I just finished reading Fullmetal Alchemist chapter 97 and thought "Wow, go Falman!" And then "Falman needs more love." Thus, this little brain child was born. When I got done with it, Freesia's character nagged me. 'Who does she remind me of?' And then it hit me - Rin, from Fruits Basket! From the temper trantrums to the Sadako looks, she's like a combination of Rin and - laugh - Machi! lol I do have an idea for a second chapter - if I ever finish it ^_^

Disclaimer: I doth dis/the claiming of this

When the door to the storage room opened, I ignored it. It wouldn't be the first time someone walked in on me...doing it. I mean, it wasn't like it was a secret. This was what I did when I couldn't...deal. The Colonel had gotten onto me a couple of times in the beginning, but when I wasn't allowed to do it, frustration got bottled up inside me until I just...snapped. It was better this way. Everyone should be used to it by know. If whoever'd just came in knew what was good for him, he'd get what he came for and leave, completely ignoring me.

But that never seemed to be the case. Out of some misplaced sense of obligation, anyone who walked in on me doing it always felt the need to ask the same stupid question. This guy was the same. "Are you alright, Officer?"

I merely shifted my gaze up to him, sure that my black hair was covering most of my face, and my black eyes were piercing. My glares never failed to strike fear into those I turned it upon. This guy was the same - I saw a shiver shoot through his tall frame. Why were all these people the same? How...irritating.

I said nothing, and he didn't seem to get the message. "Did you...fall, Officer?"

My expression didn't change. "Did...are you looking for something?"

Why wasn't he taking the hint? Most people would have left my now. A few guys, trying to hit on me, and a few girls, being the overly happy I-believe-in-the-good-of-all-people type, had stayed longer, forcing themselves to meet my eyes and offering, in different ways, to 'help' me. I didn't want help, and if this man offered, he'd turn out just like them - running down the halls, covered in blood, scratches, and bruises, screaming about the psycho in the storage closet.

"Do you want some help, miss...?"

He'd said it. He'd said that stupid word!

I snapped.

"You should apologize to Second Lieutenant Falman."

I glanced up at the Colonel, slightly surprised he was here. That guy I attacked - that Falman - must be one of his subordinates. Mustang was touchy about his people.

I went back to sorting my papers. It wasn't going well. I was a lost cause when it came to anything that involved order. Why on earth had I joined the military? Parental guidance, that's why. It should be illegal for parents to expect their kids to straiten up if they join the military. But I guess you can't outlaw stupid thoughts, can you?

"Warrant Officer Crow, I believe I just asked you to do something."

What you just said had no question in it. But I didn't say anything. What was the point? I wasn't going to apologize to this Falman guy.

"And you should clean up that storage room while you're at it. I know you go in there to vent your anger issues, but you should clean up when you get done. I thought that was the agreement we had?"

I did remember not objecting to something like that the last time Mustang had scolded me, but then again, I usually didn't agree to or disagree to anything anyone said to me. I couldn't remember the last time I'd spoken. It wasn't something I liked doing. It seemed like a waste of effort, despite the fact that everyone seemed bent on there never being a single moment of silence in their meaningless, pathetic lives as they filled it to suffocating levels with their aggravating, vain banter. Worms.

I grabbed my head with my hands and forced my eyes shut. I was thinking too hard again. It made my head hurt. I wished I could just not think. Then at least inside my head there would be peace and quiet.

The next time I needed to do it, I headed to my designated storage room. It was small and out of the way, so no one usually heard me as I tore apart the shelves and screamed and screamed and screamed. Did screaming count as talking? It seemed like that was the only time I ever used my vocal cords anymore.

I opened the door and found something that stopped me in my tracks. My storage room was clean. The shelves, though still bent and beaten up, were in their rightful places. There were no files on the ground, but stacked on shelves and in cabinets. The light, which I had broken more that once, had been replaced and had a protective plastic covering put on it. The blood stains from when I tended to punch the walls had been scrubbed mostly away, though some still shone like crusted age on the concrete. There was even a small punching bad hanging in the corner.

Suddenly, I didn't want to use this room like I normally did. All the anger and frustration I'd come here to vent had vanished, though I wasn't sure where it had gone. How strange.

Mustang had told me to clean it, so it wasn't him. He'd known I'd just tear it apart again anyway, so he didn't seem like the type to bother. And, since I didn't really know anyone else, that left-

"Can I help you, Officer Crow?"

I'd always considered myself a tall person, but even though I was standing beside him and he was sitting at the lunch table with two others, I could tell he would be taller than me, were he to stand. Oddly, that was something I respected, though genetics was not a thing that should be proud of, as it could not be controlled. But I'd never claimed to be a logical person.

