Author's Note: theretard5892 asked if the other chapters were going to be as long as the first, and my answer is yes. I usually have my chapters between 1000-2500 words, but definitely no more than 3000. This one was pushing my limit, but I'm a sucker for editing things out. And for everyone else, thanks for reviewing.

6 days ago....

Edward was pointedly staring at the ground by his feet. He was looking extremely sorry for himself and uncomfortable at being on a hospital bed.

Mustang had to admit he felt sorry for the poor kid. Reluctantly, he looked away from Edward and focused on the approaching doctor. He tried not to flinch when Edward started coughing again, nor sneak a glance at the alchemist.

"It's definitely haemoptysis, caused by a rupture in his respiratory tract," the doctor confirmed. "My guess would be from some foreign object that gotten into his lungs. Any ideas what could be?"

"He was involved in a raid, last night," Mustang stated. "He breathed in a letter of dust."

"Anyone affected?"

"He was the only one to breathe it in," Mustang replied.

"Well, that may have caused it," the doctor admitted.

The sound of the coughing had stopped and Mustang and the doctor turned to observe Edward. He was handing a bloody tissue to the nurse and was taking a glass of water. He drank it slowly.

Beside him was Alphonse. The suit of armour was watching everything is that his brother did. Despite being unable to showing expression, Al's anxiousness was clear.

"Well Edward," the doctor announced, and walking towards the alchemist. "We're going to give you some acetaminophen; that should help with your throat. And as for your lungs… I'm afraid there's little we can do. You need to stay away from anything that can further irritate your lungs; we can help you in that regard."

"You mean you wanna put me in one of them sterilised boxes?" Ed interpreted, pulling an unimpressed face.

"Yes, there's that," the doctor admitted. "But, we can supply you with masks to cover your nose and mouth. The masks are sterile and they'll keep away any irritants."

"They'll also make me look like an idiot," Ed muttered to Al. "How long would I have to wear a mask?"

"Until the irritant is gone and your lungs have healed sufficiently, which brings me to my last point."

"And what is that?" Ed asked unenthusiastically.

"By the condition of the blood you're coughing up, it's safe to say that you've ruptured some of your airways. This is quite problematic because it could lead to some very serious infections. We have some tablets that I'd like you to take, but there's a few injections that I want to be administered."

Mustang and Al both tensed up. Edward was well known for his dislike of needles, and how far he was willing to go to avoid them. Mustang and Al prepare themselves for a struggle.

"Fine," Ed conceded, shrugging his shoulders.

Mustang stared in amazement, unable to believe what he had just heard. He could not believe that Edward had agreed to more than just one injection, and he wasn't even complaining. Mustang quietly mused that Ed was doing this since he knew he had no chance of getting away, or maybe he knew how serious the situation was.

Either way, the colonel wasn't about to push his luck and decided that he would ask it afterwards.

He watched the young alchemist take the tablets without comment and he sat still while a nurse gave the injections. Once Ed had taken all the necessary medications and had grudgingly put on a mask, Mustang approached.

"If you're gonna say you told me so-" Ed began.

"That was extremely mature of you Fullmetal," Mustang interrupted. "Tell me: when did you get over your fear of needles?"

Ed stared blankly at Mustang for a few moments before turning to look at his arm where the nurse had stuck the needles in. He racked his brain for an explanation, but couldn't find one.

"Don't know," Ed admitted, shrugging his shoulders.

"I guess this means we'll be in Central for a while," Al noted, watching the nurse return.

She quietly handed Ed two small bags. One had replacement masks in it; the other had what looked like tissues. She reminded Edward to change the mask at least once every two hours and immediately if it got wet. With that, she handed him a third bag for him to bring back everything he used for proper disposal, and left to attend her other duties.

"Well, I think they're setting up a bed for me here," Ed stated unhappily. "I'd rather stay in the dorms, but-"

"You'll recover quicker here," Mustang finished. "Try not to exert yourself too much, Fullmetal. It'll cost me a mountain of paperwork."

"I thought Lieutenant Hawkeye made sure you had that already," Ed quietly mumbled through the mask, smirking a hidden smirk.

Mustang pretended that he hadn't heard the young man. He muttered to Edward about taking it easy and left to tackle the mountain of paperwork the Hawkeye probably had already stacked on his desk.

Once the colonel was gone, Ed stretched and yawned. Sudden spasms made him drop his arms and reach for one of the tissues, ripping off the mask in process. The tissues only just managed to make it to his mouth before he started coughing again. He closed his eyes to try to shut out the pain that was flaring through his body.

He could feel Al's hand on his back, but could quite manage to force himself to open his eyes. He didn't want to see his blood shining brightly on the tissue, and to some degree, he didn't want to see Al either.

