Blood ran down Edward's leg as, with a soft whoosh, his leg disconnected from the port. There was strange giggling and he didn't have to open his eyes to know that had to be Kimblee… Archer did not under any circumstances, giggle. Cool fingers traced the skin around the port, and he didn't know if that was Archer or Kimblee… really it could be either, both seemed to constantly be cold… In body, mind and spirit. The cool fingers swiped up the blood, and he could hear the sound of sucking… he knew it was Kimblee now… as weird as Archer was; he couldn't see him sucking blood off his own fingers. But when Kimblee's giggle sounded over the sucking, Edward was proven wrong.

Edward was tired of being wrong.

He was wrong when he followed Archer… wrong when he took the drink, and especially wrong when he hadn't gone running, seeing Zolf Kimblee sleeping on a couch in one for the extra rooms of Archer's, admittedly, nicely sized house. Running could have been an option… but his leg was gone… alchemy? He didn't trust his speed versus Kimblee's… Rationality slowed one down… insanity added speed. A cold palm ran over Edward's face and he shivered.

"fever." a calm voice said. Archer. Kimblee seemed to be thinking, then he heard walking, and the clink of glass. The rim of a cup was being pressed to Ed's lips, and he fought it. Coaxing fingers dug past his lips and he bit them. A blow to his cheek made the world swim with stars and Edward feared if he opened his eyes he would throw up. The next time the cup was offered he drank… it was slimy and bitter… he hated it, but drank it down to the dregs, which tasted like someone had boiled wool. An encouraging hand petted his cheeks, and Edward sank into a dreamless sleep, confused but rapidly plummeting.