FMA Fic: One [Izumi/Seig]

This started out purely an Izumi fic. And then it grew into an Izumi/Seig fic. Now I just think it's overly angsty. Gah.


One is all, all is one.

She knows how existence is cyclical, how life gains value through death, how death is essential to life, but Izumi Curtis doesn’t know if she’s afraid to die.

But she’d wanted death at first. Those first days, weeks, months—she’d wanted to die, wanted divine, karmic, cosmic punishment to rain down upon her, whisk her away, end all the suffering. The horror of what she’d done—the knowledge of everything she’d lost—of everything she’d stolen from herself, from Seig, from life—rendered everything obsolete. Even looking into Seig’s eyes—no, especially looking into his eyes—rent every part of her. His every hovering glance revealed worry, guilt, and shame—for what?, she wanted to ask, scream, cry, for what did he mourn and suffer and lament? Those were her sins reflected in his eyes, in him who couldn’t have known, in him who had had nothing to do with her crime, in him who was her heart, her comfort… her life. This man… her husband… soul mate… other half… in whom she hadn’t confessed, betraying them both. Whom she couldn’t ask forgiveness from now, knowing all too well that he’d give it to her unconditionally—and she unready for his kindness, yet too raw for atonement.

And both of them misunderstanding.

Why were there so many words they couldn’t say?

It seems to her now a miracle that she had lived. How her body, broken and battered, had defied nature and herself. How he had stayed with her through every bleak day, sitting beside her bed, as silent as the rock he seemed to her then. How he had tolerated to look at her. What did he see in her? What disgust or horrors or doubts did he kindle in his heart and mind? What emotion kept him by her side? How many silent hours did they pass, each waiting for the other to speak, each deathly afraid of speaking?

How had they ever met each other’s eyes again?

It was like starting over. They had become strangers, more than acquaintances, less than lovers. They’d forgotten the language between them, the easy language of mortals—and they were something else now, stuck between the past of vivacious life and the future of uncertain death—like phantoms. Their mutual confidence was gone, lying dead between them at their feet, suffocated by secrets and disaster, and now they—not he and she, but they—were suffering a slow death far worse than anything physical. Yet they strained—he strained, trying to reach her across an infinite gap—clinging her, clinging to love. What long torturous hours they spent—he through patience, she through resignation, then endurance, then hope—relearning, rebuilding, constructing bridges slowly, painfully groping their ways back to each other, creating a whole new language of touch and glance, speaking heart to heart, if not always mind to mind.

When did she meet his eye again without hesitance, without fear and gut-clenching remorse? When did his touch cease to burn, his life scalding to her own desperation for death, and instead comforted, lending strength and will? When did she bury herself in his arms again, let his embrace engulf her, let him share in her grief, let him take a little bit of the burden from her, let him back into her heart? When did he carefully past all the barriers and guilt, shame, and despair and make it if not alright, then tolerable… forgivable?

How did he make her want to live again?

Because Izumi Curtis wants to live. She doesn’t know if she’s afraid of death, but she knows she wants to live one more day, one more week, one more year. She wants to fill each day with new memories, old comforts, and daily triumphs and sorrows and experiences. She wants to share life with him.

She doesn’t want to leave him behind again. Because they are one and they are all.