A/N: Hi everyone, this is my first fanfic, and I'd like to know what you think (but please phrase in a constructive manner). It's a one-shot from Roy Mustang's perspective following Maes Hughes' death. That was such a sad event that I was inspired to write this. Plus, I love getting inside Roy's head; I've become such a fangirl after writing this. Hana Li
Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any of its characters.
Burning Flame
Roy Mustang sat at the desk, waiting for the same damn phone call that had become routine for the past three years ago. That guy knew how to push Mustang's buttons. Him and his annoying inability to differentiate between his professional and private business. He never got to the point until the Colonel threatened to burn his ears off. However, this wasn't Mustang's desk, and there would be no call today, nor the next. Maes Hughes was dead, and Mustang would never hear his friend jabber on about his precious daughter Elecia again.
Damn that idiot! Why did he pretend that everything was fine? For the second time since the day he made up his mind to become Fuhrer, Roy Mustang cried– and it hadn't even been two days since the first time, at the funeral. When will the rain stop pouring? he thought bitterly.
Hughes was arrogant fool for thinking he could handle the incident at Lab 5 on his own. Sure he could throw knives, but the trouble that followed the Elric brothers would be too much for a man who spent most of his time behind a desk. He was selfish for leaving everyone who deeply cared for him: his wife, his daughter, his fellow officers, and his best friend. Not that Mustang deserved to be called that. He rarely addressed Hughes by his first name, especially without Lieutenant Colonel preceding it. Now Maes was Brigadier General Hughes.
Bastard, you promised you'd work under me. How the hell are you going to do that when you outrank me? Suddenly it became clear to Mustang now: Hughes wasn't the selfish, arrogant fool. He was. He had been so preoccupied with rising to the top that he just expected continuous support. Never did it occur to him that Hughes didn't want to trouble him with unnecessary problems. Until now, until it was too late.
Mustang sighed. He was too soft, too weak. Otherwise he wouldn't have been so impulsive. That was why Hughes lied. It was so he wouldn't get worked up and do something stupid, according to First Lieutenant Hawkeye. That wasn't the first time Hughes had done something like that for him. Hell, Hawkeye had saved his ass a couple times too. For all his cockiness, the Flame Alchemist wasn't that great. If he had been stronger, Hughes wouldn't have died. Thousands of others wouldn't have either.
He truly was a dog of the military, and his memories would never let him forget that fact. If he wasn't such a coward, he could've found a way to avoid the orders. Instead, he became a participant the massacre in Ishbal. The nightmares that were in fact reality continued to haunt him, and to think, he might've blown his own brains out if Dr. Marcoh hadn't stopped him. Again, he needed someone to come to the rescue
How could so weak of a man ever accomplish his silly dream of revolutionizing the country so that he could atone for his sins? Could one man truly change the world? Mustang felt powerless and alone. Hughes was always present– to the point of being a nuisance, but he had some good advice. Of course, you could never tell with that man. He wavered from utter frivolity to grave seriousness, like the time he told Mustang to get a wife. Perhaps he was hinting at something when he advised the Flame Alchemist to make some friends who would support him when the time comes. When the time comes, ha! Did you know what you were getting yourself into, Hughes?
Mustang scoffed at the idea of making new friends. Hawkeye would stand by his side, and there was Havoc and the rest of the boys. Anyway, he had perfected the facade of the cocky, womanizing leader who would give anyone who crossed his path to the top a piece of his potent alchemy. Now, more so than before, he needed to maintain the ruthless mask of a self-serving state alchemist. There wasn't time for him to soften up and figure out who he could trust. No, he had to rely on himself. Nothing was going to keep him from becoming Fuhrer– and avenging Hughes.
He looked at the desk that used to belong to Hughes. On it was the notice about the investigation's closure. Mustang wasn't surprised because someone who outranked him had silenced Major Armstrong, someone who didn't want him to know the truth behind Hughes' death. Well, he was going to get to the bottom of this, and he was willing to play their little game and continue being a dog of the military. For Hughes, the man who understood his ambition, the first person with whom he shared his dream.
The Colonel took a deep breath. From now on, the skies will be clear. All signs of tears were gone. Hawkeye was bringing in that little bookworm Scieszka, and he knew he'd have to break her heart. General Hakuro would be arriving too to notify him of his transfer to Central. Good, that wouldmake him closer to the inside of the military, closer to the truth. "One man can change the world," Mustang said to himself with new resolve, and he would.