Hello everyone! I'm back (and sooner than usual, I might add). I'm trying to keep ahead of my stories this time, so that I don't fall behind and lose focus. Write write write edit post write write write edit post.
Forgive me if this chapter has some typos. I didn't get as many editors this time as last time, and even though I read it over several times to check for mistakes, I might have missed one. Sorry!
CaptainKase: My goodness! It's so very humbling to have my first FMA fanfiction received so well! I'm glad that you liked my ficlet! hugs And yes, I agree that this is one of the best timeframes. So much angst! Loverly stuff. I hope you like this chapter as well. Unfortunately, it does not have much Brotherly Al, but hopefully chapter 4 (which I am working on now) will have plenty to make up for it.
please-knock: Thank you so much for the review and kind comments! It means a lot to me!
Anyhoo, without further ado, I present:
Helplessness
She took a moment's notice away from the tangle of wires splayed out on the table before her and looked out the window. It was a bright day, the sun still clean and clear in its morning phase. It was fairly warm, despite a small breeze. The wind chill wouldn't be too much for him, would it?
Winry let out a groan of frustration at herself and turned back to the wires. Blue wire twisted under yellow wire hooked into this loop here…She was too nervous. Everything would be fine. She had nothing to worry about. However, no matter hard she tried, she couldn't keep her eyes away from the two figures sitting beneath the tree on the hill framed by the window.
It was the first time Ed had been outside in… well… a long time. This morning, he had practically begged Winry, Al, and Pinako to let him leave the house, if just for a little while. He'd barely left that stale old room at all the whole time he'd been at the Rockbells, though he constantly whined about the inside air being so coarse and stuffy. Al had teased him, reminding him that there had been many times in the past when Ed would stay inside for hours, endlessly reading as many books as he could on his own free will and without complaint. Surely staying indoors couldn't be so bad.
But, Ed had insisted, it's different when it's not my choice.
So, finally, they relented. Winry wasn't sure whether her Grandmother was really comfortable enough with his recovery to allow it (Winry sure wasn't), or whether she was just sick of his stubborn persistence.
Even still, that stubborn boy had to suffer some indignities. Winry packed Al full of thick blankets to carry with him, claiming that they couldn't afford Ed to catch a chill. When Ed reminded her that the sun was warmly shining, she only glowered at him. The only thing that had saved him from a wrench to the head was the fact that such a scuffle would have angered Pinako. She had been applying fresh bandages, and would not have been pleased at all at an interruption from her work. No matter how much Ed deserved a quick whack right then, Winry knew better than to get in her Grandmother's way.
When all of that was finished, there came the task of physically getting him outdoors. Winry suspected that Ed himself hadn't even thought that far. There was no way he could have been able to walk outside on his own, even if he had both of his legs. He was still too weak, between the lingering effects of massive blood loss and the fact that he hadn't started eating solid foods again yet (though he was well on his way to convincing Pinako to let him give it a go this afternoon). Despite being absolutely mortified at the thought of being so helpless, he had consented to allowing himself to be carried outside by Al, on one condition: that Pinako and Winry stay inside and pretend not to notice.
Ha. Right.
Winry peeked outside again. They were still sitting under the tree, their figures cutting harsh silhouettes against the slanted morning glow. Winry couldn't tell if Ed was asleep or not, though she suspected he was (Of course, if she asked him later, he would never admit that the excursion wore him out). Al was sitting beside him, the armor glinting in the sunlight. He stayed within arm's reach, ready to catch his brother if he fell sideways or carry him back inside if he got cold.
"Winry."
She jumped, startled out of her thoughts. Pinako was glancing over, her pipe drooping loosely out of her mouth.
"Pay attention to what you're doing. You hooked the wrong wires together again."
Winry looked down. Sure enough, instead of curling together in graceful curves with the rest of the wires in the bundle on the left, several of the wires were twisted over and entangled with those in the bundle on the right. A silly mistake – one that could only be made by not focusing on the task.
Blushing, she picked up and mess and began to unravel the knots. "Sorry Granny. I'll try harder." She shouldn't be having this much trouble. This stuff should have been easy, especially compared to the wire connectors Pinako was working on. Winry looked at her Grandmother's work – all tight, controlled, and efficient – and then turned away and sighed.
"Perhaps," Pinako said, while expertly rolling wires between dexterous fingers, "You might not be ready to work on an actual customer job just yet. After all, you're still learning."
"Granny!" Winry exploded, tossing the mass of wires onto the table, "I can handle it just fine! Especially since you're not letting me help with anything but the easy stuff. I won't mess it up. I promise!"
"Pick it up." Watching Winry sheepishly rescue her work from the pile into which it had been thrown, Pinako raised an eyebrow. "Don't damage the equipment. It is expensive."
"I know." Winry blushed and sighed. "It's just… I don't know. This isn't just any customer job."
