Masters of War

Chapter 1

Chapter Summary

Chapter Notes

Day One:

Roy pulls on the glove. Specially made for him. He runs his uncovered hand over the spark cloth and feels every bit of the power it gives him. Snaps his fingers and burns a pencil into cinders. He likes it.

The war is out there, but to Roy, it’s merely a speck on the map.

Day Two:

The State Alchemists are going to Ishbal.

Day Three:

Captain Maes Hughes is loud. Captain Maes Hughes is obnoxious. Captain Maes Hughes is far too happy for someone going to a war zone. Captain Maes Hughes decided to make Major Roy Mustang’s life hell for all five minutes and twenty-seven seconds of their first meeting.

It went something like this:

“Hey, you must be the new alchemist! What’s your name?”

“Major Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist.”

“Ohh, that’s awesome. What do you do?”

“I snap my glove and things burn up.”

“Excellent. Do you give demonstrations?”

“No.”

“Too bad. It would definitely improve morale.”

“Excuse me, but I have other things to do.”

“Like what?”

“Other things.”

“That doesn’t answer the question, though. Do you really need to go?”

“Yes.”

“I doubt it. But that’s fine.”

“Okay, then.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked for my name.”

“What’s your name?”

“Maes Hughes.”

Day Six:

Ishbal is worse than Roy expected. He hates the sand, the heat, the war. The sun shines bright and harsh. The world seems to exist in shades of shades of orange, yellow and red. Even the crisp blue of military uniforms seems dulled. Roy almost misses the color green.

Colonel Gran gives him an assignment for the next day. Roy just nods and salutes in response.

He thinks he saw Hughes near the mess tent, but he might have been mistaken.

Day Seven:

Roy has never killed someone with alchemy. Well, never had.

Day Ten:

Hughes sits next to Roy during dinner. He chatters for a bit, his voice never wavering from his chipper tone. Roy contemplates singing off his eyebrows -- just for practice of course.

He absently rubs his fingers together. It’s not enough to make a spark, and if it was, he’d just prevent the fire from starting.

Hughes glances out of the corner of his glasses to watch the motion, his mouth not even stopping to take a breath. Roy is surprised by the focus and observation of the gaze, and tries to reconcile that intensity with the obnoxious, unaware Hughes that he thinks he knows. Before he can dwell, Hughes grins again, and the serious expression slips off his face as if it hadn’t been there in the first place.

Roy makes plans to think about it later.

Day Fifteen:

Roy likes mental lists.

Ranks needed:

• Major

• Lt. Colonel

• Colonel

• Brigadier General

• Major General

• Lieutenant General

• General

• Fuhrer

He reminds himself that every journey begins with a single step.

Day Twenty-seven:

Roy needs to find a hobby. He used to burn things, control the flames, feel them bending to his will. It used to be fun, a challenge. He doesn’t like to think about fire anymore.

He takes up “Hughes watching” as a temporary alternative. The other man’s one-sided discussions have settled into white noise that Roy can easily ignore. It makes him bearable at least. It also allows Roy to study Hughes, to try to catch more moments of that curious sharpness. There’ve been a few more, like when Sanders tried to swipe some of Hughes’ rations and that time when some of the other officers tried to tackle him after he exited his tent.

The strangest of all was definitely when Howard made a snide comment about alchemists. It wasn’t new to Roy. He’d heard it all before, several times. There was always this resentment, whether it was warranted or not. What was really strange was the grit of Hughes’ teeth, and the calm way that he’d responded, “Usually, it helps to know what you’re talking about before saying anything.”

Howard just blinked in surprise.

Roy tells himself that he watches Hughes because he knows Hughes has everyone fooled except him. That it’s merely a challenge. He’s not getting attached to the guy.

He doesn’t really believe it himself.

Day Thirty-three:

Gran orders Roy to burn a house down, raze it, destroy it completely. With people still inside.

He does, without a fuss, because the military doesn’t like fuss.

Hours later, he can still hear the screams. He talks to Hughes, who tells him that one philosopher believed that men are inherently evil and aggressive, and war is merely an expression of it. Roy says that he doesn’t believe it. Hughes says he doesn’t either.

Day Thirty-five:

Roy catches sight of Bradley in the camp. He clenches his right fist tightly and resists the urge.

