Prompt 174, "Oh crap, how the hell did this happen?", "Empty"
Title: Empty
Author: Tiri
Series: Any
Word Count: ~2300
Rating: G?
Characters: Roy Mustang; his team, including Riza Hawkeye, and Alex Rivers (OC); with mentions of Maes Hughes.
Summary: Maes wouldn't have wanted Roy to work himself to death, but that's something he forgets.
Warning: Spoilers for what happens to Hughes.
A/N: I don't even know what the heck this is. Angst? Humour? Whatever it is, my beta-reader says this is good, and wanted me to submit it, so I'll believe her, and do what she tells me. I hope you all enjoy -- but, as always, this will make a lot more sense if you already know Alex. You can read the (much shorter) things I have written for her in the comm before here, here, here, and here -- just pick one and familiarize yourself a bit! In the meantime, let's call this... 'slice of life.'
Central was an empty city. Central Headquarters was even more barren -- all stiff uniforms and stiffer postures, without joy nor even simple conversation to be had. There was no such thing as 'casual,' and not a thing was ever out of place; there were no unannounced visits, no idle phone calls, no lunch room laughs. Those things had been scarce back in East City as well, but in Central, they should have been far more plentiful. Instead, they had disappeared entirely.
It wasn't right, but work continued. Roy didn't think he had ever worked so hard. What else was he to do? No matter how he stared across the office, past the desks of his subordinates, and narrowed his eyes at the door, it would never open to who he wanted it to. All he could do was work to make things right again -- they never would return to how they were, and no matter how he wished for it, he couldn't pretend he was in the East again, where things had been good, but he could find answers for why it had to be this way. That would have to be enough. When the world kept turning despite it all, working was all he could do to honour the memory.
His subordinates worked as well, seated in their small huddle of desks on his office floor -- this office wasn't as nice as the one he'd had all to himself in the East, but, now more than ever, the unit needed to be kept together. He needed to keep his eyes on them, and that was the only reason he ever lifted his head from his paperwork, his books, his investigations. Tapping the butt of his pen against his desk, with a rhythm that was ceaseless, deafening, he made sure not a one of them escaped his guard. When any one of them needed to leave, for one reason or another, he didn't care if he sounded too territorial when he questioned their intent -- barking at them was far better than missing them, and timing them from departure to return was better than letting them come to harm.
Riza would have liked to continue work as normal. She never let her personal life interfere with her business -- but for Roy, this was both. So while she organized his papers as usual, and kept her hawk's eye focused on him as usual, he sat in frustration and, in between sharp, deliberate pen strokes, wondered how she could be so stoic. At least Havoc, Breda, Fuery, and Falman acted as though they knew something was wrong, even if they seemed only as if they wanted it to pass. They flinched at every loud noise, like spooked, paranoid cats, but at least they respected the tension that hung in the air.
Even Rivers could do that much, and she was still in shock. The young private had such little experience with death... and she and Maes had become surprisingly close. Roy still didn't understand why his newest subordinate had requested to follow him across cities with the rest, but for the time-being, he simply wished he could still yell at her for indulging his old friend's ramblings. The two shared a love of family, of children.... Roy tried not to think about it.
So he worked. He worked, and though the office was full, packed to the brim, it felt impossibly empty. The sunlight crawled across the carpet in cycles, over and over, as the days passed so slowly, yet the work flew by, and even after a week had passed, nothing had changed -- save that the bags under Roy's eyes had grown steadily darker, and the weight he'd been losing had become noticeable. He felt as though all his research was getting him nowhere, rewarding him with nothing except increasingly more worried glances from those working under him. Still, he worked.
***
It was the second day of the second week when things changed, however slightly. They changed at lunch -- it was another lunch that Roy skipped. It had become routine for him to spend the lunch hour in the archives, buried in stacks of books and files, case records and lab reports, things that he'd linked together so meticulously during his hours spent in those rooms. He was always the last one back to the office after lunch, and he was sure his subordinates knew what he was doing with his time, but he didn't care; even on that second day of the second week, he strode from one end of the room to the other, and settled down in his chair with a single-minded purpose, everything else forgotten -- even the concerned glances that continued to bounce off of him. He dropped into his seat, and kept his eyes hidden from the others as he rifled through drawers.
Perhaps his practiced motions would have even gotten as far as picking up his pen, were it not for a cough from one of his subordinates -- he raised his head on reflex, and it was only then that his eyes caught on the out-of-place item that proceeded to block his view. A white paper bag sat delicately in the middle of his blotter, where it would either have to be moved and dismissed, or confronted. On it was pinned a message, typed boldly and neatly on crisp paper, and with that, Roy couldn't simply ignore it.
'Eat something.'
His gaze flitted to his team, but they were hard at work -- Riza didn't seem to care at all, and from the rest of them, he was only cast the occasional curious glance. Yet even if things seemed to continue as they had before, when Roy pried open the folded top of the bag, and removed the flakey pastry within -- drizzled with chocolate and baked with no lack of butter -- something felt different. It was still quiet, still too empty, tense and hollow, but for that moment, Roy allowed himself to settle back in his chair. He sunk into the leather, and when his back stopped aching, when the first bite of the pastry melted in his mouth and his stomach stopped rumbling, he couldn't deny that he felt a little better.
***
He kept working himself to death; that couldn't cease, couldn't be forgotten, not after what had happened -- but over the rest of the week, the pastries kept showing up on his desk. The printed words weren't always the same --
'Take a break.'
-- but the message was. Even if it was just for a few minutes after lunch every day, Roy was reminded, allowed, to rest. Perhaps he needed that.
'Relax.'
His subordinates seemed to appreciate it, too. The memory didn't fade, but things settled down, over time.
