In the mind's eye, one might have pictured a straight-backed, stern-faced Roy Mustang carrying a limp Edward Elric in his arms through the hospital doors, a steel giant and a sniperess following close behind, while the intimidated staff watched in helpless awe from the threshold. One might have found the actuality a tad anti-climactic. While the idea was most appealing to him, the colonel knew he couldn't just take Fullmetal and leave. Without proper documentation that the patient had been withdrawn from the facility at the behest of his guardian, Edward's absence could have been reported as a missing-person case, or even one of abduction. Roy, if found in the presence of said missing person, would be liable to charges of neglect and misconduct for denying his subordinate medical attention.
So Roy stood and waited, watching the boy twitch and squeak as he slept, half-expecting the doctor to simply not prepare the release forms and efficiently trap in the emergency ward. If so, Mustang planned on being trapped with him.
Despite his resolve, Roy was not a man of inaction. He pulled Ed's sheets up to the boy's neck and tucked the edges in. He rested his elbows on the mattress and rested his chin on his hands, then straightened and placed his hands in his lap. Alphonse observed silently, and found no surprise that the colonel loathed the desk-restricting task of filing paperwork. Maes, having finished briefing his wife on the state of things, joined them, and immediately began telling them about something his wife had told him about something Elicia told her. Mustang filtered his friend's voice into background noise, so when the amiable chatter suddenly ceased, he instinctively turned to see the cause. The doctor stood, half in and half out of the medical unit, his arm holding the curtain out of the way, and looking rather meek. He seemed to be awaiting permission to enter. Roy gave him that permission, waving in, and the doctor stepped forward, letting the curtain to fall back into place behind him. He proffered his left hand, which held a sheaf of papers. Roy accepted them without a word, although inwardly nonplussed. He had meant to shake the earth beneath the man's feet with his words during their earlier conversation, certainly, but the doctor seemed to have been shaken clean out of his wits.
"It's ready for you."
"Excuse me?" Mustang didn't look up from filling out the release form.
"The air ventilator that you requested. It's ready."
"Good. Alphonse?"
The colonel had explained the situation with the respirator to Al while they had been idle.
The armor emitted a grunt of assent and exited the unit.
"Is this it?" he heard Al's tinny voice echo. The doctor must have nodded, for there followed the nostalgic rubbing sound of chalk against a hard surface, then the crackling that came of the activation of a transmutation circle.
"Is it working now?"
Any further conversation Roy didn't hear. He was distracted by the sound of a heavy sigh, followed by the rustling of tumbling sheets. Edward was sitting up in the hospital bed, eyes droopy with sleep. He took in his surroundings, blinking confusedly, until he belatedly became aware of Mustang's presence, and settled his watery gaze.
"Col…?"
Roy quickly set the half-completed forms and pen aside.
"Yes, Ed. I'm here."
"We… we still here? In the… doctor?"
"Yeah, we're still in the hospital. But not for much longer. As soon as I finish these papers, we're leaving."
"Leave?" The boy's eyes lit up with a sort of giddy hope.
"Yes, leaving. I'm taking you away from the doctors and the needles and all that crap."
Edward's brow furrowed, his expression a mixture between puzzlement and salvation.
"Colonel Bas'ard… Save me from…"
"Go back to sleep, Ed." Roy was worried that if he kept trying to voice thoughts dulled by unconsciousness, Edward would hurt himself.
"Go back… sleep…" And his eyes melted shut and he slumped forward. Roy gently caught him by his good shoulder and guided him onto his back. Roy's hand turned slick with sweat.
XXX
Alphonse and the doctor were gone longer than he had anticipated. Mustang had long since completed Edward's release forms and Hughes finally ran out of things to tell Roy about Elicia that he hadn't already said. The hospital bed was drenched, as was the small body upon it. Once or twice, Edward wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his sweaty hand. The motion was floppy and in vain. Roy was considering petitioning one of the nurses for a wet cloth when the doctor decided to present himself.
The question "what took you so long?" was forming in the colonel's mouth; it was stifled by the doctor procuring a small white bag, the sort one would expect to receive a prescription from the local pharmacy in. His suspicions were confirmed by the man's explanation.
