The Great and Terrible Future: Dealing with Envy

[twilight_lament]

Title: Dealing  With Envy
Universe: FMA - The Great and Terrible Future Arc
Characters: Riza, Envy 
Rating:  G
Warnings:  None
Summary: Dealing with Envy requires patience, control, and nerves of steel.
Disclaimer:  I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.  This fan work is meant to be transformative in nature and no copyright infringement is intended.

 

Some days dealing with Envy is like dealing with a wounded, feral animal.  His temper is fast and furious, and his penchant for violence  bubbles to the surface like boiling lava - ready to explode into a full fledged eruption.  On those days, Riza forces any emotional response out the window.  While he dislikes her lack of reaction, it also doesn't feed the volcano raging inside of him.  Today is one of those days and her own temper simmers beneath a calm veneer of civility and military training.  As he seethes with Roy's face on his while sitting behind Roy's desk, Riza gathers the scattered papers outlining stops along the Furher's trip through Amestris.  There are speeches planned, visits arranged, and both promotions and demotions to be handed out.   

He never likes to be part of the planning.  Hates the tedium of plotting a peaceful course for the humanity he despises.  So she does it for him, lessening his exposure to a few hours before hand when she'll go over all of the material with him, and of course the events themselves.  To occupy his time outside of his limited duties, Riza has had to learn what he likes.  It's not easy since one of his favorite pastimes is making people suffer.   However he likes alchemy, even if he loathes alchemists on the whole, so she has scoured library after library to find the most obscure alchemy texts possible.   When he's in a real mood, he tries to prod her for her Father's alchemic secrets.  It's becomes something of a game for him to try and trick her into revealing something, and he's always (inexplicably in her mind) pleased when she doesn't.   He also like history books if only to correct the historical inaccuracies.   There are dinners out, but it must be the right type of place which can change depending on his mood, and oddly enough theatre productions if the storyline contains enough death to suit his tastes. 

However, those pastimes don't always keep him adequately occupied.  When he feels trapped and bored, his seething nature blares to life and she's learned to look for the signs of the coming storm and make sure they are alone when it happens.  He likes it when she listens to his anger, which she does now.  Offering up neither positive nor negative commentary (positive he'll never believe and negative will only piss him off more) as he rages about humans, stupidity, and destruction.    He doesn't want to be placated and so she doesn't bother.  What exactly he wants, besides letting off steam, is a mystery to her.  Sometimes she thinks he's trying to get her on -his- side, to see the world through the same distorted black lens through which he views it.  Sometimes she thinks he wants her kill him, especially when he rages about Roy (rare) and hits every sore spot she has about Roy (rarer still).   

Some days dealing with Envy is like dealing with a person that has never known affection, has no idea what it is, but is desperately searching to put a name and sensation to the nameless need clawing at his or her subconscious.    The next day is one of those days.  They board the train and the special compartment houses only Riza and Envy.  She closes the blinds, even the ones on the door and secures them so that he can, if he wishes, shed Roy's visage for a time.  Outside soldiers patrol the train on a regimented scheduled and mapped out by her hand.   They are all hand picked for their loyalty to her and therefore to the Furher even if most of them don't trust him even at this point.  None of them know the real secret, only she and Envy can claim that knowledge.   

She knows it's one of those days because he immediately sheds Roy's skin (much to her relief), ignores the pile of alchemy books she'd brought for him, and curls up in a ball on the seat next to her instead of on the one across from her.  Only a single look acknowledges his presence.  For approximately twenty minutes, Envy will stare moodily out the crack in the window blind. Then for approximately ten minutes he will cast sidelong glances at her in between watching the landscape pass by.   At the end of the second stage, Riza will shift position, crossing left leg over right since he is sitting on her right side while moving aside the stack of files from in between them.  He despises verbal invitations.  He cannot stand for this particular need to be given words.  However he needs her acceptance on some level and the subtle shift of position and circumstance keeps his pride in tact while letting him know that she won't reject him.   

