Title: At Seven

Author: Smurf

Fandom: FMA

Pairing: Armstrong/Fuery

Rated: T

Disclaimer: We, the serialhugger collective, do not own FMA, or any of the licenses and trademarks related thereof. We make no profit from the creation of this work.

Summary: A continuation of Around Seven and a look at the events that led up to A Sort of Love in and of Itself.

At Seven

Kain paid no attention to the people that filtered in and out of the office- He couldn't. He hadn't been able to focus on much of anything actually- Not since earlier that day when he'd assaulted the Major. That was why Havoc's radio was still sitting virtually untouched on his desk, and why he had a stack of paperwork eight inches high that he had yet to fill out.

He'd tried. Really, he had. He had gotten out his tools, and started to open up the malfunctioning radio, but he'd become distracted by his thoughts and had spent two hours staring off into space instead. He must have looked ridiculous to anyone who just happened to pass by, his face flushed, eyes slightly glazed over....

"Sergeant-Major Fuery," Hawkeye's voice broke him out of his daze.

"Huh? Wha-? Oh! F-First Lieutenant!"

Riza took in the state of the paperwork on Fuery's desk and then the state of the man himself. He was red in the face, his eyes looked glassy and he was unfocused. It was unlike him. Fuery never neglected his work. He was a diligent boy; it was how he'd managed to rise in rank. "Are you unwell?"

... Or maybe he just looked like he was coming down with a bad cold.

"Oh! Oh, no. No, I'm fine," he tried to wave away her concern failing miserable, as his flustered state only served to deepen the pink flush that had risen in his cheeks.

"You shouldn't be here if you're ill," her dark eyes fixed on the small man.

"No, I'm fine, really Ma'am, I-"

"Sergeant-Major," Riza's voice had that tone, that hint of steel, that made everyone- not just him- pay all the more attention to what she was saying whenever she used it, "I suggest you head back to your dorm; have a warm bath, drink tea with honey and plenty of lemon and get some rest. You need to take care of yourself. And tomorrow, if you aren't feeling better, don't bother coming in."

"But my paperwork-?" he tried weakly.

"Will get done by somebody else." Kain would have attempted another protest, but there was a note of finality in her voice that let him know there was no more room for discussion. She, as a superior officer, had given him an order, even though she hadn't come right out and phrased it as such.

"Yes Ma'am," Kain squeaked, watching uncomfortably as Hawkeye lifted the stack of paper from his desk and carried it down the hall.

"What!? Why me!?' could faintly be heard from the direction the sharpshooter had disappeared in. Havoc; Kain recognized the chain smoker's voice. He couldn't help the twinge of guilt that twisted in his gut when he realized that the thick stack of papers had been pushed on the blonde man.

Kain gathered his uniform jacket and well used brown leather satchel, before heading home as Hawkeye had told him to do. It was best for him to leave immediately, before Havoc had the chance to track him down and complain.

Fuery sighed as he slumped down on the small chair that occupied the corner of the open space that served as kitchen, dining, and living room. He wondered what he should do; take Hawkeyes advice and crawl into bed until tomorrow? He couldn't do that. What if the Major thought he'd stood him up? He had invited him over and… And Kain really wanted to go! But somehow, by the same token, he didn't. He was simultaneously thrilled and confused by Major Armstrong's invitation.

"Unnngh," he moaned, sinking further into the chair, "What am I going to do?"

'At least,' he thought, looking at the wall clock hanging by the door, 'I have a few hours to think.'

And think he did. He thought about the stupidity of what he had done that morning- A court-martial was still a very real possibility if anyone found out and reported him. And about how good it had felt being touched like that by the object of his admiration… the way the calluses of his hands had felt through the material of his uniform. And how that mouth, pliant, but not soft enough to ever be confused for a woman's had felt on his. And how… Oh… he was getting off track. He shifted in his seat, his uniform pants feeling far too tight now.

'Damn it,' he felt the familiar heat of a blush creep up his face. He was such a hopeless case.

