Summary: Some people can't handle too much spare time. Edward, unsurprisingly, is one of them.
Notes: I got very, very bored. And then I decided to make myself write something about that. I'm feeling better now. And being strangely prolific.
Semi-sequel to "Mutato Nomine", except it's more a sequel to the sequel of that fic, so reading that one first is not only unnecessary, but it also probably won't help you very much. Everything's explained pretty well in the fic. And I may someday manage to finish the story in between these. But it's not humor and would take longer than an all-nighter, so I'm dubious. ;
The full Horace quote is "Caelum, non animum, mutant qui trans mare currunt". This literally means "They who run across the sea change the sky, not their souls". In Latin class no one really had a clue what the hell this meant. Basically, it means that running away doesn't solve all your problems; that the stars above you might change, but you yourself will stay the same. Weirdly Dr. Phil-ian.
(-)
"...What do you MEAN I don't have a next mission?" Ed asked, still too confused to be properly angry.
"What I said. You have a few weeks off. I thought, after your endless complaining about the vaguely-defined pointless missions in various hellholes I allegedly send you to, that you would be happy to hear this."
Ed's eyes narrowed. "What are you trying to pull? Because there's got to be something more to this."
"There really isn't."
"There's got to be a reason."
"Yes. Because if you make one more person angry, we're liable to all be shot in a bloody covert operation."
"I don't make people angry!"
Mustang propped his head on his hand and looked at him sweetly.
"...I don't make NORMAL people angry!"
"By which I hope you mean 'civilians'. Yes, it is true, the comon people do have an exceptional regard for you. But you have a way of rubbing most government officials the wrong way."
"Only the corrupt bastards!"
Mustang glanced languidly around and said lowly, "And you think that's not the majority?"
Ed grumbled, conceding the point. "But that hasn't mattered before, it's been half the damn point, hasn't it!"
"This is a delicate time, Fullmetal," Mustang said, adjusting some papers brusquely. "Justified or not, you have made more than a few enemies in high places, and, in the long and the short term, I think someday you'll agree that it's best if you attempt to be unnoticed for a few months." He smirked. "Though, despite your natural advantages for the task, I realize you find that hard."
"Who are you calling so short he can fall into sidewalk cracks!"
Mustang chuckled. "You may go now, Fullmetal."
Ed tried to come up with a blistering retort, but couldn't think of anything else to say and stormed out of the office in a huff. As always.
Al, however, lingered. "So, uh, for exactly how long will we be off?"
Mustang shrugged. "A few weeks. Try to enjoy it. Without leaving the city, if at all possible."
"I have a very bad feeling about this," Al muttered, and hurried after his brother to make sure he didn't destroy anything.
(-)
"This library sucks."
"So you've mentioned. Look, why don't--"
"They don't have Cassius, they don't have Browning--"
"Yes, brother, I know. Why don't we--"
"I CAN'T GET ANY WORK DONE HERE!"
"Yeah. I know."
"WHY won't he let us out of the city! This doesn't make any sense! Okay, so we can't piss anybody off. What's the harm if we hang around in the library, or go back home for a few weeks, huh!"
"I don't know, but I think he must have--"
"He's a bastard! THAT'S his reason!"
"Yes, you've mentioned that too. Why don't you--"
"He just wants to see me suffer!"
"Riight, I'm just going to leave these books for you to check out for me and slowly walk away now."
"THIS IS A BIG, FAT WASTE OF MY TIME!"
"Excuse me, young man! You cannot yell like that in a library! Were you raised by wolves?"
"I don't know him."
"Oh, thanks a lot, Al!"
"Young man!"
(-)
"Brother?" Al knocked on the wall. "Aren't you awake yet?"
"No. Go away."
"Come on, I know you were up late reading, but you can't sleep in this long! It's not good for you!"
"I can try."
Al knocked harder. "Brooootherrrr..."
"Fine, fine, fine." Ed dragged himself out of bed.
