Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or Full Metal Alchemist. Would this even be up here if I did?

A/N: Follows the Naruto manga and the FMA anime. No particular timeline, and is a product of a sleep-depraved zombie possessed by a rather persistent plot-bunny. But yeah give it a chance. At least it won't make me feel like shit for losing a night's sleep for this. Especially since this is my first Naruto fic.

Summary: Living with a ghost, Having someone you love with you all the time, Yet not really having them, Many would find it decidedly tragic. Sakura Haruno / Roy Mustang.

The Ghost In The Playhouse.

A three year old girl's lost,
In an unfamiliar town,
Emerald eyes express fear,
Nervous lips in a frown.

She will not cry,
Or so she says,
As she resolutely searches for her parents,
Till the end of the day.

Dusk comes to fast,
The day has gone by,
She's ended in failure,
But she will not cry.

As darkness invades the streets,
She finally gives in,
Sniffling and sobbing quietly,
She seems so frail and thin.

-

A man walks down,
The cold desolate streets,
Yearning to reach his house,
And it's gentle heat.

His onyx eye jaded,
The other impaired.
His gaze world weary,
And laced with a lethargic dread.

He sighs at the cold,
It chills him to the bone,
It reminds him of war,
And it's aftermath of icy tombstones.

He is a man of war,
Murder is his sin.
And the line between right and wrong,
For him has grown ever so thin.

-

A soft muffled sob slows his pace to a stop.
Cold wind whispers against him.
And he spies a little girl,
Lost and alone just like him.

He takes her to his house,
Freshens her, and warms her up.
He lets a wry smile play on his face,
While her emerald orbs resemble a pup.

It is perhaps a new beginning for both of them,
One that would change their lives forever,
This much he knows.
For better or worse,
An acquaintanceship or epic length,
Only time will show.

-

Three years with him,
Her parents still not found.
He's given dreams as high as the sky,
Yet kept her feet and body firmly planted on the ground.

He is her salvation,
As much as she is his,
And so much more he realizes,
As she laughs in innocent childish bliss.

He shows her affection,
Promises the sky.
And in his protection,
She knows she'll fly.

He teaches her life,
And everything it bears.
With it's ups and downs,
Fragile hope and raging despair.

He teaches her his science,
Tells her old fairy-tales,
And brings both together in fire-light,
Makes it magical.

-

He is fire, she muses,
Unrelenting, unpredictable yet constant,
Never something to tame.
She is a spark, he knows,
She could become a destructive raging inferno,
Or a pleasant nurturing flame.

He knows she is uncertain of her future.
She knows he bears scars of his past.
She is a soldier in the making.
He's a used soldier away cast.

Upon a shooting star,
She wishes one night.
To always have him with her.
And to relieve him of his plight.

-

Years since then gone by,
So quick and so fast.
She nimbly wonders serving her parents dinner,
Was that really her past?

She's grown up now,
No longer a child.
Dreams formed of their own accord,
Pursuing them eyes wild.

The scientific magic has almost gone.
New fantasies to entertain.
Magic of a different type, not as fiery as the old,
But the old flaming constant remains.

So she doesn't bother when people stare,
Ignore her or brush her off as useless,
Call her weak and easy to tear.
For she has her solace,
And the invisible hand that wipes away her tears,
With tender fatherly care.

-

Life has taken it's toll,
She's seen her loved one leave.
Abandoned and lost like those many years ago,
In an unfamiliar place on a cold desolate street.

She knows he's not the first,
And just like him,
She's aware many more will.
But she knows she isn't alone,
As she feels a sudden soft familiar breeze,
Comforting her with a paradoxical warm chill.

She's had her fair share of sorrows,
Has many more to come,
While she lives in moments of hope and fear.
And she knows people wonder,
How can she be so calm?
How can she smile through her tears?

Her night's should be lonely and cold,
On having life's harsh realities forced on her,
But there is still innocence of a child in her emerald eyes.
She is still vibrant and yet naïvely innocent,
Like her namesake,
And people stare in surprise.

-

She is weak, fragile, and delicate,
People think,
Just like her namesake.
She proves them wrong,
Shows them her tiny spark,
And leaves a trail of fire in her wake.

She chooses her road,
Her path, her destiny.
And walks determinedly on it,
With startling intensity.

She's stronger now,
Smarter too,
A real fighter.
Still chasing dreams fiercely,
Unmindful that the emotional baggage,
Hasn't gotten any lighter.

-

No one can see,
Hence no one knows,
Of the Phantom figure,
That helps her grow,
A silent figure watching over her,
From the shadows.

He still teaches her life.
Tears her worries asunder.
Illuminates her darkened path.
Shields her ears from the proverbial thunder.

She still learns the magical science from him in secret.
With even more fever and intensity than she used to,
Yet still treating it like a children's game.
But he knows she chosen,
She doesn't want to be a spark anymore,
But both the raging inferno and the nurturing flame.

So he sets the path for her,
Protecting her along the way.
Striving perseveringly with her,
For a future of golden days.

-

Her blonde best friend one day, walking alongside her in the market,
In the presence of their team-mates, old and new,
Asks her conversationally, her way of dealing with everything.
She gives him a mysterious smile, like a child who has a secret,
"The Ghost in The Playhouse."
She merrily sings.

She bounds away,
A springy bounce in her trot,
Unknowing that she's left her team,
Rooted in surprise to the spot.

She skips home happily,
Into her house bounds in.
Smiles softly as the evening sun,
Makes love to her pastel hair and creamy skin.

An ethereal figure,
Affectionately ruffles her hair.
She smiles a serene smile,
On a face fair.

The phantom smiles back,
His whispered touch as warm as it is cold.
Evening twilight shines through him,
And yet makes his silhouette, ever so bold.

-

Dusk approaches quickly,
And the phantom leaves with the light.
In the drawing room,
Soon she hears a fire crackling in delight.

She isn't weak like everyone thinks,
Most certainly not a fool.
And though she knows many think otherwise,
She'll keep her cool.

She knows hope isn't futile,
Just as the sky is blue.
She knows dreams can be realised.
And wishes do come true.

The phantom calls out to her,
Stopping her thoughts from wandering astray,
Chasing the memory of a long ago wish made,
Upon a shooting star away.

And she knows if people found out they'd gossip,
For that's what they always do.
They'd twist it, turn it, misunderstand it,
Till it's almost as good as saying the grass is blue.

Though romance is far out of the question,
Some would find it oddly so.
And those who couldn't really see the beauty of it if it were romantic,
Would be disgusted by it more.

Some might probably feel it taboo, and shun her.
A few odd ones would find her loyal, and probably they'd respect her.
Most of them would think her mad,
And seek her 'best interests' for her.

Living with a ghost,
Having someone you love with you all the time,
Yet not really having them,
Many would find it decidedly tragic.
Not many understood,
The beauty and depth of the bond she shared with the late Flame Alchemist,
The memories, shared dreams of the future,
The magic.

He calls out to her again,
In the same tone he used to, when she stayed with him,
When he taught her, in long gone by days.
"There's a Ghost in the Playhouse." She sings softly to the old forgotten foreign rhyme,
As she bounds into the ethereal blue-clad phantom's loving embrace,
"And he's here to Stay."

A/N: Yeah, yeah, I know it's a bit weird, and stuff. But that's how my mind works. (Well at least that's how it works when I'm in sleepy insomnia mode.) So yeah leave a review. I'll accept flames as well.