Roy watched those gold eyes widen. Edward’s body was here, but his mind… it went back to the forest. He sent his son back into hell with one question.
One hand reached out for him as he shook his head, but stopped in midair. Would touch comfort him right now, and help bring him back to reality, or would he recoil from it? It largely depended where in particular his mind decided to take him, which memory it chose to replay. Based on what he asked for, Roy had an idea—and thus, he lowered his hand back to his side, and he watched as Edward returned to searching his pocket. It had to be the last time he held one of his gloves, when he donned one and used it.
He wasn’t close to the fire, but he still felt its heat. Obsidian eyes watched the flames dance in front of him, wide as they tried to reconcile with the fact that his hand wasn’t the one raised in the air. The snap, a sound that often signaled Death’s arrival, reverberated off the trees around him, and he held his breath. In taking up his mantle, was his son about to unwittingly claim his first life? Was he truly about to follow in his father’s footsteps a touch too closely for comfort?
Thankfully, he did not. A deep frown sat on Roy’s face, even as he saw his other glove and took it back. Quickly, he pocketed it and paid it no mind. As hard as it was to watch, it had to be even more difficult to experience. His discomfort hardly mattered in comparison.
“It’s all right.” Lowering his voice to something that hopefully came across as soothing, he tried to meet Edward’s gaze. No doubt that was about to be difficult. “I took the other glove off your hand after you…”“After you died.” He couldn’t say it. His mouth stopped working, his body freezingas the thought finished itself in his mind. All he could do was blink a couple of times before he spoke again. “After you were done with it. It’s somewhere downstairs by now. By the way, I’ll want to talk to you about that later. Talk, not yell. I’m not pissed if any part of you’s worried about that.”
Again, he made the conscious decision to keep his voice low, almost meek. Several elephants crowded the room, and that was just one of them that needed to be addressed. Whether or not either of them liked it, he needed to talk to Edward about the wall of fire he created with one of his father’s gloves. Roy had severalquestions to ask: how long had he known, was that the first time, was he ever planning on telling him, how much did he know… He let out a sigh, letting those questions go as well. They were for a later conversation.
Conversation, not interrogation. There wasn’t a pointin getting angry at Edward for using his alchemy to save their lives. No, he didn’t want him learning it in the first place, and he would make that clear, but, at the very least, he used it to protect rather than harm. He saved lives rather than taking them… like hedid.
“Like I nearly did when that bastard took you from me.”
If only Berthold Hawkeye lived a while longer. Edward would have made for a better Flame Alchemist.
“Yeah, let’s get you out of those clothes so you can eat.” That task became his primary focus over the next several minutes. It took more concentration than he cared to admit to help Edward change. His mind existed in a fog, and only occasionally was it able to find a way out. Then, another thought or five dragged him back in, or the fog moved, and he was lost all over again. Not to mention his body still ached all over as well, and his fingers were nowhere nearas nimble as usual. They weren’t moving like he wanted them to…
“Sorry I’m sluggish. Still a little groggy myself. But, I can still carry you downstairs.”
His leg was not regifted to him like he so had hoped. It’s been a couple of days and Grandma has him up on spare. Still - even with that she hardly wants him out of bed and he hasn’t been allowed to do much else than set in bed and read. He gets tired so easily. Sometimes even reading is a task. Den has hardly left his side this entire time, and she is always there at the foot of his bed whether he’s alone or not. She’s always there for a place for a hand to reach if he’s feeling unstable. There’s always there practically glued to his side and comes with a glance. She’s there and she’s hovering. Even if he’s not out of bed much. His chest feels strangebut then he supposes that comes with the territory when one has a bulletremoved from their chest.
Papa says they aren’t safe. Papa says they aren’t safe and are on edge constantly. He’s right though. They can’t be. That man - Colonel Cocksucker -he had more men with him then were with him when he shot him.The second time. That means some still had to be out there. That means there were men still out therehuntingfor them and what would happen if they went home?
Would they follow them? Were they waiting? Would they hurt Alphonse? Would they go to command? If they came here would they hurt Grandma? It’s too many questions racing around in his head and it’s hard to think as they do so. He can’t focus on the words on the page and thus his left hand closes the book in his lap.
He’s rolling his right shoulder, and it feels both awkward and light because it’s been some time since Grandma had to even take theplatingof his shoulder port from him but there was only so much the old woman could do when there was abulletfused to it. She had to recast most of the port by hand and readjust the support bolt that lived in his collar bone. She said she didn’t want to even attempt to reattach his arm until he’s healed properly and she wanted to give that wound a couple of weeks at the least. She wouldn’t even considerit no matter what he said.
The old woman would merely run her hand over his hair and take his hand. Quietly she’d look down at his hand in hers and give him a sad smile and she’d say. “Child, I brought you back from the dead twice. Don’t make me go through it again because you’re in a rush, Edward.”
And there would be nothing he could say to that. What do you say to that? Nothing. You say absolutely nothing and you just hang your head and respond with a quiet, “I’m sorry Grandma, I love you too.”
That was how most of their conversations went in these past two days. If they weren’tsafethen they needed tomove but theycouldn’tbecause he was worse for wear. In some ways he felt like he was almost worse off than he was with a bullet in his chest because at least then they were still moving.Moving or breathing - that was his choice right now and he couldn’t say he was pleased with eitherof them.
If those bastards found their way into Resembool, then it would be on their heads and the last thing he wanted to think about was a war being brought to this backwater city of sheepherders again. Ishval had been more than enough war for the rest of his lifetime. He supposed all he could do was simplytrustthose around him but it was driving him insane to set still.
“Edward dear…” The sound of his mother’s nickname echoes from the door as it creaks open to his shared upstairs room that is his usual abode with his brother when they’re out here for more routinemaintenance. “How are you feeling? I came to check up on you. Are you hungry?”
Grandma is waddling herself into the room and to his bedside. Den only lifts her head for a moment to see who is entering and quickly puts her head back down at the sight of her human. The old man stops, taking his hand in his for a moment to rub her thumbs against his hand as she looks to him with a sad smile and it makes him ponder for a moment just what happened when he was out. He knows he sleeps a lot these days but what happened when he was on that table… did Grandma know he died? Somehow he has no doubt that she does. Grandma just always seems to know things.
“Uh, a little. My head was startin’ ta hurt n’ I c’n’t focus very well so I stopped readin’. I was gittin’ a little dizzy. I think I could eat sum’hin’ small.”
Her hand is reaching up to stroke over his hair and he leans down a little for her. She places her hand against his forehead and lingers a moment.
“You feel a little warm, dear. Lay down and I’ll make you something to snack on in the meantime. I’ll make sure the pitcher is refilled so you have plenty of water. Please make sure you’re drinking plenty of fluids, Edward.”
“Yes Grandma.”
His hand is back in her grasp for a moment as she rubs her thumbs affectionately against it. He knows the signs and he knows the look on her face when he sees so he leans forward again ever so slightly so she can reach better and the old woman places a light kiss against his forehead.
“I love you, dear. I’ll be right back. Lay down until then. If you need something just send Den to come get me.”
There’s really nothing else to do for the moment except obey. The world was spinning too much anyway and he really didn’t feel much like setting up anymore, so the blond alchemist is slow to lower himself back down to help curb the feeling of the room spinning ‘round and ‘round.
Somehow his thoughts fall to his brother for a moment and really Alphonse has to be so worried…. That tin can is going to flip his lid when they get home.
