Title: Sick Leave
Author: tir-synni
Pairing: Roy/Ed, implied Ling/Ed
Warnings: Manga spoilers, angst, adult content
Rating: R

"You're going to have to leave. I need to work on the ports."

"I want to stay."

"You h-heard her, Bastard. Get out."

Head bowed, Roy Mustang again soaked the worn rag in the bowl of water. The shivering figure in the bed didn't flinch when Roy placed the rag back on his forehead.

"I don't understand. The ports aren't even done, and he's supposed to be back on duty in three weeks."

"Three weeks? That idiot! Recovery time from automail surgery generally takes three years. Guess since he knocked it down to one year last time, he thinks he can knock it down again."

" . . . A year?"

Edward Elric only moaned a little when Roy wiped his cheeks. Roy closed his eyes.

"Hello, Alphonse. This is an . . . unexpected visit."

" . . . Winry's going to be securing the automail port to Brother's ribs. You . . . might not want to visit today."

"I'll be there at the normal time."

Feverish amber eyes flicked toward Roy for a moment, but Roy's eyes remained closed. Edward huffed weakly and looked away. Only the rough rasps of Ed's breathing broke the silence.

Two pairs of eyes watched the silent figures for a breath longer before Winry Rockbell quietly clicked the door shut. Alphonse Elric looked worriedly at her. She met his eyes, shook her head once, and gestured toward the kitchen. Obediently, Alphonse followed her.

"No wonder they attract each other so much," Winry hissed as soon as Alphonse entered the small dorm kitchen. "They're both stubborn idiots!"

Alphonse sighed and walked to the mini fridge-microwave combo, and Winry slumped into a chair. He pulled two drying glasses off the towel by the sink. As Winry stared thoughtfully at the tottering table, Alphonse poured them each some tea. The automail specialist didn't look up until Alphonse handed her a glass and sat across the table from her with his own.

"They're both stubborn idiots," he agreed wearily, staring at his tea. He had bought the pitcher at the deli down the street earlier in the week. While the Fuhrer had silently sat beside him, Edward had asked for something icy to drink. Alphonse had hoped his brother had been asking for some alone time with the Fuhrer, but when he had returned, the air in the bedroom was as still and stale as before, the Fuhrer quiet and solemn, his brother flushed and frustrated. Alphonse used to be able to read his brother so easily, but he had no idea what his brother was thinking anymore. Sometimes Alphonse wondered if he would willingly return to the armor if only to recapture their earlier closeness.

Shifting her glass from hand to hand, Winry frowned. "I'm not going to have their little feud interrupt Edward's surgery!" Alphonse flinched inwardly as her eyes darkened. "I don't understand any of this. I didn't like Ed staying in the military but I thought he wanted to so he could finally get together with Fuhrer Mustang." Stilling her hands, Winry stared at Al. "But they're still tiptoeing around each other! I don't get it."

Alphonse shrugged helplessly. He itched to grab one of her trembling hands; he sipped his tea instead. "Those two are very good at complicating things." Winry caught his gaze and he took a longer drink. "I think . . . I think something happened at the end of the war, but Brother won't talk about it." His own bitter laugh surprised him. "He . . . he doesn't talk about much anymore."

But why should he? What was the point of talking when Alphonse couldn't do anything? He had tried to do something, had wanted to do something, but whereas his brother had succeeded, Alphonse had only failed.

Alphonse started when Winry's warm, calloused hand clasped his own. She smiled tiredly at him; he smiled tentatively back.

A thought occurred to Alphonse and he dropped his gaze. He could feel Winry's frown. "When's the next major surgery?" he asked quietly.

A pause. "Tomorrow."

Meters away, Roy flinched minutely, looking away from the fevered, sweaty skin of Ed's chest. The bandages over Ed's ribs taunted him, wounds caused not by the Incident but by the automail. Something brushed against his hand, and, without looking, Roy clasped Edward's hand and held it tightly. Edward squeezed back, never looking away from Roy's bowed head.

xoxoxox

The next morning, Lieutenant Colonel Havoc had Roy's coffee ready when the Fuhrer trudged into the office. With a collection of thankful mumbles, Roy took it and slumped into his chair. Havoc studied his superior's drawn face for a long moment, when Roy did nothing else to acknowledge his existence, Havoc wheeled in front of Roy's desk.

"You have a meeting with Parliament next week," Havoc tossed out, sharp eyes on Roy's face. His gum garbled his speech a little, but Roy had learned how to interpret his words.

