First off a note of warning, not for content, but because I don't think it's fair to drop this kind of bomb at the end of the chapter..
Unlike these last two chapters, chapter 3 has been giving me fits, and is not complete. This, combined with the fact that September and October are a very busy time for me, is conspiring to put me behind. Fear not, I WILL get the next chapter out, it just probably won't be until some time in November. Thanks in advance for your patience, or your impatience, as the case may be...
The usual disclaimers apply... I do not own any rights to FMA, or the characters contained therein...
.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.
Chapter 2
Not So Helpless
For a split second, all eyes turned to their fallen Sargent. Then, as another spray of bullets hammered the wall behind them, the squad sprung into action. Their newly acquired captives quickly forgotten in the face of a much greater threat.
Four of them took cover behind the berm, and returned fire. Meanwhile, the man who had been tending to Bailey, threw his body over him during the initial bursts, then began dragging him into the alcove, as his squad mates threw down cover fire. Mustang didn't have it in him, to just sit idly by while these strangers protected them.
"Stay here!" He yelled to Winry, then he was quickly picking his way along the wall, careful to keep his head down.
The man who's chest said Harper, looked startled to say the least, when Mustang appeared beside him. But he did not argue when Roy grabbed a hold of Bailey's shirt and helped him to drag the unconscious man behind the berm.
"Take him over by her," He said, in a tone that brooked no argument. "I'll go get Carter."
Then he was scrambling out toward the fallen Sargent, who'd now rolled over and was cussing a blue streak that would make the devil blush, as he returned fire one handed. His other hand, Mustang observed, was occupied pressing into the small but spreading red stain on his thigh.
"Come on" He yelled, grabbing two fistfuls of shirt near the shoulders, and pulling him into the shelter. Harper, stooping, ran to help pull the Sargent over next to Bailey, then began to tend to his leg. Shoving Carters hand aside, Harper tore the pant leg open to reveal the wound.
"Sarge!" Yelled one of the men, as he crouched down to reload.
"I ain't dead yet, Hanson, just pissed off... Goddamn, this day sure went to hell in a hurry! What 'ave we got?"
"There looks to be three or four o' them layin' down fire near the entry, beyond that I can't be sure! Orders?"
"Dammit, Dammit, DAMMIT! Of all the fucking luck. Just keep trying to pick 'em off, but conserve your ammo if you can, even if we call, we're not likely to see reinforcements anytime soon. Ain't much else we can do, pinned down like we- Ow! Dammit Harper, what the hell are you doing?"
As the Sargent's attention had suddenly been drawn to the Corporal now inspecting his wound with a critical eye, Hanson returned to the fray, relaying Carters instructions.
Gently, Harper continued prodding here and there, trying to ascertain the extent of the damage, until finally, he was satisfied.
Quietly, he said "it's through and through, and shallow so the bleeding's not too bad, I think you got lucky..."
"Sure as hell don't feel lucky, I feel like someone shoved a poker through my leg..."
Harper smiled dryly at this, as he pulled out a few small waxed paper wrapped packages from the pack on his belt.
"I'll just get it cleaned up a little, then I can bandage it."
Still not content to sit quietly by, Mustang had renewed his efforts to disentangle Bailey from his gun, while Harper looked over Carter's wound. Conceding the battle to pull the strap over his head after a few seconds, he opted instead for the expediency of cutting it free.
He'd pulled out Bailey's knife with the intention of doing just that, when his antics finally drew Harper's attention away from the sargent.
"Hey, what the hell do you think your doing?" Harper cried reaching for his own weapon.
"Easy Corporal," Carter said loudly, putting a hand on Harper's arm to stay him.
Giving Mustang an appraising glance, he continued.
"Right now, we can use all the help we can get..."
As he used Bailey's knife to sever the strap, then returned it to it's sheath, Mustang gave a short harsh laugh
"The joke's on you, Sargent..." he replied humorlessly "I'll do my best, but I haven't fired a gun in years."
Then he wrenched the remainder of the strap out from under Bailey's body. As he gazed at his newly acquired weapon, he saw that it was unlike any he'd ever seen or used before, and came to the sudden embarrassing realization that he had no clue how it even worked...
Sheepishly he looked to Harper and asked
"How do I make this ready to fire?"
To the surprise of all three men, it wasn't Harper, or Carter, but Winry who answered, by taking the gun from his hands. Lifting the hatch on the top she glanced in a second, ejected the magazine from the gun, then slipped her finger through the slot and drew back the bolt. Mustang felt his heart pause mid beat as a corroded round ejected onto the ground in front of him... So Bailey had gotten a shot off after all, he hadn't realized how lucky he'd truly been... Winry noticed the state of the round as well and gave a somewhat worried glance to the magazine then shrugged, reinserted it with a click, and handed him back the gun, looking satisfied.
