"Is too."

"Is not."

The two childhood friends glared at each other, the tension building in the air between them. The longer he stared the more he noticed the little things about her; although her face was scrunched up in annoyance and her eyebrows were furrowed, a curious light flickered in her breath-takingly blue eyes.

Edward's face flushed a pale pink color as his heartbeat began to rise slightly. He diverted his gaze to his pathetic stump of a left leg and cleared his throat. He couldn't help but think of all of the times he'd sat in that familiar room with Winry right there next to him, plotting out measurements and tinkering with his auto-mail arm and leg.

"What's wrong-are you ready to admit defeat?" Winry asked triumphantly, smugly resting her oil dappled hands on her hips.

"No!" Edward shot back, turning his embarrassment into defiance, "Cooking, yes that includes baking, isn't a science…it's…a hobby!"

Winry laid the wrench that she'd been wielding down on the table, Edward flinching as she did so, and almost knocked over her reliable wooden chair as she abruptly stood up. Ed watched in surprise as she wordlessly turned her back to him and began to walk away from her work station.

"Wait, Winry! I didn't mean it, really, come back!" despite his attempts she coldly strode past him and into the next room. Edward scowled and let out a long sigh of defeat. "Damnit," he muttered looking down at his useless half of a leg.

Two or three excruciatingly long minutes ticked by before Edward began to get bored of sitting in the silent room. "Al?" he called out hopefully before pausing to listen for some sign that his younger brother was in the house. When he was answered with silence he tried again, "Alphonse?"

A door creaked in the next room over but other than that he couldn't hear a thing. Determined to escape his boredom, he decided to find Winry himself and make amends for his comment, although he knew that he was right.

Edward pushed himself up off of the couch onto his unsteady leg, grateful that she hadn't taken his auto-mail arm yet. After what seemed like a lifetime he was able to meekly hop to the doorway and down the hall, following the sounds of metal clattering together.

By the time Ed reached the kitchen the muscles of his good leg burned with effort. He leaned against the frame of the doorway and took a break from trying to catch his breath to look up. His erratic heart jumped in surprise at the sight of Winry, her face and hands peppered with flower, standing in front of the rustic stove, her pale pink lips forming a small but content smile.

Why…

A hint of sorrow tinged his thoughts.

…do I always seem to make her so sad?

Winry turned to him, finally acknowledging his presence. She didn't say a word. A familiar and warmly sweet aroma hit Ed like one of Winry's notorious wrenches and he realized what she had just put in the oven. "Apple Pie," he smiled.

She turned away from him and wiped her hands on the stainless white apron that she wore.

"Winry…look, about what I said, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings I was just..." he paused, trying to find the right words to finish such a fragile apology, "I wanted to share my opinion with you."

She raised her eyebrows, skeptically placing her hands on her hips, "Is that so? It didn't sound that way to me. If you're allowed to share your opinion then why can't I voice mine?"

Edward glanced away guiltily.

"In cooking you have elements and compounds just like alchemy-"

"They're ingredients," Ed corrected.

Winry sighed, "Just hear me out, will you?"

"Fine." He muttered while folding his arms across his chest.

"The ingredients are made up of elements, everything is, Ed. Anyway when you cook you're combing all of these together to make something new. There's observation, a good cook always observes the dish they prepare. There's a hypothesis involved…sort of, like trying to guess what will happen if you add something new to the recipe…and then there's experimentation with different ingredients, and finally a conclusion-whether it's good or bad. See? It is a science!"

He gazed at her for a moment, taking it all in. He knew that she had a point but was hesitant to so abruptly admit it. He reluctantly gave her an answer, "I see your point but…I don't think it should be an entire field of science…more like a pseudoscience."

She raised her eyebrows, "A pseudoscience?"

He nodded, "It's kind of alike a compromise."

Her pale blue eyes lit up with happiness, "It's a deal then. Cooking is a pseudoscience."

He smiled and attempted to hobble over to the kitchen table on his wobbling leg. Surprise tingled through his veins as Winry wrapped her arm around his waist and ducked her head under his arm so that it was around her shoulder.

"Uh…Winry, what are you doing?"

"Helping you, silly, after all I kind of feel like a jerk for leaving you alone…" she replied with a small smile. He accepted her help gratefully, relief flooding through him as he finally sat back down on a chair beside the table. She let out a small giggle and pulled up a seat beside him.

"What?" he asked, perplexed, his skin still tingling from where her hand had rested against the side of his bare chest.

"You look pretty beat, Ed."

He scowled, "You are so not cute right now."

Winry smiled, propped her elbow on the table, and rested her head in her upturned palm, thinking, does that mean he usually thinks I'm cute?

"Al went with Grandma and Den down to the train station to pick up Mr. Armstrong; I hear he's coming to escort the two of you back to Central when I've finished with your adjustments," she informed him quietly, "It's going to be weird…we were getting used to having the two of you around again…"

Ed leaned back in his chair with a smile, "yeah…Al and I were starting to get comfortable here too...but…"

He didn't have to finish his sentence, she already knew. They had to get their bodies back.

Tears began to swell in Winry's bright eyes and he feared that they would spill over and streak down her flour-dappled cheeks. Yet they didn't. His golden eyes filled with sympathy, as he thought of her.

I wish I didn't always make you sad…

"So," Ed began, cutting through the tension in the air with his aloof tone, "when will the pie be ready?"

Winry sniffled and then smiled, "Ed, do you ever think about anything besides food?"

He longed to tell her the truth, to tell her that there was something-no, someone, whom he thought of much more than food. But instead he settled with a simple reply,

"What? I'm hungry…"