Roy glared warily at Edward's back as he and Alphonse exited the office. He watched the door close behind them, as if he was waiting for them to be gone.
Hawkeye eyed him carefully, wondering what was running through her superior's mind.
All at once, the flame alchemist's harsh expression dissolved and he buried his gloved fingers in his hair, sighing deeply. The sudden release of breath didn't seem to agree with him and the colonel let loose a small series of coughs. Still, he made no motion to raise his head.
Riza blinked. She wasn't sure she'd ever seen him quite so out of it. Or at the very least, it had certainly been a while. "Sir," she chose her words purposefully, trying to pose her concern for him as a logical suggestion, "Your clothing is still soaked. Perhaps you should consider changing into some spare fatigues to give them a chance to dry out."
Roy gave no initial indications he'd heard her. He only dug his fingers deeper into his hair and shuddered.
"Sir?" Hawkeye asked worriedly.
Finally, he peeked up at her,"…Maybe you're righd, Lieutedadt." He conceded, "Maybe gedding oud of these wed thi'gs will stob sedding shivers ub my spide." Another cough escaped his lips, as if punctuating his words.
"Yes sir." She replied, stone-faced.
He placed his hands flat on his desk, using the steady surface as a means of easing himself out of his command chair. A dull ache in his extremities complained as he stood. Sleep. His body was begging him desperately for it.
Roy shook the cloud of sleep from his mind, "…I can't… Not here, not now." He thought to himself, mustering some small reserves of stubbornness. Besides, he decided, he could feel Riza's eyes on him. He could almost see the question forming on her lips. Was she going to inquire as to his health?
He elected to put a stop to that before it could happen, "I shouldn't b-be…" Darn it all! That infernal itching was creeping into his nostrils again. He fought the impending urge as he struggled to speak, "l-long… I-I'll st-st-stard on th-that repord as s-s-ehhhhh…" his efforts not to sneeze were taking more effort than they had any right to. He rubbed a gloved finger under his nostrils, hoping to calm the imminent explosion. His eyes stung as they tried to remain open against the building force.
Hawkeye was watching her superior's struggle. It would have almost been amusing if she didn't feel sorry for him.
"…S-Sood as I g-g-get b-back…" Roy's breathing hitched once more as he at last managed to miraculously end his sentence. "Ehhh…ehhhhh." Eyes half-lidded, the colonel wordlessly cursed all the things he blamed for his current predicament- the wayward alchemist, the storm… it wasn't as if he'd woken up that morning feeling unwell, he lied to himself.
Riza watched his shoulders tense, frowning in a show of mild sympathy.
The sneeze didn't come, and for a few long moments the flame alchemist believed he'd managed to ward it off. With what he hoped was an inaudible sigh, he plodded out of his office. The doors swung shut behind him as his subordinates simultaneously glanced up.
"Darn." Roy murmured to himself, "Just make it past their prying eyes and you can relax. You can do it…Just act professional." He coached himself.
"He looks sick as a dog." Havoc whispered to Breda, barely chancing a smirk when the colonel shot him a glare.
"Don't even get me started on those beasts…" Breda shuddered, "But I agree, he looks pretty out of it." He tacked on in a quieter tone.
"Just perfect." Mustang thought sourly, "They're so sure of themselves that they're not even bothering to gossip behind my back, but before my eyes..." he sighed, resigning himself to the fact he'd really have to put on a show for them. He squared his shoulders and clasped his hands behind his back, moving forward in what he hoped was an authoritative manor, "Don't you men th-think…" He trailed off; his eyebrows quirked and his breathing hitched predictably.
The itching came back in an immense tingling wave. All his efforts were in vain. It seemed the pressure from the previous wave of suppressed sneezes had come back with a vengeance. But before poor Mustang could contemplate the wisdom of not withholding one's sneeze, he doubled forward into an intense fit of nasal explosions.
"Hhpt'CHU! Hhpt'CHU! Huuukt'CHUU! Hhhhpt'CHUUUU! HUPT'chuu! HUUUUKT'CHOOOOW!"
The last sneeze resounded through the room, sounding every bit as painful as it felt. Roy groaned miserably, hands groping blindly for his disobedient nose as his vision swam a little.
"Gesundheit, sir." Falman offered the prompt blessing.
"You okay, colonel?" the concerned voice belonged to Fuery, there was no mistaking it.
The flame alchemist batted his eyes rapidly in order to clear the haze.
A handkerchief in the master sergeant's palm was extended towards him in a good natured gesture. The rest of his subordinates were all wearing expressions of varying concern. It would have been embarrassing, had he not currently been in desperate need of Fuery's offering.
