The canteen was small and dark, the scent of old smoke and stale whiskey clinging to the faded and scratched wood of the bar and stools. The only light came from naked bulbs that hung from the ceiling - old and fading and flickering. Outside it was dark, and desperate moths beat their wings against the high windows in a desperate need for whatever light they could find. The smell of smoke - wood smoke, destruction smoke, bone smoke - lingered beneath the alcohol and tobacco.

Maes Hughes took a long drag off of his cigarette, listening to the sounds of the bar and the night. It was quiet now in the small border town, full of creaks and whines and the occasional pop as another bulb gave up the ghost. And twining seamlessly with the empty sounds of the night was the labored breathing of Roy Mustang.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Hughes said quietly, flicking a drift of ashes into a grubby tray. “You weren’t alone out there, you know.”

Silence greeted the words, and Hughes shrugged. He wasn’t going to push and he wasn’t going to offer platitudes. This wasn’t the time or the place, no matter what it was that Roy was battling with inside.

“You didn’t see.”

Hughes leaned his head on his hand and watched Roy carefully. The words had been choked and small, spoken into a glass of something strong.

“You didn’t see what happened.”

“No, I didn’t.” Hughes nodded, his cigarette dangling carelessly from between his fingers. “But I’ve seen a lot. And what it all comes down to is that war sucks. It sucks for us, it sucks for them, and it sucks for everybody caught in between. And there are always people who get caught in between. It isn’t your fault.”

“You don’t understand.”

The empty coldness to Roy’s words sat uneasily with Hughes, lack of emotion more troubling than sorrow or regret. At first he’d passed it off to simple shell shock - it happened more often than most young soldiers thought.

“You didn’t see what I did.”

No, it wasn’t shell shock. Survivor’s guilt was a better guess Hughes decided, if unconventional. Roy hadn’t been part of a battalion or lost any comrades.

“You did what you were told. It’s what we all do, at least until we get high enough to get away with bending the rules. And they make damn sure that we follow orders. Why do you think there’s hardly any one on one combat in these things? It’s easy to kill someone if you can’t see their face. They aren’t real that way. You’re not a part of it.” Hughes snubbed his cigarette in the tray and signaled for another round of drinks. I wasn’t going to help, but it wasn’t going to make anything worse, either.

“Not a part of it.” Roy made a sound that was half laugh and half sob. “And when they tell you to cut down innocent people? When you stand right there and watch them die? How is that not being a part of it?”

“Roy… killing someone doesn’t make you a killer.” Hughes rubbed his temples and tried to find the words that were needed. The only problem was that he didn’t know if there were words.

“Then what does?”

“Killing someone and enjoying it. And doing it again. Everyone here knew what risk they were taking….”

“Risk. Soldiers take risks. Rebels take risks. They were doctors, Maes.”

“In the middle of a war. For god’s sake, Roy, it isn’t like you kicked down the door to their house and shot them in cold blood. If you’d done that… well, you can bet that I wouldn’t be here making sure you don’t drown yourself in your drink.” Hughes knocked back his drink in one go, the burn in his throat almost welcome.

“I feel dead inside.”

“That doesn’t mean you are.” Hughes reached out carefully and rested his hand on Roy’s wrist, establishing some connection between Roy and reality. He’d seen this sort of thing before, but seeing Roy slumped down over the bar like a broken thing was something altogether unexpected. He felt the tendons in Roy’s wrist tense and jump under his hand before he saw the other man’s shoulders tremble.

“How do you know? You weren’t there, you didn’t see. I can still see it, every time I close my eyes. And I can’t… I don’t…” The rest of Roy’s words were swallowed by a tremor. Hughes tossed a few bills on the bar to pay for their drinks and looked around the empty bar room.

“Come on,” he urged, glancing around the empty bar. “Let’s get you upstairs and cleaned up and into bed.”

Roy didn’t protest as Hughes eased him up off of the barstool and led him up the stairs, supporting Roy’s weight with an arm slung under the other man’s. Roy stank of alcohol and sweat, and Hughes could see now that his friend’s hair was limp and unwashed. What it came down to, Hughes decided, was that Roy would move past this or he wouldn’t.

“I need your room key,” Hughes reminded the other man, and simply went fishing about in Roy’s pockets when he received no answer. Roy’s room was small and cramped and disheveled, and Hughes instructed him to sit on the bed while he pulled out a pair of clean pajamas.

“You need a shower, you stink.” Hughes offered a small smile as he went to run the shower, letting the water run so it would turn hot. He continued to watch Roy carefully, worried but not wanting to show it. In a few days Roy would be back to his old self. This would pass.