"Yes," Roy replied drolly, "they wish to discuss again the homunculi, particularly Wrath." He sipped his coffee again, only the most minute cringe quirking his lips. "You're getting better."

Havoc shrugged. "Eh. It's just until Boss gets back." His fingers tapped restlessly on the arm of the wheelchair as he spoke. Soon, Roy suspected, there would be fingerprints indented in the dark wood. "How much longer is his sick leave extended?"

The bitter coffee mocked Roy. He swiped his tongue against his gums as he put the coffee down. "Six months. However, it may be prolonged further judging by Ms. Rockbell's information." He turned to the paperwork in his desk with a frown. Right on the top was a request for further investigation into the activities of specific generals.

Snapping his gum, Havoc hummed. The blond's features were still slack, but his eyes were sharp on Roy's face. Roy's fingers tightened on his pen.

"So. How long until Ed comes back?" Havoc inquired.

Havoc wasn't talking about automail surgery. "So. When are you going to get your own post?"

Scowling, Havoc scraped his fingers against the arm of the wheelchair. "I still don't see why I can't smoke at this post. I could smoke before you were Fuhrer."

"And next time you see Colonel Hawkeye, you can explain your reasoning to her," Roy replied. Havoc's eyes narrowed, and Roy glanced at his too-dark coffee. Actually, the cigarette smoke would be a nostalgic distraction, but Roy knew being in a superior position didn't necessarily equate to being in charge.

Pretending to skim over the top paper, Roy noted that Havoc hadn't moved away from the desk. "Was there anything else?" he inquired mildly.

After a moment, Havoc leaned back. "No."

Both men relaxed when Major Farman walked in with another stack of paperwork. Afterward, Havoc excused himself and Roy dumped out his coffee.

xoxoxox

When Roy had originally learned that Edward planned on having his surgery in the dorms, he had doubted more than the dorms' sanitary conditions: He had feared the other soldiers would hear Ed's pained moans and cries. All three Rizenbul youths had assured Roy to the contrary, but Roy had still been doubtful until he found himself sitting beside a trembling Alphonse, listening to Winry's whirring tools. From Ed at mostthey heard ragged grunts.

Sitting with one arm wrapped around Al's tense shoulders and listening to the occasional pained gasp from Edward, Roy almost wished Ed would scream.

"When Brother originally had his surgery, he was completely quiet," Al whispered, his long legs curled against his body. Sitting on the hallway floor, the younger Elric's face looked oddly composed. "I peeked in sometimes, but either the blood or Winry would scare me off."

Roy nodded blankly, feeling Al's faint tremors under his arm. What could he say to that?

"He's needed automail repair several times, but this is the first time since the initial installation that he's needed surgery on the ports," Al continued, his voice a little too even. "We believe . . . we believe it's because of the Incident."

"The Incident?" Roy knew what Al meant—only one thing would have earned the capital letter he heard so clearly in the young man's voice—but he didn't know what that would have to do with Ed's lack of growth. A throaty groan scratched past the bedroom door, and Roy asked, "What happened?"

Al sucked in a quick, shallow breath. Winry's tools whistled shrilly for a few moments. "D-did you notice that when my brother r-restored my body to me, my body was whole and healthy?" At Roy's quick nod, Al continued, raising his voice a little, "We think that my body's health was due to my brother's sacrifice. We think he fuelled my body."

Roy stared at the grey-green wall. "That's why he never gained any height," he murmured. He frowned. "Or weight."

Al nodded, flinching a little when his brother moaned. The sound was barely audible over Winry's tools. Roy could imagine Ed gritting his teeth, cheeks flushed and sweat dripping down his face. Then he imagined how much pain the younger man had to be in to actually make that noise. The brunet convulsively tightened his grip on Al's shoulders. Al didn't say a word.

Attempting to banish that all too vivid image from his mind, Roy inquired, "Why is your brother still in the dorms? With his rank of colonel, he could easily live in an actual apartment. This is one of the better dorms, but it must be stifling, even for. . . ." Roy quieted himself before the automatic height snipe slid off his tongue.

Alphonse's sigh shook Roy's arm. "Because an apartment would be too much like a home," he replied.

For the life of him, Roy couldn't think of a response for that.

xoxoxox

When Roy usually visited Edward, the young man would be sleeping, exhausted by pain and stress. He would watch the blond sleep and wipe the sweat away from his too pale, too red face and reflect on how vulnerable he looked there as the metal again grew from his body.

