Chapter 1

His office was cold, the large window at the far end of the door was open. It had been open for almost four days now and it was the middle of winter. Condensation covered the glass panes, the leather chair was freezing to rest upon but the young man who had entered his new office didn't seem to feel it. Spiders had made elegant webs in the corners and the late night dew had caused them to shimmer like silver in the darkness of the room.

His breath was visible as a fine, warm white mist that lingered briefly in the air. Booted feet echoed on the bare wooden floor and he walked slowly to the large antique desk that sat proudly at the window. He pulled off his white gloves, the freezing air nipping at the exposed skin.

The heavy, grey military coat he wore was dropped with no ceremony or thought to the floor, he didn't care about neatness if he was on his own. There was no one to impress anyway and he was normally so collected that it felt like a relief to simply drop things where they landed. His desk had a delicate glass that still held some liquid in it. The expensive whiskey tumbler sat patiently, as though still waiting for the alchemist to return to it. He sighed heavily as he drained the liquid, the alcohol not numbing anything.

It tasted flat and bland but it still had the burn that good whiskey had. He didn't register any of the subtle hints of aged oak or whatever it should have. It's warmth coated the back of his throat but he had to suppress the shiver of disgust as his body tried to expel the unpleasant liquid. He raised his hand to his mouth, willing the whiskey to remain in his stomach.

It was a battle of wills and his own body finally betrayed him. The battle was a short lived one though and he vomited the amber liquid into a small bin that held failed notes of condolences and apologies to wives and families of people who had died under his command while in the Ishbal war. The bile stained the white paper, the bitter smell making him gag even more.

He landed on his knees with a stifled sob. Every time he came to Central Headquarters, he was fawned over by fanatics and suck ups who would smile to his face while eyeing his back to find a good place to stick a knife in it. He couldn't bear it anymore, their words sounded hollow and wrong to him. He was no hero, no damn hero at all but nobody seemed to listen when he protested. His words would fall on deaf ears and he was tired of screaming now.

He should never have went to the damn horror show that had been the war. Alchemists should never have been ordered out to the front lines and certainly not to be used as living weapons. Many good men and woman had crumbled under the strain of death, some returning broken shells of humans and others unable to return to battle. Central should never had allowed him to return back to civilisation, to interact once again with humans. The alchemist was a monster in human disguise, he wanted to tear his skin off to prove that to people but no, not one soul wanted to listen to his pain.

Slowly, he pulled off his shorter blue jacket, sighing heavily again as he removed his pistol from his holster. He placed it carefully on the desk, long since deciding that monsters held no place in the world and that they should be stopped and destroyed once war was over. He shouldn't have been allowed to come home, his life should have ended with his blood seeping and soaking into the baking sand of the Ishbal desert. He would simply stain the floor in Central instead.

The alchemist forced himself to his feet, using the solid shape of the desk to help him up. It would be easy to perhaps take another method of killing himself instead of the pistol option, he was high up in headquarters and he could take the express elevator down via the window. The young man doubted he would be missed, nobody would really mourn for him, not for long anyhow.

His heavy heart had been lifted ever so slightly when he had seen a warm and smiling face back at the train station when he had arrived in the city a few days ago. The embrace that had been given had lifted his battered spirit to an almost human level and when he had been released from his friend's arms, he had almost begged for the touch to be resumed.

Comfort though had been short lived, he had been whisked away from the source of his potential salvation before the two men had had a chance to exchange actual words and the alchemist was unsure as to when he would actually see the brunette with the sharp hazel eyes again. He placed a hand on the desk, sagging as the weight of his sins were piling on top of him. The screams of his victims demanding retribution and he wanted to give them it, he really did,

It was an effort to breath some days, the involuntary but rather necessary action to the living seemed to crush his chest and strangle what was left of his heart. His drinking had escalated to legendary and it was a small miracle that he could even stand upright enough to pass inspection or even hold what could be classed as an intelligent conversation.

Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang, the infamous Flame Alchemist reached for the whiskey canter and took a large swig from it. He gasped as it burned his throat, gagging as his body reached it's tolerance for alcohol and he vomited again into the bin. He vaguely recalled that the Fuhrer himself had gave him the whiskey, saying it was for a job well down but Mustang didn't care.

All his jobs were 'well done', that was the problem with fire based alchemy. It really only had the one setting that the Fuhrer actually found useful.

His weary eyes spotted a white, crisp envelope with the word Firefly scrawled elegantly across it and a genuine smile managed to threaten his stoic features by tugging at the corners of his pale lips. Only one man would have the gall to call him that and only one man who would dare say it to his face. Roy Mustang traced the lettering with numb fingers, slowly opening the letter and unsure of he really wanted to learn about the contents and that his resolve tonight would waiver. The ink smudged slightly on pale fingers and and his fingertips left smudgy fingerprints on the paper.

