Disclaimer: L.Q does not own Fullmetal Alchemist
His arms and legs seemed to be incapable of moving. One second he was standing, the next he was like a puppet on the floor with its strings cut. Just great.
No one had even bothered to catch him either.
The colonel was by his side the second after he hit the floor. "Fullmetal?" he asked urgently.
A pleased feeling suddenly stole over Edward. If he wasn't mistaken, the colonel seemed to be concerned about him! It was nice to know that the colonel cared . . .
Urgh, he was doing it again.
Ed quickly derailed his train of thought, and proceeded to blow it to pieces.
"Brother!"
Al rushed to his side and picked him up gently. Ed could feel the cold metal against him. Okay, so he wasn't numb, but then why wouldn't his muscles obey him?! Was this the effect of hitting his head?
"I'm ok, Al." Ed looked up at his brother as he was carried back to his hospital bed. Funny, he could move his head around and talk, but couldn't move anything else. He was pretty much a limp noodle in this state.
Huh, noodle, that sounded familiar.
Once he was back on his bed, Al was on him in a flash. "See, Brother? You need to rest! You're always running around everywhere but you neglect what's most important – your health!"
Edward tuned out Al's lecture and looked over at the colonel, who was now standing there with a knowing look on his face. Ed resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at him.
"Alright there, Fullmetal?" Seeming to have forgotten about his desire to talk with Hawkeye, Mustang strolled to the side of his bed and looked down at him.
With both Al and Mustang looming over him, Ed felt more than a little small – which he wasn't dammit!
"I can't move," he answered honestly.
Mustang frowned, but he didn't seem overly shocked. If Ed didn't know better, he would've thought that Mustang had been expecting something like this to happen.
The colonel nodded once, appearing to be deep in thought. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room with Hawkeye, ignoring Ed's protests.
"Sir, I do not think it was a wise decision to hide the truth from Edward," Hawkeye said without preamble as soon as they had reached the waiting room.
Roy felt a twinge of guilt, but he pushed it down. "It's for his own good," he said. "We all know that the first thing Fullmetal would do is run off to find his captor, but he's obviously in no state to do that."
"I don't know for sure," he continued, "but it looks like the signals from his brain are being cut off from reaching certain parts of his body, leaving him unable to move, and therefore vulnerable."
Hawkeye nodded in understanding. "I guess he'll have to stay here, then."
"Not necessarily," Mustang said. "It's been in his system for a while now; if he was permanently paralyzed he wouldn't have been able to get out of bed at all in the first place."
Mustang frowned. The woman they were dealing was definitely cunning, and therefore dangerous.
"I think that the paralysis will just be on and off for Edward," he announced.
Hawkeye looked worried. "Then Edward needs someone to protect him since he's basically out of commission in this condition."
It was true. With Ed's memory seemingly gone, he wouldn't be able to recognize the woman if she should try to attack him again. And not being able to rely on his mobility, there would be times when he wouldn't be able to defend himself against anyone who wanted to do him harm, which was many, seeing as he was a state alchemist of the military and enemies just came naturally with the job.
Now that he thought about it, Ed needed someone to take care of him regardless of him being in the military or not. People who were paralyzed from the neck down needed people to help them in their daily lives.
Hmm, who could he assign to be Fullmetal's nanny?
"Sir."
One word was all it took for Mustang to get a sinking feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. He had a feeling he would not like what Hawkeye was about to say.
"NO."
Edward stared at the man in disgusted horror. This had to be some kind of sick joke. No way in hell would he willingly stay with Mustang for longer than the time it took to insult him and receive a new mission.
No, he was not happy at all about the prospect of staying with Mustang 24/7, not happy at all . . . right?
Ed had (somehow) regained control of his limbs and was now sitting up in bed. Alphonse was looking worriedly between Edward and Mustang. Edward was glaring daggers at Mustang, who just stared back with a cool gaze.
"It's the most logical course of action to take in this situation Ed," Hawkeye said, trying to be soothing.
Edward's eye twitched; he was getting pretty fed up about not knowing the extent of his condition, and it didn't help that he was still in the damn hospital!"
