This story is set a week after chapter 83, before chapter 84 in the manga. It's my first work of fiction and english isn't my first language, but I do beleive I managed to get a good start!
Faltering Reserve
Roy unconvincingly slid the key into his apartment door, swung it open and crept in. He switched the hallway light on, not bothering with the other ones. He was in a rather sulky mood anyway he thought, as a wry smile etched itself on his otherwise tense traits, so semi-darkness could only be considered fitting this evening.
With a half-conscious sigh, he proceeded forward to his living room, lazily undoing his jacket and dropping it on the nearest chair before taking a few extra steps, kneeling down and opening the small wooden doors of his liquor cabinet. He picked up the half-empty bottle of scotch before him and inattentively began pouring himself a glass, his eyes somewhat unfocused. His actions didn't translate a hint of anticipation, the gesture being more mechanical than anything else. With another sigh, he turned his gaze to stare out the window, put the glass to his lips and took a small sip as he considered the evening sky. As the warm beverage made its way down his throat, his left cheek slightly crept up his face while his forehead creased and he got out of his absent-mindedness to consider the brown liquid in the glass before him... It needed ice, for Christ's sake, but he didn't even feel he had the energy or will to even reach his freezer to get the stuff. He was usually really picky about his drink's temperature, but nothing felt like it mattered enough right now. Indifferently, he drooped down to settle his worn out body on the chair just behind him, glass still in hand.
As he rested on his seat, he couldn't keep from flinching this time at the little sharp stabbing pain he had just felt once again in his lower left abdomen while sitting down. The damn injury was not healing fast enough, and it pained to have it bother him every time he made the slightest bending movement. The feeling was a constant reminder of his vulnerability, something he would really rather not be forced to deal with, let alone acknowledge. Reluctantly, he took another sip from the glass, anything to distract him from the uncomfortable sensation...
The right corner of his lips rose a little to form an insincere smile that didn't reach his eyes as he quickly reviewed the last few weeks' events in his mind, especially the one before last. So much had happened recently, it sometimes felt that it was months, years ago that he was calmly and "simply" aiming for the top with his supporting crew. His subordinates... A frown took over his former expression as he brooded over the depressing circumstances. He had been stripped out of his power, his help, even somewhat of his self-confidence dammit, to be reduced to a leashed dog more or less lost at resorts in the current situation. He did have a few remaining, though: a handful of people were still available to communicate some degree of information to him, not to mention that he could count on a half-retired general out east in the boondocks to back him up on his plans. But none of that could compare to the previous resources he had available at hand before this mess.
He drew some more liquor out of his right hand before remembering its offensive temperature, but he managed to contain the grimace this time, other matters already monopolizing his aversion. He continued to dwell on depressing matters as he considered his position once again. The Fuhrer had made it clear that he was not to be fool enough to believe he had any margin of maneuver in the events that would be to unfold in the near future, and that the fact that he was still alive was something he should be grateful and obedient for. Of course, Roy Mustang would never admit defeat in any way, his self-proclaimed purpose incompatible with the concept. Might as well die rather than give up on reaching his goal. But who was he trying to fool? He unconsciously let his left hand trail to his abdomen, his scarred skin and tender wounds resting just beneath it under his white shirt. He shaked the faint-hearted thoughts away as rested his glass on the table next to him and he studied his hands, hoping to find a hint or what he truly was worth in them.
As his eyes trailed over the many lines inscribed in his palms, he firmed up his resolve, scolding himself for his momentary lapse in determination. He flipped his hands over and his gaze stopped on the back of his right hand once again. The marks of the sigil he had carved within it not so long ago was still clearly etched throughout its width. The lacerations would probably leave a permanent mark, his skin being more fragile in that area, partially a result of his overuse over the years of his gloves which bore the same symbol. The irony truly made him smile this time as he considered that this didn't really bother him: it would serve as a good reminder of what he was willing to endure to reach his goals.
He kept his eyes focused on the same spot from lack of a better thing to do, and the sight of that lesser lesion brought back a displeasing memory. Both of his accompanying subordinates had lost conviction during that Lust incident... Havoc had been almost fatally injured, but the most unsettling thought to the Colonel was that he had soon after considered himself rendered completely useless by his paralysis and asked to be abandoned by the team. Although he hated to admit it, somehow, he kind of understood the poor bastard. Of course, that never meant that he would accept it, but he felt his lack of will didn't compare to what his first lieutenant had demonstrated just before he had arrived to finish off the enemy.
