Title: Learning To Live
Part: 1/7
Author: LilyOfAmestris
Characters: Hughes, Mustang, Alphonse, Schieska
Disclaimer: Although I wish I did, I have no claim over any of the characters of FMA, nor the plot, nor anything else—that wonder lies solely on Hiromu Arakawa.
Summary: When the most important people of his life are taken away from him, what is Major Maes Hughes left to do?
Warnings: This takes place completely out of order of the series—in fact, it's not even in the series, or the upcoming movie. I suppose you could call it an alternate ending to the tale of the late and great Hughes, although others could call it much more than that.

PART I

The moon had risen scarcely an hour ago, and still glowed a pearly-white, as it would until it reached higher and would become almost the color of flax, a pale, pale shade of yellow only further illuminated by the stars, which winked in and out of sight because of the thick cover of fast-moving clouds. It had rained all day, but had stopped a little before sunset, and the storm seemed to be moving on.

At least, everyone hoped it was.

The city was darker than it had ever been before: all buildings were pitch black, the glass windows glittering eerily in the moonlight; all businesses were closed, some as though abandoned in the middle of an order; the few lights that were on were those of homes, and few enough at that. A man who wore all white would barely been seen at this hour of darkness, so thick was it. But with this utter blackness came another curse: silence. Not a single cricket was heard, not the crumbling of a mouse at cheese: nothing. Absolute silence, as in the eye of a storm.

In some back alleyways, those brave of heart had continued to stand and loiter, feeling confident in the company of others. Most wore heavy concealment: scarves and caps, and covered their features with mugs of alcohol. They whispered of strange beings, and, some others said, pulling their caps farther down to hide their faces and taking another swig of beer, curses. The city was cursed, they murmured, brought unto the hand of a great witch, who could revive those once dead, and even change lead into solid gold.

No trains ran, complaining of "unwilling employees"; no auto-cars; no plodding horses; and very few were taking the chance of walking home. And those who did were not even walking, rather, but running.

One such man, dressed in a heavy, concealing cloak and boots, and a thick-rimmed hat upon his graying hair, made his way slowly down the street to the intersection he was looking for, before turning right. A large, black leather bag he carried banged on his calf with every step; when his breath puffed out of his mouth on a sigh, he gathered the dark cloak closer with one hand before adjusting the hat.

When he caught sight of his target, it was obvious; he let out another sigh, this one of relief, and his eyes flashed as he walked forward no faster, but with a new determination. The target, too, became apparent; a house little more than halfway down the block, it had nothing special about, except that all the lights were on. Every few seconds, a low sound would echo from it, sometimes a soothing voice, sometimes a pained moan. When the man finally stepped onto the front porch, his eyes fairly blazed; when he knocked, it took a long moment for it to be answered.

The one who opened the door was a man, although the moans from inside the house obviously belonged to a woman, and what sounded like a small, female child. His black hair was outgrown and oily and tangled, as though he had not washed nor taken care of it in any way in weeks. His beard, which had always before been neatly trimmed and more of a shadow than a beard, was even worse than his hair; when he dragged a hand through said hair, dirt and grime were easy to see under his fingernails. His skin was dirty and blotched and unusually pale, especially for this man, and his gold eyes, always so lively, and never with the dark, bruised bags under them now, looked as lifeless as if they belonged to Death himself. His clothes weren't in much better shape.

"Please," he said, his pleasant voice hoarse and cracked, "come in. We were expecting you hours ago."

The man with the bag overlooked such bluntness. "The trains aren't working again, and I had to walk the last few miles." He entered the house, but turned back for a moment as the other man closed the door. "Where are your glasses?"

The other man waved a dismissive hand. "I've been working with Gracia and Elicia up close; I didn't need them much. They're in the bedroom, where your patients also are."

The man with the bag nodded, and started walking. "How are they doing?"

The other man sighed heavily, and pushed a grimy hand through his hair again. "If they were doing as well as they were yesterday, I wouldn't be worried. But today…" His voice caught. "I know they want you." He looked up at the man with the bag, and his eyes were deep, black holes. "I know they need you, doctor. This may be the last time you… This may be the last time you ever treat them."

The doctor nodded again. "Go get some rest, Hughes. I'll call you if I need you."

"No. I want to be there…just in case…"

The doctor clapped a hand on the taller man's shoulder. "It's all right. Just put your glasses on."

When they entered the bedroom, two things were instantly apparent to the doctor: the stench was horrid, as if a sickroom, and brought back memories of when he had served as a surgeon during the Ishbal war; and also, the two figures laying limp upon the bed, emaciated, were extremely close to death. Hughes should have called on him days ago.

The larger of the figures, a woman with now-lank brown hair cut short, close to her cheeks, rolled her head to look at her visitors. Her eyes brightened when they saw her husband. "Maes," she whispered, and her voice seemed even stronger than that of her husband's. Her gaze moved. "And Doctor Aruko. How nice to see you." Her gaze moved again, down to the child with its head upon her lap. "Elicia, say hello to Doctor Aruko."

