Silence and blackness. It was all he'd known for what felt like years now. His hands where tied tightly behind his back, so tightly that his fingers had lost feeling in them a while ago now. He was sitting with his back to a wall, but he didn't know where his prison was. All he knew was that it was cold, and dark, and silent. So silent that the ringing in his ears had become deafening to his senses. He'd lost track of time. The first day he'd been with Riza, he knew that. They had both been tied up, sitting opposite from each other. It had been a comfort, to have his friend so close. With her by his side, Roy knew that he could survive anything, and it was good to see her, to talk to her and know that neither of them were hurt; other than a few bruises or cuts.
Riza had this calm confidence in herself and in him that helped Roy ignore his dread and doubts and truly believe that they would make it out of this alive and well. The mission had went terribly, clearly, but he was Roy Mustang and while his situation looked dire at that moment, he had Riza at his side and with Hawkeye at his side, guarding and supporting him, Roy could do anything.
After the first day though, they came in and took Riza from him. She fought them, of course she did. Roy fought to help her, but his hands were bound. They had expected a fight, and so they had brought backup, and because of that Roy hadn't stood a chance. He managed to stumble to his feet when he heard Riza's pained grunt, demanding that they unhand her. His protests were met with thick Drachman and the butt of a gun cracking against the back of his skull. His vision had blurred as the room swam as he stumbled, dropping heavily to his knees. He couldn't catch himself on his hands, which were bound behind him still, so the ground slammed painfully into his knees. Cursing quietly, Roy tried to talk his stunned brain into action, but the blow had been hard and the world was spinning away from him.
Someone tugged at his tied hands, yanking him to his feet and pulling his arms harshly behind him. The agony slammed through his shoulders and he hissed at the pain, struggling to focus on the moment around him. He heard Riza calling out to him. He looked up just in time to see the flash of the blade in the light as it was driven into his Captain's side. Everything froze in that moment, his breathing and heart, even their struggling. Everything just stopped. It only lasted a moment, because then the knife was removed and Riza's blood splashed across the wall by the door, soaking into her uniform and staining the dark blue material. Her soft gasp renewed Roy's fight, and he snarled at the men that held him. "Captain! Let go of her. You bastards, I'll burn you all for this. Riza, don't you dare die!"
Another blow to the back of his head darkened the world around him, but he didn't drop again. Strong hands around his arms kept him from the floor, but Roy felt his grip on reality slip from his clutches. He heard Riza's voice, heard her pain and panic but he couldn't make out the words. His vision swam, and then went completely as the darkness had pulled him under. When he'd woken again, everything was still dark. His head was throbbing, and he felt like his stomach would turn on him if given half the chance. There was no noise around him either, and the cold of the North was seeping in through the brick walls leaving him aching and shivering. Blinking a few times hadn't helped the blackness, and he knew then that his ears and eyes were both covered with something. He struggled, brushing his head against his shoulder to try and dislodge the offending objects but nothing shifted and his world had remained silent and black and cold.
The fear that bubbled up was suffocating, he was helpless, bound and without his senses. Memories threatened to overwhelm him. Memories of Father, of the human transmutation he'd been forced to do at his bidding and of the resulting price he'd had to pay. He'd lost his eyesight, and had been useless without it, crippled and defenceless. He had only survived by Riza's unwavering support, but he didn't have that now. He didn't even know if she was alive; the last he had seen was her bleeding and being dragged from him.
Roy fought against the dark thoughts and the fear that gripped him, trying to find something to ground him. He thought of Hughes, of his best friend would always manage to calm him in a situation like this. Hughes had talked Roy out of some of his darkest moments and had supported him throughout everything, but Hughes was gone. Roy had let him die and thinking about him when he was struggling to keep his shit together wasn't helping. He couldn't think about Riza or his team, not without worry himself sick about their welfare, so naturally his mind went to its favourite distraction. Ed.
