A/N: Is it just me, or was referral to Internet Explorer as Internet Exploder rather ironic? Or maybe I missed something. Anyway, thanks for reviews, both past and future! This chapter should explain some stuff.

XI. Another Day, Another Siege: Four Years and the Immortal Type

He was going to leave soon. I knew it. It cast a shadow over me, over everything I did. I wanted to throw him down and scream at him, demand that he stay like he owed it to me to keep me company in my little self-made oyster shell. I wanted to hit him so hard he couldn't walk, or maybe I could find some other mode of incapacitation. I wanted to come up with some wild story that would keep him with me. Most of them sounded absurdly unrealistic.

Edward, I'm dying of some terminal, exotic, unpronounceable disease that can't be healed with alchemy.

Edward, I can't live alone because building and selling automail isn't lucrative enough.

Edward, I'm pregnant…and I think it's yours… even though that would be physically impossible.

Edward, I'm desperate.

I wanted to stop being pathetic and learn to let him go with grace. I wanted to ask him to stay and be okay with it when he says that he can not. I wanted, just for once, to pretend to be a grown-up and have it stick.

Those desires all plummeted abruptly from the top of my list when I heard him thumping up the stairs arrhythimically. Suddenly, I wanted to slap him for going out and not leaving a note. I wanted to hug him for coming back.

"Edward?" I called from the kitchen. He didn't reply.

"Edward?" I repeated. I didn't hear the front door opening, but his footsteps had stopped. Out of curiosity, I left my dishes in the sink and went to the front door.

"Are you all right?" I asked when I opened the door to find him sitting at the top of the steps, his knees bent up and his elbows resting on them. He glanced over his shoulder at me.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied noncommittally. He wasn't grinning, so I thought it was safe to assume that he was telling me the truth. When he didn't say anything else, I invited myself to take a seat next to him, mimicking his position.

"So where'd you go?"

"Just for a walk."

"By yourself?"

"You were still asleep when I left."

I knew the probability of him actually leaving alone out of consideration for me was slim; he didn't want my company, which meant he went to his mother's grave. I could respect that.

I considered asking him to leave a note or something next time, but I managed to stop myself before saying something that presumptuous. Instead, I asked him if he were hungry. He said no. Since the only things we ever discussed were food or automail, I lapsed into an awkward silence. Ed seemed content to be quiet and watch the horizon; he never seemed awkward anymore.

The wind blew my hair into my face, and my gaze fell to our feet when I titled my head down to pull my hair back. I stopped mid-motion, though, and promptly forgot my hair.

His left foot was angled inward and slightly inverted, putting more weight than was natural on the outside edge of his sole.

"Straighten your foot," I said, having had the sinking feeling that Edward was not just sitting funny.

"What?" he asked, glancing at me.

"Straighten your foot," I repeated.

He muttered something, but kept his foot at the angle. "You can't, can you?"

He didn't reply.

Without a word, I seized his arm and stood up. He yelped and stumbled after me as I dragged him through the front door and directly to my work room. I threw him down on the couch and stood in front him, hands on my hips. He looked incredibly sheepish in my shadow.

"Take off you pants," I snarled.

"Win, it's-"

"I said, take off your pants!" I pointed at his leg. "You've busted up my leg again, and it ain't gonna fix itself!" Edward rolled his eyes. "Don't gimme that crap, Ed. You weren't even going to tell me that your leg needed work, were you? You were just going to lumber around like some crippled ape until it completely fell apart, weren't you!"

"All right!" Edward interrupted. "Relax, would you?" He unbuttoned his slacks and wiggled out of them. I snatched them out of his hand and threw them somewhere behind me. Edward merely crossed his arms over his chest and looked elsewhere.

I dropped to one knee and snatched up his metal ankle, resting it on my raised thigh. One look at the travesty stuck to the stump of his leg and the offense was entirely renewed.

"Edward," I growled.

"Yes?" he asked. I could tell he was trying to sound innocent. But it wasn't going to work. I was going to kill him.

"This isn't my leg."

"It should be mine. I paid for it."

I was in no mood. "Quit being a smart ass, Edward. Who the hell designed this piece of crap? This thing would make a better paper weight than a leg! And what happened to the leg I installed?"

"Do you have to say installed? It makes me feel like a goddamn car."

"I wish you were a car! This would be a whole hell of a lot easier! Cars don't randomly loose parts! Cars don't see other mechanics behind your back!"

"Is that what this is about?" he asked. "I designed that leg if it makes you feel any better."

"You did? You don't know anything about automail."

"That might be why it would make a better paper weight."

I looked down for a moment. I had insulted him, I thought. It was true, though. The leg he designed was pathetic; I was surprised it actually worked. "What happened to the leg you bought from me?" I asked, trying to sound less aggressive.

Edward hesitated. "I lost it."

"How?"

"It's a long story."

I sat down crossed legged on the floorboards and rested my hands in my lap. "I'm not going anywhere."

And then he was watching me motionlessly. I knew from how hauntingly still he was that his mind was whirring. He was deliberating. He was actually considering telling me what happened. I suddenly didn't know how to act, how he wanted me to act. I knew I wanted to beg him to tell me; I would have made all those childish promises to never tell another living soul or not to laugh at him, but that was irrelevant. Promises wouldn't make a difference; they never did. He was trying to decide how much he trusted me, and I found I was holding my breath.

He gradually looked away, and I felt my chance slipping out of reach.

"For four years, Edward," I said. For once, my voice was not accusing or demanding. It felt nice to hear myself speak like that, to console. "They told us all that you were dead." That sounded absurdly melodramatic to me. Edward probably felt the same. "I didn't believe it. You... you're not the type to die."

Edward laughed. "I didn't know there was a type that couldn't die."

I laughed, too. "Neither did I until I saw you strolling up my driveway. But now that you're here... I'd like to know what I have to thank."

My mind was blown. Little globs of my brain were splattered around the room, painting the walls. I didn't glob on Edward, but I could tell my gaping expression was making him uncomfortable.

He told me about another world. He told me about his father and a city called Munich. He told me about how glad he was to have blonde hair and how terrified he was to be a cripple. He called himself a cripple. And I wanted to hug him when he said it. He told me about the impotence of drawing circles and circles and circles and nothing, of reading and studying and building and still nothing. He told me about four years, and suddenly I couldn't feel sorry for myself anymore.

He told me about waking up in a cellar in Dublith, sprawled out in the middle of a transmutation circle. He told me about the traces, the signs of a boy who should have been a young man, and I could taste the guilt in the air.

"Al was gone?" I asked. Edward nodded. "Do you think he-"

"No," Edward said, harsh and fast. "I would have felt it. Al didn't perform the transmutation."

"He moved to Dublith with Izumi and Sig months ago, but I haven't heard from him in so long. Why wouldn't he write if he were still—"

"I've only been back a month and a half. He's left Dublith."

I hesitated. "Then you came here looking for Al?"

Edward watched his feet for a moment. "Yes."

Resigned, I nodded. "Okay," I sighed.

"Winry-"

"No, Edward, that's fine." And I meant it. I smiled when I realized that there were tears on my face. I wiped them away. "That's fine."

Before I knew it, Edward was slipping off the couch and sitting on the floor. I didn't actually notice him until something landed on my shoulder and squeezed. I laughed at us both and looked over to him. "Why are you trying to comfort me?"

He shrugged. "You seem like you need comforting."

"No, Edward," I said. "Why are you trying to comfort me?"

He watched me for a moment. I knew he knew what I meant. "You learn a lot in four years," was all he had to say.