So I was on Tumblr and ended up in a rabbit hole and found myself in the RoyAi tag, and then started reading RoyAi fics and then this happened. Whoops. RoyAi's been one of my top 5 OTPs since, like 5ever and I've written one before, as you can see, and I love them. I also adore sick/injured/hurt and comfort fics, so here we are. Enjoy

The bombs and bullets whizzed overhead as they had for days, or weeks, or months. At this point it was hard to tell the time, because the smoke made every day seem like darkest night, and the blasts lit up the sky like an angry, fiery sun. All the soldiers knew was that they slept when their weary, battered bodies finally gave out, and then did what they could to ensure they would wake in the morning.

To say the battle for the rebel-held territory was not going well would be a laughable understatement. With King Bradley ousted, finding cooperation among the different factions was nearly impossible. Some factions reluctantly cooperated, some stayed out of the power struggles, and still others turned against the military.

A leader had yet to be elected, and the military was in shambles. Military run institutions, which consisted of most public works and services, were closed. At best, citizens were unhappy, at worst they were rioting.

Colonel Roy Mustang, who was still a Colonial because no one had the power nor cared to promote him with everything else going on, was in the strategy tent, mulling over the next course of attack.

"One more strong hit to their base," he said, pointing at a dark red 'x' on the tattered old paper, "And we should end this." His voice sounded noncommittal, but with a firm nod of his head, the other soldiers knew he was decided in this course of action.

"Sir," ventured one soldier cautiously. Although Mustang had not been granted a higher title, word quickly spread of his latest battle with the Fullmetal Alchemist. The title would be nice, sure, but he had already earned the respect of his underlings. There was already rumors that he would lead the country at some point, but much of that was simply speculation.

Roy raised an eyebrow at the one who had spoken though he tried to look as inviting as possible. Riza Hawkeye, the woman standing at his side, commented that he sometimes appeared closed off, which scared people away from speaking up.

"It's just, you're right, sir, one more strong hit and we'll have them," the young man said nervously. "But I worry that we don't have that strong hit in us."

Roy nodded, pondering over the words. The young soldier was right, the odds of them having one more strong attack in them was slim. But, if they didn't take the chance now, they may not get another one. While they regrouped, the enemy did as well. There was only so much time.

"You're right, soldier," Mustang finally said, straightening up. To his right, Riza smiled to herself, as she had told him he needed to start with a positive sentence, and then constructively criticise what was said. He was learning. "Unfortunately, we don't have much choice. If we don't attack now, we won't get another shot."

"Yes sir," the soldier saluted politely, feeling validated that his comments were heard.

Mustang then began ordering troops into positions and directing his higher ups to lead the command of their squads. It was tiresome, and while he enjoyed the power, he had learned quite the life lesson about having too much of it. Most of all, he wanted the war to be over. Sure, peacetime paperwork was tedious, but the constant fighting wore him down. One lucky shot, one direct hit, and done. You're done. Your life is over.

"Everyone is in place." Riza brought him out of his thoughts and he turned to look in her grim, amber eyes. He noted, with some sadness, that during battles her eyes didn't glow the way they did at home. The purple bags under her eyes, which mirrored his own, caused her face to look droopy and tired, though he noticed that she still looked beautiful in her own right.

He felt shocked at the thought that entered his mind and quickly nodded his head to dismiss her. 'What?' he thought to himself, 'Am I not allowed to think things anymore?' But there was a war to focus on, and he followed Riza outside into the smoky world.

"Are you ready, Lieutenant?" he asked her as she reached for her gun.

"Yes, sir," she said. Although she looked tired and thin, her eyes were determined. She wanted to go home just as much as Roy and the rest of the team did.

"I wish that Fullmetal brat were here," Roy mumbled ruefully as they walked towards the boundaries of their encampment. Riza looked over at him, a bit shocked at the sentiment. Her commander wishing for the help of Edward Elric meant that the situation was dire.

"I suppose after all that happened, it's no surprise he just wanted to go back to the countryside with his brother," she replied neutrally. "Though, I feel this would be over by now if he were here, assuming he was fighting on our side."

Now, there was a heavy dose of truth. "Of course he would fight on our side," Roy replied hotly, though he looked away from his Lieutenant. He really couldn't be sure. Of course they had fought together then, but everything was so fragmented. Defeating King Bradley had only fractured the tense country further, and now pitted father against son, mother against daughter.

Riza didn't say anything more, but went down a different path from her commander so she could watch over him under cover. Her hands itched at her guns, daring any adversaries to come anywhere near the Colonel. Roy watched her go, knowing she was in the shadows and he made his way to the front lines.

He brushed his gloved hands along his arms, as though checking to be sure they were real. This was going to take a lot of strength and power, but he was among the best Alchemists in the world. He had no doubt he could win.

