Who: Levi Ackerman, Marco, Roy Mustang (with York and Riza Hawkeye) What: Levi kicks Roy's ass, Marco stops him, York and Riza are concerned. Where: Outside then the hospital When: Tonight Warnings | Status: High for violence, implied prostitution, underage stuff | Log - Complete
Marco hadn’t understood the significance of Roy handing him his gloves that one time they’d been out drinking, however long ago. Maybe he understood it now, after tonight, seeing the man so unstable as he lingered in front of Hawkeye and let her divest him of the single pair he carried on his person. She plucked one from his pocket and then the other, carefully stowing them away. She’d taken the only pistol he owned--did she know it was the one issued to Hughes?--a while ago. Roy never asked for it back because he knew exactly what he’d do with it if he did, she must know, too.
But he was quiet tonight, subdued in a way he hadn’t been around Marco. Usually it was him offering the sage advice, the solemn support. The boy had tried to bring some levity to their evening, but a few drinks in he was mostly drunk and Roy was… well. He had a higher tolerance.
Regardless, he’d kept close to the boy, their shoulders bumping every couple of steps as they walked from one shitty little bar toward the other shitty little pub. Roy felt like a child, Hawkeye had handed out her precious, hard earned dollars and let them leave together to get drunk. Roy had resolved to come back tonight only because he couldn’t leave her waiting for them to return. He knew she’d wait, too.
He couldn’t do that to her.
Marco was saying something, Roy looked at him, “What?” he asked, raising the bottle to his lips again for another drink of shitty alcohol.
***
Earlier in the evening, Marco had watched Riza take Roy’s gloves with a sort of jealousy. Not that she took his gloves and Marco didn’t, but that Riza had the option of making Roy safer by taking things away. The Animorphs could hurt or trap themselves without any external objects, so Marco just had to worry all the time.
He’d taken the opportunity to get good and drunk, both because it made talking easier and because he’d felt anxious and Roy didn’t need that right now.
The teenager walked carefully down the street, each step much more deliberate than it was when he was sober. He turned to look at Roy and grinned, pointing out down the road, “It’s that guy you all wanted to talk to. Levi. He’s weird.”
Yeah, he was drunk, but he could still recognize everybody.
“He paid me to play chess.” Marco said, laughing, “Who does that?”
*** Who? Roy’s eyes shifted around to latch onto whoever Marco was talking about. Oh. Right. Levi? What a dumb name. But apparently the kid Roy had put up a manhunt for which, yet again, everyone had failed to disclose whether it had been successful or not. God, maybe he should let this community burn itself to the ground. What was the point of investing so much of his limited energy in looking after everyone if everyone only looked out for themselves and their personal loved ones?
Get the damned memo, Mustang.
He scrubbed a hand across his face, decided he was too drunk to care overmuch about anything, but he did pause and raise his bottle in salute toward this Levi character.
“Thanks for saving my kid!” he shouted, taking another drink. Okay. Maybe he was more drunk than he’d originally thought. A smile darted across his face. He liked being drunk. The world hurt less when he wasn’t there to feel it.
He bumped into Marco and chuckled, not quite making the connection to ask why Marco was being paid for something. If he had, this night would have gone much differently.
As it stood, Roy just blinked at him, “I like chess.”
His entire life was a game of chess.
***
It was hard to miss Levi-- though his friends back home (yeah, right, he had friends back home; he had friend back home, all of the rest of them were dead now) would joke that he was so small it was easy to miss him-- because he was standing beside that large, black horse. The horse dwarfed him. People always wondered how the Hell he actually got on it.
The horse was saddled, tacked up, and clearly ready to go in for the night. Levi, likewise, was cloaked and moving slowly. Then again, he always moved slowly. Everything was timed, measured, confident, and deliberate. Unless the man was fighting, then everything moved far faster than was physically possible for most people. Levi had never questioned it.
He should have.
Hearing that call, he turned away from the animal he’d been stroking, and locked dead eyes onto the pair. The boy he recognized-- the man he did not. But he had to be speaking about the kid he’d pulled from that titan’s mouth. Hn.
He would have turned away and gone on ignoring the pair, if not for the way the man’s arm was draped around the boy. The child.
Instead, those blue eyes remained locked onto the pair of them. After a few seconds of watching the behavior there, Levi was turning his body and walking towards them with those same sure, slow steps. Measured. Deliberate. Always. His horse followed, the reins still trapped in deceptively thin fingers.
If either one of them had known Captain Levi, perhaps they would have run. If either one of them were sober, perhaps they would have run. Unfortunately, they were 0-2. So, instead, he approached the pair calmly, evenly, watching their behavior with sharp eyes that missed nothing.
***
And there was more staring. This guy really needed people lessons. Or at least some sunglasses like Zombie Girl wore everywhere. And huh, in terms of making people less scary, maybe he could try that whole imagining people in their underwear thing. Tiny little heart boxers. The idea made him grin, it was funny.
