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Spitfire

Summary:

Mustang has had a lot to deal with today. Between having his tires slashed, running to catch a taxi, getting soaked, arriving late to work, and being scolded by a General, he was almost ready to combust—not unlike the very air he has manipulated countless times. He’s at his boiling point—and an attitude-filled report with an achy Fullmetal Alchemist is what finally tips him over.

Notes:

Hi yes hello this is anonymous because all my other fics are a different fandom and I’m afraid of disappointing my subs with a change in direction like this 😅 but it’ll be taken off maybe in the future if I work up the courage.

Also— this was posted in honor of c_c_cherry’s birthday!! She’s an amazing whump author, and an even greater friend.

I hope you all enjoy!

Edit: okay I’m taking this off anon 🥺 people who sub to me for jojo stuff please don’t be mad,, I promise I’m not abandoning jojo, I’m sorry for the wait but I needed a break and I promise I’ll get back to it soon. I just need to get some of these Fullmetal alchemist ideas out of my head 😭 sorry and thank you in advance

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: A Slip of the Tongue

Chapter Text

Wind and rain battered the office windows with so much ferocity, Roy felt jealous. 

He hated the rain. Everyone knew that—but today, he not only hated it, he envied it.

The storm outside was angry and strong, sending loud booms that startled anyone who heard. Nobody was capable of hiding from the intimidating thunder that roared through the sky, nor the constant cry of the bullets of moisture that readily pelted every outside surface.

Everyone in East City subconsciously bowed and respected nature’s rage, they couldn’t help it. All of the citizens were forced to listen, no matter how it made them feel. The dark sky above them could freely vent all of its frustrations upon the world, could scream without restraint, and there wasn’t a person on the earth capable of ordering it to do otherwise. Nobody could tell the clouds to shut up and focus on paperwork, nor tell nature that it had to be mature about its emotions like an adult.

Another rumble threatened Mustang’s office. He sighed, checking the small clock on his desk.

“Checking the clock won't make it move faster, Colonel,” Hawkeye spoke from her own desk in the corner of the room, not even looking up.

Roy held back the growl that nearly snuck into his tone. “It seemed to move pretty fast during the drive here,” he huffed. Being late to work was one of many things that had set off his mood this morning.

“Well, there’s nothing you can do about that now,” Riza shuffled her papers with a bored look, “—so just focus on your work. Unless you want to receive another lecture from a General today.”

Roy clenched his teeth at the reminder. “Lieutenant,” he hissed, not in the mood for their typical banter.

“Sir.” Riza nodded quietly, understanding.

Mustang took a breath, looking back out at the gloomy city with tired eyes. He honestly couldn’t have helped being late this morning. 


Roy stood in the pouring early-morning rain, tightly clenching his fists at the sight of his car’s tires. 

They were slashed.

“Bastards!” Mustang quietly hissed towards the long gone assailants, as he checked his watch. It was 6:48 in the morning. He really didn’t have time for this. 

The night’s storm continued to rage on, like an omen. Roy winced. The rolling thunder had kept him awake all last night, providing valuable fuel for his brain to incorporate into his nightmares. 

It was exhausting how effortlessly his mind could manipulate the loud booms and howling winds into ear-splitting canonfire and agonized screams, banishing any chance of a restful night’s sleep. Just thinking about it made the bags under his eyes feel even heavier.

‘And I was planning to arrive early today,’ the Colonel reminded himself. ‘Fat chance of that now, though.’

Without the ownership of a complete set of spare tires, nor the proper time and materials to transmute any, the Colonel was forced to come up with an alternative solution. 

Ten minutes of running in the rain, twenty minutes standing by the road, and thirty additional soaking wet minutes later, he stepped out of a taxi in front of East Headquarters. 

After a sloppy about-face that couldn’t possibly belong to a Colonel, Mustang tipped the driver with extra cash, as an apology for the freshly-soaked car seats. Despite the generous tip, the man didn’t seem very pleased.

