Ashley sets a cup of coffee in front of Mustang. It's probably a sign of how exhausted he is, that Mustang startles and sends a surprised look at her.
"Thank you?" Mustang says, like he's not sure he's thankful, but he takes it anyway, which Ashley takes as a win.
They've been discussing Kimblee's movements, and Garcia had found him on his way back their way on a few gas station cameras. That isn't a guarantee he's not going to end up going somewhere else, but it at least seems unlikely. Hughes has spent most of the morning with Dr. Reid and Detective LaMontagne while they get him up to speed.
Crawford—the town deputy—has poked her head in a few times, but seeing Hughes is obviously upsetting, and she seems quite happy to dump the whole problem into their laps to solve. Ashley can't really say he blames her. This whole thing is terrifying and confusing for the BAU, and at least they're used to dealing with the crazies and serial criminals. They aren't used to dealing with having their very understanding of the world pulled out from underneath them on top of it.
"You seem like a man with a lot on your mind," Ashley says, settling on the corner of the desk. Mustang is clean, in the clean clothes that Detective LaMontagne had brought him, and, if not for the bags under his eyes, he'd look a lot better than he has in the past couple of days.
Mustang snorts, unimpressed. "My partner is in another world, and I don't know how or if I'll ever find my way back to him. A psychotic killer from my world is also loose in yours." He meets Ashley's eyes, unflinching. "That Kimblee hasn't gone on an outright killing spree yet is a minor miracle."
"I'm surprised you're worried about him at all," she admits.
"Kimblee is a complication that anyone intelligent should be worried about," Mustang says with a sigh, rubbing his forehead with his gloved hand. The gloves are out of place with the casual button-down, teacher's cardigan, and fitted slacks. Even if the symbols decorating the backs of them didn't look like something out of a D&D nerd's playbook, the gloves are neither overly formal nor obviously work gloves. That Mustang handles everything with them as though he's used to them being there is another thing that's just slightly out of place.
"But he's not all you're worried about," Ashley prods a little bit more.
Taking a drink of his coffee before he bothers to respond, Mustang says in an acid tone, "Between whatever Ed's doing, Kimblee, and Maes, I don't know what I could possibly be worried about."
She inclines his head in acknowledgment. "Of those things, which worries you the most? What has had the wheels spinning on their own? It's the first time I've heard you voice any doubt whatsoever that Elric can get you back together."
Mustang stares into the air in front of him, clearly seeing something else, and takes another long drink. "It's not that I don't trust Ed," he says slowly, as if taking care with his words. "I have no doubt that Ed will find a way."
"But?" she prompts.
He follows Mustang's eyes to the corner of the room where Dr. Reid, Detective LaMontagne, and Hughes are all talking, softly enough that the words aren't traveling far from them, but animated.
"You're worried about Hughes?"
Rather than nodding, Mustang says, "The dead can't come back. Before Maes, I would have told you that with as much certainty as you say the 'sky is blue' or 'the sun will rise in the east.'" He pauses, frowning. "I know I will get home to Ed…"
"But at what cost?" she guesses.
Pointedly, Mustang turns his eyes back to his coffee and takes another drink rather than answering.
"I know that we haven't exactly been… hospitable—" she begins as Mustang begins to take another drink, and she's pretty sure she nearly makes him snort coffee out his nose.
He sets the cup down, reaches for a kleenex from the box on the desk, and says, "You think?" before he blows his nose.
"I'd say 'I'm sorry' for it if it would mean anything."
Folding over the tissue, he rubs it under his nose and sniffs. The faces he's making are funny enough that she'd probably be laughing in nearly any other scenario, but it's probably best that she doesn't. Levity would be out of place in this tension. It would feel disrespectful.
"If you're going to try to explain to me how the BAU have been right—"
"I'm not," she interrupts before he can get rolling. He raises an eyebrow at her and she holds up one hand in a surrendering gesture, not willing to put down her own coffee to hold up both. "Which is why I said 'if it would mean anything.' I know you understand why they're the way they are about this, and I know you would probably even appreciate it, if you weren't the target of it. But I think we're at a firm 'agree to disagree' point, so trying to pretend we're all okay is probably not just a waste of time but disingenuous."
"That's quite a lot of words to say that your team are probably assholes but they mean well," Mustang comments, watching her closely before he dares to take another mouthful of coffee.
The urge to see if she can get him to do a genuine spit take is strong, but not worth it, even if the ease in tension would be welcome. "Anyway," she says. "Since I'm not apologizing or explaining the BAU are assholes that mean well, I thought I'd give you an ear to talk about whatever's had your wheels spinning all morning. Ears that aren't your friend's, who you're worried about, and not one of the others, who you rightfully are distrustful of and upset with."
Lowering the cup of coffee into his lap, Mustang contemplates it for a moment without saying anything.
"C'mon," she says gently. "You know you wanna…"
He gives a soft chuff and looks back up at her. "You seem quite sure of that, Agent Seaver."
She's almost surprised he remembers her name, given how little they've spoken since they got here. "Let's just say that I know something about carrying heavy thoughts and needing to share them."
"Oh?" he asks. It's not a general acknowledgment. It's a question, almost a dare. She wants him to share his thoughts, so he's asking her to share her own first. Tit for tat, quid pro quo. She'd like to be irritated about it, but given the way he's been treated for the last couple of days, she thinks a little bit of honesty on her part will go much further with him than trying to deflect or playing the usual types of tricks that profilers often do. She doubts they'd be very successful anyway; Mustang is as good as married to a profiler himself.
