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Edward had a headache. It was not bad, but he didn’t really want to have to be sitting in the office while his head decided to mimic a milder version of being split down the middle.
Lieutenant Hawkeye wasn’t giving him a glance every three seconds anymore, though. It was like she had a super sense, and it was definitely freaky.
Luckily, the office sounds were mild and didn’t seem to aggravate his headache. What did have that unfortunately aggravating effect was the Colonel’s voice.
He didn’t luckily have much reaction with the outside offices. He was stuck up and had his own office.
Edward couldn’t help the distaste for the man because… truly, he really trusted the man. He wanted to make him proud. Mustang was probably the only adult in his life who was the father figure he never really got. The others in the team were like crazy big brothers. But Mustang was different. It was something completely different from everyone else. He was still very annoying. Mustang wasn’t going to get away from the disappointment.
“...Major Elric?” Hawkeye’s voice called as she broke the silence. “Edward? Edward?”
Edward shook his head. “What?” Edward asked distantly, stomach churning a bit. He didn’t want to get in trouble. Sure, he was having a little trouble focusing on actually working, but he was doing his best. Getting into trouble for his lack of focus wouldn’t help him.
“The Colonel called you in to talk about your report a couple of times now. Try to pay attention.” That last part didn’t sound like what she really meant. He didn’t know what she wanted to say. He wasn’t the Colonel with his secret magic Hawkeye interpreting skills. If they didn’t get married—if they weren’t somehow secretly married now—it would be a big waste of the skill.
Edward nodded to the Lieutenant, an action that surprisingly did nothing to spike the headache in any way. He pushed back from his desk, the legs of the chair scraping loudly against the floor. That did irritate the headache. He didn’t wince, though. He kept his cool. He wasn't fond of showing discomfort. It made him look weak. And he wasn’t weak.
He was just dizzy and cold and suffering from a headache.
Edward stood up, hand on his desk to keep himself steady as he rose to the standing position. He stayed like that for what must have been a moment too long because Hawkeye gave him a long inspecting look. It was like the rocks Edward and Alphonse used to smash open walnuts as kids. He didn't know how to explain it at that moment, but he wasn't too fond of the idea of him being the walnut in the situation.
Edward tried to brush it off and went ahead to Mustang’s office. The room didn't spin like he had sort of anticipated it might. But that was fine. He didn't want it to. It was always better to be safe rather than sorry.
He kicked the door open with his metal foot, hearing abused wood splinter under the pressure. The door swung open, and Edward shuffled his way in, trying to give a strong impression of displeasure with the whole situation and all. He wasn’t lying. That’s for sure.
“Nice of you to finally join me considering I called for you several…” Edward wasn’t sure if it was selective hearing, shutting off Mustang’s unbearable voice or if Mustang really had trailed off for no reason.
It didn’t matter. Ed wasn’t typically quiet. “What do you want?” He muttered, laying an attitude that said, “I ate lemons, peels and all, right before this conversation.” Needless to say, he didn't look pleasant of the face in the moment.
“I just wanted a report on how far along you are on your mission reports. I know this isn’t your usual job, but you have to sort through this information sooner rather than later…” It was no surprise to Edward that this conversation was mind-numbing. He didn’t want to sort. He wanted to just… What did he want? He wanted to sleep. He wanted to shut off and feel better when he woke up.
“Hey? Hey, Fullmetal? Hey!” The last call dragged Edward’s attention back. He looked up at the Colonel, confusion on his face. He was pretty sure Mustang had been talking to him. He was just out of it. And Mustang saw fit to bring that up. “You keep zoning out, Edward. Are you alright?”
Edward paused at that. Mustang didn’t often call him Edward. That was unusual. It was weird.
“‘M fine,” he muttered. He really was. A simple headache couldn't take him down. He'd worked through far worse than that.
“Yeah, well, you might be fine, or whatever your version of fine is, but I want you to sit down. You look flushed.” Mustang was getting to his feet and coming around his desk.
Edward took a step back. He didn't know what Mustang was doing. He was acting way too weird. He would have said he was Envy, but Hawkeye wouldn't have been fooled by Envy, so it was the Colonel. He'd apparently just hit his head.
Mustang set a hand down on Edward’s shoulder. Even through his clothes, Edward could feel how bitterly cold his touch was. He shuddered under the hand.
“Edward, you feel pretty hot. I think you should lie down and rest. You might be sick, and we definitely don’t want you to pass out.” Mustang was being dramatic about it. Edward wasn’t anywhere near passing out. His head was clear enough for him to tell that. He couldn’t deny that he could be sick.
“That sounds like sexual harassment,” Ed mumbled. He couldn’t deny that sitting down would be nice. He was exhausted. His eyes were heavy and…
Mustang sighed heavily. “Yeah, sure, Fullmetal.” Mustang didn’t seem deterred by Edward’s comment because he simply took Edward by the arm and dragged him to the sofa. “Now sit.”
“Hey, stop being so bossy. I’m fine. Even if I am sick, it’s just a desk job. I’ll be fine.” Edward tried to push past Mustang. As nice as it was, he did not need doting. He would look like a child, and what little respect he had would be down the drain like that. But Mustang wasn’t having it. He pushed Ed down. “Stay put.” Mustang ordered. He went to his door, making Edward’s heart race. He was going to tell everyone that Ed was sick and not only would he look childish to Mustang, he’d look childish to the entire team. “Hawkeye, I could use a cold glass of water. My throat is a little dry.” He shut the door again behind him and tossed a glance at Edward. He smiled softly and turned back to his desk.
Edward watched him closely, listening as the Colonel pulled open a heavy drawer. “What are you doing?”
