thought she didn't notice. When he could be the sweetest person on the planet.

In a moment, she had stopped her scrubbing and went outside, staring at the still-green fields that went on for miles. She remembered when the tips of his large fingers touched hers, pointed out to the distance, saying, "Someday, I'll show you the world."

She was still waiting.

But she didn't mind. She had waited before for him to look at the way he did before he left. She waited when he had gone those multiple times before coming back all battered and beaten, smiling that charming and determined smile of his.

Days like these, moments like these were she would wait, completely serene, clothed in his large, oversized shirts that smelled of his cinnamon-and-sandpaper scent, imagining that he was right beside her, curing his arm around her shoulders, bringing her closer to himself, his body heat, the way his chest rose and fell in even breaths and rumbled when he chuckled.

"Mama?" a small, groggy voice said from behind her. Winry turned around slightly, missing the cold breeze that made her cheeks red (just like when he said she was the cutest) and saw her oldest, a blonde little boy that was as smart as his father, as golden and reimbursed with the same exact spirit.

"What is it, Nicholas?" she asked softly, feeling out-of-place when speaking loudly, especially on this day. Especially thinking about him. Nicholas stared at his mother curiously, seeing her bathed in the golden light of the morning sun, remembering that she said his father had the same exact eyes as the sunrise. That he had his father's eyes.

"What're you thinkin' 'bout, mama?" he replied instead, stepping toward her in small, almost stumbling steps; he shivered when he managed to reach the end of her shirt, so long that it reached her to knees, the sleeves even longer and loose. And yet, she feels completely comfortable. Nicholas closes his eyes and buries his face in his mother's embrace; she doesn't smell like apples like she usually does. Instead, she smells like musk and cinnamon and sandpaper. It's familiar and he can't stop breathing it in.

When his mother stared off into the distance like that, he knew that she would always be thinking. Of what, he didn't know. But her eyes would glaze over and she'd stop working, sometimes she'd shiver, and he knew that she was thinking.

"Of your dad," she mumbled, running her warm hands through his hair, stopping when the bangs covering his face were puled away to reveal a cherubic face that Winry can remember clearly. She smiled, despite herself.

"Daddy?" Nicholas blinked, repeating the word. "Why're you thinking about daddy, mama?"

Winry smiled. "Because this is a special day to daddy, sweetie."

"Oh."

The small word caused Winry to bit her lip from smiling further. Nicholas looks confused, almost irritated that he hadn't figured out what the day meant, and it reminded her so much of him that she couldn't help but laugh a little. Of course, Nicholas doesn't hear, but he looks out into the horizon like she was earlier.

And then, he said in a tiny, tiny voice, almost a sleepy whisper, "When is daddy comin' back, mama?"

"Soon, sweetie," she said, while hugging her arms filled with Edward's scent around him. "Soon."

...I will go the distance, I will search the world...

(don't forget this)

...where the crowds will cheer when they see my face...

A woman, no older than her mid-thirties, stood in front of a marble statue with a bouquet of flowers in her hands. Sunflowers, ripe yellow with their perfect circular middles, like the circles of alchemy, like the color of sunshine when it spilled from the heavens and down to the earth, basking everything in it's warm light.

Like his smile.

The statue was a simple on, of a young man who seemed ageless, with long braided hair and bright eyes that you could tell even from stone, intricate lines that made up his coat, signature flamel on his back, boots and a gleaming pocketwatch at his belt loop, a book in his gloved hands, linked together under the spine, shoulders relaxed. His face was upturned in a soft smile, and his gaze seemed to look right at you if you stared too long, right into your soul, through your heart and everything in between. A dragon wormed it's way up his shoulders, falling perfectly in place with his loose hair, the symbol of their country; of their faith.

He was a boy—just a boy, she remembered—with so much spirit, so much intelligence. Someone that outshone everyone else, a person you couldn't help but remember. A protecting entity; those determined eyes, that soft smile. That rare laugh, the feeling of serenity. She remembered what it was like working with him. So refreshing, so different, so new, it was almost like she was a child again and he was the adult.

He stood over them all, from the line of the statues that lay still and carved at the front of Central Command, protecting, the youngest, the most alive. Even from here, you could almost see his eyes, looking over them all, protecting, loyal, like the person he was. Always there. Constant. Forever. Forgiving.

