AN: I was looking back one day at my 6th Grade memories when I remembered that we had an end-of-the-year softball game between the teachers and students. Needless to say that the teachers were outnumbered like 78 to 13. You should have thought we won, right? WRONG!!! They BUTCHERED us!!!!!! We reeked big time! And so I thought, "why not recreate the past and put it like an annual thing in the military?" And so, this was created.

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Edward and Alphonse Elric arrived at the Central headquarters early that March afternoon. It was really a pleasant day: the sun was out, a few select clouds, white as pure snow, floated through and endless sea of blue, and the moderate 70-degrees temperature all made it like the perfect day to be outside. too bad that that wasn't what the brothers expected at all. No, they were reporting back on their search for the philosopher's stone in a city east from here. They weren't adverse to getting the opportunity to travel about Amestris on a Military-budgeted crusade - it was what came after that. A sky-high report on their progress and the condition of the city in question.

Ed ran a gloved hand through his braided blond hair. "Darnnit," he mumbled, "I don't want to write this report! I thought alchemists got to roam around and pretty much do whatever in the world they wanted. Who wouldda thought that they'd get stuck doing desk work?"

Next to him, Al's light-hearted chuckle echoed throughout the space of his armored body. "Look on the bright side, Ed," he replied, "at least now the memories of what happened will be engraved in your mind. You won't have to worry about forgetting them."

Edward sighed, an annoyed look still plastered on his mug. "Yeah, but still it's not just me worrying about writing the stupid thing. It's who I'm writing it for. I know I need a copy for the Colonel (he's the one who set this whole operation up), but for the Fuhrer too. Who would have thought an old geezer like him would be so interested in the stone."

"Did you say something, Mr. Elric?" the Fuhrer Bradley asked pointedly, coming into Edward's line of vision. Ed nearly jumped out of his skin as he collapsed backward to avoid having his face smooshed right into the head of the Amestrian country. A haze of cold sweat dampened the whole of the older brother's face as he searched for an alternate explanation to his statement (other than the truth!) The pint-sized Alchemist opened his maw to apologize and beg for the safety of his job, when Al slammed a gigantic padded hand over his mouth.

"Nope!" Alphonse swiftly, so much that the syllables tumbled over themselves. "He didn't say anything! No sir-ee! Not a single word mumbled! We need to get going now! It was nice running into you, Fuhrer sir. Bye!" Quick as a wink, Alphonse clanked down the hallway towards Mustang's office - a distraught and squirming Edward trailing in his wake, leaving a very confused Fuhrer Bradley behind.

Alphonse didn't stop running until he was certain they were out of sight. He pulled Edward out from behind him, growing timid at the utter look of shock and distress that contorted his features. Raising Edward up in front of him, dangling by his automail arm like a fish fro a hook, Al tentatively poked his ribs. "Brother?"

"WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT FOR???!!!!" Edward suddenly burst. Al dropped him as if his white-hot anger was physically touchable and waited for Edward's wrath to continue. "WHAT"S THE BIG IDEA SUFFOCATING ME AND THEN LEAVING ME TO BE BEAT UP BY THOSE SHOVELS YOU CALL FEET???!!!"

Alphonse bowed the horned helmet that served as his head, ashamed. "I'm sorry, Brother," he apologized. "But you need to be careful about what you say. What if I hadn't intervened and you lost your right to be a State Alchemist? How would we have gotten our bodies back then?"

Billows of dust mites that had been clung onto Edward's crimson coat floated to the carpet from whence they came as he brushed them off. "I know you meant well, Al and you're right, but I was only - "

"Hey! Edward! Alphonse! I thought I heard you two out here! How ya doin'?" Maes Hughes's voice carried down to them from the door behind them. What they didn't know was that upon opening the door, Hughes had unknowingly smacked Ed upside the head and was now clutching the decent-sized purple and blue welt that had resulted. "Oops, sorry Ed. I didn't see ya there."

