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Enjoy.
Mutable: capable of change or of being changed
Truth wasn't worried.
Truth couldn't worry.
Truth was omnipotent, omniscient, and wise and not at all capable of making mistakes.
So why did Truth feel like it had made a terrible oversight?
Two weeks had past, the Philosopher Stone was dimmer and the Gate was that much closer to closing. Well, there wasn't a noticeable difference, but the change was there.
As expected, Ed was upset, but if he stopped to analyze the situation, he might have realized he had a chance to restore his brother and his limbs with no cost to either of them. But with the hectic scramble Ed placed himself in every repeat rational logic seemed to be the last thing on his mind.
Truth had to speak for himself, though, and it wasn't concerned. Just… apprehensive. In solving its own problems with the incomplete human transmutation, it had forgotten a simple truth: When dealing with an equation with unaccounted factors, the equation needs to be readjusted too.
When preparing the time equation, Truth hadn't accounted for Mustang needing to touch the reset point every day. It shouldn't have mattered, but time was bending backward, and the difference was now noticeable.
Mustang was changing – no, reacting – to the pivot point of the universe, and it was altering him.
Again Truth reassured itself that it could not make mistakes. And again Truth wondered what would happen if Mustang connected the pieces slipping through the numbers in Truth's unalterable calibration.
If Mustang lasted that long.
"Um, Ed?" Havoc hesitated. "That's ice cream. You know it's got milk in it, right?"
"Shh!" Al hushed. "Don't spoil it for him."
Mustang only stared.
Did headaches cause hallucinations, or was the whole world going mad?
Ed glanced at his bewildered expression and practically cackled as if he had scored higher than him in some unknown game. Perhaps he had because all Mustang felt in response was a slight bristle and the flick of his tongue as he reminded Ed he had a mission to do.
Ed's joviality dropped, and he looked away.
For some reason that action set off a dozen alarm bells in the back of Mustang's mind. He watched the Ed's red coat tails slip out the office door, Alphonse clanging after him. The usual lackadaisical aura in the office settled back into place within minutes, but for some reason Mustang wished he hadn't said a word.
Three hours later he realized why.
… … … …
Mustang watched Ed sleep on the couch.
It wasn't creepy. Not at all. Nor was it unusual for him to wonder if Ed liked chocolate ice cream.
He quietly set Ed's newest mission on the edge of his desk for later. Originally he had planned to use it as a means to gauge how much the mission in Rejo had affected him; to see how long of a break Ed needed – removal from active duty or just a month to vacation in Resembool with his brother.
It was clear all Ed needed at the moment was time to breathe, and though he had been loath to show his exhaustion in front of Mustang, the slightest twinge of petty revenge twinkled in those golden eyes as he drifted to sleep. Ed's snores were loud, but for some reason, hearing Ed breathing was more comforting than irritating.
Mustang didn't get the chance to issue the mission later.
He didn't need to.
… … … …
If Mustang had glasses, he would have been looking over their rims, but as it was, he just gave Armstrong a flat stare.
"He was gone when I got there," Armstrong confessed. "Perhaps he decided on his own to start the mission."
They were in the cafeteria. Noon had long since passed, and Mustang's patience with it.
Edward had returned from his mission hours ago. It wasn't that the colonel needed the report immediately, but a strange concern had him impatient to see his youngest subordinate. It was a strange contrast to the usual. Whenever he had the desire to see the little shrimp, it was either for his own amusement (to see how red Ed's face would get before he blew up) or to (and he would never admit it) determine there were no injuries he was hiding from his brother. Ed hated the white walls of the hospital, and would do almost anything to stay out of them. It wasn't unlikely that Ed had been injured during the past mission, and today wouldn't be the first time he skipped a report to avoid Mustang's eye.
But this feeling was different than before. Less concern for Ed then it was for himself. He felt like an exhausted parent. One who was tired of picking up their toddler's blocks and wanting to keep an eye on the child so he didn't topple the pile and make a mess again.
Ed was up to something, and the quieter he was, the more suspicious Mustang grew.
"What about Al?" Mustang tried, kneading his brow as a headache formed in his temple.
Armstrong shook his head. "No sign of him either. They've both gone. Is anything wrong?"
Mustang waved him off. "No, thank you for the help."
"I wish I could have done more." Armstrong left.
