They go back to the hotel—Hughes stays with Reid, and Mustang with Dave. They're all beyond exhausted and aren't going to be of much use if they don't get some rest.
"Should we do anything if Mustang's array begins to glow again?" Dave asks Reid.
Reid rubs his eyes, even the dozenth cup of coffee he's had is losing its grip on him, and if he has much more, he'll be wound for days. They need rest. "We have no idea if the array activated because they were both asleep, how long they had to be asleep, if there are any other extraneous conditions that need to be met in order to allow it to happen again—"
"Reid," Dave stops him, not unkind, but he sometimes has trouble keeping up with Reid when he's functioning at maximum capacity, and he's nowhere near it at the moment.
"Right," Reid says, rubbing his eyes again. Dave does not tell him how young it makes him look when he does that. "Yes or no answer." He pauses, then says, "I don't think so."
"You don't think so?" Dave wants to be clear.
Reid shrugs. "There's really nothing we can do if it activates again, can we?" he points out, and the fact of it sticks in Dave's craw. "We couldn't even wake him up last time, and… honestly, if it is a way for him to communicate with Ed, and by extension, JJ and Derek, I don't think we should try to stop it."
That's about where Dave is on the matter, but he wanted a second opinion. He pats Reid's shoulder. "Okay. Get some rest."
"Honestly, I'm more worried about them trying to sneak off while we sleep."
That's an entirely valid concern, but Dave still wishes Reid hadn't decided to challenge Murphy's Law.
Reid must have heard what he said too because he winces and says, "Sorry."
"No," Dave says with a sigh. "Don't apologize. It's a valid concern, and sticking our heads in the sand isn't going to make it go away." He turns to where Mustang and Hughes's heads are together, talking softly enough that Dave can't hear them from five feet away. He pitches his voice toward them. "I think we can agree we all need sleep. I think we can also agree that we need each other to solve this. You need our resources, we need your alchemy knowledge." He waits until Mustang gives him a grudging nod to continue. Winning over Hughes is a bonus, but winning over Mustang is more important. He's the superior, and however close they are, Hughes does defer to him in most things, even though it's subtle. "Since we can agree on those two key points, can we agree that you're not going to try to sneak out while we get some much needed sleep?"
Mustang and Hughes trade a look, but, to Dave's surprise, it's Hughes who says, "We can agree to those terms."
"Excellent," Dave says, going to his door and unlocking it. He pushes it open and holds his arm out. "After you."
Mustang looks like he'd very much like to argue with him, but after the initial adrenaline rush of waking up from his nap, he's even more exhausted than before—if that's even possible. After a long moment, he nods and enters the room.
Dave pauses before he follows and says, "Good night, Reid, Mr. Hughes."
"Good night, Agent Rossi," Hughes says with far too much good cheer for a man who has to be as tired as the rest of them. "Night Roy!"
Mustang pauses and turns back, replying, "Good night, Maes," in a much softer tone. Dave tucks that tidbit away for examination when he's not ready to fall over his feet and pass out.
They take turns washing up in the small motel bathroom. Dave goes first, keeping an eye on Mustang.
He's not sure if he starts the conversation because he's exhausted and his filters aren't working properly, but he asks, "How long have you been in love with Maes Hughes?"
Mustang nearly chokes on the cheap toothpaste he'd picked up at a convenience store. He spits it out, washes his hands and the equally cheap toothbrush, drying his hands and face before turning to face Dave.
He eyes Dave for a long moment, then sighs. "I love Maes. I haven't been in love with him for a very long time."
"Does Ed know?"
Mustang's eyes narrow. "You tell me. Does Ed know?" he asks instead.
He knows then. Dave isn't sure if it's because Mustang told him or because Ed is, in fact, plenty observant enough to come to the conclusion on his own. "How is he going to take knowing he's alive?"
"Aren't we supposed to be getting some sleep?"
"What's so hard about answering the question?"
"Because answering that question is unlikely to put me in the kind of mental space where I'm liable to get a decent night's sleep," Mustang replies flatly.
"Are you so afraid of his reaction?"
"Why can none of you just fucking let it go?" Mustang says, voice dropping to nearly a snarl.
"Because Ed is part of our team. Despite his best attempts to avoid it, he's part of this ramshackle family we've built, and we want to make sure you're not going to hurt him now that your old flame is suddenly still alive."
Mustang rolls his eyes, which Dave takes to mean he doesn't believe them. That's fine; he doesn't need to believe them. Dave only cares about Mustang in so much as he can hurt Ed, who's like a nephew. "What is Ed's reaction likely to be?" Mustang asks, clearly thinking aloud rather than expecting Dave to answer it. "His first reaction will be joy," he continues, voice going soft and longing. "It won't last long, but for a moment, he's going to be overjoyed. I've never met any other adult male that Ed has come so close to allowing to parent him as Maes. He died because he was helping Ed with something. Ed would… will be so relieved to have that wrong undone."
