Work Text:
He should have known something was off when Ed didn’t bust down his door and make a scene to announce his entrance. Though he’d registered the behavior as uncharacteristic, he’d been too busy counting his blessings that he hadn’t deepened the crack in his wall behind the door.
“You’re actually on time for once. Another engagement after this, I assume?”
“Just wanted to get it over with,” he shrugs. “The sooner I get out of here, the faster I get away from your sorry ass.”
“Fair enough. Let’s see what you’ve got there.”
Ed hands over three sheets of paper, which are messily, but legibly, scribbled down in appropriate detail. That’s another first. He usually has to pry work like this out of the kid by force, and he finds it suspicious that he’s offering it so willingly now .
“You want something.” Ed glares at his shoes. “What unreasonable amount of time are you about to request off to chase a wild goose somewhere?”
“A week.”
“Denied.”
“Oh, come on! I did your stupid mission, I wrote your damn report. What else do I have to do?”
“Your job, Fullmetal. Since you’ve finished this one early, you can get a head start on your next. If you work quickly, you’ll have ample time to spare after you’re finished. I’m doing you a favor.”
“Yeah, more work is a great gift.”
“You’re changing the subject. Report. Now.”
So he obeys. He recounts every detail he remembers, anything at all that might be helpful, but his mind is so fried that he’s afraid of missing something. There are a lot of starts and stops where there shouldn’t be as he struggles to focus on the task at hand. It feels like a weight is pulling him down, down to the ground. He’s in the middle of a sentence when he reaches out for the arm of Roy’s couch and lowers himself into it. Already behind on work because weather had delayed the trains and therefore Ed’s report, which his superiors have been demanding, he’s in a bad enough mood that he refuses to let that slide.
“You know you have to stand at attention when you’re reporting.” Ed glares.
“It was a long mission,” he says defensively. “I’m tired.You’re lucky I’m here at all.” Roy does have to give him that. From what he’d had time to read of his report, it sounds like it was a tough one, and he certainly looks the part, disheveled and pale aside from a livid bruise on one cheek where he’d been punched in a fight.
“Fine,” he replies with a flippant wave of his hand, “have a seat, if you need to.” Ed does so immediately. “Now, continue.” Ed sighs, but it seems more exhausted than irritable.
He starts up where he’d left off, but as he continues walking Roy through the events of his mission, he begins to lose the thread. His thoughts jump and jumble, sometimes repeating things, others skipping over so much of the story that Roy has to ask for clarification. It’s beginning to irritate him. What’s worse is that he’s slowly leaning back against the sofa, scooting down further and further until he’s nearly recumbent. It’s so disrespectful that he can’t help but say something.
“I gave you permission to sit, not to lie down. Sit up straight.” For a moment, it seems like he complies, but then keeps leaning forward until his elbows are resting on his thighs, one hand massaging the bridge of his nose. “I won’t ask again. Finish your report.”
He expects bitching and maybe even yelling, but Ed barely reacts.
“Gimme a second,” he replies quietly, almost shakily. Roy fights down the urge to roll his eyes.
“Fullmetal, either report, or take a citation. I don’t have all afternoon.” He shuts his eyes, hand flitting to his temple. “Is something wrong?” Condescension drips from his tone. “Focus. I asked you a question.”
“I don’t feel right.” That’s not what he expected.
“Elaborate.” When Ed doesn’t, the ire reignites. “I told you, your request for time off is denied, and you’re not going to wriggle out of this one.”
Ed doesn’t drop the act. If he weren’t looking for it, he’d probably be able to convince himself that he’s faking this, but it’s a difficult assertion to make when he’s standing there looking so lost and sickly. “If you’re hiding an injury again, I swear—”
“No,” he curtails. “Just… sorta lightheaded.” Of course, he’d make everything as difficult as possible, even when he doesn’t have the wherewithal to do so intentionally.
“You should really have a medic look you over if you’re unwell. Would you like me to call for a car?”
He expects that calling his bluff will be enough, but it doesn’t pull him out of that dazed expression. “You weren’t hurt beyond the obvious?”
Conveniently, Ed shakes his head, takes a deep, shuddering breath. Of course he isn’t hurt. That would be too difficult to fake. This, on the other hand, is just a matter of manipulation, and he’s determined to not let it slide.
