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Winry Rockbell felt sick. She felt sick for three reasons, three reasons which, realistically speaking, boiled down to one big reason.
Firstly, she had bought these train tickets on a panic-driven whim, without informing anybody of her arrival. She had no idea if the people she was visiting would even be where she thought they would be. She didn’t have enough clothing for an overnight stay. She didn’t even know if she could get tickets for a train back to Rush Valley.
Secondly, she was about to have very awkward conversation with one of the only two women she wasn’t related to whom she could think of to give her some much needed advice: Gracia Hughes or Riza Hawkeye.
Thirdly and most importantly, Winry was pregnant.
She wasn’t the sort of woman to plan. She had vague ideas and she at least considered the implications of choices she made, but she was more the sort of person who went with her heart. This time, she had gone with her heart a little too much. And she certainly hadn’t planned this.
Swallowing down the fizzy feeling in her stomach, Wiinry decided to go to the Hughes household first. She only vomited in one plant pot along the way.
Satella, upon finding her hurling her breakfast into a bush back in Rush Valley, had told her she had a while yet to deal with this and that the phrase ‘morning sickness’ was in fact a euphemism for deepening your bond with the nearest toilet on a semi-regular basis. Mr. Dominic’s daughter-in-law had been very supportive. Too supportive in fact.
While cradling her second child in her arms, Satella had gone on and on about how nice it was going to be to have another baby in the family. Which Winry wasn’t, of course, family. Mr. Dominic still refused to teach her, even though she felt that her apprenticeship with Mr. Garfiel was coming to an end.
But that didn’t matter. They were a close knit community in Rush Valley, Satella had said. Her child would grow up with plenty of aunts and uncles. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t married or that she was only eighteen or that father was who knew where doing who knew what; she was a much loved automail engineer in town and they would stand by her and help her all the way.
Supposedly, this had been Satella’s way of showing her support. But Winry had been reeling. She had only just found out she was pregnant, a throwaway comment by Satella herself earlier in the conversation being the revelation that enabled her to slot all the pieces into place. The reality of her situation had barely struck her, like a wave breaking on the edge of a sandcastle when the tide was coming in. Each comment the older woman made was another torrent smashing into the sand.
Like a sandcastle, Winry had crumbled.
There was a phone in Mr. Garfiel’s shop but she had walked straight past it. Straight to the train station. Straight to the ticket kiosk, where she’d purchased a ticket, not to Creta, where Ed had gone for some inexplicable reason only one month prior to this and hadn’t even bothered to call from, but to Central.
To the one place she could think of to receive unbiased advice. And maybe, just maybe, a little bit of comfort.
Her first choice was Gracia. While a mother herself and perhaps biased, Gracia Hughes was beyond kind. There was comfort to her every word. Winry needed that. And perhaps, also, she needed a slice of warm pie and to see Elicia again. Perhaps to have a little cry and then to have Gracia help her sort out how to proceed from here so she didn’t have to do it by herself.
Except that when she arrived at the Hughes family’s current address, nobody was there. Winry stood there on the doorstep, fighting back tears that she really shouldn’t be shedding, for five minutes before a neighbour informed her that the Hugheses had gone to visit family in East City and wouldn’t be back until Monday. The man would take a message, but Winry couldn’t think of one to give.
He looked somewhat alarmed when she tearfully thanked him and walked away. No doubt Gracia would be hearing about her impromptu visit as soon as she returned. That didn’t matter. That was a problem for the Winry of Monday morning, a Winry who wouldn’t be on the verge of tears because she would have sorted this whole mess out.
She had no idea how she was going to sort this whole mess out.
But she did know where to go next: Riza Hawkeye was stationed at Central Command. Numbly, Winry walked to the nearest bus stop and boarded the first bus to the centre of Central.
The bus was not especially busy. There were several free seats and that was good because her legs were shaking. She bypassed the priority seats marked with that symbol of a pregnant person and collapsed onto a seat in the second row. Her mouth was dry, her thoughts as loud as the bus engine. She stared out of the window without seeing any of scenery and barely heard the announcement of each stop.
