Not a single idea where the bloody hell this came from. Not a single. one. Maes and Roy's friendship just does very cruel things to my heart, because, ya know, Maes IS love, and I love Roy, and they just make me want to write. May also be followed up with an Elicia and Roy oneshot that's set up here but, that's only if my muse wants it. I'm shocked she even wanted this; I thought I was all FMA-ed out. If there is a sequel, it'll come after I post the end to Fire. Hope you enjoy!

Maes Hughes was not a violent man, and after Ishval he found killing so distasteful that even his own wife had wondered how he had managed to rise so high in the ranks of such a bloodthirsty military.

Maes Hughes was not a violent man, and when he saw the man standing above Roy, bloodied mallet in his hand, and heard his best friend cry out, he shot the bastard through the head.

No questions asked, no hesitation, no uncertainty, no anything except he's hurting Roy, and I want him dead.

The interrogator was propelled forward with the force of the bullet, blood leaking from the back of his head and spraying out in the front. Maes could see it splatter even in the dark and watched, heart pounding in the briefest instant of bloodlust, as the man crumpled where he stood.

When he crumpled onto Roy, Maes regretted it, if only as much that he just wished he'd shot the bastard from a different direction, so he would've fallen against the wall instead.

The dead interrogator was collapsed over Roy's chest, limp head fallen against the colonel's neck and body nearly crushing the fragile form beneath him. Roy was left to blink over the shoulder at his neck and arm flung over his back, clearly completely stunned. That befuddled, so innocently surprised stare was so incongruous when reflected in bloodshot eyes and a mouth with blood trailing from the corner that Maes almost laughed aloud.

The two sleepless nights he'd just spent looking for Roy might've also had something to do with it.

Roy just looked at him for several long, breathless moments. His face was frozen, frozen in that strange juxtaposition of near childish surprise and a very adult pain, and red-rimmed eyes pierced him through with their depth of indescribable agony Maes had not been prepared to face. When split lips cracked hesitantly into an unsure grin, it made his heart hurt in all the wrong ways, but no matter how awful and wrong it looked Roy was alive and smiling at him, and in that moment he could process nothing beyond that.

He'd imagined a sassy mutter of What took you so long, soldier, or perhaps You always did procrastinate even worse than me as his greeting, hoped for it, even, hoped for the slice of normalcy, a smugness that was purely Roy. But no sarcastic wit or eager sass danced in that coal black stare; there was nothing there, nothing at all, and that emptiness chilled him to the bone.

"G-Guess you're r-real, th-th-then," Roy stammered at last, still sounding more shocked than relieved. "Hallucination Maes w-wouldn't h-h-have left the guy o-on m-m-me."

The words left him still with horror for several seconds, the implications hitting him like a sickening punch to the gut. Roy had been hallucinating? Hallucinating him?

God, we should've found him sooner...

When Maes just stared at him, at a loss for words, bloody lips stretched into another wolfish grin through the bars. "Been a l-long couple of... weeks?"

He heard the inflection at the end, the unspoken question, and somehow that shook Maes out of his stupid shock. He cleared his throat and pulled the stolen keys off his belt, swiftly jamming the first into the lock on the cell door. "...Six," he forced out, not able to meet Roy's eye at that. "...Six weeks."

"...Oh."

Maes breathed a sigh of relief when the key clicked in the lock and shouldered the creaking door open, wasting no time in moving directly to his friend's side. He heaved the dead interrogator off him first, tossing him carelessly to hit the grimy wall behind him, then jerked his knife out his belt. He went for the rope binding Roy's hands, but the moment his fingers touched abused flesh the icy temperature shocked him to his core. It felt like touching a block of ice.

Cursing inwardly, Maes let the knife clatter to the ground as he shrugged off his own uniform jacket. It was freezing down here, and Roy, in his wet with blood torn remnants of a shirt, was shivering and barely able to talk through violently chattering teeth. The shivering was actually a good sign, but Maes wasn't going to take his chances with hypothermia. "Here," he said quietly, fixing his jacket as snugly as he could around Roy's trembling shoulders. "Sorry. I.. I know it's not much."

