Title: The Very Heart of Me Now
Author: S J Smith
Rating: teenish
Summary: Ed loves Winry. He just doesn't understand why he doesn't love her enough to marry her.
Disclaimer: Arakawa's sandbox, I'm just ripping the characters' hearts out and stomping on them.
You proposed to her, and now you don't know what to do.
This is the way things go – you're born, you grow up, you get married, you have kids. You, on the other hand, had to go about things differently. You grew up way too young – dragging your brother and your best friend into that right along with you. Maybe that's part of it. Maybe it's the whole 'not really having a childhood' that's thrown you off. You don't know what it is. But you asked her to marry you, and you'll be damned if you break that promise to her.
Winry's waited for you ever since you were kids, she's taken care of you, she's watched over you. You know it's because of her you're still alive. Winry is as close to you as Al is, in her own way. She knows secrets you've never shared with anyone. She's your home, and she's your heart. You're grateful to her, and you love her.
But you're running away from her now, on a train headed to Dublith, because you don't really know where else to go. Not until you figure some things out. Al's not around, and there's no way in hell you're talking to the old hag about Winry and you, and Teacher and Sig are happily married; maybe she can tell you what you need to do to make this work.
You don't sleep on the train, even though it's a long trip; your head is too whirling with thoughts. The locomotive can't pull the cars fast enough to outrun them. When you close your eyes, you see – well, everything. The way the old man looked at your mom, talking to Al about fighting over who got to marry Winry, Ling's proposal to her, and the way you beat him with your broken arm over it, her ferocity, facing Scar in Baschool, and her face and words, reminding you that you couldn't make her cry, forcing you to live even when a piece of steel punched through your body. The stupid way you proposed to her, and how she'd made you laugh with her counter-offer – only Winry would make a counter-offer on a proposal, and make it for the better. Your smile freezes, and you slump against the window, trying to tell yourself it didn't make it worse.
When you get off the train, the heat in Dublith strikes you like a blow. You stagger under its impact, remembering Teacher's admonitions of "Drink up!", how she'd shove you in the direction of the hose if you guys were outside, or the sink if you were inside. You take her warning and order a drink from a street vendor, sucking it down. The tart tang of lime wars with the syrupy taste of cherry, and you sigh in relief as it washes away the dust in your mouth. If everything was this simple, you think, but then you spot the sign to the butcher shop, and the everything part of it goes right out of your head.
Teacher greets you the same way as always, with a barked out exclamation and a thump to the head. You're glad you finished your drink before you got there, because it would've been soaking the sidewalk after the tumble you took. Sig gives you a shoulder pat, reminds you you've grown – and oh, how great that sounds – and they pull you inside.
Everything melts away when you're inside their home, the familiar scents of cool meat and blood, and the ever-so-faint hint of Teacher's illness, taking you back to when you were a kid. Teacher insists you get settled in, then you're to sweep the stoop, get cleaned up and set the table for supper – all familiar chores, and you fall into them easily, humming softly as you work. You feel something strange on your face – a smile – and wonder how long it's been since you've worn one.
At that thought, a pang drives through you, and you swallow hard. Winry's eyes flash in your mind, and her voice, and the way her body presses against yours as she whispers, "See you soon," in your ear, giving you kiss on the cheek, and your fleeting memory thanks god for her kissing you there, rather than on the mouth. Your hands clench on the broomstick, and your teeth grit, and red seeps in at the corner of your eyes. Why the hell can't you make her happy?
"What's wrong, Ed? You're going to break the broom if you keep squeezing it so tight."
It takes two efforts to pry your fingers free, and you gulp at your emotions, trying to force them back again. How many times had you tried to push them back, and coax others forward? "Teacher," you say, almost breathless, "I don't know what to do."
And you must've sounded like a little kid, because she's wrapped her arms around you before you know it, and the broom drops with a clatter because you're hugging her back, and everything, all your fears and sorrows and dreams boil up inside you, until you're shaking so hard, Teacher's the only reason you're still standing. She's holding you, though, and making soft, soothing sounds you finally identify as words, when the fit settles enough so you can hear things rather than the roar in your own head.
"Now," she says, pulling back enough to cup your cheek, and her hand is marvelously cool on your skin, "tell me what's got you so upset."
You bite your lip. "I proposed to Winry," and that's as far as you get, because she's hugging you and congratulating you, and laughing as your heart sinks.