Not that it mattered – Central Command stood tall in the centre of the city. In spite of all that had happened on the Promised Day, it remained white and square shaped and the biggest building in its immediate vicinity.
She didn’t know where Riza would be but that didn’t matter; she only followed one man as her commanding officer and he was easy to find. The office marked ‘Mustang’ was more centrally located than she remembered it being, clearly signposted for ease of access.
Winry had anticipated being stopped on her way to it, having to state her name and business, perhaps even having to wait elsewhere while Riza was located to verify her identity.
Nobody stopped her. She walked straight into what was a spacious office with far more desks than the last one had. With his rise in rank, Mustang must have gained more men.
None of those men were present when Winry entered. A couple of desks still housed half-finished reports, suggesting that perhaps their occupants might return soon. None of the desks screamed ‘Riza Hawkeye’. The door at the end, leading to Mustang’s personal office, was closed. Didn’t he normally leave it open when he wasn’t in it?
Mind made up, Winry approached it and knocked. If nobody was there, she would… well, she didn’t know what she would do.
Thankfully, someone was. A voice she hadn’t heard in a long time answered, “Come in.”
Feeling a little bit like a schoolgirl summoned to the principal’s office, Winry carefully turned the handle and pushed the door open. The hinges must have been well-oiled; they didn’t creak or whine. In fact, the door opened soundlessly.
Riza was not here either.
The room’s only occupant was a tired man with black hair half pushed back, half breaking loose and falling into his eyes. He didn’t look up right away, immersed in furiously signing the paper in front of him. Once the page was done, he set it aside and leaned back in his chair.
Whoever he had expected, it wasn’t Winry. Surprise made him look younger.
“Miss Rockbell!” he greeted, sitting up straight in his chair. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
She took a couple of small steps forwards. The door swung shut behind her. She wasn’t afraid of Roy Mustang; nobody could fear a man Ed referred to so casually as ‘Colonel Bastard’. But with the large mahogany desk between the two of them, in this plush office, and him sitting there in his high backed chair, shoulders decorated with stars, she felt inconsequential. She felt… silly.
Heart beating unsteadily in her chest, she didn’t even remember to greet him.
“Um, I was actually looking for Lieu- for Major Hawkeye. You wouldn’t happen to know where she is, would you?”
His eyebrows rose and the lowered again. “Actually, yes. Major Hawkeye is currently in West City. If you were hoping to see her, I’m afraid she won’t be back for another week.” Seeing her face fall, he added, “If it’s time sensitive, I can pass on a message.”
She felt sick again. Without warning, all energy left her. Her shoulders sagged. In spite of herself, she felt the prickle of oncoming tears building behind her eyes. Quickly, she looked away, blinking them back.
“N-no, that’s okay! It doesn’t matter. It was silly anyway. I’ll- I’ll just go and…”
The tears spilled over. Mortified, Winry tried to swipe them away before Mustang could notice them, turning back towards the door.
He noticed. She heard the scrape of his chair against the floor, the tap of his shoes. A handkerchief was pressed into her palm, a hand on her shoulder.
“Why don’t you sit down for a moment?” he said diplomatically.
“No, no, it’s fine,” Winry sniffed, accepting the handkerchief anyway. It smelled somewhat floral and the scent was comforting as she buried her face in it. “It’s fine. Really, it is.”
Still she let him guide her over to a couch and took the weight off her aching feet. Now the tears had started, they just kept coming. Like the tide, she was powerless to stop it. Thankfully, Mustang didn’t attempt to comfort her beyond the hand on her shoulder and after a moment, that too was removed.
For a while, neither of them spoke. Until Mustang asked, hesitantly and with a softness she didn’t expect, “Is it Fullmetal? …Alphonse?”
It took her a moment to place the emotion is tone. Though careful, it was concern.
She paused, blowing her nose into his handkerchief. Although it was no doubt disgusting, Mustang didn’t comment, waiting patiently, watching her face for clues.
“No,” she assured hastily. “No.” Then paused because actually… “… Yes.”
She both saw and felt the tension drain from the man in front of her when she denied that something had happened to Elrics, only to see him frown at her last whispered word.
