O, don't dece-eive me,

O, never lea-ave me,

How could you use a poor maiden so?

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The fire in the hearth crackled and popped, sending flashes of light to dance across the ceiling. The bed felt soft and comforting beneath him, but he couldn't seem to close his eyes.

(You don't need sleep.)

(Oh, but how I want it so.)

Slowly, slowly (memories were delicate things) Hohenhiem tried to remember how it felt to sleep. To dream.

You close your eyes, he thinks, and nearly chuckles out loud at his foolishness.

(Dreams wouldn't bring him any closer to her, anyway.)

The human mind was a fickle thing during the daytime. Even the howls of a million wayward souls did not have substance; survive.

Survive, survive. The chant of humans since the beginning of time.

But, from what Hohenhiem remembered of dreams, that wasn't the primary objective there. In dreams, life and death don't matter, because you'll wake up eventually, right?

(Dreams were like drops of heaven scattered about.)

(Freedom is fleeting.)

Perhaps we are deeper creatures than once thought, he allows, still staring up at the ceiling, only to snort when he realizes his error.

We.

You are a monster, not a person.

(A monster a woman loved)

(A child loved)

(You let them down.)

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Early one mo-orning, just as the sun was ri-sing,

I heard a maiden call from the valley below

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The air of dawn cradled his face in what he'd imagine to be motherly and loving, if he cared to remember back that fare.

(Slave Twenty-Two didn't have a mother.)

(Neither did Ed, or Al)

(Sons)

Leaning against the post, he could see the hazy blurs of night-time stars mixed with the rising sun. It made for a beautiful painting; had he any talent, he might've taken to sketching.

He supposed he fit into the scenery nicely; gold added a brilliant touch to any atmosphere.

(Edward was show enough.)

(Edward)

(You let him down.)

There was a pang, deep in his chest, as he stared up at the sky.

(You didn't even come to the funeral)

(Bastard, you're not my father!)

He could just imagine the way his sons screamed and bled as they tried (and failed, failed miserably) to bring back the woman he couldn't save.

(She broke the promise)

(Your fault)

(Research notes)

He slid down to the ground, rubbing his temples and hoping to drown out the din of the souls within him.

(Monster, yer a monster)

(Trisha)

"Trisha," he whispered, letting the word float away on the breeze.

"Help me."

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Remember the vows that you made to your Mary?

Remember the bower where you vowed you'd be true?

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The night sky danced vividly above his head, bestowing a sense of calm that washed over his entire being.

It was almost like he could see into forever.

(Perhaps forever is not such a bad thing)

(Trisha)

(How could you use a poor maiden so?)

The crescent moon dipped low in the sky, its sharp end scraping the side of the earth and he could almost make out a figure hunched over in the dip of the moon.

(No)

(Yes)

"T…trisha?" It tumbled out before he could stop himself, hope bursting from him like cannonfire.

The figure looked up with a cheeky grin, green eyes twinkling with knowing. "It took you long enough, Mr. Alchemist!"

(She giggles.)

(Its Trisha)

(Trisha)

(O, don't deceive me..)

She snakes a pale hand out and wraps it around his, giving it a little tug. "Come dance with me," she insists, gesturing with her left arm to the constellations. "Come dance!"

"You know I can't-"

"It's all in the leading, Mr. Alchemist!" She chirps with vigor, pretty eyes scrunching up in a smile. "C'mon, don't be afraid."

(That's what she said to him when she placed Ed into his arms)

(Ed)

(Al)

(Trisha.)

"Where are you, dear?" He asks, looking at her with questions bubbling under his smile. "Come home; we miss you."

"Reality is ninety-nine percent perception," she replies mystically, a hint of laughter coloring her voice as she pierces him with her gaze. "Just imagine that I'm there, and I always will be."

"That's not enough," he says quietly, staring down at the ground below the moon. "I need you."

With another laugh, she pulls him up onto the moon and twirls him around in her arms with something that sounds quite like 'Don't we all need someone?'

He just allows her to move their bodies in unfamiliar yet not unpleasant ways, shimmying with the stars dancing behind their backs and the moon beneath her feet. This touch, this feeling, is so alien that his first reaction is to push it away.

(You can't be her, she's dead)

(Transmutation)

(Might not've failed)

(Trisha?)

But he can't.

He loves her, and she loves him (for now) and you have to take what you can and leave what you can't.

(Dreams are beautiful bliss.)

In a deft maneuver, she untangles herself from his broad arms and jumps to a constellation. She spun around Orion's Belt like there wasn't a care in the world, laughing and singing

(O, don't dece-eive me)

And Hohenhiem understands the bitter taste of happiness.

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Cause green is the garden and fresh are the roses,

Fresh from the garden to the wind on your brow

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He watches her for an immeasurable amount of time (perhaps none even passed; it didn't bother him in the slightest.)

Suddenly, the dancing crescendos, a flurry of limbs and body and singing

(O, never leave me)

And she manages to stare at him all through it.

(Can you see my soul, Trisha?)

(Is it there?)

And then she stops.

It's with a weary smile that she regards him, her eyes watery and he knows what is about to happen.

No, don't go-

(O, never leave me)

Please-

Trisha, I'm sorry-

Sorry, sorry sorry-

Ed and Al and Al and Me-

But the protests die on his lips and she gently floats back down to the moon and pecks him on the cheek. Cupping his head between creamy hands (soft, oh how beautiful and soft) she looks at him with love in her eyes.

"I'll see you soon, Van."

And it sounds like a promise she can keep and she fades into the colors of the almost-day that rise at her back.

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(Mr. Hohenhiem, sir, did you enjoy your rest?)

(Yes, sir.)

(What all did you do?)

(I danced with an angel.)

(Angels, Mr. Hohenhiem?)

(No, only one.)

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.

(I'm coming, Trisha, don't stop waiting.)

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O, don't dec-ceive me,

O, never lea-ave me,

How could you use a poor maiden so?

Song is "Early One Morning" by Jim Moray.

Inspired by the song Drops of Jupiter by Train.

(Thanks for reading.)

~FMC