Memories of a Best Friend.
A Visit
By claudius
I don't own the rights to Fullmetal Alchemist.
Author's note: I've tried to place this in the anime continuity as best I could. This meant I had to make up some points where anime and manga contradict (like removing manga Hughes' Ishbal experiences, which his anime counterpart didn't have).
I wake up with the morning. Okay, that's stretching things. I see the day wake up, having been already awake for an hour or two. It's not because I'm holding Gracia next to me. In fact, I like that part very much. She feels so warm! I enjoyed her warmth last night: There is nothing like some good old-fashioned lovemaking!
Even without my glasses, the bright light helps me view my beloved's sleeping beauty. But I put on my spectacles to get a better picture anyway. And what a sight: Her content face, that smile, her eyelids hiding her flashing green eyes. Watching her long golden brown hair trail down, I try not to look at myself. Fortunately the red comforter covers me up very well.
With care, I get up, trying my best not to wake Gracia. Difficult, since my arm is under her head. But I've gotten out of worst straits before. I succeed. I pull the sheets away. Brr! I feel the cold air hit my naked body. Getting up is a big mistake! I want to go back under the warm covers and snuggle some more with my Gracia. Safety is there, a comfort that's irreplaceable. But with a sigh, I get up and pull on a robe.
I head to the bathroom. My boxer shorts hang on the doorknob. So I'm a slob in sex. I have to throw my clothes somewhere! I drop the robe and take a shower. This time I stand in its rain, instead of kneeling down or leaning on the wall like some sad sack loser. But I still close my eyes scrubbing myself. You see, my body has some certain additions I can do without. Something the soap can't get rid of. I think of things. Last night and my sweet loving with Gracia. Too bad she nearly ruined the mood by mentioning him. Geez, another go at it wasn't enough to make me forget.
I get out and grab a towel. Next is a hesitant turn to the bathroom mirror. Usually I face it with in a robe or shirt. Now I watch it in the nude. I'm still in good shape for a man of almost twenty-four. Haven't passed my prime yet. I actually try to flex. Arms all muscle-ly. Shoulders nicely carved. Pectorals still plump, abs still as bumpy as a washboard. Whip scars still present and accounted for...I stop. My head grows heavy and looks to the sink. Time for vomiting?
I'm ugly. No, I'm really vain. For all my nature as a nice guy, upstanding citizen, valorous officer, I'm really full of myself. It's just that going from fat kid to ripped handsome young man is something to be proud of. I felt an achievement getting to look this good. That was almost taken away months ago by the lash.
No…it's not actually that. There are two kinds of touching. Making love to Gracia. That's very good touching. Very, very good. What's on my body…now, that is the bad kind! Nasty reminders of a botched job in undercover. Scourge welts cover a good part of me. They still hurt. Not the small stings, but the memory, the helplessness I felt getting them. As my torturers whipped me, my courage stayed, but I felt my defenses leave me. The whip cut into my soul. It was as if they violated me in some way. I hated my assailants. I wanted them to die. It makes me feel sick, and I don't mind.
I lift my head to see my grin at the mirror. It contrasts with the ugliness of my body, showing me how fake my smile really is. That facade raises a question that has bothered me these last few years. Who is the real Maes Hughes? Am I a friend? A happy-go-lucky optimist? A Lover? A Soldier? An Investigator? A Murderer? A Monster? For a while I bordered on the latter description. That somewhere deep in me is something very bad. I took people's lives (My mom, bless her heart, was the first victim. What an entrance!). No two ways about that. The recent torture brought on more of that low opinion. But I feel better nowadays. Whoever I am, it's not evil.
Not to say I'm pretty. I used to enjoy being scanty in clad (as much as society allowed, like going to the beach). But I never swim anymore. I don't train in public anymore. Even when I show my skin in private, I still feel embarrassed and revolted. Few have seen these scars, except for Gracia. She bore a lot in the except part. I wince at what her thoughts might be. How can she bear to see me bare, let alone touch me? No longer in the sexy mood, I quiver in memory of our lovemaking. Gracia kissing my cut chest, rubbing her fingers on my scratched stomach, resting her head on my roughened pectoral. I wouldn't make love to myself! (Not that I have!) And yet, she and I have made sweet wonderful love. Forty times! (Hey, when you lose your virginity at my age, you have to make up for the lost time!) So as antsy I feel about going bare to Gracia, I relish the intimacy that comes with it. Her acceptance is so endearing, I could cry. She makes me want to forget how my body looks. Makes me want to enjoy life for all its shitty details. For her, I'll bear life and its scars with pride. I turn to my bathroom door and spot my sleeping girlfriend. I don't deserve her. Gracia would be better off with someone whose hands are not stained with blood. Not that I'm going to take that noble sacrifice. I'm afraid that I'm a little too selfish for that.
