Summary: Death is something shrouded in mystery. No one knows what lies beyond it. Is it really an escape? Is it a prison? Do you ever realize you're dead, or do you go out like a candle? Cease to exist? There's no science to it, no studying to be done. To die is a mysterious thing, isn't it? Rated T for swears.

Fullmetal Alchemist: Made to Heal

Everything was a blur, and the glass slipped from his hand, smashing into many pieces when it made contact with the floor. His head burned with pain, and he fell back onto the chair, hard. His mouth was dry, he could hardly feel his own hands on his head, the world was spinning...

It had been two days. Two days since he died. The day had been incredibly short, and then it had happened. He was shot in the chest, they had found - found - him dead outside a phone booth. Blood- the blood was everywhere, along the glass, running down the pavement, all over his motionless body. His glasses had fallen off, and they had been cracked from the landing. They were also spotted with blood.

He dragged his gaze to the window, where flowers and cards were sitting. Sympathy. That's what they were. Sympathy cards from many, and flowers- He snorted. Peoples futile attempts to brighten my mood. Bright? That word didn't exist in his vocabulary anymore. He tried to rise from the chair- he barely managed to stand, and his knee's shook from lack of eating, or the alcohol. Perhaps even a combination of the two. His first step was right into the glass shards that lay on the floor.

He sighed, lifting his foot, aiming to stay upright on just one foot. He soon toppled onto the couch beside him, and lifted both his feet, removing them from the sharp pieces below. " Fuck. " He said, watching blood seep down his foot, and drip onto the floor. Onto the white carpet...

He bent over, and begun to pick up the pieces, but stopped, settling on the thought that it was pointless. He stood up again, avoiding the glass as carefully as he could, and stumbled into the kitchen, throwing the shards he had in his hand into the garbage. He leaned on the wall, and brought a hand up to his face, trying in vain to get rid of the headache that was almost like a thunderstorm in his brain... He hardly felt his legs give out, and he slipped to the ground. His consciousness drifted in and out, his sight doubling, causing him to become even more dizzy. He finally slid sideways onto the floor, closing his eyes, and falling asleep.

When he opened his eyes, most of the headache was gone, but small hints of it still blazed in his brain. He looked up to the clock that was above the fridge, trying to focus his gaze at the hands. Eleven o'clock. Day or night? He pushed himself to a sitting position, his back on the wall, and blinked, his eyes straightening themselves. He grabbed onto something, and pulled himself to his feet, realizing how weak he felt. He guessed he should properly eat something, his stomach rumbled it's agreement, but he desided to ignore it. He just wanted to get to the damn window... He had to support himself the whole way there, but when he reached it, and pulled on the string to raise the blinds, he was hit in the face with a beam on sunlight. He had to blink several times for his vision to return, hmm... day. He thought, trying his best to ignore the blinding light. Eleven o'clock in the morning... He couldn't remember the date.

He walked into the living room again, his stomach growling a protest as Roy passed the fridge without a glance. He tripped and soon found himself on the ground, not quite remembering how he had gotten there. He didn't bother to get up, lying facedown on the cold floor. He didn't know how long he had been lying there, an hour, a day, or maybe even two seconds, but he soon was yanked up from the ground from a pair of strong hands, and placed on his feet. He was hardly able to stand on his own, and he held on tightly to the arm that was offered to him. It felt like his mind was doing back flips...

He looked up to the person who was holding him up, expecting something -everything- but whet he saw. The man's kind amber eyes looked him up and down, asking if he was okay without a word. His black hair as dark as the night-... And that worried stare.

Roy giggled uncharacteristically, although he knew it was completely inappropriate for the moment. A hallucination... There was no way... He couldn't still be drunk, could he?

