A/N: This is my second try at writing Shadow of Contrition, and I hope it will be much improved. Some chapter titles and inspiration come from the poem "Dulce et Decorum Est" by Wilfred Owen.

Disclaimer: Sadly, I make no money by writing this. I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist.


Prologue -- Before My Helpless Sight

Her rejection from the job at the automail shop on the corner was a bitter one, and the cold blast of air that hit her face on the way out did not help matters. Her ears were bare, too, and the tendrils of hair that swayed to hit them felt like icicles. Winry pulled her jacket close to her, and wished for the relative warmth of Risembool.

She hated this place, really. It was the northernmost major city in the country, and for a girl accustomed to showing her arms and shoulders half the year, it was even colder by comparison. If it had been a good day, and not a day where the sky teased its subjects with snow that would not fall, she could have seen the mountains from where she stood. If it had been an exceptionally clear day, like the one she'd witnessed about a fortnight ago, she could have seen the treacherous train tracks that cut through those mountains towards Drachma.

Or, depending on how she saw it, the train tracks that led down the mountains, towards this city. And then, further south. Towards home.

She sobbed out loud, and let herself slide down the wall of the automail shop. Home. What a word, indeed. The tears, which always seemed to find a way, stung her cheeks as the wind picked up. She took off one glove to wipe her face, noticing as she did that one of the fingers had a small hole in it.

She'd come north to Cohigis not because of any desire to be here, but because the train going north had been arriving an hour and a half earlier than the southbound one. She'd ended up here, the last stop on the regular line, not because she had any particular draw to this city, but because she'd slept past the city where Sheska's parents lived. They were kind people, if Sheska herself was any indication. Winry's friend had invited her to spend the winter holidays with them. She could have caught either the northbound or the southbound train to start with -- there was a second train to catch; it was a small town -- but now she could catch no trains.

On her first night here, the hope of catching two more trains to a homecooked meal and company had faded fast. With the money spend to stay the night here, she couldn't afford the train tickets. Finding work as a waitress seemed a lucky break at first, until she realized the daily wage was about the same as the cost of living there, if that. She still couldn't catch another two trains. She was stuck.

She'd told Sheksa as much in a letter, and the young woman had written back to say that she'd wire Winry enough money to get out. It hadn't gotten there yet, and the holidays were over. Sheska was back at Central, and if Winry ever got the money -- when she got the money, Winry told herself -- the only place she could go was back to Risembool.

It was all enough to make Winry nauseated if she thought about it for too long. And yet she had no desire to simply go home; in her opinion, that house was no longer a home.


Riza tapped her foot, relinquishing the hold on her impatience just a little. Sheska wasn't that late, after all. She glanced at her watch again, and proceeded to have another sip of her already cool coffee.

They had made plans yesterday to have lunch today, Saturday, instead of the previously established Friday night dinner. Sheska had had other obligations, as she had said with a slight blush. Riza had wanted to protest, but she didn't know the girl well enough to do so. She had wanted to pry, which was quite unlike her, but she didn't know Sheska well enough to do that either. So Riza had smiled, and nodded that yes, that was fine with her.

Roy had asked if she wanted to have dinner with him instead, at a place they had frequented in the last few months. She had accepted with a smile that might have said more than she wanted it to. But he gave no inclination that it did, and the evening had proceeded like they always did: enjoyable on a few levels that Riza was comfortable with, and a few that she would prefer to ignore.

On these evenings, they would talk with fewer inhibitions than any other times, about almost anything. Over wine and decent fare, they discussed politics, literature, and memories both happy and troubling. It was on these occasions that she saw Roy smile with something other than a smirk, and laugh in a way she'd forgotten he was capable of. She brought a hand to her face, and recalled the smile that had found a way there last night. Riza had long ago accepted that they were both guarded people, but on these evenings they were at their most open. There were few subjects that were never discussed, few thoughts left unshared. It was bare in a way that was beautiful to her, but left her lying awake at night afterwards. There was nothing more sacred to her than these evenings, but that very fact bothered her.

In some ways, she missed the days when protecting Roy had been her personal duty. Simple, it had been. A straight line, though one fraught with dangers from both sides. She'd known her reasons, and how she would fight. This was a complicated dance that neither of them knew the steps to, and, at that, a dance where no toes were to be stepped on.

She had traded in her firearms and loyalty for conversation, in a sense. Helping Roy Mustang become Fuhrer had somehow turned into having champagne with him, and now Riza felt lost. What possible reasons could she give herself for doing this?

Roy didn't seem to need reasons, and she envied him that. He'd smiled -- well, smirked -- when she inquired, and given her a shrug. Why did anyone like to sit down and talk with their friends? He had said that, and then ordered some pasta. Something inside Riza had given a sharp twinge as she too ordered the pasta.

