Just going to put this out straight away: I am not a medical professional so any medical mumbo jumbo I come up with is just what I've gathered from my understanding of what I've been reading up on. So, for any medical "advice" in this story, add an "I think, probably" or "maybe".
...just don't try to apply it in real life.
Alphonse's speed surprised the frantic Colonel, as the compact boy sprinted past him, headed for his brother's room. Only Roy's arm was able to grace Alphonse's own, in an attempt to slow him down. Alphonse didn't seem to notice, as he disappeared down the corridor.
Instead, Roy followed him, hoping to at least be able to console him whenever he inadvertently would see something he would wish he hadn't.
"Alphonse, wait-" he called, but the boy slammed the door of the stairwell behind him. Taking two steps at the time, he cleared the steps in seconds, pulling himself upwards using the banister.
Soon, he was standing outside the hospital room and flung the door open. Paralyzed, he watched the white-clad medical personnel hectically moved around the bed, yelling orders and moving his brother's limp body to get better access. All he could make out of Edward's broken body was a head of blond tusts, shifting behind what seemed to be a doctor or a head nurse.
"His blood pressure is dropping," a different nurse informed, monitoring his vitals informed with a sense of urgency, just as Alphonse was discovered. The said nurse approached him with a stern expression.
"You can't be in here," she said determinedly and started to close the door in front of the startled teen. Al quickly shot his foot out, jamming it in between before the nurse was able to shut it completely like he had seen Roy do earlier that same day. The nurse looked at him in disbelief, about to remove her facemask when Roy caught up to him.
"Alphonse," he said pleadingly between breaths, grabbing his shoulder tightly.
"No! I want to stay with him. Please-" Al begged, moving his body, trying to get past the woman who was covering his view.
"Alphonse!" Roy suddenly barked, snapping Alphonse out of his frenzy. He turned to look at the older man, eyes threatening to overflow. "Stop it, now."
Roy inhaled deeply, calming himself. "You're not helping. You haven't even washed your hands! Your presence could literally kill him."
Alphonse stared back, unable to move. Incapable of uttering a single word. The nurse seized the opportunity to close the door. Alphonse instinctively raised his hand to stop her, but he froze in place with his hand against the door.
"Alphonse, I'm sorry-" Roy started, hand still clutching his shoulder in comfort, but Alphonse shrugged him off.
"Get the hell away from me," he whispered venomously and marched off down the hallway, unceremoniously slapping at one of the paintings that decorated the barren walls, leaving it crooked in an under-climatic matter.
Roy lost track of Alphonse quickly. He purposely gave the boy a head start, thinking he might need some time to himself before changing his mind and following him into the stairwell. He spent the better part of half an hour searching the lower stories before he got a gut feeling and entered the escalator. He took a quick glance over the buttons, finally pressing the button for the top floor. A couple of seconds later, the elevator shakily started its ascent and Roy stood restlessly, tapping his leg.
After exiting, he looked around the loft, quickly finding the door leading out onto the roof. He had spent many hours up there before, either waiting for news about injured subordinates or hiding from the doctors when committed himself. All though he preferred the hiding spot in the summer, he guessed the weather couldn't be helped. It wouldn't be unlikely for Alphonse to have noticed the roof terrasse from the street when arriving at the hospital, figuring it would be a good spot to hide.
Pushing the heavy door aside, Roy felt the freezing breeze scratch at his cheeks. He realized that it had started snowing again as the flakes ruffled his already messy hair.
Huddled up under the roof of a small shed placed in the middle of the terrasse, stood Alphonse with his woolen trench coat wrapped tightly around him. He had popped up the collar, protecting his neck from the icy wind.
Roy tucked his hands into his pockets, nonchalantly strolling through the several inches of snow that had gathered on the stone flooring, coming to a halt beside the restless teen. Before speaking, Roy noted with a hint of amusement, that the younger Elric brother was nearly as tall as him, which must have driven Edward absolutely crazy. His mirth was cut short though, feeling the sinking sensation of guilt settling in his stomach, remembering why they were there.
