Hello, my fellow procrastinators and a happy Fourth of July, birthday, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's, and anything else I might have missed while I was busy failing at graduating from university with a dual-major. Lots of stuff happened this year and the end of last year, some family emergencies, my grandparents when to the ICU, the dog died, my dad's in a warzone, and my sisters are depressed and I'm barely surviving my final year of college. So what do I do while all of this is going on? Why, write an angst fic of course! A 21 page angst fic that should have taken 3 weeks to type but ended up taking 6 months. Go figure. I might write a second chapter to this, but it depends on future circumstances. Taut is not abandoned... yada yada yada.

Also, mah mom gaht branchitis! Ain't no one got tahm fo dat!

This story is based on the time I almost killed myself trying to give my baby sister a piggy back ride in the deep end of the pool.

"Need I remind you that going out for lunch was my idea, Fullmetal? I outrank you and I'm the one who has control over your financial status. I make the decisions and I do not negotiate. We are going to get Rundstücks, and that is final."

"I don't want a Rundstück, I want ravjul! Besides, the Aerugonian place has those bread-stick-things! I want a bread-stick-thing!"

"Those bread sticks are pretty good, sir- "

"No one asked you, Heymans!"

"Yes, sir."

"Calm down, Brother. Maybe we can think of a compromise-" Ed turned his ire on his brother.

"That's what I'm trying to do!"

"No, you're not! You're being a snot-faced brat who is going to have Rundstücks for lunch and like it!" The red cloak whirled back to Roy.

"I am not going to like it!"

"Fine! If you want Aerugonian so bad, go by yourself!"

"Colonel, sir, may I remind you why you invited Edward to lunch?"

Roy stared at his lieutenant, blinked, remembered, and didn't deign to stifle his moan of pique.

Mustang's desk was currently swamped in paperwork. It was nearing election season for the East, and the political structure of the state was a mess of resigning officials and boasting campaigners, empty offices and overworked secretaries; and the colonel kept receiving letters and pamphlets on who to endorse and which organizations deserved government funding and if he publicly stated that he supported Mr. Fat-Money-Man-Who-Sleeps-With-His-Intern-While-His-Wife-Isn't-Looking, he could expect a monthly stipend worth half his salary for the entirety of Mr. Fat-Money's tenure (he was secretly considering accepting).

It had been a lot worse when he first entered work that morning. Roy had employed abnormal diligence to filing, going so far as to skip his mid-morning coffee break to avoid having to stay overtime. Riza had finally made him stop - he had not believed her when she stepped into his office and told him to put his pen down. He had been sure it was a test of his will, and when he accused her of much, her face spoke a bizarre mixture of pride and offense.

"Sir, it's lunchtime."

"Already?!"

The day was half gone, and he was only a third of the way through the stacks on his desk. He studied the columns of paper, estimating and calculating in his brain… maybe he could meet his daily quota by five, if he had no interruptions and he forewent his afternoon recess…

"And Edward Elric is here to see you."

…and all his plans came crashing down.

There was no way he would be able to clear his desk and spend an hour playing sports of Fullmetal and not have to stay after hours. His mood now thoroughly curdled, he bid his lieutenant send the boy in while his mind and mouth were filling with words expressing just how horrendously bad a time it was for Edward to decide to return to East City.

Ed trudged into Roy's office, his demeanor radiating his characteristic pubescent disrespect, his brother clanking behind him and offering a polite "Good morning, Miss Hawkeye" to Riza as she held the door for them, which she answered with a nod.

"Can we hurry up and get this over with? I'm starving," the whine came out before the little major had even saluted to his superior (not that he had been going to anyway, he never did).

The whine sent needles of annoyance digging under the colonel's skin.

It also swept away all the Roy's condescending thoughts and feelings as it inspired a brilliant, wonderful idea. Why not turn their meeting into a dinner conference? If he could take his mandatory meal leave and receive the boy's report at the same time…

It would be close.

Close was good enough.

"As a matter of fact, Fullmetal, I'm quite peckish myself," Mustang said, getting to his feet. "Come along, Lieutenant. We're going to lunch." He did not need to explain himself to Hawkeye. He saw in her exasperated (if not slightly amused) eyes that she knew exactly what he was trying to do.

Emphasis on the trying.

Because at this rate, Roy's entire scheme was going to fall apart if they didn't just choose a goddamn place and go.

The fact that rest of the team had invited themselves along as soon as they picked up the suggestion of a restaurant certainly didn't simplify matters.

"Maybe we could come up with a compromise."

"Yeah, Al's right! Let's compromise and go get ravjul."

