Ed and Al were there, of course. So was Gracia, who understood. Pinako wasn't, but only because she'd gone on herself a few years back. Other than that, Roy wasn't surprised not to see anyone. There were others who had loved Riza and Winry, but no other family. No one who would still come to see them, five years after they'd burned up in that damned train crash. Everyone else had moved on.

It had been a year since Roy had seen either of the brothers. Al looked well- tall, handsome, and well-dressed. Sad, but doing well for himself. Ed looked like a fucking mess. Too thin, and his face too sharp, too closed.

Ed dropped flowers at the graves, and then stood back. "We should have taken her back to Resembool," he said, fiercely. "She should be next to Granny and her parents."

Al sighed. "You say that every year, Brother," he said, quietly. "We weren't there. General Mustang and Miss Gracia did the best they could."

Roy closed his eyes. Ed was right; he was right every year. Winry should have gone home to Resembool. But the rail lines had been out, and a truck would have taken too long in the heat of summer. It had been the best he could do at the time. At least she had Maes and Riza to keep her company, Roy thought, ignoring the pricking of tears under his eyelids.

Gracia invited them all to her place for dinner. It was quiet, filled only by Elicia's untroubled talk of her school and her friends and her plans for the future. Gracia tried to make conversation here and there, and Al engaged her a little. Ed barely ate, and hardly looked at anyone. Roy wondered how much of that was from the anniversary, and how much of that was just Ed these days. He had no idea. Ed spent his time traveling, wandering around doing whatever struck his fancy. Roy got reports from Al sometimes. Mostly, he suspected that Al didn't know anything more than Roy did.

"Do you have a place to stay?" Roy asked the brothers quietly, as they left Gracia's house.

"What do you care?" Ed snapped, looking somewhere off to the distance.

"Brother," Al admonished him sharply. Al looked at Roy. "I'm staying with Kain and Sciezka," he said. "You could stay with me there, Brother," he offered, almost hopefully.

Ed shrugged. "Whatever," he said.

"You could stay with me, if you need someplace," Roy offered, knowing that he'd be refused.

"Go fuck yourself," Ed told him, and stalked away.

"He blames me," Roy said, quietly.

"I'm sorry," Al said. "It wasn't your fault."

"It wasn't," Roy agreed. But it was his fault, and Roy knew it. It had been him who had called Riza in from Resembool, who had needed her in Central, who had asked her to take the late train especially. No one would ever know why Winry had decided to come along. A mile out of Central, the train had derailed. It had been two days before they'd dug Winry and Riza's bodies out of the wreckage. Another week, and Ed and Winry would have been married. Ed had been in the West working out a few last details before the honeymoon.

Roy felt empty. He missed Hawkeye more than he could explain. And today, on the anniversary of her death, the emptiness ached inside.

Roy walked Al back to Fuery's place, and Al bade him goodbye with a look of concern. Roy thought about going home, but he couldn't quite bear it. Home was as empty as he was. It had always been empty, but tonight, he didn't really want to be alone. He turned towards downtown and the bar district. He told himself that he wasn't trying to get drunk, but he didn't know what he was trying to find, either. He was on his fifth drink in his fourth bar when he realized that he was looking at Edward Elric's long, blond ponytail from across the room.

About the same time that he realized who he was looking at, Ed apparently noticed him. Ed got up and stalked over. "Are you following me?" he accused. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Roy waved his drink. "Same thing as you, probably," he said. "It doesn't help, of course. No matter how many drinks we have, they'll still be dead."

It shouldn't have been a surprise that Ed punched him in the face, but somehow, it was. Roy folded, flying backwards off his barstool and onto the ground. He lay on his back for a long moment, seeing stars.

Suddenly, Ed was in his field of vision. "Fuck, bastard," he snarled. "I didn't hit you that hard. Get up."

Roy pulled himself up shakily. He'd hit his head going down, and it hurt like hell. "I'm okay," he assured Ed.

"I don't fucking care," Ed told him, but he gave him a hand up.

"I'm sorry," Roy said, suddenly. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Hit me again, if it makes you feel better. You're right. It's my fault."

Ed pulled his hand away from Roy like he'd been burned. "You're drunk," he accused.

Roy shrugged. "Maybe," he said. "Probably not, though. I might have a concussion. I hit my head on the bar."

"Fuck," Ed swore. He grabbed Roy's face, positioning it roughly underneath one of the hanging lightbulbs over the bar. He looked carefully into Roy's eyes. "You look alright," he said. "But I'm taking you home."

"Why, Fullmetal," Roy said, trying for joking, "I didn't know you felt that way about me."

Ed just glared at him. "That's not my name anymore, bastard," he said.

