Author's Note:
... What am I doing? Even I don't know, unfortunately. The plot bunny held me at gunpoint, and seeing how much I liked this AU drabble from my Random-Pairings-From-A-Hat challenge, I decided to dedicate myself for a long haul.
Take out your notebooks, friends. Toby intends to finish a multi-chapter fic! 'Tisa historical moment.
I'm really hoping this will turn out well. I'd like to make a shoujo aific that focuses on actually developing the relationship, rather than simply manifesting a fleeting infatuation.
Without Further Ado-
"Blame it on the Rain"
Bang
History was a standably dull subject, Winry Rockbell noted, with moderate boredom, as she gritted her teeth, and snapped the lead of her pencil against the notesheet.
Bang
It was just something to be gotten through; notes, studying, the works. Not really any worse than any other subject. But...
Bang
Taking notes on the Industrial Revolution, was something of a difficulty, especially when her desk had it's own delinquent-induced seismic level.
Bang
She slapped her palm against the surface of the desk and spun around, to glare at her neighbor and hissed,
"Do you want something?"
The other blonde blinked innocently, and then grinned with a drippy smugness,
"No."
Winry exhaled, rotating back to her notesheet and trying to the best of her ability to finish up her writings before she completely snapped and tore up the whole textbook.
She was beginning to regret having excelled in previous years of classes, seeing as that was directly responsible for putting her in advanced placement among all these seniors, but most importantly, this particular girl; The dirty blonde with a smart mouth, sketchy background, the enigmatic single name by which she was called to exclusively by both teachers and gangmates, that damned facial tattoo that had sparked the school board into an uproar over dress code and decency policy, but first and foremost, she had a persistant, and terribly annoying, fascination with getting under Winry's skin.
It had started with droll stares and snickering, which she had simply passed off as normal goof-off behaviour, and was able to ignore the idea that some good for nothing gang of teens were making fun of her behind her back. She'd dealt with worse, after all. Then came the badgering and name-calling. It wasn't, as she'd supposed, the entire group, but more singly, it was this one girl; the pouty lipped and sharp tongued rebel, with a vengeful glint always present in her strong gaze. Random insults were exchanged, which she started out ignoring, and when she became fed up with it, she began, much to her senior's pleasant satisfaction, snapping back, and hitting with her own comebacks and arguments, which, in contrast to her usually pleasant nature, were skillfully stinging and clever.
Then of course, came greater trouble. And although it grew no worse than tripping, shoving, and constant knocking of papers out of the Junior's hands, occasionally, in spite of her always trying to smile through it all, she felt the urge to turn back and yank a lock of that strange hairstyle she sported right out of her scalp.
Alas, it was a time for quiet work, and aside from the tittering of a few other students, and the blipping of cell phones as a few slackers passed off their time with text messaging, the room was completely silent, and left no room for her to shout obscenities at her rival unnoticed. Maybe.
Bang
The heavy boot hit the back of her seat once more.
Bang.
"Do you mind, Martel?" She fumed, punishing the innocent desk once again with her strike of rage.
A wave of complete akward silence came, followed by mixed giggling and thus sparked initiative for everyone else to take the chance to begin their own higher decibel conversations.
"Is there a problem, Miss Rockbell?" The teacher asked, dryly, and rather expectantly from her desk.
"No, nothing, ma'am." She responded, trying to separate herself from the troublemaker behind her with distance and mannerism. If anything pissed her off, it was being grouped with the irresponsible morons that generally populated her own age group.
The teacher shook her head as if to pass it off as 'Kids will be kids', and returned to shuffling papers.
Winry shot a venemous glance back at the girl behind her, who smirked victoriously.
There were some days she wished her history book was heavier.
"Dammit, that Mustang guy is just trying to send me to a young grave!" The braided boy scowled, slinging one strap of his bag across his shoulder, and kicking his locker shut, with a booted foot, scuffing the surface with a streak of black.
"Don't kick the lockers, Mister Elric!" Snapped the hall monitor, peering over her tortiseshell glasses. He completely ignored her and continued his woeful lamentation to his friend.
"What did he do to you, today?" Winry sighed, mildly amused, rolling her eyes. The blond raised his singed sleeve dramatically to illustrate the damage.
"He goddamn near blew me up today! And he said it was my fault! The hell it was! He was helping me mix my beaker! He was the one who initiated the explosion! And yet, he still insists it was my responsibility, because, of course, the bastard's so perfect, he could never make a mistake. 'I have a PhD in science, I'll have you know, Mister Elric!'. PhD, my ass! Either he's been taking his college courses under a bridge somewhere, or he is making a deliberate attempt on my life!"
