A/M:Warning, experimentation with present tense, and angsting pyro! I do not own FMA, or the song-which is by the Goo Goo Doll-

:I don't remember it doesn't ring a bell-And when you call me everything is swell-I tend to forget about the times we had-And now it doesn't matter 'cause I feel so sad-I've been disconnected-Someone pulled the plug-Oh you're so distant-Nothin's come along, yeah.:

Hughes will understand, that is the only thing Roy knows at the moment.

Roy walks through the tents, watching people shrink away from him. He doesn't care about their reactions, or so he tells himself. Still, each fearful look, and each purposeful glance away from him makes his heart ache a little. These people fear him as a god of death and destruction. To them he is a small piece of Hell sent to rain down on their enemies, but who knows when he'll turn on them too?

Hughes will understand.

Roy keeps on repeating this, drowning out the other noises in his head. Hughes won't remind him of the men he's killed in friendly fire. Hughes won't flinch when he sees Roy's charred sleeves and the burns where his gloves don't meet his sleeves anymore. Hughes won't flinch from anything, because he understands what that's like.

Hughes always understands these things.

Roy walks on, cradling one arm against his side. An Ishvarite got to Roy before Roy could torch him. Roy cauterized the wound by himself, since the battle was still raging hot, but now the wound aches and throbs. Each step sends fresh stabs of pain up the arm, making his vision fuzz around the edges. Truly, the medical tent would be a better place to go, but he just wants to sleep right now. His limbs are aching with fatigue, and alchemy uses more energy then anyone seems to realize.

Hughes realizes this, and that's why Roy is staggering towards Hughes's tent.

Roy sees Hughes's tent, and smiles to himself as he reaches for the worn canvas cloth. Hughes will know what to say, and how to make the screaming go away. Hughes will have a remedy, or he might just talk until Roy falls asleep, and Hughes is hoarse from talking. Hughes is nice like that. Hughes is self sacrificing.

Roy grabs the tent flap, and it tears like paper.

Roy opens his eyes, and finds he is staring at his dark office room, and the lamp to his left is flickering madly. Roy's arm has fallen asleep because his head was on it, and his body is full of cramping aches that tell him he was asleep for a very long time. He sits up slowly, allowing his cricks and cracks to settle as he leans back in his chair. He is holding half of a ripped report in his hand, and realizes he smeared the writing across the other half when he fell asleep.

Roy smiles, and laughs, but nothing is funny anymore.

He still wants to fall back asleep and walk into Hughes tent. He wants Hughes to look up, and smile, even though he's horrified to see Roy still covered in battle gore. Roy wants to sit down on Hughes's cot, and use the damp cloth Hughes will hand him to wipe off the human ashes. Roy wants to listen to Hughes prattle about Gracia and fall asleep with pleasant images of a long planned wedding.

Roy stands and takes a few steps.

Roy goes as far as picking up the phone, but he places it back down again,and walks back to his desk to rewrite the report he destroyed. He talks as he works explaining his professional problems and his personal woes. He talks about his problems understanding some of the moves people made in the sick game of politics, and he whines about how sick he is of licking other people's boots.

Talking to the air should be stupid, but Hughes understands, and that's all matters.