Fic: "Up On a Shoal" (K) Fullmetal Alchemist
Title: Up On a Shoal
Author: Tiamat’s Child
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist manga
Word Count: 500
Rating: K
Characters/Pairing: Hohenheim/Trisha
Summary: It isn’t always easy, loving someone who hurts so much.
Warnings: None.
Notes: Written for prompt #23, "boundries" at fma_fic_contest. It took third place. The banner was made by darkblysse.
Up On a Shoal
Trisha sighed as she poured the dishwater over her nasturtiums, a strong deep sigh that ached as it pressed against her ribcage. It had been a long day, one whose early morning promise had largely evaporated over breakfast, when Trisha had turned from flipping a pancake to find Hohenheim’s good humor and bright eyes melting away, leaving a vast sad distance in their wake.
Her own spirits had sunk, and her eyes had burned even as she smiled at him. She longed to put a hand gently to his cheek to comfort him, but she knew that whatever old wound had taken some innocent slant of the light, or some small thoughtless gesture of her own, or a phrase she’d turned, or even just an unguarded thought of his own and soured it, turned it to a fresh hurt, would likely only do the same to any kindness she tried to offer. There was nothing to be done but to smile as though he were not vanishing inside himself and serve up breakfast.
He was avoiding her now.
She shook her head and tucked her hands on her hips, looking over the flower bed. She needed to weed and of course he wasn’t precisely avoiding her. He was avoiding himself, trying not to brush up again against whatever he’d walked into that morning. It was only that the things he did to do that looked like avoiding her, but that wasn’t it. It wasn’t that at all.
Trisha wished Hohenheim could tell her what would hurt him, what she should not say or do, but she knew he didn’t know. It changed too often, daily shifting lines between all right and not all right, like a particularly treacherous stretch of powerful river, sandbars coalescing and dissipating in the space of an afternoon. The only thing she could do was bear with him.
The kitchen door creaked. “Trisha?” Hohenheim called, tentative. She turned. He slid sheepishly out from behind the door frame. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I really don’t know how you put up with me.”
“It’s all right,” she said, going to him. She felt every step distinctly, felt the way her weight shifted and her feet flexed against the solid ground. She took his hands and smiled up at him. “We wouldn’t have seen each other anyway. It’s been a busy day.”
He chuckled, a rueful, dark note in the sound, but his smile was only grateful and open and kind, full of all the things she loved about him. “All right,” he said, and took a breath. “All right,” he said again.
“All right,” she said, and swayed easily forward to rest against his chest.
It took him a moment but, eventually, with a shyness in his movements immense for a man who’d been living with a woman for over a year, Hohenheim carefully slid his hands from hers and wrapped his arms about her. “Sorry,” he said, resting his cheek on her head, “I’ll be better tomorrow.”
Author: Tiamat’s Child
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist manga
Word Count: 500
Rating: K
Characters/Pairing: Hohenheim/Trisha
Summary: It isn’t always easy, loving someone who hurts so much.
Warnings: None.
Notes: Written for prompt #23, "boundries" at fma_fic_contest. It took third place. The banner was made by darkblysse.
Up On a Shoal
Trisha sighed as she poured the dishwater over her nasturtiums, a strong deep sigh that ached as it pressed against her ribcage. It had been a long day, one whose early morning promise had largely evaporated over breakfast, when Trisha had turned from flipping a pancake to find Hohenheim’s good humor and bright eyes melting away, leaving a vast sad distance in their wake.
Her own spirits had sunk, and her eyes had burned even as she smiled at him. She longed to put a hand gently to his cheek to comfort him, but she knew that whatever old wound had taken some innocent slant of the light, or some small thoughtless gesture of her own, or a phrase she’d turned, or even just an unguarded thought of his own and soured it, turned it to a fresh hurt, would likely only do the same to any kindness she tried to offer. There was nothing to be done but to smile as though he were not vanishing inside himself and serve up breakfast.
He was avoiding her now.
She shook her head and tucked her hands on her hips, looking over the flower bed. She needed to weed and of course he wasn’t precisely avoiding her. He was avoiding himself, trying not to brush up again against whatever he’d walked into that morning. It was only that the things he did to do that looked like avoiding her, but that wasn’t it. It wasn’t that at all.
Trisha wished Hohenheim could tell her what would hurt him, what she should not say or do, but she knew he didn’t know. It changed too often, daily shifting lines between all right and not all right, like a particularly treacherous stretch of powerful river, sandbars coalescing and dissipating in the space of an afternoon. The only thing she could do was bear with him.
The kitchen door creaked. “Trisha?” Hohenheim called, tentative. She turned. He slid sheepishly out from behind the door frame. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I really don’t know how you put up with me.”
“It’s all right,” she said, going to him. She felt every step distinctly, felt the way her weight shifted and her feet flexed against the solid ground. She took his hands and smiled up at him. “We wouldn’t have seen each other anyway. It’s been a busy day.”
He chuckled, a rueful, dark note in the sound, but his smile was only grateful and open and kind, full of all the things she loved about him. “All right,” he said, and took a breath. “All right,” he said again.
“All right,” she said, and swayed easily forward to rest against his chest.
It took him a moment but, eventually, with a shyness in his movements immense for a man who’d been living with a woman for over a year, Hohenheim carefully slid his hands from hers and wrapped his arms about her. “Sorry,” he said, resting his cheek on her head, “I’ll be better tomorrow.”