"Did you remember to use the chemical measurements in metric terms?"
"... uhn?"
"Did you?"
"... Sh-Shut up!"
"Ha ha! Were you too caught up trying to find a human growth formula to make your proper measurements?"
"Shut up! I gave up on that idea months ago! Besides, it wasn't my fault! It was that damn Tringham kid. You know him, the sophomore? He kept on trying to pester me with notes while we were supposed to be writing the formulas."
Winry simply shut her eyes and clicked her tongue.
"It's always someone else's fault with you, isn't it, Ed?"
"All I know is that one of these day's I'm gonna-"
"Brother!" A cheerful voice cut him off, as the younger Elric nearly strangled his brother in an enthusiastic jumpstart of a hug from behind, making Edward drop his knapsack completely.
"Guess what!" Alphonse piped, nuzzling his cheek affectionately against his brother's.
"Wh-what?" Ed, chortled, swaying under his younger brother's weight.
"I got the solo! I made it! Isn't that great?"
"That's awesome, Al!" Winry declared, cheerily, "Which song?"
"Brat'ya." Al announced, grinning from ear to ear.
"Waaah! I love that song! It's so you, Al!" Winry gushed, clasping her hands together.
"I don't get it," Ed ejected, with a twisted expression, "It's just depressing Russian. And... do you mind, Al? You're heavy."
"Ah! Sorry, brother!" Al apologized, sliding off Edward's back, but still smiling proudly, as he quickly shifted to Winry to award her with a celebrative clinging.
"Come to think of it," Winry thought out loud as she returned Al's squeeze, "Brat'ya is a song for two people. Who has the other part?"
"Clause!" He peeped once again, squishing against her neck.
"Clause sings?" She asked, perplexedly.
"Mm Hmm!"
"You mean that snot-nosed little tomboy actually joined choir? And tried out for a solo?" Ed snorted in disbelief.
"Come on, brother. There's more to Clause than just that. She's actually really good! Plus, she can play the role of a boy easily. And since I was the only actual boy with the right voice for it..." Al trailed off and his face dropped into a pout. Winry instantly recognised his chagrin and patted him on the head,
"Don't worry, Al. Your voice will change soon enough,"He gave a lopsided guilty smile that she couldn't help but pity and she continued, "But for now, you and Clause will make adorable brothers!"
"Yeah, I don't doubt that at all," Ed mocked, now grinning as brightly as his little brother, with a beaming unhideable pride, as he swept Al into a playful headlock, grinding his fist against the top of the boy's head, "You little cutie, you!"
"Ow! That's- ow! Don't make fun, brother! O-owie!"
"Aw, don't mind him, Al," Winry waved off, separating the two, "He's just jealous that he's- OUCH!" Her sentence was cut off at a most inopportune moment as the pain of having her long ponytail yanked backward siezed her by surprise.
"Hey, dork!" Martel passively greeted, not pausing in her forward motion, and quickly disappearing down the hallway with her group of friends.
"Why I outta-" She snarled, making a fist.
"Huh? What's wrong? Is she bugging you again?" Al noted sympathetically, "You shouldn't let it bother you."
"I don't," Winry huffed, rubbing the back of her stinging scalp, "But there are just some times when I wouldn't mind running her over with a truck."
"Hey, speaking of running things over!" Edward interjected. It was never a good thing if he began with a segway like that.
"Oh God, Ed. What did you trash this time?" She sulked, realizing her day was suddenly tumbling downward.
"Nothing much. Just a brick wall- A small one!" He clipped his sentence and tried to soften the reality for his friend who was clearly not happy about this.
"You're such a reckless driver, Ed! I worry for your safety- and your brother's for that matter. And aside from that, your insurance has got to be hell. I pity your poor mother!"
"Well... what do you say. Can you give the ol' Elric Jalopy a once-over?" Ed pleaded, scratching the back of his head apologetically.
Winry sighed with defeat,
"Can you get it to the shop?"
"Yeah, it'll still make it that far."
"Then bring it by, and I'll look at it. Pretty soon, preferably. It looks like it's going to rain."
Expectably, it was a horribly slow day. The kind of gray, dreary day you hear about in depressing country songs, and melodramatic novels, where everything seems to go wrong, and all people caught up in the haze just float by depressedly.
