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He would never forget the night Maes Hughes was murdered.
The call came just after ten o'clock at night. The hour was late, certainly, but Hughes knew him well enough to correctly assume that he would still be at the office, slumped over his desk as he slugged through the rest of his damned paperwork. Just a few more pages and he would finally be able to call it quits and go home. Unfortunately, procrastination did seem to have the tendency to make the stack of forms, files, and various reports grow ever higher. A well-established habit though it was, the recent run-in the Elric brothers had with Scar certainly didn't help.
Still, despite the influx of crime currently captivating the capitol, knowing Hughes he was simply ringing to gush over his wife and the success of little Elicia's birthday celebration. After all, she had turned three just yesterday, and the doting father had mentioned finding a teddy bear that she would just adore --one that was nearly twice as big as she was.
"Won't that just be adorable???"
He could still remember that annoying dither that had caused him to hang up the receiver just days prior. Already anticipating a similar brouhaha, there was a scowl on Roy's face as he told the operator to patch him through.
There was a click as he was connected to the outside line. At the very least Hughes had finally taken his advice and wasn't wasting time on the private military line again. Even so, he still really needed to work on his professionalism. He was still calling him at work, after all.
"It's me," Roy snapped before Hughes could even start. "I don't want to hear any more about your family!"
When he was met with silence, his expression faltered.
"Hughes?"
A brow quirked as he glanced down at the handset. That was odd. Had the operator made an error in transferring the call? No, there would most likely be static were that the case. Or a dial tone if Hughes had actually managed to become offended and hung up on him for a change. But even if the call was dropped accidentally, there would still be a tone, something. Instead there was nothing. Nothing except...
"Hughes... Hey!"
Faint though it was, something could be heard on the other end of the line. One... two... three times now.
"Hughes!"
There was no answer. Instead, there it was again.
..tap..
Though rhythmic, it was gradually becoming quieter and more spaced out. Suddenly the realization hit him: the telephone was hanging on the line. The hair at the back of his neck stood on end as he was gripped by a familiar sense of dread. Suffocating and heavy on his chest, it only strengthened in the coming moments. There, just beneath the fading knock of the phone against the booth, he heard it --a weak, rasping breath. One he wouldn't hear again.
"HUGHES!!!"
......tap...
"-onel. Colonel."
Roy blinked. Slowly, the thick fog that had settled over his mind lifted just enough for him to look up at his Lieutenant. There Riza was, her expression similarly tired and worn, and betraying a level of concern he hadn't seen in quite some time. Not since their return from the Ishvalan War so many years ago. Though she had thrown on her fatigues, her hair was down and slightly disheveled from her interrupted sleep. He didn't remember calling her, and he certainly didn't recall what he had said, but he could still hear her words clearly in his mind: "I'll be right there."
It must've been damn near two in the morning by the time he had finally gotten off the phone with Central Command. Unwilling to hang up on the line Hughes had called from, he had kept the handset tucked under his chin as he yanked the telephone off of the neighboring booth. Immediately he had dialed the operator of the Eastern branch and ordered her to trace back the call so that they could send reinforcements. That there was a man down and in need of immediate medical attention. After that, it had taken him five tries and three different numbers to reach someone that knew anything about what was going on: The assistant at Central Command's library sector. Unfortunately, his worst fears were only confirmed.
Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes was dead.
Despite the speed at which the call had been traced and the location pin-pointed, the responding officers had pronounced him dead at the scene. It was only upon hearing this that Roy realized the line to the telephone booth had been disconnected. It was understandable; it was a crime scene now. But still, realizing that one remaining link was now gone had sent a sinking feeling to the pit of his stomach. With a trembling hand that accursed, silent phone was slammed back against its receiver. He had then proceeded to get as much information out of the assistant as possible, in what one could only describe as an interrogation. Unfortunately, that lead to even more questions than answers.
