Finishing that FMA Pairing Gen bunny of doom.
This is part three of what that FMA pairing generator made up for me. The thing is based off He Who Searches For Himself, my FMA post-series fanfic... because I can't quit it.
The first two parts are here
Part Title: "A Secret Dream" (3 of 3)
Fandom: FMA
Pairing: Ed/Win
Word Count: 4,126
Rating: NC-17 (I mean it this time!)
Beta: Me and you
Written for: gundamnook and her bunny farm ~_~.
Notes: The giggle!bunny hit me for the first one, this one met the wandering angst!bunny. This is a ficticious idea based off my ficticious fanfic, set in March 1922 like the others. Winry's 17 and Ed's 22. This is "The Morning After". Again, it's probably OOC all over the place, blah blah blah, written for that little bubble of misery inside us all... and Winry needs a hug.
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He did not care how badly his room smelt like some pungent mix of wine and vodka; Edward shut the window. Each flutter of the curtains let just enough light in to rage through his eyelids and make the headache worse. He wanted to put his face down under the covers, but couldn’t find a spot on the pillow or mattress where the weight of his own head didn’t aggravate the headache.
Hohenheim had meant well, coming in to check on him when he’d come home during the lunch hour break, but now he could not get back to sleep. He wished he could sleep, he wanted to forget - nothing happened in his sleep, it could be done so easily. A few moments of freedom from a faint, yet horrible recollection he tried to ignore and forget.
His father had asked how the party had been, what had gone on, and what Winry had drank; apparently she’d been up sick for quite some time. Searching his mind for what he could compile of the night through the pounding headache, he stumbled upon a horrid sequence of events. His father was dismissed from his presence before he could question why his son turned as white as his sheets.
Lying on his back, his hand slowly came over his mouth. He could concentrate his mind on it, and piece together partial memories with misunderstood sensations. It was a taste in his mouth: the aftertaste that lingered from his tongue vying for supremacy behind Winry’s lips.
His heartbeat raced, his mind had captured the most damming of sensations. The memory of such an incredible feeling was something he couldn’t get over. He wanted to forget, to deny, to reject it… but it existed, and he followed it, in total disbelief that the memory he replayed was his own. He felt so disassociated with the moments it was like watching himself through the eyes of another. How could he even have forgotten this, it was so poignant and vivid the more he thought about it: the touch of her lips, smoothness of her skin, warmth of her mouth, the moan of her voice, softness of her breasts, the heat inside her body. It was the first and most vivid memory Ed had of the night ending escapade, frightening and secretly exciting him once accepting he was remembering having sex with Winry.
At first, he could not recall how long he’d been inside her, his tired memory was fuzzy; Edward simply remembered the sensation that had grown between his legs as he thrust into her, feeling the incredible feeling rise as he drew towards it. The world around him was a blur of sound and colour, there was simply a few correctly placed feelings that grew more intense and more alive. Lost in the myriad, it finally peaked; a strange strangling of pleasure that over took his body with a white, numbing chill of ecstasy. The orgasm had left him exhausted, barely able to gather himself. He thought he’d nearly passed out from the experience, already toiling with that prospect after having so much to drink; that’s why they’d stopped.
He could still feel the escape of his voice reverberating in his chest when he moaned out in desperation at a climax he’d never anticipated and never knew he could experience. The last thing he wished his body would tell him was how good he’d felt the entire time, he couldn’t help that feeling though.
Ed ran the moment again… and again; his hand over his mouth in horror, wide eyes seeing nothing but Winry’s wanting expression as he moved within her body.
What had he done with her…
Jaw quivering, his mouth remembering what it felt like to have her lips, trace her neck, and suckle on her breasts. Again, he was thrusting into her, Winry’s gasping voice catching, stuttering and moaning for more as he moved.
Flying around the riveting recollection was the firm realization he had to stop this cascade of memories. It played games with his body…
Never in his wildest dreams… why did this have to happen now?
He lay in bed; silent and uncertain as he dug into his mind for more of the evening.
There were her fingers, dancing around his bare stomach as she unbuckled his belt, unhooked the button and slid the zipper of his pants down. His own hands had helped slide his pants and shorts off his hips, her hand suddenly touching the flesh between his legs. With the rushing sensation at his crotch, Winry stroked him harder, giggling lightly in amusement as he had transitioned from withering at the touch of her fingers to thrusting into her hand. She continued to urge him on playfully.