And now Sheska was beyond polite lateness. Riza tapped both of her feet lightly against the floor of their booth, and motioned that she wanted to order food. Her coffee was cold by now, anyway. As Riza saw the younger woman hurry through the doors of the café, an apologetic expression already set on her features, something in her chest twinged again. Why didn't she question having lunch with Sheska?

As Sheska sat down at their booth, chatting -- "Sorry, I had to go to the bank and see if…" -- Riza realized why. She wasn't going to enjoy this lunch nearly as much as she enjoyed having dinner with Roy. The possible reasons for that made her passionately glad that their waitress had come back, asking what Sheska wanted to eat and drink and causing Sheska to ask Riza what kind of dressing she should get on her salad.

Riza wished that her appetite would come back, and push the unwanted thoughts away permanently.


Sheska wanted to tell Riza, she really did. It wasn't like her to put something else first that hadn't been planned for. But, then again, Sheska hadn't been herself this last couple of weeks. Or had it been a month now? She barely repressed a smile as she asked about salads.

There weren't words to explain how she was currently feeling, and that in itself said that something truly extraordinary must have happened. Books were, and always would be, a source of immense joy for her. She had found her sanctuary in pages, her savoir in ink. But this new feeling was like the best books she had ever read, all compressed and put into her heart to explode.

And yet, it was so uncertain. Is it always like this? Sheska asked no one in particular. Always like someone could rip the pages out at any moment? Like I could, if I wanted to? But she didn't want to, and she dearly hoped that he felt the same way. She thought he did. He wasn't a very guarded person, despite the people around him.

Sheska smiled into her glass of lemonade, then studied her friend's face. Riza hadn't changed much, she thought. Barely a line on her face. She'd cut her hair again, though, and… Sheska's smile faded. The woman sitting across from her looked sad. Maybe she'd never noticed it before, having never been exceedingly happy herself in the past. But now she did, and she wondered if Riza had always looked so forlorn.

Sheska set down her glass, and decided that she should start watching people more.


At a later, quieter time, Winry would think back to this day and imagine a million possible ways it could have gone differently. She could have gone to look for another job that paid more than a waitress. She could have gone directly back to her hotel room, and taken a nap. She could have gotten some lunch, or counted the little money she had again, or… anything besides this.

The city of Cohigis had one bank, located at the conjunction of the two busiest streets. Standing in the very middle of the intersection, one could turn in a circle see the train station, the mountains, the nicer houses, and the closed market, all in the distance. It wasn't the geographical center of the city, but it felt like it. Winry saw more people here than she did anywhere else, and she swore she had never seen any one person twice. Though, right now, she was in such a dense mental fog from the cold and the financial complications that circus performers might have gone through without her notice.

The bank was easily the smallest and the plainest of the buildings guarding the four corners, but she felt her shoulders stiffen as she went in anyway. Winry was quickly acquiring as distaste for large cities -- or maybe it was just this one.

Checking to see if wired money had come through should have been as simple as walking up to the desk… but not today. There was a line of people, perhaps a dozen, and Winry suppressed a groan as she became number thirteen. A man came in abruptly behind her, and she turned around, surprised.

She wished she hadn't. The smell of bad cologne hit her like a physical wall, and he smiled at her to reveal another wall, this one of yellowed and gold teeth. They were almost of the same color, and Winry winced. This man gave the term 'unsavory character' a new depth. "Lost, doll?" He crooned at her.

"No," she said, adopting a flat expression. As she turned back around, his arm snaked around hers. She recoiled in disgust, or tried to. He held tight.

"You need money, is that it? I can make you offers you can't refuse." His breath smelled of mouthwash and garlicky food, the former perverted by the latter.

"No. Not subtle, are you?" She ground out the words between her teeth. She yanked her arm, much to her own pain. The woman standing in front of her in line turned fully around.

"Come on, doll." Whispering. He didn't want to make a scene, then.

"I am not going anywhere with you!" She shouted in his face. The grip that had settled in around her elbow slackened, and Winry heard the curious woman say something.

"Let's come back another time, then. When the company is fairer." For a moment, Winry thought the foul thing was talking to her. Then she noticed another, slightly younger man standing just behind the first, wearing an expression lodged between irritation and embarrassment.

"Leave her alone," said the woman, again. "Why can't you just leave her alone?" She took up a firm hold on Winry's other arm. The woman had a small boy, Winry noticed. He had fastened himself closely to his mother's leg to watch the commotion. He was sucking on his thumb, eyes wide and fixed on hers.

The man's callous fingers were just slipping off her elbow, and she was just realizing that she was shaking with nervous rage, when things started to happen very quickly.

Someone screaming. That was the thing that would stand out most clearly for her later. Surely no one could be that upset about what had just happened with her? No, that couldn't be it, she mused through the fog that was clearing in her brain. But it could very well be the black-clad men with rifles and handguns walking towards them. Yes, Winry thought, that seemed like a distinct possibility.

The little boy, still clinging to his mother's limb, had started to cry.