Roy needed to get out of this. He needed to calm himself so he can find a way to get out of wherever the hell he was and get back to his man. He needed to get back to Edward, to make sure that the other alchemist would get the help that he needed to heal from his trauma. He needed to get home to Edward to see where this relationship could go, because it had so much potential. Roy knew that it could be the best thing that he'd ever let himself have and he didn't want to have to die in this cold, black cell without feeling Edward's heart beat against his own again. He'd finally told the young man how he'd felt for him, had let the feelings out in one moment of weakness that he was sure was going to be a mistake right up until it wasn't. He couldn't have everything that could have been end like this!
Roy wasn't sure how long he'd sat there in the dark quiet, but after a while he became painfully aware of another urgent problem that he was having. It had been awhile since he'd been able to empty his bladder and now the need was building painfully in his pelvis. He tired calling out to someone, but whatever was covering his ears drowned out even his own words. He was pretty sure that he'd shouted out, but not being able to hear his own words was unnerving. He waited, and called out again but nothing happened.
Without his sight or his hearing, Roy struggled to judge time and its passage. He'd tried to count, both to keep track and to try and take his mind of his growing need to urinate, but he couldn't focus too long on it. His head ached and whenever he moved it he felt his stomach twist into a knot. He stilled for a moment, fighting the urge to vomit, waiting until the nausea passed before he struggled to try and free his hands. If he could even get them in front of him then he wouldn't have a problem relieving himself without the embarrassment of physically wetting himself. He was a grown man, and the thought of sitting here that vulnerable made his skin crawl.
After a hopeless moment, Roy stopped struggling. He wasn't going to be able to free his hands, or move them in front of him and all he was going to achieve was tiring himself out when he needed to be alert to get out of this. He was sure that he'd been left alone to die in this cold prison, so when hands roughly grabbed his arms, his heart about stopped in fright. He tried to talk, to ask them to let him see or hear. Anything to make him feel in control again. If they replied, he didn't hear it. He was pulled to his feet and the sudden movement disorientated him; he was pretty sure that he had a concussion, but it could just be the limited senses that he had. Hands were holding him up, moving to the buttons of his uniform shirt. Uncertainty gave him pause, and he was only vaguely aware of the breath trapped inside his chest. What was going on?
His shirt was fully unbuttoned and slipped down his shoulders, the chill in the room seeping into his bared skin and making him shiver. He protested when hands were at his trousers, jerking back in an attempt to stop them from whatever they were doing, but it didn't help. Rough, calloused fingers dug into his hips as his trousers were pushed down, along with his boxers and throughout the whole thing, Roy couldn't see or hear a thing. His heart was racing and he kept trying to talk to his captors, but they didn't give him any indication that they had heard him; or even understood him. The clothes were fully removed him, his shirt cut to get it off his bound hands without the risk of untying him.
As suddenly as he was pulled to his feet, he was forced back down to his knees, the cold, stone floor beneath him was rough and cut into his skin as he struggled to stand again. There were no longer hands on him, but he couldn't tell if he was alone or not. He called out to the strangers again, but was still met with nothing but silent darkness and a troubled shudder ran through him. Completely naked, the cold in the room soon left him shivering.
A choked sob slipped past his lips when he was no longer able to control his bladder, the shame of being reduced to this made him feel sick to his stomach. Roy managed to back himself into the corner of the room, away from the evidence of his accident, and pulled his knees up to his chest. He wanted to wrap his arms around them, but they were still tied painfully behind his back and it wasn't long until everything in his body was screaming complaints at him from the shivering. He went back to trying to count, hoping that it would keep his mind away from the darker corners of his mind, away from the shame that was crushing his ribs; away from thoughts of Riza and if she was okay, away from the fear that he would never see Edward smile again.