"What exactly is the situation?" he asked, trying to be as calm as possible. Mustang would've been a bloody mess on the floor by now if he didn't have Hawkeye protecting him.
"Fullmetal," Mustang said, "You have taken a blow to the head and are now experiencing episodes of paralysis. Until these episodes stop and you are fully recovered, you will be under my protection."
He smirked. "I would hate to have to do the paperwork that comes along with the death of a subordinate just because you couldn't clap your hands to defend yourself."
Edward was about to protest, but Al piped up.
"Brother," he said, "I would worry a lot less if I knew you were with the colonel. I can continue researching in the library; I'll also look into some medical texts while I'm there."
Ed sighed. He could never argue against his brother. If staying with Colonel Bastard would make Al feel better, then he would do it.
He puffed out some air and his bangs lifted up for a second. "Fine," he said sullenly. "But only because you want me to, Al!"
Everyone seemed to breathe out a sigh of relief. Edward glared suspiciously at them all; they were hiding something, and he would figure out what.
Edward stared up at the house. He had to admit, it wasn't half bad. It was upper-middle class, which seemed to suit the colonel just fine. There was a neat lawn (and probably a big backyard), and a military issued car parked in the driveway. Ed wondered why the colonel had Hawkeye drive him around everywhere when he had his own car.
He lifted his suitcase as Hawkeye drove away (having just dropped them off) and followed Mustang into the house.
The inside of the house was just as pleasant as the outside. Mustang didn't content himself with just the bare minimum, but he didn't flaunt his wealth either. It was right in the middle. In other words, the house was very comfy and a bit luxurious but still somehow modest.
Mustang showed him the kitchen/dining room, and the sitting room on the first floor. To Ed's delight, he did have a spacious backyard, which was perfect for working out.
"All the rooms are on the second floor," Mustang said as they climbed the stairs. "This is my room," he gestured to a door. "You can have that room," he pointed to a room further down the hall. "And the bathroom is over there."
With the conclusion to the brief tour of the house, Mustang headed to his room. "I'm going to change," he said. "Go unpack your suitcase and settle in."
Hmph. They weren't even working, and the colonel was still ordering him around! Grumbling, Edward walked into his room. The walls were white – but did not resemble a hospital – and a bed was in a corner, with light blue sheets. There was a desk by a window, and a dresser.
Ed plunked his suitcase on top of his bed, opened it, and emptied it of his clothes and personal possessions. It didn't take long to find a place for everything; he always travelled light. After placing his suitcase in the closet, he headed downstairs to find Mustang in the kitchen.
"You can cook?"
Mustang turned away from the stove. He wore a black apron over black jeans and a navy polo shirt. It was strange to see Mustang out of uniform. Hmm, he was a bit slimmer than Ed had thought.
"Yes, I can cook. I don't you about you, Fullmetal, but I need to eat." Mustang rolled his eyes and turned back to the stove.
Edward felt a burst of annoyance. "Ed," he said, plopping into a chair by the counter. "Call me Ed, not Fullmetal."
There was a pause before Mustang replied, "Whatever you say, Ed."
Ed smiled at the colonel's back. He didn't know why, but it was nice to hear the colonel call him by his name.
Roy looked down at his work, satisfied. Al had told him all about Fullmetal's – no, Ed's – humongous appetite, and he was confident that he had made enough to satisfy the bottomless pit that was Edward's stomach.
"Edward!" he called, wiping his hands on his apron, "Dinner's ready!"
Ed had wandered out of the kitchen a while ago, and if Roy had to guess where he was now, he would say the boy was in the living room, reading Roy's alchemy books.
He took off his apron and folded it neatly, putting it back in its proper place. No, he wasn't a neat freak; he just liked knowing where everything in his house was at any given moment, and the best way to remember where they were was to put them back in the same place every time.
Roy walked into the living room. "Edward?"
To say Roy was surprised would be an understatement. Ed had been in the living room for what, forty five minutes? And already he looked like he had been living there for days.
The youth was sprawled out on the floor, with books towering over him like a fortress. He was engrossed in a book, and was flipping the pages at a rapid pace. How Ed could possibly be reading the words at this rate was a mystery to Roy.
"Edward," Roy said as he crouched down beside the blond.
