A.N.1: I know, I know, it's been forever since I've done anything with Marking Time. No, I haven't given up on the story, as you can see by this post here. What you're looking at is a possible future scene, written for Artemis Rae, when she prompted me with Winry + Gun. As this was something I was planning on using in M.T. for some time, the scene just spilled out.
A.N. 2: Thank you thank you thank you for whomever nominated Marking Time at the Universal Fanfic Awards! I seem to have a lot of stories up there – yay! Please be sure to go vote when the voting period starts!
A.N.3: Did you – yes, you! - did you ever think, I wish I could give S J a prompt and have her write for me? Well, now's your chance. I, and many, many talented writers, artists and crafters, have joined the live journal community, help_haiti, and want you to bid on us. The thing is, the auction is over January 20, 2010, at noon, E.S.T. The link to my particular auction is: http:// community. Livejournal .com /help_haiti /6394. html?thread = 4507130 # t4507130 (be sure to cut and paste, taking out all the spaces when you put it in your browser). I'm not sure if you must be registered LJ to bid but you would have to leave someway for the auctioneers or me to get hold of you if you didn't.
…and now, back to your regularly scheduled story.
"...you have a gun." Ed swallowed, staring at the pistol in Winry's hand, held so casually, almost with the same ease as he remembered her holding a wrench or a screwdriver, so long ago.
Winry broke open the barrel, running a pipe cleaner through it. "Yes." There was no apology in her answer, no hint of remorse.
Riza, sitting at the table across from Winry, one pistol resting on a cloth in front of her, another in hand as she rubbed bluing into the barrel, spoke without looking at either of them. "We live in dangerous times, Edward. Winry needed to be able to protect herself, in case someone saw past her disguise."
"But...Ling...Al..." Ed felt completely out of his depth, here. Winry shouldn't have a gun. She should have never touched a weapon. She wasn't someone who should ever have knowledge of how to hurt people. Despite that, his leg ached from the bullet she'd put in him, something he'd thought was a fluke; sheer insanity at the time. A fever dream.
"I had to be able to trust myself, Ed." Winry's voice was gentle but strong, too. Still unapologetic about her weapon. Her. Weapon. "What if Al wasn't there? Or something happened to Ling? I wasn't going to be made a hostage without at least having a fighting chance."
Ed bowed his head, understanding the thought process but still hating the outcome. "I'm sorry. There're still a lot of things I have to get used to, I guess." Al, married; Winry with a gun. It was almost more than he wanted to know.
But they were his family; he'd deal. At least they were together again.