A/N: What is this!? The Empress can write a Male!Edward?! Is that even possible?

Alright, don't everybody freak out at once. Yes, I can write Edward the way he's supposed to be written. I know, I know, shocking revelation, I'm sure. I just happen like *coughcoughhave-an-overwhelming-love-for-and-obssesion-with-coughcough* Fem!Ed (so much fun to write plus I'm female, so it's a bit easier for me as an author.)

I heard this song and it made me immediately think of Edward. He just can't stay still to save his life. Winry would try to keep him with her, even for a few moments, but then he'd be off again, always leaving her behind. So here's my introspective (and ANGSTY) look on that bit of their relationship.

Song: Colder Weather by Zac Brown Band

The cycle never seemed to end.

Even from the first days, his wandering soul could never stay put. To not move was to be dead. She had tried, oh, how she tried to keep him with her, even if it was for a few days.

(It never worked.)

But no, he'd go off, jaunty as he could be.

(She knew it was an act.)

He would come blasting back into her life, arm usually smashed to oblivion, cracking jokes and acting like he wasn't affected at all. Did he never seem to notice how much time passed between his visits? Weeks, even months, would pass before any sign came from the brothers.

(He never seemed to pay any heed to how she grew up in his absences.)

She'd keep her angry mask on, maybe hit him a few times with a wrench. The familiar routine would help keep the pain away, even if it was just for a few days. It would only delay the inevitable agony her heart would be put through. As soon as his red jacket and gold braid would vanish in the distance, however, she'd lock herself in her room fighting to compose herself.

(No matter how much it happened, it always hurt when he'd leave without looking back.)

Locking away her growing feelings helped keep her sane as he ran all over the country, saving people, fighting and nearly dying, and all the while searching desperately for a way to save his brother and himself from their mistake.

(She wanted to help. Why wouldn't he let her?)

Every brush with death aged her. He laughed it off, never doubting he would always come out on top in a fight. She wanted him to stop being so reckless. She'd ask him (beg him) to stay safe. Her worries would be brushed aside but not assuaged. There were days she feared he would be returned to her in a box.

(Wasn't her love strong enough to make him stay?)

Even after he 'proposed' to her, his itchy feet dragged him over hill and dale, always in search of more answers. He loved her, and yet he would leave her behind. He never tried to explain his gypsy soul to her, he didn't think she would understand his need to always be on the move.

(But she did understand. He never saw how much he hurt her when she was left behind.)

He was a rambling man. It was in his blood. Sometimes she would grow wishful, wondering what it would be like if he would just settle down with her. Would he be the same man she fell in love with if he stayed?

(She didn't think so.)

All his actions seemed to say "I don't want you" but her heart screamed "I need you."

(She would drop everything at his word if he would only take her with him.)

She never got to see his regret, his overwhelming grief, that last time he came home.

(It would have shattered her heart in two.)

He had returned from a long journey, exhausted, dusty, but eager to see her again. A small box hidden in the depths of his pockets whispered his almost desperate hope that his half-hearted, childish 'proposal' would be answered positively again. Now that he was doing it right. Even if ten years had passed since that day.

(He never expected her to be gone.)

She had always been there at the door, greeting him with a smile when he deigned to return home. Her smiling face was long gone this time, though. He had come back too late. An illness, a fatal one, only a few weeks before. They had no way of contacting him.

(The winter weather seemed even colder than it ever had.)

He would never be able to tell her "I'll see you again."

(He wished he had never left her.)

He never said "I love you."

(His regret would eat at him for the rest of his life.)

Years marched inexorably on.

(He didn't have enough of them with her.)

An old man stood in front of a worn-down grave underneath a copse of pine trees. It looked the way he felt; old, broken, and tired, so very tired. Snow dusted the ground all around him. A twinge of a half-forgotten pain in his left leg reminded him why he had finally returned. Since that first visit, he had never been able to bring himself to return. It had been fifty years since he had been shown her grave. Fifty years to the day.

(It felt like yesterday.)

"It's a shame about the weather, Win. I'd rather our meeting be in the spring, you know? Winter's fine though. Anything to see you again. I'm so old now the cold doesn't bother me. Soon we'll be together, eh? I really can't wait anymore. I'm so tired, Winry. I'm tired of running." He smoothed a wrinkled hand over the still curved top of the marker. A faint, loving smile curled his lips upward. He had missed her so much. Life just wasn't the same without his girl.

(Even though she had never truly been his.)

A cold breeze blew into his nose. The old man stiffened. Was that…? It was. He could smell her perfume again. She'd never been one for grand gestures, but once in a vain effort to placate her wrath, he had given her a small bottle of mint scented perfume. Every time he visited afterward, he'd be able to smell it on her.

(It was a memory he always carried with him.)

"I can see you every time I close my eyes. Did you know that? Of course you did. You always knew everything there was to know about me. You've haunted my thoughts for seventy-eight years, Winry Rockbell. Now I think it's time to rest."

One last smile for his girl.

His golden head long gone gray fell with the rest of his body into the fresh snow.

His restless blood stilled for the first time in his life.

The gypsy, rambling man finally came to a rest in front of the grave of his only love.

His travels were over.

His winding road ended.

No more leaving.

Edward and Winry saw each other again in the colder weather of the end of the year. They were together again and no wandering would ever be able to change that now.