Oh thank you thank you for the reveiws! you have no idea how much they mean to me!

Mija: sorry to be so confusing, let me try to explain a bit: Every chapter that starts with the title "Finding the Catch" takes place in the present. The present is in Amestris, six years after Ed disappeared. The other chapters all take place at random times and places. Chapter three takes place between the end of the anime and the beginning of this story. The thing with Al and Winry being different ages is because Al was restored as being ten years old. so when he was ten, she was sixteen. when he was fourteen she was twenty. in the present time, she is twenty two and he is sixteen. Also, lets see... the Ed and Roy thing. when chapter two talks about Ed and Roy having been involved, its just rumors. Some people suspected something might have been going on. In chapter four (thats a flashback chapter) Ed says that there had never been a "them." ...hope that clears a few things up... :)

on to chapter five: we are returning to the present time. Ed has gone home with Winry. we can call this chapter THE Ed and Winry chapter :)

Finding the Catch: Making Real the Unvoiced Desire

"What do you mean there was no such thing as automail?" she demanded. She was sitting across from him at her kitchen table. Ed had insisted that where he had been since his disappearance was too complicated to explain in one night and that he wanted to just enjoy finally being home, but Winry couldn't help asking questions.

He was staring at her. After so many years of seeing her only in dreams and memories, here she was. Proof that he really was home. In a way, he was glad she was the only one with him on his first night home. Winry didn't know much about alchemy, so with all her questions she couldn't really ask exactly what he did to get home.

That was a relief, because every time he tried to think about it, he felt a blinding pain behind his eyes, and it took him several minutes to re-orient himself with the world. He had a suspicion that he hadn't done anything at all, since alchemy didn't exist on that side of the gate, and that it had been something Al did. The fact that Al wasn't home only compounded his concern.

Winry assured him he had only gone away for a few days on military business, and that there was nothing to be concerned about, and that he should be back the next day. Edward wanted to believe her, but he couldn't shake his doubts. He settled for answering her questions.

"Automail doesn't exist, and alchemy doesn't exist. It was as if they had never been discovered," he told her. "They had other technology, like machines that could fly up above the clouds, and we were even trying to build one that could go up in space, but no automail."

He watched her eyes light up, and smiled fondly. Never in his travels had he met a girl anything like her, who got so excited about mechanical parts. "Machines that could fly up into space?" she echoed, squeezing her hands together.

He nodded. "I'll explain how they work, sometime, after Al gets back," he assured her. She would love that, he knew.

Suddenly her face fell. "So you lived all those years without alchemy? And with wooden limbs? All alone?"

Not exactly alone, he thought to himself, seeing Alphonse Heiderich's face in his mind's eye. Was Alphonse looking for him now? He showed her his metal hand, pulling the white glove off. "Not exactly. It's no where near as good as yours-" he watched with amusement as Winry turned the barely-functioning hand over in her own. She grabbed his forearm and pushed his sleeve up, and he co-operated. In Germany it had irritated him when people stared at his prosthetic, wanted to know how far up his arm it went and how it worked, called it a "miracle of modern invention" when he knew perfectly well it was sub-standard. Now he was self conscious for a different reason entirely. "I did the best I could with what I had, but-"

She was staring at him, wide eyed. "Ed, you made this?"

"I had some help," he admitted.

Her face began to show concern. "Is it real automail? Does it connect to your nerves?" she demanded.

He pulled the arm away from her, staring at the metal for a moment before dropping it to his side. "It does, but-"

"Ed, you don't know anything about automail! You mean you let someone who had no idea what they were doing mess with your nervous system?" she raged.

"What else was I supposed to do?" he protested.

She pressed her lips together. "Take your shirt off," she demanded.

He stared at her. "Huh?" was all he could manage.

She dragged him to his feet. "I mean it. Take your shirt off, I need to see exactly what you did!"

He jerked away from her. "Not now, Winry! I just got back, cant you let me relax?" he whined.

She glared at him. "Automail," she said dangerously, "is made and installed by professionals, Ed, and there's a reason for that. It's dangerous! I need to make sure you're okay!"

"It's fine, Winry," he said, irritated, eyes flashing. "I mean, it's not fine, it's a piece of crap, but I've had it for years, and it's not hurting me!" This wasn't exactly true. The arm almost always hurt him, but he had gotten used to it, deciding the pain was worth having two arms to work with rather than one. He spun around, pacing the short length of the kitchen, suddenly self conscious of his limp as well. His leg wasn't even the primitive form of automail his arm was; it was simply a well made wooden leg. "What did you want me to do, Winry? Go around with just one arm? I'm sorry it isn't perfect, but I didn't have you around to put me back together so I had to do it myself!"

When she didn't respond, he turned around again, and saw that she was sitting down with her head in her arms, shaking.

"Winry?" he queried, coming over to her. "you're not crying, are you?"

She lifted her head slowly, her blue eyes rimmed with red. "We thought you were dead. We thought we would never see you again," she whispered.

He wrapped his left arm around her awkwardly, pulling her close to him. "But I'm here now. Everything is okay," he said, breathing in the scent of her shampoo mixed with machine oil.

"I'm sorry, Ed. I was just worried," she said into his chest.

