Author's Note: I love my reviewers... and I had to stop and make this in two parts because I am too sad to continue. My bird died and it is more than depressing me.

Sick and Tired: Part One

"One would think you didn't have it in you. Such a reserved and honest man," Roy Mustang said lowly so only Cain Fury could hear him. He, Roy, was standing in front of Cain's desk where the younger man was seated fixing a radio that had been broken for the fifth time that month. Mustang smirked mockingly, but was surprised when Cain scowled and finally looked up at his superior officer.

"That's it, I'm done! I refuse to put up with this shit anymore," Cain Fury's voice rang out viciously throughout the fourth floor of Eastern Head Quarters. He promptly stood up from his chair, threw down his screwdriver violently so it bounced off of the surface of the desk and tumbled to the floor unceremoniously, and walked away from the desk.

Every pair of eyes were on him, not excluding Colonel Roy Mustang who was left at the Sergeant Major's desk, visibly flabbergasted. The young man was completely pissed off, if his anger could even be reduced to such a word. His dark eyes were almost glowing with indignation, and his cheeks were scarlet with suppressed words.

He was headed straight to the exit, ready to leave and never set foot near any of these people again. Ever. And it only angered him further when Jean Havoc and Haymens Breda tried to stop him from leaving. Giving them each a glare that showed only half of his strife, and pushed with all his strength to get between them to continue down the hallway. Paying no attention to either's pleas to stop and calm down.

It took all of his reserve though to defy Riza Hawkeye who dared to pull her gun on him as he had his fingers wrapped around the door handle. A barking laugh of disgust tore from Cain's lips, sounding unnatural coming from the usually reserved man.

"Nice way to tell me to stay. Just what makes me want to leave more, you're just a fucking bully Riza. Go ahead and shoot me, see if I care anymore." Standing with a new found courage he stared blankly at Riza's surprised face, and her hand gun pointed straight at him. When she didn't shoot him he just laughed bitterly and opened the door. It was shut again momentarily, Cain on the other side.

There was a tense silence as everybody watched each other stand the way they had been when Cain left. A few seconds of silence were enough, Roy Mustang shook his head before telling everybody to get back to work.

Though it was hard to concentrate on paperwork with tears in your eyes, Jean found out.

---

"Dammit!" Cain swore as he kicked out at North wall of the building he had just stormed out of. He was more than likely going to be Dishonorably Discharged, or something to the likes. But there was only so much abuse one man could take from his colleagues; his supposed friends.

Mustang had just been the 'straw that broke the camel's back'. The way he so smugly teased him about his secret. How Mustang even knew was beyond his comprehension, but the last remark hidden beneath a seemingly innocent remark was enough to make him want to hurt somebody.

That day itself, Riza had forced more work on him than anybody else because he was the only dependable one. The only worker under Mustang's command that wouldn't give her enough shit to give her a reason to seek out some other weakling. That's what she saw him as, and he knew it. She took full advantage of his willingness to make everybody around him happier, no matter the cost. Even of his dignity and pride. Soon she was just making him do all the things that had been undone, he had been the dumpster where everybody threw their unwanted trash. The man who would do the most absurd things after a few minutes of careful persuasion. "More like manipulation," he added to his own internal monologue. Riza pulled her gun or hinted towards it every time Cain's lips had started to form the word no, or an answer similar to that. She bullied him into not thinking of how late he got home each night, and how alone he was when he continued to work when everybody left to have a life outside of work. He was essentially trained as much as Black Hayate was.

Breda and Havoc were another touchy subject. The pair seemed to thrive in their mocking games, making him want to just crawl under his desk and sink into abatements sometimes. And it wasn't even the usual teasing either, Havoc seemed to revel in the physical pain he caused the younger man sometimes. A quick punch to the shoulder, or a shove 'playfully' into the wall. Some nights he would come home, undress to shower and discover another bruise. It wasn't even the visible bruises that hurt, it was the tears they made him shed when he sat alone in the dark. There wasn't a night where his pillow had been dry as far as he could remember. It affected him more than he could admit, and that in itself scared him because he definitely should not be having any other feeling but malice towards Havoc. But that wasn't the case. It would be so much easier just to fucking hate the man. But no, he couldn't even do that. Breda, though. He could hate the large man with every fiber of his being deep inside his soul, but would never show it.

He never showed anything, to anybody in the office. Other than a mask of trepidation and a somewhat reserved lifestyle. Letting anybody know of his extreme feelings of inadequacy that they spawned would only give them a soft white under-belly to rip at. Another weak point to point out and make jabs at. Though they did quite a job at poking holes in his accepting demeanor and calmness. But he held himself together for appearance sake, and broke apart at home.

He just couldn't take it anymore. He had to let them know what horrible people they were, what they were driving him to: a slowly painful death. Once Cain Fury had enjoyed work, meeting his new colleagues, his superiors. But now, he wanted nothing more to end their spiteful glances, making him out to be the bearer of their own troubles and anger. He was a shell of what he once was, and it had to end, their torture that was. And so he walked out, never to come back. He would never be able to look at them again without wanting to cause them as much physical pain as they caused him mental and emotional pain. With tears streaking down his face he started to walk the slow walk home, where he could just rest and decide what to do with the rest of his life tomorrow.

In his unhurried haste he did not notice that one of his former colleagues was following him in order to talk to him.

---

He slammed the door behind him, and sank to the floor sobbing silently. It was all he knew how to do now, cry. It didn't even feel good anymore, it only made his head ache, eyes swollen and red, and nose run like there was no tomorrow. But what else could a broken man do? Minutes passed before he stood up shakily and moved to his kitchen in order to retrieve a paper towel to wipe his eyes with. Finished with the paper towel, he just chucked it in the general direction of the trash and watched it silently hit the floor. That was what he felt like, a used piece of paper towel. Only good for one thing and tossed aside without another care. Used, just used altogether. Nobody really cared about his feelings, and it showed. It showed.

Intent on going to bury himself in his duvet cover and pillows, Cain wasn't fully surprised to hear a knock at the door. Glancing at his wrist watch through reddened eyes it was about time the post had arrived anyways. He shuffled slowly towards the door just to retrieve the post, and throw it on the table without a second thought. An agonized sigh parted his lips as the door swung open to reveal Jean Havoc. Cain raised his eyebrows in shock, but then knit them together in anger and slammed the door. "Fuck, what the fuck do you want now?" He said loudly, though to himself. He did not intend for Havoc to stand outside his door and continue to listen to his inane ramblings. "I can't deal with this…"

And for the second time that day, let alone hour, Cain sunk to the floor with his back pressed against the door; tears streaming down his face.

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