"There, keep the flap up, and if it jams like that again, pull the bolt back the way I just did, and that should clear it, any questions?"
Dumbfounded, he stared at her as he took it back, from the corner of his eye he could see that the other two were equally shocked and impressed. Her cheeks colored.
"Just what do you think I've been doing for the last few months?" She cried indignantly "filing my nails?"
She glared hotly at him, as though she'd forgotten completely that they were in the middle of a firefight. With difficulty, he resisted the urge to grin. Instead, he turned with out another word, and scrambled up the berm. Thinking as he did, that when she had prepared this weapon for him, she'd been the spitting image of Riza.
Not so helpless after all...
Not long after he'd climbed the berm, he finally got the hang of his strange new weapon. He was relieved to find, that his aim hadn't suffered too badly for his long hiatus from the use of fire arms. About five minutes after that, a slightly shaky, but now fully conscious Bailey appeared, carrying Carter's gun. Understandably he kept his distance, but relaxed visibly when Harper climbed up shortly there after, and settled into the space between them.
Though his face bore a serious look, it was hard to believe Harper was even old enough to join up. It was a fact Mustang might have barbed him about, had he himself not been the subject of many similar jibes, before he had achieved a rank high enough to free him of such insults.
After a few minutes, he noticed that Harper's holster was empty. When he inquired about the missing sidearm, Harper said.
"Gave it to your lady friend"
Then after lobbing a few shots in the general direction of the enemy, he ducked back down below the crest of the berm and continued.
"You know, I had to insist that she take it? Claimed she'd never used a gun before..."
An incredulous look crossed his face
"After what she did with that 'M3', I find that very hard to believe"
Mustang grimaced
"I don't"
Harper's eyes narrowed
"Look Buddy, I may look young, but I wasn't born yesterday. The things she did with Bailey's 'grease gun' were so textbook, I doubt my instructor back in basic could'a done better. Do you really expect me to believe she's never used so much as a pistol?"
A spray of bullets impacting the far side of the berm caused them both to flinch, before Mustang replied
"No, I'm simply telling you that with what I know of her history, it would not surprise me in the least, if she hadn't."
Harper fixed him with a disbelieving glare
"OK, fine, say I humor you, how do you explain what she did?" his voice dripping in sarcasm.
"Oh, Winry is VERY mechanically Inclined... Just because she's never fired one before, doesn't mean she's never taken one apart. In fact I doubt she could resist reducing it to its base components, if the opportunity presented itself..." he replied grinning smugly.
"What? Opportunity? Base components? she wouldn't...would she?"
They looked back to see that she had, indeed, taken advantage of the opportunity. Parts were spread across the jacket in her lap, and she was closely examining each piece. A childlike smile lit her face.
The Sargent was next to her, propped up against the wall now. He was smiling as well and seemed to be explaining the function of each part. Though much to his amusement, Mustang observed, Carter's own pistol had been kept well out of her reach. Harper blanched.
"I gave that to her so she could defend herself, not take it apart!"
Mustang couldn't help but laugh
"Don't look so worried," Mustang said, smiling as he turned and squeezed off a couple of rounds at the entry. "I'm sure she'll have it all back together by the time we're done"
They passed a few minutes in silence, broken only by gunfire, then finally curiosity got the better of Harper.
"What History?"
His concentration elsewhere, Mustang had almost missed the question addressed to him.
"Huh?" he replied eloquently.
"You said, with what you knew of her history, you weren't surprised... What history?"
A look of pain flitted over his face.
"Let's just say, as a machine to be studied, she's OK with them, but as a tool of war..., not so much."
"Why, she a pacifist or something?" He asked not looking up as he peeked over the berm.
"No"
At the force of Mustang's reply, Harper realized he'd hit a nerve, so he decided to change the subject.
"Doesn't really matter, I'm just glad she's here. Do you have any idea how hard it would've been, to convince the Sargent to stay down there and keep still, if she hadn't been?"
Mustang nodded mutely. He knew Carter's type well...
.o0o.
Men were nothing more than a bunch of overgrown peacocks... That was Winry's longstanding impression of the species in general. All that puffing and strutting and posturing, it seemed to be an absolute requirement for their continued survival... Even if it proved to be an almost constant threat to hers.
This morning's awakening had been a rude one to say the least. She had filtered into consciousness slowly, as the somewhat muffled unfamiliar voices, that had, at first, incorporated themselves into her dreams, suddenly became incongruous shouts.
She had pulled down what she thought to be her blanket, only to find half a dozen gun barrels pointed at her. Meanwhile, none other than Colonel Roy Mustang screamed for her to put her hands up, while he flapped his around like he was about to take flight. Had the experience not been so terrifying, she might have laughed at the outlandish display.
