Work Text:
Roy shut the old oak door to his modest house in the closest residential section of Central to the government buildings where he was pouring his life out a cupful at a time. He leaned back against the door and his legs turned to jelly. He slid his back down the door and landed with a thud on his tiled foyer floor. He let his briefcase clatter to the ground, and he pulled his knees up and buried his head in them and shut his eyes. He took a deep breath.
It was so hard. He sounded like a child to himself, but that didn’t make it less true. Everything was so hard. There were so many meetings. There were so many palms to grease and staying ethical and true just made it harder. If he could buy his way to the Fuhrership, that would certainly make things easier. Instead, he and Riza sat huddled in his office early every morning, slamming coffee and outlining the day. Which bill would get them closer to elections? Which bill would get them closer to becoming a world leader rather than a military bully? Which general needed a push? Who should Roy take to lunch that day to talk sense into them and convince them that throwing their military weight around could never be a lasting method?
Ed would charge into the office a couple of hours later and bring pastries or something he and Al had baked the night before, Havoc would eat most of it, but at least there would be some, and it usually gave the team a few minutes respite. Then Roy would leave for meetings. So. Many. Meetings. Some nights he felt like his throat was on fire because of all the talking he had to do that day.
He took another shuddering breath into his knees. Was this going to be life from now on? He had a house and good books and a fireplace and friends, but he was too tired. He’d manage a sandwich or some soup and then stumble to bath and then to bed. Night after night after night. Sometimes Friday nights would be different. Ed or Riza would show up on his doorstep and drag him to their favorite pub, where he’d proceed to drink and laugh and play some pool and then stumble back home to pass out again. He worked weekends, even when Riza tried to keep him from it, and the days really were blurring together in an alarming way.
Being Fuhrer wouldn’t make it easier. He’d have to add parties and galas and state dinners to the mix, and even having Riza by his side in a beautiful dress wouldn’t help it much. Besides, becoming Further was really so that he could NOT be Further, so that he could implement free elections and step aside, and when he finally stepped aside, he and Riza had a plan for that, too, that wouldn’t bring rest. It would bring death, most likely. Finally being charged for their crimes in Ishvall, finally being judged and probably executed or thrown in jail for the rest of their lives was what they expected.
At least he could rest then, either in eternity or on a cold, concrete floor.
Everything was so hard, and he was so very tired.
Someone knocked on his door.
He dragged himself up, undid the three locks he’d latched behind him, and opened it carefully. He blinked. Riza and Ed stood on his porch with bags of takeout in their hands and tired smiles on their faces. He swallowed.
“Today was a rough one,” Riza said.
“We figured you were gonna have sleep for dinner, and that’s dumb,” Ed added.
“You’ve been losing weight anyway, which means you’re regularly having sleep for dinner,” Riza said.
He sighed and stepped back, opening the door for them.
“And that’s really dumb,” Ed said as he tromped inside, kicking his boots off without setting the food down.
It smelled heavenly. It was clearly from Roy’s favorite Cretan place a few blocks away, and as he shut the door and Riza toed her shoes off and followed Ed to the kitchen, he blinked back tears.
Everything was hard and he was bone-tired all the time, but he wasn’t alone, and that would make all the difference in the new world.