He recalled lifting it cautiously up to his nose, and then back away from the stinging, spicy herbs along with the smouldering scent of tobacco.
The audience fades away; the chatters dies, their twin breaths are the soft herald of thunder to come.
This wasn't really what he'd been expecting from surreptitious wartime sex. He'd thought it would be some kind of quickie round the back of the latrines.
"When you put it that way--" Roy conceded. "But it does seem improbable. You promised me a murderer, but are you so sure that it was no accident?"
You don't want to see spicy photos of my gorgeous girlfriend?
It was a short letter, very succinct, to the point, like all official military correspondences were.
"Then I'm gonna rule the world, too," Maes replied, because he and Roy always did everything together.
"And search for free porn." Havoc pointed out.
It took you long enough to make your call. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten how to work a phone.
"You'd be dangerous if you ever figured out what you wanted, Fullmetal."
"I know how things work, sir," the boy continued, laying the watch across his lap.
Roy was silent when Maes came back several minutes later. If he heard the sounds of retching from the bathroom, he didn't say.
There were people here who did not run screaming when he whipped out a photo. Or five.
Your eyes stared up at me, wide and questioning, in a response not fit for such a young child.
He hadn't asked Hughes to follow him to this place.
Rule number one: no one knows about us. Rule number two: I will continue to take other lovers to keep up appearances. Rule number three: no commitment. I thought it would be best to keep this quiet so I wouldn't look like a damn pedophile.
Even Hawkeye could be caught off guard, and the men moving in too late, even five seconds too long, too far away.
I didn't know on the phone. I didn't know on the train.
...the two men drank Roy's good whiskey, clinked glasses and Maes exclaimed that It was about damn time.
ROY: [calmly] If drinking means acting like an idiot the way you are, I'm going to pass.
Roy Mustang was shipped back home last week. Neat as a parcel of vegetables with the stamp upside-down on the crate.
And if he did forget mom's face, what would be next? Her voice? Her smile? The color of her eyes?
"Damn well better be--I bought 'em two days ago and I'm not keeling over yet. Got any dry ones on you?"
He decided, then, quite firmly, that he wasn't ever going to drink coffee again, with anybody. It was too risky.