Then he laughed again at Roy’s drunken shout, “Ooooooh,” Marco said in the tone of a kid when another kid got sent to the principal’s office, “I’m telling Ed you said that.” He said in a sing-song voice.
“I like chess too,” Marco admitted, “But it’s weird, because I was taught chess by an alien in my mom’s head. I used to think she’d let me win, but no way Edriss would do that. I guess I was just better than her sometimes. That’s why she’s dead and I’m not.” He said with a sense of satisfaction.
Die, slug.
“Hi!” Marco said to Levi, “Do you want to come with us?”
Hey, he was a talkative, social drunk.
***
Levi’s attention remained on them, Roy--in contrast--had almost immediately checked out of that conversation after he’d said his words and given his salute. He moved from one topic to another with the fluidity of a dancer. It was one of the things that made him such an excellent bullshitter when in company of others. It made him the life of the party quite often, since his superficial charm won over so many others so easily.
He wasn’t winning anything right now, except a congratulations for remaining standing on his own two feet. Hey, he should be proud of the achievement. He usually went home too drunk to stand.
The night was young though.
“None of that made sense,” Roy asserted, shaking his head, “You are a mess.” Roy chuckled, throwing stones at that glass house. “This is-”
What? Marco was talking, Roy turned to look at who--surprised to find Levi was that much closer to them--”Another one for the midget brigade,” he noted wryly. “Hell, is there something in the water that makes you all so short?”
He laughed, finishing off the contents of his bottle.
***
Maybe if Roy hadn't been drunk. Maybe if Marco hadn’t been drunk. If either one had been sober, perhaps the night would have gone very differently. Maybe if they hadn’t been bumping into one another and hanging off of one another, perhaps the night would have gone differently. But they were. On all counts.
And with the Captain’s knowledge of Marco’s place of employment, and the way this man was calling that blonde he’d saved ‘His kid’, and the age difference between them all-- it just all stacked up against the poor man with the floppy hair.
Then he’d gone and commented on Levi’s height.
Now, he wasn’t nearly as sensitive as Ed, he was a grown man, he’d been short his whole life, so he’d learned to accept it. But, it didn’t mean he appreciated being called short by a pimp. Just look at the way the man was dressed.
He hadn’t saved that kid just for this grimy son of a bitch to put his fucking hands all over him-- and the boy he’d played chess with the other night.
The Captain was going to make this man wish he’d never met either one of those boys.
Striding right up to the pair, the short, black-haired man didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate. He kept his pace, coming in close and dropping the animal’s reins just before he lashed out with a knee, slamming it right into the taller man’s gut. And when Roy bent forward? He was hit in the face with an elbow-- but his head had nowhere to go, because his hair was caught in that opposite hand, holding his head and keeping him bent so Levi could bring that knee up into his face not once, but twice.
That hand holding his hair would force his head down, doubling the pimp over, so Levi could lash out with his leg again, this time slamming a booted foot into the side of one knee to drop him to the ground.
Once on the damp, dirt path? He’d get that booted foot right to the gut, then into the chest-- and another into the face.
He’d keep repeating the pattern, if Marco didn’t put a stop to it.
His horse just stood by calmly and watched.
***
Marco was about to make what was going to be a very witty retort to Roy’s midget brigade comment when Levi walked up to Roy and… well… started beating the shit out of him. “HEY,” He said, more loudly than he expected, shoving himself between Roy and Levi’s foot, going so far as to grab and catch the short man’s foot as he was about to bring it down, holding it in soft brown hands and ignoring the fact that it hurt.
“What the hell is your problem, asshole?” Marco snapped, looked directly into the man’s eyes with anger in his own drunk brown eyes.
Tonight was supposed to help Roy, not kill him.
Man, Riza was going to be pissed.
***
It was no surprise the pimp went down like a ton of bricks. It wasn’t even that surprising that he didn’t fight back (he was pretty drunk, after all, and Levi had come at him like a freight train, there hadn’t been any time to react). What was surprising, was that the boy, Marco, put himself between Levi and his pimp. And really.. Even that wasn’t so surprising. Sometimes prostitutes did that. They were manipulated into believing their pimp was trying to help them, or was good, or kind, or their ‘friend’. Or that once the beating ended and the pimp recovered, it’d be worse for them.
Those hands caught his boot and Levi had to jerk himself up short, or that kick would have followed through and surely broken some fingers, or a wrist in the process. A hand snapped out to grab the boy’s bicep and he jerked. Hard. Hard enough that if he hadn’t continued to hold on, he surely would have flung Marco directly to the ground when he pulled him away from the man on the ground and forced the curly-haired boy behind him. Those empty blue eyes narrowed on warm brown.
That grip would surely bruise later.
No one had ever said Captain Levi was gentle.
Pain was the best teacher.
“Go away, Marco.” He told him firmly-- his voice had a slight edge, but was just as empty as his eyes. “I’m going to make sure this shit never walks again.” It was clearly a promise he was capable of making good on.