Day Forty-two:

Major Armstrong and Roy are ambushed by group of Ishbalites. It only takes them four minutes before all twenty of their attackers lie dead. Roy wonders if he’s really human anymore. The sight and smell of blackened bodies don’t even faze him.

They leave the dead behind, unburied. Roy wonders how long it will take for the desert to reclaim them.

Day Forty-eight:

Hughes is promoted to Major after an excellent campaign in the mountains. His team rooted out a hidden camp of about fifty insurgents. The Fuhrer was impressed.

“We need more men of your caliber,” he had said.

Roy wasn’t jealous per se. He wants just enough attention to get ahead, to get promoted. To be the one that tells men that they’re of high caliber.

Maes deserves it, he really does. Roy does his best to show it. He slaps Maes on the back and says that he’ll miss the days when he could order him around.

Maes just grins that irrepressible grin, but Roy can tell that it’s genuine.

Day Fifty:

They sit together at times and just talk. The days have been surprising calm. All quiet on the eastern front.

“What do you think is going to happen?” Roy asks, staring out at the horizon, and admires the way blue and orange meet perfectly.

Maes glances up from the patch of grass he was playing with. “What?”

“With the war. With everything.”

Maes smiles. It’s beautiful. “Just keep going, and you’ll find out.”

Day Fifty-five:

Things that Roy likes about Ishbal:

• the chance to move up in the ranks

Day Fifty-eight:

Things that Roy doesn’t like about Ishbal:

• the color

• the war

• the killing

• the heat

• the sand

• the choices

• the way Hughes talks some of the time

Day Sixty-two:

This time, they have Roy take on an entire city. His more perverse side likes the challenge. They also give him one of Marco’s Stones. It fits neatly on his right hand, and the second he puts it on, he can feel it’s power rushing through him. On some other occasion, he might have refused, but this is big, this is promotion big, and he needs it.

He doesn’t hear the screams this time. He remembered to stand far enough away.

Night Sixty-four:

Roy dreams of cool green grass and a quiet lake. He dreams of lying on his back and staring at a bright blue sky dotted with clouds. He dreams of fish and birds and deer. He dreams of peace.

A rabbit comes out of the woods. “You can’t stay,” it says.

“I know.” Roy does know it. There are the things you fight for. Things that you wait for. And this scene is one of those things.

The scene shifts.

Roy sits behind a desk. The Fuhrer’s desk. More things he has to wait for. He resists the urge to run his hands over the highly polished wood and looks up.

Maes sits in front of him with his blank “talking to a superior” expression. His lips are drawn back into a straight line and his eyes express nothing. Roy doesn’t like it, not directed at him.

“Fuhrer.” Maes says it with a clipped military voice.

“Yes?” He responds formally, but Roy’s confusion is steadily rising. What’s going on?

“I strongly advise against this course of action. Reaching this station is a mistake.”

“I have to disagree with you Major --”

“General.”

“--General Hughes. Reform must come from within, and the best place inside is this chair.”

Maes’ tight-lipped expression transforms into a smirk. A woman walks in. From the waist down, she’s dressed like his mother and from the waist up she’d dressed like a normal officer. Roy does his best not to stare.

“The cast list for your life, sir.” She pulls a manila folder out of nowhere and holds it out to him. Roy blinks.

“What?”

The woman continues to offer him the folder. Roy grabs it, but the scene shifts again.

He’s standing in the Ishbal desert this time. No one else is around. The military’s camp isn’t around. It’s one of those hot days that Roy can’t stand. His uniform sticks to his skin and he itches to pull at it. His vision swirls for second before it rights itself.

“Hello,” a voice says from behind him.

Roy spins around to face Armstrong.

“You should probably check that list,” he says. Roy looks at the folder in his hand and pulls it open--

--to get the morning sun in his eyes as Maes yells, “Wakey wakey!” in his ear. Asshole. Roy glares, pulls himself out of bed, and gives Maes a perfunctory shove before getting ready for the rest of the day.

Day Sixty-nine:

Roy is tackled by Maes behind the mess tent. He goes down face-first and eats dust. Behind him, with his arms wrapped around Roy’s waist, Maes cackles. He’s a crafty one, and Roy probably should know better than to turn his back on the bastard.

