Disclaimer: I do not own FMA at all. This is purely for entertainment purposes.

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Chapter 1: In Which I Was Born

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"Mom? Mom?" I stirred, opening my eyes at the sound of the tired voice. I was tired, too. I'd been crying, I think. Something had happened and I'd been secure and warm and then it had all gone away and I'd cried so much because it was so uncomfortable and I hadn't wanted to go. Now I was warm and sleepy and I just wanted rest.

"Yes, sweetie?" answered another voice. I peered upwards, trying to make out the details of my surroundings. The first voice seemed to be coming from somewhere near me, loud and clear, but everything was blurred.

"Where is he? Where's Roy?" There was a long pause before the second voice answered.

"He's not coming." There was a moment and I wondered what was going on even as I blinked. My vision didn't clear. My tiredness didn't fade.

"You didn't tell him. Didn't do as I…" There was a bout of coughing and then the female voice wheezed. "Mom, he's got a right to her. He's got a right to Dawn."

"He has no right to you or her!" growled the clearly older woman. "He should have never laid his hands on you. Never."

"I am as guilty as he is," muttered the first female. "Mama." The callout was far more childish. "Mama, you… You know I'm dying." There was the sound of an aggrieved sob. "You kept me from him, Mama. But I can give him what we made. I can give him Dawn. If he doesn't want her, then that's fine… but at least let her have her daddy when she can't have her mother."

What was going on? This was all so confusing and… The place I was laying shifted slightly and I saw the blurs move. I was… Was I being held? Why were my eyes so blurry? I knew I needed glasses but… My vision wasn't that bad. This was barely sight. I was practically blind. My body didn't respond like I wanted it to and I tried to say something, to offer some kind of plea for help, only for it to come out as an infantile cry. That startled me to no end and I froze for a moment even as I felt myself being lifted up, head carefully cradled.

It occurred to me then that I was a baby. That I'd somehow become a baby. 'Oh, this is just degrading.'

"He doesn't deserve her or you," the woman now holding me said seriously. The bitter one. The angry one.

"I still love him," my apparent mother whined. "I… I wish you hadn't hidden me away. I know he would have done the right thing for the both of us. I know…" She sighed.

"Sleep, Abby," my grandmother said simply. "I'll make sure Dawn is taken care of."

"Promise me, Mama," insisted 'Abby'. "Promise me you'll introduce her. Promise me that, if he wants her, you'll let him have her." There was an aching silence before the woman holding me agreed.

"I'll do that. I promise. Go to sleep, Abbigail. I promise I'll do as you ask." There was a long silence and soon the woman began crying. "Why did you make me do that?" she sobbed as she clung to me, nearly squeezing me tight. "Why are you making me give up the only piece of you I have left?!"

I was clutched closely to the woman and felt sadness roll through my tiny form. This woman had lost her daughter to something. Perhaps childbirth. That meant that I had inadvertently caused my mother's death. Still, my body tired and I whined instinctively. It earned me a bottle and I found myself cleaned up and changed not long after I had been burped.

"Oh, my Dawn Rose. My granddaughter." My new grandmother settled me in a bassinette. "She was wrong to tell me to give you up… but…" She sobbed and I stared up at her quietly though I couldn't make out much. "I can't deny her that dying wish." She left me there, cradled in the frilly bassinette.

And that left me to discern what was going on. 'Dawn Rose? That's my name, huh? So, clearly I'm a girl. And I'm just born. Talk about awkward. But… how do I have my memories?' That was a good question but one I couldn't readily answer. I drifted asleep, nestled securely in my crib. I didn't know why or how but I'd somehow managed to become a baby again. A baby with my memories intact no less.

It was a conundrum I would have to solve at a later time. For now, I needed to sleep.

.

Waking up did not solve things. In fact, things were steadily worse when I woke. I had messed my diaper and I was starving and there were these instincts that I had that seemed to indicate that I was at least in part really a baby because those instincts said to scream for attention.