“Wet dog,” the taxi-driver spat instead, driving off rather quickly. A boom of thunder punctuated the remark.

“...Thank you for your service,” Roy muttered, addressing nobody but the harsh rain, and the smell of car exhaust. 

Feeling his boots squelch with every step, he walked to the front of the building. The wind chilled him to the bone as it swept through his dripping uniform, making the man grit his teeth. 

Bringing up his wrist, he squinted through the heavy water droplets on the watch’s face in order to make out the time. 

7:48 AM. Nearly twenty minutes late.

He stepped through the door, a complete mess. The thick fabric of his uniform weighed him down, soaked by the heavy precipitation, drooping with a dark navy color, rather than a proud blue. Water dripped from the edges of his coat like a faucet, and his hair was unprofessionally flattened against his head. 

He ignored the burning in his cheeks as he walked through the entrance with shame. 

“—And what do we have here? It reeks of wet dog,” The shadow’s condescending voice spoke in front of him. 

Roy looked up from the floor, feeling heavy dread pool in his stomach like a weight. 

The man before him was tall and built, with thick gold stripes on the shoulders of his uniform—a trio of stars decorating each one. 

A General. 

‘General Ayden, from Central,’ his thoughts reminded him. He wanted to scream in frustration. 

He had completely forgotten—Hawkeye had told him that a General would be here to inspect the personnel of East Headquarters this week. 

Which meant today. Right now. In front of him. 

Hawkeye was sure to put a bullet between his eyes for being caught off guard like this. 

Quickly snapping himself into a tall salute, Mustang cringed as he nearly lost his balance during the motion. The hasty movement squeezed a few extra droplets from his coat, and onto the floor.

He winced at the sound, before flattening out his expression and speaking with a clear tone. “Good morning, General.”

It came out more hoarsely than intended. 

The other man merely scoffed. “Good morning? It’s nearly 8 AM. You’re thirty minutes late, Colonel. Is that good to you? Because it’s certainly not good enough for the Fuhrer.”

Roy gulped, the pit in his stomach sinking further. 

There was no pleasure evident on the General’s face. “—You will speak when I address you, Colonel. I can’t afford to waste my time, unlike how you clearly can. So...?” Ayden raised an eyebrow. 

Roy sputtered, before internally cringing at his pathetic performance in front of a superior. “—Ah—No, General—you’re entirely correct. My late arrival this morning was not good at all. It is completely unacceptable. You have my sincerest apologies—I will be better next time.” It was a battle to prevent any amount of smugness into his voice.

“Sure you will, Colonel,” Ayden said with a mixture of venom and boredom. “—But how ‘bout instead of blabbering about ‘next time,’ you go and make yourself useful now?”

“And how would you like me to do that, General? Do you have a request for me?” Roy failed to reply without the smallest dash of attitude. 

General Ayden suppressed a sneer. “Why yes, I do.” 

Mustang nearly flinched when the General quickly leaned forward with an expression that promised nothing but pure misery.

“When I saw that the ever-popular Roy Mustang was running late, I took the liberty of assigning some extra paperwork, from Central.” Ayden grinned.

Mustang’s eye twitched.

“—For a Colonel climbing up the ranks as fast as you are, you must be extremely confident in your time management skills, yes? If my assumption is correct, this little favor shouldn’t be too much extra strain on your workload.” The man looked at him with narrow, daring eyes.

With a swallow, Roy cleared his heavy throat. “Well, with all due respect, General, I—”

“That’s enough, Colonel. If you truly respect me, you’ll go do your work, and you’ll do it now. No excuses. Understood?”

I want to burn that confident grin right off your face, you cocky bastard. “...Understood,” Mustang replied.

General Ayden scoffed in weak satisfaction, before he returned a mocking salute, and walked off. 

Good riddance. 

Mustang glared at the man’s back as he returned to ease. Waiting until the General finally left the room, he silently started to walk to his office. Miserable squelches followed his every step down the hall.

He could still feel the omen of the storm rattling the building loom from above. 


