By Henrika

This is after episode 25! You've been warned.

Based on a picture of Roy I found in one of the opening/endings. Look around at some of the websites like Devil's Nest and other and I'm sure you'll be able to find it.

Henrika- This is angsty beyond belief. I wasn't originally going to do it from Roy's POV, but he butted his way in, so I did. Enjoy!

On a special note, I love my reviewers! You guys are awesome and so very appreciated! And the hit counter for "Family" says 224! I know that's doesn't mean that that many people have read it since it's cumulative for all chapters and some people just click on it, but wow, that's awesome!

They had awarded me for murder.

That was all I could see the medals they had given me as. Two tiny metal medallions that hang on dress uniform, things I could mentally deconstruct into their individual elements and the killings they represented. I couldn't calculate the number of bodies I'd laid waste to with just a single snap of my fingers, but the amount never seemed to equate to the fact that I had been rewarded for it.

An ice cube clinks in my glass and I swirl the bourbon idly, staring out the window at stars that I can't see through the haze of alcohol and street lights. I'm alone in my apartment, drinking at the desk in my room. My eyes drift down to the framed photograph in front of me. "Maes." That off-handed grin was plastered on his face, the same look he always had when he told me to get a wife. He also told me not to drink alone; said I'd become an alcoholic. "But you're not here to keep me at least partially sober, are you?" I addressed the photograph, inclining the glass at it.

It didn't respond, so I took a drink, the familiar burn running down the back of my throat. My jacket was open and I shivered, though the room wasn't cold. "The Great Roy Mustang, drinking alone in the dark." I slumped back against my chair, again staring into the hazy light filtering through my window. I knew I should stop, go to bed, something other than letting the alcohol direct my thoughts. I knew where that would lead, but I didn't stop and soon enough I had pulled my dress uniform from the back of my closet and laid it out on my bed.

I fingered the smooth ribbons, traced the rank insignia. Nothing like the rough material of my gloves, nothing to say of the people I sacrificed to reach this far. I pressed my thumb into the design raised above the medal metal, putting pressure on it until it was imprinted in my skin. "What would life be like if you could see the blood on my hands?" I asked to no one in particular as I examined the tiny indention.

They had honored me for slaughter. I thought of Kimbley. He had enjoyed it. Reveled in every drop of blood and every terrified scream. He killed without regard for friend or for; the Ally killer they called him. And yet, how was I any different? Weren't they all just bodies in the end? We didn't have the right to take life, now matter what our superiors told us. That idealistic train of thought made me think of Full Metal for a moment. What had I condemned him to? Kimbley killed everyone; I killed who I was told. Wasn't he fairer? Yet I'm the one who has rose up in the ranks, while he's locked in prison. Was…I learned that he recently broke out. I wondered idly what he would do now.

They gave me medals for my service, for the sins I had committed. And I had received them with honor, all the while running through the theories on human transmutation I knew in the back of my mind.

I slid off the bed, retrieving my bourbon and emptying the glass. I pulled the jacket down around me, numbly working my arms into the sleeves before leaning back against the bed frame. The medals chimed together.

I looked at them, again looking over at Hughes' smile. "You know, for something so small," I grasped the cool discs of metal resting over my heart. "These things are awfully damn heavy."

Henrika- I love the last line. It fits, doesn't it?