"You need to tell Sig," she's saying, and patting your back, and, "When's the wedding date? Are you going to stay in that little town or," and then her words just stop, and she's looking at you. Her hands are on your shoulders, squeezing them tight. Teacher's smile melts away, and your insides curdle. "You're not very excited about this, Ed."
"N-no, ma'am." You hang your head. "I'm sorry."
Teacher gives you a shake, gentle for her, but hard enough to snap your head. "What's going on, Ed?"
You take a deep breath. You can tell her, you can, you can tell – "I…I just want to make Winry happy!" you blurt out. "I do! I want to hold her hand and hug her, and keep her safe. I want to see her smile first thing in the morning, I want to," your voice fails you as you choke, "to kiss her, and-and make l-lo-" and then you lose it all together, sinking to the ground in a heap, your face buried in your hands, shaking so hard, your automail is rattling.
You're not sure how much time has passed, but Teacher's rocking you, and stroking your hair. Your arms are around her waist, and you realize her shoulder's damp. What have you been doing? "Ed?" She speaks in a low voice. "Come on, let's go inside, and talk about this."
The sigh escapes you, and you nearly laugh. You feel lighter as she helps you up, and you remember to pick up the broom as you go inside with her. She tells you to clean your face while she makes something for both of you to drink, and shoves you to the washroom.
The reflection in the mirror startles you. Who is that haggard-looking man? Red eyes, hair going every which way, two deep lines bracketing his mouth. You start to raise your hand to the glass, to tap it to see if it's real, when Teacher shouts you'd better not be wasting her time, and you hurriedly blow your nose, then wash and dry your face and hands. The cool water feels good against your heated skin, and you remind yourself you're in Dublith now, you need to take care of yourself, before you leave the washroom.
Teacher made a pot of tea, and you follow the sweet scent of it to the living room. She's already sitting, and pats the cushion on the couch next to her. Your tea is the way you like it, strong and rich, with a spoonful of sugar, and you slurp at it. The heat clogs your throat for an instant and you have to swallow harder to get it down, then it's all right. "Thanks," you say.
Smiling at you, Teacher sets her own cup down. "All right, Ed. This isn't any normal pre-wedding jitters. What's wrong?"
You want to say, "Nothing!" and laugh, but Teacher's eyes are focused so closely on you, and you'd never really been able to lie to her before.
"I love Winry," you say, slowly, like you're testing a layer of ice before walking out onto it. "I want to make her smile. I'd do anything for her, she could…she could have my life, if she wanted."
Teacher doesn't say anything, just watches you, and you have to look away. You raise the cup to your mouth, taking a smaller swallow this time. It doesn't work, and you set the cup down hard enough, the tea sloshes over. Hot liquid burns your skin, a bare sting compared to what's inside your heart. "She deserves to be happy! She lost everything. Her mom and dad, her childhood, she's like – like my mirror, or something." Your voice cracks. "Whenever the worst things happened to Al and me, she was always there, and picked us up, and put us back together again. She's a part of me, Teacher." Your forearms vibrate, and your hands are clenched so tight that your nails, short as they are, dig into your palms. "She's like my heart, and I've broken hers so many times already." You shake your head so hard, your bangs lash against your cheeks. "I don't want to make her cry."
"Ed." Teacher's voice is quiet, and calm, and her hands are on your shoulders again, holding you still. You're shivering, your knee plates rattle, your teeth chatter. "What are you afraid of?"
Everything you'd slammed behind that door down deep inside surges, and you fight to keep it closed. "N-nothing! I just want Winry to be happy!" Your voice is getting louder and louder. "I want to make her happy, I want to give her everything! I proposed to her, I made her a fucking promise!" Your fist slams onto your thigh, hard enough to bruise. "I promised her!" Teacher catches your hand before you can hit yourself again. "I promised…" The moan claws its way out of your throat, and the lock on that door breaks. "I can't…" The door slams open, everything behind it swarming out, dreams of eyes like night, and hair darker than coal, spilling down his back. "I can't stop thinking about him!" Your breath is ragged and you're hunched over your knees, heart so loud in your ears, you think you're dying. "When I kiss her, I see his face! I want to touch her, but she doesn't have his body!" Your words come out in a hiss, louder than the boiler box on a locomotive engine. "I can't marry her, I can't, not when I want to be with Ling!"
