A/N: Hi there! This honestly came out of nowhere. I was trying to write my constitutional law essay but got bored and did this instead lol. I don't have a beta so there's probz mistakes. But if you're looking for a job, hmu lol! Also, this was kind of a stream of consciousness, wordvomit piece so there's no set plot yet but I'll figure it out. Otherwise, enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.
"Man wanted a home, a place for warmth, or comfort, first of physical warmth, then the warmth of the affections."
- Henry David Thoreau, Walden
The roof was leaking.
She blamed herself for not thinking to patch it up in time before the rain came down. It was the monsoon season in southern Amestris and the wind was blowing exceptionally hard within the region of small town Resembool. Strengthening of the southern monsoon had been linked to the uplift of the Kizerain Plateau, bordering Creta and Aerugo. The event had caused unprecedented winds to blow northeast, hitching a ride on the westerlies, and landing in southwest Amestris. Along with winds came rain and a shitload of it.
Back to the roof, she had thrown it on her list of things to do but it was difficult to find the time to get around to it. What with having to travel back and forth from here to Rush Valley over the past month. Garfiel had been taken ill and she graciously offered to take on some of his clients. She began to regret it now. Not to mention she had a never ending series of needy clients of her own. It's not that she doesn't love what she does; quite the opposite actually. Like, if she really thought about it, this is her dream job. To be able to wake up every morning to the smell of petroleum, finding the occasional washer stuck in her hair. This is the aesthetic she'd always hoped to achieve as a child. It's just that when her work gets in the way of fulfilling regular everyday tasks that is what annoyed her to the furthest extent. Winry wouldn't lie that she liked to keep a good balance between the priorities in her life but with the type of lifestyle that she harbors, some things are going to inevitably get in the way of others. And she hated that. She hated that the hole in the roof just blew past her head. And now here she was, lying bed, pleading for sleep, listening to what seems like the worst storm Resembool has had since the Neolithic era accompanied by the most abhorrent trickling noise that she has ever perceived. It's safe to say that she's close to the point of gouging her eyes out.
She had placed a bucket to catch the water dripping through the ceiling in her bedroom. She also had taken down some of her mother's old quilts from the attic to lull her shivering body during the cool summer nights. The quilts smelled of mothballs and a cross between motor oil and turpentine. She had washed it the day before but failed to completely get rid of the smell. Nevertheless, she took small comfort in knowing it was her dearest mother's craft. Sara Rockbell, when she could muster time away from saving countless lives, would sit in the rocker at the corner of the great room and listlessly quilt for hours on end. At times Winry would sit by her feet with her precious teddy bear in hand and simply listen to her mother tell her a story from her own childhood or languidly hum an afternoon lullaby. Winry smiled to herself at the passing of those memories. After all the discord that had taken place in her life, she found silent confidence at the thought of her unencumbered childhood. All of which spent in this little yellow house.
The wind howled in the night and with the accompaniment of the pouring rain, it nearly made everything sound like a cyclic concerto going on and on. The staccato rhythm of downpour against the window over her headboard and the languid push and pelt of the beginnings of a cyclone both kept her wide awake. She didn't like storms and this particular one looked to be an absolute whirlwind. So she settled with the possibility that tonight would be another sleepless night, all alone on the countryside. She had called Resembool home all her life. Taking solace in the rolling hills and sprawling plains of the province, many people, in fact, find a type of comfort here that would be absolutely unheard of in large metropolitan areas like Dublith or East City. The province held a certain calm and quiet charm that people with calm and quiet personalities tend to seek out.
Winry always seemed to evade this demographic as she adored the funky smells and sounds and overall oddities that cities had to offer; particularly Rush Valley. Somedays she felt more at home there than here. At least in the valley she's had friends like Paninya, Garfiel, and other engineers that she could talk to. What does she have in Resembool? Nothing. All she has is a rickety old house left to her by her brazen grandmother.
Pinako Rockbell passed away some five years ago. Winry had gone into town to fetch some ingredients for a beef shank stew. She could not have been gone for more than two hours when she returned home to a sight her eyes could never blink away. Pinako had suffered a stroke while walking up the stairs to her bedroom. She fell down some two flights and snapped her neck in the process.
Winry didn't stop crying for three days.
It embarrassed her to think about how long the grieving process actually took. Alphonse immediately returned home from Xing and stayed with her for a month before continuing on. As for Edward, well she didn't know where he'd come from. But one early morning, four months after Pinako's death, he appeared at her doorstep. When she opened the door strong arms quickly circled around her waist, a hand reaching up to stroke her hair. She burst into tears right there at the foyer. Edward said nothing. They just stood there for what seemed like centuries holding each other. Winry figured she'd cry until everything made sense but underneath she was overjoyed that Edward had come all this way just to soothe her aching heart.