"Why don't we go out and--"
"Don't feel like it."
"Are you sick?"
"Maybe."
"You could read--"
"I don't have anything to read."
"We just got--"
"I read all those."
"You've been meaning to study--"
"I can't focus on it right, it's too damn mind-numbing."
"Then what're you going to do?"
"Well, since SOMEONE won't let me sleep, I guess I'll just sit here on the couch and stare at the wall."
"You're kidding, right?"
Ed glared at the wall.
"You can't be serious."
"I have nothing to do, Al. Nothing!"
"...Come on. We'll FIND something."
Ed muttered vague threats as Al dragged him off of the couch.
(-)
"Please, Lt. Hawkeye, you've got to help me," Al pleaded. "He won't do anything. He just glares at the wall. I think something's wrong with him."
"Aren't you supposed to be on a vacation?"
"Yes, but Col. Mustang won't let us actually go anywhere. I've gotten books for him, but he's either finished with them or he's given up halfway through."
"Well, I'll try to help, but I don't know what I can--"
"Brother?" Al called, opening the door. "I brought Lt. Hawkeye to visit."
"Okay," Ed said, staring at the ceiling. Al wondered if the change in staring surfaces was a good or a bad sign.
"So, Ed, I hear you're feeling... bored." Hawkeye sat down, wondering what exactly had posessed Al to bring her here.
"That's because I can't DO anything. All the things I need are somewhere else, but really, what would be the point anyway? It's never gonna work. Not without blowing up a couple cities. It's pointless. That's IF we don't get everybody killed. What's the point?"
Hawkeye blinked. "I thought the point was--"
"There is no purpose to my life." Ed stared at the ceiling bleakly. "I hate this. I can't do anything, I can't think straight, I hate having nothing to do!"
"Couldn't you-- work on some side project, or-- read something obscure or something?" Hawkeye suggested.
"I tried, I can't bring myself to care about any of it. What's the point of anything? I can't change a damn thing. I might as well just stay here and stare at the ceiling the rest of my life."
Hawkeye, somewhat unnerved, decided a different approach might be in order.
"Edward Elric!" she cried, jumping up and pointing her gun at his head. "Get up off of that couch! Right now!"
"Why?"
She cocked the gun.
"What do I care, I've had a good life." Ed shrugged.
"BROTHER!" Al throttled him. "Don't you DARE talk that way!"
"Okaay," Hawkeye said, holstering her gun, "this is serious. We've got to get you something to do."
Al was too busy attacking his brother to really pay attention. Ed, likewise, was too busy being attacked.
Hawkeye sighed and waited for the fight to end.
(-)
"Could you please get him some filing work or something, Col. Mustang?"
Mustang looked at Al, and then at Ed. Ed was too busy fuming at the very concept of having to come to Mustang for help to comment in any way. After a few moments of this, Al decided that the colonel might need some sort of clarification.
"He's going stir-crazy. You've got to give him something to do."
Mustang shrugged. "I'm afraid I don't have any extra work right now."
"Yes, you do!" came a number of shouts from his staff.
"Ignore them, they're slackers. Besides, even if I did, I wouldn't want to spoil your holiday."
"HOLIDAY!" Ed cried. "You call THIS a HOLIDAY! You'll hardly let us out of the damn DORMITORIES, much LESS anywhere anyone would actually want to go!"
"Ah, but a vacation is less an actual trip than a state of mind. 'Caelum, non animum, mutant'--"
"Oh, I KNOW you weren't just quoting Horace at me!"
"Was it Horace? I can't remember."
"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU!"
"Fortunately, my existence does not depend on, nor is affected in any way by, your belief in me."
"You'd better hope your 'alchemy' still works on the bitter flames of HELL!" Ed stormed out. Again.
"Please, sir, really," Al tried. "He needs something to do! He really is going crazy! He hates being so aimless."
"I thought you two had an aim."
