Back Together Again: Roy/Maes fic, Chapter 15
TITLE: “Back Together Again”
GENRE: Yaoi/Drama
RATING: Overall Hard-R to light NC-17 (or just M, if you prefer) for violence, language, sexuality and adult concepts
WARNINGS: Violence. Grief/PTSD. Sexuality (including some borderline non-con). Angst/Darkfic. Hughesmunculus. And finally: THIS FIC MAY CONTAIN HETEROSEXUAL SEX. <-- consider yourself warned!
PAIRING(S): HUGHES/ROY!!!!! (with a dab of Hughes/Gracia and a pinch of Roy/Gracia - sorta)
SUMMARY: A still-grieving Roy Mustang is visited by a ghost made flesh - a ghost in the form of Maes Hughes! Did Roy actually succeed in bringing back his dead best friend using alchemy … or is he being haunted by a homunculus?
DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to Ms. Arakawa, I just take them out to play.
Chapter Fifteen: Walking Shadow
I shiver and shake
When I think of how you make me hate
I want to smash you to pieces
I want to smash you up and screaming
I want to smash you helpless down on the floor
Smash you until you’re not here anymore
And I shiver and shake
Shiver and shake
- “Shiver and Shake”, Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me (the Cure)
“Hey,” Alphonse called as he came through the doorway again.
Roy looked up from his book. “Where have you been, Alphonse? That must have been one hell of a walk you took.”
Al shrugged. “Whatever. Look, you guys need to come with me now.”
Roy stuttered. “I beg your pardon?” He slammed the book shut and stood up. “Alphonse Elric, do you know what time it is?!”
“And tomorrow’s your day off,” Al retorted. “Do you want to take care of this homunculus or not? This may be our only chance.”
Roy gaped at him. “What?”
“I saw the homunculus,” Al said, as bright and eager as though he were talking about a bushy-tailed squirrel. “He didn’t see me. I know where he’s hiding. Come on. And bring your gun.” He turned from Roy, never removing his coat. “Brother?” he called down the hall. “Get dressed. We’re going out.”
Despite all the protestations, objections, and general grousing that Ed would normally engage in, when he heard what Alphonse had to say, he did not breathe a word, but leaped to follow his younger brother’s instructions. He was dressed and rushing back toward the sitting room looking impatient before Roy so much as made it down the hall to his bedroom. Yup, I’ve definitely gotten old, he thought wryly.
As he dressed, he looked at the small folded square of paper lying on his dresser. The letters. Keep them with you, Al had said. And Roy had. In his breast-pocket, buttoned up, close to him. He couldn’t explain why, either. Somewhere in the back of his mind, too far from conscious thought for articulation, was the image of a single candle against a great yawning darkness, a tiny candle that would soon burn out, but would light the way while it lasted.
The way they walked was looking more and more familiar to Roy as time went on. An ordinary street not too far from HQ. An ordinary phone booth… for the second time that night, Roy feared he would be sick.
And yet it made sense. It was, again, like the old wampyr stories. Or ghost stories. Haunting the place near where they died.
As they drew closer to the phone booth, Roy’s heart almost stopped. Someone was indeed in it, crouched low, as if to hide. I can’t do it again, he thought, no, not this time, I can’t, if that’s him, if it’s him, I’ll -
The figure straightened and stepped out of the booth.
It was Gracia.
A gun was clenched in her small hands, hands that did not shake at all. The gun swung in a slow arc up from her side. It was pointed at Roy.
This was far from the first time he’d been aimed at, or shot at for that matter. But this was different. He fought down panic. He did have his handgun with him, but he couldn’t shoot her. No way.
“Gracia,” he said. He held out both hands to show they were empty.
“Roy,” she replied. She did not look at or acknowledge the Elrics.
“Roy,” echoed a silken voice from the shadows. There was a soft, slow shifting; a footstep, then another. Gracia’s aim never wavered, but her eyes filled with longing. Her head turned almost slavishly toward the sound of that voice.
The tall, lanky form of Maes Hughes strode over to Mustang, all calm and confidence. Without a pause, he embraced Mustang from behind. “I’ve missed you,” he purred.
A strangled noise came from Gracia’s throat.
She cocked the gun.
From somewhere behind him, Roy heard two pairs of hands clap in unison.
