Amoroso

AN: The penultimate chapter! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist isn't mine. Something mentioned later, though, is mine. You'll guess when you see it.

CHAPTER TEN: Tenerezza

When Winry awoke, she was first conscious of a comforting warmth enveloping her shoulders and back. Then she realized that her face was pressed against the edge of a toolbox – it hurt, she noted with dim surprise. She lifted her head off the table and patted her cheek, wincing as the raw, sensitive skin reacted. Why was I sleeping on top of a toolbox? she wondered distantly. This isn't my bedroom.

She sat up straight and felt the warmth slip from her shoulders. Turning, she noticed a quilt on the floor. Was that on me? I can't remember…

Oh! Winry took in her surroundings, her cheeks flushing slightly. She was in her workshop – she'd fallen asleep at her table, and someone must have put the quilt on her so that she wouldn't be cold. A faint smile played on her face as memories of the previous night trickled into her brain.

After her confrontation of sorts with Edward, he'd insisted that she go back to bed. She'd been touched, but she told him that she wanted to work on the lullaby for a little longer. She'd be fine, she had argued, she wouldn't stress herself out again. She knew better.

Edward had been peeved, but he'd eventually given up and left her, reminding her gruffly not to stay up all night. The fact that he'd left her would have annoyed any other woman, but Winry was truly grateful, because it meant that he trusted her. In his own way, he had tried to tell her that he knew she wouldn't work herself too hard again. He believed in her.

I must have fallen asleep after that, Winry realized. And he must have come back to put the quilt on me. How long was he awake, I wonder?

She crept out of the workroom and up the stairs, carefully avoiding the one stair that creaked. Padding down the corridor, she peered into Edward and Alphonse's room, and then smiled at the sight she saw.

Alphonse always slept quite normally – either on his back or on his side, sometimes stretched out and sometimes curled in a ball. But Edward… he never slept the same way two nights in a row. Sometimes his arms were flung out in different directions, sometimes he'd reverse his orientation on the bed, and sometimes he'd even sleep belly-down.

Last night, however, had obviously taken a lot out of him. He was on his side, with one hand under his pillow and the other hanging off the bed. He was snoring softly, and as she watched, he muttered and shifted restlessly.

Winry's heart went out to him. Even if she hadn't been so deeply in love with him, she would have fallen for him right then – because the trusting openness in his face made him so beautiful, and made her heart swell with tenderness for him.

She closed the door and returned to her own room.

Edward's eyes refused to open. His body was awake, he was aware of his surroundings, but his eyes just did not want to open. He grumbled unintelligibly and sat up slowly, shaking his head. Eventually, his reluctant eyes opened.

He sighed deeply. Edward was used to going without much sleep, but over the past few weeks, he'd gotten accustomed to getting at least nine or ten hours of sleep. Last night had been exhausting, but not physically. Winry had had to open up to him, but he'd had to open himself up to her, too, in order to comfort her. It wasn't easy, he realized, being strong for another person. He admired the girl even more now that he knew what it was like.

"Good morning, brother." Alphonse was already dressed and perched on the edge of his mattress. "You're up a bit late today, aren't you?" He grinned, and Edward drank in the sight greedily – Alphonse's hair, glinting in the sunlight, the rosy flush in his cheeks, and the playful spark in his eyes. It was as if Alphonse had reverted back to a normal teenager once his body had been returned. Almost, but not quite – Edward knew that there was still a mature thoughtfulness to the boy that no other teenager possessed. Alphonse had had to deal with hell throughout the years, just like he had – the only difference was, Alphonse had handled everything in a better, more natural way.

"Yeah," Edward finally yawned in reply. "Had a late night." Alphonse's eyebrows rose in interest, and Edward scowled, waving one hand in the air. "None of your business," he added gruffly. Alphonse didn't look too unhappy at his brother's unwillingness to share the information. On the contrary, he just shrugged and smiled.

"Okay, okay. I think granny saved some breakfast for you. Are you hungry?"

As if on cue, Edward's stomach rumbled alarmingly. Edward grinned and scratched the back of his head.

"I think that's a yes."

Alphonse laughed and slid off the bed. "C'mon, then. Granny's out, and Winry's still asleep. I didn't think she'd sleep even later than you!"

Edward laughed uncomfortably, his mind unwillingly flashing to Winry's tear stained face of the previous night. It was good that she was sleeping, he decided. She definitely needed the rest.

Alphonse sat at the table and watched his brother as Edward located the food and heated it up over the fire, studiously ignoring the innocent-looking milk carton. Alphonse laughed – in some ways, his brother would never truly grow up. But as he watched Edward moving around the kitchen with a natural grace, he thought of something and absently voiced it out loud.

"You know, you could be a great family man one day, big brother."

Edward froze, and then yelped as his flesh hand came in contact with the lit flame. Swearing under his breath, he quickly extinguished it and grabbed his plate, marching over to the table.

"What do you mean by that?" he demanded, looking fierce. Alphonse felt startled – he'd meant his observation as a compliment!

