Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Like the world itself is in a constant process of being created, so too must the ideal text be. In short: The world is endless, and if art wants to reflect this, then the ideal artwork must also be endless. And how do you make a piece of art endless?

By leaving it literally endless as you leave it incomplete.

The fragment - the unfinished work - is the embodiment of the never-ending creation of the universe, because it is left in the process of creating. Its lacking conclusion forces the reader to think, to create, to imagine and to reflect for themselves.

This is a collection of half-told stories from my big, big library of unfinished tales, published for the Good Intentions fic fest

Chapter Text

Alphonse planted roses in his garden one early spring, having picked up gardening tips from either Fletcher Tringham or Gracia Hughes - Roy never got a clear answer about that. As the summer grew warmer, the small bushes thrived and filled what had previously been an empty patch of grass that Roy had one of the boys next door trim weekly with lush green and budding flowers.

Roy didn't start noticing the fragrance drifting through the open bedroom window on early summer mornings until the year after.

Roy Mustang had handled his share of roses in his time, all of them for the purpose of young ladies with hopelessly romantic views on the world. He had, in a way that might have been arrogant and might have been ignorant but maybe just very male, never really thought much about the long-stemmed flowers wrapped in celophan and pink ribbons. Only when Alphonse Elric moved into his bedroom and invaded his garden did he realize the difference between the roses he could buy in flower shops in any large city and the shrubs that Alphonse spent hours nursing. Alphonse's roses were attatched to bushes of various sizes, lined against the southern and easter wall of Roy's house, and Roy found that most of them had a lot more thorns than the ones he bought for the young ladies did - enough so for it to be ridiculous to do anything else with them than let them grow and light up the otherwise empty garden.

And Alphonse loved nothing more than tending to them. For all the time the two of them could spend discussing alchemy and politics and the military and Alphonse's brother, the young man's passion for gardening was something Roy never could understand. Alphonse could spend hours on his knees in front of those plants, weeding the beds and tying them up and spraying them with watered vinegar, coming to bed smelling like grass and dirt and something unidentifiably sweet.

Sweet was an adjective many people attached to their descriptions of Alphonse Elric. He was friendly, gentle and patient; no longer separated from the rest of the world by a body that hindered him from taking part in even the most mundane parts of human life, he had also revelead himself as a young man with an overwhelming love for everything in the world. Alphonse would never complain about the weather being too hot or too wet, and he liked all sorts of food put in front of him. Alphonse had no tolerance of alcohol, but insisted on drinking as Roy did, even if he always ended up flushed and tipsy after only a glass. He was so very much in love with life, and so enthusiastic about everything he did, that it was impossible not to get drawn in with him.

So Roy came to appreciate the roses beyond being pretty and smelling nice, if nothing else so for the way Alphonse would be too infatuated with them to mind that the knees of his best linen trousers became damp from the soil.

Roy's house, inherited from the man whose position he also had inherited when said man died and his wife moved back wherever it was she came from, had always been too big for one man. It remained the same on the inside after Alphonse started living there - the only thing new was the suitcase under Roy's bed, and the doubled amount of fabric waving from the clotheslines when they did the laundry. The garden bloomed whenever Alphonse came there, and the evenings were never as quiet when there your visitor wouldn't be going home to the wife and kids. It was a ridiculous affair, and Roy knew it - nevermind being male, Roy was nearing fourty and Alphonse Elric was not. He had known from the beginning that this never could be the sort of relationship that a man his age should pursue, and so had never done much to encourage it. It was Alphonse who had taken his hand and not let go, Alphonse who carefully had unbuttoned his shirt, Alphonse who put his toothbrush down beside Roy's, Alphonse who had brought shrubs in heavy clay pots and somehow made them thrive in Roy's desolate garden.

