Memories of a Best Friend

By claudius

I don't own the rights to Fullmetal Alchemist.

Author's note: I've tried to place this in the anime continuity as best I could. This meant I had to make up some points where anime and manga contradict (like removing manga Hughes' Ishbal experiences, which his anime counterpart didn't have).

"I'm sorry, I thought I told you. It was just some minor scrapes. But more importantly, Roy, I've heard some things. Sounds like your transfer to Central may become finalized soon. You need to hurry up and get important here so we can have an easier time. And find yourself a good wife!"

-Maes Hughes' last words to Roy Mustang. Episode 25:Words of Farewell

Brigadier General Roy Mustang's awakening from his injury-sustained sleep soon led to many visitors to his home. Today was no exception. Roy saw his bedroom crowded by his inner circle of subordinates: Havoc, Breda, Feury, Falman, Armstrong, and Riza Hakweye. Standing or sitting, they didn't hide their pleasure to see their superior alive. Well, alive at least.

Roy looked to them all with a tired, but pleasant face. "Good to see you all made it in one piece."

This led to some major explanations. Much was talked about the past days since Roy parted ways with the subordinates for the coup against Fuhrer King Bradley. Mustang only mentioned that he killed Bradley. No other personal secrets of his experiences left his stubble-marked mouth. For the guests, judging his injuries, Roy Mustang's own word was not enough. It was up to Riza Hawkeye to give the more satisfying account: Lieutenant Colonel Archer was transformed into a gestalt of man and automail. He lost what little sanity he had left and went on a rampage. Archer's end was at the Fuhrer's mansion, where he eventually fell to Riza's bullets, but not before he severely injured the Brigadier General. Riza was able to find sanctuary for Roy from Gracia Hughes. Under her safety, the Hughes widow, a former nurse, treated Roy's wounds.

Shortly thereafter, Riza's grandfather General Grunman became Lieutenant Fuhrer. Under his temporary command, several major decisions were issued. Military control of the Government was abolished, with the authority handed to the Parliament. Pardons were given to Mustang's company and the Elric Brothers. But the Brigadier General Flame Alchemist would still have to face charges once he made his full recovery.

Unfortunately, what could not be revealed was the whereabouts of the Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric. But there were reports of Alphonse Elric, which were even stranger. The armor-clad Elric was now a living, breathing human being! However, any knowledge about his elder brother was absent; Al not only couldn't recount the events leading to the disappearance, he had no memory of his armored exploits of the last four years.

"I'm sure Ed's alive somewhere," Roy responded. "Insects are survivors, after all." The patient had a peaceful sit upon his bed. To his friends, he was acting strangely tranquil despite the cost. A white bandage covered his forehead and right eye. Such a medical treatment did little for that eye's sight. Archer's attack ensured that optical nerve would never be used again. Roy's torso fared better, despite being covered in bandages as well. The Flame Alchemist had escaped the jaws of death; but the problem of such an escape was the affliction of a long recovery. He was in no condition to do any work for months.

"You could at least have told us what you were planning!" Lieutenant Havoc scolded his superior. "Going after Bradley alone! Didn't you forget he was a Homunculus? With all due respect, sir," Havoc mocked his salute, "you're an idiot!"

"Thank you, Havoc," Roy pleasantly rubbed his injured chest. "But I already got the lesson. Next time I face a monster with healing abilities, I'll save him just for you."

Snickers were heard. Havoc groaned, almost biting off his cigarette.

Falman attempted to be easier on the General. "Well, sir, at least Bradley paid for killing Lieutenant Colonel Hughes."

A sudden change came to the patient. Nothing extreme in appearance, but a change only the insightful eye can note. For the less talented, Roy's calm face and delivery gave no clues. "I'm very worried. All those hot chicks I'll miss being cooped up here."

"Worry not!" Havoc grinned. "They'll have me!"

Roy looked at Havoc, and sighed. "Those girls'll be so lonely."

Havoc's face sagged in resentment, especially with the surroundings of laughter.

Roy lowered his head, than looked at his officers with a smile. "Y'know, I really appreciate all of you coming here, but I'd like to be alone now." His wish brought misgivings among the group. But they understood and made their way out of the room. Riza was the last.

"You go too, Lieutenant," Roy gave a smile to show the lack of any problem. But Riza was motionless in belief, looking onto that calm face with a suspicious stare. But she nodded. "I will be back shortly, General." She shut the door behind her.

Roy verified his now solitary situation. He was finally alone. He sat very still. The little smile collapsed. It is done.

Sunlight shined through the window. But the brightness of outside was invisible to the patient's attention. To his presence, everything got darker and cold. The storm was coming; it could not be stopped this time. Roy felt the drops of rain on his cheeks. Damn ceiling had leaks. The patient covered his wet face with clenched fists, but to no avail. The hands trembled, their owner following suit.

A whimpering sound pierced the quiet room. It became a small groan, constantly sounding around Roy's ears. The calm was shattering, the tempest forming in strengthened might. Roy fell on the bed for safety. But the storm only grew in ferocity. Roy could feel the quake. He huddled closer to himself in vain. The pressure was building. Growing. The storm was reaching its eventual peak. It can't stop!

Roy cringed to a near embryonic state. He blended the groans with deep breaths. He feared what was to come. But it won't stop!

The sound halted. In that moment of silence, Roy released his face. The thunder screamed.

"MAES!"

So the mourning began. The grief is too much to fight anymore, Maes. Another failed promise.

In the following weeks, I find myself remembering certain days. All from the past. All about you, Maes, and our friendship. Is this some self-conscious method for me to achieve acceptance of your death, Maes, or am I willingly scourging myself over what I did to you?

FIVE YEARS AGO\/p>

He waited. The bartender asked for his choice of drink. Roy refused. It wasn't time yet. The same couldn't be said for the person he was meeting. That man was late. The thought of accident was absent. Major Maes Hughes was clearly doing this on purpose. Roy would thank him for that sometime.

Looking at the bar and its mirror, Roy could see the door behind him. It opened, presenting a jovial man. "Hiya, Roy!" Hughes shouted and waved in his greeting.

Roy's eyes remained at the bar. "Lieutenant Colonel," he deflated this entry with his cool greeting.

Maes failed to take interest in the title. "Egomaniacal as usual," He sat beside his friend.

"How's the wife?" Roy sprung the question.

"Super," the friend replied. With the mirror as guide, Roy predicted his friend's hand will make a connection with the nape behind his head. Bingo. Maes did his usual gesture of prideful happiness. Roy turned to get a closer look at the newly married, father-to-be. The family life seemed to suit Maes rather well. Not just in the cosmetic way, if that dirt upon his jaw was any clue.

The bartender asked for the third time. Roy and Maes finally made their usual requests. The glasses were placed and poured. No more words passed as the two made their sips. Hughes, the first to free his lips of the glass, spoke first. "So did you get the picture?" He broke into a bawdy grin.

Mustang nearly choked. Breathing hard gave his friend the smug advantage. "Like it?"

Roy strained for composure. "Why…did you have to show me that?" He struggled in his attempt to repress what he saw a few days ago. It was normal for wedded couples to send their friends photos of their honeymoon activities. Their outdoor honeymoon activities. The picture Mustang got showed Maes and Gracia posing for their honeymoon activities. Their indoor activities.

Maes's finger circled the rim of his glass. A wicked glee added to his mirthful expression. "I thought it something to show our kids' kids." He copied an old man's voice. "Shock them with proof on what their wrinkled and ancient grandparents did when young."

Mustang buried part of his face in irritation. "I'm not your grandson!"

"Oh come on!" Hughes positively patted his friend's shoulder. "I didn't show anything obscene! I did some blocking."

Mustang's groaning voice showed no relief. "Not enough-" He cut off his words. He really didn't want to think about this! Time to turn the tables! "The least you could have done was show more of Gracia."

Mustang sensed eyes glaring at him. He heard the owner chuckle. "Y'know, I really had to persuade Gracia into doing it. She only agreed to show a shoulder and arm from out of the sheets."

"Pity," Roy chose his words. He knew how jealous Hughes could get, but a ladies man like himself could not pass the opportunity. Mustang was also aware that Hughes trusted him enough to know that he would never lay a hand on Gracia. "Still working out, I see. Married life hasn't slowed you down."

"Yeah," Hughes flexed his raised arms. "Being an investigator is no easy task. Gotta stay fit and trim."

Mustang relaxed in the change of topic, and the unintentional humor of this one. Ah, the childhood days when fit and trim and Maes Hughes were an oxymoron! The same could be said for the life Roy had now and his life back then. So innocent days…

"And," Maes added with a smirk, "I gotta keep myself potent for my husbandly duties."

Roy sighed. He spoke too soon. Back to the material categorized as shun!

"Hey it worked," Hughes blushed at his achievement.

"Congratulations," Mustang's praise was cool. "Did you ever think it might be a bad idea to have children in a world like this?"

Hughes looked at Roy with a clear vision. He understood. "If everyone thought that way, Roy, then how can we have a better tomorrow?" Maes' cheeks than grew redder. "Besides, Gracia got fruitful before the wedding. We only found out at the honeymoon."

Roy noted the bartender was now at the other side of the room. The cue for serious matters. Hughes calmly drank his glass, suddenly bereft of smug pleasure. "The Transfer to East is in the bag."

Mustang nodded.

Hughes continued his striking facial stance. "I wish the same can be said about a certain Hohenheim Elric." His hand fell into his coat. "But I can say I found a letter by his son."

Only Mustang's obsidian eyes showed his huge interest of this mysterious Alchemist. He saw the mentioned envelope materialize to his face. He took it into his possession. He began to drink again.

"Wait 'till you read the address!"

The warning came too late. Mustang's eyes were glued to this Edward Elric's address:Resembool. The drinking abruptly stopped. But there was no choking this time. Calmly separating himself from the glass, Mustang kept it suspended.

"It could be a lead," said Hughes, "or it could be a wild goose chase." Knowing what that place meant to his friend, Maes spoke with sincerity. "The real question is: are you going there?"

Mustang wavered the glass in his hand. He was determined to settle his ghosts. This part of that path could not be shirked any longer. He must face the girl. The glass was put down.

The bartender returned, refilling the glasses.

"So are you keeping the whiskers?" Mustang took over as questionnaire.

Hughes returned to his cheerful self. "Yeah," He caressed his hairy chin proudly. "Pretty dignified don'tcha think? Gracia cut her hair too. We wanted to buck the taboo. The one that said husbands' facial hair and wives' short hair mean an unhappy marriage." Maes' eyebrows arched. "Besides, facial hair means a sign of virility."

Again with the sexual jokes! This time Mustang went into the offensive. "I guess even someone like you gets lucky sometimes." His calm demeanor clashed with the glee he gave to those words. "So did Gracia do all the work? And didn't you finally lose it with her, say, a year ago? In your twenties?"

Maes sulked. "For such a ladies man, you can be a killjoy sometimes."

Now Roy was with the smug expressions! "Only if the shenanigans don't include me."

Maes sighed smoothly. "Oh well, I'm gonna hafta drop that kinda behavior when I become a daddy."

"Hooray," Mustang remarked nonchalantly.

"You should be happy, Unca Roy!" Hughes shook his friend's shoulder. "You're gonna be the kid's guardian. In case something happens to me and mommy."

A shock of a different kind hit Mustang. His pride wrestled with his reluctance. "But I don't like kids," he protested. "And aren't you a little young to be thinking about something like that?"

The bartender had left their presence again. The cheery atmosphere grew stale. Hughes somberly peered at empty space, his thoughts his real sight. "My mom died when I was born. You lost your parents," Maes' morbid comment was infectious. "Kinda says something. Besides, as you've shown me, we can't choose when to die. Not after what we did."

Roy said nothing to that remark. His mind kept a distance to what Maes did on the home front. His own deeds were quite enough to bear.

Roy saw his friend grow with darkness. Hughes gazed down on his glass, with very concerned eyes. "Roy…" His bright words died down to a frightened whisper. "I don't want to die."

Mustang grew attentive.

Then Hughes' lips curved to a grin. "And have somebody ruin my funeral!"

Mustang shrugged from the surprise attack. Hughes continued with his trivial fears that not choosing his death meant being helpless to what his funeral will be like: drab clothes, quality-free eulogies, and a wooden plank for a grave mark. "Oh c'mon, Roy!" Hughes enthusiastically sounded. "Fate's choosing me to live to be a hundred!" He took up his glass, raising it to the air. "Cheers to my entry into daddy-hood and granddaddy-hood and great-granddaddy-hood, etcetera, etcetera!"

Once his friend's glass descended to his direction, Roy Mustang quickly clanged it with his own glass.

