Ask me why I'm still writing fanfiction instead of my orgo lab report. Go on. Ask me. I really want to see if I can come up with a half decent excuse for continuing to waste productivity because Mustang's still camping out with my muse. Hope you guys enjoy it, because my grades sure won't :(

It was just his luck that Colonel Bastard would call him in today, of all damn days.

(Oops, General Bastard. Sorry, not sorry.)

Just his luck.

Ed stalled for as long as he could, turning the call that had come just after to breakfast to one he answered two hours after lunch. Then he dawdled further in the front office, catching up with Mustang's staff and getting re-inundated on the office gossip that'd he been removed from; Breda had a new girlfriend, Havoc still had his old girlfriend Rebecca, Falman still had his pen collection, Fuery had a new pet cat...

Small talk was excruciatingly boring, normally. Actually, it still was today. But Ed was willing to try anything, if it could get him to stall on his reason for coming here until work ended, and it could be put off until the next day.

It probably would've worked, too, if Hawkeye hadn't been there.

But she was, and only half an hour until anxiously extending the conversation, the woman's piercing stare met his, and just like that, all plans for escaping were completely and hopelessly shattered.

Yeah, she knew he was stalling. She had the grace to not call him out on it, but she knew it.

Damn.

"Ahhh, so... hey, Hawkeye-"

She held up a hand to stop him before he could get farther than that.

Silently, the raised hand shifted into a finger point at the general's inner office, and she smiled slightly.

"Later, Edward," she promised, and was it just him, or was that smile slightly dangerous? "You shouldn't keep him waiting... the general won't bite, I promise."

Ed hesitated, shifting uneasily on his feet. He pulled at his collar, suddenly feeling uncomfortably hot, and glanced again towards the exit, definitely uneasy under all the attention and eager for any way out he could grab. "W-well... yeah, but... hey, anyone want coffee? I can go grab some before seeing what the idiot wants-"

Hawkeye raised an eyebrow at him in parallel with lifting her own, already present, mug of coffee. A blinked glance around the room and all four of Mustang's remaining staff did the same, and his brief burst of inspiration vanished.

"I..."

"Edward," Hawkeye said, and pointed towards Mustang's office again.

He slumped in defeat.

He may not have been in the military anymore- and, hell, he'd always outranked her even when he'd still been on the government's payroll- but Hawkeye had never been a woman he was willing to cross.

Even though the anxious pit deep in his stomach was still begging him to try.

With another reluctant look around the room, Ed tugged at his collar, did his best to straighten his shoulders, rearranged his features into a hopefully blank mask, and dragged himself into the meeting he'd been dreading all day.

Just, fuck his luck.

Mustang looked up when he stepped inside his inner office, eyebrow arcing past his hairline when he closed the door only to slump against it, glaring at the bastard through his bangs. "Finally get tired of distracting my staff?" he prodded, in his typical annoying away, and Ed glared harder.

"It's not my fault they prefer talking to me over you. Though, it's not surprising... winning personalities like my charm tend to beat out I'm a smug asshole and I'm useless if it's raining and I'm so stupid and ugly bleghness any day of the week..."

"Five stars on the impersonation. Really. This is my impressed face. See?" Mustang pointed at his flat, dead expression for a moment, and Ed let himself smirk before glancing away, slumping even more severely against the door. Maybe if he backed against it hard enough he could just melt away into the wood and disappear, and then this conversation would never have to happen.

Short but necessary spat now complete, the general leaned back in his command chair, irritation fading in favor of a genuine smile. Black eyes shifted to become a piercing stare inherited straight from Hawkeye, and Ed shifted uncomfortably under the examination. "So, Ed. How've you been?"

Ed grimaced, still leaning back against the door and truly wishing he could just fall straight through it back outside. "You know," he said evasively, rubbing his right shoulder, "the usual. So, what's up?"

Mustang raised an eyebrow again. "In a hurry, are we?"

"I'm just curious what this job is, Colonel Bastard."

Mustang watched him curiously a moment longer, definitely still suspicious, then just gave a mild shrug and reached down towards his desk with one hand, grabbing a folder and holding it out towards him. "That's General Bastard to you," he corrected mildly. "I worked hard for this promotion, you know."

"No, you didn't. You freaking overthrew the government. It was pretty much only either promote you or execute you. You were just lucky the new Fuhrer liked you."

"Excuse me, but 'freaking overthrowing the government' is actually very hard work," the general said loftily, and Ed glared at him even as he snatched the folder one-handedly and flipped it open.

