Destruction
Roy hurt in so many places that he couldn't think straight. He felt like he had been pounded and cut by an overzealous butcher. Which I have, he though with a glimmer of his old, dry humor.
The one time that he had tried to move ended with a shriek of pain so bad that the doctors sedated him. He still felt fuzzy from the drugs and the pain didn't help any either.
He opened his eye blearily. It was the only movement that didn't hurt – even breathing was tough now.
A blurred, familiar figure stood at the foot of his bed, disheveled and mortally exhausted. Dark rings had settled under glazed sapphire. A confident mouth had twisted into a cruel line. Skin had turned an unhealthy shade of ash.
Roy's eye widened, appalled. Combat fatigue – he was fighting against friends, comrades, men he commanded in Ishbar... they trusted one another...
Havoc's shaking hand saluted bittersweetly, and he turned away from Roy. But no door opened and shut, no footsteps echoed down hollow halls.