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Ayame's Note:........I'm sorry, Cain. Feel free to hate me. Disclaimer: It's a very good thing I do not own these characters.
Cain Fury did his best to hide his feelings. To his credit, he did a superb job. No one seemed to notice that he was, in fact, a little too flawlessly happy. A little too perpetually cheerful.
He always had a smile for everyone. Everyone, from Lieutenant Colonel Mustang, to a stranger on the street, to a stray dog, to a passing butterfly.
But, when soldiers are bored, they make up some of the most inane and cruel games imaginable.
Because soldiers are the ones who know what it's like to lose your humanity. To touch on your darkest desires. To lie awake at night with the screams, the guilt they represent, echoing in your ears. Soldiers were infamous for believing that if you didn't acknowledge something, deal with it immediately, it would go away.
'Get Under Fury's Skin,' a particularly cruel concept in and of itself, was born.
And it turned into an ongoing amusement, merely because no one seemed able to crack him. It was another thing to needle at their own guilt, that they couldn't be more like him.
More cheerful and pleasant. At peace with what they'd done.
Oh, he wasn't, of course; but he was a good actor. That was all that mattered to the others.
It started small.
Just a biting comment here; a shove there.
'Accidentally' knocking him over, scattering whatever papers he was carrying into the closest mud puddle.
No matter how much they teased or prodded or bullied, Cain still remained cheerful, still laughed with them. Still gave that innocent smile.
Then, there was the time they pantsed him, in front of the entire mess hall. Even having Hawkeye come to his rescue didn't faze or embarrass him; not really. He laughed along with all the rest.
They'd spent two weeks on janitorial duty, scrubbing out the bathrooms, by order of the First Lieutenant.
And things died down a bit.
But it came back.
Gluing his desk drawers shut. Putting needles in his coat pockets.
It became an obsession. Just once, they wanted him to break. They wanted to see his mask slip.
Just once.
Thus, it came to the point where they cornered him, and began beating the unfortunate soul.
It was bound to happen sooner or later, courtesy of his smaller build, if for nothing else. They were the sort of people who needed to show others who was boss. And in the military, admittedly, sometimes that was called for.
But not here.
Not now.
With each blow, with each new bruise and cut, he barely responded.
He just laughed. Laughed right along with them. Taking whatever they could dish out.
Because to acknowledge hurt was to be forced to deal with it.
Because Cain Fury knew. It all came down to that one thing he knew, in his heart, his very soul.
No matter what they said, it really wasn't okay to cry.