AN: I somehow feel accomplished. This is my first true FMA series. (the crack crossovers do not count XP) It's a little nerve whacking, since usually my series never get completed, but I feel an absolute urge to write this. O.o

So yes, there are spoilers and this focuses on the Hyuroi pairing. Before you scoff that pairing off, I suggest you read this chapter – and the next one – before you make any judgement, considering I'm not technically splitting up Hughes and Gracia but rather…exploring what COULD have happened had they not had a romantic relationship…/cough/…

Anyways, I hope you enjoy, and decide to stay on this ride with me. :) As always reviews are the most absolute wonderful thing in the world. 83

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Usually, people bring flowers to a grave. He had with him no flowers. In fact, he had with him nothing. Nothing but his presence and sorrow. Kneeling on one knee, Roy Mustang observed the tomb stone of his best friend for the umpteenth time, his black eyes tracing over the imprinted letters with vision.

Maes Hughes.

Was that name really there?

Was Maes really buried six feet below where he knelt?

That thought scared and comforted him all at once; that he was so close to his friend but yet still so far away. The only thing really beneath him was a rotting, soulless corpse; Maes' rotting corpse. Disturbing.

Denial, that's what it was. He still couldn't believe he would never see that face, hear that voice squeal over his daughter, feel that comforting hand on his shoulder telling him everything would be all right ever again. Air would no longer fill that man's lungs and give him life. Never again would he live.

And Roy could never tell him his true feelings.

Truth was, Roy had been in love with Maes for as long as he could remember. He remembered how it started as merely puppy love then evolved into a serious longing for the other man; a longing that had caused him to try his hardest with any woman he could in order to kill it. There were times where he felt Maes was suspicious of these feelings, but other than that he never knew. Roy had always planned on telling him someday…

Then Maes got married. Any chance he had was lost. What would be the point of telling him then if there was no way it would work? Still, he kept on intending to tell him one day, because for him it was a catharsis of emotion he had to complete in order to fully live. A good time would've been when little Elicia was in her teen years, he felt. Then he could sit down one day with Maes and confess, half-joking, half-serious, friend to friend. "You'll laugh at this for sure. Years ago I had the biggest crush on you." "Just how big?" "Big enough to want to give up women." "Whoa, really?" "Yes, but that was long ago, it's gone now." It wouldn't have been whole truth since it was deeper than a crush and was not gone, but it would be enough to let him move on.

But, as always, he waited too long. Maes Hughes was now nothing more than a memory and a dead body beneath him.

Worse of all it was murder. Hughes had not died of old age, or disease, or in a war, or in some freak accident, or by sudden heart attack. He had been killed in cold blood, by someone Roy could not find. He couldn't track down the murderer; he couldn't even at least do that for his dear friend. He couldn't do anything for him.

If he could just go back and redo things…he'd do everything for him…

Lost in depression and a sort of frantic emotion that always seemed to curse him when he was at this spot, Roy laid down in front of the grave, his dark head slightly against the stone slab, black hair contrasting with the pale white that reflected death. His friend whom he loved so much was just below him – lifeless and decaying and invested with worms. Yes. Disturbing, scary, painful, yet oddly comforting all at once.

Could he speak to the ground? Would Maes hear him under all this packed dirt, stone, and emerald grass? Or had his eardrums already decomposed?

Soon, he felt his eyelids get heavy, as if a small angel was bidding them shut, and without meaning to, he fell straight to sleep where another man rested forever…

-.-.-.-

He felt his body shake. He heard the voice softly calling him. He knew those were female hands shaking him. Yet he did not want to acknowledge her waking him up just yet.

"Sir?"

Finally he stirred and opened his eyes. Once his vision had focused he saw he was correct; the one waking him was indeed his right hand 'man' Riza Hawkeye.

"Oh, Lieutenant…"

"Sir, you shouldn't be sleeping in a cemetery." She said sternly as Mustang sat up, groggy. He moaned but not a word left his lips. He wanted to go back to sleeping over Maes…

"The Major has been worried sick about you. You shouldn't make him worry like that, it's not right." Riza added.

Roy paused, eyes slightly rounded. Major? He thought in confusion. As in Major Armstrong? He's not even in Central right now. Why would he be worried?

"Come on sir. I'll take you home."

She helped him up, then begun to walk away as he brushed off his long coat. Still lost in that depression and frantic pain, he wanted to turn back and have one more look at the grave. But he knew he would never leave if he did so, and Hawkeye would not be pleased. Without one look back, the Colonel ran to catch up with his Lieutenant.

If he had looked back he would've realized he had not woke at the same grave he fell asleep at…

-.-.-.-

"Lieutenant? Didn't they tear that place down a month ago?" Roy asked in the car, pointing out the window.

"What place?"

"Never mind, it's gone now."

"Sir, there haven't been any demolitions in the pass two months."

Well that was odd. Roy could've sworn that building had been torn down. He and Hawkeye had drove pass it during the demolition. He continued looking out the window with curiosity, but stopped when he became more confused. They had shifted into a part of the city for housing-and none of these houses did he recognize. Were they really on their way to his house?

He turned to Hawkeye, mouth open ready for a question, but stopped before he could say anything. He had finally just noticed a huge difference in appearance with his driver, one he was shocked he had not noticed before.

"Lieutenant? What happen to your hair?"

She briefly took her eyes off the road to meet his. "What do you mean?"

"It's short. Did you cut it all off?"

"Sir, are you all right? I haven't had long hair since I was a child."

Roy didn't reply, he was too confused to bother trying. This must've been play a joke on Colonel day, he figured. She would probably explain why she cut it later. His eyes returned to the window.

Where were they going?

Soon, the car stopped.

"Here we are, sir." Hawkeye announced.

Roy sighed gratefully. About time. He was very tired and this constant confusion was not doing him wonders. All he wanted now was to make supper and go to bed. As he got out of the car, eyes closed, he heard Hawkeye say something about letting some Major whose name he missed take care of him because she thought he was ill. He only waved it off.

Once he opened his eyes however, he finally took notice of his surroundings and panicked.

This was not his house.

He turned around to catch Riza but she was gone around a corner and out of sight. Staring at the house he could feel his stomach churn with embarrassment. What could he do now? This was a strange and different neighborhood and he did not know his way home from here. Why was it this house she dropped him off at? Was this where the Major she kept on mentioning lived?

Feeling embarrassment and irritation hot on his face, he strode up to the dark front door. The least he could do was knock and ask whomever inside for directions.

Three was the total of times he knocked. One minute he waited. What opened the door forced a long, sharp, gasp and complete disbelief.

"Roy? Where have you been and what are you doing knocking when you can just walk in?"

His lip trembled. His face was pure white.

"You got home just in time to see me take up your turn to cook tonight and cook myself. Fancy that, eh? You owe me, got it? Huh? Is something wrong, Roy?"

He felt his black eyes water. Finally his mouth managed some successful speech.

"M…Maes…?"

Maes Hughes stared at him quizzically as he pushed up his rectangular glasses.

"Yes?" he answered simply. "You're really pale, Roy, what's wrong? You look as if you've just seen a ghost."

He remained frozen and speechless. His mouth moved but no sound came. Eventually, his eyes rolled back into his head and he fainted in the arms of a frantic Maes, hearing the panicked shouts of his own name fade into the distance.