A/N: Written for The DA Ranger Group on deviantArt's Edward Elric month. Be amazed that I actually got this done in time, because I had serious trouble coming up with something. This is also the shortest thing I've written in a long time.
Everyone called Edward Elric a genius, but that doesn't mean he knew it all. Automail, for example, would always be something of a mystery to him. Oh, he knew the mechanics of it, at least in theory. Winry was a Grade-A Gearhead and always happy to explain in painstaking detail how every single wire and bolt and gear worked in tandem to make his arm move on command. With stars in her eyes and long blonde hair flipping around in her tight ponytail, Winry could go on for hours without ever getting tired or even stopping to eat.
Seriously, Ed had seen her do it!
He remembered being seven years old, making the innocent, yet huge mistake of asking her what automail was.
"Automail? Are you kidding?! Automail is the best ever! It's linked directly to the nervous system, and can be at will just like a real arm or leg. It takes electrical pulses from the nerves to power all the electric motors and pneumatic actuators inside. They're generally made from…"
She was still going an hour later, when Pinako was calling them in for dinner and Ed felt ready to slam his head into a wall until he lost consciousness.
It hadn't mattered to him back then, before his life came to more or less depend on both automail and Winry's expertise. He had suffered through the greatest physical pain outside of losing his limbs to the Gate. He had fought and strained and spat out half the blood in his body to make himself strong again. Though he'd been confident and driven in his goal to recover two years earlier than normal, a part of him always feared that he wouldn't be able to. For the outside world, Ed was cocky and completely sure of himself, but inside, he knew his limits all too well.
Sometimes, he still wondered how he'd been able to do it. It seemed impossible, that in the span of 12 months he'd gone from wheelchair bound and barely able to move a finger, to sparring with Al in the yard, dodging punches and delivering high kicks, with only the barest twinges of pain to slow him down. And now, nothing could slow him down.
He had his goal and the means to reach it. He would get his brother's body back and make him whole again, that was all that was important. It didn't matter to him how his automail limbs worked, so long as they did.
That didn't stop him from wondering, though. He'd never tell Winry, but sometime he skimmed through mechanical texts for information on automail production. It was only ever during his free time when there weren't any new alchemy books on hand, but what he could remember was, admittedly, kind of interesting.
He still far preferred his alchemy books, of course.
He sat in the middle of Winry's workshop in Resembool, one leg up for her to examine and the other swinging out. He stared out the window, head propped up on his elbow. It was close to sunset, the sky was already turning pink. It would be pitch black out by the time Winry finished, which meant one more day before him and Al could get a move on.
An unexpected jolt of pain shot through him, and Ed had to bite his tongue to keep from shouting. He came very close to drawing blood and it still ached long after he'd let go. Winry was running her fingers lightly over the plating, having finished checking the wiring and his reflexes. Ed watched her, her bright blue eyes alight with concentration, three different and frightening looking tools in her free hand, a complete lack of awareness to the world around them evident. Ed wondered if an explosion right outside the window would be enough to phase her. He decided that it probably wouldn't.
The thought gave him a chuckle, one that immediately proved Ed wrong about Winry's focus when her hands stopped and her eyes shot to his.
"What's so funny?" she asked.
Ed stopped, mouth half open and stuck in one position. He closed it, and licked his dry lips before speaking.
"Nothing, just my mind wandering."
She pursed her lips briefly, and then was back to work. She pulled a screwdriver off the tray of tools and brought it to a screw down near his foot. She tightened it, sending another shot of pain through him. This time, Ed couldn't stop a tiny gasp that got Winry staring at him again.
"Come on, Ed, it's not that bad," she said.
"You aren't the one sitting in this chair," Ed shot back.
"You're actually in good shape today," Winry said, putting down the screwdriver and then leaning down to check his toes. "Nothing broken, no scratches… I don't think I need to tell you how bad fixing those can be."
