Hello, all! I've returned for another fanweek! I decided to give Pinako a go in the spotlight this time around. Hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: Language, some medical talk
Characters: Pinako, Ed
Timeline: Early series, during Ed's automail rehab

"You're leaning too far."

Ed scowled up at her with every ounce of frustration his eleven-year-old self could muster. "Of course I am! I've only got one arm to balance!"

"So compensate."

Ed let out a swear that Pinako would have been mad about if he hadn't learned it from her. His first journey from his bed to the kitchen for lunch was turning out to be more of a trial than he had imagined, clearly. Pinako had gone over what to do and what to expect beforehand, but knowing and doing were two different things. He'd already slipped twice and he was barely into the hallway.

"Can I have my arm? One of the spares?"

"No." It was the third time they'd had that conversation that morning. Pinako was surprised when he'd asked for the arm attached; just putting the leg on had knocked him out for a good couple hours. "You've been laid up for weeks; your upper body strength is shot." She knocked her pipe against the wall sternly. "Once you get walking, you can really start getting your strength back. The arm will come with that."

That was another conversation they'd had a dozen times before. Ed wanted to go all in, all at once, and Pinako wasn't having it. She'd assumed that once he started rehab and got into the gritty, agonizing, bone-deep-terrible pain that came with it, he'd pull back. Clearly not. Part of her, deep down, wondered if the boy thought he deserved the pain. Some sort of twisted atonement for Alphonse's fate and the failed transmutation.

Not on my watch, you stupid boy.

Ed bared his teeth, his left hand braced against the wall. He looked ready to dig in heels and fight her over it, so she cut him off. "Stop stalling!" she pointed towards the kitchen. "Lunch is ready for you, if you can ever haul your tiny little butt that far!"

That worked. The promise of food, combined with a good old-fashioned short jab, got him moving. Solid food was still a novel to him, after weeks of broths and thin stews. The promised lunch was a roast beef sandwich, with meat that had been cooked to practically mush. It would probably be cold by the time he got there, but he'd be hungry enough not to care. As long as he ate it, Pinako didn't care either. He needed the proteins and carbs if they were going to make any progress on his rehab.

It took nearly half an hour for Ed to travel the distance from the Rockbell's medical ward to the kitchen. That journey was broken up with several breaks and as many falls, all complete with a round of cursing. Some of it Pinako recognized as her own, but most of it sounds suspiciously like it came from the mouth of Jenny Tickson, Resembool's blacksmith.

Pinako made a mental note to chew Jenny a new one next time she needed some metal sheets cut.

The house was quiet, with just the two of them. She'd sent Winry and Al to the market for the week's worth of errands, and Den had been shooed out of the house. As well trained as she was with automail patients, Ed was more likely to step on her paws than anything at this point. And really, Pinako had enough on her plate without an upset boy and an upset dog howling at the top of their lungs.

It took Ed two tries to sit at the table. The first time, he misjudged the distance to the chair and landed square on his ass, knocking his head on the table as he went down. Pinako busied herself with pouring out glasses of water for the both of them. It kept her from coddling him, which he wouldn't take well in the least.

The second time, he made it into the chair, face flushed and sides heaving. Pinako nudged the glass of water towards him and he took it, drinking greedily. He drained it and she filled it again without being asked. His attention had switched to the sandwich and he fell onto it with as much voracity as he had the water. It was a messy affair, with the combination of soggy bread and only one hand to work with. Most of the meat slid out from the sandwich and on to the plate whenever Ed took a bite from it.

"You know I can only kick your brother and Winry out of the house so many times," she said, and Ed looked away, going red to his hairline. "And this is something Winry needs to learn. She worked on your surgery and she'll work on your rehab and all your maintenance after that."

"Granny, that was embarrassing," he whined, trying to push the sandwich back together with his one hand. Again, Pinako occupied herself with her own drink. If Ed wanted to do his rehab in a year, he'd have to learn fast. She had to be as hands-off as she could be to expedite the process.

"Get used to it. You'll be doing that a lot."

"But this is-!" Ed floundered for a word, but Pinako could think of plenty: humiliating, awkward, painful.

She jabbed a finger at him. "Then you better get to work on walking. The sooner you get your feet under you, the sooner we can stop breathing down your neck."

Ed held her gaze and glowered, matching her own scowl. Then he went back to work on his sandwich. It was more methodical, more ordered, Pinako noticed, as he stuffed the meat back into the bread and folded the sandwich onto itself to keep it all inside. He took a bite, looking Pinako square in the eyes. He looked like a mess, his fingers covered in grease, hair shaggy, and still too pale and too thin from his bedrest.

She grunted. "Look at that, you can use that little genius brain of yours," she said, hiding her smile behind her glass as Ed wolfed down the rest of the sandwich, not even bothering to spare her a glare.