Work Text:
Glutton for Punishment
“Hey — if you were an Abnormality, what kind of work would ya need?”
Hohenheim paused, having been flipping through the latest observation records on his desk. Inexplicably, a slight tremor passed through him when he viewed his colleague grinning in the doorway. “Is this urgent enough that you'd have to interrupt me?”
Johann shrugged and sauntered forward. “Dunno. Just thought it would be fun to ask. So, whatcha think?”
“Obviously, you'd need to have a basic level of Insight.” Hohenheim's frown pressed as he sighed. “Although I realize that's an impossibility.”
“Well, that's the thing! I bet you'd just be doing Insight damage, as in, I don't have any clue how to explain it, but —”
“Let me guess,” Hohenheim interrupted, “I talk too convolutedly, that anyone hearing me speak would fall into madness. Oh — perhaps I'm so far advanced that underdeveloped minds loathe me out of jealousy, wishing I’d be cursed to the whims of the unknown they so distress.”
By now, Johann's curiosity had landed him right up in Hohenheim's personal space (which consisted of everything past the main desk of his solitary office, and preferably the majority of the entry area, too).
This was certainly closer than anyone had dared to get before. Hohenheim found himself holding his breath, perhaps on instinct assuming Johann still carried that smoky Backstreets stench, but he forced himself to breathe in normally. In doing so, he discovered Johann had gotten ahold of their branch’s complimentary soaps.
Maybe a little cologne, likely from one of their colleagues, not that Hohenheim had paid any attention before.
As if sensing his need for relief, a burning clinical coldness came back to him as Hohenheim noted the Enkephalin-based mist that periodically released into the air. There was a brief clench in his chest. It was almost unpleasant.
Hohenheim winced, brows furrowing. “Should I… word that more plainly for you?”
“I know we aren’t always on the same page — hell, even the same book about this kinda stuff, but… isn’t your whole deal that we should try our best to understand the world, even if the world doesn’t understand us back?”
A soft breath left his lips. “Well, I didn’t demand you leave me alone, did I?”
Johann grinned, and Hohenheim noticed he had a rare, bright smile. “Of course you didn’t! Because I know you better than ya like to admit. Even if it don't seem like it, I do pay attention when you speak.”
Unabashedly, Johann bent down, peering into Hohenheim’s expression as though he could see right through it. His voice became a deep rumble, quiet and inquisitive, and Hohenheim felt the spark of a thought, if his life would’ve changed if only someone like Johann had been there to care so much about what he had to say.
“So much so that I'm sure I could do a good work on you, if it came to it.”
Hohenheim’s mind short-circuited. It made no sense. This entire thing, in fact… “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Hmm? What’s so ridiculous, partner —”
“The chances that I’d even survive such a transformation is subminimal to the requirements outlined by the Extraction Team. And, mind you, there is an even lesser chance that it’s possible to perform favorable works toward the Ordeals, granted either of us aren’t killed in the process. Therefore, there is no way to test such a theory, and in that uncertainty, it’s pointless to seriously speculate such a matter.”
“Pointless or not, everyone’s been talking about these kinda things at break,” Johann said. There was a nameless emotion in his darkened gaze, which never once left Hohenheim’s face. “I thought I’d make an educated hypothesis, just like ya taught me, before I assumed anything. Because assuming makes you and me into an ass, I think that’s the phrase?”
You completely botched the wording. Yet, despite that, Hohenheim found it too difficult to put up a front of aloofness anymore.
There was no reason to be surprised the topic came up. The agents talked often of their worries, observing the horrors of their work and coping in any way possible. Even Hohenheim was aware of that, no matter how isolated he kept himself. And yet it was always so strange when Johann expressed such interest in hypothetical matters.
Not because Hohenheim didn't think he was capable of it. It was more that… he wasn't used to getting such a level of interest and support from anyone other than himself.
Johann very much could have joked around on impulse with the others if he’d wanted to. It was only an offhand comment to pass the time, when it came to chatting with their coworkers. Hohenheim knew from experience that very few employees actually cared about the validity of their work when it came to conversation. Even so, Johann had apparently been putting some thought into it, enough to bring up the line of thought directly to the researcher.
Or, perhaps, this was all a last-minute ploy to get into Hohenheim’s good graces. Something about bringing him into the social events of the group, or doing whatever “right-hand man” stuff he felt was warranted after their recent arrangements. Maybe it meant nothing serious at all.
“I don’t think you’d be an Ordeal. And besides, that’d make me really sad, because that’d mean you’d lose every bit of who you are that makes you special,” Johann commented, slowly reaching forward, until his hand cupped the side of Hohenheim’s cheek.