That is, if any people floated by at all, they might have. Instead, Winry was left to the command of the repair shop while Pinako went out to do errands, and inside the empty garage, she had only the Elric Jalopy to keep her company. She supposed all sane people were staying inside today. At least those lucky folks who weren't trapped out in the nasty weather. They were probably curled up by their cozy little fireplaces, sipping from their cozy little coffee mugs, and enjoying the presence of their cozy little families. Not really that it made such a huge difference whether her grandmother was there or not, since she would have been stuck with the task of repairing the solitary busted car anyhow, but she still somewhat envied the Elrics, probably all snug at home right now, doing their homework together while their mother baked cookies. Well, okay, so the cookies were something of an exaggurative touch, but she was pining all the same, hoping to see some familiar face pop by, or any face at all.
Be careful what you wish for.
The cooled air swooshed in as the side door was opened to the elements, alerting the young mechanic of her new guest. She rolled herself from beneath her current project, and stood up, to shockedly meet the gaze of her undeclared arch-rival in the doorframe. She shrugged casually and implored,
"You're not just gonna let me stand out in the rain, are you?"
Her attempt at an 'innocent victim' smile rather gave Winry the desire to boot her back out into a huge mud puddle, but the water dripping off her hair and sheeting the surface of her leather jacket also triggered her instinct for pity (against her conscious brain's protests) and some ingrown fear of pneumonia and other such ailments.
"My bike's busted," Martel declared sheepishly, stepping inward.
'Aw great. Now she's a customer!' Long lectures of keeping the business alive, and about how a Rockbell never refused a customer instantly came to mind. 'Damn you, Granny and your honor issues. Never planned for this to happen, did you?'
She sighed with defeat and reached for a pile of clean towels which had been destined for use with oil spills, and chucked one overhead to the dripping girl, who caught, and briefly paused to smirk and comment,
"You look like hell," As she noted Winry's face streaked with grime, and her normally flawless blonde hair caught up in a complicated pile of tangles.
"I'm certainly surprised to hear you say that, Miss Sorry Wet Rodent."
That shut her up for a second. Unfortunately, only a second.
"So, what'cha working on, coveralls?" Winry ignored the question, as well as the scathing fashion commentary and bitterly asked,
"Do you need me to fix your bike?" She folded her arms and looked away, at some object that was located upwards, stuck in the ceiling.
"Duh," Martel ever so eloquently replied.
"Well I can't fix it if it's out there, now can I?"
"Nope. Guess you're stuck with me until the rain lets up," Martel moved the towel from her hair and began dabbing at her dampened clothing.
'No... way.'
"Well just... stay out of the way, then." The mechanic sulked and returned to her work, sliding again beneath the royally screwed up car of Edward's, and reached for her wrench.
She worked in silence, trying to forget about the other girl's presence, and for a short time, was able to consume herself completely in her happy land of mechanical workings. She was able to go for several minutes, used to the comforting sounds of minor adjustments, and clinking metal, when a sound that definitely did not fit in added itself to the mix. It was soft, echoey, and went 'click, click, click'.
She swiveled her head to see where the source was, and sat up so quickly that she altogether forgot she was sitting underneath a very solid object.
"Ooooow!" She hissed, holding her sore forehead, but not hesitating in stomping towards the now lighter-happy Martel who had a cigarette hanging from her mouth.
"Hey!" the gangster pouted stunnedly staring at her empty hands and then commenting, "Aw well, it was empty anyway. I was just trying to see if you were still awake-... or alive down there."
"Since when do you care? Anyhow, were you trying to start an oil fire? Jeez, you moron."
"I wasn't trying to start anything. Don't get your panties in a bunch, dweeb."
She'd had it. It was time for confrontation, and if it wasn't now, alone, then it wouldn't ever happen.
"That's enough!" She snapped, commanding the full attention of the girl leaning against the wall, "I've had it with all of this! Do you have nothing better to do than to do than pester me, or do you just really think you're this great gift to earth and I'm just your lame playtoy? Are you so much better than me?"
"I-I don't think I'm better than you," Martel stuttered a bit, gaping at the sudden outburst.
"Suuuure, you don't. I'm not as dumb as you think. I see you laughing at me. I hear what you say about me. So don't even try to pretend like I'm the only one who knows you hate me."
"I don't hate you. I didn't think you took it so hard."
"Well I do. And I'm sick of it!"
"But it's not-... I don't... Look, I won't do it anymore, okay?"
"So you say, as long as your bike still needs fixing." Winry scowled and sharply looked away, folding her arms, as Martel looked up, betraying shame with her shocked expression, and she softened a bit, exhaling.
"But really... do you think you would have even noticed me, if I hadn't done all that shit? Would you even... know my name?"
Winry was caught a little off gaurd by the raw truth, and even vulnerability of this question. She looked back at the downtrodden face with confusion before contemplating and shaking her head.
"No," she replied, "We're way too different."
"Is that so?" The older girl muttered, letting out a melancholy chuckle, "I guess I sort of knew that all along."
