A Sinner's Flower

Title: A Sinner’s Flower

Author: R. Brightside (Co-authoring with BrucesGirl

Pairings: Scar/Roy (Implications of Roy/Maes and Roy/Ed)

Warnings: Angst, WAFF, Character Death, Spoilers

Disclaimers: Heh. We don’t own FMA because if we did, Roy would have Ed bent over his desk, and Hughes would be overseeing the entire ordeal, grinning like an idiot the entire time. And then we’d be rich. But we’re broke because we don’t get any money from our fabulous writing.


Roy Mustang was taking a walk. Why he was taking a walk near enough to the middle of the night, especially when he was meant to be searching for the Lior rebels? Every other state alchemist who saw him walking through the light patter of rain ignored him, but they felt pity for him as well.

His hair was sticking to his face, obscuring his vision, but he couldn't find the ambition to move the strands of dark hair from his equally dark eyes. He shook his head in a dog-like manner, but the stubborn hairs didn't budge.

The Flame Alchemist sighed, a frown creasing his brow. Scar. He was rumored to be here, but no-one had seen him just yet. After all, the forces had only just got there. Troops tramped past him, their boots kicking up puddles of settled rain and soaking his trouser legs.

Roy sighed, leaning against the nearest alleyway wall and taking a long swig from a concealed whiskey flask. He'd needed it, after all - the pleasant burn soothed his throat, just as his flames warmed his fingers. But, like most things, they both came with terrible memories.

~*~*~*~

The shadows were comforting. He found them clinging to his body as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop, masking his movements to anyone below perfectly. He’d always liked nature’s ability to allow the more sinister sides of society play in the light while her defenders lurked about in the dark.

He watched as the Flame Alchemist leaned against the wall. Usually, the colonel was poised and arrogant, but today, he was defeated, walking in the rain, the water rendering him defenseless against any attackers.

Fire and water just don’t mix. He paused over the corner of the building that led down to the alleyway, just above the officer, and then, he silently dropped down in front of him, his crimson eyes meeting dead black. “I’ve come for your head.” He warned quietly.

“You won’t have time to scream.” He raised his arm to blow the handsome man’s brains out of the back of his head, but something gave him pause. Sorrow, thick and dark, emanated from the alchemist’s consciousness, and Scar paused. “You look like shit.” He declared.

Roy was completely defenseless - like a kitten without it's mother. As Scar appeared in front of him, he dropped the flask in surprise, but didn't move otherwise. He didn't have Riza to defend him, and he didn't have any power in the rain.

"It appears I do have time to scream, Scar." The Colonel's voice was hoarse, but soft, raw from the alcohol and the tears he had shed earlier. His dark eyes were uncaring and tired, even in the face of the currently most wanted, and in possible death.

Gloom hung over him in a thick cloud, and the chance to be rid of his life was welcoming. He felt like he hadn't slept since Maes' death.

Hughes...

Roy ran a hand through his hair, looking up at the taller man. "But it seems that I don't have my throat in perfect order, and I don't feel the intense need to." Scar’s scarlet eyes narrowed slightly. The Colonel WANTED to die. He lowered his arm and gazed into the midnight black eyes before making a decision.

His hand snatched out, and his cold, wet fingers wrapped around Roy’s wrist and he dragged him neatly down the alley, away from the street lamps. “Tell me everything you know about the massacre. I know you were there. I know you killed doctors. I want to know why they wanted to destroy God’s people!”

The tall Ishbalan threw the slender figure against a wall entrapped in shadows, a good ways away from the street, and he entrapped him with a cage of strong, thick arms on either side of his head. “TALK!” All Roy could see of Scar were his red eyes, only just caught in the moonlight above them.

It made the experience of his looming death just that bit more daunting.

Of course, if he really wanted to know what he did...

"On the subject of why... I have no idea. There was a rebellion... and so, we were forced to retaliate." Roy's eyes lower, unnoticeably, in the dark of the alley. "I have as many bad memories as you do. You may not feel regret in killing all these Alchemists, but I feel regret in everything I've done. In fact, I wouldn't be standing here now had I been stopped by one of higher status."

