Chapter 3
Maes gently brushed Roy Mustang's overgrown bangs from his face and wondered aloud, for the tenth time in just as many days: "Why would you do such a foolish thing just to save me?" His voice sounded both anguished and accusing in the silence of the hospital room they shared, his inflection on the word "me" suggestive of the fact Maes didn't feel Roy had made a particularly good choice offering his life for his friend.
It had been a month and while Maes was up and about, trying to make the best of his daily visits with the physical therapist, Roy hadn't regained consciousness. In fact, not even the doctors were sure that he would.
The damn doctors, Maes sighed.
The doctors were not certain about much and regularly used the word guarded to describe Roy's prognosis. As far as Mae could tell, this either meant they still expected Colonel Mustang to die, despite the fact he was stubbornly hanging in there (Which was so very much like him!) or it meant they simply had no idea.
Maes often felt the doctors had no clue about many things, including Roy's injuries. Although most of the burn marks that snaked up his arms, wound around his chest and back, and had crossed his face, acted like normal second and third degree burns acted, in some ways they did not. The doctors were baffled, for example, that none of Roy's hair was singed and that none of this uniform, except his gloves, had been visibly damaged by the flames. They were also baffled by how slowly the wounds were healing and how much they still oozed during bandage changes, even though there was no sign of infection.
As far as Maes was concerned, the doctors also weren't very helpful about his own prognosis, either. Although they'd told him that Roy's alchemy had undoubtedly saved his life, he noticed they had difficulty containing their disappointment about the quality of the lifesaving, as well as the fact that they now had to operate (twice!) to fix things properly, though they didn't say so in as many words.
Maes' liver was healing well and the doctors assured him he would be just fine missing a large chunk from it – as long as he wasn't planning to take up heavy drinking. They were not so sure about his shoulder. Would it heal? Yes, eventually. Would it have normal range of motion? Unlikely. Would he regain normal feeling and movement in his left hand? Perhaps. It wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear, especially since his hand alternated between being completely numb and a painful pins-and-needles sensation, but the doctors assured him it was healing as well as could be expected under the circumstances.
Maes sighed, trying to shut out the obnoxious beep-beep-beeping from the heart monitor next to Roy's bed.
During the day, a steady trickle of medical personnel (however unhelpful they were at times) and visitors kept him occupied, but when things quieted down after hours, like they had now, he couldn't help but remember seeing Roy's terrified expression he'd originally thought a dream. His heart ached every time. Worse yet, the uncertainty of Roy's condition made his insides glaze over with a feeling of cold trepidation.
He squeezed Roy's hand gently, yet again promising that no matter what happened, he would be there. The faintest of movements returned his touch, and for a minute, Maes stared in disbelief, wondering whether he had imagined it (and whether he was losing his mind), but then he felt it again. Roy's fingers had ever so weakly closed around his own.
"Hey, buddy!" Maes managed to choke out, trying to sound upbeat while fighting back tears at this sudden sign of life. "It's about time you come around!" The cold fingers wrapped around his own gripped slightly harder at the sound of his voice.
"I'm right here," Maes said. "I'm not going anywhere." He watched Roy closely for any other signs that he was coming around. His friend's arms, chest, and face were still bandaged where the wounds remained fresh and raw, and it occurred to Maes that if Roy became fully conscious, he would likely be in a lot of pain, as well as disoriented and frightened. "I'm right here," he repeated because he didn't know what else to say.
Roy grasped his hand harder in response, and at the same moment, the heart monitor beside the bed began beeping warning tones as Roy's heart rate rose, sending a flurry of medical personnel into the room who jostled around the bed, pushing Maes away into the care of a surprisingly strong nurse who ushered him out of the room, pushing the door shut behind them. As she maneuvered a struggling Maes down the hallway into a waiting room, he could hear his friend's screams follow him, echoing off the tiled floors.
