This story is based on an actual historic event that led to the end of corporal punishment in the British Navy, and soon after, most of the world.
It is also loosely based on something that happened to me and something that happened to someone I know.
Unlike this story, the event that inspired it did not have a happy ending.
I can only hope my own experience follows this story's example.
"Edward Elric to see you, sir."
Out of habit, Roy scoffed and sifted through his current ream of paperwork, not looking up from the pages as he turned them over each other.
"Finally decided to show himself? Not as if I would be able to see him even if he was on time."
"He is on time, sir."
"Of course he is. He's always - wait, what?"
Mustang looked up from the rows of tiny text, his eyes blinking as they adjusted from looking at something small and near to something large and further away.
"Edward in on time today, sir - early, in fact," Riza said, her eyes hooded with annoyed disapproval. It took Roy a moment to realize it was for him.
Roy glanced at the wall clock.
He glanced at his agenda, turned to today's date and listing the day's scheduler.
He glanced back at the clock.
Then he looked out the office window behind him, fully expecting to see a sky of odd-colored clouds, rampant bolts of lightning, and buildings and people being pulled through the air by at least three tornadoes.
Because if Edward Elric was early… well, the apocalypse must be upon them.
The world seemed to share Mustang's incredulity because the clouds that covered the sky were plain an white. Flecks of snow flitted here and there against the backdrop of East City, the pavement and rooftops covered in the sheet that had fallen during the night.
An urban idyll, at least for the time being. Perhaps the lightning and tornadoes were running behind schedule instead of Fullmetal.
Roy sat back forward to see that his lieutenant's expression had darkened.
It was strange to be the one in the wrong for a change.
Not knowing what to do with this role reversal, Roy unnecessarily cleared his throat to save face and set his papers aside.
"Well… send him in, then."
"Of course, sir." Riza's voice held a nip of warning.
Roy felt relief wash over him when he saw the reason for why Edward was on time today: he was a mess.
His hair was uncombed, his clothes wrinkled as if he had slept in them - which meant they were probably the same ones he wore yesterday. The hunch in his back and the droop in his face suggested that he had been in a deep sleep less than an hour ago.
Roy smiled triumphantly at Hawkeye, who did not seem to share his opinion - if anything, his happiness at Ed's unkemptness only increased her disdain. Roy rolled his eyes at her and looked away.
Women and their coddling, forgiving natures.
"I expect my soldiers to be presentable when on base," Roy said by way of greeting, resting his elbows on his desk and steepling his hands and placing his chin on his fingers as he waited for the obligatory snarky comment from his major.
Edward said nothing, staring blearily and obediently forward. The only indication he gave that he had heard Mustang was the slight tilt to his head, as if he wasn't sure what the colonel had said. This suspicion was proven true when Edward finally spoke, his mouth hanging open for a moment like he had lost his voice inside himself and had to take a moment to find it.
"I… I thought I am present… 'cause I'm here… sir."
Roy felt his brows shoot up his forehead and curving over his hairline and into his scalp.
Never had Fullmetal ever spoken to him - or anyone that Roy knew of - with such in sarcastic respect. Roy was so shocked that he completely forgot about the conversation until Riza helpfully shifted her feet with a conspicuous stomp.
"Um… yes, you are. I meant… You ought to have cleaned yourself up a bit. Showered, or at least changed your clothes."
Edward nodded in agreement. Roy was sure his brows had shot straight down his neck and were now located somewhere between his shoulder blades.
"Yeah, I… I accidentally slept in… sir. I thought you might like it better if I was on time and… and like this than late and… and all nice… sir. I'm sorry."
Roy's brows were no longer together, as they had split at his legs and now each was at the back of its own knee.
"Um… You are correct, Fullmetal. I appreciate your forethought."
An awkward silence.
"Um… How was the business at Vanes Balt?"
