Alright, so. The two people reading this have been waiting a while for this chapter, and it's half as long as the last two. I am so sorry, guys.
The truth is, I didn't plan this very well. I had the beginning all great in my mind, but I didn't plan the middle or the end. Thus, I was wondering as to whether or not I'll continue this fic and try to make it as complete as I can, or leave it as a dead fic, something of the past that I can conveniently forget about. And so, I thought: Well, screw that! I've spent all of my life trying things and then leaving them be, simply because I think I'm bad at it. But practice makes perfect, and damn it, I'm not going to leave something else unfinished!
That being said, thank you for your review, and as always, don't be shy to criticize. And I hope you enjoyed the beginning statement, because it's probably written better than the following chapter.
It was late at night, and Colonel Roy Mustang was the only one left in his office. The rest of his group had already left for the day, starting with Havoc, ending with Hawkeye. He sighed, looking outside the window. Only the haziest of outlines could be discerned in the distance, silhouettes of buildings, of trees, and what appeared to be someone walking along a path.
Roy watched the figure idly as it turned into the entrance to Central Headquarters. A few steps more, and the lamps on the sides of the path illuminated the shadow.
A lady. One with wavy, black hair and a long, dark dress.
Lust.
He stiffened, then turned away from the window. Of course. He had prepared for this day. The day when his comrade, his confidant, his best friend would die; when Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes would be killed. Despite losing quite a bit of sleep, Roy had feigned serenity. He had grinned, slapped backs, and laughed for all it was worth. And all of his command had been their usual selves. Well, all except for one.
Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, despite never talking as much or as loudly as the men in the room, did try to make conversation sometimes, and nobody found it odd or unnerving if she did so. Talking was just a commonplace thing around the office. Despite that, she had barely said anything in the past week. In addition to that, she had been by his side a lot more often, following him most places he went, instead of staying behind to read when he did his mundane tasks. She must have noticed. Somehow, she must have seen through the mask. She always had the talent to sift through whatever bluffs he gave out and find the truth.
Roy continued to finish his paperwork. The room was silent, sans the sound of his pen moving across the paper.
Then, the phone rang.
The pen stopped, and Roy looked over at the phone warily. He knew he had to take the call, but all of himself was adamant about going back to his paperwork. Picking up the ringing beast would be complete finality, the last nail to be hammered in.
But the phone seemed to grow louder and louder, and finally, he answered the call.
"...Yes?"
The voice of a young receptionist answered him. "Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes wants to speak to you, sir."
"Put him on."
"Yes, sir."
The receptionist's voice cut off, and the line switched over. At first, Roy couldn't hear anything, but then, harsh, distant breathing became audible on the other end. Ragged. Dying. Hughes. So close that Roy could hear him; too far for Roy to help him.
A click, and the call ended.
Roy set down the phone with shaking hands. Well, he thought. That's it. Hughes is dead. Killed. Murdered. Never coming back.
He pushed his paperwork aside. He had to go to where Hughes had died, to where all the squad cars would be gathered around. And hopefully, the next night, he'd finally be able to go to sleep again.