Chapter Two:
The doctor came into Colonel Mustang's room at promptly 0800 hours, as he had done every day for the past seven days. He cast only a cursory glance to the shadowed figure slumped in a chair in the corner, tucked under a blanket that she had obviously not put there herself. With the smallest of sighs, he shook his head and then proceeded with his morning check on Mustang's health.
Satisfied with this, he turned to Lieutenant Hawkeye, who was, as she had been for the past seven days, sleeping in a wood-backed chair, looking to be quite uncomfortable. As he approached her to wake her, he found himself wondering which nurse delivered last night's blanket. The woman had a tendency to nod off in the early hours of the morning and simply forget to cover herself to prevent a chill from catching her.
"Lieutenant Hawkeye," the doctor whispered, his hand on her shoulder as he gently shook her. "It's 0800 hours, Lieutenant. You need to go home and get some rest. I will call security if you don't leave of your own accord."
She stirred, and, after his mention of security, snapped to attention, tired eyes surveying the doctor with a sigh. "Good morning," she asked quietly. "What time was it, you said?"
"0800 hours, Lieutenant. Go home. Get some sleep. I've told you countless times, if anything happens at all, we'll call you. Can't you take my word on that?"
Hawkeye yawned slightly, "I'm afraid I cannot, sir."
"You need to go home. Get a good eight hours of sleep, Lieutenant, take some time to have a proper shower, a good meal in, some sleep. I don't want to see you in this building any earlier than 1700 hours this evening. Am I clear?"
She frowned.
"I will alert the security staff and the nurses, Lieutenant. I suggest you just go along with my offer. Now go home."
"I…"
"Don't be so difficult, Lieutenant!" the doctor snapped, taking the blanket from her shoulders. "Every day for the past four days, I've told you to go home. I had a feeling you might be difficult, so I've called one of your officers to come and assist me in getting you out of here."
Hawkeye's amber eyes widened, as she got to her feet slowly, visibly wincing as she tried to get to her feet properly. "Wha—"
"Good morning, Lieutenant Hawkeye," Fuery's voice was level as he stood somewhat nervously in the doorway. "The doctor called me late last night, and asked me to come to escort you home this morning."
"Sergeant Major Fuery, go home," Hawkeye's voice was stern, her gaze narrowing.
Fuery sighed, as if he had heard this coming. "Permission to speak freely, Lieutenant?"
The doctor watched nervously. Perhaps he should have telephoned that Major Armstrong, she seemed to listen to him.
"Denied, Sergeant."
The young man visibly cringed. "The doctor ordered me to escort you home, Lieutenant. Please?"
Hawkeye could feel the edges of her mouth turn upwards just slightly. He wanted to be helpful and she had to give him that, Kain's heart was consistently in the right place no matter how he attempted to portray it. "Besides, I'd like to actually pet Black Hayate some, instead of just talking to him through your door. He doesn't seem to appreciate that."
"What…?"
The doctor was standing directly to his patient's left, and nodded. "It's about time, sir."
Mustang was opening his good eye, trying to take in his surroundings. "I can't…"
"I know," the doctor said slowly, "the vision in your left eyes is nonexistent. I've already tried to explain to Lieutenant Hawkeye; from what she told me, Archer managed to hit you in the eye. It destroyed everything there. At this point, I just consider you lucky for that bullet not traveling further into your skull."
The man fell silent
"I also consider you fairly lucky as most of your wounds were fairly superficial. Many of them didn't require more than bandaging—though that didn't cover all of them as I'm sure you can tell, it was enough to keep your alive. That and perhaps your constant companion—"
"Is Lieutenant Hawkeye all right?"
The doctor tilted his head, the smallest smirk on his face. "Oh, Lieutenant Hawkeye? I just sent her home. She's been here nonstop for a week, said she couldn't trust me to call her if anything happened here."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"She's fine. I called Sergeant Major Fuery to take her home and make sure she stayed there and got some proper rest. I've told her not to come back until 1700 hours. So you can expect her in a while, I'm certain she'll be back. I'm surprised Sergeant Fuery didn't have to drag her."