The leading military official of the town, Colonel Wayne Holland, had requested to borrow the Fullmetal Alchemist for a week in his endeavor to uncover a regional smuggling ring that had been believed to be located in or around Vanes Balt. Since one of the ring's specialties had been counterfeit coins and bills (paying for goods with homemade money was no different than not paying at all, which meant all the more profits), Colonel Holland had the idea to trace the ring's base of operations using the materials from which the coins were made from. As Edward's title suggested, he had an affinity for the metallic elements. The assignment might as well have had Ed's name written all over it.
It was also the perfect opportunity to accrue a few favors from the colonel in the near future.
Roy thought he saw Edward shiver, but thought nothing of it. It was snowing outside so it was perfectly reasonable for the boy to be a bit chilled, especially considering his steel prosthetics. Roy made a mental note to make sure that Edward did not walk back to wherever he had come from.
"Colonel Holland was right. They had… they had alchemists that were usin' the minerals in the crop fields to make coins. Pretty smart 'cause the farmers would'na noticed until spring."
Roy was surprised that the colonel hadn't called him to report Edward's success personally. Usually, when Roy rented out his major, he received direct praise for his kid's genius, immediately followed by complaints on his manners and behavior. After a moment of deliberation, Mustang again decided to think nothing of it. Holland had probably just decided that it would be easier to have Fullmetal report the success himself, since he was going to have to, anyway.
"So… the matter is concluded?"
"Yes, sir."
Another awkward silence.
"Edward's report, sir - the written one," Riza said when the moment overstayed its welcome.
"Hmm? Oh, yes, thank you, Lieutenant. Your report, please, Fullmetal - your written one."
Roy waited for the guilty turn of the eyes, the shuffling of the feet, the grumbled excuses.
Instead, Edward pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and placed it delicately on the desk.
Mustang stared at it as if it was an unpinned grenade.
After a second of staring, Roy shook himself back into awareness and reached for the paper, picking it up and unfolding it as if it really was made of explosives.
The handwriting was crisp and neat, even if it did become a bit shaky near the end. It was short, but only because it focused centrally on the most important events of the mission rather than tedious details.
"Hmm… well, um… everything seems to be in order."
Roy refolded the paper and set it aside with the others.
Mustang exchanged a look with Hawkeye, her silent answer to his silent question assuring him that he was not, in fact, being ridiculous or paranoid.
Everything had gone exactly as it should. Edward had been on time. He had acted and spoken quietly and respectfully, and had even brought in a neat, complete written report.
That was as it should be.
So why were Mustang's instincts screaming at him that something was terribly, horribly wrong?
"Sit down, Fullmetal," Mustang said, gesturing towards the couch with his head. Roy sent a third glance Riza's way, receiving a nod in return. They would not, could not, let Edward leave until they figured out what, exactly, was going on.
Edward stiffened in a wincing, shivering way.
"Am… am I in trouble?"
It occurred to Roy that Edward might not have been being quiet by choice. Beneath the low-toned near-whisper, Roy thought he heard the roughness of hoarseness in the boy's voice.
It was that, more than the uncharacteristic meekness and submissiveness, that gave him an idea of what was going on.
"No, of course not. You… you look tired. Stay and rest for a while."
For some reason, Edward did not look like he believed him. Ed looked from Roy to Riza, the first time he had acknowledged her presence. Hawkeye gave him a reassuring smile and nodded to him to do as he was told.
Edward eyed the couch like he was calculating his distance from it, then pursed his lips as if he had found that distance to be significant. He took a breath and shuffled the short way from the center of the room to the couch, where he slowly sat down to sit in a bizarre kind of stiff slouch on the very edge of the cushion.
Roy noticed the way he favored one leg over the other. He took extra note that the favored leg was the automail one.
"Have you eaten today, Fullmetal?"
Edward's face pinched, an expression Mustang interpreted as a "no."
"How about I send for some food? What are you feeling like? Sandwiches? Rundstucks? Something more exotic?"
Edward shook his head, an action that was more of a rapid back and forth twitching.
"N-no. I'm not… I'm not hungry."
