Some Sacrifices

a fullmetal alchemist fanfic

YAJJ

Summary: Something is up with Mustang, but Ed can't place it. He's being very... nice, and it's weirding him out. But Mustang won't let him in on what's going on.

A/N: Special thanks to Ranowa Hikura for letting me use her idea! I hope this is up to your expectations, darling! Also, to anyone who is reading Hero of Ishval... this has got me distracted right now. It's only three chapters, though, and I only have a half a chapter to write, so hopefully the next chapter of Hero of Ishval will be uploaded by next week. Sorry, all!

Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist.

Also, forgive Roy. You'll see why.

Enjoy!

"Hey kid. Colonel's got a mission for us—no exceptions. He wants us to meet at the office in fifteen minutes."

Edward hated these days. With a burning passion. Oh he hated hated hated these.

He had better things to do with his time than waste it coming into the office waaaayyyyy after normal hours to pick up a mission his asshole commander wouldn't even let him go on for at least another day. So Ed had to miss out on precious sleep-but-actually-research time and waste it on this pile of crap.

"Cheer up, brother," Alphonse chirped happily beside. Ed didn't know how Al could be so chipper all the time. It was past eight, and they were being dragged back to the office? No fun at all.

Although, Ed thought to himself as a wave of returning guilt washed over him, a body like that cant get tired because it doesn't need sleep, so it can't feel the effects of fatigue. Another silent vow to return Alphonse to his original body blasted through his head, at least the third one today.

"You would have just spent the rest of the evening with your nose in that book. At least if the colonel gives you a mission, you almost always get tired out and fall asleep. You need that sleep!"

"He's so draining," Ed moaned, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "One man can't be that draining. How is it physically possible."

Al chuckled and shook his head unsympathetically, choosing not to make the usual "well if you didn't let him get you so worked up" comment that usually followed a declaration of forced exhaustion a la meetings with Colonel Mustang.

"...Whatever, Al."

"I didn't say anything," Al chirped, but Ed could hear the victorious grin in his voice and shot him a withering look. Stupid brothers. Stupid, smug baby brothers who knew everything.

So, Ed fell silent so as to not give Al any more ammo. He was resolutely not in the mood to continue being teased like this.

Which would make Colonel Mustang's office an... adventure.

He flashed his watch at the guard station and thumbed back to Al, saying "he's with me." The private saluted him and let them in, closing the gate behind them ominously.

"...I don't like this one bit," he mumbled. Al's quick response was somewhere along "you never do", but all Ed could hear was the silent trepidation in his voice. He didn't like it either.

Being on base was creepy enough during the day, but it was so much worse at night. There was no one around but the night guard and patrol, no one to fill this huge empty space. The wind whistled between the gates and the huge front doors, and even though the city was right outside huge stone walls, it seemed that they were out in the middle of nowhere with the engulfing silence.

"...I hate this place."

Al gave a similar deadpan response to the one earlier, but there was a silent hint of agreement in his voice.

There was something inexplicably… off, tonight. And Ed couldn't tell if it was the usual degree of offness he always got from this place, or if it was Advanced Offness.

There was a light on on the third floor, blinking down at him, only shadowed by a figure. Colonel Bastard was up there, staring down at him, waiting for him as if he knew that he was late. Late for what? It had been only fifteen minutes—maybe times one and a half or two, but it was late and the bastard couldn't blame him.

Even inside, there was no one in the hallways. The night receptionist smiled at them and waved her fingers, so Al waved enthusiastically and Ed nodded his greeting. He took the steps up as slow as he could, Al's clunky footsteps booming behind him. If Colonel Bastard was going to keep him awake and away from his research, at this hour, then he could damn well wait.

He had an audience in the form of Jean Havoc at the top of the stairs, waiting with his hands on his hips but an amused little smile on his face. His cigarette hung out the corner of his mouth; very odd if Hawkeye was there and, if Mustang was there, Hawkeye was normally right at his side. Havoc knew that Hawkeye hated when he smoked in the office, especially because the scent clung to her clothes and apparently made Black Hayate sick.

"Is this what fifteen minutes looks like, chief?" Havoc called down the stairs, eyes lit up with amusement.

"Damn close enough. I could have been sleeping!"

