Title from a Bukowski poem.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Roy nearly ripped the door of its hinges in panicked dread. He had heard the gunshot. There hadn't been any sounds afterwards.

His eyes roamed, trying to spot golden hair, a glimpse of metal and just where the hell are you ?

The room was a mess, alchemically created spikes and fists had ripped holes in walls and ceiling. Dust clouds curled around those abstract constructions, hiding what Mustang was so desperately seeking further from view.

Edward lay behind a pillar of an unfinished rising stone fist. It looked as if whoever the fist should have hit hadn't given Ed enough time to form it.

He rested curled on his side, hands clutching a wound he could not yet see. His face was hidden behind his bangs, a coat of soot making it look more grey than golden.

"Ed" he called and put a gentle hand on his shoulder, shifting him a little because he needed to see.

"Don't!" it was urgent, but the voice was so weak, so brittle.

Mustang apologized and moved him anyway.

Eds left side was saturated in blood. The floor as well. A little trickle of it lined his chin and ran down his pale neck.

The temptation to break down right then was overwhelming. That was a fatal wound and he could see in Edwards eyes that he knew as well.

"Can you –" Ed coughed around a glob of blood in his throat. After a few burning breaths, he tried again.

"Can you burn it shut? The bullet's still in there, but I might –"

Mustang had never felt more pride for this boy. There he was, bleeding out, shaking from what must be excruciating pain and still he was asking Roy to inflict even more, determined to try, even though he knew –

"I don't know if you'll survive this Edward" He admitted quietly.

"Have – Have to try. For Al, please Mustang" He keened then, the pain too much to bear in silence.

A weak hand grasped his sleeve, pulling his gloved one closer to him.

"Quick" Ed heaved before the fingers loosened, no strength left to spare except to keep his lungs breathing and his heart beating, however feeble.

"Okay Ed, I … Okay." It was Eds dying wish, to die trying and he just couldn't refuse, couldn't tell him it would be futile.

The Colonel poised his hand, blinking the blurriness away to focus on the entrance wound.

His eyes flicked from the injury for a second to Edwards face. They were met with so much trust that he had to squeeze them shut in order to snap.

The boy screamed and Roy screamed with him while he held him down, his hands slipping in blood and sweat and before he knew it was all over, Ed was still, his cries echoing of the walls even though his mouth had shut.

He gathered the body in his arms, the floor coming undone beneath him. Kids weren't supposed to die before their –

Ed should have never died before him. He had never even entertained the possibility of this brave, strong kid who'd survived so much to die at all.

His eyes were wide open, staring into nothingness as he rocked back and forth, back and forth, kneeling in a pool of blood, his pulse beating so hard in his chest it was all he could hear, all he could feel.

It was probably why it took him so long to register the very faint, slow beating of a pulse against his chest, or the thin puffs of warm air against his neck, were Eds face was resting.

The Colonel laughed while his eyes blurred once again, gathered the boy close, stood and ran.

When the doctor told him that Ed would survive, that it was a miracle and if it hadn't been for his poor patch-up job he would have bled out in a matter of minutes, Roys legs shook so hard from relief Hawkeye had to catch him to keep him from falling hard on his knees.

He looked at his soaked uniform and smeared hands, the blood just now starting to dry and didn't dare believe just yet.

"No way, " he said and looked at the doctor doubtfully "Look, there's more blood on me than in him right now, how –"

The physician interrupted him. "I know, as I said, it's a miracle. His lung was in tatters. That boy has to be the most stubborn patient I had up until now. To pull through something like this, I really don't know how he did it, but fact is that he did and that's all you should be focusing on."

Roy nodded dully. "What now? How long until he recovers?"

"Depends. He'll have problems breathing for a long time, possibly permanent. At least 6 weeks is my guess, but prepare for 8 to 10. He won't be waking up until tomorrow noon anyway, so you can go home and rest as well, you look like you need it."

Hawkeye intercepted him before he even opened his mouth to speak.

"Is it possible to occupy the bed next to Edwards for the night? As his guardian, it is the Colonels duty to see to his health and make sure he won't wake up alone."

Leave it to Hawkeye to say what he was thinking. He would have to make it up to her after all this was over.

"Of course, but try not to disturb his rest, he'll need a lot of it in the first few days."

The Doctor took him to Ed's room. Once the Colonel saw the boys chest moving, he collapsed halfway onto the bed next to Edwards, dead to the world.

When Roy woke up, it was dark and Edward was awake.

There was an infusion in his hand and the soiled uniform had been replaced with the hospital issued gown he'd worn more often that he cared to count.

Edward was propped up on the headrest, surrounded by pillows. The boy looked at him, a strange expression on his bruised face.

"Doc says you saved me?" it sounded like a question to Roy, Eds eyebrows drawn together in observation.

He cleared his throat, reaching for the glass of water by his bedside.

"I guess so. You'll have a big scar on your chest from it, though."

Ed leaned back against the pillows, turning his eyes on the ceiling. His hand wandered to his chest, hovering over the bandages.

"I don't care, what's one more anyway?"

They were quiet for a moment.

"Thank you, Colonel. You kept me from breaking my promise to Al." He said it earnestly and Roy swallowed in disgust. That boy had nothing to thank him for.

"I wouldn't have had to keep you from anything if I hadn't misjudged the situation in the first place."

Talking was hard. His throat seemed to close up consistently without any reason.

Ed sighed tiredly.

"Can you please not make this your fault? You can't predict every action of a lunatic with a gun. So don't – "

He stopped abruptly, holding his breath to keep the painful coughs threatening to rip his patched lung apart at bay.

Roy watched, unable and useless, as his subordinate tried to control his breathing. Ed had gotten hurt one too many times on his watch. The kid should blame him, should demand that he leave this room and transfer to a responsible officer, someone who wouldn't assign him one goddamn suicide mission after another.

Ed recovered, but didn't pick up his speech again.

"You and I both know guilt doesn't work in rational ways, Fullmetal. Just let me wallow in it until you're your old bratty self again and I forget why I ever felt anything else than frustration for you in the first place, okay?"

The kid grinned then, unsettling Mustang with its broadness.

"That can be arranged Colonel," he said, and settled back under the sheets, lips stretched in a content smile.

Mustang groaned histrionically to hide his own pleased expression, dropping off into alleviated sleep.

Just trying to soothe my H/C addiction with this, don't mind me.