Because instincts were stronger than I intended, guess what I did? I screamed. It came out as a wail and it immediately brought people out of the woodwork. It wasn't until the person spoke that I realized it was the grandmother. My mother was dead.

I'd killed her? I didn't know.

I found my butt and crotch exposed to the cool air and cried at the discomfort even as I tried to work my weak, almost rubbery limbs. I remembered from some biology-anatomy textbook that baby bones were still very 'green' upon birth, mostly cartilage and flexible and delicate, due to some evolutionary thing that made it possible for the mother to survive childbirth instead of dying from a too-large baby. It meant that, while formed, the bones were soft and harder to break.

It also meant harder to move because it was uncomfortable when I put pressure on them. And I did not like how I was grabbed by the feet, hauled up partially, and wiped down. I soon got a new diaper and felt a bit better as I was swaddled again. "You're hungry, aren't you?" my grandmother asked in a cooing tone. I couldn't help but whimper at the blurry shape above me.

Bottles, I soon learned, were wonderful things. And, being so young, it was all I could stomach to take in what seemed to be massive quantities but wasn't really all that much. I was fussed over and loved.

"Isn't she just precious, Barty?" I was confused.

"Yes, dear, but we need to take her to the boy." The world became frigid and my grandmother spoke coldly.

"He doesn't deserve her. He didn't even come to support her."

"Now you're being ridiculous. It was your idea to keep Abby out of the public eye. How was he supposed to know she was pregnant when you told him she was sick and denied him the right to see her?"

"Barty!"

"At least let's support our child's last request." I was transferred into new arms rather carefully as my grandmother cried. "She wanted us to let him see her. Sarah, we can't ignore that."

As they spoke, I listened intently. Not like I could do much else considering I was a helpless infant. I am pretty sure that I'd gotten off easy, the language barrier not being there at all, but I was a baby. A newborn at that. It took a lot of energy to stay awake, considering that my full existence in this body numbered more in hours than it did days. My grandfather's name was Barty. My grandmother's name was Sarah. My mother's name was 'Abby' but that was clearly a nickname. Abigail? Or the ten million variants thereof? Or another 'Abby'? Abilene? Abele? Ab… Okay. I'm making names up and Abilene was a town name, I think. I don't know. The likelihood of it being 'Abigail' was too high. Or one of the variants.

The argument was heated but the man's insistence that it was what their daughter wanted wore his wife down. From what I understood, my mother had been a teenager. A harsh blow for any parent to lose a child that young but there was the compound of 'she had gotten pregnant'. My mother had been sixteen-seventeen years old. My father was apparently a boy she had known from school and had fallen for her. Clearly, the feelings had been reciprocated and I was born.

Teenage pregnancy. Yay.

Not that I was ungrateful. I had no idea how I had died even if bits of my old life visited. Not enough to be coherent, of course, but I was aware I was supposed to be a fairly young adult (but not too young) and independent, financially and otherwise. Now, I was a baby.

No, I'm not getting past that point until I could at least feasibly wipe my own ass.

As I was in a perpetual state of boredom. Let me tell you, babies are boring. Especially when you were one. I couldn't hardly see. I pissed myself. I shit myself. I couldn't eat anything. I could only process milk. I was fairly certain I was drinking goat's milk because, apparently, it's better than cow milk and there was no human milk to drink as the only one that had any had been my mother and there weren't any wet nurses. I slept a lot. I cried when I needed something. My entire existence was limited to anything within arm's length. And even that was limited. The only other thing that I had was sound and I couldn't stay awake long enough at times after being fed to even understand what the hell the adults were talking about.

Even then, it didn't take much to realize they were discussing funeral arrangements and making runs to get things done.

I was, of course, the ever-so-cute doorstop for about how useful I was.

.

The funeral was probably nice. There was crying and talking and the usual hullabaloo of funerals. Then there was me, the baby. I couldn't see. I could hear. I was in someone's arms, I think my grandmother's. It became public knowledge that my mother had died in childbirth. After the rites were concluded, people came to see me. Not that I could see them though I damn well tried. I got cooed over, touched, and even held for short periods. Family, friends, and even some of my mother's peers.

