Unfair
By dark-angel-rising
It had been raining all day. The dull gray skies of Central making the city look even bleaker. There were few people outside, most opting to seek shelter, and amongst those that were still wandering the streets, was the Fuhrer, Roy Mustang. He was walking disguised, dressed in the dark clothes of a businessman, a black trenchcoat, the collar turned up to block his face, and a dark fedora covering his head.
He walked slowly through the streets, no particular goal in mind, drowning in his memories. That corner, outside a dingy apartment building. That had been where he first kissed Riza. And only a block away was where she died. He shook his head and walked on, forcing the painful memories into the back of his mind.
He was standing outside the military graveyard, the multitudes of pale granite headstones staring back at him.
There were so many of them. People he knew, people he cared for, people he loved. They were all here, eternally asleep beneath six feet of cold earth. Here lay Maes, his best friend, the person who stopped his anguished madness after Ishbal. Nearby were the graves of his wife and daughter, both having died two years ago in a car accident. Roy had demanded that they were to be laid to rest near their husband and father. As he walked along, more familiar names, and familiar faces appeared. There was the grave of his father, Charles Mustang. The man had been a not only a father, but a mentor as well when he was still a young Major, eager to fight and die for his country. He was among the first to die in Ishbal, surrounded by strangers and on foreign soil. That had been the first funeral Roy had ever attended.
A few plots down lay Davies, a humorous little woman who treated him like a big sister would. She too died in Ishbal, glad that she was killed before being forced to take an innocent life. And there was Marcoh's grave. After he became Fuhrer, he had Marcoh pardoned and welcomed back to Central. The Crystal Alchemist was very weak and old then, but he politely refused to be buried in Central, opting for a quiet funeral outside the village where he spent the last of his days. This grave was empty, only there for face value. Roy sometimes visited the real grave in the countryside, where it stood on the edge of a small forest, where the few that really knew where it was came to pay their respects to him.
He idly wondered how Al and Winry were doing. He knew that Al lived in Central, but his small comfortable apartment was usually empty, it's owner away to some distant part of the country, searching for a way to find his brother. Winry still lived in Rizenbul, each day waiting for Ed to come home. He wondered whether her unshakable faith in the short alchemist was just denial, or if she truly believed he would come back, grinning as usual. He himself had long since believed that Edward had died, though he just couldn't bring himself to have a headstone made for him. Again, he shook his head and repressed the memories.
He walked along the familiar path to Riza's grave, his throat clenching tightly and the familiar pain returning. She had died the day he wanted to propose to her, dying protecting him from an assasination attempt. He stood before her grave, guilty that he didn't bring flowers. Then again, she had once told him that she hated getting flowers. Especially beautiful boquets. She said that she didn't like it that the flowers were dead when they were given to her, even if they were beautiful. They would just wilt and she would have to throw them away. A poor idea of a gift in her eyes.
As he stood before her grave, it began to rain, and he was suddenly struck with how cruel the world was. He wanted to just fall down on the ground and childishly bang his fists agaisn't the ground, screaming. Screaming that it wasn't fair, and in all, blame the world for all the wrongs in his life.
Sighing he shook his head and turned away. Walking back home, and hoping that his secretary hadn't sent out a rescue team for him when he didn't return her calls. Then again, he was prone to disappearing for hours at a time, to come back claiming that he had gotten lost on the road of life. Or some other joke that hid his frustiration with the world.
He walked through the heavy oak door, the butler taking off his sopping wet trenchcoat and hat. He trudged up to his room, shedding the dark suit and stepping into the shower, knowing that when he returned, his wet clothes would be gone and replaced with those that he normally wore at home. He often commented to the few that were under his command from his days as Colonel, that there were no maids in his house, but rather that magical invisible fairies cleaned up after him. He knew that all the maids, even the older ones were too shy to talk to him. He didn't care. After Riza, he wasn't sure any woman was good enough.
He slipped on the clothes left for him, a plain white cotton shirt and a pair of dark trousers, and as an afterthought, put on a dark blue robe, so that he wouldn't get a cold.
He entered his study, wanting to finish the book that he had been reading, and smiled when he saw an old and familiar shape by the fire.
Black Hayate was old now. He slept in the study, the dark room with it's scent of books was his favorite place in the entire mansion, and he only moved unless it was necessary. Though his body was failing and weak, his black eyes still had an intelligent gleam in them, and on the days when he felt young, especially after a light spring rain, he would go out with Roy to work, to play in the large office and terrorize Breda who had still to this day screamed like a little girl whenever he saw a dog.
Roy reached down to pat the old dog's head, muttering a soft greeting before settling down with his book.
Outside, the rain kept pouring, crying the tears he could not.
Authoress' Note – Gah that was emo. That show makes me emo. Too many awesome characters die. I still haven't gotten over Scar's death. Anyway, this is supposed to take place after the last episode, and totally ignores the movie with which I was pretty disappointed with.
Please review.
DAR