Affectionate Relief

Okay, so she couldn't help herself. She just had to.

And he was just lying there on her sofa, mouth hanging open, snoring with a hand on his exposed stomach. He was the very picture of a slob, but to her, he slept like a cute, innocent baby. She couldn't resist.

And besides, the swollen bump she left on his head killed her. She wanted to remedy the damage she'd done him. Yes, she knew he deserved what he had coming to him. Her latest project cost her five full sleepless nights, thickening the plates with the lightest yet strongest material she'd managed to get her hands on. And she'd abandoned her other works all for his sake, only to have it thrown back in her face at the sight of the metal stripped clean, wires frizzed and exposed in the open. Just looking at it made the vein in her temple throb in pain. And she found alleviation in using his head for target practice. What she wasn't counting on was the wave of guilt that followed after. Because if her automail had been broken that easily, then he was doing something far more dangerous than what he and Al often faced(never mind that she was still clueless of their specific activities). It meant her work wasn't enough to protect him. And judging from his splinted right leg, recently washed and bandaged, she hadn't done enough to ensure his safety in the fight. To top it off, she'd added insult to injury(wrenching the hell out of him).

So how could she not think to make it up to him with a get-well kiss planted on his head while he was napping?

Besides, it wasn't as if she enjoyed inflicting pain on his part. If he was just a little bit more careful with his automail, she wouldn't have to end the argument with the ever-present tool in her grip every single time. But she supposed the case was different now. Because nowadays, she knew that he didn't go out of his way to break metal for nothing. He'd been doing more, it seemed. More for others than himself and Al. In some way, half of her was so proud of him for being so noble. The other half was angry and worried about him; angry because he constantly put himself in danger, worried because he looked out for others more than he did with himself. Was automail the closest she could come to protecting him? Did she have any other way of helping?

The temptation was great, and the kiss sufficed for her dire wish to be closer to him, but the shocked yelp that erupted from his mouth as he leapt five feet clear off the sofa didn't help his situation at all. In fact, landing on his left arm on the hard,uncarpeted floor of the Rockbell home made it worse. And even when she apologized profusely afterwards and tried to avoid him(and the questions he demanded answered), she still wanted to be able to do more for him than heal and attach prosthetic limbs to his scarred body. She wanted to fight for him. She wanted to be by his side more. She wanted to...

...to stop staring at his aching arm and nurse it the same way as she did with his head. But common sense told her that she'd be less than welcomed to repeat the gesture no matter how much she wanted to do it. He'd had enough excitement for one day without going berserk over one kiss.

...On the other hand...

...it wasn't as if he'd yelled at her to never do that again.

FIN

A/N: Uh, whoopee?