Unca Roy
Chapter 1: Ashes
By Claudius
I do not own the rights to Full Metal Alchemist, anime or manga.
The main story is set during the epilogue of episode 51. After the Bradley Regime but before the 'Royai' and 'Elysia at Hughes' grave' scenes.
I suggest reading The Night Before, a fanfic, before reading this story.
1911
Roy Mustang knew it.
He heard the news; twenty phone calls and several solo visits by the father himself over the last two weeks made sure of that. Major Maes Hughes had a baby girl!
But Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang didn't reciprocate any calls or visits by his own will. It wasn't that he was uninterested with his friend's ascent to fatherhood. In fact, he predicted it. Since their days together at the Academy, Roy knew that Maes loved kids. While Mustang felt awkward and distant being around youths, Hughes blended naturally with them; he played games with the children, buying them treats, and wrestling them (always playing the loser in those innocent scuffles). He would also take freshman classmen under his wing, helping them out like a big brother. On marrying Gracia, Hughes planned for a huge family. Thus, it was no surprise that almost a year after marriage, he finally got his own kid. A daughter named Elysia. However, Mustang's interest remained solely on knowledge, at least for the moment. He did consider on visiting the new family, just to avoid being visited by-
There came voices from the hall. The door opened. "Hiya guys!" Maes Hughes' cherubic head peeked into the room. "I thought we'd make a visit." Coming through the door, the Major revealed the plural meaning of his words: in his arms was a swaddled bundle of new life.
Mustang glanced at the arrival for only a second, than looked to the report on his desk (for the first time). His comrades also proved less attentive...to their work that is. Officers Hawkeye, Havoc, Breda and Fulman surrounded the new father and the baby like bees to honey. Maes stood out from this group of uniformed people, dressed in a civilian garb of black coat and pants, over a pink shirt with all its tails hanging out. Some words of flattery were exchanged with chuckles, with Hughes blushing in pride.
"May I hold her, Major?" Major Riza Hawkeye's words sounded like a subordinate's wish to her superior.
"I didn't think this was up your alley," said Hughes with interest.
"I've held many babies before. A lot of my friends are mothers now."
Intrigued by Riza's seemingly uncharacteristic request, Maes gently placed Elysia into her arms. Any expectations of weirdness became unfounded; Riza's cradling was a smooth situation. She looked comfortable in this rare display of maternal activity, and that is saying something for the usually unfeminine Riza Hawkeye.
From this new support, Elysia Hughes was treated to excited and curious faces, like Major Jean Havoc. "Apples don't fall far from the tree, eh Hughes?" Havoc smiled with a cigarette drooping from his mouth.
Suddenly, the cigarette got decapitated in half. The rest of it fell out of Havoc's fear-opened mouth. His fear-opened eyes saw the cutter's grinning jaw and push-knife-wielding-hand very close to his own face. "No smoking in front of the baby," said Hughes, his eyes not exactly friendly.
"S-Sure," gasped Havoc.
"Hey c'mon Unca Roy!" Hughes cried with a more genuine happy face, though his words brought a cringing sensation to the unlucky namesake. "It's your turn!"
"No thanks," Roy's eyes were elsewhere. "I have some serious work to do." That was both true and false; Mustang was procrastinating from the paperwork due in an hour. He only paid attention to it when Hughes entered.
"Nonsense!" Hughes softly transferred the child back to his own arms. He now headed for the new target. "One coddle of Elysia will guarantee you hours of happy work!"
"But I don't…" Roy saw the child handed to him. Another "But" later, he was now reluctantly holding the child with his own arms. His protests were too late, though ignored was the better answer. Hughes would prefer the former excuse.
Roy's attempt at cradling Elysia was the epitome of discomfort and fear. He knew nothing about holding babies! What if he dropped her? He hoped this would be brief. Soon Hughes will come back and reclaim the kid. But the father now kept his distance, muscling all of Mustang's subordinates far away. "Ain't she gorgeous?" asked Maes, showing Havoc and the others photographs.
Yes, she is gorgeous, Mustang's mental compliment was dipped with sarcasm. As gorgeous as infants are, which to him meant ugly. He was no fan of the infant face, with the fuzzy head, crushed face, and weird-looking eyes. Where's the cuteness in that? Thought Roy. Is this where everyone came from? Thank goodness for growing up!
