Chapter Text
Ed is regretting doing his report here.
Ed is holed up in a corner of the storage closet, a nearly complete report in one hand and pen in his ink stained other hand. He could have done this at his tiny desk or the dorms or the library, but he gets things done the fastest in the closet. Sure, it’s dark, and sure, it’s a little cramped, but practically no one comes in here. Ed only has one entrance to watch, two walls at his back, and a well-founded confidence that no one will find him in here. Ed gets shit done here, and fast. Maybe he has the opposite of a dust allergy.
(He ignores the part of his brain that tells him it’s because he feels safe when no one can see him, ignores it along with his shaky hands and the elements passing behind his eyes.)
Initially, he wanted the report to be done and over with, to get this whole mission off his mind, and to dodge Colonel Bastard while handing in his report. If he timed it correctly, he could hand it in to the bastard’s empty desk while the Colonel was off talking to Maes or debriefing his team.
Unfortunately, he quickly realized that he needed to compare reports with Colonel Bastard if either of them wanted the damn things to stand up to scrutiny—and knowing how Mustang’s higher ups felt about Ed, they would be scrutinized. So Ed is double checking his report in the dark of the storage closet and taking periodic glances at the door. He sighs, looking at his admittedly complete report, getting to his feet and wincing when it pulls at his strained shoulders, the pain radiating to his neck and back.
He waits for a moment before pulling the door open, watching for shadows beneath the door and listening for footsteps. When he senses nothing in the hallway, he walks out, taking the long way to Mustang’s office.
As he walks, he thinks of what to say to the Colonel, briefly fantasizes of punching him in the face if he asks too many questions, and wonders if he really has to do this at all. A vision of a bunch of old geezers looking down at him, asking what really happened in the warehouse flashes behind his eyes and he decides he really does have to.
He barges into Colonel Bastard’s office, not bothering to knock. If Mustang’s worth his shiny medals, he heard Ed’s uneven gait from ten feet away. Ed slams his report down on the mahogany desk and takes a sideways seat in the chair across from Mustang’s, propping his feet on the corner of the desk. The Colonel’s eyes flick between his feet and Ed’s face unblinkingly, with what Ed hopes is annoyance. The bastard could be infuriatingly hard to read sometimes.
“We need to get our stories straight. You read my report, I’ll read yours, and if anything doesn’t line up, then we edit.” Ed says, holding out a hand for Mustang’s report. He knows the bastard has it done, probably wrote it in his head while they were in the car, like the workaholic he is.
Proving Ed right, the Colonel pulls a paper from his desk and places it in Ed’s waiting hand, unamused. “Very well.”
Ed scans the neatly written report, searching for discrepancies in the damn near typewriter font sentences. He can’t find any. Mustang sure has a talent for using a lot of words to say absolutely nothing. The report describes what happened, sure, but by the way you’re halfway through it, you’re bored to tears—bored enough to not realize that you’re only getting the bare bones events. How none of Colonel Bastard’s commanding officers know he’s regularly feeding them horseshit becomes apparent.
Ed isn’t going to say any of that out loud, though. There was only one detail that had to be added to Ed’s report, which was the matter of the man’s belt being undone. A quick lie about him threatening to whip them was both simple and lined up with the rest of the bodies and with that, they were done.
“Could you have rebuckled his belt?” Mustang asks.
Ed bristles reflexively before realizing that the Colonel’s eyes and face are placid. There’s no sign of condescension or annoyance. Just pure curiosity. “Well… it’s obvious, isn’t it?”
Mustang’s lip quirks up in a wry kind of smile and he shakes his head. His demeanor is uncharacteristic and Ed is left feeling a little unmoored and anxious. He doesn’t know where Mustang is going with this and it’s making his hackles rise. “Fullmetal, this is one of those things where your instinctual grasp of alchemy leaves the rest of us a little in the dark. You zipped his pants back up and redid the button, but left the belt as it was. You’re skilled enough with alchemy that I assumed you would have a reason for doing two of these things but not the other.”
