The Taste of Honey
Conversing has never been one of Winry's specialties, neither has it been one of Edward's. Especially the talk about Alphonse and Edward leaving for another quest that awaits them is not mentioned often – for Winry gets ready to cry and Edward doesn't know what to when she cries (plus, he hates it when she cries).
So when Winry asks him what time they are leaving; it is, at the very least, quite unusual for them – and Edward doesn't know how to respond.
"When are you leaving?" That's her question, curt and precise; with a too spicy, bad taste in her mouth as she utters the cursed word: "Leaving". The question rings in Edward's head, leaves his mind numb and his face expressionless. Then he pulls himself together, ponders for a minute which feels like an eternity to Winry and finally answers with truth in his words.
"As soon as we can. We have to go."
She nods as curtly as possible. The same bad taste is spreading across her mouth, threatening to go down her throat.
"Okay. I'll finish your automail until tonight, then, if that is what you want."
And it is, she knows. It is what they want, because they need to get their bodies back. Because they won't stop until they reach their goal. And Winry understands that. She just wants them to stay. She knows that it is out of her selfishness and love for them that she wants this despite knowing that they cannot, not yet. She wishes she was way more selfish and stubborn so she could have them here with her, forever, but that's impossible. They wouldn't, they couldn't stay. She understands that. She really does. Still, that doesn't stop her from pleading inside: "Don't go, don't leave me just yet!" She wonders if Edward sees this hidden plea in her eyes and movements, beneath the surface and under the motionless, false expression on her face.
She doesn't think she'll ever know.
"We have to leave tonight." He says dully, as if to convince himself rather than her. And Winry knows this to be true as well, for he would never try to persuade her into anything but cheaper automail prices or automail-repairing. So she nods curtly again, her eyes in the shadow of her thick bangs when she lowers her face. She can feel the tears coming: They'll be leaving so soon! She turns her back to him; he shouldn't (mustn't) see her emotional state (because he hates it when she cries). A tear manages to escape her right eye, she has to get out of here, he mustn't see, more tears flow down her face, and he'll leave sooner if he sees her cry…
"Okay, I'll start working on it right now. You go and rest, you'll need it." She says, her voice (thankfully) flat.
He shouldn't leave sooner. He mustn't. She needs him to stay as long as possible.
She takes a step towards the white door leading to the atelier. But she abruptly stops as her mind finishes analyzing her own last thought.
She needs him.
She needs him?!
'What?' Her mind feels like exploding when she processes the thought. 'I-I…'
She takes a deep breath. This is a shocking inner-revelation for her. She starts, once again, to save what's left of her dignity – she does care for him but this is not the same, he doesn't know that she needs him and mustn't, it has to stay this way – and finds a warm hand (his left, human hand) one her shoulder, stopping her from going any further. She freezes instantly as she feels a tingling sensation when she hears him speak and his hot breath caresses her skin.
"Winry, I… I guess we can wait until tomorrow. Al won't mind for sure, and I don't mind either. So, uh, you should have a rest, too, 'kay? You can do it tomorrow. I'll wait."
The warmth of his hand leaves her shoulder and she feels an impossible urge to have his hand back there. She starts to turn around so she can face him but stops midway as she remembers her tear-stricken face. She can't turn around, what is she thinking?! The bad, spicy taste is much more distinguished now. She must leave the room. Now.
"I should get going, then. See you, Ed."
She manages a half-grimace, half-smile after her declaration and she tries to hide the tears with her bangs. He frowns at her and it is quite clear that he sees through the blonde bangs covering half of her face, that useless façade of hers. He'll probably just leave the room and go to Al and complain about girls being such crybabies, just like he did when they were children. Winry knows he will; she knows him well.
What she doesn't know is that he has changed a lot during their travels and his eyes are open now, he sees through her half-grimace, half-smiles. What she doesn't see is that he is a lot more sensitive, and doesn't want to cause any pain to Al or Winry if he can help it – he refuses to be the reason of their unhappiness. His priorities are their safety and happiness, he would die for them. And if he can cause Winry to smile instead of crying, then he'll do it, even though he doesn't have the slightest clue as to how he is supposed to accomplish this difficult feat. And so, Edward decides. He decides that he will try his best to comfort her, that he will somehow ignore his fear of crying girls.
That's why Winry, to her astonishment, finds Edward's gloved left hand on her right cheek, wiping away her tears. She gasps and automatically turns around, forgetting the fact that she is crying silently and Edward hates to see her crying. His reaction to her confused expression and tear-stricken face is even more surprising: His arms wrap themselves around her and Winry finds herself in his arms, held tightly by the last person she expected to be hugged by. And a part of the very same bad taste in her mouth is diminishing with ease to be replaced with something that resembles honey. It isn't gone completely, not yet, but she knows that there will come a day when the no longer have to leave and it will be gone permanently. Until then, she just has to wait, as she always does, she realizes.
Winry decides, with a huge smile on her still partly wet but mostly dried face and a new strength in her arms that are wrapped around the boy she cares for, that she likes the taste of honey.
A lot.
-----
A/N: So… Yeah, my first Edwin fic. I'm not sure if it's good, but I tried my best during a week without net which I named a week of agony. So if pain helps me write better, then tell me please, I'll start not reading or listening to music and studying Maths all day. Ahem, anyway, so tell me what you think, 'kay? Thank you in advance!
Oh and I don't own Hagaren! That honor belongs to Arakawa-sensei!