A/N - Heads up that this one is a bit graphic and kind of intense!


Things had been good for a little while after Roy had gotten there. Or…things hadn't been better for Havoc, exactly, but it was good to see Roy. But after a few more hours without Zydrate, a few more hours of letting his stab wound slowly fester, things were starting to get worse.

Havoc had felt the creeping beginnings of withdrawal over the past few weeks, but he had never let it get this far. He would feel the tight, itchy feeling in his skin, the dull headache, the vague sense of malaise and anxiety, and then he would dose up again.

The stab wound hurt, but the fiery pain that had settled into his joints was very nearly surpassing that. His back and shoulders ached, but so did his ribs, his elbows, his hips. He couldn't stop clenching and unclenching his hands, even though it sent a spasm of pain from his fingers down his wrist.

The nausea was worse than he ever could have imagined. Havoc had tried to quit smoking a few times, so he had been pretty sure he was prepared. He remembered losing his appetite pretty much right away, and the sight or smell of food had sent his insides rolling. Havoc had a pretty strong stomach, but the nausea had gotten bad enough he'd dry-heaved, even vomited a few times. He had been completely miserable.

This was not like that. This was the kind of overwhelming nausea that made his head pound and his legs ache, that had him swallowing convulsively every few minutes to try to keep everything in place. His stomach was twisting and clenching, his chest burned, his mouth tasted like metal. Havoc really didn't want to get sick, since he was pretty sure the pain would rip him apart. But after a while, he knew he would be at the mercy of his body.

A hand was laid on Havoc's forehead, and his eyes flicked upwards. "Your fever's up," Roy whispered. "Do you feel warm? I could get you a cool washcloth."

Havoc shook his head, licking his lips in a futile attempt to moisten them. "Nah," he whispered. "Cold."

He wasn't completely sure whether he was cold, or just shaking. But he didn't think a cool cloth would feel very good, not right now.

"I can try to find an extra blanket," Roy said. "Is there anything else you need?"

Havoc couldn't think of anything, and more than that, he didn't want to be a burden. He shook his head again.

Roy vanished, and Havoc stared at the ceiling. Time had taken on a funny quality - he couldn't seem to mark its passage, and whole chunks of the day seemed to have gone by in a blur. But at the same time, each second seemed to last a lifetime. Havoc wouldn't be surprised if somehow, many days had passed, or if it had only been a few minutes.

The next time Roy reappeared, Havoc asked him what time it was. Roy blinked, then pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time.

"It's about nine o' clock," Roy told him, sitting back down. "How come?"

Havoc gave Roy a half-hearted shrug. He didn't even know why he'd bothered - he didn't know what time it had been when he got here, or if it had been one day or more. Come to think of it, in this windowless room he couldn't even tell if it was nine in the morning or nine at night.

It didn't matter much. He just wished it had been longer, because that would mean that he was closer to the end.

"You're in a lot of pain, aren't you?" Roy suddenly said, and Havoc looked back towards him in surprise. He was in a lot of pain, of course he was, but they couldn't really do anything about that, so he'd been trying to hide it. He'd thought he was doing a pretty good job, but apparently Roy had noticed anyway.

Havoc gave Roy another shrug, trying to ignore the way even that small movement seemed to tug on his insides. "I dunno. I guess. Not much I can do."

"What about some Advil?" Roy offered, looking hopeful. "We have that, in the first aid kit…."

Havoc grimaced, feeling a sudden, irrational shudder at the idea of putting yet another drug in his body. Advil would be fine, he knew that. It was a completely different painkiller, totally unrelated to Zydrate.

He knew that if he really had to, he could force himself to take it. It wouldn't be fun, but none of this was, and he would be happier if even a fraction of the pain was gone. Unfortunately, with the way his stomach was churning, he didn't think there was any way he'd manage to keep it down.

"I'm not sure," Havoc said cautiously, trying not to refuse too quickly and risk offending Roy.

"Because you're still nauseous," Roy finished, and Havoc blinked at him in confusion. He wasn't sure what to make of this attentive, concerned Roy. He and Roy were close, certainly, but Havoc was more used to the version of Roy that would much rather make fun of Havoc for something stupid than take care of him when he was sick.

