Summary: There's a lot to be said about observation. Or not said, as the case may be. One cold night, Breda searches for the right words, and almost ends up using the wrong ones. (This story is slash/contains very mild references to homosexual relationships.)

Crossed Lines

The rain had flooded the gutters. Picking his way cautiously across a street which was close to becoming one large puddle, Heymans Breda had come to the firm conclusion that he was better off out of Central. True, Amestris's foremost city did not receive the blistering hot summers and stifling heat of the State's eastern headquarters, but it did seem to get more than its fair share of rain. The storm had begun in earnest some time in the morning, and had continued on and off throughout the day. It was now getting on for seven in the evening, and any sensible man would be heading to a warm home with, hopefully, some decent food. Under any other circumstances, Breda would assert that he was such a man. Well….at the very least he wouldn't be seen walking around in a storm, soaked to the bone, without a damned good reason. That reason was currently sitting several streets away in what Breda hoped, for their sake, were more comfortable conditions.

-----------------------------------------------

There was another hole in the ceiling. The small wooden building had never been intended for long-term habitation but Fury thought, irritated, that someone should have made sure that it was suitable for keeping electrical equipment in. As water began to trickle through the tiny hole in the roof, Cain moved his smallest radio (kept for his own entertainment more than anything else) into the small refuge he'd made in the corner farthest from the door. He'd found a waterproof sheet to cover most of the things with, and hoped that would be enough. The watchtower itself wasn't much, simply a small space used for transmitting and receiving radio messages from all over the city. It was quiet, peaceful and a genuine relief from the often stressful experience of working anywhere around Colonel Mustang. Fury's particular spot was one of many in Central, and tonight – of all nights – one of the radios had broken down completely. A frustrated corporal had tracked Fury down that afternoon, complaining that "the bloody thing broke again…..sir." The general consensus in the office was that seeing as the Lucan Avenue tower was as Mustang so kindly put it "his second residence", it was naturally Fury's job to go out and fix it. The fact that he subconsciously disliked the idea of anyone getting near 'his' equipment and his notes (many of which no-one else could read anyway), had meant that Fury had had no choice but to go. That was the reason he was there after-hours, trying to combine fixing a transmitter that looked as though it had been pieced together by a toddler, with trying to prevent the rest of his much-treasured equipment from getting water-logged. As it was, he was damp, hungry, probably catching a cold and his mind was on anything but the job in hand.

-----------------------------------------------

Somehow, Heymans managed to turn the simple three minute walk between the crossroads at Garth Road and the corner of Lucan Avenue into a good five minutes. This procrastination did little to improve Breda's mood, however, which was now swinging between hapless indecision and the bloody irate at being so uncertain; it was unlike him. He dealt with people as he found them, gathering an impression over time. He knew had no tolerance for manipulation, and no patience with the foolish or the arrogant. His friends he protected, his colleagues he dealt with…appropriately. All that came to a grinding halt when the public came closer and closer to the personal. Like love, for example. Love for people it would not be 'publicly appropriate' to be in love with. Over the years, he had gained a lot of amusement from teasing Jean Havoc about his apparent incompetence with the fairer sex. Be it in romantic gestures, flirting or, god forbid that his friend even mention sexual prowess within earshot of Hawkeye, the other lieutenant had good-naturedly, and with a grin on his face pointed out that in the ways of 'love', Havoc was somewhat lacking. It was somewhat ironic, therefore, that on a dismally wet evening, it was Heymans Breda who was to be found pacing towards a military watchtower with all the purposefulness of a man determined to avoid getting to his destination any time soon. Heymans felt as though his normal self was giving this weak representation a mental kicking. And well it might.

He could not say when it had begun. Perhaps it had been the first day he'd met Cain Fury. Some four years ago, the sergeant-major had been unceremoniously shoved from a job in a smaller northern outpost, to the arid land and turbulent political climate of Eastern HQ. In a way, the two men, the unassuming technician and the brusque lieutenant had ended up in the same boat. For they had both been transferred into the military's backwater on the shaky premise of 'restoring the peace', under the command of a man whose reputation was at best stunning, and at worst infamous for the worst possible reasons. Breda had, at least, some understanding of what he was getting into. He had served with Mustang for a few years by that point, but it was Fury who had been thrown in at the deep end. At first, Heymans had managed to convince himself it was harmless observation; it was an inclination of his.