Thunder and lightning and wailing winds rage around you for a while, deafening and blinding you, keeping you lost in the storm. When everything dies down, you realize Teacher's holding you close again, and you might be hurting her, clinging so tight. Your whole face is wet and sticky, and you taste snot on your lips as you try to pry yourself free of her embrace. She loosens her grip, but doesn't quite let you go, cupping your cheek, bending slightly so you can't avoid looking into her eyes.
"Does Winry know?"
Those words impact against you, hard enough to shatter you again. "I don't," your voice crackles once more. "Don't know." The flash of disappointment you catch, when you kiss her cheek, or take her hand when it strays across your chest teasingly. "Maybe," you grate out. "I think. I think she knows something's wrong." You'd found condoms tucked into your underwear drawer, when you'd returned from the West, and wondered at them, why someone would put them there. Had the old hag put them there, giving you her blessing? Had Winry tucked them there for you to find? Whatever the reason, the tin remained unopened months later, pushed to the back of the drawer, even if Winry had teased you about their location a few times.
"Ed, you can't keep doing this to yourself. Or Winry. You need to talk to her about it." Teacher rubs your shoulders. "You can't wait any more. It's tearing you up inside. You have to do it."
It's true, god, you know how true it is, but. "I don't want to hurt her any more than I already have," you whisper.
She gives you a look full of sorrow. "You'll hurt her more if you wait."
Five days. Two days to build up the nerve, three days to ride the train back to Rezembool, thirty minutes to walk from the train station to the yellow house on the hill, with the sign out front reading, "Rockbell Automail." Two minutes to greet Den, with her single bark to greet you, and then you're standing outside of the door that should've been leading you home.
Inside your chest, you feel like air: as if you stood still, a breeze could catch you up and throw you across all of Amestris. You're shaking, you realize, as you pull the screen door, and it takes a few seconds more for you to reach for the knob.
The door opens before you can touch it. "Ed!" Winry all but sings out, her face wreathed in smiles, and she grabs your outstretched arm to pull you inside. "I didn't think you'd be back so soon! You're lucky, there's still some pie left over from yesterday." You let her drag you along, the familiarity of it solidifying your heart with each step forward into the house. Your brain plods along in time with your mismatched steps, and Winry's asking questions as she walks, "How was your trip?" "Good." "Did you have a good time with your teacher?" "Uh, huh." Playfully, she asks, "Did you miss me?"
And you stop, and Winry doesn't realize it for a second, until the gentle tug on your arm rebounds, and she can't move you forward. She turns to you, wide eyes searching your face for anything, for a clue on how she should react. Yes, you want to shout, yes, I missed you, I always miss you. But what comes out is, "Winry, we should talk."
It's your turn to take her hand, to guide her into the living room and pull her to sit with you on the couch. You don't let go of her, though you set aside your suitcase, close, though, so close to hand. You realize she's gnawing her lower lip, just like you are, and your stone heart crumbles, just a little bit. "Winry," you say, and the words jumble themselves in your head.
You'd thought about what you could say, these last five days. Teacher said to make it quick, but kind, and you don't know how to do that. 'I think I might be in love with Ling instead of you' doesn't sound kind at all, not even to your coarse ears. "Winry," you say again, "I…"
She knows something's wrong. You can read it in her eyes, in the way her body stiffens, how her hand in yours goes so cold. "What, Ed?" The words come out strained and harsh, and you can tell she's almost holding her breath.
"I want to go to Xing."
It wasn't what you meant to say, but at least the thought is out there, making Winry frown. She's breathing now, so that's a start. "Xing? You mean, for our honeymoon?"
Even you, dense as you are, could hear the hopeful note in her voice, and your heart cracks a little more. You tighten your grip on her hand. "No," you say, as gently as you can. "I want to go alone. There's…there's something I need to find out there."
Winry blinks. You rub her knuckles, trying to bring some warmth into her skin. "What do you need to find out, Ed?" she asks, and there's a quality to the question that makes you pause. She's looking at you, and her eyes are so clear, you think you can see a future in them, one of the two of you together, with your kids – but then Ling's smile blots it all out, and it's all you're aware of.
"I think," you say roughly, "I think you know." You can't look at her then, just at your fingers on her hand. The way they fit together, at least until she pulls her hand away, and your own reaches after hers for a split second, then falls back.
"So," Winry says, "when are you leaving?" Her tone is breathless and light, and the roar is so loud, you almost can't hear her. But you'd been waiting for that question, and have an answer ready.
"I want to get started today. I…made arrangements from Dublith." You fold your hands together.
