baseline (beys-lahyn) – 1. a basic standard or level; guideline. 2. a specific value to establish control in future studies.

Baseline

secondhandsaint

1: Delirium

Edward swore that if he caught hold of whoever had caused him this pain, he would rip them limb from limb. The first thing he acknowledged while drifting back to consciousness was the pain that spread along his body. The second was that despite sensing he'd been asleep for quite a while, he felt immensely tired. It was as though he had been beaten within an inch of his life and he struggled to come up with an explanation as to why he hurt so badly. He remembered standing in his dorm room, smiling down at Al and then nothing. It confused him and he wondered where he was, if someone knew he was missing and if Al was alright.

Al in danger was a sobering thought and he fought his way further to consciousness. Pain increased tenfold and his body began to sense its true condition. He wasn't quite sure if he had been badly bruised or if many of the bones in his body had been broken. His fingers and toes were numb and he had trouble moving. His breathing was soft and lagging, but it was steady and it took him a moment to realize that it was because he himself was not in control of it, tongue thick around the tube in his throat. The tube was connected to something nearby that let out whooshing noises that went in time to the rise of his chest. He thought he heard muffled voices and was sure he could make out a steady rhythm of beeping.

Concentrating on the beeping, Edward fought the dizzying pain and the fatigued sensation that deadened his body, pulling his eyes open and blinking at the industrial light that flooded his sore eyes. Upon waking the beeping noise grew faster and more insistent, and after a few seconds a new alarm went off, making Edward's head pound. The pain caused him to inhale on his own sharply and soon he found he was choking on the tube in his throat.

Eyes shooting open, he fought to move his numb hands, struggling to grasp the tube with weak fingers. The tube continued to push oxygen into his lungs, but panicking as he was, it wasn't enough. Pain began to push into the back of his mind as his body starved for air and tears streaked down his cheeks. The alarm grew ever more insistent and finally footsteps alerted him to others in the room. A man in a white coat and mint scrubs and a nurse in blue loomed over his bed, and for the first time Edward realized he was in a hospital.

"Shh, it's okay, you need to calm down. The tube is to help you breathe."

He didn't really care at this point, he could breathe on his own if they would just take it out! Gripping the end he gave a swift tug and gagged as the tube refused to budge. Shaking his head, the man turned to the nurse and ordered something. Dizzy from his panic, Edward tried to tug again and the man pulled his hand away and down to his side. Clipping a syringe into the tube, the man pulled the plunger and gripped the tube's end.

"When I say, cough. One, two, three, cough!"

Edward did as instructed and felt the tube scrape along its way up as it was ripped from his throat. He continued to cough and felt as though he would vomit, gasping for breath as nasal cannula tubes were pulled up and around his face, more oxygen tickling his nose. The doctor threw the slimy tracheal tube onto a nearby tray and pulled off his gloves, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pen.

"I'm Dr. Crenshaw, this is Nurse Taggard. You're in Central General Hospital."

He scanned the doctor up and down, noting his balding brown hair and his glasses sliding down his nose. The nurse was maybe thirty with black hair tucked up in a ponytail. The room itself was cluttered with machines and tubes, a good majority of them attached to him. After a few moments of wheezing, he glanced past the machines, noting the empty bed next to his and feeling his fear rise once more.

"Where's Al?"

His voice sounded like a high croak and it hurt to speak. He was shushed and told not to talk, that it would take a while for his voice to come back. He gripped his throat with his right hand, frowning at the feel. Glancing down at the appendage, he barely registered that it was flesh and bone before his panicked doubled. If he had succeeded in getting his limbs back, where was Al?

"Al? Where's Al? Where's my brother?"

The doctor and nurse glanced between each other and back down at him. The nurse reached forward and brushed her fingers through his bangs, pushing them back and putting on a sympathetic voice.

"No one's here, sweetheart. No one by that name is in this ward."

'Sweetheart?' Sure, he passed for young with his height, but at eighteen he still had matured past 'sweetheart.' Ignoring the nurse patting his head, he turned to the doctor, blinking as he wrote on his chart and glanced at the monitors that recorded his every vital sign. Swallowing past his swollen throat, he tried again.

"Please. He must be nearby. His name is Alphonse Elric. He's seventeen, a little taller than I am, sandy blond hair, hazel eyes…"

He gulped, wincing at the high sound of his voice. Did everyone sound like this after having that tube pulled from their throat? The nurse abandoned her efforts at playing with his hair and poured him a cup of water. Edward took it and drank it down quickly, thankful for the ease it brought to his throat. The nurse thought a moment before shaking her head, hands on her hips.