***
Marco really didn’t like being jerked around like a piece of furniture, “Ow,” He complained at Levi with a snarl. What did he mean, go away?
“Oh, sure,” Marco responded sarcastically, “I’ll just walk away and let some random guy I played chess with once beat the shit out of my friend for no reason while I go back home and fall asleep.” Like hell was he going to do that.
In fact, he stepped around again to place himself between the two men again with a scowl, swinging the man’s arm around in what was probably an uncomfortable way.
“Seriously, are you fucking psycho?” The teenager demanded.
***
When Marco tried to step around again, Levi tightened the muscles in his arm and held him there, arm’s length, and to one side of him. Away from the man on the ground. “Anyone who would sell a child, or buy one, deserves what’s coming to them. This man isn’t a friend, he’s a deviant, a swine, and if he never walks again, you and that blonde will be all the safer for it.” He finally released Marco, shoving him back as he did.
Then those dead eyes turned back to the coughing, battered man on the ground. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t remove your hands at the wrists.” So he could never lay them on another child again.
A boot came to set on the side of Roy’s head, pressing his cheek down into the dirt as he put weight on it. “Now apologize to him.” It was a hollow, lifeless demand.
***
It happened too quickly for the drunk man to respond. If he hadn't been drunk there was no telling if he'd be able to counter him anyway. Roy was quick on his feet in a fight, but most of his skills in combat didn't require him to be up close and personal. He could kill hundreds of people without ever having to look them in the eyes.
He looked this man in the eyes, there wasn't time to register the dead depths of them before the man hit him with the force of an eighteen wheeler, driving Roy to the ground in a matter of seconds without the General ever having had the chance to gasp let alone hit back.
Pain. So much pain. Lucky he was drunk so it didn't register fully. The hit to his knee would be the worst, it had made a strange and painful sound on impact. The rest was just details, he couldn't keep up with the catalog as the hits kept coming. He didn't even register when they'd stopped. Roy sure as shit didn't hear the two arguing over his head.
He lay in the dirt, breathing hard and coughing, ignoring the metallic taste on his tongue. What the hell happened?
A boot to his head, Roy exhaled a wheezy breath, god damn his chest hurt, “... mercy.” Was he laughing?
Roy Mustang was an idiot when he was drunk.
***
Wait, anybody who would…
Marco was drunk, so he gave Levi a blank stare for a couple of moments as Roy said… something, making him look at the man in concern.
Somebody who would…
Marco walked up to Levi and shoved him as hard as he could. Which was harder than he could have before Riza started teaching him, but still not all that impressive.
“He didn’t buy or sell me, you idiot. One, I’m not a hooker.” He held up a finger, “Two, if I were a hooker, I’d do my own marketing and wouldn’t share my profits. Three, we’re war vets, you moron. We’re dealing with our fucking PTSD, not fucking!”
Nevermind that he would like to fuck Roy. That wasn’t the point.
“So step away from my friend before I make you regret it.”
***
He was shoved. Levi swayed back just a little, but otherwise didn’t budge. Not a hooker? What was a hooker? The term was lost on the part-Asian, who just stared at the boy-- who, let’s admit it, was just a little bit taller than Levi. Then, part two came. Ah, hooker meant prostitute. Okay, fair enough. And three? Those dead eyes turned down onto the man he was stepping on. The laughing, crazy man. A war vet? Huh.
What was PTSD?
Blue eyes came back up to Marco.
“Tch.” The hiss of breath mixed with a click of the tongue was released, his boot finally lifting away from the pim.. Er.. the soldier’s head. “It’s unbecoming of a soldier to lay on the ground.” He told the man in a bland, toneless voice. As if he hadn’t just put him down there.
Levi was a psychopath sometimes.
The Captain took a single step back. “I broke his kneecap.” A simple statement, as if he were talking about the weather. Oops? He’d just wanted Marco to know that his friend wouldn’t be able to walk.
***
’I broke his kneecap.’ In Marco’s drunk mind, at first he dismissed it until he remembered with a start that Roy couldn’t morph. As in Roy was actually that hurt. For good. Until he healed normally. Some of Marco’s drunken stupor was officially replaced with drunken panic and drunken anger.
“What part of go away don’t you understand?” The teenager said in a low, threatening voice. All signs of his earlier cheer had evaporated as the boy stood protectively over the man who was currently laying flat on the ground.
“Leave! And get better at intel,” Marco snapped.
He crouched next to Roy and put a hand to the side of Roy’s head, “Hey, hold on. I’ll get you to the hospital and get Riza.” He stroked the man’s hair once.
***
The pressure eased up on his head, that was nice. The voices over his head were concerning, but the pain was reporting more normally now. He'd feel it all tomorrow in full effect, but it was doing its best to make itself known right now.
Marco was talking, then he was touching Roy's head, his dark eyes opened and he looked at him in confusion for a moment. What happened?