Wordlessly, the colonel took the cloth, blowing his nose heartily into the fabric. The small sense of relief caused him to sigh in a mixture of exhaustion and contentment. "Thank you…Fuery." He murmured almost tonelessly, eyes closed against the sting of the lights.
"Maybe I'm crossing the line by saying this, sir, but if you ask me you should get home and to bed." Havoc ventured boldly.
"He's right, sir." Breda found himself enforcing, "Because you seem like you're struggling just to stay standing right now."
As the words sunk into his groggy mind, Roy's eyes snapped open. While the very idea of huddling into the warmth of his own bed seemed incredibly appealing, he couldn't admit to it… Admitting that would be admitting he was sick… Was he? He sure felt… No. He couldn't be sick.
He shot the two men an evil glare, "I- I'm not sick… I just… happened to get soaked in the storm… All I need is a change of clothes." He frowned inwardly at the pathetic, exhausted sound that was his voice. For a moment he was wondering who he was trying to convince more with his words: his men or himself.
The four subordinates all exchanged wordless gazes, before Havoc nodded smoothly, "Of course, chief. Forgive us for mentioning it." His words were so light and casual, almost as if nothing had happened.
Roy frowned, "He's patronizing me… or else he's afraid of being court-martialed." He thought accusingly. He sighed. To be honest, he found he really didn't care either way. He just wanted to get out of the room.
The four men watched the colonel disappear down the hall and then returned to their work stations.
Mustang shuffled down the hall wearily, hoping there would be no further obstacles on his quest for dry clothing. There were none. He managed to find some spare fatigues to change into, and promptly found his way to the nearest stall to do just that.
The simple process seemed much more taxing in his current state. He fumbled for several long minutes, but finally managed the task. He bundled his wet garments under his arm, but a sudden dizzy spell causing him to lean heavily against the stall door.
Heat pulsated through his head and darkness danced in the corners of his vision. Roy closed his eyes and took a deep, shaky breath, "No. No. No. You are NOT going to pass out here… Just breathe… The dizziness will pass."
A cough rattled through the ill man's chest, but he focused solely on breathing. Slowly, he opened his eyes. The worst of the lightheadedness had faded, leaving him feeling unsteady, but in no immediate danger of losing consciousness. He began to trudge back up the hall, footsteps heavy and sluggish.
His subordinates stole glances at him as he entered the room, but he paid them no mind. He passed them wordlessly on the way into his personal office where he'd left the first lieutenant waiting. Halfheartedly, he lowered his uniform onto the office sofa.
Riza, no different from his other subordinates, stared intently in his direction. Roy, however, wasn't interested in what she thought at the moment. All that mattered was sitting down. He dropped exhaustedly into his command chair, head lolling back.
"Are you alright, sir?" the first lieutenant tried to mask the ever growing concern in her voice.
She earned a strangled groan in reply. Still, she waited, hoping he'd say something.
The seconds ticked on, and she began to wonder if he'd blacked out. However, before she could prove her theory his worn voice broke the silence.
"L-Lieutenant…" the flame alchemist spoke with his eyes closed, sounding almost drifty.
"Sir?" she waited for him to finish.
His breathing hitched and he lurched forward in his seat, "Hhhhpt'CHUUU! Hukt'CHUU!" He groaned, burying his face in his arms. He mumbled something into his sleeve.
Hawkeye strained to hear his words, but they were too muffled, "What was that, sir?"
A sniffle and he slowly raised his head, "I dod't… feel very well, lieutedadt." Roy clarified; his expression one of absolute misery.
Riza felt her stomach twist a little at his confession and found her palm extending towards his forehead almost instinctively, "Understandable, sir." She said as calmly as she could, "You seem to be sporting quite the fever."
Feeling so completely spent, the colonel couldn't even appreciate his adjutant's touch. He simply let his head fall back to his arms. He didn't know how this had swept over him so quickly. At this point though, he was too far gone to even try and puzzle it out. His body's pleas for sleep were beginning to sound infinitely more reasonable.
The first lieutenant was torn. There wasn't much she could do for him that wasn't considered breach of protocol. Then again, her duty was to see to it that he accomplished his work… and in his current state he surely didn't seem capable of getting much of anything done. "Sir, you should get down to sickbay." She stated. She decided not to give him the option of refusal.
She needn't have bothered with her firm manor, however. The combination of fever and fatigue seemed to have subdued Roy from the moment he'd given in to his symptoms. His eyes half-lidded, he gazed into the middle distance. The only indication the flame alchemist had even heard her at all was a slight "Mm."
Riza's eyebrows knit at the dull, wordlessness of his reply. "I'll be right back, colonel."