"Nope, no one registered by that name or description. You were alone when you were found. He's probably at home."

That made him panic again. They didn't have a home. He had seen Al with him before he woke up here and he struggled to remember what had happened before he blacked out. He remembered a circle. He remembered stepping into that circle and Al pressing his hands to it. They were trying to get his limbs back. He closed his eyes and clenched his right hand as he thought of what could possibly have happened to Al.

"Is that your last name, sweetheart? 'Elric?'"

Annoyed at once again being called sweetheart, he nodded his head, looking up to the doctor with desperation in his eyes. He needed to find his brother, now!

"Yes, Elric. Edward Elric. Can you call Central Head Quarters, please? He might be there."

The nurse snickered and played with his hair again and the doctor looked up from the chart. Glancing between the two, Ed couldn't help but feel annoyed that these two refused to pick up the phone and make a damn phone call! He was about to ignore the ache in his body and jump out of bed to do it himself when the nurse's comment made him freeze.

"'Edward?' That's an unusual name."

He blinked and looked back at her. It was no more unusual than John or Eric or Leo, so what gives? Glaring at her, he felt his teeth grind and his fists clench at the blankets of his bed. Behind him, he heard the doctor elaborate for her.

"For a girl, she means. Is it short for something?"

Edward blinked and turned back to him. What did he mean for a girl? Trying to ignore the stinging insult to his manhood, he guessed that these people obviously had never seen a young man with long blond hair before. He didn't have time for this; he needed to find his little brother! Finally fed up and getting nowhere with these people, Edward sat up and pushed the blankets off of himself. Pulling the nasal cannulas off and the pulse oximeter off his finger, he stood. Dizziness threatened to pull him back to the bed and he threw his hands out for balance. The doctor grabbed his arm and Edward winced at the grip.

"Sweetheart, you need to be back in bed."

"Stop calling me sweetheart!"

Edward winced at the shrill sound of his own voice and pulled his arm away from the doctor. Glancing around, he noticed a small phone on a table next to the door to the en suite washroom. Taking a step forward, he gasped when he was caught around the middle, lifted off his feet and pulled back towards his bed.

Instinct took over and he screamed, pounding his fists into the doctor's arms and kicked out. The nurse backed away and he arched his back to try and free himself from the grip. One of his kicks landed against the doctor's knee and he heard a grunt of pain before he was dropped. Landing roughly on the ground, Edward pushed himself off the linoleum and made a break for it again.

"Stop her! Someone grab her!"

Why did they keep confusing him for a girl? He was almost to the phone when a hand wrapped its way around his wrist and swung him around. Distantly he heard the sounds of many people running down the hall and knew that it would soon be at least five against one. Growling, he punched at the doctor, screaming as many big, capable looking orderlies and a few more nurses filled the room.

"Please, I need to find my brother! Let me call someone to find him, please! Let me go, dammit!"

The doctor held tight and drew Edward closer to him, wrapping his arm around his waist and dragging him towards a wall, shouting over Edward's screams.

"She's altered, keeps referring to herself as male. Says her name's Edward. Someone grab her, let's get her in soft restraints."

The moment restraints registered in his mind, Edward flew back into fight mode. Arching hid back, he gave one last hard kick, missing the orderly by a few inches and sending the bathroom door crashing into the wall. The orderly backed away for fear of being kicked and gave Edward a clear view of the mirror on the bathroom wall. What he saw there made him freeze.

A delicate looking girl was hanging in the grip of the doctor he had been fighting, fine-boned and flushed from exertion. Soft yellow hair, lighter than Winry's, fell in wild waves down to a slender waist, hidden slightly by the gaping hospital gown. There is the tiniest hint of a bust and a slender neck. Creamy white skin smoothed over powerful looking legs, thighs muscular and exposed as the hem rode up from struggling. Pink lips parted as their owner gasped for breath and smooth skin complimented an impish face. The only thing that Edward recognized of himself was the golden eyes and even they seemed wrong.

The wind had been knocked out of him and he shook his head in disbelief, the reflection mirroring the action. He suddenly sees a flash of this person in his clothes surrounded by the white inside the Gate. He feels sick and chokes out in a feminine tenor.

"That's not me."

The orderly moves in again and grabs at his legs, the slender legs he had seen in the mirror and he bursts into tears as he struggles to get himself free of their hands. He is choking and panicking and feeling as though there is no way he could trust this body, the body he was trapped in, but he continues to fight as he screams.