Ed shuddered as the memories hit him full force. The kind of pain these things have had him enduring, tightening one screw is nothing in comparison. He almost felt bad for complaining now.
"Anyway, we're almost done with your leg," Winry said, groping around her toolkit for something else. "I'd say another ten minutes. Then we'll do your arm and then you're free to go."
"Finally," Ed said, breathing a sigh of relief.
"Oh come on," Winry said playfully. "Don't tell me you don't like hanging out with me."
"I do," Ed said, perhaps a little too quickly. Winry didn't seem to notice, and Ed had to go on before the embarrassment could hit him too hard. "It's these check ups I don't like, they are such a pain."
"Stop breaking your automail and they won't be!" Winry said, much less jokingly than before. She turned his foot from side to side rather sharply, or was that Ed's imagination?
"It's not like I'm trying to break them, you know," Ed said, sullenly looking out the window again. It was darker now than when he last looked.
Winry picked up the screwdriver again, hovering it over the heel. Ed tried not to follow her movements, keeping his eyes on the large tree outside where Alphonse sat staring off into the distance with Den's head rested on his leg. Ed wondered what Al could be thinking about out there on his own, and then heard the clanking of metal as Winry dropped her screwdriver back on the tray. She'd ultimately decided it wasn't needed.
"Okay, your leg's done. Give me your arm."
Ed stretched it out wordlessly, and felt the pressure of Winry fingers on the metal forearm. She had no tools yet, her first step was always a cursory examination. She almost always found something out of place, and then out came the wrench, or the screwdriver, or one of those other little tools he didn't know the names of. He alternated between following her movements and watching the darkening skyline, all the while braced for whatever pain may come and thankful that it wasn't as bad as it could have been.
"I have to admit," Winry said, quite suddenly after several minutes of total silence. "You are one of the strongest customers I've ever had. Most people can't handle pain the way you do."
Ed's mouth twitched at little, stopping short of an actual smile.
"It's not so bad," he said, even though he knew it was. "But I've seen some of the people you deal with. They complain so much, it makes me wonder why they even bother getting autoamil."
Winry pulled out some measuring tape placed it up against his arm, first the forearm, and then the entire thing. She paused each time to record the results and then did the same for his flesh arm to compare. For the second time, she failed to answer promptly, taking so long, Ed started to get bored and the dark sky that revealed nothing became more interesting to him.
Then she shrugged.
"I think they just want to feel whole," she said without looking up. "They don't like the pain, but it's worth it in the end when they can live their lives again, and move freely without feeling limited."
Ed sharply looked back at her. She was zero'd in on his arm and didn't notice. He said nothing when she pulled both of them out and quietly commanded him to stretch his fingers as far as he could. He preformed every little exercise she asked to test the joints, and he didn't complain even once when she whipped out that wrench and got to twisting. He watched her, the one other person in the world he knew he couldn't do without, work diligently for the next half hour and didn't issue one more complaint.
When it was over, Ed was back in his room and the house was quiet. Al sat in the corner with his armored head resting on the wall. He never slept, but always looked relaxed this way, and he rarely spoke a word until morning came. It was as if he was afraid to wake up Ed when he fell asleep.
Ed sat down on the bed, facing away from his brother. In his hand was a crumbled up piece of paper with the official Military seal printed in the header. It had been in pristine condition when Mustang handed it to him yesterday morning, before it was mindlessly shoved into Ed's pants pocket. Written in fine lettering was the name of a small town due east, where a potential lead on the Philosopher's Stone could be found. Ed felt Al's presence behind him, he hadn't told him yet where they were going next.
He would in the morning after breakfast. Since the check up had gone much quicker than he'd thought, they should be able to leave that afternoon. Until then, he needed some sleep. He got under the covers and pressed his head into the pillows (so much more comfortable than the ones at hotels), wrapped up in warmth that even kept his automail from getting too cold. Ed flexed the fingers a few times and curled the toes, reminded of how very fortunate he was to have them, to do with what needed to be done.