The war was over. Finally, Roy would no longer have to massacre hundreds of Amestrian citizens a day, and he could relax. At least, for a little while. Then he would have to work to do, and he would start with Maes pushing him up from below.

But the day when Roy would become Fuhrer was far into the future, and it didn't really matter now. All that mattered was finding a place to really sleep. There were no such places in a military encampment, nor were there any on a military train, which was where Roy, Riza, and Maes had spent the better part of the last three days.

Three days on a train did not bode well for anyone's back, and Roy was sure he would require a chiropractic appointment before the week was out.

Roy blinked sleepily, gazing out the train window. They were very close to Central, now. Riza Hawkeye dozed on the bench across from him, a happily-humming Maes sitting gleefully beside her, leafing through letters and pictures in his hands.

"What're you so happy for?" Roy mumbled, staring at his friend. A moment later, he wished he hadn't asked, as ten or more photos were shoved into his face, and even more letters. All signed by Gracia. Of course.

"Gracia! My sweet angel has waited all this time for me!" Maes cooed, and Roy glared at him, then shook his head. There was no discouraging this man.

He returned his gaze to the scenery outside, where Central City was growing steadily closer. Roy frowned, then narrowed his eyes, squinting into the distance.

"Hey, Maes," he called quietly. The bespectacled man looked up at him, inquisitive. Roy pointed out the window. "Looks like we've got a welcoming committee."

Maes tilted his head and moved to Roy's bench, leaning around his friend to get a good look out the window. He frowned. "I'm not sure that's a good thing," he said quietly.

It looked as if half of Central was waiting at the station, or gathered around it. From this distance, you couldn't see anything the people were doing, but just the amount of citizens there was enough to set Roy's teeth on edge.

"There was a lot of opposition to this war," Roy whispered, almost afraid to say it. "That's a lot of people who disagree with the military's actions, who already hated the State Alchemists before the bloodshed even started."

Maes nodded, settling back into the bench. "If that is indeed who those people are, I hope my Gracia is not among them." Roy gave him a look of surprise.

Maes gave a weak grin. "Not what I meant. I meant, I hope she isn't among them, because things might get a little violent when the soldiers start disembarking. I don't want her getting hurt."

Roy nodded, then looked out the window again. Central was drawing still nearer.

Within a new minutes the intercom came on, instructing all personnel to prepare for unboarding. Riza jumped awake at the loud squeal of the speaker, hand racing for the gun strapped to her side. Roy frowned again. Yet another reason this many people waiting at the station was bad: jumpy soldiers just returning from a war zone, suddenly shoved into a noisy, crowded environment? It was a recipe for bad things.

Soon enough, all baggage was collected, and soldiers stood in the corridors, waiting to get off the train with a slightly nervous energy. Roy could feel it in the air, and knew he wasn't the only one who had noticed the crowd.

The train squealed to a stop, and there was a quiet moment. Then, "Please clear the dock for unboarding. Passengers, you may exit the train."

The silence in the corridor Roy stood in was stifling. The nervous energy had built up, and the air fairly tingled with it. At this point, Roy just wanted to get off the train and into fresh air, angry citizens or not.

Then the line moved, soldiers exited the train, and Roy was pushed out into the dry air of the train station. There were a few soldiers Roy saw who left the station as soon as they touched the concrete, and he guessed that those were the men with no family to welcome them back.

But most hovered uncertainly on the dock, eyes glancing nervously about some sign of welcome from a friendly, familiar face. There were a few joyful shouts throughout the station, and soldiers raced to embrace their loved ones. Roy smiled, watching them. Then there came the great cry of, "Maes!"

A slender woman of around twenty rushed from the crowd and threw herself at Roy's best friend, all but sobbing with relief. Maes held her gently, smiling. Roy looked around the station again, wondering if anyone was waiting for him.

What he didn't expect, however, was the unfriendly glares. That seemed to be directed at him. Roy looked down, realized that he still wore the white coat that symbolized his status as a State Alchemist. There were a few other State Alchemists on the platforms, and they were receiving just as unfriendly looks.

That was when Roy realized. The people didn't have a problem with the ordinary soldiers who had been ordered into battle. Their problem was with the Military Dogs, and their hypocritic oath, "Alchemist, be thou for the people."

As Edward Elric would say years later, though Roy would have no way knowing that, he thought the words, "What a load that is."

It was then that the shouts started.

Murderers!

Hypocrites!

Dogs!

Roy looked down again. He was no different than other soldiers, was he? He had been ordered to the warfront just the same as the others. He hadn't been given a choice.

Well, but he had. He had chosen to join the State Alchemists, and that meant going where the State told him to, and when, without question.

Roy forced his gaze up into the crowd, though he made no direct contact. Leaving the gaping Maes and Gracia behind him, he began to walk through the crowd. They parted for him, though still they shouted those ugly, hurtful words.

Hypocrites!

Dogs!

Murderers!

And then they started throwing things. Most of them wouldn't cause any injury, though there was the occasional large rock or chunk of ice (it was mid-winter in Central, unlike in Ishval, where it was sweltering all year long) mixed in with the pebbles, snowballs, dust, and, strangely enough, tomatoes.

The phrases became more specific, aimed directly at the alchemist who dared to walk through their midst.

It's the mighty Flame Alchemist! How many people did you incinerate, you bastard? Was my kid one of them? He didn't get to come home, and you do? How disgraceful!

My daughter was in your unit, you son of a bitch! You dogs were supposed to protect your unit, and she still died!

It was then Roy fancied he heard a little girl crying. What about my parents, Flame Alchemist? They were doctors, they didn't deserve to die? Why did you kill them?

Roy could almost see her. The little blonde girl from the photograph, soaked in the blood of her parents.

How many people died because of you, you fucker?! Why don't you just kill yourse-

Shots rang out in the station, and several people screamed. Roy turned on the spot, and was somehow unsurprised to see faithful Riza with her gun aimed at the ceiling.

"All of you listen!" Her firm voice demanded. "I can't force you to have respect for the State Alchemists. Maybe they couldn't save everyone, but that's a job no one can accomplish. They are soldiers like the rest of us, and have been through hell. Like the rest of us. They deserve the respect you'd give any other! Let them pass!"

The crowd stared at Riza in utter shock, then a few nodded. Some others dropped their rocks and their ice, though Roy doubted it was because they had listened and understood her words. They just didn't want to get shot by the scary, possibly PTSD-lady.

Roy almost smiled at the thought, but decided not to. It was rather inappropriate, after all.

He continued out the doors of the station, this time with Riza, Maes, and Gracia following behind him.

It was good to have them at his back. He knew he could depend on these three, even (especially) with his life.

A/N: So, I wrote this after watching an episode of NCIS, and learning that soldiers who returned from wars like the Vietnam War (and others), often weren't cheerfully welcomed home.

They were scorned for fighting in the war, and I don't know about you, but I find that kind out appalling. It also occurred to me that something similar might've/would've probably happened to the State Alchemists upon returning from the Ishballan War of Extermination.

So, this story is dedicated to the soldiers who weren't welcomed home, and deserved to be. It's dedicated to the soldiers who fight for their country because of what they believe in, and for the right reasons.

Thank you.