Title: Destiny Is A Many Splintered Thing
Pairing: Eventually HughesxRoy, mentions of previous Hughes+Gracia
Summary: Quiet country life suddenly takes a radical turn for Mäes Hughes when he takes an interest in Roy Mustang, a man who came seemingly out of no where and who knows a lot more than he’s saying.
Disclaimer: Characters have been pilfered from FMA, which is certainly not mine. Hiromu Arakawa owns it. Don’t sue me.
Rating: Pg-13 for the most part, may creep into R later in the story.
Author's Notes: Well, I got this edited quicker than I thought. Hopefully it’s a little more interesting than the last two chapters now that I’m starting to touch on character and not just setting and the like. Comments and criticisms are both loved.

And a big ‘thank you’ to Hurley’s Belial, Abi2 and Dj Silence Yuy for their wonderful reviews.

III

“You’ll have to wear one of my pairs of pants until we get yours cleaned off if that’s all right,” Hughes held up the smallest pair of jeans he still owned, pulled from the far reaches of his closet, and smelling heavily of the cherry wood they’d been next to for so long. He turned his head to the side, as if talking to the pants and not his guest. “The length isn’t bad, but you’ll probably swim in them. I’ll probably have to find you a belt as well.”

With one hand he passed the pants to the other man, wanted or not, and continued his rather one-sided litany. Pointing down the hall, “The bathroom is that way, don’t worry about water, we have it piped up from the town supply. Really fancy. My father worked for a year to pay for the installation of pipes up here. Just turn the taps and out it comes, no more hanging buckets and things. There’s also a rack running along the back wall in there, just hang your old pants there and I’ll wash them with mine after were both done. If you don’t think there’s anything I should call the doctor for then maybe we can have some supper.” Hughes smiled. “And don’t try to protest, I’m offering my hospitality, not charging for it. Besides, a tree nearly crushed you, after being struck by lightning. After that anyone would deserve a little courtesy.”

He hadn’t expected it, but his last words actually garnered a sort of half-honest twist of lips into what could almost be called a smile from the other man.

It wasn’t long after that that the sound of running water was heard echoing down the hall. Hughes wasn’t nearly as dirty, really only covered in a bit of debris where he’d manhandled the log. In that respect, the wash basin sitting on one of the dressers in his room was more than sufficient for cleaning off his hands and face. A change of clothes and he was almost as good as new.

Hughes walked through the rest of the house stretching his arms as he headed for the kitchen. They were sore, but nothing a lot of stretching; some heat and time wouldn’t fix on its own.

After some thoughtful deliberation, which really consisted of him staring at an open cupboard with his head tilted sideways as he continued to stretch sore arms, Hughes finally decided on supper. There was plenty of smoked moose meat from earlier in the season as well as some crusty French bread and cherry jam that he’d bought yesterday during his shopping spree that would do nicely. As an afterthought he filled a decanter with a light apple cider he’d been ageing in a large oak barrel, figuring it’d taste better with company anyway. It was a simple supper but it covered all the basics, and he had no desire to actually cook anything on the large cast iron stove that dominated an entire corner of the room. With his makeshift supper piled onto a tray he carried it into the living room.

The sun setting, he noticed as he set the tray on the table, making his next order of business to start a fire in the fireplace so that it would be warm as the house started to cool. Besides, it also provided a nice atmosphere for eating supper with company, and he figured he’d need that too.

With a loaf of bread cut into thick slices piled next to a generous heap of smoked moose and a bowl of jam sitting contentedly on the tray with the fire cracking behind them, Hughes sank into the comforting depths of his couch and waited. In fact it wasn’t long after that at all that his guest padded down the stairs and into the expansive living room, with it’s walls covered in family photos going back to the generation that built the house. Photography was not a lost art as far as the Hughes family was concerned; (though some people wished it were).

The pants actually didn’t fit too badly, Hughes noted looking at his guest, who was taking his time looking around the room, and also conveniently avoiding eye contact. Sure, they were a couple inches too big and as such hung low on the other man’s hips but they stayed put just fine without a belt. ‘Just needs to put on some weight,’ Hughes thought. Other than that the man was pale, though a healthy kind and not a sickly one, probably having been that tone all his life. He was a bit shorter than Hughes was, and more slender but not willowy. No, defined lines of muscle poked out here and there unobtrusively and it was hard to find any real fat on the man. Fit. Built like an athlete. He swore that body almost screamed speed. In fact, Hughes decided he’d bet money that this man could run, really run.