"Maes…" Roy's unease showed in his slur. "One of you…Come back this once!" He felt the child stirring. Not a good sign. "Maes!" Roy quietly exclaimed, a guarded cry before the eventual panic.
The rescue came. "Let me handle this, sir," Hawkeye relieved Mustang. His burden gone, sighs of release breathed from the Lieutenant Colonel. Returning to his desk, he made an unassuming glance upon the group scene. His familiarity was hit by a surprise study of Hughes' expressions. He was really happy. The baby's presence made Hughes' face shine bright, surpassing his usual level of optimistic happiness. It certainly went beyond the experience and knowledge Roy learned about his best friend. It was something to like. No matter the countless times Maes annoyed him, Roy depended on his friend; not just as a valuable source of information, Roy needed Maes' friendship, his humor, and his positive outlook to this dark world.
Suddenly the distance between himself and the others stood out like a sore thumb. A feeling of loneliness now impinged Mustang's stoic self. His old friend had experienced something wonderful and wanted to share it with him. Was he too hasty to escape from the celebration? When Roy thought about it, holding the baby wasn't really that bad.
But the remorse was temporary. Roy returned to his seat and his work. This will be justified in the end, he told himself, once he stood as Fuhrer. Then he would share in his best friend's family life. Maybe he could attempt to like the kid (or kids in general).
1915
Brigadier General Roy Mustang couldn't remember anything on how he got here. Nor was he in a condition to realize for that matter. He was in darkness. There was no understanding of anything. So it was with a flowing continuity that there was no sign to predict the veil of unconsciousness lifting from him. The awareness of its end was like a thousand swords into his body. Everything stabbed with pain. Wellness could only be felt by remaining in a still position, while his left eye (why can't he see through his right eye?) viewed only a fog. But a distortion appeared in the mist. The soft and blurry hues became a face. When Roy recognized it, his eye moistened.
"M-Maes…" Roy's clogged mouth tried to speak to the dead friend before him. "I'm…sorry…"
But as Roy's limited vision improved, Maes Hughes' head faded away. To his incredulous surprise, the head changed, getting smaller, rounder. The eyes, the hair, all became different. It was not a man's face any longer. It was now a little girl. But she still resembled Maes…
"E-Elysia?"
Now Mustang knew he was alive. His attempts at movement, unfortunately, increased the pain within himself. Straining for understanding, he checked his surroundings. A small room was his location. A bed was where he lay. He was shirtless, covered with stained bandages. Bandages also affixed gauze to block out his right eye. A meaningless noise came to his ears, but it soon registered into clarity. Words of his name. New figures came before his eye. Lieutenant Hawkeye, still in male clothing, darkened with blood. She looked shocked. Mrs. Hughes, equally dirtied and concerned, pulling her daughter away from what must be a gruesome sight. And there stood Elysia, staring at him, with those eyes. His eyes…
Mustang's endurance now reached its limit. The veil of darkness returned…
Consciousness finally did return to Roy Mustang, with no further incident of fainting for the subsequent weeks. Sadly, he had lesser success with healthier ways of falling unconscious. The rare moments when he did sleep brought him troubling dreams. As it was, the period of recuperation from the battles with Bradley and Archer appeared to have little effect on this patient. Roy's handsome face had become haggard; the presence of a black beard and a large eye patch failed to hide his sagging cheeks, looking like they were connected to invisible weights. Around his good eye were many circles, saturated by tears and black despair. The pupil inside stared an unemotional blankness, seeing other things besides this room. His slender form, covered by pajamas, had lessened to an unhealthy thin weight.
On the most recent morning, Riza Hawkeye entered the room, carrying a tray of breakfast. With his one eye, Roy tiredly looked to her. Wearing no uniform or suit, Riza instead was in a blouse and miniskirt. Her long blond hair glistened like a waterfall down to her shoulders. This departure from conservative clothing would give her coworkers shock of her true attractiveness as a woman. But this attention was missing in Mustang, as was the desire to try.