He knew it was purely egotistical. He had always taken pride in thinking himself to be the big brother, the one who was never weak. Admittedly, he'd shown a certain lack of emotional control, but physically? Sure, he'd been hurt a few dozen times, which had landed him in hospital more than once, but who hasn't?

He was rarely genuinely ill. Even when he and Al had been children, he rarely caught the annual winter cold. He'd had the measles and chicken pox, but only after Al had had them. Ed had always blamed Al for whatever illness he did manage to contract. But this time, it wasn't Al's fault.

No matter what he'd suffered from in the past, Ed had never felt so terrible as he did at that moment, in the hospital, coughing up blood, with his brother's metal hand on his back. He was the older brother. He didn't get sick. And, now that he was, he didn't want to see Al, because that meant that Al could see him. And, if Al could see him then that meant that he was seeing his brother in a fragile state.

Ed hated being ill. He hated being fragile.

The spasm subsided, and Ed wiped around his mouth with a clean piece of the tissue. Once satisfied, he gave the tissue a look of distain, seeing the offending object revealing what it had taken from him. He venomously stuffed the tissue in the disposal bag, which was shortly followed by the mask he had been wearing. With those two items dealt with, Ed pulled out another mask and positioned it onto his face, pulling the chords to latch behind his ears.

Al didn't speak, knowing that his brother wouldn't thank him for any comment he might make. It wasn't until Edward had finished cleaning himself up that Al thought it would be okay for him to speak. He was about to ask Ed if he had any plans for them, when he noticed Ed's curious expression.

"What's wrong, Brother?" Al asked before he realised it. But, he had asked it lightly, like when Ed would frown at something in a book.

"My arm feels weird," Ed answered as if the topic was no more important than the weather.

Ed moved his automail back and forth, twisting it to different angles and all the while testing its mobility and responsiveness. It didn't appear to be functioning any differently to Al, but he knew that his brother wasn't one to complain about some tiny discomfort.

"Maybe you didn't get all the dust out of the joints last night," Al suggested.

"Yeah... that's probably it. We may have to take a detour to Resembool once we leave Central. Winry'll know how best to clean it," Ed mused good-naturedly.

"Right," Al nodded.

It was times like this when Al really hated being in an armoured suit. He couldn't smile an indulgent smile, all the while trying not to show how worried he was. While it wasn't something he particularly wanted to do, he didn't want to be unable to do it either.

Keeping those feelings to himself, Al watched his brother put his coat back on. As they left the hospital, al told himself to keep an eye on Ed, who was trying to remain inconspicuous despite the fact that he was wearing a mask. For some reason, something wasn't sitting right with this whole situation.

Present...

"If something was bugging you, why didn't you tell anybody?" Winry asked, frowning at Al.

"I didn't know what it was; it could have just been me being overly worried for Ed," Al defended.

"But it wasn't long before the rest of us picked up on that bad feeling," Lieutenant Hawkeye continued.

"How so?" Winry looked behind her to observe Hawkeye.

It surprised Winry how little they'd travelled from the hospital; they couldn't have travelled any further than a quarter of the distance. Then it occurred to her that they were walking quite slowly, obviously so they could comfortably bring her up to speed and allow her time to ask questions.

"It was only a day later the Fullmetal stopped coughing," Mustang answered. "When the doctors checked him over, they said that there was nothing wrong with him."

"Or so we thought," Al sighed.

5 days ago...

"What are you thinking about, Brother?" Al asked as the look appeared on Ed's face for the ninth time that afternoon.

Ed looked up from the book he had been trying to read. Normally he could get into any book, except perhaps romantic novels, but no self-respecting teenage boy would be caught dead with one of those books, or so Edward said. But, this was an alchemy book, and he had been finding it difficult to understand the concepts behind it.

Ed didn't speak for a moment, a blank look on his face as he gazed at Al's helmet. Then, he blinked and the moment passed. He smiled at Al.

"Something's just bugging me," Ed stated simply.

"Alchemy?" his brother inquired.

"No," Ed dismissed, closing the book. "The doctor said it could take weeks for my lungs to heal, maybe they wouldn't ever fully heal."

"But, you're fine now, Brother," Al noted.

"That's the problem, All," Ed shook his head. "Why? If the doctor said my lungs may never fully heal, why are they in perfect condition only a day later?"

Al shrugged. He didn't know the answer, and was inclined to not caring. His brother was better, and that's all he wanted to know.

"Come on, Al," Ed pushed back his chair and stood. "Let's go."

"Go where, Brother?" Al asked as Ed faced the door.

Ed turned back to look at Alphonse. He stared blankly at his younger brother.

