author's note: I saw the most amazing picture on Tumblr which really inspired me to write this one-shot. Lately I've been having so many feelings so excuse the language. I hope you enjoy!

Title: Little Flower
Genres: Hurt/Comfort/Tragedy
Rating: T = Contains sexual themes and language

'No, it's raining.'

His fingertips littered the glass in his hands. Roy swallowed, his throat dry and sore, the pain in his heart worsening and all he could feel was pain and agony. It was horrific. He wanted to scream at the world how much anguish he felt - he didn't have the guts. Who would listen? He wasn't the only one who felt like shit, and those who did weren't getting themselves wasted with alcohol. Hughes would be ashamed of him and it made the Colonel want to burst into tears.

He didn't cry though. Not ever. He would never cry for anyone. It was unprofessional; he was a commanding officer so deaths were expected, even those closest to him. But Hughes? A man who was so loved; the only man in Roy's pathetic little life who was successful! The irony smacked him in the face. How the world would be so much happier if he had been murdered, not the family man. The wounds would take years and years to heal, and when they do the scars shall remain.

What harmed Roy Mustang the most was how Hughes' daughter cried in confusion. Roy had never been so challenged. The pain was excruciating when he forced himself to not cry in front of her. And he was a coward. Mustang couldn't raise his eyes and watch the poor, young girl weep at her father's death. Her mother had to pay for allowing her husband into the military. A job where death was played like a game. She was braver than any of the bastards that crowded the coffin in alleged pity.

It was one tear. He knew Lieutenant Hawkeye wouldn't speak of it again.

Roy took a swig from his cider, before slamming his glass down and leaving the pub. He swayed slightly, and had to cling onto the bannister. The bridge he walked across was small but his mind was raging with alcohol and sadness so the bridge seemed big and long to him. He jarred his teeth, his throat clogging up. He was forcing back the tears. You stupid, stupid man! It was the alcohol that was encouraging his emotions to spill out and shatter onto the cold ground. It was his own damn fault and he needed to pay.

He grabbed hold of the bannister and faced forwards, his vision blurred whilst he gazed out towards Central. So beautiful at its prime, street lamps making the area magical, delusional - so perfect. Roy moaned, and then shook the bannister furiously. He screamed out loud, shaking the bannister so hard it would break in his hands. His energy gave in and he collapsed forwards, a sob breaking out from his throat.

'You bastard,' he whispered, tears leaking down his cheeks. 'You left your wife; your daughter! Why?' He couldn't speak. Roy was silenced and wept like a pathetic child. All he could see was Hughes; his smile; his voice; the way he bragged on about his lovely family. If they were so lovely why did you have to fucking leave them?

Roy inhaled slowly, the cold air itching his throat.

It took him three hours to decide. Roy was a mess: his hair was crazier than usual, his eyes drooped from fatigue and too much alcohol, and he was barely dressed. He grabbed hold of the phone and pressed it against his ear, before dialling the number. Don't pick up; don't pick up; don't pick-

'Hello, this is Mrs Hughes.' The tone broke his heart. Roy could only remember Hughes' wife to be cheerful. Stern, but cheerful and capable of surviving. However the voice he heard. . wasn't her. He gritted his teeth, the tears beginning to drown his eyes again. Stay happy for me.

'Good evening, Gracia,' he spoke softly. 'It's Colonel Mustang.'

'O- Oh. .' She couldn't continue. Roy heard her sob quietly over the phone, and used all his might to stop himself from joining in. He grasped hold of his shirt, wishing she would stop.

'Please tell me how you are,' he said. 'I- Words are useless. How is Elysia?' The poor girl. 'Is she okay?' What a stupid question. The girl was not all okay. She was anything but. So why the fuck am I asking? Fuck yourself, Mustang. 'Maybe I can come round and visit-'

'No.' Her reply was strong and held no hesitance. She was serious. Gracia didn't want Roy to come round. 'I'm. . sorry, Mister Mustang. It's so kind of you to ring us, but I've been bombarded with telephone calls and-'

'Don't speak,' Roy hushed. 'I understand completely.' He sighed, closed his eyes and leaned further towards the mouthpiece. 'You have been very strong today, Gracia. I admire you.'

There was a long pause. And then finally: 'Thank you, Roy.' She hung up.

He stood for what seemed like months, the phone pressed firmly against his ear, as if he was waiting for her to speak again but he knew she had hung up. She didn't want to speak to him anymore. The pain was too much. He was an asshole for ringing her at a time like this. She needed to be alone. To be isolated. Allow her to come to terms with her loss. Their loss.

Somehow he felt like he had become a bad man. But the son-of-a-bitch who shot Hughes - Hell, Roy didn't even know how to feel. That bastard; that devil; that absolute shit! Roy could curse and scream, but nothing would cool the fire. He knew he was a timed bomb; a monster desperate to break free from a foil of skin. Give me mercy. One day the monster would tear lose and cause havoc. But Mustang would have to find the demon first, and then make him pay. And - God forbid - he would pay big time.

The time was nearing one o' clock. Headquarters was dead. No one smiled; no one waved; no one spoke. It didn't help Roy's enthusiasm for work, and he was the most miserable out of the bunch. His back burnt - he was paranoid, scared others were talking about him behind his back. Did they believe Hughes' death was his own fault? How was that justified? Roy didn't mean for Hughes' death to happen. The man was his closest friend; a soul he could reach out to.

Because Mustang didn't have many friends.

He had to speak to someone. Anyone. Right now reality was killing him slowly and painfully. He wanted comfort and reassurance. Goddammit, he just wanted to be human and normal! Mustang slammed his pen down and left the office, his dark eyes searching for someone in particular. It didn't take him long to discover her and when he did Roy's heart jolted.

