Brace of Ficlets
Jan. 13th, 2005 03:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
laneroseCan be read as one, but I wrote them separately and feel strangely compelled to keep them separated. ::shrugs:: Royai if you're inclined towards taking them that direction, but in general quite ambiguous. Spoilers! for episode 25 in both. Ano... I guess they're PG / PG 13 for angst content, but beyond that... the titles rather speak for themselves.
In the Rain
“It’s beginning to rain.” He said, and she nodded, responding affirmatively as was expected of her. His head was down-turned, staring at the monument to a man who had once been the closest to him. His back remained all that she could see – she knew what it was that he intended to keep from her.
For several long moments, she simply stood nearby, a few paces back and to his left, eyes flickering this way and that in case anyone should decide that this open field filled with the remains of good men would make the perfect spot for the end of Roy Mustang.
“Lieutenant.” He said after several moments, still refusing to turn towards her.
“Sir?” She replied, politely inquisitive and sharp as ever.
“It is unnecessary for you to remain here.” The grated sound of his voice pained her, reminding her of when she had been a child and her teacher had run her nails down the chalkboard to regain the attention of her classmates. The words themselves stung.
Riza paused for a moment, studying the man before her in an effort to determine his resolve. He held himself ramrod straight, except for his head, bent at a precise 45 degree angle. She could almost have convinced herself to go, if it hadn’t been for the tight clenching of his fists…
“Lieutenant.” He repeated, and she pulled back from her thoughts quickly. “Please… go.”
Riza glanced around the graveyard quickly once more. On the perimeters now she could see Havoc, Fury, and Breda returning… she could trust them now to make sure that they remained safe where they were. Slowly, carefully, she had approached him, reaching out to claim his hand in hers. He turned, startled, and she could see the glistening shine on his face. Gently, she brushed the streams away with the back of her hand. Determinedly, she crooked the edges of her mouth into a tiny, encouraging smile.
“Colonel.” She said, quietly but firmly. He looked about to interrupt, to tear away from her grasp, but she shook her head and held more tightly to his hand. With a soft, mirthless laugh, she continued, “You’re useless in the rain.”
It took several attempts for him get his jaw working, even as the sunlight shown on the rivers replacing those she had dispatched moments ago. He glanced slowly from her, to the grave before them, and back to her at once, his eyes meeting hers and resting there at last.
“I guess so.” He answered eventually, drawing in a deep breath as he stared into the horizon. His grip tightened at last on her own. Gently, she placed her free hand on top of their clasped hands, trying as best she could to keep the warmth, the spark that was Roy Mustang there inside him.
In all the time he remained there, she never once left his side.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Pretend You Don’t See
She pretended she didn’t notice. Sometimes it was the only way to get through the day – to pretend she didn’t see. The bottle he had always kept on hand for emergencies had just started to empty one day. Slowly, bit by bit, it had been drained almost to the point of uselessness. On the next day, a new bottle had appeared and replaced the first one… and she pretended she didn’t notice.
It wasn’t that she thought he was convinced. After all, he knew her as well as she knew him. He knew everything about her, could read her at a glance, she sometimes thought. There were times, especially during the first days in which the liquid held inside it had disappeared, when she felt almost certain that he would say something – make some sort of excuse to keep her from commenting.
He never did. Somehow, she found that the most worrying part of the whole affair… still, she pretended she didn’t notice.
She knew that he was staying late, nowadays. Sometimes she found herself wondering if he went home at all. When she was truthful with herself she doubted it. The spare uniforms he kept in the closet had disappeared one by one, replaced by a collection of dirty ones. One day she had seen him take them all from the room early in the morning, only to return with them clean and pressed that evening… and she pretended she didn’t see.
A scowl lined his face all day now, every day. He had always been prone to smirking, she recalled vaguely, but she gritted her teeth and pretended she didn’t notice the change. The bags under his eyes had grown steadily heavier. When he suddenly started to look a bit better a few days later, she could have cheered. That night, she pretended she didn’t notice that her concealer was missing from her pocketbook.
Late one night, about the time the third bottle approached uselessness just as its predecessors had, when the second set of laundered uniforms had made its appearance in the closet, she found herself wandering back into the office. She pretended the darkness of office didn’t mean anything untoward.
She opened the door to his office, pretending not to wince when she discovered he hadn’t bothered locking it. For a long moment, she pretended it would be okay if she left the lights off. When at last she turned them on and strode into the room… she found herself trying desperately to pretend that the sight before her didn’t break her heart.
He had slumped back in his chair, the now empty bottle lying on the floor some feet away. One hand loosely clasped a glass in which she could still see a small quantity of the liquor that had once filled the bottle. The other clutched desperately to a small picture frame.
“Colonel.” She said, her voice sounding strict because of the tight clenching in her throat. Dazedly, the man in question tilted his head forward enough to see her and blinked confusedly at her. She found that if she held to the thought closely enough, she could pretend that he had merely worked himself to exhaustion, that he wasn’t too drunk to focus properly on her.
“Let’s get you home, sir.” She said, gently taking the glass from his hand and setting it on the table. He resisted when she tried to take the picture from him, and she pretended it didn’t matter as she helped him to his feet. By keeping a firm grip on his arm from the start she enabled herself to pretend that he didn’t need it to keep from falling over as he unsteadily allowed himself to be led to a car. The entire ride home, she pretended the reason she wasn’t looking in the rear view mirror had more to do with the late hour then the occupant of the back seat, just as she pretended that she didn’t have to virtually pull him upstairs into bed.
“Maes… Riza, Maes is…” He mumbled as she tucked him in, pulling the blanket to his chin.