Now, Roy was mourning for everything else. Having to remember all of his past... He was very tempted to swear at Scar for making him spill his Whiskey on the ground. He definitely needed some, now.

The back of his throat stung with unshed tears, making him just that bit more bitter about the situation. "If you're going to kill me, then get it over with. I don't know anything more, and I am of nuisance to everyone at this point in time."

A nuisance? Scar raised his hand again, the tattoos on his arm hard to see in the darkness, but he only wordlessly shrugged off his rainproof trench coat and put it over the colonel’s shoulders before roughly shoving him forward deeper into the alley. “We can talk where it’s dry.”

Leading off into an abandoned building, Scar pulled Roy into a creaking door and then closed it. “Your gloves are wet.” He commented. He struck a match and lit a torch on the wall before stepping into the building, not bothering to drag Roy behind him. Roy looked at his hands, and the material was indeed soaked through.

He crouched in front of the fireplace, his long legs gracefully folding beneath him. It took him a few seconds to get the fireplace roaring, and he growled to himself. “Of all the times I wished your gloves were NOT wet…”

Apparently, the idea of killing Roy had been satiated by curiosity for the time being. His strong, stoic face was illuminated seductively by the fire, and he led the officer into a small room where a comfortable makeshift bed and fireplace was located.

Roy took off the gloves, and put them down in front of the fire, the warmth starting the slow process of evaporating the water within them. He sat down, looking away from the fire, trying to imagine away the warmth.

Scar's scent was heady on the trench coat... a wonderful, comforting musk, no cologne to spoil it. He himself hadn't put on any this morning, leaving his own dark scent on his clothes and skin. The Ishbalan was, now that Roy looked, incredibly handsome - high cheekbones, beautifully shaped eyes...

He resisted the urge to run his fingers over the scar over the man's face, instead folding his arms across his chest and speaking softly. "If you don't mind my asking... how did you get that scar?"

He self-consciously ran his fingers over the scar and stared into the fire evenly. “The Crimson Alchemist. That bastard Kimbley that you all are so fond of.” He ran long, scarred fingers through his platinum hair and turned back to Roy, his vermillion eyes narrowing slightly.

“I know you’re lying about the uprising. There was no uprising. The people had no reason to start a war with the military.” He turned away back to the fire and then settled on the make shift rug in front of the hearth. He seemed completely unconcerned that Roy might escape, and he certainly didn’t seem to mind his presence. Instead, he asked questions as opposed to killing him.

“What happened to Maes Hughes?” He asked quietly. “Did that have anything to do with the massacre?”

Roy sunk deeper into the trench coat, the musk that rose from it oh-so-appealing. "He was shot. It could have been by anyone. It is a possibility that my superiors thought it was an Ishbalan... but I was told that there had been an uprising, and that we needed to subdue them."

He still remember seeing Hughes, the bullet fired from a very small distance away, the bullet buried deep inside his brain. Roy bowed his head, gritting his teeth against the tears that threatened. Yet, they still poured down his face, one after the other, his body trembling.

And then they stopped, and he pulled his knees up to his chest, as if pretending that his throat didn't burn, that his eyes didn't sting, that his heart didn't ache.

“Hmn.” Scar murmured quietly. He could feel Mustang’s tears, and he tried to ignore them, but the evidence of other happenings was substantial. “He was the investigator for the case. I’m not sure, but I’m assuming the came across something important.” He let the rest slide when he turned and saw the mess that Roy Mustang was in, and the pieces fell neatly into place.

Defeated in the rain.

Wearing his gloves.

Wanting to die.

Knowing Scar was there.

Drinking whiskey.

‘A nuisance to others’.

Hughes and Mustang had been lovers.

The crimson eyes reflected the light of the fire as he shifted his body to fully face the colonel’s, and he pulled at the trench coat. “You’ll get sick and die. Not that I will lose anything by it. But the Elric boys…They’ve lost enough already.” Not that he cared. Or did he?

Roy felt the comforting warmth of the coat slip away, and he looked up at Scar with dark, red-rimmed eyes. He managed a weak laugh, the noise near enough to a croak. "The Flame Alchemist... dying of staying in the rain. How fitting."