Inside were blueprints to what looked like government buildings, a few snapshots of what were probably those same buildings, now in ruins, and then, at the very back, several drawn out transmutation circles. Ed went to those first, mind spinning at the alchemic symbols and fingers tingling, so focused he barely heard Mustang clear his throat again.

"Tentative truce has been reached in South City, for now- of course, not until the rebels took out southern command. I'll be headed down there next week to see the situation, and if things look well, I'll rebuild it myself. But my metal alchemy, is, ah... not the best..." He shrugged unhappily and waved a hand. "You're still the authority on it, Ed, even if you can't actually transmute anymore. So, I know it's not ideal, but do you see any problems in those circles?"

Ed almost blinked at the casual reference to his lack of alchemy, then stopped himself. He didn't mind it, actually- it was almost a relief. Most people tried to tiptoe around it, wary of mentioning it to him, treating him with a sort of kid gloves that was infuriating. It was actually refreshing to not be handled like that for once, and he grinned to himself, even as he hid it behind the folder. As much as Mustang liked to proclaim he was just a kid, the general would never coddle him.

Ed flipped through the sheets for a minute, transmutation circles drawn out in Mustang's steady but inexperienced hand, then rolled his eyes and yanked out the first one, turning it around for him to look at. "Right here, bastard. You're using the wrong equation."

"What?"

"You're using the wrong equation." Ed pointed out the flow of the energy, tracing it through the circle until he reached the problem area. "Actually a pretty common mistake, you know, for inept novices. You should be following Hasherholf's work on metallic conduction instead of Master Idiot's. It's been widely discredited."

"What?" Mustang looked at him again, clearly surprised. "By whom? I've never heard that."

"...Me and Al."

"That's not widely discredited, you idiot!"

"You're the idiot, and remember, you're coming to me for help!" Ed fired back, snatching the sheet back as well. "Listen, would this array reconstruct the building? Yeah- possibly- after you fixed some of the other minor problems. But it'd also put you in the hospital for weeks with exhaustion. This equation is dumb. It wastes so much energy. It's stupid- the only thing stupider is probably you."

Mustang sat back with a stubborn huff, folding his arms, tic pulsing away in his forehead smirk struggling against abashment. "Well," he nearly snarled, "I'd apologize, but I do seem to recall one pint sized idiot coming to me crying because he'd burned himself. How, you ask? Oh. That's right. He tried flame alchemy on his own and nearly blasted his hand off."

"I- that's different! There's like, two books on flame alchemy! Two! I was on my own! There's hundreds of books on metal alchemy; use them!"

Scowling even deeper now, the general rubbed his temples and continued to glare at him. "Be that as it may, kid, I'm not familiar with Hasherholf's work. I'll go the library tonight after I finish here, but seeing as I don't fancy spending my vacation in a hospital bed, can you draw out the correct symbols for me now?"

Ed's retort died in his mouth, and he found confidence draining away in a near instant. He looked from Mustang's expectant face to the circle and back again, stomach bottoming out and voice dying. "I..." He looked back to the array, fingers clenching tight until the corner of the sheet crinkled in his fist.

He'd known from the moment he'd told Mustang he would come in today that it was a mistake, and here was all the confirmation he needed.

Idiot, he chastised himself, IDIOT, why didn't you just tell him tomorrow?!

"...Edward?"

Stiffening under the knowing eyes, Ed glared harder at the sheet even as he dropped it back onto Mustang's desk, shortly followed by the rest of the folder. "I can't right now," he said evasively, and continued to glare at the polished wood. "Tomorrow?"

"...Well, yes, that's fine, but shouldn't it only take a few minutes?"

Ed shifted his feet unhappily, still unable to meet Mustang's stare. "Tomorrow," he repeated firmly.

"...Edward, is something wrong?"

The vehement no didn't come out, for some reason. He wasn't really sure why not, just that he opened his mouth, fully prepared to give the usual bullshit assurance, and then, just- nothing.

Maybe it was because Mustang, of all the people in the world, would actually understand. Possibly- or, at the very least, he wouldn't be coddled for it. Maybe it was because he was a right bastard but did still care, in his own way, and Ed knew if he lied through his teeth now he wouldn't get away with it. Maybe he was just tired of lying about it and wanted to tell someone.

Regardless of the reason, his usual denial didn't happen.

A few moments passed in steady silence, Ed still watching the ground. He could feel Mustang watching him, though, and so he managed to pull himself together enough to muster a bright, false smile, and look up to meet the general's eyes with a lot more confidence than he actually felt.

"My right arm's completely numb," he said cheerfully.

Mustang blinked.

