Sicktember Day 3: Chicken Pox/Rash
Word Count: 2069
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: G/K
Characters: Vato Falman
Warning: NA
Summary: Of course Falman would be the one to catch a childhood disease as an adult.
Notes:

Chicken Pox/Rash

Falman sighed, and idly scratched his wrist while he read the report in front of him. "—the incoming transport was loaded with supplies slated for the southwest region near Yommib. Unexpected delays occurred in the rail system at 1034. Causes were as follows—"

Falman blinked at the page. It was difficult to concentrate on it. He had been reading reports for days and memorizing them for this investigation. The non-stop reading was wearing on him, as silly as that sounded. His head was hurting, and he felt exhausted from spending all day reading these reports. Every time he stood up, his body protested by aching all over. He supposed he had spent too much time hunched over the reports. He even skipped meals, not that he had much of an appetite after reading what the criminals in question were up to. He wished he could take a day to rest, but he knew that it wasn't possible. The stakes were too high.

He idly scratched at his chest. Did he forget to put in fabric softener last time he washed? It was possible. He had been rather caught up in that book Sheska had recommended to him.

"—Anonymous phone call received at 1025 purporting terroristic activities. Consequential investigation following received call. Mysterious substance on tracks (See report PGH#73940 for analysis). Small landslide approximately 3.5 miles down track (cause undetermined. See report IGF#2739 for further details).

Consequences of delays were as follows: 340 lbs. of meat unusable. 37 passengers missed connecting trains. Lack of support for troops at—"

Falman let out a sigh again and stood up. Breda looked up as he did.

"Goin' somewhere?"

"I need more coffee," Falman said.

Breda frowned at him. "You've been hitting the coffee hard the past few days."

Falman nodded. "I know. But something about these reports just…wears at me."

Breda grunted. "Yeah. I get that."

Falman just nodded and got himself some more coffee before sitting back down and getting back to the reports.

"—Turnting. Further consequences include the delay of further trains, which had other unintended consequences (See attached report TDN#73849 for list of other related reports). A major consequence of note is the kidnapping of twelve children ranging from ages 14 to 3. This is believed to be part of a ransom and tr—"

Falman sighed, gripped his coffee, and kept reading.

By the time Falman went home, he was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open. His brain was swimming with facts and reports, and he was looking forward to a night of sleep to help. When he got home, he blearily changed clothes, not even bothering to shower. He'd do it in the morning. He was just too tired and wanted to curl up into a long night of a dreamless sleep.

Unfortunately, Falman didn't get his wish. It was 0249 when his phone rang. Fuery was on the other end of it sounding more awake than Falman did.

"Sorry, sir, but the colonel said its time. Rendezvous at site omega."

"Right." Omega. That was the one furthest from command. "ETA of… twenty minutes."

"Understood."

Fuery hung up, and Falman rolled out of bed. He ached and was tired and coughed. He hoped he wasn't coming down with a cold. That would not be good. Still, he didn't have time to think about it. Twenty minutes was cutting it close, and he didn't have time to think of much beyond throwing on his clothes and going through all of the reports in his head. As a last-minute thought, he grabbed a canteen, filled it with water, and stuffed some peppermints in his pocket. His throat felt dry, a bit sore, and Falman figured it was just his luck.

He hurried through the dark night, making his way to the omega site as quickly as he could. His back itched as he did, and he wished he had given himself more time. Maybe he could have put on a little lotion or found a shirt that wasn't as scratchy. He'd definitely have to remember the fabric softener next time.

He made it to the omega site within the twenty minutes he had allowed himself, although he felt more winded than usual. He carefully entered the building where he knew they had set up a watch. As he entered, he saw that, thankfully, he wasn't the last one there. Havoc and Hawkeye were both missing, although Breda and Mustang were going over some reports. Fuery approached him, a cup of coffee in hand.

"Figured you could use it," he said with a smile.

"Yes, definitely. Thank you," Falman responded. He took a sip, and the warm liquid felt good on his throat.

Fuery frowned at him. "Are you alright, sir? You look a little pale."

Falman shook his head. "I'll be fine. I think I might be coming down with a cold."

Fuery's brow furrowed. "That's not good. Are you going to be alright?"

Falman gave him a tight smile and scratched at his chest again. "I'll be alright."

"Falman!" Mustang called out, interrupting them. "We need your input."

"Coming, sir!"

For the next hour, a plan was laid out. Havoc and Hawkeye returned from canvasing the area. This was the group they were after, and they had several of the children held in the facility. Mustang called in more of the men under his command. They weren't going to take any chances with these children.

And yet Falman kept feeling worse.

He drank coffee, drank water, made his way through all of his peppermints. And yet he still felt bad. His throat was dry, he had a cough, he felt so drained, and he was itchy. What was he so itchy? It was almost unbearable. Maybe it wasn't that he forgot fabric softener. Maybe he was allergic to something. Maybe he had developed an allergy to his fabric softener. Maybe it was something that someone before him had used, seeing as he used a public laundromat.

