going down
Winry takes a sip of her cola, but it tastes bland and too fizzy in her mouth. It doesn't taste good. Bubbles form under the curve of her lip and she wipes it away, annoyed and frustrated and just a tad bit exasperated. Dim lights shine on her hair and make it look like flaxen strands of once-dead wheat. Her throat feels dry.
"And it's just so great! Jean says that he'll take care of everything, so I just need to finish the cake testing and pick out a dress," Sheska says. Her cheeks are pink and her voice simply falls over in excitement. Winry smiles, but she can't see straight.
"You shouldn't follow the typical rules of a wedding," Edward says from beside her. He's laid back and sitting almost like he's relaxed, but there's a gleam in his sun-coloured eyes that's hard to mistake. "White is overrated."
"I'd be very honoured if you'd come to help me choose, Winry," Sheska smiles widely. Her hands are clasped in front of her. "You've always had such good taste."
"You have good experience too, don't you, Win?" Edward's voice is filled with mirth, but Winry finds it hard to swallow. Instead, she laughs and ignores him. "Of course. Just tell me the date and time."
"Oh, that's great!" Sheska bounces up and goes to a corner of the room. "Riza's coming too — oh, where'd I put that paper...?"
"Don't strain yourself," Edward calls after her. Sheska's too happy to notice, which Winry thanks the god and heavens for. As soon as Sheska is gone from hearing radius, Winry whips her head around and turns to the golden-blond haired male beside her, hissing, "Do you really have to make commentary?"
"I find it necessary," Edward says, bored. He flicks something off his fingernails and inspects them, the picture of fake interest. His legs are crossed and he doesn't pretend not to slouch. Winry thinks that she can see stars forming on the top of his head like a crown. "She just goes on and on about things that don't concern me."
"Be happy," Winry mutters. "The woman is getting married for god's sake. To your old comrade, to add to the punch."
Edward snorts. "So?"
"So, you can at least pretend to be nice."
"I'm not nice."
"Winry?" Sheska calls from the corners of the hall, her voice muffled and a little worried. "Are you okay? I hear your voice raising. Is there something wrong?"
"Oh, nothing," Winry says back, her voice trailing off almost absentmindedly. Even though she says that, she can feel ice former under her skin and seeping into her veins as she gazes upon Edward's self-satisfied smirk.
my stage, my moment
To tell a lie, Winry thinks, is a horrible thing.
Only a cruel person, something with the absolute intention of destroying everything they ever loved and dreamed of, would lie. And no one wanted to do that; not unless they were completely heartless. So why does someone lie?
Alphonse is fast asleep beside her. The train is empty, and with every bump they pass by Winry feels bubbles rising in her chest.
"It doesn't matter if you're the most powerful person on the planet," Edward says, leaning back and staring out the window. "It doesn't give you any right to go around and try to persecute people. It was alright for a couple of years, but now that Mustang's dead...the whole country's fallen apart."
"We've had this conversation millions of times."
"And you never listen to me." Edward leans forward, putting his hand under his chin. He still wears gloves, even though Winry knows that there is smooth, cream-coloured skin underneath. "There's gotta be someone to stop all this terror on religion or race or whatever the fuck they're segregating against now. It's always something different, isn't it? We need another idiot to try and contain it all."
"Why don't you do it then?" Winry asks.
Edward scoffs. "Without my alchemy, I'm useless."
She finds this a completely false statement. The sun shines through the glass panels and Winry finds herself distracted by the way Edward looks at her, with his eyes shining and his hair darkening. She doesn't know why, because she's seen this millions of times before. "No you're not."
"Hm," he says, and leaves it at that. Alphonse stirs sleepily. "Are we there yet...?"
i liked him much more than you did
It's unbearably cold when they get to her house. It smells like apples and machine oil, like it always did, and Granny Pinako is happy to see them. She gives them her old, wise smile, and with the pipe in her mouth she invites them in. "About time that you guys came to visit! I've been rotting here and you go and make lives for yourself."
Alphonse laughs, and it sounds like jingling bells. Winry wants to hear rumbling earth instead.
"Sorry about that, Granny. We'll be sure to visit more often. Ooh, is that apple pie that I smell?"
"Sure smells good," Edward agrees, stepping into the house beside her. "But it also kinda smells like smoke. Is something burning?"
"The pie is all good and ready," Granny says, motioning to the kitchen. "I'll clean up. I was just fixing my workstation."
