V
Reflection
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rewind
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"Edward, please…"
Trisha doesn't think she's ever felt so helpless before, so desperate and scared and lost. Her baby boy—her little Edward—is curled into a ball in the same chair as before, looking absolutely anywhere but her horrified eyes. He and Sara and Pinako have assured her that the pain has faded, that—whatever it was—has disappeared…
But the agony in his eyes, the way his mouth is downturned in anguish and the way he is still shaking uncontrollably … She can't do this anymore.
Before this evening—before she had to witness her son in such horrific pain—she was content with not knowing. The little things (Alphonse can't have possibly grown that big and why does a faint but perpetual clanking follow Edward wherever he goes and why are they treating me like I might turn on them at any moment)—she's forced herself to ignore them, to push them aside in favor of spending time with her boys. They are her entire life, after all; she can't possibly imagine an existence without them…
And yet…
She feels like she doesn't know them—not really. They are surely her sons—their voices and mannerisms leave no doubt in her mind—but she can't just ignore it any longer. She's seen the teenagers around town, remembers her own adolescence…and no one—no one—has looked so haunted as her Edward does now.
Sara and Pinako are hovering near her (Sara's eyes are red, though she is clearly trying to hide it; Pinako hasn't looked so grave since Van left; what is going on), while Alphonse has nearly worried himself to death over his brother. Ed keeps saying he's fine—really, Al, Mom, I'm okay now. There's nothing to worry about—but Trisha can't bring herself to believe him anymore. She wishes with her entire being that this is a misunderstanding, perhaps a terrible nightmare; she can't understand what is happening to her little boys…
(Lightning illuminates the room, making them all look grotesquely disfigured for the smallest of moments. The helmet Alphonse is wearing turns demonic, threatening, horrifying as he leans over his brother…)
(She isn't waking up from this nightmare…not this time.)
"Sweetie, why can't you just tell me what's wrong?" she pleads, her voice cracking. She sees Edward flinch harshly, watches as the pain in his eyes only increases tenfold…
Is he crying? They are too far away; she cannot tell, but his eyes are glassy and his shoulders are heaving. Alphonse pulls him into a hug…
She would give anything to be that pillar of support, to comfort her sons when they so obviously need it…but right now, it seems that she's the one causing the problems in the first place.
The guilt is crushing her, suffocating her until her lungs are gasping and her mind is spinning and her heart feels ready to slam right out of her chest. Whatever this is, whatever had Ed nearly screaming not an hour before and what now has Al holding his brother protectively, as if the world itself is threatening them…
And then she realizes—maybe that's how they feel about her. It's a horrifying thought, that she is the cause of all of this…but is it really so ridiculous? Surely, before they arrived here, her boys' lives were normal and happy… Surely, they would rather be there than here with her, this useless excuse for a mother…
All she can do, it seems, is bring them pain…
"Mom…" Surprisingly it is Alphonse's broken voice that tears her from her stupor. She refocuses on her sons to see that Al has stood up, has one hand stretched out toward her…
(It's huge. It dwarfs hers in comparison…but she takes it in her own anyway, grasping desperately like a drowning man. That's what she is, after all—drowning in these mysteries, this pain…)
"Brother…he messed up his shoulder pretty badly a few years ago. He—he got hit by a tractor…" He's not looking at her, is staring at a point far past her as he continues before she can even panic properly—"It's okay now…it's just, with bad weather like this, it acts up sometimes. It hasn't been that bad in a while, that's all…I didn't mean to scare you…"
Trisha wants to believe him; she wishes with every fiber of her being that she can take his words as truth. But far too many things don't match up; nothing is making sense anymore…
She wants to scream and reach for the sky, beg the heavens for answers, because even if her sons and her friends want to keep this (what is it?) from her, maybe some higher power will have mercy. But she can't, because if she admits that she doesn't believe the story then that will only hurt Alphonse, hurt Edward…and even if she hates this, hates not knowing and hates being useless…
Some things are forgivable. Hurting her own sons is not.
So she pretends to believe the story (lies lies lies what are they so desperate to keep from her) and pulls her younger son into a hug. She ignores the cold, stiff metal encasing his body, ignores the way his elbows bite into her shoulders as he tentatively embraces her back…
(She can't ignore the way he's shaking, though…the way the armor rattles in a too-hollow way. She can't ignore the distinct sob that wrenches itself from his throat… But she does not mention it, because surely if she acknowledges his pain, Al will only feel worse.)