"I mean… I don't know. You've become oddly domestic since we came back to Resembool. It's not a bad thing, it's just… new."

Edward grumbled and swore and grumbled some more, but Alphonse could detect a small bit of… satisfaction? Happiness? in his brother's eyes.

"Brother, you forgot your milk."

"To hell with milk!"

"Ed!"

Winry was dressed and ready. She'd gotten up past breakfast time and had jumped straight into lunch, eating twice as much as usual to make up for the lack of her morning meal. Edward had loudly muttered something about gluttony being a sin, and she'd shot him a dark look that had, surprisingly, managed to get him to shut up. Alphonse had sniggered into his plate, and Pinako had looked enormously amused.

"What? I said I was sorry about that glutton comment," Edward complained, knowing that that wasn't what Winry had come to talk to him about. Sure enough, Winry folded her arms and glared at him.

"I don't care about that, stupid! When do you plan on learning your piece?"

"Huh?" Edward blinked. "Oh. Oh." He'd almost forgotten, he realized with a start. Everything had been so crazy since the previous night that he hadn't gotten a chance to look through the pieces Winry had given him.

"Okay, okay. Give me a minute," he harrumphed, looking around and catching sight of the stack of papers on the dining table. "I still need to decide."

"Ed," Winry sighed in exasperation. Edward looked up at her and frowned.

"What? It's not exactly that easy! How did you choose what piece you learned first, huh?"

"I didn't. Mom did. And it's not that hard, either, Ed. Just choose one!" Winry waved her hand impatiently. "I'm going to the guest bedroom."

Edward pretended to shuffle through the papers to keep his eyes away from hers. After the previous night, he expected Winry to be more gentle and fragile. Instead, she was the same as ever – almost worse, since she no longer treated him as kindly as she had since Al and he had returned. She treated him like she had before their lives had been turned upside down – like he was still that little Ed, searching for a Stone that he would never create. He felt… well, he felt a little put-off, to be honest. He'd thought the encounter had been something that would strengthen their relationship – instead, it had just brought them back to square one.

Edward sighed and picked up the papers, getting up and moving towards the guest bedroom. He'd just choose the first one off the top of the pile. Winry was right – it wasn't that hard.

He entered the room and sat down on the piano bench, acutely aware of Winry's gaze on him. When he turned to look at her, the expression in her eyes was puzzling – half anticipation and half irritation. What did she have to be irritated about? Edward fumed.

"Did you choose?" Winry's voice was expectant. Edward heard Alphonse's light footsteps as his younger brother passed the bedroom, but did not enter.

"Uh, yeah, I guess so," he replied sullenly. Winry made a clicking noise with her tongue.

"Tell me!" she pressed. Edward shifted and looked down at the pages in his hands.

"I… I want to learn…"

Two Waltzes, the page in front of him read. Edward stared at it for a few seconds, his fingers tightening around the sheet.

But he didn't want to learn this piece. He wanted to learn a piece that was special, that meant something to him and to Winry.

"I want to learn auntie Sara's lullaby, Winry."

Winry froze. Edward could feel her shocked gaze, and immediately regretted being so bold.

"Ed…" Winry looked like she was struggling for words. "Ed, please… you know I… I haven't finished it… I don't know it…"

"Yes, you do," Edward interrupted, firmly but politely. "You do." And he began to hum under his breath.

Winry's lovely blue eyes widened fractionally as Edward struggled through a few notes, trying to remember the rise and fall of Sara Rockbell's voice when she had sung the lullaby to three very sleepy children.

"Hmm hmm hmm… far away from here…"

Winry's hands crept up her face until they were covering her mouth. Tears began to shine in her eyes, and Edward stopped, worrying that he'd taken it too far – until he heard Winry's voice singing the next line.

"Across the raging sea," she whispered, and the tears spilled over. "Oh, Ed…"

"I'm sorry." Edward immediately felt awkward. "I didn't… I just thought…"

Hesitantly, almost dreamily, one of Winry's hands fell away from her face and landed on the keys of the piano. She played a single chord, three notes together, and then the other hand joined the first, and she was picking out a melody on the keys – soft and irresistibly beautiful.

"I…" She played an off note and winced, dropping her hands into her lap. "I…" She seemed so lost, so childlike, that Edward leaned forward and hugged her impulsively.

"You knew it after all, didn't you, Winry?"

She nodded slowly, seemingly unaware of the tears still dripping down her face. "I… oh, Ed… thank you."

Although it was the second time she'd said it in the last twenty-four hours, Edward's face still warmed up. "You're welcome," he replied gruffly. Winry wrapped her arms around him and held him close for a few seconds, and strangely enough, Edward didn't feel awkward or self-conscious at all.

After a while, Winry slipped away from him. "Now, get out."

Edward's face froze in an expression of total bewilderment. Winry laughed at the look on his face and shook her head.

"I need to finish it before I can teach it to you. Now, out!" She shooed him out of the guest bedroom and shut the door. Edward was left staring at a blank expanse of honey-colored wood and wondered if Winry had ever learnt the meaning of the word 'gratitude'.

