Not Today...

A sequel to "Silhouette" and "Just Two Normal People..."

... kind of... there will most likely be another few chapters following this storyline, mainly because I have half of it written already...

Warnings:

Major Angst. Suicide Refrences. Spoilers for Ep. 25.

Slight RoyEd mostly andsorta RoyHughes if you squint really really hard.


"I know he's out there somewhere…"

He was convinced that the shorty hadn't died on him. More like, in denial.

How was it that FullMetal could go missing for more than six months, even with Roy's extensive network of informants? It was bugging him.

"Brat…" he said under his voice while shuffling through the latest stack of papers.

"Boss…" Havoc's voice trailed off.

He considered whether or not what he was going to say was going to get him burned alive or not.

"Boss… I think…. I think… I think we should just… we should just… just give it up…." His voice wavered at what he was suggesting.

Roy shook his head sadly.

"I… I guess…. I guess so…"

It was a side of Roy that he had only seen after Hughes' death. As usual, Roy immediately tried to cover it up with he usual veneer of anger, irritation and indifference.

"You would have thought that brat would have at least sent us a damn letter or something…" He laughed half-heartedly.

Allthat was left to assume was that they, or at least FullMetal, was dead. Gone. Forever. Hopefully Al would have at least enough sense to come back to Central.


He shooed the others out of the room; they weren't making things any easier. He pulled open a smaller drawer in his desk, and spread its contents out. Photos. Roy would die before admitting that he owned a photo album.

…Just random snapshots of his life over the last few years. He flipped through them.

Black Hayate; Hughes acting like an idiot; Riza scaring the shit out of someone; FullMetal in a full rage, and Al standing there in a futile attempt to and restrain him from killing someone; Havoc casually smoking right next to a "No Smoking" sign.

Damn, he felt like Hughes with all the pictures.

Hughes…

He stared at the other contents of the drawer, and they gleamed in the sunlight. He picked up his last memento of the man, and ran his finger down the edge of the blade. He reached the point and his finger slipped and bled a little.

Putting the instrument down, he pulled out a glove and picked up a photo. He realized too late that he had just stained his glove a sharp contrasting red color from the blood.


Roy watched as the flame slowly but hungrily consumed the image. His life, burning away before his eyes. Where he was going, there would be no need for painful memories of the past.

The picture disappeared into a pile of ashes on his desk, and he clutched the other object from the drawer in his ungloved hand. He traced the edge of the watch, and his hands began to shake. Dropping it to the floor suddenly, he glanced back at the throwing knife on his desk. He picked it up by the handle and stared at it for a moment.

He briefly wondered what it was like to die.

Would it be painful? What would happen once he was dead? Would he finally see the two of the most important people in his life again?

He pushed the thoughts from his mind, thinking for once about what would happen to all of the other people that depended on him.

No…

He picked the watch up from off the floor and placed it, the knife and the remaining photos back into the drawer, and closed it firmly, like there was some horrible monster hiding in the drawer.

He considered that for a moment. That drawer was full of monsters. His monsters; the monsters that continued to haunt him to this day; the monsters that would be with him forever, constantly reminding him of his sins.

No…. Not today…
He got up and walked silently out of the room, and made for the front doors. He needed a break, desperately.

You know, I bet he's too stubborn to die…

The crisp January air bit at his face when he opened the door.

He stopped himself. Who was he fooling? No one had seen him, or his brother, for half a year. And the Elrics didn't exactly blend in with the crowd.

He was so enveloped in his train of thought that he almost didn't notice the infamous face in the crowd. No one else in Central had dark skin and red eyes with an 'X' on their forehead, he was pretty sure. Roy barely had time to react and quickly pull out his glove in self-defense before he went unconscious.

His last thought and wish had been, "Kill, me, please."


Did I just kill Roy? Mebbe. Don't shoot me. You knew this was coming.

Just have faith in me when I say that he's only "mostly dead". And we all know that mostly dead is completley different from all dead.

...Taters...