Riza placed the tray on Roy's lap. "Eat." Her words were orderly, impassionate. But actions speak louder than words. She had been near Roy's side throughout this dire period of survival. Not even the aid of a nurse (who was absent today) kept her away from being assistant to his recovery.
Mustang slowly picked up the breakfast, and ate. Despite her cold look, Riza betrayed pleasure. Today was a success in giving the patient food; on earlier days, the General left the food trays untouched or lying scattered on the floor. But he ate today. Unfortunately, there still remained no comments from the patient.
Breakfast finished, Riza picked up the tray and left the room. Roy lay back down upon the pillow. His body needed comfort, and could receive it from rest and relaxation. His mind and heart, however, proved more resilient to such kind care. For weeks this stubborn alliance of intelligence and emotion rampaged his condition, bearing memories and thoughts more agonizing than Bradley's sword or Archer's bullets. The present date gave the alliance an advantage: Maes Hughes would have turned thirty-one today.
Lying on the bed, with no turn of the head, Mustang's eye headed to a new attention. Voices came from the other room in his apartment. Was it his subordinates, ready to perform some admirable but futile method to raise his spirits? The door opened. Mustang dumbly turned his head to the new guests. Gracia Hughes and her four-year-old daughter Elysia entered the room. Sciezska followed them, looking very apologetic. Mustang took the first two with discomfort. Nevertheless, he was indebted to Maes' widow. She granted him sanctuary after the assassination, treating his wounds and saving his life. Still, the best Roy could give to the visitors was a tired greeting. "Hello."
"I have a pie!" Gracia warmly greeted the patient with her wrapped present. Elysia lacked her mother's manners. She stayed in the background. When Gracia went into the other room, daughter quickly followed.
Sciezska remained, but the loss of the company increased the awkward atmosphere created by her meeting with the Colonel. She tried to make the best of it. "Um, are you comfortable?" Sciezska was artificially chipper. Not that her feelings weren't genuine. She was so sorry for her previous actions. She had accused Mustang of his apparent coldness over Hughes' death. But the miserable person on the bed was a complete opposite to her previous description. In fact, his grief showed how naïve she was to the idea of mourning a loved one. She wanted to help him return to his 'cold' self.
But Sciezska knew her limitations. "Um, I think I hear Lieutenant Hawkeye calling my name…Get better." She darted out of the room.
Roy was no fool. He knew Sciezska wasn't able to keep a good poker face over his pitiful condition. No one could. There was no beauty in ashes.
In the other room, the women guests of Mustang's apartment sat at a table in the small kitchen. Elysia played alone in the bathroom.
"Still no improvement?" Sciezska asked, hoping her experience with the General was unique.
Riza's face was calm, though her eyes anything but. "There's nothing wrong physically with him. The General will recover his full strength in time. But that's all moot where his feelings are concerned."
Sciezska made a quick glance at Gracia. The widow appeared understanding, giving the bookworm allowance to speak freely. "About General Hughes?"
Riza nodded. "It has been months, but the General hasn't mourned his death until now. He held back his personal grief out of their promise to become the Fuhrer. But that's now out of the question with the recent turn of events." Riza paused. She could not completely hide her concern over Roy's turmoil from either woman. "I thought he could find some peace with the present changes in Central, but he's worse."
Sciezska did her best to be comforting. "I've read stories about revenge never satisfy…" She stopped her words, hiding little of her distress to revise. "Oh nothing!"
"It's alright, Sciezska," Gracia's kind face fell a little. "When Miss Hawkeye took Roy to my place to recover, she told me everything. About Bradley, and what he did." She instantly stood up and walked to the cupboard. Sciezska was not reassured.
Riza went to a different subject. "And how is Elysia?"
"She's been really depressed these last few weeks," Gracia had her back to the women, working on some culinary matters. "Not that she hasn't been sad before, but this is different. She's beginning to accept her father's death."
Riza was puzzled. "Shouldn't that be a good thing?"
"If it means moving on with her life, yes." Gracia sadly explained. "But I'm afraid Elysia hasn't reached that point yet. Before, she constantly went through denial, always sinking back to the reality. Now she's fully embracing the reality, as hard as that is. Only she's scared about taking the step to leave this behind her."
"Give her some time," said Riza.
