So, my document for this thing is 30k words and counting, if that lets you know how much I ramble on for this fic without producing anything worth posting. This thing will never be on a coherent update schedule, and I apologize. But still, thank you all so much for reviewing! Every one that I get inspires me to come back and write more :)

Roy would have given nearly anything, to simply not exist in this moment.

It was long. It was unbearable. It was terrible. It was, quite simply, intolerable. He pressed his eyes shut, exhaling a deep, shuddering breath that did exactly nothing to calm him or the nauseating spin of terror in his stomach, and again wished with everything he had for some sort of magic array to just lift him the hell out of this conversation and put him anywhere else.

He actually thought he'd prefer his old cell to this.

"You're saying..." he gritted out slowly, "that it is broken. But that I'm also fine."

Across from him, he could hear the doctor shuffle through his file. "Yes, Colonel."

The vein in his forehead pulsed, and he had to swallow so much itching irritation he almost had to scream. "That doesn't make any sense."

There was another shuffle of papers, and- and a chuckle. A god damn chuckle.

That little shit. That ass. This was one of the most important conversations of his life and he wasn't even taking it seriously enough to not turn it into some kind of fucking joke- that son of a bitch was going to get it from him, he'd-

"Roy," Maes said quietly, and one strong hand came out of nowhere to land soothingly on his arm.

He bit his tongue, forced out another long, shuddering breath, and tried very, very hard to keep his calm.

There was an awkward pause, and then Dr. Chuckles continued. "Colonel, I understand your concern. However, popular culture is misleading you a bit, here; a spinal fracture does not mean you're paralyzed. Far from it, actually. It-"

"I can't feel them," he gasped, and suddenly his eyes have been wrenched open and he was staring desperately at him, a gasp past gritted teeth like it was dragged out of him. "What do you mean I'm not paralyzed?! The only time I can even feel anything at all is it when it hurts, and even that- most of the time it's nothing-"

"Roy," Maes cautioned again, and this time there was a hint of steel in it, the hand on his arm tightening in silent reproach. Roy jerked with the motion, irritation bridling again; as far as he was concerned, Maes could shut the fuck up lecturing him like a misbehaving kid, now was not the time to reign him in, now was not the god damn time-

Maes' green eyes, hard behind his glasses, met his, and his rage deflated like a balloon being popped.

The oppressive terror that replaced it, expanding inside him just so until his chest was crushed so tight he couldn't breathe, made him miss the rage.

Once again, Dr. Chuckles gave him several moments, and once again, Roy shut his eyes rather than watch his face when the prognosis continued.

"It's understandable that things don't feel as you'd expect them too," he went on gently. "Two vertebrae are fractured, and x-rays showed some swelling. Swelling compresses nerves, and nerves control both movement and sensation. Swelling is also temporary, Colonel. That you feel anything at all, even pain, is a good sign."

Roy shut his eyes again, breathing hard through his mouth, and battled the growing urge to throw the shit out of his room and never deal with this again.

He heard the doctor stand and his breath caught in his chest, painful and terrified all over again. He knew what was coming now and suddenly found himself not even capable of opening his eyes. Once again, he'd had given anything he had to simply not do this. He didn't want to do this, he didn't want to endure this, he- he wanted to go home, this-

"Can you feel this?" the doctor asked, and his breath caught again.

No. No, he couldn't.

"N... no."

His voice, meant to come out as steady- he was a colonel, colonel fucking flame alchemist, to panic like this was so far beneath him it was dirt beneath his shoe- croaked out at least an octave too high, cracking over fear, and the beginnings of humiliated shame twisted in his gut alongside terror.

He couldn't feel it. He hadn't felt anything. He wouldn't have had any idea he was being touched if he hadn't asked that question.

