Chapter 3

A cool breeze swept through the area, complementing the warmth from the sunshine that was occasionally blocked by gentle passing clouds. Birds chirped carelessly in the distance, oblivious to the world below them. The weather was perfect on that bright Friday afternoon, leaving nothing to be desired.

Maes, on the other hand, was convinced that the world did not deserve to be so pleasant on what was quite possibly the worst day of his life. Rain would have been more appropriate for the occasion. He wasn't sure about the others, but he at least did not have the heart to appreciate the warmth. None of it managed to reach him anyway.

As he looked down at the gravestone, Maes felt cold even while the summer sun slowly began to descend, casting a warm purple hue through the atmosphere. An array of color filled the horizon over the treetops, but it all appeared saturated and dark in his eyes, partially due to the hazy mist that had fogged his glasses, which he lacked the will to clear just yet.

The funeral had ended a while ago and he had not once left the cemetery since arriving earlier that day. Roy's entire team stayed awhile afterwards as well, but they eventually had to return to their homes and figure out what they were all going to do next. His family had also attended, dressed in black, but poor Elicia struggled to understand why. No one found any joy in explaining to a four year old girl that they were burying her surrogate uncle because he was murdered by a serial killer who was still out there somewhere.

God, how it had hurt... From the moment he came home the first day after learning what had happened, up to the funeral itself, he never had any idea how to properly explain it to her. Part of him wanted to lie and say that Roy had simply moved away, and that he wasn't coming back. It would have been easier in the moment, but he couldn't bear it if she ever asked when she'd get to see him again or if they could visit. She would have forgotten about him in time, but Maes could not have lived like that.

He eventually forced himself to tell her the truth as carefully as possible. Even then, it took a moment for her to grasp the gravity of the situation, but the reaction was everything he had feared. She cried for her deceased uncle, but the worst part of it was that she did not- could not understand. Comprehending how a human being could end the life of another was beyond the capability of such an innocent young girl who knew only of love and kindness. Murder and terrorism were concepts that Maes never wanted Elicia to experience.

Even during the funeral, she questioned it again through tears, unable to fully comprehend what was happening, or at least not wanting to face it. Feeling the need to ask, yet understanding deep, deep down that he was gone forever without needing to be told.

Why? Elicia had asked, her hand trembling within his. Why are they burying Uncle Roy?

Why, indeed...

Maes still couldn't quite accept it either, even as he stared down at the engraving with his own eyes, standing over the ground where his friend was currently resting.

Roy Mustang

Colonel

1885-1914

Loved by many

During the reception, it was his job to appear strong. He couldn't bring himself to give a damn about what his superiors or subordinates thought of him, but for the sake of his family, he did all he could to keep it together. Gracia had known Roy almost as long as he had, and of course knew how much his death had hurt. Meanwhile, Elicia needed an anchor to hold on to. Maes needed to stand tall even as his heart and soul wept; anything to ease his family, if only by a little. If it wasn't for them, he would have had no problem with completely falling apart the moment he laid eyes on the decorative, sturdy coffin with the Amestrian flag draped down the sides.

But now that he was alone, nothing stopped him from breaking down and cursing at the world. But even so, standing there with his head down was all he could bring himself to do. Even his tear ducts had long since dried out by that point, allowing him almost no form of expression.

It felt too surreal for him to grasp. Too cruel, too unfair to be true. And yet, the ache in his heart proved that it was all real and refused to let him forget for even a moment.

He yearned to return to that blissful state of unknowing before he walked into work one morning to learn the truth for himself, unaware, unprepared, unable to understand. He could not forget the denial that struck him when Hawkeye approached, frighteningly stoic and devoid of emotion, to tell him what occurred the night before. She had already endured the worst of it while Maes was too busy gaping, wanting to ask questions yet being too afraid to hear the answers. Who was too stunned to do anything until he locked himself in his office after that conversation and gave up on fighting back the tears.

Maes usually wasn't one to resort to drinking, but he could have drowned in the amount of alcohol he consumed that night.

He would have given anything for it to just not be true. Coming to terms with the fact that Roy had died for no reason while Maes was sleeping comfortably without a care in the world seemed impossible.

