A/N: lol at me for updating after two years. No matter how long it takes me to update, I will finish this damn story. Part of me wants to rewrite this story so it follows the manga, but I wouldn't be able to since Edwin has been my OTP since I was like 11. The 2003 anime gets Edward out of the picture, so I don't have to.
Oh, how she hated waking up in the mornings. Every morning she would have an internal debate on whether or not, she had enough strength to set her feet on the floor and walk. She went to bed every night thinking that if she were to get up the next morning, surely, she would break, shatter into glass pieces, and cease to be no more. No more Winry. No more work. No more nothing. However, every morning, she sets her feet on the cold, hard wooden floor and with great reluctance she gets up and begins her morning ritual to get ready for work.
She learns from her mistakes and when she has time she scribbles down these "lessons" in a notepad. The most recent one was scribbled in drunkenly: "don't go to a bar and get shitfaced on an empty stomach". Now she was learning, and she knew she couldn't do her job efficiently on just a cup of black coffee, she needed to get something past her lips.
Meticulously, she slices an apple at her kitchen countertop. Apples are good for you. Apples will give you the energy you need to sit at your office desk, and write down office things, answer the office phone, talk to the office employees, do office things. You need this apple. With that, she savors the apple and wishes she deserved to eat at least ten more. She pushes the thought aside and decides that if she does a good job at work, she will reward herself with two apples. The thought makes her pull a rare genuine smile.
Later on, she walks through the front door of Central Headquarters and makes her way to her office cubicle, trying so hard to portray the false sense of confidence, trying to deceive everyone around her that she doesn't care what anyone thinks. She knows about the gossip that hangs around headquarters like a desperate whore that won't leave, and she knows that it's mostly about her. She needs to let everyone know that she doesn't care, otherwise it would seem weak. She would seem weak, and weak people don't make it in this world.
Ever since Havoc took her home the other night (when she got terribly, terribly wasted), he seemed to come up with excuses to stop by her cubicle. Ask her for staples, when they both well knew that just across the hall, Claude hoarded staples as if the world would end tomorrow. However, she humored him. The goal was to hand him as much staples as he wanted; keep him happy so that he doesn't feed the fire. Winry didn't know that the fire was already over her head.
As the day went by, and her shift was nearing to an end, Claude made her way over to Winry and leaned against her cubicle. Her arms folded against her chest, her curls seemed even more spontaneous today, and her lips curled into a mischievous smile that followed into her eyes. Winry saw a spark in her eyes and she knew she was going to be under interrogation.
"Alright, you got to tell me everything," the older woman demanded.
Winry sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose with her index finger and thumb. Anything that had to do with Mustang's trusted crew did not go unheard among the gossiping secretaries. She knew she had to tread carefully around this subject. Office romances were not unheard of, but were still frowned upon, especially in Central Headquarters.
"Nothing happened, Claude," Winry replied curtly, hoping to end the conversation quickly.
Claude's smile twisted into a smirk, her almond eyes narrowing. She made no motion to leave. She had come sauntering over here with the only fresh purpose to find out some detail that had not yet been told. Claude lived for the office gossip. She was aware that it made her look shallow, like a teenage girl blowing pink bubblegum waiting for the after school rumors. However, in a dead end job, that only involved picking up the phone ("Central Headquarters, what is your business?"), writing out appointments and other monotonous activities, the daily gossip is what kept her from burning out. Her only guilty pleasure and she was going to make the most of it.
"At least tell me how he got you home, okay?" she said, feigning defeat.
Winry's eyebrows furrowed as she thought of what and how much to say. She decided to go with the plain truth, it was boring, uninteresting, and would make Claude leave.
"All he did was get a taxi for me, opened the door for me, and made sure I got home safely. That's all that happened, Claude. I swear," Winry said staring back at her, making sure that she matched Claude's own stubbornness.
Claude bit her lip, and saw that Winry wasn't going to give anymore details. Details that mattered, anyway. She pasted her signature smile, that seemed to convey both confidence and mischievousness at the same time, and took a step closer to Winry.
"Why don't we go out for a drink again after work?" she asked. After only a shot of whiskey, Winry's lips would loosen up.
Winry scoffed and turned away from her, facing her work desk again and mindlessly shuffled some papers that she needed to file.
"I don't think so." Winry said simply.
Hoping to end the miserable conversation, Winry abruptly stood up with files in her hands and stepped around her coworker.
"Now if you don't mind, I have important matters to attend to." She drew herself to her full size that countered Claude's passive, leaning posture and made sure to walk out of her cubicle confidently. As she walked over to the filing cabinets, she allowed herself a sad half smile. Just to think three months ago, she was carrying around a giant suitcase just for him, knowing when he came back; he was going to need it. Now, three months later, all she deals with is her developing mental illness and the bitches at Central Headquarters. Winry pulled on the handle of one of cabinets and brought the stored files out to view, and began to flip through the numerous manila folders. She found the name she was looking for, and jammed the papers she brought with her inside.
