Basically:

I tried to write the epilogue. Almost ten times. I at last had to give up on perfecting it, because it simply refused to be perfected. However, I could never just let this die without revealing what happened to Azarov. So- over ONE WHOLE YEAR LATER... here is the conclusion :)

Thanks to everyone who reviewed this fic! Thank you all so much! You kept me going :)

One of the very few benefits to long-term hospitalization:

Eavesdropping.

Maes slept a lot, still- although, drifted was perhaps a more accurate term. With the painkillers, he was drowsy more often than not, and most of the time, he was too exhausted to really participate in the conversation but not actually sleepy, either. He'd learned to just close his eyes and drift for a while, waiting until he felt more up to it to drift back into the conversation.

Everyone else around him, though, seemed to assume if his eyes were closed, he was asleep. Completely, totally out of it. And they acted accordingly, despite the fact that he was well and truly aware, and listening to every word they said.

Hence, the eavesdropping.

Today, it was on Roy, and Elicia.

It was a very quiet, awkward affair, one that Maes suspected his wife had engineered, and that he was now unintentionally supporting by continuing to feign sleep rather than interrupt. Gracia had been there with them until just a few minutes ago, when she'd announced that she was going for a coffee run, and asked Roy to watch Elicia before their daughter could even start to get up to follow her mother.

What had then ensued was one of the most uncomfortable silences of his life. He swore he would've been able to hear a pin drop, and what was more, would've welcomed it, because at least that would've been more bearable than this.

Until, finally, Roy apparently decided to be the grown up in the room, and speak up.

"Those are, um… very nice, Elicia."

There was another awkward, uncomfortable moment.

"I… yeah. …thanks."

Maes swallowed a grimace, schooling his features into remaining perfectly still. That the best you can do, Uncle Roy?

It was another few moments before Roy spoke again, voice soft but earnest, and an admirable try at not revealing the guilt he knew weighed on him with each word. "Your dad will love them. That's the kind of thing he loses his mind over."

Excuse me, Roy- I'll love what now?

There was uncomfortable crinkling of paper to his left, where he knew Elicia was, then a tiny sigh, and another unenthusiastic, "Yeah."

Roy waited a few moments before trying again, and if he was discouraged, it didn't show in his voice. "Was it a surprise, or…?"

Elicia sighed quietly again, and he could again hear her fiddling with something like paper. "I guess. My teacher read about it in the paper, and called me out in class this morning to tell everyone. Then we all got to spend the next hour making the cards. So, yeah. I guess it was a surprise."

Roy made a soft, sympathetic sort of sound, and Elicia laughed bitterly again in a way that made her sound far, far older than ten, and made him feel far, far worse than the skin grafts ever had. "It was super embarrassing and probably the worst day I've ever had at school ever, and I don't even want to go tomorrow anymore, but now Dad's got a bunch of get well cards from my class, so there's that. Mom said those are the only girls who get to write him cards besides her, whatever that means."

There was a quiet, startled sort of chuckle from Roy's side of the room; meanwhile, Maes finally understood, and found himself again torn between amusement and just giving his daughter a hug. So that was what Roy had been referring to, earlier- and probably the paper Elicia kept fiddling with. A stack of get well cards from Elicia's fourth grade class? Roy had been right; he would indeed love it- or, perhaps, would've, if he'd have been able to read them without thinking what his daughter had had to sit through to get them. He could only imagine how embarrassing and awful that surprise had been for her and now found himself with half a mind to go down to her school and complain- but, well. Hospitalization. Yeah.

Maes sighed softly again, just softly enough so the rest of the room's occupants wouldn't hear.

He was really, really ready to go home.

"I know it may not really help, Elicia," Roy went on softly, "but, I'm sure they'll all have forgotten about this in a few days, really-"

"I read the article, too."

"…Pardon?"

Silence. Again, the paper crinkling.

"…I read the article, too," Elicia said again at last, her voice even smaller than before. "The one my teacher did. About Dad."

There was another awkward pause. Maes, as well as Roy, probably, wasn't sure where she was going with this.

"…All right," Roy said slowly, guardedly, uncertainly. "That is, um-"

"It said Dad was hurt by Drachmans. That's what my teacher said, too. That's what everyone besides my mom says when I ask. They say Dad got hurt by the Drachmans."

There was another dead silence.

This time, it tasted bitter when Maes swallowed, and he knew Roy's lack of an immediate answer was not because he didn't understand what she was trying to tell him.

"I… know," he finally murmured- and, there. There was the soft, guilt-choked voice Maes had been expecting to come out this entire time.

There it was.

He felt even worse now that he'd heard it, and suddenly, Elicia wasn't the only one he wanted to give a hug to.

"It wasn't them."

"It-" He could hear Roy swallow, voice wavering unsteadily with cloaked pain again. "I know. I know. It wasn't them, Elicia, and… I'm…" There was a long, frustrated sigh, frustration at himself, not at Elicia, Maes knew, and Roy broke off again, voice shaking.

It was completely silent now. Not even the crinkling of paper in Elicia's little hands.

At last, there was footsteps, quiet footsteps and movement from Roy's side of the room as his best friend got up and strode straight for his daughter. He heard rustling again, then: "Elicia, I'm sorry. I'm sorry people are lying about how it happened, and I'm sorry it happened at all. I… I can't apologize enough for that… but I'm sorry, Elicia."

There was a quiet, soft sniffling noise first, then another, slightly louder, and Maes almost called Abort Mission right then and there. "W-why-" she sniffled again, "why- Dad always said, he s-said that he trusted you, because you didn't make alchemy mistakes, he says all the time that you're dumb but not that way, but you- Mom said it was you! How could it have been an accident?! Dad says you don't have accidents! They both said it was you, but just an accident, and that's not- y-you- Uncle Roy-"

His eyes may have been closed, but Maes could never mistake the sounds of his little girl starting to cry.

Maes had just started to intervene, hands flexing to push himself upright as he sucked in a breath and prepared to move without wincing- but Roy was faster than he was. "Oh- come here, Elicia. Come here," he said just as Maes had cracked open an eye, letting him squint and just catch Roy drawing his good arm around Elicia's shoulders even as his mouth quivered and his fingers shook.

Maes slowly relaxed back down into the lumpy mattress, heart thumping uncomfortably in his throat and cold fingers clutching uneasily at the sheets.

"Your dad is a much better person than I am, Elicia. He has a lot more faith and trust in me than I really deserve. They're… also being far kinder to me about this… incident… than is truly fair."

