Everyone: posting chapters 13 AND 14 today (but 14 is pretty short) and then wont be posting any more for a few days. changing internet providers, and unfortunatly will be without a connection for a yet undetermined amount of time (boooo.)

MusicalRileyChan: ahhha big mac... that would be nice, wouldn't it? thanks also!

Eleventy-nine: thanks

KuroiHi: uh, there's no need to do anything at all with that bat #ducks# you will find out about Alphonse in due time, my dear, all in due time. but for now, i will repeat that Alphonse has a big part in the story, and also... if he isnt there, he has to be somewhere, doesnt he?

Abstractication: welcome. now you can leave reveiws for people who dont accept annons :) its ok that you read it at 2:30 in the morning. that might actually help, cause i think i wrote it at 2:30 in the morning as well.

Finding the Catch: Shades of Distance

She backed up after passing the door to Al's study, the sight of Ed sitting at Al's desk poring over Al's book catching her by surprise. She stood in the doorway for a moment thinking it was odd how this time, she nearly mistook the older brother for the younger one.

Al was sleeping in his room, or doing what she and Ed called sleeping: his eyes were closed. She hesitated to believe he was really asleep, because even when his eyes were open, neither of them could call it awake. "Ed," she called softly from the doorway.

"His soul isn't there anymore," Ed had told her. She had suspected that he knew more than the doctors about what was wrong with Al, but she hadn't expected that to be his answer. "That's what he gave the gate as equivalent trade. That's why he isn't responding to anything."

She had gasped. "But- how could he choose something like that?" she had protested in disbelief.

"Maybe he didn't choose. Maybe the gate just took whatever it saw fit," Ed had suggested.

"So," Winry had continued, after a moment's thought. "Now his soul is trapped in the gate, instead of his body?"

The look in Ed's eyes had told her that perhaps he believed something different, but all he had said was, "Maybe."

"Do you want something to eat?" she asked.

She watched him look up from Al's books and face her, his eyes refocusing slowly. "In a minute, Win," he said distractedly.

She put her hand on her hip. "Ed, you said that two hours ago. I can't believe I have to keep after you to eat! What ever did you do… wherever you were… before?" she trailed off, faltering in her accusation, picturing too late her best friend pouring over books in the same fashion in a foreign world, searching for a way home to his little brother.

Something flashed over his face, behind his eyes, but was gone before she could interpret it. "Leave me alone, will ya? I said in a minute!" he snapped angrily, turning his back to her and flipping the page in front of him sharper than necessary.

Whack.

He clutched the back of his head. "What the hell, Winry?" he demanded, furious.

"Letting yourself starve to death is not doing anything to help Al!" she raged, waving her wrench in his face.

He stood up so their eyes were level, and snapped, "Fine," and stomped out of the room and down the stairs.

"Ed," she called after him, following him into the kitchen, "I don't want to fight with you-"

He jerked open one of the cabinets and grabbed a jar of peanut butter. "We're not fighting," he muttered, not looking at her. "You're nagging."

At a loss for a response, she watched him consider the jar for a moment, then sit down and press it between his knees, using his left hand to try to twist off the cap. Winry reached between his legs and snatched the jar away, opening it with an easy twist of her hands and shoving it back at him

"Thanks, but I can handle a jar myself, you know," he said sharply, setting it down on the counter and hunting now for the bread.

"I can make you new automail," she said in a small voice. "I've had my own business for three years now, and I've learned so much since the last arm and leg I made you- you wouldn't have to pay me of course," she added quickly.

He turned away from his sandwich, seeming to see her for the first time. His dark gold eyebrows drew together. "I've lived like this a long time," he said finally. "I'm used to it. I can't go through surgery like that now, what if Al wakes up and I'm unconscious and in pain?" Folding the bread over, he took a bite, not looking away from her. When Al is all right, then I'll take care of myself, were his unspoken words.

"You should let me get a closer look at your arm," she pushed. "Maybe I can get it working a little better, try to get some movement in the fingers?" she offered hopefully.

He pressed his lips together, seeming to be debating on whether or not to allow this of himself. "Later," he said finally, turning to go back upstairs, sandwich in hand. "I'm in the middle of something right now."

It wasn't even her that he confided his theories in. She had merely overheard him telling General Mustang that the only way Al could come back was on his own.

"The first time I was in Germany," he had said, "only my soul crossed over. I assume my body was here, like Al's is now."

"How did you get back the first time?" Roy had asked him. Winry stood behind the door, listening intently.

She could not see them, so she did not see the pain in Edward's face. "It doesn't matter," he said shortly. "It wasn't the only way. If Al knew enough to try a human transmutation again, he must be able to figure out how to get back." There was silence. "I hope he can figure out how to get back."

