Another update
Here's the next installment of my FMA fic. I am really writing a lot lately, and it feels great. ^-^
DON'T DIE WITHOUT TELLING ME WHERE YOU'RE GOING
CHAPTER TWO
Roy sat in a secluded corner, nursing his various wounds and bruises, from which the pain was starting to become more focused and acute. It wasn’t the pain what kept him rooted to that spot. He sure as hell had seen a lot worse. He just sat there, watching the men as they busied themselves, trying to close the portal. There had been little he could have done to help, without his alchemy and in that state, except giving them some pointers. They seemed to be managing quite well on their own, though, and Ed was should have been about to do his bit on the other side.
Every few seconds, one of the men would steal a furtive glance his way. It was only natural, considering the scene he’d made upon arrival, and from where he’d arrived to begin with. He noticed Maes’ stares the most, particularly because he could hardly keep his eyes off of him. The first thing that came to his mind, once he concluded he was neither dead, nor delusional, was how healthy Hughes looked. It was silly, really; Maes had never been a sickly person, but his memory had somehow distorted into this pale, macabre figure from Roy’s nightmares. He couldn’t understand how he’d forgotten how alive Maes used to be. The other man’s thoughts must have been running around the same tracks because, whilst he was, unlike Roy, otherwise engaged, he kept turning to look at him, with a deep frown etched on his brow, as if afraid Roy would simply disappear.
The portal was eventually closed and most of them started leaving in a rush, like rats from a sinking ship. Roy wondered then, if he hadn’t been helpful, and hadn’t been killed, why hadn’t he gone back to Amestris? To his life? The answer to his question removed a red, white and black armband from his uniform and tucked it safely in his pocket, before rushing out the room himself. Roy almost goes after him, his throat closing painfully when he couldn’t hear his footsteps any longer, but before he could muster the strength to get up, the man had returned, looking as grim as he’d never seen him look before or after Ishbal. He walked to the girl he’d first seen, who was still clinging to the dead body of a boy Roy found strangely familiar.
“The cops are on their way,” he told her, his tone bordering on disdainful. The girl’s eyes widened in fear. Maes scowled and stood a bit straighter than what was natural, then his eyes softened and his sighed deeply, removing his cap and running a hand through his hair in one swift motion. “It wouldn’t be wise to be here when they get here.”
The girl took a moment to react, then nodded gravely. It seemed to Roy that there was a lot more being said than what he’d just heard, but he couldn’t make it out. The girl put the boy down reverently, before rushing out the door. Now it was just Maes, him and the corpses. How ironic. Maes gazed at the boy’s body for a little longer before turning to walk towards him. With careful, calculated steps, he approached him, and Roy noted dully how his neck ached as he strained to keep his gaze on Hughes’. He was grateful when the man finally knelt in front of him.
“We should leave, too.” His tone was much kinder, almost timid. “I can come off clean of this, if they don’t find me, and you… well.” He smiled and shook his head, disbelieving. Maes stretched his hand towards him. “Can you walk?”
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After a few blocks, Roy started to regain his footing, but although his steps were firmer, Maes never let go of his middle. The streets were deserted, in the profound silence that only gets to them when everyone is too afraid to go outside. Only a few hushed voices and running feet could be heard once in a while. Neither of them spoke, either, giving Roy the impression that they, too, were sneaking around. Something had happened that night, and it made Roy curious almost enough to shake him from his apathy.
He knew he should be feeling something, being in a strange world, with no chance of ever seeing home again, stripped of his one and only talent, being helped through strange streets by his dead best friend. There was no joy, worry, fear, nothing. He only felt cold when Hughes pulled away to look for the keys to his apartment.
Though he did no longer feel about to keel over, he let Maes guide him to a small couch. Instead of looking at him and risk the start of a conversation, Roy focused on studying Hughes home. It was a small place, not totally devoid of personality, but close enough. There was barely any furniture at all, just the couch, a small table, a chair and a bookshelf that had not ten books in it. There was also a big trunk, hidden in a corner, with a picture of Maes father resting on it, a black ribbon tied neatly on one corner of the frame. Roy also noticed this was the only picture laying around. Everything was way too neat and cold for Maes, but again, this was not him, not his Maes. Maes would have never been quiet for so long.
