Chapter 3
Fire Night
"You'll like this place," Winry grinned, the gap-tooth smile looking disarmingly childish. "Trust me."
Ed looked up at the bar in front of them, his eyes landing on the battered sign which read 'Last Hope', and wondered again how Winry had managed to talk them into this.
Instead of heading with them to Central immediately for the negotiations, Winry had persuaded them to make it a night-trip so they could come to her favourite bar in the early evening.
Ed had to admit, it certainly had atmosphere. Unlike most bars he'd been to, which reeked of stale alcohol and depression, this had an air of easy-going friendliness to it. That is, if he ignored the company he was keeping.
He still didn't know why Scar and Envy – two of his most implacable enemies – were now, to all appearances, part of the Rush Valley Resistance. He couldn't understand why they, of all people, would be taking orders from Winry.
But, far more bewildering than that, was the fact both Envy and Scar seemed genuinely fond of the blonde woman.
The Ishbalan was as stoic as ever, but Winry made sure she always included him in conversations, and what few orders she gave him were obeyed without question. When Scar addressed Winry, he called her 'Vharla', which had confused Ed until Paninya explained it was an Ishbalan word, the closest English approximation of which would be 'leader in the time of war'. And when Winry chuckled with her followers about something they called 'the paper bomb incident', Ed could have sworn he saw the corner of the man's lips lift. Which, coming from Scar, was practically a full-fledged laugh.
Envy was different. He acted mockingly disruptive and disobedient, but upon closer examination Ed could see that nothing he did would actually rile Winry. And like Scar, he had his own nickname for the blonde woman. In response to a command, to refer to her in a conversation or to address her, he simply called her 'boss'. But when he was playfully teasing her, he called her 'Pidgeon', supposedly referring to the fact she had to be bird-brained to recruit him in the first place. But these minor rebellions aside, it was clear Winry had his full and total loyalty. At least, as much loyalty as someone like Envy was capable of.
But then, all of her little 'group' were loyal to her.
Paninya...was Paninya. She had been Winry's friend since before the war, and apparently adversity had only strengthened their bond. Where there had once been easy friendship, there was now the iron-solid camaraderie of two people who had put their lives on the line for each other. A level of understanding so profound that they barely needed words to communicate – a glance or a simple gesture could convey an entire conversation.
Breda was another story. He was a military man, and while you might gain his obedience if you had a higher rank, the only way you gained his loyalty was through his respect. And having been through the things he had, his respect was hard to gain. But Winry obviously had it, in spades. She also had his admiration, though Ed could only guess at what Winry had done to earn it.
Watching as Winry clinked glasses with her circle of comrades, Ed had the feeling they had barely scratched the surface of the changes the war had wrought in their childhood friend.
"Here – try this," Winry said, passing a small glass to Ed and breaking him out of his thoughts. "It's my favourite."
Ed sipped at the beverage, feeling the familiar burn of alcohol on his tongue, yet the drink tasted rather like lemonade, with a sharp tang of citrus that left his mouth feeling pleasantly clean.
"Lemon Twist," Winry explained. "One of Last Hope's specials."
Paninya, Envy and Breda all nursed their own favourites in front of them. Somehow, it didn't surprise Ed to see that Scar wasn't consuming any alcohol.
Winry was tipping glass back to catch the last few drops of her drink when she suddenly dropped the glass to the table to call out. "Hey! Miracle-worker!"
Ed turned to see who she had hailed. And he could feel his eyes bug out. Beside him, Al drew in a quick breath of utter astonishment. Even Riza looked surprised.
The man's hair was almost entirely grey – only a few streaks of black showing through here and there – he bore the six digit prison camp numbers that decorated the forearms of many of those in the Resistance, and his face was mutilated. But he was still recognisable as Dr. Tim Marcoh.
He turned at Winry's greeting, and made his way over to their table. At a look from Winry, Envy hooked a spare chair in the corner with his foot and dragged it towards the table, the automatic response to her unspoken command startling Ed almost as much as Marcoh's appearance.
Marcoh sat gratefully, and upon closer inspection Ed could see his eyes were bloodshot, as though he hadn't been sleeping well.