He could remember how he’d desperately pulled her underwear off some time beforehand. A gentle left hand had slid into her hair, his lips danced at her cheek; he lowered his body unto hers, feeling her shiver once he’d slipped himself momentarily beyond the warm, protective flesh between her legs. Ed’s hands ran down her sides; one hand, then the other, soon coming to caress the insides of her thighs. He could hear her whine in frustration, desperately wanting for him to progress as he pushed her legs wide. Right then, there was no doubt in his mind what he was going to do. His hand came up, sweeping her bangs from a sweat ridden forehead; she murmured his name and he kissed her once again. Edward’s lips barely silenced her as he pushed his way into her unannounced. Gasping at the foreign sensation, he could feel her body clench relentlessly around him; her moist heat slowly sliding along his shaft as he released himself into her. He could hear her breathing gasp desperately in his ear, quivering in shock at the invasion; quickly leaving her unresponsive from a pain she hadn’t even considered, it had overtaken the numbing effect of the alcohol. The warnings in his mind did not tell him to pull back, but rather slow down and be gentle. The bizarre instinct stopped his advance momentarily, following the unspoken advice as he rested against her; his hand came up, wiping the corner of her closed eye, giving Winry’s body time to get use to how it felt to have him inside of her.
Edward stood at his bedroom door, his forehead resting against the wood as he breathed heavily. His tired eyes looked down to the hardwood flooring, to his socks, his feet… he cursed. The fingers of his left hand twitched, he just wanted a shower. It may have been his house and his father was not home, but he was too embarrassed to even grab the handle. His right metal fist slammed into the door above his head, fuelled by raging frustration of his behaviour and a pounding headache.
With every thought it came up: he was going to have to talk to Winry eventually… he just didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to step out and see her, not knowing what to say. ‘Hi’ didn’t exactly cut it.
Finally powering out the bedroom door, Ed made quick haste to the washroom. He’d take a shower; a long shower. Sometime during the course of those planned actions, he’d entertain ideas on how to even look at Winry again.
The best laid strategies in the German world always existed with flaws. Ed stopped after only taking a step through the washroom door, not yet near the shower. He turned slowly, the growing concern in the pit of his stomach worsening as he looked into the corner of the room. Self-pitiful concern became secondary.
“Winry?”
Curled up in the corner of the room, Winry sat, feet tucked up under her nightgown, her face buried into the corner, clinging to the towels bundled in her arms for some sense of comfort. There was something frightening about seeing her like that.
“Winry?”
She wasn’t answering him. He would have thoguht she was dead, except for how her body moved as she breathed. Kneeling down on the linoleum next to her, Ed brushed away the mangled hair from her face; her eyes lay shut, her expression momentarily stress free. His hand softly touched her cheek, she’d been drained of all her colour. Carefully, he put a hand at her shoulder and slipped the other behind her legs, he’d have picked her up if her eyes had not flickered and she'd suddenly moved.
“Sorry, I just wanted to move you, that can’t be comfortable.”
The disoriented look in her eyes could not have been more apparent as she looked off into the distance, glazed over from the sleep she’d woken from.
Sliding his hands around her waist, Ed pulled the half conscious girl to her feet, “Come on, we’ll get you to your bed.”
“No…” she moaned, “I can’t lay down, I’ll get sick again, I need to sit.”
Ed bit his tongue, sorely tempted to tell her that this is what he’d been warned happens to people who mix their alcohol… to people who drink everything that anyone bought for them, and then some. He’d warned her of this at the start.
“I’m never doing that again…” she moaned, rolling her head around on her shoulders as Ed led her downstairs, “why aren’t you sick?”
“Oh trust me, I’m not feeling too good,” Ed’s tone was flat as he answered, taking her down the hall. The curtains were still pulled in there and he was struggling enough as it was to focus on anything.
“You sure didn’t come visit me in the bathroom…” her body trembling with soreness and exhaustion, Ed had to sit down with her on the couch so she could make it without collapsing, “and you drank more than me. I don’t get it.”
Shaking his head, Ed could only shrug, somewhat surprised as Winry crawled onto his lap like a child clinging to someone, needing the world to become a better place for them in their discomfort.
The frightening thought that had daunted him after leaving his room was pushed to the side, “Do you want some water?”
Winry wondered if her face had turned green at the thought, putting her forehead against his shoulder, “No, it’ll come back up, I just want to go to sleep.”
The one thing Ed could not empathize with was how physically sick she was; his hangovers included blinding headaches, exhaustion and general misery. He rubbed her back as she buried her face in his shoulder, murmuring her complaints to simply get them off her frustrated and sleep deprived mind. Once in a while he’d laugh at the ludicrous things she complained about, like she was complaining simply to keep the sound of her voice alive, until finally quiet overtook the mid-day darkness of the curtain drawn room.
“That feels nice.”
“What does?” Ed paused, the idea of the night before not entirely gone and he’d hoped her comment had nothing to do with that.
“My back…”
Shaking his head in spite of himself, Ed gave a light laugh at the comment, “Sorry I can’t do much else. I thought it might make you feel better.”
“You always rub my back when you think I’m miserable.”
“… If you don't like it, I can stop?”
“No don’t,” Winry curled up a bit, “it's kind of sweet how you picked that up from him.”
Ed paused in confusion, “What are you talking about?”
