Categories > Anime/Manga > Full Metal Alchemist > Statue
Grief did not so much transform Roy Mustang as it coated him in marble. He must have found a statue of himself somewhere, painted it the appropriate colors, and climbed into it.
She wanted to open up the statue, wrench him out of it, pull him into her arms, and kiss his pain away, but the rules they'd both bound themselves with prevailed even in the face of this sorrow. She stood at his side. It was all she could do.
He looked up from the new grave.
"--it's starting to rain."
She could have told him that the sky was the most perfect blue she had seen in years, but in this as in so many other matters, she held her tongue.
---
It was not until two days after the funeral that the statue cracked.
For those two days, he went about his work as usual, but with his eyes as dark and expressionless as inkwells. Hawkeye watched him closely, but the closest he came to breaking were the few moments where he'd pause. Then he'd start moving again, go back to work, and all would seem well.
Then, on the second night, he calmly finished filing the last paper on his desk and walked out of the office. It was cool that night, and he'd left his coat behind. Hawkeye picked it up and went outside to call him back to get it.
He was standing just outside the building, shivering slightly, staring glassily off into the distance. He didn't seem to notice as she approached.
"Colonel," she said. "Your coat..."
He turned his head very slightly, his eyes not quite connecting with hers. "Riza, I--"
The sound of her name on his lips stopped her. He looked numbly startled for a moment, but he walked over to take his coat from her anyway. He almost made it, but then his hands caught on hers as he reached for his coat, and suddenly he was holding on almost bone-crushingly tight as he sank to his knees.
She fell with him, thinking the whole time of how warm his hands were despite the cold air around them. She wondered if he was feverish, or if burning like this was normal. It had been a long time since she'd touched another human being's bare skin.
His hands moved up to her arms and clenched down there, as if she were the last thing keeping him from falling off the cliffside. She put her hands on his waist and pulled him to her, and he cried without making a sound.
She bent her mouth to his hair and kissed the top of his head, as if she could impart some comfort that way. Then she cradled him to her until the tears stopped.
She wanted to open up the statue, wrench him out of it, pull him into her arms, and kiss his pain away, but the rules they'd both bound themselves with prevailed even in the face of this sorrow. She stood at his side. It was all she could do.
He looked up from the new grave.
"--it's starting to rain."
She could have told him that the sky was the most perfect blue she had seen in years, but in this as in so many other matters, she held her tongue.
---
It was not until two days after the funeral that the statue cracked.
For those two days, he went about his work as usual, but with his eyes as dark and expressionless as inkwells. Hawkeye watched him closely, but the closest he came to breaking were the few moments where he'd pause. Then he'd start moving again, go back to work, and all would seem well.
Then, on the second night, he calmly finished filing the last paper on his desk and walked out of the office. It was cool that night, and he'd left his coat behind. Hawkeye picked it up and went outside to call him back to get it.
He was standing just outside the building, shivering slightly, staring glassily off into the distance. He didn't seem to notice as she approached.
"Colonel," she said. "Your coat..."
He turned his head very slightly, his eyes not quite connecting with hers. "Riza, I--"
The sound of her name on his lips stopped her. He looked numbly startled for a moment, but he walked over to take his coat from her anyway. He almost made it, but then his hands caught on hers as he reached for his coat, and suddenly he was holding on almost bone-crushingly tight as he sank to his knees.
She fell with him, thinking the whole time of how warm his hands were despite the cold air around them. She wondered if he was feverish, or if burning like this was normal. It had been a long time since she'd touched another human being's bare skin.
His hands moved up to her arms and clenched down there, as if she were the last thing keeping him from falling off the cliffside. She put her hands on his waist and pulled him to her, and he cried without making a sound.
She bent her mouth to his hair and kissed the top of his head, as if she could impart some comfort that way. Then she cradled him to her until the tears stopped.
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