A.N. This is my first FMA fanfiction. This is NOT a RoyxEd pairing, it's more a parental/friendship relationship. I guess this chapter could be considered Royai, depending on your personal view. This was supposed to be an amusing chapter about Ed interrupting Roy and Riza in a private moment but then it spiralled out of control and the angst took over. I'm planning on adding more chapters if I get a good response, so please let me know what you think!

Interruptions

Sand. Heat. The smell of blood and the sound of gunfire.

Roy stands and stares out at the burning town before him. The air is filled with the crackle and roar of the flames, and cries for help; he can hear a child's terrified scream before one of the houses collapses in on itself and it is abruptly silenced. All around, people are running for their lives; Roy watches as a woman escapes one of the burning buildings and dashes out into the street ; she makes it less than ten metres before she falls, crimson staining the front of her blouse where the bullet has pierced her chest. The military snipers, Roy notes with a sense of detachment, are nothing if not quick and extremely efficient; the bodies of innocent men, women and children litter the street, too many to count, and already the vultures are hovering above them in the sky. A man weeps and holds the body of his dead daughter; the air fizzles with alchemy and suddenly a stone spike penetrates his body from behind, his hands ripped away from her cold skin as he is wrenched into the air and his blood spatters upon the ground.

Roy bows his head, unable to stomach the sight anymore; he looks down at his gloves, at the transmutation circles there, standing out bright against stark white. They are the marks of his guilt. It's too much, the knowledge that this carnage was caused by his own hands. The orders were clear, and the fire is his work, though he takes no pride in what he has done; instead, he is consumed by his own shame and despair; with every click of his fingers he brings more destruction, more death. After so many months, the weight of his own self-loathing is becoming almost unbearable. A warm breeze blows over him, ruffling his coat, and he screws his eyes shut tightly. The noise is beginning to subside; Roy knows that they are almost done here, and soon they will be moving on to the next town. Roy wonders if this annihilation will ever end. Something warm brushes against his ankle and his gaze snaps to the floor. His eyes widen and the breath catches in his throat.

A boy lies crumpled at his feet, his body twisted and broken; a pool of red spreads across the sand beneath him. Roy can see the exposed patches of raw, charred skin, recognises the acrid scent of burning flesh. It makes his eyes water, and a wave of nausea washes over him, making him shudder and clutch at his mouth. The boy reaches out for Roy again, sticky fingers lightly grazing against the hem of his trousers. Roy watches in horror as the boy opens his mouth to speak through the blood that oozes down past his lips and drips down from his chin.

"... help... me..."

And suddenly a hand clamps down on his shoulder, strong and steady, and Roy is no longer frozen; he spins into action, grabbing his assailant roughly by the throat. His attacker makes a muffled noise of surprise, and then Roy can feel the pulse fluttering beneath his thumb where it digs into warm skin. Too warm, too soft, too real.

He opens his eyes.

Riza Hawkeye stands before him, her cool brown eyes meeting his own dark ones. It takes him a second to realise that his hand is wrapped tightly around her neck, cutting off her air supply. Her own hands are limp at her sides, and she's looking at him calmly, waiting to be released. There is no fear in her eyes; instead the compassion and trust he sees makes his head spin. He wrenches his hand away like he's been burned and stumbles away. He hears the sharp whoosh of air from behind him as Hawkeye takes a gasp, filling her oxygen-deprived lungs. Roy collapses into the chair, dropping his head and fisting his hair in his hands as they both struggle to control their breathing. The sweat beads on his forehead as he grits his teeth and hunches forward until his head is resting against the smooth wooden surface of his desk. His head throbs, and his stomach lurches violently; he doesn't notice the quiet footsteps as Riza moves towards him.

"Sir?"

With a great effort, Roy lifts his heavy head to face his lieutenant, though he almost turns away again when he sees the angry marks marring her delicate skin; Roy is sure that Hawkeye will carry finger-shaped bruises on her neck for the next few days, a stark reminder of what he has done, how he has hurt her. Something burns bitter in his throat; he swallows and tries to ignore the way voice wavers and cracks when he speaks.

"I'm sorry."

Riza steps forward and kneels down in front of Roy. There is concern etched across her delicate features, and something else that Roy cannot identify. Slowly, she reaches out and, brushing a few strands of sweat-soaked hair away from his face, places her palm against his forehead. Roy relaxes and leans into her touch; she smells faintly of gunpowder and coffee.

