Disclaimer: Why doesn't Ed ever have a bad hair day? And who cuts his hair, anyway? Surely not Al… who taught him to braid? When did he learn? When did he grow his hair out? There should be an entire episode devoted to Ed's hair. But there isn't. Therefore, I cannot own FMA.

Chapter 4

"Al, there are no hairbrushes! Anywhere!" Ed lamented loudly.

Al said nothing. He knew there weren't any hair brushes; he'd removed them himself. Ed had way too many hairbrushes. He hadn't realized he'd gotten all of them, though; it was difficult to tell, the way Ed secreted them.

There was nothing for it. Ed collapsed to the ground with a moan. He produced a Miscellania from his pocket, one of the many things Ed kept around for emergencies. This one was a toy soldier.

Clap, smack. Ed transmuted the soldier into a shiny new hairbrush, red. It glistened enticingly, menacingly, like a plastic siren.

"Uh, Nii-san…" Al warned, but it was too late. Years of practice had turned Ed into a braiding machine. He was already fastening the tie to the end of his new braid.

"Sorry, Al, gotta go. See about shipping a few cats to Risembool, will ya?" And Ed the Energy Ball was out the door.

Ed did not realize just how much he looked like a lion until he caught a glimpse of himself in a silent gaming screen as he went to challenge Roy. Surprisingly, his first thoughts were not along the lines of 'Fascinating! The alchemical energy must have translated into excessive static energy lying dormant in the brush.' No, for once in his life, Ed's thoughts were not so much as worded in alchemical terms. He froze, staring. Glanced quickly around. Ran a hand a foot over his head to see if it was really that staticy.

It was. Ed bolted, clamping his arms over his head to keep the hair down.

Roy Mustang was wearing pink.

Curse all government workers, his clothes were all being laundered. So he had to wear pink. At the same time that Ed usually came to him and demanded that they duel.

A-and as usual, Ed was coming thundering through the game room, clank, step, clank, step, clank – screeeech.

Mustang stared. That was not Ed. Surely. But – he was in Ed's clothes. He walked like Ed. He had Ed's golden eyes, Ed's posture. Maybe it was Al in proper form? But no, this person moved with Ed's mechanical reflexes…

And Mustang was in pink. Unbelievable. Surely not. Mustang wore military coats, which really didn't suit him. If he wore a nice green, for example, to bring out his eyes – but pink was just wrong. Admittedly, Roy looked better in pink than Ed would have guessed. Maybe Roy just looked good in everything; he certainly pulled a military coat off pretty well. But pink was not his color.

"I can explain." Roy assured Ed hastily as Ed panicked. Ed did not listen. He just unthinkingly clapped and slapped, and Roy was no longer in pink. Nor was he in the military uniform Ed had rather intended. No, it was green, and…kinda…worse than the pink.

Roy did look good in green. It was just the style of the green Ed had chosen that… the image.

Roy looked down. "Ed, you're touching me." He informed Fullmetal.

"You never call me Ed." Ed realized, hastily withdrawing his hands.

"What happened to your hair?" Roy asked, wanting to get off the subject of – it was green. Not navy. Roy lifted an arm and peered at it curiously.

"Um, there weren't any hairbrushes." Ed told him hastily. "I had to transmute one. Fascinating consequences…" He prattled on as Roy examined his new regalia. Really, really not what Ed had meant to do.

It was a poet's shirt, Roy realized, disturbed that he knew what to call it. A poet's shirt in a pale spring green, and a forest green waistcoat. That wasn't the worst, though. There was a jet black – no, it was just dark green, and Roy realized he'd need to look up a name for this color – pair of Darcy pants. Yes, Roy had watched Pride and Prejudice. It was a secret. And then there were crystal white knee socks. Knee socks! At least Ed hadn't messed with the shoes. At least Roy's shoes hadn't gone through the wash. Roy had a sudden mental image of leprechaun-oid buckled shoes.

"Allow me to fix your hair." Roy growled at Ed. Ed took a step back.

"Uh…" He said, but couldn't think of an excuse. "Have you got a brush?"

"Almost." Roy assured him. "Stay here." He didn't want Ed to see his apparel kit.

Now, where was it? Cologne, a comb, deodorant, shoe polish, clothes brush – ah, there it was. Hairbrush. Now, why did Roy have a hairbrush? His hair wasn't long enough to require more than a comb, and he couldn't have predicted that he'd end up brushing Ed's hair. And there was the anti-frizz solution, and the bottle of water. Roy thought it was lavender scented this time round, but it could be rosemary or clove. Or maybe lavender clove, Roy couldn't remember if he'd gotten around to mixing those two or not.

Ed gaped as Roy returned. Where had he found this stuff?

"Shut your mouth and turn around." Roy ordered, from behind his verdant attire. Ed did not tremble as he obeyed. Did not tremble. No matter how scary this was, he was not going to –

"Ow!"

"Hold still." Roy ordered. "Static makes your hair tangly."

"You hit me with the brush!"

Roy repeated the maneuver. "Quit squirming."

He decided, as revenge for the green clothes, that Ed would not get his normal braid. It was inefficient anyway – bits were always getting caught on things and pulled out, to judge by the number of blond hairs floating around Central. No one else had hair as long or that color. Anyway, Ed needed a… different… style. He began to French braid the sides, pulling it into a single braid at the back.

"That's weird. Don't you know how to braid?" Ed objected, trying to twist and get a look in a screen. Roy squirted him with the spray. Ed sneezed.

"Yes, I do. Hold still." With a few more deft pulls and some squirts from the de-frizz and water bottles, Roy tied off the braid. In green. Celadon, to be precise.

The tension on Ed's head relaxed. Tentatively, Ed turned his head. Roy didn't whack him with the brush. Ed glanced at a gaming screen, to once again use it as a mirror. He wasn't quite sure what to think.

"It's not a braid." He commented gingerly.

"Yes it is. It's a French braid." Roy corrected him, starting to walk off to return his equipment to its proper spot.

"A French braid?" Ed didn't even know what that was. How did Roy know how to do it? "Where did you –"

"In France. I had long hair. Don't ask." Roy rounded a corner. This was good. He was getting back to his usual Dark and Broodingly Turning Corners. Talking to people without looking at them. And yep, there came Ed, bounding along behind him.

"If you get to mess with my hair, I get to mess with yours." Ed demanded.

"You messed with my clothes. Do I get to mess with your clothes?" He ought to. Hair, after all, was such a small thing compared with an entire change of wardrobe.

"I'll fix them." Ed offered. "I'm not sure where they came from. It – just – do you want the pink ones back? Or should I change the green to black and white?"

Roy considered this. He really ought to get the pink back, seeing as would kill him if he didn't. However, there was only so much lack of dignity he was willing to suffer. Overall, the green was probably an improvement… pink… jogging suit… Roy shuddered. No wonder Ed's first reaction had been transmutation.

But if he got to make Ed wear whatever he wanted…Roy liked the idea.