"Really, we can't thank you enough for this!" Mrs. Alloy said.

"Don't mention it," Ed responded as he watched Alphonse load the last crate into the ancient truck. The machine looked to be on its last tires, so to speak, but Ed supposed orphanages weren't exactly rolling in the dough. Which explained why they were having such a hard time coming up with the penicillin to treat the winter's latest influenza outbreak.

The old woman smiled, age-worn eyes crinkling at the corners. "These medical supplies are really going to help out a lot of children. And who do we have to thank for this?"

"Why, none other than the Fullm—" a leather gauntlet slapped over Ed's mouth before he could finish.

"Um, Captain Jolly!" Alphonse blurted.

Ed threw his brother an annoyed glance and tried to shake the hand away, but it wouldn't budge.

"Captain Jolly is who you want to thank, ma'am," he continued, only releasing Ed after a warning glare.

Mrs. Alloy glanced between the two, something akin to uncertainty in her gaze. "Well . . . please tell Captain . . . Jollyhow grateful we are."

"We will," Alphonse assured her.

The truck coughed and lurched away from the curb and down the street. Ed glared up at his brother. "What was that for, huh?!" he demanded, arms crossed, flesh over metal. "I stole those supplies fair and square!"

The look his little brother gave him was nothing short of unimpressed. "Do you hear yourself when you talk, Brother?"

"Alphonse!"

"Ed, how many times have you been in trouble with Colonel Mustang this week?"

Ed frowned. "Well, there was Monday, when those two crooks blew up half of East City, and Mustang blamed me," he ticked off one finger. "There was Tuesday when I transmuted his buttons to the desk after he fell asleep on his paperwork for the fifth time, and Tuesday afternoon when I broke the office heater, but that wasn't actually my fault, it was Havoc's—"

"And it's only Wednesday."

Ed opened his mouth to respond, then shut it. He had a valid point.

"And what do you think he'd do if he found out you just gave an orphanage several hundred cenz worth of penicillin and medical supplies?"

The answer didn't really require any stretch of the imagination. "Probably set me on fire."

Alphonse nodded. "That's right. Maybe you should let Captain Jolly take the credit for this one."

"Who is Captain Jolly, anyway?"

"Um . . . remember that time I got really mad at you when I was four and didn't speak to you for three days?"

Ed frowned in remembrance. "Yeah, you wouldn't say a word to me. You told Mom you found a new brother."

"Yeah, that was Jolly."

"That stupid stuffed cat?! You replaced me with a stuffed animal?!" Ed shrieked.

"He wasn't stupid, Brother!" Al defended. "I liked that cat!"

"Are you saying we handed over two crates of penicillin in the name of a stuffed cat?"

"It's better than the Colonel setting you on fire!"

Ed faced his brother, arms crossed. "And just what are we supposed to do when Mustang comes looking for 'Captain Jolly?'"

"Um . . . I haven't thought that far ahead."

Both stared after the departing truck, absently watching the cloud of dust kicking up in its wake as it rattled down the unpaved road.

"This is going to come back to bite us," Ed stated dully.

Alphonse offered a weary sigh. "Probably."

XxXxX

Ed had no way to predict just how soon the whole situation would rear its ugly head.

Mustang emerged from his inner office, rubbing his temple in an early indication of stress. "Havoc," he began. "Supply just sent this memo saying that someone under my command signed out two crates of penicillin, four boxes of cotton swabs, two boxes of syringes, and a host of other medical supplies."

Ed stiffened in his seat, but didn't otherwise react. He did his best to keep his pen lazily scrawling across his half-finished report and was thankful his desk wasn't in Mustang's immediate line of sight.

His little brother, seated on the floor beside him, did not share in his nonchalance.

Alphonse sat ram-rod straight, metal armor letting out the most incriminating shriek Ed had ever heard, drawing every eye in the room to him like blood hounds to a trail.

Ed resisted the urge to smack a palm over his face.

"Alphonse?" Breda asked from his own desk across the room, directing the question around a mouthful of sandwich. "Everything okay?"

"Uh, yeah!" Al said, voice half strangled and making Ed want to do some strangling of his own. "Yeah, everything's fine! Why do you ask?"

"Why don't you go ahead and confess, while you're at it?" Ed hissed under his breath.