"Was it the war?" Riza's voice is slightly hoarse but gentle, questioning but not prying. If it was anyone else, Roy would turn cold and silent at any mention of the Ishvalan war, but not Riza. Riza knows; she was there, her hands are stained red with the same blood. There are days when she comes into work with dark bruises beneath tired, haunted eyes, and he knows that the ghosts have been enough to keep her up at night. On those days, he tries his best to keep his sarcasm to a minimum, and dutifully does all his paperwork without complaint. It's not enough to make the ghosts disappear, but he knows from his own experiences that it's enough to help lighten the burden of those memories, and the next day, when Hawkeye arrives looking slightly more refreshed and standing just that little bit straighter, Roy always has to hide his smile. Roy understands, just as Riza does, and so now he nods silently. He doesn't explain himself, and she doesn't ask him to; just nods and continues to press her palm against his clammy skin.

"You have a fever," Riza states with a frown. With her words, Roy gradually becomes aware of the small tremors that run through his body, and the heat in his veins. His head hurts. It makes sense now; his nightmares are always at their most vivid when he's sick, like his brain associates the heat from the fever with the hot sands of Ishval, though it's never been this bad before. He must be really sick, he thinks, and Hawkeye purses her lips as if sharing the same thought. "Sir, you shouldn't have come into work today," she chides, though her tone is soft and she doesn't remove her hand.

Roy grunts, closing his eyes briefly. "I have work to do."

"Your work can wait. Your health is more important." Roy doesn't attempt to hide his shock; Hawkeye is usually the one to bring Roy his daily stack of paperwork, and this is almost always accompanied by a weary sigh and a reprimand when she sees the ever-growing pile of overdue forms that sit on his desk. Roy has even been threatened at gunpoint a couple of times. She pushes him for his own good, he knows, and even if he never says it out loud he is incredibly grateful for it. Sometimes, Roy wonders if she wants him to achieve his dream of becoming Führer as much as he does. His gaze once again catches the marks on her neck, made by his own hand. He doesn't understand; he is reckless, he's impatient and callous and he has caused more pain than he can ever hope to atone for, and yet she is still here by his side. Roy needs her more than he could ever say.

"Thank you," he whispers, the words loud in the silence, and Riza smiles.

The door opens with a loud crash, and Edward Elric is there in the doorway, taking in the scene before him with wide golden eyes.

Roy groans internally at the interruption; the boy has a knack for getting in the way just when Roy needs it the least. Hawkeye straightens immediately, pulling her hand back from Roy quickly and clearing her throat. "Edward! We... weren't expecting you here today."

"We got back early this morning. What's going on?"

Edward watches in confusion as Hawkeye moves away from the desk and towards the door, not looking back. Roy knows that she is embarrassed by her own display of emotion. "I was just delivering some important documents for the colonel to sign. I'll leave you to deliver your report." She pauses at the door and turns her head. "Sir," she nods courteously, all previous emotions hidden away behind a professional mask, and then she is gone.

Edward turns to Roy, who refuses to acknowledge his subordinate; he doesn't have the energy to explain. His head feels fuzzy; he pinches the bridge of his nose tightly and exhales, preparing himself mentally for the usual onslaught of teasing remarks and insults.

They never come.

After a few minutes of silence, Roy raises his eyes, blinking in the harsh office light. Edward is staring at him with a strange, unidentifiable expression clouding his features. Roy shifts uncomfortably under the teenager's intense stare. Edward doesn't say a word. The quiet stretches on endlessly, until Roy can't take it any longer.

"Why are you here Fullmetal?"

That does the trick; Edward scowls, and, flinging a few straggly sheets of paper onto the colonel's desk, flops onto the sofa with an irritated huff. "You know, it's not like I want to be here," he grumbles, "bastard."

Roy's mouth twitches up into something resembling his usual smirk. "Well, that makes two of us."

Edward crosses his arms."There's your damn report Mustang. I'm sorry that it took so long," the teenager says in a tone that makes it very clear he is anything but sorry, "but I had to make a trip to Resembool since, you know, my arm got busted trying to catch a crazy, grave-robbing alchemist on your orders!"

Roy gives up trying to read Edward's illegible handwriting. "Did you manage to catch him?"