Quite disoriented, and still unsure this wasn't part of some bizarre dream, she'd staggered quickly to her feet, amongst a cacophony of shouts. Not covers, but a jacket, his jacket she now recalled, fell to the ground as she did, pooling at her feet. One of the strange men told her to kick it, and she complied. Then he told her to face the wall, to which she also complied. After all, they were the one's with the guns...
Apparently, despite a frigid night spent without a fire, they had still managed to draw attention to themselves. The man in charge ordered another of his men to 'check' her. This other man's response had frightened her so badly, that for the first time she had truly considered bolting. Though, where she would possibly have gone to escape them, she couldn't begin to imagine... Fortunately, it proved to be unnecessary, but the feel of his hands on her, however briefly, had still been unnerving to say the least. She'd been grateful this happened to be one day she didn't have a wrench, or some other device, tucked into one of her pockets, as was so often the case.
While she'd now been fairly certain this was not a dream, the situation had remained surreal... In short order she was searched, cleared, and told to take a seat. From her vantage, she'd seen the leader of the group slug Mustang, then scream at him before sending him to sit next to her. Then just when she thought the whole thing couldn't get any stranger, mustang himself had tried to convince her that said leader was actually a 'good guy', and immediately thereafter watched said leader get shot in the leg.
She abhorred violence, but while seeing people intentionally hurt by others, sometimes had the power to make her physically ill... That particular act of violence had caused the other men's guns to point somewhere other than her... Which she had to admit left her feeling much relieved.
And despite the fact that she hadn't managed to express this opinion before the shooting started, she had fully intended to tell mustang, she thought he'd gone crazy... To be honest though, she wasn't entirely sure she hadn't gone right along with him...
By the time the battle ended, Winry'd found herself grudgingly admitting that, perhaps, Mustang had been right about these men after all... After getting off to a rough start, mustang had managed to convince them he wasn't a threat, by first helping to rescue the leader (whose name turned out to be Carter) and another man (named Bailey), then offering to help out in the fight. They'd trusted him enough to hand over a gun that, as it turned out she knew more about than he did. So after a quick tutorial, and the mildest touch of sarcasm from her, he'd gone to join the fight, leaving her in the dubious company of Carter, the leader, Harper, the medic, and Bailey, the unconscious...
It had been an awkward silence, to say the least, that filled the time between mustang's departure and Bailey's return to consciousness. But as he too departed to join the fight, there'd been an odd shift in the power dynamic.
At some point she'd stopped being just some stranger in hostile territory and become just another 'defenseless' women in a war zone, and Harper had gone from suspicious to protective. Apparently, chivalry wasn't dead for this one... However misguided it might be.
He'd insisted she take his pistol, despite her sincere, and repeated assertions, that she did not know how to use it. Eventually she'd grudgingly accepted it, simply because she'd come to the conclusion that he was not going to take no for an answer, but she also believed he had an ulterior motive for doing so. So she waited until he'd crawled up the berm, then asked Carter to safety it.
Despite how profoundly stupid she found this whole situation, she did somewhat understand Harper's motive... Here lay his commanding officer. Injured, but still raring to join the fight, and had he chosen to, Harper could have done nothing to stop him. So he'd decided to play dirty, by playing on Carter's own protective instincts to keep him out of the fight... Apparently, Harper wasn't the only one, for whom, chivalry was not deceased.
Once Carter'd removed the clip, and ejected the remaining round from the chamber, she'd taken it back from him. It was not dissimilar to the ones a certain lieutenant of her acquaintance carried. And, as she had seen Riza dismantle her's for cleaning, Winry was somewhat familiar with their inner workings.
Curious to see if there were any key differences between the two seemingly identical models and as a way of keeping carter occupied, she'd begun to dismantle it. She laid the pieces out, one by one, atop mustang's jacket, which she'd spread across her lap, as the sun began to warm her. While she probably knew more about the mechanics than he did, she kept Carter distracted, by way of allowing him to 'teach' her about them.
He'd surreptitiously removed his own pistol from it's holster, and placed it well out of her reach, on his far side. It clearly indicated, that his trust of her went only so far... And she'd noticed that he'd done it, even though he made it out to be just something he did to get comfortable, whilst settling in for a wait.
He was pleasant enough, respectful, and surprisingly soft spoken, for someone so blustery at first meeting (well, as soft spoken as anyone could be, in the middle of a gun battle). What most began to endear him to her, was the complete lack of condescension in his tone... He made her feel the act of moving his pistol, was nothing more than an act of pure practicality, and one she could find no fault in.