The child's head drew up slowly, as though it pained her. She looked no better than her mother, her short limbs as shriveled as a wraith's. "Doctor," she whispered, and mouthed as if she wanted to say more, but nothing came out. She dropped her head back onto Gracia.

Aruko tried to be as normal as possible. "The Misses Hughes… How nice to see both of you again. You look particularly fine today."

Gracia laughed, hollowly. "Doctor, you needn't pretend with me. I…know."

Ah. So the woman knew, and yet was not afraid. How unusual.

"Hughes," Aruko ordered, "get me a tub of cool water, some rags, and can you please open a window somewhere in here? I don't think night air will hurt them." Not more than they must already hurt.

Sputtering, Hughes was slow to comply, but several minutes later Aruko had what he had asked for. He soaked the cloths in cold water before laying them gently onto the dying females' foreheads.

"There," he said finally, satisfied. "I've done what I can. Hughes, could you—"

"What?" Hughes stammered. "That's all you're going to do? I could have done that! Now you listen to me, doc—"

"Hughes," Aruko interrupted, "please, follow me. We need to talk." He led the desperate man, whose eyes followed his wife like a beacon until the door shut, out into the living room, where chairs had been haphazardly moved. Aruko sank into one, and Hughes followed after a moment. He glanced back at the door to the bedroom, where his life currently faded and died before his very eyes.

"Hughes."

Frantic golden eyes fastened themselves on Aruko.

"Hughes, please, do not suffer. It will do them no good."

The man's control snapped. "Do them no good?" He raged, standing again, his mouth a thin line of anger. "Do them no good? Ah, sir, you don't realize—Nothing will do them any good!"

"Hughes," Aruko tried to continue calmly, "Hughes, please, sit down. I'm sure you've known for days—weeks, maybe—that this was going to happen."

"Yes!" he cried, throwing his hands up in the air before slumping, defeated. "Yes," he repeated, and put his glasses on before taking them off again and rubbing at his eyes. "Yes, I knew. I've known since that first day they coughed, on the way back from that stupid carnival a week ago." He laughed hoarsely, and his voice cracked. "It was raining that day, too. Do you remember, Doctor? …And it's rained every day since."

He had no choice but to nod his head. Hughes was doing it again. He always did this, whether it be fish or dog or cat… But this time, Aruko let him talk.

"Doctor," he whispered," is there no chance? No chance at all?"

"Any chance we had has been burned away by their fever," Aruko replied, "and if there was no hope then there certainly is none now." He looked at the door. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No, no. Stay. I'll need somebody to talk to after all of this."

Aruko nodded, glad the man was finally making some sense. "If you would like, you can go talk to them. I'll make myself some tea." He got up, and almost tripped on the pile of papers by his chair. Papers… It had to be art by Elicia. God, how that little girl loved to draw. "Would you like some, Hughes?"

The man shook his head, currently being cradled by his palms, and looked up. "Yes, talk to them. I'll talk to them." He swiftly left the room.

Silently, knowing it was going to be one of those nights, Aruko helped himself to the hot water and tea bags. Within minutes the pot whistled cheerfully, and he poured himself a cup, not bothering to sweeten it before tasting it. In these cold, rainy days, tea was more of a comfort than ever.

If only other things could be enjoyed so simply, he thought longingly.

At last, Hughes emerged from the room, completely and utterly depleted of any life left in him. His eyes were blank and staring, as though he couldn't even see where he was going. Aruko doubted he could.

Hughes neared, then stopped, lifting his head far enough to look at the doctor. "They're gone," he whispered, barely more than a breath of air.

Aruko nodded. It was no more than expected.

Slowly, as though still surprised, Hughes lifted his arm. Shreds of his coat and shirt were missing, at the wrist and at the shoulder, like some wild animal had attacked him. Aruko cast him a questioning look, taking another sip of tea.

Hughes explained, "Even after they were gone, they wouldn't let go of me. Their fingers were just…" He shuddered, and Aruko lowered his teacup in order to lay a hand on Hughes' shoulder. The man flinched away, and wouldn't let Aruko touch him. He stared at his dirty hands for a moment before laying the opposite palm across the slash marks on his cuffs, and then let it land on his slashed shoulder. His gold eyes were heavy and weary; a tear dropped from the corner of one. "I just don't know…" he whispered, and let more tears fall. His sobs were silent, but they made his entire frame shake violently.

Aruko had no choice but to help the man, he knew. Hughes had been an army buddy, but with the birth of Elicia, whom Aruko himself had delivered, Hughes had become much more: a friend, someone who had come to Aruko countless times when anything, anything at all, had gone wrong in the Hughes household. Aruko had cured Elicia of countless child-coughs and –fevers, and now… Well, he knew he couldn't leave Hughes like this. It was his responsibility, both as a doctor and as a friend.

Without actually touching the man—Hughes wouldn't let him—Aruko led him to the couch, where he could at least get a few hours sleep. Hughes lay down reluctantly, his mind still obviously engaged.

"The funeral…" he muttered, "I have to call them tomorrow…" His voice was grim, and he looked as if he were to weep again.