It was obvious when the teen that was my father came because there was a definite stiffness to my grandmother that communicated in waves. "Hello, young man," greeted my grandfather after a long moment. "I was wondering when you'd come over here."

"You said she was sick," an unfamiliar voice accused, somewhere between grief-stricken and numb. "That… But she wasn't. Why? Why didn't you tell anyone she was pregnant?"

"To be fair," my grandfather, whom I'd decided to call 'Grandpa' for simplicity's sake, said soothingly, "it was not really a normal situation. Abby was sick quite a bit. The doctor did say she needed bedrest. However, it was not my decision to keep you out."

"Oh, are you going to put all of this on me now, Bartholomew?" accused my grandmother. I protested at the squeezing she was giving me and instantly her grip eased again. "I wasn't the one that-!"

"Sarah!" The woman stopped. "Dawn is his daughter." There was a shocked gasp. "She asked us to let him know and to let him have a chance to have her. You know this."

I was hanging in the balance and I didn't even know the faces of those around me. All I had were voices. I didn't even know. I realized I was scared. What if I was rejected? What if I was accepted? What if I was going to forever be passed back and forth? I didn't know.

"Let him hold her." It was a command and, with some reluctance, my grandmother turned me over. It took some guidance and an uncomfortable moment where my head wasn't supported but the one who was my father was holding me.

"She's so little."

"She's healthier than her mother was at the end. I think they had conflicting blood types," admitted Grandma. "Abby was type 'B'."

"And I'm type 'A'," grunted my father. "So, that means… Dawn?"

"Yes. Her name's Dawn Rose."

"That she's… either 'A' like me or 'AB'." I tried to look at him even if I knew it was useless. I couldn't see and that was frustrating.

"If you like, Roy, we can talk this further over in a more comfortable setting. Like the house." The teenager, now identified as 'Roy', shifted.

"I… I can't come right now. I promised to help… my aunt." He gave a slight, embarrassed cough. "Can I come over tomorrow?"

"Don't you have school tomorrow?" questioned Grandma seriously.

"Not really. I tested out last year. I would have earlier but… I was… staying on for Abbigail…" By the end of this, he was mumbling shamefully. There was a long silence and I was again transferred from one set of arms to the next. The one that held me was Grandpa. I could smell it.

"We can see you tomorrow," agreed the man holding her. "Come along, dear. Let's go home for now."

"What time would be a good time?"

"Anytime you wish. Just not before nine, please."

.

The next day, or so I assumed as time was very tricky to track for me, I was back in my father's arms. I tried again to get a view of his face and I knew I was staring up at him. I didn't really see anything. He, however, could see me. "She seems… aware?"

"Yes, we've already noticed she tries very hard to stay awake. Perhaps she'll be a genius." Nope. I didn't think so but I don't think I minded the idea of it. Dad was touching at my nose and I wrinkled it as much as I could. It probably wasn't that visible and more of a face-scrunch than a nose wrinkle. "Thanks, Sarah." The sound of clattering china was heard but I was more concerned about the big finger poking me. As he'd been kind enough to let me get an arm out, I wrapped tiny fingers around it even as baby instincts insisted on sucking on the digit.

It did not provide milk but it seemed to help pacify some of the neediness the infant instincts had and I wasn't against that. It was weird, honestly. I could feel the nail and I could just about define every ridge of his fingerprint with my tongue. It was slightly rough but not super rough and just big enough that it was a comfortable fit.

I was sucking on my father's finger and he was letting me.

In reality, I don't know how long I resided in his arms. I wanted to see more, know more, but the chatter meant little when I would drift off in the conversation or required feeding or changing. Oh, and he got to learn how to change me. The gagging sounds were funny even if baby vocal cords weren't up to snuff about the giggling. He also learned how to feed me and how to burp me. He got the full trial course and did admirably well for a teen who had been roughly introduced to the fact he had a child. I slept in his arms, taking in his scent. He smelled of ozone though I didn't know why. I'd always loved thunderstorms and the clean smell they brought. It was comforting. It smelled like home and it made it that much harder to stay awake.