Now he had no choice but to accept it.

Maes clenched and slackened his fists by his sides, exhaling slowly through his nose as he contemplated what to say. There were so many things he had to tell his now-deceased friend, many in which he already said at least once, and yet he thought he would never have enough time to say it all no matter how long he stood there. In spite of that thought, he was somehow speechless.

It was no secret that Roy did not believe in an afterlife. There was no way to know if his words could reach the colonel but that didn't stop him or anyone else from trying. He even caught sight of the vocal atheist, Edward, muttering something to the closed casket before it was ceremoniously carried to the grave.

But even so, Maes knew he had spent enough time there for one evening. Gracia was surely beginning to worry about him at this rate. More so, anyway.

The decision was made for him as Maes removed his glasses, lifelessly rubbed his eyes, cleared the glass with the help of his sleeve, and re-positioned them over his nose. He spared one last moment to look down at the grave, grimly acknowledging the void that was left, and forced himself to turn around and walk away.

His feet were leaden as he stepped across the grass to the decorative black iron fence that bordered the cemetery. The lieutenant colonel could not afford to waste time, however. He had a killer to find and a friend's death to avenge.

There was no time to mourn when he had so much to do.

He had to keep moving.

He had too...

…

Damn it.

Just as Maes reached the gate and put a hand on the exit's frame, he hesitated.

Part of him still did not want to leave, as if doing so would be abandoning his friend. It was ridiculous and he would have to walk out the gate to continue his life one way or another. Perhaps it was the overly-sentimental part of his mind that did not want to leave Roy's body alone in the cold ground.

Sighing at how foolish he knew he was being, Maes turned his head to look back at the lone grave, but froze when he saw that it was not as alone as he had expected. A small blond figure had appeared further up the hill, standing directly in front of Roy's grave.

How did Edward pass by without me noticing?

He stared silently for many long seconds, contemplating whether it would be best to leave or stay now that he knew the teenager was there as well. He could only assume that Ed was laying low, waiting for Maes to leave so he could get a moment alone with the grave.

In that case, he shouldn't interfere.

The strength of that thought dwindled with every passing moment. The longer he watched from afar, the more something prodded him to move his feet. Eventually, Edward lowered himself into a sitting position on the grass, somberly staring in silence at the ground before him. Somehow, that single motion was enough to make the decision for him.

Maes sighed at himself and took a few uncertain steps back towards the grave. He wanted to say that it was because Edward looked like he could use some company, but he was well aware that it was primarily for selfish reasons. He just didn't want to leave yet and this gave him a good excuse to linger for a while longer. But as he contemplated his reasoning, he began to grow almost wary of disrupting the thoughts of the blond as he drew closer. Maes doubted Edward would sympathize with his reasons and people often had a tendency to not act themselves when they were in mourning. Ed in particular was always relatively unpredictable as well.

The lieutenant colonel continued up the small hill, the only sound being his shoes stepping through the cleanly mowed lawn and the soft breeze rustling through nearby trees. He stopped only feet away from the blond, who remained with his back facing the man, showing no sign that he had noticed his approach.

He gave the kid a moment to recognize his presence. Ed's shoulders were tense but his arms laid slackened in his lap, as if he was only pretending to appear relaxed. Maes couldn't begin to guess if that was to fool him, or if Ed was simply trying to fool himself.

Maes cleared his throat when his voice came out rougher than he had hoped. "Hey," he said at last and Edward started and swiveled his head to stare at him. He shifted his legs to stand, but the action was halted when Maes plopped down on the ground next to him, keeping his olive eyes transfixed on the grave without a second thought.

In the corner of his eye, he could see Ed open his mouth to speak, but remained silent and at a loss for words. He slowly willed himself to return to the feigned state of calm and shifted his gaze onto the gravestone as well.

"Sorry. I- … I thought you were done," the kid muttered at last, tone downcast and despondent.

"So did I," Maes breathed in response. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"No, it's fine. I shouldn't be here anyway." Edward's muscled tensed subtly as he was torn between pulling himself to his feet or remaining still.