"You just look a little stiff, is all," Breda said, but his attention was soon drawn back to his sandwich and his own pile of paperwork, even as Mustang and Havoc returned to the report in question.

Ed breathed a sigh of relief at one bullet dodged, then bent over his own paperwork, ears tuned carefully to the conversation at Mustang's desk.

"Whose signature is on it?" Havoc asked.

"Captain . . . Jolly?" Mustang said, the name tinged with uncertainty.

"Oh, is that the guy that just got transferred from Mackenzie's office in Southern? He's under your command." Havoc said.

Ed couldn't believe their luck. Havoc was having a memory lapse! This was perfect!

"Oh . . . of course," Mustang agreed absently. "I guess that must be him. Send a note and let him know the rules and regulations for signing out medical supplies for unofficial business. He'll be getting a rather large deduction from his pay for that particular oversight."

"Yes sir, I'll send the letter along," Havoc said, heading back to his desk.

That wouldn't work.

Ed stood up and gave an exaggerated stretch, yawning widely. "Well, I'm headed to the mess to grab some lunch," he stated. "I can drop that letter off for you, if you want."

Havoc moved his cigarette from the left corner of his mouth to the right, not even glancing up from the letter he was penning. "Sure, Chief, that'd be great." He signed and sealed it and handed it over. "You know what Jolly looks like?"

"Yeah, I've met him a time or two," Ed said, taking the letter and hoping no one heard the tightness in his voice. "Come on, Al."

Alphonse hurried after him, and as soon as the door shut, turned on him. "What are you doing?" he hissed.

"I'm trying to keep myself from being a human torch!" Ed hissed back. "If they go down there and find no Jolly, they're going to start asking questions, and I'm pretty sure someone noticed a red coat and a giant suit of armor hanging around supply!" Ed spun on his heel and stalked down the hall.

"But whose pay are they going to dock?" Alphonse demanded, chasing after him. "Captain Jolly doesn't exist!"

"Not yet."

XxXxX

"Colonel, have you finished issuing assignments for the week?" Riza asked.

Roy resisted the urge to groan. "Hawkeye, I haven't even finished processing these reports from our officers in the field, and with the training exercise coming up tomorrow morning, when would I have time to—"

"Sir, Colonel Manning's Duty Officer just requested the files from last week's inspections. Have you assigned your Duty Officer for the week? He can take care of it."

"No, not yet . . ." he thought a moment. "Give it to Captain Jolly. You know that he hasn't even presented himself yet? He can start pulling his weight around here."

She nodded. "Yes, sir, I'll see that the order is issued and request that he report to you immediately." With a brusque salute that he returned lazily, she returned to her desk to fill out the appropriate paperwork.

Happy to have that little issue taken care of, Roy turned back to his own paper pile of misery.

XxXxX

"We're going to get caught," Al whimpered.

"Would you relax, Al?" Ed admonished. "The secretary won't be back from lunch for at least another half hour." He reflexively glanced at the door at the end of the aisle, then his eyes returned to the file before him. The library held the records for all active and inactive soldiers in the military, and since it was located right next to Eastern Command, they had no trouble sneaking inside while the lunch rush was in full swing.

The records room was filing cabinet after filing cabinet of documents all organized in neat little rows. All they had to do was write Captain Jolly a file and slip it in among the masses.

Ed brushed a stray cobweb from his elbow with distaste. "Help me with this, will you? So we can get out of this spider-infested pit. What's his first name?"

Alphonse turned around from his post staring at the door, red eyes thoughtful. "Jack?"

Ed raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Jack Jolly?"

"Fred, then."

That would do. Ed jotted the name down. "Frederick Jolly . . . Father's name?"

Alphonse thought a moment. "Tuttle?"

"Are you joking?"

"Pepper?"

"Where on earth do you get these names?"

"The only things I've ever named have been cats!" Alphonse said indignantly, soul fire eyes burning through the dimness. "Pepper is a good cat name!"

Ed rolled his eyes. "That's the last time I ask you. Let's see . . . Henry Jolly. And his mother's name . . . Lucy Maverick."

"You're pretty good at this, Brother," Al said, sounding impressed.

Ed wasn't sure if he should be pleased or offended. "Age?"

"Twenty-seven."