I didn't reply, as per my usual behavior, even though approaching him at all was out of the ordinary for me. But no one had ever cared enough to clean my storage room before. Or to leave a punching bag for me. And even, as I'd found later, boxes of bandages, disinfectants, and other health supplies one prone to hurting herself might need. No one had ever cared like that. My anger issues had always been my fault. Something I choose to do - choose to not control. When I didn't take my meds, when I lashed out at people, when I bottled myself up and didn't speak or ask for help - that made this all my fault. And when you did bad things by choice, and hurt everyone around you, people started to look down on you and never bothered to help. Instead, you were labeled a 'bad person.'

Why care about a bad person? Why try, with the subtle hint of a punching bag, to get her to stop punching concrete walls and metal cabinets and, thus, stop hurting herself?

It was...a touching (my mind cringed slightly at the word) gesture.

"Um, Officer Crow?"

Falman was still staring at me, as were his lunch mates, and I continued to stare back, not answering. I've found that, when you don't speak, people either leave or fill in the blanks themselves, creating the conversation. Falman was pretty sharp, I figured (being one of Mustang's), so I left it to him not to ignore me. He didn't disappoint. "Is this about...the storage room?"

It was then I took notice of his bandages. Apparently, I'd did a superficial number. Should I feel guilty? I didn't, really. I mean, he's a Second Lieutenant - he should be able to take such a petty beating with grace.

...and why does he keep squinting at me? Is there something on my face, or something wrong with his eyes?

"Roy must have sent her to apologize." One of his companions suggested. I shot him a look that said 'go die' and he recoiled slightly. That shut the squirt up.

"Um, that's not necessary, really." Falman said quickly. I went back to looking at him. And, to my credit, I wasn't glaring.

At least, I wasn't trying to glare.

Another few minutes of awkward silence passed again, and I wondered if he'd ever get what I wanted to ...well, er, talk about, for lack of a better word.

In the end I gave up, and, reaching up, I tapped his bandages, and then tapped the bandages I'd found in the storage room and had wrapped around my bruised knuckles.

A light clicked, I think. "Ah, you're here about the actual storage room, not what happened there."

I nodded, and the over weight red head dropped his food right off his fork as Falman smiled at me. I don't think I'd even nodded to someone in a long time. Maybe this was shocking for some people?

"Do you like it?" Falman asked, a little slowly, his smile slipping. "I tried to clean it up for you. Um, I was informed you mess it up often, but I thought that it would be...er, more fun to mess up if it was clean first."

My eyes widened considerably more than they ever had without my eyebrows shooting down and my teeth clenching in a grimace. It didn't feel too weird, though.

"And, well, you'll hurt yourself punching the concrete walls, so the punching bag...and the...bandages...er..."

He trailed off, looking disheartened. I wondered why. I wasn't trying to discourage him. Getting a sudden idea, I walked off.

When I returned, Falman looked thoroughly disappointed, and the other two seemed to be comforting him. They both, appearing shocked, looked up when I approached. I set my newly acquired tray down next to Falman and, pulling out the chair, sat. He lifted his head to look at me, startled. I ignored all three of them and started eating.

I hadn't had to use the storage room in a little over a month. I went there, anyway, from time to time, just to admire how tidy it was. I still got angry, but when that happened, Falman was almost always there. He either tried to steer the conversation to something I liked (without me speaking, he'd actually figured out what I liked to talk about) or distract me somehow. I'd come to enjoy the company fairly well.

Mustang, Breda, Fuery, Hawkeye, Havoc, Sheska - I was getting acquainted with the group to a certain extent. Mostly, I was referred to as "Falman's shadow." Didn't really bother me, but Falman had turned red at it, in the beginning. He was getting used to it now.

But when he went out on a mission for Mustang, I found some odd feelings creeping into my being. It wasn't the anger coming back, or the cynicism and loathing. It...hurt. Like a thudding, rising panic in my chest. The side affects were practically the same, however, as my anger tantrums. I wanted to run, I wanted to scream, and I wanted to break things.

Falman was only to be gone a week, and three days in I thought I was going to hyperventilate. Day four, I never left my office, except to eat and use the restroom. Day five, I didn't eat. Day six, I couldn't even stand my office, and ran for my only sanctuary...

I wasn't sure how long I was there, but I was tired and hungry when the storage room door opened. I didn't even look up at the shadow that had been cast over me. It was Mustang's voice, though, when a dinner plate appeared by my feet. "Falman called."

I nodded briefly.

"They'll be back tomorrow. You don't want him to see you like this, do you?"

Thinking about it for a minute, I shook my head.

"I didn't think so. You don't want to worry him. I told him you were fine."

I nodded again, approving.

"Eat, Officer Crow. Then go back to your office. Falman will expect to find you there tomorrow."

