Hawkeye gave him a calculating stare. "You're sure, sir?"
Roy sighed from his position sprawled on the couch. Ed was resting on the other one, buried under his blanket with eyes shut. Roy knew he was awake, though. Ever since Izumi and Sig had left that morning, Edward had been despondent. He wasn't exactly as depressed as he'd been only the day before, but he was definitely affected by the Curtis' departure in a negative manner.
Silas had prescribed Roy some medication, but since Roy's fever had broken, he'd cleared him to return to his duties as Ed's caretaker. With one more problem solved, Havoc had taken Silas home, leaving Hawkeye the only guest in the house.
And now she was debating whether or not Roy and Ed could be left to their own devices.
"Hawkeye, we'll be fine," Roy insisted, voice warped and muted by his congested nasal passages. He honestly felt a lot better now that the cursed fever was gone. His headache was still present, and the cold itself was annoying, but after some medication and a few cups of hot tea, he felt much more functional and capable of caring for himself and Edward, even if he was a bit exhausted.
Hawkeye didn't look convinced, but she buttoned her coat around herself and put her messenger bag over her shoulder. "I'll be back to check on you tomorrow."
Roy's gaze flattened. "Not if this weather persists. Anymore snow—"
"It stopped snowing hours ago."
Roy scowled. "I don't need to be babied, Hawkeye. You've got your own business to take care of."
She didn't look impressed. "Yes, sir. I'll see you at eighteen-hundred tomorrow." And without waiting for Roy to reply, she disappeared around the corner. Roy heard the door open, then close and the lock click in place.
He caught the barest of smiles on Ed's face.
"Wipe that smirk off your face, Fullmetal," he growled irritably. What good was it to have subordinates that didn't follow orders? And then she just goes and flaunts that fact in front of Ed. The woman was infuriating.
Ed's smirk only broadened, eyes sliding open. "Yes, sir," he mocked.
Roy glared then leaned back on the sofa. His body still ached, so it was nice to stretch out. "You seem to be feeling better."
"Now that the stupid tranquilizer's wearing off," he clarified. He'd been on the sofa most of the day, only bothering to get up when Izumi and Sig were leaving. Apparently whatever drug Silas had used on him had zapped most of his energy.
"You hungry?"
Ed's expression closed, almost becoming distant. "No thanks." Izumi had tried her luck at getting him to eat a sandwich, but Ed had flat refused it with a sickened expression. She finally managed to force some sautéed vegetables and rice down his throat—the most Roy had seen him eat since he'd found out Alphonse was leaving—but he seemed to be unable to stomach the idea of eating any more. Roy was pleased to see him eat that, though, so he wasn't planning on pushing his luck.
"Well, I'm going to go make myself something," he announced. Now if he could just work up the will to get off the couch . . .
Ed frowned. "Um . . . are you sure you should be doing that? Silas said that you needed to take it easy."
Roy rolled his eyes before realizing Ed couldn't see it. "I'm making a sandwich, not a five course meal. I think I can manage."Ed ducked his head, a blush heating his cheeks. Roy smirked. "Don't you start mothering me too, Fullmetal. I get enough of that from Hawkeye."
Ed mumbled something that might have been a reply, but Roy missed it. He dragged himself to his feet, then into the kitchen, head pounding with the sudden shift in blood pressure. He gave the coffee pot a longing glance before pouring himself another cup of tea from the steaming kettle. Silas had insisted he forego vast amounts of caffeine while he was sick, and Hawkeye threatened to shoot him if she caught him with it. They didn't understand that caffeine had the ability to make him feel almost human.
He sighed and sipped the decaffeinated black tea, the watery taste unsatisfying and the ginger burning his sinuses as he set the cup down and rummaged through the refrigerator.
From the living room, there was a creak of wood then a few tentative notes played at the same time rang softly in the air.
Roy smiled to himself. He ate his meal over the sink like any other bachelor, and after cleaning up after himself, went back to the living room and sprawled across the sofa.
Ed's playing only halted momentarily, then resumed when Roy had stopped moving. Roy took the opportunity to study his back. It was rare that Ed showed his back to anyone these days.
The tension was mostly gone from his shoulders, hands no longer clutching the blanket with anxious intensity, but rolling over the keys in passages and phrases he'd somehow committed to memory since the last time he'd touched the ivories. It was the same tune as last time, but more elaborate and with more direction. The melody was quiet and comforting, like one of the records Roy listened to while working in his lab. "Where did you learn to play piano?" Roy asked.
Ed's tempo slowed, but he played past the interruption. "I never learned," he replied absently, playing a chord that made Roy's congested sinuses buzz painfully until it resolved a moment later. The bass flowed underneath, moving in a rolling, hypnotic walk.
The kid had only been in front of a piano for maybe a total of an hour and already he had improved leaps and bounds from when he had begun. Not that Roy had ever doubted it, but this proved that Ed was a genus to be able to figure out an instrument so quickly. Roy had heard that the very intelligent were musically gifted, and it seemed that Ed fit the stereotype. It was amazing what a little music would do for him. . .