The earth erupted beneath Gracia, causing her to stumble; at the same time, a giant hand formed from the rock beneath Hughes and Roy, raising them up out of the line of fire.
Graceful as a cat, Hughes swept Mustang into his arms as though he weighed no more than a child, and leapt out of the stone hand, landing on his feet in front of the phone booth. He dropped Mustang on his feet and held him in front as a human shield. Mustang felt a stinging pressure on his throat. Dazed, he realized it was one of Maes’ old throwing-knives. He wondered whether that knife was in the coffin Dante and this … homunculus had plundered to get Maes’ remains?
Suddenly he was utterly furious. Not caring anymore about the welfare of his body, he struggled against the iron grip of his too-recent lover.
“Nobody move,” hissed the Hughes look-alike. He glared at the two Elrics, who stood several feet away, hands above their heads. Then he focused on Gracia, who had lowered the gun after regaining her feet. “Gracia, darling … go ahead. I know you want to.”
“I - I might hit you instead,” she squeaked uncertainly. “Get - away from him.”
“It’s OK, honey,” he replied, his voice gentle. “You won’t hit me. Go ahead.”
Her arms quivering this time, she took aim again. Her face was determined.
Suddenly Lust was there again - when had he been there before? - in front of the phone booth, he was turning around, startled, to see Gracia aiming a gun at him … “You’re right, Hughes. Maybe this is a more fitting end.” Then the pain … the horrible pain, and the blackness…
No! Not again!
As though his body was making the decision for him, he dropped his knife and fell to the ground, keening…
Gracia’s hand released the gun, like a puppet whose strings had been slashed. The weapon fell harmlessly to the pavement.
Far from quiescent, Mustang reacted violently. He turned on Lust without the slightest hesitation. “How - DARE - YOU!” he shouted, punctuating each word with a vicious kick. He was vaguely aware that he was bleeding from his throat, and uncaring. “How DARE you wear his face! PRETEND to be him! Maes Hughes is DEAD!”
In one smooth motion, he drew his gun and fired, again and again and again, getting some satisfaction at the way the homunculus’s body snapped and jerked, at the explosions of flesh and blood and brain and bone and gunpowder. He heard Gracia cry out and a simultaneous clicking noise. He realized he was still pulling the trigger though he was out of ammunition.
And he watched the inevitable in slow terror: like magic, the wounds sealed over. Lust slowly got to his feet, smiling. He took a menacing step toward Roy. “Really, Mustang … is that all you - ”
Then, two things unexpectedly occurred:
Alphonse cried, “Now, Brother!” and Edward clapped and slapped at the ground outside the phone booth. The pavement glowed eerily as though lit from underground; and
Lust’s body whipped backward unexpectedly as another bullet was fired into him, and another. Gracia’s face was twisted in rage, her mouth open in a vicious snarl, as she repeatedly shot the thing that had replaced her husband.
Mustang despaired. It felt good to see Lust taken down, but he more than anyone knew the creature would only get back up. He was out of ammo, and Gracia soon would be too. And it took a certain array to seal a homunculus, from what Edward had said … and even if they had chalk, it would take an enormous amount of time to draw -
Then it clicked. The glowing pavement. Alphonse. Where had he gone on his walk? …
Rather than getting to his feet again, Lust choked and gagged. On his hands and knees, he vomited again and again, spewing out tiny rectangular chunks of red, glowing stone.
Without thinking, Roy reached out for him; the moment his hand touched Lust’s shoulder, the monster screamed. He vomited once more, coughed, and spat some red viscous matter.
“ROY!” Edward screamed. “DO IT! YOU HAVE TO DO IT! NOW!”
Roy shuddered, but there was no time to waste. Edward had been very, very clear on this point. You have to seal him, and kill him, and only then will he die. Roy seized Lust’s head from above and slit his throat with Maes Hughes’ throwing-knife.
His life gushed out of his neck. Unable to make a sound above a choking gurgle, the homunculus clutched at his own throat, then collapsed, twitching. When he was finally still, Lust’s body seemed to melt into the ground, his glowing-red remains hissing like acid.
The world tilted; Roy saw the pavement and the ruby pool rushing to meet him. His last conscious thought was wondering whether, if it was acid, it would burn him when he fell.
Onward to Chapter Sixteen - Last Chapter!
Back to Master Entry