It's the look she gives him when she leaves that really kills him. That half smile, the amused glint in her eyes… he is the only one who ever receives that look.
And it kills him that he won't be seeing it for awhile.
He stands up and salutes her, because really, she deserves much more than that, but he might as well give her what respect he can openly show. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice tells him that it's not just respect anymore, it's devotion, maybe even love, but he ignores it, like always.
He rolls into Central a few minutes late the next morning. He slept well and is ready to get some real work done- he's in a good mood for once and he has to get his paperwork done someday. He stops by the coffee machine on his way, pouring himself a mug before heading into his office. As he approaches, his staff exchange worried looks. He walks into the office.
"Hello Breda, Falman, Fuery, Havoc…"
His gaze finds Lieutenant Hawkeye's desk and for a moment he stares at it blankly. Then, the events of yesterday come back to him and it's like a punch to the gut. He almost drops his cup, drops of coffee falling to the floor. He looks around him, finally taking in the fact that the rest of his staff are in the last stages of cleaning out their desks. They watch him, sorrow written on their faces.
"I'll be in my office," he says, and makes a quick escape.
His staff just sighs and looks sadly to Hawkeye's empty desk.
"What is he going to do without us?" Fuery asks, softly.
"I don't know, Fuery," Havoc answers.
Then, Falman leans back in his chair a little and asks the question that's been on all of their minds since they received their new orders.
"What will we do without him?"
He spends the rest of his day holed up in his office, furiously tearing through papers in an attempt to keep himself from breaking down. It's already the afternoon when he hears a knock on his door.
"Come in."
Falman enters the room.
"Sir!" he says, saluting. He is waved away with a hand. "I needed to return your chess set, sir."
"Oh yes. Did you win any games against your family? You could never beat me," he says, a glint in his eyes.
Falman hestitates, then responds, the same conspiratorial twinkle in his eyes. "I had some luck, sir."
"Good." He hesitates. "Dismissed- but Falman?" he adds as the man starts to turn around.
"Yes, sir?"
"Be careful," he says, and it comes out in a whisper.
Falman's eyes are full of pity and sadness. "Always, sir. And- if I may, sir?"
"Of course."
"Take your own advice."
Part of him is glad when Falman turns around and leaves because he's not sure how much longer he could have kept it all together if Falman had stayed.
Riza Hawkeye has overcome more things than most in her life. The death of her mother, a distant father and his mutilation of her, a massacre, seeing her commanding officer and coworkers almost die hundreds of times, Hughes' murder… So it takes a lot to shake Riza Hawkeye. She has seen too much.
But today, Riza Hawkeye is scared.
It's raining the night after she is assigned to be the Fuher's assistant. She's home much earlier than usual (the Fuher is a diligent worker and a family man, even if he is a homunculus) so she knows he will still be at the office. All she can do is stare at the window, petrified with fear. What if the same person who killed Hughes comes back? she wonders. What then? I need to be there to protect him, god help me I will not ever stand over his grave until violent tremors rack her body. She calms herself down with some deep breaths but continues to watch the rain.
He is in the office, just as she feared. But he's not going home anytime soon. When the last person in his wing of headquarters leaves, he peeks out of his office, then quietly closes the door and locks it. He makes it through four more papers before collapsing in heaving sobs. As the rain falls outside, he sobs and sobs. What have I done? I've risked their lives, all of their lives, for this stupid dream of mine! What right do I have? And her… she is as good as dead if I step out of line. Hughes… I can't bear… anyone else….
His world is falling apart. His carefully crafted, handpicked world is falling to pieces in front of his eyes. And he is helpless. Useless.
He hates the rain.
And had he turned his head 40 degrees to the left and looked in the shadow of the old bookshelf that rested there, he would have seen eyes crawling in the darkness. But now, Pride laughs as a knock on the door brings him out of his misery, as he wipes away tear tracks with the back of his hand. The mask slides back into place, and he unlocks the door. It swings open and Alex Armstrong bursts through, his face somber for once.
"You're still here?" Armstrong asks in a low voice.
"Yes, I had work to do…" he gestures to his desk aimlessly.
Armstrong looks at the mostly clean desk and then back into a pair of red rimmed eyes.
"I see," he says, unconvinced. Armstrong sighs. "Are you alright?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"You know why."
Pride smirks.
"I'm doing fine. I was actually just going home for the night."
"Hmmm. Well, if you need anything…"
"Thanks, Alex."
The large man merely turns away and starts down the hall, shaking his head.
"I suppose I should go home…"
He turns off the lights in his office and picks up his coat (it was so alone there, without hers). He locks the door behind him and walks out of the building. The night is clear, now, and the rain is still slick on the streets. He stops under a streetlight.
Pride follows him, curious.
"Maybe I can do this," he murmurs to the stars. "It'll only be a little while…"
And he walks off into the darkness, where Pride can't follow.
Please review with suggestions on how I can improve! Also, check out my profile for a poll on what I should write next!
Keep writing,
Sofia