She had completely given up on their plans upon believing him dead. Hell, the woman had even given up on her own life, while there was still clearly a way she could have managed to escape, Alphonse doing all he could to protect her. That was simply inexcusable, and was certainly the single most upsetting thought of all. What was the point in following their plan if they didn't even accept to follow though its basic principles? You have to survive, no matter how, to protect those below you. Never give up, regardless of the circumstances. He let out a ticked off grunt before picking his glass back again and lowering the level of its content a few notches down.
Suddenly, a feeling of solitude washed over him as he let the tingling feeling settle in his throat. He was alone. Or was he? He knew he could still count on his subordinates even if they were scattered all across the country, but a feeling of powerlessness still overwhelmed him. No, a feeling of loneliness, rather. Or was it? He couldn't quite tell, but it had something to do with longing. He longed for the company of his former pawns, so to call them, even though he had come to consider them friends with time regardless of the nature of their interactions.
He drank some more of his scotch as he came to the realization, for the first time, that he felt he missed the most the one that was geographically closest to him. He chuckled at this thought. True, she was closer to him than the others, but it still felt as though she was the furthest from his reach. He pondered on those particular feelings. After all, they had known each other the longest, and he couldn't deny that they shared a special... bond. She knew his secrets, he knew hers, and he believed that she plain just understood him. That lieutenant of his sure knew how to read people, and he was no exception. Ironically, he felt he understood so little about her sometimes, some of her actions still managing to surprise him out of his socks over the years. He smiled as he raised the glass to his lips another time only to realise it was now empty. He poured out some more ("just a little more"), and let his thoughts linger on the subject.
Now that he somewhat acknowledged it, he allowed himself to come to the conclusion that he really missed her. He took a gulp out of the freshly filled glass and he didn't even notice the temperature this time, the numbing effect of the drink starting to reach him and leaving more room for his thoughts to form ideas he hadn't questioned before. It had been a whole week since he'd even caught a glimpse of her, and he mentally cursed himself for hiding behind those curtains in Havoc's room the last time he had an occasion to interact with her. Was it really necessary to take such exaggerated precautions, anyway?
The Colonel started lifting his glass once more before coming to a halt. Drinking alone was so depressing, not to mention pathetic. He painfully (he hated to admit) got up and turned to his dresser to rid himself of those military pants and change into something more casual before picking up his jacket and finding his keys. If he was going to do this, might as well get out and "refresh" his thoughts in the nearest bar.
-x-
-x-
As Riza Hawkeye allowed herself a quick look at the clock in the Fuhrer's office, she couldn't help but hope for "early" dismissal this evening. Out of the corner of the eyes, she noticed the small arrow reached the number eight and she let out a barely inaudible sigh. She quickly regretted the slip-up, surprised at her own lack of professionalism. Maybe fatigue was getting at her after all... although she was used to working longer hours with her former superior, she seemed more drained of energy than ever since assisting the top military authority in the country.
In any case, this certainly wasn't due to the nature of the tasks she was trusted with. In fact, she had never felt condemned to such an important number mindless duties before her most recent position. Taking care of paperwork and serving the occasional cup of tea was far from being the most straining job, and she even found herself yearning for some sort of physical training to keep her senses sharp and alert. Indeed, the first lieutenant was not used to feeling so useless, if at all, having always focused most of her will and actions to devoting herself to her most important duty: to watch his back and protect him.
It was a simple task in nature, although certainly not as easy in carrying out into action. However, she had to admit it brought her a certain amount of pride; behind her humble and professional demeanour, she harboured a simple satisfaction at knowing she was good at it. No, she had been excellent. Not only was it the source of her reasonable self-esteem, the goal behind it was the origin of her drive, and she felt it gave her life a purpose, if not an excuse to keep on living without remorse after all the sins she had committed during the Ishbal war. Although fundamentally altruist, she had to admit the journey she agreed to take on bordered on selfishness at times.
Now, however, not only did she lose that feeling of accomplishment, she was become a hindrance. Of some sort. She certainly wasn't helpful as a hostage in any case, if you scratched out the occasional leak of information she managed to share with the Colonel through cryptic exchanges. If it weren't for those rare occasions, she could swear she wouldn't find the will to go on with her military duties.