Of course, this wasn’t to say that Hughes wasn’t much of an athlete himself. Living practically in the middle of the wilderness one had to be fit to survive and to make a living. But a runner, he was certainly not.

What was really interesting about his guest at the moment however, was the way the man walked; how he held himself. It didn’t fit. This was the same person that seemed to avoid eye contact like the plague, and yet he walked quite upright, perfect posture and all. His head was held high except when it dipped to avoid Hughes’ seemingly prying gaze, he walked with a clear confidence that was such a contradiction.

One of the two was obviously false.

Turning back to the table, he grabbed a slice of the crusty bread, setting it on one of the empty plates he’d brought, and spreading it with a generous dollop of jam. He wasn’t going to wait forever as the two of them stood at an impasse.

“Feel free to join me when you’re ready. All this food won’t eat itself,” he called over his shoulder, letting the other man casually circle the large room. With a crunch he bit in, absorbing the sweetness of the jam as he chewed. Cherry season was a good season, he decided. Hughes smiled around his second mouthful as he felt eyes on the back of his head.

“Are you this amicable to everyone you find loitering around up here?”

“I’d like to think so, but then again I don’t see many people up here.”

“You shouldn’t be so trusting.” There was something in the other man’s tone; Hughes couldn’t quite tell what it was. It wasn’t accusatory; it was…he couldn’t quite describe it, cautionary?

“I prefer to think that people are mostly good by nature.”

“You’re a very brave man.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, as opposed to the alternative.” It was odd having a conversation with some he couldn’t see, even if they were only standing behind him. But if the other man was trying to make him doubt his own judgement, it wasn’t going to work.

“I could as easily be a murderer or a deviant as I could the blacksmith’s son.”

“Your skin’s too healthy for you to be the blacksmith’s son.”

A pause.

“I guess you’re right.” A hint of humour had somehow wound itself into the other man’s voice.

“Look, you strike me as a good person. Besides, I can take care of myself, have been for the last ten years. And I really couldn’t care less about who you are or where you’ve come from unless you give me a reason to.”

Just above the crackling of the fire Hughes could make out soft footfalls across the floor, walking around to the vacant side of the couch. He watched the other man out of the corner of his eye, as he came around to the front of the couch.

“I’m sorry, part of me just finds it hard to believe sincere people still exist.” He extended his hand in a gesture of amends. Hughes took the proffered hand without hesitation; pleased that he’d passed whatever scrutiny he’d been under. His guest sunk into the couch beside him.

“All you have to do is want to see them and you will,” he responded, passing the platter, though they could both easily reach it. The room suddenly seemed warmer, and he wasn’t about to fool himself into thinking it was the fire’s doing.

“I guess I must have wanted to see you then,” the other man replied before nibbling on some of the moose meat.

“Trapped under a tree trunk that big I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Yes, I guess you’re right. Thank you for that.” Hughes noticed that the other man wasn’t shy about averting his gaze anymore, as if he’d got what he needed to off of his chest. He looked between Hughes and the fireplace, not really lingering too long on one or another. Now that he could actually see it, Hughes noticed the other man had sharp features, not really angular, just sharp, especially his eyes. There was an intelligence there that almost surprised him. Almost because there were very few people he knew who used the word ‘amicable’ casually in a sentence.

And then his hand flew into his forehead, impacting with an awkward slap.

“Ahh, I can’t believe I forgot,” he grumbled, embarrassed. “I’m Mäes Hughes,”

“Hughes?” his name was reciprocated as a question, though Mäes missed the hint of surprise that laced it.

“Yeah, most people actually call me Hughes. Everyone stopped trying to say my first name when I was six, I think the spelling throws them off, they always second guess themselves and come up with some weird pronunciation.”

“Hughes it is then,” the smile that had been threatening to peek out on his visitor’s lips suddenly turned severe once more, seemingly for no reason. He searched Hughes’ eyes with his own jet-black ones for a long moment before replying, though he really didn’t find it an uncomfortable experience. “Roy Mustang,” he finally replied evenly, as if it were a key to far more than just what to call him.

