Insipid: lacking in qualities that interest, stimulate, or challenge

Ed gasped awake.

A second ago he was being torn apart as Truth laughed in his face. A second before that he had watched as the commander who had scouted him out personally ended his existence with a little silver bullet. His mind was working overdrive in order to keep up with his ever changing environment.

At the moment he felt something soft under his cheek. Soft, but his nose was choked with the aroma of motor oil and dust. He shifted and noted the thin grey blanket beneath him.

"…And after we get some food in you maybe we can go to the library. Take a break for a change." A hulking metal figure was leaning down to the side of the bed, picking up dirt caked boots and setting them in their place by the door of their mini dorm.

"I know you have to work, but…I really miss seeing you, Brother."

"Al." Ed pushed himself off the mattress and stared, dumbfounded.

Al looked up. "Yes?"

Ed couldn't speak; he didn't know what to say. The longer the silence stretched out, the greater he understood that he didn't have a clue what was going on.

Just as he opened his mouth to say, well, he didn't know, but something, a familiar courier knock interrupted the moment. Al gave Ed one long, expectant look to let Ed know he could still say what he wanted, but still nothing came out. So Al opened the door and received the message, and Ed stared as déjà vu swept over him.

"Thank you, I'll let him know," Al replied courteously and closed the door. He turned back to Ed, a weight on his shoulders from the knowledge that their time together was short. "The Colonel wants to hear–"

"–your report," Ed finished, disbelieving.

Al nodded, "Right away." He paused, "Brother are you okay? You seem a little…tired."

Was he? He hardly felt it anymore. Suspicion and confusion overrode any other emotion he might have been feeling subconsciously.

"Hey Al…" Ed began slowly. "Don't you get the feeling we've done all this before?" Ed observed Al's demeanor as his brother placed a finger on his chin.

"Um…well, I suppose, but this happens a lot. I mean, not the you being gone part, but the courier always brings the phone messages from the Colonel. …And it is usually about a report."

Ed frowned in contemplation. "Hm."

"Brother, I'm sure you're just tired. We don't have to go to the library right after your report. You need to sleep first."

Ed nodded idly as Al brought his nasty boots over to put back on. "Maybe," he commented, lagging a little in the conversation.

Maybe, in a bewildering twist of events, Ed now had a second chance to make things right.

Pft! Uh-huh, sure. Things like that didn't happen even with Truth involved, much less to him.

Maybe he was just tired. It was possible that with so many missions and so little time to care for himself he had run himself to the point of hallucinating. Or maybe he had fallen asleep just now and dreamed it all up. He didn't know, and as he thought of each explanation in its own respect, he eliminated each one. They were all a far stretch from possibility. Except maybe the hallucination one; that bullet felt all too real for his comfort.

Whatever was true, Ed was still living in the present, and Colonel jerk-face wanted to see him. The nagging thought surfaced that he was getting paranoid from lack of sleep. He curtly dismissed it. Something was amiss, and he felt like the center of a cosmic joke. That irked him.

Following Al, Ed speedwalked to the office, kicked open the doors as was customary, and

stopped

in

his

tracks.

At his desk Fuery sat drinking his lemonade from the cafeteria having made no progress on the phone he was repairing. In the corner Hawkeye had her gun in pieces, hands going through her Monday morning cleaning routine. Havoc was talking with Breda about the overcast weather with Falman trying to ignore him as he worked through a stack of slips. And at the head of it all, the Colonel watched him expectantly from his desk, a perpetual smug smirk reserved just for him.

Disturbed by the exactness in setting, Ed began to wonder if the joke wasn't cosmic. Was it April Fool's Day? Did someone drug him last night? Because if they were playing him, Ed would smash in all their faces. He was too strung out to deal with practical jokes.

But still, it was eerie.

He walked past Havoc as he mentioned how the storm clouds were so thick it might flood the lower city.

"Didn't you say that yesterday?" Ed double checked himself, just to be sure.

"Huh?" Havoc halted. "Uh, I don't remember saying that." He smiled and shrugged, "Maybe?"

Ed let him off with a mistrustful glare and stomped through the rest of the office. Behind him Al threw out his customary greetings. Hawkeye invited Al to come sit next to her while he waited.

Ed glanced back at his brother. Wasn't Al going to say anything about the set-up? How Hawkeye thrived on the routine of cleaning her gun weekly and not ever once more or less? How the storm that had practically drowned Ed yesterday was only just beginning out the windows?