Havoc gave him a look that said "sure you were," spinning on his heel once Ed was at the third to last step and leading him off to the office. Ed groaned overtheatrically but followed, his brother's amused but exasperated sigh on his heel.

"Found him!" Havoc said when he threw the door to the office open, throwing his hand up above his head victoriously. "I found him."

"Good work, since Mustang told you he was coming," Breda said with a roll of his eyes. He was relaxing on the couch, one arm tossed casually over the back. It was clear that they were not here for work, exactly. They were all in their civies; Breda with a casual coat thrown over his white under shirt, Fuery in a pair of slacks (and his white undershirt), Falman in casual slacks and a sweater. Neither Mustang nor Hawkeye were there, which could explain the cigarette.

"Oh come on," Ed whined, hanging his head back and slumping dramatically against his brother. Al, wise to his brother's tricks, caught him by the shoulders and stood him back up without preamble. "They make us come in at bitch-ass in the evening and they're not even here?"

"It's not even eight, Ed," Fuery said matter-of-factly, lifting his brows. All of the men looked thoroughly amused at Ed's little display.

"I could be sleeping," Ed spat.

"You wouldn't be, though," Alphonse said good naturedly, affectionately cuffing the blond. "You're up until midnight researching every night."

"Could be!" Ed retaliated, throwing his arms over his chest and crossing the room to seat himself on the coffee table. He jammed his elbows onto his thighs and crossed his legs on the table in defiance.

The door at the other end of the room, leading into Mustang's private office, opened swiftly, revealing the imposing shape of their commanding officer. "Well, now," he said, his voice brittle. "I hear that everyone has arrived. Join us, will you?" He stepped out of the way of the door, holding it open for his men.

"Sir, what are we here for?" Falman wondered as they filed in. "Hawkeye said there was a mission?"

"It'll all become clear, I think, once you join us inside."

Ed sighed theatrically again and let Alphonse heave him off the table. "So mysterious," Ed half-mocked, "you're not sneaky, you know. I even saw you watching me when Al and me came in. Creep."

"Well with the backdrop of the light, I was hardly hiding," was Mustang's simple response.

"Sir," Hawkeye suddenly moved from where she had been near his desk, "you need to—"

Mustang cut her off before she said anything, tugging her close and hissing something quiet into her ear. Ed wouldn't have called what was happening there a reprimand… but he didn't know what else to call it. He heard Mustang utter a sharp "break", and Hawkeye said just a smidge louder, "you need to be careful."

...What? What was that about? How bizarre.

Hawkeye clasped Mustang's shoulders and steered him to the nearby couch, the look crossing Mustang's face telling them all that he was not pleased with this outcome. "Come in, take a seat," Hawkeye said instead, a surprisingly pleasant smile on her face. "The colonel will explain everything in just a moment."

"I can speak for myself, thank you very much."

Hawkeye glowered briefly, her gaze souring, then put on a smug little look and said, "as can I, sir."

Ed coughed an almost wordless insult into his elbow, and Mustang's souring look turned from Hawkeye to him. Ed grinned at him heartily and moved over to take a seat as requested. Al moved to stand behind him, rather than taking up space on the couches when his legs would not tire and his back would not ache. The other men all took their seats as well, one perched on the arm of the couch that only fit three.

"What do you need, sir?" wondered Fuery quietly. The underspoken man watched around nervously, almost assuredly feeling the same offness that still clung in the air.

"I just realized the other day," Mustang started, shooting a semi-defiant look at Hawkeye that said 'I can talk now', "that the group of you have been under my employ for, as a whole, approaching ten years now. And I'm quite sure that I've never thanked any of you for all you've done."

Mustang's introduction was met with five incredulous face and one impassive, unmoving one. Ed's jaw was halfway to touching the floor, and judging by the commotion, the elbow that Havoc had perched on his knee had slipped and he was attempting to recover.

"...Sir…?" Fuery asked, a little blindsided by his words. Sure, he and all of the team (well, except maybe Ed, who did not know Mustang very well) knew that they and their work was deeply, deeply appreciated, and they had never felt slighted (again, except maybe Ed) by Mustang's lack of expressions of praise or gratitude. They knew Mustang's appreciation and gratitude extended beyond words, was imbedded in the trust and loyalty he bore with and for his team.

