Chapter 6

Roy awoke to blindingly white walls and a dark hospital gown.

"What the fu-"

Hughes. The stubbled man was carelessly draped across the nearest armchair, his glasses knocked askew. He was still in his rumpled uniform and looking from his general appearance, Hughes had seen better days.

Roy gawked at the IV drip feeding into the back of his had. He could see the bulge where the needle lay under his skin. Cool liquid flowed into his veins. What was it? Saline? Glucose? Instinctively, Roy panicked. Liquid calories were being pumped in copious amounts into his system. Shit…weight…increase

"Aw shit…who the hell authorized this. I'm. Going. To. Get. Fat." he ground out.

Roy picked frantically at the surgical tape holding the large needle in place. It had to come out, and come out now.

It held fast.

In desperation, Roy resorted to violence. He simply pulled the entire contraption forcibly from his vein. Needless to say, the pain was immense.

Roy cried out.

That was all it took for Hughes to awaken. Hughes gawked at Roy, who was cradling his hand against a bony chest, trying, albeit failing, to curb the blood flow. Anger coursed through him. In a single fluid motion, he extricated himself from the armchair, strode to Roy and backhanded an ashen cheek.

"What the hell do you think you're doing Roy? This needle and tube is currently keeping you alive. Shit, Roy. The doctor said your blood sugar levels were fucking low. Do you know what that means, Roy? It means you've starved yourself to the point of death. Do you enjoy existing as a breathing skeleton? This is your life you're toying around with!"

The physical violence and furious tirade stunned Roy for but a moment. His lips curled into a smirk. Roy laughed humorlessly.

"Life, Hughes? Life isn't anything if you exist as some fat laden asshole. Besides, Roy died when he met Bradley. There's nothing left of him that isn't replaceable."

"Listen to yourself. You've gone completely insane. There are no spare parts for life Roy. You lose an arm, a leg; you've got automail to fall back upon. For a small price you get back your mobility. But life? Nothing can be exchanged for a life, Roy. There's no automail for a life. Watch what you're fucking around with!"

For a moment Roy grew solemn. His reclusive tendencies started to exert its vice-like grip on his soul. Hughes knew. Hughes knew all too well. No way was he going to allow his talented, erudite, and once-cheerful Mustang to sink back down into the dank recesses of the marsh Roy had put together from shards of his shattered innocence. It was not to be borne.

Hughes leaned over Roy's prone figure. A bruise was already blossoming across his cheek, like a lone rose blooming in winter frost. A surge of pain sliced across his heart as chartreuse met obsidian-pain-filled obsidian. It hurt so much. His friend who he had come to love lay in a hospital bed weighing less than a teenager. His friend who should have been in his prime and enjoying a successful military career was naught but a broken spectre. Life was so unfair. He thought of his own blessings – his loving fiancé, his own stable career, a whole mind and spirit and health. It hurt him when Roy was in pain; it hurt even more when he refused to eat. He wanted Roy to open up and let him in, let him take away the poisoned stakes driven deep into his soul and fill the gaping holes with a friendship that was pure and not superficial; a love that was unadulterated by the evils of modern society. The anguish that afflicted his being was driving Hughes to the point of insanity.

For both their sakes, this torture had to stop.

"Roy…" Hughes produced a knife with a flick of his wrist, "Fake facades might cover you, but they'll eat at your insides. Everyday you cloak yourself in the darkness of deceit, your heart and soul gets gnawed away." His lips twisted into a smirk, "You should know this, Roy - you're an alchemist. It's called Equivalent Exchange. You can hide, but everything inside dies. It like a flower, "calloused fingers stroked Roy's marred cheek, "you could put it in a vase and dwarf it with other much more beautiful flowers. It will look prettier, no doubt, but that little flower will quickly die – forgotten."

Hughes gently ripped open the bloodied front of Roy's hospital gown, revealing the wasted torso beneath. His breath caught in his throat as the dull ache plaguing his core intensified tenfold.

"Roy…"

Hughes ran a rough finger over emaciated ribs, earning a shudder from Roy. He thumbed protruding collarbones, wishing with all his heart that Roy would just get well. In his mind of convoluted reasoning, he knew there was no such thing. Much blood and sweat would have to go into pulling Roy from his spectral state. He wanted the torment of his sick friend to go away. It hurt so bad; so bad.

Roy's emotions boiled and bubbled within him like dark churning river threatening to burst its banks. Hughes' touch had shocked him back into a reality in which his flesh was deteriorating. Staring at his own skeleton showing through pale skin, he felt a fraction of the pain Hughes was enduring. Maybe he should get better. Maybe he should eat. Maybe. Roy felt something wet glide down the ridge of his sternum and pool at the shallow depression at his solar plexus. And again, and again.

Hughes was crying.

"Please Roy…."

Roy grimaced. This man cared so much about him. This man had given a lot just to help him. Guilt flooded his system. He wondered about how much his actions had hurt Hughes emotionally. Apparently a lot. Still, the thought of food sickened him. It would be an arduous struggle of self-rejection and strong will. Hughes was choking back his tears.

Fuck the "maybe". He had to get better.