First off, Naddy must warn all ye who dare enter; the following is what happens when you take a Johnny Cash fan with Fullmetal Alchemist on the brain and then let her watch "Hang 'em High" late at night. Also, this fic almost has an AU feel to it, just a quick FYI for you folks. Oh, and Roy is sorta OOC in places. Writing in first person for him is soooooo hard though! Gah, Deal with it.

Disclaimer: The song "Long Black Veil" is written by somebody other then me and preformed by Johnny Cash. (Who's the pancakes, in my opinion) The Fullmetal Alchemist characters and stuff aren't mine either. (Yea, I had to set you guys straight, cuz I know you all totally thought I owned it.)

Ten years ago, on a cold, dark night,
someone was killed beneath the town hall lights.

I can still remember that morning after her murder. 'Child slain at the doorstep of Central while military sleeps' The papers announced. The brutal murder of some little kid taking place almost literally right under the military's nose caused an uprising. People wanted the man responsible caught and punished. They wanted justice.

There were few at the scene, but they all agreed,
that the slayer who ran, looked a lot like me

The street in front of Central Headquarters had been almost empty that night. Only a couple teenagers and some old shopkeeper locking up his store had been out. All three told the same story. They said there'd been a bright flash of orange light, and then a roaring fire had started. Then it just stopped, and when they had rushed over, they found the kid's body.

I can't remember her name any more. Lucy, or something...it doesn't matter. She'd been burned horribly by the fire they'd seen. And as they looked around for some sign of the her killer, they said they saw a dark-haired man in a uniform disappear into the shadows.

The brass at Central aren't stupid. They had a damn good idea just who was responsible for that kid's murder. I can't say I blame them. After all, just how many men hold the title 'The Flame Alchemist' and are famous for their ability to conjure up fire with only a simple snap of their fingers?

There's just one. Or rather, there was just one.

She walks these hills, in a long black veil.
She visits my grave when the night winds wail.
Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows but me

I knew I was screwed the second I saw the headlines. It looked more then incriminating, dammit, I never even had a chance. They wanted someone to blame, and it didn't matter if the man they pinned it on was innocent. The bigwigs just wanted to keep the people happy, to let them think they were safe. That was their job after all.

You may be sitting there asking yourself 'Well, did you do?' The answer to that should be obvious. Do you think I'm stupid?! Only a complete idiot would kill someone using an alchemic technique they're famous for!

No, I didn't do it. Why the hell would I kill some little girl?! You think I'm some kind of perverted nut job? That's what they thought. Her parents, their neighbors and friends. Everybody. I could see it in their eyes at the trial. Disgusted looks, like I was nothing more then some animal in a zoo. Like I wasn't human.

The judge said, "Son, what is your alibi? If you were somewhere else, then you won't have to die."

I remember that part of the trial the clearest. I'd always thought about death before, I'd even considered pulling the trigger myself. But once I had the gun in my hand…I couldn't do it. I'd been too much of a filthy coward. I, Roy Mustang, The Flame Alchemist, celebrated hero of Ishbal, couldn't end my own pathetic excuse for a life.

But that day I made up my mind not to be a coward.

I spoke not a word, though it meant my life.
For I'd been in the arms of my best friend's wife.

I don't like to think about what happened that night. I could say it wasn't my fault, but that would be a lie. I'm as much to blame as she is. Dammit – it wasn't even her fault at all. She was having a hard time, she wasn't thinking clearly. She didn't know what she was doing.

It was the anniversary of the death of Maes Hughes. I'd had a hell of a day, everything was going wrong. Every time the phone rang I kept thinking of when he called that day a year ago…But I knew whatever miserable memories were playing through my head couldn't be nearly as bad as what Gracia Hughes was going through. I stopped to see her after work. I even brought flowers.

She'd been crying. I could tell the second she answered the door. She invited me in though, she tried to hide just how sad she was. Elicia had gone to stay with friends, so the house completely empty except for us. I knew she needed company, it wasn't right for her to be alone. So I stayed for dinner. Nothing fancy, just some cold-cuts and beer. After we'd finished, Gracia fixed drinks and we sat down in her living room in front of the fire.

I tried to keep her talking about things, anything. The weather, how Elicia was doing in school, but pretty soon she was crying. She started quietly, and I didn't even notice, but before I know it she was all out sobbing. I had to do something to try to comfort her, so I tried putting my arm around her shoulders. I only meant it in a friendly way, but looking back I guess it was the wrong thing to do.

"You were his best friend…" She whispered, leaning in close to me.

I should have seen what was coming, it looks so obvious now. But I didn't know what to do then, so I just kept staring.

"You almost look like him you know…you have that dark hair…you look so much like-"

And she started kissing me.

I don't really know how to describe it, but I guess it was a little like what kissing your sister would be like. Really disturbing and wrong. I was so stunned that for a split second I couldn't move.

"You're confused, I'm not Maes." I managed to chock out.

Gracia just sat there. She didn't understand, she didn't recognize me. "I've missed you." She whispered after a moment.

