A/N: Thanks for the continued support everyone! I really appreciate your feedback.

Don't own it. Never will.

Safe

Mustang hated the Eastern Headquarters building after dark. It was true that there were always people there, putting in overtime to further their own ambitions. But the shadows hid them, and stalked Mustang down the corridor. They didn't frighten him, but he worried that they might startle him into acting instinctively.

He'd only flamed that painting of the late General once, and it had been an honest accident. But his men still wouldn't let him forget it.

Mustang tucked his hands in his pockets as he hurried to the office, just to be safe. He wouldn't be here at all, but he had a massive amount of paperwork due on Monday, and if he showed up then with none of it ready, Hawkeye would probably just draw her gun and shoot him dead.

Silently bemoaning the fact that he would have to spend his Saturday working, Mustang pushed open the door to the outer office. It was dark and quiet, and it seemed empty somehow without Fuery perched at the switchboard, or Havoc sitting with the window cracked so he could fill his lungs with smoke.

Mustang turned to open the door to his inner office, when something stopped him cold. A soft light was illuminating the cracks around the door. Mustang's hand froze on the doorknob as he reminded himself that he had indeed shut his lamp off before going home. Even if he hadn't, Hawkeye would have done it for him.

Mustang took his hand off the door and dipped it instead into his ignition glove. His fingers raised and ready, he pressed his ear against the door and listened. After a moment, he heard a sound. A faint cry, quickly muffled.

Someone was in there. Someone was in there, and they sounded like they were hurt, or on the receiving end of an attack.

Mustang threw the door open and stormed in, his dark eyes scanning the shadows. He relaxed into confused relief when he realized that there was only one person in the room and, apparently, he was fast asleep.

Edward Elric was curled up on Mustang's couch. An alchemy book was open on the table in front of him, and a still-warm cup of coffee was sitting next to it. It should have been sweet, or somewhat silly, catching Ed passed out like a regular teenager cramming for an exam. But the scene was ruined by the fact that Ed's slumber was obviously anything but serene. Even from a distance, Mustang could see that Ed's hands were curled into fists, and his body was hunched into a tight and protective ball.

After a moment, Ed shifted restlessly, and made that same hurting and hopeless noise that Mustang had heard from the outer office. As the Colonel moved closer, he could see that Ed's brow was furrowed and beaded with sweat, and the boy's face was completely white.

Mustang recognized the symptoms immediately; after all, he'd suffered under them himself often enough. Ed was caught in the fang-filled jaws of a nightmare, and a bad one by the looks of it.

He couldn't leave him there. Mustang had battled through many of his nightmares alone; he knew how awful it was to feel trapped and helpless in the dark. So he reached down and gave the boy's twisting shoulder a firm shake.

"Edward."

The boy shot up instantly, his automail hand clamping down instinctively on Mustang's wrist. For a moment, Ed looked at him, and a hot little ball of panic bounced in Mustang's stomach. Golden eyes were dull with horror and terrifyingly blank. There was nothing of Ed's spark in those eyes, nothing of Ed at all.

Mustang cleared his throat and gave his wrist a polite tug.

"Hands off, Fullmetal," he said, his voice deliberately cool. "If you accidentally transmute me into a rug or something, Hawkeye will kill you."

The tight lump of fear in Mustang's gut smoothed out as awareness returned to Ed's face, little by little.

"Mustang." Ed's voice was rough. "What are you doing here?"

"You're in my office," Mustang reminded him dryly. "I should be asking you that." He raised an eyebrow and gave the wrist Ed was still clinging to another little shake. "Do you mind?"

"Oh. Right."

Ed released him, and Mustang resisted the urge to rub his fingers over the abused appendage. Those automail fingers had actually bruised him quite badly, but it wouldn't benefit Ed at all to know it.

"What are you doing here?" Mustang asked, tucking his hands into his pockets.

Ed scrubbed a weary fist over his face.

"Couldn't sleep," he said.

"Don't you and Al have a room?"

Ed shrugged.

"Al worries when I don't sleep. I wanted to get some reading done, but if I stayed in our room, Al would just pester me until I went to bed. The library's closed, and most of the offices around here are locked."