I lacked your gift of insight, Maes, and it was never so stark than that moment. I should have known your comment about dying was a desperate plea: for me to free you of my ambitions. But helping me was more important to you. So your fear was disguised as a joke, hiding your moment of weakness with indifferent humor. I was none the wiser until now. I regret it.

I'm thinking of the memories before that meeting, seeing everything in reverse. Perhaps it's because I want to disassociate the future away from the past. I don't want to think about what happened afterwards. That letter you gave me led to my meeting the Alchemy-victimized Edward and Alphonse Elric. This started the events that changed the government, but also led to your death. Like a writer, I cut short the story from there, leaving the past safe from the destiny that befell us this year. I know I'm being selfish, Maes; those few years of fatherhood must have been the happiest of your life. But they could have been longer too.

TWO WEEKS BEFORE\/p>

Roy Mustang preened at the large mirror before him. His eyes gazed wonderfully at his reflection. If he was an arrogant man, well, it was deserved. Those dreamy eyes, that slicked-back black hair, that suave smile, this chiseled face! No doubt about it: he is one handsome guy! For this Alchemist, that compliment was something of an achievement. Worth a realer smile than the one now stretching his lips.

And then it changed. Roy saw those dreamy eyes become cold and horrid. The smile now revealed a smug cruelty. His reflected face was that of a mass murderer, the symbol of destruction. Roy took this change in stride. Oh well. He had accomplished a minute of self-liking; a new world's record. At least he can face the mirror now. Last year he couldn't stand to see himself for five seconds.

Roy quickly hung his eyes upon the reflection of his attire. Over his tie and vest he wore a dark blue military coat. It was of fine linen, capped with gray trimming and gold buttons, with the tails completely surrounding his legs. Next to his right lapel were his medals. This stunning attire was for ceremonies. Roy had been wearing it a lot this year.

But for this day's ceremony, like it or not, Roy Mustang could not be the star. This weekend of 1910 belonged to a future husband named Major Maes Hughes. Today, after a year-and-a-half engagement, he was going to marry Gracia Stern. To quote the groom, it was an event for everyone to celebrate!

Well, mostly everyone. Roy didn't quite have that mindset. Ironic thoughts for this best man! As he used the mirror, Roy's thoughts went back to a memory of months ago: the day Maes invited him for this role. Roy responded with a lengthy discussion of why he couldn't be best man (his busy schedule, his refusal to be second banana to one of lower rank, etc.). After hearing these reasons, Hughes asked the question one more time. Yes was Roy's reply.

"Not lookin' to steal the thunder, Roy?" The questioning voice brought Roy back to the present. Maes Hughes added his own reflection to the mirror. The room was part of the new house he had recently bought. Its yard will be the place of his wedding. Roy saw Maes do his own preening on the mirror, bearing his own chiseled face, dreamy eyes, and well-conditioned physique. Roy felt uneasy; he missed the blob.

At least this best man looked better, he smugly thought. Although the groom wore a similar uniform as Roy, it was very conservative. The same couldn't be said for the hair; Maes had cut and slicked the top of his hair to look spikier, and replaced his little front curls with one long bang that pointed outward. It was the only reminder of his bachelor party wardrobe. Roy could remember that one! Maes had a bright purple coat and pants and a shirt of loud decorations. Making that ensemble worse was his behavior; he acted like a marionette whose master was drunk. But it was all a front; Hughes didn't touch a drop of alcohol that night, instead brandishing glasses of deceptive ginger ale. The groom explained that he wanted to be in full sensory awareness for this weekend's activities, especially the private ones with Gracia. So why pretend? Maes spoke of a serious motive: "The thing about acting like I'm not taking things seriously is that people will notice I'm not taking things seriously, which allows me to do some serious stuff without people noticing."

Back to the present, Roy continued to watch Maes grin at his mirror self. He was still going through with his decision to marry. Madman. As much as the best man tried denying his serious reservations, they still existed. He clearly had doubts about this marriage. It had nothing to do with the future Mrs. Hughes. Gracia was a perfect match for him, if such a thing was possible. And Maes made no inhibitions to his devotion to her. Maes' constant reciting of corny love sonnets was scarred into his brain. And for all his bravado playing partygoer last night, Maes shrugged from any sexual advantages. When friends tried pressuring him with loose women for his last night of freedom, Maes, in his 'drunken' condition, 'accidentally' spilled stuff on the women's buxom assets. He left, promising to get something to clean them up, only he never came back.

But recognizing positive benefits did not protect Roy from misgivings. At twenty-five, Maes was too young to marry and start a family. Okay, that was a superficial protest. Roy looked to more realistic problems. For one thing, he couldn't boast his own superiority with the ladies to Maes anymore. He would have to find other victims to toy with, like Sgt. Jean Havoc.

Roy stripped the protest of all humor. Why did he feel threatened by this marriage? Was he afraid of losing Maes again? That seemed like the core of the problem. There were no romantic or sexual overtones Roy could find in the friendship (thank goodness!). But the need for someone isn't necessarily romantic. Roy, for all his egomaniac arrogance, was forced to admit it: Hughes had become invaluable to him. Repairing their friendship, almost a year ago, led to optimistic times for the Flame Alchemist. It had been a while. Happiness was still elusive, probably unattainable. But he felt comfortable these days. Hughes' support had helped…get him important information, political connections, valuable subordinates, and a strong reputation that will send him up the ranks to the Fuhrership. He couldn't have gotten this far without Maes Hughes. Now the idiot was setting up his own life without Roy Mustang. It was something to be wary about. Maes' departures had done Roy little good in the past.

And his fears weren't paranoia. For all the close contact this year, Roy noticed a distance in the friendship. Sure, Maes would see him once or twice (or every day) a week and they would talk serious matters about the military or some sentimental crap about how beautiful Gracia is and what a paradise their marriage is going to be. But something was missing. Maes always acted so confident, so strong, so sure. He didn't speak about his own problems anymore. Then again, Maes was usually discreet about his private thoughts, but sometimes he'd allow a crack to show. And he would show it just for Roy.

That kind of trust was absent now. But Roy couldn't resent the loss. It was his fault for nearly destroying their friendship. There are some wounds that can never be fully healed. He had to accept it. Roy decided to shove the self-pity aside. Having scraps of Maes was better than none at all. So what if Hughes was going to have his own life? Let him have his attempt for happiness! Young veterans like the two of them needed it.

"Seeing the dark side too?" Maes rammed Roy's thoughts with a jaded influence. Roy maintained himself. Evidently his friend has his own dark reflections from the past. Roy didn't know all the true facts, nor did he want to. His own demons were enough.

"Hello, handsome!" Maes praised his mirror face. It made Roy's eyes do a roll. Now look who's being vain! More memories entered his head about last night. His conversation with the 'smashed' groom: "Maes, I still think you're jumping into things. You're not old enough for marriage! Besides, why couldn't you let me date Gracia first?"

Maes' reaction with scary eyes and whispered growl: "I'm…not…drunk, ROY!"

Roy's ignorant reply: "Poor girl. To marry without ever experiencing me."

"A lucky thing if you ask me."

"I didn't." Roy repeated his reply inside his head. It was the last memory before something took his attention. Maes' palm touched his temple, his fingers tapping his crown. Roy knew what that gesture meant: the confident groom was uncertain, wanting to do something about it but didn't know what. Here is the moment of truth. Desired words to increase this worry danced upon Roy's tongue. He said nothing.

"It's gonna be a big wedding," Maes nervously added.

"What do you expect? You invited everyone."

"Not everyone." Maes turned somber. "Gracia's dad won't be. Did I tell you that Gracia's marrying me against her dad's wishes?" He ignored Roy's protest of having heard it twice. "Her father gave her an ultimatum: him or me. How can any father do that to his own child? By choosing me, Gracia lost her daddy." Maes' repetition of this story had a new twist: a grim, sad face. "Don't get me wrong. I'm happy she picked me in the end. But am I really worth the sacrifice?"

Again Roy halted in being negative. As delightful it would be to collapse his friend even more, it was depressing to actually see Maes so downcast. "Forget her old man! He was an emotional cripple anyway. It's his fault and his loss."

Maes' eyes became kinder to his friend, but an intense frown still hung from his lips. "Y'know Roy? All that 'being alone' stuff is great macho propaganda, but it really doesn't pay. In this world, even I can't keep up a happy face forever. There are times I just want to drop it and go 'fuck you!' to the world. Show it my scars, my anger, my frustrations, show what a piece of shit it sometimes is."

Roy couldn't disagree.

With a heavy exhalation, the intensity relaxed on Hughes' face. Adjusting his glasses with his finger, he bore a smile, a real one. "But Gracia makes it easy for me to smile. Helps me see the good things. She's like an angel, saving my soul to run this rat race."

Now, Roy could disagree to that corny line! Still, parts of that confession can be salvaged into something relatable. "You're nuts," Roy nonchalantly replied. His shoulder got a heavy pat.

"'Course, I wouldn't have reached the starting line without the friendship of a certain someone."

Hearing that line, Roy made viewing contact to his mirror face again, combining it with Maes' face. Evidently that line and the reflection of the two of them had its effect. He gave up. Roy's hands danced upon undoing his coat buttons. He removed the apparel, went to a suitcase, and took out another suit. This coat was presentable, but nothing stunning. It was a drab uniform, even more than the groom's outfit.

"You owe me big time for this," Roy grumbled. Once he got the coat on, he grabbed his sword and wrapped its connecting sash around himself. It was time. Maes was ready too, adding his ceremonial weapon to his suit. "So, Roy, when's your turn to walk the aisle?"

"Hold it!" Roy pressured desist in the consequences of that question. "No more unreasonable situations for me. You of all people should know that."

Maes sighed with disapproval. "Too bad. It's a family for me!"

Roy heard the plan with a dose of pessimism. Is it right to bring life into a world like this? He had doubts on that question. Certainly the groom must have the same thoughts...

Oh quit it, Roy! The best man rebelled against his thinking. You've got to give up these presumptions! You'll always get disappointed. "Well, you're not even going to have a family if you're late for your own wedding!" With that, Roy pulled Maes out of the room. The two went downstairs. A few minutes passed as everything got organized. Groom and best man stood at the opening. Soon they would be outside, to the crowd of guests, to the aisle where one man's life will change forever. They stopped at the door, seeing the spectacle of the wedding.

Hughes' fingers were back on his head, in danger of digging through his crown! "Got the ring?"

Roy dug into his pants pocket, revealing the box. His hand made it do acrobatics before he opened it to reveal the two rings of union.

"Show off," Maes shrugged.

"Still nervous? I can make it better. Let me date Gracia!"

Hughes rolled his eyes, relieved by the deflating humor. "Don't worry Roy. While I'm away, you'll have a lot of other engagements."

Roy took a step back from the groom. "You first." Maes walked down to the aisle in a proud march. Then Roy walked down with a bridesmaid.

Soon the two were at the aisle, surrounded by groomsmen and bridesmaids. Maes was flustering again, in danger of self-destructing.

And then Gracia entered the scene, covered in white. Roy thought she looked good. A long way from the Plain Jane he remembered. Roy took his eyes to Maes. The groom's eyes were stuck on the approaching bride. All nervousness evaporated from him. A glowing determination enveloped his face, guided by a calm gaze and a brave smile. And than the groom put his hand on the back of his head. No doubt about what that meant: Maes Hughes was going to marry Gracia.

And no hurricane, no wedding jitters, no best man, will stop him!

Gracia. She gave up her father's love for you, Maes. And she still lost you. Was your time together worth such sacrifices? I guess so. Was our friendship worth your final sacrifice? I don't know.

Roy opened his eyes and saw day. That short nap had become a long sleep. He was conscious. He felt numb. It was life as usual.

The room had the brightness of day added, showing a messy environment. Papers were scattered everywhere, full of sketches, charts, and symbols. Some of the sketches went beyond the paper material, adorning the walls and floor. One thing unmarked by anything alchemaic was the calendar on the wall. Temporarily unaware of time, Roy attempted to register today 's date. As best as he could understand it, he was beginning the last day of the month in the year 1909. Despite pragmatic reasoning, Roy felt the date significant of meaning. Was this an omen symbolizing the end and renewal of life? What a time to be superstitious.

Gaining better awareness, Roy's nose shirked at a potent stench. The room stank of blood. This time it was not the result of violence. The gun on the table remained useless. Chalk that one up to his good fortune! Roy attempted sarcasm (It didn't work). The buckets of blood came from the Butcher's shop last night. Using human blood wasn't right. Funny that he could actually reach a limit. It seemed an anathema after years of blazing a trail beyond laws and moral conventions. Such breakthroughs man can do without.

Which is why Roy now decided to distrust any hope of continuing this long research. The futility, increasing in potency during these months of cold analysis, finally reached its true impact. He had to stop these messy and probably meaningless experiments for good. The dead could not be brought back.