But as Roy blinked, the face disappeared, replaced with something much different. " S-sir? " Roy sighed, and felt his heart start beating at it's normal pace. And with the abnormal heartbeat went, perhaps, a bit of his sanity. It was driving him crazy... " Are you alright-... sir? "

" Mmm.... I'm alright. " He said, pushing himself away from her, just barely managing to stand straight. His head spun, and burned, spots appearing in front of his eyes. Ugh... What the hell-

" Sir... I'm sorry I have to bring this up, but... It's Brigadier General Hughes' funeral today, sir. " Roy felt his stomach twist, but he remained silent. His head blazed again, his eyes blurred-... She hesitated. " Sir...? "

Roy shook his head, and attempted a grin. He failed. " Let's go. "

He stood there, not moving. He could only watch silently as the men threw dirt onto the coffin, filling the hole steadily. His face, his voice, him.... gone forever. His hands were clenched at his sides, and his teeth were pressed together. Everything happened too fast, everything was.... wrong. It wasn't right...

Before he knew it, it was over, and everyone was gone. But he still stood there, his clenged hands at his sides, and his teeth pressed together. He couldn't move. Roy could feel the tears coming, but he didn't allow them passage from his eyes to his chin. He looked at the tombstone, reading the name, knowing... knowing he would never see him again. Never hear him laugh. Never watch him dote over his daughter. Never... Never... He wouldn't- couldn't- do anything ever again.

" Killed in action... " He began, his eyes locked on the chunk of stone that failed to respect the man he trusted most on this earth. " ...and promoted two ranks for it... Brigadier General Hughes. You were the guy who was going to work below me, and help push me to the top. But then you get yourself killed, and pass me in the ranks. I don't know what's more absurd; you, or the state. " He hated himself for that. Why'd he say that-?

Roy knew she was behind him, watching him. " Are you ready? " She asked, her voice gentle. Did she think he was going to snap? Maybe he was...

" You know... " He felt a smile creep onto his face. "Years ago, I had a theory on human transmutation. After all we've seen, I'm actually trying to remember it now, " His black eyes narrowed, the grin disappearing. " We alchemists are such hopeless, predictable things. " There was a pause. Then he continued, taking a deep breath.. " Why didn't he tell me Lieutenant? " He begged her. " Ed and Al in danger- Lab five- maybe I could have done something to help. "

Another silence. " Maybe because he knew you'd try, sir. " Was she... trying to reason with him?

Roy turned his head to look at her. Maybe she saw his gaze- dead, like he was far away- because she suddenly looked worried, concerned... " What's that supposed to mean? " Maybe it was his voice... That didn't hold much emotion either.

" When it comes to those boys, well, sometimes your decisions aren't exactly rational. " She stared at the back of his head. " Maybe Brigadier General Hughes didn't tell you... because he wanted you to concentrate on your own goal... instead of the Elrics. "

Roy could have laughed. But it was wholly inappropriate for the moment, so he fought the urge... The two were silent for a longer period of time then the last two combined. Roy stared at the grave, cursing Hughes, and hating himself for it. How-... How could he die, and leave so many people behind? Gracia, Elicia, himself, and everyone in between... He pushed his nose into something he shouldn't have, and got killed for it... " It's... " He whispered, one single tear escaping his grasp, letting it slide down his cheek. " It's going to rain today. "

Her gaze didn't waver. " Yes. "

He could have laughed harder, if he had been laughing at all... He was drunk... Drunk at Maes' funeral. He'd snuck a drink -a few drinks- before she'd taken him to his funeral. He wasn't fouling Maes' memory or anything, actually it wasn't without respect. As Roy saw it, Maes would get a kick out of knowing that Roy was completely smashed at his funeral. Maes would find it funny, and Roy could expect a good laugh when he died and met Maes....wherever he was.

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A/N: Phew. Yup, you guessed it. Another one-shot about Maes' death. .......I should really find something else to write about, this is getting ridiculous.... But I hope you liked it, It certainly took me long enough.... .' Please leave a comment and tell me what you think!!

__Actually started writing this July 2, 2008 3:41:12 PM(to be really, really exact, just because I can). Finally got around to finishing it.