The researcher flinched, first out of surprise, but left his posture the same, noting that Johann’s calloused hands were strong, warm, and still surprisingly soft. His heart raced from the proximity, a body’s natural response to not being used to touch. However, he had no control over the rising heat the longer Johann stayed there, thumbing the side of his glasses.
“What do you think you’re doing… Johann?” Hohenheim managed, feeling the tingle of closeness like electricity collecting on his skin.
“There was an eyelash on your glasses,” he responded easily, lips quirked upwards as he used his fingertip to brush at the lens.
Hohenheim’s eyebrow twitched, but he still didn’t move. “You’re going to get your fingerprint on it, now. That was a pointless gesture.”
“You really like to call things pointless, don’tcha?”
“I’m still going to have to clean it properly, anyway.”
“I made ya smile, didn’t I?” Johann’s eyes appeared to sparkle, considering how infectiously his attention brought joy wherever he followed. He wasn’t at all conventionally attractive, and Hohenheim loathed what it did to him to think about that too deeply. However, during moments like this, it was impossible not to feel something for this man of potentialities.
“Whether or not I smiled won’t change the fact that I’m wasting precious observation time by being here,” Hohenheim replied flatly, self-conscious of the sensations in his chest and cheek. Johann took so long to pull away, and as he did, those fingers trailed a fire right down with it.
This man somehow always made Hohenheim feel so hungry, for lack of a more concrete term. There was never enough time, nor patience, nor resource for the occasions in which they interacted. How much more of the world had Hohenheim not seen? What aspects of life had he been neglecting in the pursuit of knowledge?
His instincts seemed to flare up so strongly when Johann was around. Perhaps that was what Hohenheim was missing in his endeavors all along.
“You’re distracting me,” he repeated again, hoping the message would get across, no matter that Johann seemed to be even closer in spite of having already pulled away. “Even if I were your Abnormality —” Hohenheim felt his heart tingle at thinking of himself in such a way — “I have no doubt that you’d still distract me. I would most certainly have to kill you, in order to function at my fullest ability. No matter how effective your work process might seem.”
“Oh? I’m that good at what I do, am I?” Johann smirked so self-assuredly, in all the wrongest ways, as if he were teasing out of a genuine desire for happiness, if that was even possible for a resident of the City.
Needing to have the slightest sense of control, Hohenheim crossed his arms, hands balled into fists at his sides. Then, noticing the small smear in the corner of his vision, he quickly adjusted his glasses and made a note of his growing desperation for alone time.
His pinkie finger had barely brushed the tip of Johann’s nose when he did so. They were standing very, very close, weren’t they…
“I’d rather you stayed alive, so no, it wasn’t a compliment,” Hohenheim answered.
“Because I’m important to getting us that Department of the Year award, not because ya care about me like that, yeah?” The way he said it, Johann was his flippant self as usual, but he was so close and speaking so softly that it seemed indescribably intimate. “I’m glad to be so important to you, Mr. Hohenheim.”
He would really like to know how Johann made a smile like that. A grin with such dumb passion to it that it seemed inhuman. Hohenheim was sure that he’d never been able to twist his mouth in such a shape in his entire life, not that he’d ever need to.
Johann just kept smiling, in his impossible way. “Thinking about something?”
“Nothing in particular,” Hohenheim lied, feeling another swathe of warmth. The Enkephalin spray kicked on again, and in that brief window of restoration, he realized how much he'd already grown accustomed to Johann invading his space. His absence was staggeringly cold, and he was sure if he'd been an Abnormality, the very last thing he'd want to do was hurt the agent who paid this much attention to him.
“I guess we have more in common than we ever knew,” Johann commented, and in that moment, his tone carried so much weight, Hohenheim was sure he was imagining it.
“I suspect we do.” It was a daring statement. It suggested that there was more than a disdainful tolerance on Hohenheim’s end. It was the kind of admission that would never go forgotten from someone as perceptive as Johann was.
And that was okay.
At least this way, there would be an understanding between them even if things went unsaid.
“I'm so happy to hear that, I could kiss you —”
“If this is your idea of a joke, I'll assure you that Attachment work isn't going to be enough to keep yourself alive,” Hohenheim said, much too quickly. He could have sworn one of them had drifted nearer to the other, although he couldn't be entirely sure it had been Johann. “Don't tell me you've been thinking of kissing Abnormalities, either. I knew you've been employing strange methods, but that without a doubt will end poorly for you.”
“You seem so sure of that,” Johann said with that blameless grin of his. “Have you tested that theory?”