Her impression of Harper was a bit different. It seemed he thought her weak, or at least believed the impression of her weakness could be used to his own advantage. The only thing that had kept her from tearing into him, was the fact that he'd had good cause for using her this way. Carter's wound had needed time to clot. Something it would not have had with him scrabbling back and forth across that rocky berm. It likely would have torn, and been well on it's way to a first class infection due to the dust and rock, by the time he was done... And that was only if it's added deficiencies to his speed and agility, didn't get him shot again, this time perhaps fatally.
Still there had been a lesson to be taught here. Because, it was not being used that bothered her, so much as being underestimated. And though she only glimpsed it from the corner of her eye, the look of horror cast upon her by Harper, when he saw the state of his pistol, more than contented her, and showed that she had gotten her point across.
The mischievous glint of mustang's eye in response to it, however, was another story entirely. Apparently Mustang at least, had been expecting this turn of events... And the thought that he might know her well enough to predict her actions like that, left her feeling vaguely unsettled. Perhaps Harper wasn't the only one doing the underestimating...
.o0o.
The battle went on for some time. Each side lobbing fire from equally protected positions, until finally, the opposition's guns fell silent. After a few minutes, and a few more unanswered shots, Hanson, under heavy cover, went to investigate. He returned to report three dead enemy soldiers laying near the entrance, and no sign of any others.
At the news, Carter declared it was time to get out while the getting was good. Not needing any further incentive, they beat a hasty retreat, Harper supporting Carter from one side, as Hanson supported him from the other.
It wasn't until they were leaving, that Mustang truly began to grasp the size of the place. It seemed to have been some kind of fortress, and as they emerged from the ruin, he found that the topography of the location only seemed to reinforce that idea. It stood on a well wooded bluff, overlooking a wide valley, and reminded him vaguely of Briggs, high in the mountains of their world.
Slowly, they made their way down a narrow, winding road. It proved to be the only access to the bombed out wreck they'd left behind. They stayed close to the tree line as they went, in case they ran across any more opposition, but thankfully the trip down was uneventful.
Around midday, they decided they were far enough from the ruins, that it was probably safe to stop for a rest. They were all seated in the grass a little way off the road.
On Carter's orders, the men, some grudgingly, shared their rations with the two newcomers. As neither of them had eaten since the previous day, they gratefully excepted everything that was offered. This amounted to; a hand full of hard rectangular crackers; a small can of nearly inedible cheese; a can of very fatty, and overly seasoned meat 'product'; a few individually wrapped caramels; and something that looked like a thick chocolate bar, but more closely resembled an asphalt shingle in both texture, and flavor. The men had offered Mustang several of them, calling them d-rations, but after his first attempted bite, Mustang had politely refused any further donations of that variety.
As they ate, Mustang noticed that the soldiers eyes would dart swiftly away, whenever he looked in their direction. He noticed, though, that Bailey, who sat alone a short distance away, was not nearly as shy about the dark looks he shot in the stranger's direction.
He looked over at Carter, who had quickly wolfed down his rations, before grudgingly allowing Harper to reexamine his wound.
"Will you quit being such a mother hen, I'm fine!"
Harper sighed loudly. Then, looking for all the world like a martyred saint, he muttered.
"Fine, get gangrene. See if I care! I'm just a medic, what the hell do I know?"
Carter grinned widely at the younger man's sarcasm.
"Oh come off it, Harper, you know you're just trying to get rid of me, so you can be in charge"
He chided laughingly.
"Oh yeah, that's been my secret ambition from the start... That you might die with your leg rotting off is just a fringe benefit!" Harper returned.
Now it was Carter's turn to sigh.
"Your concern is dually noted. If we get near an aid station, or hospital, I'll have it looked at. But I feel fine, really." He said, his voice taking on a conciliatory tone.
Harper shook his head for a moment, then finally relented.
"You're a jackass, you know that?"
Carter grinned again.
"That's Sargent jackass to you!" Carter said to his retreating back, as Harper went to retrieve his own rations. A most unorthodox single finger salute, was Harper's only reply.
Mustang watched as Carter settled back against the rock behind him, taking a drink from his canteen. He was clearly a little unorthodox him self, but he had a good rapport with his men, and that was definitely something to be respected.
Looking around again, he noticed that one of them had gotten bold enough to try and flirt with Winry. It seemed, though, that her interest was not so much in him, as it was with the strange device he carried on his back.
She wasn't receiving nearly as many suspicious looks as he, but that was to be expected. She was a young, pretty female, dressed in civilian clothing. He, on the other hand, was a male in a strange military uniform. In hindsight, he wished he'd had the forethought to wear, or at least attempt to bring along, civilian clothes, but nothing about this had gone as it was planned.
Deciding to break his silence, he glanced back at the reclining Sargent.
"Sargent, what made you decide to trust me?" Mustang asked, in a conversational tone
But before Carter could respond, Bailey, having heard his question, shot to his feet, his face turning beet red.
