Scars and Consequences
Edward Elric watched as the train pulled out of the station, the rumble of its engines fading as it receded into the distance. "Come on, Brother," Alphonse Elric's tinny voice said as he laid a hollow leather gauntlet on the blond's shoulder. "We can't put it off forever."
At the familiar touch, Edward looked up and imagined he saw the reluctance on his face mirrored in his brother's glowing red eyes. "I know, Al," he said, turning away from the train tracks and towards the entrance to the bustling city. They were close enough to make out the "Rush Valley" sign that spanned the main street, proclaiming the city's reputation as a mecca for automail, and Edward started towards it, his feet heavy.
The crowd eddied around his larger but younger brother, and Ed caught a glimpse of the automail purveyor storefronts ahead, more specifically, the brightly painted sign that proclaimed Atelier Garfiel. His destination now in sight, Edward straightened his posture and drew a deep breath, allowing the dry, sun-blasted air to fill his lungs. The feeling only worsened the sudden dryness in his throat, but he continued on until he and his brother stood under wooden building's calico awning.
"Are you ready, Brother?" Al asked. From the squeak of metal on metal, Ed knew without looking that Al had turned to watch him, somehow managing to make the armour shell radiate concern as well as desert heat. Ed said nothing in response, merely placed his hand on the door and pushed, stepping into the relative cool of Garfiel's automail shop as he did so.
"Edward!" Garfiel's voice sang out as he cleared the doorway. Ed winced inwardly as the greeting caused waiting patients to turn to him and Garfiel continued, "I hope nothing's broken."
Alphonse poked his head into the room but, seeing it filled with waiting patients, murmured his apologies and stepped back outside to wait. Ed waited until the door swung shut again before speaking. "Nothing's wrong," he answered, flashing the flamboyant man a forced grin. "We're between assignments, so I thought I'd visit, and see if Winry can fit me in for a tune-up." He tried his best to ignore the shrewd look Garfiel gave him and found a bare patch of wall to lean against, taking care not to hit the older man who sat waiting next to him.
Garfiel finished up his business with a dark-haired woman and moved to the open window, sticking his head out above the humming fan to shout, "Winry! You've got someone here to see you!"
Ed didn't hear a rejoinder, but Garfiel nodded and returned to his own work. The thought of Winry's impending appearance tightened the nervous knot in Edward's stomach, and he shifted his weight in a futile attempt to ease the tension in his body, inadvertently knocking his arm into the man next to him.
As Ed muttered a hurried apology to the man, the back door of the shop slammed shut, and Garfiel's voice sang out again. "Look who's here, Winry!"
At the sound of his mechanic's name, Edward's attention jerked from the injured man to the young woman behind the counter. Her blue eyes were cool as they met his, and the lack of emotion in them made his heart sink. "Hey, Winry." The attempt at a cheerful greeting died in Edward's throat, and his eyes darted nervously to the ground when she said nothing.
"Edward came for a tune-up!" Garfiel's explanation cut through the awkward silence, forced cheerfulness audible in his voice. "Isn't that wonderful? I'll check to see if we have a spare patient room for him to stay in—"
"There isn't," Winry interrupted, the finality in her voice forcing Ed to look up from his self-appointed task of mentally tracing the grain of the worn pine floorboards. "I'm sorry, Edward, but I'm booked for the next few days." Garfiel twisted his frilly pink apron nervously as his eyes flickered between his apprentice and her best customer, and the waiting patients did their best to avoid watching the confrontation directly.
Edward felt the eyes of the entire room on him like pinpricks but did his best to ignore the feeling. "That's alright. I plan on staying in Rush Valley for a week," he answered, fighting to keep his voice composed. "Surely you can fit me in sometime this week? I'll be staying at a hotel in town; Alphonse will come by later to let you know which one." Winry acknowledged him with a wordless nod, and Ed turned around, offering Garfiel terse thanks as he left.
The brilliant desert sunlight reflecting off the beige sand blinded Ed temporarily and he nearly walked into Alphonse, who stood waiting, unperturbed by the weather. "Brother, watch it," Al admonished as he nudged Edward away with a leather gauntlet. "I'm probably scorching hot."
"Sorry Al," Ed apologized as he started down the street again. "Come on, let's find ourselves a place to stay."