"I see." And you know she does, that you'd left her in a turmoil, and made up your mind without consulting her. Again. Like always. "Well." Winry gets up. "I guess I'll pack some apple pie for you to take, then." As she walks out of the room, you drag your eyes from your hands to watch her, to see how she hesitates, and straightens her shoulders and stiffens her spine. How her hands clench into fists for a few seconds, then fall loose at her sides. You want to shout after her as she walks through the door.
You don't, and she's gone.
You pack your belongings, and it seems like a blur. Inside of you, your heart is a stone, fractured and pitted, and you're not sure it'll beat again, even though you hear the blood moving through your body, you definitely have a pulse, all autonomic systems are working. When you're done packing, so few things, you realize, you strip the bed, putting the linens in the laundry room for washing. When you're done, it looks as if you were never in the room at all, except for the tin of condoms, sitting on the dresser.
Winry is in the kitchen, and Pinako is with her. The old hag looks dry, like last year's wheat husk, ready to be blown away. You could swear there's a thick cloud in the room, and it makes it difficult for you to go inside. You do anyway. "Did Winry tell you?" Your voice sounds weird in the cloud.
"She did." Pinako's sounds stranger yet, creaky, old. You don't dare hear the disappointment laced in those two words. "Have a good trip, Ed." She gets up out of the chair, moving likes she's older than the old man when he died. "Tell your brother I said 'hello' when you see him." She's gone out of the room faster than you expected, and it's just Winry and you.
She's still stiff, and even in profile, you can see shock hasn't given way to whatever her next emotion will be. You think, rage, maybe sorrow. God, you don't want her angry. You don't want her sad. Everything inside you churns up, as if you can feel her heart in place of the rock that yours is now. "I packed your pie," she says, in a brittle, cheerful voice. "Apple, it'll keep while you travel, at least for a little while. Four slices."
Maybe fury would be better than this. "Thanks, Winry." You shuffle your feet, accepting the packet as she offers it to you. "It means a lot." As soon as the words leave your mouth, you're kicking yourself, knowing what those words have to sound like. You risk a glance at her, seeing she read exactly what you didn't want into those words. Her face pinches and you think she'll explode now, but instead, she blows out all the air in her body.
Winry's never looked small before, and you hate that you've reduced her to this. Her agony rips through you like a buffeting wind. The echo of it shatters your fragmented heart, leaving it like ashes in your chest.
"I have to go."
The words hang there in the kitchen for a few seconds before you realize you've spoken them. She's shuddering, and you can see the glint of tears. She doesn't say anything, and you've always been terrible at goodbyes. You can't think of what to say to her, nothing at all. No words of comfort, no hollow sounds to convey how sorry you are. Instead, you set down your things, and take the five steps necessary to reach her, wrapping her in your arms and holding on so hard, so tight. The hug will have to say everything you cannot, and you know it's failing, because Winry doesn't hug you back. There's no reluctant, heartfelt embrace, no soft laugh, no reaction at all. You kiss her cheek roughly and let her go, leaving her exactly as she was.
You gather your things and leave the kitchen, your pulse pounding in your skull. A headache is forming behind your left eye. You'll have to hurry to make the caravan to the East, since the train doesn't run that far yet, the rails are still being laid.
Rumpling Den's head as you pass her on the porch, you whisper to her to take care of Winry. You try to ignore the fact the white has moved beyond her muzzle and up to her eyes, and that she won't be here for Winry much longer. Try not to think that Pinako won't be, either. That Winry's parents are in graves on a hillside, that Al has made a life in Xing. You think of Rush Valley instead, and Mrs. Hughes and Elicia, and the way the soldiers in Briggs adored her. That Winry's always been stronger than you, and she'll be all right, because everyone loves her.
Everyone loves her. Even you, but you don't love her enough.
You can't make her happy, you think, as you start down the path to the road. You can't make her happy, even if she's the reason you're alive. You can't make her happy, no matter what you promised.
"Ed!" Shock runs through you like lightning, and you turn to see Winry on the porch, Den standing next to her. "When you come back to Amestris, drop by for a home-cooked meal and some pie." The words are reed thin and quavering, but she gets them out. She's blurry already, even though she's not that far away.
There's a stupid cliché, 'Home is where the heart is.' She's your home, she's your heart. She has to be, because you've destroyed your own, breaking hers.
You raise your hand, a farewell, "Okay!" and start walking again, away from her. And realize the pathway's blurry, too.
X X X