Gaaah! What the hell am I doing? I have so many other things to do but this little plot bunny didn't want to leave me alone. It's a follow up to my other EoT one-shot and frankly, it's not as good. (Not that I'm particularly narcissistic about my own work, I just realize it could be better) I watched the movie opening weekend and haven't had a chance to re-watch it since. It can be read alone, without needing to read my other story for it to make sense, but I'd really appreciate if you read both. Anyway! Here you guys go!
Disclaimer: I still don't own them.
It was two months after the end of the war. There were no more Mimics, whatever connection to the Omega had been broken and they had become nothing more than lifeless shells. Major William Cage had seen no official battle, thus he was not awarded. No one knew how the Mimics were defeated, only that they were now gone. And even those that had helped to save the world had no clue of their part. To most people he was a face and nothing else. Those who'd fought against the Mimics stared at him with disdain, and often with incredulity at his fast friendship with the war hero, Rita Vrataski, "The Angel of Verdun" or more notably perhaps, "The Fullmetal Bitch." She hated both names, feeling she didn't deserve the first due to the nature of her abilities, and she found the second name disparaging and was more than a little offended by it.
He'd kept his rank after the war but it was nothing more than that, simply a rank affixed to his name in recognition of successfully recruiting so many men and women to their cause. No one would ever look to him for battle strategy, no one would ever expect him to fight another war, or even want to. His cowardice may not be remembered, or his attempted blackmail but his character was judged. Already people had it in their heads that he was simply a man pretending to be a soldier. What was once true had bothered him at first but now he found he was happy. Rita, his dearest friend, might not remember his deeds but she'd seen the evidence in their sparring matches, in the pain written in his expression anytime he chose to speak of what had conspired. She believed him without doubt, having experienced so much of what he had firsthand. They'd become close, but it was always a little unbalanced. His feelings of love and fierce joy at her simple existence were at odds with her own feelings of deep regard and camaraderie. She understood him better than anyone but she still hadn't experienced his memories first hand. She hadn't watched him die too many times to count. She'd never wished she'd never known him to save herself from the heartbreak. She felt something for him, but it couldn't compare.
Instead she had her own memories of a man that she would not speak of just yet. A man that Cage knew she'd cared deeply for, and lost in much the same way he'd lost her. But the difference was, she was alive and Cage spent as much time in her presence as she would allow. He couldn't help but wonder if she loved that man, as he loved her and the thought was a painful one. But sometimes he thought that she cared for him, as more than just a friend. She smiled often in his presence, and was opening up to him more and more, about her past, her experiences at Verdun, her own painful resets. It was a slower process the second time around. There was no life or death struggle, no urgency to their interactions and so she felt no need to share as quickly and be so open when she knew there was no death for her looming around the corner.
They were training together. They wore their Jackets, training with the false Mimics. There was no longer a need for the Jackets and most of them were stored away or destroyed and re-purposed. Rita had been allowed to keep her own for ceremonial purposes and William had used whatever influence at his disposal to gain one for himself. They worked together as a team, demolishing whatever was in their way. They'd torn this room apart and rebuilt it more than a dozen times, careful to not destroy anything that was irreparable. It was therapeutic for both of them, and it kept their demons at bay.
When the session was over they stared at each other with wide grins. Sweat soaked the hair to their heads, and Rita's face was flushed with colour. Cage was once again struck by how beautiful she was, even after a long workout. She was wearing only a dark tank top and shorts under the Jacket, the room they trained in having little air circulation. He'd long become comfortable wearing only a pair of cargo shorts around Rita, his chest bared. He stepped out of his Jacket and flexed his arms. His and Rita's experiences were almost equal, but she always seemed to have the upper hand. After a workout as long as theirs he was sore. It was a familiar, thus pleasant, ache of a body pushed to it's limits. He'd kept in shape over the last few weeks, his body becoming even more toned.
He stretched the muscles in his arms, watching Rita stretch out her own limbs appreciatively. He hoped she didn't notice, uncertain if she would be offended by his perusal. They'd never broached the definition of what their relationship was. Rita had no issues with touching him, affectionate to the point of torture as she stroked his arms or massaged his neck and shoulders after a training session. She introduced him as a friend even as she linked her arm through his and kept close at social functions. Recently she'd begun greeting him with a kiss, her mouth brushing the corner of his mouth seemingly by accident.
Cage wanted to question her motives, even demand for her to explain. She was frustrating him with mixed signals. Because as affectionate as she was with him, she often stilled entirely when he touched her. The few times he reciprocated with a light kiss to her cheek or a squeeze of the arm in support she'd recoiled from him.