When they get up, Roy wipes his mouth with his non-gloved hand and mutters, “Whore.”

He smiles as he says it.

Day Seventy:

Roy isn’t interested in killing, but he doesn’t mind anymore. He can stare at a man begging for his life, begging for the lives of his family, and snap his fingers without a second of doubt.

That’s only one part of him, though. The rest wants to vomit.

Day Seventy-one:

He decides to trust Maes with his plan. It’s not an easy decision. He’s agonized about it for weeks, debating with himself the need for allies. If they’re loyal, they’d be an invaluable resource. If not, he’d lose everything.

Maes is smart and innocuous. He’d be valuable. People tell him things because they don’t think he listens. A word in the right place, a tidbit of information; Maes would be able to help.

There are problems, too. Roy still doesn’t know why Maes picked him as the focus of his attention. It could be boredom. It could be the military scoping out the ambitious ones. What he really needs is commitment to the cause and not him. It’s easy to turn on people. It’s much harder to turn on an ideal.

Roy goes to talk to him after dinner. Night has fallen and the stars glitter. Roy admires them for a moment. Clouds never obscure the Ishbal night, and he’s almost begun to take the moonlight for granted. Maes’ face lights up at the sight of him.

“Roy!” he calls out.

Roy tries to smile, but he knows that Maes knows it’s fake. They’ve both become good at telling.

“How are things going?” he asks.

Maes just nods. “Pretty well. You?”

“I need to talk to you about something.”

Maes shrugs. “Sure.”

They walk toward their “usual spot.” It’s just open enough to be inconspicuous, just two friends catching some downtime, but just far enough away to keep people from listening in. Maes settles down in his usual position, legs crossed, his body leaning back on his hands. Roy sits opposite him with his legs stretched out. He can practically feel Maes’ barely contained curiosity.

“I’m going to become Fuhrer. I want to change the way this country is run.” Roy curses himself for the way it blurted out. He probably should have softened the blow before hand. Maybe mentioned why he dislikes Bradley. Regardless, it felt good to get it out. It has been festering for quite a while, and Roy doesn’t really do well when it comes to festering.

Maes doesn’t really react. His eyes do go introspective and thoughtful, though, and Roy feels a stab of nervousness. He resists the urge to fidget.

“Do you have a plan?” Maes finally says. He looks interested.

“I move up the ranks.” Roy hates that it’s simple, that it sounds dumb to his ears.

“That’s it?” Maes says it seriously. Roy half expected ridicule.

“Yes.”

“I’ll help.”

Roy blinks. He didn’t really expect an answer so soon or so decisive. Maes has obviously had time to think about it. “How long have you known?”

“Since my promotion.”

“Oh.”

“Look, I’ll help you. I can support you from below. I agree.”

Relief floods Roy. A weight has lifted, and he sighs out all the tension. Maes pulls him into an affectionate hug.

“I believe you’re doing the right thing, I really do,” he whispers in Roy’s ear.

They both sit back and just talk about anything else. Their hearts aren’t in it, though, and Maes calls it a night. As he gets up, he drops a peck on Roy’s lips.

Afterward, Roy doesn’t think about the kiss. He has more important things to worry about. He really does.

Day Eighty-three:

It’s a windy day. The sand rises up and swirls around the camp. Little eddies of it dance across the yellow ground. Roy kicks absently at the pile at his feet, and watches the breeze catch it and carry it off, scattering the grains. Maes is elsewhere, getting ready for the next attack.

Roy has not performed any “regular” alchemy in a while. It’s different now, almost foreign. Too much time with the glove and other worries. He has chalk with him, he’s been meaning to practice. You never know when it’ll come in handy.

He clears a neat area on the floor of his tent. The sand makes it hard to draw the circle, but he finds a good solid rock and does his best to clear the dust off it first. The wind picks up a bit and Roy can hear the smatter of sand on the side of the tent.

His hand almost instantly retraces the familiar lines of his favorite circle. It’s something you don’t lose, he thinks. Like riding a bike. After he’s done, he sits back to inspect his work. The sight of something before on the floor of now is jarring.

The line of thought is interrupted by Maes pulling the tent flap open.

“What are you up to?” he asks.

Roy shrugs. “I haven’t worked on this type of alchemy in a while. I figured today would be a good day to try.”

