Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ And The Sun Will Rise ❯ Take me home ( Chapter 2 )

Disclaimer: See chapter 1

Beta: fireun (THANK YOU!!))

Rating: Chapter 2 is rated PG. Highest rate will be NC-17

Warnings: for chapter 2: a little bit of angst, some fluff

OKami's note: *giggle* Lenihan and I have clearly fixed roles now in the writing process. She writes the dreams, I do the smut. I believe, we both do it excellently.

Lenihan's note: Me likes the dreams. ^^ I wouldn't be of any help in the smut anyway. I think. Oh well. Enjoy it. ^^

Chapter 2: Take Me Home

I tried, I tried to be positive

You're a fighter, so fight, wake up and live

(Sweetbox: Everything's gonna be all right)

"So here's the lazy guy!"

Fury looked up from the thick book he was reading and laughed.

"Havoc! Good morning. What brought you here?"

"I fetched your glasses, since they were ready and I thought you might need them. Here." The tall soldier pulled a chair to his comrade's bed and sat down. "How're you feeling?"

"Very well, thanks. I was really lucky. Save a few small bruises, I'm absolutely intact. There aren't any signs of a concussion or internal damage so tomorrow I can go back to work."

"And how's the colonel?" Fear and worry filled the blond soldier's voice.

Fury sighed and looked away.

"Considering his moderate concussion, quite well. His bruises and his torn skin will heal soon but… the doctors say… they can't predict yet if his sight will return at all. They gave him one month… after that he'll be released from duty. He's kind of depressed and still somewhat disoriented as an aftereffect of the concussion." Fury drew his hands around himself and his eyes filled with tears. "I feel responsible for his state… he tried to protect me… and now it is possible that… that…"

"Heeey…" Havoc reached out and ruffled the short, thick black hair. "It's not your fault and you know it." He smiled on the small soldier and stood up. "I'll go to take a peek on the colonel. I have to go back to the office soon, but Hawkeye promised that she'll visit you too. If you're lucky, she doesn't know that you're well and she'll bring you cookies." The tall guy winked and left. Fury wiped his tears away and returned his attention to the book.

The door opened and someone entered his room. "Yo, colonel!" his loyal subordinate, second lieutenant Havoc, said jovially. "I heard you were lying here. How's everything?"

Mustang did not react. He simply laid there on his back and stared up to where a white ceiling ought to be. He could feel that Havoc threw a concerned glance at him.

"Oh dear," the blond man said. "I believe sergeant major Fury was right then." There was a scraping sound of a chair being pulled across the floor. The noise grated Mustang's ears and he winced inwardly. As Havoc drew closer, Roy's nose caught the scent of nicotine that always identified anyone who smoked.

"I'm sorry about the accident, sir," Havoc told him. "We don't know what motives the guy who did this had and it's a bit hard to question him, since he burned to ashes. I'm sure that if ashes could burn as well, they would have been. We presume he's just pyromaniac, but we're still trying to find out if this isn't possibly an attack on the military."

There was a long pause in which neither of them spoke. Mustang could feel that the blond man was ill at ease with this silence, but he didn't care.

"That's not a very good topic to talk about, is it?" Havoc laughed ruefully. "Oh, lieutenant Hawkeye said she would come here as well to visit you. She's taken over your job at the moment, but I think we will all feel better when you're back again."

If I ever come back again, Mustang thought bitterly, remembering the conversation between the doctor and Fury. Although they hadn't said it openly, he knew what would happen if he didn't get his vision back. There would be a nice ceremony, in which his courage and good will would be discussed and then he would shake hands with the Fuhrer and being sent home.

"I'd better go, I think. People are waiting, you know." The cheerful lieutenant rose, placed the chair back and looked down at the pale face of Mustang. "Get better soon, colonel," he said before leaving.

Roy didn't care. The whole world was up against him.

***

The rain drummed persistently on the windowpanes. The afternoon was sad and boring; work was a bitch and the officers all felt that gnawing, dull ache the colonel's absence left in the room.

Breda was munching on a doughnut even though it wasn't approved to eat in the office. Havoc sat by the window, gazing out into the soaked, grey world. Farman busied himself with making a chain from paperclips. And the young Fury had sneaked up to the colonel's desk unnoticed and was now half-lying on the wide table, sometimes sighing out.