"W-what's that-" Elicia sniffled desperately again; he could hear her rubbing her nose on her sleeve, and just barely caught a blurry image of Roy's hand shifting to the top of her head. "What's what supposed to- so it wasn't an accident?! Y-you- hit him on purpose?!"

Roy sighed deeply. "Yes and no," he murmured, and it was only because Maes knew him so well he heard the quiet restrained grief in that one. Again, he clenched his jaw, and struggled to stop himself intervening to stop Roy from telling his distorted version of the truth. "I wasn't trying to hit Maes. I was aiming for… somebody else. Someone who, admittedly, deserved it, but we weren't supposed to hurt him. Maes pushed him out of the way, and… that's how he ended up like this."

Elicia ran her sleeve across her face again, then a third time. She still wouldn't look at Roy, although maybe now that was perhaps more a function of her trying to get rid of her tears than because she was angry at him. "S-so," she stammered, "so- it was an accident, t-then. You… just didn't know you weren't supposed to hurt that guy, but Dad did?"

There was an uncertain pause.

"…No," Roy sighed. "I did know we weren't supposed to."

Elicia blinked wildly, still trying to scrub the tears out of her eyes while Roy sat silently next to her, arm back around her shoulders. With Maes' eyes just barely open he couldn't see her well enough to gauge what she was thinking, but, this time, he'd decided to wait for Roy's next words just as much as Elicia had to.

Well, Roy?

How are you going to explain this?

"Elicia," his best friend said gravely. "Th-this is- is w-what-" He stopped, ducking his head with an annoyed sort of hiss a breath. There was that strange stutter, that unsettling stammer that had made an appearance these past few weeks despite him never having heard Roy stutter like that before, in all their lives. That strange stutter that came up whenever Roy was nervous or scared, and that Maes hated, because it was the very antithesis of who Roy was- and that he'd never gotten an explanation for it, beyond knowing that even though Roy had now gotten his voice back, sometimes, still, his words hadn't come with it.

Another crime, he knew, that rested on Azarov's shoulders, that Roy wouldn't explain, and that Maes wanted justice for. Now.

"This is what I m-meant," Roy said finally, seeming just resigning himself to it with an aura of defeat that was painful to watch. "When I s-said your dad trusted me more than he sh-should. I was very upset, and s-scared, and- and have you ever been so scared of s-something y-you do stupid things? This was one of the s-stupidest things I've ever done, and if I could t-take it back, I w-would, but all I can say is that I was not trying to hurt your dad. I would never do that. But that day, I was such a mess I don't think I ever even realized he was there with me. I… I thought I was dying, Elicia." He broke off for a moment, voice shaking so hard he almost could not go on; slowly, tremulously, he ran his down to rest on her shoulder again. "I was sc-scared, and I did a dumb thing, that I've been trying to apologize for every d-day since. I'm s-sorry for that, Elicia. I'm also s-sorry for the position it's put y-you in, because you r-really do have every right t-to be- upset, with m-me, and- and I'm s-sorry it's taken m-me so long to say this, t-too. I know I've b-been… I've h-hiding for weeks now, and you all d-deserved better th-than that, t-too- and… I am r-really sorry, Elicia."

His daughter sniffed again, a little quieter this time, as Roy's rough-voiced apology died into nothing as his best friend turned his face away, surreptitiously wiping his cheek against his shoulder. She said nothing at first, trembling and hiccuping a little, but not pushing Roy's arm away, at least, and Maes was left with a moment to think.

It sounded rehearsed, to him, and he suspected it was probably the same version of events Roy had given Gracia- just redacted. The same version of events that Maes, ironically, had never heard himself; despite having been there himself that day, Maes probably knew the least about Roy's state of mind, because he'd just never been told.

All he knew was after Roy had spoken to Gracia, his wife and had been red-eyed and shaking, and it had taken her an hour to stop.

He hadn't even seen Roy for days afterward.

Elicia at last sent her godfather another hesitant look, hugging herself and still trying not to cry. "Adults aren't supposed to get upset and scared like that."

Roy gave her a weak laugh, patting her head again. "No- we like to pretend that we d-don't. That's the main difference between an adult and a kid; when we're- f-freaked out- we just hide it. Truth is, Elicia, I've s-seen your dad cry over a s-spider."

Elicia let out a startled giggle, wiping at her cheek again- and Maes scowled.

How nice, Roy…

It had been a Aerugonian monster the size of a dinner plate. He hadn't been the only soldier in the room crying.

Another moment or two passed in silence, Elicia still trying to calm herself down but now fighting a weak, unsure smile, too. At last, she nervously turned her head up to look at Roy again, fingers clenching together as if she wasn't sure what to say. "…Why haven't you said any of us before? Where've you… been? It's- been weeks since we got home. And you've…" She sniffed again, staring up at him. "You've been gone."

Roy sighed again, the sound laced with quiet guilt. "I wanted to know how I was going to explain myself… what I was g-going to say. It was what you and your mother deserved. It just… took me longer than I would've l-liked." He smiled at her hesitantly again, patting her shoulder as she sniffled again. "I also haven't been able to talk well for a while, and wanted to be sure I could get through this before I tried it." Elicia must've given him a confused look, because he then hastened to add, "It's- I broke my jaw. It's nothing. I'm fine."

It was the easiest explanation appropriate for a ten year old, Maes figured- after all, not even he had gotten the whole story on where Roy's voice had gone, after Drachma. He wasn't sure anybody had.

All he knew was that Roy had been using the injuries to his mouth as a very convenient- and very false- excuse.

"You can do that?" Elicia asked, surprised, and why Roy laughed quietly as he nodded.

"Yeah, sure. You can break almost anything. You should j-just ask your dad about th-that; he has some wonderful stories from the military academy I'm sure he'd love to tell you."

Again, Maes' eye twitched, and it took a remarkable effort of self control to keep himself from interrupting right then and there.

I swear to god, Roy… unless you want a broken tailbone…

Elicia giggled again, a wet, tiny chuckle as Roy gently squeezed her in another side hug. "What do they even do for that? They can't- can they put a cast on your face?"

Roy laughed quietly as well, which Maes found rather ironic, since if Roy continued dropping irritating hints about him to his daughter his idiot best friend was going to find out about getting his face in a cast, and Maes was going to enjoy it…

"Not quite," Roy said. "They put a wire in it a little while ago. See?" He took Elicia's hand and let her feel his face, her little fingers moving around until she started with a tiny exclamation of surprise, and Roy smiled weakly again. "Yeah, it's not so bad. Mostly it j-just means I get to have a smoothie for dinner."

