Disclaimer: FMA belongs to Arakawa Hiromu
Notes: I doubt Mustang'd really do this. At least, no more than once . . .
Sixty-nine: Are you Satisfied?
Mustang knew he shouldn't have done it; he shouldn't have burnt his paperwork. The problem was that it had just been piling up so badly. It had been a distracting day, and when he looked back down at his desk for the final time, there was still a giant pile of requests to read and petitions to ignore, and various other forms to sign. So, he had burnt them, while Hawkeye was out of the room.
Except for her raised eyebrow when she came to collect his severely diminished pile of work, he had thought he'd gotten away with it, too. Then he arrived at work the next morning to see that as well as the new day's stack of forms, he had another, familiar looking pile. Warily, he looked at Hawkeye, who gave him a challenging glare before getting back to her own work. He sighed – it was going to be a long day.