The second story in the Little Wonders series, this one takes place not long after "Grateful" (maybe a month). I think it's cute. I guess this idea just came from me thinking about if Edward ever accidentally hurt Winry with his automail during recovery, and this is the result of my thinking.

StarKatt427

Story Two: Promise

…Because he hates himself when he hurts her…

The one thing Edward hated more than hearing Winry go on and on about automail was when she called him into her workroom for automail maintenance. She would do it ever so often, simply to check that everything was working correctly, all the gears and wires and bolts doing their job. And it didn't matter that Pinako always checked his new limbs before they began a session of therapy and rehab, because Winry always just had to be sure. She had a right to, he admitted reluctantly, because she had after all help with the construction of his leg, but had also created most of his right arm, by herself.

So, although there was almost nothing as boring and sometimes as painful if she got mad as letting Winry examine his automail, he always let her; sometimes she would simply tell him she was about to do maintenance and he would follow, and other times she would have to nearly beg to get him to relent, but every time, he followed her into the workshop, grumbling softly under his breath about crazy gear heads.

Today, he was sitting in the chair she always put him in, his right arm propped up. Winry had quickly glanced at his leg, running her fingers along it and, after tightening a bolt here and there, deemed it worthy; her grandmother never made serious slipups. Now she was working on his arm, in familiar territory. Edward watched her fingers as they curled around the handle of a wrench and she began to tighten one of the bolts; he could see the beginnings of a small callous on the edge of her palm, right where the tool always rubbed her skin; otherwise, her hands were soft looking and, he silently admitted, felt very nice. Her fingernails were short and bitten off, like his, only hers weren't as wide and were more narrow and feminine.

"Well," she began, pulling him from his examination of her hands and making him blush slightly, "everything outside looks good. What I'm worried about is the wires."

Edward cocked an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because," Winry continued, placing her wrench on the worktable, "your hand seems kinda jerky."

It was true; Ed had noticed it a few days ago, the way his new steel hand seemed to be acting out. He had finally managed to control the strength he put into grabbing and touching objects, but it had come to him as a surprise when he'd grabbed one of Pinako's drinking glasses the other day and it had made a loud, cracking sound. Startled, he had set it down and noticed that where no marks or chips had previously been, three long, narrow cracks traveled from top to bottom, smaller fractures branching out from them.

The glass was still hidden in one of the high cabinets, one not reachable to Pinako, but it was only a matter of time before she got Alphonse to get her something out of there and his brother discovered it.

"You noticed, huh?"

"Why wouldn't I?" she asked indignantly, a somewhat serious look in her eyes; she was smirking though. "I made your arm after all."

"Yeah, yeah…"

Edward looked at her as she grinned, wiping an arm across her forehead; it left a small trail of grease, and if Edward hadn't been so annoyed about what was to come, he would have laughed. She wasn't in her usual gray-blue jumpsuit and her hair wasn't tied back in a bandanna; she had on olive green capris and a gray T-shirt, tan flip flops adorning her feet. Her hair was in it's usual ponytail, but her bangs were plastered to her forehead; watching her, Edward was suddenly grateful all he had on were blue boxers and a loose tank, because at least he was not as hot. Strands of hair were stuck to her face and he noticed the way her clothes clung to her sweaty skin, but she didn't complain; it was always hot in the workrooms during this time of year.

"Now, you ready?" she asked, already pulling a chair over beside his arm.

"Just hurry up," he muttered, to which she gave an aggravated humph!

Silently, she began examining the underside of his arm, where, once you unscrewed the bottom plate, a tangle of colorful wires was visible, each one connected to a certain nerve in his body. There were more, the ones deeply embedded in his arm, but Winry had told him right before beginning that she wasn't worried about them. She worked quietly, like always, not talking very much, engrossed in her work and paying hardly any attention to Ed other than his arm.

Which gave him the chance to watch her.