It could have been hours or weeks when he was next pulled from his solitude, but all Roy knew was that he'd been left to wet himself in the bitter cold room without any kind of food or drink for long enough that he was starting to suffer the affects of such. His breathing and heartbeat were too fast. He was fatigued and his stomach ached with the need for sustenance. He had started to believe that he'd been left there to die, so when the mask was roughly removed from his head and light and sound flooded back to him, Roy covered away from it. It was too bright, the light bounced off the white walls of his prison and burned into his eyes, leaving stars dancing in his vision. Too loud voices shouted words he didn't recognise and before his confused and tired mind could even attempt to catch up a plate was thrust in his face.
There was a roll of bread on the plate, and Roy simultaneously wanted to eat it as fast as he could and turn from it; the thought of eating anything leaving a greasy sick feeling in his stomach. He didn't get a choice though, because his numb arms were never untied and instead the roll was force fed to him with just enough care that he didn't gag and throw it back up the moment he'd swallowed it. He wasn't given any time to recover before a glass of water was being forced down his throat also, but his thirst had him almost begging them for more of the blissful fluid when they'd taken the empty glass from him.
The men had ignored him the entire time, not once looking at him or reacting to anything he said, and both his anxiety and his anger snapped when he was ignored for the fifth time while trying to get information about Riza out of them. He wanted to burn these bastards so much that his whole body shook with the urge, but even the snap of his fingers behind his back didn't give him the slightest bit of satisfaction. All he got in return was a cruel laugh and then the mask was forced back over his head, blocking out the light and the sound once more; but the dancing stars from the light lingered as he was pulled, stumbling, from the room.
Roy didn't know where he was being taken, but the hands on both his arms kept his stumbling feet from tripping him. Even the effort of trying to walk along side his captors was exhausting to his deprived body and the cold from his room lingered in the hallways he was being half carried through. He wanted nothing more than to collapse into his nice, warm bed and sleep for a week, but he knew in his gut that he'd never see it again. Riza could be dead, his team was nowhere near him. He didn't even know if he was still in Amestris or not. Had they taken them into Drachma? Was he going to waste away and die here or were they going to interrogate him for military secrets? He'd been here for days, or was it weeks? Yet they hadn't paid him the blindest bit of attention. They had a high ranking officer of their enemies' forces and they seemed happy to leave him to quietly die in a cell somewhere. It didn't make any sense.
Their little party stopped, and Roy slumped against the men holding him on his feet. He just wanted to sleep. Suddenly his hands were cut free from their bonds, and the stinging agony that shot through his arms as they were yanked up and over his head had him biting into his lip hard enough that he tasted blood just to stop the scream from being voiced. His hands were locked into some kind of metal cuff hanging from the ceiling, which was just slightly too far out of reach so it left him standing on his toes to stop the metal cutting into his skin.
Roy wanted to ask them what they were doing, but he knew that they would ignore him. Even if they didn't, he had been deprived on his senses again so any answer would be lost to him. He was so focused on the burning that roared through his arms that when the first shock of freezing cold water was thrown over him it took his breath from him. Gasping and coughing, Roy struggled to steady his racing heart and then there were hands on him again, scrubbing over his skin with rough cloths until his skin felt raw, interrupted at times with bucketfuls of icy water. Roy felt himself whimper, rather than heard it, when the hands were rubbing over his ass and cupping his testicles; a pained groan slipped from his lips when they were squeezed and Roy clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth together as he was washed and groped.
As suddenly as the assault had started, it had stopped again. He wasn't released from his position, and Roy was tense for a long while – waiting for another assault that never came. After a while it became clear that they had showered him and just left him to hang from the ceiling where he was. Never once did Roy think he'd miss his other cell, but standing there on his toes, dripping wet in Drachman cold, Roy almost found himself hoping for a quick death. The thought only chased away by Hughes' voice in his head, encouraging him to reach his goal. He had to survive this. Not just for himself, or the team, or for Edward; no, Roy had to make it out of this so he could change this country and stop this kind of thing from happening.