Tribute
She knew she'd remember this funeral for as long as she lived.
White flowers had littered the small room. Lace and ruffles and lilies had been arranged carefully, lovingly all around. It didn't seem like a funeral at all, more like a wedding. But this was no happy occasion, no one smiled or laughed, no one spoke at all. What little conversation there was remained hushed.
Schieszka had looked so pretty in that white gown, as if she'd been caught taking a nap right before the ceremony on her wedding day. Her hair had been combed and styled beautifully; flowers strewn into the short, thick tresses, pearls clasped at her ears. Her lips were tinged a soft pink, masking the pale blue of frozen blood.
Not many had attended the funeral. Only some scattered friends; Broche, Maria Ross, Hawkeye, Fury, Breda, Fallman, Armstrong, Gracia, Elysia. Mustang.
She walked up to Jean Havoc, reached out to touched his arm gently. She watched helplessly as his dead eyes watched everyone with a glassy expression. He bobbed his head once in a while, but she had the distinct impression that whatever his surroundings, he would now be lost in a realm of his own, a world of pain and grief.
That man Mustang walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Havoc only looked down at his superior officer, the cigarette for once, absent. Mustang was saying something, his expression stoic, the midnight blue eyes dead and flat. Havoc nodded once, then turned to look at the dark haired man, his expression twisting, pain flashing in those periwinkle eyes, and he turned away, hand obscuring his face. He excused himself, his composure gone.
But as he retreated, she caught a trace of sympathy from Mustang. His dark brows creased, and then smoothed out as if nothing was amiss. If she hadn't seen it for herself she would have never thought that the man could care about anything, much less anyone other than himself.
Her thoughts strayed for a moment, began to strum with resentment towards the great Flame Alchemist. She hated him, hated him as she never thought she could hate. Hated him for taking her parents, for taking her brothers, for leading them down a path of loss and despair. It was his fault, His fault she'd never have a real family, his fault the only family she DID have was broken and tattered, struggling to reform.
He suddenly turned to look at her, those dark eyes flashing with something she couldn't identify. He bowed and looked away, but she could tell by the way his shoulders tensed that her presence affected him. SHe took perverse satisfaction from that knowledge, let the bastard suffer, let him look upon her pale skin, blonde hair and blue eyes and b remember /b . Remember the lives he took under the orders of a psychopath.
Even as his back was turned, she continued to glare at his back. She could tell he felt her gaze. For his posture changed, tensed, twitched. If you paid close attention, you could see the faint rippling of muscle along his arm, could make out the rigid set of his shoulders.
She tore her eyes away from him, the tears prickling her eyes, not only for the loss of her best friend.
Blindly she began to pick her way through the crowd, desperate for an escape. She would never let HIM see her tears, let him witness her pain. She groped around helplessly, her hands clinging to the wall as she flung herself into the darkness. Into a blessed abyss where she could grieve and console herself in peace.
Stumbling through her tears, she tripped over her own feet. Unable to cut off the small sob caught in her throat, she felt her face meet soft fabric and the smell of smoke assaulted her senses.
She looked up, fully intending on beating a hasty retreat, but when she saw havoc's dead gaze, something inside her seemed to crack, "I'm so sorry" her voice was thick with tears, her cheeks stained with the evidence of her, their pain. He nodded stiffly, and going on instinct, reached out to take him into her arms, "She loved you so much. She never stopped talking about how happy you made her." She tried vainly to suppress the tears, but they spilled over despite her greatest efforts, "I'm glad you made her happy while she… While she…" she couldn't go on, the tears nearly choking her.
Pressing her face to his shoulder, she sobbed, the words tumbling from her lips, "You were the best thing to happen to her, I'm so sorry, so very sorry, you don't deserve this, no one does, it's not fair. She was a wonderful person. Its not fair." and finally, i finally /i , she felt arms come around her, felt the press of a wet cheek to her own.
When his voice came, it was hoarse, as if talking hurt him, "I loved her so much. I never really loved anyone before. And when she told me, I…" hid voice broke, and his grip tightened, "I miss her already. I don't know how to… How…" his grief consumed him, made him bow his head and bury it in the crook of her neck.
They stood there, engulfed by darkness, overwhelmed by death, arms clinging, if only for a moment, to what little comfort they could find.