Fic: Prompt: "Icicles Hanging Down"
Icicles Hanging Down
by dustbunny105
Yesterday was cool and clear, and saw not a cloud in the sky. The wind bit sharply as it blew, but when it passed the sun soothed away the sting. Ed had left his jacket on the porch under Den's watch so that he could enjoy the sensation playing along the skin of his bare arms. Both of his bare arms. Just ahead of him, staring off into the horizon, stood Al. He seemed fragile in his still-small human body, but showed no qualms about weathering the harsher gusts of wind in a light t-shirt and shorts.
"Hey, you guys! Al! Ed!"
Ed tensed before he could help it, then turned to see Winry approaching them, hunched into her winter jacket and clutching two more jackets in her fists, one of them clearly Ed's. He cringed at the sour expression that completed her ensemble and turned back to share a look with Al, but his brother was standing just as he had been, as if he had not heard the call. Ed took a moment to puzzle this-- it wasn't like Al to ignore Winry, certainly not when she used that tone of voice-- and turned back again just in time to have his jacket thrust under his nose. Locking eyes with Winry over the garment, Ed reached to take it on the same instinct that had him stepping back away from her; she held tight, using their mutual handhold to drag him towards her again.
"What the hell do the two of you think you're doing out here dressed like that?" Winry demanded. She finally released Ed's jacket, which he started to slip on nonchalantly; he'd had a retort in mind, but misplaced it when Winry leaned in and whacked him with her always-handy wrench. Hard.
"Ow! What the hell was that for?"
"That was for taking Al out into this weather dressed like that!" Winry pointing at the brother in question with the hand in which she still held another jacket.
"It's not that cold, don't get your panties in a twist," said Ed, hating himself for the faint blush that colored his cheeks as the words left his mouth. He thought Winry might be blushing a bit, too, which would at least make it more bearable, but it was hard to tell because her face had already been a bit red when she'd come out. It made her eyes look bluer, more clear.
"He's still not up to full health, Ed, he should be eating and resting-- inside, where it's warm! What if he gets sick?"
The blush disappeared; Ed was pretty sure that most of the color in his face did, just for a few seconds. Any response he'd wanted to make was swallowed along with the bile that had jumped into his throat. But the moment passed, and a shake of his head cleared the images from behind his eyes, sent them rolling to the farthest reaches of his awareness. He affixed a scowl to match Winry's, crossing his arms and trying to convince himself it wasn't for protection.
"He's not a kid, you know, it's not like I dragged him out of the house kicking and screaming. It was his idea to come out in the first place."
"And you let him do it dressed like that?"
"Just because you can't take the cold doesn't mean we can't. It's not nearly as cold out here as it was at Brigg's."
"Al didn't have to worry about the cold at Brigg's, he has to worry about the cold now."
Ed opened his mouth, then closed it into a deeper scowl. Winry seemed to almost be vibrating with righteous fury. At least she had an excuse this time, though; she'd been uncharacteristically and unreasonably waspish for the full week that he, she and Al had been back to see Granny Pinako. Ed couldn't help shooting a glance at the wrench she clutched so tight that her knuckles were white and wondering if she hadn't been looking for an excuse to use it on him.
"Guys," said Al, and they broke the staring contest to look around at him. Winry gasped, but otherwise silence fell over them for about five seconds that felt more like five hours. Tear tracks marked Al's face and his reddened, puffy eyes were watering even as a shaky grin stretched the lower half of his face. When he opened his mouth to speak again, Ed snapped out of the trance the sight had cast over him and backed off so fast that he just missed shoving Winry to ground, sputtering and stuttering in his attempt to get a sentence out.
At last he managed, "What do you think you're doing just crying like that for no reason? Cut it out!"
He had the space of about a half-second to be embarrassed at how high his voice was pitched before Winry brought the wrench down on his head again. Harder this time.
"Typical!" Winry shouted, right in his face. "You're this genius alchemist but you still don't know shit about how to deal with people-- especially not their feelings!"
Her arm tensed and twitched like she was contemplating raising the wrench again, but she hadn't even started to go through the motion when Al was there with his hand around her wrist. His smile was gone, the tears in his eyes less obvious; his face was red and his expression guilty.
"It's fine, Winry, I'm fine. I wanted to-- to feel the weather, that's why I didn't wear a jacket." Winry relaxed and her expression softened, but not by much. When she opened her mouth again Al quickly added, "I'll wear one if that's what you want."
The words were barely out off his mouth before the jacket was thrust into his hands. Winry didn't spare a glance for either of them before stalking off briskly back to the house. The brothers watched in still silence as she went, both flinching when she slammed the front door shut behind her.
"What the hell is her problem lately?" Ed demanded, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and trying to pretend it didn't bother him that Al had been able to calm Winry so easily. "She's been acting like a complete--"
But he didn't need Al's glare and indignant, "Brother!" to bite the word off before it started. No matter how accurate it was.
