A/N: Hello readers! I'm back with another chapter! Well, technically it's part one of chapter 4 since this chapter just kept growing. My sister said cut it in half and post it already, since she gave it a quick beta read (thanks sis!), so here it is. :D Ta-da! I present an angst-fest of Roy Mustang feelings for everyone to enjoy.

Real quick, I want to thank everyone who has reviewed, fav'd, or followed this story! You guys are awesome and I hope ya'll enjoy this latest chapter.

All mistakes are mine.

Chapter 4 (part 1)

Roy swallowed back panic as Edward went limp. The boy burned with fever and with blood all over his clothes, there was no way of knowing for sure how injured he was. While he suspected most of the blood was from the corpse that had been next to the teenager, he didn't know for sure. Edward's slurred answer had done nothing to reassure the colonel.

"Damn it," he swore, shifting the young alchemist's weight in his arms. "Lieutenant Hawkeye! Is the scene secure?"

"Yes sir. More MPs are on their way and will be here in a few minutes. Colonel, is Edward…?"

"He needs a hospital. Get the car. Hughes, you're in charge here. Collect the evidence and thoroughly document the scene. I want to know what the hell this guy was doing."

"Yes, sir." Hughes snapped off a sharp salute. The normally jovial man was sending anxious glances at Edward. Actually, the whole team was, but Roy barely noticed. His whole attention was on the unconscious, shivering, feverish child he held tight in his grasp and the terror of knowing Edward needed medical treatment immediately.

"Roy." Dark eyes met Hughes' green ones. "Take care of him"

The colonel gave a single, crisp nod before he took off at a run after Hawkeye.

The drive to the hospital was a nightmare. It didn't seem possible, but Edward's fever seemed to grow worse. Even his automail was hot. In desperation, Roy placed his gloved hand on the boy's shoulder and activated a transmutation to draw the heat very carefully out of his body. He was no biologist or doctor so he did not dare attempt it long. It would be just as easy to send the child into shock from rapidly cooling. The transmutation didn't seem to do anything. The fever still raged.

He swore and barked at Hawkeye to drive faster. She obeyed, her hands tensing on the wheel.

Even though Hawkeye was driving well past the speed limit it seemed to take forever to Roy. Edward felt like a coal in his lap. He activated the array again, carefully calling the heat away. This time he could feel a difference, though only just. It wasn't enough. Not by far, but he dared not risk anything further. There was nothing else he could do. Useless. He was damn useless and it was killing him inside. Even though he didn't believe in God, he found himself praying fervently. It wasn't really a prayer, merely a plea; a plea that the very sick child in his arms would be all right. Edward was just a boy and he had so much to do, so much life yet to live. Ed had to be all right.

Finally they arrived at the hospital. Hawkeye barely had time to stop the car before Roy was yanking the door opening and stumbling out with his charge.

"Hey, I need help over here!" Roy barked as he rushed inside the hospital doors.

For a moment there was stunned silence and then a flurry of doctors and nurses came towards him.

"What happened?"

"There's so much blood!"

"He's just a little boy…"

Their exclamations blended together. Grinding his teeth, Roy focused on one man in a white coat he knew must be a doctor.

"He has a high fever. The blood isn't his."

"How long has he been unconscious?" The doctor asked.

"About ten minutes."

The doctor's eye grew wide and he snapped a command to the nurse and she scurried away, calling directions to other staff.

"He has an automail arm and leg," Roy added, holding the boy tighter as a nurse came pushing a gunnery. Suddenly he didn't dare let go because if he did…

"I understand, sir," the doctor said, and without warning somehow, though Roy had no idea how, plucked the teenager from Roy's grasp and laid him on the gunnery with the help of the nurses.

Roy felt a rush of cold that seeped into his very bones as they started to take Edward away. Immediately he started to follow only for a nurse to block his path as the doors swung shut behind the doctors and his unconscious subordinate. The nurse was speaking but Roy didn't hear a word she said. His eyes were locked onto the swinging doors that had separated him from his subordinate.

"Colonel."

He blinked, jolted back to his surroundings. Lieutenant Hawkeye was beside him, her normally implacable expression laced with concern. "The nurses need to know Edward's medical history."