The pronounced scowl looked almost demonic against gaunt cheeks that were white as cold snow under bruises purple as a dusk sky. "Any d-day now, M-Maes," he stammered, arms pulling weakly at restraints again.

He jolted, going for his knife again. "Oh, of course! Sorry." He inwardly cursed himself again and leaned closer, reaching forward to try and gently ease his friend more onto his side so he could reach his hands better.

"Don't touch me," Roy hissed, mouth curling into a snarl. "Don't touch me!" Onyx eyes suddenly burned in a swelling inferno of a man pushed into a corner and ready to kill to get his way out of it, and he stared directly at Maes in a sudden burning gaze of hate that knocked the wind out of him.

He couldn't bring himself to look away.

"R... Roy..."

Fear abruptly drained so quickly it could have only been Roy forcing it, darkly bruised eyes suddenly shuttering to become absolutely blank. "I... I just mean..." he coughed awkwardly, then struggled to clear his throat, more blood leaking out of the corner of his mouth.

Maes shut his eyes for a moment, a shudder of guilt trembling through his shoulders. Of course Roy wouldn't want to be touched. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why had he thought touching him without warning right now, after what he'd just been through, was a good idea? "Roy, I'm-"

But the colonel shook his head, interrupting him without a word or even a look back at him. "No," he managed, hoarse and quiet. "It's just... I... I wouldn't... d-do that... if I w-were you."

Roy wouldn't meet his eyes now, the barely disguised terror still dancing in the bloodshot black, but there was something else hidden in his voice now, and Maes swallowed, barely able to keep himself in check. "What is it, Roy?"

"...My back..." Roy's eyes shifted again, and his voice shook. "They, um..."

"Talk to me, Roy." His hand moved forward again of its own accord, wanting to touch a shoulder or a hand to comfort; he yanked it back in the same moment that Roy flinched.

"...They, um, hit something in my... spine, and I... I think something's broken, M-Maes. ...So, y-you probably shouldn't m-m-move m-me."

It took a few moments for the words to sink in, but when they finally did, Maes abruptly felt dizzy. His gut clenched with nausea as he swayed back, eyes darting from Roy's impossibly still legs to his swollen face. The unspoken terror that Roy was still trying to hide screamed out at him when the man reluctantly met his gaze again, and Maes felt his hand start shaking.

Paralysis.

God, no...

God, NO, Roy...

The impossible question stumbled out somehow through gritted teeth, clawing its way out of his mouth no matter how much he didn't want to give a voice to this unspeakable possibility. "Can you move your legs, Roy?" He tried to keep his voice steady for Roy's sake, but the words tasted like broken glass in his throat.

Roy held his gaze for a moment, eyes narrowing. "Don't t-think I r-r-really want t-to try."

His eyes said, please don't make me, Maes.

Maes opened his mouth again, then swiftly shut it, feeling ill. The urge to try and gently coax him into at least attempting it was strong, because if he did and found out he could, then it'd mean the banishment of some of that dark fear making him shake and that Maes could move to get his friend out of this hellhole now, and not have to wait for medics.

But looking at his friend now, and finding the despair just barely held at bay, he knew that Roy could not handle even trying.

The possibility that he'd find half his body suddenly dead was quite clearly too much for him to try and face, and right now, when he was lying on the bloody floor of a prison cell and so close to the edge he was hanging off of it, was not the time to force it.

Besides, Roy's black terror was contagious, and it had left Maes not really wanting to hear the answer to that question now, either.

"...Okay," he finally forced out. His gut clenched again as if he had the flu. "It'll take maybe half an hour for the military to finish clearing through this place and get some medics down here. If you can wait that long...?"

Roy held silent for a moment, then coughed wetly again. His shoulders quivered with the pain but other than that he held very still, gaze fixated blankly at the wall. "W-waited six weeks," he muttered at last, and said nothing more than that.

Guilt made his hands shake, but Maes somehow stopped himself from apologizing for it. Roy would only tell him not to, and it sounded hard enough for him to speak as it was. Rather, he forced himself to move again, trying to keep himself active and stop his mind from dwelling on things that he didn't want to think about. He radioed in his location to the rest of the troops as well as a request for medics, then moved carefully to sit behind Roy and tried to get a good angle at his restraints, flicking out his knife again.