Gracia knew that advice well, but she was really unsure of it. Sciezska added proof to the child's woe. "Elysia's been withdrawing herself from everything. She's not even playing with her friends anymore."
"Did you know," a worried Gracia continued, "she hasn't really cried yet? Not at the funeral, not afterwards. Oh, she gets emotional, whining about how unfair things are, but I haven't seen any tears from her yet."
Riza faced this news with coldness. It was not that she was unmoved. Rather, she was unsurprised, as if she expected it with an optimism that things will get better. Something was formulating within her mind. "I'm sorry if I had to invite you here, Gracia. Especially on this day."
"I'm happy to come. Maes cared about Roy; I want to follow my late husband's wishes."
"Even though General Mustang rarely visited you?" Sciezska made a thoughtless addition before shrugging.
"Before we married, Maes and I saw Roy constantly," Gracia corrected. "But after that, he rarely came by our house. The last time was a few weeks ago, and it was only at the door."
"The General was very busy back then," explained Riza. "But General Hughes kept him posted about everything in his family life. Not a day went by where the General didn't receive a call from him. Not that he liked it; General Mustang wished he could transfer his Alchemy through the phone lines," Riza made a smile with that last line.
Gracia was not blind to this friendship. "Maes hoped that Roy would spend some time with Elysia. Maes even made him Elysia's guardian in case he and I…" Gracia went silent before the finish. Her endurance on this sensitive matter had reached its limit. But Riza knew the widow was no weakling. During that dark night when Roy's life hung by a thread, as Riza came apart, Gracia provided the fortitude.
While Mrs. Hughes continued making tea, Riza and Sciezska met eye-to-eye.
"I have to go to Central to see about the extension of my leave of absence, sir," Riza calmly informed the patient as she put on her coat. "Since this is Nurse Clarke's day off, Mrs. Hughes will see to your needs."
If Mustang felt a need to protest to Hawkeye's absence, it didn't escape his mouth as she left the bedroom door. Just as long as Gracia did little except feed him, then he was content. He wanted the solitude. It seemed better to deal with his problems alone, even if it was a losing battle. His strategic mind hadn't figured that the grief would hurt this much. He was used to the ending of life, or so he thought. But Death was like a stranger: No experience could dull its sharp approach or its despairing influence.
Not quite the happy ending for this protagonist. In stories, the success of defeating the menace for the sake of others led to peace for the hero. But Roy lacked such a conclusion after destroying his menace. He remembered the experience: A viewer would think it the exciting climax to an epic story, the final battle between good and evil. Against hopeless odds, the Flame Alchemist fought the immortal Fuhrer King Bradley. But the Homunculus' inevitable victory was stolen by the Alchemist, via the skull that proved Bradley's weakness. Roy's memory preserved his every thought and action of that moment. Clutching the skull, drawing the Fire Alchemy symbol on his wrist, the Alchemist's mind flickered images of his friend, and the hated monster that took his life.
"How many times must I kill you before you die?" Roy viciously condemned his victim. With all his furious strength, he drew the surrounding flames upon Bradley. The evil man was destroyed. The moment of glory? It wasn't there. Roy expected something for his victory. A sense of fulfillment. But nothing materialized as he saw Bradley's remains as a pool of blood. Nor when he boiled that pool. Maes Hughes was still dead. Nothing Roy did would change that. He wanted satisfaction. Instead he felt exhaustion. Disappointment. Loneliness.
Roy had failed him again. His cause wasn't noble, but petty vengeance. Forget the justice demanded on Bradley for his insane regime of meaningless destruction! Forget the thousands of lives lost by those meaningless wars! Only one life mattered in Roy's final decision to throw away everything he has worked for these six years: The friend who helped him in those years, the human rock to his near-impossible dream of becoming Fuhrer and creating a better world. The man his superior murdered. But didn't he have a hand in that as well? After all, his dream sent Hughes to his doom, to that apparently safe position which was in fact a death trap from day one.
In the present, Mustang stiffened under the inner recriminations of the past. Guilt had forced him to atone for his blind error. But the atonement meant sinking to the killer's level. An irony; Maes wanted Roy to become a better man, one least likely to be motivated by pointless revenge. But in the end, he chucked all those civilized ideals for Hughes. Such an apology was not acceptable. How can it be? In life and in death, Roy Mustang betrayed Maes Hughes.
