Finally got around to writing this! If you've been reading my Proschat fic, then you'll know why this is happening now... I'M DESPERATE FOR FLUFF. So here we are! I bring you long awaited fluff! (and now, unless my muse gets any other ideas for it, this fic is at long last entirely complete). ENJOY! Love you guys! My next couple planned projects are also all Parental RoyEd, so maybe I'll see some of you around when I start posting those!

PS- I take Maes and Roy out drinking here and they smoke alcohol. It actually is illegal (in the US) and really, don't do it unless you know what you're doing. It's not safe and you can really hurt yourself. Anyway, now that I'm doing being a buzzkill...

"We're going out."

Maes blinked slowly in surprise.

"...We're..."

"Going. Out."

Roy raised a finger to punctuate the words, and the slightest of smirks found pale lips in a twist of the driest amusement he'd ever seen.

"Er..."

"Did I stutter?" Roy prodded flatly, but there was no mistaking the flutter of irritation that lived under the calm words. "We're going out, Maes. You and I. Out. To get spectacularly trashed. ...Well?" He cocked his head to the side, smirk only growing, and calmly stuck his hands in his pockets. "I'd thought you would be jumping for joy. After all, you're always saying I need to be more social. So, here I am. Being social."

Maes continued to just stare at him blankly for several long moments, then pursed his lips and leaned back in his desk chair, looking his friend over in uncertainty. Before, this would've been simply a little odd, but Roy was right; he would've taken it in stride and gleefully accepted. But that was before, and this was after; things were different now, and no matter how stridently his friend tried to insist on normalcy, he knew proceeding under business as usual was simply not an option.

"Are you sure going out is the best idea tonight?" he tried at length, purposefully keeping his tone easygoing and light for the sake of not provoking an argument. He smiled a little, even more brightly when his friend's smirk fell. "You look tired, and I know I am- maybe some other-"

"We. Are going. Out. ...Tonight, Maes."

Maes broke off at the stubborn declaration, slumping a little. What's gotten into you, Roy? "What's so important about tonight?" he prodded, trying a different strategy.

"Maes." Roy did his best to adopt a wounded look, hand over his heart and expression of maudlin dejection replacing trademark smirk. "You really don't want to spend time with me, do you? So much for best friends. You're hurting my feelings, Maes..."

This time, the affectionate eye roll and grin came naturally. "That's quite rich. I've had to drag you kicking and screaming out to the bars more than once, but one I'm tired comment from me and suddenly I'm hurting your feelings?" Then he blinked, thinking back on what he'd just said, and let his face drop into his hand, groaning. "My god. We sound like an old, married couple."

"All the more reason to go and get spectacularly drunk! To get that mental image out of our heads."

The stubborn insistence was back, and with it came the dousing of his spirits once again. He gave his friend another once-over, considering him critically, then sighed in defeat. There was no avoiding it.

"...Roy, I don't think you should be going out tonight." He hesitated, and the way Roy's grin slid into something icy with subdued upset hurt more than he'd expected it to. "I... Hawkeye told me what happened this morning."

That something icy became so frigid Maes felt the temperature in the room drop.

His friend's fists clenched, and for a moment, the easygoing facade he'd been maintaining so well slipped to reveal lines of tight tension burned into trembling distress. Black eyes blazed, and his jawline clenched so tight Maes could almost hear his teeth grind together.

"I told her not to say anything," he gritted out, almost shaking, and Maes sighed again.

"She was worried when you didn't go home. When I found out, so was I." He steepled his fingers and continued to observe the stiff colonel concernedly, his eyes narrowed. "Roy, what were you thinking? You didn't have to stay at work; you should've just-"

"I don't want to talk about this, Maes. That is not why I came here."