"Everyone here already knows, but my dad was a serial killer." It's a little gratifying that she's surprised him enough to see his eyes widen and eyebrows lift before he schools his face again.
"Interesting career choice in light of that information," he remarks with impressive neutrality.
She nods, taking a sip of her own coffee for a moment, collecting her thoughts. She needs to share with him, but she doesn't have to overshare . Just… be a little transparent. "Yeah," she admits. "I figured that since I knew firsthand what to look for, it'd make me a better profiler."
"A better hunter, you mean," Mustang comments, raising his cup to take another drink.
"Yeah," she agrees. He's not wrong, even if she'd like him to be, so conceding the point is important. Ashley wishes it weren't. She doesn't like to think of her job that way, but in her heart of hearts, she knows Mustang's right. "Anyway, I know when someone's got heavy thoughts on their mind and aren't sure if they have a safe ear to share them with." She shrugs. "Been there a few times myself."
His eyes are dark but intelligent, and she feels like she's matching wits with another profiler as he takes her in, measuring her honesty, her sincerity, judging not whether or not she has other motives for asking, but if those motives run contradictory to his own needs.
"There are a few things," he begins slowly. "The first of which is Maes and his current state and my concern that we can get him home."
"Why is that a concern?" she asks, honestly curious. "You've got so much faith in Elric getting you back, why not Hughes as well?"
"Because getting back is going to require going through the Gate," he says. "And I have no idea if Truth will allow it. I have no idea what power Truth might have over Maes, except I know that Truth can kill, and I can only imagine its power over someone it resurrected like Maes has to be exponentially greater than its power over any normal individual stepping into its domain."
She turns that over, not really understanding what he's talking about. The idea of a doorway connecting worlds and time and space is familiar enough from fantasy and science fiction that she can at least wrap her head around it. A capricious, god-like being that can affect them is easier to accept on the pages of a book than it is in real life.
"You really think he won't be able to go back?" Ashley asks.
"I really don't know if he can," Mustang replies. "And I don't know what the cost could possibly be."
"What would usually be the cost for going through this Gate?"
Mustang shudders, which isn't a good sign. "Usually to open the Gate at all, you need to commit the taboo of human transmutation. If there's any other way to access it, I'm not aware of it. If that's what we have to do to get home, I'm willing to do it, but I'm not willing to sacrifice someone for it."
"Would Elric?"
He shakes his head firmly. "No," he says. "Ed wouldn't willingly sacrifice a person to Truth, no matter what the reason." He hesitates, as if something has just occurred to him, and his expression darkens. "At least, he wouldn't accept sacrificing anyone else ."
Blinking in surprise at the sudden direction change, she asks, "Would he risk that? To get you back to your world? Would it be worth it?"
Tapping a finger on the side of his cup, Mustang looks into space again, clearly considering it. "I don't… believe so," he says finally, slowly, as if he's checking his words against an internal checklist. "No," he says with more certainty. "Not only because it would defeat the point of bringing me back, but because, with our soul bond, sacrificing himself would almost certainly mean sacrificing me as well. He wouldn't do it."
"If he could break the soul bond?" she wonders.
Mustang shakes his head again. "Ed said it can't be broken, and I believe him. There's no reason to lie."
Ashley can think of one reason to lie, at least, but she decides not to burst his bubble. Whatever she or the other BAU members may feel about their relationship, she doesn't actually think Erlric bound their literal souls together just to keep Mustang on a leash. If the soul bond had been Mustang's idea, she might consider it, but he's been adamant so far that it was all Elric's idea and impetus behind it. That he'd do it, only to lie to Mustang about its permanence, made little sense.
"Okay, so you're worried about Hughes going through the Gate," she says in a tone of ticking off things on a list. "You're concerned about the cost of opening it up at all, and you're concerned about Kimblee. Does that cover most of it?"
A tiny grin tugs at his lips for just a moment, and Ashley considers that a win. "It covers the concerns," he says.
"But not everything that's weighing on your mind?"
He gives a small headshake. "Not everything."
"What else?" He gives her a suspicious look, but she reminds, "Mostly neutral party here, remember? We want to get our people back too."
Doing her best to make her face as open and sincere as possible, she's relieved when Mustang finally starts to talk. "When Detective LaMontagne touched my array," he says, lifting his wrist, though it's mostly hidden beneath his sleeve, "he says he saw what I was seeing. Described it in enough detail for me to be convinced, actually."
"Okay…" she says slowly. "What does that mean?"
"I wish I knew," he replied, obviously irritated, though it was with the problem at hand, not at her.
"What would usually happen if someone touched an array?" she asks, curious since she has no baseline.
"It depends on the person touching it and the array in question," he explains.
"What could happen?"
He sighs, but either he desperately needed to talk or he was willing to indulge her. "With an active array, such as ours, touching it can interrupt it or suck the person into it, using them as an ingredient. If an alchemist touches an active array, they may be able to take control of the reaction."
The idea of a magical circle just pulling someone in made her head hurt, and she doesn't really understand the idea of "taking control" of one, so Ashley decides to ask, "What happens if someone doesn't know how to do alchemy—someone like Detective LaMontagne?"
"Either nothing, or he should have been pulled in to fuel the transmutation."
"Fuel?" she asks, feeling ill.
Mustang nods, grim. "Yes. Fuel. But neither of those things appear to have happened to Detective LaMontagne."
Without meaning to, Ashley says, "That's weird."
"Yes," Mustang says. "It's very strange." He curls both hands around his cup of coffee, something thoughtful and shrewd coming over his features. "Strange, but interesting."
She doesn't know if she likes the look on his face, but she feels like she's shaken something loose. Ashley hopes that whatever it is helps.