Mustang/Hawkeye/Havoc fic for 30threesomes [Theme # 9; Strength]
Title: Storms We Cannot Weather
Author: galuxkitty
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Pairing: Roy Mustang/Riza Hawkeye/Jean Havoc
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 756
Warnings: Chapter 40 spoilers, angst.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is the rightful property of Hiromu Arakawa. This is a fanwork written purely for both your entertainment and mine.
Hawkeye came to visit the both of them every day, no matter how busy the office work was without the two of them, let alone three. Day after day, she showed up at their guarded hospital room at precisely eleven o’clock with a few small pieces of fruit, small talk of what was happening at Headquarters and whatever they had requested she bring from their apartments the night before.
The only thing she refused to bring was Havoc’s box of cigarettes; for Mustang, she would bring maps, files and details on anything he requested, but for Havoc, who asked for the same thing every day, there was nothing in her small wicker basket. In truth, both she and Mustang wanted to tell him to watch his health from now on, but could not bring themselves to separate Havoc from the smokes. They wanted him to know that physicality meant nothing in a relationship if they didn’t have him to hold. They could adapt, but it would ultimately take time they didn’t have.
Hawkeye took her place in the chair between the two hospital beds and took two apples from the simple basket in her lap, which she then placed on the floor at her feet. The two pieces of fruit that now rested in her lap were prime examples of the last of the season’s good fruit; small, spotted and strangely sweet. Wordlessly, she handed Havoc the smaller of the apples and he snatched it gently from her outstretched palm with idle fingers, plucked the short stalk from the crown of the apple and stuck it between his lips, more to soothe oral fixation than lust for nicotine.
Hawkeye leaned down to grab a small silver knife from her basket and, once she had righted herself, began peeling the bright red skin away from the apple to expose the pale flesh beneath. Mustang never ate his fruit unless his First Lieutenant had adequately skinned it, until it had given way to pressure and exposed the sweeter prize under the hardened exterior.
Havoc twiddled the stem of the apple between his teeth impatiently as he would a cigarette and began the arduous task of tugging himself up into a sitting position; they had tried to help him just once and he had reacted with an unnatural bitterness that shocked them into complying with his wish. Perhaps the thing that hurt Mustang and Hawkeye most of all was the knowledge that he was hurting and there was nothing they could do for him. They simply wished for him to let it all go.
Idle hands slipped on the steel bars on either side of his bed and he came crashing back to the mattress; Mustang jumped from his own bed to try and support his subordinate and Hawkeye became distracted from her task. Out of sheer irritation, Havoc swiped at Mustang’s bandaged hand, reopened old wounds, and Hawkeye gave a low hiss as the small silver blade of her knife swiped cleanly across the pad of her thumb, left a thin line of red on the pale skin.
“I can do this on my own.”
He tried once again to right himself, but cannot find the strength of the will and ended up fisting his hands and bringing them down on his own dead legs in frustration.
Hawkeye grabbed Havoc’s discarded apple from the floor beside his bed and began slicing it cleanly into eights, her cut finger occasionally leaving small blotches of red on the sweet, pale inside of the apple. Mustang pressed irritably against his newly opened wound to try and stop the bleeding, and pressed Havoc back into his pillows with one hand cradling the other.
“Sometimes,” Hawkeye whispered as she offered Havoc the finely sliced fruit, “A man’s greatest strength lies in his ability to admit defeat. Just for this single battle.”
“We believe in you,” Mustang spoke, ever-confident, staring his injured subordinate straight in the eyes, “You may lose one battle, but you can still win the war. Just give yourself time to do this right.”
Havoc snatched the fruit from Hawkeye and was only able to take a single bite before he felt his throat seize up, much to his frustration. And there, with his two greatest friends and two most caring lovers by his side, he resigned from this one conflict and allowed himself to cry under the watchful gazes of First Lieutenant Hawkeye and Colonel Mustang.
They certainly couldn’t say that Havoc wasn’t strong enough for the three of them.
