Chapter Text
Mustang noticed his vision had whipped to the side before he even felt the growing sting of the slap.
“Roy,” Hawkeye growled out, her voice dangerously low, drowned in a tone of disappointment and anger. Sharp, brown eyes pierced into his with deadly, practiced precision.
Gone was their dynamic of commanding officer and subordinate. In its place, their secrets and vows of loyalty and protection. Their promise to keep each other in line, no matter the cost.
Slowly and carefully, he moved to face her again.
Riza stood tall, trembling, her furious expression sending chills down his spine. Her eyes burned.
“Do you even know what you did?” Hawkeye spat. “The line you just crossed?”
(“—You know something, Fullmetal? If I didn’t know any better, I’d ask if you kiss your mother with that mouth.”)
His cheek felt like it was on fire. “I…”
“—No. You don’t,” Riza quickly shut him up. “You don’t know anything.”
He swallowed, speechless. The resulting silence emphasized the soft patter of forgotten rain, currently pelting the windows. In front of him, his Lieutenant continued to stare into his soul with intense judgement, waiting for him to say something. Anything.
“You don’t know anything.” The sentence wouldn’t stop echoing inside of his head.
An apology was in order.
Looking down in shame, Mustang swallowed, hesitant. “Could you look after my paperwork for a while? I’m gonna go—“
“No.” she shut him down.
Mustang looked up in shock. Hawkeye had her arms crossed, already decided.
“Please, Riza. I realize that I spoke out of turn, and he deserves an apology—before he storms off somewhere I won’t find him.” A desperate tone invaded his plea.
“No.”
Frustration snuck into his voice. “—Then can you go find him and bring him back here? I promise that I’m going to fix this, but I need him back here as soon as possible. Don’t force me to make it an order.”
“No.”
“—Why not?!” Mustang growled, his irritation bubbling over. His fists clenched, the knuckles as white as the gloves that hid them.
Hawkeye said nothing. She looked him up and down, from his enraged eyes, to his tapping foot, back to his eyes.
Her face clenched in anger, before it became disappointment, relaxing in a flash. “...Did you even notice?” her voice hissed softly. It was nearly inaudible.
He froze. “...Notice what?”
“Ed.” Hawkeye’s eyes looked distracted, and worried. “He...was in pain.”
“...He was?”
She nodded solemnly. Her eyes were tightly shut, as if opening them would cause her last attempts of remaining control to break free. The woman’s patience was astounding, even during a time like this.
Mustang paused to think, as the room sank into the rhythm of the rain on the windows.
Ed, acting hurt. It was strange to think about.
If Hawkeye said it happened, then it definitely did. Riza had the impressive ability of picking up even the most minute, quick details. It was a useful skill—deadly even, if she happened to be looking behind a scope.
Mustang closed his eyes, focusing.
Edward, in pain…
His mind sorted through the memory of the past five minutes, but he found nothing other than clashing insults. He was at a loss.
Had Ed been hiding it? Why was he hurt in the first place? Had he gotten hurt on his mission?
A blinding flash of lightning suddenly tore through the sky, thunder shaking the building, rattling the windows. The two soldiers flinched, their hearts racing in unison at the violent interruption. The rain poured even harder against the walls.
“I have to go.” the Lieutenant sighed and shook her head, abandoning the previous topic. “You’re staying here—I’ll go find Ed.”
Roy opened his mouth to protest, before quietly shutting it again. Feeling trapped, frustration and impatience settled in his gut, and his foot tapped faster.
He knew Hawkeye noticed the nervous tick. She always did.
“Roy,” she spoke.
He glanced up at her.
“I know you want to talk to Ed. But now is not the time. He wants distance, not more conversation. Besides, you can’t afford to waste time with General Ayden breathing down your neck. So please, let me take care of this, alright?” The blonde somehow stared at him with a gaze that was pleading, yet refusing to ask permission.
Mustang took in a deep breath, before letting it go. “You’re going to talk to him first, then?”
“No, I’m not.” Riza glared.
His eyebrows pinched in confusion. “But—didn’t you just say you’d—?”
“I’m not going to bring anything up,” Riza explained, irritation seeping into her tone. “I’m just going to escort him to the dorms. That’s probably where he’s headed anyways, and it’s probably best that he isn't alone. It’s a mess out there.”
A crackle of lightning and thunder punctuated her statement.
“...Oh.” Mustang said. “...When will you be back?” he asked, feeling childish with his curiosity.
“I’m not sure. But I should probably leave right away.”
“Alright. I’ll...stay here, I suppose,” Roy spoke, trying to hold back the helplessness he was feeling. “Call me if you need anything, Lieutenant.”