Automail- if he couldn't feel anything, he couldn't even get automail, could he? If the nerves didn't connect anymore, there was nothing anyone could do. He couldn't- Roy gasped, panic driving the breath from him like a sledgehammer to the chest. He couldn't... every piece of his dreams began to shatter around him, leaving him alone in a world of broken glass and ruined ideals. He was paralyzed. He couldn't walk. Fuhrer, Ishval, democracy- suddenly he felt it slipping out of his grasp, could almost physically feel it falling through his fingers, everything that he was was gone, everything that he'd worked for- oh, god, he wasn't even a man anymore-!

Next to him, Maes' hand tightened on his arm again.

"Do you feel this?" the doctor asked once more, and once more, he didn't.

Strong, warm fingers gripped his own, and the pain in his broken hand was far more than worth it.

Slowly, he turned his head in a mute shake.

The interview, each crushing second of it, dragged on, and Roy left his eyes closed. Many times the answer was no. No, he couldn't feel this. No, he couldn't feel that. No, he couldn't move his toes. No, no.

Occasionally, the answer was yes.

Those times, he felt it through spikes of pain, sharp stabs up his thighs, splintering his ankles, exploding in his back. He'd never been so relieved to hurt.

Finally, the doctor finished, and he was at last able to open his eyes, squinting at the return of light and swallowing at the way Maes looked at him now. Uncertain, worried, anxious... pitying. Shivering, Roy yanked his gaze away from him to the doctor, who, fitting with his earlier levity, was smiling again, making a notation on his chart.

"Just as well as I'd expected," he was saying, and Roy's stomach lurched again. "I realize this may not have been as encouraging as you'd have liked, but you still have sensation and at this point, that's as good a sign as we can hope for."

"How dare-"

"R-oy," Maes cut in again harshly, a rebuke in words alone, and it took all of his self control this time to not turn and snap at him instead.

How dare he? How dare them both? How dare that doctor stand there and smile and tell him, with legs that he could barely move or feel and that felt as dead as doornails that this was a good sign, and how dare Maes sit there and judge him like that, chastise him like a misbehaving child? He was sick of it- sick of them both!

Roy gritted his teeth, restraining the tongue-lashing by force of will alone, and a Herculean force of will at that. He breathed in deeply, refusing to allow himself to wince, and kept his gaze steady this time as he looked between the two of them, Dr. Chuckles and his god damned best friend.

"What," he asked, in a voice so flat and cold it chilled himself, "is the prognosis, then?"

Thankfully, Dr. Chuckles or not, the man still retained some sense of professionalism, because his answer came quickly, and it was a smaller smile that he was pretty sure was supposed to be reassuring. "For now, we just wait. It'll take a little bit of time for the swelling to go down, and then some more hard work on your part to rebuild the damaged nerves."

"What's the prognosis?" he repeated icily, frustration pulsing in him like a wound. "Just how much better am I supposed to get? Am I going to be-" The words caught in his throat and he hit silence, heart hammering, stammering over the horrible reality that he suddenly couldn't say aloud. Was this something that was just going to end up as a bad memory, and in a few months he'd be back at work, patrolling the streets and fit and ready for war? Was he going to end up with a medical discharge, on his feet perhaps but not fit enough for military service? A fate he once would've taken as one almost worse than death, but now...

Now, Roy thought he'd be almost breathlessly relieved to hear that one.

It was still miles than his worst fear. The one he knew, as his legs alternately throbbed and felt horrifyingly numb, unresponsive to nearly all his attempts to move them, was still a very real possibility.

Was he going to end up in a god dammed wheelchair, incapable and unable and left behind and worthless?

Was this it for the rest of his life?

There was an uncomfortable pause when he trailed off into nothing, mouth dry and impossible words gone and heart pounding harder with every beat of uncertainty. Maes, for once, seemed just as uncomfortable as he was, perfectly silent by his side- and the doctor, too, went quiet for one long, horrible moment.