Pinako tapped her pipe against her lips thoughtfully. "Aha. Now we get to the heart of the matter."
The sun was now shining harsh and bright through the window. When Winry tried to look for the familiar tree and the two figures sheltered under it, the brightness hurt her eyes. She squinted and looked away.
"I guess…" the words trailed off along with the rest of the sentence, flittering away from Winry's tongue. She bit her lip and tried again. "I just can't get it out of my head, Granny. That night when Al came… looking so different… and Ed! Ed lying there so hurt… You'd think it would be easy to forget now, especially since Ed is feeling so much better – or at least pretending to be – but it's not."
Feeling her Grandmother's eyes on her, Winry felt embarrassed, but when the following silence grew thick, she spoke up once more.
"I wish he'd just admit he's hurt. He tries to act strong, but I can tell when he's in pain." She curled her lip in disgust. "If he would just swallow his pride for two seconds…"
"And the chances of that happening are…?" Pinako snorted.
Sighing in frustration, Winry fiddled with the loose end of a wire for a moment. "I just want to help him," she admitted slowly, "in whatever way I know how."
"If you want to help, then stop jabbering and get to work braiding those wires." Pinako's words seemed harsh, but Winry knew better than to take the bluntness of words as bluntness of feeling. A small proud smile played about her Grandmother's lips. "Don't worry your head too much about that boy. He's always been stubborn."
"Stubborn. Yeah, I'd agree to that," growled Winry. "I still don't think you should have let him outside. What if he catches a chill? I don't think he's recovered enough."
"Of course he isn't."
"What?" Winry gasped. "Then why'd you let him go out?"
"Would he have listened if I told him 'no'? At least this way we can make sure he takes some necessary precautions."
"Idiot," muttered Winry. "He's going to make himself worse off."
As it turned out, Ed won both of the pending arguments that day. Not only did he succeed in securing himself a full two hours outdoors (albeit, with Al's constant supervision), he convinced Pinako to let him have his first solid meal.
"How long has it been?" Ed had mused, "Boy, could I use some substantial grub for a change. I'm sick of broth! Let's see… chicken sounds nice… with some potatoes and a nice big cob of corn smothered in butter and salt…"
Pinako had laughed at him, telling him that he wasn't going to get anything quite that fancy yet, that his system was not quite ready for it. When Ed started to make a fuss about the fact that he was injured and not sick, Pinako tried to explain to him the effects of blood loss and fatigue, coupled with a stomach that hadn't encountered solid food in over a week. Of course, Ed would have none of it.
His efforts won him a few strips of chicken for dinner.
Pinako had planned to monitor him as he ate, but he was obviously uncomfortable being watched over (though to his credit, he didn't complain) and he was handling the fork quite well considering he only had one hand, so she and Winry went to work on the automail for a while. Al would come get them if they were needed.
After almost thirty minutes of trying to puzzle out how to get dozens of wires through the tiny ports of the automail, Winry became frustrated.
"I just can't get this," Winry groaned, microns away from ripping her hair out.
Her Grandmother didn't even look up. "Don't worry, I'll help you. Let me finish with this…"
"No, it's okay." Winry stood up. "I'm going to go check on Ed."
"Take the dishes to the sink if he's finished."
"I will."
And it looked like she was going to end up doing so. Sure enough, when she reached his room, she saw that his plate sat empty on the table by his bed. Ed was sitting propped up in bed by several pillows squished between him and the wall. He looked up as she walked in the room.
"I see you ate all your dinner!" Winry grinned, walking over. "Was it good?"
"Delicious," he said softly with a crooked smile. His long bangs were drooping in his face.
Winry sat down on the edge of the bed and began to gather up the plates and utensils. It was then she noticed a presence missing from the room. "Where's Al?"
"I don't know," Ed shrugged, but Winry noticed that he was avoiding her gaze. "I guess he needed some time to think, or something."
She frowned. "You two aren't fighting, are you?"
"No! It's nothing like that!" he said almost a little too hastily. When she shot him a look that clearly said 'tell me the truth or else,' he gave in and sighed. "It's just hard on him, you know? Everything that's happened."
Winry stopped clattering the dishes long enough to give Ed her full attention. "You can talk to me about it, if you want."
She should have known better than to expect an answer. He was as silent as ever, his head low and causing his bangs to shadow his eyes. He was shaking slightly. At first, Winry just interpreted it as a symptom of his distress, but then she noticed that he was also looking a little pale.
"Ed?" she reached over and felt his forehead. No fever, although his skin did feel a little sweaty. "Are you all right?"
Shrugging away from her hand, he said, "I'm fine!" and tried to give her a confident grin. But his trembling lips gave away his weakness, as well as the convulsive gulp that tore through his throat a moment later.
Winry eyed him over for a moment. She noticed how his left arm was curled protectively around his stomach. "Ed, are you feeling nauseous?"
