(Author's Note: I swore I would never write death fic, especially for Hughes as his death was one of the most traumatic events in fiction for me, topped only by The Green Mile and Grave of the Fireflies. I still get incredibly teary just thinking about it...*sniff*. Then MIA by Emmy the Great came on and hey-ho, inspiration. Musey is a bastard.

Anywho...Please enjoy the angst?

MIA

You and me are still
But the scenery moves
Well, why would it stop just 'cause
Suddenly,
There's one where there used to be two.

The fear hit Roy like a fist, hard and unyielding and the harsh blare of the dialling tone rang in his ears still, even hours after the phone had fallen from limp fingers to crack against his desk. The low whine humming like static in his brain as the haze of pain and gripping loss drew its claws slowly across every inch of his being. He almost wished each gasping, ragged breath was his last. His eyes burned. Tears stung dry, bloodshot plains as he forced the wetness back once more with a sharp jerk of his head, swallowing a mouthful of bitter alcohol with it. His gaze lingered on the ceiling, taking in each crack and stray cobweb as if the analysis would give him answers to the frenzy of whywhywhys that screeched in his brain just above the death rattle of the phone.

Part of him refused to believe it, wouldn't believe had he not-

Had he not seen the evidence with his own eyes. Even with dog tags and over whelming evidence...Even then, the coroner had needed someone to identify the body and so Roy had volunteered, if only to spare Maes's wife from having to see-

The sight clung to his eyelids still, coming unbidden every time they drooped in a plea for sleep, reprieve. His best friend of nearly two decades, pale, bloodless and still, horrifically still. Maes had always been animated, never able to sit still for longer than a few seconds. He had driven Roy mental during their academy years as sharing a room with someone who fidgeted ceaselessly was distracting and irritating. But then, staring at the thin lids hiding striking green eyes, his glasses absent for once, his hair in more disarray than usual...Roy would have given anything for Maes to sit up and gush about his wife and child. Anything for that mindless annoying banter. Even if he had to endure it every waking moment of every hour for the rest of his life he would-

It was no good, though.

Roy had wearily nodded to the doctor and watched as the sheet once more obscured his friend's familiar features. He wanted to rip if off, burn it, burn the whole fucking building and scream, scream until his throat bled.

He can't be dead, he can't. Can not. Not...

Please.

Roy's next breath caught in his throat, the air turning solid and threatening to choke him as he struggled to breathe around the pain. Head bowed and eyes tight shut against the barrage, he allowed a soft whimper to leave him, the pitiful sound amplified by the empty room. He had tried not to cry at the funeral. Tried so hard... But in the end it was useless. He was useless. Fuck it all, Maes was supposed to live to see the fruition of their hard work. To see Roy become Fuhrer, see Elysia grow up and gush over his grandchildren...

He almost wished himself blind so he couldn't see them either. It wasn't fair, wasn't fucking right, that he should be witness to such events without Maes by his side, a steady constant presence...

Growling softly, he tipped the bottle again to find no more than a few scant drops of dull liquid left. With a sigh he set it down on the coffee table and stared into the fire that burned cheerfully in the hearth, oblivious to the pain that radiated from its creator. Memories stung still, even with the haze brought on by alcohol and exhaustion, playing over and over like an old film reel, the sepia splashed with blues and red, blood marring all the happy times and souring them into bitter sweet nostalgia.

The sofa cushions were rough against his cheek but Roy couldn't bring himself to care as he stared once more into the centre of the flames and willed himself into oblivion. He wanted to forget, just briefly. Forget he had ever known, ever loved and been held by strong arms and listened to the steady thump of a heart now stilled for good.

Darkness came over him like a thick blanket, one flash of colour slipping through the cracks before it closed over entirely. The lights were muted and he was no longer led on the sofa in his living room, but cradled against another person on a bed. The room blurred around them, the blankets wrapped carelessly across their hips melted away and all Roy could see was an expanse of skin and toned muscle flecked sparsely with silver scars that spoke of battles fought and won. The body was warm to the touch, gradually moving in all the right ways that showed life. Green eyes, almost cat-like, were waiting when Roy dared to cast his gaze up further, a warm smile twisting lips as they pressed to his own in an act Roy was powerless to return,

"I love you." Roy didn't know who had said it, if at all, but he smiled gently and laid his head against a broad shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of sandalwood and a whisper of spice.

I miss you. Arms wrapped around him, fingers brushing through his hair, tracing well-trodden pathways that had Roy melt against the presence against him.

I know, Roy-boy, I know.

Roy woke to embers winking at him from beneath ashes and slivers of charred wood. Every surface glinted in the weak sunlight that flowed in through the undrawn curtains, signifying the rising day. A soft sigh and he pressed his face into the sofa again, willing himself back into the comfort of his kinder subconscious. Outside, birds began to sing and the streets gradually filled as people headed to work. Life carried on, oblivious, as Roy slowly forced himself to begin another day in Maes's absence. The hole's sides dulled and the pain grew easier to brush aside but never faded, always there ready to encircle him in a tight embrace once more, like the arms of a lover.