FMA fic: "Devotion" 4/?
Devotion
S J Smith
Summary: The cold stone seemed to freeze all the feeling in her fingertips but she couldn't stop herself from tracing the letters.
Disclaimer: I am not Hiromu Arakawa. I just play her on TV.
Rating: Adult.
Pairings: Past Winry/Al, mentions of Ed/OC.
A.N.: Futurefic. Mangaverse. Everything up to at least chapter 76 is fair game. Spoilers may be included. Thanks to lyrangalia for her love of this story and cornerofmadness for her edits and suggestions.
* * *
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
* * *
Edward closed the door to the bathroom quietly, his head landing against it with a thump. Alcohol aside, his drunk was fading almost as quickly as frost on a sunny morning, leaving him feeling cold and worn. The reflection in the mirror (that I repaired, good job, Eddie-boy) showed him things he didn’t want to see, didn’t even want to contemplate but Edward forced himself to take stock as he undressed. Long hair, windblown, tangled, a little sticky-feeling at the temples; dark circles under eyes that seemed more red than amber these days. Skin pale as the snow in Briggs but Edward could spot, as he pulled off first his tan jacket then the darker vest, discolorations of his flesh. Bruises and scars marked his body as he divested himself of his shirt and stepped out of his trousers and underclothes. Edward stared sullenly at his image, metal fingers tracing the scar that crossed the right side of his chest; a stellate hole that punched through his lower left side; a slice that came just below his ribs, where a suit of armor that had been two brothers attacked to kill. There were others, the ribbon of rose around his upper left thigh, banding his leg just above the wrap of silver; various, lesser marks - a dent in his skull, mostly hidden by his bangs unless the wind caught them just right; a crescent that curled around the heel of his left hand; a puckered line that made a lazy ‘s’ down his right calf.
He suddenly understood why Winry had punched the mirror. Edward felt the desire to smash his reflection, too, but restrained himself. It didn’t matter, he thought, shoving the anger beneath the apathy that had come to rule his life. He raised his hands, staring at them blankly for a few seconds, then shook his head hard, scattering what few thoughts lingered. There hadn’t been enough alcohol tonight to consume his memories.
Starting the water in the shower, Edward tested the temperature with his left hand. The heat registered a split second later. With a shudder, Edward stepped into the shower. The water stung, like needles pricking his skin, and he gritted his teeth until his body adjusted to the sensation. Like the refrain of a song, the thought, ‘Al can’t feel this,’ ran through his head. Edward jerked at the memory, at the mantra he’d kept with him since his brother was a suit of armor powered somehow by a boy’s soul. Somehow managing to keep from pounding the tiled wall, Edward slowly slid down it instead, hunching in the corner of the tub as the water rained down on him.
* * *
It wasn’t until after Winry closed the door on the young man sent up to deliver her coffee and robe that she realized how long Edward had been in the shower. Winry knocked sharply, robe in hand, and, when she didn’t receive an answer, twisted the knob to open the door. Steam billowed out in a rush, nearly blinding her with its moist heat and she made a face, waving it away. “Ed? I’ve got your robe.”
His answer came in a funny little sound, making Winry frown. She took a step inside the bathroom, concerned when she didn’t see Edward’s shadow through the shower curtain. “Ed?” Hoping he hadn’t fallen, she pulled the curtain enough to peek inside, spotting Edward huddled up against the back wall of the bath. Her breath snarled in her throat, feeling like it got caught on barbed wire and stuck there, and Winry swallowed reflexively. “Ed?” His name came out as a squeak, the sound of it making him flinch. Winry wondered if he even remembered why he came into the bathroom in the first place.
Leaning the other direction, she turned off the shower and plugged the drain, letting the tub fill with water. Winry shoved the curtain out of the way, taking towels down and setting one on the floor. Opening her travel kit, she found her shampoo and knelt down on the towel next to the tub. “Ed,” she said quietly, pitching her voice just to be heard over the rush of the water, “Ed, turn around, okay? Let me wash your hair.”
