Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ All I Ask of You ❯ All I Ask of You ( Chapter 1 )

A/N: Another POTO songfic… Maes x Roy pairing. Try not to flame… ^^;

 

Disclaimer: I was going to try and come up with a clever, bad POTO joke-filled disclaimer, but my mind left me, so I'm not going to try. Instead, I am going to give you the standard disclaimer of “I don't own FMA or the song `All I Ask of You'”.

 

*~*~*All I Ask of You*~*~*

By TheMuffinAlchemist

 

 

 

 

 

 

He sat at his desk, hands folded in front of him, eyes staring blankly at the imaginary blood crusted under his thumbs. There was, of course, no blood there; any blood that had gotten on him during the fights of the Rebellion had been scrubbed off since his homecoming. But still, no matter how many times the Flame Alchemist stared at his hands, there was always blood there.

 

He will never forget. Never forget the screams, the cries, the innocents, the flames, the pain, the injustice, and, of course, the blood… Big, giant pools of it… everywhere… The Rockbells - their blood was the darkest.

 

He buried his head in his hands.

 

Images of the blood swam before him, stained to the inside of his eyelids like a never-ending nightmare. Roy Mustang turned his head, snagging his dirty hair on the cuffs of his uniform, trying to send away the slideshow of a massacre.

 

Blood, blood, blood. It seemed to taunt him, chase him, devour him, engulf him - just like his own flames had engulfed the lives of innocent Ishbalans who had nothing to do with the military's grudge against them. Roy's head snapped up, sweat dripping chillingly down his temples, his chest rising and falling as he panted, disturbed again by his scarred, branded memory.

 

A voice from behind nearly made him jump. “Hey,” it said. Roy turned around.

 

Longtime friend, Maes Hughes, was standing behind Roy's chair, a small, comforting smile on his pale features. Ever since the end of the Ishbal Rebellion - the Massacre - nobody had been rosy-cheeked or even fair-skinned; everybody was pale, grey, and sickly looking.

 

Maes hadn't been a part of the Massacre, but if his best friend Roy was, then he was as good as there. Upon returning from the terrible trip, Roy had told him everything he could bear to spill. And Maes had listened, his heart twisting itself and threatening to burst from the grief: half for the Ishbalans and half for Roy. He had held the Flame Alchemist close that night, watched and listened to him try not to cry, then finally give in and sob into his shoulder. Maes had cried too, later, after Roy had left.

 

Now here, back at the office which had been physically untouched by any part of the war, things were supposed to be calm, tranquil, even joyous to those who believed that mercilessly slaughtering the Ishbalans was the only way to restore peace in the country. Things, however, were far from anything remotely close to happy or serene. Those who had fought in the war and had hearts were especially dismal; they knew that what they had done was wrong beyond all reason. And those who hadn't fought in the war were equally as disheartened; just hearing about the events of the Ishbal Rebellion and Massacre was enough to bring even the strongest lieutenant or colonel or general to a somber melancholy.

 

Maes spoke again, just one word, like the last sentence: “Roy.”

 

And he placed his arms around the Flame Alchemist.

 

 

 

 

 

 

No more talk of darkness,

Forget these wide-eyed fears.

I'm here, nothing can harm you -

my words will warm and calm you.

Let me be your freedom,

Let daylight dry your tears.

I'm here, with you, beside you,

To guard you and to guide you . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Maes…” Roy managed to choke out. “I… I can't get it out of my head.”

 

Maes laid his head on Roy's shoulder and mumbled into his ear, “I know. I can't either.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Roy snapped, his usual affronted and all-knowing tone making a small, flickering appearance. “You weren't there. You didn't see it. You didn't kill thousands of innocent people!”

 

“Shh, calm down.” Maes ran a hand across Roy's face to cover his mouth. His bronze eyes were soft, like melted butter, behind his glasses, and he offered the most sincere smile he could. Roy's heart thumped painfully in his chest. He arched his back and inadvertently scooted closer to Maes's face; he could feel the bristles of stubble on his own face. “Roy, I know you can't forget the past, but you can't dwell on it all day and for the rest of your life. You're gonna be okay.”

 

A squeeze on the shoulder brought Roy from his stupor in which he had been gazing at Maes's warm yet paling face. He sighed.

 

“Do you… wanna stay at my place again tonight?” Maes offered. “I'll let you sleep in my bed.”

 

Roy smiled a hollow, ghostly smile of an old man too far gone into the other world. “Yes,” he said. “I'd like that.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Say you love me every waking moment,

Turn my head with talk of summertime . . .

Say you need me with you, now and always . . .

Promise me that all you say is true -

That's all I ask of you . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

That night, Roy had spent the night at Maes Hughes's house. Maes's lady friend, Gracia, had left the two alone, returning to her parents' house for the entire weekend. Neither man spoke much; the night Roy returned from the Rebellion, he had done enough tortured talking to last him years. Consequently enough, years might be what it took to bring the Flame Alchemist back from his trench of depression, no matter what Maes did to try and ameliorate it.