"Height and weight?"

"Six five, two hundred and six pounds."

"Tall freak," Ed muttered with distaste, but wrote it down anyway. "Hair?"

"Brunette. Blue eyes."

Ed scribbled quickly. "Where did he graduate?"

"Central Military Academy?"

"No, that's too easy to check."

"What about the Southern Military Base Academy?"

"That should be obscure enough," Ed agreed, jotting it down. "Blood type . . . B positive . . ." Ed's eyes skimmed over the pay history document, a thought suddenly occurring to him. "Oh and would look at that?"

Alphonse shifted nervously beside him. "What? Look at what?" he asked, peering over Ed's shoulder.

"Captain Jolly hasn't received a single paycheck in over a year!"

Alphonse regarded him like one might regard a teetering bottle of nitroglycerine. "Of course he hasn't, Ed," Al said, voice wavering between uncertainty and caution. "He's not real . . ."

"But the military doesn't know that," he said with a manic grin. "And I know just the people that could use the money."

XxXxX

Things escalated rather quickly after that.

Right after that, actually, because just as they exited the library, someone called out to them.

"Major Elric?"

Ed nearly jumped out of his skin, whirling around like a startled housecat. "What?!"

Beside him, Al snickered. "Who's paranoid now?"

Falman hesitated before stepping a bit closer, cautiously now, like he was afraid Ed might bite. "Have you seen Captain Jolly?" He raised a pair of manila folders for the brothers to see. "I have orders from the Colonel, but I can't seem to find him anywhere."

"Uh, you just missed him," Al said quickly. "He was here, but went down to the mess."

"Huh," Falman said. "Well, guess I'll head down there to have a look. I don't even know what they guy looks like. I think the Colonel is about to give Mackenzie a call. Something about checking into Jolly's credentials. He's not happy that the man hasn't reported in to him directly."

Panic shot through Ed like a current.

"Ah, well, you know Jolly, he's always so busy!" Ed tried really hard to keep his voice from sounding strained. "He just got back this morning from helping at the soup kitchen. You know he's been nominated for the Fuhrer's Distinguished Service Award just last month for all his public service?"

Falman's eyebrows rose marginally. "Wow, that's impressive. That's usually only award that to those over the rank of Major."

"Yeah, he's quite the guy!" Ed squeaked.

"Seems that way," Falman agreed. "Well, guess I'll head down to the mess."

"Right!" Ed said, forcing a smile and rubbing the back of his head as Falman disappeared down the hallway.

"Smooth," Al commented.

Ed deflated. "He's going to call Mackenzie's office! What are we going to do?!"

"I guess we're going to have to intercept that call."

Ed looked at his baby brother with a small fluttering of pride. "Al, you might turn out to be an evil genius yet."

Al beamed. "I learn from the best!"

Ed's smile froze a bit, because he knew for a fact that deviousness was an innate quality that Al had possessed all along, and Ed wondered what kind of effects unleashing it would have on society as they knew it.

Too late, now. "Alright, Al, let's go save Captain Jolly."

XxXxX

"Fuery, what's taking so long?" Roy sighed.

"I'm not sure, sir," the younger man responded, fiddling with the wire on Roy's phone. For some reason, when he picked it up to call Colonel Mackenzie, he hadn't even received a dial tone. It was like the line was dead. "There's nothing wrong with the phone, so I don't know why . . . wait, here!" he said, offering it to his commanding officer.

Roy plucked the device from Fuery's outstretched hand, the dial tone droning strong in his ear. "Good job, Master Sergeant. Dismissed."

Fuery retreated back to the outer office and Roy wasted no time dialing out to Southern Command.

"Southern Command," a voice said. She sounded young enough.

Roy glanced at the open office doorway. He had a clear view of Riza's desk, but she was out at the moment. Roy reckoned he had at least a few minutes until she came back.

He had time for some fun.

"This is Colonel Roy Mustang, from Eastern Command," he said, turning on the charm. "And who might you be?"

She made a sputtering sound. Was she choking? He frowned in vague concern. "Miss?"

"How can I help you?" she squeaked, sounding distressed.

Clearly his charms were working. He smiled to himself. He totally still had it. "Ah, I take it you've heard of me, then? No need to be nervous, I'm just as human as the next man."