"I can't say, Colonel," he told him at last. "That's the unfortunate nature of injuries like this. It's impossible to say how far you'll recover until you've gone through the rehab. I think you still have a lot of improvement ahead of you, and I've seen people with worse injuries than yours make a full recovery- but, and I'm saying this to be honest with you, Colonel, I've also seen a few with injuries less severe, who didn't." The doctor hesitated in the impossible silence, watching him, Maes perfectly still beside him, Roy's heart busy being strangled into a beaten, mangled chew toy. "I figured you'd appreciate honesty, instead of sugarcoating, sir."

Roy bit the inside of his cheek, clenching his jaw to keep himself silent until he could deliver something that wasn't a scathing diatribe or, perhaps, worse, a scream to get the hell out of his room. He could feel Maes tense a little, like he was expecting to have to try and stop the latter, and somehow this annoyed him enough to keep silent, because screw him for acting like he had to be taken care of like that. "Honesty appreciated," he gritted out once he could speak steadily, and it wasn't even a lie.

The doctor gave him another slight smile, but this time, it was far more welcome, because it accompanied the man standing up, hands clasped behind his back and patient file now shut. "We're going to give you a few more days, to recover, before we start trying to do a little rehab. For now, there's nothing you can do but focus on healing." He nodded to him, then Maes, smiling to them both, then started to backtrack to the door- only to turn back upon reaching it.

"I know none of this is what you want to hear right now, but statistics are on your side, Colonel," he said quietly.

Then, finally exited the room.

It was perfectly silent again. Roy stared at the shut door, heart pounding furiously, then down to his still, unmoving legs, paralyzed through the roaring in his own head.

For several long moments, no one said anything at all.

"...Roy," Maes told him quietly. In spite of his best friend's usually cavalier attitude he could hear the hesitation and something almost close to fear; it felt like he was going to throw up. "I... know you're worried, but... Roy, it's going to be okay-"

"Shut up."

Maes, quite intelligently, Roy thought, went silent. It was probably his most intelligent feat of the damn week.

Unfortunately for him, however, those quiet words were all that had been needed to break the camel's back.

"No, really, Maes," he hissed, for the first time turning fully to face him and relishing the wide-eyed, stricken stare those words earned him. Maes was shocked? Maes was taken aback? Good. Because he was nowhere near done. "It's going to be okay, you say? Really? Are you the one with a head injury now; do you not remember what that doctor just said?"

Maes watched him silently again, troubled but blessedly quiet, and Roy forged onwards like it was a war, wrecking his way through Maes' unreadable expression and doing everything he could to tear him apart. "What part of that speech sounded okay to you? Sorry, Maes; I guess I forgot, Amestris elects Fuhrers in wheelchairs all the time. And my career? My career? Why is all that I can fucking care about my career? Fuck you, Maes, I- I can't even walk!"

"You know that's not what he said at all," Maes interjected quietly, but it was too god damn late for that.

It was too late for everything.

Roy shut his eyes, breathing harshly through clenched teeth and fighting with every rebelling bit of himself for control. His chest hurt with every gasp, and he fought to breathe even deeper, something about the pain almost addicting. His broken hands hurt, and he clenched those, too, fisting them in the pathetic bedsheets as best he could and living for the anguish in it. His legs hurt- which was ridiculous, if he took even a half second to think about it.

Everything hurt, and nothing mattered anymore, because- because...

"Get out, Maes," he managed roughly when he could finally speak. He kept his eyes closed, breaths forcefully measured, and waited for him to be gone.

He didn't know why he suddenly wanted Maes out of the room. He owed his life to him right now, and probably his sanity as well, and Maes had done nothing to deserve it- but right now, Roy just wanted him gone. He wanted to be desperately alone and never have to see another person ever again. He wanted the world to stop, his nightmares to stop, the pain to go away, and right now all he really wanted was just to fucking stand.

All that he wanted that was within his grasp, though, was for Maes to leave, so he kept his eyes closed, his breaths steady, and waited for the inevitable sound of him getting up to go.