It could never have lasted, so why end it? It was too absurd to ever be taken into the serious consideration of things, so why deny it? It was insignificant, had no consequence for Roy's work or Al's life, couldn't ever become something else than an extended fling. And so, Roy kept on pretending that there was nothing wrong for a man in his position to have a lover who was male, who was fifteen years younger, and who was closely related to an officer under his command. It was so easy to do it, after all, because nobody ever seemed to care much - not even Alphonse's brother, after the obligatory attempt to corner Roy in a dingy alley in order to lay down the rules. And it was easy to forget the true nature of their relationship as well, when Alphonse came to stay with Roy, working with his brother and was waiting for him when he came home.

Alphonse filled up the house that always had seemed so empty, filled it with sweet smiles and neighborhood cats that he kept feeding despite knowing better, and with the smell of earth and newly cut grass, and of roses. The cats kept coming by after he left, and Roy started paying the boy next door to cut the grass. Even the roses blossomed in the absence of Al's tender care, because that is what plants do. But the clothelines were emptier, and the bed much too large. When fall came, Roy received a letter from Alphonse, which mostly instructed him about preparing the rose bushes for the snow. Roy followed them as best as he could, and even went as far as asking the owner of the most elaborate garden in their neighborhood if he had done it properly. The winter had been long, dark and quiet without anybody else to talk to in the evenings (the cats no longer hung around his house, having realized there was no more food), but it had passed as winters do. Alphonse had shown up on his doorstep the last Sunday in March, just in time to start preparing the garden for summer once again.

The pink roses along the fence were just budding the next time Alphonse left, and the summer had been almost as quiet as the winter before.

Alphonse Elric wasn't a significant part of Roy Mustang's life. He lived for his career and his ambition for it, and Alphonse lived for his brother. He might have invested perverted amounts of money and effort on Roy's garden, but when Edward called, Alphonse answered without a second thought. Where Edward went, his brother followed, and the Fullmetal Alchemist was a fickle young man. Roy never talked about the future with Alphonse, never anything longer than next week. Months and years had no purpose, he knew that much because he knew Alphonse, and he knew Edward. Edward was the only one of them

Loneliness had never been a thing that Roy Mustang had ever thought that he suffered; certainly not the kind of loneliness that was there when he realised that there was no-one beside him in bed at night.

Roy had not expected the request, but it did not surprise him for a moment.

“Very well. I’ll dispatch the Gaul – “

“No, Major General. Send Fullmetal.”

There was something tense as the General spoke, and Roy understood – with a bite of something that was not quite anxiousness, not quite annoyance, not quite anger – why they had deemed it necessary to be three men to give him the order. They gave him no reason, and he did not ask for one.

“Very well,” he said to that, saluting smartly, “I will send the Fullmetal Alchemist.”

He told Havoc to type down the order and get it down to Edward’s lab the moment he was back in his office; he did not stop on the way home to buy candy or a silk scarf or any other sort of the silly little gifts that never failed to make Alphonse ridiculously happy. True to predictions, Alphonse looked positively ravaged where he was waiting at the kitchen table. It didn’t surprise Roy to find him alone, unusual as it was for Edward not to have been dragged with to have dinner with them.

“It’s a suicide mission,” were the first words out of his mouth.

“It would be for anybody who is not your brother.”

“I’m going with him.”

“I hope you both realize that sharing confidential information with a civilian could get him sentenced for treachery?”

Alphonse did not as much as flinch at that.

“I’m going with him.”

And Roy could only turn to him and sigh. “I expected nothing less from you, Alphonse.”

“Why are you sending him? I’m not buying that crap about him being the only one, I could list at least five other State Alchemists who are much more discreet than Ed.”

“You are underestimating him, again. When it is serious – “

“Major General, please.” Alphonse’s voice was flat, and the title stung.

“I was specifically requested to send Fullmetal.”

“Why?”

“They didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t ask. But if I am to favor a guess, I would have to say that it is because of you.”

And at that, Alphonse paled, though his jaw did not slack. He swallowed, closed his eyes, and nodded.

