So starts a new series entitles 'The Why of...'. These will be short stories based on a characters particular habit, be it cute or annoying. The idea is to explain why they act that way, but it will be based on my opinions (educated ones I might add). I begin, of course, with Winry. FMA isn't mine.
The Why of...Winry
She didn't really care if the majority of people thought she acted cruelly. What really did it matter to a group of nobodies how she treated the Elrics. Had these people ever seen their hard work so completely destroyed? Had these people ever been at the call of a state alchemist who seemed determined to break his auto-mail? Had these people ever known that some punishment must have been taken to destroy it so completely?
It was unlikely, so no matter how they disagreed with how she beat Edward Elric she wasn't going to stop. The only time she had ever let him be about destroying her work was when she was partly to blame. She still hadn't revealed to him that she had missed out a nut on a crucial part of his shoulder. How could she ever tell him such a thing? He trusted her to make him strong and secure limbs, and she had let him down. It was his own fault, had he stayed safe, his auto-mail wouldn't have failed.
As she sat one day working on a hand for a gentleman in the village the phone rang. She answered with what she had come to call her 'shop keeper's voice' which was polite but not too excitable. However once the reply had come through she had resorted back to her usual self. It was Edward, carefully enquiring about a loose screw.
So perhaps a loose screw wasn't much to be angry about but her work wouldn't have become weak for no reason. Much as he claimed it had just worked itself loose she would not believe it. She was sure he had been out there, tackling creatures and who knows what, getting himself hurt in the process and putting his brother in danger.
'Don't you dare come back here if you break it,' she had screamed before slamming the phone down. It was then she had fled from the room and thrown herself on her bed. She screamed into the pillow before the tears began to flow. For what must have been half an hour she cried and cried. Why did he have to put her through this pain so often? Each time she received a call a small part of her feared it would be the call to say she had lost the best friend she had ever had. Each time he asked for help with his arm she knew he had been in some fight, some conflict that didn't involve her. She hated to miss out on so much of his life; she hated to miss out on what could be the last moments she would ever spend with him. But what could she do? She was just his handy auto-mail mechanic from Rizembol; she was not part of conflict, of battles, and rarely part of his life. The biggest mark she could ever make on him when he left her was a working arm and a swollen eye.