Charade
Former Title: Ideal Price
by Frankie'N (formerly No one and Nobody)
A/N: Former and former. For those of you who have read this before, I just thought I should let you know that I decided to give a few of my oneshots a bit of a makeover. I'm not too happy with some of my old stuff, but I did what I could to tidy them up a bit.
Edited: May 2018
Disclaimer: I am not the incredible genius that owns FMA. I won't even try to pretend that I am!
He was standing in line at the marketplace in front of a vegetable stand— a rare occasion in itself, as he seldom purchased real food to actually cook with. In fact, he was in the middle of contemplating whether or not he really wanted to waste more of his precious time on a few leafy greens when the woman standing in front of him whipped around and flashed him a sheepish grin. "Do you have a twenty on you?" she asked, eyes twinkling with mirth.
It was those eyes that did it— or at least, their color. Something akin to a soft, chocolate brown, but lighter. Not quite that exact shade of amber he so adored, but close, so he threw on a lazy smile for her. "Today's your lucky day." he said, slipping a crumpled-up twenty dollar bill into her hand... along with a scrap of paper with his number on it.
"Thank-" she stopped abruptly, those near-perfect eyes dropping to the little slip of paper. She laughed. "Alright, Casanova. I guess it's the least I can do." She shot him a small, knowing smile that reminded him painfully of someone else's mouth. "You don't waste any time, do you, Mister…?"
"Mustang." he supplied. "But please, call me Roy."
"Lauren." she said, extending her hand. He took it in his. It was flawlessly smooth and soft. But it just wasn't what he wanted to hold in his own. Slightly calloused and scarred hands were signs of ambition and hard work; the aftermath of hardships and trials.
Nevertheless, he kept his trademark smirk on— and felt it widen into a grin when he realized that she had slipped a scrap of paper into his hand, in return.
Too, too easy.
On the date itself, he waited at the bar for half an hour before she arrived.
She looked just as he had expected her to: make-up, jewelry, low-cut dress that showed off just enough neckline. He would've liked to say that the sight of her pleased him, and it did, in a way, but not enough to occupy his thoughts. No, he was distracted with musings of how he wished she were the type of woman who liked to arrive early or right on schedule— even if she arrived wearing something simple instead.
"Sorry to keep you waiting." she gushed.
"Not at all. I'd much rather see you late and looking as lovely as this."
She blushed in response and took a seat next to him, missing the way his eyes filled with sadness for a brief moment. She had an adorable blush, but he liked a woman who knew how to keep her composure under perfect control.
They ordered their drinks. He ordered a beer for himself, of course.
"Just water for me." she said.
At this, he perked up a bit, although he was careful to hide it under his mask of charming, perfectly-calibrated aloofness. "You sure?"
"Yeah."
"Just one?" he smiled at her.
"Well..." she said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. Her almost-amber eyes met his. "Alright."
"Great! One for the lady." he addressed the bartender before turning to grin at her again. He tried to ignore the feeling of disappointment that tugged at him. For a second there, he thought she might actually stick to her water. But she was persuaded just a little too easily for his taste.
"So, I take it you're a soldier?" she asked, gesturing to his uniform. He made sure to wear it when he went on certain dates. If he took the lady to be the type to like a man in uniform, he'd readily oblige. "Colonel Mustang." He smirked. "Perhaps you've heard-"
"The Flame Alchemist? Why, I've heard about you!" her eyes sparkled with awe as she appraised him with this newfound information.
"Oh, have you?" he drawled smoothly. If she noticed that his smile was a little strained, she didn't show it.
"Yes! My, I didn't think you would be so young!" Her fingertips brushed against the edge of his sleeve as she giggled. Was she already tipsy?
"And here I thought my reputation preceded me." he flirted teasingly, betraying that now-familiar feeling of disappointment that was slowly beginning to suffocate him. Somehow, he had hoped that his reputation wouldn't impress her. Or at least, that it wouldn't faze her; wouldn't alter her view of him. But there was only one woman whose view of him hadn't changed because of it.
Eventually he grew bored with the conversation, tuning her out in favor of surveying the room and taking discrete sips of his drink. It was only after consuming every last drop of it that he let his eyes wander back to her. She was twirling her hair. Dark brown. He'd dated a lot of brunettes before, but he knew that he preferred blondes.
He smoothly tucked a strand of her dark locks behind her ear, effectively cutting her monologue short. "You have the most beautiful hair." he said. He waited for her to blush and mutter a thank you before cupping her cheek in one of his hands and pressing his lips to hers.
Another night, another date, another woman, another bed— he's tired of the whole charade and, not for the first time, he wonders why he insists on keeping it up.
On most days he reminds himself that he's keeping up appearances to distract people from his ambitions.
On other days, rare as they may be, he allows himself to admit— if only for an instant— that he's only trying to fool himself.
He tries to fool himself into thinking that he isn't consumed with thoughts of cornflower-yellow hair and calloused, but feminine hands. That he isn't plagued with memories of lazy afternoons spent sprawled across the soft grass outside his teacher's house, listening to old novels read aloud in a girl's gentle, steady voice. That he isn't haunted with memories of resolute amber eyes on the battlefield, of endless sand and crimson blood. And of late nights exchanging heated glances and light-hearted banter over stacks of unfinished paperwork in his stuffy military office.
He tries to fool himself because he's also plagued with thoughts of the danger he would be putting her in by simply confessing all this to her; by giving his enemies the slightest hint of his affections— affections he isn't even sure she returns.
He finds it unlikely that she could ever feel as strongly for him.
So he distracts himself— or he tries to— with another date, another woman, another bed.
Some days, it works.
Most days, it doesn't.
He ponders these things for the thousandth time as he absently twirls a pen between his fingers the next day at work, slightly rumpled and more than a little groggy from the previous night's activities. His team thinks nothing of it. This too, is part of the same old routine. Still, a small, childish part of him searches his lieutenant for any signs of jealousy. She is a woman who knows how to keep her composure under perfect control and he, in turn, knows better than to think any hint from her would be more than precisely that— a hint. No, he knows that the most he can hope for from her is a tiny knot between her brows, a certain rigidity to her posture, a soft huff of annoyance.
And so he watches her intently from his desk as she leafs through her own stack of paperwork.
At long last, he catches her eye. For a second he thinks she's about to arch an eyebrow at him— a silent indication to get back to work— but then the corners of her mouth turn upwards in a nearly imperceptible, knowing smile. He returns it immediately with a content, unabashed grin of his own.
The grin stays firmly planted on his face as her gaze returns to her work, and he marvels at how these little stolen moments with her have the ability to reawaken all of his dulled senses; have the capacity to motivate him anew. Secretly, he knows these moments of happiness with her, brief and subtle as they may be, can satiate him like no reckless night with any other woman ever could. But he also knows that whatever contentment he feels is fleeting— if only for his endless yearning for the immovable, elegant soldier who always seems so close, yet so far away.
Even now, he admires her from a distance. He sees her hard at work, diligent and vigilant as always, and he knows that one day all their efforts will pay off; knows that the day will come when no enemy will have the power to keep him from her.
But until then, the charade will have to do.
.
.
.
A/N- A bit of a departure from the original in terms of theme, but not in terms of plot. The previous one seemed a bit too slut-shame-y for me, as you might guess from the former title "Ideal Price." But I was young(er) and even more of a fool then than I am now.
Anyway, I hope you like the edit! For updates on my work and other stuff, check out my profile! ;)