Roy Mustang was shipped back home last week. Neat as a parcel of vegetables with the stamp upside-down on the crate.
Even Hawkeye could be caught off guard, and the men moving in too late, even five seconds too long, too far away.
Your eyes stared up at me, wide and questioning, in a response not fit for such a young child.
There were people here who did not run screaming when he whipped out a photo. Or five.
He hadn't asked Hughes to follow him to this place.
"And search for free porn." Havoc pointed out.
"I know how things work, sir," the boy continued, laying the watch across his lap.
ROY: [calmly] If drinking means acting like an idiot the way you are, I'm going to pass.
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.
And if he did forget mom's face, what would be next? Her voice? Her smile? The color of her eyes?
...the two men drank Roy's good whiskey, clinked glasses and Maes exclaimed that It was about damn time.
It took you long enough to make your call. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten how to work a phone.
"Then I'm gonna rule the world, too," Maes replied, because he and Roy always did everything together.
"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?"
He decided, then, quite firmly, that he wasn't ever going to drink coffee again, with anybody. It was too risky.
It was a short letter, very succinct, to the point, like all official military correspondences were.
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.
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.
Roy was silent when Maes came back several minutes later. If he heard the sounds of retching from the bathroom, he didn't say.
You don't want to see spicy photos of my gorgeous girlfriend?
"Damn well better be--I bought 'em two days ago and I'm not keeling over yet. Got any dry ones on you?"
I didn't know on the phone. I didn't know on the train.
The audience fades away; the chatters dies, their twin breaths are the soft herald of thunder to come.
"You'd be dangerous if you ever figured out what you wanted, Fullmetal."