Paperwork. He could focus on paperwork. He did it every day at the office, right? Boring, unnecessary, excessive paperwork he had to sign and fill out. Forcing himself to calm, Roy let his usual mask click into place, the worry and fear locked away behind his walls. This was not the time to fall apart. He could do this and it would help Edward, if only a little, but it was something.

Jerking a nod, Roy turned away from the double doors that had hidden his subordinate from view and followed the lieutenant to the reception desk.

"You haven't heard anything yet?"

"No Hughes," Roy growled, glaring at the phone box as he tried to keep his temper under control. To say he was frustrated was an understatement. The colonel had sent Hawkeye to find Alphonse and bring him to the hospital while he was completing Fullmetal's paperwork. With no news from the doctors, Roy had decided to call headquarters for an update on the case. Anything was better than sitting in the waiting room trying not to think about the blood and bile staining his uniform. He had the operator re-direct his call to his office where his team had started to gather. Hughes had answered the phone and Roy had tried asking the man about the case. Hughes, however, was proving most uncooperative and demanding answers to the questions Roy himself wanted and didn't have.

"You could always ask again. They might—"

"I told you, the last time I asked I was told the doctor would come see me soon and to wait. Now tell me about the damn case!"

There was silence on the other end of the phone line for a moment. Rubbing his temples, the alchemist took a breath and slowly released it. "Please Maes."

It was as much of an apology Roy could muster.

"All right, Roy."

The colonel slumped, leaning against the side of the phone booth, relieved. "So what have you learned?"

"Surprisingly a whole lot and a whole lot of nothing at the same time."

Roy felt his eyebrows inch up. "Oh? Care to explain?"

He listened quietly as Hughes began to describe what the team had learned in the past hour about Diamond Malum. Foremost, the man's name was Schmidt and he was originally from Drachma. Breda had found a battered photograph of their killer and a young woman in his coat with the man's name, the date and location scrawled on the back. There was a swastika that had been drawn in a woman's hand along with a brief note. Hughes had gotten it translated and it simply said, 'good luck my love'.

A call to Fort Briggs in the north had confirmed that Schmidt wasn't in their records and was an illegal immigrant. Yeah, big surprise there. General Armstrong wouldn't be happy to learn someone had slipped past her and her men, he mused with a sneer.

"That swastika on the photo explains his pattern of attack," Roy said, frowning. "But why diamonds and why murder?"

"I'm afraid we only found a partial answer. When I called Fort Briggs to see if they have any record of Schmidt, which as expected they didn't, I asked about any customs or religious practices involving diamonds that Drachma has. Apparently there's this old custom of using diamonds in some sort of ceremony at big events, like weddings, births, and deaths. The guy I spoke to didn't know any more than that, but he promised to look into it."

"I take it diamonds and murder were not usually one of those big events," Roy said dryly, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. So what had caused the murder spree? There had to be something that triggered the man. Like the murderer, Barry the Chopper, who'd been incarcerated in Central a couple months ago, had his so called realization it was more fun to chop up people than just be a butcher of animals. The result was the brutal murder of twelve women before he was captured. It turned Roy's stomach even thinking about it. The Diamond Malum must have had a similar realization that led to him stealing and murdering innocents. And he had a feeling he knew what the key was to unlocking that mystery.

"The woman in the photograph; do you have any idea who she is?"

"I asked the sergeant in Briggs to look into it. But if he's an illegal immigrant chances are, she was too."

Roy hummed, not surprised the lieutenant colonel had already thought of it and was investigating.

"Have you learned anything else?"

"Well, there's the black clothes and cloak Schmidt had. I've never seen anything like it before. The cloak seems to act like a mirror of everything around it, reflecting back outward. At least that's what I can tell. Havoc noticed some transmutation marks on it, so whatever he did it basically makes the person wearing it invisible. The clothes are a little different. They seem to absorb light so if Schmidt was in a shadowed corner or something without the cloak, he'd probably still have been near impossible to see."

Roy only vaguely recalled the black clothes the killer had worn. His attention had been preoccupied with his trapped and terrified subordinate underneath the man. It had taken all his self-control to not incinerate the man on the spot. Even thinking about had him grinding his teeth again. Very carefully, Roy took a breath and unclenched his jaw.