Maria felt the beginning autumn wind blow through her shoulder-length hair as she set down the sunflowers at the hero's statue, letting her fingers run gently over the carved words that were at the bottom: All is One, One is All. What he always used to say. Cryptic, meaningful, a breath from his lips that everyone would always believe, no matter what.

"Come back to us soon, Edward," she whispered, the words blown away with the wind. "We'd all like to welcome you back home."

...and a voice keeps saying this is where I'm meant to be...

The sound of her clicking heels only increased the growing migraine that Riza was forming, but she wasn't about to let herself succumb to it. The windows were open to let in a cool breeze; she shivered when it came her way, ruffling her hair, and somehow reminded her of something a bit more...familiar. She didn't dwell on it, though, as she walked to her superior officer's office with a pack of folders in her arms.

She opened the door, just to find her coworkers lazing around. Ashen expressions on their faces, as usual, except for Jean, who was actually smoking his cigarette this time. Curiously, it didn't smell like cigarette smoke; more like...cinnamon? And sandpaper. She ignored the familiar scent and turned to the dirty blonde, asking, "Where's the General?"

Jean glanced at her with underhanded eyes; to think of it, he looked horrible as well.

"Not here."

Riza frowned. "You have to give me more than that, Lieutenant Colonel."

Jean stared at her with those uncomprehending eyes, so blue, so like the diamond sky...he said again, almost like a mantra, broken and lost and whispered, the words painfully empty and simple. "Not here."

"Jean..." she started, a bit worried for her coworker's health. He looked worse than usual. Jean closed his eyes and laid back on the chair, allowing his head to bob, hair flopping backwards.

"Not here, Riza." Before she could speak again, he said, "Check the calender."

October third.

The stack of papers in Riza's shaking hand fell to the floor with an audible thump; as did she, with her shaking knees and realizing sherry eyes.

...I know that every mile would be worth my while...

(don't forget us)

...it might take a lifetime, but somehow I'll see it through...

Roy Mustang wasn't a personal man.

But he was taking this personally, just like how he took Maes' death personally.

Watching millions of people come by and celebrate 'Fullmetal Day', the official celebration of the great Fullmetal Alchemist, a hero to the people and the country of Amestris, the golden-haired and golden-eyed kid that managed to worm his way through the hearts of every single one of the people of Amestris. Including his. Roy would never admit it, but he did; and to this day on, he would never know how he did. The blonde was loudmouthed and reckless, rash and stubborn, always glaring and sneering and frowning.

But before Roy had known it, he had managed to make himself a spot on his team. And when Roy had realized this, he also realized that Edward was special; he didn't know how he had become special, but by that time he already had. Almost like a son, he incited protective and paternal feelings in Roy. Not to mention that he was probably one of the most respectable people (in his own way) that Roy had ever met.

While everyone celebrated Edward, they didn't know the blonde. Sure, some did, from personal experiences on his constant travels, but he was just...he was just Edward. Pure Edward, through and through, made of vibrant colors and splashes, determination, unwavering faith, belief and belief and belief and love.

And even though he frowned, sneered, and glared, everyone had to agree; his smiles made up for it. Lit up the whole world, like his eyes, like looking into them you could see the sun shining under those irises, waiting to be released, burning bright and warm. Like looking at him made everything seem okay, just for a moment.

Fullmetal wouldn't like this, Roy thought to himself absentmindedly, staring at the new bouquet of flowers that were placed on the stone base. Edward wouldn't like this. Because he knew Edward, what small part that he didn't dare to show anyone; Edward was simple, and simple always made him happy, and that was what made him such a great person.

Roy sat lazily, unlike the Lieutenant General he was supposed to be acting like. His back was against a pillar, and his coat was only put on his shoulders, despite the chilly weather. He had dark bags under his eyes and he hadn't moved all morning. He had been here, all morning.

Starting way from the moment Maria Ross put sunflowers on the statue. More like a grave marking, to him.

But he's not dead, Roy reminded himself, closing his eyes when the smell of flowers' perfume made it's way to him. Nothing could compare to the smell of cinnamon and sandpaper like he was used to. Like all of them were used to. He's not dead. He just has to come back. For our sake.

Fireworks cracked in the sky. Fanfare played.

Without opening his eyes. Roy let himself a sad smile. "Look back, Edward. You'll see that only you've moved on when we haven't."

...thought that road may wander, it'll lead me to you...

Her baby boy. He was so grown up.