He moved obediently, limbs unfurling in a jerky, hesitant manner, his head still bowed. Winry caught herself from gasping. New scars mapped his body, ones she didn’t remember, and bruises and scrapes told her more than she wanted to know about what Edward had been doing since the last time she’d seen him. Winry tried hard not to think about the scabs running in parallel streaks down Edward’s back or who might’ve left them there. Those were minor compared to bruise that bloomed along his ribcage under his left arm and the scrape that rouged the lower right side of his back. His automail, her handcrafted pieces, had dings in the plating and a warped place on the left leg, just above the knee joint, that let Winry know Edward had used alchemy to repair it.
She poured some of the shampoo into her hands, rubbing it between her palms to start the lather and warm it some, and began working it into Edward’s hair. As her fingers rubbed his scalp, Winry could feel the tension bleeding out of him. A low moan escaped him and his shoulders slumped as he turned his head into the massage. Winry was reminded of Den and she couldn’t help a wry smile at the comparison. After rinsing his hair, she grabbed a washcloth, soaping it up. She scrubbed carefully around the bruises and scrapes, leaning in close to see if the scabs on Ed’s back were infected. Rounding his spine, Edward sighed, and Winry tried not to think about when he might’ve last been offered any type of physical comfort. Swallowing hard, she shoved back the memories of the last time she’d touched Edward, when he’d told her of Al’s death, though it seemed as if her hands still stung.
“Lean back, Ed,” Winry managed to say past the lump in her throat. “Let me wash your chest.”
“You don’t have to,” Edward mumbled, even as he settled back against the tub wall. He tugged at the cloth in her hand. “I’m okay, Winry.”
She bit her lip, not wanting to blurt out the contradiction that begged to be said. Winry reminded herself that she didn’t know this Edward. Letting him have the wash cloth, Winry pressed her hands on the rim of the tub, about to stand up but Edward put his hand on top of hers. “Don’t,” he said, and Winry wondered at the pleading note in that one word. She sank back down beside the tub as Edward took his hand away, twisting the washcloth. “I,” he took a deep breath, his head lowering, wet hair shielding his face from her sight, “I’m sorry.”
Edward apologizing was not something Winry expected though she didn’t know what he was sorry for - Al’s death? What had happened this evening? Shaking her head, Winry murmured that it was okay, even though she wasn’t sure what she was absolving Edward of. Still, she could tell he was softening, becoming the boy she once knew instead of the automaton she’d found in the cemetery. “Ed,” Winry ventured, laying a hand on left his shoulder, rubbing it slowly, then letting her fingers drift to the edges of the bruise under his arm, “what are you doing?”
There was a long pause before Edward said, with a faint hint of his past slippery humor, “Taking a bath?”
Winry just managed to keep from screaming at him. Instead, her hand moved over his skin, hesitating on a newer scar, one that glowed angry rose, with the skin bunched up under it. “Trying to kill yourself?”
Edward stiffened, his body turning to stone under her hand. “It’s not any of your business, Winry,” he said tightly.
She curled her lip but kept her hand on that ridge of flesh. “It is, too,” she insisted. “It is when you’re sitting in the bathtub of my hotel room, when you’ve embarrassed me in front of the hotel staff, when you’ve done such a stupid thing, Edward.” Winry fingered that scar like she was blind and it was her only contact to the outside world.
“It doesn’t matter.” Edward tossed his wet hair back, giving her a glimpse of hollow eyes that were rapidly filling with anger. Good. An emotion well suited to him, one that she understood rather than this placid desperation.
“It does matter,” Winry said in a hiss. “Do you think Al would want you to follow him to the grave?”
Edward reared back hard at that, the back of his skull rapping off the tile wall behind him. Fury ignited him, shoved him partway out of the tub, so he loomed over her, a patchwork man of scars and bruises and silver steel and gold, and Winry glared up into the face of his rage when he reached down, grabbing her shoulders and giving her a shake. “Shut up!” he snarled, “you don’t understand.”