He stayed with her for three days.
At times she'd question why she continues to stay and feel miserable in this house. Unsurprisingly, she'd always end up with a single paltry answer. She was here to wait. Waiting for her boys to come home. So that she could cook them apple pie, and bandage their wounds, and sit there with her eyes twitching in galling silence as they drone on and on about their daring adventures and fervidly report on all the foreign lands they'd visited, what their current research is focused on, and everything else one could talk about under the sun. She would listen intently at times but more often than not she found her mind wandering: What should she cook for dinner? What metal should she use to craft Edward's leg this time? Once she'd snap back to reality, she'd find her sapphire eyes boring into quizzical golden ones. She'd simply nod her in affirmation, pretending as if she was actually paying attention. Although, she got the feeling that they always knew she wasn't listening.
Even when they were gone, she'd still hear of their travels in letters. Granted, not very often especially on the part of the elder brother. But she was their rock all the same. She was all they knew of home and family. After all that has happened between the three of them, she should feel grateful to be placed with such a responsibility; that she could be something of use to them. So why is it that she always somehow feels cheated? And forgotten? And so desperately alone?
Visits became less and less frequent after Pinako's death. Alphonse made sure to come see her at least four or five times a year. He'd often bring friends, people he'd met along the way on his travels. Winry didn't mind. She quite enjoys company and meeting new people along diversified lines and Alphonse's colleagues were always decent and respectful to her. The most prevalent and frequent of which is a Xingese alkahestrist by the name of Mei Chang. She's a half-sister to the current emperor and Winry totally didn't mind having royalty present in her household. She had briefly met the woman before but they unfortunately never got the chance to become fully acquainted until Alphonse had brought her with him the first time. She is a polite but bashful girl who only seems to fully open up when the topic of their conversations were diverted to the younger Elric. It is clear to Winry that the Xingese girl had definitely developed some romantic feelings for him during their many travels together. Unluckily for her, Al appears to be quite impervious to it all.
As for Edward, well, she honestly couldn't say. He'd only come home to see her after incessant phone calls and nagging from Alphonse. She wasn't very impressed with that. But when he did come home, he was kind and charming and always willing to lend a hand around the house. That is if he didn't spend the entire day locked in his room, reading book after book about God knows what. There had been a few awkward encounters between them during his visits. Actually, more than she'd like to admit. Like the two or three times he had walked in on her doing lady stuff in the bathroom, or when he had fallen asleep next to her on the couch and he accidently grazed her right breast and sighed her name in the process. The list goes on and on. But, nonetheless, she reveled in how easily he could settle himself into domestic life for a month and a half then pack up and leave for another adventure as if it was nothing. She always said to herself that men who just sit around and do nothing are boring but every now and again she found herself very entertained with the possibility that Edward would just decide to stay longer than a few weeks and really settle down with her. Maybe for a year or two. Maybe forever.
As she lay in bed, restlessly waiting for the grace of sleep to overcome her, she felt a shudder run down her spine that she assumed to have been caused by the cold temperature. She knew that there was a draft somewhere in the decrepit yellow house but she could not, for the life of her, seem to discover where it is. Either that or she couldn't muster up the courage to seek it out in the first place. There are old secrets and reminiscences hidden behind the wall coverings and underneath the floorboards that she just could not bring herself to actively seek out; or rather accidentally stumble upon. Somewhere in the deep recesses of her unconscious, she knew that all of the vexations from her past that she kept hidden from herself for years would, at some point, just fall onto her lap.
Perhaps tonight.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three boisterous thuds echoed from the front door followed swiftly by an ireful clap of thunder. Winry's head shot up from the bed and she straightaway regretted her action when the wretched bout of vertigo hit her. She groaned in throe as she lifted her fingers to her temples to rub the ache away. After what feels like years of continual sleep deprivation, this became a common occurrence to her. She sluggishly stood from the bed, dragging her feet along the hardwood, seeking out her house slippers. Even after a lifetime in this house, she still could not seem to get a feel for where everything was.
Three more poundings came from downstairs and she resolved to ditch her slippers to make a quick dash for the door. Who could it possibly be at the hour? Her best guess would be a client with a pressing emergency. But in that case they would've called for her to come to them if it was so urgent. It could be one of the neighbours. Maybe their power is out due to the storm. Or maybe it could be a thief looking to brutally stab her to death with a rusty icepick and steal her most precious socket set and nut drivers! Winry gasped at the horrible thought. Another thunderclap blared causing her to shriek loudly at the foot of the staircase, merely a few meters away from the front door. Her hand flew to her mouth, covering it and praying to God that whoever or whatever it was that was currently outside didn't hear her. The rain continued to pummel down onto the rooftop, she listened for a reaction from the front door but received nothing but the callous bellow of the wind outside.
