Whumptober 2020 Day 6: Please… "Get it out"/No more/"Stop, please"
Word Count: 693
Author: Katie/Ally (aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl)
Rating: K/GA
Characters: Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye
Summary: A fevered state brings up an old fear in Riza.
Notes: Nothing like an old-fashioned sickfic!

Fevered Fear

Fear. It was something that all people experienced. Some fears were understandable. A fear of falling, a fear of being burned, a fear of drowning. Some fear were common, although not always logical. Monsters under the bed, ghosts in haunted houses, creatures hiding in the dark. Other fears were born of experience. Raised voices, criticisms, certain situations.

And, in the case of Riza Hawkeye, needles.

Her head lolled over, and she looked over at her arm with glassy, fevered eyes. They stopped and focused on only one thing—the needle in her arm. She tried to move her arm, clearly intending to take it out, but she couldn't. She tried to move herself, clearly intending to take it out, but she also couldn't. No matter what she did, she couldn't get to the needle in her arm.

"…. Get it out," she said, her voice trembling as she fought with panic. "Get it out. Get it out, please, get it out."

Roy Mustang looked down at her from her bedside, his brow creasing as he looked at the fevered woman. "We can't do that, Hawkeye," He said, reaching out to her, brushing back her bangs and laying a cool washcloth on her forehead. She leaned into it, but she was still focused on the problem of the needle in her arm.

"Roy," she said, looking back at him, her voice pleading. "Take it out. Please, please take it out of me!" She struggled against the straps holding her in place—a necessary evil after she had ripped the needle out one too many times.

"I'm not going to do that, Riza," he said evenly, bracing himself for what he knew was coming next.

"Why not?" she cried out. "Please, please, please, take it out! He's going to use them again, he's going to and—it hurts, Roy, it hurts so badly! Don't let him keep doing it, please! If you take away the needles, then he can't tattoo me anymore!'

Roy shushed her gently. "Riza, that's the past. That already happened. You're an adult now. This needle isn't going to hurt you. It's going to help you."

Riza shook her head, straining to try to get to the needle, clearly caught in her own mind. "Don't you understand? Please, please let me up! Father's restrained me again. He'll be back! He'll be back with more! I can't—I can't—Roy, please! Don't let him tattoo me again! Where else is he going to tattoo me? No, please, I don't want that!" She struggled against the restraints that held her down, clearly in a panic.

He reached out to her again, trying to soothe her. "Riza, your father is dead. He can't hurt you anymore. You're in a hospital. They're going to help you."

"Please!" She said, begging him now. "Roy, please! Please, please help me! Let me out of here! He's going to do it again, he's going to tattoo me again, please, Roy, you have to help me, you have to get me out of here before Father comes back! I can't handle that again! Please, Roy!"

She was too caught in her head to hear him. "That won't happen, Riza," he said. "I won't let it."

"Take it out!" she was sobbing now. "Take it out, please, please, take it out! I can't stand it, he's going to do something else, take it out, please!"

Her fear, her panic, it was killing him. "I can't," he said, voice sounding broken. "It's giving you medicine, and fluids. I'm not going to take it out of you. I'm sorry, Riza." All he could do now was apologize and hope she heard it.

"Get it out of me!"

"I'm sorry."

"Get it out!"

"I can't."

She dissolved into sobs, clearly not hearing anything that Roy was telling her in her fevered state, except that he wasn't going to help her. It made his heart ache. All he could do was his best to tend to her and pray that her fever would break soon.

"Get it out… get it out… please, please… get it out…"

Roy closed his eyes and listened to her distress.