oh wow, it's been nearly three months since this story was last updated. i present my deepest apologies, along with my hopes that this chapter will maybe be up to your expectations. i meant to get it up way more than a month ago, but then i got sick (they said it was the flu) for four days, and missed three days of school, and it was valentine's day and i had a fic for that (read it!), and then i got writer's block because it's really tough for me to write both Rose and Winry and having them in the same section was hell. -bows- my apologies. i'll do better next time.

Chapter Nine
easy tonight

Nothing really ever made much sense to Winry, but she was a sixteen-year-old teenage girl and that was only to be expected. She didn't get drama, or gossip, or trigonometry, or... Rose. What was the girl thinking, as she sat in the passenger seat of Winry's souped up Ford Taurus and stared stonily out the window? What did a pregnant seventeen-year-old think about, anyway?

The blonde bit her lip as she coasted to a gentle stop at a red light. She gave Rose a sidelong glance, then looked away quickly, just in case the brunette caught her staring. Tapping her fingers against the steering wheel, she debated speaking or turning on the radio or doing something to break the escalating awkward silence, but the radio might be annoying and Rose might just not talk. She hadn't talked, in fact, since Granny Pinako had elicited the directions to her house.

Rose sniffled a bit and Winry resisted the urge to break down and hug her. How would it feel to know that you were pregnant and abandoned before you even reached voting age? Of course, Rose probably had loving parents that would take her in and care for her in the baby. They would know what to do, Winry thought firmly. Even though her parents had died when she was three, she still knew that much from the various TV shows and sitcoms Pinako watched incessantly.

Rose's parents would make everything right.

But in the meantime, for the long-ish drive to the other side of town, Winry was stuck with her, and all the contrary emotions she was stirring - pity, fear, sadness, confusion, nervousness... even a little bit of something that Winry might have called love if she hadn't known herself better. Her heart had sped up at Rose's proximity and as the silence lengthened her pulse increased until it was pounding in her ears and she was sure her companion could hear it loud and clear.

Well, Winry asked herself, what else was to be expected? Life wasn't simply rainbows and butterflies and things required compromise (she took that line from an older Maroon 5 song) and boy, was she compromising now. She hadn't wanted to drive Rose home - she would have gladly delegated that job to Granny Pinako because being her clumsy self, she was undoubtedly going to mess it up. Somehow. And yet she hadn't not wanted to drive Rose home; it would give them twenty minutes or so together, alone, and that was almost heaven.

It would have been heaven if it hadn't been so nerve-wracking, really.

Life was so unfair.

She was startled out of her rambling thoughts by Rose, who laid a hand on her arm. Winry jumped and the car swerved into the next lane before she hastily righted it, blushing furiously. "Yes?" she asked with gritted teeth, trying to regain her composure.

"It's here," the brunette replied softly, apparently unaffected by the car's sudden changes in direction or Winry's flustered appearance.

"Oh," the blonde replied softly, wincing at her solemn, defeated tone. She brought the car to a stop in front of a run-down apartment complex, looking up at the forbidding brick facade nervously. It was even older than Ed's building, which looked as though it had stepped right out of the 1920s pueblo style revival. Rose silently unbuckled her seatbelt and Winry hesitated. "Would you like me to come with you?"

Without looking up, the girl shrugged and then dipped her head so that her pink bangs hid her eyes.

/Should I take that as a yes/ Winry wondered as she put the car in park and took the keys out of the ignition. Rose was already halfway up the rusting iron fire escape stairs by the time she finished locking the car. Feeling slightly like an unwanted pet, Winry hurried after her until they reached a small door on the second floor.

The room number, 12A, was marked with a fanciful white wrought iron design. The blonde felt her metalworking instincts take over as she squinted at the workmanship. It was definitely shoddy, but the flourishes were nice. With the right tools and materials, she could probably make something like that in ten minutes. In fact, she could quite possibly improve on it in less time than that.

"Are you coming in?" Rose asked her quietly, still not looking up. Winry started and realized that the brunette had finally finished fumbling with the keys and was holding open the door. Blushing, she smoothed down her skirt and gingerly stepped across the threshold.

The interior of the apartment was dusty, dark, and musty-smelling - nothing like the welcoming, lighted room she had expected. As Rose busied herself with pulling up cobwebby blinds, Winry looked around and wondered just what kind of person lived here. The furniture - a couch, coffee table, and a threadbare easy chair - were all covered with dust, as well as the draperies and the ceiling fan. Cobwebs hung in the corners of the walls and turned what had most likely been white into a nappy grayish color, like clothes that had been washed too many times.

