Is This Thing On? (crack_alchemist) wrote,
Is This Thing On?

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[Royai Fic] Truly, Madly, Deeply

Hi, bandwagon, it's me. Thanks to ceasefire for the icon XD

Title: Truly, Madly, Deeply
Rating:: PG
Main Characters:Riza Hawkeye, Roy Mustang
Word Count: 527
Warning Spoilers for Chapter 57, indeed.

Synopsis: Everyone’s got a theory about the bitter one.

Author's Notes: Continuation of the One Night in Ishbal and To Play With Fire arc. Of course I had to jump on the theory band-wagon, why not? And yeah, it’s a song fic of sorts, but only because that’s what I was listening to at the time (because Royai is so Savage Garden to me at times) and I like playing with words like that.

Truly, Madly, Deeply

It hurt.

Truly, it did. There was no other way to describe it. No pretty words to camouflage it. There was pain and then there was this pain. Since she knew good and well that she would never experience that pain that most women know is theirs and theirs alone, she figured it was only fair that she suffer through this thing in exchange.

The only way that she was able to bear it was the fact that he was there. Straddling a chair turned backwards, his chin resting on folded arms, he held her gaze with his in an indolent grip of dark eyes. How he had managed to get the time uninterrupted was no surprise. The killing field was quiet for the moment, the military attack dogs, the spoiled, pampered thoroughbreds that they were, not needed. They were allowed to play as they wished when there was no immediate and effective killing to be done.

The cool night air blew across her back soothingly, easing some of the sting. How they kept the stray whirlwinds of sand from contaminating their work was beyond her, but there it was. In a tent in the middle of the desert she lay, still as a corpse, while slow and steady the needles nicked her skin. It felt like the sky was falling on her back, depositing drop by drop of precious ink right under the surface, dying patch by patch of her back forever. Deeply, but not too much, just enough.

And he sat there with her the entire time, through the lonely hours and bottles of whiskey and catnaps they allowed her as they refurbished their tools. She determined to finish this thing in one sitting, because when she got up, she’d be dammed if she would lie down for something like this again. He knew that. That was why he stayed with her. That, and to ensure the array was traced correctly.

She wanted to ask then what it was for, all of the extra detail he’d requested and the words in the archaic tongue, but he promised to tell her later. A test of her loyalty. One she would pass like she’d passed everything else. She smiled softly to herself as she guessed that he probably didn’t know exactly what all the words meant, or what the damned thing would do when it was finally used.

She was his test project, his grand experiment. The one pet project all alchemists aspired to. His rebellion against the given order of things.

There were those who would have told her she was down right insane to put herself on the line like this. To madly give her very body into the hands of one of those dangerous creatures, madmen geniuses, those alchemists.

He softly asked what she was smiling about. She shook her head and closed her eyes and pillowed her head more comfortably on her arms. Just a little longer now.

And she might have admitted her own madness had anyone asked her… had she not already put more than her mere flesh in his hands from the very beginning.

And she wasn’t the only one.

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