Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist doesn't belong to me. If it did, all my stories would be made real on television. -evil laughter-

Author's Note:

Okay...this is weird.

Remember when I said that this was a oneshot? Well guess what, it became a two-shot. Maybe even a three-shot, if I'm up to it.

Now, the first reviewer who said this deserved a continuation was SistersGrimm. I had politely refused her request, saying that I already had too much on my procrastinatin' plate...but then three more people said the same thing, and I was like, "Hmmm..."

And today, while working on the second chapter of On the Account (yes people, first chapter is coming out soon- just needs to be beta'ed first, and then by next week it should be ready! :) ), I decided to "take a break" and ended up writing...this. I'm rather surprised at how long this is...but I'm sure no one is going to complain about that, so I sure won't. ;)

I would like to thank those who had reviewed this oneshot-turned-twoshot, for I was really insecure about this. My thanks to SistersGrimm, yoporock, Miss Woodford, waterdrops, Raining insanity, chibifeather, and GlyNchaN. Your reviews were very kind and uplifting and polite and a whole lot of WHOA. :)

I also want to give Cerulean San credit for introducing to me the idea of Edward as a duke (courtesy of one of her rps). I don't know where she got that idea from or if she thought up the idea herself, but she is the first person I heard that idea from, so yeah.

Well now, off with the chatting and on with the reading! Enjoy! ;)

His ever seeing her was mere coincidence.

He had sneaked away again, an action that his brother would most certainly have tried to scold him for if he caught wind of it. But his duties were tedious that day, the work was piling more and more, and he wanted- no, needed- a break. And of course he wouldn't have been able to get one by calling together a horse and carriage…

The solution was simple, and he accepted it: Sneak out. Given his boyhood adventures, he was all too good at doing so- that set of ragged clothes he put aside for occasions like this served him well.

So he was meandering through the town, witnessing the lives of his citizens; his face was carefully shielded from both sun and stares by his hood. He was rather hungry, and there was a stall of dumplings on the other side of the market square that had looked especially appealing at the moment-

"Ah!"

And a bump had jolted him out of his plans.

"Oh sir, I'm sorry…here, are you okay?"

He was especially fortunate that he was disguised- a duke landing on his backside in the middle of the market square would have fueled the town gossip for weeks to come. Even so, he was feeling rather crabby about the whole thing until a hand shoved in his view. He looked up…

Into the bluest eyes he had ever seen.

For a minute there he was transfixed, unmoving. Then he pushed it all aside and went back to his usual grumpy self, standing up without accepting the woman's offer of help. "Go away," he had said to her, sour.

To his surprise, he received a vicious tug on the arm.

"Is that all you have to say?" she had yelled. She shook a finger in his face, and it was only then that he saw in her other arm what she had nearly dropped- a great bundle of metal. He remembered wondering how the woman could bear holding such a load in just one arm…

"Is this how you treat those who give you a helping hand? Why, I bet even the duke has better manners than you!"

At first he was considering just tugging his arm out of her grasp and moving away, but that one statement had put him on the defensive. He had turned to her, his eyes narrowed and ready for a fight, chivalry be damned.

"What did you just say? Is this how you treat those who give you a mean word?"

The woman snorted- totally unladylike, he had noted- and placed a hand on her hip. "What I said is that a little 'thanks' would have been a better thing to say. You should try it sometime." And before he could even respond to that accusation she just flicked that yellow hair of hers and stalked off towards a smithie not far from where they stood, slamming the door behind her.

He had fumed there for a good ten minutes before stomping back to his manor.

For the rest of that day his mood was unpredictable and obstinate. His patience was short, his temper even shorter, and his hearing had somehow cleared so that he heard that word much more than usual, which did even worse for his steaming anger. It was a day that he was sure all his servants would rather forget, and he had gone to bed with smoke pouring from his ears.

But as the days passed, he found that he just couldn't let it- or rather, her- out of his head. He would be signing documents, and her voice would be telling him off for all the papers he tried to be lazy about. He would be dozing for an extra hour or two, and he would wake up to that unladylike snort of hers. Was everything he did something she disapproved of?

And then he would smack himself. 'Crazy,' he thought. 'I don't even know the wench.'

It didn't take long for him to sneak out again.

This time he knew where he was going: the blacksmith shop right near the stall of apples, which was across the stall of dumplings on the other side of the square. And this time, he had gotten the dumplings first.

