What?!

What is this?!

A new story?!

What about Taut?!

Oh, no, Teeta's abandoned Taut?!

NO

TAUT IS NOT ABANDONED

Taut has been on hold because I have been working on a project for Infectious Diseases class for the past 3 months.

And now it is done.

Here it is.

Yeah, that's right.

I wrote a fanfiction as a project for a college class.

And if you read the entire description (which I'm hoping you did) you'll remember I said this was written for Silver Ash.

Yep.

You're not wrong.

Silver Ash is my professor.

And because she's so awesome, she let me write a fanfiction for her class.

Now, I'll warn you before hand that this story is short, messy, and boring. I'll remind you that this was written as a creative essay (or something like that) and under extreme time restraints.

But it's DONE NOW!

So... on to the next semester paper, I guess... there is no freedom, children, liberty is an illusion.

"All right, Al. That's the last of them."

"Are you sure we can't keep just one?"

Edward glared at his baby brother.

"No, Al, we can't. We don't have time for a pet and they smell terrible."

"It's not their fault! I'm sure we could control the smell if we kept the cage clean- "

"-which is something we don't have time for! Besides, rats cause diseases. I'm sure they'll be much happier in a place like the sewers than a tiny cage anyway."

Al studied the squeaking, stinking mass of multicolored fur and bald tails roiling in his empty body.

"I suppose you're right," he said, surprising Ed. "The sewers are a good place for rats to live. It's not too cold or too hot, there's lots of food they like, and lots of room for them to play."

Ed wasn't sure that rats played in the way Al was thinking of, but he wasn't going to correct someone saying he was correct.

"Of course, I'm right. I'm the big brother, being right is my job."

Unfortunately, it wasn't all positive for him.

Alphonse had screamed so shrilly that Ed was sure his eardrums had ripped when he'd tried to start throwing the rats down a storm drain. Despite Edward's assurances that rats are competent swimmers (he didn't know if that was true or not, he just wanted to finish this and go take a nice, long shower), Al had been terrified that the tiny animals would go into shock and drown when they suddenly met the water-or worse, break their necks on a dry, stone floor.

So, Ed had transmuted the lid off a manhole and used his automail arm to pull his coat into a makeshift basket and climbed down the ladder of the maintenance tunnel one-handed. The rats crawled around the pouch made of his jacket, sniffing and peering around, but not risking climbing over the edge.

"Gentle, Brother, gentle! Don't crush them!"

"I'm not going to crush them, Al, stop worrying-AWW, GROSS!"

"What? What is it? Did one of them die! I told you to- "

"IT CRAPPED ON ME!

The ringing giggles of his brother's laughter was almost as humiliating as having his famous red coat stained with rat feces.

Almost.

XXX

The druggies who had been living in the vermin-infested shack (Ed thought it might have been a shop, maybe a corner store, before it had been abandoned) had been taken into custody without a fight. They had been too high to even understand that they were being raided. Ed and Al had stepped into the building and saw a dirty, barely clothed couple lying against the wall, apparently unconscious and resting in each other's arms. An older man had been sitting up against the adjacent wall, and while he had been awake, he clearly hadn't been lucid. The balding man had smiled at the boys, revealing several missing teeth, and pointed at an ingredient-stained table bearing what looked like laboratory equipment from a university classroom.

"Hel' yaseffs. I's goo' bennie."

Alphonse deigned to answer him while Edward simply raised an eyebrow in a silent question.

"No thank you, sir. We've come to take you to a doctor. He'll be able to help you get better."

The old man had seemed to find that quite agreeable and, with the armor's help, had hobbled out of the empty shop and into the patrol car. The police didn't bother to handcuff him. The young couple were carried out on stretchers and escorted to the hospital via emergency vehicle.

After collecting the paraphernalia and any evidence that might be needed in a court trial, the authorities headed back to their offices to finalize the paperwork for the arrest of the addicts and the demolition of the building. Upon learning that the tumbledown store was to be destroyed, Al had refused to leave the premises until the colony of rats he had seen feasting on the remains of the buffs' most recent meal had been relocated (it had looked suspiciously like a single giant cheese wheel; Ed thought to himself that anyone in the mood to eat an entire circle of Västerbotten had to be on some type of amphetamines).

