A/N: For all the Daddies out there.
Disclaimer: Yeah right.
The Pocketwatch
Edward didn't have a pocketwatch.
Once he'd quit the State Alchemists, he'd had to turn in his silver pocketwatch, his symbol as a dog of the military and also of his personal failings.
He hadn't quite missed it, exactly—he missed its reassuring weight in his pocket, and the way sunlight glinted off the chain, and wrapping his hand around it when he stuck his hand in his pocket, and he kinda missed the respectful looks he sometimes got when people realized what he was. He didn't miss the other looks he sometimes got when people realized what he was, but that had never bothered him enough to worry over. It was enough that all over Amestris, his name was synonymous with the vow of the State Alchemists, "Be Thou For the People."
The first time he actually missed it was the day his daughter was born.
Alphonse and his wife and their children were visiting, and the brothers Elric were sitting outside on the porch of the old Rockbell house that Ed and Winry had made their own.
Elizabeth already had come into the world and been named and was resting quietly beside her mother; Al's wife was sitting up with them.
Ed reached into his pocket without thinking and let out a rueful snort when his hand closed around nothing.
"What?" Al asked, watching his brother.
"I forgot," Ed returned, sliding his hand out of his pocket. "I don't have my pocketwatch anymore."
There was a long stretch of silence.
"Why don't you get a new one?" Al suggested.
Ed pursed his lips and stared out into the night.
"Nope," he said finally. "Don't think I will. Pocketwatches carry bad memories."
Al looked startled by that pronouncement for a moment, then murmured,
"Oh."
Ed didn't look at him.
The first time Elizabeth noticed that Ed was missing his pocketwatch, she was eight and saw him reach into his pocket, then snort and smile to himself.
"Daddy?"
His gaze went to her.
"Wha'cha lookin' for?"
Ed's lips pursed, and then he smiled faintly.
"My pocketwatch," he said finally. "But I forgot I lost it a long time ago."
"Where'd you loose it?" she asked, frowning; that didn't sound like her father at all.
"Somewhere," he replied with a careless shrug. "It's not important."
"Don't you miss it?"
He shrugged again, a little less carelessly.
"Not really."
"But how do you know what time it is?"
Ed grinned at his daughter, a mischievous, sly look in his eyes.
"Mommy yells it at me."
And then he turned her attention to automail, and it wasn't until much later that she remembered that her father was missing his pocketwatch.
"What the hell?" Ed asked, scratching his head, when his daughter jerked him out of his musings by plopping a box in his lap.
"It's a surprise," Elizabeth said with a cheerful grin. "Surprise."
"Good job," Ed commented absently, staring at the box. It was wrapped and topped with a bow—Winry's doing no doubt, because Elizabeth's bows never came out so neat.
"Open it Daddy," Elizabeth insisted, and Ed picked up the box and undid the bow and tore off the paper and lifted the lid off the box and then stared, dumbfound, at the gun metal gray pocketwatch gleaming up at him.
"Ta-da!" Elizabeth supplied. "I found you a pocketwatch, Daddy, see? I couldn't find your old one, since you couldn't remember where you lost it, so I told Mommy we should get you a new one. You like it?"
He didn't say anything for a long time, just looked down at the pocketwatch, his bangs hiding most of his face. Winry, having just come down from putting their son to sleep, stood hidden in the hallway, peeking around the corner and waiting. She hadn't been sure about buying the pocketwatch for Ed, who had by turns expressed indifference and loathing for the timepiece, but Elizabeth had been adamant. She'd given in, but she was still unsure, and now she was wondering if she'd made a mistake.
"Yeah," he said finally, quietly.
He looked up at his daughter and smiled tentatively at her after a moment, and Elizabeth sent him a huge grin astonishingly similar to the ones of his youth.
"I knew you would. Can I help you wind it up?"
"Absolutely," Ed said, and patted his knee.
Elizabeth clambered up into his lap and he let her take the pocketwatch out of the box, then showed her how to wind it. Winry lingered in the hallway as long as she could, then reluctantly interrupted them and told Elizabeth to say good-night to her father, it was bedtime. Which the little girl did with good grace, kissing her father's cheek and hugging him and chirping "Good-night Daddy!" as she slid out of his lap.
Ed watched her go with a smile, then looked up at Winry.
"Thanks Win," he murmured, and Winry blushed and smiled back.
"Yeah…well…you're welcome."
She found him in her workshop when she came down later, looking for him.
He was seated at her work bench, shoulders hunched, and there was a scraping sound, like metal on metal.
"Ed?" she asked, and he flinched and looked around guiltily. "What're you doing in here?"
"I was gonna clean up when I was done, I swear," he said immediately, and Winry frowned and walked into the room towards him. She stopped when she saw the pocketwatch open on the work table, and a pick in his hand.
"What are you doing?" she demanded.
"Nothing!" he replied defensively.
Winry ducked around him and snatched the pocketwatch off the table before he could stop her, and looked down at it. She stared at it a long time before she looked back up at him. Ed was looking off to the side, his cheeks flushed.
"What's don't 'Don't Forget'?" she asked quietly.
He didn't reply.
"Okay, fine, what else were you carving into the lid of this gift from your daughter?"
"The date," he said quietly. "You came in right when I was starting it."
She watched him in silence.
"Not thinking of burning down the house, are you?" she asked, and he finally looked at her, glaring.
"Very funny," he snapped.
"Well," she replied, holding up her hands.
"It's different this time," he said after a pause. "So I don't forget."
"Don't forget what, Ed?" she asked, baffled.
"To walk forward," he muttered, as if embarrassed.
"You have been walking forward," she protested, but he shook his head and tapped his temple with his automail hand.
"Not up here."
She didn't have a reply for that, so she didn't say anything. And after a moment, she reached out, took hold of his hand and placed the pocketwatch back in it. He looked up at her. She smiled.
"I'll wait up for you, okay?"
Then she leaned forward, kissed him and left the workshop.
And after a long moment, Ed returned to the work table, and finished carving the date into the lid of his pocketwatch. When that was done, he carefully cleaned out the lid, then snapped it shut, clipped the chain onto his belt and slid the pocketwatch into his pocket. The weight was strange after so many years of nothing, but familiar. He watched the light glint off the chain, then slid his hand in his pocket and curled it around the pocketwatch experimentally.
Satisfied, he let go and slid his hand out of his pocket, then paused, remembering something, something he'd said to Al a few years back. Or rather, eight years back:
"Pocketwatches carry bad memories."
"Not this one," he decided.
"Now it's perfect," Elizabeth declared. She looked up at her father. "Right?"
Ed looked from her face to the newest and last addition to his new pocketwatch: a crumpled photograph of Winry and Elizabeth and Hughes, his son, that he'd carried around in his wallet, now cut in a small, wobbly circle by eight-year-old hands with too-big scissors and laying on the inside of the lid, over what he'd carved into it last night.
He looked up at his daughter and ruffled her hair, then snapped the lid shut, slipped the pocketwatch into his pocket and cuddled her close.
"Right."