“Your dad,” Winry’s voice giggled, “after the Christmas party your dad sat on the couch and rubbed your back for a while after you’d passed out.”
“Okay, for the 100th time, I didn’t pass out from the alcohol, I passed out because I was tired, I had the flu,” Ed’s face wrinkled in defence, remembering the wretched cold he’d carried from Christmas into New Years.
“I know, I know, but I asked him if he wasn’t worried that you’d jump up and bite him or something,” Winry continued to giggle as Ed snorted, “he said no, he said that he’d rubbed your back since you were a baby and it always helped you relax and sleep so he wasn't worried about you waking up. He said that your mom use to tease him for being a sucker. Your dad said you’d put up this cranky fuss before bed just so he’d rub your back while you fell asleep.”
Ed glanced away, hoping he hadn’t developed a shade of red in his cheeks, “I did not do that.”
“Sure you didn’t.”
With an obvious sound of displeasure grumbling in his throat, Ed found himself a new topic, “How long have you been up?”
He could have done better than returning to a subject Winry did not want to think about.
“Since three or four in the morning…” Winry’s head burrowed into his shoulder, a definite tone of anger running in her voice, “I’ve brought back up everything and then some. Now all I do is throw up nothing.”
Ed’s hand continued to run softly over her back.
“My head hurts, and my stomach is so sore, I’ve probably pulled all my muscles, I can barely straighten up anymore, my back is tired and I just want to sleep and forget this is happening.”
There were a lot of things that could be labelled as forget-worthy. Ed could only rest at the end of the couch silently, wondering if he would ever find the right time to… ask anything about it. Up until then, they’d acted as though nothing had happened. What Winry needed right now was the comfort of someone’s company; she was sick, she was miserable, she was harbouring the same thoughts he was, he knew it, and he’d do his best to distract her from it. But even as they sat in silence, he could feel her boil; her mood swinging wildly from exhaustion and very little sleep. He could even feel the change by how she breathed.
“And it feels weird.”
Her tone was sharp and bitter; Ed found it startling. She sounded almost mad at him, though he didn’t have to ask what she was referring to.
“It’s kinda sore…” Winry’s nose wrinkled, focusing a stern displeasure into her voice as she spoke, “I think I pulled something. I have all these sore muscles where I never had sore muscles before, I can feel them when I stand up or sit down. Sometimes when I move it feels like all the muscles in my lower body hurt from being in that position.”
It was just… a little disappointing. There was so much missing from what she was talking about. Ed didn’t respond to anything she’d spouted off with for quite some time; her angry, bitter tone holding him at bay. Her voice grew quiet again, he was certain that she was not pleased that the only person who could offer her comfort would be the person she’d created the situation with.
He hadn't anticipated this, the entire time he'd thought when they'd come to talk about it, it would embarassing and awkward; that's why he didn't want to confront her. But this was anything but that, she'd been blunt with him, direct and obviously upset.
Ed continued to sit with her in silence, he wondered if she waited for him to say anything. He wasn’t sure how to respond, but since he’d thought about saying it often enough, he figured it was a decent place to being.
“I’m sorry Winry.”
She left his simply beginings of an apology alone for quite some time. Her response was hesitant, finally her voice just bit back, frustrated by a thought she toyed with, “Shut up, whatever, it doesn't matter.”
For only the few moments before she spoke again, it would be Edward who carried the disappointment she harboured inside.
“It wasn’t even supposed to have happened that way.”
The phrasing silenced him. The implication that she’d had the idea beforehand slapped him across the face. The frightening potential made his heart suddenly race with nerves as he sat silently, watching her cast away expression.
Winry sat in silence, pale from how sick she still felt, her eyes heavy, expression tired; a thread of exhausted disappointment carried in her gaze as she looked into her lap. It hurt to lose such a lovely little secret like that. She could never get that back again.
“We were supposed to be in your bed, not some room in the noisy bar.”
Ed paled in horror, a colour far worse than hers. She’d actually thought about doing that with him before… she’d thought about it… she had a scenario…. How long had she been thinking these things? She had been looking at him and seeing something totally different than what he thought. The idea he'd misread her so badly frightened him, even though they’d already done the deed.
“And we have sex not because we’re both we're so stupidly drunk and it’s something to do, but because you love me and you really want to do that with me. You’re supposed to tell me how much you want me and things would be special.”
He couldn’t find any words to interject with. The story was horrifying, more so because it was in hindsight. She thought of him this way, she dreamed of things being this way, she carried a wanting desire somewhere in her heart for him that he’d never even consciously approached. But it wasn’t the story that continually frightened him; it was her voice. How her voice quivered as she spoke, how she must have been fighting so hard to keep herself from crying.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like that. It was supposed to be passionate, or romantic, or something. Something else. But we were supposed to do that because you loved me. That was my own stupid idea… if we ever did something, that would be why.”