"Brother, that's not a compromise."

"Whose side are you on, Al?!"

"Well, considering I'm not eating no matter where we go, no one's."

That effectively shut Ed up.

And in that momentary quiet, they heard the outraged squeal of an old woman as a passing cutpurse snagged her handbag and dashed off with it.

They all turned to look, and before Mustang could give an order, Alphonse was catching the woman before she fell into the street, Edward had sworn up a storm and taken after the thief, and the rest of them had broken into sprints to catch up with the boy, with intermittent calls in varying voices of "Ed, wait!", "Halt!", and "Military police!"

Whether directed at the thug or the State Alchemist, the shouts went ignored.

Edward, being younger and spryer, was ahead of his colleagues by about an eighth of a mile, and the purse-snatcher, having a head start, was ahead of Edward by about half of that. But Edward, being younger and spryer, was quickly gaining ground and the burglar knew it.

The chase continued for a block, then two, and then the runners reached one of the stone bridges that spanned the width of the canal, and the street thief made his move. With the deftness of someone who has done something several times (which he had) and the purpose of someone who had been planning something from the beginning (which he had), the man dug his heels into the stonework of the bridge and scrabbled to a stuttering halt, whirled around, and held his arms akimbo, as if to embrace an old friend. Edward, as the crook had expected, had not been expecting this, and all but tumbled into the man's hold. The thief drew the boy in close in a vice-like hug, then, with all the strength that comes with masculine youth, bodily hauled the boy away from him.

It might be worth to mention that the career of purloining does not list forward-thinking as one if its prerequisites. If it did, the idea might have occurred to the pickpocket that the outside of Eastern Headquarters was not the wisest location for a mugging. But again, the young man in question was not particularly gifted in future-planning. If he was, he might have thought to lift the boy less strenuously and to throw him with less force. Edward's weight was considerably smaller than the average officer, with whom this maneuver was designed in mind. The goal of the action was to toss the pursuer backwards onto the pavement, or in this case, the wall of the bridge, so that the thief could escape while the authority recollected themselves and tended to any minor injuries the fall might have given them.

Instead, the man raised Edward above the bridge wall and threw him into empty space.

He did not have time to take a breath and cry out before he hit the water with a splash.

"BROTHER!"

"Fullmetal!"

There was no gasp of swallowed air, no disturbance of the water as he resurfaced.

Only the anxious voices of his colleagues, the sounds of the city, and the thief's own footsteps.

He was across the bridge and only one street crossing away from freedom when he realized what he'd done. He skidded to a stop and turned to stare at the horrifically peaceful canal.

The thief had little skill in thinking ahead. If he had, he might have considered that his pursuant was unable to swim.

Alphonse had stayed behind long enough to ensure the woman was all right and to direct her towards the lobby of Headquarters where she now waited on the fate of her belongings. He had caught up just in time to see his light-bodied, heavy-limbed brother be slung out into open air and disappear into the river. Now he was teetering on the edge of the sidewalk, the only thing keeping him from following Edward into the depths and erasing his blood seal being an equally horrified Riza Hawkeye.

"He can't swim! He can't swim! His automail's too heavy! He's going to drown, LET GO OF ME!"

KERSPLUSH.

Roy Mustang's coat was draped over the abutment, the last traces of its owner dispersing bubbles on the water.

XXX

Drowning, Edward would later decide, is a very boring way to die.

Fighting requires the participation of one's cognitive skills, one must know where and when to strike, whether to surrender or run away if one finds oneself outmatched.

Illness tends to leave one yearning for death, if only because the ordeal is so exhausting and uncomfortable, but for the most part, it can be assumed that one would spend one's time being asleep or unconscious, and therefore unaware of the lack of action.

Drowning, on the other hand, is stimulating to both the mind and body, but only the body reacts; a raw, instinctual struggle for survival comprised only of reflex, and the thinking brain has little to do but wander.

It was frightening at first.

He could feel himself sinking, feel his flesh limbs kicking and flailing in destitute. The need for oxygen was strong and painful, deep in the belly like hunger, but coating the throat like thirst. His mouth and nose had immediately clamped shut as soon as his face felt wetness, but it was a temporary fix, only meant to last long enough for the situation to be resolved. Edward was a strong boy, and for a small second, there was a flash of light as he managed to graze the surface and poke his mouth into the air. He opened his mouth and took a long, hearty gulp-

He swallowed two lung-fulls of water.