For several seconds, there was nothing but a thick, uncomfortable silence.

Then:

"No," Maes said flatly, and there was the distinct sound of his best friend pushing the plastic chair back to make himself even more present and long-term comfortable.

Roy's eyes shot open.

"W- what?" he stammered, jerking back around to stare at him. His legs only barely moved with the rest of his body and self-revulsion stirred in his heart again. "Hughes, I said-"

"I know, get out, I heard you." Maes tilted his head to watch him over his glasses, infuriatingly unreadable and sad. "Forgive me if I'm wrong, but I don't think it's the best idea for me to head off and leave you to stew with your unreasonable pessimism to convince yourself you're doomed for life." He smiled a little, but it was another sad one, and Roy's heart lurched. "Sorry, but you're stuck with me."

Roy stared at him a moment longer, shock driving another harsh gasp out of him, mind reeling. "You're- you're-" He glared at him, heart blazing defiance. He was serious! Here Roy was, the only fucking thing he wanted in the world was for Maes to just get away from him and let him fall apart for one day of his life- and there Maes sat, downright refusing him even fucking privacy-

"Fine," he all but snarled, squeezing his eyes shut again as he threw himself roughly back down onto the lumpy mattress which was still the softest thing he'd had in months. He turned definitively onto his other side, back to Maes as he dragged the blankets over himself and buried his face into the pillow. He wanted to hide. He wanted to not exist anymore. He wanted everything to stop, now, and more than anything he just wanted Maes to leave him alone.

Maes didn't leave.

But he stayed quiet, and- well, praise god for small mercies.

I can't feel my legs.

He said I should. The doctor said-

But I CAN'T.

He felt the traitorous, pathetic sob starting to grow in his throat, and he shoved it back as hard as he could before the stubborn man at his back could hear it.

He wasn't crying. He was a man, goddamnit, and he was fine. He wasn't falling apart. He was going to get past this, pull himself straight back onto his feet because if ten year old Edward Elric could manage it so the hell could he, and if he could survive committing genocide then what right did he even have to be falling apart just because he'd earned a few new scars and spent the last six weeks getting the brains beaten out of his skull?

What did any of it even matter, anymore?

He was not fucking crying.

Several minutes later, he felt Maes carefully touch his shoulder again. Roy held himself perfectly still, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he wanted to rip the son of a bitch's arm straight off and throw it across the room.

"I'm really sorry about all of this, Roy," he said after several long, almost unbearable moments. His voice was suspiciously thick, and somehow that made the tightness gathering his throat even worse. "And I... I know that you don't want to hear this now, but-"

"I'm fine, Maes," he cut in softly, voice somewhere between harsh and unsteady. He didn't shut his eyes, that would've been a bit too pathetic; all he could handle right now was just staring hard away from him as he kept on fighting with the thickness in his throat.

It took a few seconds, this time, but then Maes sighed again, and this time, it had a warm sort of fondness to it that was familiar. "I know you are, Roy," he said quietly, hand still on his shoulder, and he could hear the slight smile on his voice. "I know you are."

Roy kept his gaze focused away from him, and didn't let himself say anything more.

"Elicia wants to see you," Maes blurted.

Roy gave him a very tired, sidelong glance without even bothering to turn his head. "...Your point?" he asked dully, when his friend did not continue. He looked at the fading sunlight out the window, watching as the day struggled on forwards its last legs before night fell.

Maes cleared his throat rather awkwardly, seeming unsure of how to say what he wanted to. "I was just thinking that you, um... might want to wait a while. She's quite upset and I really don't know how she'll react..."

He nearly laughed aloud, not that it was funny, but because it irritated him to no end, and it was almost amusing, really, how even Maes seemed to have mastered that art, as of late. As if he was so fragile he needed Maes to protect him from a five year old.