"Al, they're just rodents."

"This building is their home!"

"It's full of drugs, Al! It's not safe for anything to live in there!"

"All the more reason to get them out of there! I'm not leaving them here to be smashed underneath a bunch of rubble!"

"Al, please, I'm tired and hungry- "

"I'm not going anywhere until they're safe!"

And Edward hadn't the energy to argue.

That was why Edward, his left arm and shoulder port sore from three trips up and down the ladder, his coat now being cleaned by a professional laundress with a stomach made of iron, was vigorously scratching fleabites while taking a two-hour-long shower. When he finally did come out of the bathroom, his fingers and toes wrinkly and his wet hair falling heavily behind his back, he let his brother know just how much he thought saving a bunch of dirty bug-ridden rodents was worth by curling up on the couch of their dorm room and pouting, wearing nothing but a towel around his body.

After about five minutes he went back into the bathroom and put on some clothes, having only a towel had gotten cold. Then he went right back to sulking.

After watching Edward grump for half an hour, Alphonse left and came back twenty minutes later with three shrimp-and-beef kabobs, a box of noodles, and a bottle of ice cream soda.

Edward had fully forgiven his brother by the time he went to sleep that night.

XXX

"You apprehended the suspects without resorting to violent force or destroying public or private property. The individuals in question have proved quite cooperative in divulging information about their dealer and even routine smuggling operations."

Mustang looked up from the reports he had received from Fullmetal and the police department. His eyes, normally sharp and scrutinizing, were soft and pleased.

"I'm impressed, Fullmetal. Good job. I'm proud of you."

Edward scoffed and flicked his head aside, but Roy saw the suppressed smile and little chest swell happily. The boy would never admit how much the colonel's praise meant to him, but he had never been good about controlling his body language. Hawkeye didn't bother to pretend she wasn't gladdened by Ed's uncharacteristically docile behavior during the assignment. She smiled gently and gave him a nod of approval that sent sparks of gratification sizzling down his spine.

"Wasn't a big deal. The dude was too doped to know what was going on, anyway."

"Even so, Fullmetal."

"I don't care." He did care and both Hawkeye and Mustang knew it, but neither commented. "Do you have anything else for Al and me? And I don't mean stupid coffee runs!"

Roy chuckled and fished a file from somewhere on his paper-laden desk.

"I doubt it'll lead to anything, but I kept tabs on it just in case. There's no rush, so no need to book the morning train- "

"Blah, blah, give it here." Ed snatched the file out of Roy's proffered hand. "Thank you. I gotta go, Al's waiting for me at the laundromat. See ya, Colonel!"

And he bolted out of the office with the energy only a young person can possess.

"He thanked you," Hawkeye noted after the door had shut and the mismatched footsteps had trailed away.

"Must be in a good mood," Roy said, then turned back to his deskwork. "Enjoy it while it lasts, it won't for much longer."

XXX

A week later, Mustang received word that the Elric brothers had returned to East City. After three days and the boys hadn't come in for a follow-up report, Roy decided to check if what he'd heard was true. He called the barracks and the receptionist confirmed that yes, the Elric brothers had checked in a little over two days ago. He requested that Edward be sent for, and after ten minutes of filling out forms with one hand and holding the phone receiver to his ear with the other, he heard the clacking sounds as the other line was handed off and Alphonse's tinny voice came through. It wasn't uncommon for Al to answer his brother's phone calls. Mustang didn't mind, Ed tended to respond heatedly to calls and rarely listened to his conversationalist.

"I'm sorry, Colonel. We were going to come in this morning, but I'm afraid Brother's unwell."

Roy rolled his eyes, although he knew Al couldn't see him.

"Alphonse, I know that boys Fullmetal's age can be… difficult… when they're feeling lazy, but you need to tell your brother to get off his butt and come finish his assignment."

There was an uncomfortable silence, and Roy had the inkling he might have unintentionally offended Al by insulting his brother. That was unfortunate, but it changed nothing.