"Trust!" He exclaimed angrily. "You got alotta nerve, talking about trust, after the way you blindsided me!"
Mustang wasn't particularly shocked by this outburst, especially after the looks he'd been receiving, but he realized that an apology was probably in order, if he wished to keep the peace. So he abandoned his attempt at conversation with Carter, in hopes of appeasing Bailey.
"I'm sorry about that, really I am. I just didn't see any other choice at the time, but, you may trust me when I tell you that your Sargent evened the score," he said rubbing his still sore jaw "and then some"
But Bailey rebuffed his attempt to make peace, and advanced on him.
"I don't give a shit what he did, I still don't trust you!"
He glowered down at Mustang, who remained seated. He knew it left him open to attack, but he also knew it would be even more dangerous to in any way appear the aggressor, among this group of men he barely knew.
"That's enough Bailey." Carter said sitting up, his face now deadly serious.
"Well, I don't!" Bailey declared angrily, turning to address the Sargent.
"And that's why you're not running this outfit! I said, that's enough!" Carter barked, his tone unyielding.
Grudgingly, Bailey turned away from Mustang. Indignant, he returned to his seat on the rock, then jammed a cigarette into his mouth and lit it, as he glared into the distance.
"Look Bailey, If he wanted you dead, he had ample time. I never even heard him take you down. He could have easily snapped your neck, or slit your throat before I found him, but he didn't... And the treatment he got from us when we caught him, was hardly incentive for him to stick his neck out. But he didn't hesitate for a second to help drag your sorry ass, and mine, out of the cross fire... That answer your question, Mustang?" Carter said turning to look at him.
Mustang nodded mutely, the rest of the group had gone silent also.
"You certainly don't act like an enemy, and your English is good enough, but that uniform isn't like any I've ever seen before, and I haven't been able to place your accent... Just where did you two come from?"
He had been both expecting, and dreading this question... The only thing Mustang knew about this world, was that he didn't know nearly enough about it to lie... He decided to tell the truth but keep it vague, and hope they would draw their own conclusions.
"Amestris"
To his immense relief, he received a blank look from Carter, so he continued.
"You've probably never heard of it... For all intents and purposes, it doesn't exist anymore..."
Carter nodded hesitantly.
"Probably just another one of the postage stamp republics that got 'absorbed' by the axis" Piped up one of the other men.
Mustang really didn't understand what he was talking about, but nodded anyway. So far, they seemed to be buying it...
"The shadow of the bars on your jacket, seem to indicate you were an officer,... a Colonel?"
He looked down at the lapel of his jacket and for the first time noticed an area that had faded less than the fabric around it. The stars must not have been there long enough to leave their own mark, but that wasn't surprising, not really.
He'd never put the bars back on after his dubious reinstatement, it just didn't seem appropriate. So all that remained of them, was the visual representation of a dream lost, and a promise broken... He sighed.
"Well I'm not a member of the marching band, but no, I'm not a Colonel, I'm not anything anymore. I was decommissioned after the government fell..."
Carters curiosity looked piqued, along with that of the other men.
"I'm surprised they let you go. They've been pretty desperate for experienced officers."
Mustang studied his hands for a moment. Trying to come up with a way to explain what had happened without going into too much detail, and looking like a mad man. After all, he doubted even the people of his own world would believe it. He'd scarcely believed the full extent of it himself, until he'd seen it with his own eyes.
"Suffices to say, that the stand I took when the government fell, was looked upon poorly by the new regime"
"What'd you do?" Carter asked, clearly skeptical
At this Mustang had to smile, despite the loss, despite the broken promises, to himself and to Maes, he felt a distinct though weighty pride in his accomplishment.
"Plotted, and carried out a coup attempt against the tyrant responsible for the downfall."
Carter, though he looked thoughtful, said nothing, but another of the men who had become interested, piped up.
"Were you successful?"
Mustang gave another smile, this time sardonic
"Well I succeeded in killing him, but as to anything else? The differences that make any one government better than another, is usually just a matter of degrees. So I suppose that's up for debate..."
Now Carter gave a look of disgust though it didn't seem to be aimed at Mustang or anyone else for that matter.
"Politics, you can keep 'em! Collecting favors, and counting beans? It's for the birds."
His men had clearly heard this rant before, because they seemed to lose interest quickly, and instead, focused back on Mustang. One of the men, he thought his name was Hanson, asked...
"So that makes you what? Fugitives? ...refugees?"
Mustang liked the latter, being refugees would explain their complete lack of identification, extra clothes, and supplies...
"Yeah, I guess you could say we're refugees, we left with nothing but the clothes on our backs."