So much for Mustang's back-up plan. When Ed hadn't reported on time, Mustang had enlisted Armstrong's aid. After all, there was nothing like a muscular bear hug to get you motivated in the morning.
Hawkeye suggested, "He's probably gone out with Alphonse."
"Or hiding from you to get some sleep," Havoc chimed in.
"Wouldn't be the first time," Breda added.
"Or the last."
"Maybe…" Mustang conceded.
The intercom buzzed, loud and obnoxious overhead.
"RED ALERT. EMERGENCY EVACTUATION. FIRE IN EASTERN BUILDING. EVACUATE THROUGH THE FRONT GATE IMMEDIATELY. RED ALERT. EMERGENCY EVACUATION…"
"Eastern building?"
Just their luck, and Mustang knew exactly who to blame.
Fullmetal.
He hated to use the parent analogy, but the knowledge was almost instinctual. Whatever had happened, it was Ed's fault.
The evacuation was hardly stressful, none of the feet racing heart pounding action that one might expect following the announcement of a fire evacuation warning. Mustang and his team made it out within ten minutes, and filtered away from the building with the rest of the crowd as alchemists proficient in water alchemy aided the fire trucks to stop the raging fire encompassing the east building.
And not ten yards away, Ed stood looking over his handiwork. He watched with an incredulous expression as black smoke billow from the windows. Shattering crashes and bangs exploded from glass cases and armory lockers. His actions were a death warrant, but he stared numbly as though he couldn't believe it was real.
If Mustang wasn't mistaken, he heard the huff of a laugh underneath Ed's breath.
"Fullmetal!" he barked.
Ed jumped. He turned slowly. His eyes widened a notch, but he gave his best impression of a nonchalant shrug. "Guess now they have space to build that larger office you've been wanting."
Mustang could have done so many things in that moment, but with the eyes of a crowd overlooking his every move, he only narrowed his gaze. The look should have been sharp and unyielding – Ed had committed a major offence – but somehow all Mustang could manage was a disapproving scowl.
Where are my gloves? His look demanded.
Um… He edged forward and dropped a torn glove in Mustang's hand.
Mustang stared.
What had Ed done to it?
Ed backed up a few steps. The shadow of a grin flickered under his tired eyes. "I'll, aim better next time."
Mustang's hand instinctively jerked for his spare pair of gloves, irritation finally winning first place in the emotional category. His hand brushed against his gun as he moved.
Ed's eyes shot wide. "Or not!" He swiveled and scampered through the evacuees to put at least a thousand or so people between himself and the fuming colonel.
Breda helpfully pointed to the smoking roof of Central Command. "He's lucky it's raining."
Mustang wanted to scream.
… … … …
The next day, Mustang guarded his gloves with hawkish intensity.
"Colonel?"
"Mine."
"Really, sir?"
… … … …
Truth watched.
Down where mortal lives crawled on, Ed was teasing the Colonel. His lips quirked and Mustang nursed a growing headache. Banter went back and forth like a tennis match, both waiting for the other to drop the ball.
Humans were so entertaining, and Truth wouldn't be ashamed to admit Ed was more interesting than most. He could be soft for his brother in one moment and harsh with the colonel in the next. He had the concentration to exclude everything but his task, and yet still managed to get hung up about details – like milk. Or his height.
Ed's eye twitched, and he leaned forward. Truth glanced to Mustang for the return, and faithful to his role in this drama, he shot back a half-hearted jibe.
And that was when Truth noticed it. It peered more closely at Mustang, closing its infinite perception onto just his face. No, faces.
If Truth wasn't incapable of getting drunk he might have passed the image off with that, but as it was Truth was seeing double. There were two Mustangs sitting within each other on that office chair. No, three. Four? Five?!
Mustang, tag-along in the equation of life, was fragmenting across space and time. And like cards in a deck, they all had different faces.
Anxious, Truth summoned the Stone. It was still large enough that Ed could go another weekful of Mondays before it evaporated into useless powder. Truth glanced back to Mustang.
This wasn't good.
A fast sequence of days mentioned in the original but not expanded. I've got company over so I'm not doing any last minute editing. If there are horrible mistakes or inconsistencies and jumps in the writing, that's probably why.
Oh, and I have a deviantart now if y'all are interested: dantemorose . deviantart .c om ?rnrd = 217983
-Dante