“—Colonel. Why don’t you take a break?” Hawkeye’s voice pulled him from his work.

He would have laughed at the irony if he wasn’t still feeling so miserable. Instead, he mindlessly signed his name on the current page of a thick stack in front of him, before turning to the next. 

“Oh? And why is that?” The man asked without looking up.

“You look like you need it,” Riza uncharacteristically admitted.

Flicking his eyes upwards, he met her gaze.

“You’ve been at it for a while now.” She explained, her large brown eyes looking into his with concerned consideration, scanning him up and down. “You’re clearly uncomfortable, haven’t eaten breakfast, nor have you gotten a good night’s rest.”

“What gave it away?” Roy scoffed, unimpressed.

The Lieutenant didn't flinch. “Colonel. Your posture is hunched, and your eyes have dark bags underneath them. Your stomach has been growling this whole time, yet you’ve been so focused on your work, you haven’t even noticed. Additionally, your hands are shaking—whether it be from fatigue, or from the fact that you've been cold and soaked since you came in. Regardless, it isn’t healthy,” she listed. 

Roy’s eyes widened slightly, looking at his hands, then his work. He could see that his signature and writing had grown more sloppy, as he compared his work to when he had started this morning.

“—Also, just as a reminder, you have a meeting coming up soon as well,” Riza added. 

“I do? With who?” Mustang’s brain had been so tired and focused on his assignments that he had completely forgotten any other plans for the day. Thankfully, Hawkeye was always there to remind him of his schedule.

“The Fullmetal Alchemist, sir. He has a report to make.”

Nevermind. He was no longer thankful. 

Mustang couldn’t hold back his groan, sinking into his chair. 

Fullmetal’s reports. He always dreaded them. “—When is he scheduled to come in?” Mustang asked, unenthusiastic.

“In about twenty minutes, sir,” Hawkeye replied.

Right. Okay. He had twenty minutes to get himself together, or else he was going to explode.

“Understood.” Mustang huffed, rising from his chair. The rush of air on his wet clothes made a chill run down his spine. “Does he know about the General being in for inspection today?”

“That depends on whether or not he cared to remember. However, Alphonse knows, and so he will probably try to keep Edward in line. He seems to be the only one who can, after all.”

Mustang hummed, barely listening. Internally, his dread had hardly faded. 

Fullmetal’s reports were rarely a pleasant experience. Granted, they weren’t always awful either, but more often than not, it meant additional paperwork, accompanied by a childish argument. And a headache.

Giving a glare at the paperwork pile he had barely made a dent in, Mustang sighed, deciding to take Hawkeye’s advice. He walked to the door, his boots still as squelchy as ever. “I’m going to go clean myself up. If Fullmetal gets here before I return, make sure he doesn’t destroy my office,” he ordered without eye contact.

“Sir.” Hawkeye nodded. 


Edward Elric dragged himself through the front doors of East HQ, absolutely miserable. He knew that everyone liked to joke that there was no such thing as a good Monday, but this was just awful. 

The storm was still sending strong aches of pain straight to his automail ports, and it hadn’t let up for hours. No matter how deeply he massaged and rubbed at where soft flesh tenderly met hard metal, the intense internal aching just wouldn’t let it up. 

It was as if he had a really bad itch in a place he couldn't reach by himself—but instead of a bad itch, it was a throbbing ache that made him want to curl up in his own bed. And sleep for a full day. Maybe longer than a full day. 

...He really just wanted to sleep. But nooooo. The Colonel needed his report. 

And if that wasn’t bad enough, Ed didn’t even have Al to rant to. Ranting to his little brother always kept Ed’s frustration at tolerable levels, but that was just another luxury that this Monday had to rob him of. 

This morning, Ed had discovered that Al was gone from their dorm, and had left a note in his absence. 

The note explained that a river had been at risk of overflowing by a nearby farm town, and spare alchemists were needed to help redirect the flooding. Al wrote that since he had nothing better to do, he decided that he’d put himself to use. 