Mustang sent his lieutenant a fourth and final glance. She didn't bother confirming that she had understood and let herself out of the office without a word.
If Edward Elric wasn't hungry, it was time to be worried.
Roy stood up, resisting the urge to stretch his muscles and pop his joints, and joined Edward on the couch. Ed watched Mustang with a mix of curiosity and trepidation. The trepidation turned into more curiosity when Roy brought his hands to Ed's face and cupped the boy's head behind his ears.
"Fullmetal, you shouldn't have come here if you aren't feeling well. We could have easily rescheduled this for when you are feeling better."
Edward pulled away from Mustang's hands, the first act of rebellion he had showed that day.
"No, I… I'm okay… just… tired."
Mustang was frightened by the fact that he wasn't angry. He should be angry, but the only thing he could feel was a kind of terrified concern.
Something was very wrong.
"You're more than tired, Fullmetal, you're cooking. Not to mention that your eyes are redder than a pair of choice cuts. Lie down. I'll send for your brother."
Alphonse had not followed Edward to Vanes Balt. Colonel Holland had made it very clear that he had wanted Fullmetal and only Fullmetal. Alphonse had protested, but both Mustang and Edward had convinced him that Holland's request was perfectly reasonable and doable - one of the rare times the two had ever agreed on something. Unable to contend with such a phenomenon, Al had accepted the conditions, if reluctantly.
Mustang was beginning to regret that acquiescence.
Edward, however, was not. In fact, he seemed to want to prolong his brother's distance. Ed stood up - slowly and shakily - and tried to back out of the office.
"No… no, that's okay, I can go back by myself. You don't have to get Al."
"Fullmetal, you cannot and you will not go back by yourself. I told you to sit down and at no point did I give you leave to get back up. Sit back down now."
Roy did not raise his voice. It was the calmest and quietest order he had ever given.
And yet Edward acted as if the man had screamed at him.
He sat back down so quickly that he nearly toppled off the couch and Roy had to catch him to keep him from falling. Mustang noticed the way Ed winced as his body moved. Roy wondered if the kid had walked to Easter Headquarters, in this condition, in the snow, and if he did, how on earth he had managed it.
"Lie down. Sleep if you can."
Edward pursed his lips again and seemed to make a considerable effort to do just that. Whatever was making his body so sore was making maneuvering a struggle. After half a minute of wincing and stymied attempts to move either sideways or up so that he could move down, Roy couldn't watch anymore and stood up, slipping his hands under Ed's arms and lifting him up and then back down so that he was lying sideways with his head on the armrest of the couch.
Edward grimaced and shivered and bit his lip, like he was afraid he might make a noise.
Hawkeye returned then, carrying the emergency blanket from the suite's medical kit, with Havoc not far behind with a mug of what Roy assumed was not coffee. Riza threw the blanket over Ed's trembling body, which looked horribly small in this context, and pulled the boy's shoes off so he could properly curl into himself. Roy, not knowing what else to do, reached out an awkward hand and gave the kid what he hoped was a reassuring pat.
Ed hissed a breath and Roy pulled his hand back as if Ed's fever had burned him.
"Hey, Chief. Lieutenant said you're not feeling too hot, so I got you some tea. My mam made this for me all the time when I wasn't up to snuff."
Edward gave no indication that he had heard Havoc. In Ed's defense, Roy wasn't sure that anything prepared by the second lieutenant was safe for human consumption.
"Thank you, Second Lieutenant. Put it on the desk. He'll drink it when he can."
Havoc didn't look like he believed her, but he did as Riza told him, wishing Ed an awkward "get well soon" before leaving, closing the door behind him.
Roy was sure the entire team was waiting outside with bated breath, then quickly press their ears to the door in the hopes of keeping up to date on Ed's condition.
"Have you sent for -"
"I left a message at the hotel. Alphonse isn't there right now, but I'm sure he'll head this way as soon as he's told."