Just shy of six minutes after Riza moves and repositions herself, Envy half sprawls on the seat next to her with one foot not-quite touching her leg.  They have entered touchy territory.   Usually Envy just does what he wants and that's the end of it, but right now he's vacillating, deciding on something.   This requires another look from her and something that is not quite a smile.  It's a tricky maneuver because while he's showing hesitance at relenting to his own want, he could take the simple glance well or badly.   However if she doesn't do it, he will sit and stew on what he sees as her rejection of him until he's nearly vibrating out of his skin (she learned this on their second train trip when she'd had to physically tackle him to the floor and hold him there until his anger passed.  She'd been bruised and had two cracked ribs as a result.  Injuries she'd had to deal with herself because of a lack of a good reason to explain them to a Doctor).  

Precisely nine and a half minutes later, Envy shifts watching her with suspicious eyes.  Returning those looks isn't necessary all the time, and most of the time she doesn't.  Eventually he lays his head down on her right thigh, turning his face into the curve of her hip, and one arm slips over her lap.  It isn't exactly pleasant to be used as the cuddle pillow of a temperamental homunculus.    However she's grown used it and even enjoys the sensation to a degree that has her questioning her sanity every time he does it.  But it is a nice lie even if it is just a lie, and some ounce of solace in knowing that, even if he weren't parading around as Roy most of the time, he wouldn't just curl up to anyone.  As twisted as their relationship is, they are undoubtedly special to one another.   

When he falls asleep, she keeps reviewing documents and requests, marking the ones they will honor and how, while writing notes of rejection on others.  She is Furher in all but face and name and the irony is huge and acerbic.  As expected he starts to twitch, muttering nonsensical words.  His hands grasp for something, reaching, clutching, and strange sounds leave his throat.  It never fails to tug at her heart though she would sooner cut out her own eye before telling anyone that it does.  But still he looks pitiful as painful emotions sweep over his face and he reaches for something he can never catch.  Sometimes she thinks the only time he's really honest is when he is dreaming.  The first touch of her fingers to his hair is exploratory: will he reject the motion and curl deeper or start to relax?  This time he relaxes and seconds latter she repeats the motion again and again until his slender form eases into a sprawl, and his face no longer tenses and twitches.  His arm tightens over her lap and his breathing evens out.  

Riza speaks no words of comfort, in fact she makes no noise at all, because it will wake him up and he will realize the pity and his own vulnerability (that had been another painful lesson, resulting in a sprained ankle for her and a gun to his head for him).  Her fingers just keep moving through his velvety, deep green hair rhythmically though she is carefully looking for any signs that she should stop.  He remains asleep most of the way, nestled up against her, and she gets all of her work finished in the silence.  Neither one of them utters a word when the peaceful time ends.  He rises and shifts back into Roy and she gathers up her satchel.  He leaves and she follows: both masks are in place once more.   

 

Some days dealing with Envy is like dealing with Roy, and those days hurt the worst.  He wears Roy's face and people either love him or hate him, and she has to guard him and protect him.  She has to stop assassins, part the crowd, and keep him grounded.  He hates it when she knocks him to the ground just as Roy had hated it.  He hates it, just as Roy did, when she explains the unrelenting logic of her actions.  Other days he relies on her steady calm and long patience, and when he flashes the same expression of understanding and gratitude that Roy used to use, she wonders if he hasn't learned his character too well, or if he's intentionally mocking her.    

Women fawn over him and she has to remind herself that it isn't Roy flashing charming smiles or offering roses, and that while Envy might like the attention to a point it will inevitably annoy him.  He gives speeches prepared by her in the same way Roy would, with the same passionate tones about justice and right and coming out of the darkness.  Days like that rip her apart inside until every unhealed wound bleeds raw again and all she can think of is getting home and drinking enough whiskey to send her into a dreamless sleep.  On those days Riza hovers between reality and illusion as means of getting through it all without shooting him or herself.  At the end of those days, Envy casts her wary glances as if sensing the storm just below that unflappable calm.   

She'll go home, take her bottle into the bathroom, and let herself breakdown because in that small, windowless space it won't be easy for Envy to spy on her unnoticed.  Her grief is hers and she won't share it with him because (right or wrong) she thinks he'll throw it back in her face at some point and that might just make her snap.  So she cries into a towel, muffling her sobs in between drinks from a bottle held in a shaky hand.  When she's had enough she always takes a shower, clearing her head some but not the sleepy stupor, and stumbles into bed and into the arms of oblivion.  The next morning, Envy is always curled up over her legs even though sometimes he smells like death. 

Some days dealing with Envy is like dealing with hell, and the only reason she's still standing is because she's already been there once.