“... trust you,” he tried to say it anyway. It was slurred because he was drunk and his nose was probably broken, too. It would explain the blood and the swelling. And the fact he was developing a black eye. Probably two.
Roy hadn't moved, but if he could, he would have just flopped back onto the ground. His eyes closed. Everything drifted away.
***
Leave? Really? And the boy was going to do.. What, exactly, with his larger friend? Shifting to put all of his weight back on one leg, Levi clicked his tongue again in displeasure. “Tch. And what are you going to do? Drag him there?” Turning, he swept up the reins of his horse and tugged him closer, then stepped up alongside the boy, kneeling there beside the soldier.
“It looks like he’s out. Help me get him on Arturo.” Apparently, the black-haired boy was at least willing to clean up the mess he’d made, though he didn’t seem keen on apologizing for it.
***
’Trust you.’ It sent spikes of worry through Marco’s chest and made his heart hurt, “Sh…” He told the man in a gentle tone of voice. Levi, however, only received a glare, “I’m a shapeshifter, so I’m going to carry him. I told you to leave.” He snapped, and then he shut his eyes and concentrated.
Morphing was ugly, and it would take him a few minutes to fully turn into the gorilla, but one benefit to having a primate as a battle morph was that his limbs stayed in the right places, so he would be able to hold Roy until those hands finally finished changing into large, black ones on the ends of arms that could easily lift a man of Roy Mustang’s size and cradle him as though he were as light as a baby.
Any attempt to interfere by Levi wouldn’t be appreciated.
| Hang on, Roy. | The gorilla told him, | We’re going to get you help, okay? |
***
He was.. What?
A monster?
Levi took a step back when the boy began to.. Oh, holy fuck. What was that. It was disgusting. His lip curled up a little but the black-haired man just stood there and stared. He didn’t flinch away, he didn’t even make a face. He only stared.
And when the boy had fully turned into a.. What.. was that? He looked like the Beast Titan only.. Far, far smaller. Was this boy just a very small titan? No. There was no way. It didn’t quite.. Look right. It looked more like an animal.
Then the monster collected the soldier into its arms. To his credit, Levi just stood there and watched.
***
Levi was no longer worth Marco’s attention. To the gorilla, Roy was a light enough load, and so the gorilla walked down the street towards the hospital, being very careful not to jostle Roy anymore than was absolutely necessary and using Thoughtspeak to tell the older man to breathe, just focus on breathing, he’d be okay, they were going to the hospital.
It was a longer walk than Marco would have liked, but he managed not to rip the door off as he carried Roy into the building and then set him on a bed. Still with a hand to Roy’s head, Marco quickly demorphed and then grabbed Roy’s tablet (his own having been left behind for retrieval later), signing in as himself and sending off quick messages to both Riza (“At the hospital. Roy’s hurt. Needs you.”) and York (“Paging Dr. Cheerful, patient needs help now.”), then sitting next to Roy and stroking his hair and shushing him.
***
The first to arrive was York, he lived closer and could run faster than Riza-- it really was no surprise that he came through the door just five minutes later, slightly wider-eyed and looking towards Marco. Then his eye dropped to Roy on the bed.
“What in the hell--” Stepping forward, he came right to the bedside and tipped Roy’s head back to get a proper look at his face. “Did you tell Lieutenant Hawkeye that her pants made her look fat, sir?” What the Hell had happened to him?
Grabbing up a small penlight from the side table, York flashed it into those dark eyes, just to make sure there was no damage there, and to check for a concussion.
***
Even in this situation, Marco grinned at the joke, “Well, he’s still alive, so I’d say no.” Marco responded to York, keeping a steady hand on Roy’s forehead. He remembered the man liked being touched that way, “Yes, I told Riza.” Who would probably be here shortly. Marco exhaled and looked away, “It’s my fault.”
“Levi - you know that guy you wanted to talk to? - Uh, he paid me to play chess with him. And he saw me and Roy and he thought that Roy had, you know, bought me as a hooker and he sort of...well…” Marco gestured at the beat-up General.
“I’m sorry.” He said.
***
“In what way does that make it your fault? Sounds like it’s the General’s fault for looking like a perv. It’s the clothes. I told him he should dress like a scrub, just like the rest of us. But no, he had to look dapper as fuck.” York flashed Marco a little smile. Really, the fact that he was willing to joke around should have been a good sign. He wasn’t that worried about Roy, it wasn’t anything life threatening. Not that he could tell, anyway.
“Let’s get his clothes off, shall we?” He left the bedside for a moment to grab some scissors, then came back to start cutting away the (no doubt expensive) shirt, along with the coat. “At least now we know he’ll never be mistaken for a John again.” Because his dapper clothes were now destroyed. You’re welcome, Elsewhere.
As he peeled away the shirt, he let out a low whistle at the blossoming red marks along his abdomen. “That kid in green did this? For thinking Roy bought you for sex?” That blue eye shifted back to Marco. “I wanna shake his hand.” Attention back to the General, he’d start cutting off those pants and pushing them away-- he straightened up some as he saw that knee.