She made a beeline for the kitchen, nabbing her trusty breaker bar from the dining table. As she approached the front door, she raised the bar over her shoulder guardedly, angling it in a way so that if she was forced to strike, it would be quick and dirty. The floorboards creaked under her feet as she took each excruciating step. She reached for the doorknob, her fingers trembling violently out of fear. As she closed in, another two knocks on the wood guided by a low, velvet voice.
"Winry! Let me in! It's fucking pouring out here!" The person hollered, clearly beyond furious.
Winry would recognize that rage-filled voice from a mile away. She promptly whipped open the front door and soon enough the most brilliant of golden eyes greeted her and bore deeply into her azure ones. In that space between the seconds, she had to remind herself how to breathe.
"Edward?"
"Hey, Win!" He smiled at her diffidently, his left hand reaching up to rub his soaked nape. "You, uh, you wanna let me in maybe?" His other hand clutched the handle on suitcase as a silent shiver ran through him, praying that the answer would be yes.
Winry stared blankly at him for a second before gathering her senses to respond. "Oh, yes! Of course, I apologize!" She pushed the door open further to let him in. Thunder continued to quake outside and he looked to be soaked to the bone. Why the hell would he not think to purchase an umbrella in town? Knowing full-well that the house is quite a ways hike from the train station.
As he walked past her to enter the warmth of the house, she noticed two things: The first being the sluggish irregularity in his footsteps that he was so obviously trying to conceal from her. The second being the heavenly scent of rain mixed with sweat that just radiated off him as he coolly strode past her, shrugged off his navy blue trench, and abandoned it on the settee by the staircase along with his bag.
Winry gulped.
Underneath he wore a plain white button-down that was marginally damp but not enough to be translucent. As he turned to face her, he rolled up his sleeves, revealing to her the lean muscles on his forearms, and undid the top two buttons on his collar. "What took you so long to answer the door?" He questioned, eyeing her gingerly.
Winry tensed up. She quickly tucked her hand behind her back, concealing the breaker bar that she could have totally bashed him across the face with, away from sight. "N-Nothing! I-I… I fell off the bed a-and hit my head!" She barked.
Edward let out a low chuckle, reaching up to pat her head and muss up her already bedraggled bedhead. "You're adorable." He sauntered over to the kitchen.
For the most part she thought herself to be a calm person. Naturally, there was always the occasional turbulent spat with an uncooperative client or the outburst of colourful phrases that would escape her mouth when she dropped her ratchet on her big toe during overhauls. After too many incidents (more than she'd care to admit), she resolved to keep her work boots in the vestibule, close to the archway entering the basement. Nevertheless, given the rare occurrences that she she'd ever been agitated or violent, she would think it safe to assume that she could keep a placid composure quite customarily. Which is why she cannot, for the life of her, understand why her heart was currently beating so emphatically that she feared it would, at any moment, jump out her mouth and scurry off into the great room. Her face was past the point of being beat red having transcended into a different colour spectrum completely (she wordlessly thanked God that Edward hadn't noticed). Why is it that she felt this way whenever he was around?
Edward's scent still faintly lingered in the hallway and having caught a whiff of it brought her back into the present situation at hand. It was half past two in the morning, the storm outside raged on like a demented tiger, and Edward Elric, wet and no doubt exhausted, was currently shuffling through her kitchen in all likelihood looking for something to eat.
As if right on cue, Edward hollered, beckoning her to come and feed him. "Win, I'm starving!"
Winry huffed a breath that she didn't realize she'd been holding for a while. "Coming, Ed!" She fixed her hair a tad bit at the mirror in the hallway before following him into the kitchen.
Edward parked himself on the stool by the counter just as Winry set him down a hot cup of herbal tea. He eagerly brought it up to his lips and thanked her before taking a swig, allowing the liquid to warm his parched throat.
Winry turned slightly to smile at him. "Yeah, of course. You must be freezing after that long walk."
Edward nodded vigorously in affirmation, taking another big gulp of his tea. He then wrapped his fingers around the mug, attempting to warm them as well.
"What do you wanna eat? I'm thinking chicken noodle soup? That'll warm you up a bit." She uttered, bending down to grab a small cooking put from the cupboard.
Edward sat up slightly, he didn't realize that he'd began to slouch out of fatigue. "Any leftovers you've got is fine. I wouldn't think to trouble you. Especially at this hour." He took another sip of his tea.