She watched, always, seeing him grown up and become strong in ways that she could never be. In ways that made her smile, proud, beam with pleasure. She saw how he looked back, how he became the spitting image of his father. How he became a father, how he loved the woman he loved fully. How he breathed and grinned and never took anything for granted, because hey, look where it got her.

But she didn't regret it one bit.

Oh, look at her boys. So grown up. So wonderful.

"I'll always love you," she whispers, standing in front of her youngest, watching as tears fell from his eyes on her grave. "You and your brother. I'll always love you. I'm so proud of you."

She knows deep inside that he can't hear, but the smile on his face says something different.

...to look beyond the glory is the hardest part...

They might not be related to her by blood, not to her or her husband or her dead baby, but they are still her sons nonetheless. She saw how they grew up, the scars on their faces and their knees and how they laughed when they got something right—or when the other got something wrong. She wouldn't give up those memories for the world, those memories, encompassed by hazy white and laughter, musical sounds to her ears.

She closes her eyes, brings her hand to her chest, where a sunken red flamel lay in ink across her skin. The same mark, the brand, that bonds her to her sons, not by blood—but by knowledge, and experience.

And most importantly, love.

...for a hero's strength is measured by his heart...

(don't forget me.)

...and a thousand years would be worth the wait...

He always keeps a photo of his boys in his pocket, near his heart.

Always.

...I would go most anywhere...

A man in his twenties, tall, with golden blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, golden eyes that held the sun behind them, stepped off the platform of the train gingerly. His foot was limping when he walked, and there was a bandage over his right eye, a scar the ran from his left temple to his high cheekbone, an arm in a sling, and it seemed as though some bone in him was broken. There was something haunted about him at first glance; a lone person in a lone world.

But if you saw him smile, you'd see that he was happier than he had ever been in the world. His eyes scanned across the platform, and even though he didn't see anyone that he recognized, knew that no one would know that he was even alive, Edward breathed in a deep sigh and closed his eyes, knowing that this day was important, knowing that this day meant more to him than anyone else in the world.

"I'm home," he said, voice carrying across the platform, through the station, out to the city, across the blue skies and rolling green fields. "I'm home."

...to find where I belong.

.:.

There are many reasons for a person to love. Whether it be the love of a mother, or the love of a husband, or the love of a friend, or the love of anyone; love is love, the greatest feeling in the world. I have known about Fullmetal Alchemist for seven years. And before that, I had not known what love was, how it felt like, what it meant to feel.

I love you all. Laura, Annie, Maya, Katie. The sisters to me that I never had. Rayne, the little sister that I would never give up for the world. Ace, who knows my every secret and every weakness, who knows me better than I do sometimes, James, who can always somehow seem to make the day brighter though he doesn't try to. Arielle, who has been with me through thick and thin. To every single person I've met, to all the readers that read this, to all the people that have commented on every story, alerted me for every piece, favourited for every one. To every moment I spend with you, writing, getting to know you, bringing happiness around and filling my heart like a balloon.

You don't know how much I love you all. I'm usually good concerning with words, but there are some things that even I can't get through. And I can't get through how much I love you all. Because I do. So much. You have no idea how much you guys—even though I've never met you—mean to me. How much I've learned from you, how much you've made me smile, how much you've made me cry. How much we went through. I love you. I love you. I love you so much.

Thank you, Fullmetal Alchemist, for being the show that brought me out of darker times. Thank you for showing me what love was when I was struggling through myself, for being something that simply showed up on the television one night when I couldn't sleep, into becoming something that I became addicted to, like a drug, and became my constant in a life of roller coasters, bringing me up and down. Thank you for showing me what love is like, what to feel for someone else is like, what to be scared feels like, what to feel hurt feels like, what true strength means and what determination means and what brotherhood means. What it means to be real. What it means to be human.

After a hundred years, it still hasn't lost it's magic.

And you don't know how much I love you guys for that. For this. Thank you. Thank you. I love you. Thank you.

I've learned to spread these words. I've learned that it isn't just me in the world. And Fullmetal Alchemist taught me that. You guys taught me that. And no matter how many times I will say thank you, no matter how many times I say I love you, it will never mean as much as I want it to mean. But I want you to know that I do. I love you all.

So, thank you.

[Don't Forget/3.10.11]
[Don't Forget/3.10.11/We never will.]

-Summer