END
Comments make GK a happy kitten.
Author: galuxkitty
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Pairing: Roy Mustang/Riza Hawkeye/Jean Havoc
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 756
Warnings: Chapter 40 spoilers, angst.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is the rightful property of Hiromu Arakawa. This is a fanwork written purely for both your entertainment and mine.
Hawkeye came to visit the both of them every day, no matter how busy the office work was without the two of them, let alone three. Day after day, she showed up at their guarded hospital room at precisely eleven o’clock with a few small pieces of fruit, small talk of what was happening at Headquarters and whatever they had requested she bring from their apartments the night before.
The only thing she refused to bring was Havoc’s box of cigarettes; for Mustang, she would bring maps, files and details on anything he requested, but for Havoc, who asked for the same thing every day, there was nothing in her small wicker basket. In truth, both she and Mustang wanted to tell him to watch his health from now on, but could not bring themselves to separate Havoc from the smokes. They wanted him to know that physicality meant nothing in a relationship if they didn’t have him to hold. They could adapt, but it would ultimately take time they didn’t have.
Hawkeye took her place in the chair between the two hospital beds and took two apples from the simple basket in her lap, which she then placed on the floor at her feet. The two pieces of fruit that now rested in her lap were prime examples of the last of the season’s good fruit; small, spotted and strangely sweet. Wordlessly, she handed Havoc the smaller of the apples and he snatched it gently from her outstretched palm with idle fingers, plucked the short stalk from the crown of the apple and stuck it between his lips, more to soothe oral fixation than lust for nicotine.
Hawkeye leaned down to grab a small silver knife from her basket and, once she had righted herself, began peeling the bright red skin away from the apple to expose the pale flesh beneath. Mustang never ate his fruit unless his First Lieutenant had adequately skinned it, until it had given way to pressure and exposed the sweeter prize under the hardened exterior.
Havoc twiddled the stem of the apple between his teeth impatiently as he would a cigarette and began the arduous task of tugging himself up into a sitting position; they had tried to help him just once and he had reacted with an unnatural bitterness that shocked them into complying with his wish. Perhaps the thing that hurt Mustang and Hawkeye most of all was the knowledge that he was hurting and there was nothing they could do for him. They simply wished for him to let it all go.
Idle hands slipped on the steel bars on either side of his bed and he came crashing back to the mattress; Mustang jumped from his own bed to try and support his subordinate and Hawkeye became distracted from her task. Out of sheer irritation, Havoc swiped at Mustang’s bandaged hand, reopened old wounds, and Hawkeye gave a low hiss as the small silver blade of her knife swiped cleanly across the pad of her thumb, left a thin line of red on the pale skin.
“I can do this on my own.”
He tried once again to right himself, but cannot find the strength of the will and ended up fisting his hands and bringing them down on his own dead legs in frustration.
Hawkeye grabbed Havoc’s discarded apple from the floor beside his bed and began slicing it cleanly into eights, her cut finger occasionally leaving small blotches of red on the sweet, pale inside of the apple. Mustang pressed irritably against his newly opened wound to try and stop the bleeding, and pressed Havoc back into his pillows with one hand cradling the other.
“Sometimes,” Hawkeye whispered as she offered Havoc the finely sliced fruit, “A man’s greatest strength lies in his ability to admit defeat. Just for this single battle.”
“We believe in you,” Mustang spoke, ever-confident, staring his injured subordinate straight in the eyes, “You may lose one battle, but you can still win the war. Just give yourself time to do this right.”
Havoc snatched the fruit from Hawkeye and was only able to take a single bite before he felt his throat seize up, much to his frustration. And there, with his two greatest friends and two most caring lovers by his side, he resigned from this one conflict and allowed himself to cry under the watchful gazes of First Lieutenant Hawkeye and Colonel Mustang.
They certainly couldn’t say that Havoc wasn’t strong enough for the three of them.
END
Comments make GK a happy kitten.