She refrained herself from chuckling softly and contented herself with inward smile. That man was the glue holding her to her sanity. Oddly enough, it was the same person who managed to make her lose it when he put himself in reckless situations after acting on impulse or doing something wildly arrogant, like confronting the Fuhrer even while being forced into a corner before him. Behind his deceiving facade and his haughty artifices, she could still admire the naiveté he still had embedded within him.
She gazed up from the document she was currently revising to rest her eyes on the older... being, for lack of a better term, sitting in the chair across the room. She usually had an easy time figuring people out, or so she like to believe, but she couldn't help but be puzzled by this particular individual. Perhaps it was because he resembled her so much on the exterior – he didn't let out much on the side of emotions from his expressions. That thought set a few chills down her spine... had she just compared herself to him? She was afraid to admit, but she hadn't felt any particular loathsome sentiment towards the Fuhrer since she'd been assigned to assist him. He had actually proven to be quite the gentlemen, and hadn't let on any disdain towards humankind before her, if not only curiosity.
She shook her head and lowered back her eyes on the paper on top of her desk – she couldn't allow herself to lose focus. This man was the enemy, he was a homunculus, even if he didn't seem or feel so as much as the others of his kind.
"You can have your rest for this evening, Lieutenant Hawkeye." The Fuhrer's words startled her as they broke the silence that she had grown accustomed to over the last half hour. Realizing she was being freed for the day, she quickly but politely rose up from her chair and straitened the documents she had been partly focused on.
"Thank you sir."
As usual she didn't feel any more words were necessary, and she hurried out the room and proceeded to the building's hallway heading for the closest exit. As she let her eyes trail to the shadows surrounding her, a feeling of dread tangled with fear crept over her as it always did since that evening with Pride. No wonder she was exhausted. The most annoying thing was that she knew that he couldn't truly be watching her that often... the whole ordeal was so frustrating it made her nauseated.
After a brisk walk through the now less busy streets of central, she was soon to her apartment building and let out a sigh of relief at this sight. Faint remnants of daylight still managed to reflect upon the sky from the almost setted sun, dressing it with a rather purplish tint. It was a contrast with the darker setting that she'd come to expect when leaving work recently, on account of she hadn't been discharged this early in a while. As she reached her door and opened it to a very enthusiastic Hayate, she smiled warmly for the first time in the day and didn't let the pup wait any longer for his well deserved stroll around the few surrounding blocks. Poor thing couldn't get out of the house anymore... and evidently he wouldn't dare do in the apartment, being so well toilet-trained.
"How have you been today? Been waiting for me? I've missed you too," she addressed him on a playful tone as he proceeded keenly to offer his little legs the exercise they required, tail wagging frantically along the whole time. She laughed mentally at how pathetic she had come to feel – she now talked to the mutt more like she would to a normal person than to a dog, having lost most occasions to truly conversate with other people during the day since the Fuhrer had been holding her back until the latest hours over the last week. How lonely she had come to feel in the past several days... As her pet finished his usual stroll and was done with his business, he looked at her in a somewhat quizzical manner, tilting his head slightly to the left.
Usually, she'd already started to walk him back home, but she stood undecided. She was beat-up as usual – a good night's rest was in order – but she felt she needed some sort of distraction today. The dog let out a small protest of annoyance over her inaction, and she finally resigned herself to resuming her usual routine.
As she walked up the few flight of stairs back to her apartment (the only form of exercise left to her) and re-entered it, she was surprised at how uneasy she felt. It's not that she felt that it was around this time – she was convinced she was somehow aware of Pride's presence when he was near, her job over the last years essentially obliging her to develop some sort of sixth sense – she just couldn't bear the idea of ending this day once again completely alone and secluded. She needed to interact with people, even if only at the simplest and most basic level.
Hayate curved up around her legs and let out an attempt at a comforting bark as he felt his master grow uneasy. The blonde's eyes mellowed and she curved her mouth in a disheartened smile and kneeled down to stroke her companion on the top of the head in affectionate, repetitive gestures.
"I'm sorry. I really need to get out. I know you've been alone, too... but I could really use a change of ideas, Hayate."
The mutt's eyes flashed with the same vacant expression of obliviousness, and she snorted at her failed attempt to even communicate the simplest thought with her four-legged counterpart. She got up and stretched before heading towards her bathroom for a well-deserved shower, then changed into something more comfortable and headed out for the door.
-x-
-x-
Roy pulled out the nearest stool and rested his left elbow on the bar counter as he proceeded to sit down as comfortably as possible. As per usual, the few women in the room seemed more than enthused to see him and were already clinging to his sides, giggling and tugging on his jacket in a seductive ritual.
