A/N: Hm...looks like the every-other-week update schedule is going to work better for me at the moment. Hope you all don't mind ^^` Here's an extra-long chapter to make up for it, so enjoy!

Disclaimer: No tengo FMA. Entonces, estoy muy triste.

"Hawkeye."

The lieutenant looked up from her desk. "Yes, Colonel?"

Mustang beckoned her with a hand movement. "Come here for a second."

"Does this have anything to do with your work, sir?" She asked pointedly, remaining firmly in her seat.

"…Yes." She gave him nothing more than a skeptical glance, prompting him to elaborate. "I promise, Hawkeye. If I don't get this matter solved, these files will never get signed."

She sighed. "Very well, sir." Getting up, she added, "though I doubt you'll even look at those papers before lunch, no matter what happens."

Ignoring her last comment, Mustang gestured at the wall across from him as soon as she reached his side. "…Does that painting look crooked to you?"

"…Sir." Hawkeye sighed deeply and massaged her forehead with one hand. "You can't be serious."

"But I am!" He insisted. "I'm positive that it's crooked. Just look at it."

"It looks fine, Colonel," she said very slowly, trying very hard not to strangle the impossible man in front of her.

At that moment, Havoc walked in, mercifully obstructing the picture from view by opening the door. "Hey, Colonel. Got some more files for you."

"I…uh…" Mustang trailed off, so agitated was he at the obvious crookedness of the object currently hidden from his sight.

"He means 'put them here, Havoc.'" Hawkeye pointed at one of the few clear spots on the Colonel's cluttered tabletop.

"Can do, Lieutenant." Havoc promptly plopped the papers in front of the distracted Mustang and strolled out of the office, leaving an exasperated Hawkeye attempting to lecture her sidetracked superior.

"Wonder what was going on in there," Havoc mused as he shut the door behind him.

Breda, the only other person in the outer office, was staring intently at a chessboard. "Mm."

"It probably had something to do with Ed," Havoc continued with a thoughtful expression. "I'm pretty sure I heard his name, and Mustang had that constipated look he always gets when Fullmetal's due to show."

"Uh huh." Breda carefully picked up a white pawn and moved it forward one space. Frowning, he began contemplating the black side's next move.

"Well, I'm getting some coffee. I'm going to need it once Ed comes marching in." Havoc turned to look over his shoulder. "Need anything, Breda?"

His coworker waved him away distractedly. With a shrug, Havoc disappeared into the hallway.

Breda stared at the board for a few more seconds before lifting his head, some of Havoc's words finally registering in his mind. "Wait, what about Ed and his marching band?"

Having been convinced to abandon his chess game by a rather persuasive Hawkeye, Breda stepped into the equipment room in search of Fuery. The man in question was hunched in a corner, headphones fit snuggly over his ears, turning dials with the utmost concentration.

"Hey, Fuery. Got some orders for you." Breda waved the file folder in an attempt to get the other officer's attention.

Fuery looked up and motioned towards a file cabinet near the door. "JUST PUT IT UP THERE," he yelled loudly.

Breda winced, putting one hand to his ear as he placed the folder on top of the cabinet. "Geez, you don't have to shout. I'm right here."

The sergeant had turned back to his work, but he noticed that Breda was still speaking and looked up again. He tapped the headphones. "SORRY, CAN'T HEAR YOU," he yelled apologetically.

Breda shook his head, slightly amused. That guy is the only person I know who can still sound sheepish while shouting at the top of his lungs. "Never mind," he said. "Wasn't important." Turning to the door, Breda muttered, "Well, at least he won't be bothered even if Edward's marching band comes around."

Fuery was attempting to take off his headphones to make conversation with Breda, but by the time he'd finished pulling the clunky things over his head his colleague had already disappeared. Blinking, he tried to make sense of the words Breda had uttered. "Hold on…Mustang's holding hands with who?"

An hour later, Fuery headed back to the office to return some papers before heading out to lunch. When he walked in Falman was the only other person in the room. "Not going out to eat?"