For Roy Mustang, this termination was probably for the best; he sorely needed the end now. The time he spent inside this room had taken light from his form. A pale white hue covered his skin. Sleep had been a luxury he rarely afforded. His stomach had not held a full meal in days. Yesterday was the last time he had a shave (From a barber; Roy didn't like using a mirror anymore). Hair stubbles formed his cheeks and chin. Negligence was also found on hygiene, though at a longer rate. Cleaning himself was done for the awkward public appearances, those times where he went through the motions of living, pretending that his military exploits had no morbid effect at all. He was getting good at the pretense.

But he preferred no act at all, using this room as a safe haven for his true self. Still, Roy wondered to what limits of inviolate solitude did he pressure in this research. How far will the authorities let him be a State Alchemist before throwing him out for idle service? On the other hand, if they knew exactly the nature of his experiments, dismissal would be a lesser punishment.

Not that Roy feared his death. If he couldn't do it, then let someone else succeed. The end probably couldn't change his existence now. In fact, getting executed would be a joke. It wasn't as if he was really alive. He was conscious, but that didn't mean living. That gift belonged to the Roy Mustang who grew up to become a State Alchemist. That man died months ago in Ishbal, of a slow disease that ended at a clinic. In that long process he spread death to everything. No point distinguishing the kinds of death, whether he meant killing a man or destroying a friendship. Killing was still killing. As a soldier he was supposed to accept death. But the things he did went beyond the rules of combat against an enemy.

Once he yearned for the strength that helped sustain other soldiers. Roy envied Gran and Kimbley for their fortitude. But such wishes had lost their luster. Even the strongest metal will break with enough strain. The exceptions became rusted and dangerous. For a while, Roy thought it was wrong to be so weak. Mercy and compassion was out of place in a war. But then came a different reasoning: what if the strength of said models was not the strength he needed? Perhaps humanity was the real factor to upheld and not overcome. Realizing that, Roy latched onto the theory desperately.

For a strange thing happened to this dead man. Despite his acceptance of an end, Roy wished it to be far in the future. A new priority had materialized, forcing a delay to his comeuppance. He knew that there could be no reversal of his actions, no matter the trials. These experiments were the realization. He was aware of that now.

But he can atone. Just as the idealistic Alchemist was dead, so to would be the soldier of Ishbal. From those ashes, a new man would appear. His existence would have to persevere despite the past. He had to look to the future and become what he could not be then. To be altruistic but not naïve. Realistic but not cynical. Strong but kind.

Why? Many times Roy questioned the necessity of keeping this new goal. One would think the war would numb him from entertaining any more ideas about man's capacity for good. But the interest remained; the ideal was ridiculed, battered, ignored, only to survive beyond war and death. No matter how much he experienced the worst in mankind and his own soul, Roy still believed in the best. He had experience. It wasn't the first time he endured a belief under sorrow. That happened a lifetime ago, when he met a friend...

At any rate, Roy still saw value in himself. His determination's strength remained as bright and constant as the fire he chose as his Alchemy power. It had to burn steadily, for he could see no other alternative. The gun on the table was a dire reminder. The room had too much blood already.

But the unknown path was an uncertain future. How will he use this new role? For one thing, Roy could not put himself in a position of submission anymore. But a soldier had to follow orders. He couldn't resign from this life. He must become someone who made the orders. Finding such a solution bore new questions. How would he rise to that level? Would he still have to follow every order, including the ones devoid of reason? These were overwhelming threats, but he will face them and hold. He must.

A knocking came outside his door. Anticipation threw Roy in a defensive action. An official? He leaned beside the door, ready to show only himself and not his room. With the door narrowly opened, he peeked out.

A man in civilian clothes stood at the door. Roy Mustang almost thought he saw a ghost. The visitor was someone that had become dead to him. Their association another casualty of his ignorance. But it was no ghost, unfortunately. He could confront apparitions with no problem. A living human being was a completely different matter, and this visitor especially didn't change his reservations.

The visitor gave a look of horror. Roy took this with acceptance. He must look like death himself.

The visitor's frightened face dissolved into a friendly expression. "Here's an apple pie I got my girlfriend to make for you." He presented the basket in his hand, bearing a huge smile. "Want it?"

Roy froze at this greeting. So much he didn't expect from this, and for one so undeserving. Kind words spoken to him like a friend. It was too much for the Alchemist. A long lost emotion attacked his dead feelings. Very small, but like a candle's flicker inside a dark room, it was very impressive. Roy suddenly felt warm.

Did he feel his own lips rise?

I didn't expect you to come back, Maes. After my return to Amestris, I didn't act on seeing with you again. I thought you shared the conclusion that our friendship was dead. That you didn't want anything of me after what I did. I should have known better before I answered the door. Interestingly, whenever I think back to this moment, I get this idea of crying at your feet. I would never do that. Never. But the idea still exists with that memory.

You came to me without harsh reminder or retribution for our past quarrel, or my insult. The only hostility you gave me concerned my welfare. When I told you my new plans, you gave me your full support without any plea from me.

Why did you help me? Was it some presumed guilt for failing to persuade me to quit the war? That's idiotic. If it was for friendship, than you're even more a fool.

October 12, 1908.

The future date was constantly in Roy Mustang's head. Within two days he would return to Ishbal. So be it. The time away was not as relaxing as he wished. But life isn't fair, is it? He wasted too much free time worrying about that moron.

Speaking of Maes Hughes, it was for him that Roy went to Central's hospital for the military. He passed its halls of wounded people. Their presence clawed his mind, reminders of his once and future environment. Entering the chosen ward, Roy came to an empty room. The space of the area gave peace. However, it gave Roy no security. Empty places had become deceptive to him, the nests for enemy attacks. Calm down, Roy, he pressured himself. He was far from enemy lines. He came to a bed surrounded by a white curtain. The sign was as predictable as it was grim. The hidden patient must be in serious condition. Who could blame him?

Roy remembered seeing the injured patient. He had returned to Amestris on leave from the war in Ishbal. He needed a breather from fighting the rebels for the nation's glory. Too much overwork, that was all. At Central City, the first person he wanted to see was Maes. Roy had not seen his friend for over two years. One would have thought 'Mustang's Dog,' as Hughes was nicknamed, would follow him to the battlefield. But his idea of helping Amestris was a desk job at home. At first Roy was compliant with this different career choice. But he came to resent it. Maes' humor weren't missed, but things just weren't the same without the idiot. Perhaps his friend was toiling in some lowly position at the Investigations Department. If so, than maybe it was time for a change.

But on getting to the department at Central Command, Roy learned two things. Which one was more uncomfortable was a matter of opinion. The first was the news about Hughes' career. He had been rising up in the ranks, getting near to a Major. The news was like a ram jumping into Roy's ego. While he was in a real war, working his ass off for promotions, that fool was getting them by sitting on his ass! The quality of the government staff was really going downhill! Hughes didn't deserve it, Roy lamented. He deserved his, judging by the work he did…

Anyway, Roy could not find Maes to gripe about it. The fool was absent. That was the second thing of note. He heard rumors that Hughes was playing dress up for an undercover investigation. Something about illegal actions by army personnel. A day later, Roy saw the department in an uproar. Seems Hughes left a clue about his whereabouts. It was his last piece of communication, reportedly interrupted. Clearly repercussions were in store for the spy. Roy was more blunt: That idiot was going to get himself killed. He decided to join the squad heading to the reported whereabouts, and get the fool out of the mess he put himself in. By the time they reached the place, an abandoned warehouse, Roy's irritation turned to grim worry. That stupid, stupid fool!

The bust at the warehouse was a huge skirmish. While soldiers fought crooks both military and civilian, Roy's eye was stuck on the discovery of the new prisoner. He was still alive. That was the best thing that can be said. Hughes hung bloodied like a piece of meat. The red marks on everything above his waist blended with Roy's memories of everything before this week. The vacation was over. Roy instantly joined in the squad attack, shooting some in self-defense, others for more selfish reasons. His skills in firearms were adequate for this. His Alchemy was not. Roy couldn't waste his gift on selfish grievances. So he relied on bullets instead. But the feeling of shooting men was no different than burning them. Although Roy felt cold doing it, that numb sensation would lead to feelings. The type one gets from a broken arm.

Roy felt that pain now. More evidence of his weakness! Two years in Ishbal and he was still green about killing the enemy. Roy loathed this limitation. He was a State Alchemist, Amestris' pride, supposed to epitomize more than the perfect soldier. But the gap was so long, so distant from his normal superior, the Fuhrer King Bradley. Even his fellow Alchemist Zolf Kimbley proved better in handling combat. As much as his hurt his pride, Roy had to concede those models as his betters. They could do anything to the enemy and still look at themselves in the mirror. Roy was beginning to get sick of his own reflection.

But as he remembered, the soft feeling was probably necessary for this rescue. After hitting one captor with several bullets, Roy headed toward his broken friend. He cut loose his wired bound hands. Roy then laid his friend to the ground as gently as possible. The stains on his coat became redundant as it wrapped around Maes' shirtless, lacerated body. His friend was in between consciousness and the opposite. But the dim eyes flickered to awareness. There was a mature tightness in those eyes. The imagination of Maes sitting on his ass vanished.

Roy felt a bloody hand touch his shoulder. Feeling came to his heart, the good kind.

"T-Took you long enough," Maes choked.

Roy smiled. "They won't hurt you anymore. They're dead." If the tone of his voice carried a cold, vicious streak, Roy didn't realize it. He saw that bloody hand fall away, on purpose. Then there was the glint of fear in Hughes' eyes.

That behavior marked Roy's mind for days to come. After Hughes was hospitalized and found well, the Flame Alchemist went his own way. Too much gore right now. Shouldn't he be enjoying himself? So he drank and slept with hot women. He hoped to wipe away the intense memories. It didn't work.

So here he was finally back at the hospital, looking up the idiot's condition. Roy took charge, facing the curtains. Questions filled his movements. Words to say were absent. He pulled open the curtain. The bed was empty.

Roy reacted. Warning triggered inside his mind. The bathroom door opened. He turned for defense. But out came not an Ishbalan, but Maes Hughes. He was dressed in uniform shirt, pants, and boots, but the well picture had little conviction. Like a cracked doll that looked good in distance but flawed close up. Healing cuts and bruises studded his complacent face. Although his scarred body was hidden under clothes, Maes' stiff movements showed their effect. His eyes carried that same tired glare Roy saw of his own. Killer eyes. Its familiarity hit too deep; this was the same Maes Hughes he left behind?

"And where do you think you're going?"

"Back to work." Hughes tiredly replied. "Excuse me."

This shrug allied with the memory of the earlier rejection. Thus, Roy felt like having his face punched. But the endless battles and destruction had toughened him to uphold an expression of calm through chaos. However, that façade could only work for so long. A small shudder from his face showed the beginning of that decline. "But your injuries."

"I don't like hospital rooms," Hughes sharply interrupted. A lie. His voice pretended some mirth. "Bet Armstrong will be relieved his main rival in muscle-flexing will be out of commission for awhile."

Roy was in no mood for a witty response.

Hughes turned around. "I'll probably get a promotion for saying nothing while getting my ass kicked." His cold eyes made the mention of such honors unpleasing, and it was by intent. "How about you?"

"They tortured you," Mustang was trying not to be nonchalant. He was failing. "They deserved what they got."

Hughes didn't react with any disagreement, but his wary eyes remained. "You were a lot merciful, not turning them into matchsticks."

"I couldn't use my Alchemy. It would be wrong."

Maes was unmoved by this sense of ethics. "Good thing I'm not an Ishbalan then."

Roy's eyes tightened despite his cool face. Hughes was clearly getting into something with his words, and that something was very sensitive. "That's different. They are the enemy. It's a war."

Still Hughes was unaffected. "We always have excuses."

The restraint broke. Mustang lunged at Hughes, grabbing his collar. "Don't play the pacifist, Maes! You have the same eyes like me. You've killed!"

Hughes cringed, but not because of Roy's outburst. Red spots formed from his light blue shirt. Sanity returned to the aggressor. He released his friend, slowly making a few backwards steps. An apology was in order. Nothing was said.

Hughes squeezed his lip, as ever masking discomfort with a cheerful face. "Yeah," he tried to be civil. "That's because I'm a poor excuse for a human being. Not an Alchemist."

The sentence was a ricocheting bullet to Roy's accusation. "Don't…" He began a harsh sentence, before changing to a more stable tone. "I'm...surprised that you would speak like that." He spoke in a near whisper. The level before the voice would growl

"You're full of surprises yourself."