“It’s fine,” she repeated.
Maybe if she said it enough, she would feel it. Instead, she felt empty. Even though she wasn’t. She was not empty at all. It was too much. Tears spilt over her cheeks and she angrily swiped them away with the back of her hand.
“Really. They’re fine. It’s not… They’re both fine.”
Mustang nodded, seemingly appeased for a moment before: “But you’re not?”
Biting her lip, Winry tried really hard not to cry harder. Things were not supposed to go this way. She was supposed to have a calming conversation with Gracia over a steaming slice of pie. She was supposed to hug Elicia. She was supposed to listen to Riza outline her options to her in that logical yet supportive way she always did.
She was supposed to leave with a plan. A plan and a sense of purpose. She was supposed to be fine.
She wasn’t fine.
Mustang was the last person she wanted to have this conversation with, the last person she wanted to tell first that she was… That she’d jeopardised everything that she and Ed had been working for – and Ed didn’t even really know what that was supposed to be yet.
So yes, they were fine. It was neither Ed nor Al who was the reason for her tears this time. But Ed also sort of was the reason. They were fine. The situation was not.
Roy Mustang was not the person to spill all of those insecurities to. Even if he had done the bare minimum of offering her a handkerchief. Even if he hadn’t just let her leave like she was going to. Even if he did sound oddly concerned for her wellbeing.
He’d done a lot for Ed and Al over the years. Riza very clearly loved him. So did Ed, even though he wouldn’t admit it. But Winry barely knew the man.
So she lied: “I’m fine too.” But it wasn’t really a lie, was it? She wasn’t actually sick. Even though she felt it.
Mustang raised his eyebrows. He didn’t say anything. He just watched and that was somehow worse.
Her face crumpled. She began to sob with renewed intensity and felt the couch move as Mustang stood and walked over to his desk. Panic seized her, made her breath catch in her throat. There was a telephone on his desk. A telephone which he could use to call Granny in Resembool and probably would because that was the only contact number he would have that could apply to her.
Granny couldn’t know. Not yet. Not until she had a plan.
“I’m pregnant,” she blurted out, stopping Mustang in his tracks.
“Oh,” he said.
He stopped, hand still outstretched towards his desk. For a moment, he was frozen there. She’d heard his reputation. She wondered for a moment if this was a sentence he’d heard before.
Then he retracted his hand and gave a short, awkward, breathless laugh, running his hand through his hair. Immediately several strands fell forwards again, back into his eyes. “I was going to offer you some brandy for the shock but there goes that plan.”
He sat back down at his desk and reached for the bottom drawer again. “Do you mind if I do?”
She shook her head, sniffling. “You have brandy in your desk?”
“Whisky too,” he replied. True his word, he removed a small stoppered bottle and poured some of its contents into a glass before replacing it.
“Don’t tell the Major,” he added with a conspiratorial wink, bringing a finger to his lips.
Winry said nothing, wiping her nose on his handkerchief again.
Mustang tipped his head back and swallowed the contents of his glass, replacing it on the table.
“So,” he said a little awkwardly. “That was what you wanted to see Major Hawkeye about?”
Winry managed a small nod.
Mustang nodded back. “Pregnant…” He said it like he was testing the word on his tongue. “Is it-“
“It’s Ed’s,” Winry answered before he could ask.
It was hard not to be offended. She’d known he was the worst person to have this conversation with. She wanted to leave but she couldn’t summon the energy to move and even if she did, he’d still know and he might tell others and then… well, she didn’t know what then and frankly, she no longer had the energy to think about it but she knew it would be bad.
Mustang was oblivious. His response was something between a long shaky sigh and a whistle. He shook his head slightly.
“Fullmetal, a…” He exhaled again, shook his head again, reached down to the bottom drawer of his desk again, filled his glass again and this time didn’t bother to close the drawer. “Fullmetal? Are you sure?”
“Yes,” said Winry, tone clipped. Somehow, this slowed the progress of the tears. Instead of terrified and exhausted and inexplicably upset, she was irritated. And that was better. That was an emotion she felt in control of. “I’m sure.”