"...I know, Roy," he said weakly, and this time, he had to break his iron gaze and look down towards his desk. This wasn't the time for an argument, he tried to remind himself; today, Roy just wasn't in shape for one. He just need to stay calm and talk the man out of this, whatever had prompted it. "I know, I just... I really don't think-"

"It was a single seizure," Roy interrupted him, raising a finger coldly. "One. And I did everything the doctor said. I rested for an hour straight, took one of those damn pills, did the stupid breathing exercises- everything! And I've been working since then without a relapse. Even my doctor said I could stay at work if I didn't have more than one. I'm fine." He paused for a moment, eyes still hard. "But, since you already know... clearly, I've had quite the stressful day. And I want to end it the way all stressful days are meant to be ended. Join me in it, Maes."

The steadfast words made him sigh, his friend's stubbornness still taking him by unawares. He knew this sudden approach had to do with something aside from just the seizure this morning, but it was clear he wasn't going to be able to talk Roy out of this. He looked over the man again for a long moment, searching him for any signs of ill health.

The aftereffects of the seizure were small, and could've easily been from just a long day at the office or one too many stressful meetings. Almost more concerning was that he was still much too thin; he had barely passed his medical check up, severely underweight and not yet cleared for field duty but no longer in danger of fainting spells- he looked like the only thing he was up for was a nice, hot meal and then crawling into bed, not a night out drinking.

But Roy was stubborn, and it was quite clear that just because more rest was what he needed did not mean he was going to get it. And Maes knew insisting anyway would only provoke a violent argument that would tire him out worse and accomplish little else.

"Maes." The colonel raised a single dark eyebrow, mouth quirking again into a familiar smirk. "Do not be a wet blanket. I'm the wet blanket. That's my role; don't you dare usurp it."

Maes sighed again, caving in defeat.

One way or another, Roy was aiming to get himself smashed tonight. Clearly. His only real recourse from here was just to go out with him; make sure he didn't get himself hurt and eventually found his way home.

"Okay," he said through gritted teeth, then took a breath and really made himself smile. "...Okay, Roy."

The smirk became even more pronounced, and this time, the colonel's eyes glinted.

Oh, god, he'd known this had been a bad idea.

"Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!"

A very, very bad one.

"Come on, Maes! Be like me!" A third empty glass sloppily met the bar top next to him, pushed back for a refill. "Down that wh... sh... shwhiskey like it's water!"

Maes smirked into his own, less abused drink- then gasped and flailed at the heavy weight abruptly slumped over his side, nearly unbalancing him and sending him to the floor. "God damn it, Roy," he laughed affectionately, shoving him back to lean on the table instead. "I'm not downing anything. Pushing thirty here, not twenty, remember?"

"S'not... not stopping me!"

Maes rolled his eyes again, sitting back to just watch the pathetic sight of his sloshed friend trying to hold himself together and fail completely. "Yeah, and meanwhile, you're holding your liquor like you're twenty again. What the hell's wrong with you?"

Roy pushed a sloppy finger point at his chest, eyes bright. "Didn't you know? This body's brand new! Ed made it for me! It's like I've never gone drinking before- so I might as well be twenty!" He beamed joyfully, then accepted the fourth whisky pushed back at him and raised it. "Come on, Maes, join me! It's fun!"

Maes almost spit out his last sip at the blindingly casual reference to human transmutation and looked alarmedly around the bar, but, thank god, it seemed there was no one there who'd care. They'd gone to his aunt's place, and they'd gone early enough that it was just them and Roy's family- none of whom apparently gave a damn about what illegal activities Roy had been up to lately. "You're a dumb ass," he sighed in relief, smirking.

For several moments, Roy just looked at him, frowning seriously as if contemplating a very difficult problem. Then, with a business like air, he swung around and planted his hands firmly on the bar top, sitting up erectly. "Mother!" he shouted. "He's resisting! Just like I said he would! He's resisting having fun!" Roy shook his head at him with a disgusted air, shuddering like he could hardly stand to look at him. "We're going to have to pull out all the stops! Fix him the dragon!"

