This is just a short oneshot (a really, really short oneshot) I thought up of after watching the episode entitled "That Which is Lost". It gave me an idea at the end that I kept on wanting to write, but I finally found some time so I managed to get it typed up on my computer. I hope you guys enjoy this!
Disclaimer: -grunts- I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist. Man, having to write this every time can depress an obsessed author, you know?
R&R please!
Sorry
'I'm really, really, really sorry!' What the hell was wrong with him? No, that would most definitely not work.
'I apologize for your losses. We all send our condolences to you both.' No, that just sounded like he was just reading from a script. That was too formal…it had to be more from the heart. From within.
Roy Mustang sighed.
To any regular person, it might've appeared that he was just a petty soldier in a military uniform being a little over-dramatic; standing in the rain and all. Could he help it if the sky suddenly decided to rain? Now, if he was in Central then it would have been perfectly sunny and he wouldn't even have to worry about bad weather, but out in the countryside he heard it was the wet season. It seemed that rain poured continuously day by day in the region, and it was a little morbid in his opinion.
"We all know you're useless in the rain, sir." Second Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye had said on numerous occasions to the man. They were childhood friends, and if anyone knew Roy Mustang better than himself, it was her. It held so much meaning to him because it was true both literally and figuratively.
What was he doing? He wasn't just some run of the mill soldier; he was the Flame Alchemist, Hero of the Eastern Rebellion, Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang. He held so many titles, so many achievements in his life.
Yet he held so many failures.
He was a soldier, scarred from his many battles and war. Sometimes it was even hard to justify his next breath. Why would he, an outwardly ruthless man with no other ambitions than to gain promotions, deserve to live? Why would he, a murderer, deserve to live?
"I sure am pitiful." His hollow chuckle was muffled by the intense pitter-patter of the storm, and it seemed to him that there was no one else in the streets. The people of this cozy town had all retreated into their warm and comfortable homes, surrounded by loving family and friends. It was tempting, he admitted, to just head back to the train station and go back to Central where his own home was waiting for someone to withdraw for the night.
No. He had promised himself that he had to. It was years ago that he promised himself this, but it had to be done. He couldn't fathom how just a few simple words could bring any merit for anyone. He had done the unthinkable, the unforgivable, and he didn't deserve their forgiveness; but what else could he do? It was the only thing he could possibly do. It was, after all, the honorable thing to do. Besides, it was only at that moment did he have the courage to pull himself together and bring his sorry behind to Resembool.
It was time to apologize to the Rockbells for killing a son and a daughter-in-law; for killing a mother and father.
He really was, sorry.