Roy felt weak, unable to move. He rested his forehead on his arms once again, wiping away the tears that welled up once again. It made him vaguely ill that Scar knew why he was brooding - he could tell by the tone of the Ishbalan's voice, his sudden kindness, that he knew his secret, so well concealed form the rest of the military.

No wonder he'd escaped from their clutches so many times. He was surprisingly smart. "Edward and Alphonse don't need me. They've almost found what their looking for, and I was merely a stepping stone to their goal, maybe not even that."

Scar thought for a moment before hanging the coat on the back of a rickety chair in front of the fire and standing, his lithe, graceful body moving like a sleek panther in the firelight. He dug in his bag and pulled out a simple Ishbalan muslin shirt and a pair of linen pants, both white, clean, and dry, and tossed them at the colonel.

Without a single word, he sat with his back to the colonel, face to the fire, one leg bent at the knee so that he could rest his arm on it, and the other behind him, the hip of his hand supporting him to stay up. “I would urge you to reconsider your ideas of how the boy and his brother think of you.” He answered simply.

Roy reminded him of himself not too long ago, and Scar nearly wanted to break his ice burg facade and comfort the officer, but he’d never lower himself to the level of a military dog.

Roy pulled off his military jacket, shrugging it off, and then unbuttoning the shirt with clumsy, fumbling fingers. He found himself somewhere between tears and laughter, and opted for the latter. He'd gotten stuck on the last button, just like Hughes always had, in their rush to have sex in the closet while Riza was away doing paperwork.

Roy pulled the shirt over his head, smile faded but still there. He slipped on the thin white shirt, once again with Scar's scent all over it. The Flame Alchemist stood up to slip off his pants, and after some consideration on whether his boxers were dry or wet, they came off as well, and he slipped on the linen pants ones given to him.

He relaxed on the floor again, the warmth of the fire comforting without memories for once since that massacre. The Colonel began to reconsider, as Scar had 'urged' him to, and came to the conclusion that it was likely they saw him as a superior, but not much else.

It was respect, but not admiration, that they looked up at him with.

And, to be honest, he wasn't surprised at that.

When the rustling was over with, Scar gazed behind himself, and he felt some smug satisfaction that the great and powerful Flame Alchemist was in his enemy’s sleeping clothes, curled up in front his enemy’s fire, and looking like a lost child on a snowy day.

He touched the gloves that lay so innocently in front of the fire and he noted that they were dry. He didn’t touch them beyond that, instead leaving them alone and staring back into the fire. “Have you released all your past ghosts?” Scar asked cryptically.

He pulled his still damp shirt from his body, exposing bronzed, thick muscles to the warmth of the fire, and he leaned back on his hand again. “You’ll never be able to help them if you don’t help yourself first.”

Roy frowned, and snorted. "You sound like an old man, you know that?" He remarked, one eyebrow slightly quirked. He sighed softly, his frown turning to a scowl.

"Yeah, well in that case, they'll be waiting for me to stop mourning before I even bother to think. They don't need me for now. They're making good progress. I'm here because I'm meant to be hunting for the Lior rebels. My real reason for coming here is to die - even if it takes sitting out in the rain and dying of a cold."

Scar visibly stiffened at Roy’s reason for coming to Lior even though he already knew it in his heart. He glared at the colonel and then stood, his fists clenched harshly. The beautiful tattoo of his brother’s arm wrapped around the lean muscles beautifully before disappearing into his shoulder, and he raised it to Roy.

“You want to die?” He stepped forward and tangled his strong fingers in the younger man’s ebony locks and pulled him to his feet painfully. As Roy was lifted up by his hair, he yelped, and then as he was pulled at least an inch off the ground, he found himself gripping Scar's forearm tightly with both hands and using it as a support to keep his hair from being torn out.

“You are pathetic. The Roy Mustang that Edward Elric told me about is not this sniveling coward I’m seeing in front of me.”

He shook Roy slightly, trying to jar some sense into him. “He told me you were his only support.” Scar held the alchemist’s face mere inches from his own. “Well? What do you have to say for that?”