Ed frowns. “Well, they’re different things that require more or less thinking and work.” Mustang tilts his head to the side, nonverbally beckoning for more information. “The zipper was easy enough. All I had to do was isolate the metal of the zipper and yank up. I did that first so I wouldn’t have to juggle both the concrete and the metal at the same time and because metal is easier than almost anything to manipulate for me. Same with the button. I could see that it was made out of some sort of bone, which has a very specific… feeling? Resonance? When you’re performing alchemy. All I had to do was force it through the cotton. The belt was made out of steel and nickel, leather, and cotton. Manipulating all three in such a tightly controlled manner while on a time crunch and preparing to move tons of concrete wasn’t worth the energy it would take.”
The Colonel nods, looking thoughtful. “I don’t think you grasp how remarkable that is.”
Ed starts to shake his head, mouth open to protest, but Mustang shoots him a look that’s so confusing that he stops. It’s a strange look on his face, tired but happy but sad. It doesn’t suit him.
Mustang grabs the papers in front of them both and taps the edges on his desk to straighten them out before placing them in a folder. Ed starts to get up to leave but before he can do more than set his feet back on the ground, Mustang is straightening up and looking him straight in the eyes. His dark eyes, usually not too hard to read, suddenly seem unknowable and his gaze feels heavy, making Ed feel small and out of breath.
“Ed… you understand that I have to ask.” Mustang says.
Ed glares. “No one’s making you.”
Mustang purses his lips. “While that may be true, I am still an adult and your guardian. If anyone has harmed you, it’s my responsibility to know. To stop it. To prevent it from ever happening again. To… help you, after, whatever that may mean.”
“I don’t need anyone’s damn help, old man. ‘Specially not yours.” Ed grits out.
“And that may be true. You are independent and a prodigy. But it’s okay to want help. And it’s my job to provide it no matter what you may think it implies to receive it.” Mustang takes a pause. Ed thinks of hydrogen. He leans closer to Ed, elbows on his desk as his hands clasp together between them. Helium. His serious face softens, just a little. Lithium. “I won’t force anything on you and I won’t make you say anything. But if you want to tell me anything, now or later, then I’m here.” He smiles a little. “You know where to find me.”
Beryllium dissolves into nothing and Ed stares at Mustang’s stupid face. Drops his eyes. He clenches his jaw and brings his eyes back up, stares straight ahead, not quite at Mustang’s face but keeping it in his field of vision.
“There was a guy in Resembool. He sold medicine and Al was sick and I thought he’d die without it. But I didn’t have enough money and he said he’d let me pay another way and I was desperate. Al’s life was on the line and our parents were gone and I’m his big brother so I said I’d do it. I don’t regret it. But—“ Ed’s voice betrays him. “But I just wish I’d brought more money.” He clenches his jaw hard so his lips don’t tremble and doesn’t dare blink.
Mustang’s face doesn’t move an inch while Ed talks and he’s grateful for it. His eyes, however, seem darker than they had been seconds ago. “What was his name?” His voice is level, almost light.
“Bill Hall.” Ed doesn’t know what Mustang would want to do with his name, but he gives it anyway—feels lighter for it.
“Ed, I think you know these things but there are some things other people have to tell us in order for us to accept it. None of that was your fault. What he did was on him. You are the one who helped your brother and that man had nothing to do with it, and if he had, it would have been more hindering than helping.”
Ed blinks and his vision blurs and damn it. He angrily wipes his eyes with his sleeve and tries to keep his face in check. He’s stronger than this. It’s just words. Worse than the words is Mustang’s face and his dumb eyes and his dumb expression. Ed almost wants to look away. Almost.
“Whatever.” He mumbles, sniffling.
Mustang’s face still doesn’t move.
Ed gets out of his chair, ignoring his shaky hands while he gives a sloppy salute that Mustang’s face twitches just a little at. There, a win. He stomps to the door. As he grabs the door handle, Mustang stops him.
“Ed. You’re never going to have to do that again.”
Ed doesn’t turn around, just shuts the door quietly behind him. He takes a breath that does not shake and starts on his way back to Al.
(Roy calls for Riza once that uneven tempo leaves his range of hearing and asks for a new pair of gloves to replace his now bloodstained ones and information on a Bill Hall from Resembool.)