Comatose

"Riza…"

Roy was muttering in his sleep again, Havoc noted. Up in the middle of the night for no reason whatsoever other than that it was so damnably cold, He was the only one to hear the name slip unconsciously (Subconsciously was more like it, Havoc thought.) past the lips of the man who claimed to no longer be his superior.

How blasted hard was it to see? Roy would never have mentioned her given name in their presence— he could not afford to. Anyone would have misconstrued it as more than just familiarity, twisting it into something far more than what it was, making it sound like it was what it should be, but again, that was just the opinion of the lowly Jean Havoc…

…And anyone else who knew the pair.

Havoc wondered what Roy was dreaming about. The name—her name—sounded like a plea more than anything. The dream was not pleasant.

On second thought, maybe Havoc was better off in his own dreams.

And so Havoc was.

Roy was reliving his past in all-too-vivid detail. His past with Riza Hawkeye, in particular. He thought that when he had left Central, that was it. They were done. No more. He could not take it, knowing that he did not deserve whatever companionship she gave him, knowing that he should have tried harder to save those boys, knowing that everything had gone all wrong, and that there was no way to ever pay for it.

Knowing that, he had packed up and left.

Even the first night, he was tortured by the last look she had given him: a soft, pleading look, tears sliding down her face though she tried to stop them.

"Roy, please… Don't do this. I want to help. Just tell me what's wrong. Don't leave. You belong here. We need you here. I need you here. Please."

The hand he held through the open window slid from his grasp as the train began to move. Riza watched him fade into the distance, now not caring about the tears that washed down her face.

He knew what he had just done. He had severed his ties with her, not wanting to, but hoping that it would help.

Now, it had become something entirely more monstrous: Riza's pleading face, mixed in with the Ishbalans he had killed. The children, the women, the men, the elderly, the sick, the wounded, the undeserving of such a fate. Those just trying to live as best they could. Those knowing that they would never see a better life, and accepting this as fate. Those clinging to any life they had left. And yet, Riza was still the clearest of all.

It was sheer torture that Roy had brought upon himself. It was the only way he knew to atone for what he had done. That was supposed to be that. It was horrible, he knew, but so was what he had done.

She could not have helped him, anyway, he tried to convince himself. And why bother to burden her any more? She had already cared for him as an invalid, but this emotional burden was something on an entirely different level. And she had been exposed to some of that, too, though by her own choice, she said. She wanted him to heal so badly, to be the man he had once been before that pivotal night.

Try though he might, he just could not. It left him feeling weak and helpless, and he could not bear to humiliate himself by letting anyone, and that included Riza, see him in that state. It was pathetic, he told himself. Nobody would ever respect him again if they knew what he was thinking.

Image is everything. If I don't look the part, nobody will believe that I can be the part.

Well, to his credit, it was true. Every little thing showed with Roy, if only mostly for a faltering half-second. Then, his calm façade would slide back into place, and nobody would ever suspect that inside, he was losing his grip.

Being unable to do much of anything for so long had put him out of practice so much so that when everything had hit, he had been unprepared, and sucked under as a consequence. The pain was almost literally suffocating at times, and he would awaken, screaming, wracked with guilt, pain, sorrow, and suffering, wondering if it would ever stop.

He had seen Riza's reaction to this: it scared her. She, too, was out of practice, but not so much as Roy. She would calm him down and make sure he eventually fell back into sleep, sometimes repeating this a half-dozen times a night. In the morning, she would still be there, her hand in his, folded forward onto his bed, sound asleep. Those were the days when he would awaken early.

Other days, it would be nearly lunch time when he awoke, and she would be acting as if nothing had transpired.

It had helped, for what it was worth.

Deep down, Roy knew that he just needed more of that pure care. The unconditional bond that flowed between them had driven everything, and, Roy had to admit, he was hard-pressed to not depend on it, even now, many, many miles away, encased in snow and ice. His memories of their happier times comforted him, but they would always give way to the horror until he could take no more. It was a never-ending cycle, and Roy was tiring of it quickly.

"Wake up." Havoc's monotonous voice did the trick. Bored as he sounded, he still managed to convey that Roy was his friend and comrade, and he needed to come out of his nightmares.

Roy blinked his good eye. Havoc and Breda stood over him.

"We've been discussing this for a while," Breda started.

Havoc cut right in. "We need you back. She needs you back."

"She?" Roy raised an eyebrow.

CRACK! Havoc's fist had found its mark: Roy's nose. "You heartless bastard. I really thought you were better than this, even with all this crap going on inside your head. You can't just let your demons win, Mustang. That's not you. That's the quitter, the guy who just won't make it, no matter what. But you're different; you can make it. And if I have to drag you kicking and screaming back to Central, you will make it. Are we clear?"

Roy accepted the wad of cloth Breda presented to him. "You won't take 'no' for an answer, will you?" he spat.

"Damn straight I won't," Havoc retorted, "because you know I'm right, and even when we're back in Central, sleeping our worries away, you'll be wide awake, knowing that you should be back there with us, and someday, you'll get tired enough to pack and come home. I only pray that that day comes quickly." He and Breda grabbed their bags and marched out.

Roy sat there for a while, just cradling his broken nose and thinking.

"Maybe I will come back..."

Maybe. But only for you, Riza, because only you are the key to becoming even half the man I was before. But I'll do it for you, not because I deserve it, but because you deserve it. You're real, and you can save me. I'm coming Riza, I promise…

The fire crackled in the corner of the room, causing Roy to flinch from it.

…maybe…

A/N: The title is the name of the song that inspired this little fic: "Comatose" by Skillet. If you know this band, you know that it is a Christian rock band. However, there is a Royai amv that I absolutely adore set to this song. Also, Roy claims to not believe in such a thing as God. What, then, is left for him? Yeah. Thought so. ;)

But wow, writing this was incredibly depressing. I had to get it out, though, or it might have gotten worse. It's rather disjointed in some parts, because that's how dreams are. I tried to end on a lighter note, I really did, but my inner Movie!Roy wouldn't let me, damn him. Ah, well… I'll just go look at my post-movie stuff and it'll all be good. They actually have happy endings!

Don't forget to drop me a review! Good, bad, incredible, horrible, incredibly horrible… I really don't mind. I welcome just about anything you can throw at me. I use it to create better pieces for you, as well as re-vamping my old work. Ciao!