author's note: wow it's been a LOOONNNNNGGGGG time since I updated I'm so sorry if you were still reading this and waiting. I've been branching out a little bit with my fandoms so this project got side-tracked but I still love royai and I really want to finish writing this now that I have more free time.
Anyways, I feel like I'm talking to myself but if you're still reading this, kudos, and I'm sorry for the subpar writing style in this chapter; it might take me a bit to get back into my old groove. Also, to any new readers HI THERE! I hope you enjoy some angsty sad royai feels because that's what I'm here for.
Roy Mustang remained on his hands and knees in the graveyard for a few more minutes. The shock of seeing Hughes, even as a product of his own guilt-stricken thoughts, had felt like a blow to the chest which left him reeling and gasping for breath. Roy was struck by the reflex to vomit and dry heaved into the grass. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten—perhaps Denny or Maria had held a protein shake to his lips in the bed, but he hadn't managed more than a couple of swallows. Roy Mustang was a broken man who had given up on his life. And he knew, from seeing some of his comrades in Ishval when they returned with PTSD, there was not much that could be done to save someone who was determined to die as a means to end their tortured memories.
Roy thought back to when he and Riza had returned from the front lines. When they left the desert area, tensions were still extremely high. Nothing was solved; the solution of killing was only temporary. More than anything, that feeling of helplessness bothered him. He and his countrymen had come across the border with their large guns and leveled everything in their sights, all in some misguided vengeance. But when they returned to Amestris, trailing the blood of their enemies, nothing was solved. It had been a fool's war, something that he was not allowed to admit in his quest to become fuhrer. But the thought constantly weighed in his mind, along with the determination to at least try to make amends.
Thinking of politics and remembering his actions in Ishval made Roy dizzy again. But he was determined not to remain in the graveyard for much longer—his time would come, and it would be an honour to be buried here alongside his comrades, but until then, he was determined to accomplish as much as he could with his remaining lifespan.
Roy retraced his steps, allowing his muscle memory to guide him back home so he could focus on his turbulent thoughts. Before he knew it, he was at the front steps of his townhouse. Roy took a deep breath and unlocked his door. He hesitated before turning the handle. It was risky returning to this place, but he couldn't allow his emotions to get to him again. Spending too many dark nights alone might lead to madness. He self-consciously stroked his injured forearm, feeling the ghost of pain blossoming when he applied pressure. He realized he had left Dr. Knox's painkillers back in the underground clinic, but also knew that he needed a sharp mind. Roy took a deep breath and opened the door to step inside just as the streetlights flickered to life.
The foyer was too still. He mentally thanked Maria and Denny for cleaning up his destruction so he wouldn't have to see that. His eyes travelled up the main stairwell to the bedroom that he knew Riza would never occupy, with him, and he felt tears welling up in his eyes. Roy kicked off his boots and stomped into the kitchen. He went straight for the fridge and pulled out a can of beer. Often, while undercover, he would go to Madame Chrismas' bar and pretend to be drunk in order to pick up intelligence to help the military. Now, he just wanted to forget. He knew he was being both a coward and an idiot for drinking on an empty stomach, but he needed some poison in his system.
Roy took a deep swig from the can and sat down at his kitchen table. He hadn't bothered to turn on a light, so his home was darkening as the sky outside gave way to night. Roy laid his injured arm on the table and felt something strange touch the back of his hand. He frowned and picked up the object. It was a sheet of paper.
It was too dark to make out, so Roy reached up from his seat to hit the light switch on the wall. Handsomely penned characters came into his view but Roy had to wait for the room to stop swimming in and out of focus before he could read the contents. When he realized what the note was, his breath stopped short and he let out a choked gasp.
From the office of the Fuhrer Interim, Major General Hakuro
First Lieutenant Mustang, if you're reading this, it means that the first thing you did upon returning home was not deciding to take your own life. That would have been a shame. I do admire your courage, knowing that your comrades lie in the dirt beneath your feet. It won't be long before I walk all over you. I look forward to the day that Amestris recognizes me as its true leader. At that time, I will make sure that you receive proper judgement for your actions. In the mean time, try not to do anything that would disgrace the memory of that sergeant of yours. Although I am curious, Mustang, do you often let your underlings die for you?
Roy immediately snapped his fingers and burned the letter in a much larger flame than necessary. A heat wave blasted his face and burned his eyes. He slumped down in his chair, breathing heavily. Hakuro was despicable, breaking into Roy's house just to make a point. There was nothing within that man that deserved to be saved. He was evil through and through. Amestris would be better off without him, and the way that he had dishonoured Hawkeye made Roy even more determined to get revenge.
"We'll see who's walking on whom," he muttered, the ghost of a smile picking up the corner of his lips. At least now he had a purpose. Though Hakuro knew he was at a disadvantage without the person who meant the most to him by his side, Roy knew that he was still more than strong enough to take down the disgrace of a fuhrer. Roy stood and dumped out the remaining contents of his beer before discarding the can in the trash bag under the sink. Now that his life had purpose, there was a new light in his eyes. Nothing would stop him.
