Living Room Space: 04 Heart of Armor, Part 3
And Konstantine came walking down the stairs
Doesn’t she look good
Standing in her underwear
As Al rose from the couch, showered, dressed, and discovered Winry’s note in the kitchen, he pondered over waking Ed. He thought about asking - again - about state alchemists, Maes Hughes, homunculi, and Scar, but then pictured Ed’s diffuse and unresponsive stare and decided to find Winry. Hospital or no, she’d always been more reliable. He could only hope that in so many months she hadn’t changed as much as his brother.
Rummaging around Winry’s kitchen produced toast and marmalade, and Al leaned against the door post to chew, slowly, and stare at his brother.
“You know this is worse for you than for me,” he quipped, pausing to gauge a reaction and, seeing none, continuing. “The desert’s got to get the truth out of you.”
Ed, ignorant, slept. Al almost wanted him to wake up, but remained confined to the door and the toast. It was warm, crunchy, and sweet in his mouth, and he wondered where Rush Valley acquired its marmalade.
I think you should go home.
“It doesn’t get any better than this, Brother!” He waved his free arm around like a madman. Ed snored. Al sighed.
“This is just like arguing with you when you’re awake.”
Back in the kitchen, he noted the proliferation of dirty dishes, and set to washing them. It had been a long time since he had washed any dishes. He teased a small glass out from under a stack of plates. The last time he’d washed dishes, Teacher had handed him a single dish to dry before giving him one of her fearsome stares, and telling him to get off to bed - he had had a long day to look forward to in the morning.
Amazing, how much memory a plain wet plate could hold. It was only a piece of ceramic thrown into a disk, a bit of glaze and paint, and a few spurts of the faucet. That’s all it was. And now Izumi stood blaring in his mind, ordering him to get out of her house and go find his brother.
“She’s gone.”
It was like he had just gotten the news, like he’d just had the sinking realization that he would never be able to see her again. If only Winry had a cat, so he wouldn’t have to talk to himself anymore.
He wondered what it would be like to be wordless, like Winry - to stand over his brother after a surgery with a reheated pot of soup and two bowls and be pensively, graciously silent - to be happy with looking, and with presence.
Long ago, he remembered she’d demanded information, simple information, to fill the void; she’d wanted to know what they were doing when they refused to play with her, when they did boy stuff, when they did alchemy.
Perhaps she found out, finally, and lost her curiosity. Perhaps Edward’s ghosts haunted her as well.
But to be happy with mere presence - that was a desperate condition indeed. To be happy with silence - that was not something a normal person should do.
Alchemy, and science, was a way of life. One must always search for answers. One must be inclined to figure out how things work. It’s not stupid to ask questions if the answers aren’t stupid, Teacher had told them once.
He didn’t ever want to have Winry’s expression on his face.
He didn’t want to see that expression on her face again either, the one she greeted them with as she’d hugged them. It was old, sad, pathetic: a wrench melted down to ore; a country house to ashes; a pair of living, breathing parents to a letter from a soldier; a mother to a grave - a tornado to a whisper in his ear, “Welcome back.” She was not the girl he remembered.
Ed was now more cheekbone than cheek; more bone than meat; and more tough and thickened delicacy were once there’d been only a wash of proud and frowning baby fat. He was aging everything around him.
Al dropped a plate, and it splintered on its mates. He jumped at the crash, and wiped his eyes on his sleeve.
“Sorry, Winry,” he said.
He finished the rest of the dishes and left a note of apology on a scrap of newspaper. On another scrap he wrote a note to his brother, placing it on the table.
Winry had left directions to the hospital.
He’d never been to Rush Valley before. They’d always met up in Resembol.
Al stared at the table, not seeing it, suddenly distraught.
I miss you guys so much.
His brother and friend were too quiet these days.
There was no way Winry could be satisfied with Ed’s mere presence. There was no way. She would not have given up like that. She would never let him give up like that.
“You brought me back, Brother,” he called as he shoved his feet into his shoes. “You brought me back.” Softer now. “That’s what I hear.” Softer now. “Now I’m going to do the same for you.” Softer again. “And I won’t let you take Winry down with you.”
The click of the door shutting was louder than his voice.
And I was thinking
What I’ve been thinking
Part 4