Havoc looked up from his newspaper, his cigarette dipping dangerously close to the page. "Hey, Ed. Alone today?"

Ed flashed him a grin. "Yeah, Al's back at the library. I just need to ask the Colonel a few questions. Is he in?"

Breda, sitting on the other side of the Havoc, chuckled. "He's in, all right. But he's a little too busy for questions right now. He's working on a classified report all day that's apparently pretty important. He doesn't want any distractions. Why do you think we're sitting out in the hallway? He said he'd have Hawkeye shoot us if we tried to go in."

Ed stared. "He said that?"

"Yeah, but probably only in the kneecap." Havoc shrugged, turning the page. "I'm not going to find out."

Ed's thwarted look abruptly cleared. "I guess I'd better not interrupt, then. Maybe I'll just drop by his place tonight to talk to him. Um…where is that again?"

Havoc folded up his paper and lit another cigarette. "I wouldn't count on him being done anytime soon. The Colonel's usually pretty lazy about paperwork, but reports like this will keep him chained to his desk for days. You might want to try him next week."

"Next week!" Ed couldn't keep the incredulity out of his voice. "This can't wait until next week." Both men only shrugged at him.

"I don't know what else to tell you," Havoc said. "If you want to leave a message for him, I'll deliver it as soon as I can. If it's something really important, you might want to talk to the Major about it."

"Major Armstrong?" Ed's eyes widened with horror as he tried to imagine that conversation. "No, no thanks. I'll just wait, I guess. I'll see you guys later."

It was after midnight when he went back. The usually busy corridors were silent and empty, but just as he suspected, the lights were still on in the Colonel's office. Gathering his courage, he pushed open the door. Papers littered the large desk at the end of the room, and there were precarious piles lined up on the floor around the desk, too, as if staging a siege. Mustang peered at him over one of the larger piles. His shirtsleeves were rolled up past his elbows and the top two buttons of his collar were undone, but otherwise the man looked as rigid and immaculate as ever. As soon as he saw Edward he pressed his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose to ward off a headache. "What is it, Fullmetal?"

Ed hesitated before stepping further into the room. "I thought you could use some help."

"Help?" Mustang blinked at him wearily. He seemed to shake himself. "Thanks for the offer, but I'm fine. Go get some sleep."

"Yeah, right. How long have you been working? You know it'll go faster if you don't try to tackle it all alone."

His wheedling was met with a weary sigh. "This is a classified report, Fullmetal. You don't have clearance."

"I didn't say I had to read it," Ed interjected icily. "But I could help in other ways. I could –" He glanced around the room. "I could hand you papers. Or make coffee."

The Colonel seemed to consider this, letting the moment stretch out between them. His face retained the blank, slightly bored mask that infuriated Ed as much as anything else about the man. "If you don't distract me and don't try to read them, I'll let you hand me papers. Can you do that?"

"Of course I can," Ed snapped, bristling at the implication that he was nosy.

Mustang regarded him steadily for another moment before leaning back in his chair with a yawn. "Fine. But make the coffee first." Ed was handed his empty mug, their fingers brushing slightly. "I want it strong. No sugar."

"Of course not," Ed muttered, rolling his eyes as he made his way across the room. Still, he couldn't hold back a small smile. This wasn't quite how he had pictured an evening with Mustang, but it was better than nothing.