"He should have been clearer to me, perhaps, that I was the support he relied on. Because I am ignored or insulted by the brat near enough all the time." He snapped, eyes narrowing. "He's welcome to fall back on me, but he hasn't done so as of yet, always managing to find some other branch to hold onto on the way down."

The pulling on his hair was really beginning to get painful. "For fucks sake, put me down! If you aren't going to kill me, then put me the fuck down!"

Ah.

There was the fire he was looking for. He abided by the Flame Alchemist’s demand, and he let Roy’s feet touch the floor, but the fingers in the ebony hair didn’t completely release. Instead, the death grip was released, and he found himself just allowing the black silk to move over his fingers as he soothed the scalp he’d just pulled on viciously.

“I don’t give a shit about you. However, I made a promise to Alphonse, and I will keep it.” He’d promised to help. Promise to protect. And this…man. This alchemist kept the boys happy and safe.

“End your useless suffering!” He snapped.

With that, his strong, chapped lips slammed down on the alchemist’s, fully intent on driving Hughes from his delicate mind. Roy's breath caught as rough lips were pressed against his, going tense. This was wrong. He shouldn't be allowing Scar to do this... not while he was still mourning.

But he found himself melting against the Ishbalan, his arms moving to rest his elbows against Scar's shoulders and his fingers threading through the white hair gently, fingertips rubbing against the man's scalp, just as was being done to him.

Scar had intended it to be just a dominating kiss. Just to remind the colonel that there was more out there than his dead boyfriend, but the moment the slender body melted against his and those dangerous, flawless fingers sifted through the white silk of his hair, Scar lost his objective.

He tightened his fingers in the tangle of ebony hair and slanted Roy’s lips against him to press the kiss tighter and make it deeper, but in the end, he only succeeded on stoking his own fire of lust hotter.

Scar didn’t know when he’d started pushed the smaller man back to the makeshift bed in the corner, but he only noticed it after he’d shoved the alchemist down into the clean sheets of his bed on top of a warm wool blanket. Scar hovered down over him, his crimson eyes searching the colonel’s face wordlessly.

Roy looked up expectantly at Scar, and all he could focus on were those amazingly seductive eyes searching his. He cupped the Ishbalan’s cheek in his hand, leaning up to kiss his softly, tenderly, all that was behind it the lust and need and felt then, telling Scar exactly what he wanted, with the submission lulling the Ishbalan to a more tender way of doing things - or so he hoped.

The response of tenderness almost stalled Scar from doing what he wanted. Roy Mustang was not a rough lover. There were no scars on his neck or shoulders that the shirt revealed on him. There were no bruises on his wrists or his legs, and he noted that his lips did not kiss back as forcefully as he would have desired them to.

“No. This will be done my way, Flame Alchemist.” He growled quietly. Again, his lips met Roy’s in a heated, nearly violent kiss, but he was careful so as not to cut or bite too harshly. He wanted the younger man to enjoy this as well. He broke the kiss momentarily before he yanked the white shirt over Roy’s head and then met his lips again in heated passion. He tasted like whiskey…and fire.

God forgive him.

Roy was taken aback by the violence of the kiss, but responded with just as much hunger as Scar pressed against him with. Trying another tactic, he parted his lips slightly, pressing his tongue against the firm line between Scar's, in the most seductive way he could. This would be done his way, and he was going to seduce the man until he gave in, no matter what it took.

Just like fire. Gentle and curling until a wave of it hits you and burns you away, Scar noted to himself. He refused to allow the man beneath him to take over the situation, but he still allowed him this one small victory, and Scar gentled the kiss. While he preferred his actions to be dominating and rough, his skill as a slow lover was never turned down.

He kissed Roy thoroughly, allowing his hands to run along the lithe, well muscled chest of the alchemist, memorizing each line and scar. One hand was innocent, but the other, marked with the brooding tattoo of his brother, could have ended the colonel’s life right there…and yet…he was gentle.

Scar's gentle touch was much appreciated - Roy shivered and moaned softly against him, the feeling different - dominant, and strong, and yet gentle. The Flame Alchemist hooked one leg over Scar's strong hips, pulling them closer and pressing their arousals together, causing Roy to gasp into the soft kiss.