“I didn’t know there were any objections to relationships between soldiers and civilians.”

Roy sat down across of him, and peeled of his gloves.

“I don’t suppose there really are, though it’s hardly much of a secret that you follow your brother wherever he goes.”

“That isn’t a crime.”

“No,” Roy agreed, “not really. But it isn’t entirely appropriate, either, though I suppose that is exactly why they wanted me to send him this time.”

“You are saying that they sent him because they knew I would follow.”

“I suspect they wanted to see if I objected.”

“That is nasty.” Alphonse said lowly.

“So is the fact that you are not a woman I could have legally married, in the eyes of some.”

That was how Alphonse Elric left his life, with a brief goodbye after breakfast with a suitcase in his hands and a firm squeeze of Roy’s hand in a manner that most certainly wasn’t professional. And that was why Winry Rockbell entered it a year later, fists quivering with suppressed rage as she wheezed out something about having believed him to be a decent man despite all, but now, after what he did to them, to Al?

So there it was: Alphonse Elric was gone, and in his place was Winry Rockbell, who demanded an explanation that Roy couldn't give her.

"Edward knew what was coming when he signed up as a soldier. Nobody forced Alphonse into following his brother," he said, and Winry Rockbell's face grew darker.

"Wasn't that why you become one though?!" she spat, "wasn't it to stop senseless orders?!"

"Edward's mission was not a senseless one," his voice grew sharp, "there was reason to believe that someone wanted to attack us, at our very core. You know yourself what damaged can be caused if aimed at civillians in a major city. That was what Edward was sent out to find out about, to prevent."

Winry Rockbell quieted at that. "Why Edward?" she asked, finally. "Couldn't it have been somone else?"

"Someone had to," said Roy. and left it at that.

Chapter Text

"But isn't it hazarduous to display an item like this to the public?"

"Suoh, the CLAMP Campus has some of the best developed security systems in the world. Besides, after the retreat of the Imonoyama Shopping District, I hold absolute faith in the capabilities of our campus police."

"I was actually thinking more about what Sumeragi-san said - I'm not sure it's enough to put up a sign asking people to please not touch it."

"Huh?"

"Hey, Kaichou," Akira said, interrupting whatever explanation was about to follow from that as he spotted two familiar faces in the crowd surrounding the vase said (and now also confirmed by the spiritual experts of the country) to possess considerable magical powers, "about those security systems..."

*

"Twenty Faces? Are you serious?"

"Are YOU serious? Of COURSE Twenty Faces would be going after this - it's his schtick! He's a gentleman thief, it's what he DOES!"

"I know that! I just mean that it didn't go so well the last time we went against him!"

"Ugh," Takeshi muttered in the memory of the two women they had been dumped on when the thief had interrupted the school play starring him as the protagonist, apparently for the sole purpose of kidnapping Duklyon as a service to the two. Neither Eri nor Kentaro heard it, busy discussing whether or not such a defaist attitude was acceptable behavior from the Defenders of Justice.

"Regardless," the director interrupted, "it is the blessing of inexperience to go up against ones rivals to measure the strength gained since last time. Well has Twenty Faces never once been hindered in reaching his goals, but thievery, however innocent, is a violation of the laws of the country and immoral besides. This vase is an important artifact to the school, and although not irreplacable, most certainly shameful to lose. Letting it go without a fight would be shameful, and we need to let criminals know that such acts will not be tolerated on our grounds."

"That's so true, Director!" Kentaro exclaimed, eyes brimming with moved tears.

"But what, exactly, do you want us to do?"

*

"...seriously, stealing from little kids, what's the next thing?"

"Sure they are kids?"

"What the hell else should they be? You saw them yourself!"

"They're not always kids. Not always living kids, and not always human beings. You know, since it's you."

"Two thousand other people saw them there as well! And you don't become the leader of the student council just like that!"

"Okay."

