Disclaimer - I have no ownership whatsoever of FMA. sad, but unfortunately true.

I dont have much to say about this one. Just had an image in my head and wanted to write. This is the result. please review. I am still rather new to this fandom.
-Fireun

Cologne. It hung in the air, a faded hint of a very familiar masculine musk. Of all the things he had expected from this room, that lingering scent was at the very bottom, if on the list at all. Dark eyes closed in an emotional convulsion as a lean uniformed body collapsed back against the support of the room's closed door.

'Maes, what the hell have you dunked yourself in? A brothel?'

'Cologne, Mustang. It is cologne. The ladies looooooove it. You should give it a try, cover up that crispy smell you carry around with you.'

'Hn. I do just fine with the ladies.'

'Can't always rely on the uniform, Mustang!'

'Dammit, Maes, it isn't the uniform...'

He raised his hands in mock defense as Mustang rounded on the larger man, scowling 'I know! I know! It is your stunningly sunny personality.'

'Maes...' Sigh in defeat. There was no winning against that smile. It was too damn contagious. 'Ok. Just this once...'

"Cologne and silly smiles. Were those the secret to your success, Maes?" A quiet question uttered in a silent room, and Roy suddenly felt self conscious, an emotion that was rare enough that it made him scowl and move away from the support of the door, the reassurance of having a way out. Briskly he stalked across the littered remains of a brilliantly disorganized man's life. "No wonder no one poked around in here. They must have seen your files back at HQ and fled in terror." He poked at a pile of papers half heartedly, wincing as a few photos slipped out from amidst scrawled notes and signed documents. "I am convinced you created a system no one else would be able to decipher to organize all of this, you cunning bastard."

A wry smirk accompanied by gleaming pale eyes behind thin-framed rectangular glasses...it was a terrifying combination if you knew the culprit. 'It is organized. Everything important is filed in the correct places.'

'Yeah, but how do you determine which place is correct.' A quick glance about at the stacks of papers and apparently haphazardly labeled drawers on filing cabinets revealed no sort of system.

'Where they are, obviously.'

Roy picked a photo off the top of what looked to be personal profiles and couldn't help but chuckle. 'You planning on trying to recruit your fiancée?'

'No, but she is far prettier than most of the photos in that pile, so it is only logical that she be on top. Anyway, I have some far better ones...'

Too late to back out now...Looking about frantically for a distraction before the cooing deluge started...

Roy snorted as a bit of dust found its way into his nasal passages, attempting to dislodge it before it triggered a full blown sneeze. It looked as if he was the first to attempt entry into Maes' private study since...that night. There was the comfy chair Maes had always coveted as his favorite perch behind the massive desk he used to work at when he couldn't be in the office. "Workaholic..." Roy knew that was not true, the man just needed to be around his family. To reconcile the promise made to a best friend and a deep love of his family Maes Hughes had constructed a warren in his beloved home in which he could serve both. The chair Roy had frequented still sat against the far wall, beside the door. He had never ventured much further in, half in respect of Maes' den and partially because if he wanted to work, he would be in the office.

Now though...now there was no one holding up a welcoming hand while scratching away with a pencil, shuffling papers, or finishing up a phone call. There was nothing but an awkward silence, as if the room itself was rather embarrassed to be caught in such a state.

Pushing his comfy chair under the desk and stretching with an exaggerated yawn he would smile. 'Think it is just about time to hit the pub?'

'I was under the impression that is why you asked me to stop over after I was through at the office.'

Throwing an arm around the younger man Maes grinned manically. 'Lighten up, Mustang. Keep the sour face for the office.'

'I am not sour...'

'Oh?' A raised eyebrow and a mock frown. 'Could have fooled me. Is Hawkeye's deadpan facial expression contagious then?'

Twitch.

'Touched a nerve there, did I? Spend a wee bit too much time looking at that beautifully expressionless face do we?'

Snap.

'ROY!'

There was still a scorch mark on the wall there. Maes had refused to repaint or even move furniture in front of it. To him it had been something to look at and smile, an amusing anecdote to tell people in one of his flurries of speech. Roy ran his hand across the old mark, a half smile twisting his face. Maes had laughed so hard he had collapsed onto the floor half blind from his watering eyes. Nothing seemed to faze the man, not even the wall of his precious den catching fire. Maes had, apparently, taped a picture of Roy from way back in the early days of their friendship onto the wall next to the burn, as if to explain to anyone dense enough not to figure it out.

"That wasn't there last time I visited...I don't even remember how long ago that was. We were both rather busy, weren't we, Maes. Trying to get to the top." Frowning Roy wandered over to the sacred comfy chair, Maes' throne presiding over this little piece of a kingdom. It was well worn from many late nights filled with paperwork and too little sleep. "We were quite the team, weren't we..."

'The hell is that?'

'What does it smell like? Apple pie, you dolt. Glacia baked it for you, said that if you were taking as poor care of yourself as I was you needed it, since you don't have someone as astounding as herself watching over you.'

'She baked me a pie.'

'Yes. You know, for someone with a knack for fire, you really are a terrible cook.'

'Maes?'

'Yah?'

'If she baked it for me, why are you eating it?'

'Don't partners share?'

'Idiot.'

'Miser.'

Late nights, companionable drinking sessions, pep talks, and smacks when needed...those had been what got them through so much, and standing there alone in his friend's private little piece of the world, Roy felt horribly disoriented and lonely. That traitorous piece of dust wiggled a bit more in his nose, sending Roy into a fit of sneezing that left him doubled over and sniffly. He hoped Glacia wouldn't worry if she had heard the particularly enthusiastic nasal spasms. Rubbing at watering eyes he began to straighten, then stopped, his eyes catching sight of a lone picture frame in the middle of the massive desk. A much younger Roy stood uncomfortably at attention in full dress uniform; the apparent source of his discomfort was the taller man who had tossed an arm over his shoulder. Maes' face grinned madly at him out of the picture, his uniform irreverently askew, ruining what had been intended to be a rather solemn portrait.

'Maes!' snarled at the other man, who was in a rather manic fit of humor. 'This was going to be an official picture!'

'Well, it is officially much more interesting than intended.' He reached a hand over and poked aside his friend's uniform cap so as to muss short cut black hair.

'MAES!'

The other man only laughed, crunching his friend in a hug before turning his attention to the camera and promising to behave at least a little for the picture.

Roy had never seen this picture before, taken apparently previous to Maes deciding to at least try and behave. It rested in a spot of honor on the photo-addicts desk, free of clutter and apart from all the family pictures which littered paperwork and wall space. Stiffly Roy reached out and picked it up, clutching it as if it were some sort of holy relic. On the back of the frame Maes had written in his spidery scrawl "Fuhrer and friend. Cheers!"

"You wouldn't mind....would you, Maes?" Roy spoke in a quiet, hesitant voice, pausing, and then placing the framed picture carefully in his coat pocket. Silently Roy picked his way carefully back across the room. When he reached the door he turned, and gave a sharp salute to the empty desk, imagining his friend grinning impishly and snapping one in return, then he took a deep breath of cologne and faintly stale air and let himself out.

'Yo! Mustang! Wait up! Where are you going without me, man...'

'Hurry up Maes! We will be late.'

'Wouldn't want the future Fuhrer to be late. Sets a bad precedent.'

'Maes...'

'I know, I know. I will behave.'

'Don't. This is going to be boring enough without you being boring as well.'

'Yessir!' A manic smile and a mock salute.

'Stop that!'

'Yessir!'

'Maes...'