Incredibly, incredibly short, considering what I usually post. But not as short as an Ouran drabble I saw the other day.
She stands, metallic shards leaving her hands.
Shards, pieces to be made whole. Like a body.
"What?"
Ed, stupid refutable Ed, is standing also, heavy boots clomping directly into her workspace.
"You deserve a prettier name than Winry."
She is appalled. And immediately distrustful.
"I like my name. There's nothing ugly about it."
It just fits, well-oiled and adjusted, a label for a soul.
A frown adorns her forehead for Ed is never one prone to romanticism or cliché compliments. When he wants something said, he says it. But he only praises achievements, not attributes people have no call over.
He laughs and something screams in her windpipe. She locks it in with her teeth.
"Yes…but that name's out of date now…"
He's leaning forward now.
"…That name...was used by my son…"
Something blank and chill-filled snaps by her. Son?
Something which is produced by another, another that is meant to die first.
She doesn't understand but she knows.
"Hohemeim…how?"
It is an idle breath and one wasted.
Dante grins, bringing an arm over her head and creaking through the joints. Limber and angled into something she respects; beauty. And so much easier to move than a metallic hunk of screws that was supposed to be an arm.
"I'm the maker now."
She grimaces at the apparel below her waist. She needs a dress now. Dignity is a new effect for this one and one that will suit blue eyes and blonde hair. A regular little goldilocks.
"Hush, hush my dear…I know what it's like to cry for a man who never comes back…"
She stares down at the still form of burly lion-hair and Hohenheim-like flesh nearby. Her old container.
"This way we both get our revenge. Oh, and you got a lie."
This is the redemptation Hohenheim owes her. Never again will that man's genes flood through another woman's flesh. She has finally rendered that future to an undiscovered possibility.
Edward merely waited too long.