Work Text:
Roy didn't know when he would ever see the welcoming door of his home ever again. Where he was now, the blinding rays of the sun constantly shone in his face, and the heat of the sand seemed to melt through his shoes and into his feet, burning them in their own personal black oven. The large, bulky, heavily layered, military blue uniform they were supposed to wear didn't help at all, and the white cover over it didn't resist much heat, it would turn yellow after a few days because of the sweat that would constantly layer it until Roy had the chance to wash it again, which was once every few days. No one wanted to waste any water out here at all, so washing your clothes was a once or twice a week opportunity.
Food came in two week rations, and they often messed up the proportions, so some times they would have an extra amount of coffee, sometimes short on it, sometimes they had too much meat, to which no one complained to, and sometimes they had none at all, to which people would groan at. There weren't really any restrooms, you either had to dig a hole or get a bucket, though most people preferred to dig a hole, since if you chose the bucket, you had to dig a hole anyways, to dump it out. Rookies were the only ones who really used the buckets, and they quickly learned. The only things the buckets were useful for was collecting water or holding vomit.
To put it simply, Roy was tired of this place. Everyone was. This was dessert land, no one really wanted to be out here, except those who chose to live out here and were adapted to it. The soldiers here, though, were not adapted to it, and certainly didn't want to stay out here. There were a few people, though, that were glad to be out here fighting, and actually didn't want to go back, "war-a-holics" Maes tended to call them. Roy didn't give them a name, the only thing he knew was that he didn't want to be out here any more, fighting this stupid war. And over what? A child? Honestly, Roy was disgusted at whoever shot the child, because they were the one who started this war. And in war, people suffered, people starved, people were pitied, people were hurt, and people died. Roy didn't want to see anyone die, yet there he was, the one who had probably caused a fourth of the Ishvalan casualties with his wretched alchemy, Kimblee had probably caused another fourth of the casualties, though he seemed to enjoy it, leaving only one other person with as much guilt and shame as Roy had, but twice as much, since they had probably caused a half of the Ishvalan casualties here, probably more than Roy and Kimblee combined.
The Fullmetal Alchemist.
Rumor had it that the Alchemist was only a kid, that he was short, stubborn, and had a ferocious temper, that if you crossed the line under his command, you would be sent with him to the front lines, and most likely die in is wake of destruction. That was where the rumor of him destroying his own comrades to kill the enemy came in. There was even a rumor that the Alchemist would be sent away from the front lines for a couple of weeks, though Roy could only half-way believe these rumors, after all, when you were in the military for many years, you learned to not trust anything said to you until you saw it with your own eyes. But these rumors were so far-spread and everyone seemed to believe them, that Roy sometimes couldn't help but believe them himself. He happened to be thinking about these rumors, sitting on an empty crate, when Maes happened to walk up to him, his dead eyes dull with almost black bags under them, much like Roy's own, and his usual smile plastered on his face. Although now Roy knew that the smile was just something Maes forced himself to wear for his own emotional health.
"Hey, Roy!" Maes said with the fake smile, stopping right in front of him and putting his hands on his hips. "A few of the men got some playing cards today and they wanted to know if you or I wanted to play a game or two. I said yes, of course, so you have to come now. There's no fun out here in this wasteland." He chirped, looking out onto the bright horizon with the setting sun, Maes' glasses glinting in the bright, yellow light and his smile disappearing momentarily before it snapped back on as he turned back to Roy.
Roy decided that he hated that fake smile.
"Alright then, why not." He said, standing up and already hearing the slight creak in his joints, the cracking of his spine, the small voice in the back of his head pleading to sit down once again, though Roy knew that if he sat down for too long then he wouldn't get back up again. "Let's go." He said, walking along side-by-side with Maes towards what everyone called the "Break Tent", where people would smoke, play cards, if there were any, hold small little meetings, and what not. It was an okay place, the troops liked it, and Roy sometimes went in there and lit cigarettes for the people who didn't have a lighter. Hopefully there wouldn't be any smokers in there during the card game, he hated how the smoke didn't exit into the air like it would outside, but stayed in the tent for hours, circling everywhere and eventually, over time, finding it's way out, but leaving a stench that seemed to stay there for days, and sometimes marks that would stain the roof because of the smoke constantly rubbing up against it. That was a downside of the Break Tent, but Roy figured some entertainment may do him some good, keep his spirits up. For now.
While they neared the Break Tent, they passed a large stack of crates, and Maes, who had been walking closer to them, paused his walking and tilted his head. Roy stopped and turned around, wondering what the man was doing. Had he lost his mind and started listening to the crates?
"Hey, Roy," Maes whispered, motioning his hand for Roy to come closer. Roy was now almost fully convinced that Maes had lost his marbles, but he came closer anyways, the sound of his feet muffled by the sand he stepped on. "Listen," Maes said as he leaned closer towards the still-a-good-seven-feet-away crates and almost fully convinced Roy that Maes had lost his mind, when he started to hear soft, whisper-like sounds coming from behind the other side of the crate. Roy squinted his eyebrows, now almost convinced that he had lost his marbles, when Maes spoke again, saying, "You hear that too, right? I haven't lost my marbles?" It seemed that they were both thinking the same way, as best friends usually do, so Roy nodded as they both squatted down, crept up to the crates, right until they were about seven inches away from the crates, and the whispers turned into mumbling, which turned into mumbled words that they could soon make out.