“Of course, Sir,” she nodded, turning around and moving towards the door. “No slacking off,” Hawkeye added under her breath.
Roy almost flinched at her tone. She was still very upset with him, and he could tell. It hurt, even if he clearly deserved it.
“Of course,” Mustang sighed, “...drive safe.”
Instead of an answer, his Lieutenant shut the door behind herself, leaving the Colonel alone in his office.
Unaccompanied, he stared at his desk in shameful silence, mind reeling.
“—You know something, Fullmetal? If I didn’t know any better, I’d ask if you kiss your mother with that mouth,” his own voice echoed in his head.
Something heavy churned in his stomach.
Why did he say it? What was the purpose? The reason?
He had been miserable, and needed to let it go, somehow.
That “somehow” had involved ruthlessly insulting his injured subordinate (how hadn’t he noticed that Ed was in pain? Was he really that blind with rage?) and throwing Ed’s most sensitive history right into his face.
How mature.
“You don’t know anything!” Ed’s voice echoed, angry and betrayed.
He rolled the thought around in his mind, like a child searching for every last drop of flavor in a piece of hard candy.
“You don’t know anything,” his Lieutenant’s voice joined, cold and disappointed.
And it was true, in a way.
Edward never spoke a word about his mother. The only thing Mustang knew about Trisha Elric, was that Edward and Alphonse’s attempt at human transmutation was because of her. They had wanted her back. “To see her smile again,” they had murmured in that house, utterly defeated. Two broken children.
While that information was more than most people knew, it was still essentially nothing. Yet, it was also enough to know that the topic was strictly off limits.
And Roy had just disregarded the limit. Broke it. Shattered it. Spat upon it.
He...he fucked up.
Across the room, the sight of the shut door made the current situation all the more present in his mind.
He really fucked up.
In his mind, the way Edward had gone silent and left the office continued to loop. Mustang’s jaw ached at the pressure of his teeth clenching together.
He needed to fix this. To apologize. To regain his subordinates’ trust back, and their respect back. Both of them. Edward, and Riza.
But for now, as painful as it was…
…he could do nothing but wait.
The clock on his desk ticked in mockery, and the stack of paperwork sat patiently. He glared at them with intense hatred.
Thunder rumbled, and he picked up his pen.
Hawkeye cared about Edward.
The boy was smart, determined, and quick-thinking.
But he wasn’t invincible.
She could see it clearly—the way rain would make him slouch, the way thunder would make him flinch. The way lightning would give him that lost look in his eyes. Today, especially.
Ed’s visible shock when she had entered the office, moving his hands to his sides with a tense look on his face. His reluctance to open up.
Edward was hurting in more ways than one. It had been so clear to her.
“—You know something, Fullmetal? If I didn’t know any better, I’d ask if you kiss your mother with that mouth.”
But not to Roy.
Ed’s rigid posture, his inability to speak. The look of betrayal and guilt that flashed in his golden eyes, before dulling. His defeated limp to the door.
Only when her hand had struck Roy’s face, did she believe that the man could finally understand the weight of his words.
By the strike of a palm, she had watered the seed of guilt that Roy had planted in his own stomach.
The rest would be up to him. Roy would have plenty of time, alone in his office, to think about how to handle what he had just doomed himself to reap.
Because that was his job to fix. She would not do it for him, couldn’t do it for him—it wouldn’t be right. They both knew that.
She huffed.
Hawkeye’s eyes were sharp as she scanned the hallway outside of the Colonel’s office. There were no signs of Edward.
Hurrying to the secondary office down the hall, she found the rest of the team working rather diligently. However, as she looked closer, she saw the lines of stress, and even some of the annoyance that plagued their expressions.
Feury scrambled to write on various sorted piles of paperwork on his desk, as Havoc would hesitantly add more papers to them. Falman worked on his own stack of paperwork, sweat was visible on his forehead. Breda was giving them each a fresh cup of coffee, to which they took without a word, sipping in unison.
The General must be giving them a hard time.
“Excuse me,” she started, “...but have any of you—“
Havoc nearly choked on his coffee as the others looked up at her with similar fearful surprise. Noticing that it was just her, the rest of them relaxed slightly as Havoc continued to cough.
“S-Sorry, Lieutenant. We didn’t notice you come in,” Feury rubbed his neck sheepishly. “Can we help you?”
“That’s alright, Sergeant. I understand that you are all rather...occupied, today.” She offered a brief sympathetic smile. “But I came to ask, have any of you seen Fullmetal around?”
