Theme Fifty Three: Duet

The way they moved together was music. The way a sweet song traveled through the air and filled the heads of all who heard it, his flames directed by her voice flew forward without hesitation or fear of judgment. Alone, their actions were just simple things, like a singer with no music. But together, the power in their movements was like an orchestra; loud and brave and confident.

The feeling of her calloused hands on the sleeve of his jacket is the strings, directing and pulling him towards his target with accuracy only a hawk's eye could provide. Her voice was the percussion, an outside force calling him into action; almost rhythmic in its repetition and consistency. His fingers were the brass, resonating in the air around him with a sweet sound that was more than just friction and the snapping of fingers. And finally, the woodwinds entered just in time for the finale, the column of flame that was created as thanks for their efforts.

The sounds they created were for them and them alone. An unwritten symphony whose notes and lyrics were constantly shifting and changing in a way that only they knew. No one could sing along, chime in or expand upon it, for it was perfect the way it was. The perfect meshing of voices and sounds and movements and imagery that was made up of only Hawkeye and Mustang and filled the air so fluidly that people around it had no choice but to stop and stare and listen.

xxx

They got rid of my ampersand. Assholes.