Back Together Again: Roy/Maes fic, Chapter Sixteen and Epilogue
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 Sixteen: Exchange
I’d love to touch the sky tonight, I’d love to touch the sky
So take me in your arms and lift me like a child
Hold me up so high and never let me go
Take me, take me in your arms tonight
Hold me, hold me up so high and never let me go
Hold me, hold me up so high to touch the sky just one more time
Take me in your arms tonight
Take me in your arms just one more time
Just one more time
- “One More Time”, Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me (the Cure)
The Gate rose up before him, looming like death itself. “Equivalence,” a strange voice said without actually speaking. The dreaded doors swung open in his direction -
And suddenly, he was Inside. He saw the black creatures, far off in the distance, but they paid him no attention, nor did he find their presence alarming. He felt almost nothing. Just peace.
“Took you long enough,” a familiar voice said just behind him.
He turned; the face most beloved to him, the face he had dreamed about and seen without seeing for so many years, beamed at him, illuminated by the strange light that seemed to come from nowhere.
Tears filled Roy’s eye. He stepped forward and held his friend in the strongest embrace they had ever shared.
“Oh, Gods,” Roy sobbed. “Is it really you?”
“Who else?” Maes murmured. “You killed that other thing.”
“How the hell do you know about that?” Mustang’s hold on the other man never slackened.
“Why the hell do you think you’re here?” Hughes countered.
“Even dead, you’re such a smartass,” Mustang smiled through his tears.
At that, Maes pulled back, his bearded face wearing his most serious look. “Roy Mustang. Do I look dead to you?”
“I - but you died … you DIED. I was at your funeral,” Roy replied stupidly.
“I know, Flame-O. I was there, too,” Maes replied. He wiped away Roy’s tears gently. “Don’t you have a handkerchief?” he asked, his expression puzzled. “You always did.”
At this, Roy’s eye burned with fresh tears. “Maes…”
“Look, Roy, just because someone dies doesn’t mean they END,” Maes said, impatient now. “You’re a goddamned alchemist. Matter and energy, not created or destroyed, and all that garbage.”
“I miss the hell out of you.” Mustang was now being held up by the larger man, weakened by his sobs.
“Don’t bother,” Hughes said gently. “Tell Gracia and Elicia the same thing. Don’t waste your time missing me. You’ll see me soon enough. Now get the fuck out of here.”
And then, so quickly it seemed to not happen at all, Roy was outside the gate again. The black doors were swinging shut, their symbols glowing like iron in the forge. Before he could even draw breath to scream “WAIT!” he felt himself moving again - going -
Back on the cold, damp pavement, Roy raised his head groggily, then dropped it back down with a clunk. His teeth rattled in his head; he was being shaken violently by a cursing, panicked Edward, while Alphonse sat calmly beside him, grasping both his hands. “Brother, you can stop now,” Al said softly. “He’s awake.”
Mercifully, Edward quit his assault. Roy heard the scuff of Ed’s boots on the pavement and his voice raised in greeting to some persons unknown. He felt Alphonse’s hands release his own; Al’s slender arms moved to cradle his head instead. Bless you, Al, he thought incoherently, and dropped into a deep, coma-like sleep.
EPILOGUE:
The Last Piece
Far from civilization, heads bowed, the four of them stood together, silent.
Roy was the first to move. He took the letters out of his breast-pocket and held them aloft to the trees. He felt the ancient Amestrian blessing stir in his heart, and he found the strength to speak.
“With eternal love I commit thee to the ground,” Mustang said formally. “In loving fire of spirit you were conceived, and to ash of spirit’s flame you shall return.”
A single snap of his fingers set the letters on fire. He was overcome with tears as the embers fell into the makeshift grave - ashes of those letters that had, ultimately, been the downfall of the homunculus.
The woods were lovely this time of year, dark and deep, but also cold and damp; Roy’s fire was the brightest light they had seen for a long time now. Alphonse and Edward stood respectfully with heads lowered as Gracia stepped up.
“Your bones may yet be missing from their final resting-place, but I know you will never leave me,” she said. Her voice was gentle. A single photograph, stained with old blood, fell from her fingers to be consumed by Roy’s fire before it landed in the darkness under the earth.
“Goodbye, Brigadier General Hughes.” Ed’s voice was soft; reverent, almost. “I will remember you.”
“Till next we meet,” Alphonse murmured. At first, Mustang thought Al was adding to his brother’s words; then he realized that no, Al was speaking to Hughes, speaking from his heart.