He’d never considered, he’d never intended, never thought he even carried any desire for her. Ed never even entertained the thought that she might have wanted him that way. She could have screamed at him, she could have slapped him, she could have knocked him senseless, she could have told him how mad she was, that she felt violated… any of that would have not have hurt like the feeling in his chest did as her face buried in his shirt, listening to the sadness in her voice, crying because of what they’d done had ruined a secret little bit of foolish happiness.
“And I’m supposed to fall asleep in your arms when we’re done.”
He’d tried so hard to keep her aspirations and her dreams from fading away, he’d been on this side to know how it felt to loose something you wished for time and time again. But, by his own actions, he’d done something far worse with a moment far too important.
There was nothing he could say, and it was cruel that he was the one who would console her. His arms wrapped around her in silence, letting her cry. ‘Sorry’ was a pathetic, useless word that he couldn’t bring himself to say. The soft touch of a good left hand rubbed her back, the hand he wished could convey a feeling held her head against his chest, under his chin. Slumped in the corner of the living room couch, in the interrupted silence of a midweek afternoon, Edward could only hold Winry until she was able to find the strength to gather herself again.
And she hated crying, she'd grow so frustrated with it. Winry saw herself a strong girl, stronger than to do the life time of crying she’d experienced while in Germany. It was always Ed who saw her cry, the one who was either there to make her cry, scowl at her for crying, or console her while she cried. She’d had enough of his involvement with her tears, especially today.
“I need to go back to bed, I’m tired. I haven’t slept.”
Edward would never have been able to live with himself if he’d let her go. It would have been just as good as hearing him say how little he cares about all the things important to her; something that was just not the case.
She tried to get up only once, to find Ed’s hold on her was far stronger than her desire to escape him was.
“It’s okay.”
Her head slowly fell back against his chest again, bothered by the wavering tone in his voice.
“We can stay here.”
It was not just the faint hurt in his voice that made her surrender, but remorse that had embedded itself within. Even if life wasn’t as she’d wanted, she’d hoped that the remorse was for her tears and not for how it had felt to be with her that night. She was glad they’d had a moment, but so wished they could have been together differently; something more memorable, more meaningful. A sinful little wish wanted him to have enjoyed her.
“You can go upstairs later.”
In a world of no dreams at all, she’d had a wistful little dream ‘come true’ with a different setting, different mood, different atmosphere, different beginning and different ending than the one she’d invisioned for herself.
Maybe she was so disappointed because she was tired, but shouldn’t she be allowed to want things like that to be just a little more…
Winry’s ears perked, something drawing her from the sleep she’d found. A door had shut. Winry lifted her head, tired eyes still assaulted from a lingering headache cracked open.
“I’m sorry, go back to sleep.”
It was a quiet and gentle voice, and it took her a minute to identify the familiar voice of so many months.
“What time is it?” unable to see him, Winry spoke into the room hoping Hohenheim would pick up the weak request.
“It doesn’t matter, go back to sleep.”
She didn’t have the strength to argue, she simply returned her head to where it had laid and back into the sensation and sound that had carried her through her sleep.
Just awake enough to realize it, Winry opened her eyes again, this time actually looking into her surroundings. Still in the living room now cast into the dull evening light, curled up in the corner of the couch; still in Ed’s lap, still resting against his chest, still wrapped up in his arms.
“Did you enjoy your party?”
Picking her head up for a moment, in the weak light she looked into the soundly sleeping expression Ed carried on his face, his head dropped back and to the side against the soft seat; dead to the world but alive in her mind.
“I did…”
Yet again, the story she’d dreamt up about the first time she’d have sex with Ed was entirely different…
“Are you still enjoying your party?”
Something in Hohenheim’s voice existed so casually, not accusing her of anything, not implying his son of anything either. She put her head back down into the warm spot that felt so comfortable.
“I think so.”
… In the story, she’d always fall asleep in his arms, but he’d never be there when she’d wake up. That was the Edward Elric she'd known while growing up. There were several versions of the morning after, but he was never laying next to her. The one where he’d be making her breakfast, or he’d have been getting dressed and apologized for waking her, or the one that seemed to happen the most: he’d vanish. Go off and leave her behind, promising to come back someday. He’d always do that in the dream because he’d always done that in reality, for some reason her mind couldn’t change that about him - he’d tell her he didn’t want to see her get hurt, that’s how he protected her. He’d make her feel special that he wanted to look out for her, but it still left her alone, left her behind, left her out from everything that was important. But at least the dream left her with a blissful memory of him, something he always went away without doing.
With her head against his chest, she could still hear his heartbeat, she could still feel him breathe, feel his warmth and feel his arms bearing the deepest apology wrapped around her. Winry’d woken from the only part of a foolish daydream that had remotely resembled what she thought she’d wanted. She stepped into the ending of a broken story they’d accidentally written; like so many of the other parts, it turned out far differently…
He still held her in his arms.