"I see her."

"I can see you in her, too."

"Could I please try? I… I really did love her."

"Just don't take her away from us. That's all we ask."

"Can't we talk about this first?"

"Sarah, he has the right. And if he stays near, you won't ever lose Dawn."

"I promise… and I promise that I'll come over and let you have her as much as you want. But it doesn't seem right I don't take responsibility for what happened. And…"

I don't know what was said after that. I was too asleep to know or care.

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"She's so cute!" Hearing that high pitch startled me and I started crying before realizing what was going on. "Oh, I scared her." Not that I had any idea where I was. The smell of ozone invaded my senses as someone picked me up and I found myself cuddled into arms.

"It's alright, Dawn," a male voice said as a patting sensation came through my butt. I scrambled for context as I cried, panicked baby brain not helping. "Malory didn't mean to scare you." The patting helped a great deal and I calmed down to a bare whimper. It probably didn't help I'd woken hungry, either.

"You clearly don't have sense." The voice was rough and I guessed it was a man, probably roughened by drink and smoking. "What makes you think you can care for a baby, boy?"

Arms stiffened around me as I continued to whine. "Well, I don't know if I can or not," Dad said. "But I'm not going to pretend I don't have a child, Aunt Chris."

Holy hell, that was a woman. And my father's aunt.

Which begged the next question: Where were his parents? And what was Malory in relation to him? A sister? A cousin?

When it was obvious I wasn't going to quiet down, Dad checked my diaper, already wary of the contents. Again, thoughts of amusement but they paled in the face of the gnawing need for food. He then tried a bottle of the goat's milk that I'd become very used to already and I greedily took it.

"You don't really know the first thing about infants." That deep voice. The aunt.

"I got lessons from Mr. and Mrs. Edgecombe, Aunt," Dad told her.

"That won't make things easier on you, kid. I don't know much about babies but I know they take a lot of time." I didn't stop sucking at my bottle and I could sense the wariness about me. My eyes moved between dark and light blurs, trying to identify expressions even though I knew I couldn't.

"If I don't try, Aunt Chris, I think I'll regret it." There was a snort and a rough sound like a chair being shoved back.

"Don't whine to me if you get stuck, stupid boy." There was a long silence after as footsteps faded into the background. My eyes tracked to the dark form above me and heard my Dad murmur.

"I think she might like you," he offered. I couldn't help but blink.

'I think you might be stupid like she says,' I thought. Who would think that about someone who had said such mean things?

"I think you might be right, Roy," joked a voice. "She didn't say to get rid of her." Apparently I was the only one that thought the woman had an issue with my appearance. Someone touched at my head and I shifted to get away from it. Not that it did any good.

"She's precious," cooed someone. It might have even been the person touching me.

"I know, isn't she?"

"She's got her daddy's eyes!"

Dad did not seem to appreciate the commentary at all but didn't run from it either. "Can I hold her, Roy?"

"Don't you have work to do, Sophie?" he asked, voice tight.

"You just brought home a baby," complained 'Sophie'. "A cute baby at that!"

"Do you or do you not remember the funeral I attended yesterday?" he returned.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Okay, this lady wasn't very bright and apparently another agreed with me.

"Sophie! I think he's saying that the girl that they buried is the Abbigail Edgecombe? The one he fell for?"

"She was." Dad cradled me to his chest, strain audible in his tone. There was a long moment of silence.

"If you need help, Roy, let us know. Okay?"

"Okay… Thanks… Malory."

I sucked on my bottle, incapable of offering my own thoughts or stopping the dribble of milky spittle from going down my chin. But I held firm. I held fast. I knew that whatever might happen, there was a chance this person who was my father would do everything he could to keep me safe.

My infant instincts were coming to the same conclusion. He fed me; he held me; he took care of me. And, if he continued to do so, those baby instincts would trust him.

.