Oh think me a coward; a wet blanket.
But I am only human.

'Lieutenant Hawkeye,' he said. Good. His voice was strong and stoic. Yet when those large, earthy eyes met his he stumbled. She had read him too easily. She had unlocked him, and barged her way into his thoughts and his pain. Her face softened a little. 'I need to speak with you in private. Please. . can we speak?'

'Of course, sir.'

Roy led her out of the room, down the hallway, past more officers and into the secluded library. Without a thought he grabbed her hand (a shiver shot up his spine) and escorted his Lieutenant into a small corner, isolated from the world. It was a tad dark but they could see each other. He wished they couldn't because he feared the tears would appear again.

She had witnessed him break apart once. She couldn't anymore.

'Is it my fault?'

Riza frowned. 'What, sir?'

'Don't play dumb with me, Hawkeye!' His whisper was sharp and he instantly regretted it. He bit his lip - hard. 'Hughes' death; everything. Do you believe he was murdered because of me?'

'Sir.' Her eyes narrowed. 'Brigadier General Hughes died doing what he did.' He could see he had angered her. The pain he felt mirrored her own. That man was just as precious to her. 'Don't think someone has to be blamed for a death. He wouldn't want this. No one is blaming anyone.'

'What about the bastard who shot him?' Roy seethed.

She remained unnerved. 'What about him?' He was silenced. Riza craned her neck back. 'Your breath smells of alcohol, sir.' His eyebrows quivered, but to his surprise she reached out and touched his cheek. 'Please don't be like this. It isn't worth it. The only person you're hurting is yourself. We've lost one man; don't allow us to lose another. We need you.'

I need you too. 'Tell me everything's going to be okay.'

Riza watched him for several seconds. He wanted to look away from her gaze. He was scared she was judging him on the spot. Her commanding officer - the man who should be keeping her sane - was begging for comfort and affection. 'Everything will be okay, sir.'

Roy slept with a woman that night. He fucked her hard, releasing every single emotion that ran through his veins, prying his soul apart. Mustang clenched his fists onto the mattress, and groaned loud when he came, but he still didn't feel satisfied. Sleeping with someone didn't help. He collapsed beside her, ran a hand down his face and turned away, cold. He had no real excuse to do this. But he wanted to do it. His body needed this. So he had it and now he felt like a pile of shit.

The unnamed woman teased him, trailing her finger down his back. Mustang tensed. 'Leave me.'

Never had he rejected a female so directly; so harshly. However he was too numb to care and was relieved when she left his apartment without a word. Mustang inhaled slowly, and chewed down on his lower lip. Fuck you, Hughes. Look what you've created out of me! Oh who was he kidding? It wasn't Hughes' fault he was acting like a bastard. The man was dead - it was over! Roy needed to move on and continue his life.

- He still needed to do something though. Roy knew he couldn't move on so quickly. Something needed to be done. Someone needed comfort and support more than he ever would.

Roy shot up in bed, hugged his knees and wept uncontrollably. He felt so ashamed; so hurt; so ridiculous.

He knew what to do.

The school was pretty decent. Children rushed in frantically, as if eager to see their teachers and join in with lessons. Roy didn't understand why they were so enthusiastic, but he guessed at his age was just as keen. Maybe. Mustang couldn't remember. He had been too young to remember stuff like this. However, strangely, he could still think back to the time his childhood had fallen apart. Like the day he discovered his mother was taking drugs; returning home and discovering her hanging from the roof. The day his father returned after years at his own accord, revealing he had a second family.

Roy was an orphan the day he was born. It just took a while for the tag to be attached.

He clenched hold of the steering wheel when he saw the young girl. Mustang watched from a few metres away, surveying how Gracia fussed with her puffy coat, kissed her cheek, held her tight - for too long, before setting her free. Roy jarred his teeth and his face fell. The poor, poor little flower.

Gracia was a good mother: loyal, like her deceased husband. Roy felt his stomach flip whilst she waited until her daughter was safely inside. He leaned back in his seat. He wanted to. . speak to her. Tell her he was here. Roy slammed his head against the chair and curled his lips, feeling rotten and pathetic. The family needed to be alone.

He needed to show some respect.

But he couldn't. Not so easily.

And - for Hughes - he waited for hours, watching the school doors. He never grew bored. He waited patiently, like Hughes would. He kept thinking of the man. What he would want Roy to do. I'll help - trust me, my friend. And then the school bell echoed the area and Roy was out of the car in one quick movement. He tensed, wondering if this was a good idea after all. The poor girl. What would she think?

He stopped at the gates and leaned across it, watching the children rush past, oblivious how difficult life became. He had to smile warmly at the naive creatures. How beautiful life must be for them. For most of them, because fate was cruel to some: like he and Elysia.

He saw her. She saw him. Roy's heart skipped a beat and he straightened up, eyes wide. And all he could see was Hughes. Roy smiled sadly, his eyes watering with tears. Because she would understand. Would accept it.

'Hi-' No. Don't speak.

Roy proceeded closer towards the school, fell on one knee and outstretched his arms. And she ran to him. So fast; too quick and lunged herself at the older man, wrapping her arms around his neck as tight as her small arms could. Roy squeezed her gently and buried his face into her tiny shoulder, weeping into her puffy coat. Elysia's sobs were too much for his ears, but he felt better. So much better.

I'm not Hughes. I will never be Hughes. But the least I can do is show her what sort of a man her father was like; Hughes would have wanted this. It isn't fair she has to continue a life without a father - like me. It isn't fair.

'Daddy. .'

Mustang shattered.