"Okay what?!"

"Let's assume they are kids."

"What kind of rotten attitude towards other people is that?! Don't you care at all that we've been sent out to STEAL their THINGS - "

"I thought you said it was Yuuko-san's."

"She pawned it for some kind of Korean moonshine."

"Ah."

"Yeah."

The silence deepened between the two of them as they continued the aimless walk around the CLAMP campus in the wait for a chance to return to the exhibition locale without looking suspicious. They were surrounded by seemingly cheerful youths representing the entire age range of the educational system, traversing the network of narrow roads that connected the buildings of the campus. The roads were framed by perfectly groomed greenery that somehow managed to look charmingly ungardened, the buildings were displays of the finest that the neo-classical movement could produce, and the sun was gently illuminating it all in a display of how Watanuki imagined that you remember your childhood when you are old. The weather forecast had predicted rain over the entire Kanto region the night before, and as evidence of that, they were both carrying the umbrellas from their run to the train that morning.

A squirrel crossed the road before them, and Watanuki was deeply unnerved.

"Excuse me?"

They stopped to turn around, facing two boys their own age who were studying a sign with an elaborate map over the campus.

"Are you students here?" the shorter boy asked with a friendly, earnest smile of those who are used to be polite to strangers in all circumstances.

"Sorry," Watanuki said with a shrug.

"I told you," the other boy not-quite-whispered, and the smile on the first one's face twisted into an enraged scowl for less than the second it took him to unsubtly drive his elbow into his friend's side.

Chapter Text

His father's fingers touched him lightly as the measuring tape was held up, in that blink of a second before it dropped with a whisper.

"Ninety," his father muttered, and Adrien let his shoulders drop as he kept his pose, skin tickling in anticipation of his father's thumb pressed into his back, his arm joint, his elbow. He was so busy and helping out with his work like this was pretty much the only thing Adrien could do for him. He realised that he was smiling and tried biting it down, even if his father probably didn't notice; he was already kneeling to measure the inseam of the leg.

It was a ritual older than Adrien could remember, and he knew every motion his father would make in advance. He always took his measurements in the same order, and Adrien had long since made a game out of trying to guess how he'd grown before his father announced the results for Nathalie to take note of.

Eighty, he thought.

"Seventy-nine," said his father and climbed to his feet, rolling up the measuring tape. The moment was ending; he'd retreat into his office to work. Maybe to fit new designs; maybe to alter some of Adrien's normal clothing, which inevitably grew too tight every few months. Adrien didn't allow himself the disappointment of having to watch his father's back again, but reminded himself of that in a few days' time, he'd be required to stand for the proper fitting. If they were new designs, there would be a photo shoot, and maybe he could talk his father into having it at home, maybe he would even be there to watch himself, to direct how he wanted Adrien to display his creations?

He startled at a touch to his belly, and took a second to realise that his father had pressed his hand flat against it, with a small frown.

"Adrien, what's this?"

"What?" he asked, frozen in befuddlement as his father lifted the hem of his t-shirt to pinch the flesh of his stomach.

"This won't do for a model. Mind what you put in your mouth."

His father didn't even look back up as he turned around and disappeared down the hallway with Nathalie on his heels.

-

His father had always fussed about his looks. It was probably because he'd made the clothing himself, with all the time and effort that required. When he was younger, he'd pick Adrien's outfits every morning, take him out to have his hair cut, instruct every photo taken of him. And once his father had quit, there had been professional stylists taking over the job in the moments that mattered.

Adrien supposed he looked good all made-up and airbrushed, and he supposed he was cute enough even outside of posters and billboards. There had been nights when he'd lain awake and dreamed that his father wasn't a celebrity and that his own face wasn't plastered all over the country on regular basis, and that he could take off his mask in front of Ladybug without having to give away his name and his adress.

