This fanfiction takes place on our side of the Gate. The one that lacks Alchemy, AKA the boring side. Like Edward Elric had his 'counterpart' on our side of the Gate, Izumi Curtis, Sig Curtis, and Wrath must have had theirs. This is a hypothetical, 'what-if-Wrath-had-lived-and-had-remained-human' situation. Oh, it's supposed to be a subtle Mother's Day themed story. A sad one, admittedly. Please note that I dubbed Wrath's counterpart 'Mark'. He can't very well keep his Homunculus name, now can he?
Oh and of course I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist, and the characters belong to its creators. ~3 Poliowrath

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A Mother's Greatest Woe

A Mother's greatest woe is surely letting go.

The infuriating little rhyme kept repeating in Izumi Curtis' head as she waited, hovering anxiously near the window. Through the spotless glass, the footpath before their home was apparent. Izumi constantly glanced toward it, as if expecting someone to appear there at a second's notice.

Her son, Mark, was late coming home again. Izumi paced up and down the kitchen, feeling both furious at her son, and unbelievably worried about him at the same time. Such inner confusion was commonplace for mothers. At least, Izumi hoped so.

Lately, her fifteen year old son had been coming home with bruises and welts on his pale and gaunt arms. Occasionally, even his face showed evidence of injury. With his light blue eyes sharper than daggers, Mark insisted these injuries were from sports.

Izumi knew that he was really getting into fights, but her disappointment with him for lying blunted her sharp tongue, and softened her wrath. She still hadn't confronted him about it, and still she didn't understand why not.

A Mother's greatest woe is surely letting go.

As if on some twisted cue, the rhyme floated across Izumi's thoughts, merrily interrupting her worrying. That rhyme, thought seemingly innocent, was to Izumi a vicious, accusatory thing. The proud, beautifully arrogant Izumi tried her best to dismiss it, but it simply kept returning to her mind, like a stray mutt after being fed a single time.

That meager little limerick was a reminder to 'overprotective' mothers ("Overprotective? Ha! Is taking good care of offspring being overprotective?!"), that when children began displaying signs of individuality ("Because lying and getting into fights constitutes individuality, does it?!") it was important for the mother, despite her maternal instincts, and her dread at doing so, to at least begin to let her child go.

Izumi's dark gaze turned enraged, her lips pursed, and her nostrils flared. 'Letting go' was something she refused to do, even when she was told giving birth to Mark would result in her own death, and that only one could live. She had lived, despite the odds, as had Mark. He was Sig and Izumi's miracle child.

Izumi's defiant resolve was strengthened after this miraculous event, and her refusal to give up became so palpable it was almost like a separate being. However, Mark had been very weak and dangerously tiny.

But, this was no matter! Izumi had the fighting skill of a blackbelt, and the intelligence to match the most knowledgeable scientist. She had strengthened him both physically and mentally.

As an only child, Mark had basked in the undivided attention of both parents. He had been the perfect child for Izumi and Sig. Innocent, playful, energetic. Slightly wild, but yet simultaneously adorable and coy. He was sharp, always noticing the details others missed.

And when he turned those big, adorable blue-purple eyes on her, Izumi marveled at how this beautiful boy could really be her own son. Izumi often disciplined him, however, in a similar fashion to the way her Amestris counterpart taught Edward and Alphonse Elric. Mark both respected and loved his mother and his father. Their family was in a state of bliss.

And then, just a few years from present day, when Mark had been maybe ten, Izumi had been diagnosed with an incurable ailment that caused her to cough up blood every few hours. She had started taking pills to control it, but it wasn't a cure, or a treatment, just a means to hide her sickness from Mark.

And then things had simply spiraled out of control. Izumi, after running out of pills, was unable to contain one of her coughing fits, and she also failed to run out of Mark's line of sight beforehand.

Her beloved son had watched his mother cough so hard her face drained of color, while crimson blood poured from her parted lips. Izumi could never forget the look of purest horror on Mark's youthful face that day. Mark had fled to the balcony, his still-innocent eyes as wide as a full moon.

