Disclaimer: Hiromu Arakawa owns Fullmetal Alchemist and anything else involved. I, therefore, own nothing.
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This chapter is solely mangaverse.
Again
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Winry (with hints of Ed/Winry)
July 12, 2009
No matter how many times she tried to school her emotions, her heart ached painfully whenever his name came up in conversation; or, if her thoughts ever strayed to his well-being, which was often enough, she would worry and stress herself.
He wasn't dead, no, but his life was so dangerous, he might as well be on the fast track to his grave. That, in itself, was one of her biggest fears. One day, she feared, news would come to her door from the military; she would be like the wife that had been left behind without actually being so. She wanted to see him and Al walk just as the sun rose, seeing their silhouettes in the distance slowly getting bigger.
When he was beside her, she held onto him so tightly, as if he would vanish or fade away if she let go. He joked, saying that she was going to crack a couple of his ribs if she kept that up, but knew that it was something she needed to do. The painful ache turned to a dull throb whenever she looked into his eyes; she was almost swayed into believing everything would be alright. Maybe someday, but surely not now. Her happiness would always be just a little bit out of her grasp.
She couldn't cry. She wouldn't allow herself to. She had promised him that she would be brave, that she would be strong.
Crying, even if her eyes were brimming with tears and the need was overwhelming, was a sign of giving in to what she hoped would never be true.
An apple pie to be kept warm: that's all that he wanted from her. She hoped otherwise, fully ready to offer herself in exchange (how equivalent would that be?) for all of his hard work and dedication. At least... she kept telling herself that, and made it a point to not chicken out if the time ever came to tell her how she really felt.
There was only so long she could pretend that the worry was like that of a sister's for her brothers in peril.
It was only a matter of time before she realized that one brother meant something different to her than the other.
Her nerves had never been so tightly wound together, so on edge, in her life–except, maybe, when he had first come to her, so tiny in his brother's arms on that stormy night.
The Promised Day was upon them, so dark and yet bright over the horizon.
She didn't know what to do with herself.
She paced and paced, as if she were an expectant father waiting for the birth of his first child. She tried to busy herself with tinkering at her automail arms and legs that had been lying around the basement (where she was forcibly staying), but nothing could distract her mind from the well being of her two best friends.
She was doing more harm than good to her mind. Sleeping was out of the question. The second she lied down and closed her eyes, images of a bipolar nature came to mind. Images of Ed sweeping her off her feet and pushing her down onto that very same bed she was lying on, his two flesh arms holding onto her tightly. When she tried to push those images out of her brain with a heated blush across her cheeks, she was reminded that the outcome could possibly be horrible, and the image of him, bloody, torn, and lifeless made itself known.
She couldn't sleep even if she wanted to.
Exhausted wore her thin, dreams of a happy future fueling her, pushing her forward. She wouldn't look back, no matter how much she felt the need to.
She needed to move forward...
... for the both of them.