The Next Best Thing

As soon as he opened the door to let his superior officer into his meager and comfortably cluttered apartment, Havoc realized something was terribly wrong with Roy Mustang. It was in the way his usually calm and confident eyes darted, in the way that slender frame flinched away from every casual brush of contact.

‘Pretty sure I’m the fucked up one here…what the hell’s eating him?’ Havoc scratched at his head in sleepy bemusement as Roy gingerly decided to settle on the slightly lopsided couch.

“Right rear bit of the frame is broke to all hell.” Havoc explained settling on the chair currently serving as more of a coat rack. “I mean it. You don’t smell half drunk enough to have the world tilting on you. Its just crappy furniture.”

“…Ah. I see.”

Obviously Roy saw, and was not reassured. ‘Did I leave underwear in the living room again? Did he see some leftovers I forgot about? Are they growing an interesting new species of mold? Screw it. Not like I was expecting company. He can deal with the squalor.’

Havoc crossed his arms in a comfortable, definitely not defensive, position and leaned back in his chair. “So…seeing as it’s just about 4am, was there something you wanted to talk about?”

Roy flinched, and turned not quite focused eyes towards Havoc.

Havoc made the mistake of meeting said eyes.

There was a world of dementia in those black eyes, and Havoc had the uneasy feeling that a good part of it had to do with him. Not at all a comfortable situation to be in. ‘Can I have at least one sane superior officer? One that doesn’t have some sort of hang up that involves me? Please? Can I also have a new shotgun and some shiny new boots?’

The Powers That Be were apparently engaged elsewhere, as nothing changed, apart from the fact Roy shifted a bit so as to have his legs crossed in some sort of faint imitation of relaxation.

“If you aren’t going to talk, could I suggest going home and trying to get an hour or so of sleep before we have to get to work?”

“Ah…no. It’s been a bit of a…rough night.” Roy looked uncomfortable. If Havoc weren’t at least as uneasy with the current situation he would have taken a moment to gloat. It wasn’t often he got to see the great Roy Mustang off center.

“Well, I for one was enjoying an actual nights sleep before someone called, and sounded so shitty I decided it was worth crawling out of bed and putting on pants. Now, either talk, or go home so I can remove said pants and crawl back to bed for a bit more sleep.”

Maybe he had come off as too demanding. He had tried for more of a surly tone, with just enough insubordination to make a point. But, as Roy stumbled to his feet and started an unsteady advance across the room, Havoc frantically wished he had just sat and stared at his toes until the other man had gotten bored enough to leave. No…no…this was not happening. If denial had the ability to warp reality Havoc would have found himself on a beach somewhere with a classy drink…

Reality stayed firmly in place, and imparted itself with all too tactile glory upon a terrified Havoc. Lips, slightly rough, ground into his, hands clenched tight on his shoulders. He was not in control of the situation…he was completely not in control. He hated the little whimper that squeezed its way out of his chest, hated the way his bladder seemed inclined to empty itself, at the way he could fear moisture beading at the corner of his eyes. This was not what he wanted. This was completely not what he wanted…

Havoc did the one thing he was inclined to do in such a situation. He started to cry. He hated himself for it, hated feeling so utterly beaten, but…this…coming from Roy…it really was too much.

Roy stumbled back as the first sob shook its way through Havoc’s frame, eyes wide with a frantic sort of denial. Havoc just sat there, eyes clenched shut in a vain attempt to avoid the situation, sobbing.

Roy had never hated himself as much as he did right then.

Correction, he hated himself more for the fact he fled.

Leaving Havoc to pull his knees up against his chest, rocking slightly, choking through his panicked weeping.