Author's Note: Just a fun and short story idea. The basic idea is that Ed initially works under Mustang. This is just about Ed's first required mission report, not necessarily his first mission, as in the 2003 version his first assignment is in the mining town, and in Brotherhood it's not very clear about what his first missions were.

"What is this?"

"It's paperwork, Fullmetal."

"No one said I'd have to do paperwork."

"You signed up for it when you were directed under my supervision. If I'm not mistaken, that was paperwork too."

"But after every mission?

A pen was placed inches from the young boy's nose. He was so short, it barely made it over the table to begin with.

"Better get used to it. It's not like it goes away."

Edward didn't touch the pen. He sat in front of Mustang's desk and stared at, in Mustang's opinion, a rather short stack of paper.

Only Mustang's subordinates would've been able to see the hints of a smirk hidden in the colonel's features.

"You know, just staring at it isn't going to make it self-combust," Mustang said with a lazy wave of his hand.

"I'm going to transmute that pile of paper into ash," Ed grumbled.

"I'm sure you could, but then you'd have to fill out paperwork for why I need a new desk, and that mission report would just reappear with it. Just suck it up while it's still small enough for a boy your size to handle."

"Who are you calling so small he could write by hopping up and down on the spring inside a pen, bastard!" But he snatched the papers and pen while he yelled.

Ed closed his eyes in resignation. "Fine. What am I supposed to write about then? This mission was boring anyways. Deliver a package, Mustang? I thought I was supposed to be a Major or something, not this country's postal service."

Mustang leaned forward. "You write about the trip, any suspicious activity, if you have any recommendations on the circumstance you were in. If anything went wrong, that needs to go in the report. Just think practically; you are a prodigy, after all. These mission reports get turned into myself, and then sent to higher-ups for review. What do they need to know about what you did?"

Ed nodded and sprouted out of his chair. "That's all? Cool! I'll have it done for you in no-time!"

Something in Ed's smile worried Mustang, but he had his own paperwork to deal with. Arguing with a 12-year-old wasn't going to make his paperwork disappear off his desk any faster.

No more than ten minutes could've passed when Ed slapped a single piece of paper with exactly three sloppily written paragraphs on Mustang's desk. Despite his earlier antagonist jabs towards the boy, this was anything but amusing.

"What is this?" Mustang strained. Quietly. To himself.

"My mission report! That is what you asked me to write up, isn't it? Well, now it's done!"

It hardly took Mustang a brief scan of the disaster-of-a-report to spot most of Edward's errors - and those were just the non-grammatical errors.

"Edward, a mission report does not need to record a recommendation that the retired general should refrain from," Mustang coughed and gave the paper a good shake before continuing. "from 'wearing bright pink slippers when accepting mail from the military's personal collection of alchemists.'"

Ed shrugged. "It was rude. I came all the way from East Central to act as his postal serviceman, and he answers the door in bunny slippers."

"Please don't tell me all you did was throw the package in his face and walk away," Mustang moaned with his hand to his face.

"So what if I did? That is all I was required to do, wasn't it? Deliver the package?"

"Has no one explained the word 'diplomacy' to you?"

Edward crossed his arms. "I know what the word means, if that's what you're asking."

Mustang moved his hand to the bridge of his nose and sighed. "We'll discuss that later. Right now, we're working on your mission report."

He laid the wrinkled paper – how on earth the boy wrinkled it in the ten minutes he scribbled was beyond Mustang, but he laid it flat on the desk facing Ed. "A report should always be at least a page long."

Ed groaned.

Mustang continued. "It should always have some intro so that the higher-ups know what you were doing and why. Then you explain in detail what the mission achieved, questions the mission posed, if anything needs followed-up, the works. This was a short errand, I'll give you that, so this should only be a page."

Ed turned his head slightly and sighed. "Fine, fine, I think I got it."

Ed blinked at Mustang.

"I do expect you to redo this report."

Ed stood up and snatched the paper from the desk. "Of course you do," he said with so much venom, Mustang had to throw on a convincing poker face just to keep the bright boy from seeing his amusement.

"Please have it done within the hour."

"It will be done when I'm done writing!" Ed spat.

Ed did, however, come back a good eight minutes before his hour-deadline. He slammed the new paper, again full of wrinkles, down on Mustang's desk with the clear intention of making a loud 'bang.'

Mustang looked over the second draft. It was much cleaner than the first, a full page this time. It covered the details of the mission rather than obscure details like the color of the shirt of a man that sat across from the boys during their train, or the weather when he arrived at the retired general's town. He looked a little closer, and there were still some errors, not to mention he still had a rather scathing recommendation about the ridiculousness of sending in the military's prized child prodigy to act as their secure postal service, but Mustang couldn't really blame the boy for that.

He gave it another glance, then nodded stiffly. "It's good enough. You're free to go."

Edward sighed. "Finally, I thought you'd keep me all day!"

"It's been less than two hours."

"Whatever, Bastard. I'm finding Al, and we're headed to the library if you need us."

"I don't particularly care."

Ed perked up a bit when he stood up. "Does that mean you won't be needing us?"

"It means if I do need you, I'll call your dormitory."

"Huh," was Ed's smart reply.

Mustang followed Edward out of his office, then stopped at his door frame.

Mustang leaned against his office door frame. Fury was tinkering with a device Breda and Havoc had found in the sewers, Fallman was working on an in-house investigation, and Hawkeye had her own stack of paperwork.

Ed was almost out the door when Mustang retorted, "Stay out of trouble, Fullmetal."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He was gone before Mustang could retort back.

Roy chuckled. That boy's skin was incredibly easy to get under.

Riza shook her head. "Why do you insist on teasing him, sir?"

"Ah, because it's so easy."

He walked over to Fuery and handed him Edward's report. "Do you think you could type this up and send it to Central?"

Fuery took the paper. "Sure thing!"

Mustang had made it back to his desk, signed two papers, and started a report when he heard Fuery's unmistakable cry.

"How am I supposed to type this up? His handwriting is unreadable!"