To outsiders it would look as if Winry Rockbell was completely immersed in her task of filing, something that her job required her to do incessantly throughout the day, however to Winry, she was already lost in another world, in another life. She began to reminisce about her automail days, of shirts covered in oil, giving back to people that lost so much, of building limbs out of nothing but metal. Her heart began to speed up, began to pump blood throughout her body faster than usual. She found herself missing the auto shop, but with a discrete shake of her head, she forced herself back to the present day.
This was her life now. Doing silly office things was her life now, until she could prove to Mustang that she was capable of being in the workplace, and then, just maybe, she could bring herself back to her old life, without feeling like her heart was going to split apart.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice the figure looming behind her until she felt an unknown hand grip her shoulder. She snapped out of her thoughts, gripped the hand and twisted her body so she was now facing her perpetrator and with their arm twisted as well, they had no where to go.
It was Havoc.
He lifted his free hand up, as if to prove that he meant no harm, with his signature cigarette between his teeth, and his easygoing grin, she had no other choice other than to let go, otherwise she would cause a scene; something that she had to avoid considering she was already in the spotlight.
"Sorry, Winry. You were just staring off into space and I just wanted to see if you were alright." He said with a shrug. He slipped his hands into his uniform's pockets, his posture slightly slouched. His body language was trying to make the situation feel normal, safe, unintimidating. Winry knew better.
She stood rigid, and uncomfortable. She gripped the side of the cabinet with one hand; her knuckles stretched white as she gripped the metal with all her force. It took everything to not just walk past him, to slip into her office crevice. It was the only place she felt safe in this damn building.
"Well, now you know, I'm perfectly fine." She said with a tight lipped smile. It didn't reach her eyes, it was fake, and she knew Havoc would see past it. That was fine. She wasn't trying to convince anyone that she was fine. She let go of the cabinet and slammed it shut.
"I have to be going now, you know. Duty calls." Winry said with a smile, and she began to turn away from Havoc, and begin her escape to her office. However, going back to her office was not in Havoc's plans.
"Hold on a minute!" Havoc called out and ran in front of the young blonde, cutting her plan short. "You didn't even give me a second to ask if you were alright last night." He leaned his body towards her lowered his voice to a whisper so only she could hear. "You were awfully drunk, y'know."
Heat immediately rose to her cheeks, mostly out of embarrassment for her inappropriate behavior,
"I'm very sorry that you had to go out of your way to bring me home last night. Thank you for doing that for me," Winry said, averting her eyes. Suddenly, a sense of shame rushed through her. She won't deserve those two apples once she gets home.
Within a heartbeat, Havoc realizes he has made a mistake. Just moments ago, her eyes burned fiercely, with a fire that's always been there, daring him to grab her again, she wasn't responsible for how much pain he was going to be in if he did. But now, now her eyes skip past his, looking at everything except him, suddenly the carpet is so much more interesting than him, than anything else. Her cheeks are cherry red, and he realizes that she is blushing, and in a different, more appropriate, situation he would comment on how the blush against her pale skin would look almost beautiful. She's blushing and it's not because he is an older man giving a younger woman some manly attention, no, she's embarrassed. She's probably never even been drunk before, and now she's the talk among the secretaries.
And he has no idea how to fix his mistake.
Dumbly, he lifts his hand and lightly grabs at her shoulder, the only part that feels safe to touch. She is so small, so fragile, with her small shoulder, wrists, and body, Havoc feels like he is going to break her, feels like if anybody would hug this poor woman she would just fracture. He tries to make his touch feel friendly, causal, but he already feels her withdraw, her body tense, like a rabbit held under the foot of a predator waiting for just a needed second to bounce away.
"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to embarrass you. In all seriousness, are you really doing alright living by yourself? You look awfully pale. Do you eat enough?" Havoc asked. He had asked with nothing but concern in his voice, and anyone who would've been around would have seen that, but the moment that Winry ripped away from him, he realized once again, the wrong words escaped from his lips.
Her face is ashen and the ends of her lips are tugged down into a deep and rooted frown. Her eyebrows furrowed together and her calloused hands tighten into fists, the skin across her knuckles stretches tight and white.
"I'm eating just fine." She manages to choke out and turns around so swiftly, that her hair almost strikes him in his face. He catches a scent that almost smells like strawberry, almost like honey and he wonders if she would've been less hostile to him, to everyone if she had lived a different life. Everything around her must remind her of Edward at every given moment. He watches her as she walks away, her boots pounding away at the floor, instead of the constant click clack of black heels that the secretaries use. He thinks of going after her, grabbing her shoulder once again, and apologizing, sorry about last night, sorry about Mustang, sorry about Edward, sorry that every word that passes my lips isn't the correct word, I'm just a dumbass. He doesn't move. He barely knows the girl, anything he does would just make things worse.
Winry rushes past everyone that she encounters on her way to her cubicle. She doesn't even care that she still has 30 minutes left before she can go home; she is going to go home now. If she stays here, she will end up crying in one of the dirty stalls in the restroom, dry heaving into the toilet, and she can't take anymore public humiliation. She reaches her office and begins to shove everything in her satchel, anything that her fingers can grasp anything and everything. Her hands grab at papers, pencils, erasers, even a ruler and shove them all into the satchel, she wants everything to disappear. Do you eat enough? The question pounds in her head and the answer is no, no, no. She has not been eating enough. The answer is that she can't bring herself to eat. Her heart is pumping and she feels like she is on the verge of a panic attack.