By now, Roy's thought of apologies was suppressed. But throwing harsh retribution was stalled by every fiber of his memories of this man. The restraint seemed to be having its effect on his friend. Hughes sighed, condemnation melting into understanding. "Sorry, Roy. I've been a little under the weather."

Roy calmed down, or at least he tried.

"I understand. I know what happens when you kill someone. It's not a great feeling."

"Are you saying I'm weak?" Roy snapped in defense. "I'm a State Alchemist. Not some kid needing consoling because I got my hands dirty."

Hughes' face sank at this rejection, but he tried again. "It's weird, doing things like that and hear people praise you on a good job." This confession was honest, relative. It touched Roy with its familiarity. It led him to focus on things. He had come a long way since graduation, a different person. Killing wasn't right. Did he become an Alchemist for that? No, it wasn't the reason. So then, was his career a lie?

No. He wanted to be a soldier. They had to kill. Arrogance quickly forced Roy's doubts into ignorance. He was always in the right. The blame was not in the killing, but in his weakness to it. His stature grew. "You have no idea what I've went through out there." He stepped closer to Hughes, sincere and persuasive. "If you were there, you'll understand."

Hughes grew surprised at this invitation. Roy saw a hopeful face. Then his friend put his hand on his scalp. All hope was crushed.

"I'm really not much of a battle soldier, Roy," Hughes kept his smile over his uncertainty. "I'm better off seeing one corpse a bunch of miles away than a bunch of themone mile away."

Roy remained frozen, balancing confusion with shock.

"I don't want to understand," Hughes snickered nervously on this serious matter. "I tried it and screwed up. No hope for redemption here."

Roy's temper began to smolder again. It was yet another punch in the face, this time laced with a metal gauntlet. What the hell did his friend mean? How could he do this?

"I've heard the stories," Hughes continued with a more serious tone, "the uncensored ones about the women and children."

"It's my job," Roy finally answered with a cold tone. The attempt for understanding was over. He fell back to his defense with clear resolve. Maes turned grim. But disappointment was not Roy's problem anymore. He would not be overthrown, instead looking to his own truth. "They're helping the enemy. Should I help the enemy? Are you saying this war is wrong?"

Hughes turned away without an answer.

Roy's voice was no longer at speaking level. "Are you?" There was got no answer. That was it. He couldn't face him anymore. "If you weren't my friend, I'd tell the authorities of your betrayal."

Hughes' face sagged in expression, without hope of a relief. He turned around, grabbing his coat. "Goodbye, Roy. Enjoy your work."

So be it, Roy mentally decided. But his hand seemed to have a different mind. It suddenly gripped Hughes' shoulder. Its owner was facing away from this gesture, saying nothing. But the meaning was very clear. Hughes went very still, as if his feet were stuck to the floor. But then he moved on. Roy's hand fell limply from that shoulder, where a red flower bloomed. For two people who bugged each other in friendly camaraderie, any harsh word based on true spite would not do. Silence was their potent weapon of hostility. Maes Hughes left the room. Mustang crushed his other hand into a fist. It shook.

Roy Mustang left Central a day early. At the station, he sent a messenger with a letter to Maes Hughes. It contained a white feather. This plumage came with a card signed Roy Mustang.

Roy sat calmly on his seat, awaiting his destiny. His thoughts danced on his recent action. Hughes will rue his decision. Served the cowardly traitor right. Let the dog find some other master's shoes to lick! The thoughts were made with an icy resolve. It wavered into remorse. But the morale returned.

Roy had learned something from this. He had fought for his beliefs, overruling his former friend. Was this some test? If so, then the Flame Alchemist had proved his mettle. The trial of fire had been passed. He can fight this war!

I blamed you, Maes. You left me to face this hellish war on my own. For a time, I couldn't forgive what I thought was your cowardice. Then I realized you were trying to keep sane. My stupid pride had me avoid the truth, believing I was still the great soldier doing the right thing, believing in our superiors' choices as just. I wanted your help to prove that, and you abandoned me. I was weak. 'Mustang's dog' could get along fine without me.

'It's a war.' That excuse was mentioned again a year later. You accepted it. I couldn't. Not anymore.

Roy Mustang grunted in physical stress. Maes Hughes grinned in physical victory. He strangled his best friend in an arm lock. The two struggled in combat in the Gymnasium. The friendly faces of hours before were now gone, replaced by intensity and determination.

"Where's the combat training, Roy?" Hughes growled to Roy's ear. "Blew that on more firework lessons?" He jerked his arm lock tighter.

Roy defied him. Quickly, he pulled his strength for freedom, throwing his opponent above his shoulders. But Hughes landed on his feet. He gave a wary face against his equally battered foe. His fist swung quickly and dangerously at Mustang's head. He missed.

"Body strength is essential for Alchemists too!" Roy gloated with a bloody lip smile. If only Maes wasn't wearing glasses, he secretly complained, than he can exchange punches too.

Maes now darted with kicks. He found luck on Mustang's stomach, leaving a footprint on his blue dress shirt. The attacked man limped backwards, giving attention to his pain. The blow given, Hughes charged again with his foot. But Mustang showed his affliction a sham. He furiously latched onto Hughes' leg. He twisted it, breaking his opponent's unsteady foundation. Hughes crashed to the floor. Roy pounced his elbow on Maes' stomach. Next he threw his arm upon Hughes' neck. His own neck too fell victim to his opponent's large hands. They grappled like a pretzel on the matted floor, twisting and pulling. Finally a separation was broken, if only in bodily contact. Their eyes bridged the gap.

"Okay, kid gloves are off!" Hughes went for the back of his belt. Out came a push-knife. His arm, wrist, and fingers each gestured to use the knife for the best advantage.

Mustang took a risk. He dodged the sharp charge, getting his shirt cut. He somersaulted upon the matted floor, rolling into a ball. The rotation led to him grabbing something in his own boot. By his second complete rollover, his right hand was now gloved. He stopped by his feet, arising and turning to face Hughes.

But Hughes was quick in approach. Mustang paused as the knife touched his neck. A tiny red speck bloomed upon the weapon's point of contact. He revealed his gloved hand, a thumb and finger pressed tightly together. His naked left hand grappled with Hughes' free hand.

Physically locked together, their sight added to the rapport. Their eyes shared a cruel glare for each other. Brows and teeth crushed in desperation. Sweat glistened to show their fear of defeat. Both wanted to win, at all cost.

"One slice and you don't breathe anymore," Hughes hissed slowly.

"We'll make one helluva pyre," Mustang made his own growled threat.

Both inhaled, ready to take the final, lethal step. Smiles broke instead. Detente was achieved. Hughes' fingers danced his blade away. Mustang's fingers separated. With the break of their free hands, the two stood calmly and comfortably to each other's presence. Their fight never happened, said their new expressions.

Hughes gleefully patted his friend's back. "Always wanted to kick your ass."

"You'd be ash before you slashed my neck." Roy parried his friend's assumption.

"Sure," Maes flamboyantly showed his belief in that threat. He began combing his disheveled hair. For East Military Academy's Class of 1906, the aftermath of graduation was celebrations. The city surroundings of the school were full of parties, picnics, dances, and tavern hell-raising, participated by most of the graduates. Save for the golden boys of the class, Roy 'Flame Alchemist' Mustang, and Maes 'Mustang's Dog' Hughes. They wanted to fight each other. They got a draw instead.

Mustang grabbed his coat with one hand, swinging it upon his shoulder like a dashing cape. Hughes' own posture was less breathtaking, but as resolute; he hung his dress shirt over the red shirt he wore, folding his coat in his arm. Both adorned their caps, slinging on the ceremonial rifles to their shoulders. Roy walked. Maes followed. Quickly and smoothly, they left the room.

The two entered a hall full of fellow graduates. Anyone who witnessed their fight and this calm stride would be astounded by their stamina.

"Hey guys!" cried Orry Hazard, the engineer graduate. The friends stopped before him. Orry's greeting led to a question. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Don't ask," said Roy.

Taking the hint, Orry Hazard went to another subject. "Can I take a picture of you?"

Removing their caps, Maes and Roy posed themselves for the umpteenth time. No regret or reservation existed. Roy threw an arm around Maes, who raised a fist with a thumb up. Smiles beamed from both. Their eyes blinked with the flash.

"See ya!" Orry left, with farewell greetings from the two men.

"Get me a copy!" Maes yelled back. "Nice guy."

Hearing and knowing that, Roy felt remorse. Back in their second year he ridiculed the gawky cadet to no end. Maes forced him to put that to rest. "I did make fun of him a lot," he lamented.

"Don't worry," Hughes grinned with devilish glee. "He'll get his revenge on you someday."

A mixture of fierce staring and calm expression was Roy's response.

The two walked their calm strut all the way to the locker room. The door closed behind them. Privacy was now theirs.

The rifles dropped to the floor, its owners ready to follow suit. Mustang leaned against the wall, his coat arm dropping. His cold expression cringed into agony. Hughes was on his knees, shaking from his injuries. "I think I'm gonna puke out my insides!" He barely regained his standing, leaning to his ailing friend. Together, the two limped further into the room and its baths.

With a slow precision that concerned a lot of pain, the friends peeled off their clothes upon the bench before the filling bathtubs. Roy looked at his naked torso. Black and blue formations bloomed on his shoulder, his chest, and abs. Maes looked equally 'blessed', as Roy saw him undress (until the exposure of his buttocks came). He thought of the fat blob that became this muscularly ripped man.

"Don't get any ideas, Roy." Hughes exposed his nakedness.

"Whatever," Roy turned away.

Hughes was the first to dive into the waters. He let out a beginning gasp as his sore skin made contact with the freezing water. Roy knelt before his tub, using his glove to ignite a small flame under it. Bubbles and steam soon erupted from the bath. His heated atmosphere became an obsessive prize for the freezing Hughes.

"So, Roy buddy," Hughes strained a grin. "Care to help out your best friend?"

Mustang submerged into the hot water. "Go freeze!"

Hughes sulked. "That Alchemy's not a toy you know!" His advice was hardly one of moral concern. At any rate, Mustang ignored the reply. "I can't hear you with all this steam!"

A few minutes of relaxation was attempted. Hughes' head lay on the rim, his glasses hanging from one hand. He began moaning. Mustang didn't share his friend's flair to complain so melodramatically. Still, he was sore as hell!

"I'm gonna be black and blue for weeks!" Hughes despaired. Putting his glasses on the floor, he reached out for the soap. "It's a good thing we got our pictures taken before this, Roy." Hughes trembled with the cleansing contact. "Our successors would be wondering how a couple of bruised freaks graduated here."

"They'll still have that view of you, bruises or not." Mustang calmly pressured himself for relaxation. He caught an eyesore. His left shoulder bore a green tattoo of the nation's symbol- the Amestris Dragon. Maes had one too. They knew the reason for getting it, not to mention regretting it. Two days ago, the two friends celebrated their future graduation at some taverns. After a few drinks, they spotted a tattoo shop. Getting them seemed like a good idea at the time, Maes said. Lacking an idea was a better excuse, thought Roy. He resented this mark to his smooth and hairless body, refusing to look at it as he brushed his shoulder. Hughes was more complacent with this blemish, just saying it felt sore.

Roy's gaze avoided his arm and fell to the empty uniform. Its sleeves and long skirt, its colors of navy blue with gray fringes. Seeing his father wear such clothes dazzled him as a kid. Now he wore the same thing. But the bedazzlement was gone. Growing up meant the loss of such sight. The same could not be said for his present achievement. Roy's father was a simple Captain. His son is now a State Alchemist. Who could believe it? Doing all that hard work, practicing with fire, conditioning his body and mind. It had all come to fruition in that test before the Fuhrer and Generals.

But as much as Roy refused to admit it, the ambition almost came to disaster. Standing there, before all his superiors was very overwhelming. Filled with nervous excitement and the fear of failure, he was about ready to make a fool of himself. But then he spotted Maes, making a discreet and unauthorized appearance to see him do his work. Roy felt the support. Failure meant Maes would never let him hear the end of it. The inner turmoil died away, presenting the confidence to do a successful job. He beat his fellow Alchemists and won his State medallion. And he had Maes to thank. Roy would never admit that, even under torture. This spotlight was on him alone. It was too bad his mentor died without his blessing on becoming a State Alchemist. On the other hand, Joshua Hughes, Maes' father, would have been proud. His own father even more so, had he lived…

"Um Roy, are you crying?"

Roy rubbed his cheeks defiantly. "Just the heat." He looked to the bright side. Now he could start his plans. He had such dreams to change this country for the better. His control of fire will light the way for enlightenment. It would help the neighboring backwards countries like Ishbal. His flame shall serve man.

A half-hour of relaxation later, Mustang pulled himself out of the bath waters. Bearing a towel around his waist, he picked up his garments. He adorned his boxers, than the pants.