"You look like hell," Winry said bluntly. "When's the last time you slept?"
Marcoh gave a small, weak smile. "And when's the last time you slept, Commander?"
When Winry paused, thinking it over, it was obvious it had been a while. "Doesn't matter – I'll sleep in the truck tonight. Negotiations in Central, you know."
"You need to have a more regular schedule, Winry," Paninya chided. "It's not healthy for you to go days without sleep."
Winry waved her concerns away. "I know what I'm doing, Pan."
Breda barked out a laugh. "Leave her be. We've having a friendly drink here. Socialise now, lecture later."
"By the way, this is my escort to Central," Winry told Marcoh, turning to the three Dissidents. "I believe you've met them before."
"I'm Edward Elric, remember me?" Ed said, extending his hand to Marcoh while privately wondering how Winry had learned of their acquaintance. But then, Marcoh himself had probably told her.
oooooooo
"Your new headquarters seem very strange," Riza commented to Breda, watching the scene in front of her.
A small bonfire had been lit in the centre of Rush Valley, and a circle of men, woman and children wheeled around it, dancing joyfully. Pair dances, waltzes, or reeling, single-person freestyle, they all danced wildly to the tunes played by the musicians on top of a nearby building.
All in all, it wasn't the sort of party one would expect to see in military headquarters.
Ed, Al and Riza sat apart from the others, feeling as though they would be intruding if they joined in. Breda had joined them.
"That's because we're not just a headquarters here," Breda said, grinning as the players struck up a fast jig. "We're a community. Remember, we raided prison camps, and unlike the Dissidents, we didn't have refugee houses to send the civilians to. And Winry wouldn't turn them away. So they came here."
"Wasn't that difficult? Having more civilians than warriors?" Al asked.
Breda shook his head. "Not in the way you might think. You see, our Commander's rule here is that everyone pulls their weight. So we had training sessions. Taught them to scout, to fight, to shoot, follow orders...everything you'd get in proper military training. Winry insisted on it. She even trained most of them herself."
"But wouldn't it have been smarter to have someone like you train them?" Ed asked. "Winry's never trained for combat."
Breda looked uncomfortable. "Look, I can't say much...just trust me when I say she was by far the best choice."
"What-?" Ed started.
"Listen," Breda's voice lowered, "If you hear it from anyone, it should be Winry, okay? So don't ask me anything more."
Ed subsided, but Al could see the worry in his brother's eyes. The same worry churning in his own stomach. The way Breda had made it sound...as though Winry had somehow, somewhere, been formally trained in combat. But how? And by who?
"But why are you guys just sitting here?" Breda asked, changing the subject hastily. "You're missing out on all the fun!"
"We're fine here," Ed defended. He couldn't shake the idea that he didn't belong there, among those who'd faced the chaos of the front lines. Those who'd fought beside each other time and time again, risking their lives almost daily...
It was a new feeling – being a stranger in Winry's world.
"Come on," Breda encouraged. "Everyone's enjoying themselves tonight."
Ed couldn't help feeling he had a point. Paninya was in front of them, dancing with Dr. Marcoh, the young woman having persuaded the aging doctor to join her in a dizzying two-step. Envy and Winry were dancing – in a spectacle that Ed found very surreal – and as he watched, Envy lifted the smaller woman in his arms, supporting her by the waist as she bent back, the tips of fingers stretching towards the flames behind her, before she slithered through her partner's arms and back to her own feet.
"Scar doesn't seem to be enjoying himself," Ed pointed out, gesturing to the Ishbalan who leaned against a wall, the flickering flames casting strange shadows on his face.
But he had spoken too soon. Apparently realising the near-brooding state of her ally, Winry detached herself from the whirling throng and approached Scar. She leaned against the wall beside him, her face slightly turned towards his, speaking in tones so low they couldn't catch the words. Standing next to the bear-like man, Winry seemed almost pixie-like in comparison.
It seemed only to emphasise the fact that Scar could have snapped her in half without breaking a sweat. But when he looked at her in response to some comment inaudible to the others, there was genuine affection in his gaze. Winry said something else, and then Scar did something Ed had never seen him do before.
