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wtf_hollowFull disclosure- it's been long enough that I really don't remember where this arc began, or in what order all the pieces fall. I know Whimsey has a bunch of bits too, but I have a feeling that these will all end up posting willy-nilly, and may require some date editing to get them properly ordered (if left scattered in non-chronological fashion, I will probably lose my ever-lovin' mind), but let's at least start by rescuing them from the FB Hollow, and getting them properly stored here. I mean, what good is an archive if we're not actually archiving?
So this is me, working on the backlog.And Whimsey? Lemme know if you want me to post up your stuff too; I can likely copy/paste and handle formatting, but if you'd prefer to do it yourself (I've noticed that you handle some of your paragraph breaks differently than I do) from the original files, that's cool too. I would just love to see it all here (especially since Adventures is such a goddamn breath of fresh air and a sorely needed pick-me-up at times).
Edited to add- Oh hey, the document I found on my computer was a collection! I'd apparently had more or less this same thought some time back, so there are selections from both of us in there! Hooray!!! That makes this all SO much easier! But for sure let me know if you see something that needs fixing.
Arright, without further ado, let us once more return to the Depression-era tale of two misfit pals, looking for a home...
“Where's Roy?”
Momo started abruptly from where he was hanging out the back door of the bakery, hurriedly tucking one arm behind his back. “Lucky! Hey, kid. Ah, your pal said he was gonna take a short walk. Reckon he won't be gone long.”
He couldn't recall a time when Roy had ever voluntarily taken a walk without at least letting him know he'd be gone. “Just a walk?” he asked, leaning against the door frame with a nonchalance he didn't exactly feel. Beside him, he felt Momo straighten up even taller, and Arai sighed. “I'm not gonna tell Mr. Fuji you're out here smoking.”
Even without looking, he could feel Momo's grimace. “He ain't wrong, it's a dirty habit. And yeah, just a walk. He's been steppin' out for a few days now. Never gone long, and it don't cause no problems, so I wasn't gonna question. It's a free country, yeah?”
“Yeeeah,” Arai replied slowly. “I guess...”
Momo cocked his head and Arai could feel the question hanging there. He sighed. “It's just... It's strange, is all. Roy's never liked being out of sight of me for long, if we could help it. Too many bad things've happened, to both of us. So him taking off without me... Can't really help but worry some.”
Shoving off the wall, Momo swiftly paced across the alley, then back again, fingers tight around the cigarette butt. “Sometimes, Lucky, I wish I could kick sense into some of the people you've met in this world. Swear I would.” He stopped, ducking his head slightly to stare intently into Arai's eyes. “I wouldn't let Roy go, if I thought he was gonna run into trouble. And if there is any trouble, for any reason, I'm right by your side, and his.”
He probably ought to be getting used to the feeling of his stomach dropping, and the tight prickle of tears at the corners of his eyes. Arai sputtered uselessly for a moment, unable to find a single coherent word, only to gasp out “Thanks,” before burying his face in his hands. The warm hand that curled around his shoulder didn't help his composure at all.
“Just sayin', your pal's okay. Don't worry none. And hey!” Momo's voice lifted, so cheery that Arai couldn't help but blink his eyes clear and look up as well. “Here's the man of the hour!”
Trotting down the alley, hands in his pockets and with something like a smile around his mouth, Roy looked bashful and caught-out, but still managed to meet Arai's eyes pretty steady. “'rai. Hi, 'rai.”
“Hey buddy.” As soon as Roy was close enough Arai pulled him in for a quick hug, inordinately relieved at his friend's pleased chuffing over his ear. “Where'd you go? I was worried.”
One side of Roy's grin twitched, whilst the other side seemed to forget what smiling was meant to look like. The happiness in his eyes darkened into a cloudy morass, and he shook his head in a quick negation. Hunching his head as though awaiting a reprimand, he said in a very small voice, “Can't. S-sorry. Can't.”
Arai stared. Roy had never--he told Arai everything. All this time they'd known each other, anything Arai asked, or even if he didn't ask. If Roy knew the words, and was able to use them, they went straight to Arai first. Because they trusted each other. Depended on each other, that was how they'd worked, how they'd survived.
Unless.... "What do you mean, you can't? You don't know the words? You need some help?" he asked, hopefully.
But Roy aimed his eyes toward the alleyway brick, shrugged one shoulder up toward his ear. And Arai knew that gesture, he knew the scratchy-small tone of voice, when Roy only repeated, "Sorry."
Like when he expected a knock to the head, because he couldn't do any better than he was doing. Now he was trying to shrink himself back from Arai, and that just made the whole thing worse, because Arai didn't want him to be scared, or braced for a hit, not ever again. He didn't want Roy to go further away, he just wanted to understand. He just wanted to look out for this friend he'd trusted all this time.
Because Roy had been hurt too much. And before they'd made friends, Arai hadn't had anybody to trust. What in the world was he ever supposed to do, if Roy went away?
"Aw, hey," he caught the retreating edge of Roy's sleeve. "You don't have to--I won't get mad, okay? Just, don't." He got stuck, there. Not wanting to beg, at Roy, in front of Momo, Don't leave me alone. Knowing it for a weakness, and selfishness. Knowing he hadn't any right, but still needing his friend to not go away.
