More Roy shounen-ai. But this time its not Royed or Royfury. Sigh.

Its very angsty, but it kind of has to be with this pairing. It also AU-ish, especially for later episodes (there is mention of Fuhrer! Roy), and probably OOC too.

The tenses are absolutely horrible. Don't blame me. Blame...uh...er...points at wardrobe... him.

And there are various time-jumps, sometimes they are a few hours, sometimes twenty or thirty years, but I think they're pretty obvious.

Disclaimer: I don't own Full Metal Alchemist or anything remotely related to it other than a bunchload of bad fanfiction from which I gain nothing financially.

SPOILER WARNING: Massive spoilers for episode 25. You have been warned.

: : :

This Time Around

Roy Mustang stretches out on his bed, tracing the geometric patterns of the ceiling detail with his eyes. He likes the design. It is comfortingly regular, a constant in his life; he has lived in this house for twelve years, and it is his, and his alone.

But the bed, this bed – large and soft and staid in its plain blue and white, is not his and his alone. It is shared. Sometimes.

Roy has his share of women. An occasional date here and there with a beautiful, faceless, shallow secretary or two. It quells the rumours.

But they do not sleep in his bed, they are not even allowed to come into his house. With them, it is a hotel room, sometimes cheap, sometimes expensive, but never personal. Roy doesn't like people getting too close. He trusts very few of them.

Edward Elric, if the situation ever called for it, he would allow in his house. Because, despite being young and hot-tempered and indignant and anti-authoritarian, there is something about Edward that is unfathomably like Roy and he trusts it.

Riza Hawkeye had also been allowed inside his house. She is loyal in a way that surpasses their professional relationship; a fierce, determined loyalty that made her something dangerously close to a friend. He doesn't mind the rumours about Riza and himself. Because they are untrue.

There is only one person who is allowed a place in Roy's bed.

Roy turns over with a half-grunt and a brief flail of limbs, propping himself up to look at the clock. It is late. It is the weekend. Roy doubts he will come tonight – it is too risky, someone would notice his absence – and tries to decide which is better. To be here alone with only his thoughts and the darkest of his emotions surfacing...

Or to be with someone else when it was so horribly, horribly, twistedly wrong.

If he comes tonight, Roy shouldn't let him in.

He should stay right here, in bed, alone as he should be, and listen until the knocks subside and footsteps can be heard trudging back down the path, back home.

Roy snorts audibly. As if that would work. As if that man wasn't worse than a goddamn terrier when it came to shaking him off. As if he wouldn't prise his way through the door if Roy didn't open it and march upstairs to find out what was wrong. Because if Roy didn't let him in, he would worry. And Roy would not make him worry. Roy would do nothing to make him hurt, to wipe that maddeningly happy grin off that beautiful face.

Damn him.

Roy twists the pillowcase around his index finger, tighter and tighter. It is only when it is unbearably painful, cutting off all circulation, that he lets it unwind with a snap and a brief, rapid motion.

There is a knock.

Roy jumps up, automatically, and curses. Curses out loud, curses inwardly, curses the man and his door and his house and the whole network of roads that connected their houses and the military and himself, especially that part of his heart that spasms with joy at the sound.

He pulls trousers on over his boxers, just in case it is someone else.

He stumbles downstairs in the dark, because somehow it is easier in the dark, easier when neither of them can see. It makes it less real.

He throws open the door.

"You again." Roy says, flatly. The muscles in his stomach are tight, almost pleasantly so, but he ignores it.

The man tries to step forward, but Roy half-shuts the door and snarls from around it.

"I told you not to come here. You have a wife. You have a child."

He is angry. Anger to hide the hurt, to hide the need.

Maes jams his foot into the doorjamb, keeping it open, and Roy does nothing to stop him, vaguely despising himself for it.

Maes doesn't speak, there is nothing to say, not now, not that hasn't been said a thousand times before. He pushes the door out of Roy's weakening grip and walks inside, shutting it behind him.

He keeps his head down and Roy thinks its shame, but its something else, something so much more, something that he's not sure he can show Roy, not now. Not yet.

And Roy is still tense, still scowling in his own, subtle way, and still watching with eyes that hold so much trust, for one so cynical.

Maes closes the distance between them in one stride, eager and gentle at once. Roy exhales visibly at the closeness. The bigger man smiles, but it is not the goofy, over-enthusiastic grin he gives everyone else. It is smaller, less dramatic and perhaps more real, and resignedly self-mocking. He locks his arms around Roy's back, pressing them together, keeping them close for just a few moments. Roy sinks into the gesture, enveloped by that eternal warmth that seemed to emanate from Maes.