Winry turned again to wave a hand at him. "Nonsense, I don't mind at all! You're exhausted, you deserve a freshly cooked meal." She made her way into the pantry to grab some ingredients.
Edward watched her thoughtfully as she shuffled all around the kitchen to prepare him a small stew. It's at moments like this that gesture him to realize how much he truly appreciates her kindness towards him (knowing full-well he doesn't deserve it) and how little he does to actually show her his appreciation. A tiny smile crept across his face at the simple knowledge that she was still here, kicking around in Resembool, ready as ever to care for him. It had been a long while since he'd seen her. He wouldn't dare to think about the empirical amount of time that he'd actually been away as it would simply cause his chest to sting. Winry may not think this, but he knows that he should visit more often, he knows that he should write, and call, and let her know of his whereabouts and, more importantly, his safety. But with a wandering mind like his, having thoughts racing at millions of bits per second, he could honestly say that sometimes he just forgot. Simple as that. And whenever he did find the time to call her or write her a letter, he strangely found himself to be quite nervous at what she'd say or how she'd respond. As if she could utter one thing that would cause his heart to melt, have him pack up everything, jump on the next train, and race back home to her and just be with her and… and love her. Truly he was at her beck and call and this was definitely a problem; what with him being a self-proclaimed traveler and vagrant of such.
Whenever it came to Winry, Edward always found himself to be absolutely confused. Most days he thought, I've mastered chemistry, physics, and ancient alchemical theory at the tender age of eleven (with state certification to prove it). I've uncovered state secrets, encrypted archaic alchemical codes, and managed to get through the military system without turning into a monster. I've fought off transient humanoid beings and defeated the closest thing to God as it's ever gonna get. So why the fuck can't I figure out what the problem is between me and Winry Rockbell?! Edward was not impressed with himself. When he was away from her he often found it easier to distract himself with research. But when he was home…
When he was home, he found himself trapped in another world. His senses were heightened just being in close proximity to her. In the morning, when he'd wake up and find her in the kitchen, making him breakfast, her hair glistening in the sunlight, her delicate hips swaying softly as she hummed a melodious tune that he couldn't recognize. And then she'd turn and smile at him, her deep blue looking-glass eyes greeting him. God, what a way to start the day.
In the evening, when he and Alphonse had just come home to her after getting their bodies back from the Gate, they both had difficulties in the night time when it came to sleep: Alphonse, for one, could not allow himself to fall asleep at all. Which was understandable given the fact that he was just a soul bonded to armor for many years of his life, and had no need to execute bodily functions such as sleeping or going to the bathroom. Winry eased him into it by providing him with small doses of medication that she'd use to sedate clients during surgery. Soon enough, Al found himself in a loose pattern of slumber that he continued to build on until normalcy.
Edward, however, found it difficult to wake up. Or rather difficult to fall into deep sleep without conjuring up some terrible nightmare like reliving the scene of his mother's death or Maes Hughes accusing him for his demise. There was one time he'd dreamt that Winry had followed through with her attempt at shooting the Ishvalan that massacred her parents and that one day all the guilt and helplessness had come tumbling down on her. She found that the only way to release herself from this trap was to point the gun into her own head.
Ed woke up from this dream screaming wildly with tears in his eyes.
He didn't dare label it as post-traumatic stress for fear for being ostracized. And he was thankful he didn't since the problem faded away after a month or two. All thanks given to Winry. For her only remedy for this dilemma was to be there next to him every time he woke up. That is for an entire month, Winry lay by his side and patiently waited for him to fall asleep. Every time he woke with a start, sweat streaming down his temple, his golden eyes ripe with horror, Winry would be the one to lull him back to sleep, whisper softly to him that everything was alright. She would gently caress his back, ignoring the marred flesh from past violence, smoothing out his hair, hushing him until he was calmed enough to fall back into slumber. She did all that.
She did all that for him.
Sometimes, in the few hours before dawn, he'd wake to find Winry still lying there next to him, sound asleep. He'd gaze at her for what seemed like forever and with every blink, he'd find a new attribute of hers to extol. Her flushed cheeks littered with sun-kissed freckles that only ever came out in the summer, her luscious slightly parted lips that practically beg to be kissed a thousand times, the way the swell of her bountiful breasts rose and fell with every breath. She was absolutely magnificent. At times she turn to his side and her left hand would stir for something to cling to. He always gave her his warm hand to hold.