Monsters held no place in this world, no place in the world of Maes Hughes and Riza Hawkeye. He should run from Hughes and his family plans, to protect that fragile ideal. The young man shouldn't be around people who considered family to be important and who even dared to care about him, he would only see them scream in terror once they saw the real creature war had created. Roy inched the pistol slightly closer to him with each passing thought of despair, one hand on the letter and the other on the gun.

Hey Firefly, the letter started, the name meant as a cute nickname that he secretly was fond of, I have a funny feeling that we won't be able to to catch up when you hit Central due to scheduling conflicts and idiots wasting your time but I swear, I'll be there looking like some damn soppy army wife for ya but, hopefully, you've seen me by now.

I'm a little pissed at how you didn't write, you normally do but why didn't you? Let's just say it's been destroyed or eaten by some postal elf or something. We'll go with that shall we? I know bad the post can be out there in Ishbal...

Roy snorted softly but was relieved that his friend would allow him that favour. He rubbed his chest just above his heart, it felt a little lighter reading the first few lines of the letter but he wasn't sure of he was just imagining the sensation. His grip remained on the pistol but his fingers lay flat on the gun, no longer curled around the trigger.

Anyhow, it continued, I know what you're like when you get like this, head on over to mine. I got dinner and a whole host of cakes made by my amazingly angelic wife! I swear, her carrot cake and apple pie is the best thing I have ever tasted apart from your brownies. Really gotta blackmail you into making them my good friend.

Armstrong is driving me crazy by the way, Havoc is being a pain in the ass and I swear, Ross is losing my glasses on purpose. I think she hates me or something. Fulman is piling on the woe is me because he can't find himself a girl and I swear, Breda keeps freaking out every time I mention dogs...I might think he's got a fear of them.

Gracia thinks you need a hot meal, I think so to if I'm honest so get your skinny ass down here! I don't wanna hear that you fell down an open crack somewhere or have Hawkeye moaning that you turned to the right or something and then disappeared...

Roy smiled, had his friend stopped by here first or had he gave the leader to somebody in the office? Either way he was actually relieved about receiving it. He had written numerous letters to his friend when he had been stationed in Ishbal but he couldn't send them, the contents too dark and disturbing for Maes to read and the man was dealing with his own demons. He shook his head, clearing it as he read on.

Roy...I have a fair idea as to what you may be doing or fuck, even contemplating right now. I only hope that you see this before you do something that will ultimately...I don't want to think about it. I do not want to get all dressed up just to stand in front of a damn white stone with a name etched onto it.

Your girl, Hawkeye, stated that you fell silent in Ishbal and I know only too damn well that when silence falls in a fire, it's never ever a good thing. So, come home and forget about Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang and just be Roy for a few days huh?

C'mon, come home.

Roy kept reading the last few lines over and over again. He gave the whiskey a passing glance and lifted his hand fully from the pistol. The biting cold of the office that had bitten at his skin seemed to bother him less now as he raised himself from the chair he had sat on. He bolted, scooping up his heavy grey coat as he ran out of the office with no real idea as to why he was or even where he was running to.

Hughes residence...

"Stop pacing around hunni," Gracia Hughes chuckled softly as she wrapped her heavy dressing gown around herself, "Come on up to bed."

Her husband was still fully dressed in his military uniform, his square glasses resting on his slender nose. Hughes offered her a crooked smile, shaking his head. He couldn't go to bed yet, not until he knew where his friend for almost a decade was. A tired yawn was trying to work it's way to the surface, he hadn't slept for about about a day and a half now because he had been trying to locate the Flame Alchemist who had went missing. It was sheer luck that the young alchemist's assistant had managed to make it look like the man had nothing but wall to wall meetings when in fact she held no clue as to where he was.

"Sorry beautiful," Hughes pulled her close to him, inhaling the sweet scent of the soap she was using "I need to wait up for a little bit longer."

"Roy?" Gracia said softly, catching the love in her husband's face tinged with worry.

Hughes kissed his wife on the forehead, "Yeah, I'm worried about him. He...looked sad when I saw him a few days back."

Gracia laughed softly, "Sometimes I swear that you married the wrong person. When did he get back?"

"Few days ago," Hughes yawned loudly, "Hawkeye isn't sure exactly when he disappeared but she hasn't been able to find him."

His wife felt her heart skip a beat, "He's missing?"

She had became friends of a sort with the young officer, the man always reserved and quiet whenever he was in the home. He was always polite and seemed to truly come alive when either with her husband or the imposing figure of Riza Hawkeye. Gracia had to admit that Hawkeye had scared her at first but that was only for a short while. Riza had proved to be a loyal and kind friend to those she cared about.

Maes would have nightmares, horrible visions that would leave him in a cold sweat and a less than happy attitude for the day but he had never once turned his anger on her. Gracia had heard stories about other wives of soldiers who were not as lucky. She wasn't a fool though, her husband had disappeared for a few days when he had returned home from the war and he had came back home stinking of alcohol and nursing the mother of all hangovers. He had found his coping mechanism, either drinking with Roy when the young man had leave or taking pictures of nearly everything that made him happy.

