Northern Solitude
Focusing her gaze on the plates between them, Alex let her somber expression sit. A soft sigh brought pause to a moment or two of silence, and she pulled his dish reluctantly toward her side of the table. Lifting and tilting the plate to scoop his eggs ontop of hers, she used the time to think.
“No, Corporal,” she settled. “Not yet, at least.”
The cabin seemed so quiet, now. With nothing but their intermittent conversation and the clatter of kitchenware to contrast the cold winds outside, it seemed suddenly much emptier than it had before. They weren’t fighting, and so the frustration Alex carried had begun to fade – but as it left, it only left behind a sadness, an atmosphere that hung too heavy, seeping into skin and bone and weighing down all it touched.
It felt… slow. Like this was a place where time came to end. Where people came to die.
Several moments passed, where Alex did nothing but stare as her fork pushed the eggs around on her plate. Her lips pursed, tighter, and tighter, and eventually, she closed her eyes and slowly stood, releasing a breath through her nose.
“It’s hard, I guess,” she murmured, picking up both plates and carrying them to the kitchen, to sit the empty one by the sink and leave the now cold eggs on the counter, for later. Rations were rations, even if both of them had lost their appetites.
“It’s your right to refuse my help, but if I left it at that, I think that would be my fault,” she said, making as little noise as she could while moving around the kitchen, finding and pouring herself a drink of water.
The water, finally, washed away all that was left of the blood from her throat. Two full glasses worth disappeared, before she poured one just to sip from, and let it sit on the counter, her hands cupped around it, elbows on the counter’s edge. Gazing down into it, her reflection rippled with every little movement. She breathed slow.
“I think…” she began, just loud enough for him to hear, where he was. “I think, when you’re in a position like this, where it seems like… like you know death more intimately than most others, like – it’s let you go once before, or you’re waiting for it now, or– whatever. I think there’s a reason it doesn’t take you. I think there’s a purpose to that; not just a twist of fate, or a cruel joke.
“I think it means there’s something left for you. Not like– ‘you still have work to do,’ necessarily, but. Like this isn’t it. There’s more, just around the corner; something that will give a reason to why you aren’t dead. Something you couldn’t even imagine, for you to see and go, ‘oh, this was it, this is what I was staying alive for.’”
The snow outside buffeted the walls, and for a moment or two, she closed her eyes just to listen. Tilting her head forward, she ran a hand through her hair, and sighed, holding her head up with that hand. She lifted her water the short distance to her lips.
“Or,” she muttered around the rim of her glass, “I could stop waxing poetic and we could play cards.”
Roy found it difficult to understand why Alex refused to give up on him. Was she that dedicated to the job? Or did it go deeper than that? Surely her old crush held no merit. If anything, he thought he put out any wayward embers. Who could carry a torch for him now? The flame alchemist had become a ghost who lacked any of his former self’s charisma.
He watched Alex move towards the sink, not moving a muscle from his chair. The thought of patrol duty scratched at the back of his mind, but he pushed the thought aside. Inclement weather sometimes resulted in cancellations. Hardly anything happened up here either, which made his job fruitless most of the time. The military preferred for him to file paperwork on snow days, and there was still plenty waiting for him back on the desk in his bedroom. But, like always, that option held no appeal.
“A reason, huh?” Roy echoed, taking in what Alex had to say. She was always thinking. He admired and respected that. What could his reason be? Waiting for Fullmetal’s return? As pessimistic as he was these days, he truly didn’t want to believe the young alchemist was dead. What lied beyond the gate was mysterious. He hung onto the ideas of multiverse theories from books in an attempt to spare him from more pain and guilt. The attempt most often resulted in failure, but believing in something other than Fullmetal’s death provided him with the smallest bit of solace. Perhaps he could look beyond death for himself, too. Maybe Alex had a point.
In that moment, he tried to look beyond himself. He noticed how tired Alex seemed as she drank the water. Did he drain the life from her? Spending time with him must have been taxing. But he never asked her to come. She took this job on her own accord. He frowned, trying to will himself free of sympathy. He wanted to think of Alex as a threat, as her successfully doing her job meant taking him away from all he knew in Northern Amestris. Her success likely meant putting back on the ignition gloves, and Roy refused to reprise his role of the monster in such an active way.
“That’s the second time you’ve brought up those cards,” Roy said, deciding to avoid the deep conversation for the time being. A distraction seemed like it could do both of them a world of good. He stood. “They’re probably somewhere in the bedroom. Either in the bureau or the desk drawer.” Pushing his chair in, he padded out of the kitchen and towards his bedroom to begin the search.
