FMA: Traveling at Godspeed
Title: Traveling at Godspeed
Rating: K
Characters: Hohenheim, Pinako
Summary: Their roles shift over the years but never their friendship.
A/N: This was originally conceived in a different format back in November, referenced in the WIP meme a few months ago, and has finally arrived in its current form. Manga-verse, taking place pre-series with no spoilers. Title taken from the New Pornographers song Sing Me Spanish Techno.
Dedication: For nebroadwe, in celebration of her birthday. May the next year be filled with much fic (and uh... other happy things.)
The hourglass spills its sand
If only to punish you
The clock read well past midnight, and though technically Pinako’s birthday had passed into the cold March night, that did nothing to temper the celebration going on in the bar. It seemed like half of Rush Valley had turned out to celebrate the twenty-third birthday of their Pantheress - somewhat to the chagrin of Van Hohenheim, who’d spent the better part of the year traveling and hadn’t realized just how extensive Pinako’s network of friends had become.
Pinako had clearly been thrilled to see him - he knew, because she’d registered approval instead of disappointment when he’d caught the wrench she’d tossed in greeting - which was the single redeeming factor in a night that found him crammed into the biggest high-backed wooden booth that the bar had to offer. It wasn’t like their other nights out; those had taken place when Pinako was first settling into the city and testing her ability to make both friends and business contacts, when she was still convincing people that she was more than a novelty, as a female engineer.
This was loud, and raucous, and though Pinako had declared she wasn’t sharing Hohenheim’s birthday gift with anyone but Hohenheim himself - because tobacco that fine was rare, and expensive, and she wasn’t letting all go to waste, damnit - he couldn’t shake that niggling feeling he always got when he spent too much time with people, especially young people.
Stranger. Outsider. Sore Thumb.
Pinako had no patience for these feelings, and in a way he was grateful for that. People were attracted to Hohenheim, and as much as he wanted to chalk it up to his quiet, genial nature, he knew the truth: he was a puzzle, one that was at first intriguing and later off-putting. At first they wanted to solve him - and once they saw the way he stood separate from time, they wanted to push him away.
Pinako was different. At some point, he’d earned her trust, and as a result she’d never once questioned why they’d celebrated her last three birthdays together without once acknowledging his.
Despite all of this - her unerring trust in him, her delight that he’d made it back to Rush Valley for her birthday, the way she welcomed him among a group of young vibrant people - he couldn’t help noticing: the way Pinako’s eyes traveled away from him constantly, never once losing the thread of conversation, always seeking out one person and reassuring herself of his presence before returning her attention fully. They always went to the same place - the same person, actually: the Rockbell boy, sitting in the corner opposite of them.
He’d lost count of the number of rounds they’d gone through when he finally made the connection; putting his glass down on the table, he interrupted Pinako’s outlandish tale of a fitting gone awry.
“You like him, don’t you?” He sounded perplexed, and when she turned her head to stare at him the look on her face mirrored his own.
After a moment the questioning look cracked into a lopsided grin. “I thought you were supposed to be smart.”
“I always meant that relatively,” Hohenheim muttered into his glass of ale. Part of him felt embarrassed for not figuring it out sooner; another part of him, however, remembered the countless unions he’d seen formed between people, and how eventually they all ran together - and how they had all ended in separation, one way or another.
Still… it seemed so important to Pinako. He glanced across the table once again, and this time, the young man in question was looking back at him. His eyes softened when they flickered towards Pinako for all of half of a second, and then he was glaring back at Hohenheim again, a definite crease between his eyebrows, and a scowl that was obvious even with his glass hovering in front of it.
There was that awkwardness again. Hohenheim looked down into his glass, then elbowed Pinako. “I don’t think he likes me very much.”
“You’re fine.” Pinako waved in a vague way, nearly knocking over the whole row of glasses stacked in front of her.
He shifted, uncomfortable in his seat. “He’s frowning at me,” Hohenheim insisted. He didn’t particularly care for whatever this boy thought, but it was clear that Pinako did. Better to head off any trouble. “Maybe I should move.”
“No,” Pinako insisted. “You’re fine.” Hohenheim grimaced, and she couldn’t help chuckling at his discomfort. “It’s just,” she finally explained, sounded apologetic, “he thinks you’re my father.”
Years later, Pinako beamed as she paced the floor, cradling a precious burden as she walked through the sunbeam cast onto the floorboards by the open curtains. The snow made everything seem brighter than it actually was, or maybe it was the occasion they were celebrating. Hohenheim didn’t think much about it as he smoked his pipe almost lazily, heartened by the smile on Pinako’s face even as the coils of nervousness that he’d been feeling for the last few months tightened in his belly.
Cold feet, he reassured himself, just like Trisha had. Entirely normal.
Pinako finally tore her eyes away from the babe and turned the full force of her grin onto Hohenheim. “You old dog.” her tone was gruff, and would have been half-convincing if not for the tears of joy brimming in her eyes. “You’ve made me a grandmother.”