Acting as one, the two brothers clapped hands and touched the ground. The stone marker covering the freshly-dug grave had a short verse on it, but no names or dates. They, the survivors, had no need of such reminders; the name was carved in their hearts, and the dates - the ones that mattered, more than just birth or death-dates - were carved in their minds.
On the long walk back, silence settled in once more.
It was Edward - ever the curious one, ever the scientist - who broke it. “Mustang. What did he want?” There was no need to clarify who “he” was.
Roy took a long minute to consider; there was a lot he hadn’t told the Elrics, not in an effort to preserve their innocence, but in an effort to preserve the memory of his friend - the real man, the one waiting for him just on the other side of the Gate, not the monster that had been created in his image.
Inside the Gate, Roy hadn’t gotten the massive direct input of knowledge Edward Elric had described from his first journey in. But once he’d regained consciousness, he had somehow been possessed of the quiet knowledge that he was able to do alchemy again. Hohenheim had told Ed that every alchemist possessed a small version of the Gate within themselves; Roy wondered whether his access to that power was what had been taken away when he had vainly tried to revive Maes Hughes, and whether destroying the homunculus, the result of his selfishness, had restored that access it to him. But the truth was that the Gate - as he understood it - was never quite that simple. What seemed fair or equivalent to him was rarely what actually happened when it came to the Gate … or for that matter, in life itself.
The General spoke. “He wanted what Dante wanted, I’m sure. To take over the military … by using me. Or by eliminating me, if that failed.”
Ed shook his head. “Really, can she be that desperate to create another Stone? I oughta go hunt down her old, shrivelly little body-hopping ass and teach her…” his comments quieted to a grumble as he got a quick elbow from his younger brother.
Once they were back in the city, the four of them had a kind of survivors’ meeting - huddled together in one of Central’s bustling cafés, at a booth in the far corner. They talked of inconsequential matters and drank steaming cups of tea and coffee and hot chocolate, warming up in more ways than one. The conversation swung wildly from the sacred to the profane and back again; there were quick outbursts of laughter as often as there were tears.
Gracia was the first one to rise. She missed her daughter and was eager to be home. The other three would not hear of her seeing herself home, so they accompanied her. And they were glad they did: seeing Elicia’s wide grin, and her all-too-normal questions and complaints and happy giggles and chatter, did untold good for the hearts of all three men. Gracia, to Roy, still looked a bit pale and thin, but her smile shone out all the clearer for that.
Alphonse and Elicia were encompassed in some crazy conversation only the two of them could understand, and Gracia was chatting with her sister, who was visiting again, and Roy and Edward were engaged in a spirited debate about the practical uses of alchemy, when something dawned on Roy. He chuckled to himself.
“What’s wrong, old man?” Edward was his usual irritable self. “Lose your train of thought? They say memory’s the first thing to go - ”
“No, no,” Mustang waved him off. “It just occurred to me that … right now, this feels like my home as much as my house does.”
Edward flinched, as if dodging a blow. Roy could tell he was thinking about how the Rockbells’ home had replaced the one they’d burned as children.
“I don’t know,” Ed said, his gaze sliding away from Roy to take in the contents of the sitting room and the people in it. “I couldn’t call anyplace home till I knew where the spoons were kept. You know?”
“As a matter of fact,” Mustang replied, “I do!”
At that, the two of them had a good laugh.
When it was finally time for them to go, Gracia hugged the two young men and then - with only the slightest hesitation - did the same for Mustang. Mustang felt his heart and soul warm at her calm acceptance. He felt, for the first time since Lust had visited him all those months ago, that things would eventually be all right, and there was nothing to worry about. Gracia had been his friend and supporter as long as they’d known each other, and he was “Uncle Roy” to Elicia. He was beyond relieved that their friendship seemed to be on the mend. He didn’t mind that, like every other wound caused by this hideous mess, it would take time to heal.
Once they were outside and headed for Roy’s home (by unspoken consent, the young men would stay with Roy Until It Was Time), Roy asked his one and only burning question to Edward - the one he’d been far too hesitant to bring up around Gracia, or at any time before the present.
“Ed,” he began, “you said before that to seal a homunculus, you have to have a piece of the original body.”
“Yup,” Ed replied tensely. Mustang could tell he did not want to have this conversation.
“So, do you know why it worked? When his grave was empty already - ”
“Nope,” Ed said.