Of course his little brother would rather help people whenever he could, instead of just sitting around in the dorm until morning. That’s just how Alphonse was. It’s how he’s always been. 

Ed’s chest flared with a small spark of proud admiration at the thought, before it was weighed back down by reluctant loneliness. 

Only Alphonse could make a bad day less agonizing. 

Thankfully, the town was only an hour away, and Al wrote that he’d be back soon—possibly even in time to meet his older brother at HQ after the report. 

But until then, Ed was here alone. Soaked, aching, and impatient. He looked up at the building’s entrance. 

Bursting into Eastern Command, Edward pushed open the doors with an attitude that screamed “I don’t want to be here,” and turned to walk down the hallway leading to Mustang’s office. Well, at least, he tried to. 

As soon as he turned the corner, his front collided with a large blue mass, forcefully sending him to the ground with a sharp gasp. 

His vision went white for a moment, sore automail ports none-too-happy about the rough treatment against the hard floor. 

Trying not to let a pitiful noise escape from his throat, the boy took a couple deep breaths, slowly forcing the pain away with each exhale. The cold dampness clinging to his clothes countered his efforts, making the aches radiate with additional discomfort. 

After taking a few disoriented blinks to clear his vision, Ed tried not to growl at the tall blue figure looming over him. He hated when people did that. 

Shakily pulling himself up to stand, he groaned, mustering a weak glare. “Can’t you watch where you’re—?”

Finally able to see who he was looking at, Ed clamped on his tongue with his teeth. He didn’t actually recognize the man’s face at all, but he certainly recognized the shining pins on each of his shoulders. Three of them—golden stars. 

A General. Shit. 

Hawkeye’s stern face popped into Edward’s mind—her gentle, yet incredibly serious voice repeating instructions from shortly after he joined the military in the first place.

(“Remember, Edward. I know that you and the Colonel like to butt heads, but if you ever come across another higher ranking officer, especially one that’s not familiar, please behave properly. 

“Regrettably, the military isn’t all one big friendly team. If you give some people the smallest reason to dislike you, they will go digging for things that can hurt you, to get you out of their way. You understand what I’m getting at, right? 

“I know you do. So please, remember this advice, okay? We don’t want anyone to go digging. Not against you, and not against anyone else on the team, either. Keep your career safe. Keep the team safe. Keep Alphonse safe.”)

Staring at the unfamiliar superior officer currently in front of him, Ed sputtered, his attitude undergoing a complete reversal. 

After all, this man was in ownership of the rank directly below the Fuhrer. So what the hell was he doing here?

“—Uh, I mean—S-Sorry, General. Sir,” Ed squeaked. He knew he had a stupid look on his face. 

The other man knew too. He clearly wasn’t impressed, and seemed to be waiting for something. 

Ed’s eyes widened in realization before he snapped into a hasty salute. Violently protesting the sudden movement, his shoulder sent a stab of agony down his right side. In an effort not to yelp, Ed sank his teeth into the inside of his lip, hoping the General wouldn’t notice. If the man did notice, he didn’t say anything about it. 

“...And who might you be, young man?” General Ayden glared instead, clearly unhappy. 

Whether it be from Ed bumping into him, or because of the off-chance someone pissed in his coffee this morning, the young alchemist could tell that this guy could really use some happiness in his life. The man was clearly struggling with a deficiency. 

“—Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist. Sir.”

Cold green eyes widened, before narrowing. “Ah, that’s right. I’ve heard of you. You’re one of Mustang’s, aren’t you?” he grumbled, as if revealing a pet peeve. “That explains your pitiful composure. Worthless Colonel.”  

Ed began to feel annoyance start to grow within him. 

This General clearly had some sort of beef with Mustang—not unlike a lot of high ranked officers, which the young alchemist already knew about. A lot of them seemed to envy Mustang’s tendency to play hopscotch through the rankings, making it look easy in the process. 