Edward did not sound like he was sleeping, but he certainly sounded like he was trying. Roy reached his hand out again, placing it on Ed's arm rather than his side or his leg. Edward didn't make another sound of discomfort, in fact, he didn't acknowledge the gesture at all.
Mustang interpreted it as permission and left his hand there.
XXX
The first thing he did was wash them.
It had stung like hell and the shower had looked like a murder scene when he was done, but Edward knew the dangers of infection. It had been a constant fear during his surgery, and the Rockbells had had him on and off penicillin and methicillin and lots of other 'cillins as he'd recovered. Some of them had made his stomach turn and others… well, Granny had told him that changing his diapers when he was a baby had been worse. Edward didn't remember being a baby, so he couldn't agree or disagree with her opinion, but he wished that he could just as easily not remember having to yell, or yell as best he could with how weak he'd been, for Winry to get out of the room because he needed to use the bedpan again.
Edward had ruined a fresh bar of soap making sure that he got them clean. The water had set them to bleeding again, the constant loss of blood making him feel dizzy and cold, and he'd transmuted some towels into makeshift bandages. They had been lumpy and uncomfortable, but they had gotten the job done. He knew he should probably change them, considering that it had been a good three days since he'd tied them on, but he wasn't sure how to do that without Alphonse noticing. The towels were too large to just throw away and he couldn't really transmute them into something else. He'd briefly thought about throwing them out the window of their hotel room, then realized that any passerby who might see them would probably assume they had stumbled across a botched murder scene.
So he'd left them on for another night, promising himself that he would wash them again and change the bandages at the showers at Easter Headquarters the next day. There were plenty of places he could stuff a bunch of bloody fabric without anyone batting an eye, especially if he aimed for the dumpster next to the infirmary.
Edward knew from experience that the smallest wounds often leaked the most.
He had woken up that morning in so much pain that he thought that they must have reopened during the night.
There was no blood in the bed, though, so Ed had attributed the bone-deep pain to their simple existence and had pushed himself out of the bed - a lumbering drag that became a clumsy scramble when he saw what time it was. Adding speed to his movements had sent black spots bursting in front of his vision. Edward had rubbed them away and kept forcing himself to the door.
"Brother? What's going on?"
"Gotta go. Gonna be late."
His throat felt like it had decided that being a tube was overrated and to fold into itself so that breathing and swallowing felt like he was underwater.
Alphonse glanced at the clock.
"But… I thought your meeting was at eleven. It's a quarter to ten."
"Mm hm."
"It only takes fifteen minutes to walk to the Easter Headquarters."
"Mm hm."
"You'd be an hour early."
"Mm hm."
"So… you have time to get cleaned up and eat something before you leave. You know you're wearing the same clothes as yesterday."
"Have'ta be on time," Ed croaked, still forcing himself towards the door. His back did not want to straighten and his flesh leg all but refused to bend at the knee. A thrill of fear ran through him when he thought about how the pain would slow him down.
"You think this is bad? The Flame might be patient now, but one day you'll piss 'im off just enough to be enough, and then you'll understand. This here is a mercy."
Edward had only been in the military for a little over six months. He didn't know Mustang well enough to determine whether or not what he'd been told had been true, but Ed was familiar with other stories about the infamous Flame Alchemist.
Normally, Edward was an avid practitioner of cross-referencing, but he had no interest whatsoever on the validity of these particular sources.
"Eat later. Gotta be there."
"Brother, wait. It's snowing. You're automail -"
Edward finally reached the door and let himself out. He expected his brother to chase him down, to finish his lecture or at least throw an extra layer of clothing over him, but Al must have accepted that Edward had made up his mind, because Edward left the hotel with no further interruptions.
XXX
It had taken him an extra fifteen minutes to make the walk from the hotel to the military base and the snow had had little to do with it.
The cold had numbed him, so that even though it had taken him longer to get to Easter Headquarters, by the time he'd gotten there he had actually been feeling a lot better. He was able to force himself into a somewhat dignified position and he was able to bend his leg, if only slightly. The soldiers at the gates were surprised when he saluted to them, but they saluted him in return with no comment other than their expressions.
