Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Sickness ❯ Sickness ( One-Shot )

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Fullmetal Alchemist or any of the characters for that matter. I am just merely...er, borrowing them as my muses at the moment. Do not sue me for anything but my imagination, which will not get you far in the courtroom. If there are any similarities between my story and another, I apologize but all I have to say is, I guess great minds think alike after all. Ja na! Enjoy!

 

Series: Fullmetal Alchemist

Title: Sickness

Author: Tiasha

 

~

Cause you can't jump the track
We're like cars on a cable
And life's like an hourglass glued to the table,
No one can find the rewind button boys
so cradle your head in your hands
And breathe, just breathe, whoa breath just breathe

 

There's a light at each end of this tunnel you shout

`cause you're just as far in as you'll ever be out
And these mistakes you've made
You'll just make them again if you only try turnin' around

 

Anna Nalick, “Breathe (2 AM)

~

 

It had all started with a simple phone call—a simple phone call to make an appointment to get readjustments on his automail; a simple phone call that had caused Edward Elric to set aside his search for the Philosopher's Stone momentarily and request personal leave from the government. The request had certainly turned some heads in the office, but Edward Elric had ignored the stunned silence and again asked for the forms to take vacation time. Mustang had been reluctant to let him go but, Edward had noted, Hawkeye had given the older man a sharp look from over her shoulder that had clearly said `Let him be.'

And that was how he had ended up here, sitting in the stiff wooden chair, reading through one of the Alchemy texts he'd borrow from the recently rebuilt Central Library, and listening to the slight wheezing of the girl lying in bed. The scent of beef stew and fresh-baked bread wafted up to him from downstairs, the tantalizing aroma of the carrots, celery and potatoes making him realize how hungry he had become. He did not move however, ignoring the call of food in favor of continuing his silent vigil over the young automail mechanic who lay in the bed not three feet away from him.

Once in a while, the girl would curl into a fetal position, her body wracked with coughs to the point where she was gasping to breathe. When the fit would end, she'd ever so slowly ease out of the little ball she been curled in and lay there, desperately trying to get some sleep. Her occasional moans of discomfort and shifting in bed, her pristine white sheets and wool blankets rusting from the movement of each toss and turn, pulled at his heart.

He looked up from the same passage he'd read over for the fifth time when the girl slowly sat up and looked around the room; her normally bright blue eyes were dull and glassy from sickness and she seemed dazed and unsure as she licked her chapped, dry lips. The poor girl's nose was raw from having blown it so often the past few days.

He had a feeling that he knew what she was looking for and so he stood, ignoring the loud creak of the old wooden chair and marked his place in the book. After placing the book in his seat, he moved to her side, watching as she stretched out a shaking hand towards the half-full glass of water. The liquid was no doubt tepid by now but his attention was held by the color of the girl's skin. She was paler than normal, almost pasty white, and there were beads of perspiration on her brow, silent testaments to how horrible the girl had been feeling. As she began to sip the clear liquid, he lifted his left hand and brushed a few of her bangs out of her face, savoring the feel of the tresses sifting between his fingers. The simple gesture was a silent reminder that she was alive and would be fine once the sickness had run its course. A frown tugged at his face however, as he noticed that the blonde locks were damp from sweat and her skin still felt slightly feverish, warm to the touch.

“You want me to get more?” he asked her softly as she finished swallowing the last mouthful of water, the glass now empty and useless. She slowly nodded her head and he quickly took the glass from her before she used up too much energy by just putting it back on the nightstand. He helped her get settled again, pulling the white sheets and wool blankets up around her slim form, tucking her in and placing a hand on the crown of her head in a gesture of comfort and reassurance. She whispered a thank you and again Edward felt his heart ache at how weak she suddenly seemed to be. The normally strong Winry Rockbell was reduced to being bedridden with the flu for the past four days and she barely had enough energy to whisper out her appreciation, the thanks breathy and almost non-existent as it fell from her lips.

He made no response when she once again gave him a questioning look and moved to leave the room and refill her water glass. The room smelled faintly of sickness, that rotten and sour odor that seemed to cling to everything and infect everything it came into contact with; it was a smell he had become well-accustomed to in his younger years when he and Alphonse had sat by their mother's side, not wanting to believe that she was severely sick and would eventually leave them. They had not known that Mother had been sick and for longest time, Edward had been upset that she hadn't told them, upset that he hadn't been able to do anything…

He knew what the answer to Winry's unspoken question was; but like the question, it would never be spoken out loud because Edward knew that he would never be able to push the words past his tongue. They always stumbled out as nonsense or something completely off topic when he tried, as if his tongue was too thick or tied in knots. Silently though, he could answer her clearly. He was here with her because unlike with Mother, he could do something for Winry. He could help her get better, and she would get better, this he knew. The flu was not something many people died from and those who did were normally weak to begin with and Winry was exactly the opposite of that. She was strong, so much stronger than he gave her credit for, and sometimes he believed that she was stronger than Mother had been…

No, he was here because he wanted to help her get better. He had not been able to help Mother, a woman he had loved dearly; and now another woman in his life needed him, even if all he could do was be with her as she fought the virus on her own. And he would do just that. He'd already lost one family member he'd loved and nearly lost his brother numerous times; he wasn't about to lose someone else he loved…