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Title; Perfected
Rating; PG-13
Fandom; FMA
Summary; Riza's father fails at being a good dad. And begins his project on her back.
Wordcount; 1383
Riza woke slowly and piecemeal, senses disjointed and foreign to each other.
At first she was only aware of pressure on her face. It took her three full seconds of thought - pressure on her face, although it wasn't really that hard, her face- before her mind connected that it was her own pillow. That she was lying face down on her bed, on top of the covers. A faint noise escaped her - half groan, half whimper - the sensation of pressure hadn't lifted, for all she knew where she was.
Her mind seemed as though it were fighting through fog to get anywhere, but her muscles moved faster, swinging legs that could reach the ground now! to the floor and standing.
Sharp, stabbing pain shot through the fog, up her neck and down to the small of her back. And in the too-hasty turn of her head at the unexpected pain, she caught a glimpse of white gauze, taped to her skin where no gauze should need to be. It peeked past the back of her shirt- it was summer, and it was warm. Gauze and pain, and her own back, what- how- why- the questions flipped through her mind like pages of microfilm, too quickly to be read, as she panicked.
It took time, twisting so she was not seeing stars, twisting so she could move her arm to the corner of the bandage, small fingernails peeling up the corners, breath coming faster now, almost hyperventilating, afraid of what she might see.
At the sight of black, black where no black should be, black and angry red-pink around the black, Riza Hawkeye gave a whimper of pain. Not just because at the sight of it her body has tensed, and had shot anew a stab of pain the length of her back, but because she remembered.
Remembered the silence of her father's house, as she lay on her bed reading, remembered her surprise- and pleasure, yes, she had nearly tripped down the stairs in eagerness. Because her father, always so absorbed in his research, had called for her.
"Riza, come here- I need you."
She had been so happy. Maybe he would let her hold something for him, move things for him- she didn't care. Her father had remembered her, and she would spend time with him. And if she disregarded the triumphant note in his voice, it could always have been that he had discovered something, right? And if she disregarded the manic note in his voice- well- that was always there, wasn't it? It didn't matter, he had said he needed her.
She'd opened the door almost too quickly, a smile lighting up her face- a smile that stalled instantly, staying only because she hadn't the force to let it fall. The gaze her father had transfixed her with from beneath hooded eyes and long lank hair the same blond as her own was no fatherly gaze. It was the look of one possessed, and it had scared the girl enough when it had been directed at his papers.
Having it aimed full force at her was petrifying.
Her father murmured a long slow "Yessss..." that sounded more hiss than word. And he held out his hand, to the girl, to his own daughter, and said, "Come." Riza had swallowed once, ashamed of her own fears- fathers weren't supposed to be fearsome- and took his hand.
And then- and then... And then Riza could remember no more, could not bear to remember anything more, and crumpled to the floor.
Her father heard her fall; climbed the stairs and scooped her off the floor, arranging her once more on the bed, face down so she wouldn't irritate the wound. So delicate, his daughter, his only. There was a brief moment of tenderness, his hand resting gently on her head, smoothing her hair, but the sight of the darkness on her back had caught his eye; he couldn't take his eyes off of it.
"Yes...yes..." He could already see the rest of the darkness, where it would go, the spread of it across her back, how it would be. His final project; the perfection of his art was complete, this would hide its secrets forever. Her back would belong to him, it would be their greatest secret. The array would be beautiful, perfect. Perfection on his daughter, impossible to lose, impossible to misplace, lose part of, and guarded better than he could ever hope to hide a manuscript. Yes. Yes. No one would ever think to question his daughter about his alchemy. She was normal, she went to school, she was smart- smarter than the other children in her class, and she would have a normal life. No one would ever think to look with her. And even if they did- no one would ever think to look at her. It was perfect.
He would just have to make her understand.
Riza woke dazed- she must have hit something on her way down- momentarily confused, and confused by the sense of déjà vu that accompanied. But the whisperings in her ear were new, and the hand that brushed her bangs out of her face. Indecipherable at first, Riza recognized her father's hand, her father's voice. Strange. He usually never left his study before evening, sometimes not even to eat if he was too deep in research, and it was afternoon- light streamed into her bedroom window. Strange. Strange.