Essentially, the dwelling looked as though it had been unoccupied for years.

When the room was lighted to her satisfaction, Rose simply slumped into the grimy couch, not even bothering to wipe off the seat. She looked exhausted - there were dark smudges under her eyes that indicated a definite lack of sleep, and her face was much paler than its usual tan.

Winry took one more confused look around the apartment. "You... um... live here, Rose?" she asked hesitantly, not wanting to offend or make assumptions but needing to make sure.

The girl opened weary eyes and shrugged. "Not usually," she replied softly.

"Then why are we here?" the blonde pressed. It was obvious that Rose was in no mood to talk but she needed to know why her crush would stay in a dirty, disgusting apartment all alone. Where were her parents? Did she have parents? She had to have them. It was impossible not to, for someone as perfect as Rose.

"It's my old house."

"But..." Winry was lost for words. She wondered if she was being annoying - she did have a tendency to ask too many questions but in this situation, she deemed all her queries necessary. If Rose would only talk and actually open up a bit more, instead of sitting there like some dumb block of wood...! She chewed on the inside of her lip, trying to quell her frustration. Taking a deep breath, Winry continued her question. "But don't you have anywhere else to go?"

Rose shrugged, and the blonde swore she could scream. Were they just visiting this old building for nostalgia, or was Rose well and truly homeless?

Sighing, she brushed off a small area of the coffee table, looking distastefully at the grime that coated her hand, and gingerly took a seat. "And are you planning on living here?" she asked Rose, leaning forward slightly and acting as though she was talking to a child.

"Yes." In all of her fantasies, Rose had been an articulate young woman with a bright sense of humor and a perpetually smiling face. Winry definitely hadn't been prepared for this depressed, taciturn personality, and so she wasn't quite sure how to proceed.

Rose wasn't anything like what she had expected. She wondered why she had even fallen for her in the first place, why she had wasted three years waiting for her. How stupid could she get?

"Don't you have somewhere else to go? Are you all alone here? Where are you parents? Why is it so dirty in here? Why aren't you talking?" Winry asked all in a rush. She was sure her annoyance showed but by now she didn't give a damn at all. If Rose could be a sullen little bitch then she could be a nagging one. "Can't you answer me?"

When the brunette looked up her violet eyes were filled with tears, but Winry was too exasperated to feel bad. Miraculously, though, she held back her crying and answered the barrage of demands in an unwavering tone. "This apartment hasn't been lived in for three years, since my parents died," she replied quietly. "That's why it's dirty. I'm not talking because I can't right now… And... I have nowhere else to go."

Winry was shocked at the final revelation. "Are you sure?" she asked, dumbfounded, only belatedly realizing how idiotic the question sounded. "I mean... aunts? Uncles? Cousins? Friends?" She was reeling with disbelief - how could Rose not have parents? How could she not have a nice little house in the suburbs with a green grass lawn and a white picket fence and a sparkling clean kitchen? Rose wasn't the type of person she ever would have pictured as poor or homeless.

"I used to live with my aunt, who has four children. Then I lived with Kain because I was being a burden. And I suppose I became a burden again." She sighed dejectedly and chewed her bottom lip, absentmindedly placing both hands over her stomach.

"That's not true!" Winry defended violently. "If he was any kind of good boyfriend, he would have stayed with you! He just banged and bailed and it's not your fault!" Inwardly, she winced at her word choice, but she was on a roll. "Look. Yeah, you got pregnant, but that doesn't mean people are going to hate you. Sure, you might be treated a little differently but you're still the same person. You just have another person growing inside you, and if that isn't amazing then I don't know what is." She stopped and gave Rose a firm look. "Get it? Nothing is your fault." That might have been a lie but hopefully it made a difference. Clenching her fists and feeling her nails digging into the flesh of her palms, Winry took a deep breath and waited for a reply.

The brunette paused, and smiled halfway. "I don't believe you," she said, and Winry stepped back involuntarily, stunned. "But thank you for trying to help." Settling back in the chair and ignoring the small cloud of dust raised by her actions, she closed her eyes. "You can go back home now, if you want. I would offer you food but I don't think there is any."

Torn between leaving and staying to maybe chat or build some kind of relationship, the blonde gazed around the apartment desperately. Even after ten minutes with occupation and open windows, it looked as grimy and forsaken as ever. "No." she stated impulsively, turning back. "No. You can't stay here."

Rose glanced up with a slightly surprised look on her face, but Winry didn't give either of them time to wonder what was coming next. Astonishing even herself, she said, "Come back with me to my house. You're not a burden to us."

