Heavy In Your Arms
"I was a heavy heart to carry
My beloved was weighed down
My arms around his neck
My fingers laced a crown
I was a heavy heart to carry
but he never let me down
When he held me in his arms,
my feet never touched the ground
I'm so heavy, heavy in your arms..."

~Florence and The Machine

The desert heat was harsh, the taunting sun high in the sky and strong winds blowing sand and dust around but doing nothing to cool the air. The uniform made it worse- the heavy, blue wool trapping his body heat and the sand colored cloak being his only salvation from the sun. The hood was pulled far over his eyes, in an effort to become recluse, and he hid in plain sight among other soldiers doing the same. Unnoticed by others, his hands shook slightly under his cloak, though whether it was from not eating or the day's discovery, he didn't know.

He couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that she was here. This entire time she'd been watching over him and he remained ignorant of it. He cursed himself for being so stupid; he'd led her into this. He knew he should never have spoken of his naive dreams to her. Had he known this would happen, he never would have. Anger built up in his chest covering up the pain and sadness. Anger at himself, at her, at his country. He wanted to blame himself but could he really blame anyone? Could he really blame herwhen this was the same path he'd chosen as well?

Clouds rolled in, a rare sight for Ishval, signs of a night rain promising a temporary reprieve from the heat. Dust swirled around his feet as he abruptly got up and stormed to his tent. His mind raced with all sorts of questions as he stripped off his jacket and undershirt and flopped into his cot. He would get his answers later, much later when most soldiers were sleeping and couldn't overhear them. And, with that thought, he fell into an uneasy sleep.

Thunder clapped loudly close by and he jolted awake, grabbing for his gloves in an effort to block off an attack from the Ishvallan in his dreams. Sweat dripped off of him and clung to the dirty sheets of his plastic cot. He glanced over to the small alarm clock provided by the military itself. It read 1 a.m. Scrambling out of bed, he grabbed his uniform and threw it on haphazardly before stopping to think of whether she'd be asleep or not. His actions slowed and he took the time to dump the sand out of the boots he'd slept in.

He wanted answers. No, he needed answers but could he stand seeing her again? Let alone in the same state as him? Her tired eyes floated back into his head and his gut clenched at the sight of her with those killers eyes. Would it be right to demand answers after what he's done to her? The guilt ate at him and his heart won the battle between it and his brain. He, at least, needed closure or some masochistic form of it. No matter how wrong it was, he needed to see her, once more to speak with her. Humans really are despicable creatures, he thought as he made his way out of the canvas shelter.

The walk to her tent was quiet, aside from the footsteps of soldiers on guard duty, everyone else having retired to avoid the storm though the rain had yet to fall. The sniper unit was on the opposite side of the camp, her tent stationed in the middle. It was completely dark, the only light showing was that of the moon peeking over a nearby sand dune. He almost turned around. Almost.The wind picked up it's pace as he turned and a small figure caught his eye from the top of that hill. It was her. She always did like the calm before the storm, the few minutes of expectation before the first drops made contact with her skin. A meaningless memory, from another lifetime.

His feet moved before he could even register wanting to talk to her. It was like his body knew that she was there. That her presence was what he needed. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of her, the barrel of her gun pointed directly between his eyes. Her own dark orbs set in a glare, unmistakable by the moonlight. His gaze narrowed at her, again, speaking before he could stop himself.

"What are you doing here?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that question?"

A wry smile formed on his lips. "I asked first."

She stowed her gun away and spun back around to look at the moon. "I'm protecting my country in the Ishval Rebellion." her answer was bitter and dry, one that had been rehearsed a thousand times by a thousand different soldiers on the front lines. His earlier anger returned, he didn't like that answer.

"That's not what I asked you," he was rude, he knew it. His voice held hostility that he couldn't quite control. "Why are you here? Why are you in the military? You should have been happily married with a kid by now, living in some small town., not killing off every Ishvalan in sight out here in this fucking wasteland!" His voice rose with every word he spoke and he only noticed that he was yelling when he finished his rant. Not that he cared. "WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING FOLLOWING ME HERE?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Major Mustang." her voice was full of a venom that he'd never heard from her before and the moon glowing above them highlighted a new, darker look in her narrowed eyes. Somewhere in the middle of his rant she had turned to face him and, though she hadn't raised her voice like him, he knew she was angry. "I'm here to protect the people of this country. My reasons aren't any different than yours."

Rain finally started to drizzle down around them cooling both the air and his temper. A lump formed in his throat and his eyes widened at her. She was still staring him down, her bangs starting to cling to her face. "Did you ever stop to think that, maybe I don't want the husband and kids and dog in the back yard? Maybe I want to do my part for a better future, just like a young man I once knew who believed he could do the same." His mouth was dry but he cleared his throat and tried to swallow the large lump lodged there. His anger had dissipated fast and he wanted nothing more than to speak to her normally again and be the close friends they had become before he left. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke again, "This isn't protecting the country at all. This is genocide; how is that building a better future? How could you want to be like that?" His knees gave way and he crumpled into the mud bringing her down with him. He couldn't distinguish his own tears from the rain but was sure that his expression must have been anguished enough. Because, when she touched his arm and he raised his gaze to her face, her eyes were marginally warmer, their depth resembling those from the days of their youth. They would never be the same, he realized with another pang of guilt. Her arms found their way around his neck and she pulled his head to her shoulder.

"None of us knew what we were getting into when we signed up for this. All we can do now is survive. And, maybe, make the best of it if at all possible." Her next words were whispered in his ear, hardly distinguishable over the sound of the rain.

"If anyone can do that, I believe it's you, Sir."

BIIIIGGG THANKS to my new Beta SammyQuill! She made this story soooooo much more amazing than it was to begin with! Thank you. Arigato. Gracias. Dankschen. Merci. Ta. Cheers .Grazie. Mahalo. And that's about all the languages that I know. Thanks for reading and please review if you have a chance!