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daily writing (fluffy marshmallow crack of FMA pt 4, and final of this story)
This is the part where you all kill me and burn the body.
Alchemy and Other Lies, archived on AO3.
1072 words.
"What class do you have today?" Maes asked Alicia. "The drawing one, or--?"
"Class?" Roy asked. Surely that much time hadn't slipped away from him without his noticing. Alicia was too young for school, wasn't she?
"We're taking her to some art classes," Gracie said. "A chance for her to be creative, and meet some other children."
"It's pottery today," Alicia told her father and Roy, swinging her legs and making her chair squeak.
"She's making us presents," Gracie said. "We're not allowed to know what they are. Maybe you'd tell Uncle Roy, though?" she suggested to Alicia.
Alicia tugged Roy down and Roy bent, offering her his ear. "A picture frame for Papa," she whispered, "and a flower vase for Mama. I wanted to decorate it with little orchids but I can't," she informed him, aggrieved. "They're too complicated. They looked like squished bugs, so I had to just make boring flowers."
"I'm sure they'll be lovely nonetheless," Roy assured her.
Alicia smiled. "At least they can be purple," she said. She drew back; the confidence was over. "They have all kinds of different colors of glazes. The teacher did alchemy for it--there's one glaze that makes things all rainbow-y and everyone wants to use that one. I don't, though. I want to pick what things are what colors."
"Do you want to make something for Uncle Roy?" Gracie asked, sipping coffee.
"That's really not necessary--" Roy tried to say.
"Nonsense," said Gracie.
Alicia was looking at him measuringly. "Blue," she said. "You and Papa always wear blue."
"It's the uniform," Roy said.
"It's your color," Alicia said firmly. "I'll make you something blue."
The old rhyme, Something old, something new, something borrowed... flitted through Roy's head. He really had to stop letting them put him in this position. He looked up to see Maes grinning at him. He stifled a sigh and said, "I shall treasure it," to Alicia.
Roy helped Maes clear away and wash up. He thought the breakfast clean-up went fairly quickly between him and Maes, but as he was patting the skillet dry, Gracie pressed some money into Maes's pocket and said, "You'll have to hire a cab to get into work on time."
Roy set the skillet on the stove and checked his pocket watch, surprised to find she was right. He supposed it had been a full morning, with the Hughes family attempting to induct him and all. When he looked up, Gracie was kissing Maes on the lips. "You should tell him," she said softly, a breath away from him.
Tell me what? Roy wondered, certain he was the "him."
Maes said quietly back, "I don't want him to feel... beholden."
Beholden? Curiouser and curiouser. Roy pretended he hadn't heard and dried the plates.
Gracie's only reply was, "Love you," before she caught Alicia's hand and headed for the door.
Maes gave Roy a look before he went to call for a cab, worried and anxious. Roy did his best to look calm and wondered what the hell Gracie wanted Maes to tell him. He almost thought Maes wasn't going to tell him at all, as they rode the entire way downtown in silence, but just before they arrived Maes opened the cab door, leaned out, and called up to the driver to make the block a few times. The driver said something Roy didn't catch and the horses trotted on.
"The thing is," said Maes, "I don't know if you've ever done the math, but--you remember the week you got back from Risenbul?"
Roy closed his eyes. That week came back vividly, bodies twined, desperate and needy. He'd just seen an attempted resurrection. He couldn't say which was more shocking, that broken thing wet and raw on the floor, or the boy with half his limbs gone--but alive. He'd needed Maes and Gracie both, then, with their whole bodies pressed against him to keep him sane.
That had been the spring. How long after--how late in winter--
"Gracie says she thinks the chances are about fifty-fifty," Maes interrupted his calculations.
"I remember that week better than that," Roy said acidly.
"I know, so do I," said Maes with a rueful smile. "I think she said that for the sake of my ego."
Always, always, Maes in him, him in Gracie, their arms and legs around him like a cage for a madman, rocking slowly, keeping him bound to the earth. Roy thought about that word Maes had used, beholden. Maes hadn't meant the way they held him; they freely gave him that pressure, that reassurance, as often as he dared to ask for it.
Maes seemed to be waiting for something. He was watching Roy carefully, looking increasingly concerned. Roy said, "Thank you for telling me." He found he meant it.
Maes engulfed him in a long, hard hug, and kissed him after that. "You should come over more," he said, and then, "Not that you should feel that you ought to--" and that was what he'd meant by beholden. Roy preferred to think of it the other way.
"I will," said Roy.
"Good," Maes said firmly.
Later, at his desk, Roy had trouble concentrating on the papers Hawkeye set in front of him. He was counting in his head, how soon would be too soon, how often too often. Tonight, he thought, would it be too soon? Would two nights in a row be too often?
"Is something the matter, sir?" Hawkeye asked him sharply, to bring his attention back to his paperwork. She was leaning over him, one hand on the back of his chair, the other on corner of his desk.
Roy looked up her. He didn't know what possessed him to say it, but it slipped out of him anyway. "I've just been told I have a daughter."
Hawkeye gawked for a moment, then stood stiffly, hands behind her back. "Congratulations, sir," she said. "How is she?"
Roy smiled. "She's beautiful."
And he'd thought he was cursed, fated to create only death. He'd never thought he could make anything so beautiful, but she was. Alicia Hughes, his daughter and Gracie's and Maes's, was beautiful.
