I own nothing. All rights belong to Hiromu Arakawa. :)
It was 11:39 at night, and Roy Mustang was exhausted and miserable. He threw down his paperwork with a frustrated sigh and stood abruptly. He strode to the window, leaving the small circle of light cast by the cheap, standard-issue military lamp. The street lights outside illuminated the thick, silent snow. Mustang stared dully at the snow, resting his forehead against the cool glass.
"Damn it, Hughes," he whispered. He could not handle this grief, not now, not ever. And what hurt most of all was that it was all his fault. He hadn't known that he could feel so damned empty, especially after all this time…
A clatter caught his attention and he withdrew into the shadowy corner of the room instantly as the thick office door swung open. Mustang stiffened as the dim light caught the distinctive gleam of blonde hair. Fullmetal. At least, it looked like Fullmetal, but…the fierce little spitfire wouldn't be crying…right? The small body that looked like Fullmetal slid down into a heap against the couch, hand pressed against his mouth, shaking uncontrollably.
Mustang's chest tightened and he turned away, grimacing. Why? Why did everything have to tumble out of its assigned order tonight? Fullmetal was supposed to be a chaotic bundle of anger and energy and triumph. Hughes was supposed to be alive. I'm supposed to be happy. Why did Ed—Fullmetal—have to come in tonight, of all nights? Unable to stand the choking sobs any longer, he strode forward and knelt gently next to the trembling figure.
"Fullmetal," he said softly. The blonde head came up suddenly as Fullmetal started in surprise. The boy (for Mustang couldn't help but to think of him as a boy at this moment) just stared at Mustang for a moment, golden eyes gleaming with tears. Seeing that it was too late to hide his distress, Fullmetal just put his head back down with a stifled sob. Mustang hesitated, one hand hovering. Then he relented and laid his hand on Fullmetal's shoulder softly. He was not expecting Fullmetal to turn and bury himself in Mustang's chest.
"Fullmetal—" choked Mustang. He couldn't. Not tonight. Hughes was dead. So many people were dead, strewn in his wake like so many crimson flowers.
"Stop it, Fullmetal." His voice came out harsher than he'd intended, the strain and grief bleeding into the familiar syllables. "Stop it." Fullmetal just clenched his hands into Mustang's jacket (Mustang noticed the weakness in the right hand), clearly trying to quiet his grief. Finally, Mustang put his arms fully around the boy, resting his chin on top of Edward's golden hair, letting the boy cry. What else could he do? A stillness fell in the dim office, only broken by Fullmetal's cries. The snow fell for a long time before they quieted.
"Aren't you going to ask me what's wrong?" came Fullmetal's voice eventually, rough with tears, muffled in Mustang's jacket. "Aren't you going to ask me why I'm not happy?" Mustang's throat constricted. I'm supposed to be happy. We all are…aren't we?
"No," he responded finally. "No, Fullmetal, I'm not." Fullmetal jerked away at the answer, facing Mustang with desperate eyes.
"Why not? I got Al's body back, I have Winry and we beat the homunculus and you're the Brigadier-General and everything turned out the way we wanted. Why am I not happy?" he asked frantically. Mustang jerked Fullmetal's body back to him reflexively, tightening his grip around the boy.
"Not everything we wanted," he murmured into the golden head. "Equivalent exchange has taken some our happiness away." Fullmetal stopped squirming and Mustang knew that Fullmetal could read his thoughts at that moment. Hughes was never supposed to die. That wasn't part of the deal.
"I just…"
"What, Fullmetal?"
"What am I going to do?" asked Fullmetal, looking up at Mustang. His golden eyes shone bright with despair. "What I am going to do?" Mustang understood instantly, closing his eyes and bending his own head in sympathy. Of course. Fullmetal had spent nearly all of his short and frantic life pursuing one goal to the point of obsession. He had spent his time fighting past his own guilt and waging his very life to reclaim his brother's body. Now Al had his body back and Winry was safe. Even Hohenheim was dead. Every goal that had driven Fullmetal in the past had vanished.
"Didn't you tell Truth that you had friends?" asked Mustang softly, uselessly. He wouldn't have even responded to an attempt like that on a night like this. He wasn't surprised when Fullmetal merely nodded dully, slumping back against the couch.
"It's not enough, sometimes," whispered the boy quietly, his near-inaudible voiced laced with guilt at the admission. Mustang joined him against the couch with a sigh.
"Sometimes, you cannot say anything at all, especially to the people you love the most," Mustang murmured, pointedly looking forward.
"How did you know?" sighed Fullmetal, leaning into Mustang's side. Mustang smiled wryly.
"I'm not supposed to be here either, Fullmetal," he said softly. "I was supposed to meet Riza tonight. But sometimes, even leaving this room seems like too much effort. Tonight…I can't. I can't be happy, even though I have my sight, even though I am well on my way to Fuhrer…I can't be happy all the time. The cost of success was too high."
And he stopped, because he couldn't possibly speak any more without choking. Fullmetal merely echoed his sigh and snuggled in tighter against Mustang's side.
"Just for a bit…Roy," he whispered, his voice still shaky. "I just need—"
"Sssh," hushed Mustang quietly, putting his arm around Fullmetal. "I know, Fullmetal. I know." They stayed that way in silence, watching the snow fall thick and fast outside until merciful sleep came to swallow their darkness for a while.