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jeminy3 · 4 years

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Blind Roy - Office Woes

This was meant to be part of a series of more Blind Roy drabbles, titled and focused on things like being back in the office, conversations with each individual team member, talking grimly of the future with Grumman, etc. But all my writing juice went into other stories (like the Elicia story, The Things We Carry), so they never really came together. This is just leftovers.

Features: Blind Character PoV, insecurities, workarounds for disabilities, Team Mustang being supportive like a good team should.

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Disclaimers:

- Realistically, Roy would be forced to retire from the military because of his blindness, but I didn't double-check that until I'd written out most of this because I'm PRETTY sure that in Brotherhood, he says something about continuing to pursue his goals despite his blindness. But whatever, it's an AU.

- I know Braille wouldn't exist in the FMA verse, or would go under a different name, but whatever.

Also, here’s another Roy doodle.

Roy's first day back in the office was difficult - much more difficult than he imagined.

He spent the majority of the day shuffling slowly around rooms with arms outstretched, running into walls, knocking things over, feeling his way around doorways and chairs and tables, much like - well, a blind man. He would've laughed at himself, if not for the quiet shame and anger that gripped him.

And a strange sort of denial did, too. Years from now, he'd look back on these days and realize that his biggest mistake was thinking he could somehow function exactly like he used to and therefore not become a burden to those around him. Because the worst parts of it all were his constant, stubborn refusals to accept help, even from his own squadron.

It takes him almost two weeks before he finally relents to using a cane at everyone's suggestion, after growing incredibly tired of crushing his nose, bumping his head, stubbing his fingers and toes, and wounding his pride in front of other officials while navigating their offices.

The sounds of people snickering softly behind his back hurt more than all his bumps and bruises combined. He expects them to multiply upon starting use of his cane, but to his surprise, they don't, and eventually stop altogether.

He gets a reason why when he offhandedly comments on it one day, as he's getting ready to head home for the evening.

"Another day done, I suppose. Almost surprised I'm still in one piece."

He hears a questioning sound from Riza. "How do you mean, sir?"

"Well, besides surviving the day without hurting myself for once-" He gestures with his cane. " -I haven't heard any, shall we say, disrespectful sounds from anyone in my vicinity. Maybe they're finally wise enough to hold their snickering for when I leave the room."

Riza makes an odd sound, as if holding back a laugh herself. "Well I wouldn't say that, sir..."

"...Hm?"

There's a shifting of fabric from Riza's uniform, as if she were lifting an arm to adjust her collar.

"Just between us, sir, if it eases you... myself and the others may be responsible for that. I've done my best to shut down any potential disrespect towards you during our meetings, and Fuery's encouraged us to take problem folk aside and give them, as he says, 'a good talking-to' about your condition."

There's a lightening in her voice, as if she's smiling. "And it looks like our efforts have paid off."

Roy was silent for a good few seconds, gaping a bit. He was... shocked, a little, that his squadron would go so out of their way for his comfort, even his pride.

Eventually, he'd learn to stop being so surprised.

Progress on paperwork nearly came to a complete halt during his first few days.

Unable to read, Roy had asked Riza to read the forms aloud to him before he signed them, but that method quickly proved to be inefficient. Not only was listening to Riza's droning voice a battle to stay conscious by the end of the day, but the strain on her soon proved to be too much.

"-and so, as per the order of Colonel Roy Musta- Agh. Ack." Riza chokes, then breaks down into a coughing fit.

"...Lieutenant? Are you alright?" Roy asks, snapping out of his boredom.

It takes a few seconds before she's recovered enough to respond, and when she does, her voice is still noticeably rough. "I'm- Urgh- I'm sorry sir, but I don't think this will work. I'm losing my voice," she says hoarsely.

Roy does his best to stave off a surge of panic. These forms need to get done. "Er- Well... Then uh, bring Falman in to take over until you recover, Lieutenant."

He hears her sigh softly. "Apologies again, but I have to disagree, sir. Falman has his own duties and can't spend all his time reading to you. Same for the others."

