Ed was right handed.

This, of course, became quite the problem once his arm was ripped into ribbons and cast away into the Gate, as it was now in the wrong dimensional plane, and therefore was unusable. But his arm wasn't gone; it was merely taken. Misplaced, even. It still existed.

Ed knew this because he could still feel its presence. It wasn't where it should be, hanging comfortably by his shoulder (which was practically non-existent now anyway considering his shoulder blade had been torn out also), but he could still feel his clammy, slightly bloody arm. It usually felt like it was stuck in some sort of plasma-or gel, which made movement extremely difficult; like trying to swim in concrete. It was useless, in this stiff unmoving dimension, but it was there.

Because he was positive it was still out there somewhere, not once had he considered learning how to write with his left hand.

He hadn't had the use for writing in a very long time. The last time he had written anything was his seven page analogy of his supposedly accomplished theory of human transmutation that was left in his father's study, to burn into chars of ash along with the rest of the house. He had gone through a very rushed, very painful and sickly rehabilitation when he was introduced to metal ligaments. His motor skills in his fake arm were even more poor than his unused left. Sure, he had daily exercises to help curl and retract each finger separately and together, making sure to oil the hinges for smoother aligning, but throughout the training he learned from holding glasses and praying them not to break from over-exertion of the gears in his palms.

He learned to grip items. He didn't learn the cursive curls and mobile flicks of wrist and fingers that was needed for writing.

And that was where his problem lay.

It was his first week at East Headquarters. So far, the soldiers were untrustworthy and eyed him wearily whenever he walked past. Adults whispered behind his back and scoffed at the sight of a child working as a human weapon, and in all honesty Ed thought of them as oversized children. He expected soldiers to be strict and mature. These people spread rumours and gossip like toddlers on the playground. If they acted like idiots, Ed treated them like idiots. Very simple logic; he hoped they would catch on quickly.

Unfortunately, Ed was still adjusting to life in the city. He had been raised in the vast fields of Resembool, and greatly missed the expanse of trees and grass and sheep that he had once lived by. Overcrowded people on pavements really weren't his style.

So far, thanks to a very hospitable officer named Hawkeye, Ed had been doing very simple tasks like delivering files and reports to the many offices in the building. It was very immature work, and he knew he could probably do a whole lot more if he was given the chance, but at least it gave him the excuse to move about. He got very uncomfortable in the cramped environment that was Mustang's Office.

God he missed the fields.

He missed Al too. He wished that his two weeks of Induction would end already, so he could get set on his first practical mission, which Mustang promised Al could come along to.

With his head swirling of thoughts that mostly contained being envious that Al was still in Resembool with all that space, he barely noticed one of the soldiers call out to him until he walked past the man. Stupefied, he turned to face the blonde man (what was his name again - Harvey?) and intelligently replied, "Eh?"

The Second Lieutenant (wait, his name might be Havoc) laughed a little, before he repeated, "I said, how're you feeling? Looks like you're favouring your right leg a little; you got a stone in yer shoe or something, Chief?"

Ed blinked, before looking down at his now stationary feet. His leg was fine, made by the best automail mechanic there was! He frowned, before turning back to the soldier and stiffly replying, "There's nothing wrong with my leg."

It was obvious by his tone of voice that he had found Havoc's statement offensive. Havoc wafted his wrist in a lazy wave, as he shrugged, "Wasn't trying to sound mean or anything, Chief, was just checking up on ya is all."

Ed promptly sniffed before walking past his desk and towards Mustang's personal office. It hadn't occurred to Ed that no one besides Mustang and Hawkeye were aware of his false appendages (mainly because they had seen him in Resembool lacking two limbs that he couldn't exactly grow back overnight), and although his automail was no longer causing him any noticeable pains, he wasn't exactly considered a natural on his new ligaments. This had been the best he had been moving around with false arms and legs; he never considered to think that he had kept a very noticeable limp.

Hmm, now that he thought about it, he did still have quite a struggle up and down the stairs. Although Mustang usually blamed it on the heights of the steps (his superior was officially a bastard and he hoped he rotted in a fiery hell), his banter was surprisingly ignorable with the help of the Lieutenant Hawkeye.