The two Elrics were present as well; since Mustang wasn't there, there were no assignments either. It's true that the colonel allowed them to go on their own way in times like these; but they silently agreed to stay. Both boys were worried, even if Ed never said that openly. As a disguise, he often went to the library but today he wasn't in the mood. Five days passed since the accident and colonel Mustang still refused to talk to any of them.

The small-framed alchemist sat with Breda now, scribbling arrays and alchemical calculations on a piece of paper. Al had settled down in the corner, like the picture of calmness; but waves of worry and sadness rippled around him.

The door opened and Lieutenant Hawkeye stepped in, followed by the loyal Black Hayate. In normal occasions, the guys would have at least tried to look like they were working but now they just blinked up, greeted the blonde woman and continued what they were doing.

Black Hayate went to Mustang's desk and sniffled around. Then, he stood on two legs, resting his paws on Fury's thigh and looked up on the small soldier as if to ask "Where's the fire-smelling guy?"

The sergeant major leaned down and ruffled the dog's fur.

"I know. We miss him too."

"How's the colonel doing, Lieutenant?" Farman asked, tossing the chain aside. It was at least three meters long already.

Hawkeye settled down behind her desk and leaned on her elbows. Her pretty face held a distant, sad expression, which was quite unusual for her; the blonde gunwoman always had control on her emotions.

"He's withering," she sighed. "He doesn't talk much; he's not interested in anything, just lays there. His eyes are open but they're dim. He lost his faith."

"'Ts not a wonder," Ed mumbled. "Every day, doctors check on him and all they can say is "still no improvement"."

Fury winced. He could imagine it all too well.

"He's in the worst place possible," Hawkeye continued. "He gets excellent medical support of course, but they can't tend to his soul. The colonel needs some distraction, some company."

"And if we could get him somebody, who'll take care of him?" Al mentioned timidly. "A nurse perhaps? He could be home then and he'd have company."

"That would be great, young Elric," Farman nodded. "But the military can't afford paying for that. And even if we tried to gather the money, we couldn't do that for long."

"But the colonel has to get out," Havoc objected quietly. "He'll crack if nothing happens."

"We have to find somebody, who's qualified and cost as little as possible," Ed summarized. "Anyone got suggestions?"

Silence. The officers looked at each other, each hoping that the other might say something. After a minute had passed like this, Fury cleared his throat. Everybody looked at him and the small soldier blushed deeply.

"Err… I… I could… take care of the colonel. I have medical qualifications and… my father went blind, when I was eight years old. I spent most of my childhood nursing him. And besides…" he looked away and clenched his fists determined, "I owe it to the colonel. He saved me that day. This is the least I can do to repay him, even a little."

"Sergeant major Fury!" Al clapped his hands, hope clearly vibrating in his voice.

"You'd do that, really?" Ed jumped up and was practically bouncing up and down like a kid he actually was.

"Fury, you're a treasure!" Havoc exclaimed and Farman was smiling warmly at the small soldier. "That would be very generous indeed."

"I'll arrange everything!" Hawkeye sounded uncharacteristically enthusiastic. "Leave it up to me."

***

He cursed the blackness which had so suddenly overwhelmed him, causing him to lose all sense of time. Day and night had merged into one; they were no longer different for the blind colonel. He would sometimes ask what time it was and then count quietly on until he fell asleep again.

His dreams were the only times he could see again, haunting him like a malicious reminder of how it was when he had his sight. The dreams were always about his lover, Maes Hughes, who blamed him for not being able to keep him alive. No matter what he tried, he looked always at an accusatory glare on that handsome face.

He would wake up trembling, sweating; he even caught himself crying. There was no comfort in his gloomy world that could ease the pain in his heart, and for all he knew there was never going to be any more comfort in his world.

He heard the door to open and Roy nearly cursed aloud. He was fed up with visitors, everybody trying to cheer him up. Hadn't they realized that he does not need their pity? All he needed was his eyesight so that he could go back to work. This is the end, Mustang noted with bitter resignation; he even missed work.

"Good afternoon… colonel Mustang."

