Disclaimer: I do not own any of the main characters in this story. For the main part, they belong to Arakawa Hiromu, but the Roy look-alike belongs to the many fanfic writers out there who blatantly OOC him. Kindest regards to you all, and thank you for supplying me with a character

Chapter ten: Crayons, mashing potatoes, and wary procedures

It had been two days – well, one and a half, really – of sulking and muttering, and Flame couldn't stand it anymore. He was almost happy that Mustang had to go to work again today. Except for the fact that he was being dragged along. When he complained about having nothing to do in the office, Mustang sarcastically asked him if he wanted some crayons and a colouring book. This mood didn't suit Mustang, and Flame wasn't enjoying it.

Now, they walked through the corridors of Headquarters, Mustang in uniform, and Flame in mufti. He wondered how Mustang would receive seeing the Lieutenants after thinking about the issue night and day – he could still hear the other man muttering at night, when he walked past to go to his own room. Great habits Mustang was starting. Flame wondered if the other man was much of a brooder before he had come along and dropped this bombshell on him.

They stepped into the office. Hawkeye was already there. No sign of Havoc. Flame almost sighed with relief. He didn't think he'd be able to stand the tension if Mustang had been made to deal with them both this early in the day.

"Good morning, Colonel," Hawkeye said, looking up from her work briefly.

Flame thought he heard Mustang mutter something.

"Your work is on your desk," she told him before pausing for a glance at Flame. "It might be best if Flame doesn't touch anything, or some things might get misplaced."

Surprised, Flame looked at her as reproachfully as he could manage. "Do you think I'm a thief, Lieutenant?"

She looked at him with a hint of disregard, the lofty expression on her face almost making Flame lament the fact that she and Havoc appeared to be involved. "I wouldn't accuse you of that, knowing you for only a few days. Not a thief, just careless." With a flourish of her hand, she returned to her own paper. Something about the hard-to-get act just drew him. He had taken girlfriends from Havoc before . . . it might just be possible that he could do it again with her.

Mustang had said nothing during their exchange, only moved to his desk and got to work immediately, his face all clouded over. Flame quickly remembered that Mustang himself seemed to have an attachment to the woman, and turned his thoughts to more honourable aims. Maybe he could steal her from Havoc, and then convince her he was actually Mustang, and whatever there was between the two could thrive. He felt proud of himself for even thinking of helping the other man, and went to lean against the wall.

What he was supposed to do in the next few hours, though? He had just begun to pick at his nails when Havoc entered the room.

"Oh, you're here Colonel." Was that a hint of disappointment in Havoc's voice, or was Flame just imagining? He had to admit, he was looking very hard, but it might have been there. Maybe. "Didn't expect you to already be here."

Mustang made no answer, but just looked up and glared at the other man.

Flame looked up too, and blinked when he realised that Hawkeye was no longer in the room. "Where did Hawkeye go?" Her exit had been completely silent. How did she manage that?

"Hawkeye?" Havoc asked. "She was just in the break room a minute ago. Making some coffee, I think."

Coffee, eh? "Oh, ok." Flame eyed the mug that Havoc was holding. "What do you have?"

"Huh? Oh, coffee. Wakes me up. Don't you have something you need to be doing, Flame?"

What was this, now? Havoc seemed to be trying to change the topic. Flame didn't give him the respect of answering the question, but dragged out a spare chair and sat on it, watching the Lieutenant as he started on his paperwork. The other man took a sip out of his mug and scribbled something absently in the border of the page he was looking at.

The doors of the office opened, and Hawkeye stepped inside, two mugs balancing in her hand. She walked over and put one on the Colonel's desk before returning to her own. Flame was confused for a second, but decided that she was trying not to let him realise about her and Havoc. As though his seeing them at her apartment wasn't a big enough hint. He was pleased to see that Mustang gave the mug no more than a glance before putting his head back down.