--

"How did you like the movie?" Lyra asked, curling up contentedly in the booth opposite Edward. The two were sitting in a smallish, practically empty cafe whose only specialties seemed to be sushi and bologna sandwiches. She poked coyly at a slice of sashimi with her chopsticks.

Edward shrugged and gave a crooked grin. The show had been a romantic comedy set in 1800s England - definitely not his forte, but anything was better than sitting at home all day having to watch Envy strut around as if he practically owned the place and Al bow and scrape as though Envy really did own the place. "It was good," he replied noncommittally.

The dark haired girl wrapped both her hands around her smoothie cup and stared at him. "What was your favorite part?" she asked, as though she was some kind of police interrogator working for the entertainment business.

Briefly, Ed wondered whether he should give a serious answer. But when he saw the slight smile playing across Lyra's thin, glossed lips, he snickered. "The part where we made out in the movie theater and I didn't watch," he said, popping a slice of California roll into his mouth. "Yours?"

Lyra's smirk widened and Edward congratulated himself on choosing the correct response. "I think my favorite part would be if you went for a little drive with me after dinner," she said in a tone layered with innuendo.

For a moment, Ed was taken aback. He was no novice to flirting but Lyra's hints were about as subtle as a two by four to the forehead. And even though he had technically been attached to Winry for over three years, he was still relatively new to dating, kissing, and girlfriends in general. (Real ones, at least.) But he recovered his composure soon enough. "Sure," he replied, grinning even though he could feel his face flushing embarrassedly.

"Good." his girlfriend replied. "This food sucks. Let's leave now." She shoved her plate away and stood up, car keys dangling from her fingers.

Gratefully, Ed put back the bologna sandwich he was about to reluctantly try, and fished out a twenty dollar bill. At least the cafe was cheap - they were only getting charged about nineteen dollars for their whole meal and the waitress didn't look like she expected that much of a tip - but it was still a waste of money that could have gone towards paying the electricity bill, or the phone company, or the tuition for Al for next year. He sighed and mentally said goodbye to the bill as he followed Lyra out of the building.

Lyra's ostentatious silver convertible was parked at the very end of the lot. It was already unlocked and she was already in the driver's seat, fingers tapping impatiently on the steering wheel, when he arrived. "Aren't you going to put the top down?"

The girl smirked. "Not tonight, I think," she replied, starting the car as he slipped into the passenger's seat. "I have... other plans."

Edward gulped nervously. He could vividly imagine what those 'other plans' were - after all, they were two teenagers, it was dark out, and they were alone in a car - and he found that he wasn't quite as excited as he should have been. In fact, he was feeling a bit uncomfortable at this uninhibited sexual side he had never seen in Lyra before. It was like she had been possessed.

But before he had time to think of a reasonable reply (What could one say to something like that?) Lyra twisted the key in the ignition and they were off to who knew where.

"So... my house or yours?" she asked, and Ed realized he did know where they were going, and didn't like it.

"Um... we really don't have to go to anyone's house," he said faintly. Al and Envy were still at home, theoretically, and he was sure Lyra at least had parents where she lived. He didn't want to end up like those foolhardy people on sitcoms who returned home to make out, only to be caught fondling on the couch by their parents. That occurred nearly every time, it seemed, and if real life was anything like television it would surely happen to him.

"The backseat, then?" Lyra questioned, nearly laughing. She slowed and made as if to turn into the nearest parking lot. "I'm fine with pulling over, you know."

Edward could feel a blush heating his cheeks. "That's really not-"

"All right then!" His girlfriend cut him off and steered to the left, into a darkened empty lot. Ed wondered what usually went on here; whether the space was frequented by gangs and if they would be broken up by several leering men holding broken bottles. He winced at the thought.

"Seriously, Lyra, we don't have to-"

"So. Are you a virgin?"

Ed started and widened his eyes at the blunt question. "Well, I'm, um..." he stuttered, leaning away from Lyra slightly. "It's not-"

"Yes. Well then..." She leaned in closer and, trying to get away from her, Edward felt the handle of the car door jabbing uncomfortably into his back. "You won't be one for long." Ignoring his discomfort, she grabbed the collar of his t-shirt and leant in to kiss him forcefully.

Before their lips could meet, Ed turned his head to the side so that they simply brushed against his cheek. "Look, Lyra, I don't think this is really the best idea. We've been dating for, what, five days?"

"And...?" Lyra asked huskily, managing to make even confusion into something sexual. "Why does that even matter?"