Maes nods, comes in, and sits down. “Can I watch?” he asks.

“Sure.”

Roy places a pile of sand in the middle. Pats it down nice and tight.

He places his fingers at the edge and feels the familiar rush. Lights twirl behind his eyelids, and he senses the sand, bends it, twists it, pulls it apart, and makes it what he wants it to be.

When he steps back, he can the impressed look on Maes’ face.

“So that’s why they keep you State Alchemists around. We need more toy dogs.” The near-patented Hughes smirk is back.

Roy smirks as well. “A dog of the military.”

He picks up the figure and hands it to Maes, who accepts it readily. “My very own,” he says.

Neither of them mention that he has one already.

Day Eighty-five:

There’s news that they might be heading back soon. That the war is going to end. The Ishbalites are discouraged by the power of the alchemists. They should accept the fact that their god is fallible next to the might of Amestris.

Roy doesn’t believe it. He’s seen the Ishbalites. He knows that they’ll only surrender when they can’t fight anymore, and there’s still a lot of fight in them.

Day Ninety:

No one notices that Maes hasn’t been sleeping in his tent. It’s one of those benefits of being an officer.

Night Ninety-four:

Roy wakes up and falls off the edge of the bed. He dusts himself off, shoves Maes over, and climbs back in. The regulation beds barely fit one fully-grown man, not to mention two. Maes only gives a quick grunt.

It’s still dark out, the sky black. Roy needs some more sleep, he knows that Gran won’t take “I was getting laid” as an excuse for being off his game.

They teeter together on the small bed; both at the edges, trying to stay on.

Day Ninety-five:

Maes tells Roy about his home. About the people. He can describe his mother (sharp tongue, sharp eyes) and father (stern epitome of manliness) in ways that make Roy feel nostalgic for home. Maes was born and raised in Central. He’s a city kid at heart. Roy grew up in a moderately large town, and when they exhaust all other topics, they’ll compare childhoods. It’s wistful and innocent in a way they aren’t now.

Roy loves him all the more for these small pleasures.

Day Ninety-seven:

When dinner ends and they safely make it back to Roy’s tent, he pulls a surprise attack. Maes’ legs go up, and the rest hits the floor. Taking advantage of his shock, Roy straddles him easily and holds him down with his left hand. He leans over and steals a kiss. It tastes like dust and sand.

They are surrounded war. Gentleness has no place here. Here it’s all power and suffering, strength and pain. This is a bright moment, a beautiful one, but it’s still tainted by the rest of it. The war has seeped into their bones.

Maes meets Roy’s kiss head on, all teeth and tongue.

These are the only times Roy doesn’t feel alone.

Day Ninety-nine:

The two Rockabell doctors lie dead at Roy’s feet. It’s not alchemy this time, just a gun, just a regular old gun. He can hear Gran and Marco arguing behind him, but it’s drowned out by the beating of his heart.

In a perverse moment, he considers killing himself. He goes as far as placing the gun underneath his chin before Marco’s voice rings through.

It makes Roy feel stupid and ashamed. Some orders are just not meant to be followed.

When Marco begs to leave, to be allowed to leave, Roy lets him go. He cannot think of one reason why he would stop him.

Day 100:

He goes to Maes because that’s the only thing he can think of. They talk, because that’s all either of them can do. They lapse into silence after Roy explains what happens.

“Come you masters of war,” Maes sings softly. It’s an old folk song. Roy’s heard it before, but it’s never cut quite so deep. He’d never quite understood what it meant.

“You that never done nothin’ / But build to destroy,” Maes continues. His voice drops off to a hum, and then nothing.

They lapse into silence again.

“I don’t know how I did it,” Roy says. His fingers claw the ground for something to hold onto. Maes’ face is open and listening. “I just did.”

Maes nods. They’ve both committed atrocities here, and they haunt them both. Roy fights back angry tears. Crying would be a sign of weakness. And Roy doesn’t do weak. He just doesn’t.

He turns his back on Maes just as a tear slips past his eyelid and rolls down his face.

Maes wraps his arms around him from behind and kisses his neck. “It’s raining,” he says, even though the sky is a clear desert blue.

Roy nods. “It is.” They sit together like that until the sun goes down over the Ishbal horizon.