A short while later they had resumed walking. A few miles down the road, they came across an empty farm house that's abandonment was clearly both recent, and hasty. With little preamble, Carter announced that he had an idea. Then with out further explanation, dragged Mustang inside, while leaning heavily on Harper.
The rest, including Winry, were left out side to wait. A fact that had Mustang feeling more than a little uneasy. Briefly, he wondered if this was preamble to an impromptu interrogation, or even an execution... Had it had really been such a wise idea to trust Carter?
Once inside, his worries were allayed a bit, as Carter wasted no time beginning to root about in those things left behind by the previous occupants. He soon came up with a pair of brown wool pants, and an off white button down shirt.
"Here" He said, thrusting them into Mustangs arms. "They're not great, but they'll do. Give me your jacket."
Mustang looked at him in confusion, and was rewarded with an exasperated look.
"You said you're not military anymore, right?"
Mustang nodded silently.
"Well friend or foe, you're libel to get shot in that getup. So, you'd better hurry up and change." He said, as he opened his pocket knife. "I didn't find any cold weather gear,..." He continued, beginning to cut away and pocket the patches and decorations that indicated his allegiance. "And the color is still liable to make you an easy target, but that can't be helped."
Ten minutes later, Mustang and the others reemerged from the cottage, to join the group waiting outside. The clothing provided to him, had obviously once belonged to a much larger man. The shirt was large enough to do laps in, and there was room enough for three of him in the slacks. Thankfully Carter had also been able to turn up a belt, otherwise he would have been hard pressed to protect his dignity. Still he supposed it could have been worse... They were also leaving with several blankets pilfered from a cedar chest.
.o0o.
It had been an enormous relief to her, when Mustang reappeared from the cottage unharmed, in fresh, though poorly fitting clothes... Her new born trust for these men, gained during the morning's battle, and still tenuous at best, had been stretched to it's limits, when the ranking officer, along with his second in command, had ordered Mustang into the abandoned house.
The act had made her doubly nervous. Not only because she didn't know what was happening to him, but also because she herself had been left in the care of these strange men, with out the benefit of her only sure ally.
Beginning to feel a chill that stemmed more from those facts, than the weather, she tried to distract her self. Del, whom she'd spoken to a little during the midday meal, and seemed nice enough, had settled at the edge of the broad stone step, and begun to fiddle with the device he called a 'field radio'. She went to stand near him, as he performed some basic maintenance on the device. As she leaned against the door frame beside him, with her hands braced behind her, he cast a quick glance up at her, and gave an easy grin. She did her best to return it, at least partially, despite her fears.
"So what do you think they're doing in there?" she asked, as he returned to his task, trying desperately not to sound as worried as she really was.
"Beats me," He answered offhandedly. "Sometimes it's difficult to predict how the Sargent's mind works."
But as he glanced back up at her, it was clear he'd spied some trace of the fear she'd tried so hard to hide.
"Hold on now, I didn't mean it like that. Nothing's going to happen to him, or you. There'd be no reason for it unless you tried to hurt one of us-"
"But, he did hurt one of you." She reminded him quietly, looking down at her feet.
"You mean Bailey?" He asked laughingly, but the fearful nod she gave sobered him. "Come on, you heard what the Sargent said, didn't you?"
He was trying to sound encouraging, but she knew the expression she wore was still unsure.
"Look Sure, your friend cleaned Bailey's clock, but Bailey's also alive and well because of him, nothing hurt but his pride. Hell, the only time that man resisted, was when he thought you were in danger, and he only did it to protect you. The Sargent knows that, and believe me, he won't soon forget that your friend saved his life too. Carter's a fair man, and aside from that initial incident, which was more than made up for, you've done nothing to warrant harsh treatment. He'll be fine, you'll see."
The nod she gave this time, was just a tad more confident, but he still met it with a heartening smile, before returning, once more, to his task.
Watching him in his enterprise, did help to calm her a bit more. But, what helped even more, was that she now realized her current proximity to the door allowed her, just barely, to hear the voices coming from inside.
Though she couldn't tell what those voices were saying through the thick wood, she could make out the tone of them. They didn't seem to be, in any way stressed, or angry, so she allowed her self to relax just a bit.
She relaxed even more when he emerged, unscathed, bearing the jacket, newly stripped of it's ornamentation, and several blankets. Upon noticing the goosebumps rising on her arms, he hastily offered her one, which she even more hastily accepted, wrapping it around herself the moment it was proffered. Though the sun still shown through the high thin clouds, the wind had become quite chilly.
"Thanks" She said uneasily, as she pulled it snug about her shoulders.
He nodded, and then in another moment, the group was underway again. Side by side, they trudged along for some time. Then, apparently finding nerve enough to finally break the silence, he spoke.
"So, what have you been doing for the last few months...?" He asked.