My new world meant that I was often back and forth between my grandparents and my father. I had a spot next to my father's bed where I slept. I knew this because when we were both supposed to be asleep, I could hear him just a short way away. With my grandparents, I had more of my own room though I didn't stay in it much yet.

I was growing. Soon, clothes were growing too tight and they'd be switched out for larger ones. Time passed in agonizing slowness but, with that very time, things improved. I started seeing colors and not just light-dark blurs. Then I started being able to focus a bit more. First up close and then further away. When I first saw my father's face, I couldn't help but dissect it.

He was young. I already knew this but when he was celebrating his sixteenth birthday, it was spent with things being given to him for me rather than personal items. It was his wish and people seemed to respect him more for that. He also looked Asian, with angular dark brown eyes and a rounded face. It wasn't a flat one and he was, on the whole, handsome. I guess. He didn't look ugly. Oh, he had a few usual teen crises on his face in the form of pimples but that was normal, right? He had dark brown, nearly black, hair that was pretty fine and lay fairly flat against his skull despite the thickness of it and a generally kind face. He liked to hold me, even when he was studying out of books. His aunt said he was spoiling me rotten. I didn't care because I liked hearing his heartbeat and he would read to me.

I don't think science texts were exactly kosher bedtime stories but hearing the vibrations through his chest was nice. Smelling him was nice. Being held was nice.

That did not mean that I spent all my time lounging around. I had uncontrollable bouts of energetic movements. Not spasms but rather a need to wiggle and scoot. I was encouraged not only by Dad but also the women that looked nothing like him. I soon knew the faces of these women, including 'Aunt Chris' who looked like a cliché Madame if I had ever seen one, and the faces of my grandparents. Grandma had brown hair and brown eyes and Grandpa had dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. They both looked Caucasian to me and Grandpa looked a little older than Grandma. Soon enough, I'd gotten to the point I could roll over onto my back though it took a little longer to get the strength to pull myself over on my belly. I fought for every bit of ability I had and the moment I was able to, I began to try and slide across the floor using my legs.

It didn't work out extremely well when I was with my dad but Grandma's floors were highly waxed. I could squiggle across them. Slowly. And cutely, apparently, because I got cooed over a lot when I did it.

My favorite place to sleep was, of course, Dad's bed. If he wanted to knock me out, all he had to do was put me in his bed and I was gone. His mattress, pillows, and blankets were all inundated with his smell and that was increasingly comforting for me. It got to the point that he'd even regularly switch out a blanket at Grandma's in order to help them soothe me into sleep.

Because otherwise I'd be impossible to tire out until I'd outright exhausted myself.

Damn baby instincts.

Parts of my previous existence were beginning to fade. Here and now, I was a baby. That was my existence. I was finding it harder to recall my former parents' faces as well as the less-seen ones. I wasn't really regressing but I was adjusting. Each time I woke up as a baby, it further entrenched it in my mind I was not going to be who I used to be ever again.

My father proved himself in time to my grandparents. The tension that had been there seemed to ebb away even as he volunteered to help around their house. And he was clearly fascinated with me, playing and measuring me against what I was the previous week. Amusingly enough, he was even keeping a journal, annotating each new experience that I offered.

"I'm seriously beginning to think you're treating her like a science experiment," Grandpa noted as I perched in his arms. I was strong enough now to hold up my head and I was peering towards my father with interest.

I even got to see my dad blush. "Er, yes and no."

"Yes and no?"

"It's not that I'm treating her like she's just an experiment. I don't know anything about babies and… it helps me understand her better." I smiled, having finally developed enough coordination to do so a few weeks back. "Honestly, I can't imagine being without her anymore." He paused. "Well, I could, but… I don't think I've regretted it yet."

I turned to pat at Grandpa's face, the look of vague amusement mixed with annoyance funny to me. "The point where you don't think you can do it anymore, let us know." Dad looked a bit stricken but then nodded his head slowly.

"I won't ever shirk my responsibility. You don't have to worry about that."