Chapter 2

Chapter Summary

Chapter Notes

Day 101:

Maes grabs a roll out of the mess tent. It’s all they have here, bread and water. Sometimes the officers get niceties, but those are treats that are far and few between. He takes a big bite out of the roll and makes sure to walk by Brigadier General Haruko’s table. He overhears a conversation about tomorrow’s troop movements. Purely by accident, of course.

Day 105:

Roy is in one of his Funks. There’s a distinct pattern that Maes has long since learned to anticipate. First, Gran orders the destruction of some innocent(s). Second, Roy kills said innocent(s) with an efficiency that most soldiers could only dream of. Third, Roy is rewarded/decorated for his efficiency. Fourth, Roy drowns in his own guilt.

It’s a rather tiresome process, but sex usually pulls him out of it.

Day 108:

Cities are the trickiest places to fight. There are so many nooks and crannies to hide in and take some sucker by surprise. Maes has learned to fight along walls, even though the most grizzled soldiers say that it’s a bad idea. The walls suck the bullets in, they say. It might be true, but Maes thinks that a solid wall at your back is worth the risk.

You find all kinds in cities too. The Ishbalites are all civilians, anyway, but in the cities you get women and children. No one is to be trusted; anyone you run across is guilty until proven innocent.

Day 110:

The knives are Maes’ little secret. He gets little thrills out of hiding them under his sleeves, in his pockets, on his ankles. It’s not discouraged, of course. More weaponry during wartime is usually considered a good thing by the brass.

But Maes like keeping it to himself (and Roy, because there’s very little Maes can’t tell Roy). It gives him a little thrill to throw them when the enemy least expects it.

He likes that people underestimate him.

Day 111:

Maes drops to the ground when someone opens fire on his men. His head doesn’t land quite right, and the right lens of his glasses cracks. He swears.

Day 112:

The weather’s changing. Maes can feel it in the air. The heat of summer is giving way to the cool winds of autumn. It’s not obvious, not in the sea of sand, but they all feel it.

Day 113:

The replacement for his lens still hasn’t come, but Maes is getting used to seeing the fractured world around him.

Roy seems amused by it. When they have alone time, he’ll remove the glasses from Maes’ face and run his fingers over the cracks. He’ll replace them with the same delicacy. Roy has moments, these days. Moments of gentleness and softness. They’ll be talking like usual, when Roy will suddenly grab Maes’ hand and run his gloved fingers over it, or he’ll lean on Maes’ shoulder, tangling his nose in Maes’ hair.

Day 117:

Major Armstrong is probably going back to Central. He refused to kill a child when his orders clearly stated that he was to annihilate everyone in the area.

Roy looks a little envious and pained by it. Maes knows he’s plagued by the Rockbells, by his own failure to follow his beliefs. Maes wants to tell him that Armstrong doesn’t have to do what Roy has to do. He wants to remind Roy that he has bigger plans.

They sit amongst rubble because they can.

They could all go home if they wanted to. It just takes a little civil disobedience, that’s all. He tells Roy that, gives him a way out of hell. Roy’s smarter than that, though. He doesn’t need blemishes on his record.

Day 121:

Roy is an alchemist. Kimbley is an alchemist. It’s strange how different they are. Maes watches the man, doesn’t bother approaching him. He picks up some info from Johnson (avoided by most of the gossip hounds because he’ll ramble on about nothing if you let him. All you really need to know is how to nudge the topic in the right direction, and then he’s gold.)

Kimbley’s practically renegade already, from the sound of it. His alchemy is one of the most twisted things Maes has heard in a while. Turning humans into bombs? Just gruesome. It’s no worse than burning people alive, the obnoxious voice in Maes’ head tells him.

He asks Roy about it during lunch. “What’s Kimbley like?”

Roy stiffens visibly. He’s never had the most revealing body language, and it’s only gotten more subtle over time. The Crimson Alchemist is not a friend, then.

Maes wants to probe a bit more, but this is not the place or time. It’s too public. He changes the subject an slaps on a grin. “So, have you heard? My sister’s going off to study law! She takes after her older brother doesn’t she…”

Day 128:

“Look, Hughes.”

“Cut the shit, Mustang, and tell me what’s bothering you.”

