Chapter 2
I.

He took him home, back to the apartment thoughtfully provided for him by the military. Roy had protested at first, saying that he had a perfectly comfortable room waiting for him in the dorms, but Maes wouldn't hear it.

That desperate act of relief back at the train station firmly convinced him that the best way for Roy to heal was here with him, where he could provide all the support the man needed.

Roy must have realized this too, or seen that there was no changing his mind. He stopped trying to convince him that he was fine and instead settled on grumbling about having to share quarters with a lazy slob who couldn't cook.

Which was better, in Maes' opinion. Insults he could deal with. An unbalanced Flame taking offense was something he would rather avoid.

Roy had little by way of possessions. Not surprising, considering the military provided all their needs. Everything he owned could be summed up in a big metal footlocker and a standard-issue canvas duffel bag. The metal locker stayed in his assigned room, along with everything else not urgently needed.

To Maes' surprise, Roy's books stayed behind.

II.

The first morning, Hughes woke up to a collection of enticing scents, under which there was a faint trace of…smoke? He stumbled out of bed and down the hallway, sure that he was going to find his apartment trashed and Roy –

- making breakfast?

Roy stood in the middle of his kitchen primly dressed in khakis, a blue shirt and bare feet. In his hands, he held a whisk and a dented metal bowl. The shorter man gave him a brief glance. He continued batting the eggs.

Hughes stood there a moment, torn between relief and guilt. Relieved that his kitchen was still in one piece and guilty that he had sorely underestimated his friend's control. He pushed off the wall and sat down at the small table. He didn't bother to offer his assistance, knowing that he would be useless to the man deftly making his way around the kitchen.

One hand expertly flipped the bacon and paused to adjust the temperature; the other busily cracked eggs into a waiting pan.

Hughes rested his chin on his hands and sighed dreamily. This was going to be so great; he could imagine it now: the two of them living as a family and every morning, Roy would make him wonderful breakfasts with eggs and pancakes and syrup and French toast…

Roy set a plate of food in front of him and sat down to eat his own, ignoring him completely.

Well, okay, maybe not the happy family part, but Roy seemed set on making breakfast every morning and that's what counted.

Maes studied his friend. Roy was, as always, the picture of serenity even while shoveling food into his mouth. A closer look, however, revealed that all was not as it seemed. His cheeks were paler than usual and he was certain that the bags under his eyes had gotten heavier. He looked like he had not only been awake all night, but also had been under stress as well.

"Roy."

The younger man paused in his eating.

"Do you get nightmares?"

Dark eyes simply scowled at him in reply.

"I mean it, Roy. You look like shit." The only thing that bothered him was that he hadn't noticed a thing. He wasn't exactly a light sleeper and the walls were pretty thin. He would have heard the noise…

He noticed a faint redness and signs of bruising around his friend's mouth. A cold feeling of dread washed over him.

He shoved his chair away from the table and stomped into the living room.

"Maes?" Roy hovered nervously by the doorway.

Maes was too furious to answer. He attacked the couch, sending cushions flying everywhere. Finding nothing, he moved on to the rest of the furniture, too intent on his search to care that he was systematically destroying his living room.

He found it in the drawer next to the armchair. It looked so innocuous in his hands. He unfolded it. There was a large patch of wetness speckled with drops of red.

"What," He growled, waving the rumpled handkerchief. "Is this?"

A vague shrug. "It looks like a hanky. Do you have some sort of aversion towards cotton?"

Hughes gritted his teeth. He was going to strangle the sanctimonious son-of-a-bitch. He crossed the room in three strides and had his hands on the man's collar before either of them could blink.

"You little fucker, you were gagging yourself last night, weren't you? Do you not have any sense in that brilliant head of yours?" His voice grew louder with every word. "What if you'd choked? You could have suffocated!"

Roy didn't struggle, just stared at him with those dark, bleak eyes.

Hughes let go and stumbled back. He put a hand up to steady himself. "You didn't care, did you?" He whispered hoarsely. "You didn't want to wake me up so you took the risk because if you did die…"

Roy rubbed his neck and ran a hand through his hair. "Two birds with one stone, Maes." He murmured.

Hughes squeezed his eyes tight. A horrible feeling settled on his chest. He couldn't think, could barely breathe. He just shook his head and leaned on his arm, trying to control the whirlwind of emotions inside.
His right fist made a satisfying dent in the wall.

When he looked up, Roy was gone. Maes hurriedly dressed and fled the apartment.

That night, Roy wordlessly handed him the freshly opened pack of handkerchiefs.

And his gloves.

III.

Days passed and the two of them settled into a rhythm. He woke up to Roy making breakfast. They ate. He went to work. Roy stayed because he had been granted a month's leave. He came home at night to the sight of his friend sprawled out on the couch, bottles littered all over the living room floor. He would clean the mess, take out the cigars and make himself comfortable on the armchair. After a while, Roy would start talking.

Sometimes, Maes joined in.

If Roy was in an affable mood.

That was the only time Roy really talked. Meals were a one-sided affair with Maes chattering about his day and whatever bits of gossip he could think of. He filled Roy in on who was doing who, which receptionist was playing hard-to-get, which officer was jealous of another's promotion. He did it because he knew what Roy was trying to do and he wasn't going to let it happen. He refused to let the alchemist bury himself in his isolation.

However, their nighttime sessions were another matter. He let Roy set the pace on those.

Roy eventually would pass out and Maes would get him horizontal and tug off his shoes and shirt and wrap him in a blanket before putting away the leftover alcohol and cigars. He'd check on him one last time, to make sure he was comfortable, then he'd retreat to his own bed to sleep.

