Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me, no money is being made off of this, movie-verse doesn't exist to me.

Author's note: Written for the 100 Women challenge on Livejournal, for prompt number 6, Past.

We Loved To See Her Smile

"What do you have there, Ed?"

Edward Elric closed the door behind him, one arm wrapped about a small bundle in his arms. It was winter, and the London streets were wet with slush and ice melt. Ed's coat and boots were soaked through, and his cheeks were pink from the chill.

"A cat," Ed said, pulling back the edge of his coat to reveal the small black ball of wet fur. "I found it in the alley by the house."

"I never figured you for an animal lover," Hohenheim said, sliding his glass up his nose and sitting back on his heels.

"Yeah, well, I'm not really." Ed shrugged. "But Al is." He looked up from under his mask of damp hair, eyes challenging. He dared Hohenheim to say anything, to give him one excuse to argue. But his father only nodded.

"Well, I'm sure we have room for something so small. Bring him over by the fire and let's get him dry."

Ed nodded and hung his coat over the back of a chair, the small cat in his arms rousing itself to make a mewling noise. He plopped himself down in front of the fire, holding the small cat in his lap. At least wet cat didn't smell like wet dog.

"I suppose we should find him something to eat, too," Hohenheim went on, standing and arching his back in a stretch. "Did you boys ever have a pet?" The question was asked cautiously, both men aware that they were heading onto very thin ice.

"No," Ed said. "Mom wouldn't let us. She said we were too young for the responsibility, and she didn't have the time to take care of a pet." He stroked the small cat's fur, feeling it dry under his fingertips. "I never realized how hard she had it…" he trailed off, avoiding looking at Hohenheim.

"Tell me about her. Please."

Ed looked up suddenly, the cracking pain in his father's voice stabbing him deeply. A part of him still wanted to yell and rage, to point the finger of accusation and point out that he wouldn't have to if Hohenheim had just stayed. But he didn't. He just sighed instead, leaning against the stone of the fireplace.

"She was pretty amazing. She never let anything go. Housework or groceries or anything like that, and she always had time for me and Al. She was always there, whenever we needed her. I mean, thinking about it now… how'd she do it all? And she never asked anybody for help, not unless she really needed it. It was the best thing ever, being able to make her smile. That's why we took up alchemy, because it made mom happy." Ed swallowed, the wounds feeling suddenly fresh as he said the words to the man he had blamed so long for every tear his mother had shed.

"It made her happy because of you," he finally said, watching the cat and not his father. "Were you guys happy together?"

"My time with your mother was the happiest time of my life. She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. There was something about her, the way she smiled. It made my heart warm. I was the luckiest man in the world when she agreed to marry me. I didn't deserve her. But she made me happy. She made me feel like I was something good. It had been a long time since I felt that way."

Ed wanted to doubt the sincerity of the words, but he couldn't. There was too much raw honesty in them, too much harsh pain. And wasn't it better, he thought, to believe he had been conceived out of love?

"Yeah," he said. "You made her happy, too."

There was silence for a good while, nothing but the crackling of the fire and the sounds of breathing. The past wasn't something often touched upon, with so many scars still healing. But some things needed to be said, before it was too late to say them.

They both made to speak at the same time. Ed silenced his father's apology, holding out his hand and shaking his head.

"No. You've said it already," he said, feeling something hot and painful squeeze at his heart. "It's my turn. I'm… I'm sorry. I never said it, and I should have. I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For what I did," Ed said, that hot thing tightening inside of him until it was hard to breath. His next words were choked and painful, forced out around the hard lump in his throat. "To her."

"Oh, Edward…"

Ed didn't move when Hohenheim sat beside him, didn't even try to pull away when he felt the man's arm around his shoulders. It was one thing to know, one thing even to have corrected that horrible mistake, and another thing to confess it. To confess it to this man, who had loved his mother so much that he would rather abandon his own family than hurt her. Somehow, here in this little room, held by his father, it was all the more real. Miles and years and things with no measurements gone, and it hit him like a punch to the gut.

"I'm sorry," he said again, leaning into Hohenheim's shoulder and burying his face there. "I'm so sorry."

"No. Don't be," Hohenheim said gently, one hand coming to rest on the back of Ed's head. "How can I condemn you for the same mistake I've made?"

Ed said nothing, angry at himself for his past actions and for the tears that now burned down his cheeks. He wondered if he would ever feel as though he'd set things right. Could you make up for the things he'd done? Was there any forgiveness anywhere for him? Within himself or without? And the small part of him, the child inside that never quite stopped believing, wondered if his other hated him. Did she blame him for what he'd done? What he'd turned her into? Sloth hadn't really been his mother, but… wasn't she? In some small way? And it was his fault. He stiffled a sob against Hohenheim's shirt, clinging to the man as though he were a lifeline. The warmth and the hand in his hair was welcome and stabilizing.

He realized with sudden clarity that this was the first time he could remember his father holding him. It was both a depressing and comforting thought, as he rested against Hohenheim's broad chest.

"I miss her," Ed said, the tears finally slowing.

"So do I, Ed." Hohenheim hugged him tightly, his fingers stroking Ed's hair in an unfamiliar paternal gesture. "So do I."