Havoc finished his coughing, just in time to answer. “Yeah, I did. Even without Alphonse, he’s hard to miss. That red coat of his is a dead giveaway.” He cleared his throat. “Chief went down the hall and towards the entrance, not even a minute ago. You just missed him. Why?”
“I wasn’t sure if he was already headed for the dorms or not. I just wanted to be certain.”
“I’d hate to walk to the dorms in this weather,” Breda scoffed. “That poor beansprout is gonna drown at this rate.”
Even if Breda’s comment held no genuine insult, it still made Hawkeye tense for a moment, before she shook it off. “That’s why I intend on driving him to the dorms myself, to save him the trouble,” she explained.
“Well, I’d hurry up before he gets too far. Good luck, Lieutenant. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it—I know I would,” Breda said.
“—Y-Yeah, good luck!” Fuery added.
Havoc offered a wave, and Falman nodded while remaining focused.
She hummed in appreciation, giving a sharp nod of her own before leaving the room and continuing down the hallway.
The long hallway was plain and empty, in front of her. The cream-colored walls offered no features other than a potted plant, the restrooms, and some more offices up ahead.
Ed had left Mustang’s office only a minute or two before she did. She should have caught him by now, if he had really headed this way—yet he wasn’t here, which means he must still be ahead, somehow.
That was, unless...
As if on cue, the door to the men’s restroom opened with a sharp squeak from its hinges. Stumbling through the doorway, even paler than before, was the Fullmetal Alchemist himself.
Hawkeye froze as Edward walked right in front of her and turned, moving down the hall without a word. At that moment, she noticed that eyes were pained and glassy, and he had a sheen of sweat on his face.
Ed didn’t even give notice to Hawkeye’s presence. Whether it was intentional or not, it only further stirred her concern.
“Edward,” she walked quickly to catch up, putting a hand on his shoulder to grab his attention. His right shoulder.
Ed tensed and let out a burning hiss, while Hawkeye pulled away as if she was the one who had been pained.
She cursed herself for her carelessness.
“—Sorry, Ed, I didn’t mean—“
“I know, I know,” he growled quietly, walking again. When Hawkeye moved to walk beside him, he said nothing. But he didn’t look at her, either.
It was silent for a short while. The hall echoed with Ed’s slightly-uneven steps, Hawkeye’s own steady pace, and the occasional rumble from outside.
“How long are we gonna walk until you eventually force me to turn around, Lieutenant?” Ed growled quietly, again. “I’m not stupid. I know that Bastard sent you,” he added.
Riza tried to look at him, but he still refused to meet her eyes. She chose her next words carefully.
“You’d be wrong, then,” she answered simply. “I left on my own terms.”
“—Sure,” Ed huffed, voice weak. “So you left on your own terms, to drag me back? What a difference.”
“I’m not dragging you back.”
That one made him pause. Slowly, he met her gaze. “...Then why are you here?” he asked, hoarse.
Hawkeye noted the redness of his eyes, and the irritation surrounding them. As if he had rubbed them very hard. His irises were dulled from their usual fire, but she could see the small sparks beneath—like a phoenix ready to burst from the ashes.
“Same reason as you.” She smiled tensely. “I think we’re both a little angry with the Colonel, at the moment.”
Ed looked at her closely for any signs of deceit, before his gaze finally softened. He looked tired. “A little angry, huh?” The boy chuckled humorlessly.
“Yes. But despite your anger, you knew when to stop. You were right to leave, Edward,” she supported, softly. “It was very mature of you.”
Ed remained quiet, clearly unsure how to handle the praise. It made him feel warm, but it also made his chest ache for something long-lost. The conflicting emotions settled into confusion. “...Aren’t you supposed to be on Mustang’s side?” Ed asked.
“I am on Mustang’s side,” she answered strongly. “The problem is, sometimes he loses sight of what his own side is supposed to be.”
Ed gave her a curious look.
“Please understand, I’m not here to apologize for him. That’s his problem.” Her eyes burned into his. “—But, I want you to understand that you made the right decision, leaving his office like that. Knowing when to leave is a very good skill to have.”
“I…” he trailed off, lost. “It was nothing. I just...I didn’t want to be there anymore.”
Hawkeye frowned at the sad, honest tone of Edward’s voice. It was heartachingly young.
“That’s okay. You still made a very mature choice.”
The boy merely hummed in response.
She hesitated, wondering if it was appropriate to say the words that still remained in her mind. Looking over at Ed, his eyes had returned to the ground, with a vulnerable expression on his face.
She took a breath, before smiling softly. “I’m proud of you, Edward,” Riza whispered, a rush of satisfaction filling her from letting the words free.