Alphonse breached the silence with a heavy sigh before he spoke. "How could this have happened?" he muttered quietly. "An hour ago- everything was great. We were in Central, the big city, with the tall buildings, fancy coffee shops and bookstores with more books than I've ever seen gathered in one spot my entire life. I'd gotten my brother back, even if it was under unfortunate circumstances, but you know, he was on the mends. Then, suddenly, he seemed a bit sicker and now... he's fighting for his life, again. Just like when we got the call from Central. And now I might lose him."
He slowly sunk into a crouched position, but Roy followed him down, stopping him before he could hit the ground and get his bottoms wet.
"Come on," he said, rubbing assuring circles on his back. "Let's get back inside. I don't want you to get sick too. How 'bout I'll buy you a crappy cup of coffee?" he suggested. When Alphonse didn't answer, Roy added, "or some hot chocolate?"
Alphonse hesitated somewhat and finally answered, "I've always had a sweet tooth."
Roy chuckled lightly, patting his back encouragingly and helped him back up. He kept his arms around his broad shoulders as they re-entered the hospital, getting back inside the elevator.
Roy and Al were seated on the same uncomfortable plastic chairs as before in the waiting area, each with a hot beverage in heat resistant cardboard cups in hands. Roy seemed tired, maybe even a little scared.
Oh, how Al wished he didn't look scared.
Adults were supposed to have a reassuring presence, to reassure the kids that everything would be okay and have everything under control. Especially if they were wearing a freaking military uniform! But Roy did nothing of the sort at this time. He looked just as worried, and maybe even more than Al at the moment.
"I thought he was safe," Al said while blowing on his drink, still waiting, hoping, for Roy to change all of this with those simple words to let him know that this wasn't as bad as it seemed.
Instead, Roy sighed heavily, stroking his fingers through his raven hair. He seemed to crumble in his seat at Al's inquisitions while resting his head in his hands and rubbing at them vigorously. "I'm not a doctor, Alphonse. I don't know."
No! That was not what he was supposed to say!
Something burning in Al's chest that had been burning since he left Ed in the room with that useless nurse, just as Edward seemed to have taken a turn for the worse, was boiling, sizzling in his chest and hazing up his vision and he wanted to hit something. Just leave some sort of destruction in his path as a statement to show that he was mad and frightened and he- he... had just gotten his brother back.
"I guess it's because of the missing limbs," Roy suggested hesitatingly. He hadn't noticed Alphonse's growing frustration, or, blatantly ignored it. "I don't know much about this stuff, I guess you're more of an expert than me. But, I do know that his immune system is greatly affected by it."
'Yeah, he was totally right,' Alphonse thought. Roy didn't say anything else, once again lost in his own self-destructive and toxic mind. Alphonse felt bad for being insensitive. Roy was going through this just as much as him. He had no right to expect him to handle this any better than he did.
"Also, he's really thin," Alphonse said gruffly. He shrunk as the dark-haired man looked at him, feeling small and fragile under the older man's stern gaze. "I- I mean, he's at high risk for any kind of infection already, being an amputee. But his body also seems really weak," Alphonse elaborated. Roy looked like he wanted to object, but Alphonse decided to be strong, tougher- for Edward, so he ignored him.
"If he had been back home in Risembool, he would have gone through excessive physical therapy since he got back from the hospital as soon as possible after the fire, to strengthen his body as well as his immune system. Also, there's a strict diet. It's really important. With how hard it has been for him to rid himself of the fever and... and how fragile he looks- he's probably really malnourished. It doesn't seem like there has been done any kind of training or medical treatment- actually, any kind of treatment at all."
"Also, there's the way he wraps his arm around his food when he eats," Roy mused, almost absentmindedly, without finishing the thought. He didn't have to.
"Yeah," Al realized reluctantly. "Nothing has been done to better his physical health. In fact, it almost seems that they've done everything wrong. As if," Alphonse paused, lost in his own train of thoughts. "...as if, they did it on purpose."