Mustang had never expressed appreciation for them before, but he had never really had to. So why was he now?

Breda breathed out a quiet, almost nervous laugh, and said, "wow, you're actually thanking us? You feeling okay there, colonel?"

Hawkeye suddenly flinched and, opposing her normal kept together attitude, sharply turned her head to the side. Havoc's brows punched up towards his hairline, but he didn't say a word to her uncharacteristic move.

"Fine," Mustang said sharply, so sharply that Ed almost, for just a second, didn't believe him. But there could be nothing wrong with the colonel… right? Even though he was agonizing to be around and almost hyperbolically annoying, he was still strong and powerful and could overcome anything. That, Ed knew for a fact. "I've just read somewhere that expecting work with no praise is the fastest way to lose a person's passion, motivation, and trust. I don't want to risk that. So, Hawkeye and myself have prepared a little something for us to enjoy."

Without further ado, Mustang leaned forward and grasped the sheet covering the coffee table. Ed had noticed it before, how lumpy and clearly bad at covering up surprises it was, but had chosen not to comment. He stood and lifted the sheet, revealing, much to everyone's vocal surprise, a practical buffet of finger foods and snacks. It smelled amazing, and Ed's stomach snarled loudly enough that he was very quickly reminded just how many meals he had skipped out on today.

Al grasped Ed's shoulders firmly, as if afraid that Ed would dive for the food and horde it all to himself, which was a smart move considering Ed had been thinking of exactly that. They waited for four pairs of incredulous eyes to turn up to their boss. This was, for all intents and purposes, an office party. A surprise office party, that had been very well hidden considering all of them had been here no less than two hours ago.

"Well?" Mustang said goodnaturedly, "before Fullmetal's stomach starts fighting us for dominance, let's dig in. There's punch on my desk, as well as a few more drinks some of us aren't supposed to partake in."

Ed shot him a look, especially when he noticed a couple wine and beer bottles on the desk. He crossed his arms hard over his chest, snarling, "well maybe I don't want any of your dumb drinks anyway."

"Real mature, Fullmetal." Breda let out a full bellied laugh, standing to grab a couple beers as Falman grabbed a plate and dug in.

"Who knows, Fullmetal?" Havoc agreed, "ask nicely and maybe we'll let you try a sip."

For a moment, Ed's face brightened with hidden delight, but three looks, one from Hawkeye, one from Mustang, and one needling at the back of his neck from Al quickly sobered his gaze. "Don't want it anyway," he lied, leaning forward to snatch a plate and collect food. Al went to get him a glass of punch without question.

The night passed slowly and mostly uneventfully. Mustang must have forgot to factor in the two teenagers that would be there, as all that there was to do was converse… but even that, Ed didn't really mind. He genuinely liked the guys at the office, so getting to know them a little more, just spend time with them, was almost genuinely and seriously fun. Al also enjoyed himself conversing with them, happily making small talk with everyone, clearly just ecstatic to be included.

There were a few times in the night, though, that Ed noticed something off. Once, when Mustang tugged out his desk chair and collapsed into it. His face was pale and almost sweaty. Hawkeye went to him with only a little noise of concern, then immediately pulled out a drawer, dug out a few things, then got him a glass of punch. Ed saw Mustang toss a couple of what looked like pills into his mouth then toss back his punch like a shot. Seconds after, he reached for his bottle of beer, but Hawkeye swept it away and went to chat with Falman, shooting Mustang a glib look.

Another time, the instigator was again Mustang. He stepped away from Havoc, Breda, and Ed, where he had been having a rousing conversation, and went into the corner by the bookshelves. He thumbed his temples, took deep breaths, then returned after a few minutes.

Ed thought that maybe he had had too much to drink, but he hadn't been drinking much at all.

The third, once more of the evening had passed, food was mostly gone, and Hawkeye was dutifully starting to gather dishes and throw out extras, happened unexpectedly. Ed and Al had been chatting with Fuery, Mustang beside Ed. Ed had been holding his empty glass of punch, wanting a refill but well aware that all was gone. Ed flinched when something chinked on his glass, whipping his head around in time to see the mouth of a beer bottle against his glass, pouring until it was about half full. He glanced up to the perpetrator, knowing fully who it was, golden eyes suspicious.