Soon Maes joined him. "So where to, in your last celebration of youth?" The taller friend stripped himself of his towel once his own boxer shorts were safely on his hips.

Mustang put on his socks. "I've got several dinner invitations from Generals. General Grunman most likely."

Maes flamboyantly acted in his half-nakedness. "Me, I'll enjoy some wine, women, and song!"

Mustang smiled at the sarcasm. "Me thinks thou means wine, a woman, and song." For all his friend's claims to be a ladies man, Roy knew the shocking truth: Maes Hughes was still a virgin. He was too devoted to Gracia Stern for any one-night stands and shenanigans. And it didn't look like the girlfriend was going to deflower him anytime soon.

Maes' eyebrow arched, pulling on his shirt uneasily. "So much for the last celebration of youth." A moment's silence led to another question. "You still heading for Ishbal?"

"We're soldiers," Mustang pressed the obvious, bearing his shirt. "We have to fight. Besides, this is the best way for my ambitions. No one's going to respect me if I don't have experience in a war. " Roy realized he was talking to himself. Whenever battles were mentioned, Hughes would fail to make a smile.

"Feh," Mustang shrugged his friend's worry with a haughty rejection. "I'm an Alchemist. They're barbarians. No contest."

Maes still kept silence as he put on his pants. His face grew less easy.

"I'm not going to kill anybody," Roy spoke with cockiness. "Just one flick of my gloved hand, and the Ishbalans will run away scared. Victory. Peace."

Hughes rolled his eyes at his friend's naïve confidence. "I doubt it'll be as easy as that."

Roy's confidence was fleshly wounded. Maes' doubt linked into him, creating a dark thought. Soldiers die in war. That was fundamental knowledge, but being student protected him from realization. Now he was a man, and the thought bothered him. Yes, he could be killed. The army killed his father, though by accident. Roy suddenly hated such thinking. He banished it. He can do it. Besides, he could rely on Hughes for support. "It'll be okay, Maes. You'll see it."

Something dissolved from Maes' face. Not the cheer, just the conviction. "I don't know about that."

Real confusion hit Roy's impenetrable wall for the first time in this confident day.

Maes attempted a good face for the circumstances. "You see, Roy, there's a different path for me. Ishbal's not it."

The revelation touched Roy with such ideas. He thought of pigs taking flight or hell freezing over. Those were the right metaphors for Hughes' choice. The two of them were supposed to go to war together. Big emphasis on the 'together' part of that idea.

"I'm taking whatever desk job my diploma can get me."

Roy couldn't believe this. It was true that Maes excelled best in academics, but he was no slouch in physical combat. He had the sores to prove it. Nor was he squeamish under fire. In the drills and battle exercises, Hughes was able to keep his cool. Roy was the one who felt like freaking out (then again, he acted cool too, so maybe Hughes was freaking out inside too). Why didn't Maes tell him about this? Couldn't he mention it sometime earlier? It was such an incredible idea! Was there some outside influence? Gracia? Lalacon? Roy looked to blame for this horrible reality. The moron went to this school because of their friendship. And in these years Roy remembered, Maes barely gave him a moment's peace. Now he was leaving him, just like those times when the school breaks ended.

Roy put on his coat. He should have realized this. The importance of their friendship wasn't written on stone or anything. Friends do go their separate ways and choices. Sometimes they lose each other in the process. Well, he can do this alone. "Watch out, Maes. A job like that would make me go insane."

"I guess. Hopefully I'll make enough to support a family."

"Like I said," Roy's finger twirled around his temple. "Insane."

Hughes buttoned up his coat, a little sadder for it. "Well…it's time to go."

Again, a simple saying took on greater meaning. It was another attack that Roy sustained. His tomorrow departure for Ishbal became more bittersweet. He had to do something about it. "Maes, I'm skipping the dinner. I want to celebrate."

Hughes took that criticism. He tilted his head. "I'm sure Gracia will understand."

"I can always kiss ass with the top brass later," Roy smiled.

Agreement was made. As they moved out, strategy was now under decision.

"So, Roy, any idea on our last night of freedom?"

Roy had a certain one. "No more tattoos."

That time together at the Academy was like another lifetime. We were innocents, children pretending to be heroic soldiers, unready to face the responsibilities our professions demanded from us. None of my instructors, none of my mandatory literature, none of my educational experience told me the truth of war, or the blood.

A desk job now seems a better idea. But it didn't save you either, Maes. Were we destined to get scars?

SOME MONTHS BEFORE

Roy read on the old comfy chair. Sitting up was the best tactic to fight away sleep. He couldn't afford unconsciousness right now. So much words and ideas to absorb from this book! But he still had the whole night, and it wasn't even ten yet. Juggling Alchemic and Military studies, as well as a social life, was an impossible act, and he was doing exactly it. Truth be told, it wasn't easy.

A shivering chill suddenly cut into Roy like a knife. He covered his overcoat self with a blanket. The end of two years saw him reaching the status to leave the dorm and find private accommodations (and the word private had a series of possibilities!). With Maes, he rented a small apartment on a boarding house near the Academy. It was a two-room lodging, equipped with a stove, bathroom, and two beds. It looked great in fall, but the winter was another story. The place didn't quite protect them from the horrible weather outside. Stupid cold. Cheap apartment.

Roy was reminded of the problem with the sudden blast of cold wind. Surprisingly, the breeze came from the door. Unless accompanied, Hughes usually climbed through the window to enter the place. Tonight's entry was pretty unusual, even for him. His friend brushed the snow off from his coat. He began his words with a cough. "Y'know, it's actually colder here!"

Roy was nonchalant to his friend's mood. As ever, Maes Hughes was his usually good-humored self. Not even tragedy seemed to stop his cool. He responded to his friend's presence while keeping his eyes on the book. "Ready for the night shift?"

Hughes moaned. He arched to the stove, waving his hands to get warmth. "That drillmaster's got a heart of stone."

Roy agreed. The aforementioned drillmaster was Lieutenant General Erin Lalacon. A major official of the Court Martial Investigations Division, she looked like the kind of older woman who fulfilled her spinster destiny. But this lady was no pushover. A look from her could shrivel iron (and her strong hands could probably bend iron too). Roy also heard some rumors; seemed Lalacon had certain sapphic interests. No wonder, with that sour puss of hers! And yet, the woman had a special interest on Maes, like a cat is interested in a mouse. She was responsible for turning his fat friend into the slender muscleman he is today. That seemed like the dress rehearsal; Lalacon dumped so many orders and responsibilities on the guy, driving him to the point of suicide (in Roy's opinion).

But Roy knew tonight's work wasn't undeserved, though Maes spoke otherwise. "Well, if someone accidentally threw a knife at my head," Roy passively argued, "I'd make him wish he was never born too." Roy suddenly remembered his friend's last venture in weaponry. Despite competency with gun and rifle, Maes wanted to use firearms as rarely as possible. Guns cheated the fight, he claimed. So he decided on a different weapon. First was the sword. Hughes got pretty good with the sabre, until the day Fuhrer Bradley volunteered to test the new pretender. Maes received a blade through his wrist. Nothing vital was hit, but Hughes decided to try something else. The Fuhrer had such pride in his ability, Roy thought with a weather-immune chill, eager to isolate himself from any peer.

So Maes looked for other pursuits. He heard Lalacon was talented with push knives. This led to the beautiful association the two had for a year. His skill did improve, though not without setbacks. "With accuracy like that, no wonder you don't use a gun," Roy added to the insults.

"I don't need reason while…" Hughes replied in a sneeze, "W-while I'm complaining."

The irregularity of his friend's voice led to Roy taking a different study. He saw Hughes' face look very sweaty. A sliver of worry came to him, generating some calm sympathy. "Shouldn't you rest?"

"Not now," Hughes' voice dropped to a whisper. Garbed again for heavy weather, he was out the door.

"Hughes!" Roy cried out. His friend returned with attentive concern. "Close the door when you leave," Roy finished with a cool tone, going back to his studies. He heard the slam. Poor guy, he thought nonchalantly. Still, no way of joining him in this weather! Not even if the Fuhrer ordered it.

Maes seemed to be of different stock however. Right now, a lot of what Lalacon demanded from him wasn't entirely unwanted. Even if he hadn't taken an interest in push knives, the idiot would still put himself through the ringer. Hughes worked himself to the bone in muscle conditioning, acrobatics, studying every history, language, and law in and out of the country. And he seemed pretty enthusiastic about it. Back then it was based on a wish to be the best he was. Nowadays, Roy thought his friend's reasoning might have shifted somewhat. Distraction can fight a mourning heart.

Maes went overboard with his activities. Even with the studies and tasks, Roy's friend still found time to hang around people, helping underclassmen of different status. Some of them were kids Roy picked on to no end. It was so embarrassing to see Hughes comfort them. This was the army, not some nursery. Screw sensitivity! So what if seeing his victims' pain made him a little remorseful? So what if Hughes looked like the better man? So what? People looked up to him too. A born leader, they said. Maes wasn't that. For all the respect he commanded, Maes couldn't be the leader. He wasn't even an Alchemist! Roy had those abilities, for all his nasty jokes and behavior. He wasn't jealous of his friend. After all, Maes' father had just died. No envy in that.

Roy than realized he was thinking too much on a very stupid subject. Time to use the other stems of his brain! So the hours flew short according to the length of studying. But as Roy's mind covered these concepts, other ideas also developed. Maes' sweat, his coughing, this weather. They came together for a darker concept.

It could be nothing. Roy thought that conclusion repeatedly as he walked to the door. Opening it released a huge breeze of snow and air. The weather was indeed bad. He walked outside, his progress slowed by the growing snow. He kept tripping and falling, arising each time with a strengthening sense of resentment. Hughes had better not be at his post...

Roy Mustang wasn't disappointed. A new guard was stationed at the desired post.

"Where's Cadet Hughes?"

"At the hospital," the guard said somberly. "He collapsed."

The arrival at the hospital was like a blur for Roy. There were so many patients. None resembled his friend. Nothing wrong with that, he fought the pessimism. He went to the waiting room. Shortly after, a homely nurse met him. "Yes, sir?"

"Tell me, where is Cadet Hughes?" Roy's calm face reached its limits as his voice touched shouting range.

The nurse went to the desk and pulled out a list. She looked at it with a dispassionate face. "Yes, he just came in." She gave a cue for him to follow. Roy took it.

"Your friend is under a heavy fever, Mr..."

"Roy Mustang."

"Cadet Must-"

"Cadet Lieutenant." Roy corrected the nurse. Sounded more like interrupting, as the nurse went silent. Roy had no time to be apologetic. He followed the woman, angry about his real target. "That idiot... that moron." He didn't care if the nurse listened to his curses. Not her business!

Maes looked dead. He almost was. His sweaty face was pale like a skull, and just as motionless save for the slow breaths from the nose and mouth. That was the sign of life, so the moment those breaths ended filled Roy with dread. He watched this grim sight with the addition of a chair and blanket. He gained permission to stay here. Roy didn't care if it wasn't granted. No one could pull him from this spot.

As Roy looked on, the dire conditions of Hughes' face gave some dark effects. An alien thought materialized in his head. A father's greatest fear is outliving his child.

Not in Maes' case. He made it by a few weeks.

Instantly, Roy rubbed his face as if to better restore his thinking. He was taking this way too seriously! Maes will pull through and he'll rue these moments fearing for his best friend's life.

The window curtains were closed. Roy shut them with disdain. He hated the snow, its cold, unfeeling power. His Flame Alchemy will find a way to stop the snow. Alchemists were capable of doing everything now. Soon nature will be under their control, especially this stupid weather. The cold killed. Mom died when it snowed. He almost died in it too. Next was Maes…

Roy shook his head for another attempt to gain order. He hadn't slept for the rest of the night. The lack of sleep made him think horrible things about death. But why not? Look at his record: Mom, dad, Joshua Hughes. He had a nasty habit of losing people. And this dog would lay down his life for him. That was what Maes was called: 'Mustang's Dog.' He followed him wherever he went, barked for his master, defending him against anyone. Made the master look very pathetic.

And then the nurse said the fever broke. Roy missed his cue for celebration. Only when Hughes woke up could he believe it. What time is it? He hadn't bothered to check his watch or the clock on the wall. It was originally thought his neglect of time lasted only an hour. To his shock, it was about ten in the morning! Wasn't he supposed to take a class earlier today?

The door opened. Roy recognized the voice. It was the nurse who led him here. Now was not the time to flirt with any lady, especially this frump. His attention was on the patient.

Finally, his close watch gained fruit. Hughes' eyelids began to twitter. They opened.