But, to be honest, Ed didn’t care. He could curse Colonel Bastard on his own schedule. The Fullmetal Alchemist didn’t need this cranky General to waste precious time doing it for him. 

With another deep ache through his ports acting as a signal, Ed made blank eye contact with the General, and adjusted his posture. The movement caused his port to bristle again, against his wishes. His still-saluting metal arm started to tremble under his gloves as they strained to stay in position. 

“—Is that all you needed me for, Sir?” Ed asked, almost impatiently. 

The man looked him up and down. 

“...Are you in some sort of hurry?” General Ayden questioned. 

Ed didn’t miss the subtle mocking tone laced in the man’s voice. “Yes, sir. I have a report to make.” He watched the other man’s expression carefully. 

“...Very well,” The General responded boredly, clearly ready to wrap but this unfortunate interaction. He gave a lazy salute, allowing Ed to drop his arm to his side. 

Edward nearly moaned at the temporary relief, but the throbbing ache returned only a moment later. After relaxing his arm, drops of water slid from his sleeves onto the floor. His soaked clothes had been steadily dripping this whole time. He didn’t notice General Ayden’s annoyance towards it.

“—Hey kid, some quick advice. Next time you come in, dry yourself off first, would’ya? You and that Colonel, I swear—didn’t your mother ever teach you not to track water into the house? Tch—”

Edward froze. 

“—Although from what I hear, you’re a hotheaded brat who seems to enjoy causing trouble for whoever looks after you. So I shouldn’t be all that surprised—“

The blond’s aches seemed to quadruple, as the General refused to shut his mouth. Additional shivers plagued Ed’s body, born from a growing blaze of rage, rather than the cold and wet dampness clinging to his skin. 

General Ayden suddenly barked a laugh. “—But if I’m being honest, as long as you’re under Mustang, I don’t mind at all. Continue to cause trouble—it’d be a real help. You get what I’m saying?” The man continued to chuckle as he clapped a hand onto Ed’s shoulder, before finally leaving. 

The boy slowly released a breath from his nose.

He’s gone. He’s finally gone. 

If the General hadn’t left that instant, Ed wasn’t sure if he would’ve let the man do it alive. 

Don’t turn around. Don’t say anything. It’s not worth it. 

The boy shook in the same place he’d been standing ever since he confronted the General. His teeth were firmly pressing against each other, jaw aching at the pressure, the taste of blood oozing against his tongue. He didn’t even notice that he had bitten through his lip from trying not to say something he’d regret. 

Looking down, Ed saw an inconsistent wet-spot on the carpet, slowly being filled out from the water droplets running down his form. It was like a depressing splatter painting. 

‘Didn't your mother ever teach you not to track water in the house?’ his thoughts repeated,  tormenting him. ‘You’re a hotheaded brat who seems to enjoy causing trouble for whoever looks after you.’

Mom...

Thunder boomed. His shoulder and thigh sent another dagger of agony through his nerves, uncomfortable memories accompanying it this time. He swallowed thickly.

Shaking his head while cursing, Ed stormed off towards Mustang’s office. 

A burning urge to escape crept up his spine. He just wanted to leave—and the sooner he could dump his stupid report at the Colonel’s desk, the sooner he could do that. Then, he could go back to his dorm, and finally escape the growing negativity that was further soiling his mood. 

As he walked down the hall, Ed became irritably aware of the small wet spots on the carpet, forming a trail behind him. 

Now, it was really bothering him. 

But why? 

It was just water. Dripping water on carpet was hardly making a mess. It’s water. Not to mention, Ed noticed several other wet trails that weren’t his. He wasn’t the only one at fault here. After all, it was pouring outside. Of course people are going to be tracking water around. It was inevitable. 

So why did it make him feel so shameful?

“Honestly Fullmetal, you’re always making a mess of things. Don't you realize that if you don’t clean up the mess yourself, someone else has to clean it up for you?” Mustang taunted once, after a mission had gotten messy. “I’ll never understand how Alphonse does it…” the Colonel had added under his breath.