All such reflections vanished the first time he was there when Edward was awake and had to use the bathroom.

"This would be easier if you'd just go in the bottle, Brother," Alphonse's exasperated voice traveled through the dorm room. Just walking through the door, Roy froze, hand still on the front of his jacket.

"I haven't gone in a damned bottle yet, and I'm not going to go now," Edward snarled. "I'll crawl to the fuckin' bathroom if I have to!"

Inhaling deeply, Roy continued unbuttoning his jacket. Only after he had safely placed his jacket on the back of a chair did he walk toward the small bedroom.

"Brother, the ports are still new, and your nerves are extremely sensitive. You need rest!"

"You've helped me before! What's the difference now?"

The door was open, complementing the unlocked dorm door, and, looking inside, the Fuhrer nodded to himself. Dressed only in boxers and his remaining limbs flailing, Ed was sitting up on the bed. Al sat beside him, hands raised. Roy's hands clenched as he noted that Winry had finished the surgery on both ports, including the metal securing the arm port. Edward's pallid, sweaty face reflected the strain of that surgery and Roy agreed with Alphonse: Edward shouldn't move from the bed.

"I'll lend an arm," Roy offered smoothly, stepping into the room.

Alphonse started and almost fell off the bed. "Sir!" he yelped.

Ed straightened on the bed, as dignified as a shaved cat. His cheeks glowed red; Roy wondered how much of the color was due to his fever. "Then get over here!" Edward snapped. "I have to piss!"

Even as Roy stifled a smirk and walked to the bed, Alphonse stared reprovingly at his brother. "Language, Brother, and you should rest!" But there was more resignation than true scolding in his voice and, when Roy extended his arm to Edward, Alphonse sighed loudly. "Fine! But I'm telling Winry!"

Roy chuckled lowly, amused by Alphonse's petulance. He usually only heard that tone from Edward. Standing on Edward's left side, Roy surreptitiously pulled Ed's left arm a little when the young man couldn't get off the bed. The blond refused to look at him, simply grasping Roy's arm with his remaining hand. Alphonse glared at the floor when Ed stumbled.

"You can stand outside the bathroom," Edward murmured, his remaining foot thudding oddly on the ground. The young man was surprisingly graceful with his one foot.

"Of course," Roy said softly. Ed felt moist and hot and solid against Roy's side.

Ed's head lolled onto Roy's shoulder as Roy helped him into the hallway. "If you tell anyone about this, I'll kill you," the young man continued conversationally. "They'll never find your body."

Roy hid a smirk in Edward's hair. "Would never dream of it."

Edward didn't stumble again, but the trip to the bathroom was slow nonetheless, the blond leaning against Roy in place of his left leg. Roy could actually feel Ed's stump moving against his leg, the metal of the port scraping Roy's pant leg. He tried not to flinch away.

Pushing away from Roy, Ed fell against the bathroom door. "I don't need help to piss," Ed growled.

Roy held up his hands and Ed dragged himself into the bathroom. As the brunet leaned against the garish wall, he listened to Ed hobble to the toilet. Each step of Edward's right foot was loud, defined. Roy closed his eyes and shifted as heard a loud tinkling. When he finished, Ed cursed and a second later flushed the toilet. Another second later, Roy heard the young soldier slam into the bathroom door again.

"Wash your hand!" Roy called involuntarily, smirking to himself before he realized exactly what he had said. Roy recoiled.

"Fuck you!" Ed snapped, but a moment later, Roy heard the water running in the bathroom. More cursing and thumping followed before Ed finished. Several more seconds passed and then Ed almost knocked Roy out with the door.

"Bed," Edward announced, and Roy stared at Ed's feverish, thin face for a moment before offering his arm once more. Even as Edward took it, he glared fiercely at Roy.

"Don't hold back with me," Ed hissed.

Roy hesitated. Edward scowled at the wall.

The rest of the return trip was silent.

xoxoxox

The too-pale coffee sloshed in Roy's mug as he squinted at the paper on his desk. This was his first late night in a surprising while. He knew he should be grateful, would easily be grateful, in fact, if the meeting topic had been different. Of course everyone knew that bombing a country during its emperor's coronation was an excellent way to prove one's strength. The generals were even so kind as to give precise dates and times.