"I didn't say that. I said if you can't handle it, let us know. She's our granddaughter. And she's precious to us, too. We want her safe and happy." Dad hummed noncommittally but eventually nodded. I shifted and stretched an arm his direction, offering the best grunts I could offer. He willingly took me and I happily curled into his arms.

Okay, maybe I was spoiled but I could hardly be faulted for it.

"What are your plans for the future?" The question surprised me and I looked up at Dad. He seemed pensive. "I doubt you wish to remain as you are right now."

"No, I don't," agreed Dad. "I do want to become an alchemist and help people. The only problem with it is that I don't know how long it would take or what kind of money I can make to support myself and Dawn."

I decided it would be absolutely worth it to grab at his nose. Thus ensued a grabbing, reaching game that involved me grabbing and him trying to stop me. I grinned, way too toothless for anything but flashing gums, and he frowned. Grandpa watched this, naturally.

"Stop, Xiao-Hua," Dad complained. I paused, confused. The hell did he just call me? Shao-hoo-ha?

"What does that mean?" Thank goodness.

"It means Little Flower in Xingese." The hell was 'singeese'? Was that like 'Siamese'? "My mother called me her little king when…" He broke off, the meaning obvious. "Wang Shao… because my first name means 'king'. And I know a little Xingese and I know what Xiao-Hua means so… For her middle name."

"Little flower… I think it's fitting." I turned and saw Grandma there. She was smiling oddly, lost in thought. "It's longer than her actual name, but it is special." She looked at Grandpa. "A father should have nicknames for his children."

Grandpa smiled at the fact that I'd managed to wrangle Dad's nose with one hand, thumb helpfully up one nostril. It was gross. It was also humorous to see the absolute annoyance on Dad's face.

Babies were awesome when they weren't doorstops. They got away with everything.

Grandma saved him, by the way. He was too busy holding onto me as I pretty much gurgled at him in laughter. Not real laughter but gurgling. I'd not gotten to the whole laughter part of things just yet. She gently pried my fingers away from Dad's face and lightly popped me on the hand.

It startled the baby instincts but I squashed the urge to cry. Grandma wasn't supposed to hit, according to the instincts. I knew I'd eventually be punished but it didn't really stop me from looking at her reproachfully.

"No," she enunciated. I pouted. I could see she was amused but she repeated the word. "No. You don't grab people's noses."

'Just wait until I'm an adult, Grandma. Then you'll be wishing I was just grabbing noses,' I thought with a grin.

Grandma looked at me for a long moment. And then she sighed. "Dawn's going to be trouble."

"How can you tell?"

"She's smart," advised the woman. "You can see it in her eyes. She knew what she was doing."

"You're probably just making it up," dismissed Grandpa. "That girl's not planning dastardly things yet. She's not even teething."

"Abby didn't look like that at that age," disagreed Grandma. "She probably got that from him!" She jabbed a finger at my father who seemed amused, disturbed, and a little disgruntled.

"Thank you?" he hedged.

"Don't thank me when she starts getting her feet under her… or when she decides boys are worth looking after. I know what your aunt does, Roy, and she's going to pick some of that up."

Now, I'd not thought of it that way. Dad's aunt was a Madame. I'd learned that much in my short life. The beautiful women were, in reality, a part of her upscale escort service with 'side benefits' depending on the price paid. They were essentially pricey whores. It was obvious that Dad had some tendencies drummed into him by the way he flirted with the girls even if he didn't really mean it. It was half-instinctive, flirting with women, and he enjoyed it because it was fun to make girls smile and flutter when he complimented them. Not that he'd done it too much in my presence outside the shop's backroom (I wasn't allowed in the front room with the bar even if there was no one there) and kitchen.

The only place we had to just the two of us was his room. All other places were forbidden or public.

"Oh, please," Dad said, begging suddenly. "Don't be like me. Don't make me a grandpa before I hit thirty!" I blinked at him. He was being ridiculous, really. Even if I had been an adult previously and even if I joked silently about grabbing more 'interesting' things than noses in the future, I wasn't stupid. Disentangling the fingers that had somehow made their way into my mouth, I reached for his shirt, curled my fingers into the fabric, and cuddled with him.