"That's not me! My name is Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist! I'm male, eighteen years old. I have a little brother named Alphonse who's seventeen. My mom's name was Trisha, my dad's Hoenheim of Light. I was born in Resembool on the Eastern Amestris border. I live in CHQ dorm room 306!"

As he shouted whatever information he could think of about himself, Edward turned to various people hoping they would listen to him, hoping something about what he was saying would click. As he turned back to the doctor who had started all this, he saw the man staring back at him with wide eyes and a stunned look. Edward thought he might have him when the doctor collected himself and shouted out his orders.

"Draw up 2mg Ativan!"

"Not Haldol?"

"No, just Ativan!"

One of the nurses made their way to the meds cart in the corner and when she turned, Edward fought against the grip holding him down, anything to keep her from drugging him.

"No, please!"

Kicking and screaming, fighting just to loosen their grip on his limbs, Edward arched his back and twisted his body. Given that it was him against many, he was easily picked up and placed on onto the bed. He felt the sting of an IV being placed at the crook of his elbow and cried out in fear of being drugged. At the sight of the needle, he resorted to begging, trying to get away and crying as the dose was drawn.

"Please! I'm not crazy! Please! Call Roy Mustang! Call him, he's the Flame Alchemist, he's my superior! He's at CHQ, he'll straighten this out. Please call him!"

The needle pushed into the port, the plunger pressed and he felt the antianxiety agent flood into his veins. For a few moments it felt like nothing had happened, then all at once he felt his body start to relax. He let out one more scream before the drug began to take effect, muscles weakening and he sobbed. The room spun slightly as his movements became more uncoordinated and tears streaked his face as his fighting stopped. He could feel the orderlies strap his wrists and ankles into restraints and he continued to cry silently as they left and the nurses took over, replacing the nasal cannulas and pulse oximeter.

While the world dulled as the drugs worked in his system, Edward thought back on what had happened between the time he'd last seen Al to the time he'd woken up here. The memory of sitting in the Gate, staring at this foreign face he was wearing came flooding back and as he fought to keep his eyes open, so did the Truth's words.

"I've always wanted a baseline…"

Edward gave a soft sob and let his head roll to the side, staring down at his now flesh right hand, slender and feminine with long fingers and fine bones. He remembered now. The Truth had been angry that both he and Al had bypassed equivalent exchange. He wanted to get even. He wanted a fair trade and to be given what it was owed in the transaction for his little brother's body.

"You have ten months to repay the price of your brother's life."

Edward's breathing slowed as the drug pulled him under and he closed his eyes, Truth's words ringing in his ears as he spiralled into unconsciousness.

"If you fail, you and your brother are mine."

Dr. Crenshaw stepped out of room 15, wincing at the throb in his now very sore knee. Pushing his glasses back up his nose, he threw the chart of his Jane Doe down on the nurses' station desk and rubbed eyes, suddenly exhausted.

"That's not me! My name is Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist…"

Knitting his brow, Dr. Crenshaw frowned and flipped open the chart. Taking note of the time on the wall, he wrote down his med orders and glanced at the patient history. Something about this girl just did not seem right. Maybe it was her genuine response to her reflection, or the way she insisted her identity. It tickled something in the back of his mind.

He was about to shrug it off and go down to the cafeteria for a coffee when Nurse Taggard walked out with a personal items bag and a pair of combat boots, plunking them down on the desk and pulling out a Sharpie. Craning his neck to see the contents, he noted with slight interest the very masculine looking clothes, right down to the boxers.

"That our Jane Doe's?"

Nurse Taggard nodded and capped the pen, lifting the bag up and opening the mouth of it wider to shove the boots inside. Dr. Crenshaw was about to turn when the glint of metal caught his eyes and he looked back into the bag, jaw going slack at the small timepiece tucked into the leather pants pocket. Reaching in and grabbing the watch, he stared at the presidential crest imprinted across the plate covering the face of the pocket watch, Nurse Taggard's eyebrow raised.

"Something I can do for you, Dr.?'

For a beat Dr. Crenshaw didn't seem to acknowledge her, then he startled out of his reverie and glanced back up at her, smoothing his thumb over the crest and nodding his head.

"Yeah. You can get me Roy Mustang on the line."

Okay. Seeing as I got the prologue and the first chapter out in one day, I probably won't get the next chapter out until about Friday. Sorry, but I've got school. For information about medical equipment or vitals, there's google.

SS