"I don't care who he is," Roy heard from the hall of the hospital. "If he's not going to die, I need to see someone who might. This is a triage situation."

"But it's his eyes, doctor." It was Sergeant Fuery's voice.

The door opened, but there were no footsteps. Roy was sitting on the bed, cross legged, arms loosely crossed in his lap, head down.

"Sir, can you open your eyes?" the harried doctor called, not moving from the doorway.

Roy turned his head toward the voice and opened them, feeling the disorientation as his brain still hadn't figured out how he could have his eyes open but still not see anything.

"No trauma to the eyes. Any head injury?"

"I lost my vision in an alchemical incident. There's no other physical effect as far as I can tell," he answered in a flat monotone.

"Any other injuries?"

"My hands," Roy said, lifting them up, still in their original field dressings. "But I don't think I'm going to die from that either. Go take care of someone you can help, doctor."

The doctor, feeling he'd already wasted too much time on a non-urgent case, breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, sir. I'll send an orderly to change those dressings."

"Sergeant?" Roy called as he heard the door shut and footsteps moving on.

For a moment, he thought he was too late, and Fuery had moved out of earshot. But then the door opened again.

"I'm here sir," the sergeant said, coming into the room and pulling up a chair by Roy's cot. Roy had already shut his eyes again.

"Sergeant, I appreciate what you were trying to do, but don't. I'm not in critical condition - you can't distract the doctors from the people who are."

"Yes, sir," Fuery answered, reluctantly.

More commotion from the hall. "Yes, I know he's a man. But you're still going to put me in there. There are two beds, aren't there?"

Hawkeye's voice!

There was some answer, too quiet for him to hear, then, "This is my room. I see the chart - I'm assigned here."

More indistinct talk.

"Good Lord," she said. "Sergeant Fuery? Where are you, sergeant?"

"On my way, sir," Fuery said, and went to open the door.

"Thank you. I can make it through the door if you hold it open for me. I think the orderly went for reinforcements."

Her voice entered the room, but Roy didn't hear any footsteps.

"Are you in a wheelchair, Lieutenant? What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in surgery?"

"It makes everyone happier if I don't walk by myself. Blood loss." she answered. Then there was the sound of the springs on the cot to his left, as she got onto the bed. "And yes, they took me straight to the OR, took a good look, and then sent me straight out again. Something about needing to concentrate on people who were actually hurt."

"Mai said she'd only stopped the bleeding. You need to see a real doctor, Lieutenant," Roy insisted.

"Colonel, I'm fine, except for the loss of blood. Apparently, Mai's alkestry stopped the bleeding by repairing everything they would have in the OR. I won't even have much of a scar. I just need to rest and drink and give myself time to make more blood."

The exertion of the argument and wheeling herself into the room had exhausted her. "Sergeant, don't let them move me while I'm asleep, okay?" she said, in a voice that suddenly sounded very tired.

"I won't, sir," he promised.

She laid her head on the pillows, but before she closed her eyes, she glanced one more time over at the Colonel.

"Wait," she said, making an effort to stay awake. "Are those field dressings? Sergeant, I told you to get the Colonel a doctor!"

"The sergeant's already taken care of it," Roy interjected. "Someone's coming. Go to sleep, Lieutenant. That's an order."

"Yes, sir," she answered, and then was quiet.

It was amazing what her presence, and the knowledge that she was okay, did for his spirits. He lifted his head and opened his eyes, fighting the disorientation.

"Okay, brain, get used to it," he told himself. "This is what the world looks like now."