Pausing in front of the office door, Ed's mind drifted once more to his neighbours and village-mates of Resembool. When he looked outside the dusted windows of Headquarters, friendly faces weren't visible at the bottom, nor were the rippling fields and prancing sheep. All the faces were monotone and grey and even the day seemed colourless in the streets of pavement and roads. Resembool didn't even have an actual road. Only dirt paths.

He felt a little lost, and dare he say, homesick.

Suddenly the door swung open, and Ed barely dodged the block of wood in time to spare his face from getting smushed. Hawkeye peered from the other side, and she quickly brought the door back as she realised she nearly ran down the boy.

"Ah, Sir I apologise, I didn't realise you were there! Are you alright?"

He smiled a little, scratching the back of his head as he replied, "Nah, it was my fault, I shouldn't have been dawdling there. I'm fine, I didn't get hit or anything! S'my fault, my bad!"

She gave a small relieved sigh, which brightened Ed's mood considerably because at least she cared if he had almost gotten wedged between the wall and the door, unlike a certain someone who would've been happy to use him as a door stop.

"My apologies, Sir," she murmured once more, before exiting the office but holding the door open, "The Colonel wishes to see you, he has a task for you to complete," she explained. Hopefully she had given him a good talking to beforehand, otherwise he was going to have to restrain himself from strangling the squinty-eyed man inside, as he nodded with a very noticeable scowl on his face. Hawkeye gave his shoulder a reassuring pat, before she wandered off to send more papers.

With a sigh, he entered the office and shut the door behind him.

Inside, the room was much paler than the rest of the building. The room's only source of light was the monotone daylight that shone from within the window, encasing Mustang and his desk in a silhouette, hiding his face from view. Squinting slightly from the cold light, Ed stood uncomfortably weary in front of the door; feeling slightly intimidated at the fact that his superior could be pulling a face at him and he couldn't see.

His voice came out professional and crisp.

"Fullmetal," he began, his figure unmoving, "I think it's time you put yourself more to use."

"...Sir?" He asked wearily, not too sure of his statement.

Mustang shuffled slightly, "As an Alchemist, you are aware of the basic components of Earth and matter, correct?"

What a stupid question, he mused, "Of course." His tone sounded annoyed.

He was sure Mustang must have been smirking at the response, "Good; then here," he extended his arm to shove a piece of paper towards Ed, "This is a file; we get these daily and have to read the Case Study, recognise the problem, and write a solution for it, before letting a commanding officer sign it in proof that it is acceptable. This specific Case Study is about some mining problems in a rural town. This will be more of an assessment to see how qualified you are for alchemy."

Ed's face pulled into a scowl. He knew his alchemy perfectly fine! In fact, he was probably a better alchemist than the Flame Alchemist. Just because he had yet to go on a practical trip didn't make him a rookie; Mustang was even there for his Test, and even he had a look of surprise when he didn't need a transmutation circle.

To call it a fluke and judge him like a child made Ed's blood boil.

Despite the fact that Ed could barely see Mustang, Mustang could see Ed just fine. He sounded amused, as he added, "Oh don't sulk, shorty. A lot of people have been accusing you of having a hidden transmutation circle somewhere; this is to stop the gossip and allow the higher ups to be convinced of letting you do some practical missions."

Ed's jaw cracked from the pressure he was gritting his teeth, before he slammed his fists (his automail chipped the desk, Mustang noted with a frown) and screeched, "Who the fuck are you calling a shorty little beansprout you bastard of a Colonel!?"

Immediately the door opened and an annoyed Hawkeye poked her head inside to intervene. Behind her, many amused and annoyed faces of other soldiers peeked through.

"Sirs," she sighed, "Please stop your squabbling, you're disrupting everyone's work."

Ed shoved his finger at his superior's face, whining, "He started it!"

Mustang rolled his eyes, "And you have the dignity to call me childish."

Before Ed could bite Mustang's nose off, Hawkeye quickly stepped in and yanked Ed's hood, effectively avoiding what could have been something messy. He wriggled in her grasp (she felt a little guilty at the fact that he was suspended from the ground in her grip), as Mustang snickered a little before handing the assignment to Hawkeye instead.

