There was a terrible vulnerability to Roy when his cover slipped, and it made Ed uncomfortable.
"If I do not, I might begin to love you, whom I should hate."
It was getting kind of depressing, though, by the time the color red alone would make him wonder about the child; the flash of a cardinal, a sprig of bright berries, the gaudiness of nighttime tavern lights, and the scarlet lipstick of bar women.
"Tall girls need not apply," Hughes read aloud, without even the trace of a smirk.
rated:K | M+F S+S | Fullmetal | mid-series | First Place, Het & Non-Het | Green Lion Winner | Riza Hawkeye | Roy Mustang | angst | humor | sweet | Elric Kyoudai | 354th FG HQ | 2004 First Kiss, Non-Het
"If you hadn't messed in the mud to get the cat," he pointed out, "your hands wouldn't be so cold. Give me your other."
Death could come to Roy on his time. Appointment first. Lunch, maybe.
But he still flinched away from that metal skin, and held his own burning automail arm a little further from his body in hopes that he would not bump against it.
"... Hey, I thought we were supposed to be celebrating the Boss' release," Havoc protests weakly.
He didn't know exactly what he found so captivating, seeing Edward like this, but he couldn't stop looking.
...but he must take a moment to compose himself, all the same, before he can look through the small window.
Between Ed's commanding presence and the fact that Al had been an impressively large suit of spiked armor, it had been hard to get to know him much.
Dante took the seat next to the bed, and handed a mug of tea to Trisha.
Sometimes he feels like an actor, playing to an especially difficult audience.
No one talked of Equivalent Exchange in England, but they had a saying that came close: There ain't no such thing as a free lunch.
"But we're going to be late on her birthday," Ed fretted, and Al had to suppress a long-suffering sigh.
The first time was not a night of magic or fireworks, not something dreams were made of, not something that either of them planned on repeating again.
The easiest way to destroy an enemy is to destroy those he depends upon.
The tree was wobbly, but with a few kicks and shoves Ed got it to stand up in the corner by the window.
"Your arm," said Al, smiling apologetically. "It's kind of heavy."
You'd have to be inhuman not to quake in fear when she stares you down.
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...
Like a sudden flashback to younger years, both Hawkeye and Havoc realized that this was as good a time as any to experiment.
It's important that a little light always comes in, even if it's only enough to see shadows and outlines, and not words at all.
"I'm not your brother," he told the sleeping figure; it rang hollow.
Twenty-one days, and it all falls down.
He didn't need chalk, or ink; hell, if anything, blood was a better medium for this purpose.
Bravado. Make them regret they ever talked to you.
He'd meant to say something but Ed had been so determined, so anxious to be useful, to create something.
He closed his fist around her sash and curled into himself, trying to keep his thoughts away from dark things.
This is the smell of ozone from a lightning strike. This is fear.
The sweet morning snaps like a fragile pane of glass and Al is sobbing, the sounds tearing up out of his chest and throat before he can stop them.
He had lost everything in a heartbeat, on a chance, and deserted his brother, although against his will.
His boyfriend. He wants me to be his boyfriend. He's wooing me with gifts. I'm being courted!
If she cries, he may have to kill her. He can't stand that sound any longer.
Could I burn like that - would the lick of flames on my skin wipe me clean?
On the day the Fuhrer died, it snowed.
He grabbed the nearest inmate by the front of his shirt and hauled him up. "Where is he!?" he roared.
"Don't go to sleep," he murmurs into Ed's hair, and thinks of their mother, long ago, telling a story about spinning straw into gold.
She feels like an intruder, eyes watching her from empty rooms, and every stair is a memory she dares not to disturb.
That was when the nightmare had begun, when the world had become stone walls, sterilized laboratories, and lights so bright as to make little red capillaries snake across both boys' eyes.
"Do you remember that song Mom used to sing to us?" He asked instead, concentrating on the tiny kinks of the inside of his detached leg.
Occasionally, after a bad sand storm, a bone would work its way up to the surface; bare and bleached, like the sticks he used to pretend were swords.
Ed had confessed that he had no idea how the relationships had started.
Humans are so greedy, the Truth had told him in his dreams; and for all his airs and graces, he is no exception.
Half the apple pie was still on a cracked plate on the windowsill, covered with a bowl so it didn't go stale before tomorrow, because it was all he had in the house.
"Elric, you're excused from labor today. I hear you've got mechanical problems."
Ed liked him this way -- so why did it make him so furious to have to deal with Al caring one way or another about him?
His ruse works; Ed dismisses him - with a harsh, impatient rejoinder that he isn't finished yet - and devotes his attention to his brother.
They'd been on the run so long, Ed had long since lost track of the last time he'd slept in a bed instead of in an abandoned barn, or under a hedge.
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.