Roy sat up quite suddenly, eyes widening.
He was such an idiot.
He barely noticed Ed had stopped, head turned over his shoulder to listen uncertainly at the sudden movement. "Mustang?"
Roy got to his feet, hurrying over to the basement door and throwing it open. He didn't bother flipping on the lights, guided only by memory and the faint shaft of light filtering in from above. He found what he was looking for, gathering it up in his arms before making his way back up out of the basement.
"Door," Roy said absently, kicking the door shut behind him. It wouldn't do to have Ed fall through a door he'd never been through.
With the advanced warning, Ed only jumped a bit, his ears tracking Roy as he took his cumbersome burden upstairs. He shouldered his way into Ed's bedroom and put it down on the nightstand, checking to make sure everything was connected properly.
Then he went back downstairs, finding Ed almost to the bottom step. Ed froze when Roy rounded the corner. "Mustang, what's going on?"
"You haven't had a decent night's sleep in months. Go to bed."
Ed frowned. "What? I mean . . . I just woke up, and I've been out of it all day—"
"I have a theory I need to test, and you're the perfect test subject. Go to bed."
Ed seemed to be struggling to assess Roy's sanity, his brow lowered in a bemused frown. Apparently he decided that Roy was still somewhat trustworthy because he gathered the blanket around him before taking some tentative steps forward.
Roy reached the bottom of the stairs and took his elbow, receiving a minimal flinch in response.
"I'm starting to think your cold is affecting your brain, Mustang," Ed commented as Roy practically dragged him up the stairs.
Roy couldn't keep the grin off of his face. This was going to work, and then maybe they'd both get a decent night's sleep. "Maybe so. But I think I may have just had a brilliant idea."
"By whose standards?" Ed asked, stumbling a bit on the landing.
Roy steadied him. "I think you'll be impressed. Just hurry up. I'm exhausted, and once the adrenaline wears off, I'm going to slip into a coma and not wake up until next week."
Ed grimaced a bit, and Roy wondered what it was about, but dismissed it as they passed the bathroom. "Here, I'll get your nightclothes." He left Ed there to get ready, fetching his freshly laundered sleepwear and handing it off to him.
Fifteen minutes later he had Ed tucked in bed as Roy fiddled with the device on the nightstand.
Ed shifted uncomfortably under the covers. "Mustang, you're really starting to freak me out."
Normally Ed's anxiety made Roy shift into something over-protective and worrying, but Roy was hoping this would dispel his fears entirely as he slept and all but ignored the boy's discomfort. "Everything's fine, Ed, relax. Almost got it . . . there."
The turntable let out a squeak as the record started spinning. Ed froze where he was in response, eyes going wide until the needle met the vinyl and amidst the coughing static, a quiet piano solo began to play.
Ed's expression relaxed into something awed, the fear slowly leaking away until it was overrun by a sort of reverent curiosity. "Mustang," he breathed, hand releasing his throat. "What . . . is that a . . .?"
"It's a turntable."
"It's . . . Saen's work. It's a piano reduction of . . . some sort of concerto." He was speaking in a hushed voice, lulled by the quiet, rocking tempo. He listened intently, almost as absorbed as he had been while sitting at the piano just a while ago.
"Think it'll help?" Roy asked, unable to keep the smug smile from his face. It was refreshing to have been able to do something right for once, and Roy was going to savor the small victory.
A soft smile pulled at Ed's lips, distant but relaxed. "Yeah . . . it's . . . thank you, Mustang."
The smile flattened, then quivered, then fell with a sudden spring of tears.
Roy's expression slackened in shock before he was moving, sitting beside the boy and pulling him into his arms before either of them knew what he was doing. "Ed? Ed what's wrong?" he asked, trying vainly to force the alarm from his voice. Everything was fine! Why was he crying?!
Ed clung to the front of his shirt, body shaking with tight sobs. He breathed a few incomprehensible words then cried some more as Roy tried to comfort him and figure out why. "Ed, does something hurt? Do you need your medicine? You just took it, but I can call Silas. I've got some of that other stuff for when you have a lot of pain," Roy said, knowing he was babbling but unable to stop it. "Silas will know, let me call him . . ."
He tried to pry himself free of Ed to make the call, but Ed held on with a shake of his head. "Wait," Ed whispered, voice raw and broken as he tried to breathe between sobs. "Wait . . . I'm . . . m'fine."
"Edward, if something hurts, I need to know. I'll just call Silas. He'll know what we can do."
Ed shook his head in Roy's side. "No, it . . . d-doesn't really hurt." He took a few slow, broken inhalations, the sobs calming into the occasional sniffle and shaking breath.
