The Same Coin

They Unearthed

She had tried to use her Hatsu to repair Buccaneer's severed automail, but she had only succeeded with fusing a few wires and levers back together. It was still too intricate and beyond her capabilities. She had no choice except to confront the crates of belongings if she had a hope in Hell of repairing it. Winry couldn't believe she had done that to his diamond-tipped M19 Mad Bear arm to begin with. So she made short work of healing the rest of the injuries he'd sustained while restraining her, and the Captain had pulled on a clean white undershirt. It had no sleeves, and left him baring his automail — stares and whispers had followed them through the hallways of the Arena.

The Arena had stored the crates Buccaneer had brought with him in the basement levels of the building where the supply deliveries were kept. When they had reached the privacy of the lower floors, they had had a brief conversation where he asked if her Hatsu was also how she saved his life on the Promised Day — after admitting the memories and details of that day were faded and hard to recall. Until now he hadn't even been certain what he didremember was true, it had been that unfathomable.

It wasn't as many crates as Illumi had brought from Resembool, but close. Winry wandered whether her grandmother had known even then that her time was short. She wandered if maybe the Promised Day had stolen time from her grandmother that she would have had otherwise. Months, Maybe even years. Then she wondered if time had been stolen from her, too.

Buccaneer made short work of prying each crate open exposing the contents within, even with only one arm. Tears came fresh as Winry laid her palms on her grandmother's clothes, her work gloves, her dishes and pans. There were trinkets and tokens that had lived on the shelves of her grandmother's home for as long as Winry could remember. She walked away entirely when they unearthed her parents' journals.

Ed and Al had sent her the entirety of her grandmother's home with care, and she felt her heart breaking over and over again with every crate. The memories were vibrant and colorful. Even the smell, that sweet blend of oil, leather, and flour, made the very depths of her soul ache.

"I don't even know what to do with all this," she laughed through her tears as she surveyed the sheer amount of stuff surrounding them — and she couldn't forget about the rest of it, still in Hisoka's suite. Winry lapsed into silence while Buccaneer returned everything to its crate, shutting it.

She had all of the equipment she needed to found her own automail shop, she realized. And, with the pieces of furniture that Buccaneer had brought, she had what she needed for her own home even. She had the money to do it, too. She had made more than a decent living before ever coming to this side of the sea, and Chrollo had wired her the money he'd promised for her assistance in Yorknew City.

She had the capital to fund herself. But was there merit to building automail here?

"You're quiet," Buccaneer said, interrupting her thoughts.

"Just contemplating what to do," she murmured, sitting down on the ground with her legs folded under her. "I had meant to open my own automail business."

"You should."

"People here don't use automail," she explained. "It might be for nothing."

"No automail? That explains some of the looks I got on the way down."

She knew the words that were on the tip of his tongue, but he didn't say them. She was grateful he didn't say them because she wasn't sure if she could withstand it yet.

"I have more equipment," she said. "It's stored in—" The slightest pause in her speech. "—a friend's quarters while I was gone."

"You'll have to find it all a permanent home." Again, he restrained himself from saying what she knew he was thinking, and she was again silently grateful for his sense of discretion.

His sense of discretion still prevailed several days later, after she had found an internet listing for a building outside the metropolis surrounding Heavens Arena. And it prevailed even when she had gone to inspect the space without him. It was a small cottage with an adjoined workshop, nestled back into the tree line against the young peaks of a mountain range. It had been a modest forty-minute drive from the Arena, and the realtor had told her most of the sparse neighbors in the area were other members of the Arena's medical team who had no desire to live in such close quarters to the fights anymore. The money transfer and signing documents had taken longer than the drive.

"I've arranged for a truck to come tomorrow to load up the crates," she told Buccaneer when she had returned. Although she hadn't thought of how she would get the crates from Hisoka's suite yet. He had not seen fit to return her call, and she wasn't willing to grovel by calling more.

She would need to figure it out herself.

In the dark, after Buccaneer had fallen asleep on the small cot she'd had brought to her quarters for him, Winry stepped into the staff elevator at the end of the darkened hall and took rode it to his floor, taking a trolley with her.

She laid her palm flush against the lock to his door, and let her Hatsu slip inside. The sensation was akin to when she had helped Uvogin, her search narrow and specific. At last she felt the lock give.

Winry turned the handle and pushed the door open, one hand behind her on the trolley to pull it inside the dark suite behind her.

A hand closed around her throat, slamming her against the wall, her feet dangling.

"This is a surprise," was whispered in her ear.