I shave the stubbles off my face. I'm used to it for years, but sometimes I wonder if I should let the hair grow. I comb my hair, streaming it back except for two bangs on my forehead. I wonder what having one long bang would look?
I do a little workout. Some push-ups and pull-ups. Got to keep my stamina for the wedding night! Sure, that won't be for another year or so, but practice makes perfect. I put on a burgundy suit. For my white shirt, avoiding a tie I rarely wear, I leave my top collar button open. My eyes spot the gauntlet holster for my push-knives: something to discreetly wear under my sleeves in case of danger. I shouldn't need it today, despite the feeling that my destination is going to be the toughest in my life.
I sneak to my sleeping Gracia. I kiss her cheek. My happiness. My savior. My angel. One day soon, my wife.
With that kiss for luck, I go downstairs for the inevitable. I can't keep putting it off. There is an apple pie in the icebox. Gracia made it for him. This is more difficult than I thought. I could eat the pie. It's the achievement of a great cook. But then…he won't have it. I place the pie in a basket.
I walk out of the house. Nice place we got. Cost a lot, but I think we can make it. Hopefully I can afford the wedding. Can't promise anything about the honeymoon though.
Basket in hand, I walk down to a stop. I greet any neighbor or shopkeepers present. Central City is a busy place. Compared to it, Palvern Hill is a hamlet. My hometown was an okay place with a small population. It didn't have a lot of kids, though the portion it had I couldn't count as friends. No fun being the fat kid. Then I met he-I-can't-mention-earlier: Roy Mustang.
He was my best friend. A pretty boy with brains inside that head. He could be arrogant and egomaniacal, and yet had a good sense of morality and responsibility (when it really mattered, or at least he did before graduation threw us into the real world). We weren't friends at first, of course (and no longer). Like the other kids, he avoided me like the plague. But I turned him over with my sweet, kind nature. That, and the fact I saved him from drowning. I stuck to him like glue. When he went to military school I followed, working my ass off to be fit for the physical rigors of the army. It was all for Roy. Once upon a time, I could do anything for him. And then came the exceptions …
I catch a streetcar. I see the people bustle along the streets. I spot a family. Cute kids they have. Am I getting ideas? Hold it on that one! Sure, I love kids, and I got a lot of experience with them. But do I dare bring one here to this world? It's not a very nice one. Okay, one can sidestep that problem, but not another: will Hughes Jr. have both parents? The Hughes family has a funny tradition. Dad lost mom (thanks to the introduction of yours truly), and he lost his mom at an early age. Gracia lost her mom young as well. If I'm the one to go first, will it happen before junior goes to school or date? Worse, what if I'm not the one…No, stop thinking about it! Not the kindest, most wonderful person in my life...
I want to play it safe. I've made some job interviews. As soon as I get hitched, I'm resigning from the army. I'll never look at another blue uniform ever again. Or see another person die (whether by my hands or someone meaner). It'll be just Gracia and me (and maybe a third one), living happily ever after.
That is, providing I get through this visit. Oh, why did Gracia have to spot Roy a few days ago? She said his appearance worried her. Her concern for him was a shocker, considering their history together. To her, Roy symbolized every arrogant, skirt-chasing, 'love-'em-and-dump-'em' male. For Roy the ladies man, she was unattractive, calling me nuts for settling for her (then again, he called me nuts for many other reasons). Sometimes I wanted to smack Roy for his holier-than-thou attitude, especially when Gracia was concerned. And she's the one who worries about him! (But isn't she wonderful for being that kind of person?)
Back to the present: she asked me to see him. That's the part that nearly spoiled some good loving. The guy doesn't want my help.
"If not want, what about need?" That's what Gracia said to me. Eventually I obeyed. How can I not? She took advantage of my orgasm-vulnerable condition!