"These are antiarrhythmics, diazepam, and antibiotics. The bottles are labeled so you can tell which is which. They're both in capsule form, so if Mr. Elric displays signs of discomfort, all you have to do is have him swallow one of each, with water. Don't ever let him swallow them dry. Be careful to keep the dosages a few hours apart, these aren't the strongest chemicals, but that's no excuse for carelessness. I've also included a small supply of syringes and tranquilizers… in case he enters a state of ophistotonus where his breathing is inhibited or his body begins to damage itself. The amount per dose is labeled on that bottle as well."
Roy listened silently, organizing the instructions in his brain and filing them to memory. As he did so, it occurred to him that these were not simple over-the-counter drugs, and would undoubtedly demand a significant price.
"So… how much do I-"
"Nothing."
Mustang immediately began to calculate how he would withdraw the amount of nothing in Cenz from the military's compensation department. It took him an embarrassing five seconds to realize exactly what it was the doctor had said.
"Nothing?! What do you mean nothing?!"
The doctor seemed to consider his answer before speaking.
"That boy of yours. The young Elric-Alphonse, I mean-has made his way throughout the entire hospital and repaired every single piece of broken machinery he has found. He even fixed that clock in the breakroom that was stuck continuously ticking the same second repeatedly throughout eternity."
It was obvious the man had been quite irked by the issue of the broken clock for some time.
"Mr. Elric's brother has just saved us thousands of Cenz in repairs and replacement shipments. In doing so, any bills Mr. Elric currently or in future owes this facility have been paid ten times over. If we are to be strict to the market, we should be paying you."
Mustang stared. He blinked. He wet his lips.
He couldn't think of anything to say.
XXX
"And this controls the pressure of the air coming from the tank… that should be it. Is there anything you're confused about?"
Hughes and Mustang shook their heads. One of the technicians was explaining how to operate the air ventilator the hospital had given Edward on loan. It was a surprisingly simple device: an oxygen tank, present for obvious purposes; the coiled, rope-like tube that connected the tank to the face mask, and the various knobs of various sizes throughout the entire mechanism that controlled the rate of its function. To be honest, neither officer had actually understood half of what the technician had been saying. Roy was tired and wanted to go home, and Maes wanted to be with his wife and daughter. They trusted their instinct to guide them in the occurrence of an emergency. After all, their instinct had kept them alive throughout the war. They placed their faith in little if nothing else.
The technician glanced at each man in turn, feeling the awkward need to be useful yet not knowing how to use himself.
"Do you… need me to show you how the syringe dosages are given?"
"No, that's all right, your superior has already provided," said Roy, and he and Maes made to leave the conversation.
"Well… could I help you with-"
"No, thank you, we're fine."
"What about-"
"Okay, Tomas, you've done enough."
The technician balked at the sudden appearance of the doctor. Roy narrowed his eyes at in reaction to the arrival. It was a quizzical expression rather than suspicious. It seemed to Mustang that the man had been waiting at a polite distance for his underling to complete his presentation before making himself known. The doctor, sensing Roy's assumption, locked gazes with the colonel and performed the slightest nod.
He wanted to speak with Mustang.
In private.
"All right, Second Lieutenant Hughes, I want you to assist in the delivery of the ventilator to the car. I'll meet you there with Fullmetal in ten minutes."
"Yes, sir." Maes had seen and interpreted the doctor's body language in tandem with Roy, and he knew his colonel knew this, and so Hughes left his response terse and without question. It would have been a bit awkward to have Maes standing there, staring at the passing staff, doing nothing and clearly having no solid reason to be where he was. Not to mention more than a little intimidating. Such a task not only kept him busy, but got him out of the building, enabling personnel-military and medical-acting efficiently.
For the second time that day, Roy Mustang found himself in an uninhabited medical unit with only the doctor for company. He wished to finish this conversation as swiftly as possible, so he initiated it as soon as they were hidden by the screen.
"Is there something wrong?"
The doctor started at the inquiry, throwing his hands in the air in a placating gesture that ultimately failed its purpose.
"Oh, no, nothing's wrong! Well, except for the fact Mr. Elric is ill, but other than that-"
"The point, if you would, sir."
"The what? Oh, yes! Of course! Absolutely!"
"Are you sure everything's all right?"
The man was sweating. Not nearly as bad as Fullmetal, but the temperature of the ward was not what Roy would consider sauna worthy. The doctor nodded his head vigorously."