Then he blinked, the heavy reluctance and sadness in his friend's voice actually registering, and he realized this was about more than just his own mess of a state right now. "Upset?" he quoted, looking back at him. "Why would she be upset?"

Maes gave him an odd look. "Why wouldn't she be?"

"I... I thought she didn't know about... any of this." He waved his hand unhelpfully at himself and frowned slightly, trying to stifle and shove away his own unease and failing miserably. "...I thought that's... what you told me..."

But, then, his own memories had been less than infallible, lately.

Was it possible he'd imagined that, too...?

But Maes didn't stare at him in alarm or pity, either of which would've told him the truth; rather, his friend sighed heavily, sitting back with a miserable shake of his head in his chair. "Well, that's what I thought, at the time. Turns out that wasn't quite the case." He paused for a moment, irritably pulling off his glasses to clean them anxiously on his sleeve in his nervous tick. "Apparently, over a month ago, Elicia's friend at school was complaining about how her father kept having to work late night, because he was trying to find someone named 'Mustang'. ...Her friend named Allison Hakuro."

Roy swore quietly. "You've got to be kidding me."

Maes looked even more distressed by the news as he nodded, scowling. "Oh, I wish. Apparently, little Miss Hakuro was saying she just wanted the weekend to come already- because then they'd give up, and her daddy could come because Mustang would be dead." He paused for a moment, giving him a dark look. "In what very little defense I'm going to give that terrible child, she had no idea that Elicia knew you."

For a moment, Roy just stared at him in disbelief. Then he leaned his head back and shut his eyes, massaging his throbbing temples. "What a lovely child," he deadpanned, "truly; she really takes after father. And I'm sure that comment of hers just went over splendidly with Elicia."

Maes shook his head sadly, looking so acutely miserable for a moment his state was even more pitiful than Roy's. "She burst into tears and starting sobbing in the middle of class. Her teacher had to call Gracia to come pick her up... she was inconsolable, Roy." He shook his head again, burying his face in his hand for a moment. "Gracia had to explain to her what being declared dead was, and just that it was happening didn't mean you weren't coming back. She just told Elicia that you were lost, and I was looking for you, but that you were very, very lost so it might take a while to bring you home..." Maes trailed off with a hopeless, half miserable smile. "As I'm sure you can imagine, it didn't help much. She's been asking her every day since if I'd found you yet... Gracia told her not to ask me about it- that I was working very hard looking for you and couldn't be distracted."

He paused for a moment, biting his lip. "Really, she just didn't want Elicia pressuring me to find you, too. That's what she said, anyway. I guess she was right... I was so focused on looking for you I didn't realize how sad Elicia's been until everything came out. I think she thought Gracia was lying to her, near the end- that you were dead and we just weren't telling her. She's... she's been crying a lot..."

Roy cursed again, tearing his eyes away. Beautiful. Now even Elicia was crying over him. Was that his new talent? First he stole hearts; now he just broke them...

"Well, I suppose you'd best bring her, then," he sighed, unsure why the prospect left him so reluctant or anxious. "If she thinks you're lying now, she probably won't believe anything until she actually sees me." Then he frowned, tilting his head to the side as he looked back at his friend curiously. "Come to think of it, why hasn't she been here yet? If she's so upset, I mean- why is this the first time you've brought this up?"

Maes gave him an uncomfortable look, not quite meeting his eyes. "Well, you were pretty sick for a while there, you know, buddy. That would've just scared her worse..."

For a moment, Roy was about to protest. After all, while Maes was right, he'd recovered from the infection and fever almost a week ago now. He'd been lucid for quite a while.

Then, he understood.

He looked down at himself for a moment, vaguely queasy. Discolored, stitched, and broken, he looked like a badly abused toy doll that some mother had painstakingly patched back together when it would've been far less work to just go buy a new one. He still looked like one, infection or no. It was only this morning the last of the stitches in his face had come out, two black, grotesque lines that had stretched across his nose to end twistedly under his eye.