In celebration of his friend's return to consciousness, Roy arose, losing the blanket and chair behind him. Every dark prediction of his friend's absence was shattered and quickly forgotten. Roy's emotions flared to an intense degree, ready to explode if unchecked. He took nonchalance in face. "Are you alright?"

"I feel awful," Hughes' voice was whispering. "Guess that means I'm alive."

Roy kept his calm demeanor. He pushed the smile he had into a frown. "Idiot. Why didn't you get off your watch by reporting this?"

"Nice of you to care," Hughes attempted to rise from his bed. He only succeeded in moving his head to a higher part of his pillow.

Roy suddenly recalled his earlier plans. "Don't kid yourself. I'm between classes. I'm only here to kill some time," he shrugged any outward sympathy. "Smart of you to get out with a fever."

"At least it gets me in bed now." Maes pulled a tired smile. A glow appeared on his face. The nurse had opened the curtains. The sun had returned. Its flood of overwhelming light engulfed Roy, forcing the necessity of face blocking. Roy soon lost the sensitivity, peering at his friend. Health had miraculously restored to him, as he quickly sat up. Maes was in a stare. A soulful kind of transfixed look enslaved his green eyes.

"Maes?" Roy shook his friend's shoulder. Maes' continued gazing. It was not at the sun. It was the nurse. He grabbed for his glasses, only to miss her as the door closed. Seeing this, Roy had no choice but to come to a conclusion. The source of his attraction was not one he liked. Her? He kept quiet; there was no proof he was heading to the right hypothesis.

Then again, why should he begrudge a little uplift for the moron? Not that Maes Hughes was some dark, bleak man. Nothing is ever completely negative was one of his sayings. But he must be searching for the upside recently. The last month was proof of that. Joshua Hughes had finally died of his weak heart. There was no bereaved reaction from the son, though. Roy never saw Maes in any grief. Still, Maes' old man was a good one. His complaints about his father's smothering influence and their quarrel about his joining the army did little to overcome Maes' deep affection for the man. And Mr. Hughes was kind to Roy as well; he remembered well the invitations to his home during the semester breaks (which was probably a relief to his Uncle Ray, who didn't really know what to do with the boy. Roy's uncle gave financial support quicker than any emotional backing). He mourned the old man himself.

Another nurse popped her head through the door. Roy was now the one transfixed by her beautiful face, a definite improvement over the last one. "All better?" the nurse smiled.

"I could be," Roy answered with slyness.

The nurse reciprocated his flattery with a smile. She put a tray of soup before the patient. "You have a kind friend here."

Hughes had calculating eyes. "What makes you say that, Nurse?" His suspicious glare was offset by coughs.

"Why, your friend has barely left this room." Roy cringed at this admission of too much knowledge. With Hughes, something was going to happen. As the nurse left, Hughes stared at his friend, his lips puckered. "So will papa Roy give little me a kiss?" He got a pillow instead. "Hey, I'm sick remember?"

"Like you care." Roy continued his tirade. "Can't you take a break?"

Maes looked down. "And drop out of the competition?" His weak voice attempted some mirth. "I have to be at my best when you're around."

Roy crossed his arms in vanity. "Better luck."

"Gotta pull my weight when we court the ladies."

"The fever's gotten to your brain," Mustang moaned in ignorance. "We have no time for ladies."

"So says the babe magnet," Hughes' answer sounded off, as if he really wasn't interested in insults today.

"Really?" said Roy with a straight face, hiding a grin of recognition. Hughes couldn't be as prideful in his luck. For all his boasts on sexual prowess, Maes Hughes was actually that most dreaded thing in this school: A virgin. He excused his…flowery possession as waiting for the right person. Call him weird, but he wanted to have sex with someone he loved. Roy understood. That is, the point about Maes being weird. "Of course, why don't you ask me for advice?"

Maes began to laugh. But this present chuckle lacked conviction. It soon trailed off. There was a silence, and then a different reply. "Looks like…I have nothing to do right now."

Roy's eyes froze in growing shock. The great happy face was coming apart at the seams! Maes' cheeks squeezed with his eyes squinting. He removed his glasses, massaging his eyes. Roy saw the streak of a tear.

"Hughes," he groaned. "Don't."

Hughes turned his face away. "Sorry…"

Roy uttered a resolved sigh. "Not without this." He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. "Here." It dropped into his friend's hand. Roy shrugged away from this weepy affair. He only heard his friend sob, miserably and uncontrollably. What a wimp!

And he'd give a bloody nose to any classman who laughed at the wimp.

That was the only time I ever really saw you cry, Maes. Back then I thought it wimpy. But I see now gentleness has its perks. What was really inside that happy-go-lucky mask? How much pain did you hide? How many times were you genuinely happy?

Mustang's Dog, I was a poor master to you. I rarely looked after you. Not on that night, or your last one…

THREE YEARS AGO

The mess hall certainly earned its name.

Sadly for Roy Mustang, such accuracy hindered all hope for an easy punishment. A certain transgression by the promising cadet and his friend Maes Hughes led to demerits. The work required was cleaning the entire room. That Roy obeyed is true, and that he was in the room is also true. However...

"Roy," Hughes asked, "is there any chance you're gonna pick up a cleaning tool anytime soon?" His chagrined words didn't match the cheerful tone that sounded them. He either stood or knelt, scrubbing and mopping the floor. Roy spent the hours standing, sitting, and speaking about the injustice of this task. The slacker sneered at his friend's words. Oh what an accusation! And from his best friend too! Maes didn't understand. It's because of the workload in this hell called military school that he needed some free time. Fortunately, this task, for all its unfair disadvantages, allowed him that. "This is more your problem. You should have left things alone."

Hughes bore no guilt in his action. "So excuse me if I wanted to help somebody."

"And excuse me if one of his bullies was an upper classman with enough influence to get us in trouble," Roy groaned. It was normal for big people to pick on the smaller ones. After all, he was a bully himself. But Hughes, ever the gentler soul, or more accurately, a former bully victim, intervened on such problems whenever possible. Idiot. This was the military, not charm school! "Your way of thinking will get you in real trouble someday," Roy boorishly complained. "In fact, just like now." For all his fire however, Roy found these words coming only from his mouth.

Footsteps thundered from the background. "What now!" Roy grumbled.

Enter Ezra Zaple, a female classman. And a very beautiful one. "What now!" Roy repeated his words in an interested tone. He saw the girl glide into the room, making no more protest as she came closer.

Maes was less hospitable. "Watch the floor!"

"Sorry," Ezra sweetly apologized.

"It's okay. It's nothing." Roy softly spoke with charm. Right now, the task lost all its dominating influence. Seeing Ezra twirl her raven hair a lot helped in that. Her full-bodied uniform did little to disappoint his lustful eyes. Still, one of these days, this army will be rid of such restrictive, gender-ignorant uniforms.

"Very busy?" Ezra asked, seeing the surroundings.

"You don't know the half of it!" Roy overrated his efforts.

"Too bad. Tonight, I'm going to see a revue at Johann's."

"Really?" Roy gestured and talked so smoothly that glue could slip off him. "I think I can get this work done soon."

Ezra warmed with a smile.

"And then there's the Alchemy studies," Maes interrupted, "the tons of study, the drills, the thousands of hours of study for the exams, the days of physical conditioning..."

Roy put his hands upon Maes' shoulders. "Oh, please ignore my friend." He grinned. "I just found out that he possesses unrequited feelings for me and has seen to it to sabotage all my endeavors to prove my true and irreversible heterosexuality."

"What?" Maes' response was quick and loud.

The girl's face shaded with disappointment. "Too bad." Roy kept smiling at that not very personal remark. His hands grew closer to his 'friend's' neck. With Ezra's departure, he stopped. Smiling, that is. "What the hell was that all about!" He hollered in his throttle upon Hughes. "What possessed you?"

The victim kept his bearings despite the throttle. "What, did you have nothing else to do right now?"

Roy released his hands, grappling his short hair. "Great! Dateless and working here this weekend!" He walked around the floor in continued throes of despair. "I'll never get this done! I'll never be..."

"A State Alchemist," Maes interrupted in bored willingness. "As you keep telling me." With a calmer tone, he complained. "You always want things now. Becoming an Alchemist, getting acclaim and fame, etcetera, etcetera. The best way to get it is…it's like cleaning this mess. It takes one part at a time. Never mind that asking you to clean is asking the impossible."

Roy met his friend's smirk with a frown. Such wisdom failed to move in his head. So what if he did expect things spontaneously! There is no problem thinking of the future. Living now might be fine, until something unknown hits you in the head.

The sun's setting coincided with the completion of the mess hall cleaning. The two workers left the place of their finished job. Roy felt tired, though it was truthful Maes got the brunt of the labor. For one moment, Roy considered it a good thing Hughes was built for such work. Otherwise, he missed the roly-poly version of his friend. After all, with a fat lackey around, he can better compliment his own dreamy looks and physique, allowing him to shine it to every female in and outside of the school. But no! Maes had to put chubby behind him, getting carved features and muscles. Roy now had to blend in with the crowd, instead of sticking out.

Such sulks about his friend, however, proved really superficial to Roy. He was glad to have Hughes around. He made this life slightly less miserable. The memories of their early adventures still resonated in his maturing thoughts. Such a difference in times! The only thing constant in his life was his friendship. And even that had undergone some shifts. Roy saw a weird comparison of himself with his child self of the past. Back then he was so serious, with Maes being the happy-go-lucky playmate. Little Roy, readying himself for adulthood, constantly annoyed by Hughes the idiot, the slacker.

Sure enough, with reluctance, Roy surrendered to the fun of his remaining childhood. Guess that fun had to be infectious, like drinking and women. And like those vices, there had to be ramifications. Now almost an adult, Roy still worked (and worked), but the closed mind, the tireless devotion, it had ebbed. He wanted fun now, more than he did at twelve years old. Maes, meanwhile, had his changes (and not just in the buff and handsome department). While still the chipper optimist, he gained a sense of responsibility. He became the hard worker, the caretaker for the bullied. Both of them had become the other person, as if to strike a balance. Clearly the Law of Equivalency was at work here, Roy thought. Nothing can be gained without losing something.

Climbing the stairs to the dorm, Roy's eyes fell to the top. A young cadet scrubbing the steps. The parallel to his own work felt like a dagger to his heart. It was time, he felt, for some fun. He walked outside. He spotted some mud.

"Roy, what are you doing?"

Roy ignored Hughes' concern as he grabbed some dirt. Then he returned to the steps without stopping. As his hand released the dirt, Roy did not break his stride, not even to see the cadet's face. Sinister joy flashed inside him. But he saw repercussions on his friend's face. "Shame on you."

"Oh, c'mon Maes," Roy fought off any consequence.

But Hughes made a disappointed sigh. Then he turned downstairs.

"Hughes," Roy protested. "Don't do it. Remember the last time?" But Hughes came to the cadet's aid. This deflated Roy's fun. His friend's concerned face stuck in his mind's vision, like a record stuck at one rhythm. It brought a new perspective to his actions, taking on a persecuting edge. Guilt resulted.

As if he needed more pressure. Roy hid well the fact that he was a man at the edge of breaking. Hughes was pretty insightful in that brush-off to Ezra. The workload his friend described wasn't complete either. Add to that the muddy obstacle courses, failed attempts on Flame Alchemy, gun practice, cutting up food for the mess hall, etc. All very overwhelming, his thoughts wavered in perseverance. If the Roy of fifteen had an idea of this life, he sure wouldn't become the man he is now. Interestingly, could that mean some greater labor was in store for him in the future? In that case, he should take Hughes' advice and not think about it.

So Roy instead thought about his latest crime. It persevered as he showered, dressed, and went to the dorm room he shared with Hughes. He fell to the bunk bed, lying on the bottom part. Let guilt and studies wait for tomorrow morning! Learning and redemption needed rest.

Roy began to settle as Maes entered. His friend looked more tired than before. He climbed upon the top bunk. Such movements brought a curious power onto Roy, fighting against his fatigue. He had to say something. "Maes?"

"Yep?"

"Do you like it here?"

Maes sat at the edge of the bunk, his hanging legs the only thing Roy could see. "Let me see. Leaving an easy life for this oppressive regime? Dealing with the constant drills, the hassling of our superior slavemasters, the training that could make weaker men blanch and die, the never ending punishments and work, the lack of free time? Yep. Never a dull moment."

Roy shirked from the smart aleck remark. "Last time I'll ask you anything." So he let himself partake of the cold sheets. The calm air, the silence, the darkness, all proved intoxicating for his consciousness. Time to sleep.

Sleep became short. Sounds from the hall made sure of that. Then came a ramming of the door. For the hearers, mind and action reacted slowly in the sleep-hewn state. Roy dazedly saw Maes land to the floor first.