Aruko stilled him with a palm, to which Hughes flinched again. "I'll call them. I'll ask them to pick the--" he almost said "the bodies"—"I'll ask them to pick them up tomorrow morning."

Hughes nodded and turned his head away, his breathing abruptly becoming shallow and fast. The doctor sighed and removed his glasses for him, placing them on the table next to the couch, before retrieving a blanket and covering the sleeping man with it.

Tea. Yes, Aruko needed tea. Lots and lots of tea.

Aruko stayed with the major all night, even after calling the funeral home, for he had found that often those who had just lost loved ones were prone to vicious nightmares. And Major Maes Hughes had not just lost loved ones—

--He had lost his life.

And it was true. Sure enough, throughout the night, Aruko was forced to shake the man awake, flinch as he might, just to stop the screams. Afterwards, there would be long minutes in which Hughes would resort to crying again, much stronger than he had before, and during which he would often cry out, before he would fall asleep again, only to wake screaming an hour or so later to another nightmare. It was one of the longest nights of Aruko's career, even longer than the night he had spent with a child years ago who had survived his village's razing to the ground, only to die the next day of a mild fever. Aruko still woke at night to those child's screams sometimes, remembering the vivid detail to which he was crying out against. The doctor shook his head sadly, only wondering how he would later respond to this night.

Little less than an hour to dawn, when the sky was just beginning to give reign back to the sun and the pastel pink hem of her gown showed on the horizon, Hughes jerked sharply awake with no noise except a heavy gasp. It startled Aruko, who had been looking at some of Elicia's drawings. One had clearly shown Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang, Hughes' superior, next to a figure of Hughes himself, while tiny drawings of Elicia and Gracia had been laying in a rectangle—a bed?

Instantly Aruko was by the major, who was panting and had broken out into a strong sweat, which made his grimy hair cling to his forehead and little rivers of clean appear on his dirt-washed skin.

"What is it?" Aruko asked. He didn't bother to try to hold the man, or even pat him on the shoulder—he had made it quite apparent he longer wanted the doctor to touch him, at all.

For several long moments, all Hughes did was look around worriedly, his eyes wide and his skin pale beneath the filth. His hands wandered for his glasses, and Aruko handed them to him without letting their fingers touch, although he doubted the major would have noticed at this moment. He put them on and sat up, and speared a hand through his greasy hair before turning his gaze to the doctor's.

"I dreamt…" he whispered, but them shuddered, and his eyes closed over, and he turned away from Aruko. "No," and he seemed to be talking to himself, "no, I need to—"

From the kitchen came a dull ring. Hughes sighed and brushed the blanket away to go answer it. Aruko could hear his hollow voice from where he sat.

"Yes, hello? Oh, Colonel, it's just you…No, I don't…"Hughes stopped to rub at the bridge of his nose, forcing the glasses up. "No, I don't think I'll be coming in today—have Schieska cover for me, all right? Hmm…? Oh, no, you don't have to do that. Besides, they're still here, as is the doctor…it would take too long…No, I'll see you tomorrow, Mustang-- I mean Lieutenant Colonel. I'll see you tomorrow, Colonel." He hung up, and with heavy footsteps made his way back to the couch where he sat, pining his heart away.

Aruko knew his cue when he saw it. He started to pack his things back into the black leather bag—although, to be completely honest, he hadn't unloaded that much in the first place. "You know, Hughes," he said softly, pityingly, "it might be better if you go to work today—yes, I know you're late. I suspect that's why Colonel Mustang called, yes?" He looked over his shoulder to se Hughes nod wearily. "I thought so. Well, you don't have to if you don't want to. I know you and Roy are close friends, so he'd probably give you the rest of the year off if you asked." Aruko peeked over his shoulder again to see if the man was at least smiling. No emotion touched his face at all, however.

"I don't want to go in," Hughes said, sulkily.

"I don't blame you," Aruko agreed quickly. "But if you went in, it might… Well, it might give you something to occupy your mind other than…this."

At that, the major looked angry. "I don't want to forget them!" he shouted, before calming himself in that instant.

Ah, so that's what this was all about. Hughes believed if he let something else enter his mind, even for a little while, he would forget about the life he had just lost. Aruko had seen it many times, mostly from very young children who had only begun to understand that the one who was gone was really gone.

At that, Aruko felt he needed to say something. Donning his jacket and hat, and grabbing his hat, he kneeled before Hughes, who was still sitting morosely on the poor old couch.

"Hughes," he said, trying to catch the man's attention. When that didn't work, he tried again. "Major Maes Hughes." That didn't work either. Aruko tried softening his voice, and called out, "Maes."

That worked. Hughes' head popped up, his golden eyes full of heart-rending agony. Aruko felt his heart move for the first time in many years.

"Maes," he continued, just as gently, "there is life after this. Life after death. Learn to love again, Maes, and you'll learn to live again." And with that, he promptly left, the door thudding behind him.

Leaving Major Maes Hughes of Amestris completely alone. A moment later, his head fell into his palms, and he wept.