And now Roy was looking at him properly. Interested, waiting as he always had, for Arai to make some useful point. Only this time, Arai had even less of an idea than usual, about what he was supposed to say. It was like they’d traded places, and now he was the one who didn't have the words. Between his conscience and his confusion, he was entirely at a loss.
It was at this point, that Momo stepped in to save him. "All you want, is your pal should check in with somebody, right?" he prompted Arai, casual as anything. "Nothing wrong with a stroll around the neighborhood, get some fresh air. Does me a world of good, some days. Long as Roy tells somebody he's goin' on a walk, then nobody needs to worry."
But what was Roy doing out there, that he couldn't tell Arai? What if he ran into trouble, or needed help, and Arai didn't know? What if--god forbid--something happened, and he didn't come back?
Only Arai couldn't ask now, because for some completely unfathomable reason, Roy couldn't tell, and Momo had said it was all okay. Leaving no other choice but for it to be okay with Arai, too.
"Yeah, that's." Now he was the one looking at the paving stones. "Just, tell somebody, yeah? And uh, be careful. I guess." Which sounded kinda dumb, but it was less dumb than, Promise you'll come back. Because normal people didn't ask that, whenever their friends were just walking around the block or whatever. This was a town, after all. A pretty nice one. Not some frontier wilderness, or a warzone. And Roy should have as much right as anybody, to walk around a nice town, right? What kind of person would Arai be, to deny him that?
Roy nudged up against him, tipping his head against Arai's, in their old friendly gesture that right now, for some reason, just kind of made Arai want to tear up. "Take care," he agreed.
Arai was sad. Roy didn't like that, didn't like that he'd made Arai sad. But there were some things that Roy just Knew. So even though it made Arai sad, Roy kept his secret.
His secret. It was still just a bit strange to him. A secret was a possession Roy had never thought he'd own. But he'd Promised, and he Knew, so he tucked his secret as far away as he could, and suffered Arai's disappointment like a punishment well-deserved. Hard, but fair. Like everything else, secrets came with costs.
So he tried to make it up to his friend, smiling a little broader, humming appreciatively when Arai jostled his shoulder, and being extra attentive any time his pal spoke. Friends were important- this was another thing he Knew- and Arai was the most important friend of all, being Roy's first and best.
But the new friend was important too.
Since he could recall, folk had been careful to show Roy what his place was: outside, away, not with the real people. Arai, too, had been kicked around, but Roy knew well enough that given a chance, Arai could be invited to sit with the people. Same way he knew he'd not be afforded that invitation, even if he took a hundred baths and combed his hair just so and said please sir and thank you ma'am just like Arai had taught him. He wasn't angry about it, and now that he had Arai in his life, and sometimes Momo or Fuji or Ed, he wasn't even lonely. But he knew. He'd always known.
And Roy thought that maybe, his new friend knew as well. It was in the way he'd tucked himself into remotest place he could find, to wait and see if he'd hidden well enough that ol' Death wouldn't sniff him out this time. And how his eyes had tracked Roy's movement, alert and aware but resigned, without appeal. The way he was too wary to be kind, but Roy still saw gratitude manifest in how his new friend hadn't moved his nest since the first time they'd met, or lashed out at him in any way. He remembered what trust looked like, from a person who was always afraid. He'd lived too long being that person.
So he did things for his new friend, the kinds of thing that would have made him feel safe, when he was scared all the time. He brought him bits of food, and the softest cast-off clothing he could find in the bins. He collected pretty rocks, and a jay's feather, and spread them out on the floor where the sun made them glow with color. He sat, just inside the window, and hummed softly while his friend sobbed his pain and loneliness, and after his friend woke up Roy lay down on the floor and stretched his hand out toward him, just as far as he could reach. After a few minutes, his friend stretched his arm out too, and briefly closed his eyes when the tips of their fingers met in the barest of brushes.
Roy knew. He knew what it was to feel so terribly alone, and he knew the terror that was Alone's only companion. And he knew that his friend could see the echoes of that in his own, strange eyes. That their Otherness was the bond that made it possible to trust at all. Because Roy Knew. And his friend Knew, too.
Depending on the situation, Fuji knew it was always either a blessing or a curse, being as perceptive as he was. There was seldom any middle ground. He saw patterns, the currents and undercurrents to situations, the big picture and the smaller, often all at once. He wasn't a clairvoyant like Yuuko, divining a person's life at a glance and plucking their names out of thin air. But the very first time they had met, he had recognized her and she him, and all they'd had to do was nod.
Because Fuji saw things. Taken separately they were ordinary, commonplace things. But put together, much like the chemistry of baking ingredients, the inert details around him amounted in combination, to a significant amount of knowledge. And most of the time, that knowledge amounted to power, or at least some advantage in most situations.
Though there were also times, when he was merely someone who knew too much, but had no way to change what he could see. When he could only stand back, and watch others grapple with difficulties, or the hard lessons they had to learn on their own way to knowledge.
Take for example, young Arai. Who could have been enjoying a break on this quiet afternoon, but instead was stress-cleaning the already spotless bakery front, with the desperation of a man trying to singlehandedly win a war. He'd been at it since before Roy had sidled up to Momo at the afternoon break and said, "Walk around. Okay?"