Fuck.
“Marco, can you go grab Riza? I know you called her but.. She should come down here. Please?” That blue eye returned once again to the young man sitting beside Roy.
***
There were a lot of reasons it was his fault, but Marco figured he should tell them to Riza too. Just because something was his fault didn’t mean he wanted to relive it over and over. Marco nodded at the instruction, taking the opportunity to unlace Roy’s boots and pull them off slowly before unbuttoning Roy’s pants and sliding those down as well. He left the black boxers on, as far as he was aware Levi hadn’t targeted Roy’s genitals.
In a situation where Roy wasn’t black, blue, and red, Marco might have gotten turned on, but several years of death-defying missions with other half-dressed teenagers had managed to get his penis to quiet down when someone was hurt, “What do you mean you want to shake his hand? He completely overreacted!” Well. Roy was alive. Unlike the man York had gotten to.
He sighed and nodded again at York, “Yeah. I’ll go get her. If he dies, I’ll kill you.” Marco said seriously before he strolled out the door.
The night was chilly, but Marco didn’t care. In fact, he even sprinted back to the Inn, showing up at Riza’s door with bleeding feet as he pounded on the door, “Riza!” He called out, with no small amount of panic in his voice.
***
“He only over-reacted because the General wasn’t a man purchasing sex from you. If he had been, it would have been perfectly fine. I, for one, am glad to know there’s someone else out there watching your pert little behind.” York gave him a wink-- the glass eye closing down briefly in jest, before he returned to Roy and his ruined clothes, setting the scissors aside.
It was only once Marco was gone that the Medic got to work. He hadn’t wanted Marco to see the way he’d have to twist his knee, or hear the sick sound it’d make. And if Roy woke up, he didn’t want Marco here to have to listen to the screaming. But, at least that leg would be put to rights and bound up properly by the time the shapeshifter returned with the sniper.
At the Inn, the door opened a moment later, revealing a damp and slightly flushed Hawkeye-- wrapped in just a white towel, that was far too small. Cheap Inn. “Marco?” She asked, hair clinging to her cheeks and neck, even along her shoulders and some parts of her chest, above the towel.
Man, she had incredible legs.
The door opened wider so the poor boy could come inside, a hand pushing her damp hair back. The shower was still running in the bathroom.
***
Normally, seeing Riza in such a state would be well worth taking some time to appreciate. But this wasn’t normally. So Marco completely ignored the fact that Riza wasn’t dressed and was naked under the towel. Instead, he moved quickly when she let him in, going to the closet and opening it and throwing a set of her clothes at her, barely glancing at the ridiculously attractive blonde woman, “Roy’s hurt. We’re going to the hospital. York’s taking care of him.” Marco spoke in short sentences, remembering to dip into the bathroom and slam the water shut so Riza could change.
*** Roy was hurt? It didn’t take the woman long to abandon the towel and pull on some underwear, then tug on those clothes, slipping into shoes as she grabbed up Roy’s coat hanging near the door. What? It was chilly, she was still wet (thanks for the white shirt, Marco) and like Hell was she going out dressed like this in cold weather.
“Come on.” She said back to him as she headed into the hall, damp hair trapped under the coat as she moved along. It wouldn’t take them very long to get to the hospital, but the walk was longer than it was from York’s house-- and when they arrived, they come into that room to find the Spartan finishing up cleaning and butterfly-bandaging the cuts on the General’s face, having covered him up with a blanket and disposed of his ruined clothing. It was just underwear for Mustang, for now.
He glanced towards the door as he heard the two come in and smiled a little. “He’s gonna be fine. No panic necessary.” He didn’t want either one of them getting hysterical.
Though, he doubted the Lieutenant could.
***
Marco didn’t like it, seeing Roy like that and knowing that all they could do was wait. Sure, the Animorphs could get hurt, but this… torture, this waiting. That didn’t happen. The boy fidgeted while he looked at Roy in the hospital bed, frowning, “How long does it take people to get better?” Marco asked.
He didn’t remember.
Some part of him was bothered by that.
He reached out a hand and stroked Roy’s forehead gently, giving Riza a guilty look, “I’m sorry.” He said quietly.
It was his fault.
***
The Lieutenant stood just inside the doorway, watching silently. Her eyes were settled on the General.. That was, until Marco spoke and those Killer’s eyes came to rest on him, instead. He was sorry. He was sorry for what?
What did that even mean?
Clearly, someone had taken it upon themselves to beat her General stupid. Why? What had he done? Any matter of things, she imagined, the General was an asshole on his good days, and a moronic asshole when he was drunk. He could have said anything. Done anything. That was why she’d told Marco to be careful with him.
Ah, that was why the boy was sorry.
“It’s fine.” She said a moment later. “York, what’s his status?” Her arms crossed over her chest.