"No, sir, I don't think you understand. I don't want Brother to go in today because I don't think he's feeling well. He was quiet on the train back and he only ate a bowl of rice for dinner. I really think he should rest-"

"Al? Who are you talking to? Is it the colonel? Gimme the phone!"

Edward's voice, distant but recognizable.

"Brother! I told you to go back to sleep!"

"Gimme!"

More clacking, and then Edward's voice again, now clear and unusually hoarse-sounding.

"We'll be right there, Bastard, keep your boxers on!"

The receiver was slammed onto its cradle and all Roy could hear was a dial tone.

XXX

Mustang should have listened to Alphonse.

He knew that as soon as his major and the suit of armor stepped into his office.

The last time he had seen Fullmetal look that pathetic, it had been moments before the boy had vomited all over the freshly cleaned carpet of his office. Roy had half a mind to send the brothers right back to the dorms, but he was the one who'd insisted they'd come in the first place, and Edward looked as if he didn't lie down soon he would collapse.

He was tiny next to his brother, Al's giant arm holding him close and guiding him through across the threshold, immotile yet tender, like a mother eagle shielding her chick with her wing. The boy's eyes were closed, and he was leaning against his brother's broad side. Roy could see him shivering from his desk.

Mustang expected anger from Alphonse, a lecture on how he ought to listen to others when they said something was wrong, but any animosity Al might have felt toward the colonel was dissolved in his worry for Ed.

"We were about halfway here before he got this bad; I was scared he wouldn't make it back to the dorms if we turned around, so I just kept going-"

He had kept going once they'd reached Headquarters, through the building and to Mustang's office, and they had gathered a following. Roy could see Havoc, an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth, peering from behind Al's shoulder. He could also see a concerned-looking receptionist, a curious sergeant, an angry Hawkeye, Falman wearing an inquisitive expression-

An angry Hawkeye.

The embarrassment that had been filling Roy's stomach as he took in all the witnesses to his stupid stubbornness curdled into sick fear.

"Can I-"

"Put him on the couch, Alphonse," Roy said without breaking eye contact with Riza or hearing what Al had been going to ask.

"Thank you, sir." He guided his brother to the sofa that came with having a private office in East Headquarters, when they reached it Ed sat down heavily and buried his face in Al's side. Al held him tighter, but just as gently.

Havoc took a step into the office cautiously and studied the small figure that looked like Edward but couldn't be, because Edward was a force of nature that flattened everyone and everything in his way, not this child who was curled up in his kid brother's shadow.

"Hey, boss… is the chief okay?"

"No, Jean, he clearly is not," Riza answered for her colonel and stepped around Havoc and into the office and approached the couch.

Havoc glanced at the waste basket next to Mustang's desk and back to Ed.

"He's not… uh… gonna… y'know…. Is he?"

Hawkeye had dropped to one knee in front of the sofa, she turned her head and looked at Jean from over her shoulder.

"Do you want to stay and find out? I believe you have work to do, Second Lieutenant." Her eyes narrowed at the receptionist peeking into the room next Havoc. "As do the rest of you."

They both heard what she didn't say and made themselves scarce. Havoc took the liberty of closing the office door before making his departure.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," said Roy, genuinely glad for the privacy.

Hawkeye sent him a scowl that promised pain later.

Lots and lots of pain.

The glare vanished the instant she turned back to Elrics.

"Hey, Edward. How are you?" She spoke as if to a young child.

Edward blinked open his eyes. They were glossy and unfocused.

"S;upid bas'ard. Wha's he want?" It was a lame attempt at normalcy.

"Yes, he is, isn't he?"

Out of the corner of his eye Ed saw Roy's countenance flood with betrayal, then smooth out into chastisement. He'd deserved that.

Riza reached out a hand and Edward flinched from it like a startled rabbit but relaxed as her soft touch graced the space beneath his jaw and behind his ear. She was warm and smelled like peonies.

"Is he feverish? I can't tell, I'm sorry- "

"No reason to be sorry, Alphonse. He's a little warm, but I don't think it's anything to worry about."

"Usually he whines and complains when he's not feeling well. I haven't seen him like this since his surgery, and that was when he'd let me in the room."

"Have you tried taking him to the infirmary?" That was Roy, stepping around his desk so he could come closer, although he stopped a safe distance from his lieutenant. He wasn't sure if it was wise to approach her yet.