"Winry's still mad at you?" Al asked uselessly. Edward's only answer was an angry snort and a quickening of his step as he bullied his way through the thick crowd. Alphonse was left hurrying in his older brother's wake, muttering apologies left and right as pedestrians who moved too slow for Ed's liking nursed bruised appendages and egos.
Despite his greater stature, Al did not catch up with Ed until the blond had finished securing a room at the Hotel Augustine, a towering building faced in blinding limestone. Al felt painfully awkward as he clanked across the thick plush carpet of the lobby to where his older brother stood waiting, his foot tapping in impatience.
"Ed, shouldn't we have stayed somewhere less, you know, conspicuous?" Al asked in a loud whisper as Edward led the way up a wide staircase of polished wood. Ed said nothing in response, merely continuing until they were in front of a door labeled 306.
Al couldn't help but gasp at the luxury on display in their room. Instead of the two narrow beds topped by lumpy mattresses that made up their usual hotel room, the room Ed procured contained two low, wide beds covered in thin, colourful blankets and topped by half a dozen fluffy pillows each. A large picture window took up most of the opposite wall, but its thin gauzy curtains managed to filter out the harshness of the desert sun, filling the room with a cool, bright glow. Without a word, Ed shed his heavy red coat and black jacket, threw off his shoes, and flopped on the bed farthest from the door, his back towards Al.
Ignored, Al made his delicate way across the plush carpet and sank onto the unoccupied bed. Though he could not feel the softness of the mattress, he noted how deeply his heavy metal form sank into the bed and briefly imagined how it would all feel on skin. Long minutes of silence passed, and Al occupied himself by watching the play of light across the ceiling, knowing by Ed's breathing that he had not yet fallen asleep.
"Al?" Ed suddenly piped up, his voice muffled by the pillows and bedding.
"Yes, Brother?" Al asked, rolling over to face the other bed with a soft clank of metal.
Ed did not return the favor, instead keeping his face firmly towards the wall. "Will you go by the workshop and let Winry know where we're staying?" His voice lost some of its careful neutrality as Ed continued, "Maybe she'll talk to you if you bring her something nice."
"Sure," Al answered, sounding even more hollow than usual as he stood up. Neither of them mentioned the fact that the strategy Ed proposed hadn't worked the last time they were in Rush Valley. "I'll be back before dark," he added needlessly as he left the room.
Al kept an eye out on the shops he passed as he retraced his earlier steps to Atelier Garfiel. Normally, shopping for Winry in Rush Valley was a snap, but Al knew that the rift between his brother and his friend would not be easily mended by a gift. Still, he made the effort, casting his eye over window displays of shiny forged steel tools as he walked by them.
"Al?" The sound of his name drifting down from above made Al stop in surprise. "Alphonse? It really is you!" Al saw a figure, backlit by the sun, waving at him from the roof above and raised his hand to return the gesture as the figure slid down a pipe mounted to the side of the wall.
Once out of direct light, Al could make out the patchwork camouflage pattern of the figure's pants. "Paninya!" he exclaimed. "What were you doing all the way up there?"
Back on ground level, the young woman flashed him a brilliant white grin as she pointed to the sign Tringham Pharmacy above them. "I got hired to do some repairs on their greenhouse," she explained. "When did you get into town?"
"This afternoon," Al said. "Ed's due for a tune-up, but Winry's pretty busy. We're staying at the Hotel Augustine until she can get around to him." He glanced up at the building's façade and asked, "Why does a pharmacy have a greenhouse?"
"They use it to grow plants for their medicines," Paninya said, tugging Al towards the door. "Let me introduce you. The Tringhams are alchemists too." Intrigued, the youth let his friend drag him through the door, taking care to duck under the low lintel of the greenhouse door.
Al learned quickly that a man and his two sons, all plant alchemists, ran Tringham Pharmacy. The minutes flew by as they spoke of alchemy, and Al only remembered his errand when Paninya stood up and stretched, glancing up at the portion of the greenhouse roof covered by a wooden plank. "I should go," Al said apologetically to Nash Tringham. "I promised my brother I would deliver a present and a message to his mechanic."
"That's alright," Nash answered, shooing his sons out of the greenhouse ahead of him, "but feel free to come back anytime. Russell and Fletcher don't often get the chance to talk to other alchemists."
"What are you bringing Winry, Al?" Paninya piped up curiously. "Is she still mad at Edward?"
