Bradley had finally released him from the confinement of the office and he fled from it and the death he knew was still trailing him ever so closely. His walk was brisk and worried and he attempted to slow down to some pattern of normalcy, trying to distract the troubled racing thoughts from over-taking his analytic mind by smoothing out the waistline of his uniform, wrinkled from torturous hours of prolonged hunched sitting. There was one task on his list: find Hawkeye.
He nodded to staff he passed en route to the main entrance. Damn, he was tired. His breathing, pace, and features illustrating the weariness long before he reached the heavy wooden double doors of headquarters. A hand quickly came up to shelter his eyes from the too bright sun and he paused atop the steps to let them adjust. The trek down was slow, difficult, and a bit painful as stiff joints protested and he looked forward to them being out of the way. There were only a few left to descend when a voice called out to him and he looked up, apprehension in his brows and lips at the unfamiliarity. He was being waved over to a car.
He gave a cautious look to his left and right and behind as much as he could without being obvious before moving forward to the car.
"The Fuhrer has sent down orders to take you home, Colonel Mustang, sir," said an older man as he moved around to open the far side door for him.
The car received a scrupulous look-over and he nodded once sharply before moving to comply, trying not to think too much about the silhouette in the back. He made his way around to the door held open for him. Wary eyes staked out the figure in the back, widening impossibly in too many emotions to even begin to feel before the next invaded. He looked at the man holding the door briefly while schooling his features and got in, breathing deeply, keeping his eyes strictly forward.
"Sir! Are you alright?" Her voice was tense, almost in his ear as she leaned in towards him, hands piling atop his folded-in-lap ones in the time they had before the chauffer entered the driver's seat.
He slipped his left out from under hers and pushed them away, gripping with his one and settling them back upon her lap. He looked at her from aside; eyes not meeting hers, the irises and chin tilted diagonally in her direction, but stayed his hand. The driver got in but neither moved, either at the bang of the door shutting or the glances in the rearview mirror. He knew the driver would report anything he saw, but nothing he wouldn't do normally would happen now with that threat looming.
He nodded to himself, mind still back in that office. "You'll be alright." His large hand squeezed. "You all will." The thumb made a pass over the soft back of her hand. "All I have to do is behave; be a good little pet."
His withdrew his hand and secured the both of them in crossed arms. He leaned back into the corner of the seat, head lolling against the door as exhausted eyes closed and his weary body slumped. The car started up and he made a valiant effort to appear undisturbed at the feeling of both the driver's eyes from the mirror and Hawkeye's worried and unsatisfied browns drilling into him looking away.