“If you're referring to unsanitary and unsafe personal relations with Abnormalities, then yes, we have peer-reviewed, repeated records of that being the case. Most, if not all, lead to a mass infection or crime of passion, in every case involving the loss of life.”
“I get that… but, thankfully… or maybe unfortunately by your standards, I’d be running purely on Instinct,” Johann drawled out, and in that motion, he very nearly closed the distance. Their lips almost brushed, but at the last moment, he let out a puff of warm laughter, and paused right there. “Try not to kill me too quickly, at least?”
“Johann. I…”
“Can't knock it until you try it, right? I'll even let ya rate the —”
Whatever Johann was shamelessly saying was completely drowned out by the wail of sirens, and the urgent beeping of their communication devices. Without so much as a warning, the sounds of gunfire, screams, and hurried footsteps rushed past the door.
Was it really a coincidence…?
Johann was, at least, looking rightfully embarrassed.
“First Trumpet,” Hohenheim reminded. “Let's see how badly you've committed to dying. But, might I add, I wouldn't mind continuing this discussion another time.”
It made his heart feel all jumbled up, as if he were also under crisis. He watched with some pride as Johann readied his E.G.O equipment, cocking the safety on his rifle as it powered to life.
“Oh, y-yeah, sure thing, boss, um, Hohenheim, sir…!” Johann took in one long, steadying breath, then glanced back at Hohenheim as he lingered at the doorway and spared him a wink. “See ya on the flip side, then.”
See ya.
× &£~π°^√ ×
“In my honest opinion, he makes enough comparisons to others that I would believe if he became an Invidiae. This entire situation we're in stems from a desire for something that others have achieved,” Martin observed with a click of his tongue. “Frankly, that would be the most annoying outcome as well, but one that we should be prepared for. Although I really don't encourage it; we've seen enough Peccatula be created as-is.”
“Nah. It's got to be Pigritiae,” Alyssa tacked on, sighing. “Just look at him. He's barely said anything this whole time. We're doing all the thinking here.”
“He's listening, I would dearly hope,” Martin responded, glaring across the room at Hohenheim, who was perched in his swivel chair, slowly scratching down the side of his chin.
The stubble he'd grown had gotten particularly thick, and Hohenheim could hardly bear to keep it under control. Regardless, he adjusted his glasses, keeping his finger there by his cheek, in deep thought.
“If I were to become one of the various Peccatulum, I do believe I would have failed to keep the essence of what makes me special, yes,” Hohenheim began, speculating. “However, no matter the apparent pointlessness of the discussion, it would be wrong of me to make the assumption it's an impossibility. In that respect… I’d have to say…”
“You could get on with it a little faster, please,” Alyssa groaned, hiding her smirk when Martin rolled his eyes.
“She is so sure she's going to lose the bet to me, she can't hide her panic,” Martin said so matter-of-factly that Alyssa gave him a sharp slap to his arm. “Correction: that she fails to hide her panic.”
“I'm not going to say how that's basically the exact same thing,” Alyssa grumbled. “Anyways. Which one of us do you think is right?”
The image of this same conversation, once upon a time, flashed, unwelcome, in Hohenheim’s mind. How he craved to be rid of such strong feelings. How easily it would be to claim them again, as if he were back there, standing in front of someone who understood him at first glance.
“In the endless pursuit of knowledge, it would only be an educated guess to assume I’d become a Gulae. The endless hunger until absolution. That of which may or may not ever come,” Hohenheim concluded.
“Huh. Well, guess there's only one way to find out,” Alyssa said. “And pretty soon, too, by the looks of it.”
“The Monolith does need researching,” Martin conceded, “however I still do recommend reconsidering these notions.”
“I assure you, I've had ample time for considering. Science will not answer itself by waiting.” Hohenheim leaned forward in his seat, feeling the ache in his back, the emptiness in his chest. “Besides, in the worst case scenario, all you'd have to do is kill me. Or, rather, the shell I had become.”
“Potentially, you might pose an even greater threat, otherwise,” Martin pushed. “How can we even be sure that even if the LCB passes their exams, they'll be ready to subdue you?”
“Every test has its variables,” Alyssa stated plainly. “It's not like either of us are crazy enough to offer ourselves instead, anyway.”
“This is something I'd like to investigate out of pure curiosity,” Hohenheim clarified, now feeling the edge of his knuckles against his lips as he leaned into his hand. Feeling the press of the ridges against his skin. So very pointlessly.
He felt the barest smile appearing, and although he couldn't hold onto it as it slipped away again, he basked in the momentary light.
“If I were a Distortion…” Hohenheim mused, his stormy quartz gaze appearing to fog over, “I wonder… what kind of work would I need to bring me back to feeling alive?”