"Be sure he gets this done," he ordered, although his tone was layered in amusement.

"Of course, Sir," Hawkeye nodded, hauling the boy out of the room, leaving a string of curses behind him.

As soon as Riza closed the door, she released Ed's hood and he hissed an obscene amount of curses that even made Riza frown.

"What the fuck is his problem!? One day, I swear, I will bloody fucking kill him! He'll be six shitty feet under when I'm through with that egotistical bastard with a superiority complex! I'll-"

"Sir, please," Hawkeye rose her voice a little, startling Ed. She passed him the assignment with a weary sigh, "Just get it done and over with, then you won't have to see the Colonel for the rest of the day."

His rant was cut off midway, and Ed stood there with his face frozen in a shout, as he was handed his assignment and left in the hall. Finally allowing his blood to cool, he sighed, feeling drained. Talking to his superior was so difficult; he wasn't sure he would be able to handle dealing with him on a regular basis.

Sulking slightly, he made his way to the closest chair that wasn't occupied, and climbed onto the seat, setting his paper on the table with a grunt. Rubbing his face wearily, he noticed he had sat down opposite to the Havoc-guy, who pulled a cheeky grin at him from across the table. It was obvious he had found his bickering amusing.

Trying not to feel embarrassed at the fact that he had amused the majority of the soldiers in the premises, he looked at the guy on his left (some weird old fellow who had gray sprouting hair and squinty eyes) and asked, "Hey, d'you have a pen I could borrow?"

The man looked down at him (causing Ed to scowl), and without a word he handed over a pen that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Ed took it with his left hand, then placed it into his right.

He looked down at the case study and as he reached the third line a loud crunch echoed throughout the room. Startled, he looked down to his right hand to see the pen snapped in his grip, spilling ink down his white glove.

The other soldiers looked startled too.

"Whoa, hey, take it easy!" Havoc exclaimed, rising from his chair to come around the table, "I know you're angry, but you don't need to take it out of the equipment! Take a breather, mate."

"I-I didn't mean to," Ed started, obviously surprised himself. He didn't even realise his automail had been pressuring the pen he-

His eyes widened in realisation. His automail.

It wasn't his hand.

"Oh shit," he cursed, his left hand cradling his right fist, suddenly lost at the realisation that he no longer knew how to write. Another pen was placed into the corner of his vision by the old-looking guy, his other hand extended towards his hands as he asked, "Are you hurt? Did you cut yourself?"

Suddenly feeling the desire to hide his metal limb, he pushed his hands down into his lap and muttered a stubborn, "M'fine," refusing to accept the pen from his hands. The soldier wearily placed the pen between them, and resumed back to his work, pausing every few seconds to glance at the moping child beside him.

Stuck between embarrassment and stubbornness, Ed sat with his eyes glued to the spilled ink along the table's edge, watching it dry slowly along the wood. Some of it had dripped onto his work, and his right glove was stained black. With a weary sigh, he clapped his hands together, pressing his mismatched palms onto the desk, his mind full of ingredients and atoms that he knew was contained within liquid ink. The reaction brought the stains to life, coiling off of the table like a cobra and drying into a solid stick by the end of the desk, ridding his workplace from his previous mess.

A low impressed whistle caught his attention, and Ed realised too late that the surrounding officers had been observing his alchemic show. Havoc was the one who had whistled, "Damn, that was some sweet trick you have there. Guess you got the title of State Alchemist for a reason, eh?"

Next to him, Ed noticed that the older soldier didn't look as impressed as the blonde. In fact, he almost seemed… Sad. To answer his theory, the man spoke up, his voice surprisingly younger than he appeared, "I hope you don't find me prying, but… Is your hand fake, Major?"

Ed's face turned back into his usual frown, his gaze heading back to his sleeves, "So what if I do?" he asked challengingly.

Havoc looked caught off-guard, most likely not have made the connection himself, so his fellow soldier continued, "The pen was an accident, right? Why not try again?" his finger pressed the spare pen towards him once more. Ed glared at the object with an agitated glare laced with uneasiness.

"I, I don't think I can," he admitted, "I forgot I haven't actually written since… Before."

