#secondltcatalina

[knightshavoc]

"Psst, Rebecca..."

       *cue obscene hand gesture*

                                                "Could you?"

[theuncagedqueen]

Hurt flashes in Rebecca's eyes though she tries to push it away. The realization had hit her, Riza didn't /want/ to see her. That's not like Riza at all and it's troubling but she drops it. "Yeah, fine. I get it. I'll let you be on your way then. Wouldn't want to keep you from your work."

Seeing Rebecca is like glimpsing a flash of the woman Kimblee had slowly broken. Her friends exist only in the safety of the past, and seeing one of them now--concerned, upset, interested...

Her hand darts out and closes over Rebecca's wrist, unaware of the chill in her own fingers.

"I wish I could," Riza says quietly, glancing behind at the approach of footsteps. Only a corporal, buried in his report. "I'm really sorry."

She lets go, half-turning.

"I have to get back."

[knightshavoc]

                Fingers once nimble and coated in accuracy fumble                 as the  familiar weapon  at hand feels  foreign to his                 touch.  The attempt to  become familiar yet again is                  disconcerting,  though he tries to ease his apprehe-                 nsions     with      a     mantra    coaxed      in     lies.

         It's a step towards recovery.

                                      It's necessary

                                                     It's the only way.

                                                                It's a step towards recovery.

    The firearm remains half-cocked as he sits in the     back of the Amestrian Military's Shooting Range;     his old nighttime getaway— a practice in secret.     Motivation does not factor in his lack of movem-     ent. His sole goal sitting in the abandoned room     is to regain control of himself, his life, and to not     allow   his   ailments   to   determine  his   worth.     Though,  he lacks the confidence in his strength     to stand, to walk on his own to the window, and     to  withstand  the  recoil.   He  fears  the  failure.

                                   Pulling  his  crutch  under is  arm,  Jean  stands,                                    and makes  his way  to the window—-  trying to                                    muck some pride in the short walk; at least with                                    the support he wouldn't fail before reaching his                                    destination.   The   paper's   outline   sits  some                                    meters  away as  the  heat  emanating  from his                                    body fogs his goggles. Setting the crutch to the                                    side,  Jean stands straight,  gaining his posture                                    and   confidence   in   his  movements .  To  his                                    surprise,  his legs hold him up, and don't waver                                    —-  a smile settles on his lips as he adjusts the                                    gun  to prepare  his fire. His aim doesn't falter—                                    staying in tune to his past form almost precisely.

       Inhale.

                   Exhale.

                                  Fire.

                There's  a brief moment  before the trigger pulls,  an                 ecstasy pouring through his veins— it's so liberating.                 The try  would be  worthwhile just  for the  feel alone.                 The power,  the  control,  the regain  of his core  and                 sanity.  And all  within  an  instant the  p a i n  comes                 shooting  through up  to his  knees  crawling  up  his                 spine.  The  gun  falls  on  the ledge,  and  a  scream                 suppresses in the back of his  throat—- a light groan                 all that surfaces. Legs collapse quickly thereafter, his                 hands   fall   to   the   ledge   to  support   his  weight.

                                 He  c a n ' t  do it.

                                                 He is a  f o o l  to try.

[knightshavoc]

"Do you want to feel it kicking?"

       He doesn't answer, at least, not out loud. Instead, he places a welcoming hand upon he growing belly as he smooths over her shirt to outline the protruding bump. Hands roams and settles, feeling with delicacy a touch of the life within. Nearly a few seconds pass before Rebecca reaches down to adjust his position, knowing clearly where their child lay.

        Since he was young, Jean had always wished to raise a family with a woman he loves. He had always pictured a woman, tall and thin, blue eyes and long hair, assets perfect as she holds his child. She would get along with his mother and the two would laugh. She would smile, and as would he, her ring— his promise to her— resting beautifully on her slender finger... Though, after time the fantasy faded and he grown to inwardly accept his fate.

Now, standing cautiously in front of Rebecca, hand on her belly, he feels the softest of movements— one only to verify of what was to come.

[knightshavoc]

"Rebeccaaaa~~~~ You're the best thank you for that advice! I did wonderful and that date was incredible and I got kisses and snuggles and I'm so happy."

[knightshavoc]

secondltcatalina replied to your post:"A--nurse. Really. You didn't think to look somewhere closer to home?"

because Falman and Fuery said they did and Breda and Havoc didn’t say that they did. He was gonna take Hayate so that means he doesn’t, too.

mhmm thats what i wasn't going to say but idk if he just said that as a joke and i have a feeling i also got it from another episode but i just remember something about him having his own place idfk man i haven't watched fma/fmab in like a year and a half hahah