Um. Not crack?

Some short stuff...

Title: Sublime
Word Count: 347
Rating: PG for alluding to sex


It took me a while to figure out what was wrong, but eventually I realized. I was tired, and it was a sensation entirely unfamiliar. Maybe some distant memory provided an inkling of what it used to be like, but like most memories, it was intangible and fleeting.

I don't know what Envy did to manipulate that short alchemist into creating the Stone, but it wasn't my worry. And focusing too long on it left an odd feeling in my chest, an emotion I needed to explore, but not this moment. Right now, I just wanted to understand this fatigue, this alien ache.

The memories were liquid at first, flowing between my fingers as I grasped frantically. Flashes of tan skin, lean body against mine, wire frame of glasses cool against my cheek, hung in the periphery of my mind, but refused to solidify.

The light seemed too bright, so I rolled over, trying to keep the glinting rays out of my face.

The moment I shifted, I heard the tinkling sound of metal skittering over slate. I rubbed my eyes wearily, staring at an ornate locket. The hurt seemed immense to me; every muscle in my body seemed to complain. Still, I reached over and grabbed the locket, gasping quietly as delicate tan fingers with blunt nailed pried it open, the thin, pale fingers I was used to replaced by these foreign klutzy digits.

Memory.

The locket was full of it, scattering over the slate floor, bound into delicate strands of hair, some laying in chalk dust, the complex remains of an array.

Pure, sweet memory and aching muscles, laying on the cool slate floor of an abandoned church, bird nests in the rafters, sun coming in through the holes in the roof. My clumsy but sublimely human hands looped the chain around my neck, dull silver contrasting with dark fingers and hair. My arms complained as I swept my hair away to fasten the clasp, but it was the dull ache that reminded me of the simple and desirable elegance of the pain of humanity.

Title: Preventing War
Word Count: 336
Pairing: MaesGracia
Rating: PG


"You know I love you, right?"

Hughes turned, frowning at the serious tone. "Gracia, of course I know that," he said, looping an arm around her waist, touching her face softly. She smiled, touching his hair, following the wire frame of his glasses.

"You just don't tell me that often," she said, pressing up against him, breathing in deeply. "You're so busy lately..."

"Yeah, I've got a lot of work and you know how much time the Scar case takes up..." he intoned quietly.

Gracia nodded, pulling back a bit, placing her hand over his, swaying with him lightly to the rhythm of his slow heartbeat. "You always look so sad when you're crawling into bed," she sighed. "Even when we're like this..."

She moved her hand off of his to remove his glasses. "More stress lines on your face..." she intoned, setting the glasses on a side table. "You crawl into bed and you don't fall asleep. You stay there for a long while and listen to my breathing, trying to tell if I'm asleep or not..."

He sighed, but didn't move away, knowing she was right.

"We rarely make love anymore," she said, placing one of his hands on her hip. "Elysia asks me if you like your job still..."

"Of course I like my job," he assured it. "It's just..."

"Really hard right now," she finished. "I love you, Maes."

"I love you, too," he said softly. "More than I can even understand."

She nodded, tears in her eyes, pulling him close, squeezing him tight, knowing it must hurt. "Go tuck your daughter into bed," she said hoarsely. "I'm happy you came home for dinner tonight. I know you have to go back to work... but it means a lot to Elysia."

He nodded, kissing Gracia gently, feeling her tears on his cheek. "You weren't even this stressed when you worked that desk job during the war..."

"I know," he said, swallowing hard. "But preventing wars is just as hard as fighting them."