"Yeah," Havoc said slowly, giving into the off-balance feeling.

"It might help with the nausea," Roy said, and his voice sounded so sure and so reasonable. "And if we could get you feeling a little better, maybe you'd be able to drink something."

Havoc couldn't remember the last time he'd drank something. Possibly, it had been before he'd gotten stabbed. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew Roy was right. He was veering on the edge of dangerously dehydrated. He would probably feel nauseous pretty much regardless of what he did, but he would at least be properly hydrated.

"Alright," Havoc whispered. "Where's Al?"

"He's asleep," Roy said, starting to rummage around in the first aid kit Al had brought and then left on the floor.

Vaguely, Havoc registered that that probably meant it was nighttime, although honestly, it was still hard to be sure. All of their sleep schedules must be so off-kilter right now, all the driving, all the…taking care of him….

Havoc made a small, involuntary groaning sound. Havoc saw Roy's back stiffen, but he didn't react aside from that.

A minute later, Roy was by his side again, holding out Advil and a small cup of water. Havoc pulled one shaky hand up from under his blanket. He knew if he thought about swallowing too hard, he wouldn't be able to do it, so he grabbed the pills and shoved them in his mouth. He washed them down with as little water as he could manage - he understood the need for hydration, but all of this would be for nothing anyway if it immediately set off a round of puking.

His stomach lurched when the water hit it, but he swallowed hard and laid back against the pillow. Roy was still standing over him. Havoc kind of thought it looked like Roy wished he could pat his head, but he figured that must be his imagination. Roy would never pat someone on the head. Havoc wasn't convinced he'd ever offered touch to someone who wasn't Riza.

"How do you feel now?" Roy asked.

"Okay," Havoc said, which was a lie. He felt like he was about two seconds away from gagging up everything he'd just drank, but he didn't want to tell Roy that. He would say he was alright, and he would make himself alright.

"Anything else you need?"

"Might…might just need to lie quietly for a minute," Havoc whispered. The only concession he planned to make.

"Do you want the lights off?"

Havoc shook his head. The brightness hurt his eyes some, but he thought lying in the darkness sounded somehow worse. And besides, if the lights were off, then he might start to go to sleep, and if he relaxed enough for that he would surely throw up. He was just going to have to stick it out a little while longer. Maybe in a few minutes, the crippling nausea would recede, and he could stop taking every breath so carefully. Roy had said this would help, and Havoc really, really wanted to prove him right.

After some time between five minutes and five hours (probably closer to minutes), Havoc was starting to panic. The nausea had not passed - if anything, it was actually worse now.

Havoc told himself firmly that he was not going to throw up. Roy had given him the Advil, and he had been so sure that it was the right thing to do, and he had said Havoc was going to be fine.

He threw up, of course. He didn't even realize what had happened at first, he was just breathing when there was a horrifying, tearing feeling in his stomach and then he was looking down at a mess of blood and bile all over himself and the bed.

Roy's head snapped upright, and he gasped, looking kind of like he might be sick himself. "Oh god, are you okay?"

Havoc did not feel okay. He thought he remembered thinking that his stab wound wasn't the worst of his problems anymore, but now he couldn't imagine that ever being true. Throwing up had caused everything in his gut to hurt more than he'd thought possible, and now he couldn't separate the nausea from the pain, but all of it was terrible.

He opened his mouth, intending to tell Roy that he was alright, but all that came out was another round of vomit. Havoc whimpered involuntarily at the pain that was coursing through his body, and one hand went to his stomach as the other tried to push himself upright. He just wanted to…fix this, somehow, and he wasn't sure what else to do.


For a frozen second, Roy couldn't do anything but stare as Havoc tried and failed to turn over. His usual strength was entirely absent, his arms shaking, unable to support his weight. Snapping himself out of his horror, Roy stepped forward, catching some of Havoc's weight and helping him turn to his side, his head hanging off the bed.

