The three day old mug next to him was starting to smell like a mixture of dog-breath and damp leaf litter. There were others scattered about the room, but that was the only one that had actually started to smell. He made a vague note of what the mug had contained, straining his memories back to what his worried best friends had told him what was in the thermos that had been long since discarded to the dark and shadowy corners of the poorly lit room.

His glasses slid down to the end of his nose, and he pushed them back up with a poorly kept finger. The nails were dirty and worn from constant and incessant typing, and he was weary.

His eyes itched in an irritating way that prevented him from focusing. He knew he was tired, and promised himself he would take a break after this file, the next file, the next... The break never came. He was missing important details, important facts, important words, but it was too late to worry. He had two whole planets to search and it had taken fifteen years thus far, what was another five minutes?

The five minutes stretched on into hours as he continued to type, the weary bags under his eyes given more depth by the slightly blue glow of the screen in front of him. He gently tugged on a lock of black hair and stretched a cramping wing, rubbing his hand over the mess of stubble and dried spit that marred his face. He barely held back a yawn.

"You're shivering." The voice startled him into looking up and smiling only faintly into the face of his best friend. Indeed he was, he realised, his own personal discomfort disregarded for the search of the greater good. The man that could have passed for his brother passed him a cup of something warm, the heat transfer initially stinging at his ice-like fingers before the warmth seeped into his bones and became bearable. "How long are you going to keep putting yourself through this?"

He swivelled on the chair to face the man, his black and bloodshot eyes meeting sharp and wise purple ones. He sighed as he sat back to take in the familiar face, lit up and given life by the glow of the monitor behind him. He was not overly tall, and was smiling warmly and sadly. The man grew whiskers to attempt a coverage of his slightly weak chin and his glossy hair was roughly combed back to give a rugged appearance. His wings were a light and contrasting grey. "Until I find him."

The man sighed, hitting the first over the head in disappointment. "Roy, you look like shit." And that too, was probably true, the man in the chair reflected. He hadn't showered in days, possibly weeks, if the grease in his hair told him anything, his wings were untidy, black feathers bent at odd angles and his clothes were a mess. "And you're starting to smell like it too."

Roy sighed. "Hughes, it was my fault." He said angrily, biting back the frustrated scream of this seemingly never-ending search. Fifteen years, they mocked him, cut at him deeply, all the promising leads turning up dead-ends. "I have to find him."

Hughes looked about the messy, low-level rooms that made up Roy's confines. The usually pristine Avian hadn't even made to keep his plants alive, they had been withered to blackened stumps in the past three months, while Roy's searching had taken a turn for the worse. No longer was it merely something to do in the times he had off, it was consuming him, taking up every living and breathing moment. Roy had been throwing away his life, he hadn't been eating, and he had been living off energy-sustaining beverages for at least 4 weeks now.

"Gracia sent me down to get you." he said scornfully, meeting Roy's gaze. "She's been worried sick about you."

Roy shook his head. "I have to find him."

Hughes growled, slamming his fist against the wall in an unaccustomed burst of anger. "You're killing yourself holed up in here, Roy! Can't you see that? Every moment you spend on this search and not looking after yourself is draining a bit more of your life away." Roy turned back to the monitor, pointedly ignoring the man. "How do you know he's even still alive? He could have di..."

"He hasn't." Roy cut sharply over the top. "He can't have."

Hughes sighed. "Actually, Roy, it's a likely possibility that..."

Roy spun angrily, his eyes flashing with barely suppressed rage. He didn't bother standing; he was a foot shorter than the other man, so there wouldn't have been an effect. "He's alive, Hughes. I don't know how I know that, but I do. He's alive."

Hughes shook his head sadly. "That's just creepy, man." He placed a hand on Roy's shoulder, calming him in an instant with only that touch. "Come on. You can't waste your life down here. Gracia has made your favourite tonight and it would be a shame to let it go to waste." He gave a small, weak laugh. "Not only that, Hawkeye has threatened my head if I don't bring you up some time this century."

"One more file and I'll be up." Roy replied, turning back to the monitor. "There's a report on psychology that looks interesting."

Hughes sighed, defeated. "Roy..."

"Just one more, Hughes, I promise."

.
A/n: Sorry, it wouldn't leave me alone.

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