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It was remarkable, really, how the simple act of being there for Ling had resulted in the kid opening up to them—to the point where Roy was convinced he’d imprinted on them somehow. He’d woken up after that night with the kid nestled against him, Riza’s arm warm and heavy around his shoulders. Waking up to total darkness was still something he was adjusting to, but despite half-falling off the hospital bed in his sleep (the things certainly weren’t built for three people, or at least not two adults and a teenager, no matter how much that teenager needed the comfort), there was no jolt of panic, no brief confusion before the memory hit.
Oh, was all he had thought, even as Ling whimpered quietly in his sleep and tucked his head into the crook of his neck. There you are.
As though this was normal, and he wasn’t trying to take care of a kid who he knew would be leaving a few weeks, if not days. As if the kid wasn’t responding to it desperately, clearly aching for any sort of comfort or validation, for anyone he could really be vulnerable with. As if his stupid, soft, ever-bleeding heart wasn’t aching to give him someone to hold onto, so he’d never feel that scared and lost again.
He should have withdrawn—but that would have broken the kid’s heart, crushed his spirit, made him believe that his show of vulnerability had chased them away and that he couldn’t show weakness if he wanted to be loved. And besides, if he was going to be Fuhrer, wasn’t it a good idea to build a friendly relationship with the future emperor and his allies? Politically speaking, it was a smart decision. He was simply providing support. Cultivating favors. He definitely wasn’t developing any sort of familial feelings toward the child. Certainly not.
Roy hadn’t expected Ling to get so…clingy, though. Not that he was obvious about it—but Roy could hear the small hitch in his breathing whenever they left the room, the way his voice tightened imperceptibly as he tried not to reach for them. And as his sight slowly came back through the stone, he could see it—the briefest flash of panic in Ling’s eyes, the slightest tremor to his lower lip. All signs of a child who was absolutely starved of comfort and affection, and who was terrified of losing the tiny scraps he’d been given.
He didn’t mind it in the slightest—didn’t mind ruffling his hair or hugging him or letting him huddle against his side like a cat seeking warmth. It was adorable, if he was being entirely honest, and it was worth it when he saw (actually saw, even if it was extremely blurry for a good while) Ling smile when he and Riza made their way down to his ward one day. It wasn’t much like the smiles he gave to the others, the confident ones full of brash pride and determination and focus. No, this smile was quiet and halting and a little unsure, but genuine. Hopeful. And Roy, selfish as it was, hoarded that smile the safe way he did every time Ed looked happy to see him or that Al trusted him with something upsetting him.
He was attached. He was already so, so attached to this lonely, hurting kid, and no matter what he thought to himself, he couldn’t bring himself to let him go.
Who are you kidding? You’ve practically signed the adoption papers already.
Not that that was ever going to be an option, given the circumstances, but if he had the chance…if he had the chance, he might have. Maybe, several weeks or months in the future. And of course, that was if the kid would even let him.
Unlikely. He’d take the newfound scraps of Ling’s trust quite happily, though. Though…maybe scraps wasn’t the right word, because Ling seemed very attached to them now. It was as if he’d imprinted on the first people to tell him that it was okay to be scared, okay to need help, okay to be weak—imprinted on them, and was scared to death that they’d let him go. He didn’t act any different when Ed and Al came in to visit, as far as Roy could tell, but when they left he’d feel calloused hands twist into his shirt, and Ling would bury his face in his side. He clung to them when the nurses and doctors approached as well—Roy suspected he didn’t care much about them seeing whether he was weak or frightened, since he didn’t know them. Honestly, that might have been a reason he latched onto him and Riza. They didn’t know enough about him to think poorly of him for it.
Not that he ever would. Not that he suspected Ed and Al ever would, either—because they knew. On some level, at least, they knew how much Ling was leaning on them now. The kid was a good actor, but Ed seemed to realize the day after Ling’s bad nightmare and seemed surprisingly pleased with the results, eyeing them both a bit protectively, as if daring either of them to hurt the other. Not that Ed could beat him in a sparring match now (though they’d be evenly matched given Ed’s lack of alchemy and atrophied arm and Roy’s still-shitty sight and lack of access to his gloves), but he’d seen that which one do I punch if someone gets hurt look on his face whenever Al and Riza spoke. For whatever reason, he knew that his friend had someone to cling to, his superior officer had someone to take care of, and he didn’t seem even a bit annoyed. Al just looked smug whenever he wheeled his way in and saw Ling pressed against his side, no matter how quickly or subtly Ling managed to scoot away. Like his damn cats.
