I wrote this one last night..oh, why do I make Roy so angsty? I have no idea.
Characters (c) Hiromu Arakawa & Square-Enix.
Title comes from a song by Akira Yamaoka.


One's Weaker Self
By Kusabi

The swirling of the wine glass. The gentle sound of falling rain. The feeling that he was alone in the world.
It didn't even occur to him to cry. The shock was still too much for him. He could barely even remember what he had been doing earlier. He could barley think of what was normal now.
It was supposed to be a nice evening… what happened… what the fuck happened…?
Two hours. Two whole hours had elapsed since he received that awful phone call.

"Colonel Roy Mustang," the stern voice said to him. "A military car was taking Lieutenant Hawkeye to your home, and…"
The voice cracked.
"We had no idea, we should've checked…" he rambled, suddenly near hysterics. "There have always been radicals around, but we didn't think… we were so careless… oh God, in this profession… we were so careless…"
From the man's sudden tone change, Roy began to panic himself. He could only guess at what exactly had happened, but there was one thing he could tell for sure.
"Out with it!" Roy spat out.
"Under the car… there was… there was… there was a bomb. Lieutenant Hawkeye didn't survive… I'm so sorry…"
"SHUT UP!" Roy screamed, slamming the phone down on the receiver. With that, he simply fell to the floor, completely limp.
"No… God… no… fuck… this isn't… no… Riza… she can't… no…"
And suddenly, everything went black.

One hour.
Once he finally woke up, he laid there on the floor for a whole ten minutes, with only Riza on his mind. Every single memory of them together passed through his head. Their first meeting, their time in the Ishval War, their time after meeting the Elrics, their separation… and then when they met once again.
Their time together after they had been reunited… things had finally been going great for them. They had finally gotten exactly what they both wanted – each other.
But now..
After gathering enough strength to get up from the floor, he walked over to the couch and sat himself down. Eyeing the wine he had set out on the table, he poured himself a glass.

Two hours.
He had simply been swirling the wine in his glass. It kept him occupied. Not a thought was in his head at the moment. He stared, blankly, at the table, his eyes unmoving.

Three hours.
Broken glass was everywhere. Red wine stained the carpet. A few extra bottles sat near the one that had been out earlier. Many were empty.
Roy had hoped that drinking would dull the pain. It had worked for him in the past, after all. But this was completely different. The wine only amplified his current mood.
That was when the screams, and tears, came.

Four hours.
The house was completely silent.
A new red had joined the wine stain.
He was on his way to be with his beloved once again.