"She is, and I don't know what to bring her. If I get her a new tool, she's likely to throw it at Brother the first chance she gets." The sadness in Al's voice made Nash Tringham turn back and regard the tall suit of armour with something like sympathy in his eyes.
"Most people around here don't bother bringing their mechanics any gifts," Tringham said, running his hand over a leafy green fern on a shelf.
Al shook his head with a squeak and made a mental note to pick up some oil for himself when he met Winry. "No, we've known Winry since we were all children," he explained. "But something Brother did made her really angry, and she hasn't talked to him for months."
"Why don't you bring her some of these flowers?" Tringham said, gesturing to a row of flowering plants in clay pots. "Most women like them, and at the very least, it won't hurt your brother if your friend throws them at him."
Al let his eyes linger on a cluster of deep blue hyacinth blossoms. "Are you sure, Mr. Tringham? What about your medicines?" he asked hesitantly.
The tall, ash-blond man waved away Al's concerns with a smile that made his blue eyes twinkle. "I grew this row of plants for pleasure, and I'd be happy to share them. Take what you'd like, as long as you promise to come back and talk to Russell and Fletcher. I'm certain my boys have questions for you; they just don't like to ask when their father's around."
"Yes sir!" Al said, his enthusiastic nod making his helmet's plume sway. "I'll be sure to do that!"
A bouquet of white tulips and purple hyacinths clutched in his hands, Al arrived at the workshop to find Garfiel standing in the shade of the calico awning, mopping his forehead with his apron. "Hello, Mr. Garfiel," Al greeted the older man.
"Alphonse! It's good to see you," Garfiel answered. He gestured at the flowers in Al's hand and dropped his voice. "From Edward?" Al nodded wordlessly and the older man continued, "She's working in the back. The gate's unlocked." He raised a hand to forestall Al's grateful thanks, and added, "It's hard on her, being so angry at Edward. I hope you can talk her out of it better than I can."
"I'll try my best," Al answered in a whisper. Without another word, he headed towards the gate, straightening his back and tightening his grip on the flowers in his hand as he passed through.
Alphonse found Winry Rockbell sitting on a wooden stool in the middle of the yard, staring intently at a piece of metal propped up on the sawhorse next to her. "Hello?" Al called gently, not wanting to disturb her work. "Winry?"
The blonde mechanic gave a distracted wave in his general direction, and he hung back, waiting, until she stood up and stretched. Turning to face him, she smiled faintly and Al relaxed, relieved to know that no heavy objects were likely to be hurled at him. "Good to see you, Alphonse," she said, her voice neutral.
"Why are you working out here? It seems like it'd be cooler in your workshop." Out of nervousness, Al gripped the flowers tighter, causing a thin trickle of water to leak from the damp cloth that protected the cut stems.
"It gets stuffy in there," came Winry's answer as she rubbed her hand absentmindedly across the bridge of her nose. "Besides, it's better to apply coatings out here, where the patients won't complain about the smell." She paused to look him over then added with an amused smile, "I think your hand is leaking."
Surprised, Al relaxed his grip and held out the bouquet in his hand for inspection. "These are from Brother," he explained. Seeing her eyes darken at the mention of his older sibling, Al hurried over and took Winry's hand, closing her long slender fingers over the stems. "We're staying all week, at the Hotel Augustine. Won't you come visit us while we're here?"
"I can slip Edward in for a morning tune-up four days from now," Winry said, steadily ignoring Al's question, though he felt a tiny glimmer of hope when she kept her grip on the flowers. "Come on inside and let me get you some oil, Alphonse. You're squeaking like crazy."
"It's this place," Al protested as he followed Winry through the back. "The sand gets into everything!" He waited while she laughed and rummaged through a shelf of supplies to unearth a canister of quality machine oil. "Thanks, Winry," he said gratefully when she tossed it to him.
"Flowers, Winry?" Garfiel asked, pointing to the bouquet in her hand. "Better get those into some water before they wilt." The tall, burly man met Alphonse's eye and added, "Are they from Edward?"
Al answered before the blonde had a chance to protest. "Brother asked me to bring them when I came to tell Winry where we were staying," he explained. "And Winry managed to work Edward into her schedule. I hope it wasn't too much trouble."
