Gah. Had a hard time getting the formatting right on this one.

I just realized I didn't put disclaimers on my previous fics. I'll fix that eventually. And if I owned FMA, I'd be rich enough to be worth suing. As is, it'll just be a waste of time. .

He hated waiting.

He stared at the phone. This wasn't the kind of waiting a child felt, before a party or the promise of a good surprise. This was the anxious waiting before a storm, the unsettling feeling in the pit of the stomach that would finally snap when the lightning tore the clouds asunder and rain showered down.

The phone refused to ring.

The kind of waiting one felt when, alone at night, some unexpected noise startles the listener into /knowing/ another is there, counting down the seconds, milliseconds before the unknown resolves itself into friend, foe, or stray cat.

This wait, though, this disconcerted feeling was infinitely worse, because he knew it would never be resolved.

Maes Hughes was not going to call.

He was not going to burst through the door without knocking, photos filling hands and pockets, waiting to be shown off.

Roy was not going to receive a message, delivered by some unknown contact that his friend had a choice bit of intelligence, too delicate to be discussed except in person.

It would never be resolved.

He waited.

Thanks to all the wonderful people who review!

And to that one flamer- Who the hell is Micheal Jakeson?