“Then how can we be sure - ”
“I’m sure,” Ed said. “I was there when Greed died. And Sloth. What happened to Lust - uh, this Lust - it’s what happens when a homunculus dies.”
Roy’s face did not change, but he smiled inside. Ed was still Ed, still Nii-San, ever the elder brother. He was older now, and more seasoned, and no longer part of the military; but part of Roy would always see him as Fullmetal - the mouthy teen Mustang had tried his damnedest to mentor and guide on his impossible quest.
And, Roy still wasn’t satisfied with his answer.
“Let me finish my question, Ed,” he said quietly. “I’m sure the homunculus is dead. But we didn’t have a piece of the original body. So how do you know the array itself isn’t enough?”
Ed looked thoughtful. He spoke slowly. “Well … because Greed told me. Even if he lied… Sloth didn’t disgorge her stones until we had a piece of her original body and the array - just the array wasn’t enough.” He chewed on his lip. “The body part weakens them, makes them disgorge the stones if you can trap them with the array, and then they can be killed … so the death ‘takes’ and they won’t regenerate. I know the array alone won’t kill a homunculus. If he hadn’t been struck a mortal blow, I’m sure he wouldn’t have died…”
“That still doesn’t answer…” the General trailed off. Ed averted his eyes. They were now at the curb, so the three of them entered Mustang’s military vehicle and began the drive home.
“General,” Al said suddenly from the back seat, leaning forward to lay a gentle hand on Mustang’s shoulder. “You already know why it worked. Brother said the piece of the real person reminds the homunculus, on some level, that it’s a fake.”
“Alphonse?” Mustang was confused. He kept his eye on the road, but hoped Al would continue.
“You did have a piece of him,” this was almost whispered, but Mustang heard very clearly. “The last piece. You burned it. Remember.”
The soft-spoken words hit Roy like a sledgehammer in the center of his chest. If he hadn’t been driving, if he hadn’t had that job to do, he would … well, he didn’t know what he would have done. He did have a job to do, though. Several, in fact.
“Yes, Al,” he said quietly, his voice shaking just slightly. “It seemed appropriate. Those letters were with me when I killed…” he stopped and took a deep breath. “When I killed the thing that looked like him. I still have the other letters. I didn’t lose … any of him by burning those few.”
“Of course, General,” Al said almost dreamily. “They were a tool. Some tools you can only use one time. You couldn’t have killed the homunculus without them.” He paused, then added: “But Roy. Mr. Hughes created those letters. Don’t you think that’s a piece of him more than hair or blood or bone?”
A small, strangled sound issued from Roy’s throat. “The - the study,” he rasped. “No wonder the door was always closed. He must have known - must have sensed, somehow…” That he wasn’t the real thing. That a piece of the real thing was nearby. Those letters were out in the middle of the room.
Ed didn’t know what to make of that statement. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. He couldn’t argue with what had worked. Lust was dead; that was what was important. And insensitive as he sometimes was, he did not relish the thought of trampling on the General’s emotions by debating this topic.
Roy said nothing more. Silent tears spilled from his eye - tears that he hoped went unnoticed by Edward, but that he knew Alphonse saw.
Once they were home, the three of them sat by Mustang’s fire, talking and reminiscing long, long into the night. They told each other - and themselves - the stories that comprised, for them, the larger story of the man who was Maes Hughes. As in the café earlier, there was laughter as often as crying.
Mustang marveled that he had never known - never let himself know - that he still had people in his life he could really share himself with, even with Maes gone. He had never given himself permission to open up that way … until he’d heard it from Maes himself.
When the three of them had talked themselves into exhaustion, and were staggering to bed, something else occurred to Roy. The real ceremony, the real wake for Maes Hughes, had just been held in his sitting room. But no matter how long they talked and how much they shared, there would always be more they didn’t say. In that sense, the ceremony was never over, and it had also never begun.
His reality now was so different from what he had held true over the years. He didn’t have to do this alone - his years of working to be Fuhrer should have shown him he couldn’t do it alone. He would not have to put himself back together again. There would always be others to help with that task, if he would let them. And he wouldn’t have to do it without Maes. As Hughes himself had so succinctly put it, the man hadn’t stopped existing just because he’d died. He was still there, in the here-and-now, guiding Roy’s steps and words from his mind and memory.
In Roy’s mind, Maes was physically away for the time being - on vacation, perhaps, in some exotic place where the sun was bright and the birds always sang. But it was only temporary. Soon enough Roy would join him.
Soon enough, they would be back together again.
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