A trash can, he should get a trash can for Havoc so he wasn't just throwing up on the floor. But as he let go he could see Havoc start to tip, and Roy realized he didn't even have the strength to stay on his side. That wasn't surprising, really, given the awkward placement of the stab wound, and Roy cursed himself for not thinking of it immediately. He could add it to the long list of things he was blaming himself for.

Top of that list was the Advil. Jean would probably deny it if he asked, but Roy knew that Jean was throwing up right now because Roy had convinced him to take Advil. He knew better than most how hard pills could be on an empty stomach, but he'd gotten Jean to do it anyway, and now he'd just caused his friend more pain.

Havoc moaned softly, and Roy felt his body shudder as he threw up again. Roy wished he'd refreshed himself on exactly what symptoms withdrawal could bring, but there just hadn't been time. But nausea and vomiting had been one of the only symptoms Roy had remembered ahead of time, so he was as mentally prepared as he could be.

And yet. There were many places Roy would rather be than here, rubbing Havoc's shoulder as he vomited onto the ground. In a different life, Roy may have even called for Al, desperate for someone else to take over. As it was, there was no way he was leaving Havoc's side.

"I'm sorry," Roy whispered. "I'm so sorry, Havoc."

Havoc gagged again, spitting onto the floor, and glanced up at Roy. He looked like he might be trying to work up the strength to say something, and Roy realized with horror that he was likely going to try to reassure Roy, to make sure he didn't feel bad and wasn't too worried. Immediately, Roy switched to comfort, so Havoc wouldn't feel pressure to respond.

"Hey, hey," Roy whispered. "I know this hurts, but it'll be over soon. You'll get through this. I know you're uncomfortable, but Al and I…we'll take care of you. We'll get you through this."

The comforting words felt foreign in Roy's mouth - he had scarcely spoken this way to anyone aside from Riza, let alone Havoc. But he needed to do something.

Havoc whimpered suddenly, curling away from the edge of the bed and drawing his knees partway to his chest. He wrapped a trembling arm around his stomach, face still a horrifying shade of grayish green. Roy highly doubted his body was done trying to turn itself inside out, but he seemed to be getting a moment of respite, at least.

Havoc reached his hand up to wipe off his mouth, and instead smeared streaks of blood over the bottom half of his face. Roy froze.

"Havoc-"

Roy grabbed Havoc's hand, and pulled it gently towards him, turning as he did. Havoc's fingertips were coated in blood.

At first, Roy didn't understand what he was seeing. Had Havoc hurt his hand somehow? But then Havoc's panicked eyes met his, and Roy felt his heart drop out of his chest.

Roy lifted the blankets off of Havoc. Sure enough, splotches of red were appearing on the bandages wrapped around Havoc's stomach.

Roy hadn't seen the wound yet. He hadn't realized how big it was. How dangerous. Roy had no idea how to get Havoc to stop throwing up, but he also had no idea how much more vomiting the healing stab wound could take without splitting open completely. He had to get Havoc cleaned up. He had to stop the bleeding. He had to get Havoc's stomach to relax.

But Roy simply wasn't sure how to do all those things, certainly not on his own. So finally, he shouted for Al.


Al jerked out of sleep, and for a moment he couldn't remember where he was. There were blankets, and a hard floor, and someone - Roy - was screaming his name.

Al was half-upright before he knew what was happening, and the events of the past day slotted back into place. He was in Xing, and Havoc was hurt, and Roy was supposed to be with him, so if Roy was screaming…that wasn't good.

Al's makeshift bed was on the floor of the living room, adjacent to the bedroom where they'd found Havoc, and it took him only a matter of seconds to cross the floor.

"General? What's happening?" Al threw open the door to Havoc's room and rushed inside.

"Havoc's bleeding again," Roy explained frantically, and even from the doorway, Al could see Havoc's bandages slowly turning red.

"Threw up," Havoc whispered, his eyelids fluttering weakly as he tried to focus on Al. "S-sorry." His eyelids slid closed, and his chin dropped towards his chest. Al wasn't sure if he was still conscious.