(Ed had decided to stay up as late as he could with Al that night, as an unspoken thank-you for all of the things he’s made his little brother put up with.)

Alphonse…

Blinking away a forbidden wetness in his eyes, the blond swallowed again, and shook his head. This was pointless. 

He didn’t come here to sulk, he came here to get something over with. There was no point to dwelling on that stupid General, nor what he had said. 


Pushing open the door to Mustang’s office, he trudged inside the room. The Colonel’s desk was empty, besides two seperate stacks of paperwork on top of it. One stack was ridiculously taller than the other—clearly the “to-do” pile. 

When golden eyes came across the leather couch in the middle of the room, Ed nearly melted in relief. 

Remembering the fact that the Colonel wasn’t here, Ed proceeded to shamelessly limp over to the comfortable furniture (powering through the agony of his screaming automail ports) and let himself sit down with a loud sigh. 

The couch accepted his body like a warm hug, cradling his tired muscles in its plump cushions. 

Closing his eyes, Ed slipped his left hand under the neck of his shirt, and gently rubbed at his shoulder, at the place where cold steel met with sore flesh. As he tended to his aches, he lost himself in the atmosphere of the room.

It was rather quiet. He could tell that the room's lighting was more dim than usual, due to the lack of natural light that would normally pour in through the windows. Instead, the room was filled with the white noise of rain. 

Until, a rumble of thunder made his aches rage in protest—his neglected thigh, especially. 

With another sigh, Edward removed his flesh arm from under his shirt, and placed it right above the port in his knee. He carefully kneaded at the soft muscle with his flesh hand, letting out a shaky breath at the mixture of pain and relief that flared from the contact. 

“—Ed?”

The boy yelped in surprise as he quickly removed his hands from his leg and forced them at his sides, straightening up in his seat. He whipped his head towards the questioning voice. 

Hawkeye’s concerned eyes met his, scanning him up and down, before looking up to his face again.“...You’re early.” 

Processing that it wasn't Mustang, Ed relaxed slightly, leaning back against the couch. It was just the Lieutenant.

“I figured that if I got here sooner, I could leave sooner. That’s all,” he explained honestly, resting his eyes as he leaned against the couch. 

“...Are you alright?” Hawkeye asked, concerned. 

“—Fine. Why do you ask?” Ed questioned back, a bit too quickly. He silently prayed she hadn’t seen him rubbing at his stumps. 

Sharp brown irises hardened in thought for a moment, as if sorting through several answers already in her mind, before picking one. “You’re soaked.” 

His face pinched in annoyance at the reminder, and Ed suddenly stood up from the couch. 

Hawkeye seemed taken aback as if she had said something wrong. “Edward, I didn’t mean anything by it, I was just—“

The words were interrupted with a bored clap, before the young alchemist gently pressed his palms to his chest. 

With a flash and a hiss, his clothes released their moisture into the air, increasing the humidity of the room. After his clothes were completely dry, he repeated the action again, this time against the couch he had unknowingly dampened as well. The darkened spot on the furniture dissipated as the blue sparks of alchemy crackled to a stop. 

Taking a deep breath at the refreshing feeling of dry clothes against his skin, Ed sank back against the freshly dried cushions. An amused huff of air left through his nose, before he looked at the Lieutenant with a shy smile. “Y’know, if you hadn’t said anything, I honestly would’ve sat here, soaked to the bone the entire time. Thanks.” He chucked.

Hawkeye’s lips pulled away from her previous concerned appearance, gently shifting into a slight smile as she nodded her head. “Of course.”

A quiet moment passed. 

Ed looked around, noticing Mustang’s empty desk again. “Where is he?” 

She straightened up. “Well, you know him,” she shook her head sympathetically, “...the Colonel had a bit of a struggle with the rain, this morning. It made him a mess, in more ways than one. His greatest weakness,” she scoffed. “ —And on a Monday too, nonetheless.” Hawkeye’s eyes shined in a mixture of pity and amusement. “He left to go clean himself up a few minutes ago, so he should be back soon.” 