"So that's why no one has seen him at the crime scenes."

"It certainly explains why we never had any witnesses that could provide a description. Have you ever heard of alchemy being used like this?"

"Manipulating clothes? Sure. That's actually fairly basic. But I've never heard of someone transmuting a cloak that practically makes a person invisible. What's the cloth made of? You mentioned it acts like a mirror. So the surface is reflective?"

"Yeah, kind of." Hughes clicked his tongue. "Actually, when I first looked at it I thought it was made of, well, diamonds."

"Of course it does," Roy muttered. What was it with the diamonds? There had to be a reason for the fixation. Unfortunately, aside from the killer himself, the only one who might know was somewhere in this damn hospital with a raging fever. Fingers curling into a fist, he brought his arm up and let it slam against the wall in frustration. It took considerable effort to force his mind to not think about the blond teenager and focus on the case. There was one more question he had to ask.

"What do we know about the victim that Schmidt already murdered when we arrived on scene?"

"His name is Karl McCoy. Thirty-four years old."

That was definitely not what Roy was expecting to hear. He straightened, his senses tingling with an alert.

"Hughes…"

"He was discharged from the Corp of Engineers following an accident in the factory where he worked that crippled his legs. According to the doctor's report, his nerves were too damaged for automail. Since he could no longer work, the brass discharged him."

"Hughes," Roy cut in, not liking the monotone way his friend was speaking. "How do you know this?"

"I knew him."

Swallowing convulsively, Roy forced himself to not react further. It was his turn to remain composed for his friend. "How did you know him?"

There was a deep sigh and a soft clang and Roy knew the man had taken of his glasses. "I didn't know him. Not really. I just remember meeting him one day. He helped repair the radios for my team. Nice guy."

Hughes was not the kind of man to say things like this. Normally, it was him who was saying things like this to Hughes. The turnaround was disorienting to say the least. Still, if Hughes was taking the time to say these things there must be a reason. Roy kept quiet, waiting.

"When he was discharged he was left without a home," Hughes finally said. "No wife, no siblings, and parents dead. He was homeless, Roy. Crippled and homeless."

The colonel slouched against the wall, the weight of what his friend was saying striking home. Holding the phone to his ear was taking all his effort.

"Damn it," he rasped. "The others then. They were probably all homeless too."

Hughes didn't answer. Not that he needed to. This explained why no one had filed any missing person's reports for the victims. For a report to exist someone would have had to miss them. Obviously no one had. Their killer had chosen the perfect targets for his spree. In all likelihood, the other victims would never be identified.

How many more victims could be out there? How many more had Schmidt killed before he arrived in East City? There was no way to know. Roy's stomach churned and he leaned more heavily against the wall.

In East City and the eastern part of the country in general, soldiers were often viewed as pawns or brutes. This was especially true after the seven year rebellion that resulted in the death of hundreds of thousands of soldiers and civilians alike. People hated the military, hated the soldiers and what they had come to represent: death and destruction.

After coming back from Ishval, thousands of soldiers suffered from what doctors termed 'shell shock'. The soldiers themselves called in battle fatigue. It left them unable to function, struggling with nightmares and terrors. Some had become dangerous to others and themselves and had to be forcibly locked up. Hundreds of others resigned their positions from the military and went home. But home no longer welcomed them. Even though they no longer wore the uniform, the former soldiers were still viewed as fiends and not worthy of any kindness. They took to drink and smoking, anything to lock the memories of the hell they'd been in. Many ended up on the streets, desperate and alone. Some committed suicide. Others died from the elements and starvations. And a small few crawled back to the military in hopes of having some place to take refuge. The military took them back of course, but the men were forever marked as cowards for leaving in the first place.

Roy had been lucky, if one could call it that. He had already determined a purpose in remaining in the military before he'd step foot on the train back from the ruins of Ishval. He was going to the top and he was going to change things so nothing like Ishval ever happened again. That had not stopped the nightmares or the sometimes uncontrollable shaking or reactions to loud noises; not even the occasional too much to drink when everything proved too overwhelming. What it did was give him a reason to push onward, to forge a new path despite the way being nothing but a river of mud and blood. He had a choice: to be consumed by the guilt and shame of the monster he had become, or keep moving forward and try to make up for it however he could, though he knew it would never be enough by half.