"It's. Okay." The harshness of the two words told that an inferno was just barley being kept under control. Al helped his brother up to his feet before addressing the person that could be considered a true friend and mentor within the military.

"Nice to see you too, Mr. Hughes," Alphonse replied with a slight bow. He paused when he noticed the Lieutenant-Colonel was not dressed in his usual attire of the navy blue with gold trimming jacket and pants, but a pair of casual jeans, a white shirt with some sort of logo on it and a pair of cleats. "Uh, is there a reason you're dressed like that?"

"Huh?" Hughes looked down at his attire before answering. "Oh yeah, that. Well, every year around this time the Military has a chance to relax and take a break from the harsh toils of everyday life, so we devised a company baseball game to celebrate that. And for the whole week no work is to be done."

The phrase "no work to be done" piqued the Fullmetal Alchemist's interest. "What does that mean exactly?"

"Gee, Ed, I'm afraid I can't put it any blunter by saying no on is assigned nor turning in any assignments during the week and any work that was being assigned has been moved to next week."

A new light blazed in twin pools of gold. "YOU MEAN I WON'T HAVE TO WRITE THAT STUPID REPORT?!"

Hughes smiled. "Nope, so you've come at a pretty good time!"

"That's great!" Alphonse agreed. "Looks like you have nothing to stress over, Brother." Then, with a hidden grin, added, "Do you think we can participate in the game too?"

"Sure! Why not? The more the merrier! Come on in and we'll get you suited up!"

Before anyone could even randomly say "cheese" Edward and Alphonse whizzed passed Hughes - and burst out laughing at the sight of Colonel Mustang in a matching white shirt with the same logo and knee-length shorts that clung to his thighs like a second skin. If the brothers didn't know better, they'd say their commander was losing circulation in his legs.

Edward pointed cheekily, all the while laughing through his teeth, "Nice outfit, Colonel! Did you have a mid-life crisis moment?"

Mustang clenched his fists until his knuckles where chalky white. A mask of red smothered his face. "Knock it off," Mustang growled through clenched teeth. He moved to take a step forward.

"I think I heard a rip!" Ed gasped.

Alphonse moved to wipe an imaginary tear of mirth form his eye. "We're sorry, Colonel. It's just we've never seen you in shorts before!" He couldn't help but give in to another bout of giggles.

Mustang was only an inch from being pushed too far. "I swear if you keep this up I'll come over there and knock you upside the head myself!"

"So what's stopping you?" Edward asked, taking a seat on the floor.

Then something happened that they never would have expected from the Flame Colonel that would haunt them forever when they awoke in the dead of night: Roy began to cry! "These shorts!"

"Pay no attention to him, boys," Riza's voice entered. All four - Maes had come from his place at the door to help poke fun of Roy (great friend, huh?) - turned their eyes over to where they were sitting in a nearby chair. Edward, Alphonse, and Roy's mouth dropped miles at the sight of the tough-as-nails military woman (of course Hughes isn't going to react! He's married! Hello!). The blond woman had her hair down and was cascading down her back in a waterfall of gold; her upper body was decorated in the same white tank-top with the logo right across her chest; and her legs were covered by a pair of short-jean shorts. If the three males had been dogs, they would have been begging for the milk-bones! (well, maybe not Ed). Riza lifted her brown eyes with a rare, good-natured smile. "He's just a little . . . uptight!" Another round of laughter came, along with Roy walking over to a corner and hugging his knees to his chest.

Maes sighed in an event to regain his breath. "We're such dorks! I don't care." He pointed over to a cardboard box behind him. "There' re extra uniforms in that box over there. Feel free to choose one that fits your size."

Alphonse rubbed the back of his helmet. "Uh . . . what do we do about me? I can't exactly wear a shirt . . . "

Hughes tucked his chin in the L-shape that results from holding your thumb and pointer finger out. "Hm. No, I suppose that's true." He snapped his fingers. "I have an idea!"