Maes snorted into his drink even as the group of Roy's sisters that had surrounded him all took up chanting again. "I'm not drinking anything called the dragon, you idiot," he started, trying to tug his friend back from the bar.

Roy swung around, bared his teeth, and barked right in his face.

For a moment, Maes was alarmed again, but his eyes were still clear, and based off the way his sisters all were reacting, his friend had done far stupider things than that after imbibing in three glasses of whiskey. Reluctantly letting go a little more of his concern and worry, Maes just smirked at him instead. "That's your argument? Wow, Roy... Such eloquence! Such exquisite wordplay! You've ended me; there's simply nothing I could ever say against that, Roy! Nothing! Nothing... except for no fucking way."

Roy scowled again, huffing dramatically. "Mother, he's still using words like exquisite! Come on, get this nerd his drink. Exquisite." Roy shook his head at him, eyes narrowed. "I can't be seen with someone who talks like that. Come on, Maes. Exquis... quisitive... exqui..." He trailed off and made a frustrated face, frowning again. "Exqu..."

With another eye roll, Maes pushed Roy back closer to the bar so he could lean against it, rather than precariously topple off to the side. He saved his friend just in time, too, as Madame Christmas finally made her return, and Maes grabbed him by the collar. "I think Roy's had enough," he said, about to fish for his wallet. "Enough for a week, by the nonsense he's talking. We should-"

"Oh, you're not going anywhere. I promised that drunken fool I'd get you to smoke alcohol, Maes Hughes, and that is what I'm going to do. Sit down."

"S-smoke it?!" Maes spluttered, hand dropping off of Roy in shock. "That's what your dragon is? I don't think so!"

Roy eyed him darkly. The glare would've been a tad more intimidating, had he not been struggling to stay upright. "I think so!"

"Roy..." Groaning, Maes rubbed a hand over his face, about to slump over in defeat, then jumped when he saw Christmas was already making the drink. "Hey, I'm not doing this! Besides, smoking alcohol's illegal!"

One of Roy's sisters approached him with a sultry grin, eyelashes fluttering. "And do you see any police officers here, sir?" she purred, gesturing around the otherwise deserted bar.

"Um..." Maes glanced around at the crowd around them, a little stunned when he saw he was the only one present who realized the obvious flaw. "Yes! Two of them! One of them being me!"

Roy smirked, tugging him back around to the bar with a surprisingly firm hand, for one so inebriated. "Police officers, maybe, but I don't see any Amestrians around here, do you, Maes?" He made a show off looking around the bar, smirking wickedly the whole time. "Nope. All Xingese. And everything's legal in Xing, Maes."

"...I'm Amestrian, you IDIOT!"

"Semantics," Roy laughed, waving him off- but before Maes could tell him that just was not at all what the word semantics meant, his friend had fixated on something else, turning towards his mother and tugging on one of his gloves out of nowhere. "Ah, this part! Allow me!" He raised his hand, preparing to snap.

This time, Maes wasn't the only wet blanket.

"No!"

It was by habit alone that he pinned Roy's arm down- his friend had a terrible habit of trying to attempt alchemy when too drunk to see straight- but Christmas was even faster than him. "I don't think so, son," she chided, smoothly yanking off the dangerous weapon before it could burn down her bar. She handed it to him over Roy's head, shaking her head down at him, and the colonel slumped down with a put out, unhappy pout.

"She never lets me do this part..." he mumbled disappointedly, dropping his head into his hands, and Maes couldn't help but laugh.

Christmas fondly cuffed her foster son on the ear even as she pulled out a cigarette lighter, answering his question as to just what exactly his friend had been planning on doing with his gloves. She struck a flame, golden light flickering in the dark bar as she the drink on fire.

"Oh for god's sake- I told you, I'm not twenty anymore! I'm not doing this- Madame, come on..."

"Ah, but you're twenty at heart, aren't you?" Roy chuckled, clapping him rather clumsily on the back, and Maes reconsidered the wisdom of being best friends with an outright lunatic.

