Author's note: Just a quick oneshot of my favorite pairing.
Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any of its characters.
All I can smell is blood. The stench of iron fills my nostrils and threatens to drip back into my throat. I feel nauseous. I lean back in my chair and cover my face with my hands.
Count to 10, make it all go away.
It doesn't help. I stand up too quickly; my head spins. It feels like everything is collapsing. The walls smudge, the ceiling cracks, the floors darken. My shoulders feel heavy; I'm being dragged down. I take a heavy step forward. The smell hits me stronger and I gasp at the red slick on the floor.
God help me, it's everywhere.
I need to leave. I have to get out. I walk as quick as I can – stumble, really – out the door, down the halls, out of the building. But the blood follows. I trip and fall into the dirt. The blood drenches the earth. It's on my hands. I stare at it, unable to draw my eyes away. It begins to drip; down my arms staining my sleeves; onto my legs sinking into my skin. My eyes widen as I see it drip off of my face into the puddle growing beneath me.
There's no stopping it.
The world turns crimson. The heaviness has gotten worse. It's getting difficult to breath. I'm really sinking now…
A hand on my shoulder snaps me back.
"Colonel?" she asks. She sounds worried and I sigh. The blood is gone. I'm left sitting in the dirt staring at my hands like a madman. I shake myself, allow my head to turn towards her. She looks as worried as she sounds.
"Colonel?" she asks again. I must look like a complete fool. I stand up, wiping the filth from my uniform. One of the buttons on my jacket has come undone. I try to redo it but my hands are shaking so bad that I can't manage.
"Is everything alright, sir?" I don't say anything, but continue aimlessly at my attempt to do the button. She heaves a sigh and gently pushes my hands away from the jacket. I watch her face for the split second it takes her to slip the button back in its hole. She's very concerned now.
"You worry too much," I tell her. She almost looks angry at this.
"Perhaps I should take you home." I don't disagree.
In the car she doesn't pry. I'm sure she knows. We seem to trade off on the freak-outs. They've become less frequent – her last one being nearly 4 months ago, mine almost 7. But they come suddenly. A small nap is all it takes.
I'm thankful she's not asking questions, but I despise the silence. I've nothing to fill it with, though.
She pulls up to my place. As I expect she follows. Ever faithful to her superiors she wants to make sure I get myself settled in.
"Completely unnecessary," I say as I unlock the door. I glance over to see her giving me that look, the one that says she doesn't care. I guess I don't really either.
Once we're both inside I realize I don't want her to go. I never do. But she never stays.
That's got to change.
"Riza," I call when she's at the door. She stops but doesn't turn around. She knows.
"This always happens," she says. I can tell she's mulling it over, leaning more towards leaving like she always is. She doesn't owe me anything, though she may feel like she does. But she knows I'd never push her.
She does come, though. I whisper her name against her lips. I simply melt.
Sometimes there is blood. Sometimes there are bodies. Sometimes there is darkness and there's nothing that can stop the spread of guilt and sometimes I let it consume me. But sometimes she is there. We entwine and I feel as though I'm everywhere. I float yet I'm stagnant. I let her take me. Everything dissolves but her.
Thanks for reading! I like the idea of working with their PTSD, which I'm assuming both suffer from, and not having to ask each other for comfort and relief. Anyway let me know what you think, reviews are always appreciated.