ext_158887 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
seta-suzume.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
31_days2012-10-01 08:01 pm
seta-suzume.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2012-10-01 08:01 pm
[Oct. 1] [Fullmetal Alchemist] Once I was strong but I lost the fight.
Title: Once I was strong but I lost the fight.
Day/Theme: Oct. 1, 2012 "Must I lie in this bed alone?"
Series: Fullmetal Alchemist
Character/Pairing: Kimblee/Miles
Rating: PG
Author's comment: Let's see how some attempts to double up with other challenges work out for me this month... (what is this I don't even, yes Eric Clapton lyrics for a title)
"So you're all healed up."
They lingered together in the doorway of the utilitarian room assigned to Kimblee as temporary quarters. As soon as the alchemist was closed up inside, Miles would station a pair of guards outside. He would have liked to drive a tank up against it as a super-powered form of pushing a dresser up against a door, but that would probably be considered excessive. Also, a tank might not fit down this size of hall.
It amused Kimblee to see Miles continuing to marvel over it. If he hated Kimblee so much, why didn't he just leave now? He was free to do so. I meant that Miles wanted to ask how, didn't he? He just couldn't quite stand to do it. Well, maybe if he actually verbalized his desire, Kimblee would indulge him, but it was enjoyable to keep secrets and watch his reluctant escort squirm. "Basically," he smiled.
"Just like that, like new?"
Kimblee set his hand lightly over the place he'd been wounded. Like new. Ah, didn't he wish. His flesh had been mended, but there was no substitute for time taken in proper rest. He still ached. He attempted to mask his condition with painkillers and bravado and was relatively sure his efforts had fooled the outside world well enough, but privately... By now, he really needed to lie down (he had this suspicion that the hospital's doctors hadn't treated him as well as they could have- perhaps, for instance, he could have used another transfusion). "Not quite."
"Not so invincible then, are we?" one eyebrow crept incredulously over the frame of Miles' shades.
"Come on in and I'll let you see."
He could walk away from Kimblee right now and get back to more important business. The man wouldn't be off his plate entirely, but he could at least spend the rest of the night without talking to him. And yet Miles was considering taking him up on that dangerously double-sided offer. What were the odds Kimblee planned on just revealing the physical evidence of his recent life-threatening injury and maybe making a few harmless comments and leaving it at that? There was a spark in those sleepy eyes and a bite in that slick voice. The way that Kimblee looked at him, Miles was sure he knew exactly how Kimblee would like his fitness to be tested.
Would he live to regret this? (He was about to- to do something with an insane mass murderer. How could the answer be anything but yes?)
Kimblee moved over to the bed with a calm and weary step. He sat down with a soft sigh of relief and removed first his hat, then his scarf. The room wasn't exactly comfortable, but tucked as it was into the interior of the fortress and being rather small, it would fill with the warmth of their breath (and perhaps activity) until it reached a cozier temperature.
Miles came inside. He closed the door. He kept his distance, back against the wall, as Kimblee plucked through the many layers that were required here to ward off the cutting cold. A coat over his suit jacket over a vest over a dress shirt with an undershirt beneath it all- layers upon layers of white.
Even with all that, he had still looked cold, but with his admission of weakness, Miles wondered if the trembling had been a related more closely to his health than the weather (though Briggs was unforgiving to any sort of lapse or defect).
Bare skin peeked out where Kimblee pushed his undershirt up to reveal the scarring from his injury. Just because the doctor sent to speed his recovery had the ability to heal him up without scars didn't mean he had taken the trouble to do so.
Kimblee tentatively touched his abdomen. Still tender, but he didn't wince. "Not perfect, as you can see." When the pain was gone, the imperfection would eat at him. Already it fueled his drive to track down Scar and settle the score. For so many years he had fought and studied, putting his body in the line of fire, whether from enemy bullets or his own explosive alchemy. In all that time, he had never picked up a permanent scar. ...What else should he expect from the hands of the man who fate had chosen for him as an archenemy?
Vulnerability made him human. It didn't nullify the evil things he had done. It was all too easy for Miles to see an echo of someone else in that gesture... But it was bad to indulge a warm-hearted thought in front of Kimblee. Somehow he seemed to sense such weakness. He would exploit it if he could.
Kimblee allowed the shirt to slip between his fingers and cover his stomach again.
"You should get some rest." Miles reached back and felt for the doorknob somewhere behind him and to his left. It wasn't immediately forthcoming (he didn't realize he'd moved that much).
"Yes, that would be wise," Kimblee began to rebutton his shirt at least. "I'll have to sleep in my clothes; it's just too cold."
Miles grasped the doorknob. "I'll be going then."
"You're leaving?" Kimblee cocked his head and fixed him with an almost accusatory glance.