He sits on the twin across the small aisle from Dave and crosses his legs, folding his hands, back military straight. Dave wants to kick himself for not seeing exactly the degree and level of military Mustang is before. It's clear he doesn't pull on the old habits much these days, but sitting like that, Mustang is a man in control and used to being in control. He is a man who sits on high and expects people to yield before him.
Dave wonders if Ed has ever yielded before that expectation. Then he wonders if the fact that Ed barely knows the meaning of the word yield , maybe that's part of why Mustang was drawn to him.
"You said he'd be overjoyed. What next?" Dave asks.
Those dark eyes are taking his measure, and while Dave has sat across from countless monsters, he wonders if Mustang isn't a more dangerous type—a man who will become a monster when necessary.
"Horror. Distrust. Grief."
"Grief?"
"Ed will expect to lose him again."
"Do you?"
Mustang shakes his head. "I don't know," he says. "I want to believe that we really have him back, that he's safe. I want to give him back to his wife, to his daughter. Everything I've learned about human transmutation and Truth from Ed tells me that there must be strings attached. Ed will assume there are."
"Truth… you described it as 'perhaps God'?"
He shrugs, but he's gone a little bit paler, and stress lines his face more deeply. "No one has as much experience with Truth as Ed does. If he distrusts it though, I'm inclined to err on the side of his judgment."
"Is it possible that Ed is biased against it unduly?"
"Anything is possible, certainly," Mustang concedes. "But Ed speaks about Truth with a hate that's second only to his father, I think. Ed doesn't hate blindly. If he hates, there's reason for it."
"Even for his father?" Dave asks, skipping readily to the new topic.
The change in subject eases the tightness in Mustang's shoulders. "I said there's always a reason, not that there's always a good reason for it, or a mature one. Ed hates his father because he abandoned his family, Ed's mother died when he could have saved her, and he never even learned of her death until nearly a decade later. I do believe the first thing Ed did upon seeing him again was punch him in the face… with the metal fist."
There's a hint of relish when Mustang relates the last point, a touch of satisfaction. He may have implied that Ed's reasons for hating may not be good, but in this case, Mustang agrees with Ed's assessment on some level.
"Do you have children?" Mustang asks, startling Dave.
Dave thinks of a gravestone, thinks of the life that was never given a chance, the father he was never able to be and says, "No," softly, shaking his head, as he always does.
"Me neither," Mustang says, then chuckles, "I hope that's obvious. But…" His eyes darken. "I can't imagine walking away from Ed and never speaking to him again. If I did, I can't imagine just leaving them, and never checking in, never following up. I don't understand how he did it, and I don't blame Ed for holding a grudge. I think his father made a grievous mistake."
"Ed met him again? When he was older?"
Mustang nods. "There was… a battle. His father showed up for it and was instrumental in helping us win. Ed forgave him a little, I think. Mostly because he just didn't want to lose anyone else, and for Al's sake. Al doesn't hold grudges the way Ed does. He just wanted his family back, and Ed has never been able to deny Al anything. So if giving Al his family back meant forgiving his father, then I think that's what Ed did. Even if it didn't last."
Whatever Mustang is seeing, it isn't the crappy motel room they're in, and it isn't Dave either.
"He died then?"
It takes a moment before Mustang seems to register the words, but he nods. "Shortly after. He didn't even say goodbye to them." He shakes his head as if it's unfathomable to him. Dave has seen the very best and the very worst parents imaginable, and he thinks, perhaps, Ed's father is somewhere in the gray middle area. His negligence makes him culpable, and while he may have tried to mend fences, Dave understands a little, now, why Ed has such visceral reactions to fathers and father figures, especially those who behave badly.
"Ed wouldn't be like that," Dave says. Mustang's attention focuses on him, almost confused. "If you decided to have kids, I mean. Ed wouldn't ever leave."
Mustang closes his eyes, a grim smile painting his lips. "Not like his father, he wouldn't. But I don't know that Ed is capable of staying in one place. I don't know if he remembers how to put down roots anymore."
"And you?" Dave asks. "Can you stay in one place? How did you grow up?"
"You know I live with one of your team, right? I'm not going to let you in that easily. Besides, who do you think taught Ed to read people so well?" Mustang asks, leaning back in the bed, fluffing the crappy pillows behind him until they're as good as they're likely to get.
"Are you taking credit for Ed's genius?" Dave asks, alarmed.
Mustang laughs. "No, certainly not. Teaching him how to observe people , though? I certainly had a hand in that."
The details he knows about Mustang, as limited as they still are, tumble through Dave's mind until they come together like a puzzle. He sits back and sighs. "You were a politician." He might say it like it's a bad word, and it makes Mustang's mouth quirk up again.