“On your feet, then. If you’ve got nothing to go to medical for, then you’re well enough to report.” To his credit, he does stand without complaint, but that, too, quickly ends in dramatics as he wavers and lands hard on one knee.
“Enough of that,” he barks, but Ed doesn’t seem to be listening.
“Something’s wrong,” he says. “Can’t—s’so hot in here.” He begins to wrestle his way out of his coat, but his movements are clumsy, drunken in a way that would be hard to fake.
“Slow down. You’re getting all worked up over nothing.”
Ed says nothing, just continues to struggle with his coat. Finally, he’s convinced enough to ask the question.
“Are you alright?”
Ed groans.
“You look exhausted. When’s the last time you slept?” he asks. The fact that Ed has to think about it is answer enough. “Have you eaten today? Had any water?”
“I need to lie down,” he says, dodging the questions or not even registering them. It’s enough to get Roy on his feet, crouching and helping him back to sit on the couch, where he more or less melts into the cushions.
“Okay, okay. Easy. Take a minute.” He takes Ed’s legs and sets them on the arm of the couch to elevate them.
“Hawkeye,” he calls, and she’s at his door in an instant, her stern expression softening around th edges when she sees the scene before her.
“Is something wrong with Edward, Sir?”
“I think he needs some water and something to eat. Could you?”
“Of course.” As she scurries off to find that, he regrets not having swapped places with her. He’d much rather be fetching supplies than standing, awkward and stiff, in front of an ill, dazed subordinate. Up close, Roy can see the sheen of sweat that’s broken out over his forehead, eyes darting around under his closed lids.
“Stay awake.”
“S’happening?” he asks, painfully childlike. He’s a kid. He’s scared. And Roy has no idea what to do with that.
“You’re alright. You’re just having a bit of a fainting spell. It’ll be over soon.” Hawkeye nods in approval at his apparently competent tone as she hands him a glass of juice. “Think you could sit up to drink something? It’ll help.”
Desperate to feel better, Ed nods prematurely and gives it his best effort, but he’s not ready, and it shows in his eyes as soon as he’s vertical. Hawkeye supports his back with her hands and guides the glass to his mouth because his hands are shaking so badly she’s afraid he’ll spill it. By the time he’s slowly sipped about half of it down, he’s more alert and coherent, enough so to be embarrassed.
“Feeling a little better?”
Ed glares. “Fine,” he snaps. “Just let me finish my stupid report so I can get out of here.”
“You’re dismissed for the day,” Roy says. “Actually, make it two.”
“What the hell? Why?”
“Why?” he parrots incredulously. “You just swooned in my office.”
“I mean, why are you acting like you care?”
Roy doesn’t know what to do with that. Is everyone in this kid’s life really so demanding that he’s skeptical of being offered a simple break when he’s broken down from exhaustion?
“I’m not a monster. You already collapsed once today, and you think I’m going to push you further just for a report?”
“So you admit they’re bullshit.”
“Not what I said. If you pass out in the streets on the way home and drown in a puddle, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Bastard,” he mutters, too shaky for a full meltdown but not so far gone he doesn’t catch the dig.
“I’m going to call a car. Are you staying in the dorms?”
“Hughes is putting us up.”
“Even better,” he says. “He can take you home.”
“It’s that late?”
“Your little ordeal here wasted quite a bit of time. Namely, mine. So if you’re done making my life a nightmare, I’ll let him know. Could you walk?”
“I’m fine now. I can do whatever I want.”
“That’s exactly the attitude that landed you in this situation.” All the same, he fetches Hughes, who bursts through the door, fatherly instinct locked and loaded.
“Ed, how are you feeling? The Colonel told me what happened. You can’t keep exhausting yourself like this. You’re going to get hurt.”
“I’m fine,” he says, much more gently than he had to Roy. “Just got a little dizzy. I’ll sleep it off.”
“Well, I don’t know about ‘fine,’ but we’re going to get you a bowl of stew and a few good nights’ rest. You’ll be back on your feet before you know it.”
Ed follows him out the door, tossing a look to Mustang like he’s debating saying something. Roy figures it’s either gratitude or a dig, but since he turns back without a word, he’s left to guess which it is. Either way, he’s glad the kid is finally going to get some rest, even if it means waiting a few days longer for that report.