“You don’t need to stay.”

“Eh?” Hughes laughed and shook his head. “Of course I do. Who’s going to make sure you’re presentable if I don’t?”

“I mean it, Maes. This isn’t your problem.”

“Alright, that’s enough. It’s your problem so it’s my problem. And it’s not a ‘problem’. You think you’re the first solider who’s had to do something like this? It happens. And either you get over it, or it gets to you. You feel guilty and you feel angry and…”

“I don’t feel anything.”

Hughes sighed and pulled Roy back up off of the bed. “How many drinks did you have? I probably wouldn’t feel anything either. Come on, a shower will do you good.” All Hughes wanted was some sign that Roy wasn’t just sinking into true depression. Something that would ease those nagging little doubts that Roy wouldn’t be alright after a shower and a good night’s sleep.

The water was hot now, and Hughes helped Roy undress, supporting him and handling the tricky things such as buttons and socks. The discarded clothes were folded neatly and set aside, and Hughes rolled up his sleeves to keep them from getting wet.

“Come on, in you go.” Hughes kept his hand on Roy’s lower back, wincing at how thin the other man seemed. Roy stood beneath the hot water, his forehead pressed against the tiles of the shower. Not surprised, Hughes reached for the soap and began lathering up Roy’s hair, frowning at the apathy that had seized his friend.

“They don’t pay me enough for this,” Hughes joked, his skin reddening from the hot water.

“I told you to go,” Roy said.

“Relax, I’m kidding. What are friends for, huh? Besides, this is pretty good blackmail material you know.” Hughes rinsed Roy’s hair, smoothing out the tangles with his fingers. “There we go.”

After the water was turned off, Roy stepped out of the shower more or less on his own. Hughes reached for a towel and wrapped it around Roy’s shoulders, squinting through the fog on his glasses.

“Think you can dry yourself?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Roy took the towel as though it were something foreign, staring at it a moment before sluggishly rubbing at his hair with it. Hughes took the opportunity to wipe his glasses of steam.

“Feeling any better?” It was probably too much to hope, but Hughes could try.

“No.” Roy tossed the towel aside and reached for the pair of pants that Hughes offered, stepping into them without meeting Hughes’ eyes.

“Roy…”

“I need to feel something.”

“I figured that,” Hughes said, and he pulled Roy into a clumsy hug. Roy was damp against him, warm from the shower and limp. These moments between them were rare, the times and places never being quite right. “I think we all need that, sometimes.”

“I think I drank too much.”

“I think you did, too.” Hughes chuckled softly, just relieved to hear something rational and mundane from Roy. He patted Roy’s back, letting the other man cling to him. Roy’s hands tightened around the fabric of Hughes’ shirt, his shoulders shaking once more. Hughes opened his mouth to let Roy know that is was alright, he could let it out however he needed to, but decided against it.

“I’m so numb. Inside. There‘s nothing. Please…”

Hughes looked down, curious as Roy pulled back even while gripping his shirt. And Roy was looking back at him, eyes dark and bright and searching. ‘Please what‘, Hughes began to say, but he was cut off by Roy’s lips suddenly there against his own. It was both surprising and expected. Roy had been drinking, Roy wasn’t quite himself, Roy was at a place where the desperate and manic seemed rational. And Hughes had long known his friend’s feelings, unspoken and unreturned though they were. Reading people was a well honed skill.

“Roy…” The kiss had only lasted a few seconds, but the brevity was extended by the neediness, the anguish that was all too apparent in Roy’s lips. The pain and wide eyed horror in Roy’s eyes cut Hughes like a knife, slicing through him to the bone.

“I’m sorry. I just…”

“I know.” Hughes held onto Roy tightly, the press of the other man’s lips still warm on his own. He just wanted to feel, to be reminded he was alive and that life was still good. That he was still good. And now he clung to Hughes as though that was all he had, one reckless kiss and a handful of bitter tears. That wasn’t anything a man should hold on to. Roy didn’t need anything else that was hollow or senseless or empty. That Hughes could understand. In the dim steam warm bath of the cheap hotel room, Hughes tipped Roy’s face up with a shaking hand and returned the kiss.

“Maes…” It was Roy who turned away now, shaking and damp and struggling. “Don’t. Don’t give me your pity.”

“This isn’t pity, you numbskull.” Hughes rested his forehead against Roy’s, a chill creeping in through the windows and making him shiver. “You know me better than that.”