"Ed says it in a remarkably similar tone," he says, sounding amused, folding his hands over his abdomen, not bothering to remove his gloves, and closing his eyes, but he's obviously not going to sleep, not yet.
Dave looks at him, tries to imagine him nearly ten years ago, tries to understand what Ed saw, what drew him beyond the attractive package. Goodness knew, Dave had seen plenty of people try to come onto Ed since he joined the BAU only to run into Ed's blunt, ego-crushing indifference. But Mustang stirred him. He looked at Mustang differently, and Dave supposes that's to be expected. You should look at your significant other differently; they fill a unique role in a person's life.
"Staring at me is not going to magically make it make sense," Mustang says, not bothering to open his eyes.
"Isn't it?" Dave can't resist the baiting. For all that he's an exceptional profiler, one of the best, Dave has never fully been able to work Ed out. Understanding the things Ed has been hiding makes the why of that mild irritation make more sense. Ed being a child soldier makes so much of the odd things about him—the way he reacts to orders and overbearing authority, the way he can snap to attention, the intimate military knowledge without the specifics—make so much sense. Dave honestly feels stupid for not seeing it sooner, but while Ed carries weights with him, he has never pinged Dave's radar as a child soldier, never made him think that he was carrying that kind of damage with him. Perhaps it should have.
"Alchemy isn't magic, Agent Rossi."
"From where I'm sitting, it may as well be." The silence hangs between them, patient, waiting. Dave can be as patient as anyone, but the whole situation and how intimately his team is involved in it, have him unusually on edge, unusually impatient. "You always do that," he starts.
He gets a lazy eye opening to look at him, though Mustang doesn't turn his head. "Do what?"
"Call us by our titles. I'll bet you do it with everyone—even your students. You do it to keep people at a distance."
"If that's the best you can do, profiler, I'm disappointed."
"Are you expecting trouble? Is that why you're wearing your gloves?"
"I prefer to be prepared," Mustang says, that same lazy insouciance coloring his voice that Dave remembers from first meeting him at Ed's.
It really shouldn't be enough to get under Dave's skin, and maybe if he weren't so completely exhausted, maybe it wouldn't, but it does . "Were you ever jealous?"
That gets Mustang's attention. "Jealous?" he asks as if the word doesn't quite compute.
"You were very young to get your rank. You said that being a, what was it? State Alchemist gave you a career boost? Acted as a promotion? You must have been relatively young in order to advance so quickly, so I assume you must be a some kind of prodigy in your own right. Did Ed steal your spotlight? Did you resent him for it? Did it feel good to have power over him?"
Mustang moves before Dave registers it, and he's standing in front of Dave, looming in his space. "Stop your little games," he says, glaring down at Dave in disdain.
"It must have been humiliating to have the rug pulled from under you, to be showed up by him."
As quickly as the anger came, so does dismissal, as if Dave isn't worthy of his emotion or his attention. Which tells him more than Mustang probably means it to as he turns away and nearly throws himself back onto the bed.
"You weren't jealous of him," Dave corrects.
"Being jealous of Edward Elric is about as productive as being jealous of a force of nature," Mustang says disdain dripping from each word.
More pieces of the puzzle come together. "You used him," Dave realizes. "You let him draw the spotlight. The classic magician's trick—watch the pretty assistant over here and pay no mind to what the magician himself is doing."
Mustang says nothing.
"Does Ed—" Dave starts, but cuts himself off.
"You insult Ed more than you insult me if you think Ed never figured out what I was doing. Ed is not stupid, and as much as he hates politics, he's certainly never been unaware of his power or the power of his reputation. He may find the machinations of puppeteers to be distasteful, but he has always understood what a powerful piece he is on the board. The mistake people made was thinking that he was pawn, that his brilliance was restricted to the academic realm. That he didn't understand people or politics. They mistook disinterest for ignorance."
Dave has seen plenty of people make that mistake in their own cases. How many people had looked at Ed, seen him as an unconventional genius with a very specific skillset, only to be brutally disabused of that judgment error? Dave had long lost count.
"That's a dangerous mistake to make," Dave says.
"That, Agent Rossi, is a gross understatement." Mustang rolls onto his side, putting his back to Dave.
He has more questions, so many more questions, but he knows that Mustang is done talking. He stands, going to turn out the lights. When he glances at Mustang, he sees that Mustang has pulled his sleeve down and is staring at the array tattooed on his wrist. There is a raw vulnerability in his face that Dave has no right to, so he quickly hits the light switch, giving Mustang the privacy of the dark.
"Good night, General," he says when he climbs into the bed closest to the door.
He's almost startled when Mustang replies, "Good night, Agent Rossi."