And Momo had said sure, go enjoy himself awhile, slipping out to the alley shortly after to light up the afternoon cigarette that Fuji always let him think he was sneaking. It was at this point that Arai's cleaning out front had gone rather bristly and intense in nature, with a lot of strong feelings rolling all the way back into the bakery kitchen, for Fuji's consideration.
It was the third day in a row, of this pattern. On the first day, Fuji had gone to the doorway leading out front, to remind Arai he was due for a break as well. But then he spied the young man's expression, and realized that this probably was Arai taking a break. Being able to put down the stoic mask of forced optimism he'd been going around with lately (of course Fuji had seen that, too), and grapple with the unhappy worry that had clearly been under that mask for awhile.
The trouble, Fuji knew, was that it did very little good to tell people things they weren't ready to hear. He could explain to Arai at length, that he was someone special in the world. That he was rare and valuable in his capacity for kindness, the frankly astonishing generosity of his heart, his sincerity, and his incorruptible sense of fair play.
He could tell Arai about the loyalty he inspired, in those who got to know him. How right now, there were people all over town who'd become invested in his well-being, and who'd go to considerable lengths at a moment's notice, to do anything he needed (not the least of whom was Morinozuka Takashi, but that definitely wasn't for Fuji to tell). He could tell Arai any number of truths about himself, but until Arai was ready to accept those truths, they wouldn't be much help to him.
Fuji had learned from firsthand experience, that when a person accepted loss and hardship as their lot, it became very hard to trust a change in fortune. It felt safer perhaps, staying braced for hardship. Being prepared to accept disappointment, kept a person from being swamped by it. But it also meant that one was unprepared to accept happiness, or open one's hands to gifts from others, or receive recompense for the good one gave to the world.
It took time, and some uncomfortable growth on occasion, to learn that one was worthy to receive good. And Fuji knew it was those growing pains, that young Arai was struggling over right now. The main question was whether he'd start to come around, while there was still some varnish left on the much-scrubbed shop counter.
He gave it one more day, and then interrupted Arai's near-vengeful polishing of the front windows, with a tray of tea and some miniature lemon tarts left over from the morning. "I realize the irony of me saying this, but I'm concerned about you working too hard."
Arai paused with the cleaning rag, his back to Fuji. "It's not--. I don't mind keeping busy."
"I know," Fuji answered gently. "But would you mind having some tea with me? Keep me company for a bit?" As though he were the lonely person in this room.
Arai's shoulders dropped a moment, before he pulled in a breath and squared himself up again. "Yeah, um." Turning to attempt a game smile for Fuji, the sort that likely pained him to dredge up as much as it pained Fuji to look at. "You bet. Thanks."
On the next afternoon's lull, he engaged Arai's help in sifting out a particular recipe from his collection. "It's a maple-sugar glaze, I jotted it down ages ago, but never got around to making it. Thought I'd give it a try this weekend."
Arai dutifully sorted through stacks of old recipe cards with him, which had the advantage of letting him feel useful, while also sitting down for a proper break. Of course for Fuji, sorting through recipes was like sorting through a family photo album, prompting anecdotes and light conversation throughout. He knew he couldn't address Arai's unhappiness straight on, nor could he take it away. But he could put himself nearby, so that at least Arai didn't have to work through his troubles in total solitude.
When Arai soon turned up the glaze recipe (as Fuji knew he would, having slipped it into the stack for him to find), Fuji thanked him, and went to tack it under the fridge magnet, for later. "You know," he mentioned then, poking his head in the fridge to count the eggs. "If you ever need help with something, you can always ask me, too."
There was a beat of quiet then, and Fuji peeked back over his shoulder, to catch Arai staring down at his hands, looking stricken and so terribly young. Fuji shut the fridge, and turned to face him, quelling a sigh of relief that Arai might finally be ready to unburden himself.
And then the back door creaked open, letting in a swirl of brisk autumn air, scent of rain on the way, and Roy making the same cheerful beeline as always, unerringly toward his friend. And as always, Arai all but collapsed toward him gratitude, letting Roy ruffle his hair, bumping their shoulders together, and scooping up the last jam thumbprint cookie off his own plate, to offer Roy.
Fuji saw the uncommon trust in their bond, and how Roy always tried in his own way to reassure Arai, following his mysterious daily errands alone. What Fuji didn't yet know, was whether Arai would come to understand and trust that reassurance, before the fear of its loss overcame his ability to bear up.
All he could do either way, was wait, and be ready.
He walked, and scavenged. He tucked away little cloth-wrapped packets in hidden corners of the alleyways of the town, and stuffed his pockets with bread from his own ration. He spent three afternoons helping stack the few crates that the old grocer couldn't lift onto shelves in the back of his store during his walk, and at the end the week Mr. Hito gifted him with the tail end of a bologna sausage from the deli counter- a rare treat.
In the past, Roy would have immediately shared this bounty with Arai, with great delight at being able to contribute. But they were so much better off now, eating two good meals every single day- often three- and Arai had started to lose the gauntness that had sharpened the planes of his face. The bologna would make Arai smile, and would be delicious on the warm slices of bread that Fuji provided them every day. But his other friend, his new friend- he needed better than what Roy could scrounge from leftovers and leavings.