That was one thing that Flame could not fathom. How did Mustang manage to sit there and complete all of this work? As paper after paper was pushed to the side, Flame stared at his counterpart in amazement. His attention span appeared to be somewhat longer than Flame's own. At least, when it came to this sort of thing.

One by one, the other inhabitants of the office arrived and after looking unsurely between Mustang and Flame, they got to their own work. It was all very well, having Flame sit and watch the others work for half an hour, but if this was all that they planned on letting him do until someone figured out how to get him home, he wasn't going to stand for it.

"Can't I do something?"

Mustang looked up in surprise. It seemed as though he had forgotten Flame was there. "You want to do some of this?" he asked dubiously, pointing to the papers on his desk.

Flame made a face. "No, but there has to be something to do around here other than sit and watch you lot with your noses all to the grindstone."

"He has a point, sir," Havoc muttered. "It's boring for him there, and it's annoying for us."

"I suppose that you could head off to the library and do some research," Mustang said, fishing around in his top drawer for a minute before pulling a card out. "Take this to the librarian, and if you need to take any books out, she'll write down my number and the books' numbers too."

Flame took the card and looked it over. It was just a slip of cardboard with Mustang's name, number and signature on it. "Library is on the next floor up, in the South Wing, right?"

"Yep."

Good, it was in the same place as it was in his world. No problems.

At lunchbreak, Havoc pushed his peas around, and mashed his mashed potato more, until it covered the entire surface of his plate. This food was possibly the best meal he had had in a few days, but he couldn't stomach eating it. Not with whatever had been going on in the office. Even while he was thinking about it, he could hear the others bring their conversation around to it.

"Did anyone else feel the awkwardness there?" Breda finally asked. "I thought that it must have been that Flame guy at first, but even when he left, it was still there."

"Definitely. Talk about uncomfortable."

"I couldn't even figure out who it was directed towards. All I know is that the Colonel didn't seem happy, and everyone seemed to be receiving the bad end of it."

Havoc snorted. "It might have something to do with the fact that he's had to take care of Flame for a few days now. Could just be too long for him, so that even when Flame's gone he's still tense."

The others nodded thoughtfully. It sounded reasonable, given the accounts that they had heard of Flame.

"It might be best if someone takes Flame off his hands for a while." Everyone looked at Feury. "Well, it's bad enough working with Colonel Mustang when he's in this bad a mood. Don't you think that we should give him a break for a while."

There were scattered glances and mumblings. On the whole, it seemed that everyone agreed with the idea, but no one wanted to be the one to do it. Finally Havoc spoke up. "Well, since you came up with the idea, it's only fair that you do the work, Feury. I'll let Mustang know that you've volunteered to take Flame for a while."

"But–"

"Very kind of you, really."

"I didn't–"

"You're a good fellow, Feury."

"I don't want to–"

"Yeah, we'll be off now."

Havoc put a last fork of potato in his mouth, and stood up, taking his tray away to the bins, where he scraped the rest of his food off, and stacked his tray on the table beside it.

This break would be good for Mustang. Maybe it would draw him out of his funk. Havoc had definitely noticed it, and wondered if Flame had really been able to cause that much harm in a few days. Sure, Mustang hadn't had any help, but Havoc couldn't blame himself for avoiding the other-worlder.

At first, Havoc had thought that Flame must have been the one who turned up at Hawkeye's door, since his behaviour was so inexplicably unlike Mustang, but now, seeing his commanding officer like this, he was unsure. He brushed off his hands and began walking back to the office.

When the guys had left for their lunchbreak, Mustang had stayed behind, hoping to have some time to himself. Unfortunately, Hawkeye had stayed behind too. Well, at least this gave the opportunity for him to confront her about . . . particular issues.

The room had been silent for some time, but now he put his pen down loudly. He took a second longer to word his accusation before blurting it out. "What exactly is happening between you and Havoc?"

She looked up sharply. "Excuse me, sir?"

"What's happening between you and Havoc?"

It seemed to take her a while to process the question as she blinked in confusion. Her fingers were fidgeting with her pen – a sure sign of guilt, he decided glumly. "What makes you think there is anything happening?"