It is so wrong. He should feel sick. Should feel sick and immoral and because he doesn't, he feels guilty. The same, familiar guilt of reaching out and taking something that wasn't his to take, and yet he knew, every single time, that he would do it again and again and again just to feel this way for a moment.

And damn Maes. Damn him for coming here again and forcing himself into Roy's arms again, knowing that Roy can't possibly let him go. Damn him for being so intelligent and calculating and sneaky - and all the other things that Roy values so much in him as a colleague – that he has found this one, single weak spot so easily.

Damn himself more. Roy should not have had weak spots in the first place. He should be unflappable, he was unflappable at work, but this was home and this was trust and this was too close.

He tries to get angry.

Maes swoops on him, lifts his chin as high as it can go, tilts his head right back so that he cannot see, stretches out his neck.

Roy waits, willingly vulnerable in anticipation, until he can feel those lips on the point of his chin.

They slide down his neck; the faint, persistent scratch of stubble contrasting sharply with their softness. And it is slow, it takes a full few minutes for Maes to reach the curve of his voice-box, and he pauses to nibble on it. And Maes savours it, he always savours it, as Roy slowly becomes lost in the electricity, in the warmth, in the touch.

For a heartbeat, he does not feel the shame, and he lets Maes lead him blindly, back up their well-worn path to the bed.

--

Maes wakes Roy before the alarm goes off. He always sets it when he stays over. Two or three in the morning is the latest he can leave it before he risks being caught out.

Roy kisses him, drunkenly, then the sleepiness leaves his movements and he props himself up, eyes glittering.

"Why?"

Maes looks at him, looks as if he wants to discuss it, and Roy finds himself desperately wanting to turn it into a fight. He thinks he may be frightened of discussing it. He thinks perhaps there are things he doesn't want to face.

"Why? Answer me. Why do you come here? Well?"

Maes looks away, but he tightens the arm around Roy's waist, fingers curling slowly over his spine, trying to soothe him.

Roy fights it.

"You. Have. A. Family." he snarls, "Gracia? Remember her? The woman, the one you are so bloody in love with. She's at home. At your home. Why are you here? Why do you do this to me?"

The last comment brings Maes' head up with a snap. Momentarily speechless, he just stares at the other man.

"Tell me..." he whispered, mouth dry.

"Tell you what?"

"Tell me I don't hurt you."

Roy has no answer to that, none that is truthful enough not to insult this one person he trusts, none that will not betray his own deep emotions. He throws himself up, off the bed and walks out to the living room. He stands at the window, watching the lights of the city. He sees a ghost of his own reflection; half-naked, tired, pale. There is another behind it.

He hadn't heard Maes follow him out. The bigger man sits on the couch. Roy thinks that maybe he has been crying. Or maybe it's just the moonlight.

"How did we come to this?" Roy manages.

Maes looks at him, looks taken aback.

"We were lovers..."

"Yes, we were. But you are married now. You love her."

"I do. I gave her all of my love." Maes agrees, "But I look at her and wonder how much of that love was what I felt for her, and how much was what I felt for you."

Roy sounds choked when he speaks.

"It doesn't matter now."

He gets up, earnest again.

"It does. I still need you."

"You made your choice."

"It was made for me."

Roy laughed bitterly.

"How?"

Maes turns Roy around to face him, presses him gently back against the glass.

"You want to change the world."

"And?"

"And I want you to change the world. I believe you can make it better, as Fuhrer. And I believe you'll make it to Fuhrer."

"That's sweet of you." Roy says coldly, "You're wife will be waiting."

"Of course, we could have nipped your career in the bud by having you discharged for fraternising." Maes says, sadly.

Roy stiffens, then snarls.

"No. That wasn't your reason. You loved her." And he clings to that, has to, because otherwise it makes them something so completely hopeless that he cannot fathom it.

"I do. I loved her." Maes grins, "You know how much I love her. And Alicia."

Roy snorts. Yes, he definitely knows. It is rammed down his throat every day, until he considers snapping his fingers and burning all the little glossy photographs so that he doesn't have to fact them anymore.

Maes takes his face in his hands, forcing Roy to meet his eyes and there, Roy cannot keep the smooth expression in place. It keeps sliding off. Maes' voice is soft.

"Do you trust me?"

Roy looks temporarily chagrined.

"Of course I do."

"Good. Because this is important, and I need you to hear it and take it to heart. Okay?"

Roy nods. Maes takes a deep breath, and when he speaks his voice is clear and unwavering.

"I love you more."

Roy jolts, shakes his head, tries to wrench himself out of Maes' grip. He doesn't want to face this, it is far too painful. It is better to believe that there is someone else, a physical body, rather than just cold, impartial circumstances.

Maes holds him until he stops trying to get away, strokes his hair until he stops struggling. He learnt how to deal with Roy a long time ago and Roy hates it. He hates it most at that moment, as Maes slowly extinguishes the anger and anguished disbelief, leaving only a yawning, hollow sadness that is far too close to regret.

