Well, I'm taking pity on you all and updating again. The response was overwhelming, and I really appreciate it!

Dobby's Polka-Dotted Sock

Chapter Twenty-Four:

Wait

She paced back and forth in the entirely too small waiting room, frustrated and yet resigned. She was familiar with hospital policy and knew she should have expected this from the moment she thought of coming here. Family was given the priority, and neither she nor anyone else would be allowed in beforehand. All she could ask for was his current condition.

Riza wasn't sure why she was holding off on making this call. Perhaps because she felt she wasn't the person to tell them. Perhaps because she wasn't sure they would care. Or that even if they did, they didn't have the right to be the first ones to see him. She knew it was selfish, but couldn't help thinking such things.

When she thought of Van's face, however, she knew there was no other option. Riza did not want to think of how the boy would react if Edward…

"Rockbell Automail, how may I help you?" Mumbled a tired, gruff voice on the other end of the line, and she realized she was speaking to Pinako Rockbell, a woman she had only met once and who had been rather abrasive. And yet, Edward seemed to value this elderly woman's trust and companionship. She might be the easiest to talk to, all things considered.

"Ms. Rockbell, this is Major Riza Hawkeye from Central," she began.

The other woman seemed to hum in recognition of the name, and replied, "Right, what seems to be the problem, Major? Ed would've called himself otherwise." As old as she was, the woman was rather sharp.

She decided sticking to the facts would be the best approach. "He's been hospitalized after collapsing. I don't know much, but it appears he was suffering from a disease he inherited—"

"From Trisha. I see," Though the voice remained calm, she heard a tired sigh escape and it was awhile before Pinako said anything more. "How's he now?"

"Resting. They won't tell me much, except that he's still unconscious."

"They won't tell you more?"

"They wish to speak to family, if at all possible."

Another sigh. "Alright. I'll let them know in the morning. I can't guarantee much, but if necessary I'll take Van up myself. It might be hard for him, but he should go."

"You don't think—"

"I don't know much about medicine, Major Hawkeye. That was my son and his wife. But when those boys found their mother on the floor, she didn't hang on for much longer."

She couldn't really form words, and nodded numbly for a moment before realizing she had to verbally respond. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Let's hope I'm wrong," and the line went dead. The brief conversation cured Riza of her pacing problem; now she sat stiffly in a chair, not sure if she could trust her legs.

OoO

Alphonse made his way quietly down the stairs again and found the usual setup. Pinako and Van quietly speaking over the nearly cooked breakfast. It was a new, but calming routine, and he couldn't help but feel happier about this change.

The peace was shattered once Winry joined them at the table, and Pinako took the moment to clear her throat.

"We got a call late last night. From Central," she started, and Alphonse looked up nervously. What could they want? Did it have to do with his admittedly foolish conduct while there? "It was from a Major Hawkeye."

"Really?" Van asked, rather excited, but it did nothing to lower Alphonse's curiosity. He hadn't really seen much of the former Lieutenant during his stay at the jail, and only knew that she did work for both Mustang and his brother now.

"She was calling from the hospital. Ed's been checked in, he's ill."

Winry looked up sharply, and Van sat in shock, mouth hung open with no sound to accompany it. And Alphonse himself sat mute, struck dumb by such an odd sentence. Edward did not go to the hospital for sickness. He went to the hospital with gaping, bleeding wounds, usually against his will. He would rather suffer through a fever in a lonely motel room in some out of the way town than let anyone take him to see a doctor.

"B-but, he was fine. Why is he sick?" Van asked finally, and it snapped the rest of them out of their daze. Pinako quietly explained about how sometimes people got sick, while Winry reached a hand out and found his. Her eyes seemed to beg for some form of reassurance, and Alphonse felt his own hand gives hers a slight squeeze, still bewildered himself by the news.

"How bad is it?" Winry quietly asked, and Pinako gave a tired sigh, fishing around in a pocket for her pipe.

"It's noncontagious, but the Major isn't allowed to see him. They want to talk to family first. Actually, they might want to look at you, Alphonse," she remarked, as though the thought had just come to her.