The door opened. "Get out!" cried someone.

Roy came to the realization. "Not again!"

In only their shirts and pants, the male cadets gathered in the hall. By experience, they split into two groups, standing on sides of the opposing walls. It didn't amuse Sergeant Friech much. The shorter but no less formidable officer barked his orders like a vicious dog (and he had the face of one too). He ordered the cadets to raise their arms. On their left palm exposed upward, an upperclassman planted a cup. He subsequently filled the cups to the brim with water. This was a test, said the Sergeant, to show one's ability to show nerve in dangerous environment. Spill the cup and its fail, with harsh consequences.

Roy's inner self felt like sandpaper rubbed upon him. This was the third night drill this week! This test's authenticity came into question. Maybe the sergeant was making things up as he went along? All for the purpose of spiting the cadets! But Roy remained still. His ears hurt to the loud and vicious words of the sergeant. He heard a voice loud enough to shatter glass, words cruel enough to corrode iron. Pity the poor man who got his attention!

"Cadet Mustang!"

"Yes sir!" Roy kept his posture as the chosen poor man.

"You're a pretty man! Right?"

"Yes sir!" Roy responded in short talk.

"Are you queer!"

"No sir!"

"You don't want to fuck these fellow men?"

"No sir!"

Friech raised his voice. "Are you sure?"

"No sir!"

Friech went into a discussion of heterosexual sex in its most degraded form. Roy endured the loud abuse, even the sergeant's ugly face shouting in close proximity. But such stamina could lessen.

Then his tormentor found another subject. "Mustang, you wanna be an Alchemist?"

"Yes sir!"

"Are you going to turn lead into gold?"

"No sir!"

"Are you going to raise the dead?"

"No sir!"

"You want to hurt me?"

Yes sir. "No sir!"

"You don't want to see me in flames?"

Yes sir! "No sir!" Roy felt the point to lose it. That this surrender meant striking the sergeant or cringing, he didn't know. The sergeant clamped his mouth in an ugly frown. He turned away. Relief played an impotent effect here. Roy prayed nothing else hit him as hard so soon.

Friech turned to another plebe. Roy's eyes spotted Maes winking at him. So far, so good.

But the next poor man proved terribly short-termed. "Hughes!" Friech quickly flashed his persona upon Maes. The surprise could only cause an inevitable mistake. The cup in his hand had no choice but to be upset. It spilled on the floor. The blow Roy dreaded had come. He stood on reserve power now. Fortunately, Friech fell his full attention on Maes Hughes, as well as the full power of his ugly vocabulary. His last words were toned civil, but still cruel. "Cadet Hughes, you will stay here. Everyone else dismissed."

And Roy crumbled, using the remaining reserve to head back to the dorm room. Once there, he fell on the bed, nervous and shattered. Sleep was gone from him thanks to this wracking night. He could only think Hughes' pain right now. Or was it his own pain he was denying? Such soliloquy lasted through the next few hours. Then Roy heard the door open. A figure walked in the shadows. No words escaped from him, save for a long sigh. Hughes stood there for a minute as if in thought. Then he got up to the bunk to sleep. A sleep that will last for hardly an hour before morning drills.

Roy's thoughts sank in depth. Why was Hughes here? That wandered to his own points of idea. What was he doing here? The answers were not entirely satisfactory. He remembered his father's love for this country and its army. It was not enough an explanation. Staying here was not based on family honor. Roy was a stubborn man, and if his views clashed with others, he would not subvert them. But he never quarreled with his father. He wished he did. He heard of such fights, like Maes' arguments with his own father. Roy never will have such fights.

Anyway, it was not with any disappointment from his family that Roy now considered the unthinkable.

That afternoon, a free Roy walked by himself. No action but his thoughts mattered. Nor did any thought beside the present one. As much as Hughes received that blow, Roy felt it as his own. There can be only one conclusion: Hughes will quit.

Like a rock on an eroding cliff, Roy saturated himself with the temptation as well. He couldn't go through this alone! His ambition wasn't worth this hardship. He can still become an Alchemist. They weren't exclusively soldiers. Hohenheim Elric and Dante of the Forest handled it well. Sure, he won't quite be as well-funded as a State Alchemist. But he can handle anything…except staying in this army…without Hughes. However, to show he wasn't some copycat, he'll make the first word.

Roy returned to the dorm room. Maes sat at a chair, gazing at the window. No luggage filled the area. It soon will be though.

Roy's mouth waited to move and sound. He had to say something. He walked around the bunk. Hughes, I've decided to quit. The thought was easy. Time to speak it. "Hughes…"

"Roy," Hughes turned to him with an equally decisive face that also desired to talk.

"Me first." Roy demanded.

"Can't I have the first word?" Hughes raised his voice.

With sympathy, Roy begrudgingly allowed it. He sat on the lower bunk in silence.

"A lot of stuff has happened here," Hughes kept a smile, cleaning his glasses. "A lot of rough stuff."

Roy nodded, showing understanding and expectation.

Hughes put his glasses on. "I'm staying."

The shock kept Roy silent.

"I know, you' be happy to see me outta here," Hughes flamboyantly protested, "but sorry to disappoint you. A little hard work never harmed anybody. Okay, a whole lotta little hard work never harmed anybody."

Confusion reigned in Roy. He walked to the window. How could he be so wrong? If he thought Hughes would quit, his prediction should be 100 true. Why did he want to stay? Questioning dissolved into understanding and respect. The guy sure had balls!

And Roy came to a shattering idea of himself. What were his own balls made of?

"Were you about to say something, Roy?"

"Famous last words," Roy salvaged his announcement. If Hughes was staying, no way he'll be the weaker man! Let the hell continue!

Later on, when I adapted more to this rigorous life, you told me something, Maes. "'I'm here for you, Roy. If you don't quit, I sure won't." Famous Last Words.

Why, Hughes? The question travels inside my head like a scratchy record. The more I reach the answer, the harder I understand it. Maybe I don't want to.

ONE YEAR AGO

"Sir, I'm looking for a Maes Hughes."

"He is not in this barracks, thing."

Roy Mustang left this Cadet with a hidden fury. That was the second dorm he searched, and the fifth time he got insulted with that label. Today, East Military Academy greeted its new recruits like himself. Thus, the place was full of gatherings by young 'things' bearing their suitcases. An early arrival, Roy disliked being known as a 'thing.' That was the label for the recruits, the lowest of the low, until the entrance examinations raised you to 'Plebe.' Well, Roy, he told himself, you made it this far. Just a few days and it'll be a Cadet next.

Roy spent the limited free time he had looking for a fat young man of sixteen. This weighty fact made the search less than a needle in a haystack. In the case of Hughes, it would be more like a large metal pike. Humor aside, Roy looked forward to the reunion. About a year and a half had passed without a sight of his friend. Not that there was any lack of a word. Maes wrote him a letter every week, and he replied in a lesser but steady rate. Roy found this correspondence reliable and comforting.

Then the last letter said that Maes Hughes would be enrolling in the same Academy as himself! To call that a coincidence was stretching things: Roy had written his intention months ago. His persistent friend was like a dog following the master. On the whole, the news was unexpected, and piteous. Poor Maes! It would be a miracle for him to even pass the entrance exams! But Roy looked to the bright side of having his chubby friend around. He personally will help his friend in exercises, protecting him from taunts and pranks. Getting chicks was also an asset. Roy took out a small mirror and looked at himself. The pretty child had become a darkly attractive boy of sixteen. No more the anti-social type, Roy was more forward to people, especially the opposite sex. He brought vulnerability to any girl who crossed his path, or so he believed. Such vanity made his expectations a little self-serving. Oh well, he is Roy Mustang. That gave him some clout to behave this way.

At present the search went nowhere. So Roy returned to his quarters. The room that he shared with six others was pretty empty, except for one other. He too wore the blue jacket and pants inherited from the previous class. Roy remembered his presence on the arrival and introductory drill. The person acted very quiet, sort of a snob. Roy likewise gave no interest on the new roommate. He might as well ready himself for the exams. Never mind finding Hughes; Hughes will find him!

"Looking for somebody?" said this new resident. Roy gave back a glance. This person rested on the bed, his face covered by a book.

"Yes, I am…" Mustang wished to continue the sentence with the man's name. He looked at the luggage beside the bed. His eyes caught the label. He couldn't speak the words instantly. The distance of relation to this man suddenly shrank. And then he found the fortitude to express his reaction. "Maes?"

Roy saw the book rise. The young man's lime green eyes threw all focus to him. He shut the book, revealing a smug grin. "Still the same, cool person as ever."

Indeed, Mustang's facial expressions bore no happiness in its reaction, quite different from the inside. "You've changed." The words were an understatement. Little similarity existed between the friend here and the one years ago! All fat weight was lacking from Hughes' form. What was left revealed a very slender young man. The chubby roundness of the head was gone, accentuating a long face, a large nose and jaw. He was also very handsome, a comment Roy found reluctant to admit.

Hughes touched his glasses with his index finger (no longer the horn-rims of childhood, he now bore rectangular-shaped spectacles). He leaped from the bed in a quick turn impossible for his earlier weight. "The military has no room for fatso, so I took the last year to get me to fit."

"Okay," was Roy's skeptical reply. It was the best he could do in this chaos of emotions. It would be a miracle for him to even pass the entrance exams! That statement repeated itself in Roy's mind, its potency long vanished. The spark of happy reunion had gone.

The mess hall became the setting for their major conversation. Somewhere in his mind, Roy thought his fat friend could eat the whole room. Only the setting had survived that idea unscathed. Maes didn't eat that much.

Roy set up a smile. It might as well be a frown. All his plans went up in smoke! It was supposed to be the Adonis and the blob (with no question on who was who!). Then the girls will say, 'Oh that guy's fat, but look at the man beside him! He's so dreamy and hot!"' It was not, not supposed to be 'Oh, look at those two hot, dreamy men. Especially…especially the one with the glasses!' Roy burned over such a horrible thought. He looked for advantages. Sure, Hughes was okay-looking, but he might actually be skin and bones underneath those clothes. That might be true. And an Ishbalan could be an Armestian General. Desperately, Roy threw himself to the fact of his best friend's presence. He is back! That sentiment shoved back the petty resentment. Almost.

"If those jerks could see you now!" Roy acted casual, bringing up a past event when the two of them confronted bullies.

"Hey, I could take them all on in my old weight!" Hughes spoke with his usual confident air. Some things don't change.

"All you did was fall on them." Roy underrated the truth about his friend's contribution.

"And you just stood there while I came to your rescue," Maes edited Roy's side of the story.

The talk lasted for hours. Any fear that the two had outgrown their relationship due to the change in time hardly surfaced. They still had a lot in common to talk about, enough to subside Roy's earlier resentment over the new Hughes.

"Freedom!" Maes arose, nearly at shouting tone. "Free to do whatever I want here! Get drunk, get laid by trashy women, kicking ass and getting my ass kicked!" He acted his celebration in a small dance.

Roy contrasted this flamboyance with his calm demeanor. "You seem rather excited."

"Home was getting boring," said Maes. "About time the little bird flew away, if you ask me. No offense against dad, but being the good, well-behaved guy to keep his heart on a steady beat was getting really dull."

And the fact that his only friend was here had no influence at all? Roy thought. "How's your father?"

Hughes sat back down, doing some nonchalance. "Getting older, what else? Wrote another book."

"How'd you get his approval to join the army?"

Hughes sighed at that apparent hardship. "Wasn't easy. Mom may have been a Major, but Dad had other ideas for my future. His bad heart gave him unfair advantage in the argument. But he gave me his OK. I got help from a friend of Mom's. Erin Lalacon. She was the one who took charge in making me the stud you see now."

Roy made a sigh for many reasons. He knew Hughes' mother had the military past. Still, family discussions should be kept to a minimum. Digging up memories meant touching the bad ones.

Hughes got into the spirit of his new situation. "I want to be the best there is, in… something." For all his positive bravado, the big speech needed some work. "No more chubby! I've gone through a lot of pain to get this," He unrolled his sleeve, bearing a strong bicep. "I can take whatever else! Let me at the entrance exam!"

Roy glared at this prowess. So he had a bicep? Big deal.

"Now enough about me," Hughes smiled with expectation. "Still touching up on that black magic?"

"Alchemy!" Roy demanded a correct translation. "They call it Alchemy. Yes, I've been learning it. I already got a teacher. He's related to General Grumman."

And so Roy explained to Maes the use of Alchemy and its importance in life. Maes made several comments about the thickness of his explanation. Still, under those jokes Roy saw a keen eye in understanding.

"So you're telling me that Equivalent Exchange is the real law of the world?" Maes hung his head on a fist, repeating Roy's description. "Something is given up in order to get something of equal importance?"