Ed looked away. His head made a slight shaky movement that she thought might be a nod, but was hard to tell.
From her angle, she couldn’t see the tear that was sliding down his cheek.
Another period of silence washed over them, as they walked together. Ed’s pace was actually quite slow, and Hawkeye worried if he still intended to go to the dorms on his own, like this—if that was even his destination.
“Ed, if you don’t mind me asking, where are you going?”
“...Dorms,” he huffed out. Despite his slight improvement in mood, he didn’t appear any less pained.
“In that case, would you let me drive you there?” she asked carefully.
Ed shook his head. “You don’t have to do that for me, Lieutenant. I can walk.”
Riza hummed, approaching this carefully. She didn’t want Ed to feel weak or incapable, but she also didn’t want him to walk alone in the rain, already hurt.
“I know you can walk, Edward. I just want to save you the trouble of doing it in the rain,” she tried, before an even better idea struck her. “—and besides, if I drive you, that gives me extra time before I’m forced to return to the Colonel.”
Ed considered this, as Riza continued.
“You don’t want to send me back there so soon, do you? I’m still very upset with him, so I ask that you reconsider your choice. It’s for his own safety,” she stated with a smile. “So, will you allow me to drive you to your dorm?”
“...his own safety,” Ed repeated softly, in what almost sounded like a chuckle. He lightly shook his head, before letting out a breath. “Alright, Hawkeye,” he sighed, “I guess I’ll buy you some extra time,” he replied hoarsely.
Bullseye.
Ed’s dorm was a lot more bland than Riza had been anticipating.
For a boy with such a passionate preference in clothing, his dorm room lacked any noticeable flash of color, or decor. In addition, despite being occupied by teenage boys, the room was clean enough—the only “mess” being a collection of papers and books sprawled out on a large desk by the window. A suitcase rested on the floor, which was recognizable as Ed’s.
There were two beds. One of them looked like it was fitfully slept in, pillows and blankets haphazardly strewn across the mattress. The other was untouched, not a thread out of place.
Something about the sight made a twinge of sadness bloom in Riza’s chest. She didn’t know why.
Entering behind her, Ed was breathing heavily. It wasn’t exactly a short walk from the parking lot to his dorm, but his fatigue was still concerning. His limp also sounded worse, noticeable against the thin layer of carpet on the floor.
Hawkeye frowned. “Are you alright?”
“M’fine. Thanks.” Ed waved off. “Bye, Lieutenant...”
Hawkeye didn’t budge.
Originally, she really did plan to simply drive Ed to the dorms, and then immediately return to the office. Ed probably needed some time to himself after all that’s happened today, and he probably didn’t want her to see him in his currently state for long, she’d figured.
But that was before she observed the full extent of his condition.
Ed’s eyes were still hazy with pain, and his walk was horrible. Every step looked like he was walking barefoot on glass. He was pale, sweaty, and Riza was pretty sure he was even starting to develop a slur to his speech.
“I’m not leaving just yet, Ed. You’re sick.”
Ed groaned, limping over to sit on his bed with a wince. “...’m not sick,” he insisted, taking off his red coat. “But ‘m definitely gettin’ sick of ev’ryone’s…” he was cut by a bright flash followed by a crack of thunder, forcing him to abandon the effort of his previous ramble, wincing instead.
“I’m not sick,” he settled on, repeating it as strongly as he could.
Hawkeye sighed. “What’s your explanation then?”
“...’m not sick, I promise,” Ed stubbornly repeated.
Hawkeye quickly strode up and pressed her palm to his forehead, before he could react.
Ed’s pale skin was hot and clammy against her hand, to no surprise. He had a fever.
“Hey…” Ed whined like a little kid.
Hawkeye shook her head. “There’s no use pretending, Ed. You have a fever. You’re sick.”
“No, no...‘m not sick, y’don’t understand…”
“You threw up. That’s why you were in the restroom before I came across you in the hall,” Hawkeye stated, as the realization came together in her mind.
Ed looked at her with a gaze so utterly exhausted, she wanted to tuck him into bed right then and there. He truly looked awful, even when he moved his gaze downwards, and his bangs obscured his face.
A flash, another roll of thunder. For a split second, she could see the growing dullness in Ed’s eyes.
“...I didn’ throw up...from bein’ sick. Tha’s not why...not why…”
“Ed?”
“...not why…”
“Ed!”
Ed was in absolute agony.
Images of his mother—happy and disappointed, alive and dead, whole and disfigured—they each flickered behind his eyelids like a rapid slideshow as he emptied the contents of his stomach in the men’s room that was down the hall from Mustang’s office.