Gracia had been privileged when he had shared with her some of the horrors he had seen but she knew that he had gave her the edited version when he was sober. A drunk Hughes was a different creature though, his normally eloquent speech would be littered with curses and vile descriptions and he would be easier to offend but always respectful to his wife. Gracia could only imagine the horrors the alchemists were subjected to when they had been out in the battlefield.

"State Alchemists are weapons," Maes had slurred one drunken evening, "The higher fucking uppers point them at the terrified fucking enemy and the poor bastards fire. It chips at them, Gracia, whatever goodness they had left in them has been ripped out and they aint the same. Then, when they all come home, they get rewarded and praised for killing innocent women and children! How is that...the shit they made us do is nothing compared to what some of the alchemists had to do. Fuck...I saw an Armstrong weep like a damn child. An Armstrong, Gracia! They are some of the toughest people on the planet but watching him like that...Roy...I promised that he would always be my brother and he would always have a home with me."

"Why couldn't they have just said no?" Gracia held her husband's cold hands tightly within her own small hands. The kitchen was normally a warm place, a place where Maes would dance with his wife and make her squeal in laughter as he flicked soapy bubbles at her from the sink but this topic seemed to darken the room even though the light was burning brightly above them.

A cold and distant look appeared in hazel eyes, memories of the war clouding what were normally warm features. She had received a letter from Roy Mustang once, stating how remorseful he was for not being able to rescue her husband from an attack. Gracia had feared the worse when she read the opening lines but it had faded when the then major had wrote that Maes was alive and looking forward to the next batch of cookies that she would diligently make for him.

Hughes had never spoke of what had happened then, his letters had been full of everything else but the incident and had felt...forced, as though he was trying to make himself believe that he was cheerful. His handwriting had taken a bit of a knock and he had allowed Mustang and a young man called Jean to write his letters for a while.

"Why didn't they just say no?" Maes said with little emotion, "Saying no was disobeying an order set by the Fuhrer. Saying no meant you were signing your own death warrant and claiming you were prepared for treason. Baby girl, saying that simple little word would have saw you die by facing the barrel of a friend's gun as they shot you and watching them walk away as your damn soul ebbed away."

She hated this version of her husband when he drank heavily, the creature that would speak of dark things during the war and had the cold eyes when he looked at her. He spoke of treason quietly and Gracia would try to hush the words but she now began to think that her husband had a point.

"Maes, did you ever..." she didn't want to the answer but it might explain why her husband was so unwilling to speak of certain aspects in Ishbal.

"I tried to help those who needed my help, I didn't care if they had red, blue, brown or whatever eyes. People are damn people and I will not turn my back on those who need my help," Maes had drained his drink and slammed the glass to the kitchen table, his eyes burning with defiance, facing an echo of someone who had perhaps told him not to.

Those words would always echo in her skull whenever Maes would battle for the rights of alchemists who had fought in the war and how he would treat Roy like family. Her husband had kept his promise though, he had helped those in need. He looked after the alchemist he had befriended during his military academy training days as young teenagers and even during the war.

"Go and look for him," his wife said as she allowed her husband's words to fade into the corners of her mind, "If he shows up here, I'll put him in the spa...in his room."

Hazel eyes framed by dark hair crinkled at the corners, "Thank you baby."

"Hmm," Gracia smiled as Hughes kissed her goodbye, she could feel the love in his kiss and wondered why her husband's friend hadn't found himself someone to love.

It took Hughes about five minutes to willingly leave to the warmth of his home, he didn't want to leave the soft form of his wife but he held a fierce pride in being able to keep promises. The wintry night deciding that whilst it was cold, it would add a biting wind and hard rain to stop any sane soul from leaving the safety of remaining indoors. He pulled his heavy coat around himself, feeling slightly warmer for the simple action but the wind kept blowing the tails of his coat upwards and freezing his calves. The rain soaked the heavy fabric and he would wince as it would slap roughly against his legs.

He needed to think where his friend would go if he was the slender dark haired alchemist. He would need to go further into the city if he wanted to search. The man could disappear if he truly wanted but he knew Roy however. This was a cry for help when it felt like no one was hearing his screams.

A slender blonde woman with short hair got out of a black military car, her features partly hidden by the high collar of her jacket. She made a beeline for the major, saluting in respect when she came nearer. A smile tugged on her lips, her eyes warming the austere look on pretty features that she had adopted since joining the army.

"Major Hughes," First Lieutenant Hawkeye stopped, "Hello."

"...so formal," Hughes lazily saluted her, wishing he had remembered to put on his gloves when he had left the home, "I guess this aint a social catch up huh?"

"No," Hawkeye refused to sigh, "Maes...I lost him. I failed and he's gone."

Hughes stood stunned in the cold night, his jaw dropping slightly as his mind tried to register what the woman was stating. Hawkeye rarely admitted failure, the woman had an impeccable success rate in all her missions. She had earned her last name, she had the eyes of a hawk in battle. An accomplished sniper that had protected her fellow soldiers with deadly accuracy. Hughes had never heard her admit failure so openly and if he was honest with himself, he didn't really like hearing it either.

