A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed/favorited/kudo'ed the first part. This chapter's dedicated to ssadropout: I appreciate your support and the continuous encouragement to keep writing 3. I hope you enjoy this one.

Rev. 12/15/20

chapter 2: happy birthday

"You're here. You're actually here," Riza murmurs, voicing her thoughts. She's been shocked, to say the least.

"How are you?" says Winry, casually, as if nothing has come between them in the last couple of years. The corners of her mouth curve into a small smile, and Riza has no idea what to make of it.

In the spur of the moment Riza lunges forward and wraps her sister tightly in her arms. An overwhelming sense of joy sends fire through her limbs, and Winry returns her affection as she clings onto her, her fingers clawing her back, as though she's been lonely and desperate through all their times apart.

"Oh, Winry, I miss you so much. This is such a pleasant surprise," Riza moans, the sting of tears making her head hot and heavy. Then she draws her away and says, "Come inside. We can talk more comfortably while I make some tea."

Winry waddles through the doorway, struggling with the luggage that seems to weigh not much more than a 10-lb bag of rice. Riza grabs it from her hand and sets it aside easily, proving her point. And just then, she notices how thin and gaunt Winry has become. Her arms are skeletal, her complexion fair but dull, and her enthusiastic smiles are hardly consoling.

"This is a nice place, Riza. Though the living room could use some sprucing up. There's so much grey and navy," Winry comments, taking in her surroundings. Though she looks sickly, her sister struts around the room with ease. Her voice doesn't give anything away. And as far as Riza's concerned, there is nothing ostensibly wrong with her.

"You always did like warm colors," Riza smiles. "The apartment came in beige, but Olivier likes grey and ended up painting it. She said it modernizes the place. I guess I agree with her."

At the end of the hallway, Olivier's door opens. She rubs at her sleepy eyes, sauntering into the living room, and Riza can feel her heart racing, her face twisting with fear.

"Riza, who is—"

And Olivier stops in her track.

Her brows furrow, and the line of her jaw begins to tighten as anger replaces curiosity. Olivier curls her fists so firmly Riza sees her knuckles turn white.

Discomfort seeps into the once tranquil space, but Winry stands her ground. There is no fear in her eyes. She stares at Olivier as if she is just another person in the room, a nobody. And if there's anything Olivier dislikes, it is the sense of being overlooked.

"Winry, well, fancy having you here," Olivier snarls. "Let me guess, you're here because you need money? Or maybe you got kicked out? Pinako finally done taking care of you? It still baffles me that she agreed to take you in in the first place."

Winry remains quiet.

But Riza is hanging onto her heart, afraid of what might happen between them.

"Or maybe it's that boy you're seeing. That blonde haired one. Did he dump you?" Olivier snaps, getting Winry worked up.

At the accusations, Winry's face begins to crumble. But her posture stays upright and firm, even when her fingers seek the pleats of her dress, twirling with it. Her voice is loud and clear when she screams back, "Pinako's been sick! And-"

"I need to get out," Olivier growls and briskly pushes past Riza. Frustration and anger stamp noisy feet against the wooden floor, and Olivier snatches a set of keys before unlocking the door. In one rapid motion she slams it behind her.

"Olivier, wait!" Riza calls out. But her sister's gone, and her footfalls recede in the hallway outside. And she turns to Winry, feeling sorry and contrite, "Sorry about that, Winry. Olivier's just…"

"Don't worry, Riza. I see the whole thing happen from a mile away," Winry murmurs. "Olivier never hides her feelings. Plus, she has every right to be mad at me.…"

"She's not mad at you. She's just had a long day," Riza consoles, a tender hand on her sister's back. But Riza doubts even herself as she speaks the word aloud.

"I wonder…" Winry says without a care, perching herself on the sofa. She begins flipping through a thick book on the coffee table. "So, you're still reading this stuff, huh?"

"Yeah." Riza nods. "And I'll make us some tea so we can talk."

Quietly, Riza moves about the kitchen, considering what she can say to a sister she hasn't seen in a long time, wondering what Olivier must be going through at this moment. Her hands motion for a pot of tea and two cups, but her mind is completely unaware of everything she is doing. She brings out the tray and places it between them, pouring jasmine into the china.

"How have you been, Winry?"

Winry glances up from her tea, and Riza finds tired eyes—so hollow and heavy—that she's become afraid her sister might just collapse at any minute. It prompts her to swallow the questions she's been dying to ask. There will be another time for it, even when phone calls between them have been far and few in the last four years, even when Winry's arrival only makes it all the more worrying.

"I'm doing good," Winry says, sipping at her tea. "I mean, I've been better, but seeing you again makes my day." But the cup in her hands begins to rattle, and her voice takes on a tremble Riza has never heard from her usually solid composure. "So much has happened since the last time I saw you. Oh Riza, there's so much I need to tell you…"

And it sounds like a plea for help.