Roy flinched when Maes touched his arm, lips curling back in another snarl. "Don't touch... s-sorry," he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut again. His shoulders shook with unspoken emotion, cold horror melting into warm shame.

At seeing that, Maes had to shut his eyes for a moment before he continued on.

It was a little difficult, cutting through the rope while keeping Roy as still as possible; it took him a minute, and Maes' eyes began to wander. They traveled from bloody, scabbed wrists to look at his back, then jerked away at the sight of his too prominent spine to land on his legs instead.

The blood stain on the back of his pants, isolated and seemingly without origin, took a few seconds to really register. When he finally actually processed it, it was with the sudden, ice cold clarity of understanding; the awkward way Roy was carefully curled on his side, how painfully clear it was that he did not want to be touched...

The words of the terrorist returned to him now, the terrorist they'd caught who managed to lead them to searching this abandoned warehouse for Roy in the first place- how he'd muttered as a sort of offhand jab it was fun, taking the colonel from behind...

Sick bile rose to flood his mouth, and Maes jerked around, unable to stop the mess from spilling onto his sleeve. It was hot and disgusting, the sight and slimy feel in his throat doing nothing for his churning stomach, his head spinning with dizzying reality. Roy had been raped.

Those fucking... monsters...

"H-hurry it u-up, Maes."

Roy's bland jab filtered through as his head swam and he took in a shaky breath, trying to hold himself together. What was wrong with him?! He couldn't let Roy see this, see his dammed weakness in the face of blood, sickness, perversion; Roy had endured all of this alone, had had no choice, but here he was, too weak to even bear witness to the damage after the fact? No. He had to keep himself together for Roy. Falling apart now was simply not an option. Calm down... he told himself, breathing hard through his nose, he's fine... calm down... he's fine... just breathe...

The rope abruptly gave way, fraying to snap under his knife. Roy stammered a hiss from still chattering teeth, his hands chilled like ice; shaking his head to clear it, Maes pulled off his white shirt as well and laid it on top of the jacket, wishing he had Roy's black overcoat to add as well. Not only would it provide far more warmth and cover, it would also hide that stain Maes was still trying very hard not to look at.

Roy gave him an unsure, sidelong glance, and Maes did his best force a smile. By the look on his friend's face, it came out warped and awful.

"You're still freezing, Roy."

"...Oh," was all he said to that.

His voice sounded dead.

Maes blinked hard for a moment, trying to stop the wetness he felt growing in his eyes and rubbing his face with his sleeve when that didn't work. His breaths were shaky as he stood for a moment, struggling to search for something more he could do. Something, anything at all to make himself useful, anything at all to distract and pull his eyes away from his best friend lying shaking and broken at his feet- but there was nothing.

Nothing at all but Roy.

It was the first time he'd really looked at him, but now he couldn't stop, what had intended to be a passing glance now a horrified stare taking in everything he'd tried so very hard to just pass over until now. With his shirt and jacket being used as a makeshift blanket his torso was mostly hidden, but the massive purple and black swelling of a bruise against his ribcage was visible as well as a reddened bootprint lower on his belly, clearly very recent. The shuddering, pained breaths were the only other evidence he needed to confirm broken ribs, and Maes had already seen the black and blue swelling of malformed fingers to know his hands had been broken as well.

When his eyes traveled higher, they came upon a rainbow necklace of bruises chained around his neck, and the sight alone made his blood boil. They had strangled him. Those bastard had strangled Roy. His face was even harder to look at than his throat; multicolored bruises at varying stages of swelling and healing disfiguring smiles into snarls and mischievous eyes into agonized ones.

He looked lost, in pain, and utterly miserable.

"S-see something y-you like?"

Maes jumped, blinking, his gaze jerked back to Roy's again. His voice was lighthearted but the look in his eyes, anything but, something darker than just irritation flickering there. That something darker jerked him out of sympathy, reminding him that Roy did not need it and that to give it now would not help. "Not unless your chest learned how to fill a sweater, Roy."

"Then s-stop s-s-staring."

It sounded like a snapped order, but the facade fell flat when he coughed blood again, and Maes' gut clenched. "Sorry," he mumbled, eyes lowering to the floor. Anything to get away from that dead stare that was black as blood. "I just... oh, Roy..."