A few moments later, he was rising in alarm, and Ed stopped him with a raised hand, the only hand he could move. "Don't worry," he went on, just as stubbornly cheerfully. "It'll pass. This just happens sometimes. Probably take a few hours, but tomorrow it'll be fine. So... I'll just draw out the circles tomorrow."

The general continued to stare at him, clearly still takenaback and worried, and Ed let his smile drop with a sigh, glancing away. "It's nothing serious," he promised weakly, as much to remind himself as it was to reassure Mustang. "Just... sometimes, this arm goes numb. I can't feel a thing." He pulled at his right hand with his left to demonstrate, allowing the limb to flop limply by his side. "It's really okay... doesn't hurt or anything. There's just not anything I can really do until the feeling decides to come back."

Slowly, Mustang began to lower himself back into his chair, but it was clear he was still worried. "...Seince you seem flagrantly unconcerned, I'm assuming you have an explanation for why it happens?"

Ed shrugged one shoulder. "I was with Winry the first time, about a month after the Promised Day. She and Aunt Pinako had no idea; they just kept telling me if it was nerve damage from the amputation or automail, it wouldn't have waited weeks to kick in. I, uh... it's a pretty shitty excuse for a hypothesis, since I have no way to prove or disprove it, but..." He glared at his feet, trying to make himself say it- trying to convince himself Mustang wasn't about to laugh at him for the childish idiocy trying to spill out of his mouth.

"...The way I figure it..." he stalled a moment longer, coughing, then just shook his head at himself and dived in to reputation suicide.

"I think it's just the Truth."

He waited quietly, uneasily, feeling the weight of Mustang's heavy stare burn into the back of his neck.

"..The Truth?"

Ed sighed reluctantly. "He's not happy he had to return this, I think." He tugged on his right arm again. "I think you, me, and Al are the only people to ever get something back the Gate took. He likes to remind me sometimes not to get too conceited I managed it... that he'd take it back just as easily if I ever made those same mistakes again." He looked away again, watching the clouds drift by the window and trying not to feel the cold, deadened numbness of his arm that reminded him so much of automail.

Mustang didn't say anything for a while, and Ed sighed, rubbing his shoulder. It really was the best explanation he could come up with. That that cold, grinning thing that was all at once the entire world and a creature that existed inside them all would gladly rip off his arm again and this time devour it right in front of him, never to give it back and punishment for daring to challenge it. Because what the Gate took, the Gate took. The Gate was not supposed to give back.

But he and Al had done it. They'd gotten past the Gate together.

Truth probably didn't like that.

"...Does Al or Winry know how bad it is?" Mustang asked quietly, voice filtering in through the silence, and Ed jolted. His dead arm swayed with the motion.

"No," he said back, still not quite meeting his eyes. "I told them at first, but they'd get so worried, and there's just nothing they can do... I just stopped, after a while. No point in scaring them. I know Al doesn't believe me... he doesn't like to talk about it, but sometimes, he says he can feel- less like a person, and more like a soul, if that makes any sense," he tried vaguely, knowing that it didn't. "Truth calling back his body, probably. It's really scary for him."

And who was he to complain, really, when all he had was a dead arm next to his brother's feeling of weightlessness and a tug away from this world that could rip him from his body and leave him dead as a soulless husk on the mud? He didn't have the right to complain. He'd gotten Al his body back, and Al had gotten him his arm back- far more than he had ever expected, and certainly more than his sins deserved. If this was the price for his life now, he'd gladly pay it.

His dead arm swayed a little when he shifted his weight again, and Ed sighed, trying to convince himself it really didn't bother him.

He heard Mustang's chair creak as the general sat back again, and risked a glance up to find him no longer being stared at. Instead, the man was gazing blankly down at his desk, eyes unfocused, and for a split second, it reminded him of Mustang's eyes when he'd been blind.

"What?" he snapped, and there was far more venom in his voice than he'd intended. "What, are you going to laugh at me now? I know it's a stupid hypothesis. I already said that. I know Truth's got better shit to worry about than a few arrogant humans like us; I know it's dumb and childish to think he's actually going out of his way to make my life suck. But there's just no medical reason for it- and if medicine can't explain it, then alchemy's the only answer that makes sense! I never had this problem when I still had the automail, so- well! You got a better idea, Mustang?!"

The general blinked, raising his stare up from his desk to stare at him. "...What?" he trailed off in confusion, seeming completely and utterly lost. "Ed, I... I wasn't going to laugh at you." He continued to look at him for a few more moments, clearly confused as to where that last outburst had come from, then apparently decided to not question him on it when he leaned back in his chair again, eyes turning hazy.