Gently, Riza rests her hand over hers. It shakes still, and it worsens by the second. Familiar blue eyes stare back at her, as beautiful as Riza remembers, but they are missing the radiance that they used to carry. Riza can't help but imagine the worst, and her own limbs begin to shake when tears gather in the corner of her sister's eyes.

When they finally spill above her shivering body, Riza slides a comforting hand around her shoulders. She orders herself into calm, but her own lips are quivering from the thought that something terrible has indeed happened. The thought of grabbing a set of blankets is set aside when Winry tugs at her sleeves, wanting a hug, needing a hug.

And Riza does as she asks.

She holds her sister, anchoring her thin frame as Winry burrows herself into the tuck of her shoulder. The next thing Riza knows, Winry's breath has shallowed, soft and even.

And Riza falls asleep with her sister in her arms.

Curtis Residence, 11:26PM

"Izumi, you home? I'm outside your door. Can you let me in?"

Olivier disconnects her call and shifts her weight from one leg to the other as she waits in cold, November weather. The street lights are bright here, providing safety, but it still doesn't stop her from glancing around for malice, something she does out of habit. Light breeze blows on her face, and she wraps numb fingers around her shoulders, rubbing up and down to keep warm.

Her mind wanders to Winry. She was thin. Very thin. And a stony part of her cracks ever so slightly, surmising if she has dismissed her sister a little too quickly.

Izumi opens the door clad in a bathrobe. Her eyes are mere slits, dark around her lids. Clearly she's been sleeping before Olivier's unexpected visit.

"Izumi, sorry to barge in on you like this," she says, apologetic.

"Sig's out of town, so you're good."

With a soft kick at the door, Izumi shuts out the wind and ushers Olivier into the living room. Beneath her robe, Olivier can see her friend's growing stomach, the child Izumi's been dreaming about ever since she married her husband, Sig Curtis.

Her best friend's apartment is outdated compared to her own, but everything about it is warm. Books line one side of her wooden walls. Across it, a long, weather-worn sofa sits alone and comfortable with a framed photograph of Izumi and her husband on their wedding day hanging right above it.

And something about the coziness calms her down.

"So, this is unusual," Izumi laughs as she flops herself down into the cushion. "What brings you here?"

"Something happened. I just need to get away for a bit."

Her hand hovers over the bulge in her belly. "Wanna tell me about it?"

"It's... a long story."

"Well, I'm here. All day, all night," Izumi says. "Want something to drink?"

"Yeah, wine. But I doubt you have that right now," Olivier snorts, poking fun. Izumi loves wine, but her pregnancy hasn't allowed her to consume her favorite things. "So no, I'm okay."

"You're a pain in the ass, Liv. Sometimes I wonder why we're friends." But her friend chuckles, and it's one of the things Olivier appreciates about her; Izumi takes her candor with the resilience of a steel wall.

Olivier brings her legs up on the sofa and folds them in, picking at the fabric of her jeans. "Remember Winry?"

Izumi nods. "Yes, but you rarely talk about her."

"Well, she showed up at my doorstep tonight. I haven't seen her in two years."

"Do you know why?"

Of the few friends Olivier keeps, Izumi is the only one she trusts with her past. "Winry said Pinako's been sick… and then I ran out on her."

Izumi tilts her head sideways, as if recalling a faint memory. "Do I know Pinako?"

"Pinako Rockbell. She used to work at the garage with our parents. She's older, but she's nice and kind. Winry was very fond of her and used to watch the old lady work when she was a kid…."

"That's too bad about her health," Izumi says, extending a sympathetic hand. "But it doesn't sound like that's all Winry really wanted to say."

"No, I didn't think so. But I didn't let her talk."

Again, she tips her head in curiosity. "And why is that?"

Rage begins to simmer inside, and Olivier finds herself clutching the stretch of jeans in her hand. "Look, it's her fault, okay? She didn't show up last year and she didn't bother with calling either. Whatever happened to her is none of my concern, especially since she's the one who decided to cut ties. Besides, I have better things to worry about."

"Ah. You mean tomorrow," Izumi nods knowingly. "Warrenton, right? I should visit after this little one's born."

"Yeah, small town in Oregon. It's beautiful, but nobody in their right mind will live there long term. Not unless you wanna be a nobody."

"I see. And that's why you moved."

Olivier nods, and her grip on her pants relaxes as she leans into the sofa.

"Why didn't your sister come with you and Riza?"

And Olivier finds herself reaching for her jeans again, digging her nails into it. "Because she's stubborn. She never listens, and she doesn't wanna admit that she's made a terrible mistake."

"And Riza?" her friend inquires.

"You know she'll follow me anywhere, right?" And Olivier sighs at the thought that Riza would drop everything—leave her job, move across town, jump into an arctic river—if she demands it so. "If I tell her to move to New York tomorrow, she'll probably do it."

Izumi is silent, but her forehead wrinkles in the slightest. Then her eyes narrow at her, assessing, judging.