And he was sinking again, and the light was a shadow, and his respiratory system was paralyzed, he couldn't cough up the river because the river was pouring into him. The cold-hunger-thirst spread, from his lungs to his heart, down and up his torso to his leg and arm, and the cold was death and dark and his limbs thrashed more desperately even as his body began to burn with the cold.

His leg vibrated as his foot hit the bottom of the canal. He had a mere half moment to understand what that meant before the river's ice-fire trickled up his neck and into his brain.

The world slowed down.

It was blue, dark blue, like the sky after the sun had set but before the stars have come out. He could see the sunshine dancing above him, bending and blinking as the current stirred the water. The tiny waves rolled and tumbled over each other. They looked like storm clouds churning across the firmament to deliver rain.

It was pretty.

Yes, it was very pretty here.

Pretty and warm.

It wasn't so bad.

Pretty and warm and sleepy.

You're dying.

It was a fact, stated nonchalantly, without panic or urgency.

Yes, he was dying. It was actually quite pleasant.

Not nearly as awful as he had imagined.

Then a great, black shape drifted towards him and blotted out the light.

XXX

While Roy Mustang was grateful that Fullmetal hadn't decided to imitate a ship's anchor during the winter, he wished he'd waited until midsummer. The canal in spring was uncomfortably chilly.

The weight of the water pushed at him, trying to cradle him back to the mortal realm. He appreciated the gesture, but he would appreciate it even more if physics could wait until he'd gotten ahold of his subordinate. Physics didn't have to wait long.

The boy was short for his age, but Roy only needed to grasp his hand, which was a good four feet above the riverbed, and Roy himself was about a foot taller than that, and his jump from the bridge had propelled him two feet below the surface. His downward swimming was more for keeping himself underneath the water long enough to find Edward than it was to reach him.

The boy's icy hand cut through the heavy emptiness like a paper cut. It took a bit of fumbling, between stroking downwards and grappling, but his big, warm fist managed to seize Fullmetal's small, bitter one. He knew it was him and not just a piece of garbage because he could feel the squishy firmness that comes with muscle and bone.

Then again, he might have just discovered evidence for a murder case, but he doubted submerged corpses had such thick flesh.

This was the easy part.

Or at least, it was supposed to be.

He stopped resisting the pull upwards and the water's density immediately forced him skyward, to warmth and life and air, and his chest was beginning to hurt-

WHUMP.

It was a sensation rather than a sound.

The river may have been heavy, but when it came to consolidated mass, automail won the contest. Roy started swimming with three limbs and Fullmetal and Flame rose through the water and Mustang's hand cut through the surface-

They sunk again, their combined weight too much for one body to support.

Edward thudded gently back to the bottom.

Mustang tried again.

He tried a third time.

The ice-fire that had taken the boy bit into the colonel and its venom wreathed outward from his ribcage.

They needed air.

He needed air.

Let go. Let go of him and breathe, whispered the self-preserving instinct in the base of his skull. He's cold and still. Can't you feel it? He's gone. There's nothing to save. Let go and leave him.

They rose and sunk for the fourth time.

Let go.

Roy couldn't feel his legs.

Let go.

The ice-fire was crawling up his spine.

Let go.

NO.

NOT BEFORE ME.

His fingers pierced above the water for the fifth time, then the coldness filled his brain and they fell into the beautiful darkness together.

I die first. No matter what.

He goes with me, or not at all.

XXX

To live was far more painful than to die.

Air filled his mouth and ran down his throat and into his waterlogged lungs, and almost immediately came back out, bringing filthy river water with it.

He was trying to breathe and cough and vomit at the same time, and it hurt, hurt more than anything had hurt before, and he was alive.

He couldn't tell if his body was elated or repulsed by that fact. If he had to take a guess, he supposed he would bet on the former, since every system, every structure, was suddenly fighting so terribly hard to keep it that way.

Unseen hands rolled him onto his side and water poured out of him like an opening sluice. He was lying on something hard and his clothes stuck to his skin in a way that made him feel naked. He was shivering.

There was someone else beside him, choking and gagging just as harshly as he was, but in a deeper, stronger voice. It sounded like an expiring lion attempting to roar.

The cold ice-fire disappeared quickly, expelled through hacking and purging and gobbling air-sweet, wondrous air-and was replaced by the petrification of his bones and blood. He was made of stone, and couldn't bring himself to move or think, only exist.

And most definitely not crying.

Edward's rough sobs and tears were hidden by coughing and water from the canal.

He only heard the similar sounds his partner was making because he knew what to look for.

A clumsy hand groped for him and managed to grab his shoulder.

"Full… metal?"

"Colonel."

Talking burned his throat. He coughed up more water.