She was no longer someone he’d leave behind.
This version was better.
- FIN
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The first two parts are here
Part Title: "A Secret Dream" (3 of 3)
Fandom: FMA
Pairing: Ed/Win
Word Count: 4,126
Rating: NC-17 (I mean it this time!)
Beta: Me and you
Written for: gundamnook and her bunny farm ~_~.
Notes: The giggle!bunny hit me for the first one, this one met the wandering angst!bunny. This is a ficticious idea based off my ficticious fanfic, set in March 1922 like the others. Winry's 17 and Ed's 22. This is "The Morning After". Again, it's probably OOC all over the place, blah blah blah, written for that little bubble of misery inside us all... and Winry needs a hug.
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He did not care how badly his room smelt like some pungent mix of wine and vodka; Edward shut the window. Each flutter of the curtains let just enough light in to rage through his eyelids and make the headache worse. He wanted to put his face down under the covers, but couldn’t find a spot on the pillow or mattress where the weight of his own head didn’t aggravate the headache.
Hohenheim had meant well, coming in to check on him when he’d come home during the lunch hour break, but now he could not get back to sleep. He wished he could sleep, he wanted to forget - nothing happened in his sleep, it could be done so easily. A few moments of freedom from a faint, yet horrible recollection he tried to ignore and forget.
His father had asked how the party had been, what had gone on, and what Winry had drank; apparently she’d been up sick for quite some time. Searching his mind for what he could compile of the night through the pounding headache, he stumbled upon a horrid sequence of events. His father was dismissed from his presence before he could question why his son turned as white as his sheets.
Lying on his back, his hand slowly came over his mouth. He could concentrate his mind on it, and piece together partial memories with misunderstood sensations. It was a taste in his mouth: the aftertaste that lingered from his tongue vying for supremacy behind Winry’s lips.
His heartbeat raced, his mind had captured the most damming of sensations. The memory of such an incredible feeling was something he couldn’t get over. He wanted to forget, to deny, to reject it… but it existed, and he followed it, in total disbelief that the memory he replayed was his own. He felt so disassociated with the moments it was like watching himself through the eyes of another. How could he even have forgotten this, it was so poignant and vivid the more he thought about it: the touch of her lips, smoothness of her skin, warmth of her mouth, the moan of her voice, softness of her breasts, the heat inside her body. It was the first and most vivid memory Ed had of the night ending escapade, frightening and secretly exciting him once accepting he was remembering having sex with Winry.
At first, he could not recall how long he’d been inside her, his tired memory was fuzzy; Edward simply remembered the sensation that had grown between his legs as he thrust into her, feeling the incredible feeling rise as he drew towards it. The world around him was a blur of sound and colour, there was simply a few correctly placed feelings that grew more intense and more alive. Lost in the myriad, it finally peaked; a strange strangling of pleasure that over took his body with a white, numbing chill of ecstasy. The orgasm had left him exhausted, barely able to gather himself. He thought he’d nearly passed out from the experience, already toiling with that prospect after having so much to drink; that’s why they’d stopped.
He could still feel the escape of his voice reverberating in his chest when he moaned out in desperation at a climax he’d never anticipated and never knew he could experience. The last thing he wished his body would tell him was how good he’d felt the entire time, he couldn’t help that feeling though.
Ed ran the moment again… and again; his hand over his mouth in horror, wide eyes seeing nothing but Winry’s wanting expression as he moved within her body.
What had he done with her…
Jaw quivering, his mouth remembering what it felt like to have her lips, trace her neck, and suckle on her breasts. Again, he was thrusting into her, Winry’s gasping voice catching, stuttering and moaning for more as he moved.
Flying around the riveting recollection was the firm realization he had to stop this cascade of memories. It played games with his body…
Never in his wildest dreams… why did this have to happen now?
He lay in bed; silent and uncertain as he dug into his mind for more of the evening.
There were her fingers, dancing around his bare stomach as she unbuckled his belt, unhooked the button and slid the zipper of his pants down. His own hands had helped slide his pants and shorts off his hips, her hand suddenly touching the flesh between his legs. With the rushing sensation at his crotch, Winry stroked him harder, giggling lightly in amusement as he had transitioned from withering at the touch of her fingers to thrusting into her hand. She continued to urge him on playfully.
He could remember how he’d desperately pulled her underwear off some time beforehand. A gentle left hand had slid into her hair, his lips danced at her cheek; he lowered his body unto hers, feeling her shiver once he’d slipped himself momentarily beyond the warm, protective flesh between her legs. Ed’s hands ran down her sides; one hand, then the other, soon coming to caress the insides of her thighs. He could hear her whine in frustration, desperately wanting for him to progress as he pushed her legs wide. Right then, there was no doubt in his mind what he was going to do. His hand came up, sweeping her bangs from a sweat ridden forehead; she murmured his name and he kissed her once again. Edward’s lips barely silenced her as he pushed his way into her unannounced. Gasping at the foreign sensation, he could feel her body clench relentlessly around him; her moist heat slowly sliding along his shaft as he released himself into her. He could hear her breathing gasp desperately in his ear, quivering in shock at the invasion; quickly leaving her unresponsive from a pain she hadn’t even considered, it had overtaken the numbing effect of the alcohol. The warnings in his mind did not tell him to pull back, but rather slow down and be gentle. The bizarre instinct stopped his advance momentarily, following the unspoken advice as he rested against her; his hand came up, wiping the corner of her closed eye, giving Winry’s body time to get use to how it felt to have him inside of her.
Edward stood at his bedroom door, his forehead resting against the wood as he breathed heavily. His tired eyes looked down to the hardwood flooring, to his socks, his feet… he cursed. The fingers of his left hand twitched, he just wanted a shower. It may have been his house and his father was not home, but he was too embarrassed to even grab the handle. His right metal fist slammed into the door above his head, fuelled by raging frustration of his behaviour and a pounding headache.
With every thought it came up: he was going to have to talk to Winry eventually… he just didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to step out and see her, not knowing what to say. ‘Hi’ didn’t exactly cut it.
Finally powering out the bedroom door, Ed made quick haste to the washroom. He’d take a shower; a long shower. Sometime during the course of those planned actions, he’d entertain ideas on how to even look at Winry again.
The best laid strategies in the German world always existed with flaws. Ed stopped after only taking a step through the washroom door, not yet near the shower. He turned slowly, the growing concern in the pit of his stomach worsening as he looked into the corner of the room. Self-pitiful concern became secondary.
“Winry?”
Curled up in the corner of the room, Winry sat, feet tucked up under her nightgown, her face buried into the corner, clinging to the towels bundled in her arms for some sense of comfort. There was something frightening about seeing her like that.
“Winry?”
She wasn’t answering him. He would have thoguht she was dead, except for how her body moved as she breathed. Kneeling down on the linoleum next to her, Ed brushed away the mangled hair from her face; her eyes lay shut, her expression momentarily stress free. His hand softly touched her cheek, she’d been drained of all her colour. Carefully, he put a hand at her shoulder and slipped the other behind her legs, he’d have picked her up if her eyes had not flickered and she'd suddenly moved.
“Sorry, I just wanted to move you, that can’t be comfortable.”
The disoriented look in her eyes could not have been more apparent as she looked off into the distance, glazed over from the sleep she’d woken from.
Sliding his hands around her waist, Ed pulled the half conscious girl to her feet, “Come on, we’ll get you to your bed.”
“No…” she moaned, “I can’t lay down, I’ll get sick again, I need to sit.”
Ed bit his tongue, sorely tempted to tell her that this is what he’d been warned happens to people who mix their alcohol… to people who drink everything that anyone bought for them, and then some. He’d warned her of this at the start.
“I’m never doing that again…” she moaned, rolling her head around on her shoulders as Ed led her downstairs, “why aren’t you sick?”
“Oh trust me, I’m not feeling too good,” Ed’s tone was flat as he answered, taking her down the hall. The curtains were still pulled in there and he was struggling enough as it was to focus on anything.
“You sure didn’t come visit me in the bathroom…” her body trembling with soreness and exhaustion, Ed had to sit down with her on the couch so she could make it without collapsing, “and you drank more than me. I don’t get it.”
Shaking his head, Ed could only shrug, somewhat surprised as Winry crawled onto his lap like a child clinging to someone, needing the world to become a better place for them in their discomfort.
The frightening thought that had daunted him after leaving his room was pushed to the side, “Do you want some water?”
Winry wondered if her face had turned green at the thought, putting her forehead against his shoulder, “No, it’ll come back up, I just want to go to sleep.”
The one thing Ed could not empathize with was how physically sick she was; his hangovers included blinding headaches, exhaustion and general misery. He rubbed her back as she buried her face in his shoulder, murmuring her complaints to simply get them off her frustrated and sleep deprived mind. Once in a while he’d laugh at the ludicrous things she complained about, like she was complaining simply to keep the sound of her voice alive, until finally quiet overtook the mid-day darkness of the curtain drawn room.
“That feels nice.”
“What does?” Ed paused, the idea of the night before not entirely gone and he’d hoped her comment had nothing to do with that.
“My back…”
Shaking his head in spite of himself, Ed gave a light laugh at the comment, “Sorry I can’t do much else. I thought it might make you feel better.”
“You always rub my back when you think I’m miserable.”
“… If you don't like it, I can stop?”
“No don’t,” Winry curled up a bit, “it's kind of sweet how you picked that up from him.”
Ed paused in confusion, “What are you talking about?”
“Your dad,” Winry’s voice giggled, “after the Christmas party your dad sat on the couch and rubbed your back for a while after you’d passed out.”
“Okay, for the 100th time, I didn’t pass out from the alcohol, I passed out because I was tired, I had the flu,” Ed’s face wrinkled in defence, remembering the wretched cold he’d carried from Christmas into New Years.
“I know, I know, but I asked him if he wasn’t worried that you’d jump up and bite him or something,” Winry continued to giggle as Ed snorted, “he said no, he said that he’d rubbed your back since you were a baby and it always helped you relax and sleep so he wasn't worried about you waking up. He said that your mom use to tease him for being a sucker. Your dad said you’d put up this cranky fuss before bed just so he’d rub your back while you fell asleep.”
Ed glanced away, hoping he hadn’t developed a shade of red in his cheeks, “I did not do that.”
“Sure you didn’t.”
With an obvious sound of displeasure grumbling in his throat, Ed found himself a new topic, “How long have you been up?”
He could have done better than returning to a subject Winry did not want to think about.
“Since three or four in the morning…” Winry’s head burrowed into his shoulder, a definite tone of anger running in her voice, “I’ve brought back up everything and then some. Now all I do is throw up nothing.”
Ed’s hand continued to run softly over her back.
“My head hurts, and my stomach is so sore, I’ve probably pulled all my muscles, I can barely straighten up anymore, my back is tired and I just want to sleep and forget this is happening.”
There were a lot of things that could be labelled as forget-worthy. Ed could only rest at the end of the couch silently, wondering if he would ever find the right time to… ask anything about it. Up until then, they’d acted as though nothing had happened. What Winry needed right now was the comfort of someone’s company; she was sick, she was miserable, she was harbouring the same thoughts he was, he knew it, and he’d do his best to distract her from it. But even as they sat in silence, he could feel her boil; her mood swinging wildly from exhaustion and very little sleep. He could even feel the change by how she breathed.
“And it feels weird.”
Her tone was sharp and bitter; Ed found it startling. She sounded almost mad at him, though he didn’t have to ask what she was referring to.
“It’s kinda sore…” Winry’s nose wrinkled, focusing a stern displeasure into her voice as she spoke, “I think I pulled something. I have all these sore muscles where I never had sore muscles before, I can feel them when I stand up or sit down. Sometimes when I move it feels like all the muscles in my lower body hurt from being in that position.”
It was just… a little disappointing. There was so much missing from what she was talking about. Ed didn’t respond to anything she’d spouted off with for quite some time; her angry, bitter tone holding him at bay. Her voice grew quiet again, he was certain that she was not pleased that the only person who could offer her comfort would be the person she’d created the situation with.
He hadn't anticipated this, the entire time he'd thought when they'd come to talk about it, it would embarassing and awkward; that's why he didn't want to confront her. But this was anything but that, she'd been blunt with him, direct and obviously upset.
Ed continued to sit with her in silence, he wondered if she waited for him to say anything. He wasn’t sure how to respond, but since he’d thought about saying it often enough, he figured it was a decent place to being.
“I’m sorry Winry.”
She left his simply beginings of an apology alone for quite some time. Her response was hesitant, finally her voice just bit back, frustrated by a thought she toyed with, “Shut up, whatever, it doesn't matter.”
For only the few moments before she spoke again, it would be Edward who carried the disappointment she harboured inside.
“It wasn’t even supposed to have happened that way.”
The phrasing silenced him. The implication that she’d had the idea beforehand slapped him across the face. The frightening potential made his heart suddenly race with nerves as he sat silently, watching her cast away expression.
Winry sat in silence, pale from how sick she still felt, her eyes heavy, expression tired; a thread of exhausted disappointment carried in her gaze as she looked into her lap. It hurt to lose such a lovely little secret like that. She could never get that back again.
“We were supposed to be in your bed, not some room in the noisy bar.”
Ed paled in horror, a colour far worse than hers. She’d actually thought about doing that with him before… she’d thought about it… she had a scenario…. How long had she been thinking these things? She had been looking at him and seeing something totally different than what he thought. The idea he'd misread her so badly frightened him, even though they’d already done the deed.
“And we have sex not because we’re both we're so stupidly drunk and it’s something to do, but because you love me and you really want to do that with me. You’re supposed to tell me how much you want me and things would be special.”
He couldn’t find any words to interject with. The story was horrifying, more so because it was in hindsight. She thought of him this way, she dreamed of things being this way, she carried a wanting desire somewhere in her heart for him that he’d never even consciously approached. But it wasn’t the story that continually frightened him; it was her voice. How her voice quivered as she spoke, how she must have been fighting so hard to keep herself from crying.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like that. It was supposed to be passionate, or romantic, or something. Something else. But we were supposed to do that because you loved me. That was my own stupid idea… if we ever did something, that would be why.”