He would've terrified Elicia like that.

In fact, there was a chance he still would, because even now...

He saw the way they all looked at him. Even Maes, sometimes, though he'd try his best to hide it. They didn't see a confident military colonel here, no matter how hard he tried to make it so. They just looked and saw everything that was wrong with him; saw something shattered and broken.

His jaw clenched.

"Bring Elicia in tomorrow," he said stiffly, raising his gaze up to his friend. He flinched when he found the worry and uncertainty there, pity lurking in his guarded eyes and sadness still clinging to every part of him.

"Are you sure you're ready to-"

"She's five," he hissed through clenched teeth, a tremor of rage and shame shaking down his spine. "I think I can bloody well handle your daughter. Unless she's become a combat State Alchemist while I was gone? Or is it just that the Flame is really that pathetic now that you must-" He cut himself off with a sharp intake of breath, squeezing his eyes shut and curling his fists so tight his nails bit into his palms. Oh, yes. And this was certainly helping matters, wasn't it? Losing all self-control and throwing a tantrum like a spoiled, temperamental child. Splendid. No wonder Riza wouldn't so much as touch him these days, if this was the kind of pathetic creature she saw...

Maes was looking at him again. Like that again.

"...Just bring her in," he reiterated flatly, then turned his gaze out the darkening window again.

To avoid seeing that look in his eyes.

Maes didn't say anything at first, just quietly watching him while Roy flat out refused to look at him. "Okay," he murmured at last, a cross between reluctant and apprehensive, but at least he wasn't fighting him on this like he thought Roy was so fragile he wouldn't be able to handle it.

Good.

He just closed his eyes, listening as Maes pushed his plastic chair back and stood, the rustle of his uniform as he straightened. "I'll... see you tomorrow, then," he said, and Roy somehow stopped himself from flinching as Maes moved closer, giving him a light, around the shoulders sort of hug as a goodbye. "Get some sleep, Roy," he said, absentminded, half-distracted, almost, and Maes, too, was doing his best not to look at him as he headed towards the door.

The next morning, a school day, as it was, Roy jerked awake trepidatious and anxious, already dreading the afternoon when Elicia would get out of school. To make matters even worse, Maes wouldn't be there; he'd cagily told Roy that a case was heating up at work and that he'd be stuck there all day today- and the way he'd said it had left him suspicious, somehow, in a way he couldn't quite place... Maes was frustratingly overprotective now, yes, but surely he was not so much of a mess that the idiot thought he couldn't handle hearing details about a case.

Surely he was just imaging it...

But, whatever the case may have been, Roy found him sourly missing the reassuring sense that would've come just from knowing he wouldn't have had to face Elicia and Gracia alone. Which was so acutely pathetic he was left in a dark stormcloud of a mood ever since waking up, one that worsened with each ticking hour- and was abruptly catapulted into a seething rage when the doctor made another visit, and informed him it was time to start learning how to use the wheelchair.

It would be the first time the doctors had let him out of bed, getting him accustomed to using the wheelchair that they'd already told him would become a staple for weeks or even months. Ordinarily, the prospect of no longer being bedridden would've left him thrilled- but this...

It pushed his sulk into an outright black and foul mood, trying not to shout at those simpering nurses watching from around the corner and fighting the urge to blow up something with every word out of the goddamn doctor's mouth. Never mind not wanting to look pathetic. Never mind wanting everyone to stop treating him like a damn child. He didn't want to do this, didn't want to do it so much he desperately desired to just set this godforsaken wheelchair on fire, drag himself to the nearest closet, and hide from the world until he wasted away into dust.

And it was in that state, whether by design or accident, that Ed and Al made their first appearance.

