Prompt: Roy/Winry drabble
Submitted by: Malicious-Alchemist
Author's Notes: Still do not own FMA. Still would be Super Awesome if I did. And yes, Malicious-Alchemist, this is a challenge. I'll do my best, but as I said for Shiezka/Al, it may not be 'pairing' in the strictest sense of the word, but it will involve them. I'd promise except you never know with my overtired brain. Here goes!
For—how many years was it, now? He wasn't sure—he had come to this graveyard. He had crossed over the grass, into the field of graves, meandering to the far left corner, beneath a tree. He knew there graves. He knew them, because he put these people in them. He knew them because whenever he looked at that girls' face, he saw them staring back at him.
Roy Mustang came every year to apologize.
He had come across her, at their graves, for the first time about two years ago. She had been crying, holding two bouquets of flowers, trying to figure out how to arrange them over her parents' grave. She saw him, and turned, sprinting into the dark.
He wondered if Winry Rockbell even knew that the two graves were empty.
She was here today, he noticed, this time holding what looked like a circular flower decoration. He remembered it—one time he had seen the Elrics make the same flower wreath for Nina. He tilted his head, wondering if Alphonse had made it for her, Alphonse or Edward. Roy pictured the younger of the two brothers being more caught up in the sentimentality of the flower wreath.
"Hello, Winry."
The girl turned, startled, dropping the wreath atop the mound of dirt.
"What are you doing here?"
The bitterness in her voice was apparent, and he stiffened immediately at the harshness of her tone. He couldn't blame her, when all was said and done. That she was hurt. That she was kneeling on the ground, in front of the man who killed her parents, and knew she couldn't—shouldn't do anything about it.
"I came to apologize."
"To whom?" Winry was on her feet, and he surveyed her appearance. The black did little for her lithe frame, almost made her pale skin look sickly. Her eyes were filled with tears, and her gaze snapped back to the graves to her left.
He paused, crossing his arms, defensively, unsure as to how to even approach the girl. Did she even understand? He certainly didn't come to gloat at their graves, if that was what she intended to insinuate. "To them."
He heard a sound not unlike a choked gasp, and then what was definitely a quiet sob. "Why?" She had turned her back on him, head bowed, shoulders trembling with exhaustion or sorrow or both.
"There's something to be said for hindsight, Ms. Rockbell," Roy replied tiredly, as though this was an explanation he had given far too many times. "I've been coming every year for a long time."
"It's your fault that there are graves to visit anyway."
She stiffened under his inky black gaze, wiping her eyes, and he was reminded suddenly that no matter how mature she may behave, she was, in many ways, still a child. A child who had lost her parents very young. A child who had her back to her parents murderer, currently.
"That's why I come to apologize and pay my respects." His answer was calm, and she turned slowly, confused, eyes shining with tears.
"You really come, every year?"
He nodded slowly. "I was here last year, don't you remember?"
She shook her head no, "I just saw someone in a uniform, and left."
He found himself frowning, the defensive position slowly dropping. She might still remind him of a child, but in years, she was beyond that. Guilt settled in the pit of his stomach as he stared at her, seeing the tears streaming down her face.
Uncomfortable, he fished into his pocket, managing to produce a handkerchief. A killer with a heart of gold—he closed the distance between them and wiped her eyes dry, his frown only deepening.
"I think I might have someone else to apologize to, as well," the words tumbled slowly from his mouth, and he saw her eyes widen. One of her hands was on his wrist, as though she was trying to move his arm away from her face.
"…Who?"
The saddest smile crossed his features, just slightly. His efforts only created more tears. Slowly, both arms entwined her shoulders, and he pulled the girl into a hug. Gentle. "You."
Final Author's Note:
So…angst, much? I tried. Roy and Winry seem to lend themselves to angst, and this was the first setting that came to mind for them. Besides, he apologized. And you did get a hug. So sue me, it was bad…I'm sorry…I tried.