Then her mind recognized the words he was saying to her, urgently, an intense, overexcited note to his voice that scared the girl more than words.
"-need to understand, Riza, this is the only way. You can do this for me, right? It's the only way, the perfect way, and you can keep it a secret between us, the biggest and best secret in the world. Because these are my biggest and best secrets. And I'm giving them to you, you can keep them safe for me, can't you?"
The same voice that had said Come earlier and she had followed. He was saying Come again, and Riza knew that the only answer was yes. He could keep saying Come forever and she would go. Somewhere deep inside she knew that this was wrong, wordlessly wrong like she knew normal girls weren't afraid of their fathers, like she knew normal girls were never taken by surprise by their fathers and had never woken with puddles of black and red on their backs, pained by the black.
Riza didn't want to move her back, the middle of it throbbed like a second heart, stinging painfully with each beat. Her father wasn't looking at her. He was looking through her, looking at the lines and symbols already printed there, looking at lines and symbols not yet there. They were dancing through his eyes, and the possessed, crazed look had not yet left.
Riza Hawkeye had never thought that she would be a project of his. Pleaded silently for him to look at her, to stop staring so greedily at her back. She would have curled away from him, would have gotten up, run out of the house to her quiet place and cried, had it not hurt so very much just breathing.
No, oh no, she couldn't stop it, no matter how much she blinked her eyes. Couldn't he stop looking at her and look at her?
The tears didn't have far to fall before the pillow caught them. This wasn't fair, it hurt and she wanted a hug, but a hug would hurt so excruciatingly, she didn't dare. Her eyes burned, and the tears burned hot paths down her face, buried themselves in the pillow.
Her father watched her shoulders shake as she cried, his daughter, his only, his beauty. She would bear it. He knew. She was strong, and she would grow to be so much stronger. A perfect vessel for his art, the perfect gatekeeper. He stood and left her there, shaking on her bed. He needed to plan. The next part, the next piece of the black. He shut the door behind him, leaning up against it, face turned towards the ceiling, lips curling into a smile that had only obsession contained within it.
There was no turning back now.
Rating; PG-13
Fandom; FMA
Summary; Riza's father fails at being a good dad. And begins his project on her back.
Wordcount; 1383
Riza woke slowly and piecemeal, senses disjointed and foreign to each other.
At first she was only aware of pressure on her face. It took her three full seconds of thought - pressure on her face, although it wasn't really that hard, her face- before her mind connected that it was her own pillow. That she was lying face down on her bed, on top of the covers. A faint noise escaped her - half groan, half whimper - the sensation of pressure hadn't lifted, for all she knew where she was.
Her mind seemed as though it were fighting through fog to get anywhere, but her muscles moved faster, swinging legs that could reach the ground now! to the floor and standing.
Sharp, stabbing pain shot through the fog, up her neck and down to the small of her back. And in the too-hasty turn of her head at the unexpected pain, she caught a glimpse of white gauze, taped to her skin where no gauze should need to be. It peeked past the back of her shirt- it was summer, and it was warm. Gauze and pain, and her own back, what- how- why- the questions flipped through her mind like pages of microfilm, too quickly to be read, as she panicked.
It took time, twisting so she was not seeing stars, twisting so she could move her arm to the corner of the bandage, small fingernails peeling up the corners, breath coming faster now, almost hyperventilating, afraid of what she might see.
At the sight of black, black where no black should be, black and angry red-pink around the black, Riza Hawkeye gave a whimper of pain. Not just because at the sight of it her body has tensed, and had shot anew a stab of pain the length of her back, but because she remembered.
Remembered the silence of her father's house, as she lay on her bed reading, remembered her surprise- and pleasure, yes, she had nearly tripped down the stairs in eagerness. Because her father, always so absorbed in his research, had called for her.
"Riza, come here- I need you."
She had been so happy. Maybe he would let her hold something for him, move things for him- she didn't care. Her father had remembered her, and she would spend time with him. And if she disregarded the triumphant note in his voice, it could always have been that he had discovered something, right? And if she disregarded the manic note in his voice- well- that was always there, wasn't it? It didn't matter, he had said he needed her.
