"And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from."
- T.S. Eliot
"Brigadier General Hughes, huh? What am I going to do, now that the man who said he would stay beneath me and assist me has gone above me, you idiot?"
"You're going to keep going, obviously. One day, you'll be Fuhrer and we can stop quibbling over rank."
"Hughes…" Roy's voice catches. He tries to choke back a sob, but he doesn't think he's successful. He blows out a slow breath. "This isn't… you're not real?" It worries him that he makes it a question. But he's so desperate that for a minute, he's almost willing to believe.
"I'm still dead, if that's what you're asking."
"But we're talking?"
Hughes shrugs. "I was pretty drunk at the time, but I think I remember promising to watch your back. You're gonna need me more than ever, now."
"That doesn't even make sense, Maes."
"Few things do."
"Are you a ghost?"
"Or a figment of your imagination. Does it matter? Stop trying to figure everything out how everything works, Alchemist."
Roy snorts. "You're one to talk. 'Trying to figure out how everything works' is exactly how… how…"
"How I got into this predicament. Yes. I'm aware."
"Maes…"
"Pay attention, Mustang: This is not your fault . I didn't die because you were on a train, or because you didn't answer the phone, or even because you asked for my help. I got in over my head. That's on me."
"But if I'd been here…"
"Not. Your. Fault. I know you're stubborn, Roy, but come on. You've already taken on the whole Ishval War and your parents' deaths and whatever happens with Fullmetal. Let me have this one." Roy says nothing. "I can see you grinding your teeth, Mustang."
"I just-"
"This is exactly why you need me."
"I miss you," Roy whispers, and his voice breaks, and he sucks in a breath, or tries to. He's crying so hard he can't even see. He can't even breathe. He stands there in front of a fresh-covered grave, fists clenched at his sides, without any idea how he's supposed to move forward from this. "I miss you, and I need you. I need you , Maes. I can't do this alone."
"Roy," Hughes says softly. His voice holds quiet force. "You're still not listening." He waits until Roy looks at him. And he looks solid. He looks real . "Are you listening?" Roy nods. Hughes waits another second, just to be sure. "Roy," he says calmly. "You're not alone. And you don't have to miss me, I'm right here. I'm always gonna be right here. Now. Pay attention."
Roy frowns. Pay attention to what ?
He flinches as someone walks up beside him. He slowly relaxes as he realizes it's just Riza. "Sir?" she asks quietly. "Are you ready to go?"
Roy doesn't answer for a long moment, then: "You made a promise, Mustang. How're you gonna be Fuhrer if you let yourself get stuck here?" Roy still can't bring himself to turn away from the grave. He stares down at the chiseled letters carved into the stone, at the wreath of flowers laid carefully on top of the dirt. " Go ," Hughes insists, and for a second, he's laughing, throwing a pillow at Roy in the dorms at the Academy when he wouldn't get out of bed in the morning. And for a second, Roy can feel Hughes' hand in his.
He wipes his eyes with the back of his arm, and swallows hard. "Yeah," he says, and his voice only shakes a little. "I'm ready to go."
