Title: Living a Whole Life
Rating: G, woo!
Pairing: WinrySciezska
Word Count: 1,007

A/N Sorry it took so long to update. I've been sick. Here's a ficlet--bit longer than a drabble.

"I love you," Winry said quietly, putting Sciezska's glasses on her face.

"Love you, too," Sciezska said quietly, swallowing hard, trying not to fog her glasses with hot tears in the cold snow.

"I can empathize," Winry said, placing the back of her cold hand on Sciezska's flushed cheek. "If that helps."

Closing her eyes, letting the tears roll, Sciezska couldn't bring herself to say anything. Instead, she just let Winry hold her, comfort her. Every book told her it was easier to deal with grief at an older age, and here she was, twenty-eight.

She wondered if she could ever read again, because this hurt more than she thought she could bear. It didn't matter what age you were—losing your mother would never be easy to handle.

"She's no longer in pain," Winry said after a moment, taking Sciezska's glasses back, cleaning the salty memories off the lenses.

That's what everyone was telling Sciezska.

She's no longer in pain.

She died gently in her sleep.

She's in a better place now.

But the doctors had said they would get better. The doctors, having read possibly more books on the subject than even she, said, in their factual knowledge that her mother would get better.

How could she ever read again?

"I know that doesn't help the pain," Winry said, Sciezska's glasses dangling from her chapped fingers. "I mean, the fact that they aren't there, I guess that's what hurt the most. Knowing that I'd never get to see them again."

"I think," Sciezska said quietly, "what hurts the most is that ever fact, every doctor, every book said she was getting better."

"I guess that's kind of like buying what everyone says are the best pliers in the world only to find that they don't even have spring loading," Winry said sighing.

Sciezska nodded numbly, almost glad her glasses were off, keeping the world as a dim haze. That's how it felt, anyway.

"Everyone's going to tell you how strong you were. They're going to ask you how you think you can handle this," Winry continued, stroking the small of Sciezska's back. "But they can't really help you, Shez."

"Then what can?" Sciezska mumbled, trying to stem her tears.

"Time," Winry said. "And a good book."

"I don't want a book," Sciezska snapped, pulling away, wishing this time she could see the expression on Winry's face. The blurred mute tone to the world almost made her feel guilty. All sorts of thoughts were running through her mind--If I kept the job at the First Central Library and got enough money to keep her medicine running, would she have lived longer? If I had visited her more often, would she have lived longer? Was there any way I could have made her live longer?

"Sciezska," Winry intoned, dragging a thumb across the brunette's cheekbone, wiping away thick tears. "I told you, I can empathize."

"But you were so young," Sciezska blubbered, finding it hard to stand up.

Closing her eyes, Winry slipped her arm around Sciezska's neck, pulling her close. "Do you think that made it hurt any less?" she murmured.

"No," Sciezska admitted. "But at least you knew you couldn't have done anything about it, right?"

"You'd think that," Winry said, laughing lightly, a sad laugh, full of memories of her childhood. "But even at my age I tried to figure out what I did wrong."

"How could you have done anything wrong?" Sciezska said, blinking as Winry pulled back, replacing her glasses.

Winry shrugged and with her glasses back, Sciezska clearly saw the tears in Winry's eyes. "Win…" she murmured, taken aback, wiping them gently away.

"Sorry," Winry sniffled. "I was just thinking that we never got much of a childhood. With your mother always sick, you lived yours through books. And I decided to grow up too fast, knowing my mother wouldn't be there to comfort me in my childhood blues."

"Edward and Alphonse had to grow up as well," Sciezska said quietly.

Winry sighed, stroking the back of Sciezska's neck. "We never got much of a childhood, did we?"

"No."

"And now we have responsibilities and life and we can't replay that part of our life," Winry continued, Sciezska wiping away the liberal tears, kissing Winry's cheekbone.

"Winry," Sciezska said quietly after a moment.

"Wh-what Shez?" Winry asked, looking carefully into Sciezska's green eyes.

"I love you," she repeated.

"Love you…" Winry said, swallowing hard as Sciezska pulled her close, kissing her lightly in the graveyard.

"When I die," Sciezska said. "You aren't allowed to mope."

"Okay," Winry said sullenly.

"And you better not stop taking stuff apart."

"Okay," Winry mumbled again, annoyed.

"In fact, I'm going to specifically leave you something in my will for you to take apart after my funeral."

"By that logic," Winry answered, highly peeved, "when we get home, you better read as many books as you can get your hands on."

Sciezska laughed, trying to make the mirth sound genuine. "Win, you're right," she said quietly, kissing the blonde's forehead. "Let's go home, make hot chocolate, and read my mother's favorite book."

"She'd like that," Winry said quietly. "And I'll start a fire in the fireplace. It's cold enough."

Sciezska nodded. "She would like that. Let's sit by the fire, cuddled up in the big chair we can never sit in alone and I'll read to you, sipping hot cocoa."

"She'd definitely like that."

"No, you'd like that," Sciezska retorted.

"We'd both like that," Winry said, grinning.

"Both as in you and I or both as in you and my mother?" Sciezska said, scratching her head.

"All of us," Winry sighed. "Because we all just want you to be happy and not skip another part of your life. You already missed your childhood, Shez. Let's not skip over this moment, either."

"That's why I love you," Sciezska said after a moment, silent tears running down her face, so different from the noisy, thick tears earlier.

"Why?" Winry asked, fluttering her eyelashes.

"Because you can empathize."