If Roy Mustang had managed to give his unofficial bodyguard the slip then it didn't bode well. It was highly likely that the quiet man was planning on doing something stupid and hadn't gotten the letter that he had left in his cold office a few days back.

"I'm sure you haven't," Hughes finally said as he found his voice, "When was the last time you saw him?"

"The day he came back to Central Headquarters," Riza informed, pushing a stray lock of hair from her face, "I saw him briefly as Fuhrer Bradley called him into a meeting."

"How'd he seem?" Hughes pushed gently, knowing that the answer would no doubt be an honest one from the woman.

The woman looked off into the distance, giving the answer some thought. How had her friend been that day? Withdrawn? Depressed? Numb? So many negative emotions to describe the emotional state of the man but she didn't know how to deal with that. She had taken to ensuring his physical safety was kept, Riza had allowed Hughes to handle the more delicate emotional side of her commanding officer.

Hughes took her silence as the indicator, "We haven't lost him Riza, he'll never be lost as long as he has us watching out for him."

Hawkeye nodded in agreement, Hughes was always optimistic about everything, no matter how dark the situation was. He had been realistic during the war but he still managed to retain that hope. That delicate, fragile string that hope was and he still held it tightly with the same passion he had when he had taken the lives of the enemy in the desert.

Hughes tilted his head to the sky, rain drops landing on his glasses and his hair was beginning to stick to his skull. He focused on standing like a man who held confidence in his words of finding Roy safe and sound inside of perhaps not really being sure. Where they searching for a living soul or was it to late? He shook himself mentally, no, they were still looking for the living if fragile being the war had created in Roy Mustang.

"He'll never be lost as long as he has us," Hughes repeated as he crossed his arms, "Never. Now, here's what's gonna happen. We are gonna find him and when we do, the air is going to be bluer than our uniforms and I will need to wash my mouth out with bleach before I can kiss Gracia again with half the things that I'm gonna be saying. Once that is over, you are kicking the living hell out of him for making you worry. Is this acceptable first lieutenant?"

Agreed, Hawkeye thought as she pulled her jacket tighter around herself, "Yes sir. Shall we search together?"

She watched as tiny drops of rain scattered as Hughes shook his head. It would be faster if they remained separated in order to cover more ground. The city was large and there was plenty of dark alleys and grubby little pubs to hide in. Riza had searched the upper part but she knew she was still nowhere close to even being halfway through it. Tiny drops of rain fell on Hughes glasses as he stared off into the distance, sharp eyes looking for even the tiniest shadows of danger.

The young woman nodded, she understood the request to remain apart. It meant that if either of them found Mustang, they could perhaps make him presentable to the other. She also knew that they would probably argue as to where to keep the man as well. Hawkeye would want him with her but Hughes would no doubt counter that demand and keep him with him and his wife. The man was a better option if she looked at all the facts.

"When we find him, take him to my house," Hughes ordered softly, wiping away rain from his face, "Gracia has a gue...we have the room all set up for him. Please, don't argue with me Riza. We both know..."

"...that he needs a non military environment to rest and refocus in," Hawkeye finished quietly, "I thought you would say something like that."

If she admitted the truth, she was glad that he had ordered this. Hughes chuckled in amusement, he knew people had a view of him as a bubbly man who would chat endlessly about his wife and whatever else he thought would be interesting. Hughes could also sit in silence and simply enjoy the company of whoever he was with, something that Riza found herself envious of.

The man was no fool however, He knew that people would be utterly surprised to learn that he was in the military. His lax and almost bored-of-anything-concerning-military related attitude had earned him a reputation. However, people usually regretted those thoughts when they saw him in full professional mode. He was skilled with blades and an expert at undercover operations.

"Thanks, I think," Hughes shivered as a fat, cold drop of rain somehow managed to find a space down his jacket and onto his neck, "Let's go find him."

He walked confidently away from the woman as she saluted him, he pulled his collar higher around his neck to protect it from the chilly evening. The rain was getting heavier and the tip of his nose was feeling cold and he sniffed to stop it from running. It worried him more than he would like to admit that Roy had managed to give Riza the slip. He would never do that unless he was going to do something stupid again. What that stupid thing was however, was anyone's guess.

Major Maes Hughes walked down the long street, his head lowered in the vain attempt to shield his vision from the rain. His vision was blotted by the raindrops on his glasses and he desperately wanted to return home and stand in a hot shower for the rest of the night but he would not let Roy remain out in this weather. He knew his wife would no doubt had set up the guest room and would have a lovely warm home for the two weary men to return. The idea of a hot meal made his stomach grumble softly, his meals of late had consisted of whatever he had been able to snag from the mess hall at Headquarters and so far, pickings had been pretty dire.