As if to contradict him, Maes voice was heard from another room. Roy hadn’t even noticed he’d moved away.
“Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?” His tone was casual, as if he’d just popped up for a visit, though Roy noticed an empty quality to it. “I don’t have any coffee, though. I used to, you know, was saving it for a special occasion, but then this member of the party came over, you know how it is… I have tea. There are some unused leaves, if you want some.”
When he didn’t reply, Hughes head popped out from the kitchen door and stared at him expectantly. Roy had to take a deep, shaky breath to find his voice, and still his answer came out raspy and awkward.
“Not hungry, tea’s fine.”
Hughes nodded curtly and disappeared again.
“Anyway,” the other man continued. “You can stay here as long as you want. Your apartment, well, they auctioned it, you know? I might have bought it, even. It was just a bit more expensive than the coffee Her Doenitz drank, heh. I can help you get back on your feet with no problem, though we’ll need to get you papers. I know someone who can fix that up for you. You can even change your name, if you want. Not that there’s anything wrong with Roy, mind you. Roy’s fine. You might want to consider a new last name, what with your features and all. Something a bit more German…”
Ok, so this Maes also had the ability to ramble. He sounded more hesitant, though, more nervous than Roy had never heard him sound, even during his months of courting Gracia. Roy tuned him off out of habit, relishing on the sound of the babble in the background, and stared at his shaking hands. He really needed to snap out of it, react in some way.
Something white by the door caught his attention. He stood up too fast, causing his head to reel for a moment or two, and walked up to it with heavy steps. His intention was to kneel to pick it up, but he somehow managed to find himself sitting on the floor, with no will left to get back up. It was an envelope, crisp except for a tiny portion of a foot print on the corner. ’Mr. Maes Hughes’ it read, and Roy felt something break in him upon reading the elegantly handwritten words. The letter slipped from his shaking fingers. It couldn’t be him. It just wasn’t possible.
“Roy?” He turned to see Hughes, who had just re-entered the living room and was staring at him intently, holding a steaming mug on each hand. He walked silently up to him and sat by his side, leaving the mugs on the ground. “Hey, if you want to leave, I can get you a cab. You shouldn’t move around too much. Do you have somewhere else to go?”
His tone was not in the least sceptical, only caring and slightly disappointed, with a hint of resignation, as if he had seen it coming. Roy managed to snort.
“Aren’t you going to ask?” he whispered, looking down.
Maes smiled sheepishly, picking the mugs back up, and handed one to Roy. He took it with both hands, lest it should meet the same fate as the envelope.
“Ask what, Roy?” he said with a hint of humor. How about why he was there, or who was he, really? How about, is this real? Maes went on. “Even if you explain it to me, I’ll probably not understand. I’m just…” He swallowed hard. “I’m just glad you’re here. Is that wrong?”
Well, he couldn’t quite argue with that, even if it did sound a bit simplistic. He wanted to say ‘It’s not me. I’m not who you think I am’. But he wasn’t really sure of that himself anymore. Maybe he should just be glad. Sighing loudly, he took a small sip of the washed out tea. It tasted like hell, but it felt good. He hadn’t realised how cold he was.
“I’m tired,” he said softly, in what was the closest he’d got to a normal, casual tone since getting there. His comment caught Maes mid-sip of his own tea, so he let out a sound of agreement and rushed to put the cup down.
“Right. Of course. Right.” He made as to get up. Roy then noticed something, or lack thereof, on Maes left hand, that had him instinctively jerking to grab it. The rest of his tea spilled all over his uniform and Hughes jumped, white as a sheet. “What?” he yelped, genuinely scared.
Roy eased his grip, but didn’t let go. He didn’t say anything, just stared at the bare finger. He couldn’t very well tell Hughes about the jolt of quasi-joy he experienced when he finally realised Gracia wasn’t around, and why.
“Hey,” Maes said with a tenderness that sent shivers down Roy’s spine, and used his free hand to lift his chin so that their eyes met. “I’m going to need my hand back.”
Roy smiled and let go, running both hands through his hair.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
Hughes stood, and pulled him up with him.
“Come on, lets get you tucked in.” He patted Roy’s back, guiding him towards the bedroom. “You can have the bed tonight, I’ll take the couch. I think I have pajamas that’ll fit you, though you are a bit too skinny. ”
Roy only hoped this Hughes wasn’t fond of ducks on his nightwear.