Roy didn't need this ethical decline to punish him. His grief was enough. He fought it the previous months before the coup, refusing to surrender to its dominating grip. It was amazing how stable his fortitude was. But defeat was inevitable, and unforgiving for the loser. The tears he made on that first day he mourned! Roy bitterly remembered. Even though he never wept afterwards, the pain lingered on to exact its toll.
Roy saw an invisible future before him. What could he do now? The power of the country was now in the Parliament. The Fuhrership had been nullified. And for what purpose should he even try to do something? For the sake of what he accomplished? He had nothing but a record for killing people. There was no pride in that, even with the monsters on that list. And then Roy suddenly thought about his recruiting Edward Elric. That kid was gone now. At least that punk did something meaningful, if the knowledge of a human Alphonse Elric was true. A loathing smile came to Roy's lips. The medication must be really at work now. Admitting any achievement by that punk was an anathema to him, but Roy saw no more reason to carry on his denial. Its loss revealed the strong respect he always had for Edward. The Full Metal Alchemist was the type of person Mustang should have been when he first earned his State Alchemist diploma: The military dog with a weak leash. Someone who helped people, unwilling to take shit from anyone, no matter the authority. Loyal to no one but himself and those he cared about. Edward saved his brother. Roy lost his.
Little good done in his past, Mustang cynically wrote in his mind, no good in his future. Every day saw his life a chore. Maes' death had left a mortal wound. Not in his injuries. The loss of an eye was nothing compared to the gangrenous scars in his heart. Grief festered inside it, rendering everything in him a waste. Hope, perseverance, optimism. All gone. Roy Mustang was dead. A burnt-out ruin was what remained…
A bark in the hall ended Roy's soliloquy. Did Riza leave that stupid dog here? His one-eyed search led to the half-closed bedroom door. In the small hallway, Elysia appeared to be playing with Black Hayate. Appearing was a strong word. She was just standing there beside the animal with no contact, as if a barrier separated them. And the child didn't want to break through it.
His limited vision notwithstanding, Mustang understood Elysia's behavior. The child was creating defenses. Hurt by a person she loved, she was growing barriers around her. Go for it kiddo, Roy mentally gave his blessing. Create protection from any future sorrow, wary to any persons or events capable of hurting you…
Roy…my son, your mother is…
Kid, there's been a training accident. Your dad's…
Bad things happen. Can't expect a happy life. People can't guarantee anything for you, not even their lives.
How sad. Such an illustrious family, and not many family members left...
My boy. Your father and I were good friends. Your uncle is too busy right now to take you in. Until he does, you can stay at my house…
Keep away from people. It's yourself you have to protect. Keep your heart closed to them.
Roy, here is my son…
Hiya, my name's Maes…!
Because if you fail, if you don't keep your heart closed, you're only setting yourself up for more misery. It will come to haunt you someday.
Sara, run!
Dear no! No! Winry…!It will kill you…
Colonel, I have grim news. It's about Lieutenant Colonel Hughes…
Mustang tensed himself, his mind still bearing out unheard advice to the girl in the hallway. That's what you do kid, Mustang commanded in thought, the images of his mind reaching a deviation. That's what life should be, protecting oneself from pain. For the failures…well, he's honest proof.
Disagreement came into the patient, attacking the previous advice. Great advice, Roy questioned himself in sarcasm. Does Elysia really deserve to isolate herself so emotionally?
Roy hesitated his resolve for a second. Sorry, kiddo. He was not in the consoling mood. Not that he was good at it before. He was the one who needed the consoling now.
But that didn't change the fact that the kid was alone, missing someone she loved…
But she wasn't alone. Elysia still has her mother, and she has 'sisters' like Scieszka and Winry. They could handle her grief better than he ever could. He didn't like kids…But Elysia needs more than just a mother and sisters. She needs a male parent. Perhaps someone who knew her father closely…
Stop it! This mental conflict had reached an irritating degree. Mustang was about ready to burst. Screw the child! Hasn't he suffered enough?
Hasn't she?
