Disclaimer: FMA isn't mine.
Song: How It Ends - Devotchka (This time I came up with the title before I thought of the song. :D)
And in your soul they poked a million holes
But you never let em show
Come on, it's time to go...
Riza let out a long sigh of relief, counting slowly to four in her head, then took in a deep breath of battle scented air. The stench of smoke and death had never smelled sweeter; it meant that she was alive. It was over. The Promised Day had come and gone, and they were still standing. Triumphant. A thousand words existed to describe how she should be feeling, what many others felt. So why did she feel so empty? She scuffed her feet along the ground, walking but going nowhere. The tattered remains of a flag shuddered under the slight breeze that brought with it a draft of fresh, clean air. She lifted her face, feeling her hair flutter behind her, the cool air running invisible fingers through it. Almost out of habit, she fumbled in her coat pocket with her good arm for her clip to find it absent.
Damn. She would have to get a new one.
That small fact brought reality crashing around her ears. The very thing she had built her life around was lost, her goal accomplished, mission completed. Her sense of purpose was gone. The lost hair clip seemed to represent all she had lost in the past few days. Whether or not she wanted to, she would have to change.
She hated change.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't hear him until he spoke at her shoulder.
"Are you okay?" Surely he has more important things to tend to than my well-being. She kicked at a piece of loose brick on the ground, her well-worn boots sending it skittering several feet away.
"I'm fine sir." He gestured vaguely at the blood soaked fabric of her coat.
"Did you get your shoulder checked out?" It could have been idle curiosity or actual concern. Once upon a time she would have known. She just shook her head. She didn't trust her voice.
"You really need" -
A voice called out behind them. "Colonel!" It might have been Fuery, not that it really mattered.
"Give me a few minutes," he called back. Always pressed for time. He looked down and shoved his hands deep in his pockets, letting out a long breath with the motion. After a long moment he spoke, his voice subdued.
"I'm sorry." The words were unfamiliar coming from him. Her heart skipped a beat and her breath caught in her throat.
"For what?" she managed, her weak attempt at scorn not going past him. His jaw tightened, his hands clenched into fists in his pockets. She knew she was being difficult, but she didn't care.
"I nearly forced you to take my life back there. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I had." She refrained from pointing out that he wouldn't have had to; he would have been dead. She fumbled for the right words, but ended up with the wrong ones anyway.
"I'm grateful Scar stepped in and stopped you." It wasn't the words he was looking for, she knew. But she couldn't give him those. She was being cold and harsh, both things she had been accused of many times before, sometimes accurately. Sometimes it was difficult to deal with him any other way. Easier, better to put distance between them.
His brow furrowed into a familiar pattern, the corner of his mouth twitching, his shoulders hunching forward, almost as though he were hurt by her behavior. Which was impossible, of course. Irritated, maybe. He didn't like being thwarted, even in something as trivial as conversation, which this wasn't really.
"Scar wasn't what stopped me, Riza." There was a slight pause before he said her name, the word rolling tentatively off his tongue as he familiarized himself with the sound, the way he had when they first met. Back when they were just Roy and Riza, apprentice and daughter. Even then there were titles, expectations, limits on their behavior. "He just made me realize how much I was hurting you."
That was too personal, too close for comfort. And he knew it, damn him! She could tell he knew it from the tone of his voice, from the way he paused before speaking, the way he glanced up and met her eyes for a split second before turning his down again.
When she spoke, her voice was soft, a whisper snatched away by the breeze moments after it reached his ears. Perhaps he was meant to hear, perhaps not.
"Please, don't." He cocked his head at her as though she were a puzzle he couldn't solve.
"Don't what? Tell the truth?" He laughed, the sound unpleasantly harsh and forced. "I've been lying to myself for years. Now you want me to lie to you as well?"
"Sometimes the truth hurts," she said quietly, catching him off guard as she turned away from him to watch the people who had gathered to start cleaning up the mess they had made of the city. They hauled bricks from shattered buildings, doused fires with lines of bucket wielding volunteers, helped those who had been injured to the buildings that were still standing. Even though their world had collapsed about them, they were still moving on.
He watched her in silence for several minutes, an unfathomable expression on his face. He watched her, her hands buried deep in her pockets, one shoulder higher than the other, her hair tickling her face. Her back was as straight and steady as ever. The words he wanted to say faded on the tip of his tongue, the words they both needed to hear.
"Yes. The truth hurts sometimes," he said instead, settling again for just a fraction of the truth, falling into the familiarity of a lie he was used to. "But not always."
Haha. Not the ending I had originally planned, but I like this much better. It's actually an ending.