Christmas made a show off swirling the liquid fire in front of him, clearly with just as much as a taste for both being the center of attention and pyrotechnics as Roy. He felt like he was in college again, if their situations had been peculiarly reversed; back then he would've been pressuring Roy into doing insane things and Roy would've been obstinately trying to refuse without success.

Well, always knew I was the adult in this relationship...

When Christmas finished mixing up the pair of drinks, one for each of them, Maes couldn't help but shy away, frowning at the blue flames licking on the surface and again considering just how crazy he had to be to do this. He cast another worried look at Roy, wondering if he should even be doing this. Even as hammered as he was clearly aiming to be, and as tipsy as he already was, he still didn't look too great- he could wind up making himself sick... maybe he should say something-

"Drink up, boys!"

And Roy- of course, before Maes could even say a word- immediately did so.

The colonel tossed back the fire like it was nothing, then leaned forward with an eager smile, tossing a wink in his direction. "And you gotta inhale," he lectured, and for the first time Maes noticed Christmas had trapped the smoke from the burning drinks, too, and Roy was about to partake.

He rolled his eyes again, watching his friend dryly. "I thought mothers were supposed to tell their kids not to drink... not fix them flaming shots"

Christmas winked at him this time, even as she nudged his still flaming drink a little closer to him and pushed a straw into his hand. "No blood relation!" she proclaimed cheerfully, as if that made such a big difference, then pointed. "Now drink."

Groaning, Maes at last gave in and did.

Two seconds later, he regretted it wholeheartedly.

"A-ah... hah...!" he choked, the scalding liquid nearly keeling him over onto the bar. He stomped to his feet with another gasp, glaring at his friend with wide eyes as he fought not to gag, shocked. "Roy, what the hell-"

"It was on fire. What'd you expect, it'd be cold?" Roy laughed at him, and then Maes was given no time to run as the colonel planted a firm hand on the back of his head and forced him forward to inhale.

The smoke hit him instantly and his legs turned to jelly, sending him stumbling back with a violent cough and gasp. His foot ran clumsily into the bar stool and toppled it over and he swayed with it, the head rush flooding him with dizzy vertigo. "R-Roy!" he coughed, numb feet sending him back into an empty table- and the collision promptly sent him, lightheaded, to the floor.

It took him several seconds of blinking for his fuzzy vision to clear. Laughter from Roy's sisters echoed around him, ringing in his suddenly muggy ears, and he coughed weakly again through his burning throat. Blearily, Roy came into focus at last, the colonel standing above him with a smug, highly amused smirk, his eyes bright.

"Guh..." he mumbled, entirely too out of it for anything else. What the hell...

"Having fun, Maes?" Roy laughed, peering down at him with another smile. If Maes hadn't felt entirely too heavy to move, he might've punched him.

"You... what...?"

Roy dropped down to his knees next to him, still beaming the whole time, and looking entirely too sober for someone who had just had the same drink he had. "Did you ever stop to consider why smoking alcohol's illegal, officer?" he asked happily, and Roy's sisters laughed again. "It's because it skips the stomach. Goes straight to the brain." The colonel tapped him on the head smartly, punctuating the statement with a smug little growl. "That, and knowing how much my mother put in those drinks? You're feeling the effects of three shots in one second, my friend."

Maes once again considered the benefits of murder.

At last, shakily, he just accepted Roy's outstretched hand and allowed his friend to tug him upright, already fighting the urge to descend into a hysterical round of giggles. God damn, Roy was right. He hadn't felt this drunk since college. And maybe he'd be annoyed for it, later, but damn he was lightheaded and everything was abruptly too hilarious for him to care about being mad right now. "And w-what's your problem?" he laughed, barely keeping his balance as he staggered against a nearby table. "How're you s-still so... so sober?"