"BROTHER!"

A raucous, clanging sound.

Ed rolled back onto his back and opened his eyes.

Alphonse was a black monolith against the scorching bright sky.

"Brother, are you all right?! Please say something! Are you hurt?!"

Edward vomited a mouthful of canal debris in answer.

The hand squeezing his shoulder migrated to his chest and yanked on his saturated shirt. Roy's face was a shade of pale blue and his teeth were chattering so hard Ed could hear them clacking.

They stared at each other, trembling and gasping.

Then Mustang pulled him into his arms and held him close.

If the embrace was for warmth, it did not accomplish its purpose. Both alchemists were equally gelid. The river had been penetratingly glacial, but the bitter wind on wet flesh was like thousands of tiny needles stabbing into the skin. Edward buried his face in Roy's coat. No matter what happened, he couldn't escape the cold. It was no longer inside him, now it was outside him, save for a particularly obstinate block lodged in his stomach that ached in a bizarre, ravenous way.

"M-M-Must-tang?" It was hard to speak when his jaws were spasming and his lips were numb. "I w-want ice c-cream."

It didn't make much sense, but if felt right. Some part of him knew the only way to banish the last of the briskness in his belly was to fill it with something equally frigid.

But much sugarier.

Roy took a few deep breaths before replying.

"Yeah." His voice was no louder than a sigh. "Ice cream. That s-sounds… p-perf-fect."

XXX

To passerby who viewed the incident without context, it might have looked like an impromptu game of some sort – a very stupid game.

After Edward's subito dive and Roy had followed him, Breda jumped in, too.

Then Havoc.

Alphonse tried to emulate them, but was held fast by Falman and Fuery, neither of whom were avid swimmers; Kain because of his low physical ability, Vato because of the bodily limits that come with age.

Hawkeye, ever calm and calculating, saw what the men had unintentionally made, and refined it.

By her instruction, Heymans took hold of Mustang's weakening hand with one of his own and placed his other one in that of Havoc. Alphonse reached out as far as Falman and Fuery would let him and grasped Havoc's free hand, and with Kain and Vato keeping him planted on the sidewalk, hauled all four of them out of the canal as if they were a kind of human rope. Roy's grip on Edward slipped during the tugging, but Havoc managed to catch him before he vanished again.

A kind, quick-thinking observer had the sense to run to the nearest phone booth and call for an ambulance. Neither Roy nor Edward were aware of exactly when the vehicle arrived at the scene, but it did not matter. The medical team that came with it was well prepared and brought several foil blankets. Breda and Havoc were given one each and gratefully wrapped themselves in them. Two of the paramedics knelt beside Ed and Roy to check their vital signs. Edward flinched and opened an eye when a pair of warm fingers pressed against his jugular vein, but he quickly lost interest and closed his eye. Mustang had the energy to glance at the practitioner who was counting his pulse, whom he also dismissed without much further thought.

"How is he? Is he going to be okay?"

Alphonse had taken a couple of steps back to give the nurse room to work and had waited until she had removed her fingers from his brother's neck and sat up before questioning her.

"His heart rate is a little fast, but steady," she said. She turned to request for someone to bring her a heat sheet and came face-to-face with one that Hawkeye proffered her. Riza had brought a second one for her colonel, which she gave to his respective technician. Both nurses accepted them obligingly.

"Is that good?"

Alphonse watched anxiously as the paramedic threw the foil blanket over Edward and began to swaddle him like an infant. Edward made a confused "Nng?" as he was pulled away from Mustang but didn't struggle or protest. The blanket was loud - it crinkled at the slightest movement, and the static-like sound grated a bit on the nerves – but it was surprisingly snug and toasty compared to the spring breeze and his soaked clothes.

"It's normal." Al tilted his head slightly, bemused, and she smiled. "He's fine. He's a bit shaken and very, very tired, but he's not injured."

Roy had very nearly panicked when Fullmetal was snatched away from him. He weakly reached out and tried to pull him back, and his technician gently took his arm and guided back to his body. He started mustering the strength to sit up and see where exactly his subordinate had been stolen away to when a sheet that cracked like a tiny lightning storm was draped over him and bundled around him.

He opened his eyes to see Edward snuggled inside a silver chrysalis half a foot away from him. He would have thought the boy was asleep if it wasn't for his bone-rattling shaking.

The paramedic tending to him made sure he was thoroughly enwrapped and raised a hand to signal for a stretcher. Alphonse stopped her.

"Can I carry him please?"

She studied his large arms and broad chest, then nodded.