"Hopefully, Roy, it won't happen. At least it'll be for some time yet."

"What we need to discuss is your possibilities for a future." The words surprised me. "You want to be an alchemist," Grandpa went on. "That takes time. If nothing else, getting a master will quicken your learning but the likelihood of finding a decent one nearby to permit you to care for Dawn at the same time."

I looked up to see the depression in Dad's face. "I know."

"But I do know someone that's a fairly good alchemist." The offer clearly surprised my father. "He's someone I knew growing up and is a little older than I am. He's talented, too, but I don't know if he'll take an apprentice."

"Who is he?"

"A man by the name of Berthold Hawkeye," Grandpa told him. "He's out east of here in New Optain. On the outskirts. However, you need to at least petition him before running off."

Dad was looking at me before seeming to come to a decision.

"I can wait a while. Start next year sometime petitioning him, I guess. Or the year after. And I can't leave her at my aunt's while I'm gone. So, I'd have to rely on the both of you to… to help me. Not that I care to but, yes, it would be better if Dawn is here instead of elsewhere."

"If that's your decision, so be it."

.

When I finally achieved a half-year of life (people kept saying six months like it would make the amount of life I lived all the bigger sounding), I was again making strides of the metaphorical sense. I could sit up on my own. I could eat semi-solid foods. I could even somewhat serve myself. Granted, my motor skills were absolutely awful but I did occasionally get food in my mouth without it winding up on my nose first. I was also beginning to cut teeth.

Let me tell you, teething is horrible. Imagine this: sharp pieces of bone are deliberately sawing through soft gum full of tiny nerves. It left me sore, cranky, and whiney. And I couldn't do them all at once because, surprise! You don't cut all your teeth in one go. No, they had to come in one at a time over the course of months. I got a bottom-front one first and then a cattycorner one on the top. I also found out that my daddy liked for me to 'cheese'.

There were a number of pictures taken at various stages from infancy up to my current mark.

As my grandmother was a housewife, I often wound up in her care during the daytime. Dad and Grandpa both worked and Dad mostly did two jobs. One was for the shop he lived at and the other was for a general store a little way's away. He didn't make a lot of pay but there was enough for the 'good things', extraneous things he got me. There was this one stuffed animal - a horse - which I absolutely adored. My baby instincts hated it if it wasn't there and I had a hard time sleeping if it wasn't there.

That being said, at six months I began learning more of the outside world. I had noticed that the dress of the locals, my family included, were a bit old-fashioned. Dad himself wore slacks and button downs like I would have worn blue jeans and tee shirts. Women normally seemed to wear skirts. There were no 'casual clothes' though there were clear modern themes in some clothing styles such as complex(though often vintage) prints on fabrics and short skirts for women and even cocktail dresses that would have looked very ordinary at a high-end club on some of Aunt Chris's girls. Then there were those that weren't dressed in everyday wear. The blue uniforms.

It didn't take much to realize these people were the police but it seemed to go further than that because there were two types of uniforms. There were the black ones and then there were the blue ones. The black ones seemed to be the real police force but the blue ones were more numerous. So, I likened it to the military police and the army. As I didn't have a voice, it was hard for me to ask for verification.

Not only that, but there were shops that were odd. I'd heard the term 'alchemy' thrown about, mostly by my dad as he had those fun science texts he liked to bore me to sleep with, but that didn't seem to encompass the shops that advertised 'alchemy repairs'. The few times I'd been helpfully carted into one, it was a simple room with a diagram on a table and maybe a backroom. Grandma had taken me with her to get her pot mended and it was astonishing to see the man thoroughly inspect it before taking the metal pot and doing something that caused lighting to flare impressively. I admit I watched with wide eyes. I will also admit that it floored me to see the hole Grandma had been combatting had been miraculously repaired with no sign of welds or anything in sight.

I really wanted to know how he did that. I also wanted to know if Dad could do that, too.

