Yo! (As our Lord and Savior Hughes used to say. *cries*
Here's another sad one shot. I don't know how I feel about this one; the longer I go without rereading it, the worse I remember it being, but then I read it again and it's okay. I guess I'm not very happy with it, but I still think it's enjoyable enough. That's why I decided not to delete it.
I hope you like it.
Timeline: six years after the train station scene in FMA:B.
Pairings: EdWin
Disclaimer: I don't own FMA. I don't even own the phone I'm writing this on, so.
Burned Out
He sighs, props his chin up with his right hand, and looks out the window. He observes the moving, snow covered hills briefly, then focuses his gaze on the sunset. His eyes take in the vibrant pinks, reds and oranges, the soft, white clouds, now colored pastel pink. He sees the dark navy blue at the edges of the golden yellows; at first he's confused, because it's not even 5 p.m. yet, but then he remembers that in the winter the night comes much earlier. 'I guess all these years in the south made me forget,' he thinks, 'but, then again, they made you forget a lot of things, didn't they?' His lips quirk upwards in a bitter grimace.
He tells himself that he should feel excited, happy; hell, even nervous would be fine - after all, he's going to Resembool, his hometown, after six years abroad, after six years of constant travel, hard conditions, dead ends and unimpressive discoveries about western and southern alchemy.
As it turned out, in Amestris most of that stuff was already common knowledge, his travels didn't teach him anything remarkably interesting - at first, the realization that he wasted four years of his life had him devastated, but soon he got over it. He got over a lot of things. He isn't sure if the fact that 'getting over stuff' that easily is a good or bad thing. He decides that he doesn't want to think about it. That usually leads to depressing discoveries about oneself.
His mind returns to Resembool, and what - or rather, who - may be awaiting him there. He once again tells himself that he should feel happy, nervous; that he should feel something, anything, at the thought of his de facto fiancee. But there is nothing.
He doesn't remember when his feelings for her have expired. He suspects it was around the fourth year - of course, four years on letters only certainly didn't help - moreover, his research stopped progressing around that time, anger, depression and resignation got to him. He started going out to bars, started drinking, started noticing women. At first, of course, he was only noticing - their lingering stares, their smiles, their attempts at conversation - but as time went on, she occupied his thoughts less and less, and soon, he could go days, weeks, without thinking about her. His mind was too busy with Cretan and Aerugonian women and the way they made him feel something other than sadness, listlessness, or exasperation.
And soon after that, he slowly stopped writing. One letter every two weeks turned to one letter a month, then every once in a while, then never. She kept writing once a month for the next half a year after his last one, but she must've understood his lack of response, because she, too, stopped.
Alphonse, at first, was surprised by the rather quickly decreasing amount of time he spent talking about her. And when he stopped mentioning her altogether, Al tried bringing up the subject every time he called. He wanted an explanation, and when he finally got annoyed by his pestering and told him everything, all he got in response was a quiet "oh", and then, after a few moments of tense silence, a cold "I understand." And then Al hung up the phone.
That was three months ago, and his brother still hasn't called again.
He sighs again, this time louder, and looks at the sunset once more. The sun is almost gone now, and the pinks turned to purples, the reds and oranges got even more intense, golds and yellows gave way to even more indigos and blues so dark, they were almost black. Clouds turned from pastel pinks to fuchsia; the view would be breathtaking for anyone else, but he hasn't got it in himself to admire it. His thoughts are too preoccupied with his destination.
He hopes that she understood the message and moved on. He knows he doesn't love her anymore - because, if he did, he wouldn't do what he did to her -but he still cares, he still doesn't like seeing her cry. He hopes she found someone new; it's funny, because a few years ago thinking about her with anyone else made his blood freeze. Now he just wants it to be easier for both of them.
The train stops at Resembool station, and he reluctantly gets out. Now he finally feels something; a kind of hopeless inevitability clutching at his stomach. He realizes that after their conversation he'll have to leave, and he probably will never set foot in this town again.
As he walks towards the yellow house, he cannot help but reminisce; about their childhoods, about their friendship. About their private and shared tragedies. About their mistakes. About his rehabilitation after That Night. About their adventures, their sacrifices. About their hopes and dreams, promises. He suddenly remembers his last promise to her and chokes on a laugh (at least he prefers to believe it was a laugh) that threatens to escape his lips.
Equivalent Exchange! I'll give half of my life to you, if you give half of yours to me!
Yeah, what a load of bullshit that turned out to be.
He finally arrives at the Rockbell house, and for the briefest of moments, he's scared. Suddenly, he wants to be anywhere else in the world - even Briggs sounds better than the upcoming talk.
But, he tries to tell himself, he used to be the Fullmetal Alchemist, Hero of The People. He's faced things much worse than break ups, hasn't he? 'Yeah, but even if she doesn't feel anything anymore either, this is going to be painful, and awkward, and you brought it upon yourself. If she cries, it's your fault.' But, he tries to reason with himself, I can't help my own feelings. It's no one's fault. 'Yeah, sure.'
He inhales deeply and knocks on the door.
Winry opens after roughly five minutes. The first thing he notices is her hair - instead of falling behind her in waves of sunny yellow, it barely reaches her shoulders. Her face is different too - she looks much older than her twenty four years. She has dark bags under her eyes, her lips are pursed in a firm line, and her eyes lack determination and fire that used to always be there.
She looks up at him, shocked. He's also changed. His hair is longer, he's grown a couple of inches, and frustrations of the last six years undoubtedly left a mark on his face and in his eyes. His gaze is also different - his fire burned out, too.
