Disclaimer: I don't own FMA
Notes: Sorry, everyone, that this has taken so long. I've been trying to get myself to write more on it before I start posting, which hasn't really been happening because I've been working on another piece, which won't be ready for a looong time. So I may as well post a little bit of this already. I started it, thinking "sequel", but I don't think I'll manage that - I explained in the end of "Such is the Sport of Soccer" why that would be - so it's just in one-shot form, like many of my other stories. I hope that you don't mind that. Some of it might still be in an ongoing-story format, but it will skip when necessary, and there won't really be any plot that takes us through the whole thing. Please enjoy it as it is. Thank you for your support in SSS, and I hope that you like this just as much.
"Some Simple Soccer-like Slides" by Dailenna
Prologue
The crowd cheered wildly to welcome their hero back to the field. The season had only just begun again, and their expectant roars carried from the stands over the grass, and to the ears of the players at the ready. It seemed that their love and adoration never really ended, instead carrying from year to year. The first game of the season always had a so-so turn-out, but a good vocal response. There were no losses to speak of yet, and the fans waited eagerly for their own team to win; for their favourite player to take the game under his wing and bring another year of glory to the game.
He ran onto the field with a confident grin, and took his place quickly. For some reason he didn't look the same as he usually did. The crowd didn't look as it usually did. The stadium was entirely out of perspective. Everything seemed . . . taller. It took the looming referee's whistle blow to point out to her why.
She was the ball.
A foot came out of nowhere, and suddenly her hair streamed behind her in the wind. She felt queasy as she kept rising up into the air, but all of a sudden her stomach rose into her throat when she stopped ascending and began to fall. An opposing team player watched her carefully, adjusting his position. As she came close to the ground, his boot stretched out in front of her.
She gave a jerk, and jolted into consciousness by her movement, she opened her eyes sluggishly. The room around her was still dark, and she let her eyes droop shut again, trying to ignore the now-familiar pains in her abdomen.
As much as she could pass those off as a symptom of being very close to the end of her term, she couldn't ignore the scratchy, dry feeling of her throat. With a soft moan she opened her eyes again, and pushed her husband back to his own side of the bed softly so that she could get up. The movement only served to remind her that it was the middle of the night, and she would be better off trying to sleep, but her throat cried out for water.
After giving a faint cough she heaved herself up onto her aching feet and shuffled out into the hallway, closing the door behind her. It was at times like this that she wished she could bear to drink straight from the tap like Roy did when he needed to drink, or at least remembered to keep a cup of some sort in their bathroom. Instead she had to slowly make her way down the stairs and to the kitchen, where she found a glass a little slower than she would have if she was fully awake, and finally got her water.
Now she'd been able to soothe her throat she felt tireder than even before. There was a pause in which she gulped the last two mouthfuls and put the glass in the sink before turning to go back to bed.
She stopped, clutching at the bench and now fully awake, looking down at the splash of water at her feet.
"R-Roy?" she called out shakily, even though she knew he was still upstairs and asleep. Some small hope inside her had made her think that he might have been able to hear her. But no, the man wasn't a superhero – she knew that for a fact.
Taking a few tottering steps, she wobbled out of the kitchen and through the dining room the base of the stairs, where she stopped with dread, looking up at the pale timber. Those stairs were mocking her, she knew it.
A whole five minutes later, and having clenched every single muscle in her body at least twice for each stair, she gripped the balustrade with clawed fingers and finally took the last step up onto the second floor of the house. Making it to the bedroom was a piece of cake in comparison.
She didn't bother to close the door behind her, and tried not to sit too heavily on the bed when leaning over to shake the pile of blankets. Someone under there groaned. That, at least, was a good sign.
"Roy?" she asked, putting her face next to his ear.
He gave another groan, and since her eyes had had the time to become accustomed to the dim light of the moon she could see his eyebrows raise in an attempt to open his eyes without actually lifting his eyelids.
"Roy," she tried again.
There was a sniff, a blink – his eyes had opened a little – and a throaty "What is it, honey?" His breath was hot on her cheek, and smelled of morning-breath without the extra few hours.
"My water just broke."
Now his eyes were open.