“Don’t I?” Winry shoved her left hand up into his face, making the gem on her finger wink in Edward’s eyes. “Don’t I know what it’s like to want to die because he’s gone?” She dropped her hand, looking away. “Of course I know what it feels like, Ed,” Winry said tiredly, more bitterly than she wanted to, “I wanted to lie down and die, too, but I knew he wouldn’t want that.” Dashing her hair out of her face, Winry raised her chin deliberately, facing Edward’s anger. “And he wouldn’t want you actively chasing death, either.”
“I’m not,” Edward grated out. “And you still don’t know anything about it.” Throwing down the washcloth, he stepped out of the tub, grabbing a towel and rubbing his hair roughly, completely ignoring her.
Winry stood, her legs feeling like they’d dump her for kneeling on them so long but she managed to stay upright. “Ed, you don’t have to say a word.” She let out a little sigh, indicating his body with a gesture. “That talks for you. You’re underweight and you haven’t been back for any maintenance in…well, a long time.” Winry said quietly, “You’re drinking. You never drank before.” She touched his back, her fingers resting lightly against the series of scabs that scraped parallel to his spine. “You’re letting someone hurt you. Ed,” Winry took her hand away, “you’re hurting yourself deliberately. I know what that looks like.”
He glanced at her from under the towel, a flash of a golden eye that vanished beneath messy hair. “Just let it go, Winry.” The rumble in his voice sounded more resigned than angry at this point.
Clasping her hands together, Winry murmured, “I can’t, Ed.” She looked at him through her bangs. “Isn’t it enough, that we both lost our parents and Al?” She hit a plaintive note. “I don’t want to lose you, too.”
Startled, Edward looked at her, actually looked at her, his eyebrows reaching up into his tangled bangs, hands stilled from moving, the rumpled towel dangling in his grasp. “Winry.” His throat moved and he turned away, rubbing the towel over his chest and whatever he might’ve said was lost in the frantic motions of his scrubbing.
“You made me a promise, Ed.” Winry waited until he’d dropped the towel to his midsection to poke him in the arm. “You promised me.”
The sudden silence of the room made it easy for her to hear Edward grinding his teeth together. “I break promises, Winry. I break them and I lie and I’m not,” he whirled on her, snarling, “not the boy you knew, all right? I’m nothing you should concern yourself with. Nothing, do you hear me?” He pushed past her, going out of the bathroom door and Winry thought for a hysterical second that he would run out into the hall, with just a towel on. Casting around, his ire rose again. “Where are my clothes?”
“I sent them down to be washed.” Winry followed him through the door, leaning against the frame. “They were filthy. Like you.” She reached out, grabbing his arm, holding onto the automail wrist. “Ed,” she held tight when he tried to twist free, “Edward. It’s not your fault.” Winry remembered her words of previous times, when she’d blamed him. She hoped she could make Edward understand that she’d said them out of her own misery, not because she believed them. “Ed, please. Listen to me.”
He strained against her grip, leaning toward the door, then abruptly gave up, his chin landing on his chest as he heaved out a sigh. Winry knew she’d have scant little time to get her point across; she could feel the vibration that told her Edward was humoring her but would cut and run at the very first opportunity. She kept from rolling her eyes only by sheer force of will, stepping closer to Edward, giving his arm a little shake. “What happened to Al,” her voice snared and tangled and Winry had to swallow before she could go on, “what happened to Al was an accident, Ed. You have to understand that. You aren’t to blame for it, no matter what I said before. I was angry and hurt and I needed to take it out on someone. You were there. I’m sorry, Ed. I shouldn’t have said the things I did.” She slid her left hand down his arm, molding it around Edward’s fist. “I made you my whipping boy. It was wrong, Ed. I want to apologize to you.”
Edward let out a low, whistling sigh. “Don’t, Winry.” He sounded so tired.