The inner struggle was interrupted by a thumping noise. But a calm reaction after such a battle of wits could not happen. A flame was smoldering. "What was that?" Mustang finally exploded with sound. He could see nothing from the opened door. A fast move to find out was impossible by his weak legs and the precarious stitches on his body.
"What happened!" Mustang cried like the military official he was. He grabbed the cane, banging it on the wall. "What's happened!"
"It's all right," Gracia's voice cried from the other room.
Mustang was in no mood. "That didn't sound like nothing!" he yelled. He thought back to the possible cause. It had to be Elysia. Straining himself to see as best he could of the hallway, Roy spotted papers on the floor in the hall. Not papers. He felt like some wound had been ripped open. The 'that' wasn't a lamp or table piece, but a box. A box from the closet. A certain box he knew. The inner fire flickered into a blaze. Mustang's hand squeezed the cane tightly, ready to use it. That little brat…
"Elysia come here!" Mustang hollered like a maniac.
"I'm sorry!" cried Elysia's voice from the other room. She sounded like a frightened girl about to be executed.
Mustang's tempestuous face sank, its fire extinguished. Saner thoughts came, with new critiques. Who was being the real brat here? Who really suffered worse? A depressed sensation caused the warrior to drop the cane. He failed again. But he met it with a tired smile, accepting it like a wise general. Okay, so what could he do to make things right?
An idea came. Roy lowered his voice to a more sane tone. "Bring whatever she dropped in here!"
There was silence after that order. Eventually, mother and daughter walked into the room. Gracia, who carried the box, gave a look of knowledge of its contents. Elsyia was in back, grabbing nervously onto her mother's skirt. Her sad face did justice to the cry she made before. But there were no tears in her eyes.
"Elysia!" Roy sternly demanded. "Bring the box to me."
Gracia spoke for her daughter. "I'll do it…"
"No!" Roy sounded his refusal quite clearly. "She will do this."
Elysia obeyed with hesitation, uneasily taking the box from her mother's hands. Slowly, she walked over to the bed.
Mustang peered over the box. Elysia shivered a little. The bearded, one-eyed man looked like he wanted to eat her. This fright grew as he took a photograph out. "Elysia," those black eyes stared with a demanding voice, "look at this."
The girl uneasily did as commanded. Seeing it in her hand, Elysia became curious by the photograph. The picture was of two boys. One was a large fat boy who was smiling. Did she see this boy before? The other was a thinner boy who did not smile. He looked familiar too.
Mustang's voice showed his awareness of Elysia's questioning watch. "That's a picture of me and your daddy."
Elysia's eyes portrayed the strike of realization. Perhaps a little too hard a stroke. "Daddy?" She squealed.
Gracia knelt beside the girl, looking at the picture with equal interest.
"Your father was a very chubby kid when he was little," Roy's voice tried to sound caring. "He slimmed down by the time he reached military school."
Elysia's eyes dug into the other photos in the box. A lot of these pictures were of her! "Where'd ya get all these?"
"Your daddy always called me for whatever new and special thing you did. He also mailed me copies of every picture he took of you. I put them all in this box, waiting for the time to collect them." That was Mustang's words. Actually, months before he had hidden this collection and his own private collection away. Later, he thought of destroying all.
The three spent the hour arranging the pictures. Elysia sat on her mother's lap, getting to look at the photographs first. Gracia gave her daughter support with her own knowledge of some of the pictures. Feeling Elysia's body, the mother detected from her vibrations of discomfort. As interested she is, Elysia must be having a hard time, looking back on these remembrances. Gracia held on for the worse. Her daughter wasn't the only nervous one. Roy looked just as reluctant. He tensed every time he grabbed into the box, as if every picture was a fresh scar.
"You were a year and two months old in this one," said Roy.
"Actually, it was a year and one month," Gracia corrected. "Maes didn't have the time to develop the film until later."
Elysia paid little attention to the dates. She was consumed with the sights. Some of these pictures were like the ones at home. But soon, she was seeing pictures of her father without a beard. There were a lot of those pictures too. Too many pictures. Too many daddys…
"And this one…" Roy's description went unfinished when he looked away from the photographs. Lines of tears streaked on Elysia's face. Mustang paused at this unknown side of her before. Of the little he had seen of Elysia, she had never cried once. Not even at her father's funeral. Gracia was surprised by this as well.