"Yes, but he can't do anything about it locked up in his room."
"If anyone is locking you up, it isn't me."
"Installing Maria Ross to guard the door doesn't count?"
Mustang smirked. "I am sorry, but I really don't have any work."
"Yes, you do!" his subordinates chorused again.
"Besides, he needs to learn patience. If he doesn't like the lesson, what can I do about it?"
"You think this is just a lesson in patience!"
"Among other things."
"WHAT other things? If you're going to drive him crazy, at least tell me why!"
Mustang just smirked at him and went back to his paperwork.
Al fumed. "Let it be known, for the record, that I warned you."
"Sure," Mustang said, "you warned me."
'Oh, he deserves this,' Al thought angrily, as he stormed after his brother.
(-)
"What's the meaning of life?" Ed asked blearily, staring up at the ceiling. "What is my purpose?"
Al sighed. "PLEASE stop that."
"Sorry."
"Your apology's accepted."
"...I don't think I HAVE a purpose, I think it's just a cra--"
"All right!" Al bolted up. "You know what? You DO have a purpose. You DO have an aim. You know what it's gonna be?"
Ed shook his head.
"It's gonna be getting sweet revenge on Colonel Mustang for locking us in here, because honestly, I'm kind of losing my patience with it too."
"Okay... I like where this is headed..." Ed said slowly.
"So! Get your ass off the couch and start plotting ways to make him suffer!" Al shoved a stack of books into his brother's arms. "NOW!"
"Sir, yes, sir!" Ed dropped the books on the table, pulled up a chair, and dove eagerly into 'Collected Monographs on Structural and Geometrical Components of Alchemy'.
Al was relieved to see his brother working again, but slightly guilty at the amount of trouble this could make for both the colonel and his brother. But really, it was worth it... and he really did deserve it.
In fact, Al was tempted to cook up a few plots himself...
(-)
Alicia was always perfectly happy to be baby-sat these days, because invariably her sitter bought her something nice. Ed was no exception. Alicia didn't try to exploit this, exactly; it hadn't occured to her, and she didn't even have to. She could point at a balloon or a toy or a teddy bear and likely get it before it even occured to her to ask. Fortunately, she wasn't an avaracious sort of child, and so she found this more of a puzzle than a way to try to get expensive toys. But still, she knew, it had its advantages.
Ed smiled wryly at her as she licked her ice-cream cone. "You know how to get what you want, don't you?"
"But this was your idea."
"Okay, you don't have to know how to get what you want. Figures."
Alicia often didn't understand half of what Ed said, but it didn't bother her. In fact, she kind of liked it that he didn't try to talk down to her. It wasn't the sort of thing she'd like to hear all the time, but it was a very nice change of pace. "You said you were gonna tell me a story."
"Yeah..." Ed grinned as he spotted his prey. "Let's sit down, now..."
Alicia situated herself on the bench and continued licking happily.
"Once upon a time, there was this boy."
"Was he a prince?"
"No, just a commoner, but he knew alchemy."
"Cool."
"Now this alchemist was very famous, and he wandered throughout the land doing great deeds for the people, freeing them from tyrants, and so forth."
Alicia narrowed her eyes at him, suspecting an analogy.
"But the alchemist's superior officer was jealous of him, and so one day he locked the young alchemist up in a tower with nothing to do."
"That's not nice!"
"Oh no, it isn't," Ed said darkly. "While the young alchemist had food and water, he had no books, or missions, or--"
"Couldn't he use alchemy to escape the tower?"
"The room was alchemy-proof."
"Is that possible?"
"Yeah, actually, if you put a lot of time into it, a variation of the Forrester diagram--" Ed caught himself. "--would do that. And eventually, the young alchemist got so bored that he died."
"He died!"
"Mm-hmm. But don't worry, you have to be really, really, really bored to actually die of it. Like, locked in a box for three months or something. Anyway, when the alchemist died, his ghost could drift out of the cell, which is how he figured out he was dead."