That was, Hughes decided, all that Roy needed. Because Roy was pressed against him suddenly, grasping like a dying man at the back of Hughes’ shirt. It was sudden and frantic and Hughes had to gently push Roy away before they both fell. Another time he would have laughed at the helpless confusion on Roy’s face as he was pushed away, but he only shook his head.

“Let’s move this somewhere more comfortable, alright? Maybe you’re used to quickies in the toilet, but some of us have a little class.” That almost brought a smile from Roy. Hughes saw the corners of his lips twitch, almost like a dying thing. They had only just made it to the bedroom before Roy was clutching him again, and Hughes held him in return.

It was a strange and new thing, to be the subject of this frenzied need. Roy’s hands were everywhere at once, Roy’s lips insistent and demanding on Hughes’ own, Roy’s body hard and tight against his own where he was so used to soft and round. But it was Roy, and Roy needed him, and they both tasted of whiskey and cigarettes and unwanted memories.

“Here.” Hughes broke away from Roy’s kiss, his glasses skewed and his breathing heavy as he moved his hands to undo the buttons of his shirt before Roy tore them off in frustration. He tossed the shirt aside and reached out to Roy, running a hand through the other man’s still damp hair. He leaned forward, catching Roy’s lips once more in a slower kiss - a lover’s kiss. He could feel the edge of the bed against his thighs but made no move to pull Roy into it.

“I need you,” Roy whispered, husky and labored. Hughes nodded, moving his head as Roy kissed along his neck and shoulder, his own hands cautiously exploring the smooth plains of Roy’s naked back. He could feel Roy against him through the thin fabric their pants, surprised to realize that he was as affected as the other man. His skin under Roy’s lips and tongue grew heated and flushed. Hughes found himself groaning as Roy moved against him, the friction between them welcome and good. Hughes gripped Roy’s hips, holding him there, pressing himself tightly against his friend. Roy pressed back, hands clasped to Hughes’ shoulder and face buried in Hughes’ neck. That delirious need was back, Roy’s movements frenzied and urgent and met with the same. There was no stronger reminder of life than sex, even this shadow of sex, this fevered dance of lips and hands and want was a burning sign of life. Even knowing it was a man he was moving against, Hughes found himself growing tight, the small noises Roy made against his throat somehow more intimate and exciting than the feel of Roy’s hands or lips on his skin, or Roy’s erection pressed against his own. He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt himself pushed over the edge, groaning aloud and keeping his hips pressed firmly against Roy’s. His skin was warm and flushed even in the cold room, and he held Roy tightly as the other man continued to move against him. And then Hughes felt Roy grip him and tense, going still for just a moment and making some keening noise against his throat. He felt the warmth of Roy’s climax against his thigh and Roy was lax in his arms.

They stood there for a few moments, damp with sweat and weak. Hughes stroked Roy’s hair, holding the smaller man close against him. It felt alright, really, to have done this and to be here. But the silence was heavy and Hughes felt it stretching, threatening to grow awkward.

“These were new pants, you know,” he finally said, his voice muffled by Roy’s hair. Roy shook in his arms, and Hughes pulled away for a moment, concerned. Roy was laughing, manically and hysterically. And then, sinking back once more against Hughes, he began to cry. He cried softly and painfully, shaking until they were both dry and cold and stiff-legged. But Hughes held him, letting him have his much needed release. When Roy had gone silent, Hughes pulled away and turned down the bed, saying nothing.

“Maes…”

“No more talking,” Hughes said, sternly. “You need to sleep. Get into bed, get some rest, and tomorrow morning I’m making sure you have a decent breakfast.”

“Will you be here in the morning?” Roy asked, sinking down into the bed. Hughes ran a hand through his hair, aware of all the things that one question was asking. But there was only one that was important, only one that really mattered. That was Roy, even now worrying about repercussions and backlash. But there were none, nothing having passed between them other that a brief moment of needing and giving.

“Yeah,” Hughes said, kicking off his shoes and sitting on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, I’ll be here in the morning. Now sleep, Roy, I mean it. You should be tired after all that, you know.”

Roy nodded and there was another glimmer of a smile before he pulled the covers up over himself and sank down into the worn mattress. Hughes watched him in the dim glow of the naked bulb until he fell asleep, then put out the light and joined him in the narrow bed. He lay back beneath the covers, aware of Roy’s steady breathing beside him. The room was quiet and dark, the sliver of the moon outside the window offering nothing but light shadows. In the dim quiet of the cheap hotel bedroom, Hughes turned onto his side and pulled Roy close to him, holding him comfortably. Everybody needs to remember they’re alive sometimes, Hughes thought to himself as he gave in to his own exhaustion, Roy’s sleeping body a warm reminder against him.