So with some small regret, the bologna was also packed into a sheet of wax paper that had fallen on the floor at the bakery, which he had rescued from the trash bin. Roy tucked the bundle into his coat, and then shoved the coat under his cot at the Elrics' home. He planned to take it soon, before it spoiled.
But the bakery van's transmission failed, and they spent several days doing their deliveries by foot, dragging their goods in a cart that Momo borrowed from the curio shop. There was no time for him to take his usual afternoon forage, and after work Arai was so anxious that Roy felt reluctant to leave him alone. So it wasn't until late Wednesday night, with Arai sunk deep in the sleep of the exhausted, that Roy gathered his coat and its precious parcel and slipped down the stairs like a shadow.
The apothecary was filled with darkness and dust and the ghost-gleams of moonlight playing across glass bottles, but Roy's eyes cut through the gloom with ease. Out the back door, without the tattletale bells of the public entrance, and into the maze of alleys. One by one, he returned to his caches and collected whatever he'd stowed, shoving them into his coat alongside the bologna. Twenty minutes later, he was trotting up a winding lane, among the shells of old, abandoned buildings, most smeared with black and starting to deteriorate.
At the end of the lane was the skeleton of an old church, its once-graceful bulk listing to the side as if too weary to support itself any longer. Its roof sagged, and most of the windows were broken, blackened, charred beams visible where brick had crumbled. The steeple was the only part of the structure still resolutely upright, actively resisting its slow, slumping demise.
Roy laid his bundle down on the ground at the base of the church, spreading his coat wide open. He carefully packed everything around the lump of bologna before tucking the loose ends of the coat over them, and tying the packet as securely as he was able with the sleeves. It was messy and awkward, but it would hold well enough, and with a hum of satisfaction he lifted it up. Catching the knot in his teeth, he kicked off his shoes, grabbed hold of the broken bricks to start to climb.
The fire-damaged building looked as though a good wind would topple it, but Roy knew that the framing of the steeple was still sound. It was the sort of space he might have sought out himself, had he needed a safe den, although he worried that Arai wouldn't manage the climb as easily as he did. But Arai had the Elrics, as did he, and someone else needed the refuge the old church offered more than they did, anyway.
In short order he was shoving the bundle through the window near the top, the busted wooden slats that had shielded the opening catching at the fabric. He thought he heard something tear as he finally got it over the sill, but it was okay if the whole thing fell apart now. Heaving himself in after, he sprawled onto the bare wooden floor, and grinned at the shadows on the far wall. “Okay? Hi!”
The darkness rustled, sighed. A faint metal sound shivered in Roy's ears, and he pushed the lumpy coat toward the source. “Here,” he announced proudly, giving it another prod. “You.”
Another sigh, and Roy's sharp eyes caught a bare glimpse of a blade through the murky light before it disappeared back into blackness. He sat still, waiting, and after a few more moments of silence a hunched and wary figure shuffled on his knees from the shadows.
The smell of sickness was less than it had been the first time he'd met his friend, although Roy wasn't sure if the sick-smell came from illness, or from wounds on the verge of festering. The blood-smell was nearly gone, which must be good, but his friend still held himself as though in great pain, limbs tucked in and shoulders stiff. One arm was held woodenly against his side, barely moving as he dragged himself forward to pick at the edge of the coat with trembling fingers.
“You,” Roy repeated, pushing his gifts a little closer. “Brought surprise.”
Pale blue eyes flashed through the greasy curtain of his hair, alarm evident in the way his body tensed even further, and his hand froze over the bundle. Roy didn't think he was even breathing.
“Nice surprise,” he amended, adding, “sorry,” for good measure. He hadn't meant to frighten.
The man exhaled shakily, hand returning to the coat. He plucked the knot apart, more dexterous even with one hand than Roy was with both of his, and sat back to examine what was packed inside. Roy felt pride swell within him as he watched his friend look over the bread crusts and cracking bits of cheese. He'd also found a dented tin cup, and had stuffed it with a couple precious cookies he'd held back from his own portion when Fuji treated his workers. But the bologna was the crowning glory of his delivery, and his grin couldn't be contained when his friend paused over its discovery.
“Surprise,” Roy pointed out, just to make things clear. “Nice.”
He could hear his friend swallowing, as his fingers tightened on the paper wrapping the bologna. That riveting gaze lifted once more, meeting his own with a face that was so sad behind its studied blankness. The man hacked once, clearing his throat, before asking in a voice rough, yet surprisingly soft, “Why?”
Roy smiled at him, trying to make his face do the gentle things Arai's did, whenever he wanted Roy to feel at ease. “Friend,” he replied, as though that said it all. “Need help.”
The man coughed out an ugly shred of laughter. “Buddy, I ain't in much shape to help you.”
“No,” Roy told him firmly, patting the floor. “Friend. You. Need help. Want to help.”
Blue eyes studied him once more, while Roy continued to beam at him. He remembered Arai smiling at him a lot, when they'd first met. Those were good smiles, the kind that didn't have any lies hidden behind them; the kind Roy hadn't recalled ever really seeing, before. He wanted to give those smiles to his new friend, and make him feel safe again.
Finally the other man shook his head, dark hair swaying and covering his face. “Yeah, well, I don't know that I much deserve a friend. Or know how to be one, any more. Getting yourself a bum deal here, pal.”
