the wolf is not the devil he just plays one on tv (jadella) wrote in fm_alchemist,
the wolf is not the devil he just plays one on tv
jadella
fm_alchemist

[fic] Weeds - Roy, Kimbley, gen fic, PG

Title: Weeds
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Kimbley, Roy, during ishbal.
Summary: Gen fic.
Roy closed his eyes tightly and withheld a sob. Hunching his shoulders forward he bowed his head and just breathed.

The day had been too long, the kills too hard and home was becoming nothing but a mere myth.

He could have stewed in his guilt forever, but the swish of a tent flap and the shuffling of boots on sand distracted him from his thoughts. Instead of turning to see the intruder, he composed himself, heard a jacket and two thick boots hit the floor, heard a deep sigh and the jingle of dog tags hitting each other as the figure moved.

“So, moping Flame?”

Roy cringed and snarled, spinning around, subdued anger in his dark eyes “Fuck you Crimson”

He was almost thankful for the distraction, the other man always managed to transmute any emotion he was feeling into fury and frustration.

Kimbley shrugged and reached under his pillow for a packet of cigarettes.

“Got any whiskey Flame, could use a drink”

Roy stood where he was and continued to glare. Kimbley stuck the cigarette between his lips, shrugged out of his shirt and settled himself comfortably against the cot before turning back to Roy with an expectant look.

A strange, alien emotion flashed across Kimbley’s face and he spat the cigarette from his lips with a vicious snarl.

“You can’t save them Mustang, you can’t save a single damn one of them, you aren’t a hero, you aren’t even a man anymore”

Roy knew this, he knew and yet hearing the words made it worse.

“Man or no, I’m not a coward Kimbley, and I’m not dealing with your bullshit”

He tossed half a bottle at the other man roughly and made a quick exit from the tent, anything to escape the man with too many truths and too many lies.

It was nearing midnight when Roy returned and he was sure the other man was asleep, so he sunk in quietly, undressed and slipped into his own cot, sighing with relief as the sheets hit his skin, easing the discomfort.

 "Wondering when you'd get back, where'd you piss off to?"

Roy nearly groaned, and then caught himself smiling as the words sunk in “Why Crimson, I didn’t know you cared, I’ll make sure to call you next time I’m going to be late.”

He’d been expecting a rebuttal, not the insane laughter that followed Kimbley around like a bad smell

“Tell me Mustang, why did you join the military if death makes you so...” He paused and licked his lips “Uncomfortable”

Roy rolled over and held his head up with his hand, fixing Kimbley with a blank look.

“You don’t have a single problem killing them on the battlefield, why come home and cry about it?”

Roy could have answered ‘This isn’t home’ ‘Don’t have a single problem?’ or simply told the bastard to shut the hell up.

Instead he said harshly “Because they’re children Kimbley, fucking children”

Kimbley grinned, as if he’d been waiting for this and waved his hands about lazily, Cheshire grin never once dimming “And they’ll grow up to be men” another twirl of his pen “And they’ll grow up to use guns” Twirl “ and they’ll use them on you”

The pen exploded in a burst of light and Kimbley chuckled

 “The way I see it, you’re just nipping a problem before it can grow, the way you would a weed. Pull it out before it spreads”

Roy hated Kimbley’s logic, more then he hated the man himself, and if he honestly thought about it, he didn’t hate Kimbley nearly as much as he’d hoped he would, but he kept his face impassive.

“If I thought that way Crimson, you’d be nothing but a burnt crisp”

“You think I’m a threat?”

Roy waited a long time before he said anything, long enough for Kimbley to get up, pace across the room, pour a drink and sink back down into the bunk before he said anything.

“I think you’re a man with a gun”

Kimbley tilted his head and watched him through half lidded eyes, lazily shifting in his bunk and sighing with another quirky grin.

“You’ve got it wrong flame, I am the gun”
Roy said no more that night, did nothing but toss and turn, dreaming about the next day, and the countless days after, about faces and screams that he wouldn’t ever forget and in the end, in the early hours of the morning, waking sweat soaked and shaken, he consoled himself with the thought that he wasn’t a man anymore, no regrets, no sorrow, no pain, just fire and flame.

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