The other soldier-Alchemists were ready and began drawing their own circles as they readied to transmute the very earth they stood on. One more strong attack, and that's it. Just one more.

"Now!"

Roy's shout bellowed over the battlefield and they charged. Rocks, trees, dirt, all flew through the air at breakneck speeds, taking out the charging enemy in front of them. Roy was focused on his own Alchemy, and he preferred to keep it that way. If he became distracted by the dead bodies and injured soldiers, he wouldn't be able to focus on roasting that base.

They neared the stronghold, and Roy's vision focused on one thing and one thing only-the guardhouse. If he, and the rest of his soldiers, could take that out, the enemy troops would be set back so far, they wouldn't be able to recover for months, if they ever did at all. He knew from intel that they had neglected to build a base closer than hundreds of miles away across the desert. This was their chance to gain some ground.

He dodged attacks left and right, while his underlings protected the famed Flame Alchemist. With a snap of his fingers and the force of his arms thrusting into space, he lit up the ground beneath him and turned the landscape into fireworks. Everything was bright, the angry sun was rising once again, and Roy had succeeded in setting the guardhouse, and most of its inhabitants on fire.

Although the base was destroyed, the insurgents kept fighting, and Roy dodged and hit, ducked and set aflame anyone who came close. And one by one, they either retreated to save their own life, or they died at the hands of the military. But, Roy still refused to lose his focus, because he didn't want to see the death and destruction around him. He was content to stay in his own mind until they got back to base and could count their dead.

But then came the scream.

It was high pitched and quick, and had the bombs been blasting any louder, Roy would have missed it. But, his head snapped up and he whirled himself around before he started to run the direction of the scream.

He knew that scream. He knew that voice. All focus was gone. He couldn't even remember what he intended to do before the scream pierced his ears and rang through his mind. His heart was in his throat as he ran, and he felt like he was going to be sick, or burst into flames, or both.

And finally, he reached the source of the noise, laying in a crumpled and bloody heap on the ground.

"No," he said aloud, but it wasn't a wish or signal of defeat. It was a command. It was defiance. It was an order.

He sank to his knees and lifted the small body into his arms and turned studied the face of the close eyed soldier, but there was no denying it. It was Riza.

"Hawkeye," he said, shaking her. "Hawkeye, come on, wake up. That's an order from your commander! Wake up!" But no amount of shaking could wake her. He decided to go a different route and checked her breathing, noticing that both her breath and her pulse were there, but faint. He found the wound on her shoulder and unceremoniously ripped her sleeve off and used the cloth as a makeshift bandage.

"Alright, your wound is bandaged, now wake up!" In his haze, Roy felt that was all that needed to be done to bring his Lieutenant back to him. But, it wasn't, and she was still lost to the world, though she had unconsciously moved turned herself into him. It wasn't cute. She was cold, freezing to death due to her loss of blood and Roy ripped off his own jacket and wrapped it around her.

He looked around and began shouting for help, and thankfully, thankfully, medial soldiers were running over to them. "Help," the Colonel said as they got close, as though they couldn't see the woman laying in his now bloody lap, as though they would up and turn the other way.

They knelt down, got a better bandage on her, and then tried to take her from Roy. But, he didn't want to let go. If they took her, he would crumble away to dust. She was the only thing keeping him from fading himself. He didn't realize that "don't take her" and "please help" were mutually exclusive.

"Colonel, please," a voice broke through the ringing in his ears and her turned to the medic who had placed a hand on his shoulder. He was right there, but he sounded so far away. "We're going to help her, I promise. Let us take her."

And suddenly Roy felt so tired. He nodded slowly, blinking a few times as he loosened his grip on Riza. They took the opportunity to load her into a gurney and the kind medic helped Roy to stand. The Colonel leaned heavily on him, feeling like he himself was about to pass out.

"You okay there, sir?" the medic asked as they walked, a slow procession back to base.

"Help her." Was all Roy could say, his voice dripping with exhaustion.

"We will. We're almost back. We have some good equipment, she'll be alright."

"Help her."

"We will." the medic didn't know what else to say, but also didn't need to make something up because he had to focus on catching Roy as the dizzy man fell forward. "Woah there, sir. You okay? That fight took a lot out of you, huh?"

Roy shook his head. Everything was dark. Or was it just the sky? Were his eyes closed? He couldn't tell. His heart ached and for a moment he forgot why, but then he remembered holding Riza and realized he wasn't anymore, and wondered where she was. He stumbled again and was caught once more. A voice swam above his ears but he didn't try to catch the words to understand them.

"Help her." was all he said before he let himself be pulled back down into blissful, ignorant darkness.