He also wanted to join his wife in the marital bed and in peaceful slumber. He wanted to be indoors and not heading from dingy bar to revolting dives and having numerous propositions from ladies of the night in doorways. Flashing the simple silver of his wedding band had did nothing to dissuade them and he had simply resorted to ignoring the loose women. The streets were empty of others, save from the ladies and other soldiers who had pulled the short straw on patrolling. They would salute him as he stalked by and he blew into his hands in a vain attempt warm them.

Is he even in Central? Hughes thought as he sighed in mild annoyance, I'm gonna kick his ass if I find that he's sleeping in his own damn apartment. The hell should he be all warm and cosy while I freeze my balls off looking for him. Next time, I'm gonna be the one to disappear and I will make him search Fort Briggs in a swimsuit for me while I sip tea.

Hughes booted feet were freezing cold and soaking wet, if he wiggled his toes, he could feel the cold water in his socks. His shoulders ached from being hunched over, he knew that it would no doubt take a good few hours in a hot bath with a mug of tea to warm his cold bones.

People had been commenting at headquarters that this was the coldest winter that Central had had in years. The homeless who usually remained in doorways had found other warm places to sleep until the worst of the weather had passed. Hughes' mind went to the Freezer Alchemist and how the man had a twisted streak after and even during the war. The solid shape of the man would no doubt love this weather but Hughes snorted in mild amusement when a tiny part of his mind offered him the impossible thought that perhaps this weather was all down to the alchemist.

The Flame Alchemist wasn't keen on it. The man didn't hate water or rain but it made him feel useless if he was called out in it. Luckily for the alchemist, Roy was a rather resourceful creature. Alchemists were scientists after all, he would simply change the battle conditions to something more acceptable. If his friend was out in this weather, it only meant that the man was clearly not thinking straight but would not be able to use the deadly dark arts..

Where the hell are you? Hughes thought as he headed down the street that he knew that Roy's apartment was.

The street, like all the rest was quiet. Street lights shining dully in the rain and Hughes quickened his pace to reach the apartment block that held Roy's flat. He bounced up the small slight of steps, almost sighing in bliss as he pushed the door open to enter the building. He shivered as he got out of the rain, shaking himself of any excess water that tried to cling to his coat. More stairs lead upwards and Hughes felt his form protest at the flight and the cold that refused to move out.

He made his way upwards and down the corridor, refusing the thoughts of worry any purchase in his mind. His body quickened his breathing, panic wanting to settle into his form as he came closer to the door. He slipped his hand into his inner pocket and pulled out a spare key to his friend's apartment, the small silver key glinted dully in the corridor lights.

I don't know what I want to find... Hughes thought as he placed the key in the lock, resting his head on the wooden door as he turned it. It clicked as it unlocked and he took a breath, holding it in his chest as he pushed the door open.

He expected the smell of death to assault his nose, to hear perhaps flies buzzing about a still form but there was nothing. The house smelt of nothing and Hughes released the breath he had been holding as he entered the small flat. Books were scattered across the floor, piled high and he could just about make out the shape of a desk near the window with a lamp battling for position with thick, heavy books.

Alchemy circles were drawn on paper and had been scattered in what to the untrained eye would have been random patterns but Hughes had a basic knowledge of the dark arts and was aware that it was meant for a much more drastic and dangerous alchemy practice. One that was strictly forbidden by all those who practised and would have the performer killed.

He scanned the room, looking for any kind of clue. There was nothing, it looked as though the flat was barely used for anything more than storage or perhaps research. A small cot with a few light, bundled up covers seemed to buckle under the weight of more books. The home would have looked more in place being a storage room at the main library rather than an actual home.

Hughes knew that Roy would stay at his place when he was staying in the city, preferring to have people around him rather than be left alone with his own thoughts. The major had gotten so used to having someone waiting for him to come home that he had forgotten how much it hurt to grace an empty home so they had told the alchemist that he was always had a home and a bed at the Hughes residence.

Gracia didn't mind having guests, she always cooked enough food to feed a small army and Hughes had taken many leftovers to this house over the years he had dated his wife. The chance to look after another person seemed to bring out the best in his wife and she always seemed to come alive doing so and Maes had decided that she was going to be a perfect mother to the many kids they were going to have.

Okay, so you aren't here. Not at Madam Christmas's either, he pulled a face as turned round in a slow circle, blowing out a frustrated breath as he resumed his thoughts of trying to find his friend, where the hell are you?

He headed out of the flat, locking it as he did. His amused mood from earlier had completely disappeared and was replaced with real concern. The next thought on his mind was to start calling around hospitals and even the local morgues, an idea that froze his soul to the core.

His glasses slipped down his nose and he pushed them upwards with his index finger. Roy had this unique talent for being one of the most frustrating men ever to grace the planet and he also needed to be protected from himself at times. Hughes and Hawkeye had taken the mantle of ensuring that he would remain safe but the alchemist would certainly make it difficult.

The darkness in his thoughts seemed to bring out a new coldness to the night and the rain had taken on almost razor like feel. He squinted as the rain began to seep through his heavy jacket and water ran down into his eyes. Shoving his hands into his pockets only caused painfully brief relief as he resumed walking down the road. Shops were boarded up and closed until the few short hours of the morning and the major suddenly found himself craving a hot drink.