"Brother doesn't like doctors and he usually gets better on his own."

"Alphonse, I don't think this is anything serious, but I think he would feel better if you brought him in." Hawkeye hadn't removed her hand from Edward's jawline and the boy hadn't shown any signs of wanting her to. Neither had he shown any form of protestation when taking him to the infirmary was suggested. His lack of dissent rather than his lack of assertiveness was what made up Al's mind.

"Okay. Come on, Brother, let's go to-oh."

Ed did not follow Al as his brother stood up. In fact, he did the opposite: he clung to Alphonse's arm and tried to keep the suit of armor from leaving the couch, which nearly ended with him sprawling onto the floor. To prevent that, Edward had to let go of Alphonse's limb, and he settled for curling his body onto the sofa, pulling in his legs and burying his face in his knees. Roy had never seen the boy do anything so infantile, and Mustang was surprised to find that he was frightened by it. Alphonse turned back to the couch and leaned down to place a leather hand on Ed's side, as if his brother was a tired dog he was petting.

"On second thought, could you bring someone here?"

XXX

Edward was not sure what had happened. He had been feeling odd on the train ride back to East City but had written it off as the routine tiredness he often felt near the end of an assignment-although this trip hadn't been that strenuous.

It had been a town that had built a thriving economy off synthesizing precious gems using alchemy and then crafting them into pieces of jewelry which they sold for relatively low prices. State law prohibited the alchemical creation of gold, which the jewelers did not use a speck of in their work but had no official institutions against rocks such as emeralds or jades. While the information they'd learned hadn't been directly beneficial for their personal studies, Ed believed they may have picked up one or two potentially useful bits of geological knowledge, and he couldn't deny that watching the crafters turn boring, raw materials into beautiful, rare treasures was fascinating.

Perhaps he'd picked up a local strain of flu as well.

Sleeping certainly seemed to help, and though he hadn't felt noticeably hungry during the past couple of days, he hadn't felt nauseous. He had woken up that morning to the sound of Al's echoing voice talking on their dorm room's telephone. He'd been feeling better. His automail ports were a bit sore and there was a mild drum of pain right between his eyes and behind his nose, but he'd been feeling better.

So, he told the colonel he'd be there in a few minutes, pulled on his boots, and he and Alphonse had made their way to Eastern Headquarters.

They were about one-eighth of the way there when the aching in his ports spread into his muscles, deeply, like it was trying to reach his bones.

They were about one-fourth of the way there when the drum at the front of his face caught fire, and the flames consumed his forehead and burrowed into his brain and settled there, smoldering.

They were about halfway there when the fire destroyed the part of his brain in charge of regulating his balance, and the pain in his muscles turned them to stone.

Alphonse had gradually morphed from walking behind him, to walking beside him, to letting him lean against him, to supporting him completely. He'd relinquished control to Alphonse completely, his head hurt too much for him to care. At some point, the stone in his body turned to ice and Edward had started to shudder even though it did no good; the cold was inside of him and his body couldn't seem to make itself hot enough to melt it. By the time they reached the military building, Ed was being guided by his brother blindly. He could not open his eyes, the sight of the world going past and around him made him feel like throwing up.

Edward balked when Alphonse tried to coax him up the stairs.

"Come on, Brother. We're almost there."

Edward refused to lift his feet onto the first step. He felt like it was taking all of his willpower not to curl up on the floor and die.

"There's a couch in the colonel's office. You can lay down there. Come on, you can make it."

He could not make it.

Al had to hoist him up, so that Ed was sitting on one arm with his free hand caressing Ed's back. He set him back on his feet at the top of the staircase to preserve his dignity. He knew the receptionist from the front desk was following them, she had been since they had passed through the lobby. Al knew she was worried and wanted to make sure they arrived at their destination without incident but allowed them a wide berth to protect their privacy. He deeply appreciated that and made a mental note to thank her later.

Havoc was not so keen on the brothers' desire for confidentiality.