There was an awkward, uncomfortable pause, and Maes knew Roy, at least, was thinking of everyone else who had been involved with that ill-fated mission into Drachma- and how much worse they had all had it, than just a smoothie for dinner.

He also knew how unfairly Roy was cutting it, because all Maes could think of was the devastating scene he'd found when he'd seen his best friend in that hellhole- and the even worse one a week after, when they'd finally gotten him out of there.

Suffice it to say, it had definitely been a little worse than a damn smoothie.

Roy, finally, moved a little bit back so he could look his daughter in the eye, pulling his arm back from around her shoulders to let it fall into his lap. His left hand, Maes noted, hidden in a glove, not his alchemy ones- disguising the fact that it had only four fingers.

"Elicia," he said quietly. "I've already told your mother this, but- a lot of things happened on that mission that I regret. Your father isn't all of them, but… I am sorry, for what happened to h-him, and for what you've gone through as a family as a result. T-the… the last thing that I'd ever want to do is hurt him. I understand if you're still upset with me, you have every right- but thank you. For listening to me, and for at least letting me explain. You didn't have to."

It was a strange thing, watching General Mustang all but beg for a ten year old's forgiveness. It was a stranger thing, knowing that Roy didn't even believe he deserved it, and probably never would, no matter how many times Maes told him it was forgiven, and had said all of that far more for her benefit than his own.

It was not a strange thing when, after a minute passed in uncomfortable silence, Roy's grief shadowed face turned away from his still teary-eyed daughter, Elicia hopped out of her chair, put her short arms around him, and mumbled in a voice tinier than she was, "Thanks."

Maes found himself smiling, too, and fighting very hard to keep it small enough not to be seen, even after Elicia had let her shellshocked, idiot uncle go and headed to the door without another word.

"…Well," Roy said awkwardly, after several long moments of silence. He sat back in his chair, blinking rather stupidly, then rubbed his gloved hand across his eyes in a brief motion he obviously thought was surreptitious despite being anything but. "She… r-really is a good kid, Maes."

Maes again hid his smile at first, simply agreeing with him in silence. She was. Best damn kid in the world.

But then he went over Roy's words again in his head- the phrasing, the tone-

Maes groaned.

"You absolute sneak," he muttered darkly.

Roy smirked.

"Oh, good afternoon," the idiot drawled carelessly, watching him with sly, almost cat-like eyes as Maes pushed himself upright to glare more properly. "Sleep well?"

"You are unbelievable."

"You did that thing in the Academy, you know," Roy informed him smugly, gesturing vaguely. "That- 'resting your eyes' nonsense. Whenever you're not actually planning to fall asleep, you keep your glasses on. It's really quite dumb, actually- I used to sit there and watch in the Academy, hoping you'd actually pass out and end up crushing your glasses. It was great."

"Yeah, uhuh, it really sounds like it. You're the best friend a guy could ask for, Roy, really. Can't imagine where I'd be without you. Besides well-adjusted, I mean, and a lot more sane. Yep. Best friend ever."

Roy just smirked at him again, all sly and smug and arrogant… but this time, the expression came just a splitsecond too late, with that same familiar lingering shadow of guilt, and this time, Maes found his own smile fading.

Somehow, the old joke from their Academy days that Roy was a horrible person and an asshole friend really weren't that funny anymore.

Not now that Roy actually half believed them.

Maes paused as he looked Roy over again, disguising his intent under a shallow grin but really just… looking. Just wanting to see… because he'd seen Roy, but- somehow, never really managed to talk to him, after everything that had happened. He'd made himself unerringly scarce, these past few weeks, as best as Maes could tell. Yes, Maes had been in and out of it for a while, and the transport from North City to Central was still all but a mystery to him- but he remembered enough to know that Roy had been avoiding him.

It didn't take a genius to guess why, either.

He'd seen Roy look worse, he observed; it wasn't as bad as he'd been worried about, but not good enough to put him at ease. The physical injuries were healing. The last of the bruises had finally faded. His jaw and speech had obviously gotten better- even if they didn't seem to necessarily be related. He'd traded in the heavy cast on his right arm for a less restrictive sling, and just from the way he'd interacted with Elicia Maes knew it was getting much better. He was walking better as well, and though he'd kept his gloves on so he couldn't see, he knew he was handling the amputations better, too.

His usual shtick of not sleeping or eating well was apparent- but, honestly, after what he'd been through… what little Maes even knew about what he'd been through… he could hardly call Roy out for that, could he? It could've been so much worse than it was. The lingering shadows in his eyes, the stubborn way his newly scarred mouth seemed to tremble or his face fell whenever he thought no one was watching- well, god. Maes had seen him much, much worse than this before. He almost felt bad about the idea of harassing him for it, because this wasn't like Ishval- yes, Roy was obviously struggling, some days still closer to falling apart than not- but he was still trying. He was still trying, and Maes simply felt wrong even thinking about getting onto him for not managing to try hard enough.

God, he wanted to fucking tear Azarov apart.

Maes swallowed, carefully rearranging his features into another slight, hopefully nonjudgmental smile. "Well, Uncle Roy- that was sweet of you," he teased gently. "I'm sure Elicia is grateful."

Roy's pale face faded to a an almost delicate pink, even as he desperately tried to hide it. "I- I would hardly say sweet," he spluttered, and Maes' grin broadened.

"Aw, what's the matter? Oh, oh, I see- you can't let it get out that hardass General Mustang's really got the heart of a softie, can you?" He laughed, beaming. "That's it, isn't it?"

"I d-do not! Maes-" Roy flushed even more brilliantly than before, withering in his chair like this was the most embarrassment he'd ever known. "I was simply doing the responsible thing. Only you could manipulate that around and start claiming I'm a- a softie, or some other such nonsense. Which, by the way, is an entirely non-scientific term that doesn't-"

"Such a softie!" he cried, and was immediately rewarded with Roy dropping his face into his good hand and muffling a miserable moan so loud it was hilarious. "I'm glad you're finally coming out of your shell, Roy- like a nice, softie turtle. Hey, Elicia loves turtles! What do you think, Roy, is that why-"

"I'm going to speak with your nurse. You have clearly overdosed and are now trying to take me with you- and what's more, I think that you are succeeding, you dumb bastard. …A turtle, Hughes. Really."