Unlike usual, instead of his mind wandering back to the alchemy books he had in his room and trying to find a way to get Al's body back, Edward's mind seemed to drift to the girl next to him. Winry was the same age as him, eleven, but was younger by a few months, something he'd horded over her when they were younger. For the most part, she was as tough as any boy, except when someone hurt her feelings and she would burst into tears and cry for what seemed like forever. Ed made fun of her for that, referring to her as a crybaby, which, he realized, she was finally beginning to grow out of. For some reason, that thought didn't please him as much as he'd thought it would; it meant Winry was growing up, right along with him and Al, parentless.

Her fingers were inside his arm now, the tips of them gently grasping the wires, testing them. Her eyebrows was furrowed slightly, like they always got when she worked with automail, and the tip of her tongue was curled out over the side of her mouth. Since the wires were connected to his nerves, Edward could feel her fingers as she touched each one, rolling one between her thumb and index finger, her fingers barely rubbing another; still, each time she did it, Ed's breathing caught for just a second.

It was weird, the way he couldn't feel anything because of the automail, but when it got to the inward work of it, his nerves could still sense and recognize Winry's touch.

Scowling at the thought, Edward looked away, forcing himself to recite the Periodic Table, the one thing that could get his mind off of almost anything.

He had just gotten to the element selenium when he felt a sharp shock travel from his upper right arm, down to his metal fingers, and then back. As the current surged back upward, Ed's arm shot out to the side, nearly smacking Winry in the head, and he was faintly aware that she cried out. He felt his wrist twitch, followed by his fingers, until finally his arm fell back onto the bench it had been previously propped on and stopped jerking. Eyes wide, Edward tried to curl the fingers of his automail hand in, and when they did, he immediately relaxed; they still worked. Next, he slowly lifted his arm, testing it out. It worked as well.

Still able to feel the aftershock traveling through his nerves, Edward's gaze jerked harshly to Winry, who was sitting wide eyed, her hands in her lap and her expression slightly nervous. Snarling, Ed leaned forward until he was just inches from her, then asked, voice unnaturally cold and fuming, "What did you do?"

"I-I found what was wrong," she replied, trying to smile and miserably failing. "It's the green wire, t-the one that connects to your wrist. It has a torn strand, and when I touched it—"

"Yeah," he said, standing from the chair, suddenly annoyed and angry with her, though he wasn't exactly sure why; it was an accident, one that wasn't even her fault. She couldn't have known the wire was torn until she looked at it. So why was he so mad at her? "Let me ask you this," he stated. "Did you know that's what was wrong?"

Winry looked down at her hands, expression slightly guilty. "I didn't know for sure, but I was wondering if that might have been it. Ed, I'm real sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear."

He looked down at her, taking in her wide apologetic eyes, and realized that was it: because she hadn't done it on purpose, but she had pretty much known what was wrong and hadn't told him to be ready for what might happen.

Although a part of him wanted to forgive her, to let go of this stupid anger he shouldn't be feeling and to take that horribly contrite expression off her face, another part wanted nothing more than to hurt her feelings and to just make her cry. He wasn't sure why he felt this spite towards her; back when they were young, he would do anything and take on anyone to keep her from crying. Now, for some sick reason, he actually wanted to see the crystal tracks running down her still slightly rounded face.

"Forget it," he said instead, frowning down at her. "I should have just gotten Granny to check my arm. She's got years of experience. Not like you, I mean."

He had to admit he went a little over the top with that last statement. Winry's eyes widened even further, and, if he was correct, her bottom lip was beginning to tremble. Suddenly on the verge of apologizing, he balled his hands into fists and turned his back to her, then looked over his shoulder at her and scowled, eyes like hard, cold topaz. "Next time, try to actually know what you're doing, okay?"

He looked at her for a second more than necessary, unable to turn away at first. Her eyes were big and bright with emotion and slightly wet, her mouth hanging open in shock, hurt and betrayal written across her every feature. As he looked at her, Edward began to feel his anger slipping away, like it almost always did. Forcefully, he turned his eyes from her and began walking toward the door.