Ed hummed, staring at the floor. He seemed amused as well, if not distracted. “...Yeah. This isn’t the happiest Monday of my life either, that’s for sure,” the alchemist sympathized. 

“Oh?” Hawkeye asked, her honey-brown eyes expertly encouraging him to elaborate. “Did something happen?”

He thought for a moment, his eyes darkening. 

“Didn't your mother ever teach you—?”

Shutting down the thought with a clenched jaw, he looked away. “—No, nothing notable. Just a typical, rainy day,” Ed stated simply, ignoring the heaviness in his heart.

Thunder crackled, and he winced. The Lieutenant's gaze was burning through his skin. 

“...Ed,” Hawkeye started with a careful tone. 

He didn’t turn to meet her eyes. 

Riza’s face softened. “...You know that you can always—“

Before she could continue, the sound of the office door swinging open swiftly cut her off.

Behind the door, an impatient Roy Mustang stood tall.


Pushing open the door to his own office, Mustang was shocked to see Fullmetal already there. 

The boy had taken eager residence on the couch, sitting reclined against the cushions. His hair was still heavy with water, yet his clothes were suspiciously dry. No doubt from his circleless alchemy. 

‘Ungrateful prodigy,’ the nasty voice at the back of Mustang’s head supplied. He ignored it. 

Quietly, the Colonel strolled to his desk and pulled out the seat, sitting down with a bored attitude. Deep down, he was still irritable from the day’s early events, all while further dreading what else the Monday had in store. 

Fullmetal looked up at him from the couch with a tense expression. In return, Roy crossed his arms, unamused. 

“You’re early today. Are you really that eager to see your favorite Colonel, Fullmetal?” he sassed, too exhausted to add the typical sly smile to his face. 

“—You wish, soggy campfire,” Ed huffed, “I’m here early so I can get out of here as soon as possible.”

The Colonel felt the irritation squirm within him. Normally he didn’t put much stock into Ed’s typical banter, but after all that’s happened this morning, his impenetrable ego had some cracks in it. Edward’s refusal to take him seriously sent a bubbling irritation to somewhere in his stomach. He couldn’t hold back his retort. 

“How funny. Usually, when you come in here, you have no problem wasting as much of my time as you can,” Mustang remarked, looking Ed in the eye. 

Hawkeye’s judging gaze tried to meet with his own, but he didn’t budge. 

Absently picking at his right glove, Ed spoke without missing a beat. “Tch. The feeling’s mutual, you wet matchstick. You’re mistaken if you think I ever want to come here at all. Now, whaddaya want,” the boy asked, waving his left hand impatiently, in a “hurry up” motion. 

“You know what I want, Fullmetal. Quit acting moronic. I don’t know why you’d bother asking me what I want. It’s the reason you’re here, one of the only reasons you ever curse my office with your presence. The report.”

Ed smirked. “Yeah, well, maybe I wanted to make it easier for you. Everybody knows how much you like to boss your subordinates around, so why not give you an easy pitch? I thought it’d cheer up that mopey look on your face. Giving you a wide open opportunity to tell me what to do, like I’m your personal errand boy. I know you love to do it. So go ahead. I’m waiting.”

Mustang felt his eye twitch. “First, you wanted to get out of here as fast as possible, but now you’re spending time egging me on to give you a redundant order?” Cold onyx bore deep into molten gold, clashing with a heavy spark of resentment from both sides. The tension was palpable. 

“Boys,” Hawkeye’s voice interrupted sternly. She didn’t like the current atmosphere that was building inside the room. 

The eye contact between superior and subordinate was instantly broken. They both quickly looked away like scolded children, shrouding the room in a brief silence, before the elder took a breath. 

“...I see that Alphonse isn’t here,” Roy changed the subject. 

This time, Edward’s eye was the one to twitch. “So?” he quickly interjected. “He went to go—“

“—Help people in a nearby town, correct?” 

Ed gave him a shocked look. 