"Be gentle." The advice was unneeded, but Al heeded it all the same.

Mustang watched the suit of armor slide his gauntlets beneath his brother and lift him up as if he was made of porcelain.

After he'd delivered Edward to the ambulance, he returned and did the same for Roy.

Mustang was impressed by the caution and care Al exhibited when bearing a living creature. His metal body was hard and pressed against Roy's back, but his stride was careful and slow, and his hold on the colonel was solid. Roy wondered if he had gained those skills while caring for Fullmetal.

And then he was being lain down on something that was soft but firm, he opened his eyes-keeping them open required energy he did not possess-and looked around.

A square, metal ceiling. Someone wearing a paramedic uniform sitting on a bench beside him, leaning over him, like an over-attentive chaperone.

He was lying on a gurney in the bed of the ambulance.

He turned his head to the side. Fullmetal lay next to him on a gurney of his own. He was still wrapped in his thermal blanket, as was Roy, and his own attendant had foregone the bench to kneel on the floor by his head. She held a towel in her hands, and she was using it to dry his hair. His shaking hadn't abated in the slightest.

"Edward." It was little more than a whisper but the boy heard him. His eyes opened barely, showing strips of gold.

"Colonel."

The gold disappeared behind his eyelids.

Roy was vaguely aware of the sound of the ambulance door slamming shut, and then the engine started up and vehicle started moving, and if it was hard to stay awake before, it was nearly impossible now, with the gentle rolling sensation beneath him as the ambulance cruised on the smooth pavement that city streets are famous for. Edward didn't even bother resisting, his trembling and coughing drastically diminished as he lost consciousness.

Every military instinct Roy had learned over his career demanded that he fight the pull of sleep, but his body knew what it needed, and as the body usually does, it won.

XXX

He woke when the world shook. He could hear and feel movement, the tapping of metal as it shifted, the tickle of air through his bangs. He startled, eyes peeling open ever so slightly with a snort that was a snore cut short. He could not remember seeing anything in particular, but a warm, worn hand brushed his wet hair out of his eyes and spoke in a sweet but gentle voice, like a heavy wind instrument in one of the symphonies his brother loved to attend.

"Go back to sleep, son. Just gettin' you to a warm bed, is all."

Ed didn't bother to question this nice man, nor did he want to. The hand pulled the blanket tighter over his shoulders, but at that point, Edward was already comatose.

XXX

He woke up coughing. His chest hurt and his throat burned from his lungs' earlier attempt to purge themselves of filth and water, but their previous exertions clearly hadn't been successful. He managed to half hack, half vomit a trickle of leftover river out of his mouth and slumped, panting. He realized he was sitting up. There was a hand on his back.

"Easy now, son, easy. Deep breaths, all right? Don't try to fight it, just let it out. It don't belong there, anyway."

Roy was not used to being spoken to like this. He wasn't sure if he liked it or not.

Once he'd gotten most of his bearings back in order, he squinted at the man who had helped him upright when he'd started to choke. He was an older man, with a bushy white beard that seemed to cover his entire chin and jaw but somehow failed to hide his mouth, which was smiling in a reassuring, almost paternal way. The corners of his eyes crinkled in the manner that seems to be exclusive to the elderly but lively. In fact, he looked so familiar that Roy's muddled mind transferred the thought to his mouth before he could stop it.

"Pelznickel?"

The man laughed, a deep, hearty laugh, and for a moment Mustang wondered if he'd, by some miracle, guessed correctly.

"To some people, maybe. Have you been good this year? Shall I be giving you a cake or a switch?"

Roy stared at the man dumbly. "Pelznickel's" face softened and he patted Roy on the back as if Mustang was twenty years younger than he was.

"How 'bout we compromise. You tell me what hurts and I'll tell my bag of tricks to fix it up as best I can. How does that sound?"

Roy blinked and stared at the blanket hiding his legs. It was only then that he realized that he was in a hospital bed. He thought about how his body felt. It was odd how he was finding something innate on the simplest level difficult enough to require voluntary thought. He absent-mindedly pressed a hand to his abdomen.

"Stomach hurts…"

"I suspect it should. You swallowed a good bellyful of water and brought it back up in less than five minutes."

"Five…" It had seemed an awful lot longer in the moment.

"You and your boy weren't under for long. The only thing I think you two have to worry about is a potentially nasty cold in the near future."

Him and his boy…

His boy…

"Edward!"

"Pelznickel" cocked his head to the side.

"Is that his name? I would've thought it was 'courting elk' from the way he snores."