He forced himself to shake off his sudden melancholy and smile at Rita. She was grinning, joyful after kicking his ass soundly. She pumped her fist in the air in a juvenile declaration of her own superiority.
"Your getting old, Cage! That round was easy." She did a small victory dance, the sway of her hips discomfiting him, even as his heart dropped at the reminder of his age.
He looked good for his age, he knew it. But that didn't mean he could ignore the fact that he was 16 years her senior. Almost old enough to be her father. Old enough that his own thoughts of lust towards her made him feel a little ashamed. She seemed to notice his mood change and stopped her dance.
"Cage? I was only joking." He nodded tersely. "I'm serious Cage. Your age isn't an issue."
"Then what is?" He could have shot himself the moment the words escaped. He hadn't meant to say them but the thought was always there. What was he to her?
Rita turned away, her arms folding in front of her. He wanted to take the words back. For a moment he was sure she would walk away from him. The tearing in his chest was too familiar. An echo of the pain he'd felt after so many of her deaths. She was going to walk away from him because of one mistake.
"Rita, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I know we're...friends. I just..." What could he say to explain? How could he possibly explain that he was lost without her? He knew one day she might marry, have kids with some faceless man, and Cage would be on the sideline. Always on the sideline, as her best friend, her confidante. He would stay there rather than walk away. To see her grow old, to be happy, to see her belly round with someone else's child. To combat the memories he had, so many memories of her broken body. Memories of lifeless eyes, images he could conjure with a single thought. A shattered skull, broken spine, blood surrounding her unmoving form. And the pain he felt, the hole in his chest that urged him to move forward, to find a way to kill the Omega, but never before he saved Rita. He was certain at one point that he would leave her behind, finish the entire thing by himself before she ever landed on the beach. And if he died it might mean something. It would mean she would live. Of course it hadn't worked out that way. And he was grateful.
To be given this opportunity to live beside her, knowing all that she was and being her friend was a privilege. How could he ask for more?
"That's what you think, Cage?" Rita's voice was choked and when she turned to face him, tears shone in her eyes. "You think that we're friends?"
"Of course. Aren't we?"
Rita shook her head vehemently. "I may not remember what you do, but I knew. I knew from the moment you spoke that you were special. And it scared me. It still scares me. How the hell could I feel so much for a man I just met? When it took so many deaths for me to feel even a fraction of what I feel for you for someone else?"
Cage stared at her, not daring to hope. "What are you saying Rita?"
Rita threw her hands up in exasperation and strode towards him. He barely had time to respond before she was pulling his face down to hers. Their teeth struck but the sting was good, turning into heat as her tongue slid into his mouth. She kissed him as if it was the last chance they had, with lips and teeth and tongue, desperation turning into fire.
She shoved against Cage and he fell backwards, pulling her with him. The breath was knocked out of his lungs but right then kissing Rita was so much more important than breathing. When she pulled away from him to breathe he kissed her cheeks, her nose and chin, the line of her jaw and hollow of her throat, anywhere he could reach with his adoration. Finally, Rita laughed, pressing against his shoulders to still him.
"William!" Her protestation was halfhearted at best. She rested her elbows lightly on his shoulders, laying her chin on folded hands. "I'm sorry."
Cage was beyond ecstatic, unable to believe that Rita had actually kissed him. "You don't have to be sorry."
"Yes I do. I know I've been throwing you mixed signals. But I was so confused. You know about Verdun, you know who I've lost even when I don't remember telling you, you know more about me than anyone. The connection between us was always more from the beginning. More than friends, more than allies but I've been trying to figure out how much more I wanted us to be."
Cage held his breath. "And?"
"I knew from the moment you smiled at me that I could love you. It just took me awhile to follow through." She kissed him then, tenderly, with more emotion than she'd ever displayed.
The words remained unspoken but he didn't need them, not yet. Not when she'd given him more than he'd hoped for.
I love you. He wouldn't say the words aloud just yet. He could wait until she was ready to hear them. Right now kissing her was more important.
To be honest, I have some more one-shot ideas swimming in my head based in my own little EoT 'verse. Let me know if you guys want more! Any review is much appreciated!
P.S. The fact is Tom Cruise is 21ish years older than Emily Blunt. The characters they portray are perfect for each other. But I wanted it to have at least a little realism. And I thought a 21 year age difference was pushing it, so I chose 16.