AN: Written for a prompt exchange with my sister. Don't own FMA.
Prompt
The theme of the story: dark relationship. Main character: experienced alchemist. The major event of the story: lecture.
It had taken one more hit, one more thoughtless strike. One too many blows to the head, which was commonplace in the Rockbell automail shop – its name unchanged despite the current owner's marital status – when it was Winry wielding the wrench in question.
It had never hurt him before, she had said, and it was a normal thing between them.
You would hit your husband with your wrenches?
She would panic slightly, robin's egg eyes widening in panic.
He's a hothead, you see–
Wouldn't that make you one as well? Considering you've apparently got quite the temper yourself.
She would shake, scared, as she looked for an ally in the two interrogators, but no help would come to her.
I-I...
Had it ever occurred to you that you were doing more damage than you were helping him? Did you ever believe that you would hit your children by mistake?
A flash of anger would burn in her eyes and she would glare at them for the presumption.
I would never hit my children; besides, I have perfect aim. I have never missed with my wrench.
You would not hit your children, but your husband is fair game?
Missus Elric–
Winry.
Winry, do you know how injured your husband was when he was admitted to the hospital?
She would cross her arms and refuse to meet their gazes, convinced she was right in this matter.
He was suffering from a severe concussion, as well as previous damage from earlier, ah, discussions with you. On the surface, he appears to be fine, beyond bruising on his head and neck, several wounds and scars you've left, and some sensitivity to light.
There's more, however: he doesn't remember anything past the year 1919, he refuses to speak to anyone beyond a strict select group, is suffering from emotional lability–
He switches mood quite often.
– and believes all the doctors are trying to steal his shoes.
Confusion would cross her face and she would shake her head, laughing.
You don't expect me to believe that, do you?
They would look at one another, incredulous.
Whatever you believe, Winry, doesn't matter.
What does matter, however, is that you have been charged with battery in the first degree, mayhem, and attempted mariticide.
She would stare at them once more, fearful, reality finally sinking in.
As he would have said, Equivalent Exchange.