Then he had entered the gas-heated building and feeling came back to him in terrible strengthening punches. He had, of course, been shivering for quite some time, considering the temperature, but now the shivering hurt because it forced his body to vibrate and irritate places that were already very, very irritated.
He was very glad that he had decided to forego breakfast because he was about open the doors to Mustang's suite of offices - quietly, politely, respectfully, harmlessly - when he found himself doubled over, his back screaming at him even though it wasn't his fault, staring at the waxed floor and choking on nothing. It had happened without warning - though nothing had actually happened, besides the terrible sounds he involuntarily made before he regained control of himself - but once it had happened, Edward became more aware of his corporeal form than he felt comfortable with. It was like his body had formed its own consciousness and that consciousness was throwing a tantrum that would have made a three-year-old Ed blush in vicarious embarrassment.
He stood outside the suite like an idiot for five minutes, waiting for the tantrum to end and experiencing the unique realization that breathing had a taste.
Something between "oh wow, this is delicious" and "this is so sweet it's making me nauseous."
Ed jumped when the doors opened on their own, the taste of breathing mixing with the coppery taste of agony.
"Wha - Oh. Hi, Ed. What are you doing out here?"
Edward stared at Fuery, afraid that speaking would reveal that talking had a taste, and there so many tastes swirling on Ed's tongue already that he really was starting to feel nauseous. Fuery stared back, waiting for Ed to say something. He realized that Edward wasn't going to say anything and cocked his head to the side in curiosity at the boy's silence, but was too polite to push the matter.
"Are… are you here to see the colonel? He's in office. I don't think he's busy, but I can go check if you want."
Edward shook his head in answer - which was a mistake because the world kept shaking after his head had stopped. His head and voice now out of commission, Ed gestured vaguely for Fuery to keep moving, then remembered to salute - he must be respectful, he must be good - and pushed past the man and into the suite.
"Hey, Chief. You're early - oh."
Havoc had never seen Edward salute before. The second lieutenant instantly decided that he hated it and never wanted to see it before. He saluted back to make Ed stop rather than because he approved. Before Havoc could get a word in, Ed darted away, zigging and zagging like he was trying to avoid being shot. Havoc looked at the others - Falman looked like he was studying a peculiar new exhibit in a museum and Breda looked like he had just heard the most vulgar swear. He turned to the open doors, where Fuery was still standing in the threshold. Fuery shrugged, as clueless and perturbed as Havoc.
For some reason, the worst part of all of it was that Lieutenant Hawkeye either hadn't noticed that everyone had stopped working to watch the kid or was too focused on Ed herself to tell them off.
"Are you here to see the colonel, Edward? You're very early."
Edward said nothing. He swallowed hard and saluted.
Hawkeye look at him as if he had slapped her.
"Oh. All right. I'll let him know."
As soon as both Ed and Riza had disappeared into the colonel's office, everyone abandoned what they had been doing to get as close to the door as possible. Havoc, the first one there, pressed his ear to the wood.
After five minutes of unhelpful murmured details, Havoc pulled himself away, determination hardening his eyes.
"Chief's sick."
It was a good thing no one waited to hear anymore because Hawkeye came out of the office just as the men were each heading off on their new assignments: Havoc went to the canteen, Fuery went to the infirmary, Falman quizzed Hawkeye on Ed's symptoms as she opened the suite's medical kit and wrangled out the emergency blanket they had for events such as these, and Breda, who was not fond of kids on good days and found them abhorrent on bad days, decided that this would be a good day for an early lunch.
XXX
The voice of his body was back, though it was only whispering rather than shrieking.
It was the worst kind of whispering, the kind where one knows that there is whispering and the whispering is urgent and important, but one can't make out what the whispers are actually saying. But even without being able to decipher the words exactly, Edward thought he was getting the gist of it.
Something was wrong.
"How you holdin' up, kiddo?"
Edward didn't know how to answer that, so he didn't.
