AN: This chapter contains some language and some non-graphic mentions of child abuse. Read at your own discretion. Thanks for reading, hope you're enjoying it so far!
They rode to the hospital in relative silence. Roy told the team he was going with her and no one argued, not even his lieutenant. She denied being in pain but laying back on the stretcher in the back of the vehicle took some work. Even though she had agreed that she needed medical attention, he could sense her anxiety. After delaying her care for as long as possible, it was finally inevitable. Roy tried to keep her calm, knowing her old fears would rise up again. Hospitals were full of difficult memories. Back during the war if you were injured severely enough to need a hospital instead of the field medic, your odds of coming back were bleak.
"What?" Hawkeye asked in shock, sitting bolt upright from her stretcher, "Why did they take him to the hospital?"
"The major needs to get the round removed and we can't do that without anesthesia." Dr. Knox told her firmly, continuing to work on his current patient's wounds, "We just don't have the kind of equipment we need at every station. The military has money for tanks we're not even using but they're bleeding medical dry."
She nodded in understanding, trying to ignore the needle darting in and out of her skin. The bullet had been bad, but had she known this many needles would be involved, she would almost rather it had killed her. It must have been nearly an hour already since she came in with her superior officer. Ever since it had been a constant onslaught of sharps. Needles for an IV, needles for lidocaine, needles for morphine, needles for sutures.
Dr. Knox put more lidocaine in the area where he was working, "Hold still! You don't want me to stitch you up crooked! A soldier will take a bullet, but flinches at needles...give me a break."
"Sorry," she muttered, trying not to dwell on it. The lidocaine thankfully was a slight improvement.
"That's the one side done, turn around," the doctor pulled back the gown his patient was given to wear, "You're kidding. You're flinching at needles when you've got all that on your back?"
"They're going to help you," Roy assured her, "I don't know what that will entail but you will probably at least need an IV." He understood how difficult it was for her and he was one of the few people she trusted enough to let them know why.
"I know," she told him, trying not to think about it, "I think I can do it."
The hospital was packed, but one could only imagine how much worse it must have been earlier in the day. Every room was full and many patients were receiving treatment in hallways, waiting areas or offices. Some were ominously draped in sheets, inconspicuously tucked in an otherwise empty room, waiting to be taken down into the basement. It was hauntingly quiet this time of night with most of the injured resting, or at least trying to. Hawkeye was situated in a hallway in a bed, waiting to be seen. It had been nearly an hour since they had arrived and so far they had only seen a nurse who took her vital signs. Roy didn't know much about medicine, but he knew from the numbers the nurse read off that her pulse was fast and her blood pressure was low.
"Where the hell is the military?" Roy snapped, "They can't send reinforcements? We've got dozens of doctors and probably a hundred nurses on our payroll." He tried not to project his frustrations on the staff. He knew they were overwhelmed and getting by the best they could.
"You are the military," Hawkeye reminded him, "Why don't you find out?"
"I already told you, I'm not leaving your side." he told her, smiling softly, "You're not getting rid of me that easily, Lieutenant."
A nurse came down the hall pushing a bedside table full of supplies, "Sorry it's taking so long, let's get some fluids in you and go from there." She started to unwrap her supplies, then looked over at her patient, "What's wrong?"
Hawkeye had withdrawn to the opposite edge of the bed, stiff as a board against the wall. Her knuckles had turned white from gripping the siderail tightly. Her keen eyes never strayed from the table of supplies. She could feel her heart pounding double time in her ears, drowning out everything the nurse was trying to say to her.
"She doesn't handle needles well," Roy explained, trying to calm his friend. He peeled her fingers from off the bar and let her grip his hand tightly, "Breathe, Lieutenant. Breathe."
"Well, she needs fluids and probably some blood. We've got to get an IV going. Let's get this over with quick," the nurse tried to place the tourniquet on her arm, but instinct took over and Hawkeye kicked the woman across the hall, "What the hell is wrong with you?"
Roy crouched down to the nurse's level, "If I were to tie you down and tattoo your body against your will, you wouldn't like sharp things either. Now if you're nice to her, maybe she'll let you touch her and try again. But I expect that it's too late for that, so you may want to find another nurse to trade assignments with." he whispered, his voice dangerously soft.
He sat down on the bed next to his subordinate. He had a feeling this would come up. It was no fault of her own, and it was also something she liked to keep private about herself. It seemed so silly, being afraid of the twinge of a needle breaking skin. The pain lasted a second at most if you could even call it pain. The rational side of her knew that. But the side of her that ran on instinct, the side that she trusted to keep her and those she loved safe, told her otherwise.
"I don't know if I can do this, sir." she admitted, staring at the floor defeatedly.
"You can," he encouraged, "A little patience is all it takes. You get your blood drawn every year for your physical, and you do fine." He ran his hand in slow circles on her back over her thin hospital gown. He could feel the raised edges of her scars, a testament to her strength.
"Knox always drew my blood," she reminded him.
"I'll be right back," Roy promised, hopping down from his perch.
"I...I didn't put that there." she told the doctor as he stitched up the exit wound.
"Huh?" Dr. Knox had to stop working for a second to process what she had just said, "Is there a tattoo fairy I don't know about?"
"My father...I didn't have a say in the matter." she left it at that.
"Good god almighty," the doctor sighed, rubbing a hand gently on her back, "I'm sorry, kid. Human beings really do some fucked up shit to each other, don't they?" He carefully continued to work on her back, trying to be a little more patient with her constant flinching.
"It's alright, you didn't know."
"Alchemists are a special kind of messed up, I swear," he'd seen enough alchemy at work in the past few years to know it when he saw it. "Unfortunately they're also the best chance we've got of ending this war."
She nodded in agreement. She had seen her father's research corrupt his heart and mind. She'd seen it used to destroy countless lives, lives who were supposedly Amestrian citizens. She prayed it would not corrupt the one she shared her secrets with. She prayed that some day it would burn out of this world, never to return.
Knox offered her a sip from his flask, which she politely refused. "Come on, I know you're underage but it will help take the edge off."
Reluctantly, she took a sip. It burned all the way down and she could almost feel it searing its way out of the wound below her collarbone. She had to struggle not to cough and spit it out out of fear of tearing at her fresh sutures. "What is that?"
"Gin," he told her, taking the flask back from her, "Not everyone's cup of tea, but no one around here drinks booze for the taste anymore. That lidocaine should be wearing off pretty soon. Do you want me to numb it up some more or just push through and be done?"
"Just finish it."
Roy took the elevator down to the basement, feeling the temperature drop as he descended. There was only one corridor still illuminated this time of night, leading to a set of double doors. Inside he found a weary looking doctor pouring the last of a cold pot of coffee into his mug.
"You got a minute?"
"Is that a serious question?" Knox asked, gesturing to the room. Every table in the morgue was occupied or reserved, with a name on every drawer, "You're the last person I expected to see down here. What do you want?"
"There's a patient upstairs who could use your help," Roy told him, appealing to the side of him that still had some sympathy for the living.
"Ha, there's no one up there I can help," Knox told him dismissively, "One way or another they all end up here some day."
"Can you start an IV?"
"What the hell kind of question is that?" Knox asked, trying to rub off something stuck to his glasses, only half listening to his old war buddy.
"Well can you?"
"Get a nurse." Knox shook his head, finishing off his stale coffee.
"Tried that. The patient kicked her across the room."
Knox grinned in understanding, "Now I see what you're getting at. Hawk got her wings clipped?" He knew Roy had always had a soft spot for that woman. As reluctant as Knox seemed, he was already scrubbing his hands.
"Something like that."