His head throbbed in unison with his automail ports, as if they had all been freshly severed.
His mind raced with his pulse—
He was a brat who only caused trouble, just like the General said. He was an unruly, foul-mouthed piece of work, just like the Colonel said. It circled in his mind, over and over, like his fruitless chase to restore his brother. Over and over, without any reward, nothing but the cruel truth. He caused trouble for all that looked after him.
His dad. Left.
His mom. Dead.
His brother. Trapped.
His superior officer. Fed up.
“—Although from what I hear, you’re a hotheaded brat who seems to enjoy causing trouble for whoever looks after you.”
He was so sorry...so sorry…
Heaving gasps over the toilet, with nothing left to throw up, Ed wiped his lips with some toilet paper. That, too, was thrown into the porcelain bowl, like a garnish of shameful weakness. He stood up, and looked away as he flushed it with his boot.
Sniffling, he furiously wiped the tears from his eyes, convincing himself that they were from the scent of stomach acid in the air, and not from his own failure.
Hawkeye caught Edward before he could fall off the bed.
She had a hunch he would faint, as soon as he had started to trail off. That empty look in her eye, she had seen it before.
Being careful not to jostle him too much, she steadied Edward on edge of the bed, holding him from under his arms. His eyes were closed, oblivious to being moved.
“Ed. Ed. Are you with me?” she shook him gently, but urgently.
Ed groaned, letting out a slurred mumble. “...’ll do better, m’sorry mom…’m so sorry, so sorry...”
Riza’s stomach sank, and she shook Ed again, even more urgent. “Edward, please stay with me. You need to tell me what’s wrong, so I can help!”
“...’s my fault…” he mumbled, delirious.
Hawkeye could feel the heat radiating from him.
Accepting the fact that Ed wouldn’t be capable of holding himself up anytime soon, Riza moved to reposition him on the bed.
After fixing up the sheets and blankets that had previously been thrown about the mattress, she gently set Ed on top, with his head resting on a pillow. She watched as his chest rose up and down with labored breaths, underneath his black jacket.
His mumbling had stopped.
A loud shrill noise startled her, snapping her attention towards the wall.
The phone.
She hesitated, looking to Ed for a moment, but he was still unconscious.
Letting out a short sigh, Riza picked up the phone, and pressed it to her ear.
“Edward Elric!” A scolding, young girl’s voice yelled across the line. “Don’t think I haven’t heard of the horrible storm hitting East City! You know what happens to automail patients during storms, so I swear, you not better be carelessly messing around, too stubborn to give yourself a break for once in your stupid little—!”
“Winry?” Hawkeye cut her off, still digesting the wall of loud words that had just blindsided her.
“—Huh? Who is this? And why are you answering Ed’s phone? ”
She hesitated. “...It’s storming. I drove Edward to the dorms, so he wouldn’t have to walk from Eastern Headquarters. This is First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye.”
“Oh. I’m sorry, Lieutenant. Can you put Ed on the phone, then? It’s important.” Winry switched gears quickly, catching the Lieutenant off guard.
“I’m sorry, Winry. But Ed’s actually asleep right now. He’s...”
Passed out? In pain? Shivering? Delirious?
“He’s sick,” she settled for.
The other line went silent for a moment, before a sigh was heard. “That absolute moron. I’m gonna kill him,” Winry mumbled.
“What?”
“Forgive me, Lieu—Riza,” the girl corrected herself, remembering their first meeting,“—but Ed’s not actually sick. He’s just being a stubborn idiot.”
Hawkeye’s brow furrowed at that. Sparing a glance towards Ed, his feverish appearance was unmistakable. He sure looked sick.
“—Can you tell me exactly how bad he looks? And no sugarcoating it, either. I get enough of that from Ed already,” Winry asked, sounding exasperated.
Hawkeye hummed in understanding, giving her report. “He was limping all day, from what I saw. There was a lot of wincing too, and he never looked comfortable. I’m pretty certain he threw up around an hour ago, and he currently has a fever. He passed out while talking to me a few minutes ago, and I laid him on his bed. He’s still asleep.”
Another sigh across the line. “Oh Ed, what am I going to do with you…” Winry whispered with concerned disappointment.
“What’s the problem? Can you tell me?” Hawkeye asked eagerly. She wanted to help as soon as she could, and Winry seemed to have all the answers.
“Yeah, I can tell you what’s wrong.”
Riza listened in. “Go ahead.”
“It’s his automail ports,” Winry revealed. “The pressure from the storm is causing him pain. He’s gonna need to have the prosthetics removed.”