“You need to hear this, Edward.” Winry reached across his chest, taking hold of his opposite shoulder and pulling him around to face her. He tried to avoid her gaze but she pressed in close to him, getting into his face, knowing that he couldn’t avoid her that way, despite how he tried to lean out of her range. “I’m sorry for yelling at you, Ed. I’m sorry for hitting you.”
“Winry,” Edward shuffled but Winry moved right along with him, pressing him into a wall when he tried to back away.
“I’m a fool, Ed.” Winry released his hand to wrap her arms around his waist, feeling Edward stiffen at the embrace. “I’m a fool and I want you to forgive me.” She rubbed her cheek against his chest, inhaling deeply, imprinting, once more, the familiar scent of steel and Ed onto her senses.
He sighed again, getting out, “There’s nothing to forgive, Winry. You were…” Edward shook his head, his hands coming up to her shoulders, trying to push her back without much success. “Winry…I…please. This isn’t right.” Winry growled a little in response. “Not…not that! Winry, I’m naked.”
“I’ve seen you naked before,” Winry grumbled but let him go.
Edward stepped jerkily past her, grabbing the bathrobe and pulling it on, keeping his back to her. “I’m not eleven anymore, Winry.”
“No,” she said, the comment, ‘but you still do stupid things’ dying unsaid in her mouth. Watching as he tied the robe closed, Winry leaned against the door, making sure Edward was unable to leave. He ignored her to pour himself some coffee, sipping at it judiciously this time. “You look tired. Why don’t you lie down and sleep for a while?”
Mouth twitching, Edward set down the cup. “You’re not my mom, Winry.”
She raised an eyebrow. “For which I’m eternally thankful. You’d have given me grey hairs and wrinkles.”
The sneer was pure Edward Elric, as eloquent as his long ago rants about being referred to as short never were. He let that speak for him, his gaze now steady. He almost seemed easy around her again, as easy as he could be, and Winry wondered how much of that was influenced by residual effects of alcohol and how much by her touching him earlier. Whatever the reason, Winry felt a sudden lightening of her spirits and she pushed off the door, coming to join him in the main part of the room. She couldn’t help but smile, pointing at the sofa. “Go lie down.” Clasping her hands together like a little girl, Winry added, “I’ll give you one of my pillows and a blanket. It’ll be like when we used to have sleepovers when we were kids.”
Letting out a sigh, Edward glanced away. He toyed with the handle of the coffee cup, finally saying in a low voice, “Someone’s waiting for me, Winry. I should probably go.”
“Wearing just a bathrobe?” Winry couldn’t help blurting it out, earning another scowl for her words.
Pressing his palms together, Edward then touched the robe, transmuting it into a shirt and pair of pants. He opened his hands, challenging Winry with his eyes.
She folded her arms. “You’d freeze before you got ten steps out of the hotel, Ed. There’s an ice storm out there. Call your,” her tongue seemed to freeze to the roof of her mouth for a second then she managed to say, “your friend and tell her that you’re not coming home tonight.”
Edward sighed again, leaning his palms on the top of the table. “Winry,” he said, his voice low. She could almost see him running through what he might say to her. “I’ve caused you enough trouble,” was a bit of a surprise. “I should leave.”
“You’re not going out into this storm, Ed.” Winry blocked his access to the doorway again, ignoring the eye roll. “Have you heard anything I’ve said to you?” Gentling her voice, she repeated, “Ed, I don’t want to lose you, too.”
“You’re not.” The lie hung between them like a ghost.
Winry’s response was a bitter laugh. “Right.” Stiffly, she moved past Edward to sit on the bed again. “You’re determined to kill yourself but that doesn’t translate into me losing you.”
“I’m not,” Edward hissed between his teeth then seemed to remember that there were other patrons trying to sleep and the fight drained out of him. “Think what you like, Winry, but I’m not trying to kill myself.”
“Then what is it you’re doing, Ed?” Winry tried to keep the misery out of her voice and failed. “Tell me.”
There was a long pause and finally, Edward snapped out, “I’m living the best way I can, considering that the person who meant the most to me died in my arms.”