"Wait…Edward…" she mumbled after him softly, voice shaking, trying to call him back.

He didn't stop.

"Ed…Ed, wait!" Winry was up from her chair, trying to move after him, her hand reaching out to grab his shirt. Before she could though, her foot caught on one of the chair legs, and she was suddenly flying toward the floor.

Edward had listened to her as she called for him, then heard her when she'd gotten up. It surprised him when he heard the scraping of wood, followed by Winry's soft, startled cry, and when he turned around, it was just in time to see her falling through air. Without thinking, as if by instinct, his automail hand jerked out and latched onto her wrist, pulling her up rather roughly. Still, he had kept her from falling; although he was mad at her and annoyed with her stupid automail, he couldn't stand seeing her get hurt.

"For cryin' out loud, would you watch what you're doing, idiot?" he spat harshly, though his tone wasn't quite as rough as before; Edward prayed she couldn't hear the relief in it. "Next time, I'll just let you fall, how about—"

"Ah!"

Edward was instantly filled with alarm at Winry's cry of pain. He looked from her face, scrunched up in hurt, her eyes barely even open, to her hand, which was gripped at a horribly twisted angle in his steel one. He was mostly holding her wrist, but he had also latched onto the base of her hand, and because of the way he was holding it, it was squeezed inward, her thumb extended over her palm unnaturally.

With a painful little noise of his own, Edward let go of her hand, watching as Winry brought it to her chest, noting the way she seemed to try not to cradle it; she held it gingerly, and it was still at an odd angle. Winry looked down at her hand, eyes filled with real, physical pain and hurt and tears.

And at the sight, Edward felt every ounce of anger he'd felt toward her evanesce and was filled with shock and unreserved guilt.

"Winry, I…I didn't mean to…I…"

It made his breathing catch somewhere in his throat when she looked up at him, a pained smile on her face. Her eyes were brimming with unshed tears, tears she refused to let fall, along with the pain and wounded appearance they still possessed. "It's fine," she said, trying to sound like her usual bubbly self. She failed; Edward heard her voice, thick with tears, crack, and it nearly broke his heart to see her like this. Had he really wanted to see her cry? Why would he want to see her hurt so badly that it made his heart ache?

"Winry, I'm—"

"No," she said, shaking her head vigorously. "It was m-my fault. Clumsy, right? I just wasn't careful enough. Sorry, for making you have to save me."

"I don't mind saving—!"

"And I'm r-really sorry about your arm," she continued, giving him a watery smile. "I didn't mean to, I just…just…go ask Granny to take a look at it. I'm sure she can fix it."

Edward hated himself. Not just for all that he'd done in the past, like causing Alphonse to lose his body and binding him to the suit of armor, but for what he'd said to her. He hadn't felt this much self loathing in a while. "Win…"

"Winry?" Pinako suddenly called from the kitchen. "I need your help."

Winry cleared her voice, yelling back, "Coming!" Her voice broke again, Edward noticed, wincing slightly. She looked back at him, giving him a very weak smile, then said, "Gotta go. Don't forget to let Granny look at your arm, okay?" before quickly walking past him, leaving enough space between them so they wouldn't accidentally touch.

"Winry, please, just listen." Desperate, Edward reached out, gabbing hold of her upper arm, this time with his flesh hand. His grip on her was loose, the opposite of how it had been moments ago, but it made no difference; Winry's body tensed as he touched her, like she was afraid he would hurt her again.

Again. He had actually hurt her with his hands.

Ed let go of her arm, his hand going down to the edge of his shirt, gripping it tightly; it reminded him of Al's nervous habit, but maybe it was something he'd inherited as well. "Ah, I'm…uh…"

Her shoulders relaxed, but she didn't turn around. "See you, Ed," Winry said, and with that, she was gone, leaving him alone in the workroom.