In the months following the end of the war, he had struggled with the fate of his fellow soldiers. He had tried to help where he could and had even asked General Grumman for assistance in doing something for the broken soldiers. For a while, shelters had been set up and the men and women got the help they needed. Some were able to start living again. Others had not. And countless others were too proud and did not take the offered help because it came from the military.

He could still remember with perfect clarity that cold, rainy day coming across the corpse of a homeless man and the shock of realizing he knew the man. A corporal, Henry Miller had served under Major Kimblee, the Crimson Alchemist. The young soldier had been a good man as far as Roy had known. But the war had destroyed him and Kimblee had further ruined him with his enjoyment of the destruction. Looking on the pale, thin, and filthy shell of the once happy youth, Roy had staggered away and vomited.

There was nothing to be done to help Corporal Miller. So Roy had straightened and kept walking and met Hughes. Together, they'd gotten absolutely drunk in Roy's apartment. The next morning, hung over beyond belief, Roy had called and arranged for the man's burial in the pauper's field on the outskirts of the city. Later that day, the two of them had gone out to the cemetery and looked on the new grave. The cemetery had nearly doubled in size since the last time Roy had seen it. Hughes had looked around at all the unmarked graves, countenance bleak. "It's such a damn shame. Whatever they did, in the end we're all just human. They shouldn't be forgotten."

It was one of the few times he remembered Maes sounding lost. Normally, the man was so strong, anchoring Roy in the present and pushing him forward whenever he faltered. Not that day.

"I'll never forget," Roy had answered. He didn't forget any of them. Those he had killed, those who had been killed fighting beside him. He had no intention of forgetting. They deserved to be remembered and when he became Fuhrer he would honor them all. After that day, the men had never spoken about it again and Roy had doubled his efforts to move up the ranks. He had to keep moving forward. There was nothing to be done for the dead. For the dead knew no more sorrow or anguish. They knew nothing. It was the living who remained who struggled to go onward, who grieved and hurt for those lost.

The victims of the Diamond Malum were nameless, and largely faceless. In the end, they too would be buried in the pauper's field. He would remember them anyway, however little he could. Time would blur it, he knew, but he would remember each time he set foot on the pauper's burial ground.

"There will always be homeless people around," he croaked. "You do what you can for who you can."

Hughes barked a surprised, bitter laugh. "Yeah."

There was nothing more to say. Roy had this argument with Maes more than once during the first year after the war. He was the one who told Roy there would always be homeless people around and to do what he could for who he could. It was a poor comfort. When he'd said as much, Hughes had glared and told him he better work faster to climb to the top then if he wanted to change that too. Roy knew there was no way a city could not have impoverished people. He understood that even if Maes had thought he was being too naïve and idealistic. But Roy had grown up around people who had to scrape by just to put food on the table, who were one step away from being out on the street. Those people were no less worthy of help than anyone else. They mattered even if the upper echelons of society liked to pretend they didn't exist. Something needed to be done to help them. After burying Corporal Miller, Hughes had never argued with Roy about it again. He understood then.

"You best go check on Edward," Hughes said at last. "Throw your rank around or something. You should have heard something by now."

"Agreed," Roy said, forcing himself to straighten. Carefully, he began to rein in his emotions. There was nothing he could do for McCoy or the other victims. But he could find out the condition of his youngest subordinate. Before he could say anything else there was a sudden clamor on the other end of the line. There was a loud bang and then a young voice cried out in desperation.

"Please tell me where Brother is! I've been trying to find out what happened for hours now!" Alphonse cried. Even over the phone, Roy could hear the boy's fear and desperation. He heard the murmur of voices from the rest of the team trying to soothe him.

"Hughes, tell Alphonse that Hawkeye will bring him to the hospital. I sent her back to headquarters a while ago."

"Will do," came the hasty response. "She walked in just behind him."

Satisfied that things were in hand at the office, Roy hung up. He straightened his uniform and took a deep breath, careful reconstructing his bland mask, making sure there was no trace of evidence left of his feelings other than his impatience, which was genuine.

Then, with deliberate steps, the colonel turned and walked back toward the main waiting area.