Emperor. Emperor Ling. Roy sipped his coffee before glaring at the paperwork again. One of the youngest, most influential emperors in Xing's history. Famous for his part in defeating the homunculi.

Roy's coffee sloshed again.

"Fuhrer? Roy?"

Roy started, looking up to meet Havoc's concerned eyes through the partially opened door. Opening the door the rest of the way, the blond wheeled into the room. "Hi," Roy greeted, squinting at the paper again. Wait? What was that about miniskirts?

Ugh.

Havoc's hand on his wrist stopped Roy from sipping his coffee again. "It's time to leave, I think," he commented.

Roy smiled at him, even as he grew more aware of the ache behind his eyes. One would never know it by looking at him, but Havoc was in his own way the most protective of the group, even if he couldn't match Hawkeye's draw. Speaking of which. . . . "You're much nicer than Colonel Hawkeye," he quipped.

Grinning back, Havoc revealed the gum wrapped around one tooth. It had lost all semblances of color. "No, I'm not," Havoc corrected. "You never called the boss, did you?"

Roy's coffee slammed to the desk. "No," he managed, eyes wide. It was the first time he had been late in how long? Months?

With that same smirk, Havoc gestured towards the door. "Then I suggest you drop in."

Visions of Edward's angry, sick face flashed through Roy's mind. Worse, visions of Edward's hurt eyes haunted him. Cursing under his breath—several words, he realized despairingly, that he had specifically learned from Edward— Roy shoved himself away from the desk. "I'll finish this in the morning."

Havoc's smile turned wry. "And I'll have the coffee ready."

The too dark, too pale, too bitter, too sweet coffee. Their eyes met, and, with one last resigned smile, Roy left.

Doubts didn't assail Roy until he was walking toward Edward's door. He hadn't called beforehand; would they mind him visiting so late? Was Edward upset that he hadn't visited earlier? What if—

The door was unlocked, per usual. He had barely twisted the knob before he heard the retching on the other side.

"Edward!" Roy shouted, shoving the door open.

Alphonse's pale face peered out of the bathroom. "Fuhrer?" he yelped. "I—we—"

Edward coughed weakly from the bathroom. "Get o-out, ass—" Violent vomiting cut Edward off.

Alphonse looked back and forth between Roy and the bathroom. Licking his lips, the blond smiled shakily at him. "Now might—"

"Get out!" Edward shrilled, his words ending with a sob.

For a split-second, Roy faltered. Then his dark eyes hardened and he slammed the door shut behind him. "Sorry I'm late," he said briskly. "Meetings. Do you need me to get anything, Alphonse?"

Alphonse stared at him, hazel eyes wide. The retching in the bathroom transformed into gagging. Alphonse straightened. "Water and towels, please."

Roy nodded and walked to the kitchen. The small dorm seemed to amplify the sound of Edward's coughing and spitting. Overlaying the wet sounds was Alphonse's soothing voice.

Physical trauma. Low blood pressure, Roy analyzed. Fever. All easy contributors to severe nausea. The water pouring into the glass seemed oddly quiet to Roy's ears. Should've known.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Roy took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, all he could hear was Al's voice, soft and tender, down the hall.

Common response to trauma.

Grabbing some towels on the way, Roy walked back to the bathroom. Now he could hear Ed again, gasping. He stopped outside the bathroom and held out the water glass and towels. "Here, Alphonse."

"Thank you, Sir," Alphonse breathed, poking his head out long enough to smile at Roy before grabbing the glass and towels and disappearing into the bathroom again. Déjà vu swept through Roy as he leaned against the wall.

"Call me Roy, Alphonse," he replied, closing his eyes.

A pause. "All right. Roy."

Edward coughed roughly and the toilet flushed. Roy heard some dull thumps and then Alphonse appeared again, Edward's remaining arm wrapped around his shoulder. Edward leaned heavily against his brother, limping awkwardly. The sick blond glared balefully at Roy.

"You're late," Edward snarled. Even bloodshot and glazed, there was something dark in Ed's eyes that made Roy feel inexplicably guilty.

"I'm sorry," Roy offered.

Edward bared his teeth at Roy, even as Al urged him back to the bedroom. "And don't apologize!" he howled. Al pulled his now coughing brother into the bedroom. Roy followed silently.

By the time Alphonse laid his brother on the bed, Edward was shivering violently. Fresh sweat broke out on Ed's brow; golden hair, now darkened by sweat nearly to a brown, clung to his forehead and cheeks. Amber eyes slid shut as Edward leaned back against the pillow.