In that inbstant, the doorbell rang. Roy forced himself to calm down and was dismayed when he recognized the same bloodlust when confronting Envy. His lieutenant had been there to bring him back to himself, but without her, how would he know when he had gone too far? Roy stifled an anguished sob and tried to compose himself. There was no time for second guessing now. He slowly walked out of the kitchen down the hall to meet with his caller, uncertain if they be friend or foe.
Roy opened the door and saw a blonde-haired woman sitting on his steps. Her shoulders were shaking and she was muttering incoherently. Roy gasped when the woman looked up and he recognized who it was.
"Olivier Armstong?" he whispered. He almost didn't recognize the General due to her broken posture and her messy hair, which had always been so immaculate, even while leading battles in the harsh North. Her black eyeliner was smeared from the tears streaking down her face and there was such an immense sense of loss in her eyes that Mustang instantly bit back his own tears. He swallowed nervously.
"Let me help you up," he whispered and bent to pick up the frail woman. It broke his heart to recall her strength and her unwavering will while in command at Briggs. Now, she was unable to stop shaking. And it was his fault, all his fault, for letting Hawkeye and Armstrong shoulder the blame that rightfully should have been his.
"Sit down," he said, leading her to the couch. Armstrong sat and grabbed a pillow. She clutched it to her chest but still shook from despair and rage.
"I'm a wreck... I'm so sorry... to be seen like this," she muttered between choked sobs. She swiped at her eyes and Roy handed her his handkerchief. He put his arm around Olivier for support, feeling her sharp shoulder bone under his hand.
"Don't apologise," Roy whispered. He hugged Olivier close to him, feeling a pressure in his chest as he fought back against his own tears. It was almost absurd, to see Olivier so overcome with grief. She had always been the very picture of strategy and emotionless strength, but none of the old Oliver remained. She was now a shell of a woman, incapacitated at the loss of her brother. The thought that this was all his fault weighed heavily in his mind.
He would never be able to atone for his sins, but at the very least could try to avenge the people he cared about. Maes Hughes, Riza Hawkeye, Olivier Armstrong, how many more people would have to die before he finally managed to seize the office of the fuhrer, as he had been trying to do for all his adult life? Their blood was on his hands, and Roy felt guilty simply for being one of the few survivors. If he was going to go down, he would have preferred to be taken out alongside his loved ones. Roy thoughts turned towards Riza's last terrified moments on earth. He felt a shiver run all along his back and forced himself to stop thinking like that. Grief made him useless; he would prefer to channel that into something more useful, like the rage to bring down Hakuro.
"Will you be okay for a moment?" Roy asked Olivier, feeling a numbness come over his body. His vision tunneled ad he formulated a plan—not a vey well-thought out plan, but something that needed to be done.
Olivier looked up at him and sniffled. She nodded. "I can't stop shaking."
Roy stood from the couch and touched her shoulder before going to his kitchen. He reached for the telephone on the wall and dialled a number.
"This is Miles," the voice on the other end of the line said.
"It's Mustang. Can you come to my house? I have Olivier here, and she's in a bad state. I hate to leave her, but there's something I have to do."
"I can be there in ten minutes. Take care of her."
"I will," Roy promised.
He hung up and returned to his living room. Olivier sat on the couch, rocking back and forth. Her hands were clenched in her lap and when Roy walked over to her he noticed the half-moon indentations caused by her fingernails. He gently took her hands.
"Don't do that to yourself."
Olivier let out a strangled gasp and let her hands fall to her sides. She looked at Roy, her eyes pleading. "What am I going to do now? How will I contact my family? Phillip, my mother, Catherine... they still haven't returned to the mansion. And they're afraid to, now that the military is so unstable. Why is this happening? After the Promised Day, everything was supposed to go back to the way it was... I'd give anything to fight with Alex again."
"The Promised Day did come to pass, but now the threats we face come from within our own borders. Now we truly get to see the darker side of humanity—the only monsters remaining are those within ourselves."
Roy couldn't bring himself to meet Olivier's eyes after that admission. She knew it would take her a long time to come to terms with her brother's death. Her life was upside down and things would never be the same again. His cowardice ensured that he would be around to witness Amestris crumbling around him—but he was determined that things would not be this way for long.
He and Olivier remained frozen on the couch until there was another knock on his front door. Roy stood to let in Miles. The Ishvalan military man removed his cap respectfully before entering. Roy saluted him and then led the way to Olivier. As soon as she saw him, Olivier jumped up from the couch and launched herself into Miles' arms, crying fresh tears.
"Thank you," Roy said to Miles.
Miles nodded. He gently caressed Olivier's blonde hair. "I'm renting an apartment here in Amestris. Let's get you over there so you can have some hot soup."
Olivier nodded. "Thank you," she whispered to both Miles and Roy, looking at them in turn.
Miles walked her to the door and then turned back to Roy. "Give them hell," he muttered.
"Please, for my brother," Olivier told him. Roy nodded and watched them walk down his front steps towards Miles' car at the curb. After they drove away, Roy returned to his house and grabbed his black overcoat and ignition gloves. He locked his front door and pocketed the key. He walked down his street and then turned down the street. On the horizon a few blocks away, he saw the flag of Amestris' military flying on top of a large white building. This place was his next destination.
Central command.
Roy Mustang was about to start a new war.