Fic: Day by Day (Izumi/Sieg)
Izumi! Sieg! See what's popping up on my plate now? Izumi is just too awesome for words (why is Ed's life filled with strong, independent women?), but Sieg is like a giant teddybear. Not to mention that canon just rawks. Para fma_het.
But... this isn't your usual couple kind of piece.
Day by Day
When he wakes up in the morning, or when the first inklings of light begin to appear in the sky after a night spent lying completely still, staring at the ceiling, he asks the world if this will be the day. If this will be the day he goes to bed alone, if this is the day he will finally weep, if this is the day he will discover relief and pain. If today is the end, the end of the suffering, the end of the worries, the end of the silence, and the beginning of something far worse.
When he looks at her, when she isn’t putting up a front, when her hand unconsciously rubs circles on her abdomen, he wants their lives back. He wants her to live, he wants to live, he wants life. Because they’re dying too soon, too fast, with each sunset another day passes with too few hours.
There isn’t a day that goes by that he doesn’t remember, doesn’t regret, doesn’t mourn, mourn for their loss, for her loss, for his own blindness. He wants to hold her forever, capture her warmth, give her his, give her his breath, his heartbeat, his strength and vitality.
He wants to give her more than love, but that is all he has-he can’t win this battle with muscles and he fears that his heart won’t be enough to win the war.
Where are the words that will make everything better? Where were the words when he needed to speak them then? But he had never been a man of words, not him, and he had thought that they would never need them. But he wants them now. He wants them to say everything he can’t, everything in his heart, as if he can wrap her just as securely in a cocoon of words as he can in his arms.
Mortality haunts him. He knows the feel of dead flesh. He knows the touch of death.
Which is why when she smiles at him, places a hand on his arm, shows him the brightness of the flame burning within her eyes, a part of him shivers.
Will this be the day?
I need to stop listening to Tori Amos when I write these things.
But... this isn't your usual couple kind of piece.
Day by Day
When he wakes up in the morning, or when the first inklings of light begin to appear in the sky after a night spent lying completely still, staring at the ceiling, he asks the world if this will be the day. If this will be the day he goes to bed alone, if this is the day he will finally weep, if this is the day he will discover relief and pain. If today is the end, the end of the suffering, the end of the worries, the end of the silence, and the beginning of something far worse.
When he looks at her, when she isn’t putting up a front, when her hand unconsciously rubs circles on her abdomen, he wants their lives back. He wants her to live, he wants to live, he wants life. Because they’re dying too soon, too fast, with each sunset another day passes with too few hours.
There isn’t a day that goes by that he doesn’t remember, doesn’t regret, doesn’t mourn, mourn for their loss, for her loss, for his own blindness. He wants to hold her forever, capture her warmth, give her his, give her his breath, his heartbeat, his strength and vitality.
He wants to give her more than love, but that is all he has-he can’t win this battle with muscles and he fears that his heart won’t be enough to win the war.
Where are the words that will make everything better? Where were the words when he needed to speak them then? But he had never been a man of words, not him, and he had thought that they would never need them. But he wants them now. He wants them to say everything he can’t, everything in his heart, as if he can wrap her just as securely in a cocoon of words as he can in his arms.
Mortality haunts him. He knows the feel of dead flesh. He knows the touch of death.
Which is why when she smiles at him, places a hand on his arm, shows him the brightness of the flame burning within her eyes, a part of him shivers.
Will this be the day?
I need to stop listening to Tori Amos when I write these things.