Garfiel shook his head as he removed a matching handkerchief from his apron pocket and wiped the dirt from his hands. "None at all, though I didn't realize your schedule was so full, Winry. I could have sworn—"
"Could you find me a vase for these flowers, please?" Winry interrupted, giving her mentor a sharp glare. When he started in surprise, she added sweetly, "You'd know what kind of container would set off these flowers better than I would." The appeal to her teacher's sense of aesthetics worked, and Garfiel nodded, making his way up the stairs to the secondary supply room upstairs.
Al glanced at Winry, his helmet betraying no emotion, though her flustered fumbling as she placed the flowers on the counter made him suspect that she knew she had been caught. Still, the younger Elric let the lie stand. "I should head back to the hotel and let Brother know," he said, excusing himself and heading towards the front door.
"Alphonse…" Winry said uselessly. At the sound of his name, Al stopped and looked over his shoulder, head cocked in patient curiosity. Whatever Winry was about to say seemed to evaporate at the sight of his face, and she rubbed the bridge of her nose as she thought. "I'll see you in a couple days," she finally allowed herself. "Try to keep your brother out of trouble until then."
"I will." Though he spoke quietly, Al's voice reverberated through the hollow metal of his body and filled the room. Winry nodded as he walked through the door; alone again, she turned back to her work, but not before allowing her eyes to linger on the white and purple blossoms lying on the wooden counter.
Even though the desert sky was still bright when he returned to the hotel, a glance at the antique grandfather clock in the lobby told Al that it was late, almost past dinnertime. He quickened his steps crossing the lobby to the staircase, but a shout brought him up short.
"Al! Over here!" Ignoring the glares of the diners around him, Ed shouted his brother's name again and waved one hand over his head, the other holding a half-eaten sandwich.
Al sighed and joined his brother, hoping that if he just thought the apology hard enough, it would reach the disgruntled hotel patrons around him. "Brother, keep your voice down," he said. The admonishment proved unnecessary, for as soon as Al sat down, Ed crammed his mouth full again. Al resisted the temptation to drop his head into his hands, and merely said, "Winry said she can take a look at you in four days." The mention of his mechanic's name made Ed's head snap up, and Al wordlessly passed his brother a glass of water as Ed's jaw worked to swallow the overlarge mouthful he'd taken.
"So she talked to you?" Ed managed to gasp out, unable to hide the sudden optimism in his voice.
"Yes, but she's still mad at you," Al answered. "Brother, what did you do?"
The news visibly deflated Edward, but he tried to hide his disappointment behind another mammoth bite of sandwich. "I dunno. I hope you didn't bring her anything too big. She's got too good of a throwing arm."
"No, I brought her flowers and said they were from you." Al paused and shook his head politely at the waiter who approached for his order, then continued, "She seemed to like them."
Another half-choked sputter and minute of frantic gulping later, Edward spoke, though Al couldn't tell if the colour in his cheeks was due to near suffocation or embarrassment. "Al! What'd you bring her flowers for? She's going to think that I'm sorry or something. I don't even know why she's mad at me!"
"But you are sorry that she's mad at you," Al pointed out, unfazed by his brother's sudden glare. "Besides, would you rather she throw flowers at your head or a brand new wrench?"
Ed, who had been gearing up for a loud denial, looked floored by Al's thinking. "Good point," he conceded as he stuffed the remains of his meal into his mouth and stood up.
The younger Elric shook his head in appalled amazement and followed his brother to their room. "You really should try to talk to her during your tune-up, Brother," he said, taking advantage of Ed's food-induced silence to speak his mind. "Say sorry and make things right between the two of you again." Falling silent, Al lengthened his stride and passed his brother on the stairs, ignoring the loud, incoherent protests that issued from Edward's mouth as he followed.
Feigning sleep, Ed waited patiently for Al to ease himself off his bed and shuffle out of the room before opening his eyes again. Trapped in a body of steel, Al had early on found the hours of staring at a dark ceiling while his brother slept like the dead a less than satisfactory way of spending his nights. Now, every night he stole out of the room after a suitable amount of time, off to find a quiet corner in which to spend the moonlit hours reading. Though he never told his brother, Edward was grateful for this little charade; it helped maintain a sense of normality between the two of them, and there were even rare occasions where they spent the night talking, whispering secrets and theories under the cover of darkness.