"Y-you t-talk like you've never seen a black eye before... you pansy..."

Stop staring at me like that, Roy, just stop looking like that... "If I recall, actually, the first one I saw was my own. Which you had given to me, Roy."

"You t-tripped. Tripped, Maes. You were drunk, and y-you tripped."

Maes sighed heavily, stepping back around Roy as he pulled his gun out again. His boots slapped into wet, crimson pools with a disgusting squelch, and he tried not to feel cold blood soaking through leather and socks as he dropped down to sit next to his friend, leaving his weapon in his lap. "Yes, well, sorry to break it to you," he mumbled, "but you got a bit more than a black eye this time, Roy."

There was an awkward pause. "...I know," was the dry response at last, tired and hollow. The emptiness in his voice chilled him even further than the cold gun weighing reassuringly in his grip, and Maes looked towards the stubbornly empty hallway again. God help him, he wanted more of the terrorists to show up. He wanted more of those monsters that had done this to just dare to show their faces, so he could shoot them here and now and see them dead. God help him, the dark bloodlust frightened him and he still wanted it to happen.

"...Don't s-suppose you got a w-weapon for m-me?"

Maes blinked, turning to look at Roy again. He heard the nearly unbridled hope, desperation, in the question, and knew the colonel wasn't asking for a gun. "Can you even snap your fingers?" he asked, taking a moment to steel himself against bloodlust before lowering a hand to his pocket.

Grimacing, Roy gingerly pulled one of his arms out from behind his back, currently laying on the other one and clearly not about to risk moving enough to free it as well. "Probably not," he admitted grudgingly, bruised and swollen fingers spasming weakly, and Maes somehow made himself smile again.

"Regardless, you're in luck."

Roy's eyes widened, and he stared reverently at the white and red ignition glove Maes held up between them.

The way he was looking at Maes now, almost like he was a god that had come bearing a beacon of shining hope in his darkest hour, made him distinctly uncomfortable, and he broke Roy's gaze quickly, looking down at his hand instead as he gave him the glove. "Just promise not to fry me on accident," he said quietly.

Roy's chuckle was grating and thick with blood that the colonel again spat out of his mouth. "You know m-me better than that, M-Maes."

Yes, Maes did know him well. He knew Roy well enough that he'd seen him, in some of his darkest moments, snapping at shadows without realizing until it was too late that he'd almost set something on fire. But Maes figured it was safe enough to risk it now... his friend seemed lucid enough, and the obvious sense of relief he'd gotten by sliding on his glove was surely worth any anxiety Maes was feeling, and besides, it was too late now. He couldn't very well take the gloves back after he'd seen the peace of mind they'd given him.

Or... perhaps that wasn't peace of mind after all. Maes watched carefully as Roy raised his one gloved hand, enraptured gaze transfixed on the warm thread of his array. Roy's little obsession with his gloves was hardly out of his normal, but Maes started to fear something was seriously wrong when a bloody smile took form, showing a missing tooth, and then split lips stretched even further, malformed grin painted on a macabre canvas. His eyes glinted.

"I can still snap," he murmured softly.

A quiet madness lurked there, something in his voice leaving Maes waiting very quietly and very still, holding his breath to see what would happen next.

"I... I can still snap."

The burst of a startled laugh made him jump again, grating, high-pitched hysteria sounding gruesome and cruel. "I can still snap!" Roy laughed again, glee contorting reason. "I... I can still..."

"Roy?"

Another laugh, and then another, Roy laughing until he coughed up blood and then still continuing, crimson laced chuckles torn out with each ragged breath. "I can still snap, Maes! Even if I can't walk, I can still snap! Ha!"

Maes stared at him in increasing alarm. Sure, a disturbingly positive outlook, but somehow he doubted that this was actually a good sign. "Yes, Roy," he said uneasily, holding very still. "That's... true."

"Ha ha! I can't even walk but don't worry, Maes, I can still snap!"

What? "Roy, hey, you don't know that, yet-"

"But it's true! It has to be! It will be!" Another maddened laugh that shook him down to his soul. "Because, delicious irony, Maes! I lose everything that I am as a man but don't worry, because I can still kill people! I'll kill people from a bloody wheelchair! HA!"