That evening she left her workshop to find that the radio in her living room had been left on. She switched it off before she noticed the figure sprawled out on her couch, right arm dangling off the edge, left crossed over the eyes. "Why are you sleeping in here, Ed?" she asked, not expecting him to hear or answer her. Ever since they had brought Al home he had been sleeping in his brother's bed with him, in case he woke up during the night.

"I'm not sleeping," came the flat response, but he still did not move.

She stood at the foot of the couch, staring down at him. "What are you doing then?"

He shifted his forearm up a few inches, revealing his eyes to her. "Listening to the radio, actually," he said with a smirk, and sat up.

"Oh." She reached over and switched it back on before she sat down next to him. "You're hair's down," she observed, surprised.

He ran his hand through the blond strands, sliding the mess of it over his shoulder, and shrugged, raising his eyebrows at her.

She was nearer to him than she had been ever since the night he came home. His distance could have been due to the awkwardness that had settled over them when they were alone, but she felt none of that now, only an easy silence. She had touched him so freely before, but now she hesitated, afraid to break what felt like a truce that had seemed to develop between them. "Ed?" she asked, sliding just an inch closer. "Could I braid your hair?"

He combed his fingers through the fall of gold again, feeling them catch in the tangles, and considered this for a moment. "You'd have to brush it first," he said finally, as if brushing his hair was a chore she would never agree to.

Her purse was hanging by the front door, and she fetched her brush from there, not wanting to leave the room and risk the chance of Ed being gone when she returned. They sat, not speaking, the music from the radio washing over them as she carefully pulled through the knotted strands of his hair until it was smooth again, rippling through her fingers like the silk she remembered.

When she tied off the end of the braid, she watched him run his hand over the thick chord, dropping it over his shoulder and glancing down at it. "Thanks, Winry," he said, pleased. She didn't know if he was thinking about the last time she braided his hair, six years ago, the last time she saw him before he died- disappeared, she corrected herself hastily. He looked, she realized suddenly, nothing like the boy who had left her, even with his hair braided. Where ever he was, some strange place called Germany, had changed him irreversibly. Or perhaps, she thought to herself, he just grew up.

Her heart flipped in her stomach when the song on the radio changed, and her expression must have shown it, because Edward looked at her curiously. She reached across him to turn up the volume and sighed. "This song- I really love this song."

He turned away so she would not see him roll his eyes. It was a slow, sappy ballad. He'd never heard it before, of course, but it sounded like a girl's song. Of course she would like something like that. He stood, extending his hand to her. "Then let's dance," he offered, and laughed at her shocked expression.

She glanced down at his feet. "Can you dance?" she asked hesitantly.

His lips curled up in a smile, neither bitter nor embarrassed. "Eh, not really," he admitted easily. "But this is a slow song, and there's no one here to watch. I'll give it a try. For you," he added.

A surge of relief went through her as she took his hand. Everything was okay between them now, she thought happily, wrapping her arms around his neck and feeling his hands, one flesh and one metal, settle on her waist. They did not so much dance as simply cling to each other, letting the cadence of the music swirl around them. Winry wished she could take this moment, the stillness of the house in the evening, the safety of Edward's embrace, the feeling of his hair between her fingers, and preserve it somehow. But there was no need to, she realized. He's home now. We have the rest of our lives to make memories.

The music changed to something upbeat and insincere, and Ed dropped his hands to his sides. "That wasn't too bad, was it?" he asked softly, his eyes looking sad suddenly.

She shook her head, breathless. "No, it was- it was wonderful," she breathed. Pressing up on her toes, she moved to kiss him, but he turned away.

"Just tell me that wasn't yours and Al's song or anything, was it?" he asked, facing the stairs.

The easy silence at once became oppressive, and the radio continued with its silly jingle of a song, incongruous to the change in mood.

She felt as if he had slapped her, and stared at his back in shock. "No, its-" how could she tell him it was the song she cried herself to sleep to when she was younger, wishing he was alive and there for her? "How did you know?" she asked instead.

"Mustang told me the second day I was home, before we went to East City," he said, not turning around, intending to go upstairs without saying anything more, but her voice caught him and he glanced back.

"Ed-" she pleaded, and he thought he saw something like fear in her eyes.

"I'm not mad, Win," he assured her. "Al's been in love with you ever since we were kids. I just don't understand why you didn't tell me."

He waited for some kind of explanation from her, and the song on the radio changed again.

Minutes passed, but she found she had no answer for him. She watched him sigh and turn away again, slowly climbing the stairs to Al's bedroom.