The passage of cloud dimmed the moonlit hotel room interior for a minute, and Ed's thoughts turned from contemplation of his brother to contemplation of a young woman with pale blonde hair and cornflower blue eyes. Despite his continued denials to Al, Edward suspected he knew the reason for Winry's long-lasting anger: her arranged kidnapping by Scar. He relived the incident more often than he'd like to admit, and, on particularly bad nights, the images still haunted his dreams. Just thinking about it, he swore he could feel the grit of pulverized mortar in the air and see Scar emerging from the smoke like some indestructible demon, Winry slung carelessly over his arm like a sack of grain.
The memory of watching her disappear on the arm of her parents' murderer, and the knowledge that he had willfully put her there, stirred to life again the bubble of guilt and anger that had resided in his chest since that fateful day. Never mind that the staged kidnapping had successfully whisked Winry away from Briggs and the crazed eyes of Zolf Kimbley; all Edward remembered was the fact that he had betrayed his best friend, the girl to whom he had willingly chained himself with a golden promise. Growling in frustration, Edward sat up and punched his pillow into shape before flopping onto it facedown, hoping that by closing his eyes he would be able to push away the memories and find some respite in sleep.
It was near dawn before exhaustion overpowered memory, sending him into a dark and dreamless sleep.
Alphonse spent the next two days at Tringham's Pharmacy, trading stories and interesting bits of alchemic theory with Russell and Fletcher. He had invited Edward along, trying to tempt his brother with the promise of new and interesting alchemy, but the blonde had been less than enthusiastic, glowering silently at his younger brother through eyes dark with sleep deprivation at the offer.
Edward felt a niggling sense of guilt over his abrupt dismissal of Al's invitation, but he felt the need to be alone, to have the time to replay the events at Briggs and, more importantly, to find some way of making things right with Winry. Alphonse would have helped, he knew, but the changing relationship between himself and Winry was something he couldn't put into words, something he didn't want to share with his younger brother just yet. A part of him felt that letting Al know would be disloyal, as if Edward was somehow betraying his younger brother and their quest by thinking of Winry as more than just a childhood friend.
Still, for two days Ed stayed in the hotel room, trying to find the words to make amends. He discarded about a hundred different dialogues; each apology sounded hollow to his ears, too trite to explain why he betrayed her trust, too inadequate to ask for forgiveness. He did, however, manage to commit to memory the map of flaws on the plaster ceiling.
On the second day, Al returned an hour after sunset dyed the desert sky a deep indigo to find Edward pacing the room like a caged lion, the pillows from both beds thrown to the ground and kicked into the corner. "Brother?" Al asked cautiously as he picked up the feather pillows.
Edward took a slow deep breath as he faced his younger brother, trying his best to keep from taking his frustrations out on Al. "Nothing's wrong, Al," he reassured. "Just trying to work out a problem." Though Al said nothing and his armoured visage stayed expressionless, Ed had a sneaking suspicion his brother knew he had been thinking about Winry.
Both of them unwilling to acknowledge the crux of Edward's problem, Al merely sat on his bed, the gathered pillows in his lap, and watched as the blond made his way from one end of the small room to the other. "You should come with me tomorrow, Brother," Al said, "and take your mind off of things. Fletcher and Russell know a lot about plant alchemy; you'll like them."
Three more paces brought Edward back to his bed, and he threw himself onto the soft mattress with a grunt. "I suppose it can't be any more worthless than what I've been doing the last two days," he muttered. Al sighed and shook his head, his freshly polished armour moving without a sound, before he threw the pillows at Edward's head with surprising force.
Al had been right, Ed admitted to himself as he headed towards his scheduled tune-up at Atelier Garfiel. He had enjoyed spending the day with the Tringhams, though the knowledge that Russell Tringham was both younger and taller irked him to no end. Unfortunately, while pouring over half-sketched transmutation circles and arguing the basics of alchemical theory had done wonders for his peace of mind, Edward still had no idea what he could say to his very angry mechanic.
The morning air was still cool, but Ed felt nervous sweat beading on his forehead when he came within sight of the sign Atelier Garfiel. A sense of déjà vu welled within him as he neared, but this time there was no Alphonse to provide him with quiet support. He still had no words to say but knew that not showing up would be even worse than a half-mangled apology. Squaring his shoulders, Edward clenched his hands and opened the door.
"Morning, Edward," Garfiel said without looking up as he entered. Ed gaped, wondering just how the man had known it was him; demonstrating further telepathy, the automail engineer added, "You're the only one who has an appointment this morning. She's in the backyard; you can head on out."