But Roy was elated. They'd never spoken before this, instead communicating through gestures and the odd word Roy would drop here and there, and the occasional grunts he'd received in response. He tried to make his smile extra-big, but without showing his teeth (since Arai said that some people were scared by them). “Okay,” he reassured the man. “Okay. Teach you.”
I miss all my icons. :(
So this is me, working on the backlog.
Edited to add- Oh hey, the document I found on my computer was a collection! I'd apparently had more or less this same thought some time back, so there are selections from both of us in there! Hooray!!! That makes this all SO much easier! But for sure let me know if you see something that needs fixing.
Arright, without further ado, let us once more return to the Depression-era tale of two misfit pals, looking for a home...
“Where's Roy?”
Momo started abruptly from where he was hanging out the back door of the bakery, hurriedly tucking one arm behind his back. “Lucky! Hey, kid. Ah, your pal said he was gonna take a short walk. Reckon he won't be gone long.”
He couldn't recall a time when Roy had ever voluntarily taken a walk without at least letting him know he'd be gone. “Just a walk?” he asked, leaning against the door frame with a nonchalance he didn't exactly feel. Beside him, he felt Momo straighten up even taller, and Arai sighed. “I'm not gonna tell Mr. Fuji you're out here smoking.”
Even without looking, he could feel Momo's grimace. “He ain't wrong, it's a dirty habit. And yeah, just a walk. He's been steppin' out for a few days now. Never gone long, and it don't cause no problems, so I wasn't gonna question. It's a free country, yeah?”
“Yeeeah,” Arai replied slowly. “I guess...”
Momo cocked his head and Arai could feel the question hanging there. He sighed. “It's just... It's strange, is all. Roy's never liked being out of sight of me for long, if we could help it. Too many bad things've happened, to both of us. So him taking off without me... Can't really help but worry some.”
Shoving off the wall, Momo swiftly paced across the alley, then back again, fingers tight around the cigarette butt. “Sometimes, Lucky, I wish I could kick sense into some of the people you've met in this world. Swear I would.” He stopped, ducking his head slightly to stare intently into Arai's eyes. “I wouldn't let Roy go, if I thought he was gonna run into trouble. And if there is any trouble, for any reason, I'm right by your side, and his.”
He probably ought to be getting used to the feeling of his stomach dropping, and the tight prickle of tears at the corners of his eyes. Arai sputtered uselessly for a moment, unable to find a single coherent word, only to gasp out “Thanks,” before burying his face in his hands. The warm hand that curled around his shoulder didn't help his composure at all.
“Just sayin', your pal's okay. Don't worry none. And hey!” Momo's voice lifted, so cheery that Arai couldn't help but blink his eyes clear and look up as well. “Here's the man of the hour!”
Trotting down the alley, hands in his pockets and with something like a smile around his mouth, Roy looked bashful and caught-out, but still managed to meet Arai's eyes pretty steady. “'rai. Hi, 'rai.”
“Hey buddy.” As soon as Roy was close enough Arai pulled him in for a quick hug, inordinately relieved at his friend's pleased chuffing over his ear. “Where'd you go? I was worried.”
One side of Roy's grin twitched, whilst the other side seemed to forget what smiling was meant to look like. The happiness in his eyes darkened into a cloudy morass, and he shook his head in a quick negation. Hunching his head as though awaiting a reprimand, he said in a very small voice, “Can't. S-sorry. Can't.”
Arai stared. Roy had never--he told Arai everything. All this time they'd known each other, anything Arai asked, or even if he didn't ask. If Roy knew the words, and was able to use them, they went straight to Arai first. Because they trusted each other. Depended on each other, that was how they'd worked, how they'd survived.
Unless.... "What do you mean, you can't? You don't know the words? You need some help?" he asked, hopefully.
But Roy aimed his eyes toward the alleyway brick, shrugged one shoulder up toward his ear. And Arai knew that gesture, he knew the scratchy-small tone of voice, when Roy only repeated, "Sorry."
Like when he expected a knock to the head, because he couldn't do any better than he was doing. Now he was trying to shrink himself back from Arai, and that just made the whole thing worse, because Arai didn't want him to be scared, or braced for a hit, not ever again. He didn't want Roy to go further away, he just wanted to understand. He just wanted to look out for this friend he'd trusted all this time.
Because Roy had been hurt too much. And before they'd made friends, Arai hadn't had anybody to trust. What in the world was he ever supposed to do, if Roy went away?
"Aw, hey," he caught the retreating edge of Roy's sleeve. "You don't have to--I won't get mad, okay? Just, don't." He got stuck, there. Not wanting to beg, at Roy, in front of Momo, Don't leave me alone. Knowing it for a weakness, and selfishness. Knowing he hadn't any right, but still needing his friend to not go away.
And now Roy was looking at him properly. Interested, waiting as he always had, for Arai to make some useful point. Only this time, Arai had even less of an idea than usual, about what he was supposed to say. It was like they’d traded places, and now he was the one who didn't have the words. Between his conscience and his confusion, he was entirely at a loss.