"Hey, Alphonse - woah. Is the chief all good? He's not looking so hot," was the greeting he gave them as Al shouldered himself and his brother through the door to the main office

"Good morning, sir. Colonel Mustang wanted to see Brother, and Brother said he was feeling better today, but…" Al's voice trailed away as he watched Edward push away from him and attempt to make himself presentable. He knew they had reached the office upon hearing Jean speak and, despite his abnormal public appearance of debility on the way there, Ed was hell-bent that Mustang the Bastard would not see him any way besides autonomous and sophisticated. He straightened his posture and his coat and ran his flesh hand through his hair. Then he opened his eyes and his face turned the color of chalk.

He had been pressing his forehead against the cool metal of Al's armor; the pressure and cold had snuffed the throbbing in his skull to a bearable thrum. With his face away from his brother's steel skin and his eyes open, the sudden brightness to his eyes and upright position of his head freed and amplified Ed's migraine to a point that his vision was tinted with yellow and red. After a tormented ten seconds in which Edward mentally tried to control the pain enough to function, he realized that if he continued wrestling with his body he would end up either being sick in Mustang's office or pass out - or both - and he decided he would much rather see the colonel clean and conscious than wearing his own puke and/or vegged out.

He closed his eyes and collapsed against his brother like a ragdoll kitten.

Alphonse immediately convolved around him defensively so that all Havoc could see of him was below the knees.

"Oh, Brother… Let's go into the colonel's office so you can sit down."

XXX

"To be fair, he was the one who decided to come in."

"To be fair, sir, you were the one who refused to take Alphonse at his word."

Roy sat at his desk, feeling ironically out of place and awkward, while Riza stood guard by the closed door. Alphonse was hovering anxiously over his brother, who was either asleep or lacked the energy to do anything except lay under the blanket the receptionist had donated. The woman had proved worth more than her paycheck. After retrieving a small quilt from the infirmary, she had told Riza (who was clearly in charge despite the colonel's rank) that she had informed a nurse on shift that their assistance was needed, and that the technician had promised to send someone right away.

The man they sent was balding and disgruntled, and Roy would have wagered that he was near the end of his middle years and leaning towards seniority. Upon arriving he gave Mustang a look that suggested he did not think that the colonel's predicament was worth an out-of-office visit, to which Roy responded with a gesture towards the couch. The physician turned his attention towards the direction Mustang had gestured and his face softened. He immediately forgot about the colonel as his instincts as a grandfather and a doctor came to the fore.

Edward did not like doctors. Doctors gave him shots, and shots made him feel sleepy and dizzy and sick, and when he felt like that it meant they were getting ready to cut open his stumps and jack around with the severed neurons and stunted bones, and that hurt, no matter how strong of a drug they gave him.

But Edward was already hurting, and he already felt sleepy and dizzy and sick, and if Al said the man who was dressed in a professional white coat and smelled like antiseptic and latex was going to take the hurting and the sleepy-dizzy-sick feeling away, Ed was not going to argue or fight back.

So, disproving Alphonse's fears of his brother attacking the man and in doing so ironically strengthening his anxiety for Edward's wellbeing, Ed did not throw a punch or assault the doctor with swear words, or even slap his hand away when the man placed a soft hand on his forehead and listened to his breathing.

"He must be feeling really awful. Brother hates doctors. Oh, um, no offense to you, sir."

The doctor glanced at the suit of armor sitting on the sofa by his brother's feet, his gauntlet pressed firmly against Edward's curved back. He found the high-pitched, almost childish voice coming from the helmet perched atop an eight-foot suit bizarre, almost comical, but he did not question it. The sense of intuition he had developed during his life as a practitioner told him he probably didn't want to know.

"It doesn't look that bad. It's most likely just a particularly nasty virus or bacterial infection," he said as he shook the thermometer he'd been reading, knocking the mercury back into the glass bulb. He had measured the boy's temperature by slipping the tool under Ed's arm rather than having Ed hold it under his tongue. With the fierceness of his shivering, the man was worried Edward might accidentally bite down on the thermometer and break it. "His fever is pretty high, though. It's probably what's making him so off-color. I would recommend giving him an aspirin to keep him comfortable and from overheating. That should make him perk up."