"Ed?" Winry opened the door and peeped out. "Ed, it's done! You can come in now!"

"Eh?" Edward walked over from the kitchen. "Is it, now?" He sounded slightly sour, Winry noted, and felt guilty. She couldn't help it – she'd really appreciated Edward's encouragement and his help, but she had needed to complete the song alone.

"Mhm," she replied, stepping aside to let him in. "Still want to learn it?"

"Of course," Edward replied, a little stung by the implications in her question. "But geez, that was fast."

"Yeah… it just all sort of came back to me," Winry admitted, her face flushed red. "Sorry about kicking you out, by the way. But I needed to do this by myself."

"Yeah, okay," Edward shrugged. It made sense. Her mother's lullaby had been something she'd slaved over for quite some time – it made sense that she'd wanted to keep it private for a while.

Still didn't help ease the sting of rejection, though.

Winry picked up a single sheet and offered it to Edward. He took it and let his eyes skim over the notes, picking out familiar patterns in the music. In his head, he could hear auntie Sara, singing tenderly.

"You got it," he said softly, still looking down at the music. "You really got it, Winry."

"Well, you helped. A lot." Winry sounded slightly embarrassed, and Edward wondered at that. Winry was always so proud of her auto-mail, and she was never coy or shy when people complimented her on it. This lullaby, while it was intensely personal, should not have provoked such a response in her…

Or maybe, Edward realized, there was something about music that made it even more personal than any tangible object. Maybe it was the fact that different people played the same notes in different ways. Whatever it was, the fact that Winry had finally recreated her mother's lullaby had certainly made her happier than any auto-mail could.

"Congrats." Edward was alarmed to find out that his voice was unnaturally husky. "So, um, shall we play it?"

"Come on." Winry gestured him over to the piano. Edward took a seat, and for once, Winry did not sit beside him. She stood behind him, leaning over slightly so that her chin was almost on his shoulder.

"Okay. Just play the right hand first. I didn't add any dynamics into this piece – like soft, loud, or anything – because it's supposed to be consistently soft. Play it smoothly, okay? Don't detach the notes. That's what those arches over long sections of the piece mean – it's a slur, which means you play the notes together smoothly. When a slur ends, you're supposed to lift your hand, and I think you should still do that, but make it as inconspicuous as possible –"

"Winry!" Edward interrupted her rambling. "Relax. Take a breath."

Winry laughed, looking sheepish. "Sorry, sorry. Okay, go ahead. I'll correct you if needed."

Edward nodded and began to pick out the melody with his right hand. Winry put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it encouragingly. He continued to the end of the page and then started over, this time with the other hand.

Winry pointed out timing mistakes to him, and occasionally reminded him that it was A that came after G, not C. Edward played slowly, unused to jumping from note to note so swiftly, but he could hear the music even when he played hand separately.

The sky was beginning to darken when Winry finally decided he was ready to put his hands together. Edward frowned at her and muttered something about needing everything to be perfect, but Winry just smacked him on the shoulder and told him to shut up and play.

Edward complied, albeit with more mutinous muttering. As before, he played slowly, trying to divide his attention between the left and right hand. He played out the melody with his right hand while the left added harmonizing chords. Winry was silent behind him as he played.

"That's B, not A," she interrupted him near the end. Edward looked down at his fingers and sure enough, his fourth finger was on B instead of A.

"You did well. Why don't you start from the beginning?" Winry suggested. Edward sighed and returned to the top of the page, a little annoyed with how much he would have to practice the piece before Winry was satisfied.

He began again. The beginning was a short introduction before the actual lullaby started. This time, Edward hummed along with the introduction and sang softly when the lullaby began.

Far away from here,
Over the raging sea,
Battles rage, but do not fear
For you are safe here with me.

He wasn't too surprised when Winry joined him for the next verse, her voice sounding uncannily like her mother's.

Far away from here,
Over the quiet sea,
Someone wishes you were near
For there's a wonderful sight to see.

Her voice rose and fell, pitched a little higher than his own, and he marveled at the sound they made together. It was like two notes being played at the same time to form a chord – both distinct sounds, but they blended together beautifully.

Winry moved to sit next to him, and Edward stared at her out of the corner of his eye. She looked beautiful, so serene and peaceful as she sang. His fingers moved over the keys, slow but sure.

Far away from here,
Over the shining sea,
There's a voice, so very dear
Calling "Some things are meant to be".

"Some things are meant to be," Winry echoed, watching Edward's fingers as he played the last, lingering notes. He watched her as well, something wistful and sad throbbing in his chest.

Were they meant to be?

AN: I need to tell you – I am not a poet. I'm pretty bad at poetry, actually, so writing Sara Rockbell's lullaby was difficult. Still, I spent a lot of time over it, and although I'm still piecing together the music(I'm that obsessed with this story… pathetic…), the words are very dear to me. So please, no criticism on that.

The next chapter will be the last. Then, there'll probably be a short epilogue. Emphasis on short, unfortunately!

Chapter title means tenderness.