"It's nothing to take lightly," Roy was serious. "It's like…"

"A baby being born at the cost of his mother's life?" Maes interrupted with an example, his eyes showing unusual depth.

Roy's response was hesitant, sensitive. "Yes…just like that."

His friend sat up with a solemn resolve. "Roy..." his deep stare continued, added with a sigh. "You're a weirdo." With a wink, he deflated the serious subject. "Sounds like you've got something there, and I'll wait for you to clean it off. Me, I'm better off handling normal stuff."

Roy sighed as well, but he was undaunted. "Believe me! Alchemy is such a powerful thing to have. Just think of what good it can do? I've had a rough life. Unfortunately this world has a lot of people going through the same thing. Alchemy can help them. It can help this country. Amestris has been such a military nation for so long. It should be known for other things besides warfare and conquest."

"Like the nation that brought Roy Mustang?" Maes shot down the inspirational poetry with this vain accusation.

"Yes," Roy wasn't denying anything. "There's that."

Maes suddenly dropped the mirth. "But doesn't being an Alchemist and a soldier mean using Alchemy in war?"

Roy came coldly silent at that complex question. Maes suddenly changed the point. "So, making lead into gold?"

Roy groaned, slamming his hand. "I won't use it on something trivial like that. Besides, They'd shoot me if I did. It's against the rules, along with resurrecting the dead. The element I'm using is fire."

"That doesn't sound very peaceful."

"Yes, fire can destroy, but if controlled, it can be wielded for warmth, for power, for light. It has many uses for good."

Hughes didn't appear so sure. "I don't know if you can fix everything with Alchemy, Roy. Not that I don't agree with you in everything else."

"So you're with me?"

"Sure! Why not? I've handled being around you when all your other plans crashed and burned. One more won't hurt."

Roy rolled his eyes, trying not to hear his friend bring up examples.

"Who knows?" Maes cast his supportive grin. "Maybe you'll succeed this time."

Another thing that did not change: Hughes was as supportive as ever. Roy lifted his lips.

"I'm going to graduate and become somebody, Hughes."

Again there came doubt from Hughes' half-wit: "Why do I get the feeling of danger ahead?"

Roy looked beyond the humor in Hughes' deep eyes. They showed belief in his ambition. He was glad for that. He lifted up his glass. "This world hasn't met Roy Mustang yet."

"Or Maes Hughes," added his friend.

Such dreams. I was a child, believing I could change the world. You believed in me, and it…

No more.

No more! Stop haunting me, Maes Hughes! I've got to get on with my life. I'm tired of your death. I sound selfish. I sound cruel. But it hurts just thinking about you. I can't think of anything good about you without pain! Nothing worth bearing these scars! I don't want this anymore! I wish I never met you, Maes! I wish I never met you. Leave me alone…

Alone. That was what the ten-year-old boy wanted. He searched for solitude upon this snowy wood. Before him was a small bridge over the narrow part of a deep creek. Reaching it, the boy stopped to gaze about. The silent area, covered by winter's cold power, appeared right for him: Empty of everyone but himself...

"Roy!"

Unfortunately, the nearby cry of his name wrecked that wish.

"Hey, Roy, wait for me!" cried a newcomer. This new kid gasped heavily in his effort to keep up. He was months older than Roy, and maybe a few hundred pounds heavier (at least in Roy's eyes). His large round glasses kept fogging up over his hot breath.

Roy gave the fat pest his strongest glare. Since yesterday, the obese kid named Maes Hughes followed him wherever he went. Never once did he give Roy a moment's peace. It was this way since they first met. And what a cringing memory that day was! It was after...dad died. His Uncle Ray was too busy to take him in. So Joshua Hughes, a teacher who once taught his dad, invited Roy to his house to stay for a while. They went to this house in the country. Seemed Mr. Hughes' family didn't travel much like his own family. As they came to the door, Roy spotted this fat, stupid-looking kid with huge glasses.

"Roy, this is my son," Mr. Hughes presented his child with a pride only a father could feel. That is, his son was a child only a father could love. That was Roy's thought. This was the kid he will be spending his time with? Losing both parents was bad enough!

"Hiya, my name's Maes!" the child introduced himself energetically. "Wanna be friends?"

Roy saw doom. The blob came closer. Roy backed away, threatening violence if contact was made. That was just one more bad memory in a time for bad memories. As ever, Roy rued things ever since they went bad. Father, why'd you have to leave me like this? Why did you have to die too?

Roy did his best in the defensive. Unfortunately, Fatso was like some boomerang that just kept coming back. Mr. Hughes never forced him to pay attention to his boy, but he praised his son as a sweet boy. That made one of them, Roy thought (Was Mr. Hughes encouraging his son to bother him?). When will Uncle Ray come to his rescue? To be sure, Roy wasn't fond of his remaining relative. But that man can grant him the one wish he wanted since all this bad time started. He wanted to be by himself! To be free of other people bothering him, people being with him...

"Leave me alone!" Roy cried his wish for the umpteenth time at present. The blob tilted his head. Even though his glasses covered his eyes, he looked confused. It appeared the idiot didn't understand Armestrian. "Why?" the blob answered.

Roy frowned. Can't the blob think of anything less stupid? "Because I…" He found no other words to continue.

Fatty finished his interrupted sentence for him. "Why?"

Roy didn't want to exclaim a reason that even now hurt him. He looked to excuses. For one, being alone was better than being in this kid's company!

"It sucks to be alone," Fatso's chubby mouth spoke. "I don't have any friends."

"No wonder," Roy slurred a reply.

"It's better to have someone."

"No, it doesn't," Roy disagreed. "It's awful."

"Why?" Chubby said the usual reply. "Were your parents that bad?"

Sparks flew in Roy's emotions. He furiously grabbed the blob's coat. "You shut up about my parents! My dad was a great soldier! My mom was descended from Xing nobility!" The anger was momentary. Roy remembered the blob asking him about what having a mother was like. Seemed Fatty's own mother died giving birth to him. That was a cruel thing, Roy thought. At least he could give the blob credit for that sympathy!

"So you liked being with them?" Chubby treated this hostility with a smile.

Roy paused. He had to respond. "Yes I did!" He impatiently answered.

"So why do you want to be alone?"

A small struggle came into Roy. Hate to say it, the blob was right. But he didn't want it to be right. How can he find something good in something bad? Again Roy began a sentence he didn't know how to finish. "Because I…I…"

A small wetness fell on his cheek. More of it came. Roy saw the cause in the sky. Snow. It sent Roy into a pause. He spotted his tormentor looking up, grinning happily.

Happy? Roy was the opposite of this other's expression. The answer led to a memory a year ago. He awoke to see white flowing through the sky. He ran to his parent's bedroom. Mom was asleep. Dad was very sad. "Roy, my son," he said. "Your mother is dead."

Roy remembered that event like some horrible sickness. Being dead means you can never come back. But Mom was only sick. She said that she will get better. She promised. She lied. Dad promised to always be with him. He lied too. Together, their lies hurt him! Better he never had parents in the first place!

How dare the stupid blob be happy!

"I hate you!" Roy screamed, stomping upon the bridge. Some timbers shook. The blob quieted in expression.

Roy wasn't. "You wonder why you're alone? Because nobody likes you! Who would like a fat idiot like you?" Rage enabled creativity in the boy. "I bet when your mother first saw you, she died in shock!" A cold silence proved the epilogue to this tirade. Roy sighed in relief. The blob didn't smile anymore. Roy looked to this victory with hope; now he would be alone. But all he saw was the kid nodding his head, looking ready to cry. Roy felt disappointed. He was awful.

Forget it, Roy ignored the growing remorse of this setback. He had no time for this. "Out of my way!" He shoved against the kid. The attempt felt like pushing an anchor. Roy accidentally fell to the edge of the bridge. The plank below him snapped, sliding him off. His impact shattered the creek's ice sheet.

The boy submerged in the water. Its freezing cold hit his instincts. Roy bobbed his head through to the air. He was not crying, he was not screaming. Disorder came from his constant fight against the cold water. He didn't know how to swim. Fear and exhaustion teamed up within the boy's chaotic mind. It was so cold! He was getting tired. He didn't want to die. He cried out, but he saw no one. He was going to die! "Help! Help!"

His eyes looked everywhere. There had to be someone! He caught the blob lying on the ice sheet. He threw him some of his scarf. "Catch this!"

The tip of the scarf fell into the hole. Roy grabbed it with both hands. He felt it being pulled. Fatty moved backwards. The tug grew stronger.

It was then that all restraint shattered off Roy's face. Pure terror lined every part of his expressions. "Don't let go!" Mind and voice frantically screamed. Please don't let go!

His fingers felt the edge. Then his arms felt it. Then his stomach. By the time his legs touched the edge, Roy finally got hope. Soon he lied on the ice surface, wet, freezing, but safe. His numb back felt a soft patting. "Roy! Roy?"

Roy tried to look up at his rescuer. But he began to fall asleep.

He was naked under a blanket. His feet were in a bucket of hot water. Before him was a fireplace. Roy awoke to this condition. Soon he heard someone next to him. "It was a good thing Miss Renald was looking for us."

Renald, the housekeeper, said the quick return to the house saved Roy from frostbite. Nevertheless, the rescued felt becoming warm will be very slow. Roy withdrew to himself for the effect. He needed the fire right now. His desperate mind called for its use. His body warmed to its power. Fire was good.

Several times he looked at his rescuer. The blob sat beside him, looking relieved. Roy gave no kind face in return. Instead he felt humiliated. He was so sorry. His thoughts carried such blunt descriptions, pressured by those insults. And in return Fatso saved him?

"I'm sorry."

'That's okay. You're okay. Dad won't find out."

Roy obeyed. The blob...Maes was worried about his father's health. And his own too. This kid was really something else. But the respect made Roy feel worse. After what he said, Maes shouldn't be anywhere around him. "You still like me?"

Maes nodded.

Roy's knowledge didn't spare him from surprise. "Why?"

Maes thought about it. "I dunno. You're just big, I think."

"Big?" Roy blinked his confused eyes.

"Well, I don't mean big as like you're tall." Maes labored for an explanation. "It's just that, when I look at you. I dunno…I see someone…big. Like you're some squire or prince. You're a future knight or king. You can become someone."

Roy didn't shirk from the puzzlement. What Maes said was weird. But it was also a kind respect. He didn't know if this respect was really a true description. But he could at least act like a great person to him. Be the friend he wanted.

However, Roy didn't say anything about that. Old memories came to his mind. He remembered being kind to people, and they left him in return. Being with people hurt. It was better to be alone. Right?

Roy bowed his head in shame. "Y'know…" his words felt glued to his tongue. "My mom was always worrying about me…I got mad about it a lot…wanted to be left alone…but it really wasn't bad."

"Must've been…great to have a mom." Maes slowly responded.

Roy's eyes became wet. The fire made his eyes water. He'll say that if anyone sees it.

Miss Renald entered with a tray. It held two cups of hot cocoa. "Here's something to help warm you over." She gladly gave each boy a cup.

"Cheers!" Maes displayed his cup toward Roy in invitation. Roy knew he was supposed to clash it with his own. Just as friends would. But Roy hesitated. This gesture scared him. Did he want to do this?

The boy raised his eyes to Maes and his smile. The kid who saved his life. His friend. Roy gave up. The two cups met with a cling.

TWENTY YEARS LATER

Roy Mustang limped through the marketplace. Riza Hawkeye followed beside him, her arm around his own, sustaining his leverage to avoid a collapse. But Roy was sure of his own abilities, capably supporting himself with a cane. She heard somber words from Roy. "I've been thinking a lot about my friendship with Hughes."

Riza said nothing; only her eyes showed the sympathy she had for his plight.

"As I remembered our times together, I kept regretting being friends with him. That we'd be better off never knowing each other. But when I remember those first days, I can't wish that anymore." Roy came to an understanding. "After my parents died, I was so hurt. I never wanted to be close to anyone ever again. But Hughes…Maes annoyed me so much, he got me caring about him."

Roy paused for a second, crossing more memories painful enough to keep silent. "For a time, after bringing so much death, I wished I stopped caring. The better to withstand the sorrow and guilt I felt. But now I know I needed to be vulnerable. I had to possess compassion for what I did. Without it, I would have become another Bradley."

His voice trembled with sadness and gratitude. "Hughes...he saved my soul."

Riza said nothing in a warm nod. She separated from her patient, walking over to the vendor. She cast a look back at Roy. With his one eye, the Flame Alchemist beheld many things: Riza's kind eyes, that long golden hair, that great smile that shined the best of her. Roy Mustang's heart had no defense against this beautiful sight. He felt good.

Thanks, Maes.