If he could, Al would have flushed red with embarrassment. He couldn't help but think that he'd just asked a foolish question, a question that he should have known the answer to.

"He was about to say something when he noticed how blankly Ed was staring at him. Those golden eyes that often spoke a thousand silent words of brotherly love, anguish and solemn promises were strangely guarded. Those eyes looked at him with confusion, and a small amount of fear and mistrust.

"B-Brother?" Al could hear his voice trembling.

Ed blinked. He continued to gaze at Al, but his blank expression was gone and those strange, golden eyes became his again. Ed frowned in concern.

"What's wrong, Al?" Ed asked, his tone laced with worry.

"Huh? Oh, it's nothing," Al giggled nervously. "Weren't we about to go somewhere?"

"Uh, yeah," Ed asked unsurely, watching his brother join his side. "I was thinking the cafeteria."

"Brother," Al sighed in exasperation. "With how much food you eat, I'm surprised you're not fat."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ed asked indignantly.

"Nothing," Al chirped, moving past his brother and walking into the corridor.

For the first time in a long time, Al was glad he was bound to an expressionless suit of armour. He was glad because he knew he would have been unable to hide his concern for Edward if he had been in flesh.

Now, all he had to do was get his brother back to the infirmary and speak to a doctor. Of course, he had to do this without Ed knowing.

This is going to be fun, Al thought sarcastically to himself.

"Hey Al!" Ed called.

Alphonse turned to look at his brother who was merely a few feet away. Ed was facing the opposite way that Al was going. Then, Ed turned and caught sight of Al. He smiled in relief and followed his brother.

Al didn't say anything but carried on silently. He was beginning to wonder if it mattered if Ed knew about his plan. And, as each second passed, Al was coming less to caring.

Al always felt awkward in the cafeteria or whenever food was around. As a suit of armour, he didn't have to eat and, even after all these years, he still wasn't sure how to act. He knew his brother didn't care and didn't want him to put on the act of pretending to eat. But, there were others who couldn't understand that he couldn't eat, one in particular had been a little girl called Nina.

Ed sat opposite Al, his tray full of food. Contrary to stuffing his face, Ed was eating slowly, methodically. The look that Al had learnt to fear and hate was once again gracing Ed's face.

There was nothing particularly special about the look, more like an accumulation of several little things that made the look so worrying for Al. Ed's eyes would have the same intense focus as if he was reading an alchemy book, but there was also a mixture of confusion and irritation as well. His mouth was pursed and was constantly moving, as if he was chewing his lip.

Al looked away slightly and noticed that a few seats down from where he and Ed were sitting, Lieutenant Hawkeye was anxiously watching Edward's every move. As soon as she felt Al's gaze, she promptly returned to eating her meal. She kept sneaking a glance in their direction whenever she thought she could get away with it.

Looking the other way, Al saw Havoc, Fuery, Falman and Brosh eating a few seats up from them. The four officers were taking turns to watch the brothers, or more precisely, the elder brother.

Obviously the colonel isn't convinced that Edward's fine either. I didn't expect him to order everyone to keep an eye on him, though, Al thought to himself.

When Al finally looked back to his brother, he saw that Ed had abandoned his meal and was avidly regarding his right arm. He was flexing his arm and clenching and unclenching his hand.

"Your arm again, Brother?" al asked.

"It doesn't feel..." Ed trailed off, turning his attention to his left leg. "My leg feels wrong too."

Al was more than aware that his brother's left leg and right arm was automail; he'd been outside the operating room when his friend Winry and her grandmother, Pinako, had installed Ed's automail. However, they had both said that if there was going to be any reaction to the prosthetic limbs, then it would have appeared soon after the operation.

Ed placed his left hand over his right. He then began tapping the automail gently as he brought his hand up his arm and towards his shoulder, checking the automail for abnormalities. When he reached his shoulder, his hand was still for a moment before he moved again, using his fingers to feel around where metal met flesh. He frowned at the end of his examination.

"What's wrong, Brother?" al asked, anxiousness entering his voice.

Ed ignored him and focused on his leg. This time, he started at the top of his leg and worked his way down. He stopped halfway down his thigh, where his automail leg started. After a quick inspection, Ed left his leg alone and once again took interest in his meal, ignoring the fact that it was stone cold.

Al couldn't miss the dark look on his brother's face. He wanted to question Ed, but didn't feel comfortable, especially with his brother's expression. It took a few moments for Al to get over that surprise, when he encountered another.

Ed had swapped his cutlery around. He was holding the knife in his left hand and the fork in his right. He seemed to be having difficulties with the instruments, but the look on his face refrained anyone from suggesting that he swap them around.

Then, quicker than lightening, Ed did something that no one expected or could have thought to prevent.