(He has always been far too kind, far too self-sacrificing. She worries that, one day, he may give up too much…)
And then she feels another pair of arms embracing her, embracing Alphonse, and shaking even more violently than her younger son. Edward is there, grasping desperately at her dress like he is only a child again, and tears are falling thick and fast down his cheeks. Al makes a noise, as if he wants to comfort his brother but doesn't know where to start…the unadulterated anguish in Edward's voice as he sobs is too much for Trisha to bear.
"It'll be all right," she whispers, running her fingers though his hair in the way that has always calmed him down. (He's so much older, but he's just a boy, in the end…he's only fifteen…whatever is causing him such pain…)
Edward's grip on the both of them is only tightening, though he's clearly trying to get his emotions under control. "I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…"
Al sobs again, but Trisha doesn't understand…can't understand…what is he apologizing for? Edward is a good person, no matter how headstrong; that pain he endured wasn't at all his fault…
"There's nothing to be sorry for," she says immediately. "You haven't done anything wrong…"
He only shakes his head, though, gripping her dress ever-tighter, and dissolves into more sobs. He seems beyond words at this point… Trisha can only pull them into her arms, pull her little boys into the safety of her embrace. Any doubts she had are wiped away; any suspicions or worries or fears are pushed aside. No matter how terrible of a mother she might be…no matter what she's put her boys through—
("What—no—that's not it at all—you're the best Mom ever—")
—and no matter how much they are lying to her, none of the matters. She's their mother; her two boys are lost and desperate and alone… She needs to make this right for them.
(And no matter how frightened she herself feels, her sons always come first.)
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She doesn't notice when the storms start to let up, when the rain begins to abate and the sun does its best to shine through the clouds. She doesn't know how long they've been here like this…doesn't know how to make her sons' lives better…
(But she knows she has to try. What kind of mother would she be if she did not?)
Edward's sobs have faded, though he has not loosened his grip on her in the slightest. Al's armor has quieted as his violent trembling subsides…
Suddenly, Edward lets go of her and takes a step back; his eyes are very red and trained at the ground. (Trisha is vividly reminded of her Ed, the way he stands when he's done something wrong and is trying to apologize.) "I'm sorry…you don't understand, but…I'm sorry…"
"Sweetie, this wasn't your fault," she says immediately. She wants to embrace him again, protect him from whatever is lurking in the horrors behind his eyes, but he continues before she can say any more.
"It…it is, because…"
But he shakes his head, suddenly, violently, as if he physically cannot continue. And she wants to press him for answers, press him for the information she wants (needs) to hear…but he looks so desperate and broken and lost that she simply cannot. Al has stepped back too, now, looking between his mother and his brother and somehow appearing small and terrified in the huge armor.
(This…nothing is making any sense…)
There is a knock at the door, sudden and loud, and Trisha jumps at the noise. She had almost forgotten, that there is a world outside of her boys…
Pinako jumps to answer the door. And when she opens it, when Urey and Winry rush into the house, looking worried…
Trisha knows she has to pull herself together; she knows she can't be this weak in front of her boys and her friends. But so much is going through her mind—so much that she can barely keep up—and she isn't sure a calm façade is possible as Urey steps toward her, worry written across his face.
"Trisha, are you all right? I wanted to come earlier, but I couldn't leave Winry alone, with the weather—"
"It's fine," she says immediately, on impulse, because she knows she would have done the same. "Everything's okay now…whatever happened to Edward is over…"
Urey opens his mouth to answer, but Winry gives a little shriek and runs to Edward, staring up at him in shock. "Who're you? You look just like Ed!"
Trisha sees Edward glance toward Sara and Pinako, as if asking permission to answer. Pinako nods (it's not like Winry wouldn't have badgered them all into giving her answers, anyway), so Ed says, "I—I am Ed. I'm from 1914—we changed times somehow…"
"Woah," she says, and the excitement is radiating off her as she squints up at Ed, as if checking to see if he is lying. "What happens? Does Uncle Ho come back and teach you lots of alchemy? What do I look like?"