This had gone far enough. "Roy!" Maes snapped, loud and commanding. He moved closer and grabbed at Roy's wrist, holding on even when the hysterical man hissed and black anger ignited in wild eyes. "Roy, stop it! Remember, you don't know about your legs yet, they could be fine-"

"HA! I can't walk, Maes, I can't walk, I can't walk-"

"Hey, hey, Roy, come on, now," he begged, releasing the shaking wrist and palming Roy's cheek instead, trying to get frantic eyes to focus on his. "Look at me, Roy, come on, listen to me for a second here-"

"I can snap!"

"Roy, that's enough!"

Roy finally froze.

Taking a deep breath, Maes leaned back an inch but still held his gaze, choosing his words very carefully and leaving his hand against Roy's face. "Roy, listen to me. You have to calm down. You don't know that you're paralyzed. And even... even if you are," he swallowed, hard, but Roy desperate stare didn't waver in the slightest, "it'll be okay, Roy. I'll be with you through it all, okay?" He spoke as he would to Elicia, trying to calm and soothe his friend out of a state of panic, but this time the nightmare wasn't something that would be gone in the morning. It wasn't just to calm Roy anymore; Maes spoke to keep his own panic at bay, too- but he was beginning to worry it just was not working.

"You'll be all right, Roy," he said softly, gently thumbing over his cheek. "You've just got to stay calm for a little longer, okay? Try and relax for now, take a deep breath, that's it..."

Roy was still trembling, and he shook his head once, swollen cheek pressing against Maes' hand. The breath was unsteady, nervous madness cooling to nervous terror, and Maes tried to stay calm, his mind racing. It was clear Roy wasn't going to be able to hold himself together for much longer. But what words could he even offer? Another halfbaked assurance it was all going to be okay? It wasn't. Another promise that he wasn't paralyzed? Not helping at all, not when he didn't know that for sure. Swearing he'd be with him through this? Yeah, and his point was? If he was paralyzed from the waist down, no hand on his shoulder was going to help.

But he had to say something, because this was his best friend, this was Roy and Maes was not going to sit here and let him suffer alone.

When words came, Maes just opened his mouth and started talking. He didn't know why he said what he did. It was out of place and jarring and made little sense, and it wasn't something that could be used to comfort at all, but he said it, and when Roy just stared at him and did not delve further into panic, he kept on going without thought.

"You missed Elicia's birthday, Roy."

Dead silence.

Black eyes slowly blinked at him, panic held just barely back at last by a tentative, hesitant surprise.

"...Excuse me?"

Maes nodded. "You missed Elicia's birthday. It was two weeks ago."

Still no panic.

"...Well, I'm sorry," Roy mumbled at length, still staring at him. "I suppose I should've just broken out on my own to make it on time, then?"

"I would have."

Again, he didn't know why he'd said it, but again, Roy did not react unfavorably. The colonel just looked at him, breaths still a little unsteady, held motionless by the insanity of it all. "That's because your crazy," he said at length, voice soft, and Maes somehow laughed.

"Come on, don't say that, Roy. The only crazy man is a father who doesn't love his daughter." He withdrew carefully, gently and slowly pulling his hand back away from Roy's cheek. Roy didn't react violently at the touch, still twitching unsurely but clearly reigning himself in this time, and Maes managed a weak smile. "But, not to worry, Roy. You may have missed the party, but, I took lots of pictures!"

"Oh... thank god for that, then..."

He looked resigned, and somehow that familiar defeat heartened him. "Yes, yes. Whine all you want; I know you secretly love them. And who wouldn't? Who wouldn't love pictures of my dear Elicia?"

The chuckle was grating and agonized, and hurt Maes more to hear it than if the man had been crying. "Mmm, yes... the party, then? Don't tell me... another princess theme."

"Whatever my princess wants, Roy, she will get." Maes swallowed, struggling to continue on. He did not miss the irony. Any day of the week and he'd be able to talk about his family for hours, but now, when it was suddenly all he could do, it became harder than words could express. What was he supposed to say? That he'd ducked in and out of the party, half the night spent playing with his daughter, the other half trying not to cry because his best friend wasn't there and was only a few more days missing away from being declared dead? That Roy's staff had stayed long after the children had been put to bed, festivities turning into drinks that were none too joyous or celebratory and had served to just further depress everyone present? Oh, yes. That would certainly make Roy feel better.