“His knee has been broken, but the kneecap wasn’t shattered, it should heal up decently. It’s been set. No internal damage, no brain damage, but he’ll be pretty sore for a while. The kid did a number on him.” His attention diverted to the man in the bed, then back to the pair waiting for him to wake. “Once he’s awake, we should keep him awake.”
***
It wasn’t fine. Marco fidgeted. How did people do this? Just...watch people be hurt like this? And knowing they couldn’t make it any better? It was bullshit. He looked at Roy and then looked away at Riza and York.
“I’m sorry because it’s my fault. Levi beat him up to try and protect me, I guess. Because I guess I seem kind of pathetic.” Why else would he have bothered?
And Roy and Riza both said he got that kind of attention because of what he looked like.
He’d fix it if he could.
“I don’t know… he’s pretty drunk.” Marco admitted. “He might fall back asleep.”
***
“You’re not pathetic.” Riza told him, coming forward to set her hand to his shoulder, then leaning down to kiss the top of his head. The blonde woman lingered for only a second, then straightened up again, her hand finding his hand to stroke her fingers through it just a few times, untangling where it’d been messy. “Maybe you should go try and get some sleep. It’s late.” And Marco had been drinking, too. She could smell it on him.
***
“You wouldn’t tell me if I was,” Marco responded grumpily, though he shut his eyes when Riza stroked his hair. It did feel nice. He could see why Roy liked it. So he took Riza’s hand in his own (smaller) hand and put it on Roy’s forehead. So she could comfort Roy instead. He didn’t need it.
“No,” The teenager shook his head. He was, unfortunately, sober since he’d morphed anyway. There was no way he could sleep, “I was with him when he passed out, I should be with him when he wakes up. Continuity.” He said stubbornly.
***
When her hand was pressed to Roy’s forehead, she took a moment to thread her fingers into his hair and stroke. She didn’t linger long, though, and would retract her hand and turn away. “Can Marco lay in the bed with him?” Her gaze shifted to the tall blonde, who smiled slowly, then nodded his consent.
“Here.” Strong arms carefully shifted the General over enough to give Marco plenty of room, then he pat the bed.
“Sleep here. When he wakes up, he’ll wake you up, and you can call for York.” Those were her calm instructions, before the still-wet Lieutenant was heading for the door. If Marco was here, there was no reason she needed to stay.
***
Again, the situation was one that made Marco just accept the suggestion with a nod. Jake had stayed with him and his parents in the woods, and sometimes they’d gotten scared, or held each other. They just never talked about it, because men didn’t do that. Until they did.
So Marco climbed into the bed and resumed stroking Roy’s hair, pressing his face into the man’s neck gently setting his other arm around the man’s waist, being careful of all the bandages. It was okay.
Wait, Riza was leaving?
“He needs you.” Marco said from the bed with a frown.
***
She paused at the doorway and looked back, her face softening again. “He needs you.” She replied. “Be careful, if he starts to move around, you need to pay attention, he’s having a nightmare. But he doesn’t have his gloves, so he shouldn’t be too dangerous. Just mind his thrashing, if he does. I hope your presence will be enough to keep them at bay, though.”
Taking a few steps further, she’d pause and consider before looking back one more time. “You can do this. He trusts you. Trust yourself.” With that, the woman would be leaving them alone.
York remained for a bit longer, to ensure everything was taken care of, before he left as well, with the assurance Marco could get ahold of him any time, that he’d just be five minutes away.
He didn’t want Ed waking up alone and thinking he’d vanished.
***
Roy was drunk enough to miss most of it. He woke only for the moments of extreme trauma, if to do nothing more than scream (when York had reset his knee). All of the conversation was lost somewhere in that haze between sleep and wakefulness, the voices distant and the words making no connection to the images in his head. He was drunk enough that it would carry him through most of the night, thankfully. Combined with the general trauma to his body, he was exhausted. Sleep was welcome.
He wouldn’t notice the boy there at his side for several hours, or the fact that his Lieutenant had abandoned him (had he even noticed she’d come?). But he’d been in a restive state, lost, and set adrift by the lies formulated inside his own brain when he’d gone out with Marco.
He was weary and bone tired and his brain continued to lie to him. Several hours of silence ended where Roy’s dreams began.
His dreams always began in the desert, but instead of the faceless multitude of charred, screaming corpses he saw those terrible, terrible dead eyes of the boy who’d beat him. They looked back out at him as he waded through.
It’s going to be okay, we’ve got you.
They sounded like Marco, whispering to him as they reached with blistering limbs and flesh that melted from bone. His heart raced, cold sweat soaked him.
There was a reason Hawkeye never let him sleep with his gloves near him. He didn’t know he was doing it, when that fateful little snap of fingers echoed like a canon in the silence of the night. A motion that could level nations.
Roy woke screaming, the pain that followed choked the sound off out of sheer surprise. Feeling like he was suffocating, Roy elbowed the lump beside him and scrubbed at the too-tight bandages in a bid to get them off.