"Hmm?"
Startled by his unexpected attempt at conversation, she now realized, she'd said precious little to him since the previous night...
She hitched up the pilfered blanket, pulling it closer around her shoulders, as she looked over at him.
"Back there at the ruins,... when you fixed the gun..."
For a moment She drew a blank, then began to register the memory.
"Oh!" She said, smiling diminutively, until the rest of the memory filtered back "Oh..." she repeated more quietly, feeling slightly abashed as she recalled her outburst. "I-I... umm..."
"After your grandmother died, what happened to you,... where did you go?..." He inquired regarding her seriously.
"After granny..." She said pensively, letting the last word trail off.
She felt a telltale sting of tears from the corners of her eyes, at the reminder, but forced them down. It had been over a year since she passed, and she had more control of herself now. Though, she wondered how much he really knew about her actions following the death of her last living relative.
It hurt to think back on that time, and it must have shown in her face because it looked as though he might take back the question, but she found she didn't want him to. She hadn't spoken about that time to anyone, not even Sheska, so before he could retract or apologize, she went on.
"...After she died, I think I went a little crazy... There was nothing left for me in Risembul. No one save the ghosts... I needed a fresh start.
"Sheska had told me time and time again, during our visits, what an amazing place Central was to live. The fact is, I didn't really care where I went, as long as I went somewhere. So I packed up the tools and sold everything else...
"I used the money to open up a little shop in central... I knew it would be hard to get established, but I figured as automail mechanic to the one and only 'Full Metal', it wouldn't be too hard to develop a following..."
She sighed now, looking down at the ground before her as she walked.
"I was mistaken. I didn't take into account, just how much peacetime effects the market. There just wasn't room for a Podunk mechanic in Central, even Ed's, and his name doesn't carry the same weight it used to, since he's been missing all this time... One by one I sold my tools in an effort to keep the shop, but it still wasn't enough, so eventually I lost that too..."
"But how did you end up down below?"
At this she gave a sardonic smile, but still couldn't bring herself to look up at him, even though she could see him staring intensely at her, from the corner of her eye... Nervously, she brushed an errant strand of hair back from her face, in an attempt to distract him, and break his gaze. It didn't work, so seeing no other option, she continued.
"Well, back during the 'Outworlder' attack, Sheska showed me a tunnel that lead down into the lost city. When I went looking for it, it was still intact.
"I had no tools, no shop, no job, no money, no home... I was lucky it was still warm out side, or I probably would have died of exposure, but I was still in pretty dire straits. So I did the logical thing, and decided to move down there..."
"Logical? You could have gone to stay with Sheska!"
Shaking her head, she finally looked back up at him.
"Sheska? She can barely support her self, let alone me. And if she knew I lost everything, she would have felt horrible, since she suggested Central in the first place... Besides, have you been to her apartment?"
Looking off into the distance for a moment, she recalled the state of Sheska's apartment the last time she'd visited, and gave an overly dramatic shudder.
"No, it was better for everyone if-"
'If I just dealt with the problem my self' was what she'd intended to say, but he angrily cut her off.
"If what?- If you set up housekeeping in that broken down old tomb! Why didn't you call me, Winry! I would have helped you!" He said, looking genuinely upset.
It was the same look he'd worn the day he and his most trusted men, had intercepted Ed and Al in the mountain pass just outside Risembul. That day would live in her memory forever, because on it, so much had changed.
It had been on that day, that he had first admitted his roll in the deaths of her parents... There before Ed, and Al, and all of the rest of his men. Up until that point, she had childishly believed that most of them followed him out of ignorance to his terrible deeds...
He hadn't been able to face her then, but as he stood there, head half turned back to them, she hadn't seen the expected anger or embarrassment at being revealed. Only pain... And in the eyes of his men, there'd been no surprise, or outrage...
They already knew. Her anger had swelled to it's greatest point then, driven by a juvenile sense of betrayal, that would have made Ed proud. But, one by one, the justifications for her anger had fallen like dominoes, under the glare of the base rationality she'd always prided herself on...
They knew, because he had told them. He had been forthright and honest, about what must have been one of the darkest chapters in his life.
They knew, and yet they still followed him faithfully, even up to, and including, the point of committing treason... And she knew them.
These were neither the power hungry minions of the state, nor their mindless drones. These were good, smart, thinking people, and still they were willing to follow him, to the gallows if necessary, to accomplish his goals...
Upon realizing just how childish she had truly been, her anger began to die. By that evening it had been completely gone, replaced by the painful realization, that he really was a good man. So, when Ed had railed against him, for keeping the news of Maes' death from them, she had rebuked him for his own childishness, with the fervor of a sinner repented...
"I didn't want to bother you..." she said honestly, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You had enough to worry about already, what with the attack, and the new government still being organized..."