"Thanks," Ed answered, eyeing the man suspiciously as he continued disassembling an automail hand. Feeling Ed's eyes on him, Garfiel finally looked up from his work and gestured pointedly at the propped open door. Flushing, Ed nodded and all but scurried out into the yard.
Winry stood at a workbench surrounded by wooden sawhorses, her back to him, and Ed stopped short at the sight of her, his forward momentum and his sudden stop combining to send him nearly face first into the sand. He windmilled his arms in silent desperation and heaved a sigh when he managed to keep himself upright, tugging self-consciously at his coat sleeves as he did so.
The sigh caught Winry's attention, and she turned towards the building, blonde hair swinging. Little emotion flickered across her face, though her eyes widened in recognition. "You're late," she said as she pulled a stool out from under the workbench and gestured to it.
Edward shed his red overcoat and black jacket, leaving them in a messy pile on the ground as he took the indicated seat. "I'm sorry," he said, eyes on his mechanic as he arranged his metal limb on the workbench.
She seemed surprised at his apology, and Ed couldn't help but notice as he glanced upward in embarrassment that Winry's eyes were the same colour as the clear morning sky. "It's alright," she answered, drawing his attention back to her. "Let's just get started."
Winry bent her head over his arm, murmuring the occasional instruction as she took his automail through its paces. Ed used the opportunity to observe her as she lavished attention on her creation. The long summer days had darkened her skin considerably, and he nearly choked when he noticed the pale skin that peeped out from the edge of her top as she reached up to test fasteners at his shoulder.
Swallowing hard and convinced his face was turning bright red, Ed turned his attention further up, away from dangerous territory, and watched the various levels of concentration play across her face as she observed his automail, discovered problems, and implemented fixes. He shifted uncomfortably when he noticed her new habit of running a finger absentmindedly across her sun-freckled nose, recognizing the gesture for what it was.
Her tanned skin effectively hid the thin raised line that ran down the bridge of her nose and across her left cheek, but Ed remembered it, remembered glimpsing the vivid wound as he snuck away from the man known as the Crimson Alchemist to meet Scar and Winry. She had been asleep at the time, exhausted after being attended to by the Xingese girl with the demonic cat, and Edward had had to satisfy himself by leaving her a letter and asking Scar to let her 'escape' near the train station with instructions to return to Rush Valley. He hadn't been able to stay long, and the sight of that long jagged cut, a product of flying debris during Scar's escape, had haunted his dreams.
The familiar wash of guilt made Ed even more restless, and, when Winry finally looked up in annoyance at his finger-tapping, Ed blurted out, "I'm sorry you got hurt when we were at Briggs."
Annoyance gave swift way to confusion in her face as the nervous alchemist continued, "I know you're angry with me, and I'm really sorry that you got hurt while we were there, and I'm sorry for not telling you about the plan beforehand, and I'm sorry about asking Sc—" Ed stopped abruptly in his rambling apology as something finally clicked in his mind, the abandoned bits and pieces of his thoughts over the past three days suddenly falling into place.
His eyes narrowed, and he took a deep breath, unconsciously bracing himself for her reaction. "You know what, I'm not sorry I had to ask Scar to kidnap you. It got you out from under that madman Kimblee's nose; that's the most important thing. I know you hate Scar, but he was the only one who could get you somewhere safe." Edward looked up, his gold eyes almost glowing with defiance as they met her cool, cornflower blue ones, and continued in an almost guttural hiss, "I can live with you hating me, as long as you're alive to do it."
The vehemence with which he spoke seemed to surprise even Ed himself, and he jerked backwards at the import of what had escaped his lips dawned on him. Silence hung heavy in the air between them, Ed's impulsive words settling like a tangible dust on his skin as he watched for a reaction, any reaction, from the blonde mechanic. He saw her throat work, swallowing whatever response came first to her lips, and the screwdriver she held spun rapidly between her long fingers. The silence stretched until Ed wondered if a response was even coming, before she licked her dry lips and bent back over his arm, tightening a loose screw at his thumb joint.
"That about does it for the arm," she said, her voice quiet and controlled. "But it'll be easier for both of us if we went inside for your leg's tune-up." Without another word, Winry rose from her seat and began gathering her tools, placing them into a heavy leather pouch that she tucked under her arm. Caught off-balance by her reaction, Ed stumbled out of his chair to follow, only remembering at the last minute to gather his clothes from the dusty ground.