“It’s all right, Roy.” She said, brushing strands of his midnight hair away from his dark eyes, pretending she didn’t see the tears streaming down his face.
She wondered, later, if he was also only pretending not to notice her own.
In the Rain
“It’s beginning to rain.” He said, and she nodded, responding affirmatively as was expected of her. His head was down-turned, staring at the monument to a man who had once been the closest to him. His back remained all that she could see – she knew what it was that he intended to keep from her.
For several long moments, she simply stood nearby, a few paces back and to his left, eyes flickering this way and that in case anyone should decide that this open field filled with the remains of good men would make the perfect spot for the end of Roy Mustang.
“Lieutenant.” He said after several moments, still refusing to turn towards her.
“Sir?” She replied, politely inquisitive and sharp as ever.
“It is unnecessary for you to remain here.” The grated sound of his voice pained her, reminding her of when she had been a child and her teacher had run her nails down the chalkboard to regain the attention of her classmates. The words themselves stung.
Riza paused for a moment, studying the man before her in an effort to determine his resolve. He held himself ramrod straight, except for his head, bent at a precise 45 degree angle. She could almost have convinced herself to go, if it hadn’t been for the tight clenching of his fists…
“Lieutenant.” He repeated, and she pulled back from her thoughts quickly. “Please… go.”
Riza glanced around the graveyard quickly once more. On the perimeters now she could see Havoc, Fury, and Breda returning… she could trust them now to make sure that they remained safe where they were. Slowly, carefully, she had approached him, reaching out to claim his hand in hers. He turned, startled, and she could see the glistening shine on his face. Gently, she brushed the streams away with the back of her hand. Determinedly, she crooked the edges of her mouth into a tiny, encouraging smile.
“Colonel.” She said, quietly but firmly. He looked about to interrupt, to tear away from her grasp, but she shook her head and held more tightly to his hand. With a soft, mirthless laugh, she continued, “You’re useless in the rain.”
It took several attempts for him get his jaw working, even as the sunlight shown on the rivers replacing those she had dispatched moments ago. He glanced slowly from her, to the grave before them, and back to her at once, his eyes meeting hers and resting there at last.
“I guess so.” He answered eventually, drawing in a deep breath as he stared into the horizon. His grip tightened at last on her own. Gently, she placed her free hand on top of their clasped hands, trying as best she could to keep the warmth, the spark that was Roy Mustang there inside him.
In all the time he remained there, she never once left his side.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Pretend You Don’t See
She pretended she didn’t notice. Sometimes it was the only way to get through the day – to pretend she didn’t see. The bottle he had always kept on hand for emergencies had just started to empty one day. Slowly, bit by bit, it had been drained almost to the point of uselessness. On the next day, a new bottle had appeared and replaced the first one… and she pretended she didn’t notice.
It wasn’t that she thought he was convinced. After all, he knew her as well as she knew him. He knew everything about her, could read her at a glance, she sometimes thought. There were times, especially during the first days in which the liquid held inside it had disappeared, when she felt almost certain that he would say something – make some sort of excuse to keep her from commenting.
He never did. Somehow, she found that the most worrying part of the whole affair… still, she pretended she didn’t notice.
She knew that he was staying late, nowadays. Sometimes she found herself wondering if he went home at all. When she was truthful with herself she doubted it. The spare uniforms he kept in the closet had disappeared one by one, replaced by a collection of dirty ones. One day she had seen him take them all from the room early in the morning, only to return with them clean and pressed that evening… and she pretended she didn’t see.
A scowl lined his face all day now, every day. He had always been prone to smirking, she recalled vaguely, but she gritted her teeth and pretended she didn’t notice the change. The bags under his eyes had grown steadily heavier. When he suddenly started to look a bit better a few days later, she could have cheered. That night, she pretended she didn’t notice that her concealer was missing from her pocketbook.
Late one night, about the time the third bottle approached uselessness just as its predecessors had, when the second set of laundered uniforms had made its appearance in the closet, she found herself wandering back into the office. She pretended the darkness of office didn’t mean anything untoward.
She opened the door to his office, pretending not to wince when she discovered he hadn’t bothered locking it. For a long moment, she pretended it would be okay if she left the lights off. When at last she turned them on and strode into the room… she found herself trying desperately to pretend that the sight before her didn’t break her heart.
He had slumped back in his chair, the now empty bottle lying on the floor some feet away. One hand loosely clasped a glass in which she could still see a small quantity of the liquor that had once filled the bottle. The other clutched desperately to a small picture frame.
“Colonel.” She said, her voice sounding strict because of the tight clenching in her throat. Dazedly, the man in question tilted his head forward enough to see her and blinked confusedly at her. She found that if she held to the thought closely enough, she could pretend that he had merely worked himself to exhaustion, that he wasn’t too drunk to focus properly on her.
“Let’s get you home, sir.” She said, gently taking the glass from his hand and setting it on the table. He resisted when she tried to take the picture from him, and she pretended it didn’t matter as she helped him to his feet. By keeping a firm grip on his arm from the start she enabled herself to pretend that he didn’t need it to keep from falling over as he unsteadily allowed himself to be led to a car. The entire ride home, she pretended the reason she wasn’t looking in the rear view mirror had more to do with the late hour then the occupant of the back seat, just as she pretended that she didn’t have to virtually pull him upstairs into bed.
“Maes… Riza, Maes is…” He mumbled as she tucked him in, pulling the blanket to his chin.
“It’s all right, Roy.” She said, brushing strands of his midnight hair away from his dark eyes, pretending she didn’t see the tears streaming down his face.
She wondered, later, if he was also only pretending not to notice her own.