But that wasn't the whole truth. In large part, she just hadn't wanted to see him again. It wasn't because of that, she'd gotten past that now... Simply put, it just hurt to much to see him... He reminded her of everything she'd lost, and that lingering pain was far more stubborn than her anger had ever been...
So she'd distanced her self from him, from everyone that was left... The number of times she'd spoken to him before the outworlder attack could be counted on the fingers of one hand, and the number of times she had spoken to him afterwords was even less.
In fact, though she'd lived in central for well over a year, the only time she had spoken to anyone from her life before, was the one chance encounter she'd had with Roy earlier this summer.
Unaware of her inner turmoil, he shot her a most disparaging look, but she continued holding her hands up to placate him.
"It wasn't ideal, but I needed a safe place to lay my head, and a roof to keep the rain off of it... It seemed like the perfect solution, I mean really who even knows its there?... Besides it wasn't going to be permanent. I was just staying there until I could save enough money to get back on my feet."
But that wasn't entirely true either... hough she could hardly admit it to her self, let alone anyone else, she'd had funds enough to leave for some time. She just couldn't bring herself to give up the last place she'd had any contact with the brothers...
It made her feel closer to them, and some irrational part of her, and not a small part either, believed that letting go of that place, would be the same as letting go of them. And she just couldn't bear that... Not yet anyway.
"How exactly were you going to do that from down there?" He demanded, breaking her from her thoughts.
"Well, after the attack from the other side, the military, as I'm sure you're aware, felt rather motivated to update their arsenal. That, among other things, meant replacing most of the weapons in it... So, while the automail market might have pretty much gone bust, weapons manufacturing was in full swing..."
"Is that why you knew how to fix Bailey's rifle, you were designing guns!"
"No! No, nothing like that. I just found a job assembling them... And since I've always been mechanically inclined, it wasn't all that hard to adjust for the differences between his gun, and the ones I was putting together back home. They're actually rather similar." She offered with a weak smile, relieved to have finally lighted on a more comfortable topic.
.o0o.
As she went on about her new line of work, Mustang suddenly became aware of an increased interest in subject matter of their conversation. It worried him, but Winry continued on, oblivious to the extra attention now being paid her.
"I never would have taken credit for designing those guns anyway, they were fatally flawed..."
As she looked up at him, he tried to flash her a warning glance, but it was too late. Bailey, now walking very close behind them, piped up.
"Is that so?" He said a little too loudly, a snide edge coloring his voice.
"Yes" She answered honestly, still not comprehending the danger.
"And what makes you say that?" He said patronizingly.
His volume remained unnaturally high, with the intent clearly being, to draw the attention of the men around them, to their formerly private conversation... And it was working. Several of the men had dropped back to witness the spectacle.
But Winry, unaware of how thin the ice was getting, continued to answer his baiting questions fully, and honestly...
"Well the firing pin is poorly manufactured, so it's likely to wear out too quickly. And the casing ejection mechanism allows the heated gas of firing to get into the spring assembly, which will eventually weaken it, and cause the whole thing to jam."
"Oh, is that all"
"Isn't that enough? I mean really now, who wants to use a weapon that's almost guaranteed to choke when you need it most?"
"Well, I haven't had any problems with it" He said looking down at his own weapon with obvious pride.
At first she looked to be confused by his comment and actions, then finally, Winry realized his mistake.
"I wasn't talking about your guns, silly! That's what you get for eves dropping. But, if you'd like to give me yours, I'll be happy to give you an assessment" She said with the utmost sincerity, her face the picture of consideration and helpfulness, as she held out her hand for his weapon.
With a scandalized look, Bailey jerked his gun closer to his body, and quickly moved out of her reach, as a few of the other men, including Harper, had a laugh at his expense. But Mustang only breathed a sigh of relief, because the situation had been diffused before it could became more serious. He didn't mind too awfully, that it made the irascible Mr. Bailey come off as an ass as well, but he kept that amusement carefully to himself.
A/N: Ok, that's it for chapter two... Now, in case you haven't figured it out already, this story takes place during WWII... I decided to exploit a time line discrepancy between the parts of first anime that take place in our world and those parts in the movie, Conqueror of Shambala, that do. If you're wondering what I'm talking about, here are the facts... According to the movie, Ed has been in our world for about 2 years at the time of the Beer Hall Putsch (A real event that occurred in November, 1923), but at the end of the anime, the version of Ed from our world is killed by a Zeppelin bombing in Britain, the last of which took place in June of 1917... as you can see the math doesn't remotely add up. So I'm using that to my advantage and saying that time does not flow consistently on both sides of the Gate... Sooo, that's how Roy and Winry ended up in April, 1945.
Thanks for reading, see you next time!