Mustang could feel the slightest bit of a smirk cross his face, "so am I."
"Good morning Brigadier General, Lieutenant."
The hospital room was quiet as always, another three days had passed, and Mustang was following a far more normal sleeping pattern. He spent most of his days awake, and most of his nights asleep. Hawkeye remained by his bedside the entire time, though now Mustang himself played a part in sending her home at the end of the day.
He found himself transfixed by her form when she wasn't hidden beneath that uniform. How smartly she dressed, how professional she remained even on days off. He found himself puzzled by the fact that she went to the effort to make herself presentable when her daily endeavors consisted of walking to and from this hospital building, and nothing more.
"I have some good news for you, if you're both awake enough to listen," the doctor remarked brightly, a chart in tow. "I have something you've been waiting for, General. Discharge papers."
The woman's face brightened just slightly, as she turned to Mustang, the grin contagious.
"Now don't get too excited yet. You're in no condition to be staying by yourself, sir. I'm going to have to look into finding a nurse to take care of you in your home, if that's all right with you."
Mustang's excitement immediately dissipated at the thought of having one of the hospital's nurses checking up on him daily in the same manner they did here—barging in when they could, unconcerned about what they were disturbing. He didn't mind them and quite frankly, some were quite friendly. But he didn't want to take any of them home with him, so to speak.
"I would be honored to take care of the Brigadier General, sir." Dark eyes were looking directly at the doctor. "If you would show to me how I'm to handle his care properly, I would have no personal hindrances with taking care of him myself."
Mustang turned just slightly, surprised. The determination on her face was not far from her usual demeanor, and though he wasn't so much surprised about her offer, it was the simple way she had said it. Hawkeye had sworn to protect him, and for these past few days he had watched her go through silent states of retribution. He could tell by the grim look in her amber eyes that she was thoroughly convinced that his current state of being was undeniably her fault.
"That's very kind of you, Lieutenant, however—"
"I'm not a fool, doctor. If you tell me what to do," her voice was level, "then I can take care of him. There's no need to call a nurse to keep tabs on his health when I will be here for him."
When I will be here for him…The words shocked him. He became aware of how consistently she was there. By his bedside, when he was unconscious, by his bedside when he was awake. She waited for him patiently, despite the time. The only logical continuation of her behavior would be for her to care for him through his recovery, but something inside of him told him not to expect it.
"Very well, Lieutenant. Once these forms have been filled out, you're welcome to go, we'll call for a car so he doesn't have to walk."
The doctor placed the paperwork on the table, and turned to go, closing the door quietly behind him. Hawkeye was immediately on her feet, dazedly gathering what belongings he had present in the hospital room and placing them into a bag.
"Riza?"
She turned just slightly, her gaze tired. "Yes sir?"
"You don't have to do that," he said quietly. "Tie yourself down to taking care of me. There is no reason to do that to yourself, when you have your own things to accomplish. Your own life to live."
The look on her face was patient as always, the sorrow in her eyes masked by a slight shaking of her head. When will he realize, she wondered, that the only life she had to live rested firmly in the protection of her superior officer—a self-given order she had failed to uphold. "It's no trouble at all, sir. I would be honored."
The cold bit at his skin, and she offered him her coat. It was far too small for him, but the gesture did not go unnoticed. Eventually, she removed her scarf and wrapped it around his neck carefully. Her reasoning behind such behavior was because she didn't want him to catch cold. He responded by saying what would become of his health if his caretaker fell ill with a chill herself?
Hawkeye was determined to get him into bed, and so she did. She personally removed his coat, hanging it on the rack with hers and the shared scarf, then ushering him to his bedroom.
"Sir," she said quietly, reaching into her bag, "the doctor said I was to change your bandages."
Mustang grimaced. He was not unfamiliar to bandage changing, but that didn't make him enjoy it anymore, and he didn't want her to. Though she had been staying with him for the majority of his hospital stay, she had always been asked to leave the room. The concept of her bearing witness to his inability to bite back his pain unnerved him. "That's all right."
