Roy Mustang woke up in a dull haze of pain with no idea where he was or how he'd gotten there. His brain automatically snapped into surveillance mode even before his eyes opened. No sound of gunfire. No obvious sign of enemies in immediate vicinity. Limbs fully functional… He moved his right arm just barely, wincing. Okay, mostly functional. No smell of oil, smoke, or burning flesh, no sound except… crickets. There are no crickets in Ishbal. Right.

His vision swam, but he managed to make out a low ceiling of some sort, with long wooden beams above his head. He was lying on his back on a small bed with a rough wool blanket on top of him. There was no sign of another human being present. Wait, scratch that, he could detect a slight movement, just past the bed…

His head snapped left, though he regretted the swift motion almost immediately. Son of a bitch, I must have been seriously, seriously dru-

"Hair of the dog?"

A hand with slim fingers sprung into view, holding up a nearly empty bottle of scotch.

Oh, shit. Memories flooded his brain like unwelcome guests at an already overcrowded party. The man in black, burning, himself, burning, Edward, burning, Edward…!

"Ed…?"

"He's fine. Left you this."

Soubi's other hand came up, bearing a note. Roy attempted to roll over to get it, then thought better of it and simply stretched out his left hand. Holding the paper in front of his face, he could barely make out Ed's customary scrawl. How the boy manages to draw arrays so precisely, considering his reports are still one step above chicken scratch, is really beyond me.

It read something like this:

Dear Colonel Bastard,

Ritsuka and I went into town to get food and supplies. Before you get mad at me, I already weighed the options and decided it was the best course of action, since both you and Soubi are wounded, Al's still unconscious, I'm unfamiliar with the territory, and Ritsuka shouldn't be traveling alone. You can critique my decision when we get back. Better yet, you can shove it.

Don't get up. Stay in bed. That's an order. I don't care if you're no longer following my orders. Fucking stay in bed anyway.

Don't even say you have to scan the area for potential enemies, because I already did that. I took a walk around the property before I left (1300 hours) and there were no enemies in a half mile radius of the house. Yes, I did remember to look up. No, this is not an opportunity for a short joke.

Don't get up. I mean it. I'm gonna ask Pretty Boy when I get back if you did. It better be just to take a piss or something.

ED

P.S. If Al wakes up, talk to him. Don't let him freak out. He's sleeping on the futon next to Soubi's.

P.P.S. I alchemy-locked the front and back doors, as well as the door to the cellar. The array is on the back of this note in case you need to get out in a hurry.

Roy turned the note over; indeed there was a perfectly-executed array on the back, along with the words Try not to burn this, dumbass scrawled underneath. Smirking in spite of himself, he extended his left hand in Soubi's direction once more.

"I'll take that scotch now, please."

This time Soubi's well-groomed head popped up next to the bed, along with the bottle. How the hell does he manage to keep his hair so damned perfect looking, despite the fact that he's been lying in bed wounded all day? Roy hated to think about what his own hair probably looked like. Maes used to tell him he resembled a rooster that had been drowned and raised again on bad days. This was probably one of those times. Sighing, he took the bottle from Soubi, giving his physical appearance up as a lost cause. Prince Charming, today, he was not.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I've just been used for target practice?"

Roy sat up carefully and took a long, slow swig of the amber liquid. It burned deliciously going down. He could do with being drunk for the next three days, truth be told. Too bad Ed had already gone out, he could have given him a list… Oh, wait, Ed wasn't old enough to buy alcohol, was he? Did the same rules apply here? Old enough to fight, kill and die, but not old enough to drink. Something about that just wasn't right. He sighed and lifted the bottle to his lips once more.

"Mind if I lay next to you?"

Roy made a noncommittal noise and moved over slightly, making room. Soubi climbed gently onto the bed and lay sideways next to Roy, stretched out like a cat, his head propped up on his elbow, his long legs hanging off the end. Roy noticed that while his neck was bandaged more than usual, it wasn't nearly as damaged as it should have been from the flames that Roy himself had inflicted upon him. How on earth had he managed to heal so fast? He reached out to touch the bandages gently.

"How…?"

Soubi snatched the bottle and took a small sip. "Ritsuka. He… did something, I'm not sure what. He helped you, too, though you probably don't remember."

Trying to recall last night's events made Roy's head ache even more, if that was possible. He could tell this was going to be one of those truly wretched hangover headaches, the kind that made your head feel like a great brass bell, resonating loudly and painfully with every slight noise around you. All the more reason to keep drinking.

"There is also a Fighter technique of healing through self-hypnosis. You might have read about it in one of those books."

Roy put his left hand over his eyes. "I don't… think I'll be doing much of that sort of thing, anymore." He looked down at his mangled right hand and sighed.

"You may have temporarily severed your connection with Edward, but that doesn't mean you are no longer a Fighter. You can't not be one. It's what you are."

"Just give me the goddamned alcohol, will you, and stop spouting bullshit?"

Soubi smiled and passed the bottle to Roy once again. "I can try and show you, if you like."

Roy was still trying to work out whether that was a come-on or whether he was actually serious about this crap about him still being a Fighter, when suddenly, Soubi was on top of him. Okay, it was definitely a come-on…

Soubi pressed his forehead to Roy's, closed his eyes and breathed deeply, putting his fingers to Roy's temples and massaging them gently. Roy could smell alcohol and the tang of cigarette smoke and he licked his lips in anticipation, but the kiss never came. Instead, he felt Soubi reaching down to touch his right arm, underneath the bandages, where the flesh was still blistered and sore…

"Ouch! Why did you…!"

"Shhh. Concentrate with me. Remember your arm as it was: whole, unhurt, perfect. Focus on that. Forget about everything else."

"How can I forget when you're – OW!"

Soubi pressed Roy's left shoulder firmly into the pillows with his opposite hand. "Relax," he intoned, directly into his ear, his voice dripping with spellwork. Roy's gut instinct was to fight it, but it was useless, anyway, and on the off chance that it worked, well, then, good. His body responded and he went limp in Soubi's arms.

Good. Now. Remember.

Remember.

He saw himself running by the seashore, laughing, carrying in his right hand, of all things, a kite-string. Roy didn't have very many happy childhood memories, much less any that he could readily recall, but there he was, looking up at his perfectly healthy 10 year old arm as it reached up into the sky, flying a kite. His left hand was pointing up into the blue expanse, as if he were trying to show someone, someone he loved… his mother. His beautiful, raven-haired, pale-skinned mother was walking slowly down the beach ahead of him, laughing, the wind blowing her long hair out of her joyful face…

Mother…

Strange, he'd almost forgotten what she looked like. How could he have forgotten such a thing…?

Roy opened his eyes, blinking, and found them wet. Damn it.

"There, see, it's already starting to heal. Now sleep on it, and it will get better."

"What happened to that goddamned scotch?"

Soubi reached down and pulled up a second bottle of what looked very much like sake. "I found this in the house cabinet. Should last us a few more rounds, eh?"

"I could kiss you."

"No one's stopping you."

Roy had a fleeting thought that their respective Sacrifices would be very upset were they to come home and find their Fighters in this position, but as Soubi's moist, hot tongue slid into his mouth, he realized he didn't really care. After all, he was no longer under Edward's orders, now, was he? Let him throw a fit. See how far it gets him. He does whatever the hell he damn well pleases all the time. It's time for a little touka koukan.