Scar could almost feel the strings break around them as Roy submitted to his touches, but at the same time, he wanted Roy to feel that anger and pain that he’d harbored inside of him for all these years. He wanted to feel Roy’s fury as he dug his nails into Scar’s back as he buried himself inside the colonel’s lithe body.

He made a particularly harsh thrust before gazing down at the man below him, his crimson eyes shining in intensity.

“What do you want?” He demanded. “Tell me.”

Roy nearly winced at Scar's blunt words, but instead, a soft flush came to his cheeks. "Prepare me. Gently?" This was spoken in a pleading tone, but Roy doubted he'd get what he wanted. After all, Scar hated all State Alchemists. It wasn't likely that the Ishbalan was going to take it easy on him at all.

Scar considered the plea for a moment. If he did what he truly wanted, he’d hurt the officer, and then, it wouldn’t be pleasurable for either of them. This sex wasn’t about domination. Rather, Scar wanted to peel away the exoskeletons around the young man’s heart carefully, so that he would be stronger in the long run.

Hurting him would do nothing to accomplish that.

Slowly, he peeled away the warm linen pants that Roy wore, and he pressed two long, lithe fingers to his own lips and wet them. His index finger traveled down Roy’s length, and then, underneath to gently rub and prod at the rosebud entrance to Roy’s body. “Breathe…” He whispered before closing his lips over the brunette’s, and he eased his finger inside of his tight body.

Roy bit back at whimper at the searing, stinging pain Scar's finger caused, pressing back into the kiss roughly, needing something to distract him.
He'd never been one for pain, and it showed - his inner walls clamped down on Scar's finger, and a pained expression showed on his face. He tried his best to relax, and finally managed so, after a few moments.

Scar nearly groaned at the tight heat that wrapped itself around his digit like a hot, boiling clamp. Roy was hot velvet, and Scar wanted with everything that he was to bury himself inside of the smaller man. He took in the soft whimpers and moans as they came, demanding a more gentle kiss to calm Roy and relax him from his tenseness.

“Is this what you want to do to him?” He asked quietly. He made no qualms about whom he was talking about. “To have his legs wrapped around you…metal and flesh?”

"He's a child." Roy snapped, irritated by the pain. His muscles relaxed completely around Scar's finger, not as tight as before. As a mere afterthought, he added, "It's my dick talking, not my head." He murmured, eyes connecting with Scar's, showing his irritation and lust.

Scar wanted to slap him. Ed might have been young in age, but the boy had already seen enough to send most men to one of the laboratories or worse…to an insane asylum for the war heroes of the Ishbalan Massacre. He gave his affection freely to Roy without asking anything in return.

It may not have been sexual favors, but nonetheless, he was as respectful as he could be considering the circumstances. Scar added a second finger, and then he gazed down into the onyx orbs, his lips set in a thin line. He didn’t bother to wait before the fingers were buried inside of Roy’s body roughly in a testament to his annoyance with the man’s denials.

Roy yelped, hands fisting on Scar's back and nails digging in. That hurt – a lot. The Colonel grit his teeth against any more sounds, knowing that Scar was annoyed at him. Of course, he should have predicted that Scar would get violent if he didn't like the way he spoke, or such of the like.

Scar’s hands gentled as soon as the hurt cry was issued from Roy’s lips, and he curled his fingers gently, pressing against the soft mound of nerves inside of his body. There were plenty of things that Scar could have said, but he chose instead to remain silent, his hands doing the talking for him. He leaned forward and tool Roy in a possessive, brutal kiss that contrasted the gentle motions of his fingers as he added a third.

Roy arched with a heady gasp as his prostate was rubbed against, and then whimpered against Scar's lips as he was stretched further. His closed his eyes as tight as he could, pressing into the kiss. The chapped, rough lips pressed against his were addictive, Roy concluded, and that in itself was distracting. His own lips felt bruised and sensitive, and strangely, he treasured the feeling, hoping it would last even after the encounter.

Scar didn’t like the fact that he could not get Mustang to admit that he wanted Edward, but he saw it in the onyx orbs the moment he looked down. He broke the kiss and gazed down at Mustang evenly, his dark crimson eyes shimmering with lust and something else that couldn’t quite be explained. “You should stop me.” He stated stoically.