"I know you're awake, Fullmetal. If you can't sleep, do you think you can drink something? Maybe that'll help."
The whispering turned into a brief shriek of warning, then faded back into obscurity. No, Edward did not think ingesting anything would be a good idea right now.
"Hey, you gotta talk to me. Otherwise I can't help you."
Edward wasn't sure he could talk, but if it was an order from the colonel - he must be obedient, he must be respectful - then he supposed he would have to try.
"Mm… no."
"No? No what?"
"No… no drink."
"Are you sure? How about just one, okay? If it doesn't help, you don't have to drink the rest."
Ed started to moan, either in protest or in discomfort, then seemed to cut himself off, like he was afraid of what Mustang might do if the colonel heard him. To Roy's surprise and ironic increased worry, Edward tried to sit up and got stuck halfway, hissing and cringing as the movement pulled at his back.
"Here. Up we go," Roy took hold of Ed's arm with one hand and his shoulder with the other and lifted the kid the rest of the way. Once he had him sitting up, Mustang fetched the mug from the desk and offered it to Ed, who eyed it distrustfully but accepted it obediently and brought it, shakily and precariously, to his mouth. He took a slurping sip and nearly spat it back out into the cup. It was by no means bad, even if it didn't have any sugar or honey in it, but the new taste was nearly one too many and the whispering gave another angry squeal. Edward forced himself to swallow and quickly handed the mug back to Roy, who brought it back to the desk.
Roy sat back down on the couch and gave Ed's shoulder an encouraging pat.
"How's that? Any better?"
Edward trembled at the colonel's touch and made a quavery "mm" sound. His face had gotten redder, like the skin itself was swelling.
They sat in silence for a while, the colonel occasionally giving him another pat and Ed trying swallow despite his throat's intent on crushing itself and doing his best to ignore the occasional shrill that burst from the incessant whispering.
Something was wrong.
Knowing that didn't make him able to do anything about it.
His body, on the other hand, decided that it had an absolutely wonderful idea and finished closing his throat entirely. This, of course, meant that the pooling spit in his mouth now had nowhere to go. Afraid of what Mustang would do if he drooled all over the blanket, Ed clapped a hand over his mouth and tried to force his throat open back up again.
"Do you think you can have another - oh. Oh. Okay, um, it's okay, Fullmetal, just hang on."
Edward reopened his throat and immediately wished that he had failed.
The tea had tasted okay the first time. It tasted unrecognizably vile the second time.
Edward was determined not to be a further bother - the colonel was being lenient because Ed was a kid, but that leniency would only go so far, and he knew what could happen when it did - he had to be quiet and respectful and useful and - and his attempts to force the regurgitated tea back down were forgotten when Mustang touched his back and fireworks of pain burst in front of Ed's eyes. More than the gasping retching that he could no longer repress, Ed dreaded the exclamation of repulsion or at the very least some expression of annoyance at the level of maintenance Ed was proving to be.
He did not expect the fingers that pulled his bangs out of the way or the hand that pressed him over his knees. "Don't swallow it," Roy's voice said into his ear, and then shouted from further away, "Lieutenant!"
Edward's ears were too full of blood to hear the office door opening and closing as Hawkeye came in or the clipped conversation that took place between her and the colonel.
"Send for a -"
"Sergeant Fuery is fetching a medic - oh, no."
Edward finally managed a shaky, unsure breath. It was only then that he noticed the wastebasket by his feet and that the lieutenant's presence. Ed took a gulping gasp and muttered a rough, "Sorry, sir," not able to look either of his commanding officers in the eye.
"Don't you dare apologize, Edward," Riza said, pulling a handkerchief out of her pocket and using it wipe the sweat and spit from his face. Edward did not pull away. His compliance turned some of her concern into suspicion. Riza could believe that some of Ed's uncharacteristic calmness was from malaise, but this unchallenged cooperation was too strange to be effortless.
Edward was acting this way, if only in part, on purpose.