"...You know I still don't do too well if it's too light or too dark," he said abruptly, and he waved a hand at the dim lights above him. "Marcoh told me it was because he couldn't heal all the damage. I was lucky, of course; Truth only sliced through the optic nerves- he didn't actually take my eyes." He laughed quietly, but it was a bitter and morbid sound. "But... it's rare, but, I... there are some mornings that I wake up, and... and I can't see."

Ed started in surprise.

Mustang blinked slowly at the admission, waving a hand as if it was no big deal, but Ed could see in the tense set of his shoulders that it was. "It's like yours," he said easily, dark eyes lifting to meet his again. "Takes hours to come back, and if you're looking for a medical explanation, there's not one. I asked Marcoh about it the first time, and he had no idea. He couldn't explain it at all."

Ed continued to stare at him, takenaback. Mustang had dealt with it, too? Granted, if he'd been right about the Truth, it would only make logical sense- but he'd just never expected it. He'd always figured the man would've said something...

Mustang shrugged slightly, still watching him. "Won't deny it's a little unsettling. It's easy to worry it's permanent, every time I wake up, and, well..." He waved a hand in front of his eyes illustratively.

Ed shook his head decisively, ignoring the little beat of sympathetic fear that chimed inside him, because yes, he knew exactly how that fear felt. "Nope. Can't happen. If I'm right, and it's just the Truth reminding us about what it can take- well, even the Truth lives bound by equivalent exchange, Mustang. You got your sight back, me, my arm, and Al, his body, all by trading something equivalent. We'd have to be stupid enough to go for human transmutation again to initiate a trade for him to even try and take it back." He grinned a little, in spite of himself. "The Truth may be salty at us for getting our shit back, but there's just nothing he can do about it."

"...Did you just call the Truth salty?"

"What?" Ed groused, shrugged at Mustang's aghast expression. "He's not God. I can call him whatever I want."

"I suppose, but..." The general leaned back and laughed himself, shaking his head. "Hell. Is this usually what you do on days like this? Talk shit about the Truth?"

Ed felt his easy grin faded, and his left hand lifted of its own accord, rubbing the unresponsive flesh of his shoulder again. "Nah. Like I said, I try to hide it from Winry and Al, but it's pretty hard to hide that you can't use one of your arms, so I normally just head out, go sit by the river or something, if I'm in Risembool. If I'm in Central I'll just stay in my hotel room. Order takeout." He sighed, glancing down at his fingers and willing some of the feeling to return to them.

"You shouldn't spend days like that alone, Ed," Mustang admonished quietly.

"Oh, shut up. What, you're all buddy buddy with people when your eyesight goes?"

Mustang gave a weak laugh, wincing a little. "If I had my way, I'd probably do like you, actually. But Hawkeye won't let me. She insists on staying with me for the day, in case I need something." He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, but the fond smile was unmistakeable. "She just worries easily, you know."

"Oh, yeah. I'm sure that's all it is."

The general groaned. "It's not what you're insinuating, pipsqueak. She really does just worry. ...The first time it happened, I couldn't even find my phone to call in to work. She had to drive to my apartment when I didn't show up and found me nearly in hysterics..." He gave a pained sigh. "I thought I was permanently blind again, you understand. Now that I know that's the not the case it's not nearly as bad, but, after that, she refuses to leave me alone whenever it happens." He glanced sidelong at Ed, one eyebrow arcing slightly in a quiet examination.

At last, Mustang shifted, shaking off the depressed air and planted his hands firmly on his desk, head tilting in a confident nod. "All right. I am making an executive decision. Next time, Edward," he waggled his finger at him, "you are unable to move your arm, provided you are in Central, you will come here."

"Wh- what?!" he spluttered, shocked, but Mustang was not done.

"Yes. Additionally, if you are in Risembool, while I do not expect you to catch the next train out, I do expect the courtesy of a phone call."

"What?!" Ed gasped again, horrified. "You're insane, bastard!"

"No," Mustang said smugly. "I am practical. In that state of temporary defenselessness, it's best if you're somewhere I can keep an eye on you. You've still got quite a lot of enemies, after all."

"Fuck you, I'm not-"

"If I must make it an order, I will."

"I'm not even in the military anymore!"

"Fullmetal."

Ed nearly snarled in exasperation. Who the hell did the general think he was, ordering him about like he was still the military's dog? Ass. As if he needed protection. As if spending the day here was anywhere on his list of things to do. Being alone was best, because it meant no pitying stares, no having to hold up small talk, no dealing with people at all, just himself and his thoughts.