Roy's eyes widened and he pushed himself up into a sitting position. That voice! No, anything but that…

"Mrs. Hughes…" His throat felt like desert sand. "What… what brought you here?"

"I read in the papers about what happened and I thought I should visit you." Gracia's voice was warm and kind as always. "I hope I'm not disturbing."

"N… no, of course not." Talking felt rough but he just couldn't pull the same stunt on his best friend's widow that he did with his subordinates. Gracia was an angel and Roy never was angry with her. Okay, only once for maybe five minutes.

"I brought you some apple pie," he heard the woman again. "I know you like it."

The fine scent of cinnamon and sugar filled the air; Gracia probably baked it that morning. Roy simply didn't get it. Why was she so calm, so kind? She should be angry, just as accusing as Maes was in those dreams…

"I'm sorry."

"I beg your pardon?" Gracia turned to the colonel with a surprised look. The black-haired man was sitting on the bed as pale as a sheet; his clenched fists trembling. "Colonel, are you all right?"

"Mrs. Hughes… I'm sorry." Roy was struggling to sound even. "It is my fault entirely. I couldn't… I couldn't protect him…"

The young widow understood it perfectly. She sat down on the edge of the bed and placed a hand on the man's shoulder.

"It's not your fault. Stop thinking like this. He was your best friend, and I'm sure he wouldn't want you to feel guilty. You hear me, colonel? Maes knew perfectly well what he was doing; he was willing to take the risk. If his researches helped you… do you want to just give up and throw away the information he gathered?"

"But… but I'm blind! I can't do anything!"

Gracia straightened and she continued on a firm voice.

"My husband's best friend can't be such a weakling. If you give up, if you don't want to get better, you won't get better. Come on, colonel, stand up and fight. Or do you want to betray Maes?"

Roy remained silent for a while. When he spoke up, his voice was quiet, timid even.

"I… I use to dream of him. He always tells me that I failed him."

Gracia smiled a little.

"That's not Maes then. That's your conscience. It tells you that you should raise your head and keep going. If you give up, if you forget about him, that would be betrayal indeed, but I don't think you could do that. You were as close as brothers. And I'm sure that you'll get better. Just believe in it strongly. Like you always believed in Maes. Like he believed in you."

The tender words worked like magic; the darkness in Roy's soul stirred, lifting a little and he slowly understood. He was so caught up in feeling sorry for himself that he forgot about the most important person in his life: Maes Hughes. The colonel knew him well; Gracia was right. Hughes wouldn't want him to stop, to give up; once, he even beat up Roy when he had tried.

Tears gathered in the black eyes.

"I… I was behaving like an idiot," Roy said with a small smile. "Thank you so much for reminding me of my duties."

"You're welcome," the kind response came. "Oh, and before I forget…" Gracia took the man's hand and placed something in it.

"What is it?" Roy wondered aloud.

"A piece of chocolate. Erysia sent it to you that you'll get better."

"Oh…" The colonel's throat clenched. "Tell her that I really appreciate her gift and I'll try to get well soon."

Gracia stayed for another twenty minutes. They talked about Erysia and about the news in Central City. And when the woman left, Roy wrapped out the tiny chocolate; and as it melted on his tongue, he noted, how incredibly sweet and delicious it was.

***

Sand.

Desert.

And a vast wind twirling around him, picking at that yellowish brown material to throw it up high in the air. The sandstorm was immense, thick and blocking his view. It tore at his shirt and trousers, cutting deeply into his skin. He tried to shield his eyes, but no matter what he did, small particles always found a way to his face.

It was strange. He could see, yet he was blind. He could hear, yet he was deaf. The only sense untroubled by such a contradiction was what he felt. The pain at his hands, arms, legs and face were a real agony. The pain in his heart, however, beat it all.

Mustang took a step forward. It seemed as if his leg was made out of lead. He had to fight against the wind to take each step, to walk on. But the wind was strong, stronger than he had expected and the battle was more than he could handle.

The black-haired colonel could vaguely hear someone calling his name. He turned his head around, trying to find the person who was attempting to catch his attention. "Roy… Roy… Lis… me, Roy…"

Mustang gritted his teeth and took another step forward. "Where are you?" he called out above the noise. "Who are you?"