Mustang gave another shaky sigh and she realised it was actually a breathless laugh. “Fullmetal?” he repeated again. “Oh, that’s… That’s- wow.”
She stared at him, unimpressed. Her eyes were puffy and irritated and still lazily spilling salty tears over her cheeks, so it wasn’t particularly effective.
Mustang did not notice. He seemed to be having trouble with the noton. “A baby…” He shook his head again, taking a more measured sip from his glass and slamming it back down on the desk as something suddenly occurred to him. “Does he know? Fullmetal – he’s in Creta, isn’t he?”
“No,” Winry replied, the word getting lost in the back of her throat. “Yes, he is. He doesn’t… He doesn’t know. I haven’t heard from him in… You know what he’s like about staying in touch.”
“Yes,” said Mustang darkly, “I do.”
Decisively, he drained his glass again, kicking closed the drawer his drink had come from.
“Then that’s what you wanted Major Hawkeye’s help with – finding Fullmetal.”
He presented this as a conclusion, not a question. Winry raised her eyebrows at him. She had thought, in spite of everything Edward said about him and his colourful reputation, that he was at least an intelligent man. He was an alchemist. Alchemists were supposed to be smart. She supposed Ed should have been proof enough that they were also stupid.
But even as she thought this, she realised that this had actually been one of the problems she would have asked Riza to help her solve. Only one of them but it was better than nothing.
“I can help with that,” said Mustang. “It’s quite fortuitous that the drills are being held in West City. Most of my team is there, including Major Hawkeye. I’ll have her organise a search for Fullmetal. He shouldn’t be too hard to find – even without his alchemy, he tends to leave a trail.”
He got up from his desk, walking towards the window behind it and staring out at the city beyond the glass.
“Actually,” he added, after a pause, “I asked Fullmetal to look into something for me while he’s there. He might call to report in. Of course, you know what he’s like for reporting in a timely fashion but it is possible. If he does, I’ll tell him to come back immediately and you can share the big news yourself. He’ll probably ignore me… but if I tell him I have news pertaining to you then…”
Mustang trailed off. Winry felt sick. Belatedly, she realised that it wasn’t just trepidation. The smell of his brandy burned her nostrils. Her stomach churned and lurched. Winry lurched too – forwards to grab his trash can and vomit nothing but stomach acid into it. Her breakfast had already been sacrificed and she hadn’t even considered lunch.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered miserably, hugging the trash can to her chest.
Mustang went back over to his desk and somehow produced from it a glass of water, which he offered to her, heedless apparently of the splash risk.
“That’s not the brandy glass, is it?” Winry asked weakly.
Mustang shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t give you that. Although I did drink from it earlier. I won’t begrudge you a fresh glass if you prefer it, though you will have to wait for me to get down to the mess hall and back.”
She accepted it, cutting him off. As she lifted her head, she caught a whiff of the brandy on his breath and her stomach twisted again. “Um, would you mind…”
She made a shooing motion with her hands and he got the hint, taking a few steps back as Winry took a few deep breaths in through her nose. Surprisingly she didn’t vomit again and the sip of water she took helped to take the taste from her mouth.
Once she had regained control of her stomach, the first step towards regaining control of her life, she looked up, surprised to find Mustang still standing a few steps away watching her.
“Did you – I’m sorry to ask this but did you eat lunch?” he asked.
Winry started. “No,” she replied waspishly. “I didn’t. And I don’t really feel like eating now.”
Mustang nodded thoughtfully then went back to his desk, opening a drawer on the other side of it to the brandy drawer. Inside this drawer was a blue ceramic jar, which he opened up. From the jar, he pulled out a couple of biscuits.
“Ginger is good for nausea. I’m told it’s quite helpful to settle the stomach with morning sickness,” he said. “Maybe give it a few minutes before you try one.”
Winry just sagged over the trash can and stared at him. “Do you have anything that’s actually important in that desk?”
Mustang took out a napkin from another drawer and set the biscuits down on top of it. “Honestly, it’s mostly food, drink and spare clothes – which I would argue is quite important. Particularly for moments like these.”
