c-o-n-flagration:

convictionofsteel:

Eyelids shuttered over olive eyes as scarred fingers twisted in the dark black of his undershirt; how he had missed this, that simple feeling of her skin touching his, of such proximity he’d come to long for. He felt a strange aching in his chest, and a painful thickness in his throat, as though he were attempting in vain to swallow rocks.

He’d thought her dead, and yet…

She lived.

She lived and she breathed and…

Basque’s breath caught in his throat, a ragged, choking gasp of air that lasted all of a second before he coughed and straightened, a hand moving up to cover his mouth even as he turned his back to her.

He didn’t wish for her to see him like this.

“Jacob is… Fine. He… He asks about you frequently.”

She nodded her head slowly, only to look up in sharp protest when his back was suddenly facing her, her gaze meeting the bronze-fleshed back of his bald head. For a moment, her eyes traced the lines of his back, wondering if there had been any change to the maps of scars that lay there; she still knew every one, every story, every location…

“Well, if we ever make it home tonight, I’ll be sure to tell him exactly where I’ve been.”

Arline sighed sharply, and she gave a start; whether it was to grab for him or place her hand on him, she did not know, for the action was interrupted by her better thought, and she simply folded her hands behind her back, her body giving a good shudder at the lack of his touch.

He had coughed, and his voice grew low. He was hiding emotion from her; damn, if he had forgotten how much she utterly detested that…

“Basque, I didn’t mean to harm you by coming here. I would have waited for a better time, had I not already been ridden with guilt. It wasn’t my choice not to contact you; I couldn’t. You know better than anybody in this building that I would have made it clear I was not dead, if I could have.”

Her lips remained parted, though her voice cracked and faded away. What could she say? She had hurt him, hurt their child. She hadn’t done a single thing to try and contact them, or smuggle herself out… no matter if she would have died trying; what was that assumption to a solider like her? No, no she should have done something.

“Basque, I can understand, love, if this has confused you in any way… I have yet to make sense of any of it either. But I swear, if I had been able to tell you where I was, of my health… I would have.”

” I know.” He bit out, eyelids squeezing shut over pained green. A hand pressed to his forehead, thumb flat against the bridge of his nose in the hopes to stave off the headache building with every word spoken. His lungs felt tight, his throat raw, and he didn’t want to look at her.

” I know.” Repeated, his words were harsher, and as he twisted around, the shadows in his eyes had vanished, replaced by a hard clarity brought on by prolonged sorrow.

By God, he knew, and yet that doesn’t make it any less hard to bear. For two years he had lived a half life, outwardly moving on for his son’s sake, but forever emotionally stuck with her, his heart tied to hers, and while he’d thought her heartbeat silent forever…

He’d been hollow, empty.

She had been his light, his purpose, and without her…

It had been hard, but he had survived, because that was what he did. Basque Grand had always survived, and he wouldn’t let a death change that. He wouldn’t admit to the world that she had changed him.

And now she was back, and…

She wasn’t dead, and that was all that mattered.

” I’m not- I am not confused, Arline.” He murmured, eyes flickering over her; the fact that he hadn’t been around to protect her, that she’d been injured… He swallowed again and then sighed softly. ” After years of expecting- of hoping… that you would walk through those doors once more, watching you actually do so it… shocking.”

c-o-n-flagration:

convictionofsteel:

One of the first things that a soldier learned in basic training was gun maintenance. It seemed irrelevant, trivial to their purpose for having signed up in the first place, but it served an important lesson. If ones gun was dirty, it could misfire, harming you or your soldiers. If it was blocked with gunpower and dirt, it could explode, or not go off at all.

Many soldiers took their guns for granted, and as a result, died.

It was similar with those labeled State Alchemist.

A human weapon, as vulnerable to weakness as any other.

Arline hadn’t died.

She’d merely been lost, and he had abandoned her.

Basque had stopped looking when it became far too painful to come home every night and have nothing to show for his efforts, when he needed to be a father to his son, and not a fading fixture. He’d thought himself moving on, but in reality…

He hadn’t been moving at all.

Her palm was a warm, achingly familiar weight against his chest and he bowed his head, throat thick with the sudden swarm of emotion he was unused to feeling. She was alive, she was whole.

She was here.

He swallowed dryly, as though he were attempting to choke down rocks, and wen he spoke, his voice was stiff, but quiet.

” Have you been tended by a doctor?”

“Have I been—?”

Arline nearly laughed; a weak laugh, one that barely escaped her throat, but a laugh still. Pushing her hair back with finality, she tightened her fingers against his chest, shaking her head as if a mother, weary of her excited child’s muddy shoes and dopey grin.

“Oh, Basque… yes, I have had medical attention, I assure you. Shall I delight you in the stories of my newer scars later?” 

Her voice trailed off into a hum, and she quietly spread her hand over his chest, running it over the fabric of his uniform. It was … wonderful, to touch him again. To feel something other than dirt, peat moss, and chalk. To feel the warmth of a human’s body, and not that of a blistering, abusive inferno. Her heart throbbed in her chest, and she felt her ribs ache.