Edward cocks an eyebrow smugly. "Yeah, of course we got him. All we needed to do was spread some false information about a burial to lure him out, and hide out to the graveyard at night to catch him. We didn't have to wait very long," the teenager grins. "Once we had him subdued, he cracked easy, told us everything we needed to know. Turns out he was using human bodies to 'rebuild' his daughter who died seven years ago," Edward's eyes glaze over and become distant as the smile fades from his lips, "and he was gonna attempt some sort of human transmutation. When I told him about what happened to us, how it's impossible to bring back the dead, we flipped and went for me; he managed to mess up my automail before Al knocked him out."

The topic of human transmutation has always been a hard one for Ed; Roy attempts to steer the conversation away from those painful memories the only way he knows how. ""You broke your automail? What'd he do, step on you?"

"WHO'RE YOU CALLING SO SMALL THAT HE'D NEED A STEPLADDER TO-"

Roy jerks forward in his chair and clutches at his head; he'd forgotten about his headache, but Edward's vocal outburst is enough to set it off again. The agony swells until he can't hear anything over the pounding of his own brain, doesn't realise that Ed has stopped until something lands in his lap with a rattle. A small plastic container. Roy picks it up and gives it another small shake.

"Pills," Ed clarifies, though Roy has already guessed. That expression is back, something caught between irritation and sympathy and something else... if Roy didn't know better, he'd say it was fondness. Roy turns the container in his hand, searching for any kind of label. He doesn't find one. "They're not poisoned, you know," Ed says, sounding annoyed.

"What are these?"

Ed shrugs. "Al gave them to me. They help with sleeping and stuff," he explains uncomfortably. Roy isn't surprised; after all, he isn't oblivious. After everything Ed has been through, Roy would be shocked if the boy didn't struggle to sleep at night. He does a better job of hiding it than most; when Ed is awake and alert, ranting and waving his hands (one flesh, one metal) in the air, making ludicrous demands and insulting the colonel at any available opportunity, Roy would be hardly be able to notice anything was wrong with the boy, aside from a terrible lack of respect. The first time Roy saw it, it was a few months after the State Alchemist examinations, and Edward was lying in a hospital bed after his first mission gone wrong. Unconscious, under the harsh glare of the hospital lights, Ed had seemed so small, and so vulnerable; curled up and whimpering for his mother as the drugs muddled with his dreams and forced warm tears to leak from beneath closed eyelids. That was the night Roy realised that even if Edward found a way to restore their bodies, he would never truly be fixed. Of course, that doesn't stop Al from trying to help his brother in any way he can.

"Why are you giving them to me?"

"I don't like them; they taste awful." Ed grimaces dramatically. "And they make me really tired in the mornings. Al says they're only supposed to last for a few hours but they don't wear off for ages, I think they last longer for me because I'm so..." Ed freezes before he finishes his sentence, face turning an interesting shade of purple; Roy unsuccessfully stifles a chuckle, and Ed turns on him in an instant. "SHUT UP YOU OLD BASTARD! NEXT TIME, GET SOMEONE ELSE TO DO YOUR DIRTY WORK" he screams as he storms towards the door and yanks it open roughly, red coat fluttering. "AND GET SOME BEAUTY SLEEP; NOT THAT IT WILL HELP YOU, YOU UGLY, OBNOXIOUS JERK!"

The door closes, not with a slam but with a soft, gentle click, and something warm to stirs in Roy's chest; maybe he didn't mistake that fondness after all.

When Hawkeye enters the room five minutes later, the colonel is facing the window, idly twisting a small object in his hand. She clears her throat and he jumps.

"I brought you some painkillers, Sir," she says as she steps forward and opens her palm to reveal two small white tablets. "I thought you might be needing them."

Roy sets the object down on his desk and takes the pills and the water she has brought for him. "Thank you," he murmurs, and just like that the slight tension in the room dissipates. He swallows them quickly, and then picks up the object, which Riza has identified as a pill bottle.

"What is that?"

Roy smiles almost tenderly. "A present from Fullmetal," he answers before shaking one into his palm and gulping it down with the last of the water. He sighs and hands back the empty glass. "I'm taking a nap now," he informs his lieutenant, leaning back into his chair, "and anyone who wakes me up in the next two hours is fired. Understood?"

"Understood, Sir." Riza nods and exits the room, a weight lifting from her chest as she glances back to see her colonel lying calm and serene as sunlight filters through the window and illuminates his features in a pale glow.

As he he falls asleep, Roy Mustang, for the first time in a long time, feels truly at peace.

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