He had previously watched scenes of war, those who had fought and those whom even to this day struggled to survive it. He had observed a lot that he appreciated, and a whole lot more he would have, at the time, given his sight not to witness. Yet eventually that habit had paid off, had drawn his attention to a very different subject. It had struck Heymans that Cain Fury wasn't like the rest of them, far harder to place that the rest of the team. Even Mustang himself got away with a sharp, private conclusion of "cunning, smart bastard; tougher than he looks." Fury had remained an enigma to Breda's practiced considerations. The youngest of Mustang's closest followers, he had neither the reputation nor the personality to be considered by anyone outside of that select few as anything other than…incidental. Things got broken, they were fixed. People needed tasks performed and messages carried, who better to ask than the small bespectacled man who'd do any of the above with apparent cheerfulness and a smile. Some soldiers were happy to receive it, others made snide and none-too quiet remarks about a 'boy' and 'naïve'. Seeing one too many instances of Fury's sheer good-nature being ignored or taken advantage of, Breda had come to two different conclusions. One, that the military was no place for someone apparently so easily led unless they had something else under a nice (and, Breda had not been slow to notice, rather attractive) exterior. Secondly, that he was going to find out what that 'thing' was even if it took him….an awfully long time.

Four years later, and Breda was about to admit to the one thing he had figured out some time ago but had been too ashamed to mention. After all, how did a man admit to another that feelings of friendship were more than that? Much less make said person understand the enjoyment Heymans' gained from every little thing this friend said or did – from the look of child-like delight on Cain's face when he saw Black Hayate in the morning, to the way he still had the ability to shock his colleagues by being uncharacteristically severe to some cocky new recruit who mistook small and kind for weak and gullible. He had seen all of that. He wanted to see it all again, and more. And for once in his life he had no plan should his admission be met with rejection.

The tower was visible now, rising up in the gathering fog from behind a warehouse. Standing in the deserted street, Heymans took a deep breath as he reached the steps to the tower, briefly noticing everything from the rail slick with rain-water to the graffiti daubed on the wall beside him. He blocked all of it out, as he walked up.

-----------------------------------------------

Cain pulled a blanket around his shoulders. He wouldn't need it, except his jacket was still wet from the rain, having had no chance to dry in the cold room. He had found the blanket in the bottom of the cupboard some time ago. It smelt old and he daren't think of how long it had been lying there, but for the time being it would have to do; the night was cold and would get colder. Crouched in the centre of the room, his fingers picked their way through the groups of wires and connectors surrounding the radio. He was glad he'd found the parts to fix it amidst his own collection of odds and ends. The thing had driven him to distraction, and so he found focussing on the individual pieces rather therapeutic. Just as Fury had started on the second set of wires, a knock came at the door. He jumped in alarm, for he normally heard anyone clattering up the metal stairs, but the rain outside tonight had drowned out the sound. Standing quickly, causing the blanket to slip off of him, he walked to the door;

"Hello?...oh." He said, pausing, eyebrows raised at the one man he had hoped not to see. The same person his thoughts had been drifting to of late, as sure as lieutenant Breda's attention had been directed increasingly, bewilderingly, towards him. If there had been anything lustful in those surreptitious glances, it would have positively made it easier. Something as base and natural as sex, well, it was an easy question. Perhaps a little too easy for Cain to answer. Struggling to hide his surprise, Fury reacted the only way he could think of. Straightening up, he saluted;

"Ah! G-good evening, lieutenant Breda!"

Lamp-light from inside the room fell across Breda's face as he now blinked blankly at it. Then, in an expression the panicked Cain could not decide was amusement or disappointment, he gave a slow smile, and raised a hand in greeting.

"Evenin', Fury." When Cain failed to move aside, or drop his salute, Breda impatiently batted the man's hand away, but instantly regretted it;

"Enough of that…" He began, only to falter when Cain's expression turned from one of rapt formality to mild alarm. "Ah, we're off duty. Y'can drop the 'lieutenant'. Can't say I'm bothered." His shrug of indifference was enough for Fury to relax, and step aside;

"Come in, si- I mean, Breda, ah" Cain rubbed the back of his neck embarrassedly "it's a little messy in here, I afraid"

"Can see that." Breda grunted, stepping inside, but Fury missed the little smile that crossed the man's face at the sight of the organised chaos that was, in his mind, so very Cain. The larger man sat himself down, uninvited, in the patch of floor still unoccupied by papers, wires and miscellaneous pieces of metal. The only chair, Breda had noted, was occupied by a box, obviously put there for it to escape the worst of the damp that had somehow managed to seep into the floorboards. Seeing the man sit down apparently unconcerned by the state of either the room or its owner, Fury let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, and settled himself in front of Breda.

For a moment the pair sat in silence, neither one wanting to meet the other's eyes, and so looked at anything else. After a moment of regarding the wall just past Fury's head, Breda looked up at him;

"I figured you'd be here late. I just didn't think it would be this late, 'specially in shitty weather like this."