He'd already felt emasculated and humiliated beyond belief, and the sound of the little hellspawn walking down the hallway had made him want to grab his gloves and set fire to the whole damn building. He'd burn the place to the ground and die in the fire before he'd let the brat see this circus, because of all the people to not see him like this, Fullmetal was number fucking one. He seethed at the floor until the brat came face to face with him then glared up at him, looking him right in the eyes and just daring him to open his fucking mouth.

Ed had just looked at him for a moment, arms folded, expression entirely unreadable, and then, he'd smirked.

"This is just sad, Mustang," he'd said, pointing at the hallway he'd been struggling his pathetic way down. "Seriously, come on. A little girl could go faster than this."

It felt like he'd been slapped. "Well," he snarled through clenched teeth, clutching at his thin, hospital-issue pants so hard the fabric nearly ripped, "you would certainly be well acquainted with little girls in wheelchairs, Fullmetal. You did cry like one back when we first met."

It was a cruel, low blow, and he'd known it was too far even as he said it- didn't even know why he'd said such a horrible thing, really- and he mentally cringed and smacked himself but was just unable to lower his pride enough to quit glaring at him and apologize. Ed, however, just rolled his eyes, seeming to have almost expected the horribly cruel words, and plodded over to drag an abandoned wheelchair away from the wall, smirking all the while. "You're a bastard. Good. Thought they might've beat that out of ya." That he said, he sat himself down right next to him and pointed to the end of the hallway, eyes glinting with a mischievous light. "Now, like I said, this is just pathetic. I'm going to have to teach you how to wheelchair race like a man, obviously."

"Fullmetal," he hissed, because he was not in the mood for this shit, "this is a hospital, not a playground, and unlike you, I am not a child. I am not participating in whatever juvenile-"

"Yes, you are," Ed said firmly, and that was that. "Al, count us off, okay? Mustang, to the end of the hallway. Whoever gets there first wins. And unless you want to listen to me laughing at you for being such a loser for the rest of the day, you damn well better at least try and win, you got that? Not that you'll actually win, of course. Because I'm better than you."

And, because Ed really would do it, Roy found himself hurtling off after Ed as the hellcat wheeled himself so fast down the hallway it was nearly unbelievable, if only to get the runt off his back for the rest of the day. No one had more experience abusing a wheelchair than his brat of a subordinate, though, so even with Roy sincerely trying, Ed still beat him by at least five seconds. And when he finally got there, dripping with sweat, panting, and hating the kid with every fiber of his being, Ed simply stood and clapped him on the shoulder, smirking all the while.

"You suck. I could've had breakfast in the time it took for you to get here."

"Shut... shut up..." he wheezed, vainly reaching out to try and smack at him; Ed calmly reeled back and laughed at him, smirking again.

"Well, you clearly need the practice, old man. I'll give you a couple of days, then come back, race you again." He paused for a moment, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "If you're not at least two seconds faster I'll make sure to blow up an extra building or two on my next mission or two- just for you!"

Roy made another frustrated attempt to yank the kid closer, seething. He could already see budgeting nightmare building up on his desk. "You brat, get back here! This- this isn't even a fair race, I'm injured-"

"Bleh," Ed said eloquently, sticking his tongue out at him. "Injured bleh. Come on, Al, I'm starving."

Roy stared in disbelief as the kid dragged his brother off down the hallway, Al shooting him an apologetic look over his shoulder as his monster of a sibling led him away. He just watched incredulously as the pair left, completely at a loss for how to react or even think.

But for the first time since he'd realized told those bastards had broken more than just his spine, he felt like something more than a piece of humiliated, used, forgotten trash, and he found himself grinning as Ed and Al disappeared around the corner.

Wiping his hand along his forehead, Roy sank back with another shaky gasp of a breath, hands trembling and still trying to battle back a smile. He just waited there for several moments, trying to get his breath back, then finally shook his head with a little smile and started to push himself onwards. It was still embarrassing and humiliating, being seen like this- but the reminder that Ed had been just like this, once, was all he'd needed right now. Ed really had once been as low down as this- and... well, just look at him now, Roy.

