Short drabble backstory for Roy's hospitalization Incident in "Hearts or Hits" the Fullmetal Alchemist Bandom AU. TW: for depression/insomnia and accidental overdosing.
When the EMTs had left her behind, and the nurses had stopped demanding paperwork, Riza had collapsed to the hospital floors outside of the ICU room Roy had been taken to. She stared at the text message he had sent her last, black words glaring like bruises against the yellow background of her phone screen.
11:45 pm. Took more ativan. first few didn't work. head hurts going to sleep hopefully. c u later
If the hospital staff had thought anything of her quiet sobbing while she stared at her phone, they had said nothing. The smell of antiseptic cut cleanly over the smell of saltwater, and time slipped away from Riza as she waited. If she had missed his text, she knew it was more than likely Roy would have never made it to the hospital. The neighbor she had texted to check on Roy had found him before she had, had called 911 before she could — but Riza had gotten home fast enough to meet the EMTs at the apartment. The ride in the ambulance had been surreal — jarring sirens ringing out over fast barked orders between men and women trying to stabilize Roy, contrasted by the quiet and unnerving calm of Roy's unconscious expression. Riza had reached for his hand, and tried not to cry when she found his skin to be cool to the touch. Roy, always warm and reliable Roy, had felt like ice.
Riza's phone read 3:30 AM before a nurse finally let her into the recovery room, pointing her to a chair that was just big enough for her curl into and wait. Beneath bedsheets, Roy was hooked to IVs that threaded upwards like a puppet tied to command strings. He seemed smaller and paler than Riza had ever seen him before, and fear coiled around her tightly enough that she nearly collapsed into her chair. Sleep came uneasily, eluding her until sunrise when light stabbed through the thin hospital curtains and she finally succumbed to exhaustion and simply closed her eyes. Riza listened to the world around her as she rested. Footsteps faded in and out in rhythmic rounds, nurses removing the clip board at the end of his bed, checking vitals, then leaving. Riza's phone went to sleep in her hands, dimming its lights as her eyes drooped closed and a chill ran through her extremities.
Riza woke up to herself tugging the hoodie she had borrowed from Roy over her body for warmth, the smell of his cologne lulling her frayed nerves. A startled glance back in Roy's direction proved that he was still there, the quiet beeping and whirring of his machines monitoring him playing a soft symphony of survival. Guilt flooded her again, for the text message, for not knowing something was wrong, for missing just how bad Roy had gotten. The record deal had been something he found himself ecstatic about, but she'd seen him struggle with the stress and his prescriptions.
And yet, she hadn't expected this.
It was 9:00 AM before Riza had unwound herself from her tight coil in the hospital chair, and hesitantly moved to Roy's side, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. Roy's hand lay exposed outside the sheets, still relaxed. The reach for his touch was tentative at first, but Riza's fingers slid carefully across Roy's hand, stroking his fingers gently. She curled her index finger over his wrist and pressed down, feeling the weak pulse that thrummed there while she waited, willing his body to take back its heat.
When Roy's eyes finally opened, Riza fought the next wave of tears in favor of squeezing his hand tightly. Surprise ran across his face before he looked down, blinking at her and then at the room, black eyes duller than their usual light. Roy opened his mouth to say something, words caught in his throat as he coughed and struggled against the conscious discomfort of his throat. Ducking forwards, Riza shook her head, willing him not to force himself to speak as she stroked his hair.
Instead, she would be his voice — their words were one and the same.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry—"