Roy beamed again, but his eyes were more than a little glazed, and now that he was on his feet he could see the colonel wasn't doing so hot, either, when it came to balance. "'S my mother's specialty drink. That's been my stress reliever since I was twelve, Maes. Nothing knocks me flat anymore." And, so saying, he turned back to stumble towards the bar, raising his arms in drunken victory. "And now that I've gotten you too drunk to say no... let's actually start this party!"

He finished the statement with a dog like howl, one that made his sisters all cheer along with him, and this time, Maes was too drunk to do anything but join in.

God.

He had not felt like this much of a disaster in years.

Years.

Maes kept his eyes shut and his head perfectly still, quite sure that moving around was not something he wanted to do. It may have been a long time since he'd woken up with a hangover like this, but all that experience gotten in his college days remained firmly implanted at the forefront of his mind and he stayed still, groaning at the feel of it all. His mouth was almost painfully dry, throat still burning, and the reek of alcohol weighed over him so heavily he wanted to throw up.

Oh, hell.

Some grumbling by his side told him he wasn't alone, and Maes licked his lips with a groan, contemplating whether or not actually looking was worth the effort. "Tell me we're not in bed together," he rasped, wincing.

"Mmm... no." Roy coughed sickly, his voice even more gravelly and dry than Maes'. "We are on the floor together, though."

His brow furrowed briefly, curiosity slowly getting the best of him. At last, he dragged his eyes open, squinting irritably into the dim light. His body felt heavy and entirely not worth moving, but even without fidgeting around he could tell that Roy was right. He was piled sloppily on the floor, feet propped up on a made, inviting, perfectly unoccupied bed that had evidently, for some reason, not looked as nice as the floor to him the night before. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Roy similarly propped up against the head of the bed, hugging a pillow to his chest while his head rested on the bedframe. The colonel blinked at him slowly, seeming just as disinclined to move, and Maes groaned miserably, shutting his eyes again.

"You remember why we're on the floor? Or... where we even are?"

Roy groaned as well. "No to the first. But this is my old room, over the Madame's bar. ...Don't remember deciding to head up here, though..."

"Ugh..." Maes rubbed his eyes miserably, relaxing bonelessly against the stiff wooden floor. "I need to call my wife. I never told her I was planning to spend the night on the floor of a bar... when she asks, I'll blame you for all of this, Roy."

The colonel chuckled raspily. "Naturally."

Maes managed a weak nod, but despite his words, made no attempt at standing, still feeling entirely too wretched to attempt it. Silence lapsed between them for several moments, neither one of them exactly eager to do anything at all, but at last, his friend sighed and started shuffling around, apparently trying to stand. "I don't know about you, but I'm going to go find the madame. Think if I don't get some water soon, I'll- YEEP!"

Maes smirked, not bothering to open his eyes. "You going to throw up if you move?" he guessed, flinging an arm over his head.

Roy, however, did not confirm his suspicions. Rather, he remained dead silent for several moments, just long enough for Maes to think he actually felt much worse than he was letting on- but then, his voice at least an octave higher than normal, he squeaked out, "Maes... where are my pants?"

...Oh.

Startled, Maes jerked his head over to stare, eyes widening. Sure enough, there Roy was, quite definitely pantsless and in the process of turning bright red because of it. He hadn't noticed until now, the colonel using his uniform jacket as a blanket of sorts, but now he could see it, and for a long moment, Maes found himself nearly suffocating, he was trying so hard not to laugh.

"I think you should be more concerned with what you are wearing, Roy."

"Wha..." Blinking, the colonel uncurled a little and looked down at himself- then froze.

His uniform pants were gone, nowhere to be seen, yes. However, in their place was a silk, hot pink miniskirt.

Roy promptly turned a brighter pink than the skirt.

Five drinks in, Maes stumbling and barely held up against his stool, Roy slumped wearily down around his empty glasses, burying his head in his hands. "You don't understand!" he wept, fingers clutching despairingly at his hair. "No one understands!"

"Roy-boy?" Christmas prodded, but was smiling a bit too brightly to actually be concerned, and Roy just responded by descending into another bout of crying, wiping futilely at his face.