"Yes! I assure you, there is nothing to be immediately alarmed about. It's just that… well, it's just that… I'm not sure how to say this-"
"Explain it to me systematically." Mustang had discovered in the early years of his career that the easiest and most productive way to word a particularly uncomfortable message was in the form of the process. This proved no exception.
"Well, you see, sir… Colonel Mustang that is… the stomach... I mean, the digestive tract is assisted and surrounded by muscles: the abdominals, sphincters that keep the movements of peristalsis in check, and such… and well, in Mr. Elric's condition, those muscles are a bit… unpredictable. They'll relax and constrict without warning. Basically, what I'm trying to say, is… if and when those muscles either squeeze his intestines and the sphincters become limp and don't fulfill their purpose… I'm afraid there's a chance you could end up with a bit of a… mess."
It took Roy a full thirty seconds to properly process the meaning of the doctor's words. Upon completion, the colonel felt his dignity and prestige drop from his chest, past his feet and into the ground far below. He found himself standing with a hand pressed over his face, as if he could somehow dull the taste of mortification in his mouth by covering it.
"Oh… oh God…"
"Unfortunately, there's nothing I or anyone else can do to alleviate this… issue. Even if Mr. Elric was drugged to keep his stomach muscles from contracting in such a dramatic way, he would have just as little control over them, if any control at all, as they'd be limp and paralyzed."
"Oh God."
"I should also probably warn you, judging by the severity of his condition when such a… happening will occur, he may need some assistance with… making himself presentable once more."
"Oh God."
"I don't think God's going to offer a more pleasant alternative, Roy. You might as well stop petitioning him."
Maes dropped a hand on Mustang's shoulder. Despite the force of the action, Roy didn't react. His senses had been rendered numb. Hughes sighed exasperatedly.
"Look, Roy, I've got a year's worth of diaper-changing experience under my belt. If Ed does anything you don't want to deal with, just throw it my away, okay?"
"Oh God!"
Roy's hand moved from his mouth to his eyes. The mental image Maes had planted in his mind was beyond revolting.
XXX
Mustang refused the gurney the staff had offered. To accept would have meant enduring the complications of loading Fullmetal onto the stretcher, wheeling the stretcher through the halls and down to the parking lot, and then lifting him off the bed and into Roy's car. And Roy was done. He did not specify to himself what it was exactly that he was done with, as any noun of the Amestrian language would have fulfilled that predicate adequately.
Alphonse hovered nervously over the colonel as Roy pulled the wet sheet off of Ed's dripping body. The boy grumbled drunkenly but didn't wake, instead curling into a tighter ball.
"He's shivering," Al noted worriedly. Alphonse knew trembling was caused by rapid and slight contracting and relaxing of the muscles to create warmth, and Edward's body would be desperate for it, seeing as how it was losing much of it to the expulsion of toxins. Roy frowned, remembering the doctor's instructions to keep Fullmetal warm.
Al watched in wonderment as Mustang shrugged off his coat, and draped it over Al's brother with a cloak-like wave. Roy pulled the uniform around Edward, stars and all, and hefted the boy into his arms. He nearly staggered under the weight. For such a small body, Fullmetal was heavy. He attributed it to Ed's prosthetics. Sympathy stabbed the colonel's heart as he realized Edward had to deal with the burden of his artificial limbs almost constantly, and that the pain such a burden would tear at his frame and bend his bones. He wondered if the pain was the reason for the boy's characteristic hostility.
Ed made a soft snuffling sound and shifted in Roy's grip. Mustang desperately tried to adjust to the movements to keep from dropping him. Edward ended up pressed against his superior officer's body, his head resting on Roy's chest, and snoring quietly. Mustang blinked, studying the oddity he was holding, then raised his eyes to Alphonse. The armor, of course, had no expression, but Roy wasn't taking the chance.
"Don't you dare say a word."
Obediently, Al remained silent.
XXX
Hughes, however, did not.
"Please, just one?"
"No."
"I promise to only show it to Gracia."
"No."
"What if I gave it to you, so you could keep it safe?"
"Absolutely not."
"Oh, come one, Roy, please!"
"NO!"
"Sir, please!"
Hawkeye glared at the two men, gesturing with her gaze to Edward. His face had wrinkled into a countenance akin to annoyance, and his flesh fingers had begun twitching.