"But you have a world to save. So I let you go."

Roy whimpers, hating the weakness in the sound. Maes smiles at him and Roy takes comfort in the expression. And then the usual warmth fades, replaced by something more intense, and he spins Roy back around, so that they are both looking out at the city. The view is somehow breathtaking now, with the other man's presence at his back and the familiar hands on his hips.

"The way I see it, the world owes me a favour. So I'm saving it up for next time around."

"Next time around?"

Maes' reflection nods at him.

"Sure. This equivalent trade thing of yours, it makes sense, right? I mean, the Law of Conservation etcetera. And nothing is of equal value to a human soul."

Roy just watches him, wonders where this is going

"So, our souls must live forever, because they can't be changed, right?"

Roy had never thought about it like that. It ...made sense. Which was odd, because optimism usually did not.

"I suppose."
Maes nudges him in a ticklish spot and receives a smile. He nuzzles closer, and suddenly those four words he said earlier are making Roy dizzy.

"You know I'm right." he mumbles.

"Maybe you are."

"And that means there has to be a next time, because when the body dies, the soul has to move on."

Maes moves his lips to Roy's ear.

"And next time, I'm keeping you."

Roy slides his hands over Maes', holds them tightly. He closes his eyes and pictures this moment lasting forever, the closeness, the comfort, all of it. Maes' promise runs through his head again and again and it makes him want to throw his arms around the man and not let go, and scream in anguish at what could have been, at what was taken away by so little.

He finds his voice.

"And Gracia? Alicia?"

Maes smiles knowingly.

"That's what this time is for."

When he leaves, Maes kisses Roy on the lips one last time. It is a farewell, despite the fact that they will see each other at work tomorrow. It will be many days before they can be together again.

Roy puts his hands on the other man's shoulders.

"You will come back, won't you?"

Maes grins and hugs him.

"Of course."

--

Maes does not come back.

Two weeks later, he is killed in action.

With the news of his death, what is left of Roy's trust in the world evaporates in an instant. The cool, smooth mask slides down and stays down. He does not cry in private, only out of courtesy in public, when it is required of him to do so. He comforts Gracia, impersonally but without a hint of jealousy. He does what is right, what is his duty. He can no longer feel as many emotions as he used to. He uses this to his advantage, ploughing on through the ranks, climbing the ladder.

Saving the world.

And just occasionally, he stands at the window and looks down at the city. There is only ever one reflection in the glass, and it stares back at him with mocking calmness, wearing the same Fuhrer's uniform as the one he wears. It symbolises him getting exactly what he wanted, what he decided he wanted. It is the man who has changed the world, just a little bit, and who knows, maybe it is better.

The light frost forming on the glass seems to spell out four words, over and over again.

I love you more I love you more I love you more I love you more

But they don't, and he knows it. It is simply his imagination. Or maybe his heart.

He searches many libraries, reads many books but can find nothing on reincarnation of the soul. It does not exist.

Death is death.

It comes for him, finally, and meets little resistance. He is an old man, too hardened and wearied to be religious, and simply accepting the facts.

A scientist to the end.

Roy is buried in an overly large and showy grave. It is suitable, somehow. Many people attend his funeral. Very few cry real tears.

--

The world has changed. It has become more mechanical, more computerised. It is called progress. No one is really sure whether it is for the better or for worse.

In one of the little flats, two young men are dancing. A waltz that is far too slow for them to be just friends. They pause for a moment in front of one of the windows. It overlooks the city. They blink at their reflections, confused by the sense of deja-vu.

The bigger one grins easily.

"Have we done this before?"

The shorter one gives him a well-rehearsed condescending look.

"What, stopped in front of the window in your flat?"

The other should have laughed uproariously, but instead he squints at the glass, as if he is trying to see something beyond the reflections, beyond the city.

Since the days of Fuhrer Roy Mustang, it has become a better place. But suddenly their grip on each other is deathly tight. There is the lingering of some odd memory that can't possibly be a memory because it was too long ago, before their time.

The words are on the tip of tongue, and he says them before he can think about why.

"This time, I'm keeping you."

The look he receives is not as disdainful as it should have been. They stare at the window for another moment. Then they shrug and go back to dancing.

The steps eventually slow, and then stop, dissolving into long kisses.

Two weeks later, they are engaged

--

It's a funny thing, equivalent trade.

--

End.

So, uh, that's a little different from the stuff I normally write. Not fluffy enough, too much angst, rah rah rah. I'm not sure I really like this pairing either Oo.

Uh, so any comments/reviews/ pointing out massive festering grammatical errors much appreciated. The "reviews" button is down there. Thanks.