"Where is – "

The man looked over his shoulder in answer. Roy followed his eyes, which required him to look over the man's shoulder himself and managed to make out a still wet mop of yellow hair bunched up on a pillow on a bed on the other side of the room.

"Your boy is fine. He's out like a light, though. Best to let him rest."

"But he was under the water longer than me. What if –"

"From what I heard, neither of you was down there for more than a minute. He might have lost a few brain cells, but I promise you, no lasting damage was done."

Mustang wasn't sure if hearing that his major had only lost a few brain cells was supposed to make him feel better.

Perhaps Edward was subconsciously aware that he was being talked about because he began to stir. Then he began to cough. It sounded painful and rough, the kind of coughing that reminds one of a saw cutting into wood. "Pelznickel" stood up from the chair he'd been sitting in next to Roy's bed and crossed the room to Fullmetal's. Rather than sit next to the mattress, the man sat on the edge, slipping an arm under the boy's shoulders and pulling him upright, as he had for Roy. Like with Roy, he started patting Edward gently on the back and muttering reassurances to him in his deep, baritone voice. Mustang was surprised to find himself feeling jealous.

Once his coughing had subsided, leaving Ed breathless and sweating, he chanced a glance at his caretaker, turned back to his lap disinterestedly, widened his eyes, and took a second look. Roy wondered if that was how he'd looked when he'd woken up.

"Are… are you…"

The man smiled.

"Am I?"

Edward blinked twice, and his gaze wandered away towards nothing.

"No… no, Pelznickel's not real…"

The man in question pulled his face into a mock pout.

"Well, that's not an attitude that'll get you far in life. Haven't you heard that anything's possible?"

Edward met "Pelznickel's" twinkling eyes with his dull, amber ones.

"Not anything."

The man – it was only now occurring to Roy that he must be the doctor – rolled his eyes melodramatically. "Have it your way." In an instant, his cheery demeanor shifted to a serious, but still caring one. "How are you feeling?"

Ed took a moment to answer.

"Tired. Hungry. Cold." He pulled up his blanket so he could wrap around his shoulders. In doing so, he became aware of Mustang's presence, and stared at him with a confused expression as if he didn't recognize him. He closed his eyes, his body secreting exhaustion, and nodded like he had come to some sort of significant conclusion, opened his eyes, and said, "Ice cream."

Roy had to think before he remembered their conversation made up of two short sentences spoken through frozen lips. The pain in his belly increased and his mouth began to water. "Yeah," he answered, giving a nod of his own.

"Pelznickel" looked from one to the other with a raised brow.

Then Ed tried to get up.

The man's expression changed from one of polite confusion to alarm.

"Hey! Easy, kid! You only –"

"Not a kid."

Edward managed to stand, but he did so visibly shaking. He was a strong boy and could easily run a half-mile without becoming winded, but this was different. He started to stagger his way to the closed door, leaning on the railing of the hospital cot and then the wall for support, and had closed his flesh hand around the doorknob before the convulsions he'd been fighting caught up to him and he started coughing harder than he had when he'd woken. He tried to take a deep breath and control his lungs, all he accomplished was bending in half and hacking so violently that Mustang thought his major was going to throw up. "Pelznickel" had watched this attempt with a sad countenance. When his patient began choking again, he stood up and walked to him. The big man, despite his obvious age, scooped the child into his arms and cradled him like an infant. Edward was too busy gasping for air to protest. He was carried back to his bed and laid down as gently as if he was a glass statue. Ed was coughing so heavily he curled into a ball and all but gagged.

"Pelznickel" rubbed circles into Fullmetal's back and sighed.

"You'll be doing that for a while, I'm afraid."

Once he'd finally been reduced to helpless gulping, Edward stayed bent. "Pelznickel" kept patting him.

"Is he okay?"

The doctor didn't take his eyes off his charge to answer Roy's question.

"He will be. He probably still has some fluid stuck at the bottom of his lungs."

Ed sat up wearily, grunting and shrugging his comforter's arm off his shoulders. He shot the man a pointed look that lacked the intended venom. "Pelznickel" returned it with a patient smile. Ed looked away.

"I'm going back to the dorms."

The transition was so instant that Roy honestly believed for a moment that the doctor had suddenly been replaced by his evil twin.

"You is most certainly not! You'se staying here overnight for observation. If that croup turns into ague, it'll happen faster than an alky gets an applejack gait, and if you'se not here when that happens, you'll be well on your way to an earthen bath."

The man's spiel was followed by a brief bemused pause. Then Roy started to laugh hoarsely. It almost immediately turned into rough coughing. "Pelznickel" stood up and returned to his place on Mustang's cot and resumed thumping him on the back. Ed blinked at both of them.

