Dream
S J Smith
Disclaimer: Oh, if I owned these characters, someone certainly wouldn't have died.
"Oh, hell."
Roy Mustang opened his eyes and shut them again instantly, hoping to blot out the brilliant morning sunlight, streaming through his bedroom window. The light stabbed through his closed eyelids, making his head pound even more. What had he been thinking last night? Scratch that, he obviously hadn't been thinking at all. Roy felt his stomach roil and swallowed hard, hoping against hope he wouldn't have to make a mad dash to the bathroom, though that seemed very likely to happen.
Moving cautiously as he could with a pounding head and stomach ready to revolt, he managed to get upright, his bare feet hitting the cold floor. As if that pressure was too much, his skull felt like it was going to split open. Moaning, Roy clapped a hand over his mouth, staggering towards the bathroom.
After he vomited up what seemed like the contents of his stomach and probably two other people's as well, Roy flushed the toilet, leaning his forehead against the cool porcelain of the bowl. If his head would stop swimming, he might remember why getting drunk last night seemed like such a good idea. Bar, he thought; the Black Horse tavern, a pretty girl, the swirl of cigarette smoke. He frowned slightly, trying to mesh the memories into something cohesive but what he really remembered was a familiar voice saying, "Buddy, you've had enough. Let's get you home."
"Maes?" Roy managed to slowly get to his feet, catching hold of the door jam, staring into his bedroom. The empty room seemed to hold its breath while Roy's world righted itself into a blurring agony. Maes Hughes was dead; buried. His subordinate, his ally, his trusted friend, gone like so much fog on a sunny day.
Falling back into the bed, Roy covered his eyes with his forearm, reaching out for the memory he had, of an arm around his shoulders, the glint of a streetlamp on glass lenses, a warm body to lean against. "Just a dream," he muttered, rolling onto his side, not seeing a tall shadow in the corner nor the glint of glasses, fading away slowly in the corner; not hearing the soft voice whispering, "Sleep, Roy. Go back to sleep.
"It'll be better when you wake up, I promise."