AN: Just a little one shot I thought I would try out. I might continue on if more ideas strike me. Enjoy...hopefully. XD
Caution: Edward has a potty mouth.
Disclaimer: Okay, I don't own FMA or the song "Sympathy."
Sympathy
He was outside sparring with Alphonse on a bright sunny day in Risembool when it happened. He lost his balance and tumbled down onto the rocks and gravel. His curses could be heard all over the once quiet, country hills. Winry always warned him about sparring, and now he would have to endure her wrath and her "I told you so."
"Brother!" The suit of armor cried.
"I'm fine. Goddamn spare leg she gave me nearly buckled!" He growls out in annoyance.
"You don't look fine brother. Your back is bleeding. Go have Winry treat it."
The concern in his younger brother's voice always makes him feel guilty. He feels as if he should do whatever his younger brother asks of him. It's the least he can do. As much as he doesn't want to go see Winry for something so minor, he decides that it would be the sensible thing to do. No need to get some sort of infection that would further slow down their search for the stone. So, he picks himself up from the ground and begins to walk – or rather, hobble – towards the house.
"I'm going to keep practicing, okay Brother?"
He waves in agreement and continues his trek.
He reaches the front door and hesitates, preparing himself for the coming onslaught. Wrenches, profanity, and tempers, oh my!
He enters the quiet house and slowly climbs the stairs to Winry's work room. The door is slightly cracked. As he peeks inside, he sees her making the small bed. She lifts the sheet and lowers it down, running her hands over to make it smooth out. In that instant she looks so feminine, and it shocks the young alchemist. She's not the angry mechanic who gives him hell. She's the girl he grew up with. The girl who wore sun dresses and sandals. The girl who always comes when he asks. The girl who stuck by him through thick and thin.
He announces his presence by opening the squeaky door. She turns around, slightly startled, but visibly relaxes when she sees him standing in the doorway.
"Jeez Ed, I didn't even hear you come up the stairs," she says while laughing slightly.
"Sorry. Must be the spare. It's stealthy," he replies with a lop-sided grin.
"Did you need something? I thought you and Al were going on a walk or something?"
'So that's what he told her,' he thinks to himself. He makes a mental note to tell his brother that he's impressed by his tact with tempermental women such as Winry.
"Did you two fight again?" she asks with concern in her voice. The last time they'd fought in Central had been a catastrophe. Al running off, while he was stuck in the hospital. She'd been full of advice and wisdom and kindness. She'd even helped him look throughout the city. No wonder her voice is laced with concern, he thinks.
"No…well sorta. We were just horsing around and I fell. It's nothing. Al sent me in," he says in a rush of words. He thinks he sounded casual.
She thinks he sounded weird.
"What?" she asks confusedly. "You fell and Al told you to come see me?"
"Yes. And I didn't just fall down. Your damn spare leg nearly broke!" he says in frustration and embarrassment.
"You must've been doing something reckless. Why can't you ever just tell me the truth Ed?!" She yells. After a moment's pause her face softens and she asks, "Are you okay?" She feels guilty that the leg she temporarily installed could be at fault.
He rolls his eyes and replies, "I'm fine. Al said something about my back, that's all." He turns around to illustrate.
"Edward! Your back is a mess! Come sit over here…let me get the first aid box." She says all this scoldingly, but with worry laced in.
She returns faster than he thought she would. He strips off the tattered shirt and lays down on his stomach. She pulls up a stool and promptly sits down upon it. She picks up a pair of tweezers first, and begins to pull out gravel that had wedged itself into the wounds. He hisses, and she worries.
"Sorry," she mumbles. "There's gravel in some of these. It might sting."
It's quiet for what seems like hours, days even. She meticulously pulls out the rocks and dirt piece by piece. He tenses occasionally, but remains still for the most part. As the silence gets heavier, so does her guilt. This was probably her fault. He doesn't need any more inconveniences, him or Al. She readies a wet washcloth and slowly dabs his back. She thinks his back is beautiful and strong. It epitomizes him. She feels guilty as she relishes in the excuse to touch him so intimately.
As she presses it gently to his back, he wonders what she could possibly be thinking. She's never this quiet when he's done something foolish to himself. He feels guilty for not telling her the truth on something so simple.
"I'm sorry," he says in a whisper.
She thinks she misheard him. An apology from him is so strange.
But, he finds her sympathy stranger.
He's made so many mistakes in arrogance and haste. To have sympathy from her is unexpected and undeserved in his eyes. But it's there all the same. It's there in her gentle hands and care. It's there in her maintenance and smiles. It's there when she says,
"It was just an accident, don't blame yourself."
She doesn't want more burdens added. She wants him to stop blaming himself. Killing himself. He needs to complete this so he can come home to her. So him and Al can come home to her. She finishes bandaging his back and lightly rests a hand on it. She begins to say something when Al walks in and interrupts her train of thought.
"How is he?" he asks meekly.
"Oh Al, he's fine. Just some cuts. They'll be gone soon enough. How was your walk?"
"Walk my ass," Ed snorts.
"Uh…good, it was good," Al says embarrassedly.
"Well, dinner should be ready soon, maybe Auntie needs help?" she suggests to the suit.
"I'll go see. I'll come tell you when it's ready," he says as he clunks out of the room.
She waits for the door to close and then replaces her hand on his back. He doesn't tense as she thought he would.
"Ed, you're done, but…would you please just be more careful. I worry, you know?"
He thinks about telling her that her last comment was the understatement of the year, but instead says, "I'll try. I'm not promising anything." He thinks her soft hand on his back feels nice.
She smiles and says, "Let's go help them set the table."
As she helps him up he feels at home. He feels like he belongs. He feels warm. And as strange as her sympathy is to him, it helps him get through restless nights on missions and lonely days in Central. It helps him not choke on his regrets. It helps him remember her soft gentle hands and the compassion that accompanies their touch.
But mostly, it helps him focus. Once they're done chasing down their dreams, they'll return home. Home to her.