"HOW CAN I HELP YOU?!"

Ah, well. Clearly he was just a bit too much for her. Probably just overwhelmed at the attention. Roy admitted that he could be a bit intense. Not every woman could handle it. "Colonel Mackenzie's office, please. Perhaps next time I'm in the South, you and I could—"

"TRANSFERING."

Roy blinked at the phone. Curious.

XxXxX

"This is Colonel Roy Mustang, from Eastern Command," Mustang said, voice low and sticky sweet. "And who might you be?"

. . . Was that scummy, skirt-chasing, cocky, idiot colonel flirting with him?!

He was going to have a stroke. He could feel a vein in his brain exploding.

"Miss?" The flirtatious tone had disappeared, now more concerned.

This time, it didn't take nearly as much work to pitch his voice high and feminine. "How can I help you?"

"Ah, I take it you've heard of me, then? No need to be nervous, I'm just as human as the next man."

Yeah, he was going to have a stroke. That was that. He was pretty sure he was also simultaneously having a heart attack. When he got back to the office, he was going to transmute more than Mustang's buttons to his desk.

"Brother, say something!" Al hissed.

"HOW CAN I HELP YOU?!" Was he screaming, or was it just him?

Mustang paused, apparently considering. "Colonel Mackenzie's office, please. Perhaps next time I'm in the South, you and I could—"

"TRANSFERING."

Ed muted the call, glaring absolute daggers at his brother. Though the supply closet next door to Mustang's office was small, Ed's glare probably would have been able to melt his little brother's armor from a kilometer away, so he toned it down a bit. "Next time, you play the operator," he snarled, handing Al the phone and leaning hard against the rack of cleaning supplies with arms crossed.

Alphonse cleared a throat that he didn't have, then raised the speaker to his faceplate and pushed a switch on their transmuted phone line they had alchemized to Mustang's office phone. "Colonel Mackenzie," he greeted, voice low and gravelly, the echo of his armor lending him an almost regal air. He sounded almost like an older man. Ed was impressed.

Ed leaned forward to listen, despite himself.

"Yes, Colonel? This is Colonel Roy Mustang, of Eastern Command. I was calling in regard to a certain Captain Jolly."

"Ah, Captain Jolly!" Al said passionately, tilting his head back and twirling the phone cord around a thick leather finger while he channeled some persona Ed tried to identify. "Captain Jolly is a fine soldier, a real asset. I was sorry to see him go, but apparently our southern climate does not agree with him."

"I see," Mustang said. "So you would give him your recommendation?"

"Absolutely! There was never a finer soldier under my command! It was only last month he saved a whole platoon from a gang of drug lords, singlehandedly! He's going to be hard to replace!"

"Tone it down a bit, will you?!" Ed whispered. "You sound like Armstrong!"

"That is certainly impressive. Thank you, Colonel, I appreciate your time."

"Of course!"

"By the way, what is the name of that cute little operator on base? She sounds like—"

Ed brought his automail fist down on the phone.

XxXxX

Roy stared, startled at the sudden dial tone.

Oh well. Riza was back anyway.

She entered his office, a file under her hand. She placed it on his desk without ceremony. "Orders for tomorrow."

Roy had been waiting for these all day. He quickly hung up the phone and opened the first one. The rule was that commanding officers only got twelve hours to review the assignment and plan their approach, and now that it was six o'clock, it meant an early morning. "Apparently Jolly is highly recommended," he informed absently, skimming the information. Then he groaned. "We're in the Mud Pit?!"

The Mud Pit was a low patch of land south of Eastern Command, so low in fact that every time it rained, puddles collected and it became more of a marshland than a field. Eastern Command utilized it as a training ground for younger cadets, and its loving moniker was not bestowed lightly.

Roy glanced out the window at the rainclouds gathering.

He hated this city.

"Do you hear something?" Riza asked suddenly.

Roy paused, listening.

"It sounds like . . . screaming?"

"Is that Major Elric?"

Roy listened a moment, eyeing the wall that muffled the manic shrieks. It sounded like a dying animal. "You know what? I don't even want to know."

The phone rang, startling him from his musings.

"Colonel Mustang," he answered. Perhaps the secretary had reconsidered his offer.

"Fuhrer Bradley here."