"Every other Mustang looks good in one! I look good in everything! T-theref-f-fore... s-stands to reason that... so would I!"

Maes nearly choked in his drink. "Every other Mustang's a woman!"

Slowly, Roy lifted his head to stare at him. His wet eyes were now wide and serious, dead serious, like this was a military meeting and he'd just been presented with very crucial information. He looked like he was actually contemplating it for a long while, his sluggish mind slowly turning over it for a bit, until he at last nodded slowly, wiping absently at his still streaming eyes..

"Irrelevant," the colonel decided at last, and turned away from him.

Then, upon landing on one of his sisters, his eyes widened, and rather than descend into a torrent of sobbing again, Roy began to smile instead.

"Yi-Ling! Come over here!" he called, reaching out a hand towards her, then pumped his other fist into the air with a victorious cry. "Maes! Mother! Now you'll finally see! FINALLY! I'll have my proof- proof that I'm dead sexy in a miniskirt!"

By the look on Roy's steadily reddening face, the colonel now remembered what had happened just as much as he did.

"...Maes," he said at last, bloodshot eyes wide and shocked. "I... I did not... I put this on willingly?"

One hand plucked a little at the sheer fabric, lifting it up to expose so much a thigh a sailor would've blushed, and Roy blushed even more.

"I'm afraid so, buddy," Maes choked out, still warring with the hysterical laugh growing in his raw throat.

Roy sunk a little more back against the corner, pulling his knees up to his chest and pressing the pillow to them, attempting to hide his state of near undress and failing rather miserably. "Well," the colonel deadpanned after a moment, but Maes could barely hear him over his own laughter, "at least I finally do have proof. I am dead sexy in the miniskirt."

Maes laughed until it became too risky to laugh anymore, not unless he wanted his stomach contents to remain where they were, and slumped back onto the floor, gasping. He grinned weakly, the alcohol-fuzzed memory enough to make him cry with mirth, and decided this maybe hadn't been such a foolish idea after all.

Out of habit, he patted the space beside him, searching for his glasses. When his hand found nothing but the floorboards, he groaned again, about to curl up in defeat- then stopped, when even that much motion made his stomach shift around threateningly. "Where are my glasses?" he asked mournfully, already sure he didn't want to know.

Sure enough, Roy, seemingly to have sufficiently recovered at last, whispered a chuckle in response, then cleared his throat. "You put them in my big sister's bra. Then laughed when they fell out and broke."

That made his eyes fly open, piercing headache be dammed. "What?!" He looked back and forth around the room, horrified to see no sign of them anywhere near by, a sign he was telling the truth. "Why were your sisters hitting on me?! They know I'm married! Oh, god- what did I do- Gracia-"

"Oh shut up, moron," Roy grumbled, massaging at his temples without opening his eyes. "You didn't do anything."

"Then why were my glasses in her bra?!"

His friend smirked lazily, pushing his hair out of his face as he slowly began the arduous journey of sitting up. "You were interested in a necklace she was wearing- thought Gracia might like it. Tried to get a closer look; that's when you took your glasses off. ...You know, Maes, if you were anyone else, I'd be beating you up right now, for hitting on my sister. But I think I actually believe it was all for Gracia." The colonel waved a finger at him and rolled his eyes again. "Only you; head buried in another woman's chest and still talking about your wife..."

Maes groaned. "You know, you'd maybe understand what all the fuss is about if you'd just-"

"Finish that sentence, and those pictures in your pocket? Consider them destroyed."

"-...get. yourself. a. wife."

He could almost feel the colonel glare at him, but knew full well Roy wasn't about to get up any time soon, and remained relaxed safely on the floor, out of reach. He rubbed his face again, frowning up at the blurry sight of the ceiling. "Broken. I can't believe it. They survived you mauling my face, but they can't survive your family. Unbelievable."

Then, realizing what he'd just said, Maes froze. A pit dropped into his stomach and the both of them went silent.