It was at this point, that Momo stepped in to save him. "All you want, is your pal should check in with somebody, right?" he prompted Arai, casual as anything. "Nothing wrong with a stroll around the neighborhood, get some fresh air. Does me a world of good, some days. Long as Roy tells somebody he's goin' on a walk, then nobody needs to worry."
But what was Roy doing out there, that he couldn't tell Arai? What if he ran into trouble, or needed help, and Arai didn't know? What if--god forbid--something happened, and he didn't come back?
Only Arai couldn't ask now, because for some completely unfathomable reason, Roy couldn't tell, and Momo had said it was all okay. Leaving no other choice but for it to be okay with Arai, too.
"Yeah, that's." Now he was the one looking at the paving stones. "Just, tell somebody, yeah? And uh, be careful. I guess." Which sounded kinda dumb, but it was less dumb than, Promise you'll come back. Because normal people didn't ask that, whenever their friends were just walking around the block or whatever. This was a town, after all. A pretty nice one. Not some frontier wilderness, or a warzone. And Roy should have as much right as anybody, to walk around a nice town, right? What kind of person would Arai be, to deny him that?
Roy nudged up against him, tipping his head against Arai's, in their old friendly gesture that right now, for some reason, just kind of made Arai want to tear up. "Take care," he agreed.
Arai was sad. Roy didn't like that, didn't like that he'd made Arai sad. But there were some things that Roy just Knew. So even though it made Arai sad, Roy kept his secret.
His secret. It was still just a bit strange to him. A secret was a possession Roy had never thought he'd own. But he'd Promised, and he Knew, so he tucked his secret as far away as he could, and suffered Arai's disappointment like a punishment well-deserved. Hard, but fair. Like everything else, secrets came with costs.
So he tried to make it up to his friend, smiling a little broader, humming appreciatively when Arai jostled his shoulder, and being extra attentive any time his pal spoke. Friends were important- this was another thing he Knew- and Arai was the most important friend of all, being Roy's first and best.
But the new friend was important too.
Since he could recall, folk had been careful to show Roy what his place was: outside, away, not with the real people. Arai, too, had been kicked around, but Roy knew well enough that given a chance, Arai could be invited to sit with the people. Same way he knew he'd not be afforded that invitation, even if he took a hundred baths and combed his hair just so and said please sir and thank you ma'am just like Arai had taught him. He wasn't angry about it, and now that he had Arai in his life, and sometimes Momo or Fuji or Ed, he wasn't even lonely. But he knew. He'd always known.
And Roy thought that maybe, his new friend knew as well. It was in the way he'd tucked himself into remotest place he could find, to wait and see if he'd hidden well enough that ol' Death wouldn't sniff him out this time. And how his eyes had tracked Roy's movement, alert and aware but resigned, without appeal. The way he was too wary to be kind, but Roy still saw gratitude manifest in how his new friend hadn't moved his nest since the first time they'd met, or lashed out at him in any way. He remembered what trust looked like, from a person who was always afraid. He'd lived too long being that person.
So he did things for his new friend, the kinds of thing that would have made him feel safe, when he was scared all the time. He brought him bits of food, and the softest cast-off clothing he could find in the bins. He collected pretty rocks, and a jay's feather, and spread them out on the floor where the sun made them glow with color. He sat, just inside the window, and hummed softly while his friend sobbed his pain and loneliness, and after his friend woke up Roy lay down on the floor and stretched his hand out toward him, just as far as he could reach. After a few minutes, his friend stretched his arm out too, and briefly closed his eyes when the tips of their fingers met in the barest of brushes.
Roy knew. He knew what it was to feel so terribly alone, and he knew the terror that was Alone's only companion. And he knew that his friend could see the echoes of that in his own, strange eyes. That their Otherness was the bond that made it possible to trust at all. Because Roy Knew. And his friend Knew, too.
Depending on the situation, Fuji knew it was always either a blessing or a curse, being as perceptive as he was. There was seldom any middle ground. He saw patterns, the currents and undercurrents to situations, the big picture and the smaller, often all at once. He wasn't a clairvoyant like Yuuko, divining a person's life at a glance and plucking their names out of thin air. But the very first time they had met, he had recognized her and she him, and all they'd had to do was nod.
Because Fuji saw things. Taken separately they were ordinary, commonplace things. But put together, much like the chemistry of baking ingredients, the inert details around him amounted in combination, to a significant amount of knowledge. And most of the time, that knowledge amounted to power, or at least some advantage in most situations.
Though there were also times, when he was merely someone who knew too much, but had no way to change what he could see. When he could only stand back, and watch others grapple with difficulties, or the hard lessons they had to learn on their own way to knowledge.
Take for example, young Arai. Who could have been enjoying a break on this quiet afternoon, but instead was stress-cleaning the already spotless bakery front, with the desperation of a man trying to singlehandedly win a war. He'd been at it since before Roy had sidled up to Momo at the afternoon break and said, "Walk around. Okay?"
And Momo had said sure, go enjoy himself awhile, slipping out to the alley shortly after to light up the afternoon cigarette that Fuji always let him think he was sneaking. It was at this point that Arai's cleaning out front had gone rather bristly and intense in nature, with a lot of strong feelings rolling all the way back into the bakery kitchen, for Fuji's consideration.