Neither of them mentioned the war. Or the gloves in Hughes' bedside table.

IV.

"I killed someone." Roy announced drunkenly. "Just thought you should know that."

At last. Maes stayed silent.

Roy eyed him blearily. "Aren't you going to say something?"

"You were in battle, Roy. It happens."

Roy reeled back. An array of emotions passed over his features.

"Roy, you can't have war without casualties. It's just-"

Roy was on him in a flash, pressing him down on the cushions. He bared his teeth, wild-eyed and crazy. "Is this just war, Maes?" He growled. He mimicked a gun barrel with his index finger and pressed it to Maes' temple. "Would you be 'just another casualty' if I shot you right here, right now?"

Maes swallowed. This was not going to be pretty.

Roy threw himself to his feet and lurched back. He readied to snap. In his drunken state, he didn't seem to realize that his hands were bare.

Maes reached up and stopped the motion.

Don't do this to yourself, Roy.

Roy hesitated. The trembling gaze focused and Maes suddenly felt cold.

His eyes were looking through him.

"They just looked at me." His voice caught. "They were terrified, you could see it in their eyes. A man and a woman. Doctors, the both of them. They were married and had a little girl waiting for them at home."
A family…

Hughes wearily closed his eyes. He could feel nausea climbing up his throat.

Roy turned away and wrapped his arms around himself. He suddenly looked so small and young. Hughes reached out a hand.

Roy didn't move.

"They were good people. Good people." He said distantly. "I never got to know them. They were always out in the field, even if they weren't on duty. They didn't care what side you were on. If you were hurt and needed help, they gave it, no questions asked. And everyone in camp knew how much they loved their kid. They talked about her all the time." He paused. "I went to their tent, once. For a physical. Pictures of her were everywhere. A sweet little girl, so happy, and she obviously adored her parents." Roy screwed his eyes shut, face filled with self-loathing. "Now she'll never see them again."

Maes pulled him into a hug. The man was trembling. He ran his hand up and down, trying to soothe the tremors. Roy stiffened in surprise, then latched on fiercely, sagging in his arms.

Maes put a hand on Roy's nape to steady him.

"I still remember what she looks like." His muffled voice confessed. "I can't get her out of my head. I can't get them out of my head. Is this my punishment, Maes?" Roy said miserably. "Am I supposed to remember for the rest of my life?"

Maes didn't know what to say. No lie could make it better. The truth was too painful to bear. He couldn't help but see the tragic irony of it, however, and this was a thought he would never share with his friend.

While Roy would carry those images with him in the years to come, that little girl would grow up and be left with nothing more than a hazy recollection of the parents she had lost.

"Did you want to kill them, Roy?" He quietly asked.

Roy snapped his head up, suddenly sober. Onyx eyes stared at him in disbelief. "Do you seriously think-" He broke off, growing angry. "I was ordered to, Maes!"

"Did they give you a choice?"

Roy glared at him, fury back in full force. "Of course not!" He tried to shove free. "Let me go!"

Maes held fast. "Then it wasn't your murder, Roy." He tightened his hand on Roy's neck, forcing the alchemist to meet him in the eye. "He gave you the order. It's his sin, not yours."

Roy was already shaking his head. "My hand, Maes. My gun. I could have said no. I could have-"

Maes shook him by the neck. "You could have gotten yourself killed. Kicked out, at the least. And how would you do your research then?"

"I could have escaped!"

"And gotten yourself hunted down?" Maes countered.

Roy was quiet. He furrowed his brow, more perturbed than cross. He gently pushed Maes away and wandered back to the couch. He flopped down haphazardly, arm over his face.

Maes frowned, confused by the sudden change in demeanor. He had a strange feeling Roy wasn't telling him something. He crouched next to the couch.

"Roy," he started uncertainly. "You have to realize you were just a tool. All of you."

Roy didn't reply. "How did you know about Gran?" He asked instead.

"I did a little research," Maes admitted.

Roy raised his arm slightly and gave him a smirk. "You mean you snooped."

Maes grinned. He carefully ignored the silent tears that Roy was trying to hide. "I did what I do best. I'm not ashamed of that." He leaned closer. "And you shouldn't be, either."

Roy suddenly rolled over and buried his face against Maes' shoulder.

Just like that, the dam fell.

"I killed people, Maes. Oh god, I killed people." Roy mumbled brokenly, his voice thick.

"Shh, Roy. Shhh." Maes stroked black strands, unmindful of the tears soaking his shirt.

Roy shook his head violently. "You don't understand! What I did – it wasn't natural. It wasn't alchemy. I never should have had that capability. It wasn't me…but I made it happen. I did it. We did it. We played god and those people didn't stand a chance."

Pitting State Alchemists against a firmly anti-alchemical and backwards society? No. There was nothing fair about the whole thing. Maes had hated the idea from the beginning and now couldn't help feeling disgusted that the Fuhrer would fall so low as to allow this mockery.

Roy moved away and rested his head on his pillow. He wiped ineffectively at the tears. "Sometimes, I wonder if she's okay," Roy muttered. His eyes were falling shut. "I hope she's got someone to take care of her."

"I'm sure she does, Roy." Maes smoothed unruly hair off his friend's forehead and planted a kiss on damp skin. "Now go to sleep. I'll take care of you."

Roy smiled in his sleep. And for one night, had no dreams.

It started out with a kiss
How could it end up like this?
It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss