A/N This drabble is a pretty little introduction to Laendler (IM me if you want the link)
Title: Predictable
Rating: PG
Word Count: 406
"You didn't scream," Winry said, putting her wrench down on the tool bench, wiping a bit of sweat off her face. She leaned over to look the restrained officer in the face, taking a rag to the sopping brow of her patient.
Defiant reddish-brown eyes met her jovial blue ones as Major Riza Hawkeye struggled against the restraints, testing their mettle before spitting out the piece of leather she had muffled her gasps with, now deeply marred with bite marks. "Did you really expect me to, Miss Rockbell?" she asked in an extremely placid voice for someone who just had automail surgery.
"Not really," Winry said, grinning widely. "I can normally tell the rare patient who suffers in silence." Winry prattled on then for a good fifteen minutes on how Riza should take care of her new limbs, not bothering to undo the restraints. With Edward she had to have a captive audience, and though she was sure Major Hawkeye was nothing like Ed, she wasn't taking any chances. Winry would give anything to instill a healthy sense of respect for her metal limbs into Riza so that she wouldn't wreck them so often like Ed. Winry was near the end of her lecture when she followed Riza's lidded gaze. The fingers of the major's new metal hand clacked against the palm as she looked at her neatly folded uniform and on top, her meticulously cared for pistol.
Winry stared at the gun, stopping her lecture immediately, realizing that it was unnecessary. The smooth mechanics of the pistol Riza had gotten when she joined the military were cared for with such intense love that Winry knew that Riza wouldn't constantly be damaging her limbs.
The silence was almost palpable, but Riza digested it without recognition almost as easily as Winry's muted sermon. She wasn't paying attention to the details on how to clean the joints, what to do in case of nerve damage, or what to do if the metal is dented to the point it no longer moves, even though she understood innately that keeping her automail in working order would be just as important as making sure her pistol could fire. If she couldn't hold the gun, shoot the trigger, and handle the kick, how could she protect Fuhrer Mustang if need be?
But even with this compelling evidence to pay attention to the situation, it was only natural her mind was elsewhere.