"Of course not!" He exclaimed, blinking and waving her away. "I feel fine."
Without even stopping to consider his answer, Winry walked over to the closet and pulled out a bucket.
"I don't need it. Put it back."
Winry brought over the bucket and set it on the nightstand. "But wouldn't you rather have it nearby, just in case?"
"No. It doesn't matter. I'm not feeling sick."
"Sure." She rolled her eyes, but inwardly she was worried. She noticed how Ed was starting to look a little green around his eyes and in the hollow of his cheeks. "You should have listened to Granny. You really aren't ready for solid food, are you?"
"Don't be ridiculous," though he tried to sound assured, the words came out like moans. "That old hag doesn't know what she's talking about. I'm getting better…"
"Right!" Winry flung her hands in the air in agitation. She knew she probably shouldn't have been shouting at him, but she couldn't help herself. "You're getting better? That's why you're sitting there weak as a kitten! Stop trying to act tough and strong, 'cause you're not right now."
Sulking, she turned her back to him for several long moments. Her statement must have hit a soft spot. Ed made no response. After a while, she forced herself to turn around and look at Ed again. That short respite allowed her to see Edward as if for the first time. He lay sagged against the pillows, his breath coming in unsteady gasps and his hair drooping in sweat-soaked strands across a face pinched with pain; he looked frail, miserable, and very very ill. Winry began to feel horribly guilty.
"I'm sorry, Ed." She whispered. "I shouldn't have said that."
"It's okay," his voice cracked wearily, "I deserved it."
Shaking her head, Winry gave him a sad smile. She stood for a moment so that she could tuck in the wrinkled blankets around her friend's shaking form, being sure to take care near the stump of what used to be his left leg. Ed seemed to be worn out; he made no complaints as she adjusted the bedsheets and pillows. His eyes were closed.
"You don't have to pretend you know." She said, ready to meet his gaze as he opened his eyes. They were fogged and weary.
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean," persisted Winry. "I know why you've been pushing yourself so hard these past few days. I could label it as just another example of your pigheaded stupidity, but there's something more." When Ed didn't answer, she continued. "Granny may seem like she doesn't notice your weak moments; after all, she does pretty much let you set your own limits a lot of the time. But I've seen her with other automail patients. No matter how hard you try and convince her that you're recovering more quickly than humanly possible, she's not going to perform the surgery until she is absolutely positive that you are ready."
Ed made a face. "Stubborn old crone."
"Hey now," she jested, "'Stubborn'? You're one to talk. No wonder Al got fed up with you."
Although she had meant it jokingly, she soon discovered that she had said the wrong thing entirely. A gray shadow overtook his face. "Come off it. Don't talk about things you don't understand."
Silence. Before she could think of something to say, a jolt seemed to go through Ed. He curled forward, hugging his belly.
In an instant, Winry was there with the bucket. "Don't worry," she assured him, holding the bucket near his chin. "We can always try solid food another day when you're stronger." Of course, she was no longer convinced that it was the solid food making him ill.
"I hate being so helpless." He trembled and swallowed tightly.
Hesitating for only a moment, Winry began to rub his back in soothing circles, like her mother used to do for her when she wasn't feeling well. "It's okay," she soothed, "Let it out. You'll feel better afterwards."
It didn't take much longer before his body rebelled against him and did just that. Winry stayed with him the whole time, whispering comforting nothings into his ear and holding the bucket steady as Ed lost the dinner he had fought so hard for.
The ordeal lasted many long painful minutes. When it finally let up, Ed was gasping for breath. Winry got up to go rinse out the bucket and get Ed a towel for his mouth. She wasn't gone long. Hurrying back into the room, she gently mopped his face. Pulling out the pillows behind him so that he could lie comfortable and flat, she laid a damp cloth that she brought from the bathroom across his sweaty forehead. This done, she began to gather up the abandoned dinner plates, but halted as she felt a tug on her skirt. Startled, she turned around to see Ed's bleary eyes looking up at her.
"Winry?" He mumbled, "Do me a f-favor?"
She turned to face him fully. "What is it?"
"D-d-don't-" his breath hitched. "Don't tell Al. 'Bout this…. 'bout me getting sick. Don't want him to worry."
Winry frowned. "But…"
"Please?" Ed's eyes were wide and pleading.
Sighing, Winry began heading towards the door, carrying the stacked empty plates. "I won't tell him… but I think you should. He's your brother, and he deserves to know when you're not feeling well."
She heard Ed sigh in relief as she shut the door and headed down the hall to the kitchen. It was too much to hope for, she knew, that Ed would openly admit anything of the sort to anyone, especially to Al, for whom he had always tried to appear so unfailingly strong. But she could not control him. She could only help him out when he struggled and offer advice whenever she was able.
It was the best she could do.