Alchemy and Other Lies, archived on AO3.
1072 words.
"What class do you have today?" Maes asked Alicia. "The drawing one, or--?"
"Class?" Roy asked. Surely that much time hadn't slipped away from him without his noticing. Alicia was too young for school, wasn't she?
"We're taking her to some art classes," Gracie said. "A chance for her to be creative, and meet some other children."
"It's pottery today," Alicia told her father and Roy, swinging her legs and making her chair squeak.
"She's making us presents," Gracie said. "We're not allowed to know what they are. Maybe you'd tell Uncle Roy, though?" she suggested to Alicia.
Alicia tugged Roy down and Roy bent, offering her his ear. "A picture frame for Papa," she whispered, "and a flower vase for Mama. I wanted to decorate it with little orchids but I can't," she informed him, aggrieved. "They're too complicated. They looked like squished bugs, so I had to just make boring flowers."
"I'm sure they'll be lovely nonetheless," Roy assured her.
Alicia smiled. "At least they can be purple," she said. She drew back; the confidence was over. "They have all kinds of different colors of glazes. The teacher did alchemy for it--there's one glaze that makes things all rainbow-y and everyone wants to use that one. I don't, though. I want to pick what things are what colors."
"Do you want to make something for Uncle Roy?" Gracie asked, sipping coffee.
"That's really not necessary--" Roy tried to say.
"Nonsense," said Gracie.
Alicia was looking at him measuringly. "Blue," she said. "You and Papa always wear blue."
"It's the uniform," Roy said.
"It's your color," Alicia said firmly. "I'll make you something blue."
The old rhyme, Something old, something new, something borrowed... flitted through Roy's head. He really had to stop letting them put him in this position. He looked up to see Maes grinning at him. He stifled a sigh and said, "I shall treasure it," to Alicia.
Roy helped Maes clear away and wash up. He thought the breakfast clean-up went fairly quickly between him and Maes, but as he was patting the skillet dry, Gracie pressed some money into Maes's pocket and said, "You'll have to hire a cab to get into work on time."
Roy set the skillet on the stove and checked his pocket watch, surprised to find she was right. He supposed it had been a full morning, with the Hughes family attempting to induct him and all. When he looked up, Gracie was kissing Maes on the lips. "You should tell him," she said softly, a breath away from him.
Tell me what? Roy wondered, certain he was the "him."
Maes said quietly back, "I don't want him to feel... beholden."
Beholden? Curiouser and curiouser. Roy pretended he hadn't heard and dried the plates.
Gracie's only reply was, "Love you," before she caught Alicia's hand and headed for the door.
Maes gave Roy a look before he went to call for a cab, worried and anxious. Roy did his best to look calm and wondered what the hell Gracie wanted Maes to tell him. He almost thought Maes wasn't going to tell him at all, as they rode the entire way downtown in silence, but just before they arrived Maes opened the cab door, leaned out, and called up to the driver to make the block a few times. The driver said something Roy didn't catch and the horses trotted on.
"The thing is," said Maes, "I don't know if you've ever done the math, but--you remember the week you got back from Risenbul?"
Roy closed his eyes. That week came back vividly, bodies twined, desperate and needy. He'd just seen an attempted resurrection. He couldn't say which was more shocking, that broken thing wet and raw on the floor, or the boy with half his limbs gone--but alive. He'd needed Maes and Gracie both, then, with their whole bodies pressed against him to keep him sane.
That had been the spring. How long after--how late in winter--
"Gracie says she thinks the chances are about fifty-fifty," Maes interrupted his calculations.
"I remember that week better than that," Roy said acidly.
"I know, so do I," said Maes with a rueful smile. "I think she said that for the sake of my ego."
Always, always, Maes in him, him in Gracie, their arms and legs around him like a cage for a madman, rocking slowly, keeping him bound to the earth. Roy thought about that word Maes had used, beholden. Maes hadn't meant the way they held him; they freely gave him that pressure, that reassurance, as often as he dared to ask for it.
Maes seemed to be waiting for something. He was watching Roy carefully, looking increasingly concerned. Roy said, "Thank you for telling me." He found he meant it.
Maes engulfed him in a long, hard hug, and kissed him after that. "You should come over more," he said, and then, "Not that you should feel that you ought to--" and that was what he'd meant by beholden. Roy preferred to think of it the other way.
"I will," said Roy.
"Good," Maes said firmly.
Later, at his desk, Roy had trouble concentrating on the papers Hawkeye set in front of him. He was counting in his head, how soon would be too soon, how often too often. Tonight, he thought, would it be too soon? Would two nights in a row be too often?
"Is something the matter, sir?" Hawkeye asked him sharply, to bring his attention back to his paperwork. She was leaning over him, one hand on the back of his chair, the other on corner of his desk.
Roy looked up her. He didn't know what possessed him to say it, but it slipped out of him anyway. "I've just been told I have a daughter."
Hawkeye gawked for a moment, then stood stiffly, hands behind her back. "Congratulations, sir," she said. "How is she?"
Roy smiled. "She's beautiful."
And he'd thought he was cursed, fated to create only death. He'd never thought he could make anything so beautiful, but she was. Alicia Hughes, his daughter and Gracie's and Maes's, was beautiful.