"Wh-"
"It dosen't matter," Martel interrupted, before Winry could ask what it was all about. She adjusted her jacket and stood up, "Sorry for wasting your time."
"Wait," Winry spoke up, as Martel opened the door, "What about your bike?"
"Oh, that..." She paused in the doorframe, looking upwards at the darkened sky, "It's not really that bad. I can get by."
With that, she let the door fall shut, and stalked outwards into the downpour.
Winry ran her gloved hand along her arm, and noted that the room was suddenly considerably colder.
A day passed, then two, then several, and soon, a week was gone, completely eventlessly, with no disruption of a negative kind. In fact, the week passed by so peacefully, that it nearly drove the young mechanic insane. Not to say, mind you, that she in any way liked or looked forward to being harassed by the senior, but being ignored, avoided and altogether shunned was another issue altogether. She had no idea what it was that she'd said to make this happen, but whatever it was, it was annoying her moreso than any classroom projectile making contact with her head could have.
As Al suggested, perhaps she really did feel sorry, and was leaving her alone. She wanted to agree with him, and move on, forgetting the whole thing, but even while she returned to her normal pattern and went through the typical antics with Ed and Al, the nagging itch continued to grow inside her.
An itch that would need some scratching.
History, once again was heck to go through, but this time, not because it was endured with interruptions, but because of the pure silence. Well, that could be credited to the fact that they were taking a test.
She tapped her pencil against the page, making a small circle of marks, as she twitched, trying to reason things out. Martel had moved to the other end of the classroom, and was, much to her surprise, concentrating on her test, something Winry wished she could be doing right now.
Perhaps Al was right, and she was just trying to make things better. Maybe this was just where optimism had to take over for doubt.
She tried to smile weakly as Martel looked up at her for a brief moment, and she quickly averted her gaze when their eyes met. Winry's pencil broke against the desk.
She glowered at the opposite end of the room, and then at her broken lead. Growling under her breath, she shoved her seat back and lifted herself up, and prowled up the aisle towards the pencil sharpener on the other end of the room.
She met the gaze of the other girl who looked away quickly, as she casually pretended to be sharpening her pencil particularly slowly. She stamped her foot loudly to command her gaze once again, as she angrily mouthed,
'What is it?'
'Nothing!' Martel mouthed back, just as angrily.
Winry left her frustration and just, accidentally hissed out loud,
"Dammit, Martel! You don't just do this for no reason!" She only caught herself slamming her hands on Martel's desk a little too late, and the teacher spoke over the ensuing silence,
"Miss Rockbell. I'll see the two of you after class."
Great.
Detention wasn't so bad, really. The only responsibilities were wiping off the boards, and keeping your mouth shut. Unfortunately, being the only one in the room besides Martel and the teacher on Duty, who was currently dozing off. Her strong desire to either break out in a torrent of cusswords, or knock the girl out cold was very high. The silence was mandatory, however, the constant avoidance was intentional.
She wasn't sure whether to be grateful or woeful that the teacher had to take a brief leave of absence and leave the two teenage offenders alone, but she finally burst out for the second time that day, and long overdue.
"What the hell is your problem!" She yelled, stepping so closely that Martel couldn't avoid eye contact any longer, "You pester me unstopped for months on end, then all of the sudden, you just stop and start avoiding me altogether. What's going on?"
"Nothing," Martel insisted again, "You told me to stop, and I did."
"There's more to it than that, and you know it! You don't just give me the cold shoulder if nothing else is wrong. Now what is it?"
"It's noth-"
"I don't want to hear that,"
"But-"
"Just tell me the truth!"
Martel stared and finally caved, looking to the side,
"Because I like you," She confessed quietly.
A stagnant, unsure stillness lingered, where Winry wasn't quite sure what she'd just said. Martel sighed and filled her in,
"I like you; I love you; You make my heart beat faster; I have "Special Feelings" for you; I want to be the person who brings you flowers, and holds your hand, and all the works. Got it all?"
The exact shock she experienced upon having another girl confess her love for her, was something that can't precisely be expressed in words. It was a strange mix of shock, disgust, intrigue and altogether confusion, mixed together blender style in her frantic brain, churning up long supressed memories of adolescent confusion, and folding down any shred of reason she might have had in her mind the moment before. In an attempt to regain function of her jaw, and her vocal chords, she stamped her foot and out of instinct blurted out the most Winry-ish thing that she could have said,
"Well, dammit, why didn't you just tell me?"
To Be Continued
PostScript: Um... I won't be at all surprised if you decide to flame the dickens out of me. Flames shall be mocked anyhow.