Roy stiffened in his seat, the slouch in his posture disappearing entirely. "Sir!"

The Fuhrer gave a hearty chuckle. "It's come to my attention that a certain officer under your command has been quite busy these days. I was contacted by an orphanage in Central. Mrs. Alloy says that a Captain Jolly donated eleven month's pay to their organization."

It was news to Roy. "Of course, I'm very proud to have him under my command."

"Let's be sure to show him our appreciation. He's putting a good face to the military. It's good for our image to have such an upstanding officer in our ranks. I'd like to come out to the training exercise tomorrow and bestow him the Fuhrer's Distinguished Service Award."

"Yes, sir!"

"Very well. I will see you at 0610 sharp. That should give you enough time to begin your exercise."

"Yes, sir!"

"Good day, Colonel."

Roy regarded the phone with a bit of incredulity before placing it in its cradle. "It seems," he said numbly, "that the Fuhrer will be joining us tomorrow for the exercise."

The slight widening of Riza's eyes was her only reaction. "I see."

"I think I need more coffee."

XxXxX

It was midnight when Ed and Al let themselves in to Eastern Headquarters via the back wall, climbed up the stairs, then alchemically unlocked the door to Mustang's office.

Al flipped on the lights, showing the office to be completely empty.

"Okay, we've got six hours," Ed said, grabbing a stack of paperwork from Hawkeye's desk and dropping into his own seat. It was Captain Jolly's Duty Officer documents, meant to assign responsibilities to the dozen or so lower officers under the rank of Captain in Colonel Mustang's command. The assignments were mostly keeping cadets busy, assigning mess, mail, laundry duty, and more.

There had to be forty different assignment forms!

"We can not keep doing this," Ed groaned, throwing his head back against his headrest.

Alphonse picked up half the papers, gingerly lowering himself to the ground. He was still plenty tall enough to lean over the desk and utilize it as a writing surface, though. "Well, what do you think we should do?"

"I don't know," Ed groaned again, "but we can't come in every night after hours and do Jolly's work!"

Al nodded. "You're right. Not to mention complete his assignments. And I think someone will notice when he isn't out on the training exercise tomorrow." Al looked up at him. "What is his assignment tomorrow, anyway?"

Ed shrugged, dragging himself out of his chair and into Mustang's inner office, poking around the piles of paperwork—geez, did he ever finish any of it?!—until he found the assignments for tomorrow, sketched out in Mustang's sharp script.

"He's got me and Jolly escorting some top-secret weapon from one side of the field to the other," he called out to his brother. "Why am I even on this?!"

"It's better than providing cover, isn't it?" Al said helpfully from the other room.

Ed sighed, replacing everything exactly as he had found it, wondering back to the outer office and pacing back and forth along a well-worn track through the center of the office.

Al went back to the pile of paperwork.

"I got it!"

Al looked up, soul-fire eyes burning with suspicion. "What do you think you have?"

"I know how to fix all of this!" he cackled gleefully.

"You're scaring me, Ed."

"Shut up, and listen . . ."

XxXxX

Ed arrived at the training exercise at six a.m. sharp, exhausted but in good spirits.

Because this was about to end.

To his complete surprise, there was already a throng surrounding the officers' tent, all murmuring out in the drizzling rain as he passed. A few generator-powered lights illuminated the scene in the pre-dawn stillness, casting stark shadows in the cold mist.

The chill and the rain did nothing to dampen the spirits of those gathered.

"He did my paperwork, filed it all last night!" a woman exclaimed. Ed vaguely recognized her as Private Williams.

"Mine, too!" another, larger man said.

"I heard he once cleared a minefield by himself, and he's not even an alchemist!" a squared man with a furry mustache agreed.

"What are we talking about?" Ed asked, pulling his hood up to keep the rain out.

Two dozen or so pairs of eyes turned on him, all alight with eagerness. They all stepped into a smart salute. "Major, Sir!"

"At ease," he said, though he was more uneasy than anyone with the sudden onslaught of attention. "Who's not even an alchemist?"

"Captain Jolly!" Private Williams said, as excited as a toddler presented with cake. "Is it true you're friends with him?!"

"Um . . ." Ed blinked. "Uh, yeah, we're friends."

"Is it true that he single-handedly took out a Drachman unit in one night?!" Mustache asked.

