Edward kicked the door in to Mustang's office with his hands shoved in the pockets of his black leather pants. It was his usual method of entry into the office, the much-abused door barely sat right on its hinges any more. Eventually Mustang would make him fix it; he seemed to like using and abusing Edward's alchemy to get menial chores done instead of letting the people who actually got paid to fix shit actually do their damn job.
What Edward expected was that Mustang would be sitting at his desk, leaned back in that desk chair with his legs crossed and a lazy expression on his face as he put off whatever work he was supposed to be completing. It was the usual state that Edward found the man in - he had managed to elevate procrastination to an art that Edward did not quite understand - but he was okay with that. Because there was often something in Mustang's face when he kicked in the door ... irritation, amusement and the barest trace of lust that slipped through the facade and was gone just that quick.
He was good with his masks, Edward knew that now. What he had taken for casual indifference was just the blank slate that Mustang kept on nearly unconsciously. He had to be watching closely to catch his true emotions. If he was observant enough, sometimes Edward could accurately guess Mustang's moods just by the amount of color he could pick out of his eyes.
However, Mustang wasn't seated behind the desk - he was standing in front of it, next to Lieutenant Hawkeye. They both looked up when the door banged against the wall, sharp as the crack of a gun. Edward did not have to look that closely to judge the emotion in the room - the mask had cracked already; relief washed over both Mustang and the Lieutenant's faces in a wave.
Edward glanced between them, his bravado faltering at the expression on their faces. They had not expected to see him, and usually his arrival did not herald relief, but frustration. "What's ... goin' on?" Edward asked.
"Fullmetal," Mustang said, and his voice at least seemed normal. "Where's Alphonse?"
"Back at the barracks," Edward said. "Why?"
Mustang glanced at Hawkeye and nodded. "Get the second division on stand-by, is the fire brigade on scene?"
"Yes, sir." Hawkeye's tone was no-nonsense. "The car will be downstairs momentarily."
"Good. Get General Smith on the line for me, please."
Lieutenant Hawkeye saluted Mustang, and she cast a knowing look at Edward as she walked past him that made him the slightest bit uncomfortable. Edward watched her disappear into the outer office before turning back to Mustang in confusion. "What the hell-" Edward started to say, but was stopped in his tracks as Mustang crushed him into a hug.
"Thank god you're all right," Mustang said, his face pressed to the side of Edward's head. "I thought you would be there today, we don't know how bad the casualties are-"
Edward stood ramrod straight, his arms pinned to his sides by Mustang's arms. He could feel, ever so slightly, the tremble in Mustang's arms and now his voice. Edward worked Mustang's arms up just a bit, so he could slide his arms around Mustang's body. He was willing, silently, for Mustang to stop that slight tremble, it was freaking him out. Mustang could not be that afraid, he couldn't. "What happened?" he asked, as Mustang held him close.
"There was some kind of explosion at the main branch of the library," Mustang said. "It nearly leveled an entire wing; they think it might have been a gas line rupture but there are plenty of dissident groups right now who would love to take credit for a bombing." His arms tightened around Edward. "I honestly thought," Mustang said.
"Well don't think, you'll hurt yourself," Edward said. "I'm fine, we weren't even going to be in the library today. I woke up to Al freaking out because the stray cat he picked up without my knowledge wasn't just fat, it had kittens in my coat."
Mustang actually chuckled. He released Edward slowly, and when Edward looked up at his face he realized exactly how tired Mustang looked. "I'm here," Edward said, softly, and Mustang gave him a startled look. "I'm okay, and I'm here. What do you need me to do?"
This thing that was there between them right now, Edward was not sure what it was. It seemed deeper and heavier than either of them, it seemed like a thousand years in the space of a single heartbeat. Then Mustang put his hands on Edward's shoulder and kissed his forehead. "Be safe," Mustang said.
Edward glared at him, that was not what he had asked at all and Mustang knew it; but before he could open his mouth to retort the phone on Mustang's desk rang. "That will be General Smith," Mustang said. His hand lingered on Edward's shoulder, like if he stopped touching him Edward would cease to exist. But then whatever strange sickness that had gripped Mustang seemed to evaporate, and his professional mask settled back into place as he picked up the phone. "Mustang."
And then, Edward realized as his stomach curled up in on itself, what that thing between them was. Mustang was writing something down, and he happened to glance up at Edward. Their eyes locked and he stopped writing. Edward knew. He watched Mustang glance back down at the paper, and then hang up the phone with General Smith.
"I want to help," Edward said. "Where do you want me?"
"Here," Mustang said as he folded the paper over and tucked it in his pocket. "Away from the danger, Fullmetal."
He moved to pass Edward. "I'm not a kid," Edward snarled. "I can be useful."
Mustang looked at him. Loyalty was not something Edward gave lightly and they both knew it. Mustang nodded then, tugging on the ends of his gloves as if to reassure himself that he was still wearing them. "All right," he said, more to himself than Edward. "Havoc's pulling the car around. Let's go."