"Hydrogen... Helium... Lithium, Beryllium... Boron... Carbon... Oxygen... Nitrogen, Neon, Sodium... Magnesium, Phosphorus..."
Roy and Maes looked at each other with confused eyes as Maes mouthed to him, "Are they reciting the Periodic Table?" As Roy slowly nodded and mouthed back, "Yeah, actually, I think so..." and then they both looked at each other, nodded, and they both looked over the top of the crates to see a face-full of long, golden hair that was tied in an unofficial braid that probably wasn't allowed, and a long, what seemed to be, hair antenna right in the front, though some of the head was wrapped up in bandages, that were stained red almost all the way around. The Military issued white blanked covered their view of the person's military uniform, except for the pants, which seemed to be slightly too big for the person wearing them. The thing that caught Roy's attention was that the person was wearing gloves over their hands, and they both seemed to have dried blood on them. . Who in their right mind would be wearing gloves out here? Even Roy took his gloves off and stuck them securely in his back pocket when he was out here in the sweltering heat, and only put them on for battle. Even though Roy was still trying to think about who this could be, Maes quickly pulled him down and snuck him back a few feet so that he could whisper to Roy.
"Isn't that the Fullmetal Alchemist?" Maes asked, slightly surprised. Roy looked back at the crates after Mae's question, he could still hear the faint mumbling, and then back to Maes.
"The Fullmetal Alchemist? Isn't he supposed to be stationed at the front lines?" He asked Maes. Then again, there was that rumor that he would be hanging back for a few weeks... if that was true, then was he going to be here, under the troops Roy and Maes were in?
"I believe so, but he was scheduled to take about two weeks off from the front lines, something about some hysteria on the battle field..." Maes responded. His job as an informant was dangerous, yes, but it did come in handy some times. Roy was about to ask about the "Hysteria" that Maes mentioned when they both paused as they heard the mumbling stop, and they both held their breath as the silence held on, but soon enough a loud sigh was heard and the mumbling continued, as Maes and Roy let out their breaths.
"Hey," Maes smiled, giving Roy and uncomfortable feeling. "We should invite him to play cards with us."
"What?" Roy whispered ferociously as Maes stood up to his full height and started to walk over there with his confident stride, one Roy rarely saw nowadays, and Roy stood up to his full height as well, quickly walking after him, attempting to whisper quietly to him to stop, but he found it too late as they found themselves facing the Alchemist.
He was young, very young, probably no more than fourteen or fifteen, and he looked horrible. Bloody bandages were wrapped multiple times around his forehead, though it didn't stop what seemed to be a very heavy flow of blood. The bangs around his face were dirty, among closer inspection so was the rest of his hair, and caked with dried up blood. Scratches were tossed everywhere among his pale skin, and Roy could tell that his frame had once fit the clothes he was wearing, but the boy had thinned so much that it had shrunk almost a full size. His clothes were filthy, his white blanket stained red in multiple areas, and he fidgeted with his gloves that seemed to be covering multiple cuts and bruises.
The worst things were his eyes.
You could tell that all innocence had been taken from this boys head and swept aside like an unneeded rag. His golden eyes weren't dull, they weren't lacking, they weren't starved, they were dead, with dark, almost black bags around his eyes, and Roy had seen this multiple times, just not on a child, and it horrified him that someone so young was taken away from their youth and brought to this wretched war.
Roy could tell that Maes was disgusted as well, but Maes none the less kept the fake smile on his face and waved his hand as he greeted, "Hey, you're the Fullmetal Alchemist, right?" The Alchemist nodded, barely, and Roy could practically see Maes grimacing in his head. "I'm Maes, Maes Hughes." He said and looked to Roy who then responded to the boy, "And I'm Roy, Roy Mustang." The boy nodded again, yet didn't say his name, and that just proved that he didn't yet trust them, because names could be important in the military. Once someone high up knew of your name, they were never going to forget it, and if you were in trouble, they could kill you in an instant.
Maes rubbed his neck awkwardly, it was obvious he was trying to be friendly. "Anyways, Roy and I here were going to go to the Break Tent and play some cards with some buddies of ours, we were wondering if you would wanna tag along!" He said enthusiastically, and Roy thought he could detect something of a real smile in his fake one.
The Alchemist sat there for a second and then nodded his head, mumbling, "Sure," as he slid off the boxes and stood, wobbly, on his feet.
'Short.' was the only thing that ran through Roy's mind at that point, seeing the boy's height, and as Maes patted the Alchemist's shoulder as he began to walk away from them, towards the Break Tent, the Alchemist and Roy following, now lined up side by side, with Maes and Roy on the outside and the Alchemist in the middle.
"Say," Maes started as the Alchemist turned his head towards him. "What's your name?"
The boy seemed to pause for a moment before answering Maes', and internally Roy's, question.
"Edward. Edward Elric."