Someone crashed into him from behind and Hughes stumbled forward, almost falling to the ground. Hughes growled in annoyance as he span round, ready to unleash a few choice words until he released who had fell into him. A slender figure staggered backwards, taking a step away and stumbling back towards Roy's apartment.

"Roy?!" Maes blinked in a mixture of relief and surprise.

Dark eyes refused to lift to meet hazel and when they did, the dark circles under his eyes only highlighted how exhausted and sad they looked in the street lighting. Roy wasn't wearing his heavy jacket, his thin white shirt was soaked onto his chest and Hughes stood stunned at the dripping wet mess that stood before him.

"The hell have you been?" Hughes chided softly as he removed his outer coat and wrapped it around the freezing and wet alchemist, "I was getting worried."

He pulled him automatically into a tight embrace, Roy stank of cheap booze and had a delicate smell of some drug that Hughes wasn't aware of but knew was illegal. It didn't matter however, Hughes seemed to fall into brother mode almost instantly whenever Roy needed him to.

State Alchemists had certain privileges that could be overlooked by law but there was a limit. A heavy bruise lined a pale jaw and the young man looked stoned. Normally sharp eyes blinked slowly, struggling to truly remain open as whatever narcotics worked their way through his body.

"I...ah, I don't...I don't feel so good," Roy leaned into the embrace, almost sighing in content as he felt the warmth of his friend's form. Maes uniform was still mostly dry and he rubbed his cheek on the fabric.

Hughes looked up to the black sky, the rain finally beginning to ease off but still making itself felt. His friend was a mess and it was his job to put him back together again the best way he knew how. Roy's hair was a tangled wet mess and it stuck to his skull, unable to soak up anymore rain water. The excess water ran down his face, making it look as though he was crying and Hughes wasn't sure if some of the water droplets really was rain or if it was honest tears.

"Yeah," Hughes nodded, "Yeah, I know. Come on Roy, I need a hot bath and you need sleep. You really look like shit kid."

Roy shook his head, his breath hitching in his chest. He wiped his face with a shaky hand, sniffing back the sob that he wanted to give in to. Hughes said nothing but readjusted the coat, keeping a soft smile on his lips. The man was getting wet, having relinquished the only thing that had been keeping himself dry to give to him. Hughes pulled him back towards him, placing a strong arm around his shoulders.

"I...I don't want to sleep," Roy admitted quietly, "Maes, please, don't let me sleep. I can hear their screams...all are begging..."

"You'll do as you are told, firefly," Hughes interrupted, he needed to get them home and into dry clothes, "You've had me and Gracia worried sick and only the gods know what sort of wrath Hawkeye has brewing for you."

"Major! Lieutenant Colonel," Hawkeye seemed to have perfect timing, the car pulled up beside them, "Get in, please."

Roy instantly tensed in his arms, "...she's pissed right?"

Who says Roy Mustang is a fool? Hughes laughed to himself, "And I'm not?"

"You...you can never stay mad at anyone," Roy whispered softly into his shoulder.

Hughes frowned as he tilted his head slightly, that's not true. He held some deep grudges, ones that he would never allow to fade away but when it came to his family and friends...he was a true believer that you should never go to bed with angry words in the air. He always made sure of that.

The car had an inviting warmth as they came closer and Maes felt it was almost worth a sigh of relief as he opened the passenger door in the back. Roy was quickly bundled into the back, the young officer not voicing any complaints but he avoided looking at the blonde woman in the driving seat. Hughes saw Hawkeye's light brown eyes in the rear view mirror and she couldn't disguise the look of concern.

"Not lost," Hughes said quietly to her as he climbed in to the car himself.

"Is he alright?" Riza asked softly as she kept her gaze forward, turning up the heat in the car.

Hughes sat next to the alchemist, "He's just drunk. I'll sober him up when we get home and put him to bed."

Mustang was drunk, that was obvious. Hughes hated lying but he couldn't see how else he could answer. The man was stoned as well, he sat staring at the door handle, dark eyes looking almost black in the lighting of the car and the street lights. He slumped slightly to the left, falling against Hughes and he rested his head on his shoulder, closing his eyes.

"I'm...I'm a monster," he mumbled softly into the collar of Hughes uniform, "You should be running like hell from me."

"I told you," Hughes smiled, "You're stuck with me and Hawkeye kiddo."

"...I'll burn you..." Roy yawned sleepily as whatever drugs in his system began to tire his body, "I don't want that...I...I..."

Sleep claimed Mustang, Hughes shifting his weight slightly so that Mustang's elbow wasn't sticking into his side. His heavy coat seemed to drown the lieutenant colonel's slender form and it was as if sleep was the only thing that managed to bring some relief to the man. In the small space of the car, Maes became aware of how his friend smelt. Riza had turned up the heat and it finally made it's way into the cold clothing of his bones but Maes wasn't sure if Roy would actually feel the warmth of it through the wet clothing but the major simply thought that once he got him home, everything would be alright.

