Title: Honey-toned.
Description: Roy overthinks things.
Pairing: implied Maes/Roy, burgeoning Ed/Roy
Rating: PG
Word count: 614
Notes: CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR FMA108!
This will likely be rehashed if I ever get around to the full length fic I want to write for it.

For Race and Astraea.







He wasn't foolish enough to believe that things would be easier after it was over.

He found his melancholy in those honey-toned moments of sunshine before dusk. When all was quiet again, the office empty except for the dancing of dust-motes in the sunshine that streamed in through the mullioned windows and the soft echo of footsteps in the hallway.

Not everything had been fixed with the death of the Homunculus, or even Marcoh's appearance at the end of it all. There was still something missing, and he never felt it so keenly as those last few minutes of sunshine when the shadows began to grow deeper and darker.

Leaning back in his chair, Roy lifted the glass to take a sip of whisky, barely noticing the burn of his throat. It was a cheap bottle, not his usual, now more refined taste. His usual didn't remind him of those days when the cheap bottle was all he could afford. When there would be two glasses, not just one. When he'd look up to see Maes sitting on the corner of his desk, watching the sun set as the light caught every last glorious detail of his features before it fell to redder and darker tones slipped away, replaced by the silver pallor of the moon.

He had lost more than his sight.

Roy set the glass down, the ice chattering as they settled again. He turned his head towards the window, watching the last lingering clouds of an almost perfect day beginning to gather. It would rain tonight.

Sitting there in silence for a while, he remained motionless and alone except for the thoughts of the past that plagued him on too perfect days, when the memories grew too loud for him. Then, he heard footsteps again.

He knew the odd footsteps, one seeming slightly heavier though no slower than the other. Half turning his head though not diverting his eyes until the door to his office creaked open, Roy waited.

Edward Elric slipped in with a coat folded over one arm – oddly silent for him – and closed the door behind himself. He lifted his head, meeting Roy's gaze with eyes as honey-golden as the sunshine, and walked to the desk with those same odd footsteps. Roy wondered if anyone else noticed it absently, and quirked one eyebrow in question.

Edward tossed the coat onto a nearby chair and set a second glass next to the first. He tipped his head, and gestured with a bare hand to the empty glass.

Seeing that hand was still odd. He'd seen the automail, seen the white gloves so often that he'd almost forgotten that there had been a time before alchemy and height when the boy had been whole. Untainted.

Without a word, Roy pulled open the lower left hand drawer to his desk and pulled out a bottle. He unscrewed the cap, and poured Edward a measure, already deciding that this had to be Riza's doing.

Edward picked up the glass, perched on the corner of his desk just as Maes would have done once, and took a sip. Immediately, he pulled the same face Havoc had the first time he'd tried the rather rough alcohol, and wheezed. “Damn, Roy!”

“You're still too young for this,” Roy said, slipping the bottle back into his desk drawer and closing it. Picking up his own glass he turned back to the window. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm here to help.”

Roy scoffed, swirling his glass absently. “You can't do alchemy.”

Reaching over, Edward brushed warm fingertips through Roy's hair and behind his ear. “Would I have to?”
Tags:

From: (Anonymous)

from Race


OO, I like the tone of this. I do think Roy would regret having the stone and having to spend (waste?) it on himself. I loved that the golden theme went from light to whiskey to Ed's eyes.
.

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