Author's notes: Omigosh! I'm soooooooo sorry that I took so long to post this! I was doing a lot of re-writing and stuff...Hopefuly it worked out better - but I don't know...Maybe I'm just being too picky..Prepare yourselves to board the 'random-train-of-thought express' of a man very near death...it's a strange and bumpy ride that does in-fact; involve mini-skirts. I do make a semi-referance to 'dumb blonds' in this...I really don't mean to say that blonds are dumb or anything else! It's just part of the story...so in advance: no offence ment!

Mustang opened his eyes. He was greeted by a view of the night sky, dark and barren. His right arm was hurting worse then ever, and his body felt heavy.

Groaning, he tried to sit up, but his body refused to obey. Trying to ignore the splitting head ache he felt, he turned his head to the side.

The sole of a perfectly polished leather loafer greeted him. Tony was laying in the snow as well. Hurt badly, maybe even dead. Mustang didn't care either way. He turned his head the other way, biting his lip against the throbbing pain.

Hawkeye lay on his left. Looking even paler, a thin line of blood ran down from her lip.

Roy forced his left arm up and, ever so gently, wiped the blood away with his coat sleeve.

He knew it was the end. It had to be the end. His arm was bleeding badly; he didn't have much time left. Soon he'd be dead too.

For a moment he pretended that Hawkeye was alive, just sleeping. They were married and this was the morning after their wedding – the first day of their new lives together. He'd woken up early to surprise her with breakfast in bed….Or perhaps they'd been married longer; a year or two – maybe five. Any minute the sounds of their children playing would wake her. They had a whole family and a little house in the country…No…Maybe it was later in life; much, much later. Their children had long since moved away, leaving the aging couple alone in an empty house. That would explain the aching pain that Mustang felt – he was growing older. Riza looked the same though – just as young and beautiful as ever. Like a violet that had been pressed between the pages of a heavy book, preserved forever. Roy on the other hand – he felt weak – weak and crumbling.

For just that moment he lay, lost in impossible fantasies – waiting away the time until death. It could have been minutes – it could have been hours. He had lost track of the passing of time and his vision had long since blacked out.

He could feel his own blood soaking his uniform, thick and warm – seeping through the wool to his skin and tingling.

The pain wasn't so bad anymore – it was beginning to feel almost comforting. And he could see Hawkeye again, they'd meet at the gate – she was sure to be waiting for him. They could face death together. He wasn't afraid of dieing any more. He let his mind wander as he waited to join her.

The seconds ticked by. Roy counted them to himself; it was the only way he could keep from going stir crazy.

'One, two, three, four, five…six.' He stopped, counting was boring. He'd all was thought so – even when he was a little kid, he'd failed math horribly. He still wasn't sure why he needed to know all those stupid formulas – they were about as useful as the miniskirt he'd had tucked away in the back of his closet in his apparent – in vain hope that someday he could get Riza to wear it. He felt the trace of a smile dance across his face as his pictured the blond woman in the small blue skirt. It was a shame he'd never gotten to see her in it. She'd never have worn it though - never in a million years – even if they were married.

Marriage. For the second time that night the thought flickered through his mind. So many times he'd been tempted to ask her, but she'd always given him that look – that look that clearly said: 'Something on your mind, sir?' And he'd always lost his nerve. Hawkeye was so unlike other girls. He'd tried to make her jealous by taking out the most dim-witted, large chested blond he could find – only to have her wish them a good time as he walked the girl down the steps of central.

Mustang was sure Hawkeye had pretended not to notice the fact that he let his hand rest rather lowly on the blond's back – the girl had only giggled shamelessly. She would have put on a miniskirt for him in a second…come to think of it, Roy was pretty sure she'd offered…That was when he'd got that splitting head-ache and had to go home.

With a pang he thought longingly of the home he'd had as a boy, and how he used to lay awake at night and listen to the sounds his house would make - The creaking and groaning as it settled. Mustang strained to listen, half expecting to hear the sounds once more. There was silence, absolutely nothing was stirring. And then – Mustang was sure he'd imagined it, but he thought he heard the snow crunch. Never mind, he was slipping from reality, it was bound to happen. He tried to get back to what he'd been thinking about '…Mini skirts? No…Riza in a mini skirt?'

Crunch.

'There it was again! It was faint, but most defiantly there.'

Crunch. Crunch, Crunch.

'Something – or someone – was walking around.'

Crunch. The sounds grew louder as what ever it was came closer.

Mustang could hear the sound of someone breathing, and the pattern of breathes almost seemed familiar - like the way sights of everyday life vaguely echoed dreams at times.

Crunch. Crunch.

Over the sound of the snow being packed down, Mustang could have sworn that he caught the fait sounds of someone humming softly, but it was too quiet for him to recognize the tune. The sounds were coming much, much nearer. Suddenly they stopped, the humming died – even the sounds of someone breathing were stifled. There was a long pause, during which Mustang held his breath, even his pounding heart seemed to stop for the moment.

The footsteps broke into a run.

The last things Mustang could remember were the sounds of somebody out of breath leaning over him, and the feeling of cold fingers on his neck, searching for a pulse - Then an excruciating pain as somebody attempted to lift him up. The pain was so intense that Roy felt himself slipping from consciousness. He was too weak to struggle. Defeated, he gave in, letting himself drift into a grateful sleep.