Hey gang! Thank you so much once again for the sweet reviews, they really made my day! :) This one is Ed-centric, and it's a two-parter about work, self-worth and, uh, paperwork, featuring Mustang and Hawkeye. The title for this one is "Hello Operator" by the White Stripes, because the sentiment "I can't be an ALCHEMIST if I can't do ALCHEMY" mirrors the sentiment of the song, which is "You can't invoice me for my BILLS if I'm DEAD." Enjoy, and let me know what you think!
Hello operator, can you give me number nine?
Can I see you later, can you give me back my dime?
Turn the oscillator, twist it with the dollar bill
Mailman bring the paper, leave it on my windowsill
Find a canary, a bird to bring my message home
Carry my obituary; my coffin doesn't have a phone.
How you gonna get the money, send papers to an empty home?
How you gonna get the money? Nobody to answer the phone.
Ed wasn't sure what made him say, "You guys wanna come to Central?" instead of just "you" meaning Alphonse, but that was what came out of his mouth. They'd been sitting at the kitchen table together eating breakfast, all four of them, when the mail came, and he groaned when Granny handed him what he immediately recognized as an official letter from military command.
He'd been expecting to be discharged from the military with no issues after, well, everything that had happened, but the Colonel had other ideas.
At first Ed wanted to turn the work down completely—and he said as much to the Colonel several times, although not in so many words. But the reality was that, well, he could really use the money.
After burning through his salary and his annual research grants traveling for the last four years, he'd managed to come out of the whole ordeal with practically no savings. He wasn't sure what he should be saving for, exactly, but after living on his own and being self-supporting for so long, Ed didn't feel right not having any money coming in.
He did plenty of work around the Rockbells' house to earn his keep, but it felt weird and embarrassing going to the market for groceries and spending Granny Pinako's money. For crying out loud, he was sixteen—he shouldn't have been walking around with an allowance like a kid.
Ed spent most of the spring and summer at home, just being there, helping Al with his rehab and Winry and Pinako with the shop here and there (but mostly just doing grunt work). He exercised his arm. He read books. He relaxed. He even learned to cook a little, which was disastrous at first and eventually pretty okay as far as he was concerned. He had the occasional nightmare, but most nights he slept easily enough. The military called and sent updates here and there, but mostly they left him alone.
He later found out that this was because Mustang had placed him on an extended medical leave—the details of which had been mailed to him, but which he hadn't read—that suspended his pay along with his duties and his research and assessment requirements. But as far as Edward knew, he'd done what he set out to do (and significantly more than he'd set out to do) when he joined the military. Now it was over, and he was off the hook.
The money thing was weighing on him a little, though, and he was starting to get a little restless. Al still needed a lot of rest, and Winry and Pinako were both very intense workers, to the point that there were long stretches where he couldn't disturb them at all without getting his head bitten off. He hadn't brought it up with anybody else, but he was actually considering looking around in town for some kind of part-time work.
And then one day, toward the middle of September, he got a phone call.
"Hello, Rockbell Automail Shop."
"Hello, Fullmetal. Enjoying your vacation?"
Ed dropped his almost-professional phone manner instantly. "Colonel?! What do you mean, 'vacation'? What the hell do you want?"
"What I want is to stop putting up with blatant disrespect from my subordinates, but apparently that's too much to ask," Mustang said. "Your leave is up today, and I've got new orders for you."
Ed bristled. "Is this some kind of joke?"
Mustang sighed. "So you didn't read any of the paperwork we've been sending you."
"I—I read enough to get the gist," Ed sputtered. "Why's it even matter? If I'm not a state alchemist anymore, then I don't see how you're still giving me orders."
There was a beat of silence.
"…I'm not a state alchemist anymore, right?"
Again, silence.
"But I—didn't I sign like a million different discharge forms at the hospital in Central?"
"You signed hospital discharge forms at the hospital, yes."
"Wha—but—but I haven't gotten paid, or been assessed, or done anything for the military in, like—"
"In six months exactly," Mustang interjected, "thanks to the miracle of human resources. You've been on unpaid extended medical leave, and it ends today."
"What? But why didn't anyone—"
"What, tell you? You were notified in writing three times, Fullmetal."
"Alright, fine," Ed said, flustered. "But—but didn't anybody notify the military about what happened? I shouldn't have to remind you of all people."
"Everyone in military command knows exactly what they need to know about 'what happened'; no more and no less," Mustang said.
"Well, do they know I can't perform alchemy?!" Ed yelled, his volume making the receiver buzz. "Isn't that kind of a key requirement?!"
"What the higher-ups care about is whether or not you can do the job, which is using your specific skills and expertise to help the military in a way that standard soldiers and civilians can't. When you left the hospital they asked me to sign off on paperwork stating you could still do those things."
"So, what, you're calling me to say you committed fraud?!"
"No, Fullmetal—"
Ed swore. "Will you quit calling me that already? I'm not that guy anymore, I don't know why you have to rub it in—"
"Ed. Listen to me," Mustang said, his tone dead serious.
"What?"
"I signed the paperwork because it was true. You can still do the job, even without physically doing alchemy. You have skills we need, and there's a place for you here if you're still willing to work with us."
Ed was silent for a moment.
"You still there?"
"Yeah. I…" Edward paused. "Do I have any choice about this stupid job?"
"Of course. Nobody's holding anything over your head anymore. If you really think you have nothing to contribute, then you can come down here, turn in your watch and sign the actual discharge paperwork," Mustang said. "But we've got our hands full with the reconstruction in Ishval, and we'd really appreciate having you on board to help out in the East Area given that you know exactly how, ah, complex this country's history actually is."
"Oh."
"Anyway," Mustang continued, "the first order of business is actually just to have you come down to Central, sign a few things and attend a meeting we're holding. There's a report on its way to you right now, and I suggest you actually read it to find out the details—but we can discuss how you'd like to proceed when you get here."
"So either way I have to come to Central."
"That's right. Thursday at 9AM, Central HQ. We should be finished by quitting time on Friday, so don't worry about it stepping on whatever quaint rural activities you've got planned for the weekend. The big sheep derby, or whatever."
"Sheep festival."
"I don't care, Fullmetal. Just read your mail, give it some thought, and we'll see you in a few days, got it?"
Ed sighed. "Got it."
There was a muffled noise in the background from Mustang's end.
"Oh—and the gang here says to bring Alphonse if he's up for it."
"What? Don't tell me you're recruiting Al too."
"No, no," Mustang said, "although he's welcome to enlist, come to think of it. In fact—"
There was a distinct clunking sound, and Ed thought he heard a muffled "Hey!" from the colonel.
Then he heard the very recognizable sound of Lieutenant Hawkeye clearing her throat.
"What Colonel Mustang means," she said, "is that regardless of what you decide to do, we'd be happy to see both you and Alphonse for a visit since it's been quite awhile."
"Thanks, Lieutenant—I'll ask him if he's feeling up to it."
"Perfect. Alright, Edward, we'll see you on Thursday."
"S—see you then."
