The Same Coin

At The Edge Of Her

Sitting at the foot of her bed, healing her injuries one by one, her thoughts from not so long ago resurfaced.

His brand of lust too indulgent.

She fared worse this time than she had the last, and it was horrifying to think that perhaps last time Hisoka had gone easy on her. Perhaps she, too, had gone easy on him as well though. By the time their bed play was through, he had looked almost as battered as she; she'd used her Hatsu against him with less reservation than she had before. For Hisoka, sex was an act of violence, and Winry found herself alarmingly willing to reciprocate. Whether it was because he frightened her, because he repulsed her, because he enchanted her, she couldn't be certain. It didn't matter anyway; they were all two sides of the same coin.

As with the last time they had coupled, he was in a deep, restful sleep. She wondered if this was how he slept after fighting. If violence was the only thing that brought him peace.

The swelling of her knee had subsided, and she'd already salvaged her ankle. With one long, lingering gaze, Winry gently rose from the bed and retreated to the last bedroom.

She took the Stone from within the crate, black jewelry box and all, and nestled it under her arm. Buccaneer's meticulous labeling again proved itself useful, she found the crate that held her grandmother's more priceless possessions easily. None of it was of particularly great value, only sentimental. She took a few of her grandmother's black jewelry boxes and stowed them away near the other crate, in case it occurred to Hisoka to look more closely into what she had been doing. Kimblee's Will went into another crate. The Stone...She didn't even know where in the world could possibly be safe enough to hide it. Everywhere seemed too obvious or clumsy. Eventually Winry took adhesive bandages and carefully taped it inside the lid to the tank of the toilet, moving as quietly as she could.

Hisoka did not stir.

She didn't return to bed, instead limping down to her workshop. Her grandmother's pipe sat high on a shelf; Winry took it down now, and packed it with fresh tobacco then sat outside on the step to light it. She'd done this a few times over the years, even before her grandmother's death, and she found comfort in the ritual again now. Puffing away and surrounding herself with the familiar scent while she healed the rest of her injuries.

"Hisoka is here."

Chrollo's voice startled her so much that she lost her grip on the pipe, and hot ash scattered across her bare arms. She sucked in a quiet breath of pain, brushing the scalding dust off before looking for him.

He stood in the shadow of the building, spine flush against the building, and watching her with keen interest. He'd come to her dressed in his dark trench coat, with his hair slicked back. She read the expression in his gray eyes as amusement and interest; he had no concern. It took her a moment to realize she still couldn't detect any Nen; her face gave away her thoughts, brows creasing deeply. Chrollo gave her a soft smile.

"A precaution."

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I am here to assure that you are still interested in becoming my Number 11."

Her heart thundered and raced just at the words. The Troupe. The time had come. The hole that Buccaneer had left felt filled; nay, overflowing. This was why she had sent him away. Because she had wanted this so desperately, and she had known then she wouldn't decline.

"I am."

"Normally," Chrollo murmured, "you would receive a tattoo to show your place. But seeing as you have a guest..." He let his words trail off and his eyes lower to the ground knowingly. "...that will have to wait." Winry nodded. "I am also here because I need your assistance, once more. But this time you will participate as my true compatriot."

"Anything," Winry heard herself breathe.

"I would need to disclose the secrets of my Nen ability to you. Please understand that requires the highest degree of trust."

"I'll take it to the grave."

She knew what he was wondering though. If he knew Hisoka was here and, from the state of her, knew what they had engaged in together then he might have doubts about her loyalties. She would be lying if she said she didn't question them still herself, but Winry knew this much: she could keep both their confidences so long as their requirements remained separate. As long as she didn't have to choose.

She'd been right, Hisoka was not her friend. But even with the pain that accompanied that knowledge, she couldn't eradicated her sense of inexplicable loyalty to him.

"Good. When is Hisoka leaving?"

"Tomorrow, more likely than not."

"Then I will return the day after. Bring what you need for two weeks, but pack light."

"Where will we be going?"

Chrollo watched her with his soft, silent consideration as he contemplated her question. She could see him weighing the risks of his answer. He might well decide not to tell her until they were en route — if he told her at all. But his hesitation said something louder, and her heart sank.

This had to do with Hisoka.

But Chrollo wouldn't ask her to choose between them. He would simply make her act in his favor.

"Meteor City," Chrollo at last conceded. "I will tell you more when I return for you in two days."

Winry nodded, puffing away on her pipe, forehead so slightly creased as she watched Chrollo vanish away into the dark forest at the edge of her property line.

Two days.