The deadpan was muffled into his hand again- but the despair was so palpable Maes had no doubt at the look on his best friend's face. He sat back and he laughed, shaking his head at the melodramatic fool, and when Roy finally deigned to lift his head up to fix him with the flattest look of his life, Maes was still smiling at him.

The nervous stutter was completely gone now, he noted.

"Seriously," he went on after a few moments, quieter now that he knew he'd gotten through to him. "That was nice of you. That was also the most honest I think I've heard you be about… that day."

Roy's dark eyes dimmed a little, the once genuine look on his face fading, just- draining, everything about him suddenly slipping behind that cold facade of his, the one he fell into when whatever his emotions were, he just didn't trust himself to feel them. It was a mask that Maes wasn't sure Roy had let go of once, since Drachma.

"Well," he said at length, voice careful, expression shrouded, "to be fair, I don't think you've ever heard me talk about it. So I'll take that judgment with a grain of salt, then." But there wasn't a trace of a genuine smile on his face, and nothing about him was reassuring in the slightest.

Maes sighed again.

He'd be lying, if he'd tried to say he hadn't been expecting this.

"You know? I don't think that I have. I'll be honest though, Roy…" And, well, this one was a gamble- but it was one that Maes was convinced that he had to take. "I think that's because I haven't been hearing much of anything from you, lately."

Once again, the room went dead silent.

Maes couldn't hold Roy's gaze this time, because his best friend just wasn't looking at him.

The general fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat, first scratching at where the sling's strap rested against his neck, then at a new scar on his face, gaze still turned away. "I…" he muttered, then coughed again. "…well." He stared down at his lap for a solid five seconds, pale face softening with what Maes knew was an apology before he'd ever even spoken- and finally just slumped, and turned his face away. "You're right. And, I'm sorry."

It wasn't an apology that Maes had been fishing for, not at all- but at least Roy wasn't trying to schmooze his way out of it. He could work with this. "I know," he returned quietly, still watching Roy not look at him. "I know the Fuhrer gave you an incredible amount of time off. What have you been so busy with?"

"You… oh." Roy managed a weak, sheepish sort of smile, but it seemed forced, and his gaze was still lingering on the corner of the bed rather than at him. "I guess you didn't know… Grumman did, he gave us all at least a month off, without question- but we decided to go back into work last week. Desk duty, obviously, and even then I'm still pretty limited, but… I was really starting to go crazy, with all that time to just sit around and think." He paused, a shadow crossing over his face. "It's just Fuery with us, for now, and he's on half days. Until he gets used to reading with… with one eye."

There was another uncertain, dark pause. Roy's gloved fist clenched so tightly in his lap Maes almost heard the material tear.

He let a few moments pass silence, waiting for Roy to get himself back under some sort of modicum of control, waiting for the dark anger on his face to fade back into that more familiar shadow of grief and guilt. "We?" he teased gently, hoping to draw him out of it a little more. "So you've been spending some more time with Hawkeye, then?"

He was rewarded, then, with another flat look, this one an annoyed sort of glare as Roy finally looked him back in the eyes. "I swear, if you start in on that now…

"Hey," Maes laughed, raising his hands up defensively. "You two were the ones getting all kissy-face in the north, not me!"

"Maes," Roy said faintly. He looked almost ill. "Kissy-face. Kissy-face. You're thirty-three years old."

Maes smirked.

After several moments, Roy just groaned, rubbing his temples with his still gloved hand- that still plain white glove that would always look out of place on him. Maes wasn't sure he had even seen the general wear his alchemy gloves since coming home. "Leave it alone, you ass," he muttered. "Riza is... we've been avoiding talking about it."

"Roy."

"We're drowning in paperwork. Do you have any idea how much has piled up? We're busy, Maes, not just because there's only three of us in the office. And now it's- it's- it's just... complicated. Riza's..." He glanced away, shoulders slumping a little, then just shook his head with a long sigh.

"I think now isn't the best time to start anything serious," Roy finished at last, gaze down. "Some days, I think Riza's still angry enough at me to shoot me; others, she still feels so guilty she can barely stand to look at me." He shrugged quietly again, voice going even softer. "And I think I'm not much better off than she is, at the moment. We've both agreed to give it some time and space before we discuss anything. So, you can put the wedding planning on hold, Maes."

Maes paused himself. He didn't know whether to chastise Roy on this, because he always did this, every time he got close to something permanent he started inventing excuses, or to give him some leeway, since, well, Roy was probably right... it maybe worked out great in romance novels, but a traumatic imprisonment and torture sequence did not make a very good groundwork to base a relationship off of.

As long as they didn't put it off forever- and Maes would ensure they would not- he supposed this was fair.

"Fine," he conceded grudgingly. "I'll cancel the florist."

"Knowing you, you've already set up one."

Maes glared. "And a caterer. And the photographer. And the venue. And the liquor. And I have a list of cake designs. And-"

"Maes, you really need to stop, because I am actually not sure right now how much you're joking and I really don't want to find out."

...

"Chocolate." Roy pouted. "The cake has to be chocolate."

Maes snorted. "Noted."

There was another few moments of silence, easily lighter than before, and Maes liked to think Roy looked more at ease himself. He was, at least, looking at him, not sitting there skittishly and staring at his feet like he wanted to just crawl into a hole in the ground and never be seen again. Maes had never really gotten the answer he'd started this with, asking why Roy had been avoiding him- but he'd just wanted to get Roy talking, really. He didn't really need the answer, for that one.

He wasn't stupid. He could very easily guess why.

He just needed Roy to stop doing it.

In fact, for a few seconds, Maes was even tempted to label this as Mission Success. Everything was certainly going well. This had to be the best he'd seen Roy since before he'd ever even left for Drachma, he thought, and now that Maes was recovering more steadily, he knew Roy would have to start feeling better, too. He could understand why his best friend had been acting this way, really couldn't even blame him for it- but being home, recovering, and Maes recovering, too… Roy would have to start to feel better, wouldn't he? He understood Roy being upset, but now that everything was finally starting to resettle back away from that nightmare, now that Roy could see everything was going to be okay-

Then, however, Roy looked at him again.

Something in his dark eyes made his breath catch, and, slowly, he felt his own smile start to fade.

"Maes," Roy said quietly. He paused, tilting his head to the side, then shifted to sit up a little straighter, still disturbingly pale, still disturbingly just… off. "You were right, though. I have been avoiding you. I won't lie- I'm sure most of my reasons, you've already predicted on your own, and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have acted this way. …but…" He broke off for a moment, gaze darkening in distant, faded memory- then looked down to the slim folder, by his side. "There was also something that I needed to take care of, before I felt I could sit down and do this."