Ignoring the ache as I shifted, I nodded and reached for the plate.

Mustang had left anxiety pills on my plate, and I'd flushed them, as per my deep hatred for medication. I'd been medicated for far too long as a child. I didn't need pills for this. Falman was going to be back at any moment. I wasn't that pathetic. Was I?

I had refused to eat for two days, locking myself in my office in a paranoid panic. That was pretty bad. I felt like I was that kid again, hiding in her closet for fear that the doctors would come. They only stopped coming when I was old enough to make my parents think it wasn't mental problems I had, only teenage rebellion.

Maybe I did need a doctor. I obviously had issues. I'd known Falman barely over a month. I had been just fine - minus the anger outbursts in the storage room - before I'd met him. But maybe that was it. Maybe it was because Falman had kept me from the anger outbursts that, when he'd left, I'd freaked out. I'd become scared that, without him, I'd go back to being the old me. The one that no one talked to, that people were afraid of, that hated her life and everything in it, and wished that she could die and yet was to scared to.

The truth was, I was happy with this new person Falman had helped me to become. This stronger, less angry, slightly normal (though still mute) person.

Would I be almost normal if I wasn't mute? I wondered.

I'd watched out the window when the car had pulled up, dropping Falman, Breda, and Fuery off. Falman had glanced up at my office while heading up the front steps, and had smiled and waved. It made me wonder if I should have smiled back, but he continued like he hadn't expected me to.

I don't think I'm ready to smile just yet. Heck, I was scared to death of using my vocal cords. I wanted to practice talking, but didn't at the same time. What if I hadn't used them in so long that they didn't work? What if they hadn't worked all along and I had just gotten so used to not talking I'd forgotten? I wasn't the mentally healthiest person in the world. It was possible.

But I pushed my fears away (as well as the rising panic and need to run) as best I could and headed to Mustang's office. I could hear voices inside. The guys had come here to report first. I know Mustang had said Falman would come by my office to see me, but...

I knocked when things quieted down a bit. I was told to enter.

"F-Falman?" I asked tentively, sticking my head in the room.

Everyone stared at me like I was some kind of miraculous phenomenon. Except Mustang. He recovered first, and grinned. "I'm almost done with him, Officer Crow. Could you give us a bit longer?"

I nodded, then mumbled "storage" before closing the door behind me.

It worked. They'd stared at me like a freak, but my voice had worked. I should have known it would, with all the screaming in the storage room I used to do. I was just being overly anxious, that was all. Stupid, really.

I was leaned against the wall of the storage room when, sometime later, the door opened and Falman stepped in with a small smile. "Officer Crow."

"Freesia." I muttered, not looking at him.

"Freesia?" He seemed a little shocked at my sudden offer for a first name basis, but he smiled a bit more sincerely. "Then, I guess you can call me Vato."

I glanced at him and nodded. Then I tapped my temple.

"Hm?" He didn't get it, but I didn't feel like putting whole sentences together just yet.

I tapped his temple, right next to his eyes, and then tapped my own, pulling on the bottom of my eye with my other finger. "Black. Vato?"

I tapped him again, and this time he got it. "Oh. My eyes are brown."

I nodded. He was always squinting so much, I could never tell. Tilting my head up, I tried to get a better look, to see if I could tell for myself. Oddly, Falman backed up into the wall, so I edged closer. He seemed kinda stiff and a little sweaty and red. I wondered if he had a fever or something. I pressed my forehead to his, checking to see if his skin was hot.

He sucked in a breath.

It took that for me to really realize how close I was to him. I mean, I was pressing my forehead to his. He was taller then me, so it took some work to get my forehead up there, so when he sucked in that breath, I felt the air rush past my lips into his mouth as it snapped shut. That was when I realized how this might seem to him.

Secluded, small storage closet. Alone. First name basis. No speaking. Guy against the wall, girl practically rubbing up against him. Her face to his. So close...they could kiss.

My brain shut down. I swear, it seriously did. I remembered all the times I wished it would just get quiet up there, and wondered at how nice it would be. It wasn't nice. My brain wasn't chattering away, like normal, and I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out what to do now. I was frozen. Everything was frozen.

But...I could finally see it. The brown in his wide, shocked eyes. It was a darker, tree bark brown. Not what most people would consider a nice color. But somehow...It looked good on him.

Letting out the trembling breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, I lowered my forehead from his, slightly. Slowly, while I backed away, his eyes grew a little dimmer as he, too, let out that trembling held breath. I paused and, not being able to help myself, my eyes flittered away from his, momentarily, and rested on his lips. Instantly my eyes shot back to his, but...the, er, damage was done.

Our heads tilted in opposite directions, and, slowly, we moved closer...closer...closer...

Until there wasn't any space between us any more.