"What – ?"

"Your face!" Roy was so breathless that it came out sounding like "Hor'fay'."

By the time he finally restored his wind, tears were streaming down his face. He swallowed hard. It felt like choking down straw.

"What the gentleman meant to say – " Mustang stopped to swallow the rest of whatever was sliding down the back of his throat. "What he meant to say was, 'There's a chance for complications, so he wants to keep you here tonight just in case.'"

Edward's face soured into a pout.

"I'm fine! I don't need – "

"Fullmetal." Despite the harshness, Ed could detect the drop in his commanding officer's voice that signified that he was no longer accepting dissension. "If the man says that we need to stay here tonight, that's what's going to happen."

"But – "

"That is an order, Major."

Ed's countenance turned dark with an anger but he did not express it. Instead his mood shifted from red to purple as he stoppered his rage with a growl through gritted teeth.

"Yes, sir."

"Pelznickel", to his credit, said nothing, though he did look from one participant to the other throughout the conversation.

"I want to see my brother."

Edward's voice had deflated from the argumentative assiduousness to placating softness of a request. Mustang wasn't sure if Ed was talking to him or the doctor. In any case, "Pelznickel" stood up, grunting has his joints creaked, and made his way to the door of the room. There must have been someone waiting on the other side because he opened it by barely a hand's width and mumbled, "Five minutes" to whoever was listening, then abruptly closed it.

"Visiting hours is over," he said, pulling the drapes of the room's only window aside to reveal an East City hued by the dispersion of watercolors that make a sunset. "But I make exceptions for immediate family."

As soon as he finished his sentence, the sound of crashing footsteps began reverberating from the corridor. They were nearly deafening as a distraught Alphonse all but ripped the door off by its hinges. Lieutenant Hawkeye followed more cordially.

"BROTHER!"

Al's entrance and greeting were so jarring, both Ed and Roy instinctively gasped and both let their breath go in vicious coughing.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Do you want a glass of water? Either of you? I can – "

"It's all right, son. Coughing's good." "Pelznickel", apparently unfazed by Al's gargantuan girth, patted the metal boy on the shoulder. "It means their getting the last bit of the East River out of their systems. But for the record, please don't go clomping through my hospital. My patients need their rest."

Al, ever apologetic concerning his body, quickly (albeit gingerly) bowed to the doctor in repentance. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir." As he straightened up, Al caught his first good look of his brother's caretaker. He started with a rattling of steel.

"Pel – "

The whiskery man smiled benignly. Al made as if to finish his thought, then shook his head and discarded the idea. He turned back to his brother, who had begun trembling with exhaustion and cold, and reached for the thin hospital blanket. He wrapped the linen around his big brother's shoulders so that he was finely cocooned, talking all the while.

"The pickpocket turned himself in. He was really sorry for what happened, said he didn't mean to throw you off the bridge." Ed grunted noncommittally.

Riza, in the meantime, had devoted her attention to her commanding officer.

"How are you doing, sir?"

Roy thought about his answer before giving it. When he did, it was to simply jerk his head in the direction of Fullmetal. Hawkeye followed his glance and interpreted it. "Ah."

"Mrs. Sharp – the lady who had her purse stolen – was really worried about you and the colonel," Alphonse had busied himself fluffing the pillows on his brother's bed. "The guy who tried to rob her got whacked in the face by her purse. She gave him a really long lecture about getting a job and making something of himself. She wanted to see you, but the nurse told her that only family – and close friends," his helmet swiveled slightly towards Hawkeye, "were allowed to stay after visiting hours. She said she'd try to come by tomorrow. Isn't that nice of her?" Ed sneezed in response. "Pelznickel" produced a handkerchief from his pocket and proffered it. Roy realized that, assuming the man was indeed a doctor, he was wearing civilian clothes rather than the white coat Central's doctors were known for. Al accepted it and unhesitatingly scrubbed at Edward's face. Ed whined and tried to pull away. Mustang found himself snickering.

"The doctor says you have to stay overnight."

Ed sighed.

"It's just until they're sure your brother and the colonel aren't going to fall ill," Riza reassured Al gently. "I'm sure Ed will be back at the dorms by tomorrow morning. However," she directed her attention to the in-patients, "General Grumman has been informed of the situation and has ordered that both of you stay out of the office for the next 24 hours. He wants you to rest and recover." Fullmetal did not react to this information, but Flame did not bother to hide his pleasure. Hawkeye gave him a stern glare. "You have a lot of paperwork to make up for when you come back." Roy's face fell.