Hughes Residence...two days later...

His world consisted of a few solid facts. One: he was warm for the first time in a week, he was also incredibly comfortable. He was face down on pillows that were clean, a fluffy cover was draped over his form. Two: his body had two conflicting feelings. He badly needed to pee and his head was going to make him very aware of the epic hangover he was going to have the very second he dared to make a move from the comfort.

He opened his eyes, the room he was placed in was dark and a third fact entered his fuzzy mind. He stank to the high heavens, much to his disgust and he pulled a face. All his current issues could be solved with a trip to the bathroom but he found that the strength he needed couldn't be found.

Roy pushed himself up from his position, the world spinning round. It slowed but the alchemist didn't want to move any further that what he had. He lowered his gaze down to his chest and his white shirt was filthy. It was stained with blood, vomit and what he could only think and hope was dirt as his mind refused to connect that dots that would allow him to recollect the week he had lost.

He slowly inched off the bed, placing wobbly legs of the soft carpet. Someone had taken off his boots but had left his socks on, he still wore his blue uniform trousers but his belt had been taken off as well. Roy took a deep breath, wincing as his chest announced a few new pains and his bladder became more insistent after he moved a little bit more towards the end of the bed. He stood up and instantly regretted the action as he fell to his knees, his legs refusing to hold his weight.

A soft mousy blonde poked her head into the room, a look of concern on her face as she spotted her husband's friend out of bed and tangled in bed sheets on the floor. Gracia dropped her gaze for a second before slipping into the room with a tray filled with food. She switched the light on and Roy narrowed his eyes to bar the bright light but the light had been dulled with a dark shade.

Maes...you pretty much think of everything, Roy closed his eyes as he rubbed his face tiredly, thankful that his friend had found him.

"It's nothing fancy but Maes said to make sure you ate something," Gracia placed the tray next to him on the floor, "There's some pain relief there too."

"I'm...I'm sorry," Roy whispered, every word thumping a drill into his skull in time with his pulse, "Gracia...I..."

Hughes wife was an angel, Roy thought as the woman smiled at him. There was no malice, no pity or disgust as she looked at the broken mess that was sitting in a heap in her spare bedroom. There was simply a loving look on her heart shaped features and the Flame Alchemist wondered if that was how mothers would look at children. That simple look that could set the world to rights with a mere smile.

"Take your time," Gracia patted his hand, "Okay? Don't rush, I can always make more."

Hughes found me, Roy thought as he lifted his gaze to the tray, he found me and brought me here.

Gracia stood up, making a point not to look down on the fallen hero of Ishbal. He didn't need pity or sympathy. He needed someone who could stand behind him to push him forward and she knew her husband was one of the people who would be capable of that.

"Gracia," Roy sounded embarrassed, pale dirty features washing a pink colour, "...is...is Maes home?"

"He's sleeping," Gracia replied as she pulled out a few towels from the wardrobe, "Can I help?"

She didn't tell the man that her husband had been up for over four days with little sleep, if any, watching over the sleeping alchemist as nightmares claimed him and the drugs caused horrible visions. He had only went to bed when Roy had finally fallen into a peaceful sleep and when she had practically dragged her husband back into the marital bed.

"It's okay," Roy breathed as he resigned himself to crawling to the bathroom, "Thank you, Gracia."

Mrs Hughes nodded, excusing herself from the room. She was aware that Roy was a very private man and allowing her to see him like this was a sign of trust. She had found some clean clothes that no longer fitted her husband and knew that she wouldn't need to ask to give them to Roy. She would wait a few moments before entering the room with them, Roy would call out if he needed help.

Roy pulled himself across the carpet, the fabric feeling soft under his fingertips and he cursed himself for being weak and pathetic. A walk that would normally take a few seconds seemed to be like an epic trek across Fort Briggs in deep winter. His bladder becoming more insistent and he wondered if he would actually make it to the bathroom in time.

Two strong arms wrapped themselves around his chest and Roy cried out in surprise. He didn't have the strength to fight them off but he needn't have worried. The deodorant of his friend reached his nose and he heard Maes yawn sleepily as he helped Roy to stand.

"The...one...time I thought it would be...would be safe to grab a nap," Maes statement was littered with yawns, "you wake up."

Roy wiped his face with a shaky hand, a smile trying to turn his lips upwards. He found himself leaning backwards into the warmth of his friend. His eyes threatened to close again as sleep wanted to claim him again, this wasn't the first time he had fallen asleep in Maes arms and he had honestly thought they were both past that time.

"I can't seem to stand up," Roy admitted fuzzily, "Who replaced my legs with jelly?"

Maes yawned, "I did, thought it would be fun and I had to do something as you snored away the past three days."

Roy froze in Maes grip, days? He had been sleeping for days? He allowed his friend to help him to the bathroom, the comment made sense and he slowly brought his hand to his chin, feeling the stubble that was now on his chin. It terrified him, how close had he been to the edge?