"Because I don't think-" Before Lyra could cut him off with a kiss, he shoved her away. "I don't think that we should be having... having sex after going out for such a short time! It's not-" He pushed her away again, growing frustrated at his girlfriend's incomprehension. "It's not right!"

The dark-haired girl raised an eyebrow, looking cross. "Are you saying you don't want to have sex?" she asked, as though the very idea was somehow repulsive to her. "What, have you been listening too much to Ms. Hawkeye?" Hawkeye was the sophomore biology teacher in charge of sex ed.

"No, it's just-" Ed paused. Why did this seem so wrong to him/Because she doesn't really like you/ a voice in the back of his mind prompted. /Because you're just sex and when she's done with you she'll move on to the next victim and it won't matter. Because there's no love involved at all./

That was it. Love.

"You don't love me, do you?" he asked abruptly, staring at Lyra and wondering why the hell he had wanted to date her in the first place. She had managed to mess up her unnaturally straight hair even though they hadn't even done anything, and her bluish eyes looked vacant with desire. Edward couldn't help his feeling of disgust.

Lyra remained silent.

Ed snorted. "You don't, do you? There's nothing even resembling love in here." He glared, and wondered why this was such a big deal to him. People had sex all the time, right? And it was usually as trivial, if not more so, than this - locked in the back of a convertible at night in an empty lot.

"Does that even matter?" Lyra spat, still looking confused. Apparently, she had realized Ed wasn't actually planning to lose his virginity to her, he thought bitterly.

"Yeah, actually," he replied icily. "It does." With that, he fumbled open the car door and let himself out into the cool summer night. He didn't care anymore. Lyra could shove it for all he cared. Relationships needed love, not sex. He needed love, not sex.

--

Envy lay on the couch, his fingers dangling over the edge and barely brushing the beige carpeting. He stared at the stained white ceiling, wondering how his life had gotten to this all time low. His parents had disowned him, his best friend had fucked him, and now he was stuck in a stranger's apartment, and said stranger seemed to have a totally unexplained, absolute hatred for him.

Things were looking up, he thought sarcastically.

The teenager sighed, stretched out his legs, and sighed again for good measure. Behind him, in the kitchen, he heard a metallic clatter on the floor. The little brother, Al, was trying to bake brownies or something domestic like that. Envy couldn't have cared less, only the brunet was making too much noise to be completely unnoticeable and the delicious smell of chocolate had permeated the entire room.

He wondered when the last time was that he had eaten a decent meal. Decent, of course, meaning high quality, possibly gourmet food cooked in his family's kitchen. It had been too long, really. And how long since he had slept in a decent bed? Not counting the time he had woken up in Kimbley's room (that bed hadn't even remotely resembled 'decent'), it had also been too long.

He sighed once more, and shifted so that he was facing the floral print back of the sofa. He was spoiled, and he knew it, but that didn't change the fact that he longed for the once commonplace luxuries he had enjoyed.

Of course, Envy wasn't about to go to his parents and beg to be let back into the family.

His cell phone vibrated against his thigh, shaking him out of his monotonous reverie. Curiously, he reached into his shorts pocket and dug it out, wondering who could possibly be calling him. Maybe Greed...? Perhaps his parents had realized what stupid, overreacting idiots they had been and were inviting him back. Or maybe one of his old girlfriends wanted to know where he had been, since he hadn't checked his myspace page in nearly a week.

He flipped it open incautiously, and it greeted him with an unwelcome message.

From: Crimson
Hey babe hows it going with no house? lol living on the streets yet?
Callback Number: 530-345-0812

Glaring, the teenager contemplated throwing the phone against the wall. In addition to letting out his rage, it would get Kimbley out of his life for good - with no phone and no computer, the stupid bastard had no way of contacting him.

But instead, reasoning that it was better to be able to keep tabs on the fucking rapist instead of absolutely no idea where he was or what he was doing, Envy simply shut the cell phone and slipped it back into his pockets, wearily massaging the bridge of his nose.

Maybe it would be better if he told somebody about what an absolute prick Kimbley turned out to be, he thought. Getting it all out could possibly end a lot of his issues. Possibly. Theoretically.

He nearly snorted. The last thing he needed was some kind of concerned counselor prying into his business. Besides, he had had sex before and it was never really a big deal. Why did he feel the need to make a big deal out of this? And he had been drunk and willing, and teenage inebriation was illegal in Central whereas teenage fucking was not.

So, catch-22, who cared, he was stuck in a strange apartment and life was just peachy.

His phone vibrated once more, and with a slight, quickly squashed feeling of trepidation, he opened it.