I found out that he probably could have that evening. "I don't see why you didn't let me do it for you, Sarah," he complained, having long ago been told to 'just call me Sarah' by my grandma. "I would have saved you the money and done just as good a job."

"You weren't available and I needed that pot," disagreed Grandma. I watched my father avidly, wondering if he would do alchemy, too.

"You could have waited for me to get off! I know you could have! You could have asked me to do it yesterday or the day before! I know that hole didn't appear overnight!"

She snorted, eyes tracking to me as I continued watching my father. "I'm aware but sometimes it's good to have a guild-certified alchemist to look things over."

Wait, what? I looked at her then, wishing I had the vocabulary to demand an explanation. I decided then my first word would be 'why'. I needed to know more than this 'dribble along' shit they were doing!

"Guild-certified is merely fancy words for 'let's charge you more'," Dad protested. "Anyone can fix a pot."

"Roy, you were busy and I didn't know I'd need it until today. Let's leave it at that." Dad huffed as I turned back to him. "By the way, someone wants your attention." Not really but I wanted to see him use the alchemy. I'd tolerate being fawned over if he did that. I wanted to see more. "In fact, you might have a budding alchemist on your hands. She was very intent on watching everything the alchemist did today." Dad looked at me curiously.

"Are you interested in alchemy?" he asked. I blinked before nodding. He shifted at my response. "Do you want to see alchemy?" he asked, curious. I nodded again. Amazement flickered over his face.

"I told you she was smart," Grandma pointed out. "Now, you can save the alchemy for after dinner. Get out the plates and silverware."

"Er, yes… Yes, ma'am." He hurriedly did as told, setting out the utensils for dinner. I got to sit by and watch, babies not expected to do more than observe the world being a large part of the reasoning. Also, without a huge amount of help, I was way too short to do anything without help. And wobbly. Way too wobbly on my baby legs. Often, it felt like I was just caught in a whirlpool of movement with no ability to direct it. And, really, I couldn't. I couldn't do more than burble and laugh and cry vocally. I could barely toddle. My eye-hand coordination was so laughable that I made more of a mess than progress in whatever I did, especially eating.

I really desired to be a year old. Two would be better. Grandpa came in and I found myself scooped into his arms from my perch in the high chair and I squealed with surprise and delight as he loved on me. Wrapping chubby baby arms around his neck as best as I could, I curled into his hold.

"Hey, Dawnie," he greeted, pressing a big kiss to my cheek and rubbing his stubbly chin against my skin as he did so. "You're growing prettier every day, I swear."

'Thank you,' I told him mentally even as I gave an audible giggle. Dad didn't get much in the way of facial hair yet and some of my fondest childhood memories from my other life had to do with facial hair. I know that sounds strange but my former grandfather's chin used to be just like this grandpa's. Scratchy and comforting. It was Grandpa. That's all there was to it. The smells I usually associated with the dim memory were all but gone and human minds were funny things. I knew what my grandpa smelled like right now so it subverted old memories. I knew the old smell was different but that was pretty much it. I honestly couldn't remember what Old Spice even smelled like anymore. But I had an equivalent. Grandpa's favorite cologne. I didn't know the name yet. I didn't mind.

As I came out of my thoughts, I found myself lowered back into my chair. I complained, not liking being let go when I was previously wrapped up in such wonderful memories, but no one really paid attention. Conversation revolved around the happenings of the day. Grandpa complained about his boss and Dad split his time between helping Grandma feed me and feeding himself. I tried to help but the pureed food was not cooperative and found myself getting my eye. Whining as it was wiped away under laughs and teases, I tried again. My choice of weapon? A spoon. Because, y'know, I didn't have a lot of teeth to chew anything harder. And I had liver and green beans, which was yuck. Okay, green beans were alright. Liver was nasty. And I was avoiding the liver.

Grandma did not approve and took my spoon to make me eat the cooked and pureed organ. I made a horrible face, complete with full-body shudder, and spat it back out in a brown dribble.

"Dear, I don't think she likes liver," noted Grandpa.

"You think?" drawled Grandma. "That face." Dad started laughing.

-/-/-/-

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