Maes blinked blankly.

…what?

"I… okay." He glanced uncertainly at the file, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Until now, he'd just assumed that was some spare paperwork Roy had brought to work on- he'd not really given the thing a second thought. "…I think you're going to need to elaborate, buddy."

Roy nodded slowly, his focus still on the folder. "I know." He paused, waiting just a moment longer, dark, unreadable gaze drifting between him and it- then, with one decisive nod, moved to hand it over to him.

Maes, after several long, wordless, and confused moments, accepted it.

The file was very thin, its contents just a few sheets of paper, all of which appeared to be the official military documentation for something. It took him a few moments to recognize the top sheet as an incident report, and he skimmed down it quickly, already hurrying on towards whatever it was Roy was waiting for him to find. Frowning, he turned the page, still skimming, chewing the inside of his cheek again…

The instant Maes hit the piece Roy wanted him to see, he knew.

He knew.

His heart skipped a painful beat and slowly, disbelievingly, he raised his head to stare at his best friend.

This time, neither was smiling.

"Roy," he started quietly, half choked, then stopped. He had no idea what to say.

"Keep reading, Maes," Roy said back just as softly, his voice cold, and his face utterly unreadable.

Slowly, his heart in his throat, Maes did.

It was an incident report filed by the Drachman government, an official request for more information onto an attack that had occurred on Drachman soil just the week prior. They were accusing Roy-

Of the recent attack on Colonel Azarov.

Except, from what he was reading, it had not been so much as an attack, but an execution.

Or, perhaps an execution would've been kinder.

The man had been attacked the week before, and was still in intensive care; severely burned on his way to his car in the middle of the night with absolutely no witnesses. He'd been found screaming his head off, howling in pain… and based off his new experience with such an injury, Maes somehow doubted he'd managed to stop since.

His eye had been burned so badly, it had had to be removed.

Fuery.

His arm, the same. It had been amputated.

Falman.

His legs had been burned, too… not so badly that they'd needed to be chopped off- but badly enough, that he'd probably never be able to walk without support.

Havoc.

He'd never do field work again. The file said he was already slated for a medical discharge.

Breda.

And, perhaps most damming of all…

He'd been branded.

Colonel Azarov had had the Amestris dragon branded into his stomach.

Riza.

Slowly, shakily, Maes raised his head back up to stare at Roy again.

His best friend, who sat there in that hospital room, and didn't betray a single shred of guilt. No. He just sat there, hair shadowing his eyes, and his scarred mouth… twitching into a very, very small smile.

"They're accusing me," he said quietly, "and for obvious reasons. But I wouldn't worry about it, Maes- they're somewhat lacking in the evidence to even request an extradition." He paused, that cold, smug smile broadening just a little bit wider. "It so happens that the former colonel Azarov swears he's got no idea who did this to him. He says he doesn't remember… and he also says he thinks it was a Drachman, though." He paused, probably for dramatic effect, and showed him that small, cold little smile again. "A Drachman, who burned the Amestrian national symbol into him."

Then Roy, his cold, black eyes still watching him in a featureless, guiltless stare, smirked.

"Stranger things have happened, I suppose," he said quietly, and Maes' heart all but stopped.

"…Roy." He leaned forward dangerously, and even in his weakened state, Maes knew the stare he was using now, the one cultivated through years and years of interrogation and surviving the corrupt military, had the power to pin him in place. "You- you. T-this…"

"This, what, Maes?" Roy leaned back in his seat, spreading his hand in the epitome of innocence, but his face was just too cold for it to look anything but arrogant. "Really, now- are you thinking to accuse me of this dastardly crime? And with no evidence, mind? I mean, I can understand Drachma's suspicions… but I expected better from Investigations." He gave a woeful little sigh, one that Maes took with about ten grains of a salt and a shake of annoyance. "All I take this little... incident for, is a sign that karma is real after all."

Maes stared up at him in disbelief, and that cold, darkly smug look in his eyes- it reminded him of military corruption, the insidious generals they'd spent years weeding out and that Roy had always sworn he would never become like. He swallowed hard again, almost shrinking back before that cold stare. "You're fucking insane," he whispered- and, so suddenly he jumped, Roy laughed.

"Insane?" He spread his hands again, beaming. "No, no, Maes- I think you are the one that's insane, accusing an honored Amestrian general, of such a low-brow crime." He smirked again. "Especially one whom, on the night in question, was in attendance of a meeting with Fuhrer Grumman and Emperor Ling. Alongside my adjutant- all of whom will vouch for me."

For several moments, Maes could do nothing but gape at him.

When Roy did nothing in response but smirk, he finally decided that he had had enough.

Pain and soreness aside, Maes wrenched himself to his feet, setting off for his best friend in a steady march. Roy finally showed some semblance of alarm, not at being cornered but already waving for him to sit back down, but Maes ignored the pain completely and grabbed him by the elbow, roughly hauling him up out of the chair to push him back into the wall and hand still raised up in a silent threat, not above pushing his injured arm to keep him there at all. "What in the living hell is wrong with you, Roy?!" he hissed, only keeping his voice down through some kind of miracle. "Are you out of your mind?!"

"Maes, I didn't-"

"Shut up. Shut up, Roy, just shut up." He held him tight by the shoulders, not about to let him even an inch of an escape route. "I don't know how you get Grumman and Ling to lie for you, or how you scared Azarov into not talking, but don't you dare lie to me. You..." He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting and utterly failing to keep himself calm. He'd known, known ever since first seeing Roy after that horrible catastrophe in Drachma how badly he'd been hurt, how hard the coming months would be, but this-!

"You idiot, Roy!" he finally exclaimed, voice still forcibly hushed but now gripping his shoulders tight enough to hurt. "What the hell were you thinking?! You're supposed to become Fuhrer, remember?! You- you can't just go charging off into foreign countries, maiming people on the street- for god's sake, Roy! All for revenge, what the hell?! What were you thinking? What was Hawkeye thinking, letting you go?!"

And finally, the dammed general showed a sign of something besides smug confidence. He raised a hand to push Maes' off, eyes narrowing and that dammable smirk finally fading. "She wasn't thinking anything, because she didn't, Maes. Grumman and Ling aren't lying, either- I was in a meeting with them that night. I'm not lying to you, Maes. Okay?" Slowly, gently, Roy's gloved hand wrapped around Maes', still pressed hard against his chest, and started to loosen his hold, finger by finger without breaking their gaze. "This wasn't me."