"Me? Why?" He found himself squeezing his wife's hand again, not liking the way this was going, and feeling his own need for reassurance.

"Because, it's passed through genetics," she explained. "He has your mother's disease."

OoO

He sat silently as Winry packed three bags, a feeling of dread having stolen over him. It had crept in and settled somewhere around where his stomach had been, clenching painfully every time Van asked if Uncle Ed was going to be okay, but always there.

Other than this cold fear, he felt completely numb, perched on the edge of the bed and merely watching through wide eyes as his wife folded the last of the laundry. He took the bags from her to carry, but didn't feel their weight. They walked down to the station, but he didn't feel the cool breeze, didn't smell the grass or flowers that normally brought the people of Resembool peace and comfort.

All he felt was as empty as being a suit of armor.

The train trundled along at its steady pace, and he wasn't sure if he wanted it to speed up or slow. He wasn't sure if he was ready to face whatever waited at the end of the journey.

Every time he closed his eyes he saw his mother, lying helpless on the kitchen floor, the tomatoes she had bought only that morning splattering the wood or rolling away. It seemed sharper, and clearer than he remembered, and suddenly he realized why. In his memory, Edward had always been there to obscure his view, block him from truly feeling the horror. But instead, little Alphonse turned around to find his brother all grownup and collapsed just as their mother was.

"What's the matter, Al?" Edward asked. "You've seen me like this before. Hell, you've knocked me down before. What's the difference?"

"No," little Alphonse said, but then he started to grow and grow and his voice changed with him. "I hit you, but- but I don't want this!"

Edward, even as he lay unmoving below, smirked up at him, and said, "It's too late for what you want. You should be happy. You hate me, remember? It'll be better when I'm gone."

"No!" Alphonse shouted in protest. How could he have let Edward think that? "No, I was just mad, I was angry at you because you always do this; you never let me help you! I never hated you! Brother, I don't want you dead!"

"You could never help me, Al. I'm just as broken as mom, and you can't fix me just like we couldn't fix her. Goodbye, Alphonse."

"Brother, NO!"

"Daddy?" A little voice with a little hand on his arm pulled him from his troubled sleep and he found himself staring at van's wide gold eyes. So much like his own as a boy, not at all like Edward's…Edward's eyes had been burdened with so much even at that age.

"Wh-what?" He asked, surprised at the hoarseness of his voice.

"You- you were yelling in your sleep. Mommy went to get you some water, she said you'd need it. But, I think she's crying. What were you dreaming about?"

"Nothing. Nothing to worry about Van," he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He didn't want to sleep again for a while. He saw Winry approach, and her eyes did look a little red. He couldn't help but wonder who she had been crying for.

"Here, I thought this might help," she said upon sitting down, handing him a little cup.

"Thanks," he replied and gulped the cold water down.

They sat in silence the rest of the trip.

OoO

"What do you mean, only family can see him? I'm his superior officer!" Roy Mustang demanded of the doctor, who looked intimidated, but still managed to shake his head at the famed Flame Alchemist.

"I'm sorry, General, but that is the policy. As Alphonse Elric is of age, he is the primary contact." Mustang sighed and let the man go, before heading over to drop into the chair next to Hawkeye. He supposed it was a good thing in a way. It showed that military might was finally being combated against, which meant they were that much closer to democracy. But things had been much easier when the Elric Brothers were both minors.

"How long did Ms. Rockbell say he had?" He asked quietly.

"She didn't," Hawkeye replied in equal volume, but her face fell as she continued, "Just that their mother passed on a few days after her own collapse."

"Fullmetal's a fighter," Mustang said after some time, not sure if he was speaking to his subordinate, or himself. "He's combated tougher things than sickness. And he's at the best hospital Amestris has to offer. That certainly counts for something. Now what's taking his brother so damn long?" He finally burst out, patience worn very thin.

"They're here," she breathed from beside him, almost in a whisper.

The doors to the waiting room had opened, and the Elric family walked in, Van in between. He was holding his mother's hand and his father had placed a hand on his son's shoulder. They would look like a normal family if they weren't all so tense.

The nurse left to retrieve the doctor, who returned and led the three into the hospital proper. Now all they could do was wait, again.