"Yes, yes…the weather is bad. I'm not looking forward to walking home in it." Cain replied automatically, his bright tone only a little forced. He turns up, and I talk about the weather. Fantastic he berated himself caustically Just like at work, where we think of anything else but one another. Even if he does….did….think of other things then he's got more common sense than me then to hang onto the notion. He's got better things to do with his time! But Cain lacked Heymans' ability to keep emotions beneath the surface. Now, his frantic thoughts were punctuated by his hands rubbing themselves together rapidly. He was worried, and Breda could tell. The elder man sighed, and almost reached out for Fury's hands in a momentary desire to quell his fears, to find the source of that fear, even. As Cain looked away in increasing discomfort, Heymans decided that the younger man could not be the one to start, or end, this. He could not bear to see Fury so distressed, and was suddenly shocked at himself for admitting this. Even worse was the idea that, now, in this moment all his previous doubts of understanding and badly-suppressed affection turned on that one image. All he could see here, all that he now accepted, was the man that he had slowly come to care so much for was being hurt by that fondness.

"Cain."

Fury looked up at Breda's face, for a moment gazing into his eyes, which now hid some emotion Cain could not place.

"Yes….are you…all right?"

"Not really, no."

Cain's shoulders slumped at this, as though dismayed.

"What is it?" He asked plainly, tone devoid of its usual bright optimism. This was a simple question needing a straight answer, and came from someone who could think of nothing else to say.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking…..about you. Damn." Breda stopped abruptly at this, and Fury could see the internal conflict on his face, imagined him inwardly cursing himself at his awkward words.

"I mean, I've been thinking a lot about you and me." Heymans now emphasised more calmly. "About how we get along and how I think about you." The next scowl, Fury could tell, was for repeating 'think' again.

"Yes…?" He prompted softly, drawing closer to Breda until he was close enough to see the man's arms tremble as he exhaled nervously.

"Look, I know you've noticed me watching you. Frankly, if it was anyone else it wouldn't matter. I watch more than I talk. People say what they like about me…and if I don't like it they sure as hell find out. But…that ain't the point. The point is I watch you because I enjoy seeing you. Whatever it is you're doing or saying. Damnit, you make this whole deal with sticking with Mustang worthwhile!"

Heymans blinked in surprise at himself for that outburst, and then smiled, and inside this widened to a grin as he saw that Cain's expression matched his.

"Cos the rest, other people…It's just not the s-". He continued, flustered, but was cut off as Cain wrapped an arm around his, and after a moment rested his head upon Breda's shoulder in a sudden show of kindness.

"It's all right, you know." He murmured, doing the only thing that occurred to him to calm Breda's nerves.

Instinctively, Heymans attempted to look unconcerned, but only stiffened at the touch, and made no attempt to move away. "Oh, yes, I'm supposed to be your superior officer. I'm meant to look out for you, and here I am talking like some perverted stalker."

"And are you?" Cain asked, a sly smile gracing his normally innocent features.

"Huh? Oh…." Now Heymans was grinning again, slightly manic, but a true grin as he leant against Cain's arm, which had not released its grip. He could not relax, but the comment made him feel slightly better;

"Now, that is what I mean. You. You with your….looks and asides. You, acting all innocent and coming out with something like that. I tell you, you try that attitude in front of the Colonel, he'd be impressed." Even here he was finding things that surprised him about the man. 'Stalker', indeed! It was almost funny, in a twisted, childish sort of way. So long as Fury hadn't taken the line as Breda's attempt to dismiss the situation.

"I…don't think so, really. And besides, I'm fairly sure Colonel Mustang's not the one who's trying to tell me….When I really…." Cain lifted his head from a position that now felt all too close for Heymans, and smiled gently, but a hint of wariness there, as though afraid of scaring him off. Breda flinched. Of all the things he had considered that this night might entail, he had not thought of what would happen if this happened. If there had been any indication that his feelings were not only reciprocated but known of. In a few words Cain had jarred his nerves once again. It was both wonderful and frightening. Strangely bolstered by this, he went on;

"I care about you. More than I should, really."

It was frank admission which carried everything and absolutely nothing of what he wanted to say.

Cain nodded softly, and there was something in his carefully calm expression that told Heymans that it was the younger man's turn to hold back his feelings. There was more to this than Fury was letting on.

"I did wonder." Cain muttered, standing now, and Breda felt the loss of his touch, and stood, wanting Cain close to him once more.

"After all, there's only so long you can spend with a person before figuring it out, right?"

Heymans frowned at this; he had an inkling of what the man meant, but…

"Figure out…whether they are a friend…or something more."

Seeing a hopeful, earnest look in Fury's eyes, Heymans felt the rational side of his mind – neglected for a while – vying for attention; that's not how it works, kid. It isn't as easy as all that. But he ignored it, keeping his eyes only on the man in front of him. In that moment, he wasn't sure whether they'd crossed a line or not, or even if he cared. And as he reached him, sliding his arms around Cain's shoulders and back in a close, awkward embrace, he knew that whatever came of it , it was the right decision.

The End.

(Word Count – 2958)

Good, bad, mediocre? Feel free to comment.