“Why? Do you get women coming to your office often to tell you that they’re – they’re pregnant?”
Mustang looked at her, expression unreadable. He shook his head soberly, then frowned. “Once. Only once. Falman’s wife. She wanted to surprise him.”
“Oh, that’s… that’s nice.” Winry deflated, her earlier ire abating.
“It was,” replied Mustang, sitting back in his chair. “He cried. So did Havoc, actually.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Winry released her death-grip on the trash can and set it down beside her, contemplating the ginger biscuits. Now the nausea was beginning to fade, she was more aware than ever of how empty her stomach was.
She was about to ask if she could take one when Mustang spoke up: “Would you like to surprise Fullmetal when we bring him back?”
And the nausea returned. Stubbornly, she didn’t reach for the trash can, holding her arms around her middle like that would help her contain her stomach contents.
“He doesn’t know,” she said quietly.
Mustang tilted his head to the side. “Isn’t that rather the point?”
“No,” Winry shook her head. “He doesn’t… It wasn’t planned. We weren’t – we didn’t want a baby. We – we’re eighteen and Ed can’t even stay in one place for more than five minutes and he’s still obsessed with alchemy even though he can’t actually do alchemy anymore. And I’ve just barely finished my apprenticeship with Mr. Garfiel and I was really hoping that Mr. Dominic might take me on before I go have to go back to Resembool. And we’re not even married and I know that most people we know won’t care but what if they do care? What if Granny cares? What if she’s disappointed? And what if Ed doesn’t want the baby? What if-”
It all came pouring out in a torrent. Heedless of the brandy on his breath, Mustang crossed the room and sat down on the floor in front of her, putting one hand on each of her shoulders.
“Look at me,” he said.
Winry realised that even though she had stopped speaking, she still couldn’t breathe.
“I want you to tell me five things you can see.”
“I- I can’t – I don’t-“
“Five things you can see,” Mustang repeatedly, softly yet firmly.
“Desk, rug, floorboards, trash can, chair.”
“Good,” said Mustang, nodding encouragingly. “Now four things you can feel.”
“Your hand. The couch. The.. um… My coat.”
“What do they feel like?”
“Your hands are warm. The couch is – it’s – it has a texture to it. My coat kinda tickles. Actually, that’s your sleeve.”
“Sorry,” said Mustang, retracting one of his hands. “There, that’s better, isn’t it?”
She nodded. Her face was tingling with each breath, even though they were slower now, even though the air was making it to her lungs. It was hot. She shrugged off her coat, letting it fall over the back of the couch.
“Try to match your breathing to mine,” said Mustang, which was easy for him to say. His lungs were bigger than hers. He was breathing slowly. So slowly.
Winry tried to copy him and for a moment, they both simply breathed until the sick feeling in the pit of Winry’s stomach went away, her face stopped tingling and embarrassment rose on her cheeks in its place.
Then Mustang sat back. He wasn’t actually sitting, he’d been kneeling in front of her, sitting back on the balls of his toes, and now he leaned back, looking thoughtfully away.
He was the one who broke the silence. “It will be okay, you know,” he said, clearing his throat. “It’s not just lip service. It will be okay.”
The tightness began to return to her chest. She tried to swallow it. It was a good thing that Mustang continued even if Winry didn’t want him to; she didn’t trust herself to speak.
“So what if you’re young and unmarried? You can get married if you want to or not if you don’t. I don’t think Pinako Rockbell could ever be disappointed in you. And as for Fullmetal, he’ll step up. He’ll have to – or I’ll have him court-martialled.”
The hollow laugh that punctuated Mustang’s last sentence told Winry it was probably supposed to be a joke. She didn’t find it funny.
“I don’t want him to,” she replied in a small voice.
Mustang regarded her seriously, voice still soft. “That’s okay too. You don’t have to want this baby. There are… options. We can look into those, if you like. Fullmetal doesn’t even have to know if you don’t want him to.”
“No,” said Winry emphatically, eyes again filling with tears.