The doctor pulled a small notepad from the lapel of his coat and scribbled on it, then tore the page free. He stood in confusion for a moment, unsure whom to give it to. Mustang surprised himself by stepping forward and accepting the tiny paper. He caught the word penicillin as his eyes glanced over the writing.

"Lieutenant, we're taking the Elrics back to their dorm."

"Yes, sir."

Though her tone of voice was compliant, her expression held a warning.

You better not be doing this to avoid your work.

Roy made a subtle gesture towards the couch, his own countenance aporetic.

Do you really think they can walk back in their condition?

Riza's face softened as she conceded his point.

The doctor rolled his eyes.

XXX

Edward had very nearly reached a state of fevered sleep when he was pulled to his feet and led, stumbling, out of the office. It was later in the day and so the hallways were busier, which meant there were more potential staring gazes. They were only potential because as soon as either Mustang or Hawkeye sensed an unwanted observer, the watcher was almost immediately pinned with pair of brown or black eyes that promised pain.

After being carried down the stairs (Roy and Riza had looked away for Ed's privacy, not that it would have mattered; he'd lost his sense of surroundings when they left the office) and out of the building, Riza fetched the car and brought it around while the colonel, Al, and Ed waited on bench off the sidewalk. Edward finally sank into the sleep he'd welcomed on the couch and by the time Hawkeye arrived, he was slumped against Alphonse and snoring softly. He did not wake up when his brother carried him to and from the vehicle or throughout the ride itself.

XXX

Roy heard nothing from the brothers for the entirety of the following workday. He'd called before leaving for home that evening; Al reported that Edward had spent the day either sleeping or lounging (he'd tried studying but claimed the tiny print of the books made him dizzy). He hadn't been happy about the medicine, but the aspirin certainly seemed to help, he was at least capable of verbal communication.

"And he ate an orange."

"Just an orange?"

"He said he wasn't very hungry. He did drink lots of soda, though. Is that okay?"

Roy didn't know.

"You should probably give him something healthier. Water or juice. Tea, maybe."

"Oh, good idea! I always put milk in Brother's tea and tell him it's cream, he can't taste the difference- "

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?!"

"Uh oh. I have to go, Colonel, Brother's awake."

XXX

When Alphonse called him the next morning, Mustang had expected an announcement of Fullmetal's recovery and a time in the day at which he would report in.

He received neither of those.

"Colonel, I don't think the medicine is working."

Roy sighed at the boy's childish impatience.

"He's only been taking it for a day, Alphonse, it's a pharmaceutical drug, not a magic cure."

"No, that's not what I mean. He's gotten worse."

"I'm sure it's not that bad - "

"He looks like he has the measles!"

That gave Roy pause. Measles weren't serious, but they were highly contagious. It was a common childhood illness, one that Roy had when he was young.

"It's nothing to worry about. Just keep him inside and away from healthy, sane, normal people. The world will thank you for it."

"No!" Now Al sounded angry as well as anxious. "You're not listening! Brother had the measles when he was three! You can't get it twice. This is something else!"

Roy heard a second voice. It sounded mumbled through the phone, but he could tell that whatever it said was slurred and unfocused, almost like the speaker was drunk.

"Brother, I don't know what that means!"

"What did he say?"

"He keeps telling me that his stomach is leaving, but he won't tell me what the heck he's talking about. I… I don't think he knows. First, I thought he might be feeling sick, so I grabbed a trash can, but he just kept saying it over and over again, so then I tried giving him food in case he was hungry, but he wouldn't eat."

Mustang glanced at Hawkeye. She'd been standing by his desk, listening to the conversation, as she always did when he was on the phone (the colonel tended to use paparazzi calls as an excuse to procrastinate on his deskwork). She met his eyes, brows raised, but said nothing.

"Do you want me to send someone to check on him?"

"Oh, would you, Colonel? Thank you! I was hoping you would!"

After promising someone would be there in ten minutes (by someone they both knew he meant himself and the lieutenant), Roy replaced the receiver on its cradle and buried his face in his hands with an exasperated sigh.

"He learned that from you."

Roy looked up at Riza bemusedly. She was smiling the way one does when they are appreciating their own personal joke.

"Learned what?"

"Emotional extortion."