When he approached the desk, the receptionist, a middle-aged woman with a pinched face, looked up and sighed. "No, Colonel Mustang. There is no news yet on your subordinate. I promised to inform you as soon as I know anything."

Before he could express his frustration at the continued silence, she held up a hand. "Why don't you go shower and clean up? That way, when the doctor comes, you'll be allowed back to see Mr. Elric."

Roy blinked, and glanced down at uniform at the blood and bile. Grimacing, he nodded in acquiesce. Seeming relieved, the woman called to a male nurse to show him where the showers were.

It took less than ten minutes for the alchemist to shower and put back on his uniform, sans jacket. That jacket was bundled inside a cloth laundry bag and he set it at his feet when he returned to the waiting room. Judging by the receptionist's expression, she had hoped he would be gone a longer. Too bad for her, Roy thought with a sneer. On any other day he would have charmed her, but not today.

He glanced at the clock again and silently fumed. It had been over an hour since they took Edward back. Shouldn't someone have come to tell him how his subordinate was doing by now? There was only one reason the colonel could think of for why no one had come yet and he struggled to reject the thought. Fullmetal was going to be fine. It was just a fever.

A dangerously high fever, part of his mind argued. And with other possible unknown injuries.

Shutting his eyes, Roy folded his hands in his lap and forced himself to calm down, or at least appear calm. Another ten minutes and he was going to demand to see Edward, protocol be damned.

He was just getting ready to storm up to the receptionist and demand to be taken to his subordinate when a doctor came into the waiting room. To Roy's surprise, he recognized the man.

The doctor, one Clint Cassidy was the doctor on record who had examined Edward after he joined the military. Roy had insisted on it despite the pre-teen's protests. Like it or not, the colonel had a responsibility to look after his subordinates and their health, especially his newest and youngest. He'd chosen the doctor after careful deliberation and had been quite pleased with the man's performance. One factor had been the doctor's relaxed appearance and manner. With graying brown hair and a square jaw covered in a neatly trimmed beard, what could have been a fierce face was tempered by kind hazel eyes and easy smile. He'd easily distracted Edward during his examination, talking with the suspicious teen candidly all the while. When Cassidy had arrived, Roy didn't know, but he was glad to see him. He probably would have incinerated the other doctor on the spot for making him wait so damn long.

He met the man halfway across the waiting room.

"Colonel Mustang."

"Dr. Cassidy. How is my subordinate?"

The doctor inclined his head and the colonel easily fell in step beside him as they made their way down the hallway, presumably towards Edward's room.

"He has a couple bruises, but nothing too serious," Dr. Cassidy began, anticipating the colonel's main concern. "The only one I'm apprehensive about is the one on the side of his head. It is quite small and I don't think it will be an issue. However, it is rather difficult to assess given his fever."

Here the doctor frowned. "There has been a rather nasty flu going around the city for the past month. There have only been a few cases of the children coming down with this virus and it always seems to hit them harder than adults. Dr. Quinn told me the boy's fever was dangerously high when you brought him in." Dr. Cassidy looked at Roy, solemn. "And I suspect it was higher. Whatever you did, Colonel, you probably saved his life."

Roy didn't know it was possible to feel like he'd been stabbed in the chest not once, but twice and not actually have a scratch. He sucked in a harsh breath and he shut his eyes tight for a moment, trying to keep his composure. It had been too close. Way too close.

Exhaling, Roy refocused his attention on the doctor. "Why did it take so long for someone to inform me of Fullmetal's condition?" He wasn't able to mask the edge of anger in his words and he didn't particularly care.

"I'm afraid there was an emergency with another patient that required immediate surgery. Dr. Quinn was called in to assist."

Roy made a mental note of the name. Emergency or not, someone should have come out and told him about Edward's condition. He was going to make sure it never happened again. "And the nurses?"

"They were tending to Mr. Elric or called away to assist with other patients. I apologize, Colonel. They only called me a half hour ago and asked I come in. I'll make sure such an oversight doesn't happen again."

No, Roy wordlessly vowed. It wouldn't. He'd make sure of it.

"You said he has a few bruises, but no other injuries. What about the fever?"