* * *
Part Five
S J Smith
Summary: The cold stone seemed to freeze all the feeling in her fingertips but she couldn't stop herself from tracing the letters.
Disclaimer: I am not Hiromu Arakawa. I just play her on TV.
Rating: Adult.
Pairings: Past Winry/Al, mentions of Ed/OC.
A.N.: Futurefic. Mangaverse. Everything up to at least chapter 76 is fair game. Spoilers may be included. Thanks to lyrangalia for her love of this story and cornerofmadness for her edits and suggestions.
* * *
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
* * *
Edward closed the door to the bathroom quietly, his head landing against it with a thump. Alcohol aside, his drunk was fading almost as quickly as frost on a sunny morning, leaving him feeling cold and worn. The reflection in the mirror (that I repaired, good job, Eddie-boy) showed him things he didn’t want to see, didn’t even want to contemplate but Edward forced himself to take stock as he undressed. Long hair, windblown, tangled, a little sticky-feeling at the temples; dark circles under eyes that seemed more red than amber these days. Skin pale as the snow in Briggs but Edward could spot, as he pulled off first his tan jacket then the darker vest, discolorations of his flesh. Bruises and scars marked his body as he divested himself of his shirt and stepped out of his trousers and underclothes. Edward stared sullenly at his image, metal fingers tracing the scar that crossed the right side of his chest; a stellate hole that punched through his lower left side; a slice that came just below his ribs, where a suit of armor that had been two brothers attacked to kill. There were others, the ribbon of rose around his upper left thigh, banding his leg just above the wrap of silver; various, lesser marks - a dent in his skull, mostly hidden by his bangs unless the wind caught them just right; a crescent that curled around the heel of his left hand; a puckered line that made a lazy ‘s’ down his right calf.
He suddenly understood why Winry had punched the mirror. Edward felt the desire to smash his reflection, too, but restrained himself. It didn’t matter, he thought, shoving the anger beneath the apathy that had come to rule his life. He raised his hands, staring at them blankly for a few seconds, then shook his head hard, scattering what few thoughts lingered. There hadn’t been enough alcohol tonight to consume his memories.
Starting the water in the shower, Edward tested the temperature with his left hand. The heat registered a split second later. With a shudder, Edward stepped into the shower. The water stung, like needles pricking his skin, and he gritted his teeth until his body adjusted to the sensation. Like the refrain of a song, the thought, ‘Al can’t feel this,’ ran through his head. Edward jerked at the memory, at the mantra he’d kept with him since his brother was a suit of armor powered somehow by a boy’s soul. Somehow managing to keep from pounding the tiled wall, Edward slowly slid down it instead, hunching in the corner of the tub as the water rained down on him.
* * *
It wasn’t until after Winry closed the door on the young man sent up to deliver her coffee and robe that she realized how long Edward had been in the shower. Winry knocked sharply, robe in hand, and, when she didn’t receive an answer, twisted the knob to open the door. Steam billowed out in a rush, nearly blinding her with its moist heat and she made a face, waving it away. “Ed? I’ve got your robe.”
His answer came in a funny little sound, making Winry frown. She took a step inside the bathroom, concerned when she didn’t see Edward’s shadow through the shower curtain. “Ed?” Hoping he hadn’t fallen, she pulled the curtain enough to peek inside, spotting Edward huddled up against the back wall of the bath. Her breath snarled in her throat, feeling like it got caught on barbed wire and stuck there, and Winry swallowed reflexively. “Ed?” His name came out as a squeak, the sound of it making him flinch. Winry wondered if he even remembered why he came into the bathroom in the first place.
Leaning the other direction, she turned off the shower and plugged the drain, letting the tub fill with water. Winry shoved the curtain out of the way, taking towels down and setting one on the floor. Opening her travel kit, she found her shampoo and knelt down on the towel next to the tub. “Ed,” she said quietly, pitching her voice just to be heard over the rush of the water, “Ed, turn around, okay? Let me wash your hair.”
