Disclaimer: FMA belongs to Arakawa Hiromu
Eighty-two: Words That Fade Away In Chaos
It was funny – Hawkeye thought in the midst of the battle raging around her – that the things you remember when your life is seeping out of you, drop by drop, aren't always the things you've put the most importance on. In fact, sometimes they're the things that you've put aside, and left for another time. She berated herself for thinking of such things, because what she had spent her adult life – and the end of her childhood – fighting for was of benefit to more than just herself. Now she just wanted to be selfish.
She didn't think about the people she had killed in Ishbal, and mourned for years after. She didn't remember the way she had always wanted her father to love her. She didn't remember what the waitress at that café last week had told her, or what her firearms tutor had said about her gunmanship. The only words that mattered right now – that she could convince herself to care about – were the tear-filled ones beside her ear. Whether it was hasty assurances that she would live, or a strangled yell at some near-by soldier to go and get a medic already. All other words meant nothing to her, because she had the only one she'd ever need to listen to by her side, clutching her hand and trying to bring her back from the dangerous brink of unconsciousness.