***
Marco easily drifted into a semi-sleeping state. He wasn’t asleep, but he wasn’t awake either; he was just aware enough to be gentle with Roy and to pay attention to him. He was fine sitting there for hours. It was his fault this all happened anyway. It was during one of his few sleeping periods that he found himself woken up with an elbow jammed into his gut, which made him grunt in pain and surprise, but also his brown eyes shot open and a pair of small hands reached out to take Roy’s hands.
“No,” He told him sternly, “You need the bandages. You’re hurt.” Marco told him, shifting onto his side so that it was easier to look at Roy, “You’re alright. You’re in the hospital. York said you’re going to be fine. But you need to rest, okay?”
He paused.
“I’m sorry.” He apologized.
***
Roy flinched, jerking away when two hands joined his own, dark eyes blazing from confusion and pain. Marco, his brain reported. He didn’t really hear what Marco was saying. His brain had reported his name, but it was filling in all the wrong details. Why was Marco there (why had he been in the desert dreams?)--where was Hawkeye? He had to-
He had to-
“I have to call her,” she always answered. It never mattered the hour. He had to know she was okay. Everything else came after.
***
It hurt Marco to see Roy flinch, but it was more important to keep the man from hurting himself than it was to spare his feelings, so Marco held on tightly, going so far as to squeeze his hands lightly to confirm that he was there and Roy was awake. Sometimes, it was hard to tell. He understood that. He also understood why Roy was looking around, and Marco sighed.
“I told her you’d want her. She went back to the Inn.” Marco told the man softly, “Do you want me to go get her?” He asked, making it clear that he absolutely would if Roy wanted him to. He didn’t know what time it was. It didn’t matter.
***
Pain. It reported busily from just about everywhere as blind panic took a backseat. Reason hadn’t yet settled in entirely, but the burning thrum of broken bone and strained muscle hit him like an ox. Roy squeezed his eyes shut.
Marco’s hands helped.
It didn’t stop it from hurting, but all of him went rigid as he braced against it, holding his breath as he fought to push it all down because there were more important things happening right now.
“Call her,” he insisted through clenched teeth, slowly letting out a breath. Suck it up, Roy. At least until you knew she was alive.
***
Marco nodded and gently disentangled himself from the older man, being insistent that Roy lay back down so he could cocoon him in some blankets. Maybe it would help stop the scratching, he didn’t know, “Alright.” He told him, taking the man’s tablet. He was already at the door when he sent the message, and he heard the corresponding ping ring out in the darkness of… the hallway?
The teenager pushed open the door and rubbed his eyes, then scanned around until he saw a figure in the darkness, sitting against the wall.
Riza.
He walked over and looked down at her, “He wants you.” Marco told her.
Not him.
You were wrong, Riza.
***
Brown eyes opened slowly and she looked up at his blurry form, considering a moment before she smiled tiredly. “Go back in and tell him you spoke with me and that I want to know what he needs. That’ll satisfy him.” He never needed anything. Just to hear her voice was enough.
This time, he’d surely settle for just the news that she was alive and okay.
She drew her legs up slowly and let her arms drape over them. She’d shot out a message to Ed earlier, and the woman had fallen asleep there in the hall waiting to hear back from him. Apparently, he was sleeping relatively soundly. Maybe York had gotten home before Ed had woken.
***
Most people would have felt bad, seeing how tired Riza was. They would have turned around and done what she said, and for good measure told her to go home and sleep. Marco, however, just snorted, “Either come with me or go get some actual sleep. All you’re doing right now is a middle thing that doesn’t help you or Roy.” He told her. He ran a hand through his hair, “Look, I told him that you saw him and you left and he really wants you there. You were the only thing he cares about, okay?”
“Come see him.”
***
Marco wasn’t going to let this go, was he? She let out a slow breath, then pushed to stand and brushed her hair from her face. She looked surprisingly human right then, tired, wrapped in Roy’s coat, with her hair a mess from drying naturally, in a strange position. A hand brushed her hair back behind her ear as she followed Marco into the room.
She didn’t go in far, though, she lingered at the door. When Roy had been injured back home, she’d done the same thing, not coming too close, but rather keeping her distance. Havoc had been in the same room-- and now Marco was here.
The sniper would remain entirely professional.
***
They’d argued too long, they left him to his own devices (a whole thirty seconds in a half panicked state), so he’d pushed himself to sitting the moment Marco was gone--holy hell did that hurt, he almost passed out again---but he’d scrabbled together enough of his ridiculous will and was pulling things away from his skin to … do what exactly? Escape? He could feel his knee throbbing, he wasn’t going to be walking, but he’d damned well crawl out if he had to.
Then the door opened again and the General turned his panicked eyes up and saw-
Relief washed through him. She was okay.
Okay.
He paused in the middle of what he was doing, even sitting in that position was draining him of his precious resources, but he stared.
“Can you get me a glass of water?” He never needed anything, it was always an asinine question or a comment about something he’d ‘thought of’ in the middle of the night. Just to hear her voice. It didn’t matter the hour, she always answered. She always said she’d see him in the morning.
