Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist.
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What was so important that they had to call her at work? She knew he was out of hand, and they knew that she was doing the best she could. So what was the damn point of harassing her, making her come up to the school at a time like this? Winry's head was clogged up by thoughts like these as she marched through town, away from her job as a mechanic and towards the elementary school. Those that didn't know her gave the woman wearing grime-stained clothes odd looks, while those that did know her smiled in acknowledgement.
It was a nice day, and the promised rain had not yet fallen. The low pressure that told of it did not bring heat, and Winry felt pleasantly cool as she pushed her ever-present blonde bangs back away from her forehead. The rest of her hair had been sloppily plaited that morning; nothing else made sense for her line of work. She rarely thought of how others saw her: as a tomboy in a grown woman's body, as an uneducated single mother who was skilled with her hands.
She hadn't been able to keep up with the new automail technology. Without Pinako to help her, and with an extra mouth to feed, she'd taken a job as a general mechanic in Risembool. The pay was decent, but sometimes she longed to tinker with arm plates, and the wires that could have connected to the leg nerves of the customer that would never come again. But that was life, and Winry did not hate hers. How could she?
Her legs had taken her from the center of Risembool to the outskirts, to the school, and waiting outside the fair-sized stone wood-and-stone building were two people: a blond boy with a scowl on his face, and an older woman, her cropped brunette hair kept back by a neat, plain headband. The woman had a firm hand on the boy's shoulder, and it wasn't difficult to see the mutual dislike between them. Winry squared her own shoulders as she came near, preparing for the verbal onslaught.
"Hello, Mrs. Branden," she said tonelessly. Her eyes went to the boy, whose gaze was fixated on the ground. Winry felt her heart sink a little as she noticed the bruise coming under one of his eyes. "So what is it today?"
"Fighting, once again." Mrs. Branden's words were barbed.
"Well, thank you for calling me." Winry reached out and put her hand in the hand of the boy, who quickly snatched his hand back and walked away, the way Winry had come. With an unreadable glance back at Mrs. Branden, Winry walked fast to catch up with the kid, who was already several paces in front of her.
"Wait!" She called out to him, and he stopped, his small feet scuffling the dirt path outside his school.
"Sorry, Mom," he said.
She didn't reply, but took his hand once again. He didn't resist this time, and they walked towards their home like this, in silence. Above, the clouds became angrier and the winds picked up, whistling an idle tune through the trees.
"What happened, Henry?"
He met his mother's eyes with difficulty. "What's a bastard child?"
Winry stopped walking. "Did… did someone call you that?"
Henry nodded.
"And that's why you were fighting?"
He nodded again.
A tumble of emotions flooded behind Winry's calm face: anger, regret, and on some level, shame.
"I don't know what it means, but I didn't like the way he said it. I told him that my dad is away, and he called me that. So I punched him." Henry put a hand to the bruised part of his face. "He punched me back, and Mrs. Branden pulled me off him after that. So what's a bastard child, Mom?"
"It's a name that some people say when they want to hurt you." Winry felt tired all of a sudden.
"And it doesn't mean anything about me?"
"No," she said firmly. "It has nothing to do with you."
She began to walk again, but he remained where he stood, a solitary little figure in the road. "Where's my dad?"
The skies had darkened further, but Winry took no notice. "Your dad's seeing the world right now."
"Why can't he see us instead?" Henry's eyes were pleading now.
"He wants to, but he just can't." She fought hard to keep her voice steady. How could she explain that his father was in another world, forever? How could she explain that the last time she had seem Edward was exactly nine months before her son's birth? How could she explain to an eight-year-old that his father wasn't aware of his own son's existence, and never would be? "He loves you, though. He loves both of us."
"That isn't enough," he stated simply. It was he who was walking away this time, and it was Winry who stood rooted to the spot for a moment. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she joined her son again.
"Do you want to know about him?" she asked.
"You already told me some stuff."
"Did I ever tell you about the time that me and your dad and Uncle Al thought that the lake was haunted?"
"No." Henry looked up, interested despite himself.
"It all turned out to be nothing, but we were convinced, and one night we hid out by that big oak tree and…" Winry continued the story, touched by the look of wonder on her son's face. He was his father's son, all right. His hair was her shade of blond, but his eyes were Ed's eyes, along with his laugh and his temper. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth when Winry thought of how Henry had hated to have his height measured, at least before the growth spurt he had had the previous summer.
It was a good story, and by the time she had told the end of it the house was in sight on the crest of a nearby hill. It was at that moment that the skies decided they were ready, for a sudden rain began to fall on the countryside. The rain intensified, transforming normal droplets into sheets of water that drew puddles on the dry ground and slicked the duo's clothing to their bodies.
"Henry! Come on; you'll catch cold." As soon as it had started raining, the kid had gotten a look in his eyes and run to the side of the road, picking up two sticks and crouching on the ground. Curiosity getting the better of her, Winry shielded her eyes against the downpour and went over to him, where she let out her breath in a single gasp.
Drawn with the smaller of two sticks in the already-muddy ground was a circle. Winry had not seen one like it in almost nine years, but she would know it anywhere. The larger stick was in the middle of the circle when the boy pressed his hands to it, sending a bright blue light into the cloudy gloom. The light dimmed, and within the rapidly disintegrating circle there lay a simple black umbrella. He picked it up, and the wide grin on his face persisted until he turned around to his mother.
"What's wrong?" He asked, thin eyebrows coming together in worry at the look on Winry's face.
"You can do alchemy." It wasn't a question, but the gentle tone of her voice made the smile return to her rain-soaked son's face.
"Yeah. I saw some of dad's old books in the basement when you were at work." He opened the umbrella, beaming with pride when it formed a perfect circle.
Winry smiled to herself. How could she be surprised, really? He was truly Ed's son. Her mind flashed back to two boys crouched in her house, then a light, and a simple rag doll lying on the floor. A birthday present. "I'm proud of you."
"You're not mad at me?"
"No, just be careful, okay?" Her smile faded a little. "Don't do anything that you aren't sure about." Her memories flashed again, this time to a suit of armor carrying a maimed boy in huge arms.
"Okay, mom." He stood on tiptoe to hold the umbrella above both of their heads, and they proceeded to walk the rest of the way home in this fashion, conversation stifled by the pounding rain.
It was later that night, after they had changed into dry clothes and eaten a filling dinner. Winry tucked her son into bed, whispering the usual words of well-wishing in his ear. He was already asleep, and it pained her slightly to see the bruise that had formed on his face. Kissing his forehead, she turned to leave. At the door, she whispered, "Your dad is proud of you too." In his sleep, Henry Rockbell smiled, and Winry closed the door.
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A/N: Okay, this is my version of what would have happened if Winry and Ed had somehow slept together in Conqueror of Shambala, before he left. The idea kind of took hold of me, and it got written pretty quickly. Sorry for any typos, and if anything doesn't make sense. Review, if you don't mind.