Roy blinked slowly. In reality, the meanings of most words were beginning to become lost on him through the haze of fever. His pride all but extinguished by exhaustion. It was hard to keep up a façade without the energy to put on the act. He was sick and he knew it. Strangely, that didn't trouble him as much as he'd recalled thinking it would. No. All that seemed to matter now was the notion of sleep…
Hawkeye hurried through the office doors and out to the rest of team Mustang.
"How's the chief?" Havoc asked mildly, taking a drag from his cigarette.
"Not well, Lieutenant Havoc." She said coolly, "In fact, I'm going to escort him to the infirmary."
"And he's not resisting the idea?" Fuery seemed completely shocked.
"No. He seems to be in a daze." Hawkeye replied, crossing her arms, "I advise all of you to prepare for a heavier workload in order to pick up the slack."
"Yes sir." Falman was the first to reply.
The others followed suit.
"Very well. Let's not let the colonel down, men." Riza said in closing, turning to head back into Roy's office to 'collect' him.
"Just a moment. When you say 'dazed'… How out of it is the colonel now?" Jean Havoc asked casually, leaning back in his chair.
Riza turned back to the second lieutenant, "Well he admitted to feeling ill and is presently resting his head in his arms." She stated calmly.
"In that case, he may not be coordinated enough to walk. You might need someone to help support his weight on the way down the hall." Havoc spoke in the same casual tone, though it was plain to see that he was offering his assistance as a concerned subordinate.
Hawkeye nodded in understanding, "Yes, Lieutenant Havoc. I might just need your assistance with the colonel."
Havoc put out his cigarette and stood, "Then let's get going." He said as he strode over to Riza. He followed her into the office
Roy appeared to have fallen asleep, or at the very least closed his eyes. He looked anything but peaceful, however. His eyebrows were furrowed in discomfort; his nose was a pinkish hue that nearly blended with the deep flush of his cheeks induced by fever.
Riza walked over to her commanding officer, "Colonel Mustang, sir." She addressed him.
He faintly heard her say his name… but he felt so tired… Maybe he could just ignore her...
Havoc crossed his arms as he watched wordlessly.
"Sir, we're taking you down to the infirmary now." Hawkeye spoke again, a bit louder as she set a hand on his left shoulder.
No… she was persistent. Of course. This was Hawkeye. Roy licked at his lips and blinked open heavy eyelids, "Mm?" a low rumble uttered from his throat followed by a pair of coughs.
"We're going to take you down to the infirmary, sir. Can you stand?" Her voice was firm, but seemed to hold some degree of warmth.
Roy blinked sluggishly.
"Don't worry if you can't, chief. Just lean on me, alright?" Havoc added, offering a good natured smirk.
Slowly, he seemed to process their words as he rose from his chair unsteadily, "I… I thidk I cad... walk." He tried to shake the drowsiness from his mind, but it wouldn't clear. Having briefly allowed himself to relax had only caused the haze in his mind to thicken.
Havoc noticed the colonel stumble slightly and promptly slung his commanding officer's right arm over his own shoulder. "Easy there, chief. Why don't you let me give you a hand?"
"It will go faster if you cooperate, sir." Hawkeye put in.
"Mm…fide." Roy murmured, his mind too fever-muddled for him to truly care what was being said. In fact, he hardly seemed to register when they started moving forward. He discovered subconsciously along the way that he really was glad for Havoc's support. His legs felt heavy; it was all he could do to move them. Yes, if it weren't for the second lieutenant he probably would have fallen flat on his face in the middle of the hallway.
Riza kept an eye on Roy as they guided him along. He really did look awful. "We're almost to sickbay." She told herself, hoping the doctors would be able to at the very least give Roy something to bring down his fever.
Author's Note:
Ah, hello again, dear readers. I almost made Roy pass out! =D I'm sure that somewhere, Mustang is slipping on his ignition gloves to barbecue me. *laughs* Don't worry, Roy. I only torture you because I love you so. At least I gave him his caring subordinates to help him feel better.
Anyway, Roy's temperature to be taken next chapter! I'm really tempted to list it in Fahrenheit. (I'm from the United States, so Fahrenheit has more immediate significance to me than Celsius.) Although it may be a bit of a stretch, did Hiromu Arakawa ever state what temperature unit they use in Amestris? (I know it's based off Germany, but if the unit was never officially stated I think it'd fair game…) Hmmm. Either way, I'll be sure to do a conversion to whichever unit I don't use to leave at the end of the next author's note. (That way, everyone can get an idea of what I'm driving at.) Hope you all are enjoying the fic so far!
Reviews are more than welcome! See you in Chapter 4!