Hughes had been in the records room before the assistant noticed that he was wounded and bleeding from his shoulder. For some reason, he had declined medical attention and was last seen leaving the building after deciding against using the the private line near the lobby. It made no sense. Why didn't he alert the assistant to call for help if he had been attacked then and there? Why did he instead leave the building if someone was after him? Why? Why? Judging from the woman's confused and tearful tone, she didn't know either. And before he could try and get more information out of her, one of the investigating officers confiscated the phone and he himself had been asked his name, rank, and to recount what he knew of the events that had transpired. With increasing anger and frustration, he had explained time and time again that he knew nothing. Nothing. He didn't even realize he had begun to yell until he was asked to calm down. He was then told to get some rest, that Central would be contacting him in the morning for a formal interview, and then the call was ended.
That was a few hours ago at least, and despite the early hour Eastern Command was already beginning to bustle with activity. While it was true that Hughes wasn't a State Alchemist, this was yet another tally in the string of murders specifically targeting members of the military.
"Colonel," Riza attempted once more, her brows knitting together as her superior struggled to shake himself free of his thoughts.
With a sigh Roy wiped a hand over his face. "What time is it?" His eyes were too tired, too strained from what was quickly becoming an all-nighter, for him to even try and pretend to read the clock on the wall.
"4:23am, Sir. Come on, let me drive you home." His coat was folded over her arm. Based on her sullen expression, she had already been debriefed about the situation. Silently, he offered a nod.
The sky outside was dark as pitch, the early morning air cool against his face as a gentle breeze ruffled his hair. The colonel allowed himself to take a deep breath. The air was so fresh and crisp... It nearly made his stomach turn. The unfairness of it. That someone such as Hughes could be torn so early from this world, leaving behind a wife and daughter he had loved so wholly, and yet it would keep on turning.
Gracia, Elicia... He froze in his tracks.
"Colonel?" Riza stopped beside him.
"Someone needs to notify the family," Roy realized aloud.
"I've already seen to it, Sir. I was assured that it would be handled with as much care as possible." Riza's hand was gentle on his arm as she proceeded to read his mind with just as much ease as ever. "Colonel, you being the one to tell her would not lessen the blow."
Roy swallowed tightly. Together they continued down the steps to the lieutenant's car. He slid into the passenger seat and Riza was not far behind in taking her place behind the wheel. The moment the door shut Riza's gaze became down-turned, and when she spoke next her tone was soft, honest.
"I'm sorry, Sir."
He said nothing. Seconds later the key turned in the ignition and the engine hummed to life.
The ride back to his flat was a silent one. Roy had all but sunken back in the passenger seat. While his head was turned slightly so that he could gaze out the window, he paid little attention to the buildings and streetlights that passed them by. Instead the gears in his mind were whirling. Why... Why did someone want to kill Hughes? He had been bleeding when the library's assistant saw him last... That suggested he was attacked on-sight. But how could an intruder sneak into a government building so easily? Why didn't he use the secure, private line there to phone for help? Did he not want someone to overhear? But overhear what? What's more, Roy doubted it was the shoulder wound that had killed him, which meant that the murderer either followed him outside to the telephone booth, or a second culprit was waiting for him. But why, under such dire circumstances, would Hughes call him instead of requesting immediate backup from Central Command? It made no sense... What information could be so important that he risked --no, that he gave his life to try and tell him?
Hughes... whatever you were trying to tell me... why couldn't it have waited?
Roy didn't realize they had arrived until Riza killed the engine. He stepped out of the car and, without even having to say a word, his lieutenant followed him up the steps to his apartment. He unlocked the door to let them both in, holding it open for his subordinate so that she would know her company was welcome. No... no, that wasn't quite right. He needed her right now. Ever since they were kids they had seen each other through everything. Schooling and his apprenticeship, Berthold's death, even Ishval and the events that followed... They had long ago learned that no matter what happened, no matter how much time had passed, they could always lean on the other when they needed it. And god be damned, he needed to lean on her now. The weight on his shoulders was unbearable, and with a kind --albeit sad-- smile, Riza helped to relieve some of that burden.
