"Roy? Roy Mustang?" Maes felt sick as he wandered through the tent that was absolutely crammed with tied up alchemists. Only one or two stirred as he wandered through them, eyes scanning for a head of ebony hair.

He found Roy eventually, in the back right corner. The officer squatted down in front of his friend, who was staring at the floor with an empty gaze. "Roy?" he asked softly. The alchemist raised his head.

"Maes?" he whispered, and the gray of his eyes darkened a shade, showing a little more or the Roy he remembered. "Yeah. Roy, it's me." Roy looked down, bringing his bound wrists to his chest.

Maes reached down to untie them, but Roy jerked his wrists away. "Don't," he muttered. Maes sighed. "Roy, me and Hawkeye are coming up with a plan to get you out of here."

"Hawkeye?" Maes closed his eyes momentarily. "Yes. She's helping me. We're getting you out." A voice chuckled. "Out? Impossible." Maes frowned at the long-haired alchemist sitting across the tent.

His long dark hair was strewn across his shoulders and back. He was thin, his cheekbones sunken in and a nasty looking gash was open and bleeding on the right side of his forehead.

"Why'd you help?" the man hissed. Roy looked over at him, bangs falling over his face. "Stop, Kimblee." The alchemist huffed, but it soon turned into a harsh coughing fit that didn't die for almost a minute. But he shut up, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

Maes leaned in closer to Roy. "Who is he?" Roy watched Kimblee carefully. "The Crimson Alchemist." Maes almost chuckled. "He's the liveliest of you bunch." Roy blinked. "He's a friend. Keeps me going," Roy rasped.

The soldier wasn't sure what to say. "Hey! Come on, time's up," the guard barked. Maes clapped Roy gently on the shoulder, feeling a twinge in his chest when Roy flinched.

"I'll see you soon, okay?" Maes stood up and weaved through the huddled bodies to get to the entrance, where he conversed tersely with the guard before leaving, Roy watching him go before the tent flap closed, enclosing them all in near complete darkness once more.

"So that's Maes Hughes." Roy blinked a few times. "Yeah."

It was true that he owed everything to Kimblee. He was his only friend among the other alchemists, constantly striking up conversations and keeping Roy from deteriorating into a shell like so many of the others.

Roy would never knew how Kimblee kept his spirits up, but part of it seemed due to his innate ability to tolerate the constant bloodshed. In the times the two got separated, Roy seemed less alive.

On Kimblee's end, he was just happy to have a friend. Roy was a good person, a good friend. And in turn, Kimblee felt a sort of protectiveness that kept him helping the Flame Alchemist.

In other words, the two needed each other.


"The Crimson Alchemist?" Hawkeye murmured. "He's due out on the battlefeild in a few days, I think." Maes nodded.

A soldier started ushering people to the side. "Come on, people, move it." Maes muttered something but the two shuffled over. In the space provided, soldiers flanked a group of alchemists. One was the Strong Arm Alchemist, another was Roy, and behind him, was one neither Hawkeye or Hughes knew.

"We have to fight with them today," Maes sighed. Hawkeye nodded, grip tightening on her sniper rifle. He nodded to the woman. "See you out there." She saluted him. "Yes, sir."

She quickly jogged away. Maes took a breath and swiftly moved into the soldiers getting ready to ship out side by side with the alchemists. The three sat slumped next to a ruined building. Roy sat with his face turned down towards his lap, his eyes a shimmering gray again.

One of the soldiers look at him in disgust, spitting a wad of saliva at his feet. "Not as high and mighty as you thought, are you?" he spat. Roy slowly looked up at the man before casting his eyes down again. Enraged, Maes grabbed his arm.

"I see you doing that again and I'll turn you over to the Colonel," he growled. the soldier flushed and saluted him. "Yes, sir!" Maes looked at him long and hard before nodding.

He sighed. "Alright, troop. Let's go." It was a recon of a small Ishvalan village. No one had yet been able to determine the force of their attacks, so their little group had been volunteered.

They climbed down a hill of broken building parts, every soldier holding a gun and, Maes noted, Roy wearing striking gloves of white with a red symbol on them.

Maes hadn't even had time to issue an order before bullets were raining down on them some hitting soldiers and other shattering stone pieces. A snap echoed in Hughes' ears before there was an explosion, and the rooftop the attackers were on burned.

With sickening horror, Maes realized he could hear their agonized screams on the wind. He looked over at Roy, whose hand was poised in the form it had taken when he saved the lives of almost the entire troop.

Roy's eyes slowly darkened, then widened as his action hit him in full force.

His hand trembled and it fell to his side. The alchemist blinked a few times.

"We should go," he rasped, looking shell-shocked and numb. Maes nodded.

Roy began walking shakily, a limp to his step, farther into the village.