It was the third day in a row, of this pattern. On the first day, Fuji had gone to the doorway leading out front, to remind Arai he was due for a break as well. But then he spied the young man's expression, and realized that this probably was Arai taking a break. Being able to put down the stoic mask of forced optimism he'd been going around with lately (of course Fuji had seen that, too), and grapple with the unhappy worry that had clearly been under that mask for awhile.
The trouble, Fuji knew, was that it did very little good to tell people things they weren't ready to hear. He could explain to Arai at length, that he was someone special in the world. That he was rare and valuable in his capacity for kindness, the frankly astonishing generosity of his heart, his sincerity, and his incorruptible sense of fair play.
He could tell Arai about the loyalty he inspired, in those who got to know him. How right now, there were people all over town who'd become invested in his well-being, and who'd go to considerable lengths at a moment's notice, to do anything he needed (not the least of whom was Morinozuka Takashi, but that definitely wasn't for Fuji to tell). He could tell Arai any number of truths about himself, but until Arai was ready to accept those truths, they wouldn't be much help to him.
Fuji had learned from firsthand experience, that when a person accepted loss and hardship as their lot, it became very hard to trust a change in fortune. It felt safer perhaps, staying braced for hardship. Being prepared to accept disappointment, kept a person from being swamped by it. But it also meant that one was unprepared to accept happiness, or open one's hands to gifts from others, or receive recompense for the good one gave to the world.
It took time, and some uncomfortable growth on occasion, to learn that one was worthy to receive good. And Fuji knew it was those growing pains, that young Arai was struggling over right now. The main question was whether he'd start to come around, while there was still some varnish left on the much-scrubbed shop counter.
He gave it one more day, and then interrupted Arai's near-vengeful polishing of the front windows, with a tray of tea and some miniature lemon tarts left over from the morning. "I realize the irony of me saying this, but I'm concerned about you working too hard."
Arai paused with the cleaning rag, his back to Fuji. "It's not--. I don't mind keeping busy."
"I know," Fuji answered gently. "But would you mind having some tea with me? Keep me company for a bit?" As though he were the lonely person in this room.
Arai's shoulders dropped a moment, before he pulled in a breath and squared himself up again. "Yeah, um." Turning to attempt a game smile for Fuji, the sort that likely pained him to dredge up as much as it pained Fuji to look at. "You bet. Thanks."
On the next afternoon's lull, he engaged Arai's help in sifting out a particular recipe from his collection. "It's a maple-sugar glaze, I jotted it down ages ago, but never got around to making it. Thought I'd give it a try this weekend."
Arai dutifully sorted through stacks of old recipe cards with him, which had the advantage of letting him feel useful, while also sitting down for a proper break. Of course for Fuji, sorting through recipes was like sorting through a family photo album, prompting anecdotes and light conversation throughout. He knew he couldn't address Arai's unhappiness straight on, nor could he take it away. But he could put himself nearby, so that at least Arai didn't have to work through his troubles in total solitude.
When Arai soon turned up the glaze recipe (as Fuji knew he would, having slipped it into the stack for him to find), Fuji thanked him, and went to tack it under the fridge magnet, for later. "You know," he mentioned then, poking his head in the fridge to count the eggs. "If you ever need help with something, you can always ask me, too."
There was a beat of quiet then, and Fuji peeked back over his shoulder, to catch Arai staring down at his hands, looking stricken and so terribly young. Fuji shut the fridge, and turned to face him, quelling a sigh of relief that Arai might finally be ready to unburden himself.
And then the back door creaked open, letting in a swirl of brisk autumn air, scent of rain on the way, and Roy making the same cheerful beeline as always, unerringly toward his friend. And as always, Arai all but collapsed toward him gratitude, letting Roy ruffle his hair, bumping their shoulders together, and scooping up the last jam thumbprint cookie off his own plate, to offer Roy.
Fuji saw the uncommon trust in their bond, and how Roy always tried in his own way to reassure Arai, following his mysterious daily errands alone. What Fuji didn't yet know, was whether Arai would come to understand and trust that reassurance, before the fear of its loss overcame his ability to bear up.
All he could do either way, was wait, and be ready.
He walked, and scavenged. He tucked away little cloth-wrapped packets in hidden corners of the alleyways of the town, and stuffed his pockets with bread from his own ration. He spent three afternoons helping stack the few crates that the old grocer couldn't lift onto shelves in the back of his store during his walk, and at the end the week Mr. Hito gifted him with the tail end of a bologna sausage from the deli counter- a rare treat.
In the past, Roy would have immediately shared this bounty with Arai, with great delight at being able to contribute. But they were so much better off now, eating two good meals every single day- often three- and Arai had started to lose the gauntness that had sharpened the planes of his face. The bologna would make Arai smile, and would be delicious on the warm slices of bread that Fuji provided them every day. But his other friend, his new friend- he needed better than what Roy could scrounge from leftovers and leavings.
So with some small regret, the bologna was also packed into a sheet of wax paper that had fallen on the floor at the bakery, which he had rescued from the trash bin. Roy tucked the bundle into his coat, and then shoved the coat under his cot at the Elrics' home. He planned to take it soon, before it spoiled.