He was pretty sure that Lan Fan would slit his throat if she did anything to harm Ling now, though—not that he’d ever want to. Hell, he half wanted to ask her to go slit the throat of whoever made him feel so terrified of being human.
Still, something had been off this past week. Something just felt wrong, or like it was about to go wrong and hadn’t quite gotten there yet—like the feeling of dread in the midst of reading a horror story, right before the truth of the fear hit. The scent of rot had begun to follow the kid around, faint at first but growing stronger, and he’d woken up more than once to Ling squirming and trying to find a way to lie on his shoulder. Not only that, but an unnatural heat was coming off of him, and when Roy’s sight started healing, he realized that his face was frighteningly pale except for two burning spots of color on his cheeks. Sure signs of a fever, though Roy couldn’t be sure of the source, suspicions or no suspicions. Normally he’d be wondering why the doctors weren’t on top of it, but…well, a good half of Central was currently rushing in and out of the hospital after they were all briefly sucked into a Philosopher’s Stone, and nearly all the staff was overrun.
Marcoh, however, had offered to check on him when Roy voiced his concerns during their latest sight-restoring session with the Philosopher’s Stone, and he’d readily taken him up on it. He’d thought that maybe he was sick, or he was struggling with the IVs, but he hadn’t expected—
“The gash on his shoulder is infected.”
Roy’s heart sank at the quiet, grim words, blinking several times to force his eyes to focus on Marcoh, who looked tired and so much older than he was. Ling was still a little blurry, but he could see the kid’s lip tremble a bit before he pressed them together and ducked his head, his entire body curved away from the gentle hands probing worriedly at the wound. “It’s gotten worse quite rapidly—and I’d imagine the pain has, too?” This question was directed at Ling, who managed a jerky, unsteady nod in response, his body still tense and wary as Marcoh withdrew and glanced up at Roy. “If it gets much worse, it might need to be amputated.”
“Ampu—” The terrified squeak in Ling’s voice cut off rapidly, and Roy could see the moment Ling tried to force up the ever-present shield of the twelfth prince of Xing, calm, brave, unflappable. He smiled up at Marcoh, who looked (much like Roy felt) like he didn’t believe it for a second. “Thank you, Dr. Marcoh!” he chirped brightly. “I’ll let the doctors know ASAP.”
Marcoh hesitated, clearly itching to try and talk him into calling them now or at least asking if he could inform them, but Roy nudged him and subtly shook his head. Ling trusted him and Riza, but they were the only adults in that category right now. He relented, trudging silently out of the room, and Roy—
Roy watched Ling’s attempt at confidence curl up and die, the kid’s ever-cheery expression crumpling into exhaustion and misery, tears welling up almost immediately. He winced as he buried his face in his hands, a tiny sniffle escaping before narrow shoulders shuddered, and Ling looked up at him desperately. “I—I don’t—I don’t wanna,” was all he managed to get out, his usually unaccented Amestrian rough and guttural with fear and hurt, before his hands wound in Roy’s shirt. “I’m sorry, I don’t—I don’t want to—”
Barely a week and a half into trying to help this poor kid, and Roy had already lost all sense of hesitation when it came to comforting him. He couldn’t remember it being this quick with Ed—but then again, he and Ed had both been actively pushing against each other for years before either one of them let themselves show vulnerability or concern or anything they felt. Ling, on the other hand, was so desperate to have that support, to be allowed to break down, to be allowed to hurt and be held until he felt okay enough to stand on his own that Roy just…didn’t bother pushing, because he knew it’d break his heart. Besides, there were no appearances to keep up, reputations to maintain. Ling was a kid and Roy was the adult he’d chosen to trust, and at least right now that was all they had to be.