"Let me do that," Winry interrupts, putting a gentle hand out to stop her. "I'll go, and you help Al cut the pie." Granny raises an eyebrow, but then waves her pipe and says, "You better do it right, girl."
"Don't I always?" Winry shoots her a familiar smile. Granny laughs her hoarse, chuckling laugh and goes away. Edward follows her into the basement where Granny's left her stuff, though, and Winry thinks that it starts to get unbearably hot. Like fire in her lungs. Like smoke muddling in her brain. But, she forces herself to breathe and she just notices that it's Edward, just by the shell of her ear, breathing heavily.
"Stop fooling yourself," he says, voice so low that it causes a chill to sweep through her body. She feels feverish. "You hate this," he motions to the whole room, the bolts and nuts and wrenches and power tools. "And you hate the fact that you hate it."
"Why are emotions so fucked up?" she chokes out.
"Why are humans so interesting?" Edward replies back pleasantly. Above them, the single lightbulb that's never been changed shines brightly — once, twice, until it's so blinding that it could fade away into the darkness and maker her blind. It swings angrily, and suddenly, she feels smoke in her nostrils.
When she opens her eyes, she finds that she's in the middle of a desolate, empty parking lot, the ground beneath her nothing my conceret and sullen, ashy ground. The small green wisps that once was held there was now charred and turned to a burnt brown, laying in between cracks of flame-touched wood and broken glass.
"Winry," Alphonse's voice floats just from her right. "It's all okay now. You need to breathe in; the country air is good for you."
"I agree," Edward says. "You're going pale. Just breathe in. Or, you know, not."
Alphonse ignored him. "I'm part of your family, Winry. I want to help...this was my home too, you know."
"Just tell him," another voice whispered in her ear, like the faintest trace of burning wood and sandpaper. Like a rockslide down a clear mountain. Like water over the grass that formed small drops and made crystal patterns. "Tell him that you ruined it all. Every single fucking thing."
"It'll be okay, Winry," Alphonse continues on, ignorant, his voice catching. He sounds pleading. Desperate. Sad. "It'll...it'll be better. I promise. I hope..."
Splashing in the stream water. There is a sunny day and fresh apples, a basket full of snacks and treats. Winry was playing along the riverbed, picking up colourful stones while Alphonse was near the other side of the water; hesitant and scared, while Edward stayed in the water, moving his arms and legs about. Despite her efforts, they had all gone home wet that day, and not one moment was regretted.
"Every year we come here," Winry starts. "And every year, nothing changes."
Alphonse steps up to her, and he clamps hold of her arm. His hand is thinner, not as thick as the one she's used to, and the skin feels soft and slightly new. It's foreign. She doesn't like it, and at the same time, she revers the coldness it brings. "We'll make it better. We have to. Because it's all that we can do. Stand up and walk, you know."
"I think my legs are broken." she replies to him hollowly, and beside her, she can heard Edward becoming still.
"Fix them," Alphonse says. "That's what you always do, right? I'll help you be strong. Just like you helped us."
"I — "
"There's no way to fix this," Edward hisses, glaring angrily at the burned remains. "No fucking way. It's all ashes now. No point in trying to revive something that can't be brought back, right, Win?"
Alphonse waits patiently for her answer. She never gives him one.
On the train, Winry fights to keep still. The events of the day run through her mind like an old record, popping and rushing and snapping back into place before running again. Some are ruined. Some is scratched, and she can't find it in her to fix it. The train runs through a thick pieces of wood and metal, creating a scratching, almost banging sound that hurts the ears. It echoes in her brain, the foreboding whisper of what was to come.
"What if it was me instead?" she asks when all is quiet. There are ringing bells in her ears. The sound of a gunshot. "What if I had died instead?"
"There's nothing special about death," Edward replies. Alphonse is fast asleep, and he doesn't look like he's about to wake up anytime soon. "It's just when your heart stops beating. People are so stupid — they put so much on the word death that they forget what it means in the first place. When something is worn out, it eventually stops."
"You'll never see them again," Winry objects.
"What's so great about dying?" Edward demands. "Tell me that. Tell me what is so great about dying that makes it worthwhile."
"Living," she answers.
A smile, predatory and glinting, crosses his face. "Then what's so great about living? All we do in our life is suffer. All the greatest people in the world suffered. Because suffering brings something." He moved closer until their knees were touching and if he moved any closer, he could be just as well be kissing her. "And do you know what that is?"
She doesn't dare breath. He's trapped her in his gaze, and both of them know it. "No."