His fingers, previously trailing over the bridge of his nose, settled into one of the scars left under his eye. After several moments, feeling the weight of Roy's uncomfortable gaze on him, he pulled it away, letting his hand fall limply on the floor and cleared his throat. He hadn't ever really talked with Roy about what had happened, by mutual agreement. As far as he knew, Roy hadn't talked with anyone about all that had happened to him as a chimera aside from Ed, and Maes just didn't want to bring it up. It seemed being entirely hungover, exhausted, and possibly still a little drunk, had entirely removed his mental filter.

"...Quit whining," Roy said at last, but his voice was a little more subdued than before, and his eyes, less lighthearted. "I can just make you another pair."

Maes frowned at him, trying with him to recapture the easy, unforced air that had lingered just before. It didn't work at all. "Those are ten thousand cenz prescription glasses, you idiot alchemist. You can't just transmute me another pair."

"Wait- ten thousand cenz?" Roy stared him blankly, and Maes sighed in relief when it seemed the price tag had surprised the colonel enough to make him forget about his slip of the tongue. "Maes, just how bad are your eyes? How did you even get into the military?" He broke off for a moment, starting to smirk in wicked amusement. "How many fingers am I holding up? Can you even see me? How many-"

"Oh, shut up, you pyromaniac asshole."

"...not a pyromaniac," Roy muttered sullenly after several moments, and Maes just lay his head back on the floor, satisfied and overall too tired to push it anymore.

It was quiet for a minute, neither one of them particularly wanting to get up, and the thought of the verbal tongue lashing he'd get when he called his wife was more than enough to leave him content with the floor for now. At last, though, he rolled his head over to look at his friend, examining him carefully, or as carefully as he could without his glasses. "I'm sorry, Roy," he groaned, prompting a confused frown. "I only came with you to keep you from overdoing it after you got sick yesterday... doesn't seem like I did a very good job. Are you okay?"

It was a simple yes or no question, but, to his confusion, Roy didn't answer him. Roy just sat there and looked quietly at him for one long moment, almost as if the question had disappointed him somehow, expression unreadable. He watched him like that for several moments, utterly implacable- then, finally, just sighed. "Oh," he said simply, and that one word was so limp and somewhat put out it made Maes frown in concern, looking at him sharply. The colonel leaned back against his corner with a decidedly displeased look, hugging his pillow a little tighter, and his mouth pulled down into a disappointed frown. "I would've thought you'd have figured it out by now, Maes."

Maes frowned again, thrown. "...Figured what out?"

The colonel sighed again. "We just got drunk like a pair of teenagers, made fantastic fools of ourselves, and apparently almost got laid- with my sisters. ...Your first response should not be asking me if I'm okay." He gestured around at their decidedly pitiful states, eyebrow raised. "That was the whole point of this, Maes."

Maes blinked in surprise. Oh.

Well, at least now he knew why Roy had been so insistent on going out drinking yesterday.

"...Roy," he started thickly, struggling to put the stinging, lingering guilt into words. "Look, I know you think you're fine, but after everything that happened- I'm just being careful. Besides, the last time I screwed up, you ended up..." He trailed off, unable to finish, and swallowed the lump in his throat.

The colonel leaned forward a little off the wall, fixing him with an iron, unbreakable gaze. "And there it is. That's why you're doing this. It's not that I'm still not at one hundred percent yet... you feel guilty. Well, feeling guilty isn't a valid reason to do anything, Maes." He broke off for a moment, dark eyes softening. "You need to stop worrying about me, now. I'm not friends with you because I want someone to worry about me- so just... be my best friend again. Not this... this paranoid, overprotective moron who doesn't even want to get a drink because he's worried it'll be too much for me. ...That was the point of this."