"Elicia was upset you weren't there," he said thickly, voice shaking. "We've not told her you were missing, of course. Just that her dear old Uncle Roy had been called away to the east on military business and you hadn't been able to make it back in time. ...She spent at least ten minutes standing by the phone, hoping you'd at least call."

Roy's weak chuckle was punctuated by another bloody cough, and his tired eyes flickered for a moment. "You spoiled her. Calling to talk to her anytime you had to work late... build up those standards this high now and no man'll ever meet them."

Maes shuddered at the very idea of it. "No man will ever need to meet them! Elicia's too good for any of them! I'm not letting any man date her, ever!"

"Oh... I'm sure she'll appreciate that as a teenager..."

There was something that felt decidedly wrong, about speaking his daughter's name and picturing her beautiful smile when sitting on the bloody floor in this cold, underground cell, his best friend next to him, broken and suffering. Elicia was innocent and pure, what had happened to Roy was anything but, and it felt almost as if he was risking his daughter by bringing her into this darkness.

Roy coughed again, distressed and painful.

"K-keep... keep talking, Maes," he whispered.

And he did.

Presents, cake, children's laughter, and the explosion of pink. Scieszka playing the role of the blushing princess and a very flustered Ed as a midget prince, Al transmuting a little play princess castle and Roy's staff even playing along whenever Elicia turned to them. His apartment turned into banners of lavender and little tiaras made of steel (courtesy of Ed), and how Elicia couldn't stop beaming the entire night until her brilliantly pink birthday had been set out and she'd seen the brilliantly pink candles were still unlit.

"You promised you'd light the candles for her, remember that, Roy? Remember that, huh?" He leaned a little closer, trying to meet glazed eyes. "You made her so upset, Roy!"

"...'M sorry..."

The drawled exhaustion made his heart skip another beat. "But... but you know what, Roy? It's okay. Because, Ed? He saved the day."

"...The shrimp...?"

Maes smiled, somehow. "Wasn't as flashy as you. He had to draw out a transmutation circle, needed a lighter, and ended up setting off the smoke alarm, but Ed lit the candles, Roy."

"...The shrimp...?" he asked again. His voice wavered and eyes glazed with the slightest hint of disorientation.

"The very one and only. Seemed he'd been studying fire alchemy for a little while to try and show you up, but gave up when he realized how difficult it was. But I guess he didn't want Elicia to be disappointed so he went back to one of those textbooks and managed to figure out how to light five candles."

It had been so brilliant, the light in Elicia's eyes so heartwarming, the sadness in Ed's when his daughter had cried that he was even better than her Uncle Roy. Just five flickering little flames that had made Elicia's night. To remember it now made him smile against sorrow, and he wondered idly just how long he could continue to force himself to smile for.

"...That's a very simple alchemic reaction," Roy muttered at last, sounding slighted. "All he had to do was manipulate the flow of oxygen a little."

"Worried Ed's going to usurp you as the authority on all things Flame Alchemy, Roy?"

"Maes, that's just mean," Roy mumbled, and when Maes looked to him he saw the man's eyes were closed again, swollen features slowly calming. "You're m-my friend. W-why are you... being mean..."

Alarm prickled at the back of his mind, and he risked reaching out a hand, leaving it hovering over the man's shoulder. "Roy? Roy, stay awake, buddy."

Roy twitched, exhausted eyes flickering open again in muted surprise. He shook his head a few times, still seeming a little out of it and disoriented but he was still awake, at least, and Maes watched as the colonel struggled to clear his throat and stay focused. "S-so? That's... it?"

"Mmm?"

Roy's eyes slid shut again, but Maes could tell he wasn't dropping off into sleep. "You just told me an Elicia story. With no pictures. ...You're sc-scaring me, Maes."