"I'll make some tea, Sir."
Riza moved about his apartment with ease. Despite the rules that existed within the military about fraternization within the ranks, and despite the two of them desperately trying to pretend that there was nothing going on between them since --damn, since they were practically teenagers, she wasn't exactly a stranger to this place. She knew how to navigate the chaos of his kitchen cupboards, how everything had its place even if it didn't make much sense. She knew how he had a tendency to hide questionable food items in the bottom left drawer of the fridge instead of just throwing them out, and how that particular drawer should be avoided. She knew how he hid the latest romance novel he was reading beneath the cushion of his armchair. How the blanket folded over the back of his couch wasn't just for decoration, but because he had a tendency to stray from his bed if he was having nightmares. Hell, not only did she know where the spare key was hidden, but she had even used it on more than one occasion.
After a few minutes a steaming mug of tea was placed on the table before him. He breathed in the warm, comforting scent of it. Chamomile, he guessed. A second mug soon followed, along with the lieutenant as she settled down across from him. For the first time that night, it seemed, he allowed himself a moment to close his eyes and breathe.
"He was a good man."
Roy didn't answer immediately. Lieutenant Colonel, intelligence officer, father, friend... Hughes was so many things. That's when it struck him. Was. Even without saying it aloud, it left a bitter taste in his mouth. It didn't seem right. "He was a monster," he finally murmured. "A dog of the military, a war criminal like the rest of us." He felt Riza's gaze on him, steady and calculating not unlike her surname suggested, but he continued. "But he did what he could to better himself, not just for his own sake, but for the sake of his family and his country. He worked towards redemption, became a good man that wouldn't just fight to survive, but to change things for the better. He is a good man..." Roy grimaced then before gritting out, "Even if he is in a body bag right now."
A warm hand covered his own, fingers curling up against his palm before giving a gentle squeeze. It proved to be just what he needed to ground him in this moment, to keep him from sinking any further into anguish. Gratefully, he squeezed her hand in return and released a breath.
"We will find whoever did this," the colonel promised, not only to Hughes, to Gracia and Elicia, but to himself as well.
"Of course, Colonel. And we'll make sure they face the justice they deserve."
When Roy lifted his gaze he could see the resolve in his lieutenant's eyes. He knew that she would not let Hughes' death go unanswered. Just as she had promised long ago, she would follow him into this hell. Her hand tightened over his once more before returning to encircle her cup of tea. He returned his attention back to his own mug and took a sip. The tea was still piping hot, but not scalding or uncomfortably so, just enough for the warmth to suffuse through to his extremities. He could taste the sweetness of honey on his tongue. It complimented the chamomile nicely. Still, his mind refused to rest easily.
"How much do you know?" he finally inquired. "About what happened to Hughes?"
The lieutenant paused before slowly setting down her mug with a soft clack. "Not much more than you I'm afraid, Sir" she answered carefully.
"Tell me anyway," Roy pressed. Then, "Please." He needed to hear this from someone else, from someone he trusted not to skirt around any details, no matter how gruesome. For they may prove critical to unraveling the mystery of Hughes' death and finding his killer.
"Colonel--"
"Riza," he interjected, not about to let her finish, for he could see from the way her brows drew together that she didn't think this was a good idea. But if they would not discuss this now, then when? "Please."
Riza released a measured breath before straightening her posture. It was a habit she had since childhood, a way of stealing herself before having to deal with something unpleasant. Almost reflexively he found himself tensing up in turn, the grip on his mug tightening until the sting of the hot ceramic reminded him to let go. She then began recounting the debriefing she had received from the lead investigator. Most of it was indeed similar to what he had already been told, that Hughes was last seen leaving the library in a hurry, seemingly needing to make a phone call. That while he was already bleeding from an apparent yet unbeknownst scuffle, it did not appear to be a life-threatening injury. That ultimately, after the colonel's own intervention into the matter, he had been found dead in a telephone booth outside Central Command approximately an hour later.