Roy returned the lustful gaze, panting softly. "But I'm not going to."
He needed this - needed to feel something different. And considering that Scar currently had three fingers within him, he was the fast-track towards the completion he so desperately wanted.

When Scar pulled his hand from Roy’s body, he half expected himself to walk away from the whole situation. It was absurd. He hated this man, and he hated what he stood for. He was nothing but a dog of the military. Right? Then why was he taking off his pants and throwing them aside? Why was he kneeling between those long, beautiful legs?

He positioned himself at Roy’s entrance, and he paused, gazing down into the midnight depths of his partner’s eyes. “You should have stopped me.” He pushed into Roy to the hilt without pausing, his jaw clenching in pleasure.

Roy gasped in near agony as Scar pushed all the way in with no pause, his thick erection nothing like the fingers. He whimpered, eyes watering. "Stay there... just for a moment." Roy's tone was pleading, as were his tear’d-up eyes. If Scar started moving now, the State Alchemist felt like he'd break.

Scar nodded slightly, but with large, gentle hands, he reached and pulled Roy up against his chest and then leaned back, sitting down and outstretching his legs underneath Roy, allowing the lithe alchemist to instead be sitting in his lap, impaled by his sex, chest to chest.

It gave Mustang the upper hand this time, allowing him to move when he wanted. “Take the time you need.” He growled softly. The tense set of his jaw, however, marked Scar’s hopefulness that Roy wouldn’t take too long.

Roy shivered, running his fingers through Scar's hair. "Thank you." He whispered, allowing himself to adjust before even daring to shift, awkwardly beginning to move on the Ishbalan, his breath coming in short gasps as his movements became slightly more confident, and he soon found his prostate, crying out in ecstasy as his inner walls clenched around Scar's arousal.

Scar’s deadly arm, tattoos wrapping around it like a beacon of destruction, wrapped around Roy’s body, and the lithe fingertips ghosted up his back and began to knead the muscles there gently. His other arm wrapped around his hip, and hooking his hand underneath his pale thigh, Scar began to help Roy move in smooth motions, his own hips rocking up into him, relishing the feeling of the tight velvet wrapped around him.

The feeling of Scar's tattooed arm on his body just seemed to excite him that bit more. Roy couldn't keep his eyes open, and he let them close, relishing in the sounds and sensations that were heightened by his lack of sight. "S-scar..." He gasped out, pushing his face into the Ishbalan's neck, pressing his lips to Scar's collarbone to nip and suck at the skin, coaxing a reddening mark to surface.

“Mustang…” The colonel’s name came seductively off his lips as he thrust up into the tight, waiting heat, his arms taut around the body against his. “So…fucking tight…” He couldn’t resist saying it. It almost felt like Roy had never done this before, and the thought that he’d gotten to claim him before anyone else…It was intoxicating.

Roy's breathing was catching in his throat at every thrust, his fingers clenching in Scar's hair. He tugged the white strands by accident, and made a soft noise that could have been interpreted as an apology. The way Scar said his name... Roy cried out as he neared orgasm, the sound incoherent, but most definitely a name.

Scar growled into Roy’s ear as his hair was pulled, his hips thrusting up just a tad bit more forcefully. “Say it…” He growled. “Scream…” He thrust up precisely into the man’s prostate just as he wrapped a hand around Roy’s cock and stroked him powerfully, his own body beginning to take on a sheen of sweat in the waning light of the fire. “Goddamn you…Mustang…Scream!”

Roy arched at the sensations, a choked moan of surprise catching in his throat. Orgasm rolled up to meet him, and he did scream.

"EDWARD!"

His spend coated Scar's hand and both of their stomachs, his inner muscles clenching and rolling over the arousal parting them.

Scar came just as Mustang screamed out, and he released himself and coated the velvet walls of the brunette with his own seed, gasping harshly against his neck. God would be furious with him for such a volatile act, but he really didn’t give two shits at the moment.

He watched with a satisfaction as Roy cried out the name he’d been thinking all night, and Scar held him stock still against his massive body. “You don’t have to feel guilty that your lover died and you love another.” He warned quietly. “Let it go.”