"I thought there was no such thing as ghosts," she said warily.
"There aren't, this is fiction. So, when the alchemist realized he was dead, and free, he used his powers to punish his evil CO for locking him in the room."
"Can ghosts use alchemy?"
"I dunno, since they don't exist. Maybe it was special ghost powers instead. Anyway, the evil, cowardly, smirky superior officer--"
"This IS an arregolly, isn't it!"
"Sorta. Now let me finish. Anyway, the evil, cowardly, smirky superior officer finally repented--"
"Re-wha?"
"Repented. It means he was sorry. The coward repented, and the ghost disappeared-- though it was rumored forever that he would appear in death, as he had in life, to work valiantly for the people. And, it is said, to continue to wreak revenge upon evil, cowardly, and especially smirky COs who abused young alchemists. The end."
"Should I tell Uncle Roy you called him evil?"
"He already knows."
"Ah, okay. Hey, that's Uncle Roy over there!" Alicia pointed.
"Mm-hmm. Must be a lunch break. Or he's escaped." Ed smiled.
"Who's that lady he's with?"
"I don't know, but probably 'lady's not the right word." Ed wrinkled his nose as the woman flirted sappily, pretending to be impressed that she was actually meeting the revered Flame Alchemist. "Disgusting."
"Huh?"
"You'll understand when you're older."
"I hate it when people tell me that."
"Yeah, but with some things, it's just true. Not as often as people'll tell you it is, but sometimes it just is, and there's no way to get around it."
Alicia nodded sadly, finishing her ice-cream cone. Recently, she'd come to value Ed's uncensoredness much more, as he was often the only person she could get a straight, honest answer from. Even if the answer was "I haven't figured that out yet, and I don't think anyone else has either," it was, at least, totally true. Knowing there were no answers was better, she thought, than relying on fake ones, and Ed, who was close enough to childhood to remember what it was really like, understood that.
Ed brightened as the woman pulled out a cigarette from her purse. "Excellent."
"What?" Alicia was interested in his tone: as Al had told her, and she'd learned for herself, it boded sure mischief. Which, in her experience, was usually fun.
"The ghost of that young alchemist is about to strike again," Ed said, as Mustang made a move to light the floozy's cigarette by way of alchemy.
"But you said there's no such thing as--"
Alicia squeaked as a wide torrent of flame burst backward upon Mustang, engulfing him completely.
"He'll be fine," Ed said, escorting Alicia off the bench, holding in his evil laughter.
Alicia, looking backward as Ed hurried them away, saw that Uncle Roy did seem to be all right, though he was having a bit of trouble putting out his hair. And he was yelling a number of words that she wasn't supposed to know. She stared back up at Ed, perplexed.
Ed grinned at her. "We were never here."
Alicia thought about that, then smiled. "Okay!"
(-)
"Colonel?" Hawkeye walked into the office. "You weren't supposed to--" She stopped abruptly, taking in his singed appearance and the smell of smoke. "Sir?"
Mustang had one elbow on his desk, propping up his head, and was staring, seethily, at one of his gloves. "Yes, Hawkeye?"
"What... what exactly are you doing, sir?"
"I'm trying to figure out exactly how the little punk did it."
"Fullmetal, sir?"
"Yes, Fullmetal."
"Because usually you call him 'brat', sir."
"Well, he's been upgraded to 'punk' now, Lt. Hawkeye."
"I see." She paused. "What exactly did he do?"
"He has tampered with my gloves."
"Really?"
"No, I set MYSELF on fire in front of a beautiful girl," Mustang snapped.
"Exactly what were you doing with a beautiful girl on your lunch break, sir?"
"Well, as it turned out, very little." Roy slammed the glove down on his desk.
Hawkeye decided not to press this point at the moment. "How could Fullmetal have tampered with your gloves, sir? I thought you kept rather a close eye on them."