More thoroughly perplexed than ever, Edward followed meekly as Winry led him into the wooden building and up the stairs to an unused patient room. She gestured for him to lie back on the slightly elevated bed as she pulled up her chair and laid out the instruments of her trade on the bedside table. "Light's too harsh," she muttered to herself as she crossed the room to the window and lowered a gauze curtain. When she returned, Winry sank into her chair and regarded her patient with some of her old warmth.
"I'm not angry at you about what happened at Briggs, Ed," she told him as she coaxed the metal toes of his left leg into various degrees of curl. "I do wish you had told me, but I understand why you did what you did."
Ed watched as her gentle hands touched each unfeeling metal part of his limb. Relief gave swift way to annoyance to all-too-familiar anger as he realized that he had agonized for nearly half a year over her perceived anger. "What?! Then why have you been acting like you were? Did you think it was funny to see me squirm, worrying about you?!" he all but roared.
Winry glanced at the open window nervously and instinctively grabbed the heaviest tool from the assortment laid out by her side. "If you'll stop making a scene, I'll tell you!" she answered, her voice quieter but no less heated than his as she waved the screwdriver in front of his face.
Faced with the threat of a heavy object to the skull, Ed reflexively stopped his tirade mid-word, his eyes riveted to her face in an attempt to gauge just how likely she was to throw her screwdriver. Her eyes darted to the window again as she ran her free hand across the bridge of her sun-freckled nose, tracing the path of a faded scar. "Winry," he said, surprise in his voice as it dawned on him that fear shone in her eyes. "You're afraid."
"Of course I am, stupid!" came the irritated response. "How could I not be when you told me at Briggs that the military was using me as your hostage?"
"I didn't tell you for so long because I didn't want you to be afraid!" Ed interrupted. "I thought—"
"That it would be better if you kept me in the dark so I could walk blindly into military traps?" Winry interjected. The comment stung visibly, and Winry was immediately contrite. The annoyance leeched out of her voice as she turned her attention back to the conversation at hand. "Let me explain, will you?" she asked, reaching for his hand. The blond nodded, braid bobbing, and kept silent.
"I— I thought that if I acted like you were just another client, they'd think they were wrong about me being important. Then you and Al could focus on getting your bodies back without having to worry about what they would do to me if you didn't do what they said." Winry's voice grew softer as the words spilled out of her, until she spoke in a bare whisper. "I'm sorry that worrying about me distracted you from your mission. I wanted to tell you, but I was afraid that if I sent you a letter, they'd open it and find out I was just faking and it wouldn't have worked—"
Edward was so surprised by Winry's explanation that it felt as if he had been hit over the head. To think that she had spent the last six months looking over her shoulder, knowing that faceless foes lurked in the shadows, waiting for the moment when her life would be used as coin in a bargain with her oldest friends… Without thought, Ed reached for her, noticing with a mixture of pride and sadness that she was dry-eyed, still holding on to his promise. "Winry, I'm sorry," he said, the words woefully inadequate for what he felt. "But they already know you're too important to me, to me and Al. I've tried to hide it, but they know. I'm afraid that they won't stop, no matter what we try."
"Ed…" His name escaped her lips in a near whimper, and he tightened his grip on her shoulders at the sound. "Is there anything we can do? Or will we be looking over our shoulders our entire lives?"
The sense of futility in her voice chilled Ed to the bone, and he rested his chin on her straw coloured hair. "Not until I can get Al back," he admitted, "but I think we're getting close to the answer. After that…" Ed sighed deeply and shook his head. "There are still uncorrupted people in the military, and some of them are strong. They have a chance to fix what's wrong." The memory of just who some of those people were sent a growl through Ed's throat, and Winry pulled away to meet his eyes curiously. "Can't believe I'm pinning our hopes on that bastard Mustang and that scary sister of Armstrong's," he muttered in explanation.
The girl beside him, at once his mechanic, his oldest friend, and something tentatively more, gave him a soft smile and pulled away, gently but firmly nudging him back onto the bed. "I should finish your tune-up," she said. "After all, it's what you came here for, right?"
A chuckle escaped the blond and he nodded, obeying the instructions given by her skillful hands. The world may be coming to pieces around them, but here, in this corner of the desert known as Rush Valley, Edward took solace in the fact that at least one small thing had been put to rights.