Given Remains
Title: Given Remains
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Pairing: Greed/Roy
Words: 1,245
Rating: G
Warning: Slight Alternate Timeline
Summary: Sometimes to get something, one has to have patience.
There were many soldiers that were cast away as the war cycled through, a decent portion turning into pets, experiments, or delegated to death without a second thought. Others, surprisingly not the majority, were more fortunate, going home to their families, and those were the ones that were perhaps the most unlucky in the grand scheme of things. They were given a pat on the back, maybe a metal for genocide, and then they were cut loose to drift on the wind until the next battle, and sometimes, if they'd been injured badly enough, for the rest of their lives.
They weren't given any chances to recover, honestly given a way to get loose from the hair trigger that could lead to them accidentally killing a loved one who had made the mistake of trying to wake them in the morning or from a nap by the fire. They were the ones that were trapped in the guilt and the lack of understanding as to what the war had been for. They were the ones left to wonder why they had even needed to kill in the first place, and they were the ones that, ultimately, most despised their lives and themselves for things they could not change. Even if they could, in many instances they would not, because they were afraid of what that change might bring.
Usually Greed preferred to collect the type that never got to go home, not the dead of course, but the pets, the experiments, that type was something else entirely. They were sharp edges and unbroken lines. They were the ones that were never given a chance to back down from the edge, and would be less likely to die because of maladjusted hair trigger reactions. They would always need them, so that outlook would never be out of place. They were the ones that were exploited, and the ones that nobody else wanted. They would not be missed, and ultimately that was for the best, because even if no one else wanted them, he did.
He liked the ones that could keep secrets most especially. Often those were the ones that had been cast aside, who had become the secret as they were changed irrefutably for better or worse. They were almost always unique once they hit that point, and Greed always had been fond of things that nobody else realized the worth of. Usually it was too late if someone did, and he wasn't the type to give trinkets back to their original owners.
Thus it was that he lurked on the edges of the war, the labs, the places where people would come and go, be destroyed and recreated. He had sensed an end nearing, and he made sure to keep enough distance that his freedom wasn't liable to be ripped asunder. It was slow, ever more so than if he had boldly strode into the labs and taken what he wanted, but it was worth the effort. One day he even saw something he wanted that he had to let go.
It was an alchemist, of course. They always had been irresistible in their own way, specialties odd or twisted, rarely sure in anything but always unique even when lacking differences. The one in particular that caught his attention had a love of fire.
He wasn't the only one, of course, alchemists having been sent en masse to make an end of the killing that had been ripping its way up and down along the country, but he'd still had a chance at that one, and he'd taken it as it came to him. He knew the man wasn't one he would be able to keep, not with the killing finally coming to a close, but he would at least leave an impression, a mark that could say that this person had cross his path and was forever changed by the touch of Greed.
Not everything was immediate gratification, even if he did want everything.
The day of the opportunity came after the fighting had been called to a halt. Weeks after he had seen the man in the first place actually, and he almost walked by him before realizing who he'd seen. He did, of course, know his name, he took care of checking on his interests. The glimpse was enough for him to trail the man at a discrete distance, curious as to what it was he was doing during his stopover between the hell of war and hell of normal life.
When all he did was move further from people, he'd taken it as an engraved invitation to approach, which he, being who he was, took with all graciousness. The alchemist still ended up startled by his presence in spite of his never having tried to hide.
The conversation started simply, with a question.
"Looking for something?"
Surprisingly for him though, the question wasn't one he had given. "Me? Always. You can never find anything if you stop looking, now can you? What about you? Are you looking for something out here?"
"I meant from me actually." A silence drew out before the other man collected himself, words quiet and ambiguous when he continued, apparently realizing the other man was still waiting on some sort of answer. "I'm not looking for anything. I've found enough."
"Oh? What did you find?" Dark eyes cut to him at the question, though all he offered in return was an innocently curious look.
"Death. Destruction. It isn't worth looking anymore."
"Really? I've always been in the mind that there is always something worth looking for. How did you come to your epiphany? Was there an accident?"
"No. I'm a soldier actually, a State Alchemist. I was in the war."
"You know, I've never quite been able to figure out what the war was for. Was it for greed? To get the land from the natives?"
"No. There were other reasons than that, deeper ones."
"There were? What were they?"
At that point there was another pause, and he watched a sense of almost disbelief cross the man's face as he tried in vain to remember the answer. "I don't know."
"You never asked?"
"There was never a reason to."
"But you killed people, right? You have no idea why?"
"No."
"Maybe, then, you should find out. It would benefit you."
"How? What reason do you have to care about my place in the scheme of things?"
He was the quiet party this time, and after a long bout of reflection, he flashed his sharp toothed smile. "I take care of all worst the mistakes the war caused, so why not you?"
"Mistakes?"
"If you look in the darkest places, I'm sure you'll find out."
He'd frowned, but that was fine. Less so was the fact he hadn't pursued the point. "What's your name?"
"Mine? I'm just Greed." Neither side had anything else to say, at least that the alchemist was willing to admit to. "I hope you do something with what I've said."
"Why?" Such a confused voice that had been… but that had been somewhat his intention.
"Because it's worth it."
Deliberately dropping a sheet with a clue, just enough to get the man looking, he walked away. Now he just had to wait and see if the man found his way back to him. Perhaps then it wouldn't be stupid to try to keep him like it was now.
