He was alone.

This was the only thought running through his head, over and over. He was alone, and would never again see Amestris. He would never get to see his little brother's face again.

He would never again see Winry. He stared blankly at the wall across from him, sitting limply on the couch, waiting for the tears that wouldn't come.

Why couldn't he just cry?

It'd been so long since he'd cried last- perhaps he'd simply lost the ability. Like Alphonse. But hopefully Alphonse could cry now, if he wished.

It was almost a physical ache in his chest. But no tears came.

After years of suppressing all emotions except anger, had Edward finally turned himself into a robot? He simply didn't have the strength to cry, anymore. He didn't have the energy to smile, either.

But he couldn't die. He'd made a promise: to live.

So Edward would. He would live, keep moving forward. Because as much as Edward couldn't cry, he also couldn't break his promise- not one to his little brother, especially. So he would live. He would endure. And perhaps one day Edward would cry again. Tears of joy, sadness, rage- any tears, so long as they were fed by emotion.

Not this terrible numbness. The all-consuming emptiness, the dull ache that resonated constantly but never faded and never left. It was simply there, impossible to get used to and impossible to forget for even a moment.

A soft rapping on the door of his apartment drew Edward's attention away from his introspection, even if it was only marginally. He only needed a fraction of his mind to get the door, anyway.

It was one of the med students, undoubtedly, here to collect him and take him to the hospital. As they did every morning.

And as he did every morning, Edward drew himself up silently and shut away his thoughts and frustrations at his inability to cry. Because, though he could not cry, there was something else he could do: he could keep other people from having to cry. He could perform surgery. He could save people. And he could keep other people from experiencing some of the feelings he'd felt over and over again: the loss, the confusion, the emptiness.

Some of them would get to, instead, feel joy, love, relief.

So long as he kept moving forward. So long as Edward kept doing his job. So long as he didn't break his promise, and kept moving forward.

So, for the sake of the understaffed hospital, for the victims of accidents and of war, Edward would push himself off the couch once again. Even if he was bleeding and alone, he could keep others from this fate. So long as he endured.

And maybe, someday, he would learn to cry again. He may feel once more. But eventually, when his time came, he would rest.

He would rest.

Enduring/resting idea taken from "Uncle Vanya" by Anton Chekhov. Neither FMA, nor "Uncle Vanya" are mine.