"The hell it wasn't! You expect me to believe-"

"Yes, I do, Maes. Because I'm a lot of arguably terrible things, but I would not lie to you about this." Roy paused, letting Maes push him against the wall, hand resting gently against his wrist now without even attempting to shove him away anymore. "Riza and I had a little… discussion, with General Armstrong. I don't know how she did it. I don't even know if she did this, or if it was one of her soldiers- but it wasn't me. And you know what? I haven't lost a minute's sleep over it. That piece of human garbage got exactly what he deserved. He's going spend every day of the rest of his hopefully long, long life crippled, disfigured, in pain, and disgraced. He's going to spend every second suffering, and you know what he's going to think every time he looks in a mirror? He's going to remember that I own him. He's going to remember he belongs to me. Not Amestris, not Drachma, me." Roy finally succeeded in pushing Maes' slackened hand off his chest, his dark eyes flashing in wordless danger and a complete lack of regrets etched into every line and scar of his pale, unforgiving face. "After what he did, he got off lucky."

Maes stared in ever increasing horror.

Finally, his gut churning, hands now limp by his sides, he stammered, "Roy…"

That was all he managed, just his name, but somehow, it broke some part of the macabre, gruesome. His best friend sighed, turning his gaze away and shutting his eyes, and that brutal rage and hatred in his expression started to fade into something softer; something more tired. "I wanted to go and do it myself. I won't lie, Maes." He shrugged past Maes to leave him standing in shock by the wall, letting him just watch with wide eyes as his best friend walked to sit heavily on the hospital bed himself, hand dangling between his knees, head bowed as if the weight of the world was grinding down on his shoulders. "Hawkeye had to stop me, because I would've enjoyed it too much. She said she understood but couldn't let me go down that road again… and she was right. Much as I hate to admit it… you're both right." He closed his eyes tightly, fingers curling in a slow, tight fist. "If I want to be Fuhrer… if I want to try and take Amestris out of what our corrupt military has done to it… I can't be that. As much as he deserved it, I couldn't look myself in the mirror knowing I'd tortured him and enjoyed every second of it and still think I'd have a right to act as if I could change this country." He paused again, eyes still shut, fist almost shaking now, trembling in his lap from restrained emotion, from the unspoken misery and devastation Maes knew had been with him ever since leaving that hellhole of a country. "Something had to be done about him. I could not leave that pathetic creature behind without punishment for what he'd done. …I just… couldn't be the one to do it."

Maes, still standing, shaken, away by the wall, swallowed hard. He looked at Roy, who still just sat there limply, white as a sheet and black hair dusting against his skin like ash, and knew, in that moment, that he was telling the truth. Roy was many things, and a liar, honestly, was one of them- but he knew his best friend.

This wasn't a lie.

None of this was anything but the truth.

Maes swallowed hard again, trying to push back the swell of grief and pained shock, the anguishing disbelief swelling in his chest. He'd wanted so long for Azarov to get back even a fraction of what he'd done to Roy and his team; god, even before they'd it back to Amestris, he'd hated that man with every fiber of his being. But now…

Now, knowing Roy had actually already gone and carried this all out…

It was a lot to take in.

"…Hawkeye?" he ventured at last, glancing uneasily over his best friend. The shadow of grief that swam across his face again was almost enough to rekindle the righteous anger against Aarov in his chest- almost-

But… well.

It wasn't as if there was a worthwhile target for that anger, anymore.

Roy nodded slowly without looking at him, throat jumping, indecision and sadness still mingling on his face. "As it turns out, my major has a taste for revenge, as well. All it took was the right... incentive." He paused for a moment, eyes lingering downwards... on the hand on which, with a jolt, Maes saw the two missing fingers, dangling in the empty spaces of his gloves. "After everything I'd told her, she... she wanted to cut his tongue out, too." He shrugged blithely, but this time, could not stop the hint of regret from crossing his face. "For taking my voice, she said. I convinced her she would regret it."

There was another uncomfortable moment, Maes staring down at him, stricken; Roy just shook his head carelessly, dark hair sweeping over his eyes and tired, sardonic smile twitching across his scarred moth. "Believe it or not, Maes, that- never mattered, to me. Revenge for what he did to me, I mean. ...but what he did to my men..." His eyes darkened again, and for the first time, that quiet confidence left him, vanishing away to leave a cold shell behind- and Maes understood.

Roy could endure anything he had to, for the sake of those who had followed and supported him. He'd already proven that, time and again. He could, and would, take any pain and torture that he had to.

He would not, however, allow those men to take so much as an ounce of suffering in his place.

Maes thought it ironic, sometimes. Roy didn't like using his alchemy for the state; he did what had to be done now for the sake of the people, and even then only with a heavy heart and one too many memories of Ishval...

But, against anyone who ever dared to go after one of that small group of men Roy called his own, all bets were off.

Envy wasn't the first person he'd nearly burned alive, for their sake, and somehow, he got the feeling that Azarov was not going to be the last.

In a way, some part of Maes had even always known this never, truly, would end, for Roy- not until he'd seen to it that the person who'd brutalized his men had suffered in the same manner.

His anger well and truly gone now, replaced with a spreading, exhausted sense of numbness, Maes let his hands fall limply back to his sides in disbelief. "I s-still can't believe Hawkeye let you do this," he murmured, shoulders tense and trembling.

Roy watched him for a moment. "It's as I said," he returned finally, voice just as soft. "She wanted her own revenge."

"For what, though?" he pressed on, even though he really shouldn't have, because he was naturally inquisitive and curious and the long weeks off work had made him far more restless, not less. "I just- what could be so bad that it got Hawkeye-..." He trailed off into nothing and swallowed, remembering what his friend had said. She wanted to cut his tongue out. "I only mean... well, it's Hawkeye. I never thought I'd see her do something like this- what could've possibly been so horrible that it made her do it?"

Again, for just a heartbeat, Roy was silent.

Then:

"Do you really want to know, Maes?"

He blinked, startled. "What?"

Roy shrugged, eyes still dark and distant and voice withdrawn now, too, a cold and monotonous murmur that was barely audible over the shouts and laughter of the playground nearby. "What she thought was so bad she supported me, even through this."