He drew in a breath. She was avoiding the question, now. If it had been a simple "what do you mean", then maybe Mustang would have considered that she didn't actually know what he was talking about, but she seemed to understand him perfectly, and was avoiding answering him. This would not do. He didn't realise he was muttering about what Flame had told him – again – until she stood up, hands planted firmly on her desk.

"What?" The frown on her face was growing deeper. "I had thought that that must have been Flame when he walked off so abruptly, but–"

This time, it had been his turn to have his eyes widen with the shock throughout her last sentence. "You're not denying that it happened, then?"

"Denying that what happened?"

He groaned. Mustang couldn't gather the courage to say it himself, and she didn't appear to be about to announce it. He'd have to get at it slowly, approaching from another angle until she just had to come out and say it. "How did Havoc get your address?"

"Why does it matter?" She was floundering.

"That doesn't answer my question." Now he was standing too, arms folded obstinately across his chest. He wasn't going to let this just get past without having an answer.

Hawkeye sighed. "Colonel, everyone in the office knows my address. Why shouldn't Ha–"

Mustang thought that he was going to have a heart-attack. Flame's revelation about the importance of addresses had been firmly imprinted in his mind over the past day and a half. "Everyone in the office? What has been going on? I must have been blind not to see all of this!"

Her fists were clenched, and Mustang could see plainly that she was talking through her teeth. "I don't want to know what you're implying, sir, but I think it's clear that being cooped up with Flame for that long was not good for you."

"Now, look here. All I've gotten from Flame is the straight facts."

"Well, you might want to check whether those facts are as straight as you think before you go saying anything else," she hissed. "I will not put up with my reputation being sullied for nothing." With that, she spun around, striding out of the door. The door slammed behind her and Mustang sunk back into her seat.

He hadn't been completely sure about the truth of Flame's assumptions before her spoke to her, true, but now he was even more confused. Nothing had been made certain by confrontation, and he was not used to that sort of result. With a sharp crack, his head met the desk. He didn't bother picking it up and getting back to work, or going and having his break. Instead, he just lay there for another five minutes until the door creaked open. Havoc's head poked around the corner. Mustang barely managed to stop a scowl from crawling onto his face.

Upon seeing Mustang, Havoc proceeded warily. From the look on his face, it was quite possible he had met Hawkeye in the hallway and been forewarned. Mustang shook the thought from his head. Innocent until proven guilty, he told himself.

"Colonel?" Havoc asked hesitantly.

It took some effort, but Mustang put a neutral expression on his face and looked up to acknowledge the man. "Yes?"

"A few of us were talking, and we thought that maybe you'd been having some issues with Flame, so Feury offered to take him off your hands for a little while." He spoke fast enough that all of his words had been run together.

"Ah, that's all very well, Havoc, but Feury can't do it," Mustang informed him simply. The expression on Havoc's face told Mustang that he hadn't counted on hearing that. "It's a nice offer, but Feury lives in the dorms, remember? No spare beds."

There was a quiet "damn!"

"Unless you want to take Flame for me, I'll have to take him again." The idea didn't seem as repulsive as it seemed to when Flame had been a more nauseating character, but now . . . Mustang paused to think. Flame seemed to have changed incredibly over only a few days. Other than keeping a few of his basic characteristics, he was a completely different person. How odd.

He could hear Havoc's shudder. "I . . . Yeah, alright. I'll take Flame for a day or two if you need the break, sir."

Mustang considered the offer. Flame had been the one to start the trouble of the Havoc-Hawkeye problem. If he was without the man for a while, maybe he could get the issue from his head. It was possible that it wasn't even an issue. He hadn't even thought it was until Flame convinced him of it, had he?

"Yes. You take Flame until Sunday, and then we'll organise some regular rotation." That way Flame wouldn't be with one person for long enough to make them go mad. Mustang couldn't help but smirk at the Havoc's expression of horror at having Flame for a whole two days. If he had had to put up with it, why not Havoc too?