"I have duties to attend to." Miles found himself being subtly drawn back in. "...What reason do I have to stay?"
Day/Theme: Oct. 1, 2012 "Must I lie in this bed alone?"
Series: Fullmetal Alchemist
Character/Pairing: Kimblee/Miles
Rating: PG
Author's comment: Let's see how some attempts to double up with other challenges work out for me this month... (what is this I don't even, yes Eric Clapton lyrics for a title)
"So you're all healed up."
They lingered together in the doorway of the utilitarian room assigned to Kimblee as temporary quarters. As soon as the alchemist was closed up inside, Miles would station a pair of guards outside. He would have liked to drive a tank up against it as a super-powered form of pushing a dresser up against a door, but that would probably be considered excessive. Also, a tank might not fit down this size of hall.
It amused Kimblee to see Miles continuing to marvel over it. If he hated Kimblee so much, why didn't he just leave now? He was free to do so. I meant that Miles wanted to ask how, didn't he? He just couldn't quite stand to do it. Well, maybe if he actually verbalized his desire, Kimblee would indulge him, but it was enjoyable to keep secrets and watch his reluctant escort squirm. "Basically," he smiled.
"Just like that, like new?"
Kimblee set his hand lightly over the place he'd been wounded. Like new. Ah, didn't he wish. His flesh had been mended, but there was no substitute for time taken in proper rest. He still ached. He attempted to mask his condition with painkillers and bravado and was relatively sure his efforts had fooled the outside world well enough, but privately... By now, he really needed to lie down (he had this suspicion that the hospital's doctors hadn't treated him as well as they could have- perhaps, for instance, he could have used another transfusion). "Not quite."
"Not so invincible then, are we?" one eyebrow crept incredulously over the frame of Miles' shades.
"Come on in and I'll let you see."
He could walk away from Kimblee right now and get back to more important business. The man wouldn't be off his plate entirely, but he could at least spend the rest of the night without talking to him. And yet Miles was considering taking him up on that dangerously double-sided offer. What were the odds Kimblee planned on just revealing the physical evidence of his recent life-threatening injury and maybe making a few harmless comments and leaving it at that? There was a spark in those sleepy eyes and a bite in that slick voice. The way that Kimblee looked at him, Miles was sure he knew exactly how Kimblee would like his fitness to be tested.
Would he live to regret this? (He was about to- to do something with an insane mass murderer. How could the answer be anything but yes?)
Kimblee moved over to the bed with a calm and weary step. He sat down with a soft sigh of relief and removed first his hat, then his scarf. The room wasn't exactly comfortable, but tucked as it was into the interior of the fortress and being rather small, it would fill with the warmth of their breath (and perhaps activity) until it reached a cozier temperature.
Miles came inside. He closed the door. He kept his distance, back against the wall, as Kimblee plucked through the many layers that were required here to ward off the cutting cold. A coat over his suit jacket over a vest over a dress shirt with an undershirt beneath it all- layers upon layers of white.
Even with all that, he had still looked cold, but with his admission of weakness, Miles wondered if the trembling had been a related more closely to his health than the weather (though Briggs was unforgiving to any sort of lapse or defect).
Bare skin peeked out where Kimblee pushed his undershirt up to reveal the scarring from his injury. Just because the doctor sent to speed his recovery had the ability to heal him up without scars didn't mean he had taken the trouble to do so.
Kimblee tentatively touched his abdomen. Still tender, but he didn't wince. "Not perfect, as you can see." When the pain was gone, the imperfection would eat at him. Already it fueled his drive to track down Scar and settle the score. For so many years he had fought and studied, putting his body in the line of fire, whether from enemy bullets or his own explosive alchemy. In all that time, he had never picked up a permanent scar. ...What else should he expect from the hands of the man who fate had chosen for him as an archenemy?
Vulnerability made him human. It didn't nullify the evil things he had done. It was all too easy for Miles to see an echo of someone else in that gesture... But it was bad to indulge a warm-hearted thought in front of Kimblee. Somehow he seemed to sense such weakness. He would exploit it if he could.
Kimblee allowed the shirt to slip between his fingers and cover his stomach again.
"You should get some rest." Miles reached back and felt for the doorknob somewhere behind him and to his left. It wasn't immediately forthcoming (he didn't realize he'd moved that much).
"Yes, that would be wise," Kimblee began to rebutton his shirt at least. "I'll have to sleep in my clothes; it's just too cold."
Miles grasped the doorknob. "I'll be going then."
"You're leaving?" Kimblee cocked his head and fixed him with an almost accusatory glance.
"I have duties to attend to." Miles found himself being subtly drawn back in. "...What reason do I have to stay?"