And to think that concealing from Mark the fact her body was steadily shutting down, and her life was not-so-slowly draining away had gone so smoothly at first.

Poor Mark stayed on the balcony for hours, locking the door to it from the outside so he wouldn't be confronted.

And since that fateful day, everything had changed.

A spike of self-loathing struck present Izumi in the gut at this memory, making her sick insides writhe like snakes, and she raised a deceptively delicate hand to her temple.

That cruel night had been the longest of Izumi's life. It was about time Mark was told, and they had been preparing to tell him. However, that hadn't been how they planned to break it to him.

The doctors all told Izumi it was amazing she had survived this long. Izumi couldn't help but hold a slight contempt for doctors after they had almost caused her to lose her son; if she hadn't been so adamant about it, Mark would've been killed in the womb.

However, despite her cynical opinion of most doctors, Izumi believed them this time. She sensed in her very essence that she didn't have long.

And now, after those 5 years since her diagnosis, Izumi could almost detect Death's lurking presence. The sickness devouring her innards was about to strike a fatal blow. And to Izumi, this was the most painful way of 'letting go', one left unmentioned by that one-line poem, but a possibility nonetheless.

What if she died, leaving Mark without any sort of motherly guidance, whether he wanted it or not? 'Letting go' intentionally was hard enough. But this, this was simply horrifying. Like abandoning her only son, to leave him to fend for himself. And to think it was a ridiculous little one-lined poem that had upset her so much.

The sad truth was, the previously happy Curtis family was in tatters.

This horrible realization Izumi had already overcome. However, something that truly pained the almost invincible-seeming Izumi was that today was Mother's Day.

And instead of a sentimental family day, she and Mark had fought. It had been a big fight, and Mark had stomped away, leaving naught but slammed doors in his wake.

That had been the morning. And now the moon had replaced the sun, bathing the earth in a soft silver light. Sig was out searching for Mark per Izumi's request, and Izumi was alone, on the day honoring all mothers. All because she had tried to get Mark to quit being friends with some who Izumi believed were bad influences. What a horrible, petty reason.

Perhaps Izumi had hoped that suddenly everything would be alright today. Maybe she somehow thought that after a nice, emotional conversation with Mark, all would be fine. Smirking in an ironic, bemused way, Izumi marveled at how far off this fantasy was.

A Mother's greatest--

Oh, shut up!

It was at that point that Izumi heard the sounds of the front door being subtly opened, then closed. The floorboards creaked as someone stepped into the house.

Well, whoever it was really was making an effort to be surreptitious.

Izumi waited, turning so she was directly facing the kitchen door that led to the hall, where she knew Mark was just out of sight around the corner. She felt her stomach clench anxiously. Izumi had spent all day pondering what to say to him, but now she was utterly clueless.

She heard the telltale sound of floorboards creaking again. Mark had turned, and had most likely spotted the light in the kitchen.

Izumi fancied for a moment she could hear his tiny sigh as he plotted what course of action to take. She imagined his eyes hardening in indignation, as if she were doing something wrong by worrying about him.

And then, Izumi got angry. Her nostrils flared, and she fixed her steely navy blue gaze at the empty doorway, as if Mark were already there.

"Mark." It came out like a snarl. She had intended it to be a soft, tender murmur, but what could she say? She was livid. At him for making her worry all day, selfishly indignant at him for destroying their chances of redemption, and for ruining Mother's Day, and at herself, for being a terrible mother, and having misguided him so horridly that he turned out like this.

And there he was before her. His unruly shock of black hair like a splash of ink against his ivory skin. His purpley-blue eyes staring unwaveringly back at her own.

"Where were you?! How dare you run away! Do you know how worried you made your father and me?!" Izumi barked like a drill sergeant to an insubordinate cadet. Not exactly a sentimental reunion.