“Adoption is one of those options. It doesn’t have to be…”
“No,” Winry repeated. “I don’t want that.”
Mustang resituated himself on the floor, pulling yet another handkerchief from his pocket and offering it to her. “Okay then. You don’t want to get rid of the baby and you don’t want to give the baby away. So am I correct in assuming that you want to keep the baby?”
She sniffled into this second handkerchief. The first was already sodden. “Yeah, I think… yeah. I just wish it didn’t have to be now.”
“It’s still an option for you to-“ Mustang began.
“No,” Winry cut him off.
He closed his mouth and watched silently while she took several shaky breaths and blinked back her tears.
“I’m keeping it,” she said with a decisive sniff. “I definitely want to keep it. I just… I’m just sad because…” She trailed off, unable to put it into words.
Mustang nodded encouragingly. “Understandable.”
“What if Ed… what if he really doesn’t…” She couldn’t finish that though either. Luckily, she didn’t have to.
“He will. He’ll love it. He might even cry. I’ll finally find a use for that camera Hughes bought me.”
There was no hint of doubt on Mustang’s face. There was something not entirely pure about his expression, but no doubt at all.
Winry wished she felt that way. “But what if- how can you be sure?”
Mustang’s smirk faded, his expression softening. His voice lowered, he replied seriously, “He loves you. He’d do anything for you. And you want this. There isn’t a world in which he wouldn’t support you.”
“I don’t want him to do it because he loves me. I want him to want it too.”
Mustang seemed to choose his next words carefully. “Then you have to be open with him and you two need to have a conversation about it.”
Winry bit her lip, burying her face in the handkerchief to mop up the tears before they came.
Mustang added, more softly, “But I’ve seen Fullmetal with kids. And I’ve seen him with you. And from that observation, I can only draw the conclusion that there won’t be a problem.”
Winry swallowed, wiping away an errant tear with a corner of the handkerchief. “You really think so?”
“I do.”
He held her gaze in all seriousness. In spite of herself, Winry found her lips twisting into a tearful smile. Weirdly, she felt lighter. Actually, she felt a little lightheaded. Perhaps he’d been onto something with his comment about lunch.
Clearing his throat, Mustang stood, returning to his desk. He didn’t sit but he did pick up a stack of papers and dump it unceremoniously on top of a larger stack to his left.
“Where are you staying?” he asked, without looking at her.
“I’m, um, I’m not. I was just going to catch the train back to Rush Valley. I didn’t bring anything with me so…” She fiddled with the handkerchief in her hands, pointedly not looking at him as he finally looked over at her.
“Not on a Sunday, you won’t. You’ve already missed the last train south,” he replied. “Well, I suppose that settles it. I’m taking you out to dinner then you can spend the night with me.”
“W-what?”
Mustang walked over to her, extending a hand to help her up. Winry stared at it dumbly.
“You didn’t eat lunch. I am an abysmal cook.” He made this assertion with entirely too much pride for Winry’s liking. “News like this deserves a proper celebration, am I right?”
“You really don’t have to…” Winry began. “I can find a hotel and I…”
She trailed off, realising as she said this that she had not returned to her room before boarding the train earlier. Not only did she not have a change of clothes for the morning – she also did not have enough money to match Central hotel prices.
“No, no,” replied Mustang ceremoniously, oblivious Winry’s realisation. “I insist.”
He retracted his offered hand, heading towards a cupboard on the other side of the room. The cupboard, it turned out was a sort of wardrobe, from which he pulled a long black coat that he draped over his shoulders.
“Now?” said Winry. “Don’t you have work to do?”
Mustang smiled. “No time like the present,” he replied. “Really, I insist.”
Winry looked from the large stack of paper on his desk over to Mustang and back again. Memories of beautifully penned letters from Hawkeye lamenting her superior officer’s inability to complete simple tasks in a timely fashion flashed before her mind, the disappointment in her tone over the phone. She should, for the sake of her absent friend, insist they go later…
Her stomach rumbled. Looking from the paperwork to Winry, Mustang grinned.
Well, Riza couldn’t be too upset, could she? Winry was, after all, eating for two.