"No sir," she replied quietly, placing the bandages on the nightstand of his bed, along with a bottle of antiseptic the doctor had given her and instructed her on how to use. "I'm sorry, sir."
He turned slightly, slipping off his shoes and sitting on the bed. "Please don't insist upon calling me 'sir'; we aren't at work, Riza."
She was quiet, but nodded, "all right, Roy." Her quiet way of mumbling his name sent a chill down his spine. He considered her behavior in the absence of military formalities, and found himself a bit surprise at how unnerved she seemed.
Her hands were cold, he noted with a shudder as she began to undo the collar of his shirt.
"I can do that, Riza," he said, sleepily. He started to fumble with the buttons, his gaze unfocused.
"It's all right," she said quietly, finally having gotten the buttons undone properly. He groggily assisted her in removing the shirt, though he found his mind wandering as he wondered her perception of his rather sick looking body.
"The doctor said it was easier if you…leaned your arms against something, to help you keep your balance." Her voice was quiet, almost hesitant, as she opened the cap on the bottle of antiseptic and began to unwind the bandages. The first few layers didn't require a particularly large amount of caution, but as she began to see the crimson of blood, she slowed her movements.
He tensed. Her calloused hands were surprisingly soft, the movement of her fingers agile and yet gentle. He had expected her to be far more likely to yank off the bandage in one swift movement than to do so with such gentle care. Mustang had to bite back more than a few curses in pain as he felt her carefully tugging the layer of bandage closest to his skin. The cool air bit at the open wound, and he gripped the headboard of the bed, gritting his teeth together.
"I'm trying to be quick, sir," she said hurriedly, far more than just aware that she was causing him pain. She had pressed one hand against his shoulder, and he almost let out a holler in pain when he felt the sting of the antiseptic on his wound. "I'm sorry, almost finished..."
But she finished quickly, faster than some of the nurses, now having wrapped the bandage carefully around the open and cleaned wounds. "There you are. I'm so sorry."
He looked up at her, offering her a small smile. She immediately dismissed his kind gesture and got to her feet. "If you don't mind, I'll go find something for you to eat. You should change into your bedclothes."
His remaining eye watched her lithe form head for the doorway, the slight sway in her steps as she proceeded to his kitchen. One of her small hands closed the door behind her. Once completely certain that she didn't intend to come back, he reached for the nearest drawer, pulling out his nightclothes and getting into them carefully. It was an arduous task, he noted silently, and part of him wished that she hadn't been so unnerved by the task of changing his bandages that she would have been willing to help. At the same time, he chided himself for that thought.
She was back within a few moments, and he was still struggling to get the buttons done up right. With a small smile, she placed the basket with the apples in it and the small knife on the nightstand, before helping him get the buttons straight.
"I hope that an apple is all right," she said quietly. "I'll have to go to find something more suitable than an apple tomorrow. I'll bring it when I come."
He nodded slightly, his eye taking in her gentle movement of the blankets, not once but twice as she got them situated in some position that she found suitable. Taking a seat beside the bed, she lifted the apple, carefully sinking the knife into it and starting to peel it.
Mustang watched her in silence, taking in the slight slouch in her shoulders, the smallest frown on her face. For a moment, he just stared blankly, desperate for some way to break the shell that she was consistently hiding behind. Finally, "what's the frown for?"
She paused, looking up from her apple though she never stopped spinning it in her weary hands, "your plan was perfect. You did your part," she paused, hands falling still. "But I should've gotten there sooner to protect you."
He would've sworn he could feel his heart hit the floor, his stomach opening as a dark black pit, wanting to hold her and chastise her for being such a fool—that he was thankful for her arrival at all. "Nothing's perfect," he said gently, hoping to break down her resistance and ease her sorrows. "The world's not perfect—but it's there for us, trying the best it can." Hawkeye's hurt eyes widened just slightly as his fingers gently ran through her golden hair.
"That's what makes it so damn beautiful."
It was silent for a few moments, and he watched her slice a piece of apple in two, sticking it on a fork. Suddenly, it was in his face, her gaze stoical and stiff as a mask once again. "Just shut up and eat."
