"You're whistling."

The Colonel stopped whistling and gave Ed a blandly disbelieving expression. "I most certainly was not."

"You were too, shithead." Ed stared at him as if looks could not only kill, but torture and maim first. "You were whistling. Tunelessly."

Mustang's face was annoyingly smug. "It's been a long trip, Fullmetal. Perhaps you should get some rest."

"Like hell I'm sleeping in the same cabin as YOU," Ed groused. "Why the hell do I have to ride with you, anyway?"

Oh, he knew why he had to go with him -- Mustang had been ordered out to do a tour of the city of Sheppsfield and there had been rumours of the Stone up that way that just happened to coincide with the need for a field agent to investigate while the big bad Colonel distracted the townsfolk.

But that was an entirely different situation from having to make the two-day trip confined in a tiny cabin with Roy Mustang.

The Colonel drew a breath and Ed pointed at him, grimacing, before Roy could even exhale. "Don't," Ed said through gritted teeth. "Just don't."

"...don't what, Fullmetal?" Mustang quirked an eyebrow with toneless curiousity.

"I hate you," Ed said, shaking a fist. "I hate you so much."

Mustang leaned back in his seat and smirked at Ed. "You're a bit testy. Why don't you open the window for some air?"

"That's the first good idea I've heard from you in -- well, ever, really." Ed gave him a dirty look and opened the window, then paused as an idea came to him. "...Actually..."

"Hmm?"

Ed flipped himself out the window and onto the roof of the train, landing easily. Thank god his automail at least made him heavy enough to not be sucked immediately back by the wind pressure. "I'll be up here," he called down. "If you need me, just ...just don't need me, okay?"

Mustang's answer was lost in the wind.

The peace and quiet was -- well, nonexistant, really. The train shuddered and thudded around him with no walls to keep the sound out, and the wind whipped his body heat away immediately. But at least it wasn't the Colonel for yet another few painful minutes.

Ed stayed up there until night fell, and watched the stars for awhile, but it got cold fast and he soon lowered himself carefully, foot groping until he found the ledge, then slid inside.

Mustang didn't wake.

Letting out a breath he hadn't known he was holding, Ed looked at him. He'd curled up on his seat, head tilted back and arms wrapped around his pillow, holding it to his chest, the left side of his face pressed tightly against it. Ed felt a faint wry smile creep onto his face -- who'd have thought the infamous Roy Mustang was given to cuddling in his sleep?

And tossing and turning, apparently, by the way the blankets had fallen to the floor. Ed shut the window tightly behind him, but the night chill was lingering in the air.

"Dammit, asshole," he muttered to himself as he picked the blankets up. "You catch a cold, you'll endanger the fucking mission." He draped the blankets loosely over Roy, frowning down at him.

Roy murmured something soft, muffled by the pillow, but didn't wake. His lips curled upwards in a smile a moment later.

Ed looked down at him, crossing his arms in front of his chest. The Colonel was probably dreaming that some woman had done that, rather than Ed. He snorted to himself and wondered how Mustang might respond if he knew the truth.

"God," Ed said, dryly amused, "you really are a bastard."

He took his own blankets down from the overhead compartment and curled up on his own bench, pillow tucked under his head. By the dim moonlight filtering in through the train window, he saw that Roy's smile hadn't quite faded, and sighed, closing his eyes on the image.

He was woken the next day by Mustang whistling.