He didn't need to see her entire face to tell that she was beautiful, but remembering how he regularly got to admire Ladybug's perfect figure brought about the dreadful knowledge about how little Cat Noir's own outfit left to imagination.

He pinched the same roll of skin that his father had, as he stared at himself in the mirror.

"Do you think I'm fat, Plagg?"

"The way most people seem to be understanding that word, I wouldn't say so," Plagg yawned, floating lazily around him.

"I didn't have this gut before," Adrien said to his mirror and touched his bum, trying to feel if it felt any flabbier than he remembered it being.

"More space for delicious camembert," said Plagg philosophically, and Adrien gave up on asking any advice from a supernatural creature who daily consumed his own mass in cheese. He pulled his jeans back on, and felt the shame burn as he had to suck his stomach in to close the top button, and saw how soft flesh was pressed into an unsightly muffin top. It wasn't too visible under his shirt, but it would be inevitably revealed the next time he was asked to lean over in front of a camera.

-

His breakfast looked the same the next day, and Adrien stopped eating with half the food left, and pushed his chair back.

"Please finish your meal," Nathalie said, face stony.

"I think it's best if I don't," said Adrien knew that his smile was awkward and unsuccessful.

"Your meals are prepared to cover the nutrients your body needs to grow and keep healthy. If this is about your father's comments yesterday, I suggest you limit the out-of-house snacking."

Unspoken between them was that any break in routine would be reporter to his father, would mean that one of them would be get some kind of talking to about him keeping with his diet, and Adrien surrendered.

"I'll do that, then," he said, and hated himself a little for how delicious it tasted.

-

Marinette smelled like newly baked bread whenever she came to school. The scent always faded during first period, was back when they were back after lunch if she'd gone home to eat. It was a little like Ladybug, actually; his sense of smell was keener as Cat Noir, and Ladybug also carried sharp notes of crust and sugar and buttery pastries. Maybe she lived in a bakery, too? And Marinette dutifully reminded him of Ladybug every morning, and he liked sitting in front of her because he liked that nice smell of freshly baked goods.

Like any glutton would, as if the food he was served at home wasn't enough for him.

Their eyes met as she ran panting in the classroom just ahead of Miss Bustier. She waved at him with a frantic smile, and he lifted a hand and tried to return the gesture, and wondered if anyone had noticed him getting fat.

Or, fatter. He was hardly a pig, but when the only he could do was to be Cat Noir and help his father by looking good while showing off his clothing, then the extra lining was going to be a problem. Not for Cat Noir, he hoped, though it probably wouldn't help his chances with Ladybug -but his father had no use for him like this.

The day went on as usual. He went home for lunch, and it was as tasty as it always was even if Adrien felt greedy for being so happy about food. He wondered if his father would say anything about how he ate, but figured that if so, and hoped he wouldn't need to. The afternoon classes passed as they did every day, and Adrien got into wondering if Mr. D'Argencourt had noticed anything. Or if anyone else in fencing class had? Nobody had said anything about it to him, but then he hadn't even noticed it himself. He hoped it wouldn't be affecting his performance, just to double his father's disappointment in him.

"So, uh, my dad was wondering if anyone would like to try out these new pastries he's thinking about maybe selling..."

And there was Marinette, smelling even more like a bakery with a basket in her arms and an expectant smile as she looked at the class milling around between classes. She was greeted with the expected cheers of sugar-deprived youth, and her smile widened in pleasure mirroring her classmates' joy. Adrien's belly stung as Nino dumped down beside him with a treat that looked positively sinful, and he pulled out his phone as a voice in the back of his head reminded him that this was why, this was why. One more period until fencing class. No news alerts about supernatural villainy, no unusual weather phenomena, no unexplainable -

"Adrien? There's one for you, too."

Marinette's basket was empty save for a single sugary pastry, and Adrien had to force himself to pull his eyes away as he smiled with what he hoped came across as natural and inoffensive.

"No thank you."

Mariette wilted before his eyes, and he realised that maybe she would take this the wrong way.

