A/N - I will be honest, this is a little bit of a weird one. It's the first post-canon fic I've posted, but it won't be the last! This focuses on the relationship between Roy and Havoc, but Al also features heavily (I love when adult Al is used!). This would be around five years post-canon.

In this fic, Roy is married to Riza, Al is married to May, and Jean is married to Rebecca (Ed is also married to Winry of course, but that doesn't come up here). In my post-canon universe, Havoc doesn't rejoin the military, but he still assists Roy with black ops missions and basically functions as a spy.

I will be honest, this one is a bit dark, but there's no deaths or anything like that! Trigger warnings for nonconsensual drug-use, withdrawal, and vomiting.

Title is from The Amazing Devil's "New York Torch Song."


Roy was woken by the sound of the phone ringing. Since he didn't normally expect calls at…god, it must be about three in the morning, he at first assumed it was his alarm, and that he'd overslept. Then he realized it was still dark, and Riza was still asleep. Or rather, she was also confusedly blinking awake, looking exhausted and concerned.

"Who's calling?" she asked.

"I dunno." Roy's mind felt thick with sleep, and he was having a hard time thinking of any logical reason for someone to need him this early. "Maybe it's Edward? Playing some sort of joke?"

Riza frowned. "You should answer it anyway."

They had a phone located in their bedroom for situations just like this one - with their line of work, it was important that they could be reached in emergencies, whether day or night. But it hadn't rung in years, and every time it did, Roy couldn't help but curse what a stupid idea it had been. Nothing seemed important enough to be dealt with at this time of night.

Roy swung his legs out of bed and padded across the room. "Hello," he said as he picked up the phone. "This is General Mustang."

"General-"

It took Roy a moment to place the voice. Then, his heart dropped out of his chest.

"Havoc? Havoc, is that you?"

Havoc didn't respond immediately, but Roy could hear him breathing heavily on the other end of the line. He sounded like he was in pain.

Last Roy had heard, Havoc was in Xing, trying to gather information on a drug-smuggling ring. He'd been gone about a month, but he could have been gone another two weeks before Roy would have worried. Roy hadn't expected contact from him before he returned. The fact that Havoc had called him, breathless in the middle of the night…something must be very, very wrong.

"Havoc?" Roy asked again, trying his hardest to keep the panic out of his voice. He didn't want to worry Riza, not before he really knew what was happening. "Havoc, talk to me. What's going on?"

"I fucked up," Havoc whispered. "Oh god, I fucked up. Roy, please, I think I need help…."

Havoc's voice was tight with obvious pain. Roy had an abrupt flashback to the last time an injured friend had called him, and the world seemed to tilt around him. All of sudden, Roy didn't feel like he could breathe very well either.

Roy sucked in a panicked breath, reaching a hand out to the wall to ground himself. He couldn't afford to lose control now, not when Havoc was on the other end of the phone, injured and alone. He would not let this happen again.

"Talk to me," Roy ordered, and now he could hear the panic bleeding through. He hoped that Havoc couldn't. "Talk to me, Havoc, are you hurt?"

There was a shaky exhale from the other end of the phone. At first, Roy thought that it was a laugh, and by the end it half-sounded like a sob.

"Uh-huh. I'm hurt."

"Tell me where you are," Roy demanded, his fingernails digging into the wall as he tried not to picture the bloody floor of a phone booth. "I'm coming, you can-"

"Something else," Havoc whispered, sounding very, very afraid. Roy felt a chill run down his spine. He'd never heard Havoc sound like that, not even in the Third Laboratory, trapped with Lust.

"Wh-" Roy's mouth had run dry. Swallowing down the fear, he tried again. "What is it, Jean?"

The broken laugh came through the phone again. "The drugs…I got hooked on the stuff."

Roy's stomach dropped and twisted, and his entire body ran cold. Whatever he'd thought Havoc was going to say, it wasn't this. Havoc had been after a ring of dealers selling Zydrate - a drug similar to heroin - out of Xing, and they'd been a problem long enough that Zydrate use in Amestris was nearly tantamount to life in prison. God, no wonder he sounded so scared….