'Life goes on.'
Work continued, and as things smoothed over, more of it got done. There were still too many questions, but Roy worked with a sated stomach, and as his harsh features softened and his permanent scowl faded, it allowed those who worked under him to focus on their papers, rather than the tension. Maes would be avenged, in time... but for the time-being, Roy had to be at his best, and if he wore himself down, he was no use to anyone -- not even the dead.
***
'Feel better?'
Roy grew used to wiping buttery pastry flakes from his fingers, and on the last day of the work week, that was just what he did, as he contemplated the words set before him, pinned to the empty bag. Not many would have bothered to hide their identity behind a typewriter, he realized, as his dark eyes scanned over the letters, sans serif on a page sans signature. Perhaps they were concerned he'd know their handwriting. He hadn't given much thought to who had been gifting him with baked goods every day, had he? Grabbing the top of the bag, he stood up.
"I want to thank whoever's been leaving me these," he announced, firmly, and held the item up for his subordinates to see. Through the curious stares he was cast, he saw a smile or two, and he realized he couldn't remember the last time they had smiled at him.
"You, uh..." Havoc began, tentatively, a lopsided grin struggling across his face, "you got a secret admirer, Chief?"
Roy paused -- and at the same time he was reminded of the casual conversation he'd been missing, he returned the smile.
"Yes, I suppose so."
It wasn't difficult to catch how Riza shook her head with mock exasperation, but the pink tint that crossed young Rivers' features was even more obvious -- and all Roy could think about was how thankful he was that things were almost normal again.
***
The next day was Roy's day off, and the day off for most of his subordinates as well. He still spent it working. His apartment was scattered with books, from both work and the library, and when the familiar lunch time approached, he almost didn't notice -- but even being buried beneath stacks of papers and files, stacks that blotted out the sunlight from his windows, couldn't stop his stomach from protesting. It was time to eat.
He attempted to eat from the cupboards. It wasn't the same. His back ached from being hunched over his pages, his eyes were sore from straining to read under the shadows, and he was hungry for something buttery, baked, and laced with chocolate. His footsteps were heavy across the floorboards, and he didn't think he could be quite so frustrated over something as small as a pastry, but after working for so long, he still almost slammed the door on his way out.
It was a beautiful day, though. He escaped down the steps of his apartment, and when he hit the city streets, the sun warmed him. He slipped into the crowd, and out to the market. It didn't feel the same, couldn't have possibly felt the same, as when he used to visit from East City, and walk with his old friend through roads then so fresh and new, but... it didn't feel so empty, either. The sky smiled down at him, and as he joined the hustling, bustling population, he didn't feel as though he was alone.
***
It wasn't hard to find a bakery; it was a simple thing to follow the delicious smell that wafted through the air, and the sound of the bell, as Roy pushed open the bakery's door, sounded almost like a tune of triumph -- stepping in from under the doorway's awning, and inviting himself into the cramped building, to be faced with aisles and aisles of lovingly packaged food, was almost relieving. It had been awhile since he'd gone shopping, and even without picking anything up, the satisfaction was immense.
Yet his eyes caught on the figure which stood before the check-out counter, and when everything else faded, only entertainment was left as his gaze roamed over a curveless body in a slightly ill-fitted dress -- somehow, he found difficulty picturing anything other than a uniform going with that familiar ponytail.
"Good afternoon, Mi'lady," he cooed, sliding up behind the petite brunette -- and as he caused her to jump, he grinned, watching her fumble and drop her wallet when she spun around to meet him. With wide eyes, she braced herself against the counter.
"Colonel!" Rivers squeaked, biting her lip to muffle the embarrassing noise that only made him smile wider. She furrowed her brow at him, tightened her grip on the counter's edge, and pouted as though it was, somehow, not an entirely childish action. "Don't you know it's rude to sneak up on a person?"
"My deepest apologies."
While his insincere remark distracted her, his hand snuck around behind her. A second later, and he had her purchase caught between his fingers -- a familiar white bag, which he whipped from the countertop and out of her reach, much to her alarm. She stepped forward to retrieve it, but it was of no use, as he took several more steps back, and gladly held the sheer paper up to the light so he could spy the pastry hidden within. Crisp, golden brown iced with careful dark lines shone through, and Roy's stomach rumbled.
"Well, well. What message were you going to leave on this one?"
"Th-that's the last one you'll get, you know."
He blinked, and the frown that tugged at his lips was unwilling. He cut a glance toward her, noted her flushed cheeks, and as much as he appreciated a lady's attention....
"Why's that?" he couldn't help but ask.
Rivers didn't respond immediately, but knelt down to the dirty floor, reached around the wrinkles of her dull dress, and picked up her wallet. When she stood once more, dusted it off against her clothing, and opened it, the reason was clear enough. Roy bristled.
"You've run yourself broke?!"
"W-well if I didn't make you take a break now and again, you never would have moved on!"
"Rivers--"
"You can't deny it helped you cope!"
Roy drew his lips tightly together, and for a moment, he was silent. Slowly lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, he tilted his head back and closed his eyes, a slow sigh escaping him. He always found himself in the presence of people who felt obligated to take care of him, didn't he? Now Central City might not have felt so empty, but Rivers' wallet....
"B-besides that," she stumbled, and he peeked out at her just in time to see a smirk wobble across her lips. "I hear the way to a man's heart is through his stomach?"
"I wonder where you heard that...."
She grinned wider, and he grumbled, because that was all he could do. She gave him that cheeky look, and he simply didn't understand. It was like a scheme, a secret plot, yet how the hell... how the hell could Maes still have had the last laugh, even now?
"Find yourself a wife!"