So he had arrived at the blacksmith's, hid in a corner, and munched on his dumplings, and waited. It took more out of him than he would like to admit to just wait there. His head kept telling him how stupid this was, that she might not even live here, and what would Al say if he saw him like this? Probably laugh his butt off, that's what.

"Winry! I need two sets of horseshoes by the next hour! Think you can handle them?"

"Sure thing, grandma!"

That voice- it was her. Being as sneaky as possible, he had maneuvered himself until he could get a direct view of the window without getting caught.

That flick of corn yellow hair, those orbs of blue- yep, it certainly was her. But…

What was she wearing?

Right at that moment he knew that if he was caught, he was a goner. He didn't know much about grandmothers, but he was certain that they did not want men seeing their granddaughters in such…attire. And the granddaughter herself…

She was dressed in purple trousers that hung a little about her hips, a funny knot tied at the waist. And did she really think that mere strip of black cloth on her torso was a shirt?

His face had heated, his mouth drier than a desert. That shape, that skin, those curves-

He had never seen so much skin on a woman before.

After he was able to get his fingers to stop trembling and his eyes to stop focusing on certain places, he was curious to see that she was actually doing men's work. His eyes had observed her heating the metal, then shaping it with her hammer, then cooling it, then starting the whole process again-

And by then his eyes had seen too much sweat and sheen and he had to get out of there before he embarrassed himself.

But he came back- many, many times. He would disappear right before lunch, or right after. He would one hour be in his office signing documents, and then the next hour watching her not only work, but live life.

He found out many things about her. She had a dog named Den, who she loved dearly. She enjoyed apple pies, and enjoyed them even more when she made them herself. (He would often wonder if that was the reason why the apple farmer set up his stall near her home.) The reason why she was a blacksmith was to remember her father, who was also a blacksmith but had died when she was little. She had a locket with a picture of both him and her mother- also dead- inside.

He saw that she was not only a woman of strength and vibrancy, but also a woman of sadness and tears. There were times when her eyes would dim and she would hold that locket to herself, clutching it as though it were her very heart. But he saw no weakness in this, for he was just like she was- alone but for a relative and a pet (cat) for family.

The more he observed her, the more he found that she was pulling even more into his life. More often than not he would see blue eyes startling him out of sleep, feel strong hands tugging him out of bed. On rainy, empty days he would find himself wishing he had a certain someone to talk to- or rather, argue with. He knew for a fact that if they ever met face to face again there would be some friction between them.

He was haunted, and he knew it. But he wasn't going down so easily. He wanted company, right? Well, why not have a party, or a ball? He would have all the company he needed.

…And she might be a part of it.

Invitations were made, preparations were provided. To invite, there were ladies and lords, the people of his province- and of course his brother. For entertainment, there were fire-eaters, magicians, fortunetellers. For music, there were violinists, pianists…and there also had to be food and service and decorations.

Especially the food.

The night of the ball, he was nervous. He wore his favorite suit, made sure there was no milk in any of the dishes, greeted his brother with the usual warmth and petty fights that came with their brotherhood, and he was still nervous. Even that irritating Lord Mustang had noticed how distracted he was, how he would speak for one second and then look around the next…that man would never let him live it down.

After two hours he had given up. She probably had a lot of work to do, or her grandmother may have thought the whole thing was just too much botherdash to bother with. He wouldn't know; he had forgotten to check on her house to see if she was coming or not.

But then his eyes had caught sight of a lone figure twirling in the middle of the floor. A figure who, thanks to all his observations, he recognized all too well.

'Her.'

In one fluid moment he found himself behind her, in another dancing with her. It happened so fast that he honestly didn't remember lifting up his feet to be beside her in the first place.

But there he was, dancing with her. For the first time he was able to feel how tough her hands really were, and he found he liked that toughness. He was able to feel her warmth, and he found that it was able to heat his own cheeks as well.

To both his surprise and relief, he still had his confidence, a confidence that grew when he realized that she was the one embarrassed here. So he asked her questions, gave her laughs…and sure enough, there was still the friction.

However, he didn't mind. He had yearned for this kindle to burn, and this proved to be just the right spark to let it flame.

Author's Note:

If anyone here is wondering why so many of my stuff is updated recently, it's because I REALLY am trying to make this summer a productive one for fanfics. Come senior year (yes people i shall be a senior; guess you can try figuring out my age now, huh?), my life will be quite hectic, and I don't want my fanfics to be left in the dust...so I am trying my very best to write as much as possible during the summer. :)

And now, for the more important part: Don't forget to review, please! ;P