Fic - Intelligence - [FullMetal Alchemist: Hughes-centric]
Fandom: FullMetal Alchemist
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: SPOILERS for Ep. 25 of the anime, Ch… something for the manga. That said, obviously a death-fic.
It's about what Hughes was thinking about. Hopefully a new take on things, but one I couldn't help but see happening.
Subject to re-writing, because I'm not too happy with it...
Intelligence
His job was to think.
Intelligence officer, he was called. Labelled. So he had to think. It was his job to do so, to weed out possible problems and send others to take care of them. To find a killer and send his men to be killed by him.
He was never supposed to have to fight, but he was trained for it. Redundant lessons in guns. His favourite weapons, his knives. Because he knew, maybe subconsciously, that the day would come for close-range fighting. Because he knew he could never really handle a gun without seeing the wrong faces on the wrong end of the barrel. At least a knife offered him more control than a bullet.
Thinking could be a curse, though.
Thinking too much could lead to this. His brain had worked without his permission, analysing everything in a heartbeat, presenting the most likely scenarios to him.
That he’d been spying on him all along, that he knew everything about him. Everyone close to him. Knew how they all looked, knew his weakest points.
That he knew what he was thinking of. What he always thought of when he fought, when he was trapped in a situation where it seemed he might not make it out alive.
That someone else had provided him with the information. Told him where to hit.
That everything he’d thought he’d known was false. That there really wasn’t a good explanation for this, without presuming him a stalker of some sort. That she really hadn’t loved him at all. That he’d been played for a fool and she’d never existed. That his life had been a farce.
The creeping darkness, he knew, had nothing to do with the night. He lay there struggling to banish the thoughts, the unwelcome thoughts that ravaged his mind.
He’d never wanted to die. But it was probably good that he was going to, because he knew that he could never look at Gracia without suspicion again.
He would have hated that kind of a life for himself. For her. For them.
So it was good that he was dying now. Maybe he’d have some kind of a peace. And he’d be waiting for them, when they came. The real them.
Gracia…
He didn’t want to die with this tainted image of her.
His eyes were open when they found him. Wide, unseeing.
Terrified.
~fin
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: SPOILERS for Ep. 25 of the anime, Ch… something for the manga. That said, obviously a death-fic.
It's about what Hughes was thinking about. Hopefully a new take on things, but one I couldn't help but see happening.
Subject to re-writing, because I'm not too happy with it...
Intelligence
His job was to think.
Intelligence officer, he was called. Labelled. So he had to think. It was his job to do so, to weed out possible problems and send others to take care of them. To find a killer and send his men to be killed by him.
He was never supposed to have to fight, but he was trained for it. Redundant lessons in guns. His favourite weapons, his knives. Because he knew, maybe subconsciously, that the day would come for close-range fighting. Because he knew he could never really handle a gun without seeing the wrong faces on the wrong end of the barrel. At least a knife offered him more control than a bullet.
Thinking could be a curse, though.
Thinking too much could lead to this. His brain had worked without his permission, analysing everything in a heartbeat, presenting the most likely scenarios to him.
That he’d been spying on him all along, that he knew everything about him. Everyone close to him. Knew how they all looked, knew his weakest points.
That he knew what he was thinking of. What he always thought of when he fought, when he was trapped in a situation where it seemed he might not make it out alive.
That someone else had provided him with the information. Told him where to hit.
That everything he’d thought he’d known was false. That there really wasn’t a good explanation for this, without presuming him a stalker of some sort. That she really hadn’t loved him at all. That he’d been played for a fool and she’d never existed. That his life had been a farce.
The creeping darkness, he knew, had nothing to do with the night. He lay there struggling to banish the thoughts, the unwelcome thoughts that ravaged his mind.
He’d never wanted to die. But it was probably good that he was going to, because he knew that he could never look at Gracia without suspicion again.
He would have hated that kind of a life for himself. For her. For them.
So it was good that he was dying now. Maybe he’d have some kind of a peace. And he’d be waiting for them, when they came. The real them.
Gracia…
He didn’t want to die with this tainted image of her.
His eyes were open when they found him. Wide, unseeing.
Terrified.
~fin