***
He wanted a glass of water.
A small smile crossed her lips and she nodded. “Yes, sir. Lay back down, I’ll be back in a moment.” Turning, the blonde woman disappeared back into the darkness of the hall. The mess wasn’t far and she’d be able to get a glass there.
But the boys would have a few moments alone again.
***
Marco scowled when he came back to find Roy sitting up and undoing his bandages, “No.” He told him shortly, reaching out with one brown hand to push on Roy’s shoulder until the man was lying down again, then he started rewinding the bandages, giving the older man a glare if he made any move to stop him.
Moron.
He listened to the two of them, then looked between the blonde woman and the older man with a look on his face that said ‘really?’.
In fact, as soon as she was out of the room, he looked at Roy and deadpanned, “Really?”
“Should I go or stay?” He asked seriously.
***
It was enough. He watched Hawkeye walk away, trusting she’d come back. She hadn’t abandoned him at all. His attention shifted back to Marco, hissing a sound of pain as the boy began adjusting his bandages. Oh, hell, that hurt. Everything hurt. Hold it together you moron, just a moment longer.
If his breath came a little more rugged, who could blame him?
It pained him to reach out, his unusually steady hand wasn’t steady at all this time as he did so, but he thread his fingers through Marco’s curly hair in that weirdly gentle way for a man of his reputation.
“Stay,” he said, “you said you’d stay with me tonight.”
***
Marco didn’t comment on Roy’s reaction to the pain. He’d been there. Pain hurt. He could heal it and it still hurt, so God only knew what Roy was going through. He tried to be gentle, but Marco was no doctor or nurse, so all he could do was the best that he could.
Again with the hair. Marco smiled a bit, a fond smile.
“Yeah, I did.” He agreed, “In the bed or here?” Sitting next to it.
He could stay up. It was fine.
Marco was used to not sleeping.
***
It was an oddly vulnerable moment, sitting there looking at the boy while every inch of his person rebelled, too tired to do much more than breathe. He was dehydrated (maybe he’d been unconsciously serious when he’d asked Hawkeye to get him some water) and sluggish.
It was a raw moment, a genuine insight into the man who wore too many faces for the outside world.
If his words came quiet, who could blame him for that, too?
“Will you let me hold you?”
***
It wasn’t the question that Marco expected. For a number of reasons. One being that men just didn’t ask each other that. The second being who would want to hold him? Marco was quiet and then he reached out a hand and pushed Roy’s stupid floppy hair back from his forehead.
“Yeah.” He said.
If it would help, sure, Roy could hold him.
“So scoot over.” He said with a snort, pushing Roy lightly and climbing in next to him, going so far as to take one of the flat hospital pillows and push it under his curly head.
***
There was no good way to do it, everything was on fire under his skin. Hell, his hair felt bruised. But Marco climbed in anyway and Roy had painfully inched his way to the other side of the bed. Lucky Marco was small enough to fit without trouble. He was a welcome warmth at his side, it was comforting.
There was no good way to actually hold him though, that would require a whole different position and the current scream of his ribs and the throb of his knee forbid Mustang from laying on his side. So he just turned his head toward him instead.
He wouldn’t sleep well, he was aching in too many places for that, but he’d at least rest.
Now if only they could make room for Hawkeye.
***
Hawkeye wouldn’t be caught dead in that bed.
She returned shortly after the two got situated with that glass of water and (smartly) a straw. The sniper didn’t pause as she came back in and found the two of them like that. She’d seen Mustang in worse positions before. So, coming to the side of the bed, the Lieutenant would look down at the pair. “Would you like it on the bedside table, sir, or would you like Marco to hold it while you drink?” Did he want to drink, if for no other reason than to save face for having asked for the water?
***
By the time Hawkeye had returned, Roy’s eyes had closed. There hadn’t been any holding, but that was fine. Marco nodded his head at Roy and put a finger to his lips, signalling that he was sleeping. However, the teenager also took the glass of water and took a drink from it, then gave Riza a thumbs up, “Thank you.” He told her in a cheeky tone of voice, then he looked at her with a more serious look, “Do you know where the pillows and blankets are? If you’re going to be dumb and sleep in the hallway, at least be comfortable.”
***
“There’s no need for me to remain here, he’s seen me now, he’ll be fine.” He rarely woke up more than once. When he did? Well, he just called again. “You’ve got him.” She passed a hand through Roy’s hair briefly, then that hand made to pull the trigger moved to stroke through Marco’s hair, brushing it away from his eyes.
After a few seconds thought, she leaned in to kiss Roy on the temple, and then the boy at his side got one as well.
“Sleep well.” The sentiment was to both of them, before the General’s assistant was turning to make her escape. She wouldn’t go far, of course, Riza never did. Just back out into the hall. At least this time she’d take a spot on the bench further down, instead of trying to stick so close to Roy’s room.