The group-Roy, Al, Riza, Maes, and of course, Ed-were standing-or in Edward's position, sleeping-in the hospital parking area. They had come across a predicament that none had fathomed, what with their minds preoccupied with more urgent thoughts. Al refused to allow his brother to be taken anywhere if he couldn't accompany him. Hawkeye, in her own words, argued that she had "no yet completely satisfied her order to 'be a woman'" for Roy "needed someone to care" for him "while he cared for Edward." Hughes didn't really have a reason to still be where he was, he was just refusing to leave, at least not without snapping a photo of the Flame and Fullmetal Alchemists "snuggle-cuddling", a term that Roy instantly decided would be a felony to speak throughout his reign as Fuhrer.
And so they had come to stalemate.
"All right, Hawkeye, you drive and I'll sit in the back with Fullmetal in case he needs anything."
"What about me?"
"You, Alphonse, are welcome to ride in the front."
"But… I won't fit in the front. My breastplate's too wide."
"Okay, then, you can ride in the back of Hughes's car."
"But I want to be with my brother!"
"We're all going to the same place-"
"Please, Roy, pleeeeaaaase-"
"But what if he wakes up and I'm not there?"
"I'll tell him you're right behind us, with Hughes."
"But what if he doesn't believe you?"
"Why shouldn't he believe me?"
"Because what if he's only half-awake and isn't thinking straight?"
"That happens to everyone, Alphonse, it's no big deal-"
"But it's never happened to Brother when I'm not with him. What if he panics?"
Hawkeye took no part in the exchanges. She was too busy keeping herself from imploding with agitation. She'd been waiting in the car for half an hour for the colonel to appear with a discharged Fullmetal. Now that they were here, all she wanted to do was drive to her dorm and collect Black Hayate. Instead she was continuing to wait, while the boys argued over who sat where, who rode with whom, and whose armor could fit in what space. It wasn't until Maes asked for the twelfth time permission to use his camera that she decided her patience wasn't getting anyone anywhere,
"Roy! Let Maes take the picture!"
Mustang's head whipped around to stare at Riza in shocked horror.
"But… but Hawkeye-"
"NOW!"
Any further protest died in the colonel's throat, and he stood stock still, eyes unfocused and mouth glued shut, as Hughes, giggling like a school girl who has just realized she has an admirer, proceeded to snap as many photos as he possibly could within his precious time limit.
"Alphonse! Get in Lieutenant Hughes's car!"
The steel suit clanked away, not even bothering to voice his displeasure. He may have been invincible, but he knew that wouldn't stop Hawkeye from mangling him, and he sensed she was nearing the point of mangling.
XXX
Roy gave himself a mental note to take his coat to the cleaner's the next chance he got. The lining was saturated and the outside was beginning to dampen as well. As soon as they got back to the house, they would have to get some fluids in him. Roy estimated that such a feat would be easier said than done. He remembered Fullmetal's reluctance to drink the water Maes had given him back at headquarter, and the pained face he made as he struggled to swallow. Perhaps if he would be more willing if he was offered something more enticing than tap water. The doctor did say it didn't matter what he ingested as long as he did ingest it…
"Hawkeye, what sugary drinks do kids like these days?"
XXX
Something warm and slimy was being squished against his face.
"Riza, do something about your dog before he wakes up Ed! And did you have to bring him with us?"
"He's only trying to help, sir. And I can't get a pet-sitter at such short notice. Black Hayate is calm and quiet; he doesn't bark at the doorbell or howl at traffic. He'll cause no trouble, I promise."
The squishy warm thing slid across Edward's mouth and he batted at it half-heartedly. His fingers brushed soft fuzz.
He was vaguely aware of being shifted on more than one occasion, but his memory was dark and nearly blank, clouded as it was by sleep.
He dreamt he was being carried Roy Mustang up a flight of stairs. Ed tried to slap him purely out of reflex-the dream was too deep to allow feeling of anger or disgust, only the dim knowledge that such an act by the colonel ought to be treated with such-and wasn't sure if he succeeded or not. His arm was heavy and his fingers were senseless and told him nothing. The limb flopped awkwardly to the side and into empty air. The feeling of gravity yanking on his bad shoulder made him moan, and arm was caught by someone else's and guided back to his body.
Nothing else he could recall was particularly significant.