He moved obediently, limbs unfurling in a jerky, hesitant manner, his head still bowed. Winry caught herself from gasping. New scars mapped his body, ones she didn’t remember, and bruises and scrapes told her more than she wanted to know about what Edward had been doing since the last time she’d seen him. Winry tried hard not to think about the scabs running in parallel streaks down Edward’s back or who might’ve left them there. Those were minor compared to bruise that bloomed along his ribcage under his left arm and the scrape that rouged the lower right side of his back. His automail, her handcrafted pieces, had dings in the plating and a warped place on the left leg, just above the knee joint, that let Winry know Edward had used alchemy to repair it.
She poured some of the shampoo into her hands, rubbing it between her palms to start the lather and warm it some, and began working it into Edward’s hair. As her fingers rubbed his scalp, Winry could feel the tension bleeding out of him. A low moan escaped him and his shoulders slumped as he turned his head into the massage. Winry was reminded of Den and she couldn’t help a wry smile at the comparison. After rinsing his hair, she grabbed a washcloth, soaping it up. She scrubbed carefully around the bruises and scrapes, leaning in close to see if the scabs on Ed’s back were infected. Rounding his spine, Edward sighed, and Winry tried not to think about when he might’ve last been offered any type of physical comfort. Swallowing hard, she shoved back the memories of the last time she’d touched Edward, when he’d told her of Al’s death, though it seemed as if her hands still stung.
“Lean back, Ed,” Winry managed to say past the lump in her throat. “Let me wash your chest.”
“You don’t have to,” Edward mumbled, even as he settled back against the tub wall. He tugged at the cloth in her hand. “I’m okay, Winry.”
She bit her lip, not wanting to blurt out the contradiction that begged to be said. Winry reminded herself that she didn’t know this Edward. Letting him have the wash cloth, Winry pressed her hands on the rim of the tub, about to stand up but Edward put his hand on top of hers. “Don’t,” he said, and Winry wondered at the pleading note in that one word. She sank back down beside the tub as Edward took his hand away, twisting the washcloth. “I,” he took a deep breath, his head lowering, wet hair shielding his face from her sight, “I’m sorry.”
Edward apologizing was not something Winry expected though she didn’t know what he was sorry for - Al’s death? What had happened this evening? Shaking her head, Winry murmured that it was okay, even though she wasn’t sure what she was absolving Edward of. Still, she could tell he was softening, becoming the boy she once knew instead of the automaton she’d found in the cemetery. “Ed,” Winry ventured, laying a hand on left his shoulder, rubbing it slowly, then letting her fingers drift to the edges of the bruise under his arm, “what are you doing?”
There was a long pause before Edward said, with a faint hint of his past slippery humor, “Taking a bath?”
Winry just managed to keep from screaming at him. Instead, her hand moved over his skin, hesitating on a newer scar, one that glowed angry rose, with the skin bunched up under it. “Trying to kill yourself?”
Edward stiffened, his body turning to stone under her hand. “It’s not any of your business, Winry,” he said tightly.
She curled her lip but kept her hand on that ridge of flesh. “It is, too,” she insisted. “It is when you’re sitting in the bathtub of my hotel room, when you’ve embarrassed me in front of the hotel staff, when you’ve done such a stupid thing, Edward.” Winry fingered that scar like she was blind and it was her only contact to the outside world.
“It doesn’t matter.” Edward tossed his wet hair back, giving her a glimpse of hollow eyes that were rapidly filling with anger. Good. An emotion well suited to him, one that she understood rather than this placid desperation.
“It does matter,” Winry said in a hiss. “Do you think Al would want you to follow him to the grave?”
Edward reared back hard at that, the back of his skull rapping off the tile wall behind him. Fury ignited him, shoved him partway out of the tub, so he loomed over her, a patchwork man of scars and bruises and silver steel and gold, and Winry glared up into the face of his rage when he reached down, grabbing her shoulders and giving her a shake. “Shut up!” he snarled, “you don’t understand.”