 

But the following morning, Roy had given him an almost childish look - an early morning look where the sleeping baby face still lingered upon his rapidly-aging features - and asked him to make pancakes.

 

“You know how to make pancakes, Maes? My… my mother used to make them… when I was a kid… They were good.” His voice was slurred with sleep, but Maes had no difficulty understanding him; he could even understand Roy when he was heavily intoxicated beyond his limits back in his partying days when he used to drink his brains out and go have sex with whatever woman equally drunk enough to sleep with him.

 

Maes smiled. “Sure, Roy. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me.” And swiftly, before he could change his mind, he swooped down and kissed Roy softly on the forehead before whisking himself into the kitchen.

 

“Maes…”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Let me be your shelter,

Let me be your light.

You're safe:

No-one will find you

Your fears are far behind you . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

At the breakfast table, Roy diligently poured syrup on top of his pancakes, carefully making sure the design on fluffy batter didn't run or get wrecked somehow. Maes watched this in amazement, his elbows resting on the table on either side of his own pancake plate. Roy, you really are something… A smile twisted its way onto his lips, and Roy looked up.

 

“What?”

 

Maes paused. “Nothing.”

 

Roy cut into his pancakes, eyeing Maes suspiciously. After a moment of watching Roy eat, Maes finally picked up his own knife and prodded his pancake in the middle to make his first incision. Minutes after that, Maes spoke up again. “You're okay, right, Roy?”

 

The Flame Alchemist frowned. He knew what Maes was talking about; how could he not? He could read the man's mind and body language better than he could read his own alchemic research notes. He laid his fork down. “I'm not going to be okay for a long time, Maes.”

 

Maes looked crestfallen. His expression was evidently noticeable upon his features, for Roy added, “I know you're doing all you can, and… it's… I just… well…” Roy's normally narrow and slanted eyes were round and quivering; he was deeply troubled, and Maes could tell: it wasn't often when Roy fumbled for words.

 

“Maes…”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Minutely, little by little, Maes's face turned from dark and trouble to radiant with a smile. Roy turned back to his pancakes, his cheeks feeling heated and his eyes stinging and burning with the unpleasant prologue to tears. Scraping his chair against the hardwood floor of Maes's kitchen, he then got up and attached himself to his best friend.

 

Exhaling softly through his nose, Maes savored the sensation of Roy's body pressed against his. The alchemist's body was small; he wasn't as broad-shouldered and weighted as Maes, but he was still muscular and carried a significant, comfortable body heat in his embrace. Roy's cheek was pushed in against the cotton shoulder of Maes's pajama shirt, rubbing against it slightly not unlike a cat.

 

Maes patted Roy's hand that was wrapped around his waist. “I'm going to try my hardest to make everything okay, Roy. Please trust me.”

 

A hot breath from Roy reached his ear - an affirmation of the alchemist's trust in him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

All I want is freedom,

A world with no more night . . .

And you

Always beside me

To hold me

And to hide me . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

Roy's arms closed tighter around Maes's body and squeezed. He never wanted to let go… Maes was a wonderful man - always there in times of need, and Roy felt like crying, silently, of course. Unbeknownst to him, a tear did manage to slide off his cheek and down into the fabric of Maes's nightshirt. Maes's spine tingled as that tear rolled into the small dip of the small of his back, and Roy whispered two words:

 

“I know.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime . . .

Let me lead you from your solitude . . .

Say you need me with you here, beside you . . .

Anywhere you go, let me go too -

Christine, that's all I ask of you . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

Completely forgetting about the pancakes (which weren't all that good anyway, Maes decided when he gazed into the shiny black locks of Roy's messy morning hair), Maes and Roy shared an embrace. The sun was just coming up, and fragments of heavenly beams waltzed into the kitchen between the window's curtains. The beams warmed Roy's face, and he felt comfortable for the first time in months, nuzzled up against his best friend's shoulder with sunshine tenderly caressing him.

 

It was almost as if things were… back to normal…

 

Before the Rebellion. Before the Massacre. Before the Rockbells. Before the military, even, before he was known as “Flame Alchemist” and he was just “Roy Mustang”, a young Casanova with alchemic powers.

 

And before he realized it, Roy found the words slipping out of his mouth: “I need you, Maes.”

 

As soon as he said it, he wasn't sure exactly what he meant. Of course he needed Maes, what a silly statement, everybody needed friends. Everybody needed a best friend, one you could trust and tell every secret to and never have to worry about them being laughed at or spread around the rumor and gossip mill. Everybody needed a Maes Hughes in their lives.

 

Yet there was something a little more than that… Roy needed Maes as a friend, yes, but he also needed him as the kindhearted man who let him stay at his house, sleep in his bed, eat his food, and snuggle against his shoulder with no complaints or questions asked. Roy needed Maes to… to…

 

To understand. To love. Really love.

 

Again, Roy found himself smiling as if he were on top of the world. Maybe even the moon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Say you'll share with me

One love, one lifetime . . .

Say the word and I will follow you . . .

Share each day with me,

Each night, each morning . . .

Say you love me . . .

You know I do . . .

Love me -

that's all I ask of you