Who ya callin' short?

[ W ] ithout death there is no life, and without life, death serves no purpose.

The balance of mortality was balanced so delicately, threatening to overturn at even the slightest of disruptions. Death waited, preyed, and prayed life sustained its own vitality so that an end would be met.

Yin and ying. Black and white. Night and day.

Ice and flame.

Flame that gnawed hungrily at his veins, that clambored up his throat to seize his tongue. Ice that stole away his sense, and ice that scaled his spine. 

Roy Mustang, Colonel, Flame Alchemist, hero.

            ❝ ---- no way... ❞

The fragmented sentence clung just so the breadth of numb lips. More remained, and waited just at the gate of his breath, but -- it relented.

    ❝ All these years -- tearing me apart for gettin' knocked down, and he dies -- just -- like that... ❞

Perhaps I was never meant to have a father. Not permanently.

    ❝ That's -- no that's impossible -- Mustang's too damn stubborn to give into      death without puttin' up a fight. ❞ Swallow those tears, Elric.

[ S ] peech that transcended the typical banter spit between them like open flames was not to be trifled with. Not to be omitted, for, while the fraternity the two had found in one another was clear as their flesh, it was so rarely addressed.

Taboo, almost. As if he weren’t familiar enough.

They had argued from the car — little details that slipped from below their tongues, minute as the grass shadowed by their step. Trembling fingers that picked and pinched at any open weakness, for both knew the strength harboured in the bones beneath.

But, not when a stone adorned with a worn epitaph joined their company.

Then, their voices ceased.Then, was when he spoke.And, it was then, that the corner of chapped lips dared a frown.

❝ Well, would’ya lookit that. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were startin’ to sound like me for once. Guess I really am rubbin’ off on you after all. ” Jest edged the laugh that ached the mere edges of his lungs, yet his tone was hushed, sombre, 

❝ Told myself the exact same words couple days after mom died. Al, too, but he wasn’t one to blow up like I was — am. 

   I blamed myself for letting her go — blamed that bastard Hohenheim for leavin’ us behind. I blamed pretty much everything and anyone I could to shirk off the guilt us two children had gathered in such a little amount of time.

           … and I thought — hey, maybe if I’d been the sick one, if I’d been the one in her place, Al’d be better off. Big brother mentality, most likely. Gotta protect what’ya have, and, well, — all we had was each other. ❞

Golden irises retreated behind a drawn out blink, and opened to meet the horizon garnered with so much promise.

❝ Handful of years down the road, I got reality knocked into me. Literally. By a seven foot tall suit’a armor, with a brand new sense of temper, and just one functionin’ arm. I couldn’t die, he told me, not like that. Not without a fight. Because he needed me, because people I hadn’t even met needed me.

          And because mom wouldn’t want me goin’ down without my guns blazin’. That’s who we are, Colonel. You, Al, and me.  Fighters in need of a little encouragement once in awhile. ❞

He turned on his heel, but not before rapping his knuckles against the shoulder of a tapered trench coat. ❝ Hughes’ wouldn’ta wanted you to quit, either. Man, I can see him now — grabbin’ you by the shoulders, lookin’ you in the eye, and sayin’, 

                           How on earth are you ever gonna get a wife with that attitude? ❞

Then came a smile,

❝ I also know that old softie would be sayin’ the exact same thing were he in your shoes.                           —  So you gotta carry on for him.                               For the people you know, and the people you don’t;

Missions for when I return:

Tell Winry she's pretty.