Page after page of dull military history swept under Mustang's gloved fingertips as he peered down at yet another of the books stacked six-high on Hughes' desk. He sat across from his friend, uncomfortable with no place to put his legs. They were starting to cramp. As was his neck. He was tired. His eyes hurt.
Sitting up straight and rubbing the knot out of the back of his neck, he said as much to Hughes.
Who didn't even look up. "If you're going to grumble about it, you can just go home, you know."
Roy frowned. It wasn't often that the intelligence officer looked so serious about his work. That was part of the reason he'd answered the request for help, even when it was nearly midnight. There had to be something of great importance in one of these books, and he wasn't about to go home when he could be about to find it.
But it was nearly midnight already!
He bent down over his book again, thumbing through the pages absently. "Tell me again, why couldn't Scieszka help you with this?"
"She worked enough today finding all these books."
"And, again, what exactly am I looking for?"
"I'll know it when I see it."
The alchemist grunted. "That's what you've been saying for the past two hours, but it doesn't help me any."
Roy waited for an elaboration, but Maes was flipping through pages just as steadily, with no intention of saying more.
He sighed. "Well, does it have to do with the Elrics?"
Silence.
"What about those Homunculus of theirs?"
No response.
"Or that 5th Laboratory with the chimeras?"
Mustang swore he could hear the crickets.
He sighed again, louder, and took another book from the stack. He cracked it open and started skimming the pages for something that would jump out at him. But nothing did.
"Haven't you read all these books already? I've told you time and time again, normal people take notes so they don't forget things. You can't always bottle everything up in that massive head of yours." Mustang glanced across the desk to see Maes glaring back at him.
His glasses flashed. "Colonel Roy Mustang, if you don't stop asking useless questions and start flipping pages, I don't know what I'll do."
Roy gulped. His friend was serious. He hunched his shoulders and turned a page halfheartedly.
"Flip them! Flip faster!" came a barked order.
Instinctively Mustang flipped through dozens of pages without even looking. It seemed to appease the monster, though, who returned to his own book.
He rolled his eyes. He'd learned to accept Maes' eccentricities over the years, but sometimes his friend was just plain crazy. There was nothing to do but follow his instructions and flip pages.
The War of 1777. The Battle at Red Hill. The rise to power of King Crawford. The Treaty of Vincerra. A folded piece of paper. The pillage of Hoch Tellas.
"STOP!" Hughes yelled, jumping up and knocking over his chair. "Go back, go back!"
Bewildered, Roy turned back a page. It was the page with that loose sheet he'd ignored. Maes plucked it from the book, carrying it around to Mustang's side. Roy felt his heartbeat quicken as his friend carefully unfolded the yellowed paper and spread it out on the desk.
As he read the title, all the blood drained from his face.
"Traditional Hughes' Family Special Birthday Cake Recipe Mark III"
"What….what is this, Maes?" He turned to Hughes, feeling weak.
With a victorious flash of his glasses, Hughes whipped the recipe high into the air. "Elysia-chan's birthday is tomorrow, Roy! Imagine what Gracia would have done if she found out I lost this at work!"
Rising from his chair slowly, Mustang lifted his own hand, fingers poised to snap, fires burning already in his eyes. "…Two hours, Hughes. Imagine what I'm going to do now…."
But Hughes was waltzing out the door. "Thanks for your help! I couldn't have done it without you!" He sent some pink hearts floating over for Roy to incinerate before disappearing down the hall.
Left alone in the office he never visited enough, Mustang dropped his hand. It was true that Hughes could grind on him like no other human being alive could, but he didn't know what he'd do without him.
He'd just get him back for tonight when he became Daisoutou.
He threw a trademark glance of indifferent hate at the piles of books before heading out himself. But the fallen chair behind the desk caught his eye. He changed course to set it back on its feet, wondering how the other man possibly made it through life without a keeper—and stopped in his tracks.
Something about the scene—those stacks of books, some left lying open; the chair overturned and forgotten; and just the overall absence of Maes Hughes—gave Mustang a catch in his breath, a wave of sadness and loss. Then the feeling passed and he haltingly stepped forward again towards the chair.
He hauled it upright, and looked back through the room. From this angle he received no creepy sensations. It was just an office. Hughes' office.
Mustang shook his head. There was a reason he never did work so late at night. He yawned and went home to bed.