Title: A Familiar Dance
Characters: Mostly Ed and Roy
Summary:In order to win a battle, one must know their opponent's weakness and use it against them.
Disclaimer: If I owned FMA, then I wouldn't be poor and this wouldn't be a fanfic.
Rating: K/G
Warnings: Slight language warning.

"Why don't you just give up? We both know that this wild goose chase of yours is just that : A wild goose chase. What you're looking for doesn't exist and what you're trying to do is not only impossible, but illegal."

It was a familiar argument -- a far too familiar argument -- and Edward was getting damn-near sick of it and just couldn't understand how Mustang wasn't too.

The blonde had just returned to Eastern Head Quarters after yet another lead had gone dry. It was just no use, Edward had thought on the train back. Every time they thought that they'd found something solid, something that could finally lead them to the answers they needed, it turned out to be a hoax; or a misunderstanding; or a tall tale; or just stupid rumors that had started out of some ancient alchemist hundreds of years ago that had performed so-called "miracles" but with no more proof than what people said about him. Really, not even a written document; what logical person would actually believe that?

What was the point, though? When every lead ended in a dead end and every "Stone" turned out to be either fake or just hadn't even existed at all?

But what right did Mustang have to tell him it was impossible? What right did a man who never even left the comfort of his office unless it was to go home, on a date, or because the Fuhrer had commandeered it, have to tell Edward -- who'd been working his ass off in the field since he'd been twelve years old -- that what he was trying to do was impossible?

He didn't, that's what!

Mustang had no idea what it was like beyond his own desk and his own blind ambitions and devious plots to take over the world. While Edward had been dealing with the scum of the Earth (present company included) in order to do something noble and save his brother's life. How could you possibly compare the two?

You couldn't. It was as simple as that and Edward was just about to point it out to his commanding officer when they were both startled by a loud crash from the outer office. Both alchemists were on their feet in an instant, Mustang tugging his embroidered gloves on while Edward threw open the door.

"Chaos" was a rather strong word for the scene they walked in on, but it wasn't exactly orderly either. Alphonse was on the ground in front of Riza Hawkeye's desk, surrounded by various items that used to be on her desk, as well as other soldiers. There was a chair lying on its side next to the broken glass from what looked like it had once been a light bulb and one of the hanging lamps above it was swinging back and forth from the ceiling.

Mustang stood back as Edward rushed to his brother, pushing aside his superiors carelessly.

"Al!" he shouted, concern clear in his voice as he hunched over to look in the hollow eyes of armor. "Al, are you alright?"

"Of course I am, Brother," Alphonse replied, a cheerfulness in his voice that simply couldn't be shown on his face. "One of the light bulbs just went out and I said I could change it since I'm so tall, but even I couldn't reach it so I stood on a chair but I accidentally tipped it over. I'm fine, though," he said, rapping lightly on the side of his helmet. "It'll take a lot more than that to hurt me, though I'm afraid I made a bit of a mess out of First Lieutenant Hawkeye's desk."

The woman assured him that there was no harm done but Alphonse insisted on helping her reclean her desk anyway while Fury went about sweeping up the broken glass and Falman replaced the broken light bulb with a fresh one.

With all of the commotion going on, there only one person left to see the flicker of emotions across Edward's face as he knelt on the floor: Sadness, at first, and guilt, which then turned into a brooding thoughtfulness and, finally, the familiar fierce determination that the FullMetal Alchemist was known for.

The room fell silent as Edward stood, a grim smile on his face as he turned back towards Roy and spoke.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe the Philosopher's Stone doesn't exist. But when has that ever meant anything to anyone? Cars didn't exist a hundred years ago; telephones didn't exist two hundred years ago. Fire doesn't exist in this room right now yet, with a snap of your fingers the whole building could be in flames. Just because something doesn't exist doesn't mean it can't. All you need are the right ingredients and the right way to put them together and anything can be made.

"And I will find out what those ingredients are and what that way is, Mustang. You can count on that, if only so that I can prove you wrong for once."

Edward spun around, his braid lightly hitting his shoulder as he called for Alphonse . The younger boy quickly finished straightening a pile of papers on Hawkeye's desk and bowed politely to the Colonel before hurrying after his brother, his clunky armor body clattering away with him.

Five pairs of eyes turned to their superior once the brothers were gone but Roy merely cleared his throat quietly and shut the door behind him as he disappeared back into his office. Things went back to normal outside, he could hear, but his calm expression didn't falter for a moment until he was safely seated behind his desk. Resting his elbows on a few piles of paperwork, the Colonel steepled his fingers and grinned.

Edward was so very predictable.

-End