He smells like smoke and fire, the remnants of burned apple pie and sandalwood. "Greatness."
the dreamer eventually sleeps
She sits in the middle of the room, hanging lights above them and trying not to fall below. She feels like there is a chasm underneath her and there's no one to catch her — no handsome men on white horses in princely clothes, and no tiny boy with a red coat and a pocketwatch to see her with his bright eyes.
"A little more to the left," Sheska calls from down below. "Oh, yes! That's exactly right. Thanks for putting up the last decoration, Winry — it's a shame that those lazy decorating people left so early." Sheska huffs as she helps Winry down from the ladder, not noticing her shaking.
Riza comes by, looking much too pretty in little makeup and a fanciful blazer and pencil skirt. She's going somewhere after this. Probably a meeting, and then to drink. Ever since she's gotten out of the military, she's just been spiraling farther and farther down with no Roy Mustang at her side. "It's nearly eleven. I think we should all get some shut-eye, especially you, Winry. You look like you need it."
There's not bite in her tone, and Winry acknowledges it with a tired, "I know." She puts a lock of her hair behind her ear, even though Edward takes it out again and lets his fingers ghost over her cheek.
"But one more thing — I just need your okay on the guest list. You're coming earlier to help Sheska prepare or later on, part of the guests?"
"Go later," Edward says.
"I'll come earlier," she chooses absentmindedly. Her eyes and ears and chest hurts so terribly.
Riza notes it down. "Alright." She turns to Sheska. "And you have the main list all settled, right? Havoc does as well?" Sheska nods again. "Great. I'll be bringing a friend of mine as well; you know him. David?"
"Oh, him? He's a dear," Sheska smiles. "What about you, Winry? Prepared?"
"Of course," Winry yawns, covering her mouth. "I'll be sure to be ready and everything, and I'll even tell Edward to hurry up so we're not late."
It all falls quiet, and Winry recognizes her mistake all too late. Her mind goes numb and she feels like someone's dumped cold water over her head. Slowly, the breathing of theirs becomes condensed until it fades away. Until it all fades away.
"...Edward?" Sheska asks slowly, face ashen. "Did you say Edward, Winry?"
Edward starts laughing hysterically.
antiseptic and loneliness
"So what do you see, Winry?" asks the doctor, pushing his glasses up on his spotted face.
"I'm fine," she objects, shaking her head. She looks perfectly poised, but both she, the doctor, and the golden-eyed man beside her knew that she was messed up on the inside. Screwed. Fucked. "I really don't know why I'm here, doctor."
The doctor nods like he understands, and looks at his notebook. "How's Edward?"
"Perfectly fine."
"Unlike you are," Edward scoffs. He peruses the room lazily, taking in the white walls and Spartan decorating. "You've put yourself in a prison, silly girl. I thought we were supposed to keep this secret."
One day, she remembers that they used to put their most treased keepsakes in the carved-in hollow of a large tree in their hometown. She wonders if they're still there, or it it's all rusted and broken down like everything else is.
"Mmhm," the doctor says. "So I can see that you're completely fine."
"Of course."
The doctor eyes her warily for a moment, but then takes off his glasses and says, "My dear, you do know that Edward has been dead for seven years now, right?"
"Oh, she knows," says the golden-haired man himself. And he smiles.
falling deep, deep, down and far
"I'd never leave you," he says. "I...I love you too much for that."
All she can remember is fire — so much fire. Pain. She can remember golden eyes and flames and a shot. A shot so loud and a hitched breath, an arm outstretched toward her, and she can remember snapping. She remembered something falling.
She wonders if it really was the building that day, and she wonders if it really was Edward who died.
"I know," she smiles, and then laughs, and then hugs him. "Just promise me you'll be careful? Those radicalists are really...well, extreme."
"I'm sure it'll be nothing I can't handle," he prods her gently.
"That's what you always say."
"And I'm always right."
If only she didn't follow him.
"Call me when you get there, okay?" she yells at him from the train station, unaware of the danger to come. Unaware of the ticking time that moves slowly just in the back compartment, ready to blow, ready to bring everything to pieces. He waves back with one hand. "Yeah, yeah! Just go on, woman!"
Winry scowls at him for a second, but it's playful. She runs up to him and pulls of his coat jacket. Her eyes are worried, and for good reason. "Just before you leave, Ed...are you sure that this isn't going to keep you for long?" He opens his mouth and says —
She remembers wishing that it was her.
Anyone but him.
Anyone.
— "Of course."
It's the last thing she ever heard him say.