Disclaimer: FMA isn't mine.

Song: Glycerine - Bush

Could've been easier
By three:
Our old friend fear,
and you,
and me

Things were never easy. Perhaps they weren't meant to be. After all, if they had been, perhaps it wouldn't have been worth the cost. But when you bleed, live and breathe, give things up for a cause, for a purpose, for one person, it's hard to forget all of that and just go back to a normal life.

If you had ever had a normal life to begin with.

It was always there, in the back of her mind. The fear. The apprehension and dread that thrived on insecurity and lived in the shadows, following her into her dreams and back out again. It was with her every moment of every day, every waking second, every time she closed her eyes. It was there when she took aim and fired, hitting the target perfectly. Flawlessly. For someone as flawless as she appeared, she felt she had far too many cracks in that tough outer shell.

He was a charismatic, eloquent man, easy with words, easy with women. She looked at him every chance she got, careful to watch him when his back was turned or during one of his frequent lapses in attentiveness while his eyes were closed. Not that she saw him often now, since the transfer. She never wondered why the women he went out with each night fell for him. To do so would be hypocritical, because she had fallen for him years ago. As she watched him the fear would creep in, stealing those brief moments during which she managed to forget, snatching them from her.

Normal people were afraid of the dark. That was one thing they had in common.

He walked her home one day because they'd run into each other at the flower shop. She was there to buy flowers for the grave of Maes Hughes. He was there to ask the flower shop girl, Cynthia, if she was busy Thursday night. Neither accomplished the tasks they had set out to do. He had grasped her firmly by the elbow and steered her outside into the fading evening. That small touch sent her heart racing, and she tried to tell herself it was because it might appear inappropriate, because he was the one person she shouldn't be having contact with. It was easier to lie to others than to yourself.

She blinked against the evening sunlight reflecting off the sidewalk, at the bright stalls that lined the street. The slight pressure on her elbow was enough to keep her anchored to the world and the fear that constantly twisted in her gut, at war with her heart. He mistook the panic on her face for something else, what she would never know, and had insisted on walking her home. The shadows from their feet seemed to drip and twist as they walked, creeping up the walls of the buildings surrounding her. She felt like she was living in a dream far too often these days. Better were the days when things could be solved logically, rationally. When the enemies out there were just as easy to kill with a quick aim of her gun as everyone else.

When they reached her apartment, it was dark. She had intended to take a cab home instead of the long walk, but she hadn't had a choice. Above the stars winked into existence, sparks in the shadows. She fumbled with the key in the lock, acutely aware of him watching her, his eyes narrowed.

"Wait." She had expected him to speak, though the words and the timing were not what she had anticipated. His voice was soft and dark, slipping through the heavy air on the ghost of a breeze that remained. He gently reached out and took the key from her unprotesting hands, opening the door with a deft hand. The air from inside wafted out, cold and stale, smelling more of an office than a home. When he returned the key to her, their hands brushed and she shivered, suddenly aware of the approaching chill. He reached out and brushed her hair from her face, his fingers like fire against her skin.

It was then that she realized how much she'd been living in fear.

"Please be careful." The words were low, pitched so only she could hear, if anyone happened to be listening. She took a deep breath and let the tension drain from her shoulders. She straightened, standing taller, as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

It didn't take as much effort to smile as she remembered, the expression feeling slightly foreign on her face.

"I will." His features relaxed, the line between his brows eased, reassured by the soft thread of her voice. The shadows receded, crawling back to the corners and the edges of her vision. Her breathing eased, the tightness in her chest lessened. She took a tentative step backwards into the dark entry way of her apartment, the shadows falling innocently over her face.

His answering smile was uncertain, as though unsure how long the peace she'd managed to find would last. As though he was unsure how to help, because he still didn't know what was wrong, and it was difficult to fix what was broken that you couldn't see. He trailed his knuckles softly over the skin of her cheek before shoving both hands deep into his pockets and retreating to the bottom of the two steps to the door.

"Good night," he said, before disappearing into the shadows himself.