She'd opened the door almost too quickly, a smile lighting up her face- a smile that stalled instantly, staying only because she hadn't the force to let it fall. The gaze her father had transfixed her with from beneath hooded eyes and long lank hair the same blond as her own was no fatherly gaze. It was the look of one possessed, and it had scared the girl enough when it had been directed at his papers.
Having it aimed full force at her was petrifying.
Her father murmured a long slow "Yessss..." that sounded more hiss than word. And he held out his hand, to the girl, to his own daughter, and said, "Come." Riza had swallowed once, ashamed of her own fears- fathers weren't supposed to be fearsome- and took his hand.
And then- and then... And then Riza could remember no more, could not bear to remember anything more, and crumpled to the floor.
Her father heard her fall; climbed the stairs and scooped her off the floor, arranging her once more on the bed, face down so she wouldn't irritate the wound. So delicate, his daughter, his only. There was a brief moment of tenderness, his hand resting gently on her head, smoothing her hair, but the sight of the darkness on her back had caught his eye; he couldn't take his eyes off of it.
"Yes...yes..." He could already see the rest of the darkness, where it would go, the spread of it across her back, how it would be. His final project; the perfection of his art was complete, this would hide its secrets forever. Her back would belong to him, it would be their greatest secret. The array would be beautiful, perfect. Perfection on his daughter, impossible to lose, impossible to misplace, lose part of, and guarded better than he could ever hope to hide a manuscript. Yes. Yes. No one would ever think to question his daughter about his alchemy. She was normal, she went to school, she was smart- smarter than the other children in her class, and she would have a normal life. No one would ever think to look with her. And even if they did- no one would ever think to look at her. It was perfect.
He would just have to make her understand.
Riza woke dazed- she must have hit something on her way down- momentarily confused, and confused by the sense of déjà vu that accompanied. But the whisperings in her ear were new, and the hand that brushed her bangs out of her face. Indecipherable at first, Riza recognized her father's hand, her father's voice. Strange. He usually never left his study before evening, sometimes not even to eat if he was too deep in research, and it was afternoon- light streamed into her bedroom window. Strange. Strange.
Then her mind recognized the words he was saying to her, urgently, an intense, overexcited note to his voice that scared the girl more than words.
"-need to understand, Riza, this is the only way. You can do this for me, right? It's the only way, the perfect way, and you can keep it a secret between us, the biggest and best secret in the world. Because these are my biggest and best secrets. And I'm giving them to you, you can keep them safe for me, can't you?"
The same voice that had said Come earlier and she had followed. He was saying Come again, and Riza knew that the only answer was yes. He could keep saying Come forever and she would go. Somewhere deep inside she knew that this was wrong, wordlessly wrong like she knew normal girls weren't afraid of their fathers, like she knew normal girls were never taken by surprise by their fathers and had never woken with puddles of black and red on their backs, pained by the black.
Riza didn't want to move her back, the middle of it throbbed like a second heart, stinging painfully with each beat. Her father wasn't looking at her. He was looking through her, looking at the lines and symbols already printed there, looking at lines and symbols not yet there. They were dancing through his eyes, and the possessed, crazed look had not yet left.
Riza Hawkeye had never thought that she would be a project of his. Pleaded silently for him to look at her, to stop staring so greedily at her back. She would have curled away from him, would have gotten up, run out of the house to her quiet place and cried, had it not hurt so very much just breathing.
No, oh no, she couldn't stop it, no matter how much she blinked her eyes. Couldn't he stop looking at her and look at her?
The tears didn't have far to fall before the pillow caught them. This wasn't fair, it hurt and she wanted a hug, but a hug would hurt so excruciatingly, she didn't dare. Her eyes burned, and the tears burned hot paths down her face, buried themselves in the pillow.
Her father watched her shoulders shake as she cried, his daughter, his only, his beauty. She would bear it. He knew. She was strong, and she would grow to be so much stronger. A perfect vessel for his art, the perfect gatekeeper. He stood and left her there, shaking on her bed. He needed to plan. The next part, the next piece of the black. He shut the door behind him, leaning up against it, face turned towards the ceiling, lips curling into a smile that had only obsession contained within it.
There was no turning back now.