That piqued Roy's interest as he hummed a questioning noise. Al's eyes went wide at his own realization and he didn't even notice how his fists clasped so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
"They did it on purpose!" Alphonse exclaimed horridly, staring daggers into Roy. "Everything that has been done for him, is the absolute opposite of what Granny would have done! Someone that knows what should be done, must have been involved! Roy, they hurt him intentionally!"
Roy paused for a moment, clutching his cup tighter, almost spilling the steaming liquid over the edge from the added pressure. He didn't want it to make sense. The world couldn't be that cruel.
Unfortunately, he knew that it was. He was one of the reasons for it to be that way after all.
"Alphonse, that... No, that can't be it." He shook his head but knew he mostly tried to convince himself.
"Yeah, it is! I'm going to prove it!" Alphonse raised his voice, getting up from his seat and earning some unnerved stares from onlookers.
"How are you going to do that?"
"I have no idea! But I'm going to make it right! For brother!"
Roy let out an exasperated exhale. "It's been a long day," he started.
"I don't care. I'm not tired," Alphonse argued.
"Please, just leave it until tomorrow. Go back to the hotel, get some dinner, get some sleep and spend time with the rest of your family. They're probably worried about you, and they need to know what's going on."
"But-"
"I'm serious. I'll take a look at it, okay? I need to get back to the office and get some work done anyway. The hospital has the number to your hotel, they'll call if anything happens."
Al seemed to deflate, finally letting the weariness wash over him.
And again, he couldn't do anything to help Edward. Couldn't even hold his hand as he fought for his life! He was such a useless brother.
Just as they were about to leave, the same nurse that had kicked Alphonse out of the room a little bit earlier, entered the waiting room, exchanging a few words with the receptionist, who pointed towards the two about to leave and turned to catch them before they could exit.
"Colonel Mustang, Mr. Elric," she called, quickly catching their attention. "I'm glad I caught you. We were able to stabilize Edward a short while ago. I'm so, so sorry about all of this. I can't quite explain how the infected could have gotten this bad," she said sadly and sent a compassionate look towards Alphonse. "He was getting all his medication and we caught the initial infection before it could get too severe. This is a military hospital, so we're under extremely strict rules about cleanliness and thoroughness. No one has a good explanation of what happened. We have changed his antibiotics now and given him a shot of adrenaline. We're also keeping him on steroids and vasopressors. He is still unconscious and very weak, but he'll probably appreciate it if you're there when he wakes up, Mr. Elric. He's probably going to feel pretty sick, and really scared, the poor thing."
Alphonse nodded without a word, serious and urgently, giving Roy a questioning look.
"I'm glad to hear it," Roy said with a faint smile. "I really need to get back, but please, call me if anything changes."
Roy watched as Alphonse left with the nurse with growing anguish in his abdomen. He wanted to come with them, stop Alphonse from doing anything rash and to hold Edwards's hand and whisper in his ear that everything was going to be okay until he was out of the woods.
But, that wasn't his job. He had his brother to do that now.
There was no reason for him to stick around.
It was getting late, the clock nearing nine in the evening. Roy was still in his office, mindlessly turning the pages of paperwork that was supposed to be finished days ago. He had retrieved one of his cheap bottles of late-night-office-whiskey's from his desk drawer, realizing that he soon needed to get another bottle.
He filled his glass the fourth or fifth time, maybe it had been more but it didn't really matter. He had already decided to leave his car at the HQ, getting a cab home. Or, he would sleep on his strategically comfy leather couch. It wouldn't be the first time.
Goddammit. The books Edward had gotten from the library was still on the floor next to it.
He couldn't even turn his head without being distracted by the brat. The knot in his stomach tightened as he thought about curling up under the same blanket as Edward had gotten cozy under, those long days while being stuck at in his office while Roy was working. How in the world such a hyperactive kid could be so content with a couple of books in this monotone office environment didn't cease to amaze him.
Roy's hand brushed against his telephone, contemplating if he should call Alphonse at the hospital to see how it was going, but he changed his mind.