Roy listened carefully, repeating the words in his head and visualizing the events playing out as his finger tapped against the lip of his mug. "The injury prior to his death, that the assistant noted? Do we know what that was?"
"There was puncture wound going through his shoulder."
Roy quirked a brow. "Through his shoulder?"
"Yes. No gunshots were heard inside the facility, nor were any bullet casings found, so they are unsure what weapon may have been used."
The colonel offered a slow nod. Then, "Official cause of death?"
There was a moment's hesitation. "A single bullet wound was found in his temple, Sir. He was... shot at point blank range."
"And the exit wound...?"
The lieutenant didn't need for him to finish to surmise what he was after. "It's too soon to say for sure, but the early forensic ballistic report suggests he was face to face with his attacker."
Roy nodded, appreciating the tactfulness of her words. While he was trying to image the course of events in a realistic, practical manner, there were some things he simply didn't want to visualize. He couldn't. Not when it was Hughes.
"Suggesting that he may have known the individual responsible," he reasoned.
"Those were my thoughts as well, Sir."
He just had one more question. "Time of death..?"
Riza frowned as she shifted in her seat. "They placed the time of death at 10:07pm..."
The colonel closed his eyes.
"You should try to get some sleep."
"It's nearly sunrise," Roy pointed out, his eyelids feeling unusually heavy the next time he blinked up at his subordinate. He didn't miss the familiar look that was currently angled towards him. It was one he knew all too well, one that bode no argument. Her gaze was piercing, her mouth pressed into a firm line. He hadn't noticed it before, but there were dark circles beneath her eyes, too.
"Forgive me," he murmured after a heavy sigh. He raked a hand through his hair. "You're right, Lieutenant. We both need to get some rest."
Her features softened once she realized that he was not about to argue for a change. Giving a curt nod, she began collecting their empty mugs from the table. "I can sleep on the couch, Sir."
Roy couldn't help the scoff that skirted passed his lips, and even as Riza arched a brow he gave a shake of his head. "Don't be ridiculous. There's enough room for two." Though touched by melancholy, the corner of his mouth turned up in a grin nonetheless. "You still prefer the left side, right?" He was answered with a subtle smile.
The sun was just rising over the eastern ridge by the time they retired to bed. Roy left his uniform in a discarded pile on the floor to opt for something clean. Similarly, he lent the lieutenant a fresh change of clothes as well. Though they were almost comically large hanging on her more slender frame, he made no mention of it. The shades were down-turned and the curtains drawn to help shield them from the offensive light. Though he didn't even want to think about having to return to eastern command, he couldn't help but take note of the time Riza was setting the alarm clock for. Five hours... at least it was something. Roy let his eyes fall shut on a sigh.
When the bed shifted under new weight he turned to look into those brown irises. It only took Riza a few moments to get comfortable, her arms folded up against her chest as she laid on her side. Not because there wasn't enough room; on the contrary. Rather it better allowed her to close the gap between them. They weren't exactly strangers when it came to sharing the same space. In fact it was a source of great comfort, of security. So when Roy's arm wrapped around her waist, she only shifted closer. Wordlessly, her hand found his and they clasped together in a gentle hold.
"Thank you, Lieutenant..." Roy murmured, the weight of exhaustion finally beginning to overcome him. "For being here."
"Always, Sir."
The next few days dragged on in a miserable blur. Roy didn't really remember that first morning, waking up after what could only have been considered a nap at best, and a fit of tossing and turning at worst. He had slept at least a little, surely, but it didn't feel like it. He was absolutely exhausted, yet every time he shut his eyes he saw Hughes bleeding from that bullet hole in his temple. And that was before he even saw the photos. Of the crime scene, the autopsy report... all of it. Riza had warned him, of course, made her opinion known that she didn't think it was a wise decision, but he needed to know. He needed to see it. As of right now this case had nary a lead --Scar was completely out of the question--, and he wouldn't risk this becoming a cold case because he shielded himself from the details in a moment of weakness. He would find Hughes' killer. It wasn't a promise he would allow himself to break.