“Don’t I?” Winry shoved her left hand up into his face, making the gem on her finger wink in Edward’s eyes. “Don’t I know what it’s like to want to die because he’s gone?” She dropped her hand, looking away. “Of course I know what it feels like, Ed,” Winry said tiredly, more bitterly than she wanted to, “I wanted to lie down and die, too, but I knew he wouldn’t want that.” Dashing her hair out of her face, Winry raised her chin deliberately, facing Edward’s anger. “And he wouldn’t want you actively chasing death, either.”
“I’m not,” Edward grated out. “And you still don’t know anything about it.” Throwing down the washcloth, he stepped out of the tub, grabbing a towel and rubbing his hair roughly, completely ignoring her.
Winry stood, her legs feeling like they’d dump her for kneeling on them so long but she managed to stay upright. “Ed, you don’t have to say a word.” She let out a little sigh, indicating his body with a gesture. “That talks for you. You’re underweight and you haven’t been back for any maintenance in…well, a long time.” Winry said quietly, “You’re drinking. You never drank before.” She touched his back, her fingers resting lightly against the series of scabs that scraped parallel to his spine. “You’re letting someone hurt you. Ed,” Winry took her hand away, “you’re hurting yourself deliberately. I know what that looks like.”
He glanced at her from under the towel, a flash of a golden eye that vanished beneath messy hair. “Just let it go, Winry.” The rumble in his voice sounded more resigned than angry at this point.
Clasping her hands together, Winry murmured, “I can’t, Ed.” She looked at him through her bangs. “Isn’t it enough, that we both lost our parents and Al?” She hit a plaintive note. “I don’t want to lose you, too.”
Startled, Edward looked at her, actually looked at her, his eyebrows reaching up into his tangled bangs, hands stilled from moving, the rumpled towel dangling in his grasp. “Winry.” His throat moved and he turned away, rubbing the towel over his chest and whatever he might’ve said was lost in the frantic motions of his scrubbing.
“You made me a promise, Ed.” Winry waited until he’d dropped the towel to his midsection to poke him in the arm. “You promised me.”
The sudden silence of the room made it easy for her to hear Edward grinding his teeth together. “I break promises, Winry. I break them and I lie and I’m not,” he whirled on her, snarling, “not the boy you knew, all right? I’m nothing you should concern yourself with. Nothing, do you hear me?” He pushed past her, going out of the bathroom door and Winry thought for a hysterical second that he would run out into the hall, with just a towel on. Casting around, his ire rose again. “Where are my clothes?”
“I sent them down to be washed.” Winry followed him through the door, leaning against the frame. “They were filthy. Like you.” She reached out, grabbing his arm, holding onto the automail wrist. “Ed,” she held tight when he tried to twist free, “Edward. It’s not your fault.” Winry remembered her words of previous times, when she’d blamed him. She hoped she could make Edward understand that she’d said them out of her own misery, not because she believed them. “Ed, please. Listen to me.”
He strained against her grip, leaning toward the door, then abruptly gave up, his chin landing on his chest as he heaved out a sigh. Winry knew she’d have scant little time to get her point across; she could feel the vibration that told her Edward was humoring her but would cut and run at the very first opportunity. She kept from rolling her eyes only by sheer force of will, stepping closer to Edward, giving his arm a little shake. “What happened to Al,” her voice snared and tangled and Winry had to swallow before she could go on, “what happened to Al was an accident, Ed. You have to understand that. You aren’t to blame for it, no matter what I said before. I was angry and hurt and I needed to take it out on someone. You were there. I’m sorry, Ed. I shouldn’t have said the things I did.” She slid her left hand down his arm, molding it around Edward’s fist. “I made you my whipping boy. It was wrong, Ed. I want to apologize to you.”
Edward let out a low, whistling sigh. “Don’t, Winry.” He sounded so tired.
