Al didn't even look up from his book when the door slammed hard enough to rattle the automail on the workbench next to him. "What did you fight about this time?"

Ed dropped into the other chair with a huff. "We've been planning this for years! 'When I retire, we'll move to the country and relax,'" he mimicked. "'When I retire, I'll finally have time to devote to all that alchemic research I've been wanting to do.' 'When I retire, we'll travel around the world.' 'When I retire, we'll stay in bed all day and -'" he glanced over at Al, pink tinting his cheeks. "Anyway, he's been retired for months, and he still spends all his time solving the Military's problems! Every day he gets twenty or thirty letters asking him to advise officers on things, and the phone's been ringing off the hook. We moved back to Resembool to get away from that!"

Al rolled his eyes. "I know all this, brother," he said pointedly.

Ed rested his chin on his fist. "Well, he sure doesn't. He just loves the attention. That's why he wanted to be Fuhrer in the first place, so everyone would kiss his ass. The problem is, he got too used to it. He can't go back to just being Roy Mustang."

Al snorted. "Right. He's the only one who likes to have people kiss his ass."

"What do you mean by that?" Ed's fist slammed against the table, his temper flaring predictably.

Al dogeared the page he was reading and pushed the book aside with a small sigh. "Oh, so you don't like reading about yourself in the paper? You don't 'accidentally' let your name drop in a crowd all the time, so that people ask if you're the Edward Elric? You don't bring up the hospital with complete strangers?"

Ed looked away with a scowl. "It's not the same at all," he muttered. "That's... it's... he's doing the exact same job he's been doing for ten years, only he's not getting paid for it anymore! Armstrong is a fine Fuhrer. Let him deal with the mess."

"And you've told all this to Roy?"

"Of course I have! He just never listens! He's too busy solving other people's problems to notice I even exist."

Al's look of disbelief made Edward narrow his eyes.

"Ed," Al began carefully, "you know that's not true. He would never have retired in the first place if he didn't want to spend more time with you."

Ed waved the assertion away. "Yeah, right. He probably just pissed off someone at Central and wanted a change of scenery. This way he can blame it on me."

Al's reply was cut off by the door slamming again. Even without the uniform, Roy Mustang managed to cut an impressive figure as he strode across the room. His gaze never left Ed's face as he yanked his chair back from the table and held out a hand. "Come on. We're going home."

Ed jumped out of his chair, an accusing finger already stabbing at Roy. "The hell we are! You can't just order me around! I'm not your subordinate anymore!"

Al sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose, where a headache was beginning to form. "Brother, just go with him. You know you'll end up doing it anyway. You might as well save us all some time."

Roy's smirk only made Ed sputter harder, looking back and forth between them.

"He's right, you know," Mustang said with as much smugness as he could muster.

"And tomorrow night you'll have another fight and be back here complaining," Al went on. "You've always been predictable, Ed." He reached for his book.

Finding himself outnumbered, Ed abruptly let his shoulders drop, considering. "Fine," he spat. "We'll go home. But don't think this means you've won."

The self-satisfied smile transformed into something warmer as Roy touched Ed's cheek lightly. "I never do."