The nurse had made sure to set up a bed for Alphonse in Ed's hospital room, after making sure that the teen was properly sterilized so he wouldn't prove a risk for Edwards recovery. Hopefully, he was getting some sleep.
Sleep sounded good about now.
His eyelids were growing heavy as he felt the heat of strong liquor spread over him like a warm blanket. His eyes trailed over his unfinished paperwork again, getting them caught on the Edwards still lingering file. The graphic details of his injuries from the fire were still actively buzzing through his mind, but for some reason, it still kept calling out to him time after time. He kind of hoped he had overlooked something, while at the same time, hoping he had not.
Just as he had gripped the folder, a knock came on his door. Tired eyes looked up, reluctantly inviting the visitor in. He half-expected the barrel of Riza Hawkeyes gun to peek inside, while also longing for her warm hands to stroke passionately through his hair, letting him forget about everything and be selfish for just a little while.
Never would Roy Mustang be that lucky.
A head of hair as black as his own and green eyes behind prescribed glasses of long-sightedness peered at him with a sad smile, closing the door behind him as he entered. Maes Hughes sniffed suspiciously, getting the sniff of the cheap alcohol on Mustang's breath. Not that he was trying to hide it.
"That's a good idea," was all he said, moving his hand from behind his back, revealing another bottle of Roy's much-preferred brand of whiskey and placing it on the wooden desk between them, pulling up a chair and got seated.
Roy dropped the folder, smirking crookedly. "I don't think I tell you often enough what a great friend you are."
"You sure as hell don't," the tall man answered while helping himself to Roy's own drink, downing it in one gulp.
"Help yourself," Roy mumbled sarcastically, opening his desk drawer again and getting himself a new glass.
Maes stifled a burp and grimaced, eyeing the empty glass in distaste. "I thought you had better taste than this, old friend."
"Shut up. I save the good stuff for especially bad days."
"And today isn't?"
Roy decided not to answer, but instead helped himself from the new bottle, deciding it would be answer enough. Taking a sip, closing his eyes in momentary pleasure, he figured it was time change the subject. "So, how did you know I was here?"
Maes filled his own glass too. "I can see the lights from your office from the street," he explained, gulping down the burning liquid. Roy looked at him with skepticism, resting his cheek in his hand. Maes gave in. "Also, I went to your house. When you weren't home and didn't answer the phone, I called Riza. She told me what had happened."
Roy nodded thoughtfully, knowing he was about to get yelled at for keeping this from him.
"Why didn't you tell me when I stopped by the hospital today? You know I don't like you dealing with shit like this on your own-"
"I'm not dealing with anything," Roy interrupted bluntly, a bit more harshly than he meant it. He cleared his throat to calm himself, changing his tone. "Believe me, I'm okay. I'd be more worried about young Alphonse."
Maes looked peeringly at him for a moment. "I know how your mind works, Roy. Your conscience can be pretty scary."
Roy rolled his eyes obviously. "Don't go there Maes, not tonight. I'm fine, I promise. I'm just... worried about the little shit."
"Roy!" Maes scolded, giving Roy the reaction he wanted, releasing some of the tension a little, at the price of a quick whack across the head.
Not the gentle touch from Hawkeye he had hoped for- but at least it wasn't a gun barrel.
An hour passed and speech got more and more slurred. Maes had finally decided that he needed to call Gracia to tell her where he was, using Roy's office phone. He explained that he would be a little late and she should go ahead to bed without him. As the call turned a bit too gooey, Roy quickly slammed down the circuit, cutting off the call to Maes clear amusement, laughing manically and drunkenly, slamming his hand on the desk.
In his childish glee, he managed to knock over his glass, spilling the contents all over the paperwork. Panicked, Roy started to clear his desk while Maes threw his jacket off, starting to dry the soaked papers with it.
Roy looked down at his desk in disbelief, stroking his fingers through his hair and cursed loudly.
