Development

Dominus

Disclaimer: I don't own FMA.

A/N: This is for my friend. Who's been a blast meeting and goofing around with. It's a light humor piece involving Roy and Maes.

-

He looked grim and set, hand perched against hip while his other held a hefty stack of photos. He was ready for the day, ready for the smiles, the nods, the repetitive love of his brilliant photography skills (come on, who wasn't? the mirror surely thought he was prepared, it fogged up periodically at him). The door was like a teleport each and every day; leading him into another dimension of love-struck fools. No doubting this man.

Stepping casually and promptly inside, eyes ran down his familiar (one should be at his rank) form and then peeled away quickly. Few lower lieutenants scrambled off, whispering. Always a commotion he starts, the man mused while ruffling his hair and re-positioning his glasses. Trooping down the hallways, poor, unfortunate spectators (who forgot to be mentioned this horrible daily dilemma) had to be tormented through the process of being shoveled and thrown into his own family album.

Finally reaching his destination, Mustang's office, he skipped by Lieutenant Hawkeye - never forgetting a classic ear-to-ear grin - and clumsily dropped the stacks on his already filled desk (who knew the horrors of what lay in there). "I could basically call the pharmacy my second home with all these SPLENDID, and absolutely captivatingyouwontgetanybetter pictures! Wanna see? I know you do. Here we go-" he stuffed a group at the irritated Colonel's face.

Roy twitched, eyeing the messy papers (and whatever his desk was), currently not enjoying the construction he'd had to rebuild later. No time for fanmail, none at all. "Hughes. I think we all know that your daughter is a gift from above, a present from himself, a blessing with gorgeous, beautiful, dazzling, amazing features that would only come from a fellow such as you."

"You flatter me too much, you know!" Maes outwardly chuckled, dispersing the fact that his friend was repulsively being sarcastic. "But you didn't even look, Roy; old buddy!" The alchemist grumbled, pen rapaciously tapping against the shaky desk. "I'm bus-"

"Don't be so shallow, Roy! Everyone always has time for a picture or few!"

The Lieutenant Colonel briskly grabbed the picture, smudging it with a lack of respect (Hughes developed in twos and threes) and gawked.

"Gracia said you wouldn't like it, but who would dislike reminiscing on the past? I do it all the time with my angelic little Elysia, I can't stand the fact that she will eventually leave me - but then I remember she'll be even more attractive and pretty once she matures. Oh, think of the crowds of boys chasing after her! They'd probably outrank you by the number of girls you have at your dis-"

"HUGHES."

"Yes'm?"

"Why do you have THIS with you?"

"Aw, but this was when you first figured out you and your connection to pyromania. Good times, good times."

Roy grimaced at the embarrassing picture: hair heavily singed, the process repeating itself on the ends of his ragged clothes. The scenery around him was less appealing - skittering dust and clumps of ash layering the ground. Boom - a disaster, and you could see Maes' thumb protruding from a corner. A few seconds later, and the Major was whining to his superior officer on the edge of the desk - complaining about the burnt crisp of . . . nothing. Hawkeye stood from the doorway, amused expression dancing across crimson eyes. Oh, Roy was having a bad day alright.

"You didn't have to do that, Roy! You toasted it, fried it, decimated it, bombed it! You really didn't develop much, did you? ... At least someone appreciates my artwork!"

And with that Maes Hughes ran out of the room, eagerly depressed and enthusiastic at the same time. There was always more pictures to go around.