Incredulity has all the merits of sarcasm and then some.

A fire. A house fire even. Edward would have said that God was an ironical bastard had he believed in the deity, but as it was there was no sense of ironical otherworldly justice plaguing him.

He hadn't said a word during the funeral - he'd been the only one of the man's intimate circle who hadn't cried or given a soliloquy on what a good person the man was, what a good life he'd led and how the military took a heavy blow from the man's passing. He hadn't even opened his mouth, just staring blankly ahead and still trying to find what he felt above that sick, twisting sense of irony that was curling in his stomach.

He watched the coffin be lowered into the cold, regulation style military grave and noted that he was the only dry eye in the house. The First-lieutenant was giving him disgusted looks. Part of him said he deserved them for the simple lack of feeling but the bigger part was just screaming internally for her to back off, how could she possibly now what he was feeling right now? How could she know the hollow emptiness of his stomach, the dryness of his eyes (That were hot, so hot that they were burning and blistering and smouldering with the heat but nothing outside was showing this), the bitter tang that was rising in the back of his throat and threatened to make him gag - how could she?

But then - She had loved him too and it had only been blind luck that Edward got to him first.

So maybe she understood slightly, but not to the extent that he did, standing at the grave while everyone - even Al - had left for the wake. She had left early, being comforted and hugged by her mother (he supposed the old woman was her mother anyway) as he stood there just simply staring at the hole in the ground with the wooden casket covered with handfuls of dirt.

Only once he was the only one left did he finally let loose the scream of agony that had been threatening him through the whole of the ceremony.

Tears pouring down his cheeks, his legs gave way and he landed on all fours in front of the grave. "Mustang, you bastard." He whispered under his breath, looking at the casket which held all that was left of his one-time lover.

A/n: This was a result of my brother coming in to my room while I was watching FMA. He happened to come in just as Roy was snapping his fingers. His first comment? "It would be ironic if that man died in a fire."

...The idea would not leave me alone after that point. So - Blame my brother.

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