She continues on and on, and Trisha finds it almost cathartic, the way Winry's asking all the questions she knows she never can. And it seems to be doing her boys good as well…Ed's eyes are still red as he squats down to talk to Winry; he's still shaking and sends Trisha involuntary, terrified glances every so often… But Winry is cheerful and five years old and innocent to the true gravity of this situation…
She thinks that maybe, just maybe, they'll be all right.
"Well, you're older, like us," Al is saying, also squatting down to speak to Winry better. (Trisha thinks she can hear a smile in his voice. "Your hair's really long, and—"
"Al?" she shifts her gaze to him, her eyes wide as only a child's can be. "Al, s'that you?"
"Yup. Just some alchemy training…"
"That's so cool! You're so big!" Her eyes are trained on him, now, taking in the enormous helmet and the spikes on his shoulders and the breastplate she could probably use as a chair.
Al laughs again, but his voice is distinctly more forced. (How is it that she can tell what he's feeling so easily, even though she can't see his face?) "Yup. And you're training to be an automail engineer—you can do some amazing stuff…"
"Really?" Her eyes are impossibly wider as she turns back to her parents and Pinako. "Granny, can I start learning now please? I have to, if I wanna get better…"
Edward laughs, and Trisha thinks she's right; the pain—so clear in his voice before—has dimmed, if only a bit. "You'll be awesome anyway—I wouldn't worry about it too much."
(Trisha thinks she sees Pinako stiffen, lock her steely gaze on Edward, but she has no time to wonder why.) Winry turns back to him, her eyes shining with excitement. "Really? You mean it?"
Ed only grins and reaches out to ruffle her hair in answer. But Urey is walking toward Ed, now, pulling him up by the arm and insisting they bring him upstairs because whatever that was, it was bad and your muscles need time to rest and it's getting late so you should probably go to sleep anyway…
And despite the annoyance clear on Ed's face, despite the half-hearted grumbles as Urey leads him toward the stairs, he does not protest. (The glint in his eye as he looks up at Urey is strange. She can't put her finger on it…)
Soon enough, they have settled Edward into his makeshift cot (even if he's rather short for his age—not that Trisha would ever mention it—he's far too big for her boys' beds now), with Alphonse hovering worriedly nearby. Winry is wandering around the room, looking at their sparse belongings as the rest of them make sure Edward will be all right.
Of course, Ed keeps telling them that he's fine—a hint of irritation is seeping into his voice by now—but Trisha can't get the image out of her head of the way he looked barely an hour ago, before Pinako and Sara had arrived. His face had been the color of old milk; he was clutching his shoulder as if he thought his arm might fall off; he was barely containing screams of agony…
And yet he had tried to tell her that he was fine. Trisha can't understand; how could he expect her to believe that when absolutely everything was pointing to the opposite conclusion?
(It's not just this episode, either. This entire mystery surrounding her boys…nothing is making any sense…)
But Al seems satisfied that his brother will be all right…and it's obvious that he knows Edward best. So she lets the subject drop, preparing to ask if he wants anything to drink before he falls asleep—
But Winry gasps loudly in excitement, digging through the messy heap of pajamas Ed had worn the night before and producing something on a long, silver chain. "Ed, where'd you get this? Is it Uncle Ho's? It's so pretty!"
Ed's head had snapped Winry's way harshly as soon as she began speaking. Now, as he realizes what she is holding, he makes an odd sort of choking noise, his mouth falling open silently. Al is motionless for a moment as well before he slowly stands up, walking toward her. (Trisha can see him shaking.) "No, Winry…it's just…just a watch…"
Trisha is stepping closer as well, now, because the horror on Edward's face is only growing. But why is this so terrible? What's wrong…?
Alphonse is taking the thing—watch, he had said—from Winry, closing his enormous fist around it and holding it behind his back almost childishly as Trisha steps closer. "What is it, sweetie?"
She's more curious than worried by this point, because surely nothing as harmless as a pocket watch could cause more trouble than they have already been through. (But the way Ed's breathing is quick and uneven, the way Al is shuffling from foot to foot and not meeting her eyes…)
"It's…it's nothing, Mom. Just something we got from a friend."
She wants to believe him—she really does. But their fidgeting, their panicked eyes belie the calm exterior they are trying so hard to keep up. "I just want to see it…"
He shakes his head, quickly, violently, and seems to shrink in on himself as he says—"Really, it's not anything special…"
She opens her mouth to disagree—clearly, whatever this is, it's important—but a voice from behind her cuts her off. "Al…just…give it to her…"
(Edward?)