Mustang just put his finger to his lips conspiratorially, said, "don't tell Hawkeye," and took his bottle back for another swig. He looked away, the definition of "I was definitely just doing something i should not have", but didn't say another word.

Ed's eyes flicked between his glass and Mustang, then a wolfish grin crossed his lips. "I should arrest you," he said, bringing his new, slightly-more-illegal drink to his lips. He tossed back probably more than he should have, as he had seen Mustang do earlier with his punch… and had to fight his own gag reflex to keep it in his throat like a man would. He forced the liquid down his throat, made a loud and displeased noise that gathered the attention of everyone, and demanded, "you people choose to drink this?!"

Mustang forced out a laugh. "What, too much for you to handle?" Hawkeye, from her place sharing a riveting conversation with Falman, eyed the scene and noticed the amber liquid in Ed's glass that was definitely not punch. She shot him a look, turned an even sourer look on Mustang… and miraculously just shook her head and said nothing. "I suppose, something like this has always needed an… well, we'll say an advanced palette to enjoy. It takes years of experiencing to enjoy something as tasteful as this."

Ed glowered at his smirking bastard of a boss, glared down at his glass, and snarled, "I'll show you an advanced palette!" Without any further ado, he tilted his head back and downed the bitter drink in no more than three gulps. He clapped his emptied glass onto the table and shot at Mustang the same sort of confident I-can-outdrink-you sort of a look that no fifteen year old should ever be wearing.

"So, there."

He hiccuped.

"Oh, you sure showed me," Mustang chuckled, lifting his bottle to Ed in a mocking toast. "Just so you know, Fullmetal, I do expect you back in the office at nine o' clock sharp tomorrow morning, and if you're too drunk to walk home this evening, none of us are giving you a ride."

"Alphonse will carry me!"

Al shied away and darted over to the conversation Falman and Hawkeye shared, almost as if a seven foot tall suit of armor could hide behind them. "I'm definitely not part of this conversation," he informed Ed and Mustang. "I want no part in it."

"I challenge you, colonel, to a drinking contest! Right here right now! I'll bet I can drink you under the table!"

"Would you look at that, the alcohol is already getting to you, perhaps this was a bad idea. Sure doesn't take long to get through that tiny body of yours, does it?"

Edward saw a glorious shade of red, staining the room the color of blood. "Right here, right now! I'll bet you I can drink you right under the table! If you pass out first, you have to—you have to pay for every meal from tomorrow morning until—until a month from now! A whole month!"

"Don't I already?" Mustang wondered airily, and to Ed's surprise, a soft, almost affectionate look crossed Mustang's eyes.

"And if I pass out first—I'll, um… oh, I'll wash your car! Every weekend for a month!"

Mustang put on a face that said he was seriously considering it, saying, "well, she has been needing a shine… you know what? Fine." Hawkeye made a loud, almost nervous noise of disapproval, and Al squeaked out what was possibly a protest, but Ed couldn't really hear them over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. "I'll take that bet. You're on, pipsqueak."

Needless to say, Ed did not last long after that.

When he woke up, it was due to a pounding headache, pounding so hard he thought someone was taking a sledgehammer right to his face. He tried to open his eyes, but even with the lights inside definitely off, they burned so badly. What even happened last night? He remembered… drinking… probably more than he should have. He remembered challenging Mustang to a drinking contest—debatably a bad idea since that had been his first sip of alcohol ever… but nothing else after that.

The only thing he registered, when he finally managed to open his eyes, was that he was back in bed (he definitely had no idea how he got there) and wrapped up in warm blankets, his curtains were drawn, and when he wiggled about and pulled out his watch, he found it was quickly approaching noon.

Something niggling told him that he was late for something, but his headache took priority. He opened his eyes again and found a note, a glass of (hopefully) water, and some pills.

You start on Saturday.

Never drink again

Ed rolled his eyes, downed the pills, and chased them with a sip of water. Then he turned back onto his side and burrowed back into his pillow, entirely forgetting every reason he might have worried from the evening before.

This chapter is much more lighthearted than the next one will be.

I hope you liked it! Please don't forget to review! See you all Monday!