"And stopped a flooding river from wiping out a town?" a skinny red-headed private added.

Ed may have overdone it on the embellishments in Jolly's file.

Oh, well. Too late now.

"Oh, yeah! He's quite the guy!" Ed agreed with an elaborate wave of his hand. "He wouldn't want your praise, though. He'd be pretty embarrassed if he heard you talking about it. Where is he, anyway?" This was working better than he had hoped.

"Supply said he took a jeep out," Mustache said. "He said something about testing a faulty engine. What a guy, huh?"

"Fullmetal!" an irritated baritone rumbled from the tent.

Ed suppressed an eyeroll. "Well, duty calls," he said over his shoulder, marching up the muddied path to the command tent.

Inside, Mustang was standing over a large table, looking like he'd tried his best to look presentable, but the rain had plastered his hair to his head in a wet mop sort of way, destroying any semblance of decorum. An enormous map was pinned to the tabletop in front of him, littered with small metal figures that represented platoons, buildings, and artillery. The dim electric lantern swinging from the ceiling support illuminated his trusted staff at his side, notepads in hand as they made notes and murmured coordinates.

The Colonel looked like he had been there all night, dark circles under his dark eyes, mouth turned down in an irritated grimace. Being soaked only added to the picture. "You're late," he snapped.

Ed might have been annoyed with the pretentious moron if he hadn't been so pleased with himself. "You said report at six. It's six."

"Five after," Mustang corrected. "You and Jolly are supposed to head out in ten minutes."

"Didn't Jolly tell you?" Ed said, trying really hard to keep the smirk off of his face. "He came early to check the equipment. He said something about faulty engines in the military's older jeeps."

"I didn't authorize that," Mustang said, eyes sliding to Hawkeye to confirm it.

"No, Sir, he didn't report in."

"What is it with Jolly and not reporting in?!" Mustang snarled. "Havoc! Take Breda and retrieve him from the field!"

"Sir!" the two chorused, snapping into a salute before scurrying out.

"Our entire exercise is compromised if that idiot—"

Boom.

The tent shook, sending the lantern swinging wildly, dust sifting to the ground and shadows scattering like insects from a kicked hornet's nest.

"What the—" Mustang began.

"Colonel!" a voice cried outside.

Mustang stalked past, Hawkeye, Falman, and Fuery following. Ed brought up the rear, doing his best to radiate an air of concerned curiosity.

"Sir!" a gangly private said, jogging up to Mustang.

A new voice spoke. "What happened here?"

Even Ed jumped, salutes flying as the Fuhrer and two escorts approached.

Well, this wasn't something Ed had been expecting.

"Fuhrer, Sir!" Mustang said, hand snapping into a salute.

The Fuhrer returned it, his one eye surveying the scene and mouth pulled down into a grim line. "At ease. What's happened?"

Mustang turned to the gangly private that was still quaking nervously at Mustang's right. "Private Mathews?"

"There's been an accident!" Mathews blurted, eyes darting nervously between Mustang and the Fuhrer.

"What happened?!" Mustang demanded.

"Jolly . . . the jeep . . . it caught fire!" he said, pointing to the west.

A thick cloud of dark smoke stained the pre-dawn sky, coiling against the dark horizon. Below it, a fire blossomed at the edge of the forest, several kilometers in the distance. Fire unfurled like bright ribbons in the dimness, eating away at something boxy and metallic.

The jeep, presumably.

"Not Jolly!" Ed whaled, then smothered a completely inappropriate grin behind a pristine white glove as if hiding a sob.

The entire crowd gasped, murmurs of disbelief and exclamations of horror sweeping through the congregated military unit.

And Al said Ed couldn't act his way out of a paper bag.

Before Mustang could order a rescue, the jeep exploded.

Fire ripped the morning apart, sparks flying higher than the tree line and flames engulfing the whole vehicle, any chance of survivors obliterated with the jeep.

Al did good work. Ed even thought it was rather pretty.

A hush fell over the gathering. One by one, soldiers took their hats from their heads and placed them over their hearts, expressions drawn.

The silence stretched on, seemingly endless in the still morning. Ed looked around at the faces of those gathered, illuminated by the fire in the distance, somber and grim. Ed tried to keep his lips turned down, but wow, this was great.