"Don't be sorry," Roy said, and the raw emotion in his voice startled Al for a moment. He hadn't heard Roy sound like that in a long, long time.

Then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone. Roy turned to Al, still supporting Havoc's weight, and cleared his throat. "I think we need to move him. We need to stop the bleeding, change his bandages, clean him up…. Maybe the bathroom? I don't want to hurt him, I can't carry him alone-"

Al was already moving to Roy's side. Struggling, Roy heaved Havoc upright, and Al pulled one of Havoc's arms over his shoulder while Roy took his other side. As they moved him, there was a soft catch in Havoc's breathing, and then a choked-off whimper. Al grimaced - he'd almost hoped Havoc had passed out, so he'd be spared the pain of being moved.

"Let's get you to the bathroom," Al said, trying to be comforting. Havoc's head twitched slightly, in what Al thought was supposed to be a nod, but his eyes remained closed, and he didn't manage to raise his head at all. Al guessed that Havoc wasn't going to be much help walking, either. Right now, they were supporting most of Havoc's weight, and they were trying to do it in a way that seemed the least painful, but Havoc was taller than both of them and the angle was awkward.

Al and Roy took a hesitant step forward, eliciting no reaction aside from another small gasp from Jean. His weight lurched downward, and Al stumbled slightly, readjusting his grip.

"Are you okay?" he asked. There was no response, but when he glanced down at Havoc's bandages, he could see the red was spreading faster.

They half-dragged, half-carried him to the bathroom. "I think the bathtub's the best," Roy grunted. "If he throws up again…."

Al nodded tightly - his back and shoulders were burning from supporting Havoc, and he didn't have the energy to speak if it wasn't strictly necessary.

Getting Havoc into the bathtub wasn't easy. He seemed to be awake still - his eyes slid open as Al and Roy started maneuvering him, and he occasionally opened his mouth as if he wanted to talk. But he was completely unable to lift his legs over the rim of the bathtub, and Al had to practically kneel to get him over the lip.

Havoc was too long for the bathtub, he was stuck half-sitting up, awkwardly twisted around the faucet, and his legs were bent towards his chest. But he was covered in vomit, which was unpleasant but also a potential health concern, and this would be the easiest way to clean him up and make sure the wound was clean too. And even though Havoc had hardly had anything to eat or drink in the past day, Al thought it was pretty likely that he would end up vomiting again, and seeing as he was certainly too weak to hold himself over a trash can, this was probably what made the most sense.

But still. His body looked cramped and uncomfortable, and he was ghostly pale in the harsh light of the bathroom. Everything had seemed so much more manageable when he was still in the bed. Al could at least pretend he was able to rest.

"Sorry," Havoc groaned, curling forward to cover the wound with his arms. He made a hissing sound in the back of his throat, and his face twisted. "Just…just hurts…."

Al was horrified by the simple fact that Havoc was still even conscious enough to talk. God, the amount of pain he must be in….

"We'll take care of you," Al whispered, carefully removing the soiled bandages so he could get at the wound. It didn't look as bad as it had when Al had first healed him, thank god. Al didn't know that he had another alkahestry session like that in him, and he wasn't sure what it would do to Havoc's body when he was already so weak. It looked like the movement had just torn the thin scab that covered the healing wound, and while Al was sure it was excruciatingly painful, he doubted it would be dangerous as long as they could keep it from getting infected.

Al knew more about first aid than Roy, and Roy stepped back to give him space to work. Al didn't want to scrub the wound too much, at risk of hurting Havoc, but he washed it out as thoroughly as he dared, using the showerhead and a towel he rinsed off in the sink. By the time the wound was as clean as Al could get it, the bleeding had mostly stopped. Havoc also seemed more or less unconscious. Al was soaking wet.

"We should clean him up while we're at it," Al said. Washing out the wound had only served to highlight how filthy the rest of him was. There hadn't been any reason to move him before, and while Al had done his best with a wet washcloth when he'd first arrived, it had been on Al's mind. He wanted to make things as comfortable as possible for Havoc, but also, he really didn't want the dirt and grime to make him sick.

