Between
In the beginning, Winry waited at the window for them every night, holding out her lamp with the resolve of a brick, blinking it methodically despite knowing, in the back of her mind, that they probably wouldn't be coming back. She didn't let that get to her, though. She knew that Auntie Pinako and she were their home and that no one can just get up and leave their home behind.
She wishes things had been different, she wishes she could have done something more to persuade them to stay, even if words meant nothing to guys.
Ed used to write home every week, giving diligent and crisp reports on their journeys. Al would chip in too, usually with small gifts and souvenirs from places they visited. Both promised to return home soon and both promised that of course they still missed her. But it would be years before they fulfilled that promise, and when they did, it would only be to beg Winry to fix Ed's automail again. Winry would make sure to take a wrench to his head.
And then she would go to them, crying, the night they were supposed to be resting. She would yell between sobs, hit between the chokes, and weep between the pauses as Ed remained stoic and Al refrained from moving an inch. Why, she cried, why. This was their home, didn't they miss their home?
Of course, Ed would say, always Ed. Of course we miss our home, but we have something greater to accomplish. One-track mind. And Al would say something about Winry worrying too much over them and how they were doing perfectly fine.
And she'd retort that if they were fine, if they didn't need a home, they wouldn't be so cold to the touch.
Ed wouldn't have any response to that and Al would be silent once more.
Stay. Please stay. I need you two.
But always, always, it would be the same response. And always, they'd be gone again the next morning, leaving a note of apology without bothering to wake her up to say goodbye.
There once was a time she was sure of the bond. It would be a while before she would finally understand it.