Author's Note: I got the idea for this one after watching this episode of Brotherhood. Ever since I started this fic, I've noticed more and more moments between Ed and Mustang – they're almost always more brief and subtle than moments between the Elric brothers, for example, but they're still there and they're still powerful if you let them be. In this scene, I was struck by the sheer rage in Ed's face, almost as if he felt...betrayed or something. And in that, I noticed some similarities to the Envy scene, which kind of carried over into my writing in places. Another thing about this chapter is that it contains one of those tiny details that Arakawa-san so masterfully puts in her manga, that you don't even notice unless you read it like ten times. (Can't figure out what I'm talking about? Look for a bruise. It's totally there in the manga too.) Also, this is strictly mangaverse, because obviously this isn't in the first series, and Brotherhood changes the events around so that Ed sees the Hugheses before he confronts Mustang.

Timeline: Chapter 36

Theme 20: Unnecessary/Unimportant

He was fighting Barry the Chopper in utter confusion when it happened. Nearby – only a street or two over, from the sound of it – an explosion ripped through the night air, and Edward whipped his head up to see a tower of flames briefly raging upwards, lighting up the night, then dying down immediately. He knew those flames. He knew the one person in Amestris who could make such a blaze so fast, then extinguish it utterly. Seizing his chance, Edward darted past the distracted Barry the Chopper and raced through the alleys to the point where he had seen the explosion.

As he ran, Edward seemed to see the headline pasted on the very air in front of him: MARIA ROSS CONVICTED FOR MURDER OF BRIGADIER GENERAL HUGHES. This night was getting more ridiculous by the minute: First Mustang telling him Hughes had retired and gone to his hometown in the countryside, then finding out he'd been dead for weeks, and now this. Maria Ross, who had briefly been his bodyguard, who had saved him and Alphonse when they'd sneaked off to Laboratory 5, who had slapped him even though he outranked her, because she wanted to knock some sense through his thick skull.

Maria Ross, a charred corpse lying on the ground at his feet, blackened beyond recognition.

Edward stood in the alleyway, breathing heavily and staring at the partially-melted prisoner's bracelet that still clearly bore the name Maria Ross. Slowly, he raised his eyes to the man who stood over her, silhouetted against the light of the lamps on the street. "Full Metal," he acknowledged coldly.

The calmness of that voice set Edward's blood boiling. "What the hell's going on here, Mustang?" Edward demanded. "Why is Hughes...when did it...and Maria Ross..." He leapt towards Mustang, grabbing him by the collar and shaking him. "Why the hell did you kill her?"

CRACK.

Edward stumbled back, falling to the ground from the force of the blow. Mustang's knuckles had landed firmly on his cheekbone, knocking his head sharply to one side. Edward's neck ached, and he felt a little dizzy, but he forced himself upright again.

Meanwhile, Mustang straightened his collar once more and said sternly, "You dare to raise your hand against your superior? Know your place, Full Metal."

Gritting his teeth, Edward clenched his automail fist and started forward again, longing to bash his metal knuckles into that infuriatingly aloof expression. But he had hardly even pulled his arm back for the strike when familiar metal arms wrapped around his, holding him back. "No, Brother, you can't!"

Edward struggled with all his might, even though he knew it was no use. "Let me go, Al!" he screamed, straining against those inexorable gauntlets. "I'm gonna kill him!"

"Look, I don't know what happened, but you can't-"

"Look what he did to Lieutenant Ross!" Edward retorted, kicking his heels against Alphonse's metal shins, even though he knew it wouldn't be of any use. What was Mustang thinking? How could he think that someone like Ross – someone that Armstrong and Hughes had both trusted so well – would be capable of such a thing?

Alphonse looked down and finally saw the blackened corpse. Gasping but still keeping a firm grip on Edward's arms, he said, "What's going on, Colonel? Why is Lieutenant Ross...?"

Edward couldn't see Mustang's expression in that light, and his voice betrayed nothing either. He simply said, as though reporting what he had bought at the grocery store, "You heard the report as well as I did. Maria Ross was found guilty of the murder of Brigadier General Hughes, and once she escaped from Central Prison, we were given orders to shoot to kill if she resisted." He turned away, looking up the street as backup finally started arriving. "She resisted."

Edward stared at Mustang's profile, calming down enough that Alphonse let go of his arms. One gauntlet lingered on his left shoulder, though Edward wasn't sure if he meant to give reassurance or seek it. Mustang's expression was no easier to read than before, even though the light now illuminated his features. It was like staring at a mask.

Or like rushing home after school, only to find that strange people you'd never seen before were living in your house.

"I apologize for not informing you of Hughes's death," Mustang said, as though it was barely worth mentioning.

"Why?" Alphonse spoke up, sounding shaken. "Why didn't you tell us before?"

He wasn't even looking at them anymore. "I thought it was...unnecessary."

Edward gritted his teeth and gave the stoic Mustang one last infuriated glare, then turned away. "Unnecessary," he muttered, "or unimportant? As if Hughes would want this." He didn't stop to see if Mustang heard...or cared.

The next day, after the investigation team had heard his account, the coroner had declared the corpse to be Maria Ross after all, and Mustang had run off his mouth about stupid beautiful women in the stupid east where Armstrong should take his stupid vacation, Edward sat alone in the hotel dining hall. He wasn't sure what time it was, but he knew it was late because there was no one left in the large hall except for a single waiter sweeping up the crumbs from the tables. He could hear the distant clinking of dishes being washed in the kitchen.

He was enough of a regular in this hotel that the cooks knew what his favorite foods were, and he'd eaten a hearty meal as usual, but he felt none of the satisfaction or pleasure that usually followed a good, warm meal like this. He supposed it was mostly because of the depressing interview he'd had that afternoon with Mrs. Hughes, who had told him in true Hughes-fashion to keep moving forward because there were so many people waiting for their success. But as he wearily stuck his fork in his mouth and let it hang there, wiggling it between his teeth, Edward knew what was really bothering him.

You should put more trust in adults, Ross had said. Edward rested his chin in his hand, gingerly resting his fingers against the bruise that had formed on his cheekbone. It hurt. It hurt.

Edward let the fork drop from between his lips and clatter onto the table, then let his good cheek rest next to it, staring at the tines glistening in the light. What had happened to Mustang? Just weeks ago, they'd been bantering as usual. Mustang had said, Don't die on me; the paperwork would be too big of a pain. Then Edward had returned to Central, to have Mustang lie to him and then kill Ross in cold blood, without even asking any questions.

Was he really the kind of man who would let revenge consume him? Edward had always pegged him as a man of a higher caliber than that, someone who wouldn't stoop to measures like Scar's, someone who would seek justice and truth rather than self-satisfaction. I thought I could trust you, he thought bleakly, closing his eyes and ignoring the concerned inquiries of the waiter. But now what am I supposed to believe? Tell me that, Mustang. You're supposed to be a role model or something, aren't you? You're supposed to be the stuck-up adult who tells me I'm a kid and then shows me how to be a man. But I can't be that man, Mustang. I can't be you.

He wondered why that bothered him so much.