He knew that they could be more, so much more. At times he forget they weren't. Winry sort of has a way of making him feel like they'd always been like this. So comfortable in each other's skin. He'd never been afraid to touch her or hold her in his arms. That's just what comes from knowing her since they were children. But he couldn't seem to completely articulate the nature of his feelings for her and of course with the lifestyle that he lives, jumping from one country to another, he wouldn't allow himself to start anything with her one day, and then leave her in the dust the next. He just cared for her too much to do that. In fact, he didn't even have a clue as to whether or not she shared the same inkling within her as him. All this could very well be his imagination, a sort of fatigue from over-travelling; if that even exists.
He had journeyed a great distance to be here tonight and his physical state was enough to show for it. What with his wrinkled shirt, damp chinos, muddy oxfords, and the look of debilitation on his face, she was right to assume that he was absolutely exhausted; to the furthest extent particularly. He hadn't bathed in three day and he smelled of a mix of Cretan street dog and train smoke. He just prayed she hadn't gotten a whiff of him in close proximity yet.
"Ed?" Winry snapped him out of his deep thought.
Ed looked up from the counter to acknowledge her. "Hmm?"
"I said do you want some bread to go with your soup?" She repeated, pointing at the small basket of warm buns that sat by the stove.
"Yes, please!"
After Edward ate, he and Winry ascended up the staircase to his old room. As he opened the door and strode inside, the smell of old books and iron gall smacked him right in the face. He looked around, scanning every single detail of the tiny studio. Everything seemed to be exactly where he left it. All of his atlases and indexes and other reference material scattered all around the room, piled high on top of the one another (some of which still open to the pages he'd left them in). Some of his clothes were still slovenly crammed into his closet. That stupid ugly desk lamp with the pink tassels that Mei had brought for him back from Xing. God, he fucking hated that thing.
As he strolled toward his cluttered desk, he noticed a tiny framed photo that wasn't there the last time. He picked it up to examine it. It was a portrait of him and Winry taken when they had attended the State Generals' Autumn Fundraising Gala some three years ago. It was a formal fundraising event aimed to benefit math and science programs in Ishvalan charter schools. Edward had been apprehensive about going but Winry basically dragged him into it saying that she'd never been to a formal event before. He examined the photo with great thought. His arms was wrapped tightly around her waist and she had held on to him for dear life as they both flashed crooked smiles at the photographer. Truth be told, Winry had drank one too many glasses of champagne that night and Edward had to grumpily haul her intoxicated ass back to the hotel. It was a funny sort of evening. He scoffed lightly at the memory.
Winry heard his soft laugh and turned away from her task of unpacking his things to see what he found so funny. As she peaked over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of the photo, a faint blush coloured her cheeks "Oh, yeah that thing, haha. I noticed that you didn't keep any photographs in this room so I thought I'd frame it and set it here." She explained nervously.
He turned to face her, waving the frame in his hand, laughing even louder now. "You were so drunk that night." He spat in between chortles.
"Ugh, Ed. Don't remind me. It's forever a stain on my dignity." She admitted, half ashamed and half sardonic. She threw some of his clothes over her arm and made her way to the door, "I'll throw your clothes in the wash tomorrow morning. Do you need anything else?" She inquired, reaching for the doorknob.
"No," He yawned as he began unbutton his shirt. "I think I think you should be good. Uhm, thanks." He threw her a weak smile, hoping to get the full extent of his gratitude across.
"No worries!" She smiled back and mimicked his yawn. "Uhm, good night, then." She walked through the doorway and went to close it.
"Win?"
Winry turned back, opening the door slightly once again. "Yeah, Ed?"
Edward huffed and willfully crossed the darkened room, making a beeline for the doorway. He opened the door all the way and wrapped his strong arms around her bodice, nestling his head at the crook of her shoulder, breathing in her scent one last time, "It's really good to see you." He spoke. He honestly had no clue how he'd built up the courage to take hold of her in this manner but he took full delight in the fleeting moment nonetheless.
Winry, in utter amazement, clutched the fabric of his unbuttoned shirt, trying her best to ignore the fact that his bare was pressed tightly against her bosom, her face turned beat red once again, "Ditto." she breathed, barely loud enough for Edward to comprehend, making sure to not drop the rest of his dirty laundry in her arms. She nudged him back gently and pointed to his bed in the right-hand corner of the unlit room, "Now go to sleep, mister."
Edward stepped away from her, grinning like a twelve year-old schoolboy. As he whispered another good night, she went to close the bedroom door, fully this time. He sighed as he stripped down to his boxers and threw himself onto bed sheets, savouring the satisfying warmth until he finally dipped into heavenly slumber.
He would go on to have dreams about her that night. And she, him.
A/N: Hope you like it so far! I'd appreciate a review! And hmu on tumblr: www dot grand-elixir dot tumblr dot com. :)