Olivier scoffs and retorts, annoyed, "You think I should talk to her. You think I should work this out with Winry. Right?"

Izumi's eyes chastise her when she replies, "Damn right I do."

Her lips thin into a line, and Olivier blows a gust through her mouth. "I hate it when you're right."

"You just hate it when you're wrong. Not everything is black and white, Olivier."

After a long while, Olivier's features soften. Her conversation with Izumi has helped, but perhaps taking some time to think would allow her to collect her thoughts and talk to Winry.

When the cellphone on the coffee table suddenly beeps, Izumi raises her arms towards the sky and dives down towards her friend, knitting her into a hug. "It's midnight! Happy birthday, Olivier! One more year and you're officially an old lady. Enjoy your youth while it lasts."

"You set a reminder for my birthday?" Olivier asks, surprised. "Thanks, I guess."

Izumi proceeds to grab something from underneath her coffee table, revealing a vinyl record wrapped in a neat bow, the cover bathed in red. She hands it to Olivier. Olivier slides the record from its sleeve, and her expression turns wistful.

"Jules Massenet, Méditation de Thaïs," Olivier murmurs as she caresses the title.

Izumi pats her shoulder, a wide grin across her face. "You told me your mother used to play this piece on the piano. I think it's high time you put that gramophone of yours to use."

The thought of her mother playing on the piano rises into mind. Her mother's slender fingers had flown across the keys, agile and practiced. Memories of her past twist a knot in her stomach, making her pensive. And really, Olivier isn't sure if she would rather forget or remember everything that had happened in Warrenton.

"Thanks for the gift." She rises to a stand. "And I should go. It's getting late."

With so much on her mind, the walk back to her apartment feels too fleeting. Half an hour is evidently not enough time to think. Olivier, however, has decided on a few things. She would let Winry talk, let her sister explain her side of the story. Then she would allow her to stay, if that is what she wishes. But whether she will forgive her will be a matter for another time.

As she ascends the steps to her apartment, the cellphone in her pocket begins to vibrate. A message from Riza would be expected, but instead, it is from Miles.

"Happy birthday, Liv. Have a safe trip tomorrow."

And she finds herself smiling as she unlocks the door to her quiet home.

Five minutes feel like two seconds.

And it is two seconds.

Winry doesn't understand it at all, but the short and long fingers of the clock move a little too fast, a little too urgent. Her eyes hurt from trailing after it. It feels as if she's been looking at the sun for far too long, without a break, creating a bluish hue in the center of her vision, spinning her head in the process.

And if five minutes is two seconds, why isn't Pinako out of surgery yet?

She paces in a small circle. Her arms are at her sides, the tips of her moist fingers rubbing at the line of her skirt. The white walls of the hospital are endless, trapping her, trapping Pinako inside.

Why hasn't the doctor come out yet?

But time here has its own mind. And the double doors to the operating room never open, the light above it still flashing red. "Operation in Progress." But the signage soon vanishes, pulling her away from the white room and into complete darkness. Without warning, a silver metal gate drops in front of her, caging her in, and a solitary figure glowing in white approaches slowly as she rattles the bars.

It's him.

He is far, but Winry recognizes his blond hair and sallow face from this distance. She sees them everywhere she goes. Fear trembles her body, and she instinctively reaches out an arm through the solid bars, seeking help.

And when no help comes, she starts to scream.

He is so close now. Inches away. With barely a heartbeat between them, Winry can see the sick luster in his menacing eyes. He grins, and his big teeth sparkle like a white half moon. Like a clown scaring a little kid into inconsolable tears.

And she is crying as she cowers into the corner of her cage, praying for safety, closing her eyes as if it would make him disappear.

It doesn't. But then she hears something in the back of her mind. A sound. Soft and lilting, like a song.

It's her name, chanted over and over until it deafens her hearing.

And then she opens her eyes.

"WINRY!"

Her body jolts from slumber. In shock, her arms flail around, knocking the cups on the coffee table, pulling them down toward the floor and shattering them into pieces. Tears stream from her eyes, even as her vision slowly adjusts to the brightness of the room. The black walls are gone then, and she comes across blue eyes that are different from the terrifying set in her dream.

Blue eyes give way to a fuller picture—long, blonde hair and rosy lips and cheeks—and Olivier's beautiful features come into view, looking as horrified as how Winry feels. Her sister grabs her quaking arms, steadying them, and after a moment, Winry feels the brash tempo of her heartbeat easing, making her coherent again.

But her tears are like waterfall, rolling down her cheeks as she gasps between words, "Olivier... I'm sorry…. Please, I'm so sorry..."

Her older sister shushes her, rubbing her back, stringing soothing words and spitting them back at her. For once, Olivier looks worried. Deep trenches dig into her forehead, and Winry takes comfort in the fact that her sister is movable, even if it takes a gallon of tears and a sudden appearance to make it so.