"I do," Mustang replied. "Hence the trying to figure out how he did it."
"Ah. I see."
Mustang turned the glove inside out. "Aha!"
"Sir?"
"...No, that's just a bit of lint." He picked at it. "Wait..." He brought the glove to within two inches of his eyes. "That line wasn't there before!"
"...Excellent, sir," said Hawkeye.
"That little punk! How did he do this!"
"Well, I assume you couldn't just wander in in the middle of the night and use a red pen."
"This still doesn't... Aha! He hid it in the seam!" Mustang threw the glove down. "That crafty little--!"
"Could you just wander in in the middle of the night and use a red pen?" Hawkeye asked, suddenly doubtful.
"What? No. I never keep these anywhere he could get to... so how..." Mustang trailed off.
"Sir?"
"This isn't really possible."
"Well, sir, he has had quite a lot of time on his hands."
He glared at her.
"And 'idle hands'..."
"What?"
"Are the devil's workshop."
"Really? That's not the way I'd heard it..."
"How exactly did you hear it?"
Mustang coughed. "Let's get back to work, shall we?"
"Would you like some coffee while you plot your revenge, sir?"
"Yes, thank you."
(-)
Mustang realized he was in trouble when his chair whirled around the room and crashed through the wall, causing him to fall two stories to the concrete below. He realized that he had made a serious micalculation when he bounced.
When he got the chair to stop bouncing, he brushed off his uniform, attempting, in a probably futile effort, to maintain his dignity. He took his chair (he happened to be rather fond of that chair) and walked back in the front door of the building, startling the few people who hadn't rushed to look out the window at the sound of the crashes. He noted that a large number of people were staring at him but didn't think he was quite up to wondering why.
With quiet dignity, he dragged his chair up the stairs and finally made it back to his office, where he stood, for a moment, in the doorframe, while his staff stared at him, agape.
"I may have made a miscalculation as to the current situation with Edward Elric," he said.
"...Your hair is green," said Havoc. "Why exactly is your hair green?"
Mustang paused to consider this. "Because Edward Elric is an angel of vengeance summoned from Hell to punish me for my many sins. I'd like to be alone now."
They parted to let him through as he dragged his chair into his office and closed the door behind him.
"SON OF A--!"
Hawkeye coughed loudly. "Call the Elrics; tell them we have some work for the Fullmetal Alchemist now."
"...Yes'm."
(-)
"You WHAT!"
"It was funny!"
"You could've gotten him killed!"
"I thought we didn't care about that anymore."
"Brooootherrrrr!"
Ed sighed. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? It was over-the-top and I'll... Okay, I won't apologise, but I'll be sorry and if he's half as smart as everybody thinks he is he won't push his luck."
"...I still can't figure out how you'd make his hair green."
"Reaction to particles in the atmosphere, it'll fade out in about an hour."
"Ah."
"And then he'll be blonde."
"Really."
"Hey, he can always dye it, it'll grow out! Anyway, I'm coming back to the cell."
"Okay. I'll see you."
"Bye." Ed hung up the pay phone and walked out, glancing around at the darkening city. Probably this latest stunt had been a bit much, and he'd never have done it if he hadn't been so stir-crazy from inaction. Maybe he actually would apologise.
A few days ago he would have welcomed the ether-doused rag that pressed against his face as a respite from the endless boredom of his forced vacation. He didn't have much time to think about the ironies of that as he fell unconscious.
(-)
He woke up to a slap in the face.
"Ah, the defiler rouses!"
"The who whats?" Ed asked blearily, with a brisk shake of his head.
"YOU." Another slap. "You who brought our beloved leader down!"
"Wha, are you from Lior?" Ed asked, trying to figure out why they were hitting him exactly.
"What? Of course not!" The woman backed away haughtily toward a small group of, presumably, her allies in the whatever, hands on her hips.
"You're not those guys who, with the parrot..."