Only time would tell.
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Pairing: Greed/Roy
Words: 1,245
Rating: G
Warning: Slight Alternate Timeline
Summary: Sometimes to get something, one has to have patience.
There were many soldiers that were cast away as the war cycled through, a decent portion turning into pets, experiments, or delegated to death without a second thought. Others, surprisingly not the majority, were more fortunate, going home to their families, and those were the ones that were perhaps the most unlucky in the grand scheme of things. They were given a pat on the back, maybe a metal for genocide, and then they were cut loose to drift on the wind until the next battle, and sometimes, if they'd been injured badly enough, for the rest of their lives.
They weren't given any chances to recover, honestly given a way to get loose from the hair trigger that could lead to them accidentally killing a loved one who had made the mistake of trying to wake them in the morning or from a nap by the fire. They were the ones that were trapped in the guilt and the lack of understanding as to what the war had been for. They were the ones left to wonder why they had even needed to kill in the first place, and they were the ones that, ultimately, most despised their lives and themselves for things they could not change. Even if they could, in many instances they would not, because they were afraid of what that change might bring.
Usually Greed preferred to collect the type that never got to go home, not the dead of course, but the pets, the experiments, that type was something else entirely. They were sharp edges and unbroken lines. They were the ones that were never given a chance to back down from the edge, and would be less likely to die because of maladjusted hair trigger reactions. They would always need them, so that outlook would never be out of place. They were the ones that were exploited, and the ones that nobody else wanted. They would not be missed, and ultimately that was for the best, because even if no one else wanted them, he did.
He liked the ones that could keep secrets most especially. Often those were the ones that had been cast aside, who had become the secret as they were changed irrefutably for better or worse. They were almost always unique once they hit that point, and Greed always had been fond of things that nobody else realized the worth of. Usually it was too late if someone did, and he wasn't the type to give trinkets back to their original owners.
Thus it was that he lurked on the edges of the war, the labs, the places where people would come and go, be destroyed and recreated. He had sensed an end nearing, and he made sure to keep enough distance that his freedom wasn't liable to be ripped asunder. It was slow, ever more so than if he had boldly strode into the labs and taken what he wanted, but it was worth the effort. One day he even saw something he wanted that he had to let go.
It was an alchemist, of course. They always had been irresistible in their own way, specialties odd or twisted, rarely sure in anything but always unique even when lacking differences. The one in particular that caught his attention had a love of fire.
He wasn't the only one, of course, alchemists having been sent en masse to make an end of the killing that had been ripping its way up and down along the country, but he'd still had a chance at that one, and he'd taken it as it came to him. He knew the man wasn't one he would be able to keep, not with the killing finally coming to a close, but he would at least leave an impression, a mark that could say that this person had cross his path and was forever changed by the touch of Greed.
Not everything was immediate gratification, even if he did want everything.
The day of the opportunity came after the fighting had been called to a halt. Weeks after he had seen the man in the first place actually, and he almost walked by him before realizing who he'd seen. He did, of course, know his name, he took care of checking on his interests. The glimpse was enough for him to trail the man at a discrete distance, curious as to what it was he was doing during his stopover between the hell of war and hell of normal life.
When all he did was move further from people, he'd taken it as an engraved invitation to approach, which he, being who he was, took with all graciousness. The alchemist still ended up startled by his presence in spite of his never having tried to hide.
The conversation started simply, with a question.
"Looking for something?"
Surprisingly for him though, the question wasn't one he had given. "Me? Always. You can never find anything if you stop looking, now can you? What about you? Are you looking for something out here?"
"I meant from me actually." A silence drew out before the other man collected himself, words quiet and ambiguous when he continued, apparently realizing the other man was still waiting on some sort of answer. "I'm not looking for anything. I've found enough."
"Oh? What did you find?" Dark eyes cut to him at the question, though all he offered in return was an innocently curious look.
"Death. Destruction. It isn't worth looking anymore."
"Really? I've always been in the mind that there is always something worth looking for. How did you come to your epiphany? Was there an accident?"
"No. I'm a soldier actually, a State Alchemist. I was in the war."
"You know, I've never quite been able to figure out what the war was for. Was it for greed? To get the land from the natives?"
"No. There were other reasons than that, deeper ones."
"There were? What were they?"
At that point there was another pause, and he watched a sense of almost disbelief cross the man's face as he tried in vain to remember the answer. "I don't know."
"You never asked?"
"There was never a reason to."
"But you killed people, right? You have no idea why?"
"No."
"Maybe, then, you should find out. It would benefit you."
"How? What reason do you have to care about my place in the scheme of things?"
He was the quiet party this time, and after a long bout of reflection, he flashed his sharp toothed smile. "I take care of all worst the mistakes the war caused, so why not you?"
"Mistakes?"
"If you look in the darkest places, I'm sure you'll find out."
He'd frowned, but that was fine. Less so was the fact he hadn't pursued the point. "What's your name?"
"Mine? I'm just Greed." Neither side had anything else to say, at least that the alchemist was willing to admit to. "I hope you do something with what I've said."
"Why?" Such a confused voice that had been… but that had been somewhat his intention.
"Because it's worth it."
Deliberately dropping a sheet with a clue, just enough to get the man looking, he walked away. Now he just had to wait and see if the man found his way back to him. Perhaps then it wouldn't be stupid to try to keep him like it was now.
Only time would tell.