So one by one the hours shifted by, turning into nights, and then into days. During it all his lieutenant never left his side. She was there in the mornings and at night, when he stared at the ceiling with sullen eyes as sleep eluded him. She accompanied him to speak with the detective sent down from Central, rested her hand on his shoulder as he sifted through the photos, documents, and reports that were already growing in size. She stayed beside him when he made the most difficult phone call of his life: To check on Gracia and their young daughter. Her hitched breath and broken sobs were a sound that would forever be burned into his memory. She was there to help him pack for the trip, to usher him aboard the train to Central.
She was there.
For all of it, really. The days he couldn't eat, Riza was there to push a warm sandwich into his hand. On the nights that were so rough he would get up so that he wouldn't disturb her, she would rejoin him with a book and a cup of tea. When he confessed his frustration that he hadn't yet shed a single tear, she was there to remind him of what he had told her after her own father's death: "Be patient with yourself. Let yourself feel whatever it is you're feeling... There's no right way to grieve." She made sure he kept up his appearance and that he stuck to his daily rituals, unwilling to let him sink back to the depths they had both experienced after Ishval. There was coping, yes, but she would not allow him to wallow, for that was a slippery slope to something much darker. Havoc and Breda reached out, of course, Fuery too, and he appreciated it --but Riza was the one who kept him from losing himself. That's who she was, and he loved her for it.
And then the day finally came.
"We should get going, Colonel."
Roy was bent over the sink, the water cool against his skin as he freshened up. "I know, I'm almost ready." As he turned off the tap he caught a glimpse at his reflection. For the first time in what felt like days, he really looked at himself. And he looked... haggard. The anger he had felt that first night had given way to nothingness, and it showed in his expression. In the emptiness in his gaze, the bags beneath his tired eyes. In the faint downward turn of his mouth. He swallowed and broke eye contact with the sad man in the mirror so that he could dry his face.
There was a faint chuckle. "Come here, Sir.."
Roy sighed as he turned to face the lieutenant. Just like him, she was dressed in her formal military attire. Their uniforms were crisp and ironed, shoes shined, their gloves a pristine white. She was already wearing her military cap, his own tucked safely beneath her arm.
"I know," he resigned, "my hair isn't cooperating."
"No, it's not," Riza agreed, the smile on her lips kind to match her teasing. "Let me help." She carded her fingers through his hair, pushing his bangs out of his face until they were properly slicked back. Then a slight adjustment was made to his coat. He had evidently missed a button, causing the lapel to lay crooked.
"There," she offered once she was done. Then, "Will you be alright today, Colonel..?" Her tone betrayed her concern, as did the fact that she was still holding on to the part of his coat she had just straightened.
"With you at my side, Lieutenant?" Roy asked, a trace of a tried smirk tugging at his lips. "What kind of question is that..?" Despite it being his turn to tease, the words were strained. After all, today was the day he would see his friend laid to rest.
This was not the first military funeral they had attended, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. The military, after all, dealt in the business of death. And yet... He couldn't recall the last time he had partaken in such a somber affair. That was not to say that burying a fellow countryman could ever be anything but solemn, but he would be lying if he claimed to never see a soldier have to shake themselves awake. But this one... Well, this one was distinctly different. This one was for his closest friend.
Roy stood straight among the ranks, First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye at his side. The rest of his squad from Eastern Command were there as well... his Second Lieutenants Falman, Havoc and Breda, and Master Sergeant Fuery. Each offered him a empathetic nod when his gaze passed over them, one which was returned. Fuhrer King Bradely was there as well, naturally. Hughes' wife and daughter could be seen nearby, closest to where the procession would end. Gracia held on to Elicia with one hand, a handkerchief clutched in the other. Their eyes met briefly, and Roy could only describe the look they shared as one of mutual understanding. Their grieving was different, yes, but Hughes had been important to each of them.