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”

“You can, and you will, or else I’m going to be throwing my support to Armstrong. Maybe Gran if I’m feeling vindictive enough.”

“It’s just… Sometimes I don’t think you understand how hard it is.”

“You’ve done things, alright? So have I. So has everyone. I’m not proud of it, but you can’t just stop. You have to keep going.”

“I wanted to stop, you know. I was so ready to pull the trigger.”

“You didn’t.”

Day 134:

Maes keeps his ears to the ground and finds some interesting tidbits. The brass have a sniper on Roy all the time. Her name’s Hawkeye, and she’s young. Maes pulls some strings to have her serve under him.

Roy takes the news in stride. What’s another person trying to kill him?

Hawkeye is interesting. Maes likes her, though she rarely ever loosens up. There’s a hint of idealism to her, and Maes makes plans to explore that further.

Day 141:

Roy’s tent is generally neat. Not immaculate by any means, just tidier than Maes’. No stray clothes, bed usually made, books on desk and not on the floor. There’s a few trinkets here and there that Maes hasn’t had time to fully catalogue. He does know the stories of about half of them, like the stone from the river near Roy’s home and the page with the first alchemy circle Roy ever drew, penciled onto paper over math notes Maes doubts he ever used.

Roy is going through another Funk, and Maes really hopes that the war ends soon. Now, preferably. It hurts to see him this way, so open and pained. Maes knows that it’s harder for him, harder for him to kill and destroy. Roy’s talents lie naturally in the direction of destruction, but he isn’t proud of it, doesn’t revel in it. That’s the difference, Maes knows, between him and Kimbely. That’s why Maes can forgive him for what he does.

Night 143:

Fingers pull at Maes’ short hair. Lips travel across his neck. A cheek rubs up against his own. They meet, and it’s surprisingly gentle. Delicate touches avoiding bandaged wounds. Slow and unhurried. It’s different this time, different from the bites and scratches that they’re so used to. Something has changed.

Maes is hesitant to call it love.

Day 147:

Pain splinters across Maes’ ribs as the bullet grazes him. He lets out a hiss and drops to his hands and knees. The Ishbalite child stands over him with the gun. His hand shakes quite visibly. The first shot was dumb luck, and the boy can’t bring himself to pull the trigger again. Not while his enemy is helpless on the floor. Maes knows that going after his own gun at his hip will be enough of an invitation to get shot again.

“Major!” a voice calls out behind him. Hawkeye, most likely. He went in first, and they definitely heard the shot. They’re probably surrounding the doorway, prepared to shoot anything that comes out.

“I’m okay. Don’t come in,” Maes manages to wheeze out. He looks up into the barrel of the boy’s gun. He glances a up a little more, to the child’s throat. The knife in his sleeves itches to get out, to attack that vulnerable flesh.

He watches the finger around the trigger tighten just a bit before flicking his wrist and the knife up, dropping to land on his back and to the side. The knife flies straight into the boy’s throat, and, in the confusion, he pulls the trigger. The bullet grazes Maes’ shoulder. It doesn’t connect with flesh this time, just rips Maes’ uniform.

The dead body collapses on top of him. It’s heavy. Maes lets out a grunt and shoves it off of him. All he can hear at this point is his heavy breathing. Strong hands pull him up. Sergeant Davis, probably. Hawkeye stands in front of him. There’s obvious concern in her eyes, but she maintains her rigid military posture.

“Are you alright, sir?” she asks. Maes nods and finds his footing. Clutching his side, he hobbles out of the building to get medical assistance.

Day 150:

It’s one of their usual conversations.

“Even after that last mission, Gran hasn’t recommended me for promotion,” Roy says. “It’s almost like he knows what I’m trying to do.”

Maes shrugs. “Doubtful, but he does know you’re an ambitious, which doesn’t work in your favor.”

Roy sighs. “What do you think I should do?”

“Keep going.”

“You always say that.” Roy frowns.

“You keep asking the same question.” Maes knows that Roy’s smart, but he does have a tendency to wallow.

Roy blinks at that statement and seems to think it over. “Sometimes I think I know what you mean when you say that, and sometimes I have no idea.”

Day 156:

Roy’s brooding. It’s not a fully blown Funk, but he’s getting there. Maes decides cheer him up in the time honored method of the Hughes household: ticklefight.