She turns slowly to see her elder son sitting up, his face pale as chalk and eyes full of pain. He continues, his voice hoarse. "This…only this…"
She doesn't have time to think about what he means by that, though, because Al heaves a badly-stifled sob before putting the watch in her hands. It's large—large and heavy; that's the first thing she notices about it. It's clearly seen some wear, with nicks and scratches covering its surface…
She doesn't recognize the significance of the symbol on the front immediately (it's just the country's crest…what are they so worried about), so she flips it over, inspecting the back.
FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST
She stares at it for a moment, her brow furrowed, her mind refusing to catch up and realize and understand. 'Fullmetal Alchemist'…what in the world…
She can feel her sons' eyes on her; she can feel the Rockbells waiting for an explanation. But—she doesn't—
Suddenly, it clicks, and she nearly screams as the watch falls from her nerveless fingers.
No…no…
This can't…
State…Alchemist…?
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fastforward
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"Dad? Daddy!"
Maes barely has time to spin around before Alphonse hurtles into the crowd. He immediately takes off after him, shoving people aside and searching desperately for the boy in his charge. Gracia aside—if he loses Al…Ed and Winry will beat him into next week.
It's the morning after the boys arrived in 1914, a Saturday, and he had volunteered to do the shopping. Edward had stayed home (Maes doesn't envy Gracia and Winry—he's surely putting them through the wringer, trying to find out what's happened), but Al decided to come along.
It's still hard for Maes to wrap his head around it all—the boy whom he's always known as the suit of armor (no matter how much he tries to remember) has never truly been a child to him. But now, when he sees a boy (who is, frankly, utterly adorable), not much older than his own Elysia…
He realizes that's what Edward sees when he looks at his brother…
And he realizes that their situation is so much worse than he has ever imagined.
But he has no time to ponder these miracles now. He has found Alphonse, but the boy is ignoring him, has latched himself onto a man's pant leg…
Maes allows his gaze to travel upwards after he ensures that Alphonse is all right, and his breath catches in his throat as he gets a good look at the man. He's…he's…
The spitting image of Edward.
Their hair is the same—long and blond and tied back; their eyes are that same eerie gold; their facial structures are almost identical…
If Maes had to create an image of the Elrics' father, this would be it.
He doesn't seem to notice the boy attached to his leg, is busy bartering at the fruit stand… Only when Alphonse tugs at his pants, trying "Daddy?" again, does he look down, an expression of bemusement on his face.
"I'm not your—"
But as he gets a good look at Al, as he realizes that they have the same hair, the same eyes… He passes the merchant the money almost absent-mindedly as he crouches down, looking at Al in astonishment. "Alphonse?"
Al gives a little squeal and throws his arms around his father's neck. (Maes does not miss the way the man flinches, the way it takes him several seconds to embrace him back.) "I'm so happy you're here! Mister Hughes and Roy said we couldn't see you or Mom or anyone because Resembool is too far away but—"
The man looks utterly bewildered as Al continues to go on and on; the expression of utter delight has not dimmed from the boy's features. Finally, he gets a word in edgewise—"But—Alphonse—you should be a teenager by now…you're, what, four…?"
"Me and Brother were trying to use one of your circles to see the future, but we got sent here instead," Al explains quickly, pulling away from his father to face him. "Maybe you can help us get back! Mister Hughes, is that okay?"
He looks up at Maes suddenly, eyes shining with excitement, and he can do nothing but nod. After all, they need to get this sorted out as quickly as possible (before these Elrics find out what has happened and before their Elrics go mad with grief), and surely, the man who created the array would be the one able to reverse it.
But suddenly, he realizes that he hates this man. He hates everything about him; he hates the way his eyes flash in pain as he stands up, the way he stands hunched over like the world is on his back…
He hates this man with every fiber of his being, because he's the one who started it all. If he had never left home, had never abandoned his wife and children, Trisha Elric never would have died…those boys never would have tried to bring her back…
If this man hadn't left them, Maes never would have known Ed and Al…but only because they would be peaceful and happy out in Resembool.
But he can't explain any of this…not now…not when Al is there, looking with such joy up at his father… The only reason Maes is not laying into the man, verbally and physically, is because Al is there. He'll have to get him alone later, because if he remembers what Ed said correctly, they couldn't even find this man to tell him their mother had died…
He forces himself to push these thoughts away, though, and sticks out his hand. "Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes. Your sons were going to stay with me until we found a way to send them home."
