Roy Mustang strode confidently into the psychiatric ward of the infirmary, closely accompanied by Havoc and Hawkeye. He had an air of casualness, his hands in his pocket, a look of cool indifference, which belied his true emotion at the moment. Inside he was shaking with fury and concern at the news that Edward had been forced to watch his brother, the only thing many believed to be the one thing chaining Edward to his sanity, be brutally and maliciously murdered. Edward could be unstable at times, and this would rock his world and send him hurtling off-course.
He wasn't sure what to expect as he confronted Edward for the first time, but he wasn't looking forward to it. Hawkeye's presence seemed to help. She exuded calm and order like an expensive perfume. He needed her, more than he might ever verbalize. Although the tightness around her eyes told more about her level of anxiety than he cared to admit.
He hesitated momentarily when he reached Edward's room. He had originally placed in short-term care, but with his history of instability, the psychiatric ward seemed the best place by far. Roy remembered musing whether this quarter of the hospital had sufficient restraints for Fullmetal. As he entered the room, all jokes departed as he saw the grieving prodigy. Edward's bed was propped up and his face was turned towards the open window. The wind blowing past the curtains and through his flaxen hair gave him an oddly poetic appearance. Gathering his best professional face, he strode into the room, bracing himself for what he may see.
Roy walked over to the bed and, for once, found himself at a loss for words. Edward still hadn't looked at him, and didn't show any inclination to. Hawkeye and Havoc stood silently behind him, unsure of what to say. Havoc bravely (or perhaps stupidly from the lack of smoke in his lungs due to the no smoking in the infirmary rule) stepped forward and said, "Hey, Chief. How ya feelin'?"
There was no response as the silence stretched on. As Mustang glanced back at Havoc, the chronic smoker shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, "Well, I've done all I can."
The Colonel raised an eyebrow at his ineffectiveness, then moved toward Edward. He stood at the edge of the bed now, close enough to see the teen's pale, sunken-in skin. The nurses had informed him that, due to his refusal to eat, they were now feeding him intravenously. His hair was down, and currently in a tangled snarl, because let's face it, if you're too depressed to eat, you sure don't care about the condition of your hair. Edward's head was still curved towards the window, and Roy found this silence unnerving. He had yet to be around Fullmetal for more than two minutes without him saying something, and never more than five minutes without a rant about how not short he is. He straightened his back, and his voice took on a professional quality, and he was immensely grateful to hear it did not quaver.
"Fullmetal, I-"
Edward finally spoke, cutting the older man off. "If I let you call me Edward, will you bring Al back?"
Mustang froze, not sure whether to cry or laugh from the absurdity of the question. He heard Havoc and Hawkeye's sharp breath behind him, obviously as stunned as he was. Edward's voice was cracked and strained, though he probably hadn't used it for awhile. Finally, he spoke, though he was still unsure of his own voice, "Fullmetal, I…I can't do that, and you know it."
Edward kept his head swiveled to the window, but Roy could see just enough of his face to know that several tears were sliding down his face. No sobs or hiccups emerged to follow them, just those quiet, painful tears. Roy's heart closed his throat, and he couldn't speak. Quickly, he did an about-face and strode past his subordinates, not stopping to see if they were following.
When the room was empty again, Edward began to sing under his breath, "What a beautiful time we had together, Now it's getting late and we must leave each other…"
Roy Mustang was a formidable man. He had seen things that might have made other men tremble. He was a soldier, and a leader. But none of these things registered in his mind as he leaned over the toilet and heaved up every thing in his stomach. The sharp, choking smell of vomit floated up and caressed the insides of his nose, wrenching forth more gagging.
When he was finally through, he pulled away and pressed his back against the side of the bathroom stall. A small sheen of sweat covered his forehead as he tried to regain his bearings. He didn't think that seeing Fullmetal break apart like that would undo him so badly, but it had and he now had to deal with it. The cool floor under his palms felt good, refreshing and so he sat there for several moments, forgetting time altogether, focusing only on those silent tears trickling down Edward's face.
That is why he didn't hear when Hawkeye brazenly entered the men's room (And really, who was going to be stupid enough to question Hawkeye?) and knocked on the door of the stall.
"Sir? Are you alright?" She asked in her customary calm voice. He nodded to himself, and then remembered she couldn't see him through the closed door. He stood somewhat shakily, but then reestablished his balance. Mustang straightened the front of his crisp blue uniform, and stepped out of the tiny stall.
There was no trace on the First Lieutenant's face that any sort of emotional turmoil had gone on in the past ten minutes. Roy took strength in this and walked out of the bathroom, intent on making certain that Edward snapped out of this depression, and soon.
(A/N: Well, how was this? I realize the story isn't progressing really well, but I'm working on that (and I always welcome ideas/suggestions)