"NO! We are the loyal followers of the great prophet Tobias!"
"What, that rabble-rouser?" Ed stared at them. "You're kidding me. You're still around?"
"Even though our prophet is not! Due to your treachery!"
"Wha? Treachery! Wha-- that's not my fault at all! Wasn't he killed by those Dynian slavers?"
"While kidnapping you!"
"Which makes it my fault, how again?"
"You MADE him do it!"
"What, with my beguiling eyes!"
"YES, Sorceress!"
"SorcerESS! All right, that's it!"
Fortunately, Ed's captors had not been well-informed enough to bind him properly: he was easily about to clap his hands and transmute his arm into a blade, which cut through the ropes quite nicely. "Okay, how about you people just shut up and let me go quietly?"
The group parted to let though a man with a rather large, rapid-fire gun.
"Okay, not gonna happen," Ed realized, and transmuted a wall to protect himself.
Unfortunately, another guy with a rather large gun had come from the other end of the room, and proceeded to shoot at him.
Ed hissed a curse word as one of the unexpected bullets grazed him and he transmuted himself through the wall.
To his annoyance, and probably in some form of equivalent exchange, he found that he had emerged out the side of the building, and several stories up.
Though he tried to land on his metal leg, that wasn't quite as helpful as he thought it would be. He lay there in pain for a moment, then struggled to scramble up as one of the guys with the guns appeared at the hole he'd created.
Realizing he couldn't get away, Ed quickly put together a couple of arrays in his mind and sealed the hole. Unfortunately, the end of the gun was still projecting outside the building and the idiot inside was perfectly happy to shoot blind. Ed had, however, scrambled far enough to be out of range, though the owner of that car probably wouldn't be too happy.
This was, without a doubt, Mustang's fault somehow.
He figured they'd probably try to come after him, so he sealed the front door too.
"HEY!" he yelled. "There're people shooting at me, so if anyone'd like to call the cops, feel free, okay!" He was going to mention he was a State Alchemist, but then realized that would probably be counterproductive. After a second's hesitation, he sealed up the end of the shooter's gun, grimacing slightly at the very muffled sound of the explosion. Hopefully that would distract them.
"You worthless little wench!" The woman jumped out a low window, landing on the sidewalk and stomping toward him. "You DARE to try to escape the followers of the great prophet Tobias?"
"Uh, yeah, I guess," Ed said, trying to figure out a way to stop her when he couldn't really move properly and several of the idiots had weapons. And more of them were jumping out the window after her...
"Well, no matter! You will die!"
A knife appeared in her hand and she lunged for his throat.
(-)
"...Okay," the cop said, staring at the struggling cultists as his partner tried to cuff them. "So might you possibly be an alchemist?"
"Yeah, what was your first clue?" Ed said, trying to figure out if his leg was broken. His metal one wasn't in perfect shape, either... Winry was gonna be pissed... But hey, he never passed up a chance to screw the military out of money.
"The shoes that were all fused to the concrete," the officer replied, missing or overlooking the sarcasm. "How did you do that, anyway?"
"Planck's theory of... oh, nevermind." His leg didn't seem to be broken, which didn't seem at all possible, but he wasn't going to question it.
"What's all this red dust around here?" the other policeman said, in between trying to dodge the cultists' punches.
"Iron oxide," Ed said. "Rust. They had-- guns and crap."
"Okay," said the first policeman. "You're a State Alchemist, right?"
"Yeah," Ed said. He tried to stand up and failed miserably. He was gonna have one hell of a bruise, but given how far he'd fallen...
"Then these were those guys we were looking for," the cop said. "Sorry we didn't find them sooner."
"Wait, looking for?"
"Yeah, some memo we got-- said there'd been death threats against the Fullmetal Alchemist and we were supposed to be looking for these guys in case they realized you were still here. Hey, that means you're the Fullmetal Alchemist, doesn't it!"
