Chapter Text
The gentle shuffling of boxes being unloaded and dust being swept from unused desks had quickly become a pleasant backdrop. Brigadier General Roy Mustang hadn’t much missed Central, if he’s being honest, but he’d missed being in the middle of the military’s epicenter. Fuhrer Grumman had kept in regular contact, and while it was certainly to keep abreast of what progress had and had not been made in the East, it was also rather nice to keep in contact with an old friend. This also ensured that Roy knew most of Central’s news ahead of most of the city’s own.
He’s thrown from his musings by the sound of the outer door being flung open. He sets his pen aside, steepling his hands just as the frantically approaching footsteps result in Warrant Officer Kain Fuery flinging his personal office door open. He ignores the rest of his team staring openly, except for Hawkeye, who’s merely logging everything with her peripheral vision should her gun be required, and focuses on the wide, slightly panicked eyes of the subordinate who’d just barrelled into his office.
“Yes, Warrant Officer Fuery?” he asks, keeping his voice level. He tries very hard not to speak down to his team, they’ve chosen to stay with him through some terrible things and deserve better. He won’t scold without reason, nor will he chastise the sudden and uninvited appearance. It doesn’t happen unless something is horribly wrong.
“Did you know?” Fuery asks breathlessly and faintly accusingly, still looking far too spooked for the General’s liking. Considering what they’ve survived and stood with him through, that combination doesn’t bode well at all. He doesn’t speak, just raises an eyebrow, but the small motion is enough to get Fuery talking again. “It’s Alphonse, he’s here. He’s down in Records in full uniform and everythin-”
Anything that might have come after is drowned out by the exclamations from the outer office. Even Hawkeye’s on her feet, demanding to know what else Fuery saw. Mustang stands, back straight, and walks to the door, which has Fuery backing out to allow his passage, and everyone falls silent to look at him, to study him. Every man (and woman) in this room has developed a fierce protectiveness of those boys, after all. If he’d hidden something of this caliber from them, Mustang has no doubt they’d turn on him in a heartbeat.
“No, I did not know,” he says softly, though every single soul in the room knows him well enough by now not to be fooled by the deceptively even cadence of his words. “Though I would very much like to find out why I was never informed.” They know Grumman had kept in contact, and they know why. Roy Mustang does not habitually surround himself with stupid people.
“If Alphonse is in uniform, then Edward is guaranteed to be here as well,” Hawkeye comments softly. This has everyone pausing, Mustang included. The elder Elric has never worn the uniform, despite four years of active military duty, and had turned in his pocketwatch days before he’d taken Alphonse back to Resembool to recover. He’d never intended to return, and there’s not a soul who participated in the final battle on that cursed day that could blame him. Even if he’d stayed, Edward would have never allowed the military to get their hooks into his brother. Mustang’s stomach churns at the possible implications of having the younger Elric in uniform.
Needing to get everyone back on track, Mustang clasps his hands behind his back. “Right now, it doesn’t matter. We only have a limited time frame to get settled back in before people start asking questions. We are being watched closer than ever after our time back East, and much of the Ishval project’s fate rests on how well Central takes to what we’re bringing in. I have an appointment to see the Fuhrer this afternoon. I expect you all to look like you’d never left by that time.” He doesn’t wait for comment, pivoting on his heel and returning to his office amidst a chorus of salutes. They have an image to maintain, and he’s always been scrutinized. Ever since Ishval, ever since he’d sworn to make a difference. Today is no different.
He doesn’t bother closing his door all the way. He doesn’t have the latest delivery of reports yet, and now there will be a silent inquisition besides. Sure enough, just as he’s settled behind his desk, Major Hawkeye slips in, the door shutting firmly behind her. She approaches, setting the stack of folders on his desk, and simply watching him. She’s not one to pry and badger, but she’s known him longer than just about anyone. She doesn’t have to utter a sound to speak.
He sighs, pulling the stack in front of him but not bothering to open the first file. “There are a very small number of reasons he wouldn’t have said anything, Major, and I like each subsequent option I come up with even less than the previous.” He doesn’t elaborate, but he doesn’t have to. She knows. She always knows, from the concern to the fear he would never admit to himself, to the unholy churning of bile in his gut at what it might mean that they’re still trapped after everything they’ve survived and achieved.
“They’ve survived this long, Sir,” she said softly, and it’s a testament to her steadfast faith that she doesn’t quail beneath the look he levels at her, even as he’d never mean such a dark thought at her directly. “They’ve survived worse, those brothers. I’d bet good money they’re both in Central. It took a literal country-wide apocalypse to separate those boys, Fuhrer Grumman doesn’t stand a chance. Whatever the reason, they’re not helpless.” They’d never truly been helpless, even when faced with the likes of an immortal being who’d swallowed down the power so often called God. Those boys don’t go down without a fight, and they’ve never stopped fighting. Not really. Mustang knows this. But unfortunately, he also knows Edward Elric.
Sighing, he lets his head hang for just a moment. “Fullmetal was never proper military, no matter that he’s always been a soldier, a warrior. If they’ve got him in uniform…..then I have to wonder what they have smothered in him. He doesn’t capitulate. Grumman threatened Alphonse, that much I’m sure of; Fullmetal wouldn’t have come back for anything less.” The unspoken accusation, the urge to know what else he hadn’t been made aware of, burns through him. He has to take a slow, deliberate breath to swallow back the rage that rises alongside the thoughts swirling within him, and sits up straight once more.
Taking a cue from his sudden correction of his posture, Hawkeye sets his planner beside the file, and proceeds to break down his day and reiterate his deadlines so they can stay on track. The rest will have to wait until he meets with the man who’d kept it all a secret. For now.