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Everything had gone so terribly wrong. Mr Mustang's wife had passed not an hour ago, and he had gone pale and looked quite sick at the news. That was not to mention the children. It hardly seemed fair that two little boys should lose their mother to a giant's footstep after she'd so recently recovered from such a terrible enchantment.
And Riza... She wished she felt worse about her husband's affair. The marriage had not done very much for her anyway.
Her husband insisted on an heir, several nannies, and the royal heritage, and Riza had scarcely enough time to organise the ball for which she was hoping, let alone come to terms with the fact that they had been married for a month and he already wanted children. She had not obliged him, and the marriage had turned rather cold after that.
A cold marriage was nothing compared to this. The little boy - Al, who was twelve, but very young - curled up at her side, no longer crying. It was a small mercy.
"We had to kill the giant," he whispered at Riza's side. "I don't think mom would have wanted us to kill the giant." He buried his head in Riza's stomach, and she smoothed a hand over his hair, using the other one to feel the rings of the tree stump on which they were sitting.
"I know," murmured Riza. "It was the only way."
Al took a little hitching breath. "It's my fault," he whimpered. "I wanted too much."
Riza swallowed, trying to dispel a lump which had formed in her throat. "Nobody is to blame," she said, "except the witch and the giant."
Another little sob escaped Al, and Riza was terrified for a moment that the inconsolable weeping was about to restart. "The witch and the giant couldn't do this on their own."
"No," agreed Riza, and held Al closer to her.
***
"'M sorry about your wife," mumbled Ed, looking sad and more than a little alone.
"Not your fault," said Mustang.
Ed shrugged. "I went up the beanstalk," he said. "And I killed the man giant." He bit his thumbnail. "She wouldn't have died if I hadn't killed the man giant."
"Maybe not," said Mustang. "Maybe she would have. Maybe she was supposed to die today, and that was all that would have happened." The baby wriggled in his arms, and he tried with little success to calm him down.
"That's not fair," said Ed, swinging his legs restlessly and staring at the vast forest below them. "We got mom back, and you're saying she would have died today anyway too? That's not science, that's bullshit."
Mustang bit his tongue. Now wasn't the time to scold the kid for his language, but he might later. "Maybe," said Mustang. He paused. "For the record, I don't blame you, and I'm sorry for - everything."
Ed took one, deep breath, and then another. Neither helped. He leant forward and pressed a hand to his cheekbone. Mustang put a hand on Ed's shoulder to steady him. For him to fall off the branch - that wouldn't help anything. He rubbed absently with his thumb, hoping - somewhere mad and far away - that the motion might help him feel better.
"You're okay," he murmured. "You're doing well." The baby squalled in his arms, and Mustang tried vainly to shush him. "It's bad," he whispered, "it's bad, I know, I know - shush, shh - daddy's trying, daddy's trying." He felt something in his chest begin to sink. He wanted his wife. He wanted his wife.
He pulled Ed into his side and - to his surprise - Ed stayed. His shoulders hitched occasionally, the only sign that he was still crying. The baby still squalled.
"It's okay," Mustang whispered. "It's okay, it's okay - shush, shh, shh - it's okay, we'll be okay." His voice broke. "It's okay," he managed through the lump in his throat. "It's okay, it's okay. I'll make it okay. I promise I'll make it okay. Shh."
A thumb on his arm informed Mustang that Ed was mimicking the earlier attempt at comfort, in spite of the fact that his own shoulders were still hitching.
After 10 minutes, Mustang straightened. "Are you ready to meet the others?" he said, trying bravely to ignore the fact that his voice was dull and hoarse.
Ed straightened up, nodded, tried to move, and then crumpled. "I want my mom," he whimpered. "I want my mom." He sobbed - properly, this time - not the quiet weeping from earlier. He heaved a deep breath - one that rippled through his back and chest such that Mustang placed a hand on his back and rubbed.
"I want my mom. I want my mom. I want my mom."
***
The baby was still squalling. Being on solid ground didn't help. Swaddling him closer didn't help.
Riza stepped forward, arms open. "Let me take him," she said quietly. "You look like you could do with some time."
Mustang handed the baby off to her. He stopped crying within seconds. Of course. It wasn't circumstance - it was him. It always was. He had been cursed not to have children. He shouldn't have had children. He shouldn't have broken the curse.
"I can't do it," he whispered, shoulders slouching. "I can't be a father."
He glanced behind him. Ed was there, looking little and young in the dwindling light of the forest. "You're okay," said Ed. "You're doing fine."