Work Text:
It’s after hours when Ed sneaks back into the office to grab his travel cup.
To anyone else, it might seem like a petty thing not worth going back to the office past seven in the evening on a Thursday.
But this is the same mug that makes the elixir of life portable so that he can bring it into work every day so that he can avoid the military wanna-be excuse for coffee. Bringing his own coffee is the part of his routine that Ed’s not willing to sacrifice to avoid another thirty-minute walk.
The lights are still on in the inner office, and Ed hears the voices of Mustang and Hawkeye. He frowns; today hadn’t been particularly busy, and therefore no reason for the two of them to still be here. No military emergency had been declared, so that was another reason removed from his list.
Ed had only intended to grab his mug and be on his merry way, but a few of the words for the conversation spills through the gap in the door.
Over the years, he’s grown past his rebellious teenager tendencies. If he’d still be fifteen he’d totally stay and listen in on their conversation so that he’d have blackmail material to last him for ages. But he’s older now, almost twenty-one (god how had time passed this quickly), and he’s past eavesdropping on people, right? Right?
“Your ability work is being impaired by your current predicament, sir.”
That’s Riza’s voice, and while the words are crass and sharp, the tone of doesn’t match at all. She sounds … well, saying it’s gonna sound stupid, but she sounds human. More like a human than Ed’s heard since he’d been a kid in an oversized jacket taking his first steps as a state alchemist.
Suddenly Ed’s brain reverts to his fifteen-year-old-self, and maybe he should stay and listen after all. Eavesdropping is a skill the military encourages, so why the hell not?
Mustang sounds tired when he replies, and it’s that kind of defeated only your closest get to hear.
Ed should leave, should really leave because he’s intruding on something personal. However, he’s already decided to stay, so he does. Ed’s got a stupid feeling he’ll hear something important if he does.
“I know, Riza. I can’t help it. I try, but it’s like someone's placed a mental barrier in my brain. Whenever I don’t have a worthwhile distraction, and even when I do his face just appears in my mind.”
Ed doesn’ have the faintest clue of what they're talking about.
Somebody constantly clogging up Mustang’s brain to the point where no work could be done?
To Ed, it sounds like grief. Maybe … maybe the mental image of Hughes appears whenever something related to Investigations comes up.
The tight, brief wave of fear and guilts grips at Ed’s hear, because if that’s the case, then it’s his fault.
Well, of course, it’s not really, because Ed can’t help the amount of older military records he’s had to go through lately. It’s Mustang that deals him his assignments, not the other way around.
“I think you should tell him, sir.”
Wait, now that doesn’t make sense with his idea. You can’t talk to dead people and Brigadier General Hughes is dead and six feet under.
“I can’t.” Mustang’s voice reaches a new plane of existence in terms of tiredness and lifelessness. “I can’t, Riza. Because then he’ll leave and never come. I already dealt with it once, and I can’t do it again.”
If this isn’t grief, Ed thinks, then it has to be love, because that’s the only two extremes causing reactions and behaviours like this.
And oh god, if this is love; a textbook definition of premature heartbreak, then Ed should definitely get out of here because he doesn’t want other his worst suspicious being confirmed; doesn’t want to let Mustang go.
He doesn’t want to hear about the girl that Mustang has now fallen for— but, but, but, wait. Mustang hadn’t said ‘her’. Hadn’t mentioned anything about a girl at all.
The conversation from the inner office doesn’t slow down, and Edward just stands there, dumb, waiting for a metaphorical bomb to detonate.
Because even if Mustang hadn’t messed up and said ‘him’ instead of ‘her’, then there’s still every chance that it’s not Ed Mustang is talking about.
“I’m correct and now him well enough, sir, which is something I believe I do, then I can say with almost-guaranteed certainty that he’d prefer knowing about it rather than you keeping it from him.”
The smart thing for Ed to do would be to leave, to forget that he overheard the conversation at all and go home before Al starts worrying.
He has his cup, which is what he came here to get in the first place, not eavesdrop on his superior officer. It won’t take more than half a dozen strides to get to the door. Then he’ll run, pop into the 24-hour bakery a block away from their flat and claim to Al that he’d taken a little longer because he had remembered that they were out of bread.
It’s not a sold lie, but maybe it’ will deter Al from asking awkward questions.
He doesn’t’ want to have his dreams being crushed right here, in a place that theoretically anyone could walk into at any time. If a name is mentioned, then Ed is doomed. Because as much as he wants to know it is that has brought Mustang into his state, he’s not willing to break his own heart in the process.
Riza’s voice sounds again and it’s getting closer. Shit. “I do think, though, sir, which no regard to your personal opinion on the matter, that you should at least talk to Edward.”
Riza opens the door and Ed freezes, mug in hand and just standing there like a deer in the headlights.
She’s the first to see him and her eyes open wide.
“Oh—” she starts.
“Shit,” Ed finishes for her.