Falman shook his head once, otherwise completely engrossed in a book so thick that it made Fuery's head swim just by looking at it.

Noting that Falman had at least responded in some way, Fuery continued the conversation. "Say, Falman, Breda mentioned something to me earlier and I want to confirm it with you."

An affirmative grunt from behind the dusty covers of the ancient tome.

"He said that Mustang was holding hands with somebody, and I was just wondering if it was the lieutenant."

Silence.

Fuery hastily added, "I mean, I was just thinking, if Breda thought it was worth mentioning, I don't think it would be the colonel just holding hands with anybody."

It was so quiet that Fuery could hear the paint peeling in the back corner of the office.

"Well then, I guess I'll, ah, go to lunch now. See you later, Falman." He made a quick retreat out the door.

Falman finally mustered the willpower to tear his severely squinting eyes from the precious pages in front of him, but his newly directed gaze was met with an empty room. "Huh," he said to himself, reflecting on what he'd just heard, "So. Mustang and Hawkeye are finally marrying, eh? Maybe I can still get something out of that bet."

Mustang stepped back to scrutinize his latest adjustment. "Does that look better, Hawkeye?"

"Yes. Sir. It looks. Wonderful." The lieutenant had long ago given up on persuading/threatening the colonel to consider his paperwork instead of that damn painting. Now she was just trying to make it through the rest of the day without too huge a headache. The incredible urge to hit her forehead against her desktop repeatedly was not helping.

Mustang rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "No, it seems a bit skewed to the right now…" He reached forward to fix the apparent imperfection, but quickly stepped to the side as the door to his office slammed open.

"Yo, Colonel," Ed greeted nonchalantly, settling himself comfortably on the sofa while Al gently closed the door behind them.

"Good afternoon to you too, Fullmetal," Mustang replied, lazy smirk perfectly in place, though his mind was secretly on other, irritatingly lopsided things.

"So, congrats on finally tying the knot with the lieutenant and all that," Ed continued casually, fingering the edge of the sofa arm. He flashed the colonel one of his more mischievous grins. " 'Bout time, if you ask me. You were taking ages and I was getting worried, seeing as you don't have much time left anyway, being the fossil that you are."

"I…what?" For once, Mustang did not have a ready retort. Though, Hawkeye noticed with some satisfaction, his attention had finally been ripped away from the perfectly oriented picture.

Ed turned to Hawkeye and jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Mustang, whose mouth was hanging open in a most attractive fashion while he attempted to recover from the shock of the teenager's previous statement. "No offense, Lieutenant, but I honestly don't see what you do."

"I believe there's been some misunderstanding, Edward," Hawkeye said slowly. "The colonel and I are not getting married."

"But that's what Falman said," Al objected. There was disappointment in his slightly echoed voice.

"Then Falman heard wrong," Mustang said, finally regaining his composure. He turned to Ed, casually changing the direction of the conversation. "Now, Fullmetal, do you have your report or did you lose it on your way through the Diminutive Valley of Midgets?"

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SMALL HE COULD USE A PEANUT SHELL AS A TOBAGGAN?" Ed demanded.

Mustang shrugged and offered nothing but a malicious grin in reply.

"But sledding is fun, Brother," Al pointed out.

Ed snorted and pulled out a messily joined packet of papers from his coat pocket. "Here's your oh-so-important report, bastard. I hope you get a thousand paper cuts trying to read it."

"Your wish is duly appreciated, Fullmetal," Mustang answered coolly, accepting the suspiciously stained gift.

"Whatever. Al and I need to leave now. I've had enough of your face to last three lifetimes." Ed got up and put one hand on the doorknob.

"Wait." Mustang stopped him. "One more question, Edward."

Ed rolled his eyes. "What, Colonel Bastard?"

Mustang turned to ponder the wall in front of him. "Does this look crooked to you?"

If you think that some of the mis-hearings are a bit far-fetched, you have never played "Telephone" before XD Thanks much for reading, and hope you'll be back in two weeks ^^