Straightening herself, Arline glanced up, her blue-grey eyes fixated on the stony face of the man she held so dear to her old, weary heart. Patting his chest smartly, she turned about, glancing towards the lunchbag she had prepared.

“I don’t mean to act as if nothing has happened, but… I would ask you not to treat me with fragility. I’m fine, if not a little shaken. I am back at work, and back with the two important men in my life.

“On that note…” She turned towards Basque again, her lips dry as she drew her tongue against them. “How is Jacob?”

Eyelids shuttered over olive eyes as scarred fingers twisted in the dark black of his undershirt; how he had missed this, that simple feeling of her skin touching his, of such proximity he’d come to long for. He felt a strange aching in his chest, and a painful thickness in his throat, as though he were attempting in vain to swallow rocks.

He’d thought her dead, and yet…

She lived.

She lived and she breathed and…

Basque’s breath caught in his throat, a ragged, choking gasp of air that lasted all of a second before he coughed and straightened, a hand moving up to cover his mouth even as he turned his back to her.

He didn’t wish for her to see him like this.

“Jacob is… Fine. He… He asks about you frequently.”

c-o-n-flagration:

One thin brow raised, but Arline could understand the disbelief that wavered in his voice. She had been pronounced ‘missing’, ‘dead’, ‘MIA’. There had been no doubt of her death, no doubt of her disappearance. If she hadn’t been killed, she would eventually be dead, what with the lack of any resource on her when she had so ‘vanished’.

“Basque… I couldn’t explain in a sentence what happened to me; it is far too complicated.”

She placed the paper bag down, running her scarred fingers through her thin brown hair. The burns on her body had snaked over almost every inch of flesh, claiming pale skin with twisted, puckered white scars and singed, blackened crisps. Shrapnel had laid waste to her midsection, bullets ripped up her shoulder. To hide this all beneath cloth and coat was what she seemed to be most skilled at.

“When I was stationed in Aerugo, I was forced to the frontline of their fight. Aerugeans… well, they seemed to favor explosives, and had littered mines over their claimed ‘no-man’s land’. Ignorance took hold of my men, and they figured - since they had an Alchemist on their side - they could not lose. When they bolted out into the open, I followed - fool I am - and a mine was set off.

“The explosion took out four of my nine squadsmen, and knocked the life from me. I had a faint pulse, literally no breath; my remaining men figured me dead, and left my body there in fear. I awoke hours later, among rubble and corpses, and scrambled for shelter; I couldn’t remember where I was, only that I had to move.”

She swallowed thickly, regaining her breath. Her chest rose and fell slowly, and she rolled her neck about.

“I was unable to get leave from Aerugo, no matter where I went or who I pretended to be. They had closed off the train stations, and would not allow anyone in or out of Amestris. No Aerugean citizen would smuggle out another individual, no matter who they were. No letters were sent out of the country, and any that went through the local mail were read and distrusted; I was only just granted leave with the battle’s end.

“I couldn’t return to the military camps; I learned only later they had left, and the camp I had stayed at was ransacked. I had received no information of their new location; I was thought to be ‘missing’, or dead…”

The older woman’s shoulders slouched, and she pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking away the shivering of shellshock. Just barely, she reached out and pressed her palm to the Brigadier General’s chest, her heart thudding dully. 

“I’m sorry I made no further attempt to contact you, or anyone. I just returned a day or so ago… I had to tend to a few things.”

One of the first things that a soldier learned in basic training was gun maintenance. It seemed irrelevant, trivial to their purpose for having signed up in the first place, but it served an important lesson. If ones gun was dirty, it could misfire, harming you or your soldiers. If it was blocked with gunpower and dirt, it could explode, or not go off at all.

Many soldiers took their guns for granted, and as a result, died.

It was similar with those labeled State Alchemist.

A human weapon, as vulnerable to weakness as any other.

Arline hadn’t died.

She’d merely been lost, and he had abandoned her.

Basque had stopped looking when it became far too painful to come home every night and have nothing to show for his efforts, when he needed to be a father to his son, and not a fading fixture. He’d thought himself moving on, but in reality…

He hadn’t been moving at all.

Her palm was a warm, achingly familiar weight against his chest and he bowed his head, throat thick with the sudden swarm of emotion he was unused to feeling. She was alive, she was whole.

She was here.

He swallowed dryly, as though he were attempting to choke down rocks, and wen he spoke, his voice was stiff, but quiet.

” Have you been tended by a doctor?”

brodins:

if your otp doesn’t make you want to rip your heart out then you aren’t doing it right

(Source: norsegays)

hisgoldenchild:

• 
  red-lotus-alchemist started following you
• 
  breda-the-rook started following you 

James peered at the two men, wearing the familar blue cotton of the soliders’ uniforms. “You’re in the military!” The child exclaimed, as if the fact weren’t obvious. “Do you know Aunt Riza and Uncle Roy?”