He shakes it—his hand is large and worn and calloused—and smiles tiredly. "Van Hohenheim. That's very kind of you—I'll get this sorted out as soon as possible to get them off your hands."
Van Hohenheim. It's a strangely pretentious name, one that sounds as if he should know it… (He makes a mental note to ask Roy later. If this man is famous for anything, it'd be alchemy, based on his sons' talents…and Roy knows much more about that than Maes ever will.)
"Mister Hughes, can we go back to your house?" Al asks, breaking him out of his musings. "Brother will want to see Dad! And Winry too—if she's been gone, she probably—"
"Winry?" Hohenheim cuts him off, one eyebrow raised. "What is she doing in Central?"
"She was studying in Rush Valley, but she came up to keep the kids company since there aren't any trains to Resembool," Maes says quickly. If they aren't careful, he knows, Hohenheim will say something to tip Al off. Because surely, Ed is the nosy one—Ed is the one snooping for answers—but Al won't just ignore something right under his nose.
"I see…" Hohenheim's eyes flash, but he says nothing more on the subject as they make their way out of the market. Maes has to hand it to him—at the very least, the man seems sharp enough. (He still can't forgive him for what he did to his own sons, though…to just leave his family behind…)
Alphonse is talking nearly nonstop, grasping his father's hand tightly in his own as they turn down the correct street. Hohenheim seems rather bemused, looking down and smiling tentatively at his son as he goes on—
"They won't let us call Mom and we can't go home so I thought we'd be stuck here all alone and I miss Mom so much but you're here now so it'll be okay!"
"That's right," Hohenheim says tentatively, as if not sure he should. "I'll look at the circle you used when we get to Mister Hughes' house, and hopefully I'll be able to send you back without a problem."
Al beams up at him, hurrying to the correct apartment behind Maes. "What's happening at home? Why are you in Central?"
Hohenheim hesitates, looking rather lost as he glances at Maes. He only glowers for a moment, though, before saying, "Here we go, Al. Could you run inside real quick and tell Mrs. Hughes to set an extra place for lunch?"
Al nods immediately and speeds through the front door to the kitchen. Maes wastes no time, shutting the door loudly before turning to glare at Hohenheim.
The blond man turns to him as well, looking confused. "What's wrong?"
"Where the hell have you been for the past twelve years of those boys' lives?"
It comes out biting, accusatory, and even if it's a far cry from his usual demeanor, Maes can't bring himself to care. This man—this useless excuse for a father—
Hohenheim is staring at him as if trying to remember something, and it is several seconds before he replies. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure I know you—"
"You don't." He's losing what little patience he has left as those calm golden eyes stare back at him, waiting for an explanation. "But I know your sons—your proper sons, the ones who are back in 1904 right now. And you should know that if Edward were here, he would not be as calm as I am right now."
Hohenheim sighs, digging in his pocket for a moment before producing a train ticket. "This is for Resembool—I was planning to head home as soon as I left the market. Trisha has been waiting far too long…even if—"
Maes has to control himself, to keep his hand from grasping the knife at his back and holding it to this bastard's throat. "You have no idea," he grinds out. He feels his eyes filling with angry tears, but he does nothing to swipe them away as he continues—"You—how can you not know—they're all over the papers—"
"What?" Hohenheim says sharply. His eyes aren't lazy and relaxed as they had been; his stance is suddenly tense and unsure as he stares back at Maes. "What don't I know?"
"Their mother—Trisha Elric—she's dead." It comes out bluntly—perhaps a bit too bluntly, to tell a man his wife has passed away… But he continues regardless—"They were five and six. And then they tried to bring her back—"
He is ready to continue, ready to lay into the man and tell him exactly what sort of Hell those boys have gone through…but Hohenheim lets out a sudden, loud sob, barely catching himself on the door as he falls with horrified, unseeing eyes. "What did—how—"
"Edward said it was an epidemic," Maes says carefully. Despite his hatred for this man, despite everything he has done to his own family…the way Hohenheim looks so horribly, utterly consumed by sudden and blinding grief…he's not sure how to react. The way Ed had described their father, Maes has allowed himself to create the image of an uncaring, emotionless monster. Who else would vanish without a trace when he had a wife and sons at home?
