Title: Alone, Not Alone
Author: drummerdancer
Verse: First Anime
Characters/Pairings: Roy, Ed, mentions of Maes
Word Count: 536
Prompt 262: Go to Guy/Gal
Rating: T
Summary: Alone in the office with a bottle of whiskey. And a red blur.
"Maes."
"Roy."
A glance, a look, would pass between them in an instant, followed by a sheet of parchment or a slip of paper under the sleeve, a wink if the news was good, a shake of the head if it wasn't. It had been their language, their way of life, a connection that had been unbreakable even in the wake of rotting corpses and sullied ideals and dreams in Ishbal.
Roy had needed that bond, that connection, especially in the aftermath of the war. Maes had caught all his demons in thick glass and put his rational side to work, pushing him to want to climb the ranks and change the country, all the while never foreseeing a future in which he wouldn't be there to see Roy at the top.
Now…all that was gone, meaningless. What use was a telephone line when the other end never picked up? Ring…ring…ring… A broken line, no connection. The glass was broken and Roy was once again consumed by it, by his guilt and loss and things that he couldn't deal with, not alone. Not without Maes.
A knock at the door. Roy threw another shot back, nearly falling out of his seat with the effort.
"Go away."
His vision blurred as the door open. A blur of red, storming towards him like a small cloud, with little lightening strikes coming out of his head. Roy smiled. Rain seemed to be his friend lately.
"Colonel…you look like shit."
And you look like a giant smudge mark. He laughed harshly before reaching for the bottle. A gloved hand stopped him.
"Maybe you should go home."
Home? He wanted to sneer. What was a home, really? Four walls you were familiar with? Because in that case, he might as well just sleep in the office. There was no point in going home to escape the pain; Maes was dead no matter where he escaped to.
But the red blur was already moving to fetch his coat from the floor. "Al'll understand if I'm late. C'mon, I'll make sure you get home."
He stumbled when pulled to his feet. A steel arm caught him and kept him upright. "Just don't vomit on me."
He nodded and let the body support him to the door. The lights were dimmed as they exited.
He sobered little on the way home. Enough to point which way to go, not enough to vocalize directions. The body holding him didn't talk, only helped him reach his destination.
The only time he did speak was when they reached Roy's home, to which he asked for the keys (which he must've known Roy wouldn't be able to stick into the keyhole if his life depended on it). Roy muttered something about a coat pocket, and soon, he found himself inside and deposited on one of his couches in a boneless heap.
His red blur turned to leave, then paused mid-stride to look at him.
"I'm sorry. About Hughes. If you need anything, just call. I'm here." And then he left.
And Roy, despite not remembering the meeting not five minutes later, also did not grab another drink for the rest of the night.