Author's Note: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist or any of it's characters . . . but I wish I owned Ed. I'm not particularly sure on the spelling of that chick's name (Marda) so work with me here!
Chapter 1: Winding Down
Edward coughed hoarsely, trying to clear the dust from his throat. It was raw enough from all the yelling he had done fighting with Al, then calling for him afterwards. Although thankful that they weren't walking to Ishbal, he was still suspicious of Al's helpful acquaintance. Marda had no reason to be generous, and their journeys had taught them well enough that she would want something in return. Most likely, something beyond equivalency. He had less and less reason to believe that damned principle anymore. Al and his own conscience had goaded Ed into playing the Good Samaritan nearly wherever they went, and for what?
Another lead, borrowed from those who had suffered under traces left by the Philosopher's Stone. Effort for info seemed equal enough as a notion, but the reality of it always forced them to remember what they had become. A walking reprimand for playing God.
Edward hacked again, growing more frustrated with each breath. Leaning against the right side of the buggy, he stretched his legs out towards Al, who had to huddle, pulling his knees to his chest to even fit on the motorcycle drawn cart. "Are you okay?" Alphonse's voice rang in his steel body. Having no lungs or throat to be irritated, he had forgotten the sensation.
"It's all this damned road dust. Like the desert's trying to eat the rest of the world." Ed could hear the airborne grains of sand scratching the inside of each cavity in the armor, blowing in and out through openings where human skin should be exposed.
"I know," Al sighed. "It makes me miss the river, even though I was just there." Ed smiled softly, eyes downcast in one of his few moments of unguarded nostalgia.
"It seems you're by that river wherever we go." Alphonse cocked his head to one side, confused but unwilling to prod. Ed continued without encouragement. "That's where I found you today, after we fought. And this time you actually had somewhere to go." His words were riddled with guilt. Turning his gaze towards the setting sun, Ed berated it for taking for so long. How he hated that vain star.
It was shining its hardest the day their lives took that first misguided turn. The moment they knew they were losing her. It should have rained then. It should have the day she died. It should have the day she was buried. It was always supposed to rain on those days so they wouldn't have to remember every detail the nine out of ten days that the sun would shine. Moreover, as further mockery, it would reflect off his substitute limbs if left uncovered. The sun would do its best to blind and deter him.
"Brother?" Edward was pulled from his lapse of hatred by Al's pleading tone.
"Sorry. Got caught up in the sunset." Wanting to forget his grudge, Ed chose to relive their recent skirmish instead. "I'd rather have you give me a beating every day than you be stuck like this."
Alphonse still took responsibility for what had transpired, knowing that all of his brother's heartfelt efforts to resurrect their mother would only lead to disaster. And he could not bring himself to be strong enough to stop him. Even through the concrete walls below the earth in that basement, he could feel the rain. And he knew that that place would become a tomb.
Ed wheezed again and followed it up with a discontent grumble and a curse under his breath. What would he give to feel Ed's slight and temporary pain? To know that he was still human? He suddenly wished that he had innards for the sand to tear its way through. Edward's hair lashed violently about his face and eyes. Al wondered how long his hair would be now if he still had his body. Ed's golden tresses reminded him of Winry.
He had told his brother that as children they had bickered over who would marry her and over that subject was when he had always fought his hardest. Were it an option, he would do the same now. Recollecting this to Ed reassured that his memories were real, and therefore, so was he. As for thinking on that at the present, it was his belief that two women belonged in every boy's life: a wife and a mother.
Having lost the latter, he wished that Winry were around more often to compensate. Not for marriage, simply companionship. The Elrics had little room for romance. Though few and far between, Al cherished the moments they did spend with their childhood friend. It disappointed him that Ed didn't seem to share the same appreciation. He didn't voice his thoughts often for fear of his elder brother's disapproval, but this needed setting straight.
"Brother," he began tentatively, "you miss Winry, don't you?" Ed turned his head sharply, as the strange question had immediately caught his attention. His brows were furrowed not in the usual anger, but the rare bewilderment.
"What the hell kind of question is that?" he nearly shouted, telling himself it was necessary to be heard over the roaring engine and wind. The conversation was going exactly the way that Al had feared. It was true what Winry had said, that Ed kept trying to shut everything out. This was all the reason he needed to summon the courage to face his brother. It was for Edward's own good.
"Just tell me you do." Al refused to back down. It was going to be a long trip, and this was the best thing he could think of to pass the time. Ed realized this, and his mind frantically sought a way to change the subject.
Wait a minute, he mused. Why should I be afraid of a question? Ed replied quickly, hoping to show control of the conversation.
"What does it mean to you whether I miss her or not?" He smirked, sure of his advantage over Al's weak composure. Expecting no response at all, he was taken aback by Al's swift answer.
"Because she deserves it." The words had obviously stung. Ed's honey colored eyes glossed over, lips barely parted, and uneven shoulders fell noticeably. Drawing his knees up to his chin, he turned his back to his brother and only constant companion. Edward let a small whimper escape his throat, knowing it couldn't be heard over Marda's powerful motorcycle.
Careful not to let Al see, he fished out his pocket watch and slowly opened it. The words were still there. He thought himself foolish for thinking that they would not be. Still he remembered how difficult it had been to inscribe them, his automail fingers continually slipping from the knife handle. It had been hard enough relearning how to write and use eating utensils. But being able to see it there now somehow made it worth the frustration and self-disgust. All Al's talk of Winry had directed his thoughts most unwillingly to the day she had discovered his little secret.
Of course he'd been furious that Winry had pried it open after her earlier attempts had been thwarted. But at the same time it was an unexpected relief. Even though unplanned he found himself with a confidant. and the weight of being the sole bearer of such a secret was, to some extent, lifted. If it could be helped, Al would never know. He had enough to suffer through due to his brother's pride and first desperate act of madness. Winry knew now whether either of them liked it or not. And strangely enough, that bothered him less now than it ever did.
As he thought on this he noticed that his brother wasn't pressing the issue. Apparently he had said all he was going to say, having warranted the reaction he did. Edward's silence.