Mustang rocked back on his heels.

"As I recall, I asked Hawkeye to lock up before she left."

Ed snorted. A weak smile, a shadow of his typical sneer, curved his lips.

"I could be in any of those offices if I wanted," he reminded the Colonel, waving his automail hand as evidence. "I just didn't feel bad about breaking into yours."

"Shocking." Mustang tilted his head as Ed yawned and rubbed the back of his neck. "When's the last time you slept?"

"Five minutes ago, moron. You woke me up, remember?"

"I meant real sleep," Mustang said. "You look like absolute crap, Fullmetal."

It was true. Ed's eyes were bloodshot, and the shadows under them were so dark, they looked like bruises. His cheeks seemed sunken, and his shoulders were rounded under the weight of his exhaustion.

"None of your business."

"I could make you tell me," Mustang pointed out. "I'm your superior, after all."

"You are a superior pain in my-"

Mustang huffed out a laugh that held traces of relief and shoved Ed's book in his face.

"Read your book then, Fullmetal."

As Ed lowered the book, he saw that Mustang was moving towards his desk, draping his coat across the back of his beloved chair.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Mustang settled himself in and picked up his pen.

"I have paperwork. That's why I'm at the office so late."

Ed set his book in his lap.

"You're going to do it here?"

He hadn't planned on it. He'd meant to scoop the papers into a haphazard pile and attack them from the comfort of his own bed.

"Where else would I be?"

Ed frowned thoughtfully at the pages balanced on his knee, and shrugged.

They worked in silence. Mustang filed paper after paper, until his fingers cramped and his brain cried mercy, and kept one eye on Ed. The teenager was caught up in a battle as old as time, the fight against exhaustion. Ed would skim the pages in front of him, until his eyes drooped and his head bobbed. Then he would catch himself and jerk upright, casting a quick and embarrassed glance in Mustang's direction.

Mustang always made sure to appear diligently occupied when Ed's eyes cut his way. But after Ed jerked himself awake so hard that he smacked himself in the face with his book, Mustang thought it a prudent time to voice his opinion.

"Shutting your eyes helps sometimes. Just for a minute or two, so you can reorganize your thoughts."

He didn't suggest sleep, because he knew that if he did, Ed would do the opposite out of sheer obstinacy and spite. But the teenager didn't even argue. Instead he pressed his cool metal fingers over his face.

"I can't," he admitted. "Not even for a second."

"Avoiding sleep won't make the nightmares go away. In fact, once you finally do drop out of sheer exhaustion, they'll just get worse."

Ed's shoulders jerked straight.

"Aren't you supposed to lie to me?" he demanded with a glare. "Tell me that they'll go away with time?"

The Colonel never raised his head from his paperwork.

"What would be the point? They won't, and my lying to you won't change that." Mustang tapped his pen against his desk and pretended to read the sheet in front of him. "You'll see those faces, and hear those sounds, for the rest of your life. Better to get used to them now."

"I didn't tell you what I was dreaming about."

Mustang's smile was small, and flavored with self-mockery.

"Please don't," he said. "I have my own nightmares to deal with. I don't need to see yours as well."

Ed stared at the man sitting behind the desk. It was so easy to forget sometimes, because he had such well developed masks. But Roy Mustang had seen his fair share of horror. No doubt the demons that haunted his sleep ran in the same league as Ed's.

"Please stop gaping at me, Fullmetal. It's distracting, and I have a lot of work to do. In fact, I'll probably be here all night."

Ed jerked, and immediately lowered his eyes back to his book. This time, however, a tiny smile crept across his face as he read the words in front of him.

When Alphonse burst in, shortly before dawn and half frantic with worry, Mustang was still sitting behind his desk, cradling a cup of coffee and watching the light outside change from black to soft shades of gray.

Ed was completely passed out on the couch. His face wasn't that of someone enjoying peaceful and pleasant dreams, but his brow was no longer furrowed and his hands were tucked loosely under his chin.

Draped around his snoozing shoulders was a bright blue coat.