Something flashed in Mark's eyes. Anger? Guilt? Impatience? Izumi couldn't tell. She simply continued to shout, and though the woman was perilously close to tears, her eyes were as dry as desert. That is, until Mark opened his mouth to speak. Then, the hardened, proud Izumi really did feel tears sting her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mom." The words Izumi had both wanted to hear from her son, and that she wanted to say to him. He didn't say it like an irritated teen might say it to get their parent to stop ranting. He said it with more emotion and softness in his voice than she had heard in years.

There was a pause where they both stared at each other. Mother and son, both studiously staring at each other, and neither betraying a flicker of emotion. Then Izumi darted forward, wrapping Mark in her strong arms. Mark never saw his mother's tears of joy and relief, and Izumi never saw her son's. They simply held each other for what simultaneously felt like an eternity, and a moment.

Both only half heard the front door opening again as Sig reentered, and after pausing a moment to absorb the touching scene, putting his own massive arms around his family.

"Mom, I know I've done badly. But I promise, I'll change for you. Forgive my sins, Mom." Mark's voice, though quiet, was strong, honest, and sincere.

Izumi paused, holding in a choking sob. Just to rejoice in the moment, as she held her son, and was in turn held by her husband.

However, Izumi waited a moment too long to reply.

That lurking beast finally struck. In the arms of her beloved family, finally fully reunited after years of alienation, Izumi died.

Her death was quick and physically painless; a mixed blessing. Mark's apology was left unanswered, and his guilt at waiting so long would be with him the rest of his days. At least the only pain Izumi felt was in her heart, when she realized that whether she wanted it or not, she was letting go. Her worst fear was coming true before her rapidly clouding eyes.

After a final dieing gasp that portrayed profound sorrow and rage, Izumi went limp in the arms of her family. Her eyes burning at the injustice of life, the bright light that was Izumi extinguished itself as her life ended.

Mark felt his mother's firm hug loosen, and his limbs grew cold with fear and horror. It was possible, of course, that she was simply releasing him from the hug, but then why were her legs giving way? Why was Mom falling? His mind could scarcely comprehend what was happening. He staggered back, forced his way out of what had been a warm embrace a moment before. Now father and son watched, petrified, as mother fell backwards, her body forming a graceful arch before she crumpled into an ungainly heap on the kitchen floor.

The walls, the tiled floors were all echoing with screams, and it took Mark a moment to realize it was his own lips from which the shriek was uttered. He lunged toward his motionless mother, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her, still screaming.

But Mark's cries fell on deaf ears. This was her body, without the defiant, motherly thing that was Izumi inside. An empty husk, filled only with death. Suddenly filled with revulsion, Mark scrambled back, his pallid face taut.

His gaze fell, and his mind seemed to fall into a stupor.

Before his unseeing eyes, Sig lifted Izumi up, using forefinger and thumb to close her eyes.

Why? Why her? Why now? There are so many people double her age who are sick too, and yet she was taken! No! God, no! This isn't fair! I need her! You can't just take her away like this! Mark's mind seemed to be working in slow motion, but fast enough to fill him with righteous anger and hopelessness.

***

Though Mark missed his mother dearly, and would have given an arm and a leg to bring her back to life, he moved on. Maybe hesitantly, maybe unwillingly, but he did nonetheless. And he lived up to his unanswered promise, living the way Izumi would've wanted.

Time and time again he was told that she was in a better place, but he believed, as he was sure Izumi would have believed, that there's no
almighty big picture, there's no real point. Not exactly the most optimistic view, but he was encouraged to live his life to the fullest because of it.

She's not in a better place if she's not with me. And I don't care if God himself tells me she's in a better place, I'll never believe it.

As Mark sat against a tree a few meters from his mother's grave, he could almost hear his mother's voice, so full of defiance and strength as always. He couldn't make out the words, but he rejoiced in it nonetheless. His mother had taught him a lot while she was alive, and he took every one of her words greatly to heart.

And Mark was grateful. Grateful that his mother had taught him everything she had. That she had been the most caring, and devoted mother the world had ever seen. That even when he had been horrible to her, she never rejected him.

Mark was grateful that Izumi had never simply let go.

~La Fin~