Coaxing him to pick out the man in a line up was simple. Finding the man's address was a cinch. Driving there wasn't too bad either; the traffic he witnessed driving to Eastern Command the morning prior had dissipated completely upon his departure. It was knocking on the door that presented itself as a strenuous challenge. He had no idea how he was going to do this. The trip wasn't authorized, nor was it encouraged or even tolerable. They didn't have nearly as much evidence for a warrant, we was just going to hope that the man didn't request one. Shakily, he brought a pale fist to the cherry-wood door and knocked in an inconsistent pattern. After a deafening silence interrupted only by a distant ruffle of feet against hardwood flooring, it creaked open in reply to Roy's knock and he found himself face to face with Brigadier General Liam. His fingers switched with the urge to salute the general, but he reminded himself why he was there and it steeled his resolve efficiently.

"Liam." He greeted, disgust littering his tone.

"Colonel Mustang, what are you doing here?"

"I know what you did. To my subordinate. My under-aged subordinate." Fury and prolonged wrath burst forth, unveiled in his words.

"Oh, that." He sighed, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes, "Look. I don't want any trouble, Colonel. Why don't you get back in your nice little automobile and drive away?"

"Because that would make you happy, wouldn't it? Now I can't have that. Not after what you did."

"What are you suggesting, Colonel? You're not going to tattle, are you?"

"You did that to a thirteen-year-old boy, and you're calling me provoking justice tattling? You're head's not screwed on nice and tight, is it?"

"Oh, it's screwed on tight enough. Screwed just like your little toy soldier." Anger flew off Mustang in spades, animosity perturbing his usually head-turning features. Flaring in his eyes was hatred as he realized the man was not only proud of his actions, but had the audacity to flaunt it right in front of his face. Boy scouts don't tempt a mother bear with a knife to their cub, just like Brigadier Generals don't gloat about scarring the Fullmetal Alchemist to the Flame Alchemist. Mr. Liam was just being stupid at this point.

And he really should've gotten the message that what he was doing was like playing with matches. Very, very overprotective matches with their child in the hospital.

Mustang curled his fists slowly, debating if striking him was worth the court martial it would merit him. Liam noticed this and glibly put in,

"You know what I think the best part was?"

You have to hand it to the Brigadier General, no matter how stupid he truly is, he didn't wilt under the death glare Mustang shot him, confirming to him that he had gotten his attention like he wanted to. He just wasn't going to like what that entailed.

"Hearing him scream. You should've heard it, Colonel. It was priceless. Because you know what he said to me before on the mission? Wasn't afraid of anything. Nothing scared him. Least of all me. He was proud, Colonel, so full of pride. And it felt so great to knock it out of him, to reduce him to a puddle, to watch him beg for mercy. I guess you could say, this has been a wonderful week. Thanks to that boy of yours. And you. You know, if you hadn't brought him into the military, I wouldn't have the rank over him to—"

"Shut up!" Mustang shouted. During Liam's spiel he had started shaking slightly, and each word muttered from his mouth only intensified the rage causing his form to tremble like a leaf caught in a hurricane.

"Shut up! Shut up!"

Silence rung for some time before Liam uncrossed his arms and tilted his head.

"Struck a nerve, have I?" his eyes drifted to his fists that were itching to punch him, and he smirked, the same smirk that was allegedly carved into Roy's lips 24/7 and it felt so wrong seeing it on this demon spawn, "You wouldn't hit a higher officer, would you? A colonel hitting a brigadier general would be massacre on your critically acclaimed reputation. Is the pipsqueak really worth the trouble of—"

Roy almost contemplated not hitting the man. More than anything, he wanted to keep his composure, keep the battle of words on his sides at all times. Be the smirking bastard he had trained himself to be. But when the roles were reversed, leaving him to stare with bare resentment at a smirking bastard, it was so hard to restrain himself. And he had tried to, he really had. But then he thought about the distant boy swathed in the white hospital sheet. He thought about how Edward stumbled over his words, terrified of what he might say. He thought about the golden gaze that fell upon him so many times, pleading and desperate for support, for approval, a burning desire to trust him, but still scared of rejection. He thought about the way Edward read in between the lines so often, misreading all of the comfort Roy had tried to give him, rethinking and over-thinking what everyone thought of him. Which was a shame, because the boy who was Edward Elric before didn't care what anyone thought of him. He thought about the way he had picked up a nervous disorder of scratching his arm in a scared and indecisive fashion. He thought of the screams from his nightmares. He thought of the way Ed had asked why he cared, why a nobody like himself could deserve a man to wait at his bedside every night just for the chance to placate him with such disbelief and desperation. Edward's own father didn't even bother to stay when he wasn't in complete disarray, so why would anyone else stay when he so clearly was? He thought about how uncertain Ed was when Alphonse would tell him he loved him. Alphonse and Edward were the closest of brothers and whatever this bastard had done made Edward think he could never be loved. He was second guessing Alphonse! His sun, his world, his brother! It was just so wrong.

So, no, Roy didn't care that he was punching a superior officer. He didn't care about what it would do to his career, his reputation. He wasn't even thinking of the fuehrership when he clocked him hard in the jaw. None of it mattered compared to the insatiable whispers to punch the bastard and punch him hard. He wanted the man to bleed. He wanted the man to repent. More than anything, he wanted to see the man broken.

No, more than anything, he wanted to see Edward fixed.

But right now, he just wanted to let someone feel his wrath.

"If you ever come near Edward again, if you harm a single hair on his head, I will decapitate you, burn your headless body until nothing can be recognized beneath piles and piles of ash, collect the ashes in a jar, get a taxidermist to hollow out your head and fill it with the ashes, then put it on my desk to use as a paperweight for all to see."

"You have…" he mutely gagged, "quite an imagination, sir."

"You bet I do. And you bet I'll use it."

The man nodded vigorously, true terror shining where smarminess had once been planted. Mustang patted the man's shoulder.

"Glad you see it my way."

Colonel Roy Mustang walked down the steps to his house, got in his nice little automobile, and drove away.

Liam had heard of the phrase, mess with a cub, feel the wrath of a lion, but this was just outrageous.

AN: Not sure if this is a one-shot or a chapter fic.

So. I'm not going to identify what the guy did to Ed. I have my theory. But I'd love to hear yours.