Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ So Simple ❯ Chapter 1

 

It's simple, really. You hate me. You hate everything I am. Everything you think I am, anyway: another authority figure who is in your way. Another Daddy. I even tell you what to do. Where to go. How to do it. And you resent me for it. Poor little lost boy- you need to hate me, don't you?

 

It's simple, really.

 

These `reports,' scribbled on cheap hotel paper, are a joke. Standard procedure is beneath you, isn't it? You've got your calling. You've got your excuses. All dribbled out on that goddamn hotel paper. Your dyslexia- an issue that kept you from even completing the written State Alchemist exam- is a weakness I've struggled to keep a secret. You've got no idea how much I have protected you. Even if you did, it's none of your concern, because you are beyond authority. You don't want another Daddy. You didn't take much to the first one, anyway, Full Metal.

 

It's so simple, really.

 

Because you hate me, you can't ignore me. Can't ignore the swipes at your ridiculously inflated ego. Can't let go of the smallest comment. Can't forget a single grudge. You keep a detailed account; I think you enjoy it. Poor little lost boy- you need to hate. You thrive on that kind of passion. I can see it in your eyes.

 

So simple.

 

I never react when you are angry. This is not the proper response to an aggressive attack. I dangle the bait with a smile or a comment. You take it- you have to know it's bait, and you take it, anyway- and you struggle like a hooked fish when you're caught. I think you want me to do this. It feeds something empty in you.

 

So obvious.

 

It would be a temptation to think of myself as a replacement for your father. It would be comfortable. Easy. I could ignore how you make me sweat. Did you know you do that to me? You do. You little bastard. You remind me of what Alchemy is supposed to be; the pursuit of knowledge. Not reports, not military maneuvers, not strategy. Just the unhindered pursuit of knowledge. When you send me these fucking reports, on cheap hotel paper, you remind me of how ridiculous State Alchemy is, how unworthy it is of anything more than some scrap and scribbles.

 

It's simple; Isn't it? I am a joke. You know it; I know it. This is why I let you thumb your nose at everything I stand for. Sometimes, sometimes when I am reading your damn reports at my desk on a Monday morning, when the coffee's already cold, and the morning light's already diffused and flattened through my window, I think about how easy it is to sneer at me with your purity and science.

 

Then she walks through my door. She salutes me, and in her salute I find all the reasons to respect this uniform you hate.

 

It's simple. I wouldn't expect you to understand.