"It seems," Mustang began quietly, "that the Captain was testing the equipment. He thought there might have been a problem with the jeeps . . . he saved a lot of lives."

The Fuhrer nodded. "We lost a good man today," he finally said. "Perhaps someone who knew him best should say a few words."

All eyes turned to Ed.

Oh.

"Um," he began, clearing his throat. What were you supposed to say on these occasions? "Jolly . . . he wasn't with us very long," he started, then paused.

That's right, Ed, play up the drama.

"I mean, did any of us really know him? How could you get to know a guy like that in less than a week? I'd like to think that he's not really gone, though. It may be hard to remember exactly the way he looked, or the way he laughed, but he's left behind a memorial. He told me . . . he said that all of his insurance has been left to Mrs. Alloy's orphanage."

"Typical Jolly," Havoc murmured.

"What a guy," Breda agreed.

"We salute you, Captain Jolly," the Fuhrer said. Hands flew to foreheads in a somber sendoff. "The finest officer this military has ever had."

As the flames rose higher, and the sky slowly lightened, Ed wasn't sure how much longer he could keep his glee to himself.

XxXxX

A crew had been sent out to contain the fire, the exercise had been postponed, Mustang was barking orders, and Ed was surveying the aftermath from his seat on a fallen tree, no small amount of satisfaction ironed into his smug grin.

Scamming the military and setting fire to their property all in one day? Not a bad morning at all.

Like a wraith from the mist, Alphonse appeared from the trees behind him. "Nice speech, Brother," he complimented, sitting heavily beside him. The log groaned a bit in protest, then settled under his weight.

"Thanks, Al," Ed grinned.

"Wipe that smile off your face, Brother," Al said through an invisible smile of his own. "A good man died today."

"I was just reminiscing on all the good times me and Jolly had," Ed replied, raking his wet bangs from his forehead. "Those were some nice fireworks."

"Thanks. I hope it wasn't too over the top."

"Nah, I think it really sold it."

"Fullmetal."

Both looked up to see Mustang hovering beside them.

"Mustang," Ed returned cautiously, but a quick look at the colonel's countenance told him he hadn't heard anything of importance. Mustang just looked at him, his black eyes unreadable. Ed was about to demand to know what the idiot wanted when Mustang took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry for your loss," the older man said awkwardly. "I know that you and Jolly were . . . close."

Ed kind of felt bad now . . . "Eh, not too close. You know, just met in the mess a few times."

Mustang nodded. "Well, it's never easy, losing a comrade."

"Yeah," Ed agreed, standing up and stretching his arms wide with a groan. "Well, Jolly always said he'd go down in a blaze of glory. Guess he was right."

"I guess so," Mustang agreed. He turned his dark eyes to look across the misty field, the last of the blaze smothered into glowing embers.

"I just wonder what he was thinking," he said finally. "Taking a jeep like that . . . Who would have authorized him to go out in the field?"

Ed thought a moment.

"Maybe it was Lieutenant Pepper."

"Brother!"

"Rain, don't you have other fics to be updating?"

Yep.

"Shouldn't you maybe try updating those and not this useless drivel?"

*sips coffee* Yep

"Could you then-"

Nope.

Because with all this quarantine business going on, my muse has been completely off the wall. I spent a solid hour doodling those "Draw this potato as a Disney character" memes on Facebook this afternoon (If you're desperate for entertainment, check it out on my fb page). I've had this fic half-finished and sitting on my hard drive for literally years, so I thought I'd brush it off and finish it lol. Not happy with all of it, but it was totally for fun, so I'm not overly worried about it.

Anybody remember the show M.A.S.H.? It's definitely in my top favorite TV shows of all time. There was an episode in season 1 called Tuttle (or something like that) and when I saw it, I knew my heart would not be satisfied until I had inserted it into the FMA fandom. So credit where credit is due, the concept is definitely not mine, but I totally ran with it.

Besides, all the doom-and-gloom in the world (yeah, I'm turning off the news now) really makes me crave some levity in my writing. Don't worry, I'll be going back to DOA and SSB. Let me have my fun xD

Stay safe, stay peaceful. If you have the time, drop a review (reviews give me life), and I'll see you in my next DOA update :)

God Bless,

-RainFlame