Whenever his sister was down, he’d offer to kill her boyfriend, buy her chocolate, or tickle her until she couldn’t take it anymore. His mother, usually very strict about such things, seemed entertained by the sight of the two of them rolling across the floor. It’s a slice of home that Maes wants to share.

He sneaks up to Roy as he’s writing a report and attacks the ribs first. It’s the most ticklish part of his body.

Roy jumps and lets out an indignant sqwuak. Maes tackles him to the ground and goes after the armpits. They’re the second most ticklish part. Roy thrashes, howling in forced laughter. Maes grins. Victory is his.

Roy recovers enough to attack the back of Maes’ knees, but he’s no match against years of practice. Maes manages to dodge the fingers, but it puts him out of range. Roy uses the space and time to recover and get back onto his feet. He’s panting out the laughter, not quite tired out yet.

“Hughes, you fucker,” Roy snarls between pants.

Maes puts on his best deadpan expression. “Laughter is good for you, you know. Leads to a much happier life.”

Roy blinks at him for a moment, trying to figure out if he’s serious. Taking advantage of the moment, Maes goes after his legs, trying to gain the upper hand again. Roy reacts quickly, bringing his knee up to connect with Maes’ jaw.

Maes goes down face first and gets a noseful of the floor’s dust. That really, really hurt. Roy takes that moment to press his advantage and tickle the backs of Maes’ knees. He giggles uncontrollably and tries to pull himself into a fetal position. Roy chases after them and goes dangerously off balance. Maes lashes out a foot, and Roy tumbles to the ground as well.

They rest there, panting.

“You have to admit that was fun,” Maes says. He rubs his chin. It hurts like a bitch.

Roy doesn’t say anything, but Maes catches the grin he can’t quite suppress.

Night 165:

Maes stands in a pool of blood. There’s only the barest hint of light, but he can clearly see the dark red liquid all around his feet. He walks a bit and winces as the blood flows over and through his shoes and socks. It’s thicker than water and it squishes in an annoying and slightly disgusting way.

The approaches a wall, and reaches out to touch it. Blood pours down the side, soaking Maes’ hands. He pulls back and wipes his hands off on his pants. It’s not as strange as it should be.

He clutches at the walls, trying to climb up them, but his hands slip, and he falls into the knee deep blood. He sinks down and down and down, never reaching the bottom.

He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

He can’t-- a hand smacks him roughly across the face.

“Stop thrashing, you idiot. Some of us are trying to get some sleep.”

Maes focuses as best as he can on the face of his best friend.

“Sorry,” he mutters, and does his best to give Roy some room. He falls asleep again.

He doesn’t dream this time.

Day 172:

“How do you do it? How do you keep everything in?” Roy asks. They sit inside Maes’ tent, because the weather chased them off their usual spot. On days like this, the sand becomes a living thing, consuming everything in its path.

Hughes closes his eyes, takes off his glasses, compulsively wipes them off, and puts them back on. He opens his eyes again. “I don’t know,” he says honestly.

Day 176:

Maes gets reassigned to Intelligence. The fighting has died down to the point where they can finally move him back there. He’s not quite sure why they pulled him in the first place, but he’s sure they have their reasons.

Day 181:

Davis sobs into Maes’ shoulder. It’s a little strange to have the beefy sergeant weeping like a little girl who’s just scratched her knee, but Maes know that people like to confess things to him. Maybe they think he’s too wrapped up in his own little world to really hear what they’re saying, maybe they think that he’ll cheer them up with stories about Happy people doing Happy things. Whatever it is, it brought Davis here to tell Maes about his girlfriend.

“I just miss her so much, and when I talked to her last week, she sounded so different and far away, like she didn’t care anymore, and I have this necklace here that I want to give to her, and I just don’t know, Major. I just don’t know. I’m sorry I’m bothering you with it, but I just need to tell someone, you know?”

Maes gives him a friendly smile. “She’s probably feeling just the way you are. It’s a lot of time to spend apart.”

Davis’ eyes shine with tears. “You really think so?”

Maes pats him on the back. “I really do.”

Day 184:

Roy comes back blackened and burned. When Maes asks him what happened, he only says one word, “Kimbley.”