He laughed.
Well, it was more of a chuckle than a laugh; a deep-chested noise of amusement. But it was still the most cheerful he'd ever seen the Ishbalan. Though the fact that they'd only ever faced each other in battle might have had something to do with that.
"Did you see that?" Al breathed, "Scar actually laughed!"
As though she heard him, Winry looked up, and her eyes met Ed's. A soft comment to Scar, and she pushed back from the wall, heading towards them. He wasn't sure what to expect, but then she extended her hand to him and he began to get an idea.
"Come and dance, Ed."
He shifted, struck suddenly by a feeling of acute embarrassment. "I don't dance."
"Come on," Winry encouraged, though Ed noticed her voice lacked the pleading tone that once would have accompanied those words. Now, her voice was firm and brooked no refusal.
"Al, you too," she said, her tone bordering on a command.
Before either of them could protest, she had grasped their arms and yanked them to their feet with surprising strength.
Breda and Riza watched them go, stifling their laughter.
"I've been meaning to ask you," Breda said, his tone striving for casual, "How are the others?"
Riza bit her lip, a nervous habit developed during her time in the prison camp – using minor pain to distract from larger, more insistent agony. She had been expecting that question.
She told him of Roy's promotions, of her own escape from Camp 13...and the grimmer stories of Havoc and Falman's death, and Fuery's injury.
Breda was quiet for a long time, swallowing thickly. "It's...it's to be expected, I guess..." he mumbled. "Not everyone could be as lucky as you and me."
Riza nodded shortly, trying not to dwell on the faces of those lost forever. Instead, she turned back towards the fire.
Paninya had seized Al's arm as Marcoh dropped out of the circle, panting heavily. Satisfied that the younger Elric had a partner who would ensure his feet weren't idle, Winry concentrated on the older brother.
Ed found himself almost grateful the musicians on the roof were playing more temperate tunes than previously. Winry's hand on his arm was warm and firm, the pressure of her small fingers hinting at the strength behind them. The heat from the fire made her cheeks flush pink, like a dusting of rose petals across her face. She was panting lightly from her previous exertions, her hair wild and tangled, stray locks plastered to her skin with a light sheen of sweat.
With the fire leaping behind her, her fierce grin breaking the line of the scar on her face as her body twisted and turned like a pale panther, Winry looked like some ancient warrior goddess; powerful, unbreakable, untouchable. But the body in his arms was just skin and muscle and bone; the mortal flesh of a leader who didn't eat or sleep as often as she should.
"Just for old time's sake," Winry said, her eyes sparkling, "How's your automail?"
Ed didn't laugh, but he couldn't help nor hide the smile that stretched his lips. "Not as good as yours."
"Of course it's not as good as mine, Ed," Winry chided, "I'm the best."
This time Ed did laugh. Winry sighed, smiled and rested her head against his chest, like one of those intimate waltzes he'd seen in old paintings. The scent of her hair drifted to him over the cloying smell of woodsmoke from the fire. The blonde locks didn't smell of fruit or flowers or any kind of perfume, they just smelled...clean. Almost of their own volition, his arms moved around her, the automail bracketing her waist, his flesh and blood fingers running through Winry's short, clean-smelling hair.
With her head bent against him, hiding the scar on her face and the hardened look in her eyes, she almost looked like the Winry he remembered. The Winry whose hands still had the scrape of a mechanic's callouses instead of the smooth hardness of a fighter's toughened skin. The Winry whose hands had held a wrench more often than a gun.
It was strange; she reminded him of a warrior goddess one moment, and a long-distant memory the next.
Because he was starting to realise – truly realise – that was what his memories of Winry were. Long-distant. His memories were of a young, teenage mechanic whose painful past was contradicted by a heart-warming innocence. A girl with soft eyes and a warm voice that had never failed to leech away his pain. A girl whose hands were both strong and delicate as she cradled the metal she loved. A girl who persuaded the gears and cogs and wires of automail to work together seamlessly to better the lives of those who would otherwise be crippled.