He slid onto the bed beside him and pulled him into a loose hug, his heart twisting when Ling immediately curled closer and buried his head in his side. Vaguely, he was reminded of those jokes Havoc liked to make about lapdogs pretending they were guard dogs (usually in reference to Ed) and the reverse of those jokes—the bigger dogs that liked to pretend they were lapdogs. Ling certainly didn’t look his age, but Roy couldn’t help but wonder if that was one of the reasons so much pressure was on him, that people felt comfortable leaving him behind and disparaging and fighting him.
He’s an adult. He’s mature enough to handle it. He’s okay.
But Ling wasn’t an adult, hadn’t been for all those years he was under pressure to become emperor, hadn’t been when the Fuhrer nearly killed his guard and hunted him down, when he trapped himself in a Philosopher’s Stone and had his own body stolen—when he watched two of the people he trusted and looked up to die in front of him. Die for him.
All those years of pain and hurt added up to something, to a weight so heavy and deep that it was only a matter of time before he cracked—and this past week, he’d been cracking, breaking, falling apart and clinging to the only adults who’d noticed.
Some selfish, cold part of Roy didn’t want Ling to go back to his homeland—to where that pressure would worsen and mount as he was named Heir (and he had no doubt he would be), where the people aiming for his death would have an even clearer shot, where he’d be…not alone, not with Lan Fan and Mei there, but without anyone he could really talk to. He knew he’d have to leave once the hospital discharged him, he knew that, but…
But he was hurt, and alone, and until that hurt had a chance to heal, Ling would never really feel safe, or happy, or like he was good enough for what he’d earned. And Roy didn’t want to see a child take a throne because he thought it was what he was supposed to do.
He didn’t say any of it, though—he stroked Ling’s hair slowly, rocking him a little instead. “What don’t you want to do, kiddo?” he asked softly, wincing as a damp spot soaked into his shirt. Poor kid. “I know it’s scary, but the doctors will get you sorted right out, I promise.” Childish phrases, maybe, but Ling was a child in need of comfort, and he didn’t really care.
Ling hiccupped, the sound high-pitched and soft and miserable, before he buried his face in his side again. “D-don’t wanna get my arm amputated,” he choked out. “M’sorry—m’scared—”
Roy blinked, bewildered. “Why would you be sorry for that?” It was a very normal feeling, as far as he was concerned. No one wanted to lose a limb. At least, not unless there was some dire situation involved, and even then the thought of losing something so integral to daily life would be intimidating. “You have every right to be scared, Ling.”
Ling shook his head furiously, pressing impossibly closer, his entire body trembling. Roy rubbed his back gently, careful to avoid the shoulder wound. “But—but Ed—and Lan Fan—” He sucked in a shuddering, painful-sounding breath. “She c-cut off her own arm—for me—and I’m being such a coward, I know, I k-know, but I—I’m scared!” The last word came out on a wail, muffled into his side, and Roy’s heart broke.
He still doesn’t think he’s good enough. That he deserves not to hurt. He—oh, sweetheart.
“You have every right to be scared,” he repeated firmly, “and someone else going through something does not mean you have to feel the same way about it. Ed, for example, would die before being forced to share his body and soul with someone else, but you were happy to take that burden on for the sake of your people and your country, and Lan Fan. But he would readily give up any part of him to help his brother or Miss Rockbell.” He stroked his hair slowly, closing his eyes. “You would give your heart and soul to keep your people safe, but you’re scared of losing these.” He squeezed his hands gently, humming soothingly as Ling’s sobs hitched painfully in his chest. “And that’s okay, sweetheart. That is absolutely okay. Some things are scarier for you than they are for others, and some things don’t faze you while they’d scare someone else. You are more than allowed to feel fear and need help and be scared sometimes.”
Dark eyes peeked out at him, wet and puffy and red-rimmed, and he smiled faintly and ruffled his hair. There you are, buddy. “But luckily, it’s early enough that they won’t have to amputate. And they’re gonna fix your arm right up, good as new, and then you can go home whenever you’re ready. Okay?”
Whenever you’re ready. He knew Ling would take that as when the hospital discharged him, but some secret part of him wished that maybe, just maybe—he’d stay a little longer. He’d let himself heal.
He didn’t know, even as Ling burrowed into his side and burst into tears of relief, that the prince wished for the exact same thing.