Roy must have let the silence stretch too long, because there was frantic breathing on the other end, and Havoc was talking again. "It wasn't a total wash, sir, I got the names of their contacts higher up, I just…I don't think I should say it over the phone, just in case…. I know I fucked up, sir, god-"

Roy squeezed his eyes shut and tried to steady his breathing. Didn't Havoc know by now that Roy couldn't care less about what names he'd gotten, or if he'd managed to complete the mission? Havoc was far away from home, injured and addicted, and all Roy cared about was making sure that his friend was okay.

"Don't worry about any of that right now," Roy said, trying to make his voice sound soothing instead of a hair away from a total breakdown. "How badly are you hurt?"

There was another short pause, then a sharp intake of breath and a small whimper. "Bad," Havoc whispered. "I…I don't think I can make it back home."

"Alright, alright," Roy said. "Where are you? Is it somewhere you can hide for the next day?"

"Um-"

"I'm coming to get you."

There was a shaky silence on the other end of the phone, and Roy wasn't sure if Havoc was deciding if he could last another day or trying to remember where he was or weighing whether he really wanted Roy's help after all. But finally, he spoke.

"Do you have a pen and paper?" he whispered.

"Yeah." Because he lived with Riza, there was a pen and paper resting by the phone. Havoc rattled off his approximate location in Xing, then described the house nearest to him. He couldn't give Roy an exact address, but he had enough specificity that Roy thought he stood a fair chance of finding him.

By the end, Havoc seemed to be completely exhausted. His breath was coming in unsteady gasps, and Roy wasn't sure how much more he would be able to get out of him.

"Just hang on," Roy said again, hoping that it would sink in. "Just hide, and…stay safe, and…I'm coming. I'll be in the car, so I probably won't be able to call you for a while. But I'll be there, I promise, Jean."

"Okay, sir."

Roy didn't want to hang up. He had a terrifying sense that this might be the last time he ever spoke to Havoc, and if he hung up, it would be over. But he couldn't get him help until he was off the phone with him.

"I'll see you soon." Roy ended the call without letting himself overthink it anymore.

He turned back to Riza, who was sitting up in bed, still in pajamas and hair mussed with sleep, but looking alert and intense. "That wasn't Edward," she said simply.

Roy swallowed hard. He couldn't let himself fall apart. If he fell apart, he would never pull himself back together. "It was Jean. He's hurt…bad, it sounded like. And he…got addicted to Zydrate."

Riza blinked, fingers knotting in the blanket. "You're going to go get him?"

"Yeah," Roy whispered. It was hard to get the words out. "But…it was bad, Riza. I'm not sure that I'll make it in time."

"Can you contact Ling?"

Roy shook his head. "Ling…he knows Havoc is there, but not in any official capacity. If the government found out Amestris had spies in Xing…his hands are tied. He won't be able to do anything faster than I can, and I don't want to put him in that position."

"Call Alphonse," Riza said softly.

"What?" Roy's mind was all over the place - he could hardly make meaning out of her words.

"Alphonse is still in Xing with May. He'll be able to get to Jean faster than you can. And he'll want to help."

"You're right," Roy muttered, feeling a tiny fraction of the weight lift from his chest. "Yes, yes, that's a good idea…."

"And then…and then I'll let Rebecca know," Riza said, sounding as if the words hurt her to get out. Roy didn't blame her. In fact, he wasn't sure that they should involve Havoc's wife at all, not yet. Not until they knew more. She wouldn't be able to get to him in time, and if too many Amestrian soldiers left the country it would be suspicious, and…and Roy didn't want Rebecca to feel the way he did now. If she just had a few more days where breathing and living was easy, wasn't that kinder?

Riza must have seen the look on his face, because her mouth thinned into a firm line that Roy knew very well. "I have to tell Rebecca, Roy. You would want to know. If it were me."

The thought of Riza in that position hit Roy like a physical thing, which was no doubt what she intended. He sucked in a shaky breath, assuming that as usual, she knew best.

"Okay. Tell her…tell her I'll be with him as soon as I can."


Havoc let the phone slip out of his trembling fingers, the dial tone buzzing gently beside his ear. It was annoying, but that was the least of his problems.

He couldn't get up just yet. He wanted to, but his legs were shaky and weak, and it felt like all he could do just to stay awake.

