I have a thousand and one college assignments due next week, so what do I spend today doing? Watching FMA and typing this up, of course. I love procrastinating.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. If I did, during the break of each episode, the FMA characters would have to come bring me pie, or else I'd kill them all off in a variety of interesting and painful ways. I've just realized that I'm not a very nice person (grins).

His route back to Central Headquarters had begun at a slow, casual pace. But once the blood started pounding in his ears, and his insides began tying themselves in knots, he found himself sprinting along the streets, his fists tightly clenched by his sides.

His lungs were protesting the lack of oxygen, but he forced their cries to the back of his mind. It didn't prove too difficult, since something else was already flooding his thoughts.

He threw open the doors which preceded the interior of the building, and almost ran straight into a startled Hawkeye. She regained her composure quickly, as she always did, and stepped in front of him, her arms folded.

"You're eager, Sir," she observed. "I thought you left for home hours ago."

Roy knew perfectly well that he had to be extremely accomplished in the noble art of deception to prevent Riza Hawkeye from seeing everything that lay behind his onyx eyes. Even so, that didn't deter him from leaning casually against the door frame, his arrogant smirk firmly in place, and arms folded across his chest in a mimic of Riza's own position.

"Oh, y'know," he shrugged. "That paperwork was just calling to me."

Riza rolled her eyes. "If only you were telling the truth, Sir."

"What makes you think I'm not?"

Deciding against gracing him with a response, Riza only sighed in desperation, and walked past him out into the street, pulling her military jacket closer around her shivering form.

Roy's shoulders visibly sank in relief. He had been saved the inquisition, for now.

Straightening up, and readjusting his jacket as though nothing had just happened, he strode down the corridor, raising a hand to the various greetings he received, but unable to process any of the words spoken to him.

Only when he had kicked the door of his office closed behind him did he allow himself to sink into his chair, and his head to fall onto his desk with a dull thwack.

With his eyes lightly closed, there was nothing to protect him from the wounded innocence of those amber eyes, that had haunted his every step since his feet had carried him from the remains of what used to be an alleyway.

As if his guilt wasn't immense enough, as if there weren't enough gashes on his heart from every person he'd brutally murdered, all because the Military had ordered it. Now, he couldn't even hide behind that pathetic excuse.

He had murdered an alchemist, a child in cold blood, and for what? Revenge? Or perhaps it didn't even matter, any more. He was already a monster. What was another life to add to his collection of things he'd mutilated, destroyed and stolen?

He groaned quietly, covering his face with his shaking hands. Of course it mattered. The tears he loathed with such a passion wouldn't be pricking at his eyes if it didn't matter. The guilt wouldn't be consuming him more than it ever had if it didn't matter.

With agility he thought himself incapable of, he pushed back his chair, and got to his feet, crossing the room to stand before the window. He could see the entirety of Central beneath him, and it was a sight that usually managed to calm him when his pile of paperwork had reached a height that almost matched his own.

He hung his head. Not tonight. Nothing could lift the veil of guilt that suffocated him tonight.

How could he have been so stupid, so reckless? Edward had done nothing to him, other than a few vicious words, that always escaped his lips sooner or later. Those lips that Roy had kissed, for reasons unknown even to him.

He raised his right hand, examining it with faint intrigue for a moment or so. Narrowing his eyes, he clenched his hand into a fist. This hand had crafted nothing but destruction, and tainted the innocent.

"Not any more." he whispered to himself.

He walked back to his desk, and stooped down, pulling open one of the drawers. He gave a grim smile. This particular one always stuck, and required several hefty tugs (complete with annoyed curses) before it moved so much as an inch.

Tonight, it slid open without protest, and Roy was able to slip his hand inside, and remove the pistol he always kept there.

Not exactly practical, to keep a pistol inside a sticking drawer, he thought to himself as he clutched it tightly in his right hand, recalling how it had felt the last time he held this weapon.

He could remember their faces all too well. Remember the horror that consumed him as he looked down upon the two innocent people that would never take another breath, all because of him.

His body gave a sudden, violent jolt, and he grit his teeth, raising the pistol to his temple. He couldn't live with those memories any more. He couldn't spend another night tossing and turning, managing barely an hour of sleep a night before he awoke, drenched in sweat, hearing the screams resounding in his ears.

Tightly closing his eyes, he rested his index finger on the trigger.

"Edward," he whispered, his throat dry. "I...I'm sorry."

With exasperation visible only in his eyes, the large, intimidating suit of armor descended the flight of steps that led to the library, wringing his hands with a series of dull clanks.

He was about to give up and return to the dorms, when he spotted the familiar blue Military uniform, the owner of it heading towards him.

Taking the final steps at a quicker pace, the armor ran towards the figure, causing her to look up in surprise, and reach instinctively for her pistol. Her hand fell slack as she realized who was approaching her.

"Alphonse," she greeted, but sensing his panic, added, "Is everything alright?"

"Major Hawkeye!" he ground to a halt opposite her. "Have you seen my brother? He was supposed to have left for the dorms hours ago, but I can't find him anywhere!"

"I'm sure he's fine," she replied calmly. "Perhaps he found a new lead."

"No," said Alphonse immediately. "He wouldn't, not without taking me with him. Brother isn't like that."

Hawkeye gave a small, cheerless smile. "He is if he's trying to protect you."

"But...from what?" he wondered aloud, before shaking his head. "Thank you."

Turning on his heel, he started to walk, his mind filled with unpleasant concepts as to what could have happened to Edward. The two had probably missed each other, with Edward returning to the dorms, and Alphonse heading for the library, but that didn't prevent Al from fearing the worst.

He turned left, and was stopped dead by a pile of smoking rubble, which appeared to be the remnants of an alleyway. As he watched, the brick seemed to be moving, and a frustrated grunt from beneath was perfectly audible.

Gasping, Al leapt forward, and set about shifting some of the rubble to release the person trapped within. What with being contained within a practically invincible suit of armor, he managed it quickly, and minutes later, he caught sight of a figure he recognized instantly.

His normally blond hair was matted with dirt and something that horribly resembled blood, and his face was covered in profusely bleeding gashes. With his flesh hand, he was clutching at his automail arm, despite how the majority of it was now lying beside him in multiple pieces.

"Brother!" cried Alphonse. "Brother, are you alright? What happened?"

"I'm just peachy, Al," he croaked. "But I'm gonna need your help."

Alphonse knelt beside the shorter form of his brother, and took a gentle hold of his flesh arm, wrapping it around his cool, metal shoulders. He then slowly got to his feet, taking Edward with him, and held him steady, ensuring that both of his legs were capable of holding his weight.

"What happened, Brother?" he repeated.

"Nothing," Edward replied dismissively. "I need you to take me to headquarters."

"But Brother, you're hurt!" he said, his eyes glinting with concern. "You need to rest!"

"No," Edward sharply hissed. "What I need to do is get to headquarters, and find Mustang."

"Brother-"

The look that was thrown in his direction was enough to silence him. Clearly, there was nothing he could say that would change his brother's mind.

"Alright," he sighed dejectedly. "But you have to promise me you'll get some rest. We have to fix your automail."

Edward merely nodded, and allowed his brother to slowly lead him towards Central headquarters.

He was weak, he knew that. But it wasn't about to stop him from confronting the man who had just attempted to kill him. He wanted to know what had been going through Mustang's head, at least before he put his (unfortunately, flesh, since the automail wasn't up to much) fist through him.

It might not solve anything, but it would make him feel a whole lot better.