Rating: K
Characters: Hohenheim, Pinako
Summary: Their roles shift over the years but never their friendship.
A/N: This was originally conceived in a different format back in November, referenced in the WIP meme a few months ago, and has finally arrived in its current form. Manga-verse, taking place pre-series with no spoilers. Title taken from the New Pornographers song Sing Me Spanish Techno.
Dedication: For nebroadwe, in celebration of her birthday. May the next year be filled with much fic (and uh... other happy things.)
The hourglass spills its sand
If only to punish you
The clock read well past midnight, and though technically Pinako’s birthday had passed into the cold March night, that did nothing to temper the celebration going on in the bar. It seemed like half of Rush Valley had turned out to celebrate the twenty-third birthday of their Pantheress - somewhat to the chagrin of Van Hohenheim, who’d spent the better part of the year traveling and hadn’t realized just how extensive Pinako’s network of friends had become.
Pinako had clearly been thrilled to see him - he knew, because she’d registered approval instead of disappointment when he’d caught the wrench she’d tossed in greeting - which was the single redeeming factor in a night that found him crammed into the biggest high-backed wooden booth that the bar had to offer. It wasn’t like their other nights out; those had taken place when Pinako was first settling into the city and testing her ability to make both friends and business contacts, when she was still convincing people that she was more than a novelty, as a female engineer.
This was loud, and raucous, and though Pinako had declared she wasn’t sharing Hohenheim’s birthday gift with anyone but Hohenheim himself - because tobacco that fine was rare, and expensive, and she wasn’t letting all go to waste, damnit - he couldn’t shake that niggling feeling he always got when he spent too much time with people, especially young people.
Stranger. Outsider. Sore Thumb.
Pinako had no patience for these feelings, and in a way he was grateful for that. People were attracted to Hohenheim, and as much as he wanted to chalk it up to his quiet, genial nature, he knew the truth: he was a puzzle, one that was at first intriguing and later off-putting. At first they wanted to solve him - and once they saw the way he stood separate from time, they wanted to push him away.
Pinako was different. At some point, he’d earned her trust, and as a result she’d never once questioned why they’d celebrated her last three birthdays together without once acknowledging his.
Despite all of this - her unerring trust in him, her delight that he’d made it back to Rush Valley for her birthday, the way she welcomed him among a group of young vibrant people - he couldn’t help noticing: the way Pinako’s eyes traveled away from him constantly, never once losing the thread of conversation, always seeking out one person and reassuring herself of his presence before returning her attention fully. They always went to the same place - the same person, actually: the Rockbell boy, sitting in the corner opposite of them.
He’d lost count of the number of rounds they’d gone through when he finally made the connection; putting his glass down on the table, he interrupted Pinako’s outlandish tale of a fitting gone awry.
“You like him, don’t you?” He sounded perplexed, and when she turned her head to stare at him the look on her face mirrored his own.
After a moment the questioning look cracked into a lopsided grin. “I thought you were supposed to be smart.”
“I always meant that relatively,” Hohenheim muttered into his glass of ale. Part of him felt embarrassed for not figuring it out sooner; another part of him, however, remembered the countless unions he’d seen formed between people, and how eventually they all ran together - and how they had all ended in separation, one way or another.
Still… it seemed so important to Pinako. He glanced across the table once again, and this time, the young man in question was looking back at him. His eyes softened when they flickered towards Pinako for all of half of a second, and then he was glaring back at Hohenheim again, a definite crease between his eyebrows, and a scowl that was obvious even with his glass hovering in front of it.
There was that awkwardness again. Hohenheim looked down into his glass, then elbowed Pinako. “I don’t think he likes me very much.”
“You’re fine.” Pinako waved in a vague way, nearly knocking over the whole row of glasses stacked in front of her.
He shifted, uncomfortable in his seat. “He’s frowning at me,” Hohenheim insisted. He didn’t particularly care for whatever this boy thought, but it was clear that Pinako did. Better to head off any trouble. “Maybe I should move.”
“No,” Pinako insisted. “You’re fine.” Hohenheim grimaced, and she couldn’t help chuckling at his discomfort. “It’s just,” she finally explained, sounded apologetic, “he thinks you’re my father.”
Years later, Pinako beamed as she paced the floor, cradling a precious burden as she walked through the sunbeam cast onto the floorboards by the open curtains. The snow made everything seem brighter than it actually was, or maybe it was the occasion they were celebrating. Hohenheim didn’t think much about it as he smoked his pipe almost lazily, heartened by the smile on Pinako’s face even as the coils of nervousness that he’d been feeling for the last few months tightened in his belly.
Cold feet, he reassured himself, just like Trisha had. Entirely normal.
Pinako finally tore her eyes away from the babe and turned the full force of her grin onto Hohenheim. “You old dog.” her tone was gruff, and would have been half-convincing if not for the tears of joy brimming in her eyes. “You’ve made me a grandmother.”