"What do you mean?" He turned his gaze towards the blond. Ed instinctively met his eyes for a fraction of a second before turning away, expression laced with guilt. Despite the short glance he was given, there was no hiding the lifeless air that hung around the kid like invisible weights. Roy's death had effected him more than Maes ever expected him to admit.

"Doesn't matter."

"Ed…" He continued to study the young alchemist for a moment longer, wondering where the desire to stress the matter came from. "What did you mean by that?"

The kid shook his head, refusing to take his eyes off the grave if only for a lack of anything else to look at. When Maes did not waver, he stifled a sigh and folded his arms stiffly. "I don't think Mustang would want me here."

The lieutenant colonel subconsciously bit at the inside of his lip. He knew the two alchemists were often at odds with each other, but he wasn't aware of what had caused Ed to settle on such a stance.

"I disagree," he said, forcing as much life into his tone as possible. Anything to keep himself from sounding as empty as sitting before his friend's grave truly made him feel. In spite of the sorrow he was experiencing, he wasn't the only one struggling to endure and couldn't allow himself to forget it. "I think Roy would be honored that you stayed this long."

Edward's expression did not change in the slightest. That subdued guilt remained, unfazed by his words, leading Maes to idly wonder if his statement was even heard at all.

"I know what you're trying to do, but…" he trailed off and pursed his lip, eyes narrowed and sounding none too convinced. "You don't understand."

"Understand what?"

Ed made no attempt to respond. He only hesitantly glanced over at Maes, afraid of what he would see. With what looked like an arduous effort, he held the gaze for a few long seconds. His brow furrowed slightly and the corner of his mouth hinting at a frown as he fought to keep his expression as natural as possible, holding back whatever was hidden behind like a dam threatening to break.

All Maes could do was watch him in return, allowing him to find whatever he was searching for. Once he was apparently satisfied, Edward dropped his eyes just as his comportment began to crack and give way to something else. He glared at the ground, fists clenching in front of him.

"I could have stopped it." The kid's voice was soft and almost too quiet to hear, but heavy with unspoken remorse.

While the lieutenant colonel was aware that Edward meant more than he was letting on, his heart ached as the familiar words rung in his head. He had said the same thing to himself multiple times since the news reached his ears, and yet he wasn't even present that night. He could only begin to imagine how those who were actually there when it happened felt.

Of course Ed would blame himself. While Maes didn't know what exactly happened the night of the murder, he knew Roy's entire team was there. Something went wrong, and everything fell apart. Hawkeye wasn't willing to give him much to work with when she first told him, and he was well aware that it wasn't the best moment to pry. Even in his confused lamentation, it was clear to see that she was just doing all she could to stay together. Forcing her to divulge more information would only bring her closer to the breaking point.

And again, as he watched Roy's youngest subordinate contemplate the night that truncated the colonel's life, he related with the pain that was visible there more than could be expressed, but knew he could not dig any deeper.

"We all feel that way, Edward." Only after the words escaped his mouth did Maes consider that it was perhaps not the best thing to say. He didn't mean to belittle what Ed was feeling, but rather communicate to him that he wasn't alone in feeling it.

"No-" he cut in vehemently, snapping his gaze up to the older man with a sudden intensity. "That's what you don't understand." Just as quickly as the life appeared, it vanished again to be replaced by the same deep-rooted regret from before. "Never mind," he added before Maes could form any words. He abruptly pulled himself to his feet, biting his lip and face contorted by a mix of emotions and thoughts that Maes had little to no insight into.

"I… I need to leave." Without another look at the surprised officer, Edward briskly turned away and started down the hill.

Maes simply watched him go, mouth ajar as he internally forced himself past the stunning confusion that stopped him from saying anything more to the kid.

That… could have gone better.

His muscles urged him to chase after the kid and- and do something to help him, but his mind was drawing a blank. Before he could make any decision, Edward had vanished from sight.

With a contrite sigh, Maes shifted his glasses with one hand and rubbed his face with the other as he turned back to face the grave.

"Who's going to look after those boys now that you're gone?" he whispered, receiving no answer.

Who else realized that Ed and Al still needed someone to watch their backs?