I get closer to my destination. Roy has a small apartment around here, or so I've heard. As I get closer. I think about what went wrong. I begin to waver. Why should Roy need my help? He certainly doesn't need it. He proved that by a little goodbye gift: A white feather. To him, I was a coward for not going to Ishbal like all the other soldiers. Just because I didn't want to soothe his ego! Because I didn't want to obey psychopaths and their orders to kill men, women, and children, and pretend it was some great service to our country! I've received a lot of heat for being too soft with killers and crooked officers. Soft, however, in that I just wound or injure them in combat. It's better than getting good grades for killing people. I learned that the hard way. Roy probably did too. Only I'm not in denial anymore.
Why should he be worth my sympathy? Our friendship is over. I turn around and head back home. From the start I didn't want to go to Ishbal. I didn't want to kill people or get killed in some battlefield in some strange land (besides, I didn't want to blow any chance I had in being around Gracia). I used every influence I had to get me a desk job. But it didn't save me from killing people on the homefront. I suffered a lot for my crimes. The only good thing was Gracia. If not for her, the pain would have destroyed me.
I keep walking. Screw Roy Mustang! He hurt people. Men, maybe women and children. He disappointed his achievements. He disappointed his dream to help our country. He disappointed…me. Roy was everything I wanted to be. He stood out like some bright star. He could have been the greatest leader, soldier, Alchemist in Amestris. Instead he became a murderer. I know that sin too well. But I was weak. Roy was so much better. He should have known better.
And yet we were soldiers. I stop and lean on a lamppost. What do you expect from a war? As a soldier, you fight and you kill in wars. But I knew that and did everything I could to avoid it. Roy knew what war is as well. He should have stayed away too! He has himself to blame. He had no right to give me a feather!
I see my feet lift but not move. I might as well give the apple pie to some passerby. But I do nothing but return to my destined path.
Then again, when all was said and done, Roy did ask for my help, and I refused. Sure, how he wanted that help- joining him in Ishbal- I couldn't do. But maybe I could have given some advice? Convince him to take a longer leave until the war ended? I don't know. Instead, in our last meeting, I called him a murderer in all but name.
Damn that fiancée of mine! (I regret that curse immediately) Being a nurse gave her a delusion that she could fix people's souls. Okay, so I'm just like her, working my butt off helping strangers and getting nothing in return. But this isn't going to work on Roy. It's too late. Why can't she take the pie herself? Because I was once his best friend? The nerve of Gracia, asking me to make this visit!
On the other hand, it takes a lot of nerve to know one's dark side and still love that person.
It takes a lot of nerve to be feel such agony and still open up to people.
And it took a lot of nerve for a tragedy-stricken kid to open his heart to a silly fat kid.
What the heck! I walk to the building. I've decided that, due to our history, I will give Roy this pie. So I'll see him, give him the pie, speak some small talk, then leave and never think about him ever again. I owe him that much.
And soon I am at his door. Okay, resolve. Do your stuff!
I bang on the door. Please don't answer!
Nope, door opens. Should have known. The door moves slightly…and I see Roy.
I freeze for a moment. Gracia's description didn't do him justice. Roy looks like he's waiting for the embalming fluid. His room stinks (or is that actually him?). Has he looked at a mirror lately? Of course he hasn't…silly me. The pretty boy looks pretty ancient. His empty eyes remind me of the boy he was a decade ago: very lost and alone. What the hell happened to you?
Again, stupid me.
Okay, guilt! Come rain down on me! I misjudged Roy badly. I didn't measure him the same way I measured myself. I cared more about who he killed, not what he suffered for doing it. Gracia did not judge me for my murders. What right did I judge Roy? I want to go down a deep hole and hide my shame. Since I don't see any hole anywhere nearby, I do what comes natural to me. I beam a smile. I suddenly remember the reason for my visit.
"Here's an apple pie I got my girlfriend to make for you." With that white lie, I present the basket with the biggest exposition of my pearly whites. "Want it?"
Roy's empty eyes grew full. And he actually smiled! Looked like he hasn't done that in a while. Well, don't worry Roy Mustang! Your Best Friend Maes Hughes is here to help you!
This scene of Maes Hughes meeting Roy Mustang is documented in Episode 25 of Fullmetal Alchemist. For Gracia's point of view on the prologue & aftermath to this reunion of friendship, read the upcoming Chapter 12 of The Woman He Loved.