Warm, feminine arms wrap themselves around her, enveloping her causing her to let go of the stapler that she was gripping. A head settles into the crook of her neck, and grips her tight.
"Breathe, Winry", Claude whispered.
Winry crumbles to the floor and Claude goes with her. Her knees gritting across the carpet floor, there's carpet burn there for sure, but Claude doesn't think about that for now and continues to wrap her arms around the shaking young girl.
Winry hides her tear stained face into the crook of Claude's neck and tears continue to squeeze involuntarily out of her eyes. All she has the effort to do is cry and listen to the shushed murmurs of Claude whispering breathe girl breath you got this over and over again into her ear, only for her to hear. Her brown soft curls covering much of Winry's face and she smells like the outside world.
When Winry manages to stop sobbing, the murmuring stops, but Claude softly rubs at her back. Claude rubs in gentle, soft circles in a circling pattern around her shoulder blades, similar to something that her mother used to do so long ago, in a different life.
"I'm sorry." Winry spits out. How long have they been here? How long has Claude been there?
"You shut up. Don't say that."
It could have been minutes, hours, Winry doesn't really know. They don't move until Winry has finally truly calmed down. Until there really aren't anymore shudders, hiccups, no more last minute tears, until Winry can pass off as normal. Claude hands Winry her satchel, and both of them walk out of Central Headquarters together.
"Taxi! Taxi!" Claude yells again and again until a dirty beat up yellow mustard car pulls up along the curb alongside them. Winry wants to throw up just by looking at it; it looks so similar to the taxi from last night. When Claude opens the passenger door, indicating that Winry should get in, she begins to protest.
"You better get in the fucking cab, girl," Claude said sharply.
With that comment, Winry rapidly climbs into the backseat. She has no energy to argue, at least not with someone like Claude, someone who is bossy and tells her what to do. She leans her head back against the headrest, moves her satchel into her lap, and closes her eyes and sighs. She hears Claude get into the front seat of the cab and give the driver directions to her house. Winry wants to object, wants to say oh no I can't go over to your house got to finish up some work stuff for tomorrow, but she realizes that tomorrow is a Saturday and they don't have to go to work, and all she wants to do is sleep for a million years and wants to pretend that everything is all right. Forget her swollen eyes, her screaming stomach, her conversation with Havoc, and most of all, him.
Winry doesn't open her eyes again until the cab rolled into a stop. She looks out the window and sees they've stopped in front of a plain, old, apartment complex, with no eye catching features. It had much similarity to Winry's place. She doesn't realize that Claude is already out of the cab; until her coworker opened the door for her. She gestured toward the complex with a slight nod of her head that says c'mon time to get out.
Once again, Winry climbs out the backseat of the cab for the second night in a row, mentally noting she will have to get a cab ride home tomorrow morning, and wonders how many more times she will have to ride taxis. The thought is displeasing. Together, with Claude's arm resting lightly across Winry's shoulders, they walk toward the apartment complex, and climb up the rickety stairs, and into Claude's apartment.
While Winry's apartment reflected her current life, dirty dishes, unmade bed, sparse decorations, Claude's apartment reflected hers. An abundance of picture frames adorned several of the walls, picturing strangers, assumed relatives, and Claude in different points of her life. A sofa littered with soft, small, different colored, cushions hung back against the wall with a coffee table in the middle of the room. Soft and eccentric would be the correct word to describe the place. Nothing matched, nothing made sense, but if you tilted your head in a way and tried a different perspective, everything fit together perfectly.
Winry was too busy inspecting and admiring everything, and paid no attention to what Claude was doing until, she came back from the kitchen holding a bowl of chicken soup.
"You're going to eat this, and while you do you're going to tell me everything. You're stomach was growling the entire time we were at the office," Claude said. It was an order, and while Winry was not her subordinate, she followed it. Another lesson to jot down on her notepad Claude doesn't take no for an answer. Not even from me. Winry took the bowl of chicken soup and was flooded with different emotions. Oh how she wanted to eat it, wanted to devour it, and ask for seconds, for thirds, for fourths, until she literally could not eat a spoonful more, until she could be content for a second that her belly was warm and full, before the loathing began once again. However, she could not refuse it. There was no other choice.
Throughout the night, Winry talked. She talked about everything and nothing, sometimes at the same time, sometimes one at a time. She mentioned warm sunny days growing up, talked about Edward and building his automail from nothing, spoke softly about her parents, so gentle and kind and taken before their time. But most importantly of all, Winry ate. She ate and ate, food passing through her lips, that shouldn't have been there at all. She hated herself for it, and knew she was going to have to make up for it somehow, but here sitting in a crowded living room with someone that listened so fervently to her every word and didn't lecture, she shoved the thought aside.
She would worry about it in the morning. Right now, she deserved to be happy.