"I..." Maes blinked again, only now, belatedly, realizing what this was. Roy was talking about what had happened to him, in Drachma. His men, they all knew the stories, the damage was written right there, plain to see in missing limbs and wounds still healing- but their commander, on the other hand...

His injuries hadn't been on the surface.

Maes had heard, some of it, and seen it, first hand. He'd heard how Roy had gone mysteriously mute for the weeks after being rescued, and had his suspicions it had started long before his return to Amestris. He'd heard, though Gracia didn't like talking about it, how his friend had lost his fingers and toes... not through any act of Azarov's alone, but stumbling outside in some fevered state and taking refuge in the snow until he'd almost died. He could see it now, in the obvious signs of sleepless nights and struggling days. And he himself had seen Roy at the border, of course, delirious and out of his mind with anguish, so shaken Azarov's voice alone had been enough to...

The slow healing scars on his chest ached, and Maes swallowed.

No, he thought suddenly, no- he really didn't much want to know, what had been done to him in Drachma, to reduce him to such a state.

But when he didn't answer, voice suddenly lost and mind suddenly blank- Roy told him.

In a voice as steady and quiet as he'd ever heard from him, detached and apathetic as if this a discussion over trade routes or infrastructure, eyes as unfeeling and cold as if Maes were nothing more than a stranger on the street- Roy told him.

By it's end, Maes wasn't sure if he was in shock, or about to be sick.

His heart stuttered a skipped, painful beat, and for the first time in his life, Maes Hughes was speechless.

Roy, still looking devastatingly unconcerned about the entire matter, was quiet for several moments, then frowned at him, tilting his head to the side. "I think you need to sit down," was all he said, taking him by the elbow, and it was only then that Maes realized he'd been shaking.

He took Maes back over to the hospital bed, sitting him down on the edge and then moving to sit just beside him, watching him with both concern and hesitation flitting through his dark eyes. After only a moment of seeing him like that, just so completely unconcerned with himself, so completely at ease after the horrible, unthinkable things he'd just said, Maes just gave up on making sense of it all and pressed a hand to his mouth, breathing hard and trying not to lose himself.

Finally, shaking still and numb, he looked back at his eerily calm best friend. "I think I want to kill him," he said faintly, and Roy gave him a weak smirk.

"Join the club. Specifically, Hawkeye's. She's president, treasurer, and secretary. I'm not even a member; just the mascot."

Oh, yes, Maes thought darkly, with with a weak, horrified twist of humor; suddenly he no longer had any trouble at all seeing why Hawkeye had allowed her superior to exact his revenge on that bastard north of the border.

Azarov was exceedingly lucky to have survived at all.

Finally, Maes managed to turn back to his friend, staring at him with a new sense of miserable understanding- and, suddenly, guilt, for having forced it out of him like this. "Are you okay?"

Roy raised an eyebrow, though his smile was almost painfully forced. "Vremya..." he muttered, smirking a little, "luchshiy doktor."

He blinked in surprise, first at the words themselves, then at their meaning. "Time heals all wounds?" he quoted uneasily. "You've still been studying, then."

Roy smiled weakly again, but it looked forced still, and even more pained. "I had to. I can… speak now, obviously. But it can still be… difficult. I suppose it's more accurate to say I can speak in Amestrian if I have to, but… I'm still more comfortable not." He shrugged slightly, avoiding Maes' eyes with that one. "It's getting better."

"I…" Maes swallowed, staring at him under the dawning realization that the damage he'd seen on the surface was really so much less than he ever could've even dreamed. "I didn't know."

Roy shrugged easily with a wave of his hand, but no part of the gesture looked genuine in any way. "Ah," he said airily, "vsyo khorosho, chto khorosho konchayetsa."

"All's well that end's well? Roy."

"I'll be here all week."

"Roy, stop."

"Shila-"

"Roy."

Finally, the general just sighed, letting his painfully false smile fade. The smirk went with it, and behind was left a withdrawn sense of quiet exhaustion. "Am I okay?" he repeated softly, breaking gaze with him to turn away, letting the sunlight throw the shadows on his pale face into sharp relief. "Honestly, Maes, no. Not really. No. ...I'm also not about to go off the deep end, though, if that was your next question."

"...It wasn't."

Roy released a long, quiet sigh, shifting to look at him again, and this time all the masks and facades and deceit so usually cloaking his face were completely gone. He just looked straight at him, honest and true; the shadows under his eyes remained, but his eyes themselves were clear. "Maes," he began, lowering his voice, "for reasons that I can not understand, you and Riza both forgave me, for what I did in Drachma. The least I can do in return is not squander that. No, I'm not fine, and I don't think I will be for a while. But I know that I will be- for your sakes, at least, if not for my own. Fighting Azarov again… that was just something that I had to do, before I could bring myself to face any of you again. I hope you can understand that, Maes."

Maes watched him silently, heart stuck somewhere around his throat, mouth tasting like bitter unhappiness and reluctance tightening in his chest.

He did understand.

God, maybe he really had been in this damn military too long… but he understood.

After all, if Roy hadn't have done this… some small part of him wasn't so sure he'd have been able to stop himself from doing something like it.

"…I do," he said at last, voice just a little too quiet but holding Roy's gaze all the same. He paused for a second, watching him. "I do understand, Roy. So… I've just got one question for you." He took a slow, slightly unsteady breath, steeling himself both against the uncertain worry in Roy's eyes and for what he knew was about to feel… then, made himself reach out, and rest his hand on top of Roy's own.

To feel all four fingers, and, most noticeably, the lack of a fifth.

"I noticed," he said quietly, "that report didn't mention anything about him missing any fingers or toes."

Roy stiffened. Shadows collected in his eyes again, dark, uncertain shadows of guilt, and this time, his best friend did turn away- even if he left his cold hand under his.

"Azarov didn't do that to me. I did that to myself. …and even if he had, Maes… this was never about me."

Maes held back a sigh, watching Roy not look at him. He had his own opinions on that matter, and so did Hawkeye, he knew… but he also knew that was what Roy honestly believed. As much as it bothered him- because maybe Roy had made a bad decision, but considering everything, all the stress he'd been under, what he'd just been through- Maes just couldn't look at him and say it was his fault. Maes knew if he'd been there, he'd have been able to stop it, could've intervened before things had gotten to the point that they had…

But that was neither here nor there, now.

"Right," he muttered, and decided he didn't care enough to keep the disappointment out of his voice, for that one. He paused again to just watch him, weighing his next words in his mind, trying to decide how best to say this, how best to broach this raw topic- but Roy was still not even looking at him, hand almost disturbingly limp under his, and Maes at last decided he had to just go for it.

