Chapter Four- Two Sided Mirror

The difficulty is not so great to die for a friend, as to find a friend worth dying for

-Homer

Central Command, Fall 1914

00300 hours

Unthinkable.

Roy inhaled deeply as he stood in front of the door, his hand poised to take the knob in hand, his eyes closed and cast downward. In that moment, he couldn't move. Ironically, his infamous flames were snuffed out, his body frozen. He wanted to move, he wanted to open the door, to explain away this sudden desire to dissolve into nothingness. He wanted to prove that the idiots manning Investigations had it all wrong. He wanted to walk into an empty room, wanted to smile, laugh heartily at yet another practical joke his men were keen on playing. He wanted to believe that this night was nothing more than a cruel nightmare, one he'd long ago shoved into the deepest crevices of his soul.

He wanted to leave.

He wanted to dial the familiar number, to hear his jovial voice.

In the stillness of the night, he wanted the comfort of knowing that his best friend remained on this side of the mortal coil.

Unfortunately, what he wanted mattered not in the grand scheme of things. Because he knew what he would find once he opened the door, felt the bone shattering emptiness with each frantic, yet hollow step he took to get here. As soon as he had arrived in Central, the urgency to see Hughes had manifested into nervous energy. Of all the calls between him and Maes, none of them had held a sense of false mirth as this one had; even his quick quip about Roy's bachelorhood was void of his usual candor. He'd found something in the course of his investigation that was potentially explosive and Roy had an inkling that it had scaled into the enclaves of the upper echelon. Information like that was dangerous, even more so to someone like Hughes who had everything to lose.

If only I could've gotten here sooner, Roy thought as he exhaled and opened his eyes. He willed his hand to at least grasp the knob. Anger percolated His brow narrowed as his face hardened, angry that he couldn't just open the damn door. He clenched his teeth and growled lowly at his hesitation; after facing the many horrors of war, hearing the cries of the dying and the damned -cries that he caused- he'd succumbed to his weaknesses in that moment. A lone tear escaped and rolled silently down his cheek as he stared at the knob.

Unfathomable.

"Sir…"

The edge in Riza's voice was tangible, the pain evident in his ears. Yet, she remained steadfast, her decorum resolute. Instead of reaching to embrace him, she remained a few feet behind him. It was as if she knew he was unpredictable and wanted to give him as much berth as she could while remaining within the bounds of their understood roles. In that moment, he envied Riza, jealous of her ability to remain nearly apathetic despite the horrors visited upon them both. What he wouldn't give to be able to tap into that sort of numbness, to call on that reservoir of strength as easily as she could.

Riza took a step toward him and he reacted, his hand gripping the knob and turning it almost violently. He half expected to look down and see it clutched firmly within his grasps, instead, he looked up to see Dr. Knox as he stood at the head of the table, his dark eyes centered on the enshrouded body that lain there. At the sight of the cloth, Roy was besieged by a plethora of emotions; anger welled only to be quickly replaced by sorrow, his face segueing from hardened to forlorn as he took a shaky step forward. No one spoke. No one dared.

Although his attention was on the body, Roy could feel Knox's eyes on him. His back stiffened and he lifted his head in an attempt to recover. Even though Roy was in good company at the moment, he could ill afford his momentary lapse of composure. Best to maintain the façade of strength for appearance purposes- at least that is what he told himself as he continued to stare at the white cloth.

Maes, what have you gotten yourself into? The question replayed itself on a loop in Roy's mind as he stepped forward, surprising himself by even moving. Before he knew it, he was standing over the prone body, his own beginning to quake under the pressure. Despite the reality of it all, it wouldn't be final until he saw for himself that the body of his best friend was before him.

Roy raised his hand to lift the sheet away but hesitated. The rapid tandem of emotions eroded his cracked psyche as rage, despair, and fury all vied for their moment in the spotlight, thrusting him into perfect chaos. His mind was aflame with purpose and desolation simultaneously. He wanted so many things: To find the person responsible and burn them to ash, go to Gracia and offer his support, find a corner and shatter…to turn back the hands of time and prevent this from happening.

Roy closed his eyes and exhaled harshly as he pulled the sheet back with a quick flip of his wrist. There would be no going back. He could only move forward.

At that he was reminded of the sound advice he'd given the Elric brothers.

Keep moving whatever it takes, even if the way ahead lies through a river of mud.

The soft sound of someone clearing their throat echoed in the silence and it was only then that Roy noticed Knox. The older man stood across from him, his weary eyes set on the body. It was then that Roy finally looked down and saw Hughes. A multitude of emotion pushed through him and forced him to look away. He nearly broke in half and was tempted to allow his grief to envelope him but remembered where he was. Clearing his throat roughly, he forced himself to look back down; his brow crinkled with the effort it took to push back the pain.

"Where are his glasses?"

Of all things, that was the first question that came to mind .Roy was surprised that his voice was a sturdy as it was, especially since he was staring into the blank face that had once held so much life, so much joy. Roy struggled to keep his thoughts in the present as the memories of the past played in the shadows of his mind all while he tried to analyze what was before him. The purpose held hints of a certain duality; tactically the loss of the consistent flow of information and a trustworthy confidant was a crucial blow to his cause. But this was also personal; it was apparent that someone knew how valuable Maes Hughes was to Roy and murdering him would place Roy in a strategic stronghold. It was a play at control, a taunt, a warning of what would happen if he'd gotten too close for comfort. Roy clenched his fist tighter as the silence continued, hearing Hughes' ghostly voice, vowing to have his back, to be his inside man on his quest to the top. Of the many warnings, one stood out the most: Surround yourself with trustworthy comrades and prepare for what was coming.

"They're with his personal effects," Knox replied, effectively shattering the depressive sadness. Roy heard the connotation of distress interspersed within the succinct delivery and finally locked gazes with him, seeing for himself the strain evident in the older man's eyes. Knox knew of the depravity that the State could wield and his glare was equal parts accusatory and taciturn. "Brigadier General Hughes…"

Roy frowned, "Brigadier General?"

"You would focus on that, Mustang." Knox exhaled lightly and shook his head, continuing, "The brass considered him KIA and as such posthumously awarded him the rank of Brigadier General."

"How absurd," Roy interjected, "but the State always worried about appearances more." Grief had finally succumbed to logic as his thoughts cleared. "I've been to the crime scene and it yielded nothing of importance. Any indication of who could've done this?"

"I wasn't privy to the crime scene but judging by damage done to the body; both the laceration to his right arm and the bullet wound suggests that the perpetrator stood at a point blank range. Whoever it was, they were close."

Roy frowned, "Who could've gotten that close to Hughes and lived to tell about it?"

"I don't know, but they knew what they were doing. After a thorough autopsy, I concluded that the cause of death was exsanguination."

"He bled out. And whoever shot him watched him die," Roy rationalized. The brief respite from emotion was over and an unholy surge of wrath filled every fiber of his being. Someone snatched Hughes away from his wife, his beautiful daughter…away from him.

The pendulum of darkness had swung.

He would have his vengeance.