Yeah, I'm bored and just typing this all up, posting when I'm finished. This one is Mustang-centric. Enjoy.
Bad Things For The Team Leader To Say:
In his defence, Mustang had been having a very trying week. His piles of paperwork seemed to have taken on lives of their own and delighted in multiplying every time he turned around, his roof developed a leak in the middle of the night, waking him up at an ungodly time in the morning with freezing cold drips falling on his face (it was quickly and easily fixed with some chalk, but that wasn't the point) and, on top of all that, he had Edward Elric, Halfmetal Alchemist, due to visit and he would, undoubtedly, have many more cracks about his age to suffer through as well as resisting the urge to fry the little brat.
That was why he was currently standing in the hallway, in a junction that meant there was plenty of room, chanting "Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!" when the aforementioned brat had bumped into another soldier and had perceived an insult to his height.
The Flame Alchemist noted that the meeting had, with his encouragement and that of the crowd he was beginning to draw who were joining in with his chant, clapping and stamping in a circle, begun to progress away from the almost obligatory 'Who are you calling so short he…' rant and towards 'beat the crap out of him'. Bets were being made and Mustang decided that, from now on, he would get his coffee refills himself, instead of getting some underling to do it for him. It was a good way to relax a little, as well as skiving of paperwork for a few minutes.
Besides, if nothing else, he would make a killing when Fullmetal floored the six-and-a-half foot mountain of muscle who had incurred his wrath.
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Mustang re-read the orders he'd received, not quite able to believe it. They wanted him to take his whole team out on this mission to the South. What, exactly, were the higher-ups thinking?! Either he or Fullmetal would end up killing the other; it was bad enough just spending ten minutes in each others' company. This would take at least ten days.
Accepting that there was nothing he could do and remembering the line about Military Intelligence being a contradiction in terms, he stood up and called them in. Luckily for whoever it was who would have gotten sent off to find him, Fullmetal had not yet left after handing in the work of fiction he called a report.
"I have just received orders that we are all to go to the South to help sort out a little problem there."
"Hey, old man!"
Mustang's fingers twitched, fighting the urge to flame the impudent brat. "Yes?"
"What's the problem?"
'Don't fry him, think of the paperwork, the prison sentence and the fact that it would not look good to the higher-ups at promotion time.'
"An uprising in the countryside. They think it will only take one team to solve it and they don't have the 'right' one. As it's fairly close to the border of South and East, they sent a request over here."
'Thank you, Riz- Hawkeye! Hawkeye, not Riza!'
"Oh. So, why am I here? I heard something about the Stone while I was out on the last mission and-"
"Orders are orders, Fullmetal. A good dog follows his master's commands, or did you forget that when you got your watch?"
Ed glowered at his boots at the reminder of his status as a 'dog of the military' as well as the refusal to let him do as he wanted.
"So, two days to get ready, then we're going to the station. Seats will be reserved. And Fullmetal,"
"Yeah?"
"Your brother will have to stay behind."
"What?! That's so unfair! He's been with me wherever I go!"
"Orders are orders. He can go home, can't he? Visit your friends in that village."
So, drama over, at least in Mustang's mind, Al bought a ticket to Resembool, stopping at least five attempts on the Flame Alchemist's life and giving his not-so-big brother strict instructions on behaviour while he was away with the rest of the group. And, as those two days passed, the situation steadily got more and more out of hand to the point where, standing on the station platform, Mustang made the following pep talk to his team:
"Now, you're all going on the trip but, if you've paid any attention to the news, you'll know that not all of you will be coming back. To save money, I've only booked tickets for the ride home for half of us. Breda, Havoc, Fullmetal, you're going to have to find your own ways back. I wish you all the greatest of luck."
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Bonus:
It was Hughes's first day in the Military Police and he, along with all of the other fresh-faced recruits or weary war returnees, was getting a lecture about standard procedures in the department.
Admittedly, he was tuning it out a little, wondering how Roy was doing in Eastern Command, especially with that promotion of his, not to mention his reputation as a war hero.
He was jerked away from his musings by the cheerful tone of the officer giving the lecture.
"...And that is how you hide a body! Never let it be said that we don't take care of our own; if any of you need any sort of help, whether legal or ever-so-slightly illegal, don't be afraid to ask your commanding officer; they have benefited from this system too!"