DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN THE RIGHTS TO FMA, NOR DO I CLAIM TO.

A/N: Got two reviews, both were good, which made me feel great! Thanks!

Incendiary Device

Chapter 4: Just Like the War Days

Hawkeye parked the car in the street in front of her apartment building. She figured it would be safe there, since the military insignia on the doors would discourage all but the most desperate of thieves. Using the light from a nearby streetlamp, she checked her watch. Two in the morning. Good, there was still plenty of time to think up a way to keep the Colonel out of both trouble and the hospital, at least for the moment. Getting him up the stairs, however…

Gazing up at the apartment building, Hawkeye shook her head. There were no elevators in the building where she lived, and she was on the fifth floor. And as cute as he is when he's sleeping, she thought, I am not carrying him up…wait, what did I just…? "Slip of the mind, Hawkeye," she muttered to herself in her best commanding-officer voice, "You're tired, that's all."

Trying to think of a way to wake the Colonel up, Hawkeye remembered the fear of her marksmanship that she'd instilled in the Colonel and his subordinates. Sure enough, the mere sound of her handgun's safety being turned off was enough to wake the Colonel up, and they began the long, arduous trek up the stairs. It took twenty minutes, but she finally got him through the door of her apartment.

Black Hayate stood from where he'd been watching the front door, shook himself, and trotted over to investigate. He licked Roy's hand and barked, wagging his tail uncertainly. Roy moaned pitifully. Liza shut the door with one foot and held a finger to her lips, whispering, "Hush, Hayate. His head probably hurts enough as it is. Go wait in the kitchen." Hayate whined, cast one last concerned look at the Colonel, and walked dejectedly to the kitchen, lying down with his nose on the threshold that separated the linoleum kitchen floor from the carpeted living room.

Hawkeye guided the Colonel down the short hallway to the bathroom. Her apartment was fairly large, one of the few luxuries she'd allowed herself when she was promoted to First Lieutenant and given the pay raise that came with the position. The front door opened into a large living room area, part of which was separated from the rest by a screen that could be rolled back to reveal the dining table. The kitchen, through a door in the left wall of the living room, was well-stocked and furnished with all the modern conveniences, as well as a table that served as her everyday eating area. To the right of the living room was a short hallway leading to her bedroom. On the left side of this hallway was a large linen closet, and on the right a spacious bathroom.

Once she got him into the bathroom, Hawkeye lowered Roy gently to the tiled floor. She pulled off his boots and put them in the corner of the room to be dealt with later. First was the business of getting his fresh injuries taken care of. "Just like the war days," she muttered as she pulled off her jacket and tossed it into the hall, rolled up her sleeves, and got to work.

First, she had to check and see if he'd reopened his original wounds. She pulled her overcoat from around his shoulders and unbuttoned his shirt, her movements brisk and businesslike. She grimaced at the burn marks over his ribs on the left side, but other than a small bruise forming over his collarbone she saw no fresh injuries. Getting Roy to cooperate as much as she could, Liza pulled his shirt the rest of the way off. An angry red welt was beginning to show across the tops of his shoulders. The way it was tapered at one end made her suspect he'd been hit across the back with a pool cue.

Without warning, his nosebleed started back up again. Liza coaxed him into a crouching position over the edge of the bathtub, a tissue held tight to his nose while she tended to the scratches on the back of his neck he'd sustained when the bartender had hit him with the bottle. She got up and found a washcloth in the linen cabinet across the hall, then ran the bath full of hot water. "This is going to sting," she warned before gently swiping the hot washcloth over his neck and shoulders, cleaning away the blood. Roy mumbled something that may have been a curse, but otherwise submitted to her ministrations.

Liza was getting seriously worried about him. Before, whether in Ishbal or elsewhere, when she had to clean him up like this he'd usually complain the whole time. This time, though, he'd been unusually subdued ever since she agreed not to take him back to the hospital. Granted, he'd been unconscious about half the time, but still…

"Okay sir, I want you to dunk your head in the bathtub. It'll hurt like hell, to give fair warning, but I need your hair clean so I can see if any bits of glass got stuck in your head."

Roy nodded, tossed the bloody tissue into the trashcan, and leaned forward until the top of his head was in the tub. This time he did curse, though not perhaps as explicitly as he normally would have.

Liza reached in and gently swirled the water around, creating a current to wash any blood from his hair. The bathwater tinged slightly pink, but not as bad as it could have been. "You can sit up now," she told him, and he did so gratefully.

Hawkeye stood again momentarily to fetch a towel from the linen closet. She came back with a large, fluffy, green towel and wrapped it around his shoulders, then reached in and pulled the plug on the bathtub. "Go to my room and wait for me there," she instructed, pointing him in the right direction.