"Well, of course he wouldn't want to waste his tongue on something from your bakery," Chloe said, and that at least seemed to relieve Marinette of her disappointment, as she turned to level an icy glare at their classmate.

"You don't seem to have a problem eating from it yourself, Chloé!" Alya snapped, but Chloe merely shrugged at having her hypocricy pointed out.

"As my father always says, you should show kindness to those less fortunate than you and gracefully accept the fruits of their labour. Now Dupain-Cheng can boast about having served the me, the mayor's daugther. You're welcome, by the way." She bit into her pastry with relish.

"I'm sure it's delicious, Marinette," Adrien said and climbed to his feet, seeking refuge in the restroom until he was almost, almost, late for class.

-

Fencing classes ended up cancelled that afternoon, together with the latter half of his science class. The akumatized form of the owner of the city's most fashionable chocolaterie whose old car was no longer allowed due to new air pollution regulations turned the streets into chocolate, and navigating on ground was soon impossible.

Mr. Clairmont was embarrassed, but grateful, and insisted on gifting his saviours with a box of the most exclusive pieces in his selection. Ladybug accepted it with unease, and once they'd retreated to the relative privacy of the rooftops, she thrust it at Cat Noir with little ceremony.

"You like this kinda stuff, don't you?"

She'd been uncharacteristically snappish during the entire ordeal, and Adrien suspected her day had not gone much better than his.

"Milady, I couldn't possibly - "

"I get enough sweets back home, and I can't share this with anyone - they'd want to know who gave it to me and it's always a mess when they think I've got some - ugh, whatever."

"I haven't got anyone to share it with, either."

"Then eat it yourself, that's never been a problem for you!"

There was a horrible moment where he wondered if Ladybug, too, thought of him as a glutton, and in the seconds it took him to get his breathing under control and press his emotions down to somewhere he could manage them later, she must've seen it in his face. She looked almost worried, and there was suddenly a completely different diversion needed to steers this conversation off to other topics than him eating sweets.

"Are you okay?" she asked, and Ladybug, if nothing else, had never been anything but honest with him. Adrien Agreste might had to be the son his father expected, but Cat Noir was nobody's business. Ladybug already knew about his feelings, and there was little Cat Noir could do to make her like him any less.

"Do you think I eat too much?" he asked, and he couldn't make it out like a joke, not when he's staring at her feet and crossing his arms. "Someone - someone pointed it out to me. That I'm putting on weight."

"Huh," said Ladybug, and when he looked up, she was scrutinizing him with a small frown. "I can't tell. I'm usually too busy to be staring at your waistline, you know. I mean - " she cocked her head, but never finished the sentence.

He felt like he could still feel the soft belly under Cat Noir's skin, but it was hard to tell what was real and what was paranoia, by now.

"Well, I think - " her miraculous blinked in warning and she never finished the sentence. "Just take the chocolates, okay? I really can't bring that home without some third degree. Later, yeah?"

"Yeah," he replied, and got three blocks away before Plagg collapsed into his palm and Adrien Agreste was left alone on the street, in jeans that were digging into his waist and with a box of some of the most expensive chocolates money could buy.

-

The chocolate box stood in lonesome solitude on his desk. He hadn't seen his father since the night before, and Nathalie had been busy on the phone when she'd let him inside. No-one had given him a third-degree about coming home with three hundred euro worth of candy. Adrien had eaten Clairmont's chocolates before, on several occasions. He knew how the pure, bright taste of cocoa was a world of difference from your average Snickers bar. He'd felt the satisfying crack of well-tempered chocolate, felt it melt on his tongue and stain his teeth all sweet and rich.

If he stretched the definition, he supposed he could claim that Ladybug had gifted him the chocolates, but even he wasn't pathetic enough to try and talk himself into that delusion. So his lady wasn't into sweets - better remember that, Romeo, stick to the flowers.