With a small thud, the back of his head whacked against the warped, scratched glass of the phone booth. Havoc hadn't meant to slide further down the wall he was leaning against, but apparently he didn't have a choice at this point. The stab wound in his stomach was sapping his strength, and the blood that was leaking out from between his fingers showed no signs of stopping.

Havoc coughed, and there was the familiar feeling of blood crawling up his throat. He turned his head to the side, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the floor of the grimy telephone booth he was sitting in.

That…wasn't good. Nothing about his situation was. He knew that the stab wound was currently his biggest problem, but he could feel the itchy anxiety of withdrawal beginning to creep up on him, and that felt so much bigger. He'd been stabbed before, and he could deal with that. It was just pain, pain and possibly death, but he'd already faced down his worst nightmare and come out the other side. The drugs, and the withdrawal scratching at the back of his mind, were something entirely different.

God, he'd fucked up. He'd done his research, he'd been so damn careful, but no cover was perfect. Jean had barely been there a few days before the fact that he wasn't using became obvious. He'd tried to hold out as long as he could - if his track record with cigarettes was any indication, he certainly couldn't handle using some sort of opiate and walking away.

In the end, he hadn't had much of a choice. They'd put a gun to his head and a needle on the table in front of him, and told him that either he was one of them, or he was a spy.

At that point, it hadn't really even been about keeping his cover - he just hadn't wanted to die. But he'd gotten hooked after pretty much his first dose, and once he was using anyways, it seemed like the only way he could make this worthwhile was to finish out the mission and actually get some names.

He hadn't expected to keep a handle on the addiction, exactly, but he also hadn't expected it to get as bad as it had gotten. Finding out any valuable information at all had taken way longer than he could have imagined. Spying wasn't easy when he spent his whole life either high or a sweaty, shaking mess.

But he'd done the damn thing, and he could hear the comforting rustle of the papers where he'd written the names in his pocket to prove it. Unfortunately, he'd been discovered pretty much immediately, and while he had still managed to escape, it clearly hadn't gone so well.

He'd made his way out of headquarters, clutching his side as tightly as possible to try to keep from leaving blood drips that could be tracked. He'd thought maybe he could make it all the way back to the train station, and then back to Amestris from there, but after walking about a mile, it was clear that wasn't going to happen. His fine motor control had been shot, he was nearly too weak to stand, and worst, he wasn't high anymore. Which meant he was less than an hour out from the withdrawal.

So he'd holed up in the phone booth to call Roy for help. And now Roy was coming. He was coming. And Havoc just had to hold onto that. It would be okay, Havoc just had to stay alive a little bit longer.

Havoc was in the slums. He'd been in the slums before, but this was the bad part. Most of the houses around him were abandoned and crumbling. He'd been half-surprised the phone still worked. But this seemed like the best place to hide - he didn't know if the drug slingers actually knew that he'd gotten the information, so he didn't know if they'd be searching for him.

But they might be, so he needed to get out of the phone booth. Into a house. It wouldn't be easy, but…after that, all he would have to do was wait for Roy. He thought there was a fair chance that he would die before Roy got there. But he wouldn't have to move again, at least.

Havoc got one arm underneath him, and used it to lever himself upright. A horrible wave of dizziness washed over him at the movement, and for a few seconds, all he could do was breathe and try not to pass out.

Standing was going to be a bitch. But he thought crawling would be worse, so he was willing to take his chances.

Hand over hand, Havoc pulled himself up the side of the phone booth. His legs didn't want to support him. God, when had he gotten so weak? The pain wasn't even the worst part anymore - it was so completely all-encompassing that it was almost possible to ignore. But he still wasn't sure that he would actually be able to walk.

Havoc took a shaky step, supporting himself entirely on the side of the phone booth. The dangling receiver knocked against his leg as if admonishing him, and he looked down at it.

"I don't…I can't…." Jean bit his lip, realizing he was talking to a silent receiver. The combination of the blood loss and his own guilty conscience had spun him out, but he couldn't afford to completely lose it right now.

He also couldn't afford to talk to his wife. God, he wanted to so bad, because Rebecca always seemed to fix everything, and there was a tiny part of him that believed she could even fix this.