It was quiet for several moments, Roy's eyes still on firmly on him, then the colonel cleared his throat and continued on. "I didn't recognize you, and attacked you, Maes." It was even softer now, not the guilt-choked murmur he'd expected but instead, a matter of fact statement of reality. "You didn't recognize me, and put me in Lab Three. We both fucked up, Maes. That's the end of it. So either we can keep apologizing to each other for it, or we can move on. ...I vote for the latter."

He swallowed, his throat suddenly tight, and said nothing at all, at a loss for words and unable to speak, anyway, past the heavy weight on his chest. He stayed silent instead, averting his eyes back towards the ceiling with a heavy, reluctant sigh, ever familiar guilt strangling him in a chokehold. He had to bite back the instinct to say he didn't blame Roy for any of it; he knew full well the colonel didn't blame him, either, and had only said it to allow the statement to go unchallenged. Maes could no easier talk Roy out of his guilt than Roy could talk him out of his.

But... perhaps Roy was right.

Maybe the only way to get past this was to just accept that no matter what had gone wrong, by his own mistakes or not, both of them were okay now... and they had both already forgiven each other, even if they could not forgive themselves.

Maybe that was the best he could get.

Maes gave his friend another sidelong look, and this time, managed a tired smile.

Maybe it really was high time he looked on the bright side of all of this, and accepted that, no matter how scarred, he'd gotten his best friend back alive, and that was enough.

"...Okay, Roy," he sighed, eyes shut, and somehow, just like that, felt as if the great weight on his shoulders had finally, just slightly, eased.

And just like that, the moment was passed.

"Fantastic," Roy told him quietly, then clapped his hands together in a business like manner, straightening upright against the wall. "Now, next time you ask me if I'm okay, the reason had better be because I'm bleeding to death. Most likely due to Hawkeye and the last stack of paperwork I misplaced in the trash can." He grinned at him, then started to push himself up off the ground. "I'm going to go find my pants. And you need to call your wife. I- ...oh..."

Maes smirked, keeping his eyes shut. "You're going to throw up if you move, aren't you," he said again, even more sure of himself this time.

"...Yep..." He heard the colonel slump back against the corner now, groaning miserably and giving up on getting to his feet. "God damn... we may have drunk like we were ten years younger, but you know, somehow, I don't remember hangovers being this bad when we were twenty."

Maes grunted in agreement, massaging his temples again. "Maybe next time you want to make a point, you don't involve your crazy aunt?"

"Agreed." Roy coughed again, clearing his throat. Then... "MADAME! WHERE ARE MY CLOTHES?!"

Maes jumped, squeezing his eyes shut with a groan and turning away. "God, Roy...!" he hissed at the bellow, biting the inside of his cheek with a moan. "How'd you even do that? You had the same stupid fire drink as me..." he croaked, already sore throat protesting miserably again.

Roy gave a blithe shrug. "I'm the Flame Alchemist, Maes. Don't underestimate me."

"Shut up... we took your glove off, you couldn't transmute anything..."

"Ah. That is correct, isn't it...?" He tilted his head to the side, slight grin growing. "That is what you all did..." And, deliberately, he reached down to his uniform jacket, fishing around in one of the pockets... and pulled out his other glove.

"...You."

"Yes, Maes," Roy chuckled, grinning again, "me."

"You..." Maes pushed himself up at last, staring in disbelief at the little glove and the growing, smug look on his best friend's face. "You... you cooled your drink off, didn't you?!"

Roy just smirked.

"You CHEATER!"

"Cheater?" Roy repeated smugly, still fondling his glove like it was a security blanket. "Now, Maes, really-"

"You have five seconds," Maes hissed, seething. He wrenched a knife out of his belt and hefted it dangerously, waving it in the air. "Five seconds, cheater. And I don't have my glasses, so there's no telling where I'll hit. I could hit your glove. I could hit your face. ...I could hit certain parts of you that are much more exposed in that sexy skirt than usual. ...Cheater."

Roy paled.

"...Five seconds?"

"To start running," Maes said dangerously, and grinned.

Roy had scrambled out the door on all fours before Maes had even started counting down.