Two broken people stare at each other for a moment, and then he breaks the silence.
"Hi." He doesn't try to smile. They both know why he's here and both decide to be honest.
"Hello, Edward. Haven't seen you in a while." Since your proposal six years ago hangs unsaid in the air
"I decided to drop by." We both know I'm not staying here for any longer than I have to.
"Would you like some tea?"
God, it's all so artificial he wants to scream. Their tones, their words, their movements. It's like a bad school play. 'Why won't you yell at me? It's my fault, everything's my fault. Why are you acting so calm?'
"Yes, thanks."
They go into the kitchen, and he sits by the table. She puts the kettle on the stove and pulls out two mugs. They wait for the water to boil in awkward, almost painful silence. He decides that's enough of pretending.
"Winry, listen..."
"No, Ed. You listen. I'm waiting for the water, then I'm making us some tea. Only after all that will I listen to your sorry excuses."
He shuts up and obediently waits for the tea. After she sets a mug in front of him, he realizes he has no idea what to tell her. He decides he should just apologize.
"Winry, I'm sorry."
She doesn't respond, so he decides to continue.
"I'm so sorry for everything. For wasting six years of your life that you could've spent building a family with someone who is ready and who actually wants it. For stopping writing to you. And for being a bastard. For... For cheating on you."
She inhales sharply. He notices her wet eyes and the guilt that has been building up for the last minutes goes into overdrive; he feels like he might cry himself.
"So that's what Al meant in his last letter." She says quietly after a long silence.
"Al wrote to you about this? What did he tell you?"
"He told me enough. About your research. About... some other things. He told me that he's very disappointed in you and that he thinks that I should let you go and move on. It looked like he was very angry, even his handwriting was shaky." She eyes him with a hard stare and he breathes out slowly.
"Win-"
"Don't 'Win' me, Edward. I don't have neither time nor energy for your apology. I've already given you enough of my time. I've waited for you for six fucking years, didn't even think about other men once. I've waited and waited, dreaming about our shared future. I've waited even after Granny died a year ago - and by the way, I told you about that, you could've had at least enough decency to show up to her goddamn funeral. I've been here all alone for a year, and waited. Even after you stopped writing, I've waited. I knew something was up, but even though I was nervous, I was hoping you were okay. Because, you know, at first I thought something happened to you, until I asked Alphonse six months ago and he told me you were fine, just a little frustrated because of your research. And apparently you were BETTER than fine! Apparently, while I was here all alone, full of slowly dying hope and trust, you were busy 'getting over' your failed research!" She is crying now; he tries to say something, apologize again, but she cuts him off.
"Shut up! I don't want to hear anything from you! You were fucking some nameless women while I was mourning Grandma's death and was waiting for you! I thought I knew you, Edward!" She shouts the last sentence and he stands up.
"Winry. You have no idea how sorry I am. If I could, I would do anything to turn back time. But I can't. What's done is done. You have to understand." He walks up to her and gently grabs her shoulders. She doesn't shove him away, she's too busy trying to murder him with her gaze.
"When I realized I wasn't getting anything new out of their alchemy, I was devastated. I wasted four years of my life on that. I was drinking every night to... forget, I guess. At first, I wasn't thinking about other women. But alcohol stopped doing it for me, and they were more than happy to help. I know it isn't a good excuse. I'm not expecting you to forgive me. You shouldn't. I just want you to understand what was going through my head to do that to you. I really am sorry." His voice is thick and he feels tears welling up in the corners of his eyes.
Winry stares at him through her own tears and takes a step back.
"Your 'sorry' won't fix anything. It won't turn back time. It won't make you love me. It won't make me love you."
She laughs hollowly. "You know what's funny? I really thought I still did feel something for you just an hour ago, and I was hoping that maybe we could somehow fix this. But when I opened the door and saw you, it came to me - it really is over. We're burned out, Ed. There's nothing left for you here." Her voice is shaking and fresh tears fall down her cheeks. "Just go."
He doesn't try to hide his tears anymore. He walks up to her, lifts her chin with his fingers and their lips touch for a brief moment. No one could call it a kiss - because a kiss is a declaration of affection between lovers. This 'touching of body parts located on the lower half of a human face' is nothing like that. It's a reminder of no longer existent feelings, a symbol of something that should've been, but wasn't. A goodbye.
He let's go of her, turns around and leaves without a word. She watches him go until he disappears into the darkness completely.
She sighs wetly, touches her forehead to the window glass and looks at the night sky. The clouds from earlier are gone and she can see the stars shining brightly. The crescent moon illuminates hills, trees and the river, giving them an almost mystical appearance. She stares at this beautiful view for a very long time, then turns her head towards the table, where she notices his untouched mug.
She doesn't stop crying until the blackness of the night turns to vibrant pinks, reds and oranges and the dark navy blue gives way to a golden yellow that reminds her of the eyes of a man she tries to tell herself she doesn't love anymore.
Poor Ed. Poor Winry. She had her happy ending in at least Brotherhood, then I destroyed everything :(
I hope you don't mind Ed being so OOC. Remember, he's older, tired, depressed - that changes the way people act and behave.
As for if he still loves her.. I have no idea. In the end, I couldn't decide. So, take your pick.
I was listening to the 1975 a lot while writing this. That probably helped. Great band. Their song "A change of heart" was the biggest inspiration. Go listen to it, if you don't know it. I cry like a little bitch every time I do.
So yeah, I hope I'll be able to write something longer soon - I even have the title already (everything else is a little harder to come up with). But first, I need to stop procrastinating and get to work, because my grades are awful. I wish school didn't exist...
Till next time.