"Oh god oh god oh god oh god," he repeated to himself, taking over Maes make-shift cloth, realizing that if Hawkeye wouldn't shoot him on sight, Fuhrer Bradley would certainly execute him publicly for this. Maes continued giggling himself silly, lowering his mouth to the desk and trying to slurp up the liquor, receiving a dunk with a clenched fist on top of his head from the colonel, resulting in his face smacking on the surface.
"Oh come on, relax Roy-boy," he chuckled while rubbing his now sore chin. "I'm sure this isn't the first time the Fuhrer has received official documents marinated in alcohol. It's not the end of the world."
Roy didn't answer though, recognizing a perticulair manilla folder in the middle of the mess.
"No!" he yelled, picking it up and waving it around frantically to airdry it. The change of urgency made Maes snap back to the now, looking at Roy uneasily.
"What's going on?" he asked, snatching the folder out of Roy's hands and looking at it. His expression turned more serious, understanding why his friend was freaking out. "Damn, I'm so sorry, Roy."
"I need to dry it off," Roy rambled, getting it back and ruefully got down on his knees, opening the folder and carefully prying the pages apart, weary not to tear anything and laid them down in a row on the carpeted floor. Maes got down to help him out, swiftly looking over the pages and making sure that none of the text was smeared.
Roy kept working with gentle hands while Maes got lost in the pages. His forehead got a deep furrow, as he lifted one of the pages to look at it more thoroughly, absently reaching his hand out and pricked Roy's shoulder, successfully getting his attention.
"Roy, Roy," he called until Roy was able to tear himself out of his frenzy, giving the Lieutenant Colonel the attention he wanted. "Does the name Dr. Isla Lucy ring any bells?"
Roy paused, blinking rapidly as he slowly recognized the name. "Yeah, that's Edwards doctor at the Military Hospital," he said hesitantly, matching Maes worried expression but with a bit of confusion. That wrinkle on his forehead usually didn't mean anything good.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," he said, turning his gaze back at the piece of paper.
"Why do you ask?"
Maes didn't answer, instead, he itched his jaw while he grumbled audibly and re-read the document for the umphed-time.
"Do you by any chance have Van Hohenheim's military folder available too?"
Roy arched his brows, but got up off the floor, unlocking a locked archive drawer behind his desk and searched through it. He grabbed one thick and one slender file, tossing it to his taller comrade.
"Hohenheim is the thick one, also, the smaller one is Alphonse Elric's," he explained, watching the theoretically gifted man getting to work.
After a short while, he gave a triumphant noise, clearly finding what he was looking for, but, not being happy about it. "I don't know if you know this, but Van Hohenheim worked closely with my department before he got ill," he explained, laying the folder out. "It was very sudden and very unexpected. One day he seemed perfectly healthy and the next, he was dying. When he first got sick, the process was quick. They never found out what was really wrong with him. It just seemed like his body withered, visibly withered. Most likely some kind of poison, but nothing was detected under the autopsy."
Roy looked at him suspiciously. "Maes... where are you going with this?"
First, Maes handed him Hohenheim's medical documents. Roy read it carefully, noting he had the same doctor as his son. Nothing too strange, as they had been committed only a year apart, and Dr. Lucy had at least twenty years of experience.
"There might be some kind of alphabetical order to the distributions of patients, both Edward and Alphonse have the Hohenheim name as well. They just don't use it," he thought out loud, receiving the next document from Maes.
It was still soaked in alcohol but was completely comprehensible. It was from the Risembool Medical Centre, 12 years ago, and Roy knew the information as the back of his hand. Except for one thing, that he had overseen before.
Alphonse's words were echoing through his mind.
'They did it on purpose!'
On the bottom of the page, the document was signed by Dr. Isla Lucy.
Soooo sorry for another open ending. If I didn't stop here, the chapter would have turned out way too long! Anyway! I hope I still have your attention! Please leave a comment/review/Kudo, depending on where you're reading this!
I'll probably concentrate on a new chapter of my other ongoing FMA story, Just a kid next- but hopefully, I'm able to update this too soon! If you enjoyed this fic, please check it out!
Thank you so much for reading and stay awesome!