But the bakery van's transmission failed, and they spent several days doing their deliveries by foot, dragging their goods in a cart that Momo borrowed from the curio shop. There was no time for him to take his usual afternoon forage, and after work Arai was so anxious that Roy felt reluctant to leave him alone. So it wasn't until late Wednesday night, with Arai sunk deep in the sleep of the exhausted, that Roy gathered his coat and its precious parcel and slipped down the stairs like a shadow.
The apothecary was filled with darkness and dust and the ghost-gleams of moonlight playing across glass bottles, but Roy's eyes cut through the gloom with ease. Out the back door, without the tattletale bells of the public entrance, and into the maze of alleys. One by one, he returned to his caches and collected whatever he'd stowed, shoving them into his coat alongside the bologna. Twenty minutes later, he was trotting up a winding lane, among the shells of old, abandoned buildings, most smeared with black and starting to deteriorate.
At the end of the lane was the skeleton of an old church, its once-graceful bulk listing to the side as if too weary to support itself any longer. Its roof sagged, and most of the windows were broken, blackened, charred beams visible where brick had crumbled. The steeple was the only part of the structure still resolutely upright, actively resisting its slow, slumping demise.
Roy laid his bundle down on the ground at the base of the church, spreading his coat wide open. He carefully packed everything around the lump of bologna before tucking the loose ends of the coat over them, and tying the packet as securely as he was able with the sleeves. It was messy and awkward, but it would hold well enough, and with a hum of satisfaction he lifted it up. Catching the knot in his teeth, he kicked off his shoes, grabbed hold of the broken bricks to start to climb.
The fire-damaged building looked as though a good wind would topple it, but Roy knew that the framing of the steeple was still sound. It was the sort of space he might have sought out himself, had he needed a safe den, although he worried that Arai wouldn't manage the climb as easily as he did. But Arai had the Elrics, as did he, and someone else needed the refuge the old church offered more than they did, anyway.
In short order he was shoving the bundle through the window near the top, the busted wooden slats that had shielded the opening catching at the fabric. He thought he heard something tear as he finally got it over the sill, but it was okay if the whole thing fell apart now. Heaving himself in after, he sprawled onto the bare wooden floor, and grinned at the shadows on the far wall. “Okay? Hi!”
The darkness rustled, sighed. A faint metal sound shivered in Roy's ears, and he pushed the lumpy coat toward the source. “Here,” he announced proudly, giving it another prod. “You.”
Another sigh, and Roy's sharp eyes caught a bare glimpse of a blade through the murky light before it disappeared back into blackness. He sat still, waiting, and after a few more moments of silence a hunched and wary figure shuffled on his knees from the shadows.
The smell of sickness was less than it had been the first time he'd met his friend, although Roy wasn't sure if the sick-smell came from illness, or from wounds on the verge of festering. The blood-smell was nearly gone, which must be good, but his friend still held himself as though in great pain, limbs tucked in and shoulders stiff. One arm was held woodenly against his side, barely moving as he dragged himself forward to pick at the edge of the coat with trembling fingers.
“You,” Roy repeated, pushing his gifts a little closer. “Brought surprise.”
Pale blue eyes flashed through the greasy curtain of his hair, alarm evident in the way his body tensed even further, and his hand froze over the bundle. Roy didn't think he was even breathing.
“Nice surprise,” he amended, adding, “sorry,” for good measure. He hadn't meant to frighten.
The man exhaled shakily, hand returning to the coat. He plucked the knot apart, more dexterous even with one hand than Roy was with both of his, and sat back to examine what was packed inside. Roy felt pride swell within him as he watched his friend look over the bread crusts and cracking bits of cheese. He'd also found a dented tin cup, and had stuffed it with a couple precious cookies he'd held back from his own portion when Fuji treated his workers. But the bologna was the crowning glory of his delivery, and his grin couldn't be contained when his friend paused over its discovery.
“Surprise,” Roy pointed out, just to make things clear. “Nice.”
He could hear his friend swallowing, as his fingers tightened on the paper wrapping the bologna. That riveting gaze lifted once more, meeting his own with a face that was so sad behind its studied blankness. The man hacked once, clearing his throat, before asking in a voice rough, yet surprisingly soft, “Why?”
Roy smiled at him, trying to make his face do the gentle things Arai's did, whenever he wanted Roy to feel at ease. “Friend,” he replied, as though that said it all. “Need help.”
The man coughed out an ugly shred of laughter. “Buddy, I ain't in much shape to help you.”
“No,” Roy told him firmly, patting the floor. “Friend. You. Need help. Want to help.”
Blue eyes studied him once more, while Roy continued to beam at him. He remembered Arai smiling at him a lot, when they'd first met. Those were good smiles, the kind that didn't have any lies hidden behind them; the kind Roy hadn't recalled ever really seeing, before. He wanted to give those smiles to his new friend, and make him feel safe again.
Finally the other man shook his head, dark hair swaying and covering his face. “Yeah, well, I don't know that I much deserve a friend. Or know how to be one, any more. Getting yourself a bum deal here, pal.”
But Roy was elated. They'd never spoken before this, instead communicating through gestures and the odd word Roy would drop here and there, and the occasional grunts he'd received in response. He tried to make his smile extra-big, but without showing his teeth (since Arai said that some people were scared by them). “Okay,” he reassured the man. “Okay. Teach you.”
I miss all my icons. :(