"Why do I have to be spray painted?!" Alphonse cried in the dugout of the playing field. Edward was standing beside him, a wooden bat resting comfortably on his shoulder. He, too, was now dressed in a white shirt and blue knee-length pants. Al ran a hand over the chest-plate of his body, feeling the rough, dry paint against the heavy glove. "I feel like a used car with a paint job."

"Don't feel bad, Al," Edward said. "I'm not all to happy with this uniform, either." He tugged at the front of his shirt. "I feel as if someone has already worn this before . . . "

"EDWARD!!! ALPHONSE!!!"

Uh oh. That voice. That tone. Edward and Alphonse knew that voice. Edward and Alphonse knew that tone. They hoped against hope that it wasn't who they thought it was. But as they slowly turned their heads, (the most disturbing expression on their faces), they couldn't have been more wrong in their entire lives.

"Oh . . . . uh . . . . Hi, Major Armstrong . . . . sir," Alphonse stammered. This, to say the least, was the worst possible thing the young boy had seen in his entire life. Because when he saw the freaky, middle-aged man with bulging bodily muscles the size of mini-vans wearing denim shorts Al could have sworn that he just had been scarred for life.

"JUST A FEW LAST-MINUTE TIPS, BOYS!!!" the Major boomed, holding up a sausage of an index finger, "KEEP!" - he flexed a bicep - "YOUR" - now triceps - "EYES" - pectorals the width of the largest watermelon in the history of the world - "ON" -biceps again - "THE" - triceps again - "BALL!!!"

Edward tentatively took a step back, holding up his hands which now had a light dusting of sweat. "Uh . . . . . will do, Major."

The game officially started a few minutes later and both brothers could say that they were not happy with their team. It wasn't bad enough that they didn't always see eye-to-eye - literally (measures Ed with a yard stick) - but the fact that Mustang, Hawkeye, Breda, Havoc, Falman, Fuery, Hughes and Ross all being on their team didn't inspire the most uplifting of confidence. (Al was just there for support! Al: *sigh*)

Ed was the first to bring this to attention. "Why in the world do we have to be on your guys' team?" He gestured over to the opposing team - which was headed by the Fuhrer himself (who knew Bradley liked softball!) - and compared their overwhelming numbers to their own. "This is to unfair."

Maria Ross decided to combat his complaints. "Most of those are just bystanders, Edward. A game must have spectators to make it interesting, right?" She smiled. "Nothing to worry about."

"Right, before we officially begin," the Fuhrer boomed over home plate. All attention turned towards him, "I would like to announce that the losing team will indefinitely lose their jobs. Now, play ball!"

The woman with the short brown hair shrugged a shoulder as seven pairs of glares burned through her. "Well I've been wrong before!"

With the cliffhanger looming over them like a shadow, Alphonse trotted up to his brother's side to contemplate the matter. "Brother, what will happen if we do lose the game? How will we get our bodies back then?"

Edward sighed and continued en route to third base. "I don't know, Al. If you ask me, the consequences seem a bit too harsh. I mean, it's just a game! But unfortunately, it's not for us to decide." The young man turned on his heel to face the suit of armor, holding out his fist. "Hey, but don't sweat it! I'm positive we'll win this thing for sure!"

"I can't believe we're gonna lose this game for sure," Fuery mumbled in the dugout, an ice pack pressed to his swollen cheek. So far in the past few innings they've been bashed in the head with baseball bats, almost had their brains knocked out by stray balls, and Vato's jaw had almost been broken at least twice. (Well what did you expect? They were facing every human giant the military had to offer! Yes, Armstrong was playing against them . . . . so sad). The current score was now five to eight with Mustang's team up to bat - and it was Edward's turn.

Rolling his bruised and battered shoulder, Edward took the bat in hand and thumped it against the palm of his real hand. What no one noticed was that he made a slight alchemical tweak to the bat's makeup in hopes that it might help. No one except Al.

"Brother," he said sternly. "What are you doing? That's cheating."