They were all distracted by the sound of flesh on metal.

All of them except Edward.

He had dozed off and decided to use his brother's breastplate as a pillow. Al carefully lifted him away and attempted to lay him down. Ed started awake and scrambled upright.

"'m awake."

"Maybe you shouldn't be," "Pelznickel" stepped forward. "I think it's time you two was left alone."

"No." Ed tried to rub the sleep from his face. "Ice cream."

Mustang surprised everyone (including himself) when he nodded in agreement with his major. "Yes. I'll have chocolate, if you don't mind."

"Vanilla! With strawberries!"

Riza and Al glanced at each other and then at "Pelznickel".

"Can they, sir? Brother didn't have lunch or dinner today."

The doctor smiled compassionately.

"The protein and sugar will be good for them."

Al straightened up and eagerly started making his way out of the room. He paused at the threshold and looked back at Roy and Ed.

"Vanilla with strawberries and chocolate, right?" He waited for confirmation from both of them before trundling out of the hospital room, throwing a "I'll be back soon!" over his metal shoulder. Hawkeye watched him go, a small smile on her face.

"I'll inform the team that you – both of you – will be back in the office soon. Oh, and Colonel," she stopped in the doorway and turned back to Mustang. The smile was still there, but now it was laced with something akin to roguery, "I'll drop off your paperwork at your house. I expect you to get to working on it as soon as you're discharged." She left, not bothering to witness the disappointed expression on Roy's face as he visualized all of his leisure plans for the next few days disappearing down the occupational drain.

XXX

It was the best ice cream of his life.

As soon as the sugary cold goodness touched his tongue, something inside of him started screaming with exultation, and he quickly found himself shoveling spoonful after spoonful into his mouth with a gusto that left him somehow feeling exhausted and exhilarated at the same time.

Fullmetal wasn't much different.

Edward had brusquely shoved his strawberry-laden spoon of dessert into his mouth and he had paused, eyes closed, the handle of the utensil dangling from his lips, and had growled such a visceral moan of pleasure that Roy's tainted mind had worried that he had had a visceral reaction to it as well. Before Mustang could linger on the disgusting thought, the boy's eyes popped open and he commenced to devour his berries and cream so violently that Alphonse threatened to take it away and spoon-feed him if he didn't slow down.

He was sorry when it was gone.

Ed had looked forlornly at the empty bowl, at his brother, then at the doctor, who had stepped in to take stock of their condition before leaving for the night.

The man laughed, but not unkindly.

"I'm sorry, son. We don't want too much too fast. You've already had an excitin' day. Best if you get some sleep. The kitchen makes a mean breakfast quiche."

Roy was heartened by this. After all, quiche was his favorite food.

After a moment of sulking, Edward decided to accept the man's offer. He opened his mouth wide and raised his arms to ceiling in a luxurious yawning stretch that reminded Mustang of a mountain cat rising from a nap in the sun. He was about to flop onto the mattress when Alphonse stopped him with the handkerchief the doctor had given him earlier.

"Hold on, Brother, your face is covered in ice cream."

And, like the cat, Edward squealed in protest as his baby brother started cleaning his face.

Roy chuckled at the sight, then was silenced as a second piece of cloth began scrubbing at his own mouth. He managed a "Mbrrr!" of indignation and swatted the doctor's affronting hand away. The old man laughed again. "Well, you ain't much better than 'im, it's only fair."

Roy wondered how many handkerchiefs the man had.

XXX

It wasn't long after that Alphonse and the doctor left them to sleep. Before going, Alphonse promised to come back in the morning with books for his brother to read and some words of parting for Roy.

"Colonel Mustang… um… I just wanted to say… thank you. For saving my brother. I don't know what I would've done if…"

The armor's voice trailed off, the silence heavy with the horror that could have been. Roy reached up (surprisingly far) and patted Al's large arm comfortingly.

"It's all right, Alphonse. Your brother's one of mine. And I never abandon one of mine if I can help it." He thought he heard Edward shift in his bed, but he couldn't be sure.

The silence had changed from heavy to bashful as Al, rubbing the back of his helmet with his gauntlet in a style that was eerily familiar to Edward's, bade them good night and backed out of the room.

Half an hour later, when Roy's mind was fuzzy with near sleep and Ed had long since gone quiet, he heard the boy roll over in his cot.

"Hey, Mustang?"

"Mmm?"

"'Bout what Al said. Thanks. An' all that."

"Mmm."

Mustang fell asleep with a smile on his face.

i LoVe IcE cReAm