The soldier seemed to understand, giving an empathetic nod, and the pen had made its way directly onto Ed's Case Study, "Can you write with your left?"

He whined in frustration, his hands gripping the sides of his head, his eyes glaring daggers at his assignment "I've always been right handed, I've never had any coordination with my left!" And now I have none in my right either.

The neighboring soldier seemed to have heard the unspoken words, as he turned to Havoc and asked, "Jean, I don't suppose you have a spare sheet of paper I can use?"

The blonde shuffled a little along his side of the table, leaning over the furniture and passing a scrap piece, muttering, "Here ya go, Falman. Work your magic with the kid."

Ed hissed in his head-hold, holding himself back from springing over the table and throttling Havoc with his automail arm, "M'not small, you hear me!?" he gritted through clenched teeth.

"Loud'n'clear boss," he chuckled, watching as Falman wrote swiftly along the top of the paper, before handing it over to Ed. Blinking in surprise at the man's ability to write at incredible speeds, he stared at the paper to see every letter of the alphabet written twice, once in capitals and again in lowercase. Before he could open his mouth and ask why he was given the damn alphabet, Falman answered, "Now keep writing every letter underneath the ones I have written until they come out legible. With your left hand. Practicing mobility with your most tolerable hand will improve your ability ten-fold, I guarantee it."

Huh. It was a simple strategy, one that he used to do when he was four and learning how to write in school, so he felt like he should be offended to be given such an immature solution, however the facts were right there and they made perfect sense. Logic overruled embarrassment, and instead of raging at Falman for treating him like a child, he felt a sort of respect that the man had stopped to assist his comrade. Weird.

Leaning over the table, Ed began to scribble messily along the page. He had been right; his left hand was horrific at writing, yet it was much better than his current right (as that was unable to hold the pen safely enough without it imploding across the office), so he continued out of determination. With each rewritten letter showed immense improvement, and he slowly began to write up his assignment, swapping papers now and again if he didn't feel confident enough to write a letter on the work.

Now and again he felt Falman gaze over his shoulder curiously, however the moments were mere seconds and weren't out of nuisance. Like a loyal comrade, watching the back of his fellow soldiers to guarantee they didn't fall behind. Most of the soldiers at East Headquarters had been deemed idiotic in Ed's mind, but he figured Falman deserved to be along the hierarchy to a similar stature of Hawkeye. He could trust this man.

He glanced momentarily across the table, at the man chewing on his nails furiously, most likely an attempt to distract his urge for a smoke. Maybe Havoc could be trusted too; not as much, but he at least attempted to care, so he wasn't too bad.

It had taken him four hours of non-stop writing (and practicing) to finish his Case Study; missing two breaks in favour of focusing too well on his work, when he rose from his chair, giving his arms a good stretch. He noted that both Falman and Havoc had both left, along with the majority of the soldiers, before reaching for his paper, carrying it to Hawkeye. She had pretty much finished her work, sat on her private desk sipping some coffee idly, most likely waiting for the remaining soldiers to finish before she left. He placed the sheets on her desk, gaining her attention, as he sighed out, "I think I'm finished, is this enough?"

She gave it a quick glance over, a small smile touching her face, before she looked at Ed directly and praised, "This looks perfectly fine Ed, I'll go hand it in to the Colonel so he can sign it for you."

He sighed in relief, turning around to go take a break in the canteen; he was craving pasta for some reason, and he wasn't going to hold his stomach back any longer, however before he made it out of the door, he paused and turned back around, exclaiming, "Ah, wait Hawkeye!" She turned to face him, giving him her full attention, "Um, could you thank Officer F…Fal-man for me when you see him?"

She gave him a gentle smile once more, replying, "Of course, Edward. I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

He gave a grateful nod, walking back out of the door, however as he was about to close it behind him, he heard a faint, "Be sure to keep practicing with your cursive when off duty," the door clicking behind him before he could react.

Face red in embarrassment, Ed stormed his way over to the canteen to stuff his face in. Trust Hawkeye to see everything.

A/N: The world needs more interactions between the Elric brothers and Mustang's Team. Supply me with gen-fics!