When Havoc came back from lunch, he wondered why Hawkeye was picking up scattered papers with a small and warm smile on her face.
"They raise the dead. They make creatures to fight in the war. This is Edward! This is your son. You have to see that!"
Greed reached out for whatever proved she was undeniably, unrepentantly alive.
He was also certain that if he gave in and laughed, Edward would hang up and never speak to him again.
He can do the math; he knows that with two of them and only one of her, there's no good way for things to come out even.
"My neighbors would start saying things behind my back if I took home a suit of armor."
But he glanced behind himself for Winly, and it was a terrible, bittersweet thing.
He didn't need chalk, or ink; hell, if anything, blood was a better medium for this purpose.
It made only a semblance of sense, but she understood that the whole truth would be revealed when Ed could be led from this graveyard of the years he had lost.
"Mother?" And his voice broke, shattered as he raced to her, arms wrapping around her thin body, embracing the image, the idea. "Mommy!"
"How is it possible for you to be so like him?" she whispered, nuzzling against his throat.
There's nothing wrong with his legs, at least — a sidestep to the right and two paces back and he'd be out the door, if it weren't shut.
There was really too much good happening today to allow room for imperfection, in his humble opinion.
The first thing Gracia bought after her husband died was a stepladder.
Al knew better than anyone that Ed, if he put his mind to it, could do anything, and a little thing like missing limbs wasn't going to stop him.
This, too, was a pain that Edward had inflicted only on himself, but neither Roy nor Al had dared to say so.
It's not the same at all when the patient choking back cries of pain and thrashing against the straps is her friend and playmate and brother.
What part of 'this is my house' are you having problems with, Fullmetal?"
"Don't look so downcast!" orders Mustang, grinning maniacally. "Our honour is at stake! Don't let me down! Sometimes you just have to take one for the team!"
rated:K-L | M+F S+S | Mangaverse | pre-series | SP: no plot spoilers but stars characters we meet up t | Briggs Bears | Buccaneer | Miles | Olivia Mira Armstrong | Roy Mustang | 354th FG HQ | Rebecca Catalina
She looked the wire over for a minute, noting where the insulation had been stripped away for retuning, then tugged it gently, careful not to pull too hard.
He had believed, until that moment, that he had moved beyond carnal wants and human feelings.
It was kind of ironic, and kind of inconvenient, that Rush Valley, the capital city of automail, was also hot as hell for half the year.
Winry could not imagine going so far for someone whose name you couldn't even say. She couldn't imagine going so far without allowing yourself to say his name.
"Just remind me, even if the alternative is to sleep on a ice cube, NEVER to share a bed with you again.
It was the truth, but it sounded lame upon Edward's lips; the way her eyes hooded, she seemed to think so, anyway.
More than once she thought she half-saw a face in the leaves, formed by a trick of light and shadow, and her steps grew languid and slow.
She stands beside him with her arms full of bandages, hoping the day he sees his own danger will come before the day he sets himself alight completely.
He has lots of women like her, who would like to be his anchor, and too many of them confuse that for throwing themselves head first into the ocean.
She would notice when that body's pulse went up around her, the flush of cheeks, and the way the eyes followed her curves.
Winry sucked in a gasp, and dropped backward in shock.
He underestimates the little things, like how long it will take him to put his socks on in the morning, and she comes up the stairs when breakfast is long since over to find him crouched over a torn stocking, blinking back furious tears...
Both Edward and Winry were on hand day and night, looking for anything they could do to ease his way.
"If you've got something to say, say it," she said. "If not, hand me a fork, would you?"
Riza looks straight ahead. "Personally, I found during my time in Ishbal that nothing stops a career faster than a bullet between the eyes."
Sometimes it was easy to forget she was a conscript. Other times, it was impossible.
"I'm sorry! Look, I'll fix it. I didn't know it was going to turn out this way!"
Sometimes, when he lay awake and undisturbed for many hours, he almost thought he had even succeeded.
But when the acting commander of the Intelligence branch, the man who controlled her widow's pension, requested and required this service... well... well.
It was growing to be habit, restless energy that ran under his skin after she'd just ran her hands over it.
rated:M-L | GENM+F |
Water fills her ears without stopping them, just as grief does her mind, and she drums her fingers on the wooden slats in time to the litany of her failure.
"You are so dead, bastard," Ed said, still in that dreamy tone, and took a step forwards.
"Do we still have cucumbers? Or I guess I could transmute a mold, do you need this dining chair?"
You could attribute it to teenage rebellion, if you liked, or to homunculus-hormones, which could be quite fierce, or heck, maybe she was just living up to her name.
"You finally took my advice and settled down! Not quite what I had in mind, of course, but I'm so happy for you!"
To her, the Philosopher's Stone is blood and fire: his fire, her blood.
She preferred mechanical work for just that reason; at least you knew with relative certainty what automail was going to do when you did something to it.
After all, Edward needed her help in catching the syndicate known as 'Soldiers'.
It was a pleasant thing, warm and innocently tender.
He wanted to be able to do something like that; tangle limbs and lips and know what it was like to not have a responsibility.
"I am using this spirit gum to stick this necklace over my tattoo. Now stop poking your nose down my cleavage and give me some privacy, Envy."