Based on how the game was progressing and his future dangling by a very thin thread, the other brother was not in the best of moods. "In case you haven't noticed we're playing for our futures here! Who cares if a little dishonesty is put into play! We're at a disadvantage here! Don't even try it!"

Breda waved his hand just when he was about to make a statement. "Too easy, anyways."

"That may be true, but that doesn't give you an excuse for cheating. Remember that old saying, 'cheaters never prosper?' Don't do it, Ed." He put on his best puppy-dog eyes for good measure. "Please?"

Uh-oh. The eyes. Not the dreaded eyes! Why did Al have to do the eyes? Edward rolled his eyes. Who cares? Al had tried this trick dozens of times before. "Sorry, but I promised I'd get your body back. No matter what."

The Fullmetal Alchemist stepped up to the plate, tapping the bat against the toe of his cleats. He really didn't want to cheat, (it gave him the willies whenever he would have desert before dinner!), but he knew there was no choice. He made a promise and that was that.

"Psst! Hey, Ed!" Hughes winked when he got his attention. "Just hit the ball, kid. So what if you will probably lose your job and you and your brother will return home in utter failure with nothing - "

"Are you trying to help or tick me off?" the blond replied bitterly. He liked Hughes but his rants could be so annoying!

"All I'm trying to say is that no matter how things turn out, you'll always have a place to turn to." He held up a thumbs up. "We've got your back."

Edward blinked, touched. "Thanks, Maes." He turned and readied himself for the pitch, taking a quick glance around the field. Maria Ross, Havoc and Mustang were on base, ready to come home. It was the bottom of the ninth inning, too. He swallowed. No pressure. Right. The pitcher hurled the ball - a screw - and Edward swung. And missed.

"Strike One!" said the umpire.

"It's alight," Hughes called. "You'll get the next one."

"Strike Two!"

"FOR THE SAKE OF OUR LIVES, MAN!!! DON'T MISS THIS ONE!!!!"

"THANKS FOR THE INSPIRATION!!!!" Edward gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes. He must not miss this one. He couldn't!

The pitcher threw. Edward waited . . . .

"HIT THE STUPID BALL, SHORT-STACK!!"

"WHO'RE YOU CALLING A SHRIMP SO SMALL HE COULD RIDE ON THE BACK OF A GRASSHOPPER?!!!!"

"RUN!!!!" everyone yelled from the dugout. They were waving their arms towards first base even as Ross, Havoc, and Mustang followed each other over home plate. They began pushing Edward, who was still enthralled in the mix of confusion and blowing his top from the rude name, towards first base. With a shrug, Edward took off full speed around the bases and cocked his head to the side like a cute, orphaned kitten.

"Am I missing something here?" he asked Havoc who had slapped him on the back.

"What's there to miss?" the second-Lieutenant beamed, sticking a fresh cigarette between his teeth. "You blew that piece of cowhide sky high! I didn't think you had it in you, small -"

"You wanna finish that?" Edward asked, his tone rough as diamond and knuckles cracking.

Havoc took a puff of his cigarette. "Touch-y"

"Congratulations, Team Mustang," Fuhrer Bradley complimented. All the assembled party, who had busied themselves slapping and punching their "star player" to a good-natured pulp, saluted to their respected commanding officer. "You have won the match."

"Does this mean we can keep our jobs?" Falman, who had remained quiet for the majority of the time, asked.

"Huh? Oh, about that. There was no way I was going to fire you! You're all too valuable for that! No, that was only said to inspire motivation." He smiled. "And I can see it worked."

Shock would be putting the victors' expression mildly. Oh. My. Gosh. Was he kidding?

No. He wasn't.

They knew they all were going to be fired after the next few minutes.

But, it was worth it.

"GET. HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!"

AN: That's more or less what happened that May day. Although we didn't run after the teachers - and principal - like cannibals after a bus load of American tourists. WE SHOULD HAVE!!!! No, just kidding. It was pretty fun - despite our loss. Favorite, comment, do your thing. PEACE!!!!!