He looked at Mustang again, preparing to say exactly that, then found himself stilling at the look in his eye.

The general was still trying to hide it behind smugness and irritating bastardry, but...

He looked worried.

For me.

Ed sighed quietly, his resistance fading.

He'd never admit it aloud, and knew Mustang wouldn't either, not if his life depended on him- but, the two of them were actually quite similar.

Right now, the way he felt, Ed knew he tended to seclude himself away from people, drawing back and isolating himself- even when some small part of himself stubbornly reminded him that people like Mustang's staff, his friends, were good for him. They distracted him; his mind would turn so easily to distraction, and that would stop him from descending into dark worries about permanent paralysis or irritated musings about the dammed Truth or just depressing shit it wasn't good to think about.

And Mustang was the same way.

They both drew away from their friends when they needed them the most.

He fought back a weak smile, thinking back on what Mustang had said again, and realizing that the hour or so he'd spent here was really the best he'd felt all day.

Rotten old bastard actually does care.

"...Fine," he said quietly, continuing to watch the general. "I'll call."

He winced at the way Mustang didn't look smugly victorious and only faintly relived and quickly went on, trying to push that unsettling emotion off and immediately return the favor in the same breath- because alchemist or not, equivalent exchange was still twined into every part of his being. "But only if you promise to do the same, Mustang. You know- if you can even get to the phone."

And his mission was accomplished, when the relief vanished, and in its place was just a tolerant eyebrow arced at him in amusement. "Low blow, kid."

Ed shrugged slightly. "Whatever. I just mean... Same arrangement applies, I guess. If I'm in Risembool, well, don't expect anything, but if I'm in Central... I'll try to come over. You know. Give you a break from Hawkeye or whatever..." he trailed off, mumbling, and valiantly ignored the pink flush rising.

No. He didn't care. It was just equivalent exchange, that was all.

When Mustang looked at him strangely, Ed coughed and cleared his throat, having to explain. "...Like you said. Shouldn't be alone on days like that."

No, he definitely didn't care.

Mustang just watched him for several moments, dark eyes unreadable, then at last coughed uncomfortably and looked back down towards his papers, clearly just as uneasy with this as Ed was. "Thanks, kid," he muttered, and with the words it looked like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

They both held their silence for a few moments, Ed glancing alternately between Mustang and the floor, Mustang just staring at his desk, until at last the general cleared his throat in a business-like manner, signaling an end to all things Mushy and Emotional and Not-Edward-or-Mustang. "So, Fullmetal- what exactly do you think you're doing, just standing there?"

"...What?"

The general smirked and pointed towards the nearly forgotten folder on the edge of his desk. "You have some work to do, don't you?"

Ed just stared at him. "Um, I'm right-handed, genius. I can't write-"

"Excuses, excuses," Mustang said easily, waving him off. "You can still find all the flaws and brainstorm how to fix them." He pointed at the couch in the corner of his office with his pen. "After all, I didn't invite you here to look pretty."

A few moments of shocked disbelief later, Ed found himself snatching the folder up with a growl, seething all over again. "Screw you, bastard. Sure, I'll go look over the shit-show you're calling metal alchemy. But you might want to be a little nicer to me, you know... unless you want the building you're trying to fix to fall down on your head."

"You wouldn't dare."

"You're an idiot if you think I wouldn't."

"No," Mustang chuckled, smirking. "You wouldn't dare, because I would then force you to fix it for me. By hand."

That said, the general returned to his pile of paperwork, radiating smugness, and Ed very quickly ducked back behind his own file, reminding himself that no matter how serious he sounded, Mustang did have a heart, and wouldn't really do it.

"You're an old softie, you know," he remarked, still hidden behind his file. "You try and act tough, but you can't deny it now. You're an old, soft softie. With bastard flavor."

"The categories are mutually exclusive, Ed. You are either soft or a bastard. Not both."

"Softie bastard."

"...You know, I don't think I like that one. Can you just go back to bastard?"

"Softie." He grinned. "Bastard."

Mustang glared at him from over the edge of his file, irritation flickering in dark eyes. "I definitely don't like you anymore."

"And yet, you just invited me to spend the day in your office. Guess you're a stupid softie bastard now."

There was another soft grunted growl of annoyance, the general's fist clenching into a white-knuckled grip over his folder. "Go back to your work, Fullmetal," he groused out, clearly trying to sound annoyed, but even though he tried to hide it, Ed still caught the trademark smirk softening to a fond smile as he ducked back behind his paperwork.