Those were his memories of Winry. But memory was memory because it was in the past. And now, Winry was a young woman who led an army. A woman with hard eyes and a loud, commanding voice that never failed to gain instant obedience. A woman whose hands had abandoned the metal she loved and cradled weapons instead for the sake of those around her. A woman who persuaded people like Scar and Envy to work together to protect the people under her command.
The fire sparked and popped, and Winry turned her head towards it, the sudden wash of light highlighting the long scar on her face as she watched her people's revelry. In that split second, Ed could see the terrible, wonderful balance of her – the combination of a harsh, deadly commander and a caring, compassionate leader. He could see her inner strength and courage, the small lines around her eyes that told of her suffering and the firm set of her mouth that spoke of determination.
And in that instant, he could understand why Scar and Envy would give their allegiance to this woman.
He just wasn't sure he knew who this woman was.
Ed was shaken from his musings by the feel of Winry's arms snaking around his waist. When she spoke, her voice was far softer than it had been before.
"Ed...I've really missed you guys."
And Ed could almost smile. She may have changed – the years of war may have re-shaped and hardened her...but she was still Winry.
"I've missed you too, Winry," he whispered, and the hoarse honesty in that statement made his voice break.
oooooooo
"Now remember, I'm leaving you guys in charge," Winry told Travis, Christa and Kyle as they stood in front of the truck that would take her to Central for the negotiations. "I informed the people about it last night, so I don't think there'll be any trouble. Just keep things running smoothly, don't take any crap, and I'll be back soon."
"We know, we know," Christa sighed. "Don't fuss." She made shooing motions with her hand, as though driving Winry onto the truck like a naughty dog. "Just go, we'll be fine."
"You better be," Winry muttered, embracing each in turn.
As she turned for the truck, all three snapped salutes. She returned the gesture, and clambered into the vehicle that would take them across the country. The journey would last most of the night – with the trains still out of commission, a trip from Rush Valley to Central took quite a while.
As a gesture of goodwill, Dissident officials had given the Resistance Commander the opportunity to bring several of her lieutenants along. Winry had chosen to bring Paninya, Breda, Scar and Envy. While Ed questioned the wisdom of bringing the latter two into a place crawling with military personnel, he didn't question aloud, even as some part of him wondered if Winry was truly aware of all her strange allies were guilty of.
Winry sighed happily as she sprawled on a row of seats. The truck was originally designed for transporting soldiers, which meant there were several rows of seats. Far too many for them, but it did mean there was a lot of room to lie down, catch upon some much-needed sleep...
Envy leaned over the back of her row of seats, crossing his arms arrogantly. "You sure it was a good idea to leave those guys in charge?"
"I'm sure it was a good idea, Envy," Winry said, and Ed wondered how such a naturally kind voice could sound like it was made of steel razors. It seemed Winry didn't like having her judgement questioned.
Apparently Envy had picked up on her tone too, because he hastily back-tracked. "No disrespect meant, boss."
"They'll do fine," Winry said confidently. "And Miracle-worker will help them – people listen to him."
"Why do you call Dr. Marcoh that?" Al asked.
For a split second, Winry went stiff, her eyes blank as though she were about to lie. The air grew suddenly thick with tension, as Paninya and Breda suddenly did everything they could to avoid their eyes, while Scar and Envy watched Winry as though waiting for a bombshell to drop.
"He saved my life," Winry said at last.
The tension eased, though not by much.
"How?" Al queried.
He could feel the pressure of Ed's gaze, seeming to ask him how he could possibly be oblivious to the tension in the air. But he wasn't oblivious. He was well aware how anxious his questioning was making Winry. But ever since they'd found Winry, he'd felt almost a stranger to her. He knew his brother felt the same.
If they were ever going to get back what the three of them had once shared, it was going to take a lot of painful, hard-to-ask questions.
He didn't want to go into anything like that with all the others around, but he did want to know how Marcoh had saved Winry's life. It seemed a rather innocuous question, and he couldn't understand why it had made her so tense.
"One day, we were ambushed while scouting," Winry told them, her voice bland, "And in the chaos, one guy managed to get a knife into my back. Scar blew his head off, and Paninya managed to get me to the Doc before my lung collapsed any more. He used alchemy to fix me up – if it had been any other doctor...I wouldn't be here right now."