He’d never considered, he’d never intended, never thought he even carried any desire for her. Ed never even entertained the thought that she might have wanted him that way. She could have screamed at him, she could have slapped him, she could have knocked him senseless, she could have told him how mad she was, that she felt violated… any of that would have not have hurt like the feeling in his chest did as her face buried in his shirt, listening to the sadness in her voice, crying because of what they’d done had ruined a secret little bit of foolish happiness.
“And I’m supposed to fall asleep in your arms when we’re done.”
He’d tried so hard to keep her aspirations and her dreams from fading away, he’d been on this side to know how it felt to loose something you wished for time and time again. But, by his own actions, he’d done something far worse with a moment far too important.
There was nothing he could say, and it was cruel that he was the one who would console her. His arms wrapped around her in silence, letting her cry. ‘Sorry’ was a pathetic, useless word that he couldn’t bring himself to say. The soft touch of a good left hand rubbed her back, the hand he wished could convey a feeling held her head against his chest, under his chin. Slumped in the corner of the living room couch, in the interrupted silence of a midweek afternoon, Edward could only hold Winry until she was able to find the strength to gather herself again.
And she hated crying, she'd grow so frustrated with it. Winry saw herself a strong girl, stronger than to do the life time of crying she’d experienced while in Germany. It was always Ed who saw her cry, the one who was either there to make her cry, scowl at her for crying, or console her while she cried. She’d had enough of his involvement with her tears, especially today.
“I need to go back to bed, I’m tired. I haven’t slept.”
Edward would never have been able to live with himself if he’d let her go. It would have been just as good as hearing him say how little he cares about all the things important to her; something that was just not the case.
She tried to get up only once, to find Ed’s hold on her was far stronger than her desire to escape him was.
“It’s okay.”
Her head slowly fell back against his chest again, bothered by the wavering tone in his voice.
“We can stay here.”
It was not just the faint hurt in his voice that made her surrender, but remorse that had embedded itself within. Even if life wasn’t as she’d wanted, she’d hoped that the remorse was for her tears and not for how it had felt to be with her that night. She was glad they’d had a moment, but so wished they could have been together differently; something more memorable, more meaningful. A sinful little wish wanted him to have enjoyed her.
“You can go upstairs later.”
In a world of no dreams at all, she’d had a wistful little dream ‘come true’ with a different setting, different mood, different atmosphere, different beginning and different ending than the one she’d invisioned for herself.
Maybe she was so disappointed because she was tired, but shouldn’t she be allowed to want things like that to be just a little more…
Winry’s ears perked, something drawing her from the sleep she’d found. A door had shut. Winry lifted her head, tired eyes still assaulted from a lingering headache cracked open.
“I’m sorry, go back to sleep.”
It was a quiet and gentle voice, and it took her a minute to identify the familiar voice of so many months.
“What time is it?” unable to see him, Winry spoke into the room hoping Hohenheim would pick up the weak request.
“It doesn’t matter, go back to sleep.”
She didn’t have the strength to argue, she simply returned her head to where it had laid and back into the sensation and sound that had carried her through her sleep.
Just awake enough to realize it, Winry opened her eyes again, this time actually looking into her surroundings. Still in the living room now cast into the dull evening light, curled up in the corner of the couch; still in Ed’s lap, still resting against his chest, still wrapped up in his arms.
“Did you enjoy your party?”
Picking her head up for a moment, in the weak light she looked into the soundly sleeping expression Ed carried on his face, his head dropped back and to the side against the soft seat; dead to the world but alive in her mind.
“I did…”
Yet again, the story she’d dreamt up about the first time she’d have sex with Ed was entirely different…
“Are you still enjoying your party?”
Something in Hohenheim’s voice existed so casually, not accusing her of anything, not implying his son of anything either. She put her head back down into the warm spot that felt so comfortable.
“I think so.”
… In the story, she’d always fall asleep in his arms, but he’d never be there when she’d wake up. That was the Edward Elric she'd known while growing up. There were several versions of the morning after, but he was never laying next to her. The one where he’d be making her breakfast, or he’d have been getting dressed and apologized for waking her, or the one that seemed to happen the most: he’d vanish. Go off and leave her behind, promising to come back someday. He’d always do that in the dream because he’d always done that in reality, for some reason her mind couldn’t change that about him - he’d tell her he didn’t want to see her get hurt, that’s how he protected her. He’d make her feel special that he wanted to look out for her, but it still left her alone, left her behind, left her out from everything that was important. But at least the dream left her with a blissful memory of him, something he always went away without doing.
With her head against his chest, she could still hear his heartbeat, she could still feel him breathe, feel his warmth and feel his arms bearing the deepest apology wrapped around her. Winry’d woken from the only part of a foolish daydream that had remotely resembled what she thought she’d wanted. She stepped into the ending of a broken story they’d accidentally written; like so many of the other parts, it turned out far differently…
He still held her in his arms.
She was no longer someone he’d leave behind.
This version was better.
- FIN
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