"It's just . . . Mustang, you've done so much," he whimpered into Roy's chest. "I don't deserve any of this, but you're helping me like . . . I don't know, Mustang, thank you. Thank you, I . . . if you weren't here, I don't know where I'd be right now." He gave a quick, shaky laugh. "Probably in some mental institution. Thanks for not giving up on me . . . I mean it, Mustang."
Sometime around the first 'thank you,' Mustang's heart had turned cold in his chest.
Ed was thanking him.
Thanking the one that had put him in that abysmal situation to begin with. Thanking the man that had caused all of this.
Roy felt sick.
Skin suddenly cold and the air thick, Roy pulled back from Ed. "It's no problem," he choked. "I'm glad it helps." He stood up, brushing his trousers free of invisible linens while Ed stared over his shoulder somewhat confusedly and . . . was that hurt Roy saw in his eyes?
Roy wanted to reach out and hug him again.
His guilt held him back.
"Well, I'll be back in a minute. Going to grab some stuff."
Roy tried to ignore the blind gaze boring into his soul as he left the room, the house suddenly feeling too hot and too cold. He absently wondered if his fever was back, but he knew it was just his conscience that was sick.
For the first time since Alphonse had left, Roy didn't hold Ed as he slept. Roy fell asleep on a pile of blankets on the ground, drifting off under the gentle notes of the record and Ed's uneasy stare.
XxXxX
It seemed that Ed had slept relatively well. Roy only had to wake up twice in the night to physically quell the nightmares, holding the blond until the panic passed before retreating back to his makeshift pallet on the floor to the boy's fading whimpers. The other six times it was to reset the turntable, letting Ed sleep with a near-constant stream of music.
But he didn't seem to wake up as refreshed as Roy had hoped. Some of that old, nagging fear had returned to his gaze since the incident the previous night, but it was something pointed, directed at him in a way. Ed was cautious, more unwilling than usual to be helped with certain things. He ate his breakfast without verbal complaint, though it looked like a chore that required all of his effort to manage and he ended up looking a bit sickened afterward.
He asked if he could help with cleaning up the kitchen, which Roy found ridiculous, since he had never known where anything went anyway, and now that he was blind, even less so. Besides, he would have hated for the boy to drop a pan or a glass and be thrown back into a flashback after all the progress he'd made.
"Why don't you go play the piano?" Roy asked, scrubbing out a frying pan in the sink. He himself hadn't slept well at all. He was exhausted, sick, and angry with himself, and his ridiculous illness wasn't helping.
Ed rocked slowly, anxiously from foot to foot, indecision clearly on his features. "I can help . . . You're washing dishes, right? I can dry for you."
Roy knew that this had something to do with the last night, the way Roy had treated him. He was confused and hurt, but Roy would much prefer that over Ed's hatred.
He didn't know if he could stand Ed's hatred.
"It's fine, Ed. I've got it." Roy didn't mean to sound impatient, but the words came out that way. He tried to soften his tone. "It's not that big of a deal."
"I . . ." His gaze shifted to the floor. "You already do too much, and now you're sick. I understand that I'm a lot of trouble, so . . . I mean, I can help with some things. Not a lot, but I can handle drying some dishes."
Roy sighed. "Ed—"
He was cut off by the doorbell.
Ed almost jumped out of his skin, wrapping one hand around the blanket and using the other to find the wall.
"It's just the door," Roy explained, drying his hands off on a cup towel. "Hawkeye said she'd drop by today. Maybe she's just early. She thinks I'm helpless without her," he complained.
And maybe he was.
Ed followed at a much slower, more stumbling pace. By the time Roy had reached the door, he had managed to stop where the carpet met tile, hovering against the wall at the mouth of the entryway.
Roy pulled the door open, lips parted in an irritated complaint.
The words died on his lips as he took in the figure at the door. It was decidedly not Lieutenant Hawkeye.
Colonel Archer gave him an icy smile. "Good morning, Colonel."
You guys are going to hate me next chapter . . . so much xD
Well, people requested something big on chapter 30, since it's a sort of milestone. So I'll leave you hanging there c:
It said above that Silas left because essentially he wasn't needed anymore. That's a lie. He left because he has a pet cockatoo at home that he adores and he was worried about her being home alone for so long.
I want to tell you guys more about Silas' back story . . . but I want to do it in fic format . . . it may end up being posted to "Lobotomy" eventually. Does anyone care to read it? Or would you rather me just share my enthusiasm through random facts posted at the end of the next chapter? xD
About "Lobotomy": It's a collection of one-shots where readers pick the prompt based on the chapter just posted. There are more details there, but it's basically to keep the writer's block away. Have a look if you're interested c: s/10658876/1/Lobotomy *shameless self-promotion is shameless* It's kind of a catch-all for things that are too small to stand on their own. And for my poor flailing muse that has a hard time when school is in session.
Aaaaanyway, I'm off! Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter :) Drop a review if you have the time, and I'll see you next time!
God Bless,
-RainFlame
