DISCLAIMER: THE AUTHOR DOES NOT CLAIM THE RIGHTS TO ANY OF THE CHARACTERS AND/OR PLACES CONNECTED TO THE OFFICIAL FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST STORYLINE MENTIONED IN THE FOLLOWING PIECE AND RECOGNIZES THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS AS HAVING COMPLETE AND TOTAL LEGAL OWNERSHIP OF THE AFOREMENTIONED SERIES AND ALL CANON CHARACTERS ASSOCIATED WITH IT. SO DON'T SUE ME!

AN: This is my first fic in a while, and my first ever FMA fic, so be gentle! Please review, reviews are ever so wonderful and loved. Also, don't be afraid to offer helpful criticism! I know some moments seem a bit OOC, but as far as I've revised everything they're necessary to make it seem plausible for the character to do something later on. I've only read through chapter 40 of the manga, but I realize there might be spoilers in here for those following only what's been released in the US, so if you don't know what happens you can go to read up, and come back later . P.S. Sorry this first part is so long, later it'll be a much shorter disclaimer and a chapter summary. Also, if you're not a RoyZa fan, you probably won't like this fic.

Summary: Shortly after the events of chapter 40. Roy sneaks out of the hospital to go drinking and ends up in a bar fight. Liza (Riza, to those who prefer the "Engrish" spelling) has to bail him out. Fireworks ensue.

Incendiary Device

Chapter 1: Rain Dampens the Fire

Roy lay curled on his good side and watched the rain streaking down the window. The streetlights outside illuminated the room just enough to outline Hawkeye and Havoc's profiles, silhouetted against the glass. Hawkeye had finally fallen asleep in her chair around an hour ago, sometime close to midnight. She had promised to stay up and watch over the two invalids, but she hadn't slept in days and Roy didn't have the heart to wake her.

Havoc stirred and whimpered in his sleep, straining against some invisible enemy. Guilt made Roy's chest ache sharply, and he winced. If only he hadn't hesitated in using that Philosopher's Stone! Healing wasn't a skill he had, but he was smart, he would've been able to figure it out with the help of the stone. But no, instead he'd paused for that split second, worried he'd do more damage instead of helping. And that had been all the homunculus needed to snatch away his one chance at helping his friend. Now she was dead, Havoc was paralyzed, probably for life, and even if he managed to find another homunculus, he didn't know if the nucleus would be located in the same place, or even if he could get a Stone away long enough to get it to Havoc.

Outside, the rain picked up, banging against the windows. Hawkeye half-woke at the sound, checked her surroundings, and allowed herself to drift back to sleep when she was satisfied that both of her charges were still there. Roy found himself staring at her, wondering what her hair would feel like…he shook his head. Fraternization in the ranks of the military was forbidden, and besides, Liza would probably shoot him if he even thought about…wait a minute, did he just call her Liza instead of Hawkeye? Where'd that come from?

It's the depression talking, he told himself sternly, I need to get out, have a drink, get away from these two so I can forget for a while. It was true, after all. The sight of Hawkeye and Havoc, still so loyal to him after all they'd gone through for his sake, brought up feelings that he'd rather try to drown than confront.

Careful not to wake Hawkeye, Roy eased himself slowly out of bed and into a standing position. He tested his range of movement and found that as long as he didn't put too much strain on his left leg, he could move almost normally. Still being as quiet as possible, he pulled on a pair of jeans and one of his uniform shirts from the neatly folded pile of clothes lying on the table next to his bed. He slipped his watch and a pair of gloves into his pocket, then tied his bootlaces together and gripped them between his teeth. Giving a quick thanks that their room was on the second floor and not higher, he climbed up on the windowsill and opened the window just wide enough to get through. Swinging onto a drainpipe that ran near the window, he pulled it nearly shut, leaving it barely open so that he'd be able to let himself back in. He slid down the pipe, pulled on his boots, and set off for the nearest bar. Three drinks, he figured, one for each friend I've hurt on this damned crusade of mine. Then I'll come back and get back in bed. Liza will never know I was gone.