"Currently, we are treating Mr. Elric with fever and pain reducing medication. The nurses are using ice packs as well, especially around his automail ports. His fever is still high, but is coming down. Regrettably, there is little else that can be done. We have no medicine or vaccination to specifically counter this. The fever has to run its course."

Roy scowled at this. While it was good to hear Edward's fever had subsided some, that it was still high and that the boy had to ride it out did not sit well with him.

"I'll be frank, Colonel," Dr. Cassidy said, leveling a serious look at Roy. "I think once his fever has gone down you should take him home. While we can certainly keep the boy comfortable, there is little else we can do. Being in a more familiar setting, however, will certainly help make the recovery easier."

The colonel arched a brow. Doctor Cassidy's expression didn't change. The doctor meant it. They turned a corner and started down another hallway, presumably toward the room where Edward was at.

"Doctors typically don't release their patients so early. Usually they keep the patient for observation a couple days," Roy observed, keeping his tone casually confused. Why did the doctor want Edward released from the hospital so quickly?

Dr. Cassidy grimaced, and responded quietly. "Under normal circumstances I would not recommend releasing Mr. Elric. Apparently while Dr. Quinn and the nurses were first working to lower his fever, the boy started hallucinating. He said some very…concerning things, Colonel."

Here the doctor's blue eyes cut hard to Roy.

"I understand Mr. Elric was on a mission when he collapsed. Do you know what happened?"

"I'm afraid the details are confidential due to the nature of the mission," Roy answered smoothly, not allowing his expression to show how this troubled him. The team had known next to nothing about the Diamond Malum's person at the time and there was no way of knowing what had happened before they had arrived on the scene. From the information his team had gathered now he could make a few guesses however, and none boded good. He resisted the urge to grind his teeth in frustration. None of this should have happened. Edward should have never been in this situation, fighting for his life because of a fever of all things. He shoved the anger and the guilt to the back of his mind to deal with later. There were more important things needing his attention at the moment.

Dr. Cassidy hummed, frowning with displeasure. "Whatever happened Colonel, he needs to be in a familiar place with family and not here in the hospital. I suspect it may have opened old wounds."

Roy forced back the instinct to react, maintaining his usual bland expression though just barely.

"Is that so?" He murmured, appearing disinterested even as his mind raced. Silently he cursed. The younger alchemist had likely said something about his mother and possibly that night. Given how high his fever was it shouldn't have come as a surprise, but the colonel had not even considered the possibility. Idiot, he chided. Getting Edward out of the hospital and somewhere safe to recover had just become his top priority. Dr. Cassidy knew that Edward and Alphonse' mother was dead and their father gone. The doctor didn't know the details of what happened, of course, but he was a smart man. He knew the loss of Trisha Elric had been hard on the brothers. He was also aware the brothers lived in the dorms at military headquarters when they stayed in the city. And there was no mistaking the man's emphasis on Edward needing to stay with family. Clearly the doctor meant more than just his younger brother.

Roy quickly considered his options. There was Edward's automail mechanics, the Rockbells of course, but they were out in Resembool and there was no way he was putting the sick teenager on a train for hours on end. And there was the fact only Hawkeye and himself actually knew about the taboo the Elric's committed.

He internally sighed. That left only one real viable option.

"Very well. When do you estimate Fullmetal will be ready to be discharged?"

"I'll monitor his condition and if the fever keeps going down like it has I'd feel comfortable discharging him this evening."

"Sounds reasonable." More importantly, it gave Roy enough time to properly prepare. "And you're sure releasing him early won't worsen his condition?"

"Yes, Mr. Elric should be fine. I recommend you keep a close eye on him, however, and if there are any new symptoms or the fever returns bring him back immediately."

Roy nodded in agreement, mind already busy on the details he'd have to work out for the young alchemist's release as they continued walking down the hall.

"This is his room," Dr. Cassidy said, pausing and gesturing to the door of room 312, breaking through Roy's thoughts.

"Thank you, doctor. I—"

A commotion inside interrupted the colonel and both men turned in surprise. Someone was shouting, screaming actually. It was Edward and he sounded terrified.

Thank you so much for reading! I know it's another cliffhanger, but the next chapter won't be, I promise. ;) In the meantime, please let me know what you think.

Have a great week!