"Would you like more water, Brother?" Alphonse asked softly. "Or some ginger ale? Or tea?"

Still trembling, Edward shook his head. "Nothing," he rasped. "J-just let me talk with the bastard for a moment."

Alphonse hesitated, again looking between Edward and Roy. With a nod, he squeezed Edward's hand and pulled away. "All right, Brother. I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything."

Sighing, Edward nodded back. Alphonse kissed Edward's forehead and started walking away. As he walked by Roy, he paused. "If you hurt my brother," Alphonse murmured, "I'll make you wish that the homunculi had killed you." Alphonse flashed Roy a sharp smile reminiscent of his brother's, and then Al left the room.

Roy swallowed thickly and turned back to Ed. Now more than ever, he could smell the hospital reek of the room, bleach and sweat and sickness, and Ed's shivering seemed to amplify that. The young man panted, exhausted by his exertions but still glaring determinedly at Roy.

"Get over here," Edward growled.

Some part of Roy bristled at the command, but the Fuhrer looked at Edward's sickly form and quieted himself. Instead, he walked to the bed and sat in his usual chair. Clad only in boxers, Edward's too-thin body lay openly on the bed, and Roy surreptitiously studied him. Everything looked complete, aside from the actual attachment of the automail. Good. Hopefully things would be easier for Edward now.

"Stop that!" Edward rasped.

Roy blinked. "Hmm?" Was Ed offended by his staring?

Edward slammed his fist onto the bed. "Stop treating me like this! I'm not glass or any of that bullshit. You didn't even treat me like this when I was eleven and catatonic!" Roy clenched his fists and stared evenly at Edward's nose. Edward scowled darkly; the Fuhrer had an excellent view of Ed's chapped, trembling lips. "You . . . you. . . " Edward shook his head. "Just . . . stop."

Roy shifted his gaze to study the hands on his lap. He remembered the end of the war, how things had worsened even as the homunculi's numbers dwindled. Remembered Edward in the hospital, torn between exultation and heartsickness. Remembered how he tried to steal hours with Edward, Edward usually enraptured by his brother's newly returned form, Roy busy steadying his faltering country. Most of all, Roy remembered stealing away from his office to visit Ed one night, only to see Prince Ling at the blond's bedside.

"What would you have me do?" Roy inquired evenly, meeting Ed's amber gaze. "Would you prefer that I yell at you?"

Edward panted, breath harsh and uneven. The usual rag and bowl of water lay on the bed table, but Roy resisted grabbing them. "Fuck you," Ed gritted out. "Why the hell are you here if you're not going to be here?"

Roy stiffened. "Would you prefer that I leave?"

Edward didn't reply, and after a long moment, Roy looked up to see the blond staring at him. "You," Edward declared finally, "are a dumbass."

Roy's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

With a snort, Edward shifted awkwardly onto his side, turning his back to Roy. "Leave," Edward said, his voice still cold. "You don't want to be here. Leave!"

Roy had remembered listening to Ling propose to Edward, offering him everything he had ever desired on a silver platter. Edward would have everything, as long as he didn't mind sharing Ling. Edward and Ling had been near inseparable during the war, while Roy was always busy on the other side of the battlefield.

Roy listened to Ling's proposal, saw the rare earnestness in the prince's eyes, and walked away.

He, the new Fuhrer of Amestris, had walked away.

And now Ed was doing the same.

Edward squawked when Roy grabbed his good shoulder and rolled him onto his back. Roy kissed him hard, not wanting to hear his protests. The young man's lips were too dry and too hot and felt rough against his own, but Roy didn't care.

Edward was kissing him back.

When Roy pulled away, Edward was gasping but grinning. "You didn't brush your teeth," Roy noted, a little breathless himself.

Ed laughed weakly. "I didn't open my mouth, either, Bastard."

Roy smirked. "I'll be back tomorrow," he promised. "And then we'll talk."

"Thanks for the warning, Bastard." But Ed's eyes glittered gold over fever-flushed cheeks, and when Roy said good-night, Alphonse graced him with a smile.

For months, nothing had extended past holding hands. For months, no doubts had been assuaged, no questions had been answered, and he had grown no closer to Ed than he had been in the beginning. In the span of fifteen minutes, Edward had ripped all that apart, and, despite the fact that Roy couldn't lick his lips without cringing, Roy couldn't stop grinning.