Ed felt a slight chill. Some parts sounded like they had to have been exaggerated, but the bland tone she recited it in left no doubt in Ed's mind that it was the literal truth. But he still couldn't figure out why everyone had been so tense.
Winry waited a moment or two to see if they would continue the questioning, and felt a profound sense of relief when they didn't. She didn't want to get into...that story. Not here. Maybe not ever.
So Winry stretched like a cat, yawned, and closed her eyes.
"Wake me when we get there," she murmured.
oooooooo
Ed woke some time later, surprised to find he'd gone to sleep. He lay still for a moment, trying to determine what had awakened him. Then he heard the murmur of voices, soft and low-pitched, as though trying to keep quiet. A quick glance around him told him why – everyone was asleep. Except the driver, the top of whose head could be seen through the small window in the wall that separated the cabin from the rest of the truck, and the two voices that had awoken him.
Ed attuned his hearing to the voices coming from behind him, feeling like an eavesdropper but unable to resist the prickling of curiosity. A prickling that only increased to a burn when he identified the voices as belonging to Envy and Winry.
"...nothing there for me, with the others and Father dead and all."
"Yeah..." Winry sounded wistful. "Nothing much for me in Central either. Or anywhere else, for that matter. My grandmother was pretty much the only family I had, and now she's gone, so..."
Ed could say, quite confidently, he had encountered nothing as bizarre as Winry discussing the absence of her family with one of the creatures responsible for robbing her of it in the first place.
"What about the pipsqueak?" Envy asked.
Ed stiffened on reflex, though he knew logically that he was now taller than Envy, and as such the insult had no real basis behind it. A fact which Winry swiftly pointed out.
"He's taller than you now. Seems pretty stupid to keep calling him that. And what do you mean by 'what about Ed'?"
"Well...threatening you was always a sure-fire way of getting a rise out of Fullmetal. We – the other homunculi and I – figured he had a thing for you."
"Touching as all this concern for my lovelife is...you're way off. Ed and I never hooked up."
"Doesn't mean he'd have objected to the idea, Pidgeon."
"Maybe, maybe not," Winry stared out the small window at the black curtain of the night. The conversation was dredging up an old memory – ancient by some standards – of sitting in a train after hearing a promise, watching as a boy's back disappeared and coming to a sudden realisation.
'I think I may have fallen for him a long time ago...'
"I think he'd have jumped at the idea," Envy said, with a slight sardonic bite to his tone.
"Envy, shut up."
"Sure thing, boss."
There was several seconds of silence, in which Ed wondered if he'd really been that obvious – that every homunculus and their dog knew about his feelings for Winry. He'd thought he had it under wraps, but Envy talked as though his feelings for the woman were common knowledge – something everyone but Winry knew.
"You should just go ahead and jump him," Envy piped up again. "Get it out of your system, you know?"
"No."
Another pause.
"Come on, Pidgeon. You know he'd be thrilled to take you."
"No."
"Well, I'd be thrilled to take you," Envy purred, his tone turning salacious.
Winry laughed. "While I freely admit to some curiosity...sorry, never going to happen."
"Damn. Still, I tried."
"And you were very brave to do so." Winry sounded as though she were on the verge of laughing again.
"Does that mean I can keep trying?"
"Go to sleep, Envy."
Ed started slightly. He didn't think homunculi needed sleep, but Winry said it as though it were a necessity for the green-haired humanoid.
"You're not asleep," Envy pointed out, faint accusation in his tone.
Winry sighed. "Too used to the midnight watch, I guess. But I meant what I said, Envy. Go to sleep."
"Sure thing, boss."
And Ed was left alone with his thoughts. Thoughts which, after overhearing that conversation, were churning a little too wildly to let him sleep again.
He spent the rest of the night studiously not thinking about what it would be like if Winry followed Envy's suggestion about jumping him.
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AN: Again, lack of stupid mistakes can be credited to LaughingAstarael's wonderful beta-reading.
Also, justcallmefaye has drawn a lovely picture of the Ed and Winry dance in this chapter – the link is in my profile!