"It's okay," he repeated. "You don't have to be worried. Everything is fine now. Look," he directed, sitting down on the edge of the table and beginning to unbutton his shirt one handed. "You can look at it if you want. I just don't want you to cry."

She slid the shirt off his shoulder, examining the part with a mechanic's eye. She began to press her strong fingers into the flesh right where it joined the metal, and saw him flinch but said nothing. "Lift your arm," she commanded, and he did. "Higher," she added, but he shook his head and shrugged. "Bend your elbow," she said next, and obediently he bent it. She took the metal hand in hers, wishing suddenly that it was the one she had made him, so that he could squeeze back with five perfect fingers. "Your hand doesn't work, does it," she asked, not really a question but he shook his head anyway. "This is like what they used a hundred years ago," she said finally. "The kind you see in textbooks. Not even half as advanced as what you had before."

Ed slid down from the table, picking up his shirt. "See?" he said to her. "Everything is okay, Win." He watched her eyes travel over the scars around his shoulder and across his chest. "You're staring," he said gently, after a moment.

"You're beautiful," she responded.

It was not what he expected her to say. He meant to reply no I'm not, but he found himself saying "so are you."

Her large blue eyes began to fill with tears again, and, worried, Ed wrapped his arms around her and rubbed her back. "Hey," he said softly. "Don't cry."

Her voice shook when she spoke. "I've dreamed about you coming back for so long. I cant believe you're really here."

Impulsively, he kissed the top of her head, letting the soft strands of her hair tickle his lips.

Winry raised her eyes to him, their blue seeming even brighter when magnified by her tears. Slowly she leaned up and pressed her soft lips into his, feeling him trying to back up and clasping her arms firmly around him so he could not pull away. Finally, tentatively, he began to kiss back, remembering to close his eyes. Home. He was home.

He was in a town he had never been to before, but it was his own world. He was in a house he had never seen before, but the woman he held smelled like home. She was twisting her fingers around his, pulling at him gently. "Ed," she whispered. "Lets go upstairs."

They were awkward together, crawling onto the middle of her bed, holding each other tight, Winry letting her hands run up and down over his body and feeling him shiver at her touch. They had both imagined this moment countless times, but that was years ago, and in their imaginations they never aged.

Edward must be twenty two now, she realized, but as she gazed at him, taking in every detail, she thought he looked older. It wasn't that his clothes were different, or that he was taller, or that his hair had grown, it was the look in his eyes, as if he had seen more years than she had.

They had each imagined they would be each other's firsts, but time had passed, and things had changed. Winry had removed his shirt again, and was beginning to undo his pants as well, but she herself was fully clothed. Hesitantly, Ed slid his left hand under her shirt and over her stomach, slowly inching upwards. "Is this okay?" he whispered.

"Of course," she assured him. "Of course it's okay."

Edward had worried over how to tell her he wasn't sure what he was doing, but Winry seemed perfectly content to take charge, and he let her, basking in the familiarity of his childhood friend. All his self consciousness vanished as she explored his body with her strong hands, soft lips, and worshipful eyes. Suddenly she became everything to him, the only thing he saw, the only thought in his mind, and he pulled her closer, wanting, all at once, what they had both dreamed of long ago.

She's not a virgin, he realized, but that thought, and all others, faded quickly. They did not take notice of the late afternoon sun slanting through the bedroom, tingeing the walls with orange and gold. They did not notice their own voices as they cried out together, the sounds drifting through the otherwise empty house.

She lay across his chest, sheets twined around their bodies, listening to his heavy breathing, dragging a finger down his stomach through the thin film of sweat that covered them. "Love you," she murmured, her eyelids heavy with sleep.

She felt his clumsy metal hand rest lightly on her back; she was laying on the flesh one, she realized. "Mmm," was his tired response.

When Edward woke the room had the blue glow of twilight. His head was throbbing, and he had been dreaming, he first thought, but about what? Winry still lay on top of him, and when the realization hit him he pried himself out from under her, careful not let her wake, and began to pull his clothes out from the tangle of sheets. He hadn't fallen asleep with his prosthetic leg still on in ages, and now it ached where the straps had been cutting into his skin. He stood up unsteadily, taking a few moments to catch his balance and push back the pain in his head. Maybe Winry had some painkillers in the house.

He found the bottle easily enough in the bathroom cabinet, and took two, leaning his head against the cool glass of the mirror. Just how had he gotten home? His brain, beginning to wake up, was struggling for answers.

What had he done? Scenes from before flashed though his mind, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He had slept with his best friend. How could he? They were both emotional at being reunited. Yes, they loved each other, but it was like love between siblings. God, had he used that argument before! He felt disgusted with himself, like he had used her in some way, used her to prove that yes, he really was in his own world, mind, soul, and yes, body. She said she had dreamed of his coming home. Was he preying on her dreams then? But, he forced himself to remember, they were his dreams too.

His dreams, he told himself, meant nothing. The guilt pressed down on him, weighting down his already weighted soul. Slowly making his way downstairs, he found a blanket in her hall cabinet and sat down on her couch. He carefully unbuckled the straps that held his leg in place, setting it on the floor and rubbing the sore places on his thigh were it had been digging into the skin. Then he laid back, jamming a cushion over his head in an attempt to stop the pounding, and fell asleep.