Work Text:
The clouds are gathering. Dulled rays of orange light barely manage to filter through the rapidly thickening cloud cover. The deteriorating flower bouquet he’s gripped so tightly in his hand, his customary gift, has lined his path with white fallen petals. Almost as if they were trying to lead him back home. But home didn’t really exist anymore.
Instead, he smiles. A gesture that he is unused to these days, but nonetheless he attempts to makes it seem genuine. He’s talking to an old friend, after all. He tells him about the latest discrepancies at work, how he still can’t manage to keep everyone in line, and how certain workmates are starting to act more like he did.
But none of them are able to make him laugh like he once did. He recounts his recent failures at making miniskirts a mandatory part of the women’s work uniform. But of course he’d be uninterested in that; he’d had never eyes for anyone who wasn’t Gracia. He falls quiet for a moment, wondering if he should share the bad news too…
Well it’s not like he had anyone else to tell.
Roy’s smile falters, and as does his voice, when he begins to tell his friend of the more recent news. Fullmetal’s gone.
His time ran out.
It’s not like it was sudden, or surprising. They’d known it was going to happen. Roy had tried his best to stay strong, and not ask the impossible of Edward… But he’d still had his moment of weakness. Inevitable, as it was, he’d still tried to ask him to stay.
Perhaps it was a mistake to do so. But he couldn't stop the words from slipping out.
Stay. Please. Please, Ed. Please. As your commanding... As your commanding officer, I... Stay. Please.
He’d wanted him to stay. He’d have begged if that would’ve gotten him a few more nights with the alchemist. But Fate was cruel, and lived up to its' promise. He was gone. And no amount of begging would ever bring the young man back to him.
He’d lost them both. And both times he’d been unable to do anything about it.
The sprinkling of rain brought him back to reality, and as he looked up, the downpour grew heavier. Raindrops slid down his cheeks, mixing with the salt they found there and for a moment, Roy closed his eyes and felt a sort of strange peace.
The moment didn’t last. That seemed to be a recurring trend. Everything had to end, after all. His eyes, red-rimmed, and framed by the bags that did nothing to hide the fact that he did not sleep, fell to the gravestone before him. He mustered up the will to ask a favor of his old friend, and in a hoarse voice, he asked.
“Take care of him for me. If he ends up where you’re at, Hughes.”
For the second time in his life, Roy wished he were capable of bringing back the dead.