That single meeting with the oldest Elric gave Maes all he needed to know that the kid was struggling. He was far too young to know how to cope with loss, even as he had gone through it once before. Ed was floating aimlessly in an ocean with no sense of direction, besides the vague recollection that he was supposed to go up, yet lacking the strength to do so. And if he had fallen into that ocean, then chances were, Al was right behind him.

With Roy's team blockaded by grief and Edward turning everyone away, Maes doubted anyone else would come to the rescue. He wanted to help those boys if he could, but...

The lieutenant colonel scanned the engraving the of headstone again and pursed his lip in a feeble attempt to stifle the emotional ache that tore through his defenses like they were nonexistent. If he couldn't even keep himself together, how could be he qualified to help anyone else?

But he didn't have the right to pretend he never noticed that that kid needed help. If there was something he could do, then he was obligated to try. The only question was how.

The moment Roy opened his eyes again, he was flooded with an alarming sense of regret before he so much as knew why. He took a moment to glance at his surroundings before the reasoning sunk in.

There were no surroundings to look at. With the lights out and no windows to speak of, he had no way of knowing how much time had passed. He could have been asleep for a few minutes or hours and wouldn't know the difference, if he was willing to trust his captor to keep the lights on a night/day schedule for him.

Which didn't seem to be the case.

Hours drifted by, consisting of staring openly at nothing, pacing nervously in circles, tracing a hand around each crack in the cement that surrounded in a withering hope that he'd stumble into a miracle. No such blessing came. It took far less time than Roy was willing to admit for him to feel desperation creeping up, chilling him to the bone. It became painfully clear that the lights were not going to be turned back on any time soon.

The only sounds to be heard at all in that prison were those that he made himself. No matter how much he banged on the door and yelled for a response, he was given only maddening silence in reply. The echoes of his calls died quickly, which was almost worse than being ignored by whoever had trapped him there.

The complete absence of all forms of stimulation was unbearable.

No light, no sound, no human interaction, nothing to touch besides the walls and a blanket, which he had lost at some point. All he did have was sink water that tasted of metal, and a stale piece of bread waiting for him by the small hatch in the door, which he almost stepped on not long after waking up. He had the basic necessities, but that was all: the very basics.

Or perhaps even less.

Roy managed to doze off again at some point, mostly just to kill time, and awoke later to see nothing had changed. He still couldn't find a way out, grab the attention of anyone from the outside, or even see his hand in front of his face. The colonel wanted to say that maybe a day or two had passed since he first found himself trapped here, but had more or less given up on keeping track. He considered scratching lines into the walls to keep count with touch alone, but using his fingernails did not seem like an effective idea.

Roy had somehow gotten it into his head within the past few empty hours that as long as he was trapped there, he wasn't alive. Not truly. The sheer boredom of being able to do nothing and stare at nothing was mind-numbing, not to mention the claustrophobia that began to take shape not long after he paced the small area a few times. Roy knew how much space he was confined to, and yet it seemed to shrink every time he rounded it. All the more reason to get out as soon as possible.

He demanded for answers once again, but the colonel was beginning to think that there was no life within miles of where he was. It was just too damn quiet! It was eerie and unnatural and had the power to disconnect him from the rest of the world. Somehow during the night of his capture, he had slipped away from his reality and woke up in another.

Maybe he was dead.

But no- the logical part of his admittedly panicking brain told him that was ridiculous. All it took was for him to drop his head into his hands and close his eyes to remind himself that. It was not uncommon for Roy to become dizzy and disoriented within the past few hours; whenever that happened, simply being able to feel something was enough to ground him for a while longer. He just had to remind himself that it was all real- that he was fine. That he wasn't drifting aimlessly in space, but was still existing in this cellar somewhere.

Simple, he told himself. Don't overact. Don't let it get to you.

His arms tensed, fingers curling around his bangs as if his life depended on it, pressing his palms over his eyes in some ludicrous notion that he could block out the darkness. If he dared to open up and swallow all that surrounded him, he was sure his head would explode. Being down here without any light at all was downright unnatural. His body nor mind could handle this pressure.

It reminded him of what he could only imagine the ocean to be like, having never seen it in person. But he had heard the horror stories of an unimaginable darkness within those suffocating depths and enough pressure to crush a man's skull with ease. There was no better sensation to compare his current situation with.