Al cheerfully accepted the seat and ushered Ed along so they could get back to the dorms.

Maybe Ed was paranoid.

But not enough to give his report twice.

He stepped in front of Mustang's desk and opened his mouth, ready to tell him he was done with being a dog of the military and to quit jerking his leash around. But when his eyes met Mustang's Ed found himself at a loss for words.

All he could see was the gun barrel aimed at the center of his forehead. His hands began to shake, and anger boiled in his veins.

He didn't know what was going on, but there was no way that Mustang hadn't killed him yesterday, or in a few hours, or– whatever. Ed didn't know how, and he didn't know why, but something had happened to him, and something was yet going to happen to him.

Mustang's smirk drooped a bit in concern, but Ed cut him off before he could have the satisfaction of asking him to step into his inner office to deliver the report.

"Don't you have a mission for me?" Ed ground out, testing.

Mustang's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Instead of indulging Ed he parried, "Don't you have a report to deliver?"

"I already gave it." Ed pivoted on one heel and called, "Al, we're leaving."

Al stood, "But what about your report?"

"We've got a mission to finish." And this time it wasn't going to end the same. How could it when the mission he started yesterday, or at least so he thought, was a different mission entirely? This time the suspect was the Flame Alchemist, Roy Mustang.

… … … …

So, if yesterday, erm, today actually happened, and Ed had been thrown back into the world of the living, why today? Truth wasn't merciful enough to give him a second chance – of that Ed had no doubt. Besides, where was the equivalency in that?

"Um, Brother?" Al quickstepped beside Ed. "You haven't told me what the mission is."

The alchemist was the key to the truth in this mission. No matter how hard he pressed Mustang, Ed knew the idiot was actually smart enough not to blow his top. After all, he had managed to keep his murderous intent secret for years. No use blowing it now. Ed only wanted to know if the whole mission was a set up or if Mustang had merely jumped on the chance. Either way, at least it was something Ed hoped he could get a straight answer on.

Ed would have kept walking without hearing Al, but his brother got smart and grabbed him by the shoulders, keeping him still until Ed realized he was no longer moving.

"Al?"

Al sighed, "Ed, we're halfway through the city, and I still don't know where we're going. You aren't acting like yourself. What's going on?"

Ed grimaced. Oh boy, how to explain this one?

"Well, Al, you see…" He was about to explain what he'd just witnessed, but now that he really stopped to look at Al, his brother was emanating worry. It had been much too long since they had spent any time together. No need to worry him anymore than necessary.

"Yes…?" Al waited patiently, knowing Ed was less than eloquent – especially if he tried.

Ed scratched the back of his neck, stalling. He pulled back his hand and frowned at the way his braid squished. Probably too late to put his hood up.

Why'd he have to relive today?

"I guess I'm so tired it felt like I'd already finished the mission."

"Like déjà vu?" Al questioned.

"Yeah, something like that," Ed confirmed.

Ed knew Al well enough to see he had his reservations about leaving the subject there. But Al, sensing Ed's tiredness asked, "So where are we going?"

Boots tromped through a puddle. He didn't have time to waste. "We're after an alchemist. He's been making a mess of things in the city, and I've got a few questions for him." If his grin was a little too dark, Al didn't mention it.

"Okay. But, Brother, how do you know where he's going to be?"

Ed didn't answer, but when Al fell into consternated silence, a pit of guilt flooded Ed's heart. He slowed his pace.

"Hey, why don't I take a week off after this? We can go down and visit Winry."

Al's soul fire sparkled. "Really, Brother?"

Ed smiled, "Yeah."

And he meant it. Now all he had to do was figure out what was going on and get it resolved before Mustang tried to shoot him again.

Ed really thought things were going well when the alchemist popped up on the same corner not three hours into the search. This time he made sure to stay cautious and not corner himself even though he was on his own again, Al back in the drug store just like the first time.

As Ed chased the man, he actually thought about how things would go down. He would catch up and corner the alchemist. Then he would calmly and rationally ask the alchemist who employed him as Ed shoved his automail fist down his throat.

To Ed's satisfaction, everything went according to plan. He grinned and pulled back his arm to give the miserable kidnapper the full taste of his automail. Too late Ed registered the shuffle behind him. His mind connected the pieces.

Weren't there two–WHACK!

Ed blinked and found himself slumped and miserable on a cold floor. He blinked again and Mustang's eyes filled his vision. He didn't have time to blink before the bullet exited the gun chamber and turned the world white.

-Dante