94. "If I die"
He is in a morbid state and he looks the part, his hair elegantly mussed and his uniform carefully disheveled. Before him on his desk lay these things: his gloves, a small black book (white pages, unlined, notes and arrays taken in red and black ink), a stack of unsigned papers (approximately two and four-nineteenths of an inch tall) three volumes of what might be poetry, a bottle of alcohol (no glass), and pictures, pictures, pictures. Boxes of them. Many of the photographs are of Roy himself (in them he looks harassed but happy) but they are mostly pictures of Gracia and Elysia, the small family that loved Maes Hughes as entirely as he loved them. (But Roy is not jealous of that, no no no no; there is nothing special about leaving people behind, about grief after death. He is lucky, to be as unattached as he is.)
(He is a damned liar and a fool as well, for thinking that.)
A movement in the doorway; Roy looks up from the pictures to meet Hawkeye's calm gaze. His own eyes are hurt and inexplicably angry. This sort of sorrow is intense, profound, and private; Hawkeye feels like an invader.
If you die, Roy's eyes seem to say, you had damn well better make sure that I will not be left like this, weeping after you.
Hawkeye retreats, closing the door of his office without a word; as she does so, she vows that when she does die, there will be nothing left to mourn but blood, bullets, and ash.