The dark-haired alchemist continued. “He went to help the townspeople against the flooding. I know,” he drank in how Edward’s brow pinched in uncomfortable irritation, how it always did when the Colonel seemed to know everything. “—Believe it or not, some people actually have the maturity to inform those responsible for them about their whereabouts.”

If looks could kill, Roy Mustang would be in a mass grave right now. The earlier tension that Hawkeye tried so hard to banish had returned without a beat. 

“Now, your report?” the Colonel pressed on. 

The Fullmetal Alchemist growled, digging through his pocket before revealing a folded piece of paper. It drooped in the boy’s grasp, clearly soggy. Edward pushed himself up to stand. 

Roy missed the wince that flashed on the aggravated teen’s face. 

Hawkeye didn’t. Her eyebrows pinched in slight concern. 

“Here.” Ed carelessly tossed the paper onto the desk. “Enjoy the bedtime story. You look like you need it,” he hissed. 

“Watch it, Elric,” Mustang spat, his tone turning venomous again. “I already had a superior officer tear into my appearance this morning. I don’t need a prepubescent subordinate to do it again for me.”

Ed ignored the unoriginal insult, rolling his eyes instead. “That’s what this is about? You’re acting all pissy just because the General didn’t kiss up to you, like everyone else does? What a sob story,” he mocked. 

“You’re one to talk. Why the hell do you think you’re with the military in the first place?” Mustang challenged. 

Riza straightened up. “Colonel. That’s enough.”

Again, Mustang ignored her, never breaking eye contact with Edward. “—It’s become clear that General Ayden had a talk with you this morning as well, Fullmetal. That’s what must’ve put you in this childish mood of yours. What’d he do, call you short like everyone else does? How insulting—”

“—Shut the fuck up, worthless bastard!” Ed screamed. 

Mustang’s eyebrows raised in surprise, before relaxing with a horrific calm rage. 

“You don’t know what the hell you’re even talking about!” the blond continued, fists clenched. “A bastard like you would never understand...” he trailed off quietly, a slight shakiness at the end. 

“I’ve had enough of this.” Mustang had just about snapped. “I don’t need to hear any more childish excuses for your insufferable attitude, Elric.”

He was done. He refused to let a moody, rash, hot-headed, bad-mannered, immature, ungrateful teenager speak to him like this. 

No, this conversation was completely over. 

Yet, despite his overflowing frustration, Mustang suddenly found himself chucking. Before he knew it, the words from the nasty voice in the back of his mind had already slithered past his lips. 

“—You know something, Fullmetal? If I didn’t know any better, I’d ask if you kiss your mother with that mouth.”

The room went dead silent, aside from the rain. 

Hawkeye stared at the Colonel like he had just burned down a hospital. Her expression was a mixture of shock and horror, before her attention whipped over to the elephant in the room. 

And Ed, Ed…

He was completely still, head down, eyes hidden. Mustang watched carefully as his teenage subordinate opened his mouth, only to close it again. The boy looked as if his air was stuck in his throat. 

An uneasy weight began to pull down on Mustang’s gut. The silence slowly grew more and more suffocating. 

Slowly, Edward relaxed. Every tension in his body seemed to melt with an eerie calmness. His jaw, his neck, his shoulders, everything. He stood relaxed, face remaining invisible, clearly apathetic towards the two pairs of eyes watching his every move. 

Then, he turned around, and faced towards the exit of the room. 

Unable to see the boy’s face, Mustang watched in shock as the young prodigy casually walked to the door and placed his left hand over the handle. 

“—Ed, wait,” Hawkeye spoke with urgent caution. 

The boy’s hand hesitated. Gloved flesh gently held the knob with immeasurable care, giving the slightest opportunity for intervention. 

Before either of them could gather themselves and take advantage of the pause, Ed twisted the handle down and pulled open the door, slipping through without a sound. They had missed their chance. 

For the first time in Mustang’s career, the wooden barrier of his office closed behind the Fullmetal Alchemist with a soft click.