TBC
DON'T DIE WITHOUT TELLING ME WHERE YOU'RE GOING
CHAPTER TWO
Roy sat in a secluded corner, nursing his various wounds and bruises, from which the pain was starting to become more focused and acute. It wasn’t the pain what kept him rooted to that spot. He sure as hell had seen a lot worse. He just sat there, watching the men as they busied themselves, trying to close the portal. There had been little he could have done to help, without his alchemy and in that state, except giving them some pointers. They seemed to be managing quite well on their own, though, and Ed was should have been about to do his bit on the other side.
Every few seconds, one of the men would steal a furtive glance his way. It was only natural, considering the scene he’d made upon arrival, and from where he’d arrived to begin with. He noticed Maes’ stares the most, particularly because he could hardly keep his eyes off of him. The first thing that came to his mind, once he concluded he was neither dead, nor delusional, was how healthy Hughes looked. It was silly, really; Maes had never been a sickly person, but his memory had somehow distorted into this pale, macabre figure from Roy’s nightmares. He couldn’t understand how he’d forgotten how alive Maes used to be. The other man’s thoughts must have been running around the same tracks because, whilst he was, unlike Roy, otherwise engaged, he kept turning to look at him, with a deep frown etched on his brow, as if afraid Roy would simply disappear.
The portal was eventually closed and most of them started leaving in a rush, like rats from a sinking ship. Roy wondered then, if he hadn’t been helpful, and hadn’t been killed, why hadn’t he gone back to Amestris? To his life? The answer to his question removed a red, white and black armband from his uniform and tucked it safely in his pocket, before rushing out the room himself. Roy almost goes after him, his throat closing painfully when he couldn’t hear his footsteps any longer, but before he could muster the strength to get up, the man had returned, looking as grim as he’d never seen him look before or after Ishbal. He walked to the girl he’d first seen, who was still clinging to the dead body of a boy Roy found strangely familiar.
“The cops are on their way,” he told her, his tone bordering on disdainful. The girl’s eyes widened in fear. Maes scowled and stood a bit straighter than what was natural, then his eyes softened and his sighed deeply, removing his cap and running a hand through his hair in one swift motion. “It wouldn’t be wise to be here when they get here.”
The girl took a moment to react, then nodded gravely. It seemed to Roy that there was a lot more being said than what he’d just heard, but he couldn’t make it out. The girl put the boy down reverently, before rushing out the door. Now it was just Maes, him and the corpses. How ironic. Maes gazed at the boy’s body for a little longer before turning to walk towards him. With careful, calculated steps, he approached him, and Roy noted dully how his neck ached as he strained to keep his gaze on Hughes’. He was grateful when the man finally knelt in front of him.
“We should leave, too.” His tone was much kinder, almost timid. “I can come off clean of this, if they don’t find me, and you… well.” He smiled and shook his head, disbelieving. Maes stretched his hand towards him. “Can you walk?”
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
After a few blocks, Roy started to regain his footing, but although his steps were firmer, Maes never let go of his middle. The streets were deserted, in the profound silence that only gets to them when everyone is too afraid to go outside. Only a few hushed voices and running feet could be heard once in a while. Neither of them spoke, either, giving Roy the impression that they, too, were sneaking around. Something had happened that night, and it made Roy curious almost enough to shake him from his apathy.
He knew he should be feeling something, being in a strange world, with no chance of ever seeing home again, stripped of his one and only talent, being helped through strange streets by his dead best friend. There was no joy, worry, fear, nothing. He only felt cold when Hughes pulled away to look for the keys to his apartment.
Though he did no longer feel about to keel over, he let Maes guide him to a small couch. Instead of looking at him and risk the start of a conversation, Roy focused on studying Hughes home. It was a small place, not totally devoid of personality, but close enough. There was barely any furniture at all, just the couch, a small table, a chair and a bookshelf that had not ten books in it. There was also a big trunk, hidden in a corner, with a picture of Maes father resting on it, a black ribbon tied neatly on one corner of the frame. Roy also noticed this was the only picture laying around. Everything was way too neat and cold for Maes, but again, this was not him, not his Maes. Maes would have never been quiet for so long.
As if to contradict him, Maes voice was heard from another room. Roy hadn’t even noticed he’d moved away.
“Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?” His tone was casual, as if he’d just popped up for a visit, though Roy noticed an empty quality to it. “I don’t have any coffee, though. I used to, you know, was saving it for a special occasion, but then this member of the party came over, you know how it is… I have tea. There are some unused leaves, if you want some.”
When he didn’t reply, Hughes head popped out from the kitchen door and stared at him expectantly. Roy had to take a deep, shaky breath to find his voice, and still his answer came out raspy and awkward.
“Not hungry, tea’s fine.”
Hughes nodded curtly and disappeared again.
“Anyway,” the other man continued. “You can stay here as long as you want. Your apartment, well, they auctioned it, you know? I might have bought it, even. It was just a bit more expensive than the coffee Her Doenitz drank, heh. I can help you get back on your feet with no problem, though we’ll need to get you papers. I know someone who can fix that up for you. You can even change your name, if you want. Not that there’s anything wrong with Roy, mind you. Roy’s fine. You might want to consider a new last name, what with your features and all. Something a bit more German…”
Ok, so this Maes also had the ability to ramble. He sounded more hesitant, though, more nervous than Roy had never heard him sound, even during his months of courting Gracia. Roy tuned him off out of habit, relishing on the sound of the babble in the background, and stared at his shaking hands. He really needed to snap out of it, react in some way.
Something white by the door caught his attention. He stood up too fast, causing his head to reel for a moment or two, and walked up to it with heavy steps. His intention was to kneel to pick it up, but he somehow managed to find himself sitting on the floor, with no will left to get back up. It was an envelope, crisp except for a tiny portion of a foot print on the corner. ’Mr. Maes Hughes’ it read, and Roy felt something break in him upon reading the elegantly handwritten words. The letter slipped from his shaking fingers. It couldn’t be him. It just wasn’t possible.
“Roy?” He turned to see Hughes, who had just re-entered the living room and was staring at him intently, holding a steaming mug on each hand. He walked silently up to him and sat by his side, leaving the mugs on the ground. “Hey, if you want to leave, I can get you a cab. You shouldn’t move around too much. Do you have somewhere else to go?”
His tone was not in the least sceptical, only caring and slightly disappointed, with a hint of resignation, as if he had seen it coming. Roy managed to snort.
“Aren’t you going to ask?” he whispered, looking down.
Maes smiled sheepishly, picking the mugs back up, and handed one to Roy. He took it with both hands, lest it should meet the same fate as the envelope.
“Ask what, Roy?” he said with a hint of humor. How about why he was there, or who was he, really? How about, is this real? Maes went on. “Even if you explain it to me, I’ll probably not understand. I’m just…” He swallowed hard. “I’m just glad you’re here. Is that wrong?”
Well, he couldn’t quite argue with that, even if it did sound a bit simplistic. He wanted to say ‘It’s not me. I’m not who you think I am’. But he wasn’t really sure of that himself anymore. Maybe he should just be glad. Sighing loudly, he took a small sip of the washed out tea. It tasted like hell, but it felt good. He hadn’t realised how cold he was.
“I’m tired,” he said softly, in what was the closest he’d got to a normal, casual tone since getting there. His comment caught Maes mid-sip of his own tea, so he let out a sound of agreement and rushed to put the cup down.
“Right. Of course. Right.” He made as to get up. Roy then noticed something, or lack thereof, on Maes left hand, that had him instinctively jerking to grab it. The rest of his tea spilled all over his uniform and Hughes jumped, white as a sheet. “What?” he yelped, genuinely scared.
Roy eased his grip, but didn’t let go. He didn’t say anything, just stared at the bare finger. He couldn’t very well tell Hughes about the jolt of quasi-joy he experienced when he finally realised Gracia wasn’t around, and why.
“Hey,” Maes said with a tenderness that sent shivers down Roy’s spine, and used his free hand to lift his chin so that their eyes met. “I’m going to need my hand back.”
Roy smiled and let go, running both hands through his hair.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
Hughes stood, and pulled him up with him.
“Come on, lets get you tucked in.” He patted Roy’s back, guiding him towards the bedroom. “You can have the bed tonight, I’ll take the couch. I think I have pajamas that’ll fit you, though you are a bit too skinny. ”
Roy only hoped this Hughes wasn’t fond of ducks on his nightwear.
TBC