It was too easy to predict the outcome. Elysia suddenly turned to her mother's chest. She squeezed her coat, bellowed out a horrible cry. "I miss daddy, mommy! I miss 'im! I miss daddy!"
Gracia embraced her child securely, doing her utmost to ease her pain.
And Mustang watched all of this. There was an emotional distance keeping himself from the mother and child. But the habit of detachment had lost much of its potent strength. Such hurt. For a father who will not be there to see his daughter educated, never witness her growth to womanhood, completely unable to watch her marry and become a parent. A death Roy Mustang would never forget, or forgive himself for.
But defense still had its influence. Mustang's body slackened from this kindred attraction. His heart was closed. It was too late now.
Yeah, Roy. It's too late for me…
Roy remembered those words; the voice from someone he met only in his dreams. He had almost forgotten them, but the words were presently as vivid and real as what he saw and heard now. He stared at his hand. It brought nothing but destruction to the innocent and the guilty.
But it's not too late for you…Was the chance that it can help gone as well?
…and it's not too late for her.
But, he…
All reluctant thoughts snapped by one meaning: Help her!His face crushing with sorrow, Roy lifted his arm very slowly. His twitching hand lurked closer to the child. He felt like everything blocked his way, but he would…overcome it. He touched the girl's shoulder. "Don't cry…" His words stumbled. "It'll be all right!"
Elysia's miserable face turned to the hand on her shoulder. Her wet face gave puzzlement. "You miss daddy too?"
Roy didn't answer. But his sad face showed enough for even a young child like Elysia to understand. She clutched his hand, placing her sad cheek upon it for comfort. That did it for the General. Such a small hand, he thought. Not large enough for two of his fingers. But he was too weak to break free. With his free hand, he covered his face. It was raining again…
Gracia moved herself and child onto the bed. She now laid a hand around Mustang's cringing shoulders. The woman bore the sobs of man and child to her comforting embrace. She started to cry too.
Hidden in the other room, Sciezska spied this emotional moment. A feeling of joining them was first in her thoughts, but restraint moved her away from the door, away from the bedroom, and the three inside it.
"Is it happening?' said a voice from the front door of the apartment. Black Hayate ran toward it.
Sciezska nodded with remorse. "I wish we didn't resort to tricks."
"So says the girl who spied on Miss Douglas, and lived to tell about it," said the voice, its owner presenting herself to Sciezska.
"Touche, Miss Hawkeye," responded Sciezska. "Do you think this'll work?"
Patting Black Hayate, Riza sighed pleasantly. "General Roy Mustang may be a very decisive man in military and administration, but he can be very reluctant in personal things like this. In that case, you have to force him into things he wants to do."
Sciezska repeated that last sentence in her head. Apply force like placing that box of pictures somewhere Elysia can get to it? She felt naughty. "He sounded angry," she nervously added. "What if he hurt her?"
"He wouldn't," Riza was resolute in her belief. "The General knows too well never to harm someone for no reason."
The sobbing from the other room became more attractive to Sciezska's ears and sympathy. "Do you think we should…?"
"No," Riza strongly pressed her opinion. "This is a moment that can only be shared by those three. Right now, the General needs Elysia, and vice versa. Perhaps together, they might be able to move on with their loss."
Sciezska understood. A smile lifted the bookworm's lips. It's fitting, she realized. The mourning of Brigadier General Maes Hughes being shared by the three people he loved most.
Author notes:
As I read through some post-series fanfics concerning Roy, I found that a lot of them have a lack of emphasis to Hughes. The character only gets mentioned once or twice, with the focus being Roy, not much the worse, declaring his love for Riza, etc. That makes no sense; Hughes was Roy's best friend. His murder pressed Mustang to turn against the government. The loss would have to be a major burden for Roy during his recovery, especially since the Alchemist did not properly mourn the character's death (and I doubt Pride's destruction would bring a satisfying conclusion to the character, unlike the reader). I feel this fanfic should be an exception.
Next time: Roy takes Elysia to the Fair.