Summary: After the events of the Promised Day, Roy has only one concern.
Notes: Written for Royai week.

Constance

Roy wakes slowly from disquieting dreams and becomes gradually aware that he is not alone in his bed. Warmth, and a light pressure along his left side—a leg twined around his, a hand pressed against his side and another lying flat over his heart.

He keeps his breathing steady and doesn't open his eyes—delaying the disappointment he knows is coming. He tests, sending tendrils of thought to every extremity, checking fingers and toes and hands and knees. There is something beneath the skin of his right forearm and bandages wrapped tight around both palms. He can smell soap—military disinfectant, sharp and acidic—and something closer, almost metallic.

It doesn't take much to figure out the weight beside him is a person and even less to know it's Hawkeye—her chest expanding and contracting in gentle rhythm against his side. Her head is resting on his left shoulder, and he can feel the cool stream of her breath against his skin.

Cautiously, he brings his right hand up and over, ghosting over her bandaged neck and threading his fingers through the hair at her temple.

"Careful," she murmurs. "If you tangle the lines, I'll get in trouble with the nurses."

A stretch rolls through her body—he can feel the tension in her limbs as coil and release, and he keeps his hand in her hair, thumb running over her brow.

"Hi," she says, smiling against his chest.

"Hi," he whispers back, tilting his head towards her voice. He keeps his eyes closed. "Are you supposed to be here?"

"Here?" she repeats. "In the same bed? Probably not."

Her own hand drifts up, brushing his eyelids and cheeks and jaw.

"But I didn't want you to wake up and think you were alone."

She reaches his lips, and he presses a kiss to her fingers.

"Thank you."

"Breda told me what happened."

The panic, the confusion, the jolt of pure terror when he could no longer feel her at the tips of his fingers. She collapsed shortly after the shockwave of Ed's final transmutation rolled over them—he remembers screaming for help and being pulled away by stronger arms. He remembers fighting against it, the haze of fear and hands holding him down.

"They took you away from me."

He turns his head to kiss her palm again.

"I didn't know where you were and no one would tell me and I just—"

"I know," she says gently. "I know. It's alright. I'm here now."

He shifts his left arm from beneath her, curling it around her back and twisting to pull her closer, as close as he can.

"You can't leave me like that."

"You're one to talk," she says with a half-laugh.

"I mean it. I'd be lost without you."

Her hand drops back over his heart, and his joins, fingers twining together.

"Well, then," she sighs, settling against him. "It's a good thing I'm not going anywhere."