Mustang lifted up a simple white box. “You know something about my team, Ed? They are all specially selected because of their very different and unique qualities, but all of them have one thing in common. They don’t know when to set a limit. I don’t know how many times I’ve had them come in sick.” Edward watched the soft warmth on Mustang’s face. “I had to teach them all to learn how to not dig their graves for our work. I know you see them and they slack off, so you might not believe me, but they are very dedicated to what we do.
“It seems now that I’ll have to teach you not to bleed yourself dry. At least I get to start early with you.” Mustang walked over with his white mystery box. He sat down on his coffee table, the wood creaking under his weight, and he placed the white box down, spreading out its contents. It was now clearly a first aid kit. “Lie down.”
“Why do I—” Edward started to argue, snapping his mouth shut when Mustang gave him a look that said not to bother. He huffed and did as he was told, crossing his arms so Mustang at least knew he wasn’t happy about it.
Of course, Mustang still didn't seem bothered by it. He brushed back Edward's fringe with his hand, resting his palm on Edward's forehead. “Here,” Mustang said, putting a thermometer to Edward's lips.
Ed opened his mouth, taking the thermometer in his mouth.
The door creaked open, and Hawkeye stood there with the cup in hand. “Here you are, Sir. Do you think you will need anything else?”
“No, that should be all… Actually, could you take my work to Edward’s desk? I think I’ll work out in the outer office.” He wasn’t looking up from his work as he spoke.
Hawkeye glided over to the coffee table, silently setting the cup down. She didn’t say a word about Edward. She just turned to the Colonel’s desk and walked out of Edward’s frame of vision. He could hear the rustling of the papers, but no one said a thing.
The door opened and closed again.
“Okay, let me see that Thermometer.” Mustang reached for the thing, pulling it out and watching the red line. He sighed, “That’s what I thought… You've got a fever. Take this.” The Colonel was handing him the water glass.
“I thought your throat was dry?”
“I thought you'd appreciate the more private approach.” Mustang countered.
Edward paused at that. “I– Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Edward took the glass, talking a gulp of the icy water. It was a bit refreshing, but it also sent shivers down his entire spine.
“And take these.” Mustang was shaking two pills into his hand from a bottle. “It should help bring the fever down.”
Edward extended his hand hesitantly. He looked at the pills as they were dropped into his hand. He knew Mustang wasn't poisoning him, but he was always cautious of pills. Not only was his automail an issue… He also didn't want to feel funny. He didn't like his head not to be in full control. It scared him.
“Edward, you can trust me. These will help… They will make you drowsy… But in the end, they will help.” Mustang extended his hand back as if to take the pills. “I won't force you, but I want you to trust me.”
“I trust you,” Edward said, not letting himself think about it any longer. He popped back the pills, refusing to let himself regret it. He did trust Mustang… He didn’t want to be out of it… But Mustang… He wouldn’t make fun of him for this. “Hey, Colonel… please don’t leave if I start to fall asleep.” He knew what type of dreams came from drugged minds. The bad ones… The ones when you fall too deep into your mind and you can’t get back out.
“Of course. I’ll stay in here. I’ll have Hawkeye bring my stuff back in a minute if she checks in on us.” He brushed a gentle hand over Edward’s forehead like a father might.
“W— will you sit on the couch so I know you haven’t left?” Edward was pretty sure he was going to die of embarrassment after having asked that. Asking Mustang to stay was stretching it. He was clearly uncomfortable. Edward was not someone who had the right to ask such favours.
“Of course, Edward. No problem at all.”
-.-.-.-
The moment Edward said it didn’t matter if he was sick because it was a desk job, the warning bells went way up. And they were loud, for sure, to get the point across.
Roy really did have a lot of trouble with his subordinates being idiots when they got sick. But then… So was he. He was preaching rest, but he’d be doing the same in Edward’s situation.
Roy sat down on the end of the couch where Edward’s feet didn’t even reach. He was so small… It was times like these that Roy felt ashamed of what he did, bringing Edward into the military. Edward was a child–a child motivated to save his brother, but a child all the same. The couch creaked as Edward sat up and slowly, stiffly lowered himself down again. This time, with his head on Mustang's lap. He didn't say a thing. He was barely breathing, completely silent.
What did Roy say? Was he supposed to speak? Or did Edward want to pretend this was nothing?
Roy didn't really know how it happened… Some sort of instinctual reaction. He set his hand on Edward's head and just brushed his fingers gently through Edward's hair.
Edward's body seemed to melt against him at that. He collapsed into the touch, an almost audible sigh escaping the boy.
It honestly surprised Roy when his hands seemed to move on their own, untying Edward's plait and running his fingers through the long silky hair.
Edward mumbled something unintelligible and nestled in more. So… He didn’t hate it.
“Sleep well, kiddo…”
“Hmmm, ‘kay, Dad.” Neither one of them said anything after that. Roy could feel how Edward's body grew stiff again. And surely Edward felt it also.
Silence… Maybe it was too long. “I'll be here when you wake up.” Roy didn't know if that would be enough to calm the tense muscles of his young subordinate.
“Thanks…”
-.-.-.-
Roy woke to Edward shifting on his lap. He never could sleep soundly in the office. He looked down at the little boy curled up on his couch, drooling a little soggy patch on Roy's pants. Roy chuckled. He wondered if this is what Hughes always meant when he said being a dad was great. Roy could get used to this.
Roy bent down, brushing soft hair from Edward's face. He kissed Edward's feverish forehead. “No more trying to get yourself into so much trouble, okay?”
“M'kay,” Edward mumbled sleepily. “Love ya, dad…”
“I love you too.”