"What do you think is going through his mind?" Hawkeye asked abruptly.

"Whose mind?"

"Alphonse's. He's been in a feud with his brother for eight years and now Edward might- well," she faltered and did not go on.

"I'm not sure. I'm hoping it's something close to guilt."

When the family finally returned, Van looked a little more cheerful, but his parents were still the same. The boy spotted them and led the group over.

"Hi Colonel Mustang, hi Major Hawkeye," he said and they gave their hellos. "The doctor says Uncle Ed is sleeping right now, but he might wake up soon." Mustang managed a tight smile for the child's benefit and saw Hawkeye do the same.

"I'd like to see him before I return to the office," he told the doctor, and was led down a hallway before arriving at the door to Edward's room. He did very much look like he was simply asleep, face smoothed out, free of any and all pressing concerns that bothered him in wakefulness. But the pale tone to his cheeks and the IV placed in his arm ruined the picture, making him remember why he was here.

He waited until the doctor left the room before saying, "You know, Fullmetal, you're probably the strongest man I know. I never really realized it until I couldn't see. I was lost, I couldn't control the situation, try to help at all. But you took charge, and you saved us all. I'm proud to call myself your commanding officer. But if you let some damn cold beat you, after everything else, I'll court-martial you posthumously. And I'll make you do all the paperwork for me."

The young man on the bed gave no response, just kept sleeping.

"I'll let the men know how you're doing," he said, and found he couldn't stay any longer. The doctor escorted him out, and he simply nodded at the little group still in the waiting room.

OoO

Winry sat in the chair by the bed, occasionally glancing at him, but mostly watching her son, who in turn was watching him. He did nothing, just kept resting.

She wasn't sure how to feel. She kept expecting him to wake up, ask what on earth they were doing here, just sitting around his bedside like they were mourning. But nothing happened. She was almost glad.

Trisha Elric had woken just long enough to say goodbye, and then had fallen asleep for good.

She loved her husband. She truly did. But she cared so much for his brother. She cared the most for the both of them, together, like they always had been. But when they'd gone their separate ways—when Alphonse had declared his hatred for the elder and Edward had travelled far away without the younger—that was when she had felt her heart break.

Winry had always wanted them to stay with her, safe and sound. But she had foolishly tried to anchor them both there, and had driven them apart. And she couldn't seem to find her voice, to tell Alphonse to go after him to beg Edward to please come back, and the tears had threatened to spill over. But she'd held them back with silence. Now she wished she had just cried a river if it meant they would have worked it out.

But tears couldn't wash away a hospital bed, an IV, a sickness she didn't understand. Her tears had no magic power. All she had ever saved lives with were—

Her hands.

Her hands which had sat empty and fidgeting, playing with whatever she could find. Her hands which had gone unused for so long.

She couldn't fix this. But she could fix so much more. And maybe, that would bring a smile to his face, if he woke up for that last time.

OoO

1918

"Ed!" A voice called from downstairs, and his eyes opened suddenly to find himself nose-to-page, fallen asleep as he researched. He stretched and couldn't suppress a small groan in response to his stiff neck and sore back, having been slumped in a rather uncomfortable position at his desk for so long. Resembool did not seem conducive to extensive research. It filled him with a contentment and lethargy that washed over him and stilled his usually constantly firing brain. He needed a clearer head. "Ed, dinner's ready!" The voice called again, and he couldn't stop the smile taking over his face, even as he gave up and submitted to the same, calm routine he had been following.

He knew Winry worried sometimes she'd find him up and gone, leaving on some grand adventure that materialized out of nowhere. She worked her hardest to make him happy here, satisfied with this easy life. And he was. But, sometimes, the call to head out and see and do was incredibly strong, and he'd find himself pulling the old suitcase out of the closet.

Her smile, her sparkling eyes, the familiar scent of granny's pipe smoke, Den's wagging tail, and Al's skinny little legs and arms, his mere face whatever the expression, all pulled him back in, to the point where he could hardly leave them long enough to make the short trip over the hill to keep working on the house.

It was almost ridiculous, and maybe someday he would go on a new journey, an adventure. But he would stay as long as he felt this peace, this happiness. So he headed down the stairs to join one of the sources of it.