"He's dead, he isn't coming back." I said flatly.

"You're here now…" She started playing with a strand of my hair.

I Pulled her hand off and tried to get up, but she hung on. "He's dead!" I yelled as loudly as I could. I guess I thought I could shock the sense back into her or something.

She didn't even noticed that I'd raised my voice. She just wrapped her arms around me and pulled me into a deeper kiss.

I tried to push her away again, I tried to tell her what she was doing - but it was pointless. She had herself completely convinced that I was Maes.

I should have just gotten up and left then. I was stronger then she was, I could have overpowered her. But I just couldn't bring myself to do it at the time. I didn't want to hurt her – she seemed so happy to think she had Hughes back, was there any harm in letting her go on believing it for just one night?

She walks these hills, in a long black veil
She visits my grave when the night winds wail.
Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows but me

I left early the next morning, before Gracia could wake up. I didn't want to face her when she was sober and thinking clearly. I had some crazy idea about just being able to pretend that nothing had ever happened. I even thought she might just have forgotten.

To this day, I still don't know if she remembers or not. If she does, she sure as hell kept her trap shut at the trail. I don't blame her either.

The scaffold was high, eternity near,
she stood in the crowd and shed not a tear

It was a public hanging. They wanted to make sure everyone knew the bastard who was murdering their children was put to justice.

I was standing on the gallows that had been hammered together crudely the last night. The smell of fresh lumber seemed stronger then normal for some reason. Maybe it was because I knew I was on my last minutes. The sun was covered in heavy gray clouds and a light rain was falling. Drops of the warm water landed on my face and in my eyes.

I looked out at the crowds of people, all gathered just to see me strung up. I wasn't sure if I should be flattered at all the attention I had drawn, or disgusted that they were only there to see me die.

Letting my eyes wander, I tried to enjoy my last sights. Some guy in his twenties, an old crusty man leaning on a cane, a mother holding a baby to her chest with one arm, the other holding the hand of a small boy. The sight of that woman and her kids really made me sick, to think that she'd bring them to something like that. I tried to ignore them and looked away to a group of young women. I was in the middle of a half-hearted fantasy when I saw her, when I saw that Riza Hawkeye had come.

She was standing at attention with her subordinates, wearing her dress uniform and looking straight ahead. I tried to catch her eye, to get her attention in some way, but with my hands tied behind my back and standing on a gallows, that was impossible.

A man in a uniform started talking then. He went on about paying for crimes committed, redemption in the after life – things I didn't give a shit about. I could tell the people watching didn't care either.

Given all the times I'd thought seriously about killing myself, I should have been glad that someone was finally saving me the trouble. But I didn't feel glad then. I just kept looking at Riza Hawkeye. I never took my eyes off her, even when they slid the nose over my head. The rope was rough and scratched my neck, but I just ignored it.

"Any final words?" A voice asked.

I thought for a second about telling Hawkeye just how I felt about her. That I'd loved her for years, that I'd never need anyone else if I had her. But what good would it have done? It was too late, it'd have been a waste of breath. So I settled for something else instead.

"Look at me."

The crowd didn't get it, but had Hawkeye known instantly what I meant. She looked a little shocked, but slowly, her head tilted up and she looked me in the eye.

She wasn't crying, she didn't even look upset. Her face was emotionless, as usual. I tried to smile, for her, so that she'd remember me that way.

I never had a chance.

The hangman pulled the lever before I could manage a smirk.

Sometimes at night, when the cold winds moans,
in a long black veil, she cries over my bones.

I was a little startled the first time Hawkeye came to visit my grave. It was the night after they buried me, and the dirt was still fresh over my grave.

She stood there looking at the headstone - at my headstone - which just said 'Roy Mustang'. No date of birth, or death, just a name. Not even a military title, since I'd been discharged right after my arrest.

"Damn you." She whispered, addressing the gravestone as if it were me. "I know you didn't do it. Why the hell didn't you say something?" She wasn't yelling, but she might as well have been. I could tell she was pretty pissed at me.

She dropped to her knees, and – this is the part that really surprises me - she started crying. I'd never seen Hawkeye cry before then. She was always so strong, she never let her feelings slip. But now, when she thought she was alone, she let all that bottled up emotion come out.

Now she walks these hills, in a long black veil.
She visits my grave when the night winds wail.

She still comes to see me sometimes. She sits next to my headstone, running her fingers over the cold granite, tracing the indented letters that spell out my name. She almost never cries now. She barely makes any sound at all.

One night when she came I noticed something gold on her left ring finger. She acted like nothing was different, but I knew what it meant. I guess I just don't care any more though. I'm dead, she moved on. Or she tried to move on. If she really had she wouldn't come to see me any more.

Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows but me.
Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows but me…

Yay for angst!! Thanks very much for reading! Review if you feel like it, but you don't have to. If you flame me I'll probably fashion a voodoo doll in your likeness and stick pins in it's head...haha, kidding. I guess I don't really care if you flame or not.

-N.