"Gracia made you some food," Maes said gently, "Try and eat something huh?"

Roy managed to stand shakily on his own two feet, he could feel the soothing warmth of his friend's body behind him and Roy wanted to sink back into it. It had been so long since he had been next to someone who cared about him and wanted nothing. Roy nodded as he took a few steps towards the toilet, unsure about what his body wanted to do first. Throw up or pee?

Maes patted him on his back and that action helped make up his mind. He watched as Roy lifted the seat up and Maes left the en suite and closed the door but left it open a few inches. His friend was a private soul but god, he stank right now. He looked awful. Roy would need a hot meal, a shower and a change of clothing before Maes would even think about letting the man out of his sight and before he allowed Hawkeye to see her friend.

He was wary of even letting her know that he was back in the land of the living and making coherent sentences. The woman had wanted to stay with him but Maes had ordered her to remain away, Roy always wanted the blonde to see him standing and strong. It was only Maes who was allowed to the dubious honour of seeing a mess of a man.

"I don't think I can stomach food," Roy replied breathy sigh, "I can barely stomach breathing or thinking."

"No shit," Maes didn't sound to surprised at that, he would have been more surprised if Roy had woke up bouncing like a playful puppy and as bright as a button, "You drank enough to knock out the Armstrong clan. Twice over."

A pained laugh escaped from the alchemist, "Twice huh?"

"Yeah," Maes chuckled, "Quite impressed you could even stand."

"...we talking gentle giant or the ice queen?" Roy responded, he had served with the huge muscle form of Alexander Luis Armstrong and was rather fond of the gentle soul.

The eloquent man had been one of the smartest men during the war and had left when it had became to much for him to bear. Roy had been the last of the remaining alchemists that had endured to the bitter end and the he always wished he hadn't. A simple fact that burned at his heart on an almost daily basis and he was jealous of Armstrong for having the strength to go when he did.

"Feels like I went a few rounds with both of them," Roy said as he relieved himself, "I got into a fight out huh?"

"More than one," Maes stated carefully, "I have had to pull a lot of favours and kissing ass to stop your name being dragged through the mud."

Roy went to the sink, wary of looking at his reflection in the mirror. He wasn't going to be fresh faced or presentable and he was no use to man nor beast. He could feel the stubble itching on his chin and if he asked Maes his opinion on his looks, the chirpy man would no doubt tell him that he didn't look as bad as he thought he did.

He ran the tap, taking a few mouthfuls of the cold water and wincing as it caused a painful reaction in his stomach. A retch that caused him to double over, the water exiting the same way it had entered. Roy gripped the edge of the basin, willing himself to remain upright.

I'm a fucking mess, he thought as he sank to the floor, horrified when Maes re-entered the bathroom.

Roy swatted his friend away when he tried to help, "Just, just leave me."

Maes shook his head, annoyance flashing ever so briefly in hazel eyes. The man on the floor was a drama queen at times and Maes would always be the first one to call him on that if the man became unreasonable. Hughes would allow the man numerous leeway if it was anything war related. The man suffering torture when he had been captured by the enemy who had managed to get lucky.

"I'm not going anywhere" Maes stated as he brought in the breakfast tray and sat down beside him, "Stuck with me buddy."

The major had to admit that when Roy smiled, it took years off the face, even a small one that barely tugged on the corner of dry lips. Short dark hair was greasy and tousled in a way that spoke of nightmares and headaches. Dark eyes blinked in the soft light of the evening sun as it broke though the window in the bathroom.

"I have no problem with that," Roy leaned against the bath, enjoying how cool it felt against his skin.

He felt tired, his body ached and no doubt he had went a few rounds with both Riza and Maes during his self pity and indulging spree. His two friends would never admit that they had fought with him however. They would simply brush it off if he tried to apologise and would ignore his remorseful looks by acting as though nothing had happened between them.

"Good," Maes stated with a grin, "We're gonna take a vacation Roy. You and I, just to have a catch up and relax."

It broke his heart when his friend's eyes sparkled with life when Maes had offered this. A simple idea that seemed to mean the world to the young lieutenant colonel and Roy nodded as he rubbed the back of his neck, slumping against the bath a little further. He accepted the mug Maes handed to him and didn't even fight when he told him to use both hands.

Roy...talk to me buddy, Maes thought as he helped his friend take a shaky sip of the hot, sugary drink, I am not going to watch you burn. I did enough of that back in Ishbal, during that fucking war when you were to slow in a fight or...or when...

"Maes, this vacation," Roy shifted himself so that he was touching Maes, "...are we going to be camping? I hate camping."

"Nope," Maes pulled himself out of the war, "You are gonna get us a plush hotel with your alchemy budget. Room service and spa treatment on tap. Sun, sand and clear water firefly!"

The Flame Alchemist broke into a laugh. A quiet chuckle at first which barely made his shoulders move but built to a proper belly laugh. His friend sniffing back tears of amusement as he tried to control his laughter.