From: Crimson
I know ur there baby dont b shy. hope u found some1 to take u in but if u didnt i can hook u up.
Callback Number: 530-345-0812

/Hook me up with what/ Envy wondered, feeling slightly sick. It was funny how, in three days, he had gone from actually liking Kimbley to hating his guts. He found it hard to believe that they had once been best friends. Or that he had called Kimbley his best friend, really.

It made him wonder just how poor his judgment really was.

The cell phone vibrated once more, but this time Envy ignored it. Knowing Kimbley, the text messages would simply get more and more lewd until he forgot he was texting Envy entirely. Instead, he was struck by a new idea.

"Hey, Al," he called into the kitchen, getting up from the couch and stretching luxuriously. "Do you know how to block someone from texting you?"

The brunet looked up from an electric mixer, his chin dusted with cocoa powder. "No," he replied curiously. "Why?"

Envy shrugged and ambled into the kitchen, peering at the array of pans and kitchen ingredients piled on the counter. Baking grease, water, eggs, vegetable oil, flour, powdered sugar... the closest he had ever been to actual food preparation before this was his brief stay in home ec class. (That had abruptly ended due to a flour explosion, or some such accident that Envy still swore he didn't do.) "No reason," he said innocently. "I was just wondering."

Alphonse, looking slightly distracted by his task, nodded.

Deciding that watching the kid was more interesting than staring at the ceiling all night, Envy took a seat at the dinner table, crossing one leg over the other and observing the brownie-making process. His phone beeped irritably but he ignored it, not even bothering to take it out and turn it off.

"Have you ever made brownies before?" Al asked, trying to break the slightly awkward silence between them while wrestling the mix into a 13x9 inch baking pan.

Envy stared at the dark, wet mixture as it spiraled down from the mixing bowl. "Nah," he replied. "I don't really cook."

The brunet had the grace to look surprised, before smiling. "I guess you haven't tasted brownie mix, then," he said, scraping the remnants of batter out of the bowl with a flattish, white tool that Envy, for the life of him, was unable to name. A few moments later, the utensil was stuck in his face, still coated with chocolate.

"Here," Al said, apparently wanting him to take it. "Lick it off the spatula."

"Lick what off the what?" the long-haired teenager asked, unpleasant memories involving Kimbley and too much to drink surfacing in his mind. He wrinkled his nose and leaned back from the dripping mess.

The kid sighed, and poked Envy's firmly closed lips with the tool. "Lick the brownie mix off the spatula," he said impatiently. "This is a spatula." He poked Envy's lips again. "Hurry up and take it; I need to get these in the oven before Ed comes home."

Warily, the teenager took the spatula by its wooden handle and tasted the mix. It was, surprisingly, very good - like gooey chocolate, only kind of grainy and really wet. "Yum," he said appreciatively, thoroughly cleaning the flat plastic.

Shutting the oven and taking off the oven mitt, Al dusted off his hands and joined Envy, sitting down at the table. He wiped his forehead and slumped, stretching out his legs. "Geez, it's so hot out," he complained, staring morosely out the darkened window. "I forgot the oven heated up the kitchen so much..."

Envy, occupied with licking off the very last bit of brownie mix, didn't reply - it would have been hard to say anything coherent, anyway, as he had turned his head sideways and was practically gnawing on the handle.

Alphonse, watching him, giggled. "I think it's all gone, Envy," he said, and reached to grab a towel from the counter. "You've got brownie on your nose. Come here."

The teenager raised an eyebrow at the boy's motherly demeanor but, mellowed by the chocolate, eventually leaned forward so Al could wipe the batter from his nose.

At that moment, the door slammed open and Ed stormed inside. He looked, Envy thought, royally pissed - maybe his date or however hadn't turned out so well, or something. But who cared? The guy was nearly as bad as Kimbley, only not so sexual.

The blonde took one look at the scene in the kitchen and abruptly turned on his heel and stormed back out, presumably heading to his bedroom.

"Hey big brother, how was your..." Al's voice trailed off as a door slammed in the hallway. He sighed, and stood. "Take the brownies out when the oven beeps," he instructed Envy on his way out of the kitchen. "You can have them all, if you want."

Alone, Envy glanced at the kitchen towel that had fallen forgotten to the floor, then growled and impatiently rubbed the chocolate from his nose.

Things were definitely looking up.

I made a pun. Envy was "mellowed by the chocolate". Get it? Mellow, Mello, chocolate? Any Death Note fans? -laughs weakly-
Anyway...
"Easy Tonight" by Five for Fighting.
Reviews are appreciated, constructive criticism is adored.