"Right," he said again. "Now… Roy, I'm not complaining. At all. So don't take this as if I am. …But I also didn't notice any burns like these, in that file." He gently splayed his free hand over his chest, trying not to press too hard against the bandages- and he knew Roy understood, when the very next moment, he stiffened and flinched so violently as if Maes had just punched him across the face.

Maybe, emotionally, he had.

It was a delicate topic to try and approach, of course. No matter how Roy might've heard it, Maes really wasn't complaining, and he certainly didn't want him going off to try and rectify this- but he did want an explanation.

Not so much for his own sake, but to try and hear just what Roy still thought, about the day he'd nearly killed him.

His best friend turned even more away, a shuddering breath escaping past gritted teeth and eyes squeezed tightly shut. He flinched away like it was just a reflex, breathing hard again, entire body taut like a tensed, coiled spring. "Azarov wasn't responsible for that," he finally choked out, still not even looking at him. "The only one who has any responsibility for that is me." Slowly, shakily, Roy opened his eyes to glance hesitantly back at him, unsure of himself and guiltstricken all over again. "If you… want me to, I… I c-could-"

"Roy," he broke in swiftly, stopping him. "Wait a second." Glaring, Maes pushed back to put a hand on his shoulder instead, waiting until he was actually sure he was being listened to to continue on. "Were you actually about to offer to do this to yourself, if it'd make me feel better?"

Roy glanced away again, throat jumping. He sat almost unnaturally still under his palm, still unnaturally pale, still unnaturally cold. "…It wasn't Azarov," he said at last, the words sounding incredibly difficult for him to say. "I couldn't do that to him without somehow- without it feeling as if I was trying to absolve myself of responsibility. I'm the one who did it, Maes. And… and I'm sorry, but-"

"So you want someone to take revenge against you, then, is that it?" Maes pushed him a little, glaring again when his best friend wilted pathetically back, not looking at him, not saying anything. "Is that what it's going to take? Will that make you feel better, Roy?"

Roy still stared away, looking almost silently stricken, still withdrawn and guiltridden. he started to say something, then just stopped, fist curling in his lap again.

"All right, then, Roy, if that's what you want. Shut your eyes."

Roy stiffened again, jerking around to stare at him with big, shocked eyes. "Maes-"

"If that's what you want, if you're really so eager for me to get some revenge of my own- all right. You win. Shut your eyes, Roy."

The general stared at him, looking utterly gobsmacked. He tried to say something again, but no words came out- and finally, after several expectant seconds of silence… actually pulled back, sat up straight, and closed his eyes.

Maes took the moment to just stare at him, eyes wide in surprise. Roy had- actually done it. He'd actually pulled back, shut his eyes, and sat there waiting, for Maes to do whatever he wanted. And it wasn't that he looked nervous, per se- but Roy was a very good actor- but Maes knew him well enough to be able to see the quiet apprehension and something close to fear, tense in every scar on his face.

God.

He knew Roy had a guilt complex the size of Drachma, but…

It was still a little offensive, that it seemed like that idiot was sitting there, silently bracing him in expectation of being hit.

Maes sighed, shaking his head.

They really needed to do something about his self-worth.

Or, complete lack thereof.

"Okay," he said calmly, reached one steady hand, and pinched him on the forehead.

Hard.

Roy let out a high-pitched, almost comical yelp, jumping backwards to clap a hand over the already reddening patch of skin and stare up at him, breathing hard all over again. "Hughes!" he shouted, eyes wide, and Maes sat back with a small, satisfied grin.

"Done," he announced, and once again was treated to a sharp, indignant, completely embarrassing sort of yelp.

"Maes!" Roy snapped at him, finally actually looking close to someone he could actually recognize as his best friend as he rubbed his forehead, glaring at him. "What is wrong with you?! You- you just-"

"That was my revenge. Oh- I guess I should clarify. That was my revenge, for you spending these last four weeks avoiding me." Again he reached out, this time taking advantage of the sling to get in there before Roy could smack him off to forcefully ruffle his hair, hanging on even through the choked off gasps and stifled, embarrassed shouts, messing it up as much as he absolutely could before his best friend finally threw himself out of reach, red-faced and gasping, and Maes was left to sit back with another satisfied grin.

"What the hell is your problem?!" Roy shouted back, squirming away to finally make it to his feet and jump away from him, stuck in a hair mussed, red-faced, hilarious shock. "You- you just-!"

"Yep," Maes announced proudly, sitting back. "That was my revenge, Roy-boy." He waited several moments, watching his shocked best friend reel and shake his head and stare at him, blinking in completely disbelief, then gave him another small smirk. "And that's all the revenge that I'm ever going to want."

Roy blinked at him for several moments, wide-eyed, then finally reeled back and gave a business-like sort of cough, tugging his shirt back straight. He fidgeted, trying to look a little less ridiculous, it seemed like, still breathing hard and flustered- but Maes knew his point had been made.

Finally, face still flushed a little, hair still hopelessly ruined, but expression forcibly back in something approaching normalcy even though he could see the embarrassed discomfort underneath. "W-well," he coughed awkwardly, fidgeting.

Maes sighed, letting his own amusement fade as he reached out again, gently grabbing Roy by the hand and reeling him back in. "I already told you, Roy," he said quietly. "As far as I'm concerned, I don't need you to apologize for that again. You already did, I accepted it, and that's the end of it, okay? Move on." He sat him gently down on the bed beside him and touched his shoulder again, trying to force him to hold his gaze. "You did… what you did, to Azarov. That's over, now. It's done. And I'm better now, too. So let it be done, Roy. All you're doing now is making yourself feel worse than I'm sure already do. …Let it go."

His best friend continued to look away from him for several long, still moments. His face remained unreadable, dark eyes shadowed with old, miserable guilt that Maes' words were never going to touch, that he doubted time would ever heal.

But like he'd said earlier- Maes could understand now that facing Azarov again, through General Armstrong or not, was something Roy had had to do. He wasn't better. After what Maes had learned today, he hesitated to say that Roy might really be completely fine ever again. He wouldn't ever be the same.

But, when his best friend finally glanced over at him again, scarred mouth slipping hesitantly into a smile, he knew that didn't mean Roy couldn't move past it.

"Okay," Roy told him quietly, and gave him a slow, steady nod.

Then, expression still unwavering, he reached up to pinch him back.