"Well, that's better now that it's over, isn't it?" Roy said awkwardly, giving Ed's shoulder what was supposed to be an encouraging squeeze. "Why don't we leave the tea for now and lie back down?"
Edward didn't move beyond shivering and gasping, gasping and shivering, gasping and shivering with more than fever as his reddened eyes widened when the breath he was trying to regain simply would not come back.
Riza saw it first, the realization as Ed felt a familiar sensation of falling, like his lungs refused to fill because they had dropped into his feet and had become too deep to satisfy. He felt the blood drain from his brain, dizziness and listlessness taking its place.
This was how he had felt when he had been lying limp in his brother's newly metal arms as his life had seeped out of the holes where his limbs had been.
Riza saw it and pushed Ed onto his back - a movement that made Edward scream in agony - all but shoving the colonel out of the way so she could take hold of Ed's legs - she let go of his left leg when she remembered that it had no blood to give - and lifted it straight up over his body. To Mustang, it looked as if Riza had decided to rip off Ed's remaining leg.
"Lieutenant, what in the -"
"Call an ambulance." When Roy simply stared at her uncomprehendingly, she snapped, "His blood isn't reaching his heart. That's why he can't breathe. Call an ambulance!"
Edward recognized the whispering.
It was his body grieving for itself, despairing and lamenting as it felt itself die.
Hawkeye had seen that look in Ishval - the initial fear and regret and then acceptance, and then nothing, as soldiers and civilians and children felt the parts of their bodies stop living before their minds followed them into the nothingness. It was one of the reasons why she preferred her choice of warfare - she could skip the process by aiming for the head or the heart. If she could not, she was usually too far away to see it.
Edward had stopped gasping, either because he realized that the endeavor was pointless or because his lungs had already surrendered. He was staring up at the ceiling, his terror morphing into the second stage of anguish, as if he was expecting some spectral or herald to drop from the sky and snatch him up and away. His eyes moved from the plaster to her own and she saw his reluctance.
"Edward, no," she said, wondering how and why this had escalated so quickly. Edward had arrived with a fever and in less than an hour he was trying to leave. "Keep breathing. We're getting help, but you've got to stay awake and you've got to keep breathing."
Mustang was shouting into the phone but he might as well have been standing their silently for all Riza could hear him. The only thing she could see was teetering edge Edward was balancing on and all she could hear was the shallow, useless puffs of air that he couldn't keep inside him.
Edward did not want to die.
He also knew that he didn't really have a choice.
"Alphonse."
The word was both an apology and a plea.
He wanted his brother so that he could tell him that he loved him and that he was sorry. He wanted his brother to stay as far away as possible so that he didn't have to watch his big brother die.
"We will get Alphonse, but you have to stay awake."
"Mom."
Riza couldn't bear to acknowledge the word for fear of what it meant.
Ed coughed, a terrible bubbly sound. Tears welled in his eyes and rolled down his face and into his hair.
"Mom," he gargled again and she hated the desperate hope in his voice.
And then his eyes closed with a smoothness too controlled for exhaustion and Hawkeye lost her fortitude.
She dropped his leg and dropped to her knees, grabbed hold of his shoulders and shook him. Ed spat pink-tinged foam and shrieked in pain.
"Don't you dare, Edward Elric! You will not give up!"
Mustang had been blabbering into the phone, ordering the operator to "hurry the hell up, Goddammit" even though the rational part of his mind knew that the operator couldn't control the speed of the responders and answering all of the lady's pointless questions - was the boy breathing, was he responsive, which was a stupid question because yes, he was responsive, he was responding to dying, which was why he was talking to her in the first place, and was he bleeding and when did this start and had he taken any medications what had he eaten and -
He dropped the phone when Riza screamed.
It was a particular scream, one he'd only heard once before, when she'd rushed to her father's side as the man choked to death on his own blood.
Edward was frothing at the mouth like a rabid fox, his face swollen with rash and breathlessness. Riza was sobbing, either panicking - something that Roy had never seen her do before, even when her father had died - or grieving, assuming that the boy was beyond help from her experience of seeing children die before.