“Roy Mustang huh? I like that. Nice to meet you Roy.” Hughes smiled and let it drop. He was happy with the comfortable atmosphere that now existed between the two of them now, no need to push the subject. It wasn’t like he’d ever heard of a Roy Mustang before anyway.

It was a safe move, Hughes decided. Observing how Roy visibly relaxed at not being called on his hesitation.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, the improvised menu more than sufficient for filling empty stomachs. The sun was dipping down behind the mountains in the distance when the plate had been cleared and the darkness was encroaching steadily by the minute. By then Hughes had had enough of silence again, though it hadn’t been an awkward one like out in the clearing.

“So, how’s it feel to be struck by lightning?” he found himself asking, admitting that he was rather curious.

“I wasn’t hit by lightning, the tree was,” Roy replied casually. “I just got caught in the explosion.”

“Ah, right. You’d probably be nice and crispy if it’d hit you directly.”

Roy agreed with a nod, then carried on. “I actually don’t remember much. One moment I was there and the next thing I know you’re removing that log.” His explanation was logical enough, but Hughes found it rather odd that Roy could come out of all that with only a few scratches and bruises, it struck him as any combination of irrationally lucky and highly improbable.

Roy rose from the couch and began slowly circling the room again, this time earnestly looking at the pictures that lined the wall. After one wall he seemed to grow more contemplative. The pictures were in no particular order and sepia happily co-existed against the latest colour prints. Though the entire house was pretty much covered in photos, this room consisted of the family group pictures, which curiously always seemed to be taken in front of that tree.

Used to, Hughes corrected himself mentally.

As if reading his mind, Roy commented on just that.

“I am sorry about your tree. It seemed to mean a lot to your family.” Hughes watched him continue to walk, glancing from photo to photo.

“Yeah, you could say that. As far as I know it’s always been there, even before the first generation of my family settled here ages ago.” As an afterthought he added, “There’s even a fairy-tale that my parents used to tell me about it. Big morality type of deal. I always loved it personally, had all the earmarks of a good novel. It scared my older sister to death though.”

“Oh? Did some corrupt princess hold court there only to be usurped by the oppressed woodland creatures or something?” Roy asked, one eyebrow raised, obviously amused at two grown men talking about fairy tales of all things.

“Far from it,” Hughes laughed, the mental image amusing him to no end. “I’ll tell it to you if you like. It’s late and you’re not going to be able to get around out there in the dark. You might as well stay here tonight. There’s plenty of spare rooms.” Hughes slung his arms over the back of the couch, leaning his chin across the top, watching Roy’s reaction. The other man turned his head away, gazing off onto an indeterminate spot on another wall. Hughes recognised it as that same type of aversion he’d got earlier in the day; maybe he’d hit the same nerve. It gave him the feeling Roy didn’t trust him, not that the man didn’t like him per se, just that he didn’t trust him. Hughes wondered if he looked shifty or if Roy was like this to everyone.

“And besides, you wouldn’t want to leave without your pants, would you?” Hughes joked; knowing it was somewhat of a low blow, but not feeling guilty about using it.

“I guess you’re right,” Roy conceded hollowly, likely aware that he’d lose this fight. After all, Hughes and hospitality didn’t start with the same letter for nothing. Of course, hell also started with an ‘h’, but that was merely coincidence.

“So, would you like to hear the story behind the tree?” Hughes asked again, “I do have to warn you though that it’s a long one. My family’s been telling it to keep children out of trouble for ages so it drags a bit at parts.”

“As long as it doesn’t also put them to sleep,” Roy countered, sounding interested. He made his way back to the couch and sat down once more. It was dark outside now, and the room was beginning to glow with the orange glow of the roaring fire.

“No, nothing of the sort.” Hughes grabbed one of the quilts he’d brought down last night from where he’d left them piled on a nearby armchair and tossed it to Roy, taking another for himself. “It’s got a fair share of action, but I will skip the ‘once upon a time’ bit for you.”

“Appreciated.”

“Hundreds of years ago, during the time when this country was very young and not terribly stable,” Hughes began, leaving out the flowery narration he embellished the story with for his niece and instead telling it like his father had told it, around a campfire in the dead of night.