Havoc knew that was wishful thinking, though, and that tiny part of him was overwhelmed by the much larger part telling him to keep walking. He…he didn't want Rebecca to hear from him, not when he was like this. He didn't want this to be her last memory of him, just some scared addict bleeding out far away from home. She deserved more than that. If he called her now, she'd know that much sooner just how badly he'd fucked up. He didn't want to see her until he was halfway normal again, and he'd fixed at least some of everything he'd ruined.

He would talk to her later. God, he really hoped that there was a later.

Turning away from the phone, Havoc dragged himself out of the phone booth. Every step was a nightmare, and he could feel blood beginning to trickle faster from his stomach. It occurred to Havoc that he might run out of blood before he made it inside, and he would just pass out and bleed to death right there on the sidewalk.

"Focus, Havoc," Jean whispered to himself. Even that much added energy expenditure was hurting him, but it kept him awake and on task, and that was worth it.

Havoc stumbled towards the nearest house. It was a dilapidated, clearly long-abandoned one-story structure. Havoc guessed that it was too run-down to be in much use, and anyways, it wasn't like he had a lot of options.

The door was unlocked, and Havoc nearly fell when it gave beneath his weight. He caught himself on the wall, swallowing a strangled scream as the movement tore at his stomach. Havoc was losing more and more blood now, and he could tell that walking had made it worse. He needed to find somewhere to hide, and then he needed to lie down and not move again until Roy found him.

Havoc scanned the trashed living room around him, blinking the dizzy fog away from his vision as best as he could. Even through the haze of blood loss, he managed to spot a door near the back, one that he desperately hoped led to a bedroom.

He stumbled across the living room, each footstep sending up puffs of dust. He tried not to think about what that might be doing to his wound. He pushed the far door open, and to his relief, he saw a bed.

He wanted nothing more than to collapse onto it - he didn't even care how filthy it was. But if there really were drug runners looking for him, he didn't want to make it quite that easy for them. He needed to hide himself, at least a little.

He slowly lowered himself to the floor. He was doing what his body wanted, so he didn't know why a wave of dizziness washed over him, but it did.

He looked down at the wound in his stomach. The bleeding didn't seem to have slowed at all. But he wasn't unconscious yet, which was surely a good sign. If he could lose this much blood and not even be unconscious, surely he could lose a lot more and still not be dead.

He was pretty sure he was going to be unconscious pretty soon though. He hoped that once he had stopped moving, he would also stop bleeding quite so much.

Havoc started trying to ease himself under the bed - he figured that was a much better hiding place than the middle of the floor. But somewhere along the way, his hands had started shaking. Bad. He seemed to have lost all the strength in his arms and legs. It could just be the blood loss, but he knew it could also be the withdrawal setting in, and while he thought there was a chance he could survive one of those things, he really didn't think he could survive both.

He had one dose left, a single syringe protected by a stiff black box, nestled in his pocket. He hadn't even meant to bring it - he'd just gotten so used to carrying drugs around in the past few weeks that when he'd gone to get the names, it had already been on his person. He hadn't wanted to need to take it. But at this point, it would serve the dual purpose of staving off the withdrawal and reducing his pain, which could be a life-saving measure at this point, especially since he didn't know when Roy would arrive.

So with trembling hands, Jean tugged the box out of his pocket, opened it, and prepped the injection. He had done this so many times in the past weeks that it felt like second nature. He could have shot himself up in his sleep.

He had to roll to the side slightly to expose his inner elbow, already a mass of bruising and small, raised scabs from all the previous times he had injected himself. He had a vague memory of his inner arms feeling tender and achy, but the pain from the stab wound seemed to have completely eclipsed that.

Havoc slipped the needle in, aiming somewhere in the middle of the nest of track marks. He pressed the plunger down, and he knew that there was no way the Zydrate was already working but it felt like it was. He felt calmer now, more ready for whatever came next, even if that was nothing. He also recognized that was a bad sign.

Havoc blinked, his vision swimming and warping the room around him. He let his eyes slip closed, staring at the darkness on the inside of his eyelids until the Zydrate actually did start working, and he began to drift away.

Havoc felt himself losing consciousness, and part of him knew that he should be scared. He should be fighting harder, he should be desperate to see Rebecca again and tell her that he was okay now. But the drugs had worked their way into his mind, and he found he wasn't scared at all.