Roy ended up leaning on Ed to walk. The street was spinning too much for him to keep his feet. "Dammit," Ed said. "If you weren't such a drunk, we'd know whether this was a sign of trauma or what. We should probably take you to the fucking hospital."

"No," Roy protested. "I'm fine. We're almost to my place. I'll sleep it off."

"The fuck you will," Ed said. "That's the last thing you do with a head injury."

"That's a myth," Roy protested.

"Whatever," Ed said, and pushed him up the stairs to his front door. "Where are your keys?"

Roy fished for them, and pulled them out of his pocket. He unlocked the door without too much difficulty, and let Ed lead him in. Ed dropped him on the couch, and then stared at him from Roy's armchair. "Did you mean that?" Ed said, after a long, uncomfortable moment of silence.

"What?" Roy said, confused. He didn't remember having said anything.

Ed waved a hand irritably. "That it was your fault," he said. "Did you mean it?"

Roy pulled himself to sitting, burying his face in his hands. "If I hadn't asked her to come," he said, quietly. "If I hadn't told her to take the late train instead of coming in the morning..." He looked over at Ed. "You should be married now. Kids running around. Your happy ending. I'm so sorry, Ed. It's all my fault. I don't blame you for hating me."

Ed looked sick. "Fuck you," he whispered.

Roy closed his eyes. He couldn't look at Ed anymore.

"It wasn't your fucking fault," Ed said, firmly. Roy's eyes snapped open in surprise. Ed looked at him, and Roy couldn't look away. "It wasn't," Ed insisted. "Not about Winry, anyway. It was mine, okay? We'd been fighting, and I was supposed to come back to Resembool, and she told me Riza was going to Central and I could look for her there if I wanted-" Ed's voice broke, and Roy suddenly realized that there were tears, that Ed was actually crying.

Roy stood, went to the armchair and knelt in front of Ed. Ed looked at him, his face red. "I should have been there," Ed said. "You were there. Fuck. I don't hate you, Mustang. It's just I look at you, and I can't stop thinking- I should have fucking been there."

"It's not your fault the train derailed, Ed," Roy told him. "You can't blame yourself."

Ed glared at him. "You are such a fucking hypocrite, Mustang," he said. "You blame yourself. Why shouldn't I?"

"Fine," Roy said. "I'm a hypocrite. But it's not your fault. Winry wouldn't want to see you doing this to yourself, either."

Ed laughed, bitterly. "Doing what?" he said.

Roy frowned. "You're just... drifting," he said. "Even Al barely hears from you anymore. It's like you're a ghost." He looked up at Ed, taking in his too-thin frame. "You're almost skinny enough to be one."

Ed's face twisted. "And what about you, bastard?" he asked.

Roy froze. "What do you mean?" he said slowly.

"Do you think Riza would want to see you this way?" Ed snarled viciously. "Look at this place. When was the last time someone except you was in here? When was the last time you went out for drinks with someone, or... or went on a date?" he asked. "And you've given up on being Fuhrer. If Hawkeye could see you, she'd kick your ass."

Roy stared at his hands. "Ed..." he whispered, not sure what to say.

Ed reached down, grabbed a handful of Roy's shirt and hauled him up. "Wake up," Ed said, through clenched teeth, and then he pushed Roy away.

Roy stared at him, blinking stupidly.

Ed stood, grabbed Roy's shoulders and threw him into the couch. Roy tried to scramble drunkenly to his feet, shaking his head. "Wake up, Mustang!" Ed shouted, screaming his frustration. "You're alive, dammit!" Ed said. "You lived. I've seen you; you walk like a fucking zombie. Dammit, you act like you died five years ago, but you're still. Fucking. Here!" He kicked the couch savagely, his metal leg hitting within inches of Roy's face.

Roy stared up at Ed. His gold hair was half out of the ponytail, hanging in wild strands around his face. He was breathing hard, his hands balled in fists at his sides. Roy pulled himself carefully to his feet. "Fullmetal-" he started.

"That's not my name anymore!" Ed shouted, and shoved Roy hard with both hands. Roy's fist snapped out, slamming into Ed's face.

Ed staggered back, and then ducked low, his right leg sweeping across and knocking Roy off his feet. Roy went down in an undignified tumble against the couch. "Edward," he called, as he tried to pull himself back up, "you're still here, too."

Ed stared at him for a long moment before dropping onto the ground next to Roy, his back up against the couch. "Son of a bitch," he said, tilting his head up. There were tears in his eyes, but they didn't fall.

Roy cleared his throat. "The offer's still open," he said. "If you need a place to stay tonight, you can stay here."

Ed didn't look at him. "Fine," he said.