Then it started.
Roy took a deep breath as he steeled himself. It began as all funerals do, with the announcing the departed and their various accomplishments before acknowledging those left behind. He had always considered that last part to be rather tactless. To-- This train of thought was interrupted as the casket came into his line of sight. Six pallbearers, men he recognized as part of Hughes' team at the intelligence office, carried the coffin as it rested on their shoulders. As deemed by tradition the Amestrian flag was draped over it, his military cap sitting on top. The sudden tightness that came over his chest was overwhelming, and he found himself clenching his jaw as he reminded himself to breathe. Riza's hand bumped against his own then, an accidental touch as far as anyone else was concerned, but to him it was anything but. There were no accidents, no coincidences when it came to his lieutenant. And the distraction worked, if only for a moment. For as Hughes was lowered into the earth little Elicia began to cry out, and Roy could only bow his head.
The rest of the proceedings blurred after that. The little girl's cries mixed with the stifled sobs of her mother, Fuhrer King Bradely shared some hollow sentiment, and then the crowd began to dwindle. Eventually, he was the only one left. He peered down at the headstone. It was weird, seeing his friend's name there, etched in stone. It didn't seem right, like it was some joke. He could almost imagine Hughes slinging an arm around his shoulder as he adjusted his glasses. "Man, I can't stand these things", he had said once. Bitterly, he doubted Hughes would have been a fan of this one, either.
"Promoted two ranks higher in death," Roy mused aloud to no one in particular. "Major General Hughes, huh...? You said you were going to support me be working under me. How are you going to do that now, when you have a higher rank? You fool." Still.. it seemed fitting. He could hear Hughes' laugh, feel the elbow poking into ribs as he needled him. "Hey, I warned you to surround yourself with those that could support you! Get yourself a wife, and you'll catch up to me in no time!"
"Colonel?"
Roy turned to his lieutenant, his reverie cut short. He was so lost in his thoughts he hadn't heard her approach.
"Aren't you cold, Sir, with all this wind?" she continued, adjusting the overcoat draped over her arm as she spoke. She glanced at the couple at the next plot over. "Perhaps you should think about heading back?"
Are you okay?
Roy gave a slight shake of his head. "In a minute."
No.
His gaze returned to the wreath that rested over the plaque. White chrysanthemums were woven in between the circle of red and white roses, the colors blended in nicely by the small sprigs that jutted out here and there. Truth, reverence, love, and courage... The flowers were chosen well indeed. Hughes was one of the best of them.
"What despicable creatures we alchemists are, Lieutenant," he sighed, accepting his overcoat back as it was offered to him. "Right now.. there's a part of me trying to figure out the details of human transmutation." He shrugged the black coat up over his shoulders. "I think I can understand why those boys wanted to bring their mother back, now..."
Riza regarded him carefully, the look in those eyes once again revealing her concern. "...Are you alright, Sir?" she asked once again, this time voicing the words exactly as they were intended.
"I'm fine," Roy insisted as he fitted the cap back over his head. Yet even as he spoke his vision grew blurry. He swallowed, struggling to keep his tone level as he continued. "Looks like it's starting to rain..."
His lieutenant glanced up towards the sky. A perfect field of blue, there wasn't a cloud to be seen. "But... it's not raining.."
"Yes it is..." Roy felt the tears that brimmed his eyes, the strange relief that followed when they finally spilled over, dampening his cheeks. "This is rain."
After a brief pause Riza relented. "...Yes, Sir." Gently, her hand move to rest on his arm. "Let's get back," she coaxed then. "It's... getting cold out here."
Roy gave a faint nod as he straightened the brim of his cap. His resolve renewed, "There's just one last stop we have to make."