A/N: Aaaangst!

(Just so you know, this isa really effing difficult pairing to do. But that's what challenge is all about. ... Yup)

o.o.o

There are certain instances in life for which society offers no code of ethics. There are times in which those most avid in all social graces are left dumbstruck and utterly defenseless.

It wasn't in Winry's common routine to go strolling in the cemetary in the early morning, however, that day, Pinako had sent her out to find Hohenheim, having had spent the past days in solitary lamentation under the stars, and invite him in for breakfast. It certainly wasn't within Roy's pattern of behavior to wander off without telling others a thing, however there wasn't much to be said about the nature of his wanderings that wouldn't inspire profound akwardness, and uneasy morbidity.

She paused, startled to see that Hohenheim and his tent were both absent, and in his stead, another mourner lingered over the lined tombstones. His eyes were glazed, remorsefully reading the names chiseled on the face of the stones, a bundle of flowers nestled in the crook of his elbow. Her presence broke his reverie.

There truly is no measure of etiquitte that can prepare one for the tension of such an encounter. Though they had both done the best they could at akwardly avoiding direct contact in the house, trying to be as cordial as humanly possible while the colonel was a guest in their home, even the soldier, well versed in all manners of chivalry and propriety, and the chipper blonde who was famous for her brand of unconditional kindness, were rendered speechless at their sudden meeting. In the cemetary. At their graves of all places.

She couldn't just turn around. She couldn't just stand there dumbly. Her legs took up their own conscience and neared the headstones she so often visited before out of an akward sense of sympathy. He had set the flowers down between the two places, and now stood empty handed, only steps away from the girl. Their daughter.

What do do now?

What to say?

'Good morning'?

That sounded disrespectful.

'Nice to see you here'?

What kind of sick person says that in a cemetary?

'I'm sorry,' didn't even cross his mind to be spoken. Any apology didn't even begin to cover it. The wrong was infinite; the sin so blatant and grotesquely real, and there between them.

He was the one.

He was the monster who'd done it.

There was nothing to be said.

Wordlessly, almost without motion and without warning, he had folded her endearingly into a close, strong embrace. Not forceful. Not desperate. Just something right.

There was no remorseful torrent of tears; no melodramatic stream of apologies; no fireworks, or holy images in the clouds, or sudden wind like a sign that all was alright with the world again, and that forgiveness would follow, but somewhere, somehow, deep within the snug intimacy of their embrace, some tie came undone. Something was released, let go, set free.

He let her go, knowing exactly when it was time, and turned to leave. He walked away, hands in his pockets, no longer a proud soldier, no longer a vicious monster, but a man. Nothing more, and nothing less. He left, knowing this moment would remain between them forever in confidence, the harmless, yet utterly improper act.

But sometimes, impropriety is only right.