Disclaimer: As always, these characters do not belong to me.
Rating: PGish…
Dedicated to:
My roommate, Leah, who has a much better grasp on grammar and punctuation than I could ever have, and who corrects my works to make it somewhat readable. (Everything else is my fault.)
Hour of the Ghost
Roy Mustang looked out across the city, his hands clasped behind his back. He had the lights off, and the only light that flickered into his office was the headlights of cars, and of the sputtering street lamps that lit their way.
He'd come a long way so far, but still had much further to go, and Mustang found that each passing day harder than the last. But it had never been in him to give up, and the things he saw around him strengthened his resolve. He would one day be Fuehrer, and then it would be within his power to change all that he knew was wrong. Roy would never give up. He believed in himself, the people of Amestris, and more importantly, those that were loyal to him. He had a duty that he could not deny, and he would continue fighting until he fulfilled it.
But sometimes, the days became too much, and so Roy relaxed quietly within the confines of his office. Outside, the fall rain pattered against his window, blurring the city into a watercolor painting. Roy wished he could walk those streets without fear of his words and actions. Now, with the Fuehrer's position revealed, and everything else coming together, Mustang knew there was a noose around his neck, and it was just a matter of balancing to keep it from tightening.
"You'll drive yourself crazy, sitting alone in here," Maes Hughes said from behind, and Roy turned in surprise, his voice catching in his throat. Roy Mustang was not one to believe in ghosts, however, and after a moment, his eyes narrowed and he scowled deeply.
"Envy," he growled. He couldn't believe he'd allowed himself to believe it'd been Hughes. His heart had wanted it so badly, that it had taken precedence over his logic. However, despite calling him out, Envy remained in the form of his best friend, and his heart twisted sharply in his chest. Despite him being only a mimic, it was hard to face the visage of his friend.
"Great men have gone insane over less, and you still have a long battle to fight, old friend." And it was said with such warmness, that Roy paused and stared. Maes held his eyes for a moment and then looked out the window. "Do you remember all the time we used to sit and dream about the great things we would do?"
"We were young." Roy hedged, cautiously. Envy usually shifted, when called out, and it confused Roy that the Homunculi hadn't responded yet. Roy eyed the mostly empty bottle of whiskey on his desk and frowned. Perhaps it had gone to his head faster than he'd thought.
"But our age shouldn't have been a disservice. The dreams of the young are the best dreams," Maes said and smiled the smiled Roy remembered so well. Mustang's heart dropped from his chest, and he sunk heavily into his chair.
"I've had too much to drink," he said, resting his forehead in his hands. It was one thing to remember a dead friend. It was quite another to have a late-night conversation with him. Maes chuckled.
"You've never had much of a head for it."
"I could out drink you any day," Roy said, with the faintest of smiles.
"You tell yourself that, but I carried your passed-out corpse home more than once. You're heavier than you look. You forget that before I became a family man, I could hold my own. Still could!" And then the smile faded from Maes' face, and he looked wistful, his eyes distant and sad. "You were always a quiet drunk," Maes said after a long silence. "Too much brooding."
"One of us had to," Roy responded wryly. He had given up worrying about this conversation, and this ghost before him. He promised himself silently, however, that he would lay off the whiskey from now on.
"I have all of eternity for that, now. I'll carry the burden, and you can enjoy yourself."
"I can't," Roy whispered, and he wished suddenly that he would pass out or wake up, or do whatever he could to escape from this wretched dream. Knowing morning would come and Maes Hughes would not be at his side wrenched at his heart. "You should spend the rest of eternity watching your family."
Maes cracked a smile. "That's what I actually do. I never mastered brooding half so well as you, anyway."
Silence settled between the two of them. Roy stared dully at his whisky. There was so much he wanted to say, and now that he could, he found he couldn't put it into words. He damned himself for his dream and his inability to speak his mind in it. Maes seemed to understand, and he gave Roy a concerned look.
"I know," was all he said, and Roy looked up at him. "I wouldn't be your best friend if I didn't." Maes paused until Roy nodded. "What are you going to do now?"
Roy sighed. "I know the Fuehrer is on to me. I need to protect my people. I failed you; I can't let it happen again. You depended on me. Hawkeye–" Mustang trailed off with a sigh. "Fullmetal and his brother depend on me."
"Do you think they will make the stone?"
"No, but I can't discourage the dreams of the young," Roy Mustang said with a frank smile. Maes's own face melted into his warm smile.
"You do listen."
"Upon occasion," Roy agreed. Maes laughed, and then stood. His smile turned sad, and Roy instinctively looked at the clock. It was 3:15, but Mustang was unaware of the visiting hour restraints of ghosts, even if they were the product of a drunken dream and so the time meant little to him.
"It's time for me to go," Maes said, but Roy knew it was coming, and was able to hide his disappointment. Maes crossed around the side of the desk, and Roy belatedly thought that a ghost should not have to worry about such definitive things as desks, but again, Roy reminded himself he was no expert on ghosts. Maes enveloped him in a tight hug, and Roy was surprised to note just how warm his old friend was. Just as he relaxed into the hug, he jerked back in pain as a long, sharp object pierced his side. He tried to push away, but Maes held him close. Roy looked into the eyes of his friend and saw them flicker purple.
The object remained lodged in his side, and the arms of the homunculus remained tight around him as he died. His mouth worked uselessly, blood bubbling up with every word he tried to form. And as the flickering streets lights faded from his vision, he looked at Envy and saw an indefinable sadness on the face still masked as Maes. He blinked; trying to clear the image from his head, for he knew Envy would never be privy to such emotion. But when his eyes reopened, he was blind. He exhaled one last, pained breath and then he was dead.
Envy hefted the corpse up. "C'mon. Time to arrange your murder." He headed out to the streets, thinking that it was true. Roy Mustang was a lot heavier than he looked.
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I wrote this as a character piece, largely. There was probably some greater force behind it, but I was just going through fics the other days that I'd written and found it. I know people probably aren't going to be too happy that I killed Roy, but there you have it.