"You know me, Roy," the voice came to him on the gusts of the wind. Mustang frowned and peered through the thick haze of sand. He froze when he spotted the familiar figure of Hughes. "Roy," Hughes smiled.

"Hughes…" It came out as a gasp.

The silhouette beckoned him to come closer and again, the brave alchemist fought against the wind for every step he took. "Look up at me and say that you love me, Roy," Hughes whispered. "Can you look me straight in the eye and say that you love me after you failed me? How can you love me when you've let me die?"

Mustang's will faltered as guilt and desperation filled his heart and mind. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"You failed me, Roy. You failed me. You failed me." The words echoed through the air, hitting the wound in his heart over and over again. Just as he wanted to recoil from his best friend and lover, he remembered the warm and kind words of Gracia.

Mustang lifted his head defiantly.

"You are not the Hughes I've known and loved," he spat from between clenched teeth. "You are not the real Hughes. Maes Hughes would never say that to me! He would never say that I failed him!"

The storm was suddenly gone and a gentle breeze blowed away the last of sand. Instead, he found himself on a grass field, where he and Hughes had come often when they were younger. A ghostly hand raised and brushed away the dust from his cheeks and forehead.

"You took your sweet time to get over feeling guilty, didn't you?" a gentle, yet familiar voice said.

"I'm sorry," Mustang choked as tears gathered in his black eyes. "I didn't realize it until this afternoon…"

"No need to apologize, Roy." Two green eyes sparkled from behind slim-framed glasses. "You needed your time." A tender stroke over his face. Mustang closed his eyes, then opened them again to look up at the man before him.

"I… I love you, Maes," he whispered. "I always did and I always will." His hand enfolded itself around the warm hand of Hughes. "I just wish you could be with me."

"I know, Roy," Maes Hughes smiled. "I know. Now, be a good boy and listen to Gracia. Don't give up, no matter what happens. If you become a weakling, I will personally come back from the dead to beat you up."

"Just like the last time," Mustang said with a wan little smile.

"Yes, just like the last time," Hughes grinned. Then he bent forward to place a light kiss on Mustang's lips. "Farewell, Roy."

The Alchemist bit on his lip and nodded. "Farewell, Maes. I'll miss you, but… I'll never forget you. And I won't give up."

"That's my boy."

***

Anxiously, Fury looked up at the white building. Lieutenant Hawkeye had granted him the morning off to prepare Mustang for going back home. The problem, however, was that Fury had no idea how to break the news to Roy nor did he have the courage to say it.

What the hell have I done? I'm going to look after the colonel - colonel Mustang of all people! Certainly, I am the only one fit for this job and it would surely be better than some nurse who doesn't know the colonel. But… can I really do this? Can I really live together with the colonel?

The answer was simple. He had to. Whether he could or not was beside the point. Mustang had saved his life; now it was time to do something in return. Equivalent trade according to alchemists. It was his task to make sure that things would get better for Mustang.

Taking a deep breath, he entered the hospital and found his way through the long halls - something which he could do almost blindly. Fury grimaced at the bad pun. This wasn't exactly the right time to make jokes about that, mental or otherwise.

Room 224 was silent as it had been from the first day Mustang lay there. Fury pushed the white door carefully open and glanced inside.

Roy Mustang lay on his bed, his eyes closed and still deeply asleep.

Fury's heart filled with tenderness and he silently walked closer to the black-haired man. "Colonel?" he asked softly, putting one hand on the alchemist's shoulders. "Colonel, it's me, sergeant major Fury."

Black, dull eyes fluttered open. "I've got some good news, Colonel," Fury told him. There was no reaction, which made the small soldier rather nervous. "We believe that the hospital isn't doing you any good, sir, and that a change of scene might help you to get better." Still no response. Fury gathered all his courage and asked that one question which had been burning in his heart from the moment he had come up with it. "Could I take you home, sir?"

A pause. Then Roy turned his head to where Fury's voice had come from and there was hope and eagerness being displayed on that handsome face. When he spoke, his voice wasn't as dead and emotionless like it had been for the last few days, but was instead young and vigourous, just as it should be.

"That would be a very good idea, sergeant major," the blind colonel smiled.

end of chapter 2