“You need to hear this, Edward.” Winry reached across his chest, taking hold of his opposite shoulder and pulling him around to face her. He tried to avoid her gaze but she pressed in close to him, getting into his face, knowing that he couldn’t avoid her that way, despite how he tried to lean out of her range. “I’m sorry for yelling at you, Ed. I’m sorry for hitting you.”
“Winry,” Edward shuffled but Winry moved right along with him, pressing him into a wall when he tried to back away.
“I’m a fool, Ed.” Winry released his hand to wrap her arms around his waist, feeling Edward stiffen at the embrace. “I’m a fool and I want you to forgive me.” She rubbed her cheek against his chest, inhaling deeply, imprinting, once more, the familiar scent of steel and Ed onto her senses.
He sighed again, getting out, “There’s nothing to forgive, Winry. You were…” Edward shook his head, his hands coming up to her shoulders, trying to push her back without much success. “Winry…I…please. This isn’t right.” Winry growled a little in response. “Not…not that! Winry, I’m naked.”
“I’ve seen you naked before,” Winry grumbled but let him go.
Edward stepped jerkily past her, grabbing the bathrobe and pulling it on, keeping his back to her. “I’m not eleven anymore, Winry.”
“No,” she said, the comment, ‘but you still do stupid things’ dying unsaid in her mouth. Watching as he tied the robe closed, Winry leaned against the door, making sure Edward was unable to leave. He ignored her to pour himself some coffee, sipping at it judiciously this time. “You look tired. Why don’t you lie down and sleep for a while?”
Mouth twitching, Edward set down the cup. “You’re not my mom, Winry.”
She raised an eyebrow. “For which I’m eternally thankful. You’d have given me grey hairs and wrinkles.”
The sneer was pure Edward Elric, as eloquent as his long ago rants about being referred to as short never were. He let that speak for him, his gaze now steady. He almost seemed easy around her again, as easy as he could be, and Winry wondered how much of that was influenced by residual effects of alcohol and how much by her touching him earlier. Whatever the reason, Winry felt a sudden lightening of her spirits and she pushed off the door, coming to join him in the main part of the room. She couldn’t help but smile, pointing at the sofa. “Go lie down.” Clasping her hands together like a little girl, Winry added, “I’ll give you one of my pillows and a blanket. It’ll be like when we used to have sleepovers when we were kids.”
Letting out a sigh, Edward glanced away. He toyed with the handle of the coffee cup, finally saying in a low voice, “Someone’s waiting for me, Winry. I should probably go.”
“Wearing just a bathrobe?” Winry couldn’t help blurting it out, earning another scowl for her words.
Pressing his palms together, Edward then touched the robe, transmuting it into a shirt and pair of pants. He opened his hands, challenging Winry with his eyes.
She folded her arms. “You’d freeze before you got ten steps out of the hotel, Ed. There’s an ice storm out there. Call your,” her tongue seemed to freeze to the roof of her mouth for a second then she managed to say, “your friend and tell her that you’re not coming home tonight.”
Edward sighed again, leaning his palms on the top of the table. “Winry,” he said, his voice low. She could almost see him running through what he might say to her. “I’ve caused you enough trouble,” was a bit of a surprise. “I should leave.”
“You’re not going out into this storm, Ed.” Winry blocked his access to the doorway again, ignoring the eye roll. “Have you heard anything I’ve said to you?” Gentling her voice, she repeated, “Ed, I don’t want to lose you, too.”
“You’re not.” The lie hung between them like a ghost.
Winry’s response was a bitter laugh. “Right.” Stiffly, she moved past Edward to sit on the bed again. “You’re determined to kill yourself but that doesn’t translate into me losing you.”
“I’m not,” Edward hissed between his teeth then seemed to remember that there were other patrons trying to sleep and the fight drained out of him. “Think what you like, Winry, but I’m not trying to kill myself.”
“Then what is it you’re doing, Ed?” Winry tried to keep the misery out of her voice and failed. “Tell me.”
There was a long pause and finally, Edward snapped out, “I’m living the best way I can, considering that the person who meant the most to me died in my arms.”
* * *
Part Five