Title: Demolition Man
Series: Fullmetal Alchemist
Rating: Eh, R because it's sad and there's an F-bomb.
Spoilers for Episode 25, of course. I'm predictable. And yes, I know this would like never ever happen, but grief makes people do stupid and strange things. Like try to resurrect dead people and thusly sacrificing things like body parts and organs. coughEdcoughAlcoughIzumicoughScar'sbrothercoughHoenheimcough

So I'm gonna like hide from like all of my friends now. Also, go easy on me as I think this could stand some fine-tuning later on...

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You wait by the phone booth as you do every Tuesday, your hands clutching the gloves in your pockets. It's unseasonably warm, but you can't feel it as you stare at faded bloodstains and police tape that long since has been removed. As much as you may like to pretend, you can't go back and you can't save everyone.

Not even yourself these days.

She arrives softly stammering about how sorry she is that she's late, even though she's right on time. She always has been, it was something that he used to joke and preen about. "That's my Gracia, never late. Probably because she's always so eager to see me!"

You avoid her gaze the same way you do every week as you take her arm and walk with her to the same hotel. You get the same room and you hold the door open the same as she steps inside.

There's no conversation,..but then, why should there be? You never did have a lot to say to her when he wasn't around did you? He was pretty much the only thing you had in common.

Looking at the floor, you unbutton her blouse and she takes off your coat for you. There's no passion or affection in this. This isn't like how you are with the girls in the typing pool. This isn't even how you'd be with Hawkeye if she gave you the chance.

There is no way she could have been this cold with a man so warm, either.

You both move to the bed, still not looking, still not kissing, but you touch her. You tease her and caress the parts of her you know will give her the most.

Even looking past her shoulder, you know her eyes are closed tight as you slide into her. You stare at the wall as you move, biting back any sounds you would make, even your breathing. It seems wrong to be anything but silent and slow and clinical, as he was laughter, talking, and spontaneity.

You're everything that he isn't (wasn't)…you have to be everything he wasn't, because that's how she wants things. Because it has to be this way, in order to justify this…betrayal seems to be the only word for it.

Living or dead, she's still your best friend's wife after all.

Her orgasms are empty things when she finally falls over the edge…they're results of your physical ministrations, a simple bodily reaction and nothing more. When she trembles like this, you're always soon to follow and sure enough the light overtakes you and you can't help but suck air through your teeth, breaking the din of your silence.

Her eyes, now open and cast downward, are watery and sad. You wish you had some words of comfort, but they're all being used up on yourself. Instead you withdraw and wordlessly hand her clothes to her.

She gets dressed and looks diminished for having done so, and she goes to leave. A low goodbye is all she says as she walks away. She doesn't have to ask about next week…she never does, because you already know that you'll be there at that phone booth around the coroner's estimated time of death.

You should get up and go home, because you do have a lot of paperwork to do in the morning. Instead you lay on your back and wonder what the hell you're doing and why you're doing it.

Fucking his widow won't bring Maes back from the dead.

Neither will the cold tears falling down the sides of your face.