Day 185:

The story spreads across the camp the next day. The Crimson Alchemist decided it was a brilliant idea to use military as the human bombs instead of the Ishbalites, and a few other State Alchemists (including Roy) were sent out to subdue him. They were successful, but a few civilians got caught in the crossfire.

Maes can understand why Roy was so upset.

Day 189:

After six months with the State Alchemists, the Ishbal rebellion is officially put down. It’s lasted seven years. The military going to remain for a week, at least, just to make sure that everything is actually calming down.

Relief is almost visible in the air. Conversations about home can be heard everywhere, and Maes’ mind turns in that direction as well.

He doesn’t know about what’s going to happen with Roy. Are they going to continue? Are they going to write it off as wartime stress? How are things going to be between them?

They don’t talk about it.

Day 193:

People continue their tasks quietly. Maybe it’s because there aren’t any gunshots or yells. Maybe everyone is stuck inside their own heads, dreaming of home. Maybe Maes is too busy being stuck inside his own head to notice all the noise around him.

Roy licks Maes’ earlobe when he’s trying to write up the report on Ishbalite tribe movements.

“Is this all we have?” he whispers.

“Is this all you want?” Maes asks. He turns around to face him.

“No,” Roy says. He looks thoughtful.

“Alright, then. It doesn’t have to be,” Maes says. He turns back to the report.

“I figured how you do it, by the way,” Roy says. “You think of everyone but yourself.”

Maes blinks at the statement, considering it. Roy kisses him on the head and goes back to his own tent.

Day 198:

Nothing new has come up. There’s a real possibility of going home. Roy talks a little bit about what he wants to do, and Maes does as well, about his parents and his sister. He almost wants them to meet Roy, though that might not be the smartest idea.

The sex has taken on a certain desperate air, as if leaving Ishbal really is leaving this behind. Maes doesn’t accept it and neither does Roy, but things are going to change when they go back to Central. It’s not something that can be helped.

Day 199:

Tomorrow, they’re going home. To celebrate, the military has decided to ply the soldiers with as much alcohol as they can stand. A ploy to keep them docile, perhaps, but Maes needs it.

He gets as drunk as possible next to Roy. They sit in a corner, away from the others, hidden in shadow.

Maes knows he’s more of a happy, rambling drunk than a sad one, but he can’t help confessing his sins to Roy as they sit there.

“Well, there’s this kid. He shot me. Got be in the ribs. One knife in the throat, and then yeah, I got him. And there was this woman who was hiding in a cart. She got Johnson pretty good. He was in the hospital for a week. Hawkeye barely even flinched when she shot her. The woman, not Hawkeye. I don’t think I’m making any sense…”

Roy pulls him to his feet. “Let’s go home,” he tells Maes, who wants to stop talking, but just can’t.

They stumble into Roy’s tent, and Maes sprawls out on the floor he’s so familiar with and is leaving soon. The next thing Maes knows, he’s sobbing through his drunken rambling.

“It’s not easy, you know. It’s not. I tried to be strong for you and I can’t even be strong for myself. I’m sorry I suck as a friend…”

Roy hugs him tightly, and Maes buries his face in his neck. “Let it out,” Roy says.

After a minute of sobbing, Maes calms down and steps back.

“Okay?” Roy asks. Maes nods.

Roy punches him. Hard. Across his face. “Stop being such a moron, Hughes.”

Maes drops easily, the alcohol slowing down his reaction. He feebly shakes his fist at Roy. “I’ll get you for that,” he promises.

“I’d like to see you try,” Roy says as he drags Maes up onto the bed.

“Sleep it off,” he tells Maes.

Maes does.

Day 200:

It’s a bright, sunny day. Maes has a killer hangover, but he won’t let anybody have the pleasure of knowing that. Roy’s probably figured it out, but he doesn’t mention it. He gets called off to a meeting with Bradley and Gran in the morning.

“I’ve been promoted,” he tells Maes when he comes back. “It’s Lieutenant Colonel Mustang now.”

“Good for you,” Maes replies as someone whacks a hammer against the inside of his head.

Roy kicks him lightly in the shin.

“What do you think will happen when we get back to Central?” Maes asks.

Roy grins like a cat that’s just caught a mouse. “Keep going and you’ll find out.”

He manages to get onto the train before Maes can tackle him.

FIN.