When Maes laughed, he had to stop hysteria from tinging into the sound, his own grasp on calm slipping with every minute. "Oh... you wanted pictures? You should've just said so!" he exclaimed weakly, voice bright with a false excitement, and he reached up towards his chest pocket, withdrawing a stack. He shifted closer to Roy, since Roy could hardly move closer to him, and leaned down awkwardly, showing the first to him. "Here's one of Elicia and her cake. Isn't she cute, Roy? Look at how big she's smiling!"

"...Yeah..." he mumbled tiredly, bloodied lips shifting into a weak smile.

"And here's the piece she insisted we cut for you, in case you could make it in time. Gracia's promised to make a piece for you when you get back home, Roy."

"...Looking forward to it..."

Maes flipped to the third picture, raising his voice again. "Oi, don't fall asleep, Roy, it's insulting. Come on; you know you want to see my pictures."

The colonel roused a fraction, blinking tired eyes open once again and clearly making an effort to focus. Maes showed him the third picture, explaining even as his voice broke and his resolve began to fail him. "See, here's Elicia opening presents- that one's Ed and Al's, they transmuted a stuffed bunny for her out of her homework for the night. Her homework, Roy. How'd they even turn paper into a stuffed bunny, huh? And why her homework?! Why not my paperwork instead?"

Roy mumbled something tiredly at him, another slow swell of blood trickling from his lips even as his grim mouth became the faintest of smiles. His gloved hand slipped from being clenched against his chest to land gently against Maes' arm, and something about the easy contact made his heart skip a beat in joy and sorrow all at once.

"And, s-see, here's... here's another one, Roy. L-look, it's the new dress I bought f-for E-Elicia." Damn it, now he was stammering, too, words stumbling as he shook and didn't quite understand why. "Isn't she b-beautiful?"

Again, his only response was a tired mumble, this even more distant than before. The exhaustion terrified him, somehow, the sight of Roy slipping away into his own personal darkness bringing alarm to rise again. Roy's eyes began to flicker shut as he slowly, agonizingly, gave in to pain and fatigue, and Maes clenched his jaw against fear. "Hey, Roy, don't do that. No, no Roy, stay with me. Just a little longer, Roy." He turned his arm over to clasp Roy at the wrist, the colonel's injured, gloved hand still lying gingerly over his, and squeezed as tightly as he dared. "Roy, Roy... come on, I promised Elicia you'd make up missing her birthday to her, you know how mad she'll be at you if you fall asleep now? Come on, Roy!"

Slowly, so many seconds later Maes had gone cold with terror, one heavy-lidded, bloodshot eye cracked open. His voice was so weak it wavered in and out of audibility, but even when he coughed again and blood splattered Maes' chest, he couldn't bring himself to tell Roy to stop talking.

"...horrible... daughter... guilt trip..."

To laugh felt like he was breaking, and he hurt down to his soul. "Yes. I'm horrible. I'm saving your life, and I'm horrible."

Roy's smile shifted, cracking with composure. "...Yes, Maes," he whispered at last, and water welled in his one open eye. "You're horrible." A flicker of blinks and tears broke, rolling down grimy, bloody cheeks. "...Thanks, Maes."

Damn it, now his eyes were stinging, too. How did Roy always have this effect on him? Follow the leader, and the colonel was the leader, follow behind him into despair and breakdown... "D-don't thank me, yet. I've still got more pictures, Roy."

They sat together in the dark, Maes painstakingly whispering through the explanation of each and every picture, both shaking, both gasping, both crying, until backup and medics came.

Maes still held onto his hand as the medics moved him expertly to a stretcher, immobilizing his legs and spine with the straps, talking over their muttered worries to spell Roy into a world of Elicia's birthday. He talked the whole way out of the facility, and in the ambulance he talked, too, shoving picture after picture before Roy's shut eyes and talking long after slack features had stopped responding to him.

He didn't stop talking until the doctors at the hospital took him away, and he was left to stand there numbly in the middle of the hallway, watching the doors of the trauma wing swing slowly shut. Very cold, inside and out, Maes rubbed absently at wet cheeks, staring after his friend, then pulled his hand away, looking at the picture held between shaking fingers.

It was of Elicia standing sadly by the phone, head bowed, two little hands tightly wrapped tightly around the cord as she waited for a call that would not come.

A splatter of blood from Roy's throat obscured his daughter's face.

Maes sobbed.