It was Hawkeye who finally said something, and Falman found that he was glad that she did. She kept giving him concerned looks, until she finally reached out towards him, her hand going towards his forehead.

"You don't look good, Falman," she said. Her brow creased. "You've got a fever."

That caught the attention of the others.

"What?" Mustang said.

"It's nothing, sirs," Falman said, scratching at his chest and then at his wrist again. "Just a cold."

Hawkeye didn't seem to be buying it. Instead, her hand moved, darting out to catch his wrist. "It doesn't seem like it to me. And you keep scratching at yourself." She pushed his sleeve up, and then blinked. The rest of the team looked on.

"What is that?" Breda asked.

Falman looked at his arm. Little red dots, blisters of some sort, dotted his forearm. The passing of his sleeve over them caused them to itch more, and he brought his other hand over to scratch at them. Hawkeye caught it, keeping him from doing it.

"Don't scratch," she ordered.

"Off hand, I'd say it looks like chicken pox," Havoc said. "Or at least it looks like chicken pox."

"That's a kid's sickness," Breda said.

"Unless you never got is as a child," Fuery pointed out.

"Or had a light case as a child," Riza filled in. She focused back on Falman. "Falman. Did you ever have chicken pox as a kid?"

Falman blinked at them. "I—no. No, I never did."

Hawkeye and Mustang exchanged looks. "Take off your shirt," Hawkeye said.

"Sir?"

"Just do it, Falman," Mustang said. "Let's see how bad of a case it is, and if we can confirm if it's chicken pox."

Falman was just miserable enough that he didn't feel like arguing, and he did as they said. Hawkeye released him, and he pulled off his uniform jacket first, and then the shirt he wore underneath it. A collective breath was sucked in, and honestly, as he looked at his chest, he couldn't blame them. It was covered in the same red spots. Up his chest, down it, on his shoulders, down his arms.

"Is my back just as bad?" he asked, turning around.

"Oh yeah," Havoc said.

"Alright, first things first—is there anyone here who hasn't had the chicken pox?" Mustang asked. There were negatives all around. Everyone else had been afflicted by the disease in childhood, it seemed.

Hawkeye looked over him, worry creasing her brow. "Sir, we probably need to get him to the hospital. Chicken pox is more dangerous in adults. It's why a lot of parents try to expose their children when they're young."

Falman honestly thought the hospital didn't sound like a bad idea. Maybe he could sleep. Although the prospect of this disease being dangerous was worrisome.

Mustang frowned, and then looked at Falman. "Do you think you can last until morning? This op can't be delayed."

"Yes, sir, I can," Falman said, although he didn't really feel like it. "Although… I'm honestly not sure if I'll be of much help, sir. I'm sorry."

Mustang shook his head. "You couldn't have predicted this. You'll stay here, assist Fuery in look out duties."

"Yes, sir," he said.

"In the meantime, rest until it's time to move."

Falman nodded, visibly glad for the opportunity to rest. "Yes, sir," he said.

He found himself a place to rest, and discovered, quite by accident, that Hawkeye was a fairly attentive nurse. Although she was still working on the op, she made sure he had plenty of water, got some medication from somewhere, procured a blanket for him, and got him a wet rag for his forehead. He dozed off and on, his fevered mind only picking up snatches of the conversations around him. When it came time for the operation to go into action, he drug himself up, did his best help watch and relay information, although, to be honest, most of it was a blur in his mind. Now that it had been determined that he was sick, his body seemed to have given up fighting the symptoms. As soon as he could, he was sitting back down.

Falman wasn't sure how much time had passed before Havoc was rousing him from his sleep, helping him up. He led him down to a car, where Hawkeye joined them. It was only a short trip to the hospital, where he had to wait in the waiting room, was finally looked over, a prescription for a few things were slapped in his hand, and then he was sent on his way. Havoc and Hawkeye drove him back to his place where Havoc helped to settle him in while Hawkeye did something in his apartment.

To be honest, he felt too bad to care what she was doing or about the state of his apartment.

Havoc left, and came back with some sort of lotion, which Falman wasted no time in putting on. Havoc must have felt some kind of sympathy for him, because he helped him spread it on his back as well. The lotion helped, and Falman breathed a sigh of relief as it helped to mitigate the itching, at least a bit. Laying in his bed made his back itchy again, but at least it wasn't as bad.

Before they left, Hawkeye came in to see him, putting some medicine on his bedside table, as well as a glass of water and a canteen.

"I left some broth for you on the stove, covered up. All you'll have to do is turn it on to eat. There's also some soup in your fridge if you feel up to that. I took the liberty too, of setting up what you'd need for an oatmeal bath in your bathroom. I've been told that soaking in it helps the itching. Someone will be back to check on you tomorrow."

"Thank you, Lieutenants," he said. "Sorry."

"Don't sweat it," Havoc said. "It's not like you got sick on purpose. Just rest up."

"We'll be back. Call if you need anything,"

"I will. Thank you."

Falman heard them leave and relaxed as best he could in his bed.

Of course he would get sick.

Of course he would get the chicken pox as an adult.

But at least he had people who cared about him to help him through it.