Getting up, Kain marched himself to the bathroom, and stripped. He needed to calm down, he needed to be able to sort his thoughts out rationally, and there was no way he was going to be able to do that with an erection throbbing almost painfully now for his attention.

It was six thirty-two when Kain, finally stepped out of the shower. He had maybe three minutes to decide what he was going to do… what he was going to say to the Major… How he was going to explain… apologize... How he was going to say whatever it was he was going to say that would make him feel less guilty around the large framed balding blonde.

Even then, he was going to be late… 'Damn it!' His day couldn't get any more messed up. Towelling off quickly, Kain headed to his room, opened the chest of drawers that stood opposite the bed and grabbed up the first set of clean clothes he could find, changing into them as fast as he could manage.

"What now?" He heaved a sigh when he heard a knock on the door. He didn't have time for visitors. He was already running late, if he wanted to meet with the Major, and he really, really, really did. Opening the door, he prepared to give whoever was on the other side some excuse or another, but stopped when he found himself standing face to chest with a very familiar set of muscles hidden away under a crisp white button down shirt.

"I- uh- How… I mean why- uh…" Oh, very articulate, now Armstrong was going to think he was a complete idiot as well as a pervert.

"We had a date," the man smiled down at Kain and sparkled brilliantly, "Breda let it slip that you had been sent home sick, I decided it best to move the location here."

Breda had…? Move the location…? Kain's blush was back. "I… Come in! Please!" he moved out of the way allowing the much taller man to enter his small dwelling. It was only then he noticed the brown paper bag filled with what he supposed were groceries, and the bright Gerber daisies the Major was carrying.

Was he going to make dinner? That was… it was so nice of him, and more than he deserved after executing that sneak attack. Kain watched as Armstrong put the bag and the flowers down on the countertop of the exposed kitchenette.

"You look flushed," Armstrong's hand came to rest lightly against his cheek, and then his forehead. "Hm, yes, you feel rather warm. Hawkeye was right to send you home for some rest."

"No, I'm fine, really! I- I'm just- uh- well I promise, I feel much better than I did before." And he did. It was a relief to know that he hadn't messed up completely with that supply closet stunt. "About this morning…"

"Ah, yes. You know, the work place isn't really the best location for such things," he led the petite brunet to the sofa at the far wall, gently guiding him to a sitting position before heading back to the kitchenette and looking for the tools he would need to prepare their meal. "Such expressions of passion are best kept private."

Kain let out a nervous laugh, "Yeah, I apologize for that… for forcing-"

The large man let out a laugh of his own, not nervous though, nor was it taunting. It was deep and rich, and it made Kain's stomach do a strangely wonderful somersault. "An Armstrong," Alex began, "is never forced into such things."

Wait. What? "But I… I tackled you and-"

"Yes. But, Kain, as well formed as you are," and he was, even if he was on the petite side, Alex could attest to that; he'd felt the lean muscles for himself. Fuery was built slender and lithe; his body was that of a runner, "given my well honed Armstrong physique," he had somehow managed to lose his shirt without so much as touching it- An Alchemic Armstrong technique, Kain pondered- "you couldn't have moved me unless I allowed it."

Kain thought about that a moment. That was actually, probably very true. Armstrong out sized him in every possible way. There was no way he could have shifted the muscular Major more than a centimetre… maybe two.

"But then why did you…?"

"It was a good opportunity, Kain," the smaller man looked up at the Major, "to let my intentions be known."

His intentions…? Oh… Oh! Fuery wondered if he'd ever be rid of the blush that decorated his cheeks and if the grin on his face wasn't a little too manic. "I…"

"I assume," Armstrong seasoned a pot of water, "that you return the sentiment."

Fuery felt his smile widen. "Y-yeah," Kain started, "I mean, yes," he finished, settling in to watch as the mountain of a man continued to cook.

When the clock hanging on the wall near the door chimed out the last of its seven strokes, Kain cocked his head to the side and asked, "So, does this mean I won't be getting court-martialed?"

Armstrong looked at the smaller man, resting the knife he'd been using to chop celery on the cutting board, his eyes crinkling at the corners in mirth, and laughed.

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