Al sighed as he wiped his face with a sleeve of the jacket he now wore. Then he gave Ed the sort of look that one might give a stupid kid and said, with rather more affection than Winry had shown, "Winry is right, you know. You really don't know how to deal with emotions."
"Hey, whose side are you on anyway?" Ed demanded.
"Yours," Al answered simply, retreating a bit into his jacket when a stronger, colder wind swept past them. He seemed to consider for a moment, then started off towards the house-- calling over his shoulder as he went, "But Winry's, too."
"Wait, what?" Ed asked, but the only sign Al showed of having heard him was a sly sort of smile just before he pulled the door shut behind him. "Hey! What the hell's that supposed to mean anyway? You're supposed to be on my side!"
Part of him wanted to go after Al for an explanation, but that would likely mean running into Winry, which Ed wasn't keen to do. Rather he removed his jacket and held it in his again-crossed arms, feet planted defiantly and facing the house with a challenging, try-and-make-me expression as the wind whistled shrilly around him. When he finally went in some hours later, he brought a cold with him.
*
Today the sky is hidden away by clouds, thick and gray like the smoke of a cigar. Snow is falling in what seem to be clumps rather than flakes, and the world below is already covered in several inches of snow. Ed's window is frosted over, but he can still see the icicles hanging down like fangs. When a shiver runs through him, he tells himself it is from illness rather than the imagination of being trapped within the mouth of some beast and burrows further into his blankets.
"Brother?" Al calls softly into the room; Ed can hear him groping along the wall for the light switch and opens his mouth to let loose an unintelligible croak meant to convey that he wants the light left off. He squeezes his eyes shut even within the relative dark beneath the blankets as the message apparently fails to get across and the light comes on with a mocking click from the switch. Ed grumbles and pressed his face into the pillow.
Al pads softly across the room and settles something down on the bedside table. When Ed only retreats further, hoping his brother will realize that he wants to be left alone-- in the dark, thanks-- Al shakes him gently and fairly sings, "I've got food."
"Great. Leave it, and hit the lights on your way out, huh?" Even talking is enough to make Ed's headache throb behind his eyes.
"You must feel really awful. I expected you to attack the tray," Al jokes, voice low and soothing. The bed creaks and dips as he sits beside his ailing brother, hand on Ed's back as a means of offering comfort. He gives Ed another shake and says, "Hey, eat a little before I go, okay? I told Granny Pinako that I'd watch to make sure you were keeping it down."
Ed mutters and pulls the blankets more tightly around him.
"You don't want me to have to go back and lie, do you? What if I get caught?"
It's a dirty trick and Ed refuses to give in.
"Winry made you this soup herself, you know."
At this, Ed hesitates. No matter what sort of mood she's been in lately, Winry is still Winry. She's really a pretty good cook, to boot. (To no one but himself, Ed admits that he would eat what she made him even if she were the sort of brilliant idiot who could somehow burn water.) On the other hand, if he remembers yesterday selectively (and makes a few things up), it's Winry's fault that he's sick in the first place. But back to the other hand, it's Winry. And Winry's cooking, but mostly Winry.
Aches and pains rippling through his body, Ed slowly twists himself up into a sitting position and peels away the layers of blankets he's buried himself under so that they pool at his waist; he can't quite decide whether the cooler air feels good or bad against his skin. Al reaches over to help prop the pillows up behind him and sets the tray of food on Ed's lap. Ed stares at it through eyes so slit against the light that he probably looks like a bleach-headed Xingese and tries to determine where, in the blurry world beyond his eyelashes, the spoon is. Al sighs, and the just-recognizable form of his hand come into view; there's the sound of sloshing liquid and of metal scraping against glass, and then Ed feels steam lapping against his face as Al firmly orders, "Ah."
No. Just no.
"I don't need you to feed me," Ed rasps, leaning back and turning away, sealing his lips tight as soon as the words are out of his mouth. He snaps his eyes wide and turns back so fast that the tray almost slides off his lap, though, when he hears Al slurp the soup from the spoon.
"Hey!"
"This is really good," Al says, and scoops up another spoonful for himself.
"I'll tell Winry!" Ed threatens, pulling the tray closer to himself and reaching for the spoon. The actions make his head pound and his whole body feels weak; his arm is trembling, and that might be what gets Al to relinquish the spoon. Comfortable quiet settles in around them as Ed slowly spoons soup into his mouth, grateful for every mouthful that stays down.
"You should, you know," says Al out of nowhere. "Tell Winry, I mean."
This makes Ed choke on the soup he was swallowing; the resultant coughing fit prompts Al to take the tray away and pat Ed on the back. When the worst of it is passed and Ed is simply clearing his throat and gasping, Al returns the tray but leaves his hand on Ed's back. Ed, eyes watering and lungs aching, glares.
"That wasn't funny," he barely manages to say, voice low and rasping like dry leaves being blown across the street.
"I was being serious."
"You want me to tell Winry that you were stealing food from the mouth of an invalid?"
"No, that's not what I meant." He smiles and infuriatingly innocent smile and almost looks sincerely sheepish when he rubs at the back of his neck. "I guess I should have been clearer."
