Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist/Hagane no RenkinJutsushi belongs to Arakawa-san. I just borrow the characters from time to time and hope that I don't break them… too much.

Cold

Prompt 1: Start the story with "his voice had never sounded so cold."

Prompt 2: "Hey, you should drink a whole bunch and then write something. It'd be funny."

His voice had never sounded so cold. Not when he'd found Roy bleeding from the head after a vicious, drunken bar brawl. Not when he'd discovered that Roy had tried to blackmail one of their instructors at the academy. Not even when, at two in the morning, he'd broken into Roy's grimy apartment and found the man sitting there, with only an empty bottle of cognac and a saliva-slickened service pistol for company.

The ice in his voice, hard enough to crack glass and cut diamonds, was both startling and terrifying.

"He could have died tonight, Roy." The words would have been easier to accept if Maes had shouted them, struck him across the face, threw his half-empty tumbler across the office.

"I'm well aware of that. Thank you." He gripped his own glass, empty, between not-quite-trembling hands. The mental image of Fullmetal, on his hand and knees on the rain-soaked cobblestone and pleading that his little brother be spared, had burned itself into the forefront of his skull, and he'd be a fool to think that it wouldn't follow him into his dreams that night, too. The last thing he needed was Maes to remind him of the obvious.

"He very nearly did die tonight." Maes' gaze, only half-hidden behind those square spectacles, bore on Roy until he stood up and allowed heavy footfalls to carry him to his desk. He hastily refilled his tumbler just for the simple sake of having some reason to avert his eyes.

"I'm aware of that, too, Maes, but thank you for the unnecessary reminder."

The alcohol was heavy and it burned at his throat. Considering the insanity tomorrow would bring, the last thing he would need was a headache and a sour stomach, but right now he couldn't force himself to give a damn.

"No matter what authority that damned pocket watch gives him, he's still just a child." And finally, the mask was starting to crumble away, burnt and blackened by the tumultuous rage it was meant to hide. "You have a responsibility to him—and to his brother—to keep them out of harm's way—"

"How am I supposed to do that, exactly?" He all but dropped the tumbler onto his desk. It made it easier to cross his arms and glare at the man watching him from that worn leather couch. "You know as well as I do that being an alchemist of the state carries with it a certain level of, shall we say, uncertainty. And it's not like Fullmetal doesn't understand the risks. After all, he's—"

"—a fucking orphan!" In two strides, Maes was towering over him. "With no one to look up to—or depend on—except for you and your team, for whatever that's worth, and you see the fact that he nearly had his skull scattered all over some alleyway as some, what? Learning experience? Course of life? That's… Fuck, Roy. I know Ed's a pain in the ass sometimes, but you can at least try to care about those two boys."

Try to…? Roy blinked, nonplussed, and stared into those bespectacled eyes. His thoughts scattered, dead leaves before a winter storm, and he hid his face behind the tumbler, taking a healthy swig in some vain effort to hide it.

Maes sighed, backed down, carded a hand through his hair. "They're just kids, Roy, trying to play pretend. Don't let them fool you." The man's own tumbler clunked down on Roy's desk. Something in the air shattered. "I've got to get going. Elicia might be asleep already, but I promised Gracia that I'd call her tonight and it's already late."

"… Of course. Give her my regards." He couldn't look Maes in the eye as the man gathered his uniform jacket and slid it over his shoulders. Instead, he stoppered the alcohol with far more care than a cheap bottle of whiskey deserved.

"Drink some water when you get home tonight, Roy. We've got plenty of work to get through tomorrow." The man's footfalls echoed through the room.

When Roy looked up, he could see Maes' reflection in the dark window that silhouetted his desk. He carried himself with military precision, though his hands were fisted and shoulders tight beneath the blue wool of his epaulets.

"Maes," he called out, and the reflection paused. "Thank you for allowing Major Armstrong to accompany them to Resembool. It—I'm sure the Major will be an asset to them on their trip."

His words hung in the room, a feeble truce, a timid acquiescence. You're the better man, Maes. We both know that. You always have been. Almost on instinct, his fingers found the tumbler again and pressed it to his lips.

"It's the least I could do." The words were icy again. The offering, then, had been too weak. "I'd trust Armstrong with my life, so I know I can trust him with theirs."

The man's cavalry cape fluttered as he stalked out of the room, and behind them, the heavy oak doors snapped shut. Roy could only watch the wavering reflection in the window as ice crystals bloomed on ornate brass handles.

Author's Note: I have to say, I'm feeling a bit of a connection with Roy-boy in this fic. But, for now, I'm off to drink a whole bunch of water and get some work done on Loyal Dogs.