"Wow! Can I have your autograph!" the other cop cried, and was punched by a cultist in his distraction.
"Looking-- threats-- three weeks ago, right?"
"About, yeah."
"I'll KILL HIM!" Ed screamed.
"Whoa, might not wanna go saying that around cops, buddy."
Ed ducked his head and tried to strangle his screams.
(-)
Roy Mustang was walking home with a box of hair dye he'd been forced to purchase when a voice he was almost on the verge of fearing floated from behind him to his ears.
"Okay, Fullmetal, we're gonna lock you in your room for a while. Why? Oh, no reason. Except PSYCHO FREAKY CULTISTS are coming after you and you MAY wanna be on your guard. Just in case they try to kill you. But we don't have any reason to think that, all that happened was they said they would. But that's not important. Probably shouldn't even have told you. You'd get so frickin' BORED with the minutiae!"
Mustang turned around. A rather banged-up Ed was breathing heavily and leaning on a cane.
"I was gonna APOLOGISE to you," Ed said.
"How the hell did you do that, anyway?" Roy asked, honestly curious and a little bit admiring. "I still can't figure out how you managed it."
"Yeah? Well, then, I'm never gonna tell you, and you can be tormented 'till your death by never knowing. HA!"
"Good Lord, Fullmetal, I'm not THAT curious..."
"Hey. Moron. I've found a way to make us SLIGHTLY more even for you nearly getting me killed. You really wanna divest me of my few reasons not to kill you?"
He smirked. "True. So I may assume that the 'cultists' have been apprehended the hard way?"
Ed glared at him. "Only if you consider getting knocked out, kidnapped, tied to a chair, slapped, shot at, and thrown out a building 'hard'. Why?"
Mustang blinked. "Good Lord, they managed all that?"
Ed snorted. "We're talking about Demosthenes' followers. They're a lot like late lamented Tobias, they seem absolutely ridiculous but always manage to do way more damage than they should be able to."
"And you got kidnapped again."
"I'm gonna start shooting anyone who comes up behind me in the street."
"And did you mention being thrown out of a building?"
"Well... It wasn't exactly being 'thrown out' as much it was... eh..."
Mustang nodded judiciously. "Transmuted the wrong wall, eh?"
"Shuddup. At least one good thing came out of all this crap, though."
"Really?"
"I got a lot of studying done on theory."
"Any practical applications?"
"He asked, his blonde hair swishing a little as he pretentiously cocked his head." Ed rolled his eyes.
Roy sighed almost imperceptibly, with a faint smile. "How long did it take you to set up the Array?"
"Really, really long."
"Even with your tricks?"
"You've got to visualize the array before you cast it," Ed said, irritated. "You wouldn't BELIEVE the number of damn variables... you've got to use five systems of notation just to get the damn thing down to a reasonable size..."
"The hair I understand," said Roy, "but the other things..."
"I'll never tell." He smirked. "So this means you're gonna send me out on another damn mission, right?"
"No."
"...And why not?"
"I wasn't lying to you. It's still a delicate time. That just wasn't my main reason for keeping you here. You can leave, now, though..." He glanced at Ed's leg. "To get your automail fixed, as it appears you should."
"Uh," Ed said, "I like Winry and Pinako, but... how long'll this be again?"
"A few more weeks."
"I--- don't think I can stay there for more than a week."
"Come back, then. I'll have some filing work or something for you."
Ed smirked. "I thought you didn't have any filing work."
"That I was lying about," Mustang admitted calmly. "Besides, after seeing what you do when left unattended, did you honestly think I'd make that mistake again?"
"Excellent." Ed grinned.
Roy shook his head as he started to walk back home. "Go home to your brother, Fullmetal-- and rest assured that I will never make the mistake of allowing you leisure time again."
Ed groaned. Somehow, Colonel Machiavelli always managed to give you exactly what you wished for, exactly the wrong way. Maybe he was the devil.
(-)