However, Roy Mustang had made a promise, and by God, he was going to keep it.
He slapped Ed's face hard enough that his head swiveled on his neck. Edward sucked in a gurgling breath and coughed out another mouthful of foam.
"Fullmetal, I forbid you to die! Breathe, damn you!"
He gave Ed another unforgiving slap on the other side of his face. This was, of course, the moment that the office door was thrown open by a pair of medics and a panting Fuery, who let out a blubbery whimper at the scene that met him.
Mustang whirled on all three of them, his teeth bared in a murderous snarl that had the medics stepping away and Fuery covering his head with his arms like he expected the colonel's fury to pull the moon down on top of them.
"Where the hell have you been?! I'll have all of you court-martialed, you useless -"
The medics, having caught sight of the major drowning in his own spittle, remembered themselves and pushed past Roy. One pulled Ed's cloak off and moved on to his shirt underneath while the other pressed his ear to Ed's chest, listening for the thief that was stealing away the boy's air.
"His lungs are full of fluid," the medic said unhelpfully, then did something much more helpful by lifting Ed off the couch and laying him on the floor on his side. Ed vomited bloody bubbles and hissed in a breath that didn't sound at all satisfying.
"Go back the infirmary and get some oxygen, fast as you can," the medic said, pulling Edward away from the puddle of fluid to keep him from inhaling it. His partner didn't bother confirming her understanding, rushing out of the office as fast as she had arrived, pulling a terrified, hapless Fuery with her.
"Hey, kid, eyes open. Stay awake," the remaining medic said, giving Ed's shoulder a vigorous shake when the boy's eyes slipped closed and stayed that way for longer than was comfortable. "Keep breathing. Keep coughing. You're gonna be all right."
Edward opened his eyes and stared at the medic with an expression of offense, like he was irritated by the man's assumption that Ed would believe such an obvious lie. The new position seemed to have gotten Ed enough air that he was able to comprehend his surroundings again. His gaze found Hawkeye's, found her tears, and Edward made a croaking sound, as if he was trying to speak.
"Hush, Edward. Just breathe, all right?" Hawkeye said, trying to sound both commanding and comforting despite the wetness of her face. Ed scooted his arm along the carpet, reaching for her. Hawkeye, assuming that he wanted comfort, dropped to her knees and took his hand in her own.
He squeezed her palm with his fingers and she realized her mistake too late.
"No. Edward, no."
To Edward, who had been in a torrent of empty roaring inside his head, as if is mind had been drowning in a sea beneath a storm, it was like he had reached the eye of the storm. Nature had given him a moment of peace, of quiet realization.
It was not a chance to rest.
It was one last glimpse of light before plunging into the deep darkness and sinking down, leaving the thunder and crashing waves above and beyond him.
Edward wanted to keep fighting the pull, but gravity was not a law he could rewrite. It was time for him to go and he would go no matter how tightly Riza held on to him.
He felt Mustang grab him, the man lifting Ed into his arms, trying to carry him out of the black that was eating him up.
"Fullmetal! I gave you an order! I swear to God, if you… Edward, please!"
Edward sighed, melting against Mustang's warm body and listening to the colonel's frantic heart pattering with panic beneath his ribs.
Dying wasn't so bad when it was done while being held by someone safe and strong.
Edward smiled and let sweet sleep cradle him and drop him into the endless nothing.
I really wanted to get the sudden change from "okay" to "holy crap, we's gonna die" that defines this illness right. I spent so long worrying over it that I'm worried I overdid it.
However, I wanted to emphasize that this disease really does progress this fast and how, exactly, the body falls apart in a matter of hours. I also wanted to capture the feeling of "impending doom" and then apathetic acceptance that survivors of this disease often describe.
I don't know. I just think I've been planning this for so long that now all I can see is how everything can and will go wrong.
And that, my dear readers, is the writing process in a nutshell.