But the man before him is none of those things. Tears are streaming down his cheeks, and though he has righted himself, he still looks unsteady and horrified as he struggles to focus on Maes. "You said—human transmutation? What did it take?"
The terror, the agony in his eyes is almost too much for Maes to bear. "Al—Al's a soul bound to a suit of armor," he says, his voice low and eyes averted. He's realized—this is too much… "Ed saved his life—he's lost an arm and a leg, but he's driving himself mad trying to restore Alphonse's body. He's a State Alchemist—has been since he was twelve."
Hohenheim's eyes flash in something like panic at the mention of State Alchemists, but before he can say anything in reply, Gracia opens the door, looking worried. "Are you two coming—are you all right?" Her eyes lock quickly on Hohenheim's blotchy, tear-stained face. "What's wrong?"
"Maes—he told me everything," Hohenheim says, shaking his head and trying to wipe his eyes, even as more tears fall freely down his cheeks. "Edward and Alphonse—they couldn't hear what we said, could they?"
"No, they're helping Winry set the table…" Her eyes flit to Maes, obviously unsure before they turn back to Hohenheim. "You're their father, then?"
He nods, swallowing thickly before he replies—"I swear, if I knew anything of what happened, I would have gone straight home…I had no idea…"
Maes does not doubt for a second that it's the truth. That agony so clear on his face, the way he's shaking uncontrollably…that can't possibly be faked. And Maes knows now—even if he did leave, Van Hohenheim still cares about his family.
(So why did he go in the first place? He wants to know, needs to know, but now is not the time or place to ask.)
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It's later that night when the phone rings.
"Do the Elrics have any idea how to reverse the circle?" Roy is talking almost the moment Maes picks up the phone, not even bothering with a greeting. His voice cracks in frustration, in self-loathing as he continues— "Armstrong and I have been looking at it all day…we don't even know where to start—"
In any other situation, Maes would laugh, would point out to his friend how he's developed a soft spot for those boys…but the situation is dire, and he's just as worried himself. "I haven't asked them, but Al found his father in the market, so—"
"Van Hohenheim?"
"Yeah, he said he'd help reverse the circle as soon as possible. I'm worried about ours, though—God knows what this is doing to them…"
Roy makes a noise of agreement on the other end, though he's clearly skeptical about the boys' father. Maes supposes the suspicion is justified—surely, Roy has heard Edward rant the most about the man—but they don't really have an option anymore. (And he's fairly certain, now, that he would trust Van Hohenheim with those boys' lives.)
But his friend is continuing quickly—"We need to set this straight as soon as we can—the higher-ups are already asking where they are. They haven't officially checked in from that mission… I can put it off as automail repairs for a few days, but—"
Maes swears under his breath; he hasn't even thought of that, but of course the military would want to know where their favorite alchemists have gone. "Get over here first thing tomorrow—the boys are already in bed, but hopefully if we can get this sorted out soon enough…"
"Right. I'll tell Armstrong to come as well." There is a slight pause on the other end before he continues—"Are they all right? You haven't told them anything?"
"We've been dodging Ed's questions all day," Maes says, trying to crack a smile. It falls flat; his voice sounds almost bitter as he continues—"Kid knows something's up. We don't have much time before he figures out the truth…"
Roy sighs. "Stupid kid…he'll drive himself into an early grave like this." (Neither of them laugh, because they both know it's true.) "We'll be there. Try to keep them out of trouble, yeah?"
"I'll do my best. They'll be all right…"
(Is he reassuring Roy or himself? Because as he hangs up, he can't ignore the sick pit of dread forming in his gut.)
(They can't hide this forever, but he can damn well try. Those boys can't learn what has happened…it'll tear them apart.)
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(A midnight conversation.)
"When we fix this…all those things you told me, out in the hallway, you need to tell Edward."
"What difference will it make?" (A heavy sigh.)
"He thinks you just abandoned them—Al does too, but he's too kind to say it. You need to make this right—whatever reason you have for leaving…"
"It won't change anything…you know that."
"What do you mean?" (He knows the answer, but he wishes it weren't true.)
"Trisha is dead. My sons' lives are ruined. At this point, nothing I say will ever change their minds."
(He's right, of course, but the finality of it all is terrible and crushing.)
(Both men would do anything to turn back time and make this right, but it's far too late for that now.)