The Water Alchemist

House Of Cards

Welcome back to The Water Alchemist. I don't own any of the intellectual property of Fullmetal Alchemist.

Chapter Thirty-Four

House Of Cards

TW: Mention of suicide. Reader discretion is advised.

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Ivey stomped out the butt of the cigarette under her heel. It made a satisfying crunching sound in the dirt as she exhaled the last of the sweet smoke from her lungs. She ran her hand through her thick red hair, still a tangled mess from the knotted bun she had worn for most of the day. Airing out her coat as she walked the last few paces home, she opened the door and closed it softly behind her, mindful of the quiet house. She shuffled out of her coat, hanging it up before she stepped into the kitchen, turning the faucet. In grabbing the kettle from the stove, she noticed it was oddly full and a little warm.

"You reek of cigarettes," a voice called in the dark, surprising her.

She slammed the kettle back to the stove in alarm – nearly spilling its contents – before turning to barely make out Elias's profile. He was sat at the table, his hands around a mug.

"What the hell are you sitting in the dark for?" she hissed at him, hand over her heart. She squinted at the clock above the doorway, barely readable in the shared darkness. "It's four a.m.!"

"I thought you told Nessa you'd quit," he leered, taking a sip of his drink.

Ivey scowled, flicking the overhead light on above the sink. She turned the stove knob with a few clicks before a flame appeared.

"You try saving an arm or two with rudimentary tools and not nearly enough anesthesia; let me know which vice you take up to cope," she muttered, gripping the handle of the kettle. She glanced over to Elias, but he didn't move to retort. "I'm working on quitting." She didn't feel obligated to explain herself to him, but she wanted to assure herself that she was trying.

"Right," Elias said quietly.

She focused back on the glossy kettle, seeing her distorted and dimly lit reflection in it. They hadn't talked since his little outburst a few days ago. She was surprised he had even addressed her at all. They avoided each other when they could, which was a little easier when Ivey started the night shift. There had been a few small uprisings all over Central, but they were squashed as quickly as they had started. The mini-insurrections were bloodiest under the cover of night when the Amestrian soldiers weren't so concerned with saving face for the public. Though, she wondered if they even worried over something like that— especially with the maimed bodies that ended up in front of her scalpel. The kettle finished reheating, startling her with its shriek, and she took down a mug and a tea bag, pouring herself a cup. Ivey let her tea steep for a moment before she began for the door.

"Night," she mumbled. She was halted by a quiet utterance.

"You can sit if you want," she heard him say. His offer caught her off guard, and she turned at the doorway, eyeing him carefully. He seemed more hospitable than usual, and she was a little wary. She knew avoiding him wasn't built to last. It wouldn't solve anything. She didn't want Nessa's adoptive brother to despise her, after all. She settled in across from him.

"Can't sleep?" Ivey asked eventually, her curiosity getting the best of her.

He wouldn't be up for a few hours normally. His grip around his cup tightened.

"Every time I close my eyes, I see her stupid face," he grumbled. Ivey frowned, a little confused, but then she realized just who was haunting his consciousness. A moment passed between them. "When I tell her, she's going to look at me just like that." Ivey hummed.