He'd be fine. He could survive this.

Still grinning a little, and definitely still sweating- which he was going to get Ed back for- Roy headed on, for the first time since he'd woken up here setting his sights elsewhere besides just hiding in his room. There was a little cafe somewhere on this floor, wasn't there? A shitty one, like everything hospital related was, but still- it probably would be best for him to try and endure being in public like this for a little while longer, since...

Well, since he really was going to have to get used to this.

His good spirits dimmed a little, but not dead yet, he wouldn't let them crash just yet. Roy moved on ahead with his new destination in mind. He paused as he reached the corner, wiping a trembling hand along his forehead again...

"Yeah, that's all I'm saying. I'm worried."

He stopped, frowning.

Was that... Maes?

"Hey, you don't need to convince me! He's the one we need to convince."

Maes, definitely. And it sounded like he was on a pay phone...

Frowning, Roy pushed himself a little more forward, just close enough to sneak a look around the corner. Maes was, in fact, standing there, back to him as he twisted the cord around his hand, phone cradled between his shoulder and ear, and dressed in full uniform. What had happened to that supposed case he was supposed to be working?

"That's all I'm- but- he's-... yeah." Maes sighed, leaning a little more against the wall. "It's complicated. He's doing well enough, I suppose. He's supposed to be released by the end of the week..."

Roy perked up, his eyes widening. Just who was Maes talking to? About, by the sound of it, him?

"Yeah, well, you'd think, wouldn't you? I talked to the doctor. They want to have him in some rehab center once he's released. They said he'd recover a lot faster that way."

What?! His fists clenched, anger and betrayal suddenly exploding in his chest and vision washing with a red hot haze, shaking his head vehemently over and over. They wanted to do what to him? No. No way in hell! He didn't care if it was the fanciest, cushiest damn place in all of Amestris; he was not going there! No! They wanted to send him off to some long-term hospital and just leave him there for weeks, months- no. How could they even think of doing that to him? He wouldn't go. He didn't care how stupid and childish it made him look; he wouldn't! He was doing absolutely nothing but going to his own home, with his own bed, and potentially locking himself in there forever, and if Maes, god damn him, wanted to say otherwise-

"Yeah, I know it's more convenient," Maes went on breathlessly, "but if you include the bitch fit you know he'd throw about it, is it really? And I know I lovingly call that idiot a melodramatic little drama queen, but honestly, over this, don't you think he has the right? Can you say you'd want to do that, either? You- ...yes, I know it's not just about what he wants here. I know it's about what he needs. But..." Maes trailed off with a hopeless little sigh, pinching the skin of his forehead with a groan.

It felt like Roy had been hit with a ton of bricks. He sat back, seething, and clenched his fists so hard his nails opened old scabs. That son of a bitch. What he needed? What he needed?! What he needed, was for people to stop treating him like he was a damn child and acting as if they knew what was best for him. He wasn't fragile, he wasn't stupid, he wasn't suicidal, and he could damn well take care of himself. He did not need their help. And if sitting there letting his spine get beaten into broken bits of bone while still keeping his mouth shut wasn't enough to earn their fucking respect, then-

"No!" Maes suddenly snapped, breathing out one great, frustrated sigh of air. "Yes, Roy needs a security detail right now, I know. We have to protect him until... yes, I know. And yes, it's easier to run that detail out of a private hospital than his apartment. But even if we told Roy everything, he still wouldn't agree to this! That's- no, I think we should keep it from him, he'd lose his mind otherwise, but- but, Riza! Riza- he won't want to do this, and we shouldn't have the right to make him."

Roy's eyes widened again.

Once again, it felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

Riza.

Maes was talking to Riza... about keeping something from him.

His eyes darkened, and a cold rage swept through him again from head to his numb toes.

This wasn't about them forcing him into another hospital at all. No...

He was being lied to.