I wrote this one at four o'clock this morning. A chronic insomniac, and a procrastinator. Fantastic combination. But the reviews that gave me warm fuzzies (and the coffee, perhaps) made me feel better. So here's part three! Thanks and cookies to everyone who's reviewed, or added the story to their Favorites or Alerts!

It's kind of a filler, this one. It wasn't going to be, but then I decided to be mean. Being mean makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside, too!

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I still don't own FMA. I did watch CoS while I was writing this, but I don't think that counts.

It took quite some time to reach Central headquarters, much to Edward's dismay. He wasn't the type to wait around for anything, and having to continuously pause when his flesh leg began throbbing had ceased being an annoyance, and was now the new object of his unfathomable rage.

He hadn't forgotten about Mustang, of course. It seemed as though that arrogant smirk was etched into his brain, awaiting it's turn to taunt him when everything else that plagued his thoughts had gotten bored, and retreated into the dark abyss of his mind.

But his hatred for Colonel Bastard could wait, whilst he cursed under his breath at the incompetence of his own flesh and completely ignoring Alphonse's disdainful sighs, as always. It was times like this when he wasn't even certain he wanted his limbs back, but these moments were rare, and always immediately dismissed as being ridiculous.

Automail could break just as easily as bone. And at least when he injured his flesh, he didn't receive a lecture and a wrench to the back of his head from his mechanic and childhood friend, Winry Rockbell. He was certain his skull was still bruised from the last time he had broken his automail during a fight, but perhaps that was the result of having several tonnes of brick collapse on top of him.

The instant this thought flickered through his mind, Edward tightly clenched his remaining fist. Mustang. He was in this mess because of Mustang. He could barely walk because of Mustang. He was having to rely on his younger brother, when he already felt guilty enough for causing him so much pain, because of that murdering, conceited, merciless bastard.

Edward smirked, almost cruelly. The anger came to him with comforting familiarity, and he slipped into it with ease. Barely a day passed when he wasn't bellowing obscenities at the supercilious Colonel for something or other. Usually it was concerned with the blond alchemist's height, or lack of it, as he constantly pointed out.

"Brother," Alphonse said suddenly, as though he could read his sibling's mind. "Why do you need to see the Colonel?"

Immediately, Edward tensed, and although Alphonse could not feel it, he saw his brother's body go suddenly rigid out of the corner of his eye. Edward's initial reaction was to reveal everything. Alphonse was his brother, the only family he had left in this world. Surely he deserved to know?

He bit down hard on his bottom lip. He couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't allow his brother's eyes to glimmer with fear and concern, when he was supposed to be the elder brother. His mother's last words were that the two take care of each other, and he was determined, like he was with everything he did, to carry out her dying wishes.

Even if it meant bending the truth a little.

"Brother?"

Alphonse was no fool. He knew perfectly well that Edward was either concocting a plausible excuse during these moments of silence, or he was pondering how best to explain something he wasn't certain Al ought to know.

"I was heading there anyway," Edward said coolly. "I took a shortcut down that alleyway, and I just so happened to be there when it collapsed," he raised his head, forcefully turning his lips into a cheerless smile. "My luck, huh?"

Alphonse studied him whilst he held his brother's gaze, scrutinizing every inch of his pallid face, and the many hues that his eyes contained, if one dared to look close enough. He sighed heavily. The lack of expression was flawless. If Edward was lying, he was doing it so easily that the large suit of armor couldn't help but be intimidated. If he was so adept at deceiving people, he couldn't prevent himself from wondering what else his brother could be keeping from him.

He didn't get a chance to question him further. The moment the instantly recognizable building came into view, Edward detached himself from his brother's grip with some difficulty, and stumbled for a moment whilst his legs regained the ability to move without assistance.

They shook dangerously beneath his weight, threatening to buckle any minute, but Edward was too stubborn to allow them to do so. If he had to fall, he would make damn sure that Mustang did first.

He glanced back at his brother, and inclined his head very slightly, a gesture that Alphonse knew to mean that he should not follow. He folded his arms across his metal chest plate, ensuring that Edward was aware of his disapproval, and received only the faintest of smiles in return.

Drawing breath slowly to prepare himself for what was to come, Edward took a tentative step forward, wincing slightly as the pressure on his flesh leg caused a sharp twinge of pain in his ankle. He exhaled through gritted teeth, and continued to walk, pushing open the double doors with such force that they almost broke from their hinges, but merely creaked wearily, and slammed to a close behind him.

For once, he was thankful of being here at such an hour. The corridors were devoid of their usual characters: Havoc with his ever present cigarette, or Fuery nursing another stray as Breda complained that he was actually trying to give him a heart attack. He wasn't sure he could handle lying to them, too.

His uneven footsteps resounded much too loudly in the silence for his liking, and he found himself quickening his pace, constantly glancing at his surroundings for any sign that he was not alone. He knew he was being paranoid, but that didn't stop the uncomfortable knot from welling in the pit of his stomach.

He heaved a sigh as he spotted the familiar door ahead of him, and any pain or fear that had existed within him only moments ago was dulled by a sudden rush of adrenalin that coursed through his veins. He had no doubt that Mustang was behind that door. He was rarely seen outside of his office. It seemed he only left it to drown his sorrows, and once he regained consciousness, he could always be found here, pretending to go through the latest stack of paperwork that had found it's way to his desk in his absence.

Edward blinked in confusion, only then realizing that he had been standing with his hand wrapped around the doorknob for almost a full minute as he allowed himself to get lost within the depths of his mind. Shaking his head to clear it, he turned the doorknob, and was about to open the door when a noise from inside stopped him dead in his tracks.

There was no mistaking the sound of a gunshot.