Roy nodded, moving in closer, and made a small noise of distress. Al looked at the General to find his eyes wide and unhappy, flickering with something that was either guilt or anger. Probably both.

"He doesn't even look like himself," Roy said, and there was definitely anger behind the words. He reached out for the towel in Al's hands, and Al let him take it. There wasn't any more first aid to be done, and Roy clearly felt like he needed to be doing something.

Al understood the feeling. Even this, cleaning up Havoc's face and hair, wouldn't really help anything in the long run. It might make him and Roy feel better, but Havoc was probably too far gone at this point to even really notice.

Still, doing something was better than nothing, so Al gently lifted Havoc up, keeping him steady as Roy gently started clearing the blood and grime away from Havoc's face. His too-long hair was plastered to his forehead with blood, and Roy shook his head, gently dabbing at it with the washcloth.

"Useless," Roy muttered angrily, and for a moment it sounded so normal that Al felt a sudden, aching burst of loss. Throwing the towel down impatiently, Roy took the showerhead, and looking like he was about to second guess himself, started washing the blood and muck out of Havoc's hair.

Al felt Havoc tense suddenly against him, and his breathing changed from low and regular to slightly faster and louder. Al froze in response, about to tell Roy to stop. As much as they were trying to help Jean, if he was too out of it to realize that, or too embarrassed, then they risked hurting him more.

Then, Al saw a tiny sliver of white as Havoc's eyelids flickered open, and Al felt the tension in his shoulders relax. His eyelids slipped closed again, and his breathing returned to a more even cadence, but Al could tell that he was still conscious. He was probably just pretending to be asleep, maybe so they wouldn't stop, or just to save face.

Al sighed softly, the enormity of the situation once again overwhelming him. It was hard enough to be taking care of an injured friend far from home, unable to get help. But it was far worse to watch the emotional toll it was taking on Havoc. Al hated that Havoc felt he couldn't accept comfort unless he was unconscious, or was maybe just worried that he wouldn't receive it unless that was the case. Either option was deeply upsetting, and Al hated it even more knowing that there was nothing he could do.

At least, as upset as Al was, he knew that what they were doing now was making Havoc feel better, even if he couldn't admit it.

Al looked up at Roy. From the grim set of the General's jaw, Al was pretty sure that he knew Havoc was awake too.

They didn't have any soap - Al and Roy had been washing their hands with the rubbing alcohol from their first aid kit. But Roy ran his fingers through Havoc's hair again and again, tilting his head slightly backwards and supporting his neck. Al hadn't totally believed it could be done, but eventually, the water ran clean. Havoc's face was still slack and comfortable.

Maybe this would all be okay. If they could move Havoc himself somewhere else for a little bit, Al could wash his bedding in the bathtub. Then they could put Havoc back in bed, and since he was already relaxed, he'd be able to get some real rest. Maybe in a few hours, they'd be able to get him to drink something. This had been a hard past day, but Havoc was strong, he would get through it….

Al saw Havoc's throat work. Roy was quicker than Al, and tilted his head and shoulders to the side, just in time for Havoc to choke up a stream of bile. Al rubbed Havoc's back, feeling his muscles contract with another painful-looking heave.

"I thought the nausea was getting better," Roy said sadly. He wasn't touching Havoc anymore, but it seemed to be more because he thought Al had it under control, and less because the idea repulsed him. He hadn't moved back, at least.

Havoc whimpered. Al couldn't tell whether or not it was meant to be an answer.

Al adjusted Havoc's position so he was lying more on his side - he thought that would be better for keeping the wound clean. Havoc seemed to understand what he was doing, and helped him as much as he was able. However, the movement seemed to make him gag, and as soon as he was still again, he started dry-heaving.

Even once his stomach stopped contracting a minute later, Al didn't dare offer him water. He was sure it would come right back up. In fact. Al thought there was a fair chance that in another few minutes, Havoc would be back to throwing up bile.

The hopeful feeling from just a minute or two ago was gone as if it had never been. This felt like it would never end, and Al wasn't sure what to do.