"Well well, what have we here?"
Madame Christmas was not the most attractive woman, and her unfeminine voice, a side-effect likely attributable to the cigarette that seemed to permanently cling to the side of her mouth, did little to compliment her style.
"Haven't seen you in a week, at least. Been busy, haven't you, Roy?"
"Not so much," he responded flatly, before forcing himself to present a sincere-looking smirk, "But it's always a pleasure to see you, madame. And you too, Sylvia," he added as the enticing shoulder-lengthed brunette on his right pouted at his neglect of her presence.
Sylvia cultivated the same relationship with him as Madeleine and Vanessa did, which consisted in serving as an informant of various "trivial" matters in exchange for an interesting sum of money that helped them grab hold of the latest fashion items they had their eyes set on. Pretending to date the Colonel wasn't such a bad thing in itself either – He was quite popular among women, and a little envy from others was always a satisfying bonus.
Those women were the ones that warmed up to him the most and never refrained from hiding their excitement when they saw him in his outings. That didn't bother him much... it went well with his intent of giving off an image of a ladies' man, and the appreciation was always welcome, too. From what he could tell, they probably wouldn't be too unwilling if he were ever to try to further their interactions, either. But he knew where to draw the line, and these sources were too precious to risk muddling up his links with them.
The other occasional women he'd date never seemed to stay too fond of him after he'd dumped them, unlike the unconditional affection his tipsters harboured for him. Obviously, the former would rather not see him perpetually flanked with a new damsel every other week in public. For Roy Mustang new his stuff with the female gender, and losing the privilege of exclusivity definitely left them with a bitter taste in the mouth.
"So what'll it be, another special? Or are you here to pick up another gal?" The broad-figured bartender inquired.
"No, I'd do with just a glass of scotch, if you'd please." He inclined his mouth into a sloppy smile as he let out a small sigh.
Madame Christmas raised an eyebrow at his defeated demeanor. She furrowed her brows before continuing, "Aren't you still recovering from those injuries? Should you be drinking by now already?"
"I'll be fine, but thanks for worrying. Can't even feel the damn thing anymore anyway, it's practically healed," he lied as he averted her suspicious stare.
"Fine. On the rocks, as usual, I guess."
"Sure, why not," he conceded as he tilted his head sideways, his somewhat unfocused gaze directed at the wall before him. He wished the liquor would just get to him quickly enough to continue numbing his senses and block any depressing thought from further invading his mind.
The woman passed a hand on her slicked, greased down hair that ended in a drooping ponytail which rested on her left shoulder. She took another quick look at him. "Are you already drunk, Colonel?"
He chortled a little at this statement, and closed his eye into an endearing smile before resting his chin on the back of his hands. "No, I'm not. Do you think I would betray you like that, Madame? I trust you and you only with my drinks, as you know best how to serve them."
"You're a cheap liar, Mustang." She turned around and poured him some of his favourite dark beverage. "So what requires your cheering up this evening?"
"I can cheer you up, Roy-San", Vanessa purred into his left ear and he turned to look at her.
"You always cheer me up, Vanessa," he said flirtatiously.
"Aww. You should come around more often." She blushed slightly at his remark and straightened up away from him, as to demonstrate a certain degree of prudery.
"Still not over Elizabeth?" The matron asked simply.
His face dropped at the comment. He'd just managed to rid himself of that particular thought, and the reminder was not exactly welcome. "I just haven't been feeling at the top of my form these past days." He took in a larger amount of the drink in his glass than planned for just moments ago, and dropped it unceremoniously on the counter.
The matron gave a satisfied smile. When it came down to it, the man before her was just a simple as all the others of his kind. "Women, huh."
The two girls encircling him let out a bunch giggles at the remark, Sylvia sliding her arm around his waist in an attempt at a comforting and simultaneously provocative gesture.
The Colonel didn't react at the touch, more focused on emptying the glass in his right hand to drown the unwelcome thoughts parasiting his mind.
"Here, have another, but after that you should give it a rest." Madame Christmas handed him a second drink before addressing other customers that had just arrived. "It's on me for tonight. Cheer up Roy, sulkiness doesn't suit you."
The commanding officer progressively surrendered himself to the dulling effect of the alcohol he'd been ingesting and eased up a little as the women around him persisted into warming him up to them. Well, if this was to be his hell, it wasn't that bad, for the time being.