A/N: This takes place shortly after Fuery joined Mustang's team, whenever that was.
Fuery sat at the bar and nursed his beer. It had been a long day. An accident with one of the cable stations had put a number of the phones out of order, and he'd been scrambling all day to fix it. On top of that, Breda and Havoc had chosen today for their latest prank. Hawkeye swore to him that they were just playing, that they didn't mean anything by it, but it was hard to believe that sometimes. Half an hour of scrubbing in the men's room, and the stain still hadn't quite come out of the jacket that was now slung on the back of his chair.
There were definitely times when he questioned his decision to accept the transfer into Colonel Mustang's unit. Warrant Officer Falman and Lieutenant Hawkeye were easy enough to work with, but Breda and Havoc couldn't go a day without needling him about something. Fuery frowned, and drank his beer. He missed his family today, and he missed his friends. He'd known that he wouldn't be stationed at home when he joined up, but he hadn't quite realized how lonely he'd be.
He was so lost in thought that he missed the large man sitting down next to him. It wasn't until he spoke that Fuery registered his presence. "Look what we got here," the man said. "An army brat. I didn't know they were taking them straight out of grade school these days."
Fuery looked over at the other man. He was dressed in civvies, his massive, tattooed arms sticking out of a dingy, sweat-stained shirt. "Why'd you join up, Junior?" the man asked, sneering down at Fuery.
"Er," Fuery said, but it seemed to be enough of a response.
The other man snorted. "Yeah. Fucking military," he said, slurring slightly. "Can't you go to your own bars, army brat? Why do you have to stink up mine?"
Fuery had picked the bar more or less at random on his walk home. "I'm not trying to start any trouble," he said, mildly.
"Ha," the man laughed, humorlessly. "Then what are you doing in here wearing that uniform?"
"I'm just having a drink," Fuery said, miserably. "Look, I'll go if you want." He stood and reached for his jacket.
"Fucking military," the other man said, standing, his body threateningly close to Fuery's. "What, you think you can just walk out of here, and it makes it all better? Is that what you think?"
Fuery shrugged his jacket on and edged for the door. This wasn't going well.
"Is that what you think?" the other man bellowed, and swung at his head.
It was a sloppy, wide punch, and Fuery was able to drop in time to get out of the way. The uppercut that the man followed with, though, caught him by surprise. Fuery rocked back, tasting blood in his mouth. His glasses flew off somewhere, and he was left blinking fuzzily at the man who'd just punched him.
Fuery's basic instinct in this sort of situation involved running, and possibly hiding. The other guy was about three times his size, and while Fuery had had basic combat training, he wasn't exactly a skilled combatant. Fuery had no chance in this fight, and he knew it. Unfortunately, at the moment, the other guy was between him and the door. Fuery was vaguely aware that the other patrons at the bar had either left or gone for cover.
Fuery feinted left, and then dived for an opening between the guy's legs. He just made it, but the other guy twisted and slammed a hand down on Fuery's neck. Fuery grunted as his face hit the floor. He rolled, trying to get free. The other man lifted him and punched him in the face. Fuery saw stars, his head reeling from the impact. Just as his vision was starting to clear, the guy hit him again. In the middle of a pain-filled hazy fog, Fuery saw him pull his arm back, cocking it to deliver a punch that would surely knock Fuery out. Or maybe kill him, Fuery thought, morbidly. He tensed, waiting.
There was a loud crack, and the punch never landed. Fuery was dropped to the ground unceremoniously. He scrambled gracelessly to his hands and knees, unsure what had just happened.
From somewhere over his shoulder, Fuery heard someone shout "Yeah! That's what happens when you mess with Mustang's squad!"
He squinted, and could just make out a tall figure topped with yellow hair, who seemed to be in the process of punching the large man. To their side, a shorter, rounder man with ginger hair dropped the broken chair he was holding.
Breda came over to him, offering him a hand up. "You alright, Fuery?" he asked.
"I lost my glasses," Fuery said, stupidly. He squinted over at where Havoc was struggling with the other man. Then he looked back at Breda, grabbed his hand and stood up, checking his teeth to make sure he still had all of them.
"You need to be more careful about which bars you hang out in," Breda observed, grinning.
Havoc thudded against a wall. "He okay, Breda?" he said, aiming an elbow at his opponent's midsection.
"Yeah," Fuery called out. "I'm alright." He was starting to worry about when the MPs might show up. "Um- hadn't we better get out of here?"
"There might be-" Havoc said, ducking low and kicking at his opponent's feet, "a little problem with that."
Breda crossed his arms, grinning. "You need a hand there, Havo-"
He was cut off by the drunk's flying fist impacting with his temple. Breda's eyes rolled up into his head, and he crumpled. Fuery made his best attempt to catch the falling man, but ended up half-trapped underneath Breda's greater bulk. Awkwardly, he tried to pull himself free.
"Aw, hell," Havoc opined, cracking his opponent in the jaw. The man reeled, but came back with a solid strike to the stomach that Havoc was just too slow to get away from. With an oof, Havoc slammed into the wall again. The drunk advanced on Havoc, who was rubbing his head and pulling himself upright.
Fuery finally struggled to his feet just as the drunk staggered past him, close enough for Fuery to make him out even without his glasses. The man wasn't paying any attention to Fuery, and he saw an opening. Fuery kicked out, hitting the back of the man's knee with as much force as he could muster. Surprised, the guy dropped to one knee. Fuery grabbed the closest heavy object he could find- a half-full mug of beer- and smashed the guy upside the head with it.
The drunk made a surprised noise, and dropped.
There was a stunned silence in the room. Havoc and Fuery stared at each other. Slowly, Havoc started to grin. Then he started to laugh. "Look at the Giant-Killer!" he crowed.
Shakily, Breda pulled himself up. "Wha?" he said.
"Fuery took the son-of-a-bitch down," Havoc announced proudly. Fuery blushed.
"Really?" Breda asked, incredulously.
"Dropped him like a stone," Havoc said. He reached over the bar, grabbed a bottle, and dropped a couple of 1000-cenz notes on the counter. "We need to celebrate," he said, grinning.
"Er," Fuery said. "Shouldn't we get out of here?" he asked, nervously.
"Absolutely," Havoc agreed. "Then we find women and booze for Fuery the Giant-Killer!"
Breda grinned at him as he brushed himself off. "Better go along with it," he advised. "I don't think you have much choice."
They carried him out of the bar on their shoulders.
Fuery showed up to work two hours late the next day sporting two black eyes, his backup pair of glasses, and a jacket that was still stained from Havoc and Breda's prank the day before. Havoc and Breda grinned at him from across the room as he entered. Falman catalogued his appearance, and then went back to work. Hawkeye looked at him, raised an eyebrow, shook her head, and ducked into the Colonel's office.
The Colonel brushed casually by Fuery's desk the next time he came out of his office. "I trust that the other man looks worse?" he said, one eyebrow raised and a twinkle in his eye.
Fuery blinked. "Yes, sir," he said. The Colonel nodded, not quite smiling, and sailed out of the room.
"Damn straight he does," Havoc said, after the Colonel had left the room. He grinned at Fuery.
Slowly, shyly, Fuery grinned back.