All he could do to keep himself stable was to adamantly tell himself not to think about it. Think about something else; something productive. Figure this situation out while he had the time. He had plenty of time...

Easier said than done.

A common thought to circle through his head despite his aversion for it was to wonder just how long he was going to be there. How much of his life would be wasted between those four cement walls? It was an entirely empty existence that he had no desire to continue, to put it lightly. Would it be forever? Would he stumble from corner to corner for the rest of his life, thinking back on what could have been as if his life was nothing but a distant dream?

He was being over-dramatic; that much was obvious, but he couldn't help but indulge himself a little. Or rather, he was just incapable of keeping the dark thoughts at bay.

As the hours silently ticked on, the fearful, pessimistic voices in his head only grew louder. There was nothing else to think, besides ponder the possibility of being forgotten and left for dead, doomed to rot away until death. But the colonel had to constantly remind himself that people had to be searching for him just to keep himself sane, if not because he actually believed it.

Even though everyone thinks you're dead?

Right, he had almost forgotten about that little detail.

But still, it didn't make sense! He did not hire a group of oblivious idiots onto his team. No, they were trained professionals who would not be fooled so easily. Roy was told that they actually saw his dead body, but unless they were looking at him while he was unconscious, it couldn't have worked. Alchemy and proper tools could do wonders, but- but they would see through it! They had to!

Or at least, the autopsy would have... Was it possible that they didn't bother to examine whatever fake body they found because they figured Scar had been the one to kill him? Just how quickly was his corpse tossed onto the list of that Ishvalan's casualties, and then forgotten?

Even so, Roy had the unnerving feeling that he knew far less about this situation than he was comfortable with. Hell, he still couldn't even fathom why he was here in the first place. Maybe he never would. He could very well live the rest of his life without answers or explanations- forever confused and left to wonder.

That last interaction with Fullmetal had to have some hidden significance behind it. Roy was sure that all the answers were there if only he could find the pieces. There had to be some reason why Edward acted as if he wasn't himself. Either something was terribly wrong with him, or it was on purpose.

Who are you? His own words echoed in his head as he recalled the strange, inhumane gleam in those golden eyes. The way he looked and spoke set off alarms right from the beginning, but he foolishly ignored it. Ed said something- that night, he said something that didn't make sense. Roy recalled his confusion, but the exact words struggled to return to him.

When Roy questioned who he was, the kid went along with it. He sounded as if he was truly another person wearing the skin of his subordinate. He insinuated the impossible, which Roy could only assume to be an effective attempt to confuse him, or something much more complicated was taking place too far underneath the surface for him to see.

That wasn't the person he knew- thought he knew. But if not him, then who?

It didn't make sense. None of this made sense.

Roy wearily rubbed his eyes again as he fought off a migraine, doing all he could to ignore the anxious jolt that he felt fester in his chest, threatening to suffocate him with uncertainty and confusion.

Edward trapping him underground forever as revenge for insulting him was not possible. But maybe this was actually all some kind of trick. Perhaps this situation was not truly as bad as he envisioned it to be. Perhaps his mind was making it much worse out of panic?

It was possible, wasn't it?

While sitting cross-legged in one of the corners, head resting against the wall, his hands slipped from his head lethargically and he folded his arms, scowling in thought. At this point, Roy wasn't sure if it was an actual possibility, or if his mind was blindly hoping for the impossible. Anything to find some hope in this hopeless situation.

It had to be all some twisted joke to get back at him. Maybe Fullmetal wasn't the ringleader, but there was no way that anyone actually intended to just throw him down here without any explication. A few more hours, and he'd be freed to give whoever thought it was funny the tongue-lashing of a life time.

Because this could not be real. He couldn't be trapped here forever. Nothing but darkness for the rest of his life- it was unimaginable.

He latched onto that denial and held it tightly out of sheer desperation, telling himself over and over again that it would all be okay, ignoring the shallow pain in his chest, the strain in his eyes, and the voice in his head that all told him it would be anything but.

Thanks for reading!

I know things aren't super exciting right now, but hang in there. Got Some important stuff to go through before Things can start happening. Until then, you'll just have to keep learning about everyone being really sad. :) Don't worry, it'll be fun~