"It smells great, Winry," he smiled, and settled down in one of the chairs.

"I'm glad," she said from the stove, then turned and laughed upon seeing him.

"Hey, what gives?" He asked, only slightly irritated.

"You fell asleep on your books again, didn't you?" She asked, and he nodded, surprised at her accurate guess. "There's an indent from one of the corners on your cheek," she explained, still laughing.

He felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment as he rubbed a little self-consciously at the spot. She stopped laughing and came toward him with a kinder smile.

"Don't worry about it," she told him, reaching a hand out to catch his and pull it away. "Besides," she added, her own face blushing now, "it's kind of cute."

Something seemed to pull him up from his seat toward her, but he hardly noticed lost as he was in her smiling eyes. They started to flutter shut as he leaned closer, and she tilted her face up to meet his—

"I'm back from—what's going on?" The door banging open had surprised him into falling right back into his chair, and if his face hadn't been red before, it was now at the thought that his brother had almost walked in on him kissing their best friend.

But Winry's deer-in-headlights stare at his brother confused him a lot more. And that confusion only increased as he watched Al's eyes jump from him, to Winry, and then narrow.

"I hadn't realized I was interrupting," he began, his voice light, but eyes still narrowed, and Edward searched for something to say.

"No, that's, uh, fine. It was nothing. We were just—"

"Oh, nothing, Brother?" Al interrupted, and Edward felt shocked at the harsh tone.

"Um," he stood and made to walk over to his brother, a little uneasy. "Um, yeah. I mean, well—" Eloquent as ever, he simply asked, "Are you alright?"

"Right. Of course. I'm fine. You know, just a little surprised to find my older brother kissing my girlfriend."

"We weren't—your girlfriend?" When had this happened? And why had Winry almost let him kiss her?

Alphonse finally had enough, and shouted, "Yes, my girlfriend! But of course, I should have known! I should have realized how much time you both spent together! Never mind you always telling people she was just your mechanic!" His brother's eyes were practically spitting fire, and glaring right at him with surprising ferocity.

"Al, listen, I didn't—"

"I don't care; I don't want to hear it!" He cut across, fists clenched, and Edward had a foreboding feeling all this. But he needed Alphonse to listen!

"Will you—" No, he had to stay calm. "Look, I had no idea you and Winry—"

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize I had to spell it out for you! Maybe for once, you could actually check before you do something stupid!" Winry gasped as the fist swung back and grazed his face, Edward having managed to step back just in time. He raised his arms in defense, but Alphonse took this as invitation to keep the punches coming.

"Al, calm down! I swear, I didn't know!"

"I tired of this! I'm tired of you only using what you know, what you think, what you feel! You never take anybody else's into account! I'm tired of you!" The last punch finally made contact, Edward backed up against the table. He fell back, elbows supporting him up against the wood surface, but Winry reached out an arm to his brother. Alphonse held back, but his eyes were still flashing dangerously.

He picked himself up, and hurried back up the stairs he had so recently travelled, yanking the suitcase from the closet and stuffing his few belongings inside, taking the shock and the anger and hurt out his things. He thought he heard Alphonse shouting at Winry below, but the girl was being oddly quiet.

When Edward returned to the kitchen, Winry was sitting at the table, face buried in her hands, but no sound coming. Alphonse looked up, a little surprised to see the familiar luggage, but still obviously upset with him.

"I'll say it again. I had no idea you and Winry were involved. I haven't done anything else other than what you saw. Do I have to leave?" He ignored Winry's anguished moan, muffled by her palms, and simply looked straight at Alphonse. "Maybe we just need some time to calm down, some time away—"

"Some time will never be enough!" Alphonse burst out, his anger rising again. "You stupid, reckless, thickheaded, self—"

He was out the door.

And that was the long-awaited fight scene between Ed and Al that kicked off this whole feud. I'm hoping it lived up to expectations. I'm going to try and update again this weekend, but I don't know if it will happen. At any rate, thanks for the overwhelming response for the last chapter. I love to hear from you about this one as well! Thanks for reading, and please review!