Roy was completely lax against Scar, eyes half lidded as he rested against the Ishbalan's sturdy, broad chest. And Roy did just that - let it go.
He poured all his mourning into the tears, wrapping his arms around Scar's neck and shaking with sobs, hoping that the Ishbalan wouldn't shove him away.

Scar didn’t push him away. Instead, the Ishbalan avenger wrapped his arms around him tightly and held him there, his own crimson eyes closing in exhaustion as he pulled them both down into a bed and pulled the warm, soft blanket over them.

All he needed was the comfort, the warmth against him, the wonderful feeling of relaxation that came with the orgasm they had both experienced.
Only minutes later, he stopped crying, unable to find the moisture to form tears, and merely shook against Scar, dark eyes red-rimmed.

“In the morning, you should go back to central.” He shifted and pulled Mustang flush against his side, his eyes closing. “You came here to die, and it’s obvious I have no intentions on killing you.”

Roy didn't answer, pressing as close as he could to Scar and resting one hand on his chest, the other resting on the arm that held him close. His eyes drifted closed, and he rested his cheek against the Ishbalan's chest, listening to the sound of his steady heartbeat and breathing. He fell into sleep with a soft smile on his face.

By the sunrise, Scar was gone, but in his place on the pillow next to Mustang’s head was a bright, fiery crimson rose and a small note. The note was unimportant enough, but next to the fire place, the fire had been stoked, and Roy’s uniform was brushed and hung neatly, his boots beneath it and his socks clean and dry.

Roy awoke pleasantly warm, and the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was the rose. He ignored the note, but picked up the rose, running his fingers over the beautiful blood red petals. He looked over at his uniform, clean and neat, and smiled softly.

Scar had taken the time to at least allow Roy to go back to Central in dignity, and he’d left the rose, reminding Roy that even if they were enemies, their tryst wasn’t meaningless. Just as Roy thought about Edward, Scar secretly worried for Alphonse. Maybe…someday…he’d be more than a suit of armor. He’d love to see that for sure.

Roy’s gloves were still resting by the fire, and the Flame Alchemist couldn't help but smirk as he got up and got dressed, his uniform immaculate, with no trace that he'd done anything other than spend a night somewhere dry.
When he returned to Central, he wasn't questioned, but instead was stared at, people trying to dissect him bit by bit, trying to find out why he was his normal self again.

The Flame Alchemist sighed, and wondered if he'd ever get a chance to meet Scar again - and if they did, if they would spend another amazing night together. Somehow, he doubted that the Ishbalan would take as much pity on him. He caressed the petals of the slowly dying rose, thoughts running haywire.
Perhaps, when this rose died, so would the almost-friendship with Scar.

He prolonged the life of the flower for as long as he could.

~*~*~*~

When the petals of the flower had fallen, and years passed, at the top of an unmarked grave, a tall boy with wide, hazel eyes and a blood red coat, stood with unbound certainty. He reached down and pressed a small trinket to the ground, the only thing he had left of his brother since the transmutation had occurred. A shining, silver pocket watch.

“I don’t remember you, but Roy said you were a really good friend of mine, so I guess I’m coming to say hi. He said you loved me.” The boy’s voice broke suddenly, and a single, hot tear splashed down onto the rock. “I-I guess in a way, even though everyone says you were a killer, I would have known better. I always know stuff like that. Thanks for everything. For loving me.”

Leaning down, the boy pressed his lips to the rock, and then he stood and began to walk away, his long pony tail swaying in the wind. While the pocket watch was inscribed with a date and a name, Alphonse Elric never knew what it meant.

He figured he’d leave it with someone who did.

Even if he didn’t remember Scar, he was pretty sure that somewhere…on the boundaries between the gate, the next world, and the afterlife, Scar still remembered him. He hoped they’d meet in his dreams where he could meet his friend again.

Alphonse was an alchemist. The after life was just a fairy tale to him.

But for some reason, in the back of his young, incomplete memories, there was a voice of a man who spoke of a God who loved him.

And Alphonse believed in fairy tales once again.


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