Edward didn't look up or acknowledge him in any way. Could he even hear him? Roy sighed and shook his head, but he was impressed by the focus Ed had. He really wouldn't let anything distract him from his goal, even if the goal was to read and the distractions were background noises at the moment.
Roy leaned forward and yanked the book out of Ed's hands. Ed was perfectly motionless for a second before he registered that he was no longer holding the book. He blinked and twisted his head around to look up at Roy.
"Dinner's ready," Roy said. "But before we eat, you have to put all these books back."
Edward stood up and stretched. "You've got some interesting books, Colonel," was all he said before he bent down and picked up an armful of books. He had practically emptied the large wood shelf in the living room, so Roy headed back to the dining room to wait for his subordinate.
He was just setting the table when he heard a loud thump and the unmistakable sound of books tumbling to the ground, followed by swearing. Roy dashed back to the living room, ready to laugh at Ed's clumsiness, but what he saw wiped the almost smile off his face.
Ed was lying in what looked like an uncomfortable position on his side. He was completely motionless and half covered by books.
Roy rushed over to Ed. He swept the books off him and turned him onto his back. He was surprised to see a bruise blossoming beneath Ed's left eye.
"Don't touch me!"
Roy lifted his hands away from the boy's face and sat back on his heels. The magnitude of the situation finally hit him. Ed was in a dangerous situation. Roy didn't know if the bouts of immobility were scheduled or random, but either way they were very dangerous. What if Ed fell down while he was in the shower, or while coming down the stairs?
He had gotten injured just by putting books away!
"Are you alright?" Roy looked Ed over. Apart from the bruise, he seemed to be okay.
"Just peachy." Ed scowled at him.
Roy ignored the death glare he was receiving and scooped Edward into his arms bridal style.
"Put me down right now, Colonel!"
Ed squirmed, but the extent of this was just him shaking his head from side to side. It was pathetic, really.
"I can't just leave my guest on the floor, can I?" Roy said. "Unless, of course, you prefer it down there, seeing as how you're so used to it by now."
"AARGH! WHO ARE YOU CALLING A TINY LITTLE PIPSQUEAK?!"
Ed yelled as loud as he could, but the effect was ruined because he was lying so placidly in the colonel's arms.
Roy set him down gently on the couch. "Comfy?" he asked.
Edward just muttered and turned his head away.
"I'll get you some ice." Mustang quickly went back to the kitchen, leaving Ed lying on the couch with his bangs shadowing his face.
This was horrible. It was the second time in a single day that he was completely helpless, and he hated it.
He watched Mustang hurry away from the corner of his eye. He could feel a throbbing pain on his face where the corner of a thick tome had hit him, but it didn't bother him much. What bothered him was that he was vulnerable, in front of Mustang, of all people.
And what really bothered him was the fact that he didn't really mind it.
Oh, how he wished he could just get up, find Al, and continue his search for the Philosophers stone. Yes, it was a hard life, but it had a sense of normality for him that he didn't have when thinking about Mustang right now.
Hmm, best not to think about him at all, then.
Mustang returned holding an ice pack. He seemed to consider Ed for a moment, then shrugged and kneeled down beside him. He pressed the ice pack gently against Ed's face.
Ed would've been lying if he said the ice didn't feel good, so he decided to allow the colonel the privilege of treating his face.
The colonel didn't make any conversation, and Edward didn't see a need to either. He closed his eyes in contentment and let the cooling ice soothe his face.
A thought suddenly came to him and he frowned slightly. How long did this last for? Not more than half an hour, he hoped. In this condition, he wasn't able to eat dinner! What a shame. Oh well, he was more tired than hungry, anyway. He would rest while he waited for it to wear off.
Ed fell asleep with Mustang leaning over him, looking down at him worriedly.
Lest: Hmm, I don't have anything to say this time.
L.Q: Well, I do. Thank-you so much everyone for the support you've given this story so far. Only other writers on this site can relate when I say I get elated when I see a new review, or find out that my story has followers, or that people have put it on their favourite list.
Lest: Ok, ok, enough of that!
L.Q: Says the person who doesn't write.
Lest: Whatever. Till next time!