A/N: Drunk!Roy is apparently still a very lucid Roy. Maybe not the brightest spark, but he can at least hold his liquor. I do not own FMA.

Four - Grave

Most men wouldn't be in a graveyard after midnight, whether due to simple common sense or a leftover childhood belief in ghosts. At the moment, Roy Mustang possessed neither. He simply lay flat on his back in the grass, arms folded behind his head, talking aloud like he was in his right mind.

"So then," he said, laughing, "she says 'That's how I get you to do your work" and just shoves the file into my hands and walks off. I tell you, Hughes, she's some kind of woman . . . ." He paused, then sighed. "She was right though. Half the stuff talked about at that meeting was contained in the file. She saved my ass again."

Staring up at the stars overhead, his eyes traced the patterns of familiar constellations. ". . . Really saved my ass . . . ."

"I'm glad you feel that way."

Scrambling into a sitting position, Roy whirled around to face the woman sitting ten metres away at the base of a tall angel statue. She sat straight, hands folded neatly in her lap, wearing her favourite white jacket. "Riza?" He frowned. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough," she answered. Slipping down from the base of the statue, she crossed the grass toward him, casting a sidelong glance at Hughes' gravestone. "You're pretty talkative tonight."

Settling back into a comfortable sitting position, Roy looked away across the darkened cemetery. "Yeah, well, the three bars I went to before coming here probably had something to do with that." He watched her mouth become a thin line as her lips pressed together. "Don't give me that look; I didn't drive, and when I'm done here, I'm going right home and passing out on my couch."

Shaking her head, Riza knelt, hands dropping to her lap once again. "Roy, I learned a long time ago not to scold you about alcohol. What has me worried is that you're out here alone in a . . . very vulnerable state."

"Awwww, you're worried again?" Turning, he laid back, his head landing just forward of her fingertips. "Sorry. I'm not supposed to do that, am I? Worry you, I mean."

"It would be easier on me if you didn't," she said dryly, looking down at him. "My car is at the south entrance. Would you like a ride home?"

"I would, but not just yet." His eyes went past her face and up to the sky again. "You know, this is the one place in Central where you can actually see stars? Everywhere else, there's too many lights."

Riza looked up as well. "I remember reading something once when I was a little girl . . . that stars are the souls of people who have died. It seems appropriate that a place like this has such a good view of them."

"Yeah . . . ." Roy's head lolled to the left, looking across at Hughes' gravestone. ". . . Did you know the word 'grave' has two different meanings? The obvious one, is derived from an old Aerugonian word, but relates to the Drachman word 'graf.' Still means the same thing.

"The other meaning, 'serious' or 'dangerous,' comes from the Xerxian word 'gravis.' Somewhere along the line, someone in Amestris thought it was a pretty good idea. Probably changed it so he wouldn't get called a copycat." He paused, and his eyes came back to her. ". . . I'm rambling, aren't I."

Looking down at him, Riza smiled slightly. "Just a little." She put a hand on his shoulder. "Have you had a good conversation with the general?"

"Yeah." Sitting up, Roy waited until she stood and offered him a hand up before getting to his feet. Setting himself directly in front of the headstone, he stood tall, right hand lifting in salute. Then, one arm slung across the shoulders of his lieutenant, he let her guide him toward the exit.

Out of all his subordinates, she was the only one who would be comfortable sitting with him in a cemetery in the middle of the night. She was the only one who was comfortable doing a lot of things. Roy smirked to himself; like he'd said, she was certainly some kind of woman.

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