"...Besides, he's not even here today," she adds. "He's out on reconnaissance, remember?"

Roy sighs deeply, sinking into his desk and rubbing his temples. "...I'd forgotten. Sorry, Lieutenant. It's just- the meetings, the forms- it all blends together sometimes. You know."

Riza makes a "hm" noise in agreement, but nothing else. An awkward silence falls, and Roy can imagine her staring him down accusingly, since she'd already suggested a better alternative earlier today, but Roy had refused it, as usual.

At this point he was just delaying the inevitable. He lets out a long, loud groan of defeat. "Fine, fine. I'll stop putting it off. I'll try to learn that 'brell' language you told me about."

"It's called Braille, sir."

He waves a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes... And we'll have to reprint everything with that special paper... Ugh, the print department's going to moan at me, I just know it."

"I should hope not. Not when their Colonel has a disability that needs accommodation."

Disability. Roy flinches a little at the word, associating it with years of well-meaning but nonetheless other-ing societal norms. Nursing homes, therapy wards, parking spaces and public seating set aside and marked with garishly-colored signs.

"Er- Can you... not call it that, Lieutenant? It's not disabling, just ah- challenging, that's all," he says.

He hears her sigh again, and the sound of her uniform shifting, then feels her hand on his shoulder. Her voice is soft, perhaps softer than intended from her hoarseness, but there's something undeniably sincere in it.

"Roy, please... it's alright."

Her voice is closer to him now, and Roy can imagine her leaning down with a small, gentle smile near his face, offering tender support against his bull-headed stubbornness that masked a deep, all-consuming shame inside him. It eases him, a little.

Roy breathes out slowly, relieving a tension in his shoulders he hadn't noticed was there.

"I... I'll try, Riza. Thank you."

Luckily for everyone, the Braille system works out better than expected.

Frustrated with the amount of time it took to reprint everything traditionally, Roy, in his usual manner, came up with the brilliant idea of using Alchemy to convert them instead.

It takes some time and convincing to the higher-ups, but eventually, with the help of Major Armstrong and a few other alchemists, Roy creates a new and fairly simple system. All one has to do is place a stack of documents, along with a small amount of extra wood chips, in an array that instantly thickens the paper and raises the correct pattern of bumps, both for letters and lines to write into.

Then it's arranged for a specialized alchemist to be tasked with learning braille, translating documents, then recreating them using this process.

It turns out to be quite a bit faster and more efficient than traditional printing methods, since mistakes happened rarely compared to the sometimes-unwieldy machines, and in turn, this significantly cuts down on costs from maintenance and wasted paper.

East Headquarters’ Treasurer and Senior Accountants commend him for the idea and its execution, and begin sharing the idea with the officials at every other military office. Soon there’s talk about installing a similar system in every printing facility throughout Central City, even the country beyond, potentially opening up a significant breakthrough in readership for the similarly-disabled.

Roy was just happy he could finally fill out his paperwork by himself with little issue, but he’s certainly not above claiming it as another of his many impressive achievements.

As for writing out new documents himself, the solution was more simple. He has Riza bring in a typewriter to type his words as he says them aloud to her, and uses a ruler to keep his signatures straight on the plain, non-textured paper. Then the proofs are brought to the printers to reproduce as proper forms.

It took time - a long time - but eventually, Roy forms a mental map of not only his office, but of his personal apartment, the surrounding hallways and rooms of the apartment building, the whole interior of East Headquarters, and everywhere else he frequented on his daily routine, largely helped by his memory of what they looked like before he lost his sight - and by his squadron, of course.

Eventually, he also learns to stave off the irrational fear that things could be switched around without him knowing, that doorways and furniture would change position for no reason, and he didn't have to feel and re-feel everything every other day just to make sure. Slowly, he learns to trust himself and his connection to this dark world that was familiar, but at the same time strange and terrifying.

And of course, his squadron would never be so discourteous as to move something in his office without telling him.

#roy mustang #fma #blind!roy #riza hawkeye #team mustang #jeminy3 art #jeminy writes

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