AN: Another story for Comment Fic community. Prompt was: Fullmetal Alchemist, Roy+/Maes(or+/Riza), I went with plan f. get drunk and start a fire in my yard
"Roy."
Someone was knocking on the door. Roy grunted into the mulch of his flower bed. Why was he asleep in the flower bed again?
"Roy, if you don't open the door in the next two minutes, I'm picking the lock."
Was that Hughes? Roy lifted his head out of the flower bed. Ow, mulch was getting in his eye and was stuck to his face. It might be in his mouth, but he couldn't taste anything past his own tongue. He rubbed the mulch away. He was wearing his spark gloves. Huh.
"I'm coming in," Hughes called.
Roy heard the scrape of picks and knew he'd probably never lock the door as securely as he had before. But why was Maes breaking into his house? He looked around the yard. In the middle was what must have once been his deck chair. It was mostly charred remains now, mixed with some of the kindling he kept for when he wanted a fire, a shattered glass bottle that might have once held alcohol (he couldn't remember if he burned its contents or if they also found their way into his liver), and the weird and nigh indestructible statue Armstrong had given him for his last birthday. Sadly the statue barely looked singed. He kind of had liked that deck chair. Maybe. It was hard to recollect when his head felt like someone was driving a railroad spike into it.
"Roy."
Roy blinked blearily at Hughes leaning in the doorway to Roy's kitchen. He looked amused, exasperated, and a bit worried. "Maes."
"Bad day yesterday?"
"Maybe?" Roy frowned. "Probably. Give me a moment to remember."
Hughes sighed. "Up." He pulled Roy upright. "I'd sit you on your deck chair, but it looks like you burned that."
"I suppose I must have." Roy let Hughes hold his weight. He couldn't remember how he got to be in the flower bed. "I had plans yesterday," he said remembering those instead of the important stuff like how things ended up on fire. "I had a whole list."
"So a usual Friday night?" Hughes grunted manhandling Roy indoors. "You can use your feet you know."
"Can I?" Roy looked at his feet dragging on the ground. Hmm. One moved. "I guess I can." Perhaps he was still more than a little drunk. But when had he gotten drunk? He closed his eyes. His head hurt a bit less that way.
"Don't fall asleep on me, Roy, or I'm going to make you do my paperwork for the next month." Hughes sat Roy at the kitchen table. Roy leaned forward until his forehead hit the table. "Riza called me looking for you because you never showed up to dinner last night and you didn't answer your door when she checked here."
"Oh. Right." Roy slid upright. "I was going to meet Riza for dinner. But then my car failed to start. So I was going to walk—it's not that far away." He frowned. "But then it started raining. So I tried calling Riza to see if she could give me a ride. But she already had left and she wasn't at the restaurant yet. My umbrella was broken and my coat was at the cleaners." Roy squinted at the wood grain of the table. "I still figured I'd walk."
"And why didn't you ever get to the restaurant?" Hughes asked. He was looking more and more exasperated. Roy frowned at him instead of the table.
"I almost got hit by a car and had to give a statement for traffic violation. I decided to try calling Riza again, but then I had to stop a pickpocket before I could finish dialing." Roy sighed. "I can't quite remember things clearly from there. I think I might have tried to go to the restaurant again? It stopped raining by then. Only the restaurant was closing. So I went home figuring I'd eat something there since clearly I wasn't getting dinner out and had missed Riza. Only I was in a bad mood."
"So you had a drink," Hughes said drily. "How many drinks?"
"I…am not sure."
"Too many then." Hughes propped his head on one fist. "So when did the fire get involved?"
"After I ruined dinner. And drank too much of the wine I was cooking with." Roy frowned and rubbed his forehead. "I'm not sure if I planned to start a campfire or if I was trying to destroy hapless objects."
"I suppose that depends when the deck chair got involved," Hughes said sarcastically.
"Hell if I know." Roy sighed. He should get aspirin or something. Or go back to sleep in a dark room. Or get coffee. Something that wasn't what he currently was doing.
"You worried Riza."
"I know." And now his headache felt worse. "I'll make it up to her."
"You should. You owe her at least two dinners."
"No sympathy at all?" Roy groused.
"Roy, I'm a married man with a daughter. My drunken days waking up surrounded by destruction are in the past no matter how bad a day I have." Hughes grinned. "Granted I have a wonderful home to come home to and you have this place. You need to get married."
"Like hell I do." Roy closed his eyes. "Next thing you know I'll be terrifying strangers with photos like you do."
"You like my photos," Hughes said. "Elicia's like the daughter you'll never have. Because she's mine."
Roy snorted. He regretted it when it made him dizzy even with his eyes closed. "She's like the daughter I never had because you tell me every time she hiccups let alone does anything important."
"You love her."
Roy didn't argue.
Hughes patted him on the head like he sometimes did to his daughter when she was…actually when she was just existing; anything more got a larger response. Roy squinted again. His brain wasn't functioning enough for metaphors. "I'm going to call Riza," Hughes said. "She'll gut me if I don't at least let her know you're alive."
Roy groaned. "Don't mention the deck chair," he said.
Hughes raised an eyebrow.
"She picked them out when I bought this place. For all I know she'll take offense and I'll have even more paperwork to do than usual."
Hughes grinned. "Lips sealed, but you owe me dinner now."
"Fine." Now Roy was going to find painkillers, drink water and see if sleeping in a bed for another hour or so would make things better or not. Riza probably wouldn't let him sleep long. She had the habit of making his hangovers as much hell as possible. Either she was a sadist or she was trying to condition him to drink less. Or both. Roy would go with both. He fell asleep at the kitchen table. Later he would attest that a table is no more comfortable than the flowerbed.