"Yeah," agrees Ed, voice a little stronger. Suspicious, he asks, "So what were you talking about then?"
"You know."
"No, I don't, I have no idea. Just say it, why don't you? Instead of trying to kill me!"
"I think if I say it you'll just start choking again. And I also think you do know what I mean anyway."
"I--"
"Yesterday you asked why Winry is so upset lately, but I think you know that too."
"What--"
"Otherwise you wouldn't try so hard to avoid being alone in a room with her."
Ed opens his mouth, but no words come out. Al smiles at him, gives his shoulder a supportive squeeze, and gets up to go.
"Don't worry about it now," he says. "Just get some rest."
Then Ed is alone in the room with his lunch and his cold, blushing and flustered for reasons that he can't explain. (Won't explain, whispers a voice in the back of his head; he ignores it.) Somehow the soup doesn't taste as good anymore, and his stomach isn't as keen to take it lying down. He eats more slowly, so slowly that the last few spoonfuls are chilled. He finishes it all down to last drop regardless.
Because Winry made it for him, and he-- oh. Oh. Right. That.
Al was right; Ed does start chocking even after the last of the soup has been swallowed down. As epiphanies go, Ed feels that this one probably should have come at a more opportune instance. He should have been well, for one thing, and it should be sunny for another. The soup would most ideally have been warm, and what's with this coming up when he's eating soup in bed anyway? Of course there's the argument that it doesn’t count as an epiphany if he always knew and chose to ignore or deny it, but the circumstances still suck. The frost over the window combined with the icicle-fangs, makes it seem as though the world is laughing at him. Not at all in condition to deal with the revelation-- because, yeah, he does think he should get to call it that-- Ed drifts into a restless sleep.
Hours later he's awakened by Winry herself. His body feels as though Master Izumi has been using it for a punching bag, his eyes and nose are running and his first thought when he tries to swallow away the sour taste in his mouth is that someone must have transmuted the inside of his throat into sandpaper. Winry stands over him with what he can only assume is his dinner, looking down with an expression that suggests that she's at once trying not to be pissed off at him and not to be sympathetic toward him. Blinking to clear his eyes, Ed offers a weak smile when it seems that she's losing out to the sympathy rather than the pissed off... ness. Whatever.
Winry sets the tray down to help him prop himself up again, but her touch is cold and efficient. She hands him a couple of aspirin and raises the glass of water she brought to his lips. His throat feels a little better once he's taken a few healthy gulps of the latter, and he thanks Winry heartily as she sets the tray on his lap and presses the spoon into his hand. She's still not said a word when she turns to go and Ed, working off a gut reaction, lets the spoon fall to the bed with a dull thud so he can reach out to grab her wrist. When she faces him again it is with considerably more concern than she's allowed herself to display thus far.
"Are you alright?" she asks as she lays her hand over his forehead, compulsively checking his temperature. "Do you need something?"
"I..."
This really isn't the time, but he started and feels he should finish. He gropes through his vocabulary for the right words, and shakes his head when he is unable to find them, hand tightening around Winry's wrist.
"Ed?"
In lieu of the Right Thing to Say (he blames Al for the capital letters), he squeezes Winry's wrist, firm but gentle, and tugs. She understands, sitting down beside him immediately and pushing his bangs out of his eyes. He meets her gaze head-on and tries to communicate non-verbally. He frowns at himself for the idea; why shouldn't he be able to say it out loud?
"I... I'm sorry."
That... really wasn't what he'd meant to say at all. Ed blinks as the words play over in his head, trying to imagine where he wandered off the trail. He blinks again to be sure that he isn't hallucinating Winry smiling at him gently. There are clichés he’s supposed to think now, about the way her eyes are shimmering, but he can't think of any. Partly because they're stupid and he never really paid attention to that sort of thing; mostly because his attention is too focused on the way her lips, full and shining with gloss, are tipped up and the way her hand is warm and comfortable and familiar over his.
"You jerk," she says with affection, "you could have just said something. I love you, too, you know."
For a second Ed is afraid he might start choking and coughing all over again, but he doesn't. His face does go pretty red, if the heat he can feel gathering there is any indication, and the blush goes on down below his collar when Winry leans in and brushes a kiss over his forehead. He swallows thickly, feeling he should say something but at a loss for words. Winry's smile widens, her own face flushed, as she reaches for the dropped spoon and dips it into the bowl of soup.
"Eat up, no complaining," she orders, though her you-will-do-as-I-say tone is softened. "I want you well again on the double, understand?"
"Bossy girl."
"Stupid boy."
Outside the wind is howling, blowing snow so hard against the window that it sounds like the glass is being pelted by snowballs; some of the weaker icicles are snapped off by the force and fall away, like someone's teeth being knocked out. Inside the lights flicker briefly, but garner no more than a glance as Ed obediently eats spoonful after spoonful of soup as Winry feeds it to him-- grumbling in between each, of course.
Today is a good day.