Two For Joy

His chest heaved, his head spun and he fell face down on the mattress, fighting the black swirls on the edge of his vision. Water: thirty-five litres, carbon: twenty kilos, ammonia: four litres, the complex array for human transmutation, the one to make a Philosopher's Stone out of a village, out of twenty people, the exchange for just you. The images repeated themselves mercilessly, again and again. The eyes of Al, horrified as he disintegrated, the glowing eyes of the transmuted monster that was not his mother, the gate of truth and again from the beginning. He moaned, low and hoarse, tears streaming down his face. This was wrong, all wrong and he didn't have time, he was close, so close to his goal and Al needed him and that bastard, something. Eight-hundred grams of phosphorus, two-hundred and fifty grams of salt... The world faded away to black.

~*~

He laid on his back, blinking and breathing heavy, staring at the unknown ceiling in the unknown room. Where was this? Bland room, nothing personal here, hotel? It didn't smell like a hospital, small mercy. How in hell had he got here, how long had he been here? He should call somebody. He would really like something to drink, but he was too heavy to move and his head hurt. He closed his eyes against the burning, so hot, so cold. Better to sleep some more, deal with things later.

~*~

When next he woke up, arrays, each more complicated than the next, swirled behind his closed eyes, making the world spin. He felt pinned down by terror, hot and cold waves took turns to sweep over his body. He longed for peace, for quiet but there was no escape from the turmoil, the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears. He groaned, tossed about. He wanted to be home, stupid since home had been burned down a long time ago hadn't it and always go forward and where was Al? Yet a stubborn voice insisted that he was nearly there, nearly there, stupid to be hanging around here while home was so close. Where was the Colonel/bastard/Fuhrer/Roy?

~*~

"Come on, get up," gentle voice penetrating the dark and he squinted against harsh light, grotesque shadows dancing on the walls as several people had crowded into the small room.

Hands grabbed his and pulled him up, dizziness and nausea and the black tendrils that reached out from the edges of his vision, memories of the Gate. He swayed, his knees buckling, falling into the figure, taking hold of the fabric in front of him. He curled into the warmth, familiar scent that was safe and moaned. Arms around him, holding him upright. Good enough, no need for him to deal with anything, even if that would be an actual option right now.

~*~

He blinked against the soft pillow, warm, comfortable scent.

"He's looking somewhat better now. The doctor said it must have been a particularly nasty virus since his health is usually so robust. I'm so grateful the innkeeper decided to call me, though we'll need a new private number now... Uh-huh... Of course you can come by."

He turned his head towards Roy's voice. The man was sitting in a chair by the bedside, in full uniform, on the phone. He took a deep breath, relief dispelling some of the bleakness he felt. It was so good to be home. Disjointed memories of the last few days nudged him. That had been truly dreadful, had he been delirious?

"Ah, he is awake," Roy said in the receiver. "We will be seeing you in a few hours then? Alright, take care."
He moved over to the bedside and put a hand on Ed's forehead.
"How are you feeling, love?"

"Better," his voice was cracked but the world wasn't spinning and he remembered his own name. "Don't recall how I got here though."

Roy held out a glass containing something orange. Ed reached out, his arm trembling with the effort.

"My automail is not responding," he said, more puzzled than anything else as his right arm stayed firmly on the bed, disinclined to obey his desire to sit up.

Roy held on the the glass and let the younger man sip from it, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
"I'm not surprised, you were quite sick, you have effectively depleted your reserves. We can only be grateful you had the presence of mind to check into an inn. When you didn't leave your room for a couple of days the landlord called the number you put on the registration form, which was ours. We came to pick you up at once, you were only five kilometres from Central."

Ed frowned.
"What day is it?"

"It's Thursday, October fifth."

Ed took a shuddering breath and another. He recalled being eager to get home, to be able to spend the third with Al. And then things had gone wrong. He had spend the very day he was supposed to be thinking of moving forward trapped in the past, unable to feel anything but regret and guilt. he had not thought of Al as he was now, healthy and whole, perfectly content with his life. He had not thought of his own present life, apart from vague thoughts about Roy. Was this who he really was deep inside himself? Was his subconscious such a pit of self-pity and whiny crap that the present, where his quest was at an end and all he had fucked up had righted itself, didn't even exist?

"What is it?" Roy Mustang, Fuhrer of Amestris, was sitting by his bedside when he should be doing Truth knows what and he had not even remembered the man. So much for love. He covered his eyes with his shaky left hand. He really couldn't recall when he had ever felt this miserable.

"I feel sick," he said. Lame, but how even to begin explaining this? He didn't even know if he dared.

"You took quite a beating," Roy concurred, looking concerned. "You're still feverish and probably feeling very low. You're never at your best this time of year, even when you're otherwise fine."

Ed removed the hand from his face to stare at the man.

"What? I know you inside out. Want some more juice?" He held up the glass. "I'll wager you had nothing but fever induced nightmares about your mother and the night of the transmutation, and now you're beating yourself up because you feel you should have left it all behind long ago. People don't work that way, Edward."

He pressed his face into Roy's thigh, very definitely not crying, as the man's fingers tenderly made curls in the hair at Ed's temple.
"You're such a pompous know-it-all, Roy. I have no idea why I love you," he sounded pitiful, couldn't care less. He felt nearly giddy with relief. Weird, how fever made everything so much more.

"You know," Roy said gently, almost teasing. "There is another anniversary coming up, the seventh, if I'm not mistaken."

Ed opened one eye to look up at him, confused. Roy smiled, his hand never ceasing their soothing rhythm.

"That was when we first met in Central, remember?"

Ed felt the corners of his mouth curl up voluntarily. The last dregs of the nightmare vanished at last and he wiggled.

"I could do with something to eat."

"You must be feeling better," Roy bend over to kiss the top of his head.