[breda; r] Tough Love Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist Title: Tough Love Author:emilie_burns Pairing: none, breda gen, though maybe roy/riza if you squint right. Rating: R (language) Word Count: 1400 Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist (Hagane no Renkinjutsushi) is copyrighted by Hiromu Arakawa/Square Enix. Warnings: Spoiler Alert for end of series/movie. Author's Notes: This idea was written on the fly in less than an hour after reading rubytuesday5681's post, and skimming a list of fic prompts in an asylum for a quick bunny bite. The new creation of the_unpopular helped set up the POV character. Excuse the rushed tone it might have -- I had to leave and I wanted to get this posted so I could have written something to get off the 6A bitchfest. And thanks to yuuo for some of the ideas on Breda's characterization here. Summary:"Just because he's gone doesn't mean you're dead, so stop living like it."
Tough Love
Breda would be the first to admit that he didn't get to the size he was by living off military cooking. He wasn't quite so ready to admit that yes, he probably should refrain from eating quite so much. Let a man have his bad habits, he thought. Jean had his smoking, after all, and Mustang made a point of clinging to every mistake made, weighing himself down with the burden as his own punishment -- or a balm. Impossible to tell some days. Breda had the observation that Mustang was really a lot like the kid in a lot of ways stockpiled back for a day he might have to really piss his commanding officer off to get through that thick skull. He was starting to get to that point pretty quick as it were.
Hawkeye... her bad habits didn't seem to exist. In fact, she seemed perfect. Always calm, always on time, always... everything a perfect soldier ought to be. That damnable mask was her bad habit. Oh, he could see it. He couldn't see past it to save his life, but he wasn't dumb enough to miss it. Nobody was that perfect. Nobody.
He watched the lot of them barreling toward a brick wall at a thousand miles an hour and no brakes. He watched Mustang and Hawkeye push them as far back as they could, taking the brunt of that impact on themselves. It was anybody guess who really got the worst of it. Mustang lost a hell of a lot, Breda wouldn't argue that. He just wondered sometimes if Hawkeye actually survived it or not, if that woman in the uniform was still her.
He didn't think she was a homunculus. Nothing quite that simple. But when Mustang caved in on himself and went North and left her -- left them -- it was like she suffocated inside that mask. He saw it, they all did. But nobody knew how to break through that. Jean tried, after Mustang, she was closer to him than anyone. But she had too many years of practice at keeping up a front regardless of the circumstances that Breda watched Jean come away from his efforts looking like a kicked puppy, soundly defeated and full aware of it.
Mustang left. But they didn't. They were still there. Granted, Falman and Fuery got reassigned, and weren't as close in distance as they once were, but he and Jean were still in Central. There were more people in that office besides Mustang, and he always thought she knew it, and he wasn't so sure anymore.
And that hurt.
It was bad enough Mustang left them.
Breda wasn't about to let her do the same. His cooking skills came in handy on a level beyond just saving him from military slop, and he doubted Hawkeye was eating all that well those days anyway.
One knock. Two.
A dog barking.
Hayate.
Oh, fuck.
What the hell had he been thinking again, coming out there with that damned dog? Hawkeye had better listen to him or he might actually do something rash. Somebody owed something to him for being willing to put up with that nippy mutt.
Even if Black Hayate was better behaved than most dogs.
"Breda?" The door opened a crack and she looked out, giving him a confused frown. "Hayate, hush."
Immediately, the dog silenced, and he convinced himself he wasn't seeing that black nose poking out of the doorway, sniffing at him.
"Uh, hiya, Hawkeye. I- I uh..." Okay. He had his way inside, but now that he was actually there, he wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. Damn her for making him act like a sap. Fuck it. Time for a different route. "Look. I was gonna say something about how I made too much and maybe you'd like some but we'd both see through it. So to cut the bullshit, I made you something to eat 'cause you're losing weight and looking sick and I know you're not taking care of yourself 'cause you look like the walking dead and have since he left. Now let me in, 'cause you and I -- we need to talk."
Her eyes widened, and she blinked a few times, and stammered out some half-assed excuse. Breda decided to go the nonreactive route and fixed her with a stare he knew said better than words drop the bullshit already. Hawkeye lowered her gaze, defeated, and took a step back to let him in.
Breda managed to ignore the reality that there was a real live dog right there, oh holy shit he was going to die wasn't he and follow her into the kitchen to set the pot down. "It's stew. Pretty damn good too, if I say so myself. And you're gonna eat it."
"Look, I appreciate it, but I'm not--"
"Hawkeye?" He interrupted her. "Quit lying. Time's passed for that now. Neither of us believe it anyway and if you actually do then you're worse off than I took you for. Just because he's gone doesn't mean you're dead, so stop living like it. We're your family too. Don't make us lose you both."
He was being brutal and he knew it, knocking down the thin, false masks she so carefully hid behind, and the look in her eyes was raw as she struggled to keep her expression from crumpling. She stammered weakly, trying to form a protest, a denial, something that didn't sound like total bullshit even to her own ears, and gave up.
"Don't hide from us, Hawkeye. He wasn't the only one in that office all those years. We were there too. Don't quit depending on us now. You needed him to need you, don't you? Well, maybe we need you to need us too."
"But... I failed?" She looked bewildered and lost, and he felt a little sorry for her and wondered if maybe he shouldn't have broken things down with all the subtle grace of a wrecking ball.
Nah. She was even more stubborn than the boss had been, in some ways. No way avoiding it. She relied on those walls too much, and there was nothing left to protect her anymore past them. And the walls weren't sturdy enough to handle anything more than a light breeze, maybe not even that. It was gonna hurt, but he had to get her out of that hiding place.
"Failed at what? At protectin' him? Hawkeye, Mustang's still alive because of you. If you hadn't done everything you did, he wouldn't be. You went back against orders. You got yourself shot too. And you stopped Archer, and you got Mustang to a medic on time. The only one in this damned country who thinks you failed is you."
"I'm supposed to be stronger than this." Her voice was thin and high, completely hollow, and he doubted she could even see him clearly for how silver her eyes had turned.
"Says who? The military? The military's full of shit and we all know it, which is kinda the whole point of any of us being where we were. We're strong because we have each other. Don't make me get all allegorical and mushy and whip out some comparison to ropes or something, Hawkeye, or I'll make you pay for it later."
A chuckle escaped -- he couldn't tell if there was any humor hidden in it or if it was just a hysterical release of emotion -- and the beginning of a laugh turned into a sob as she covered her face. Breda sighed and rubbed her shoulder before pulling her into a hug.
When she quieted down a few minutes later, he spoke again. "You ever tell Jean or Mustang I got all mushy and sappy like this, I'm denyin' it, got me?"
That time, she did laugh a bit, even while crying and trying to stop, rubbing at her eyes.
"Dry your eyes, and go get out some bowls," he told her. "I wanna sit down and have supper with my family." He sighed and looked at the ceiling as he smirked. "Even that damn mutt."