And, although the realization that he'd hurt her, that he'd actually hurt her for the first time in his life, was rolling around inside his brain and bouncing off the walls of his skull, another thought arose in his mind, one, under normal circumstances, he would never have allowed himself to think:

He liked the way her skin had felt against the palm of his hand.

For the rest of the day, Edward did everything possibly to avoid Winry. He spent most of the day outside with Al, the two sparring so that Ed could get back into shape. He worked his body beyond usual, sending all of his anger and guilt into his kicks and punches, but even when he had released all of his pent-up emotions, Alphonse still beat him every time. Exhausted and in pain from his recovering limbs, Ed finally ended up collapsing on his back in the grass, simply staring up at the sky with weary eyes.

"Brother?" Al sat down beside him, not even winded from their sparring. Of course he wasn't breathing hard; his new body didn't have lungs. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

Al made a soft, sighing sound. "No, you're not. What happened with Winry?"

Edward looked over and up at his younger, but not necessarily little, brother. "How'd you know?"

"Because I know you two and the way you act when you're avoiding each other."

A ghost of a smile graced Ed's face, then he closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He could still see Winry's eyes, wide and pained, tearful; he could hear her cry out in pain; he could also, though he tried to force it away, feel the skin of her arm under his hand, the heat and softness of it, the muscles underneath her fair skin from working on automail. He opened his eyes, unable to look at Al. "I hurt her. Really bad."

"I guess that explains why her hand's wrapped up," Al murmured, more to himself than Ed.

Edward heard it though, and was suddenly sitting up, staring at Alphonse with bewildered eyes. "It is?" he asked, voice soft and horrified.

Al nodded sadly. "I talked to her earlier and asked what had happened, but she said she'd been working this morning and got her hand jammed in some equipment."

Edward barked out a harsh, self deprecating laugh. "Yeah, that equipment was me."

"Sorry, Brother."

"I don't deserve an apology," Edward said, standing up from the ground. "I don't deserve anything good, like you or Winry."

Ignoring his statement, Al asked, "What else did you do?"

Ed cringed slightly. "I said some really bad things."

"Oh." Al was standing now as well, towering over Edward. He was looking down, his face an expressionless mask, and Edward suddenly wished for the millionth time Alphonse had his real body. "I think that's what really hurt her. What you said, I mean."

"Huh?"

"You know Winry; she's kinda sensitive to words."

"Kinda?" Ed asked, but Al kept on as if he hadn't spoken.

"What I mean is that what you said probably hurt her more than how you physically hurt her. What happened?"

"My arm's messed up," Ed said, motioning to the automail, "and she tried to fix it. I got shocked and blew up at her; I don't even now why I did. But I was leaving and she tried to stop me and she tripped and I caught her by the hand, and well…"

"Got it," Al said in understanding.

Ed plopped back down on the ground, lifting his knees to his chest and resting his arms on them. "What do I need to do?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because you're good at this kind of stuff."

"Brother, just go apologize."

Edward laid his head down on his arms, squeezing his eyes shut. "I tried to right after it happened, but she wouldn't let me."

He heard the clanking of Al's armor, and when he looked up, his little brother had his massive hands placed on his metal hips. "She was probably still really upset and in pain. You should try again."

"How?" Edward asked, a hand going to his hair, grabbing the golden strands tightly.

Al made a sound in the back of this armor, where his throat was, and Edward could almost see him rolling his eyes. "Just talk to her, Brother."

Edward looked down at his knees, sighing at his brother's words. Easier said than done. "I'm the biggest jerk in the world."

"Yes, you are," Alphonse said, voice slightly teasing. "But you're also the most caring, even if no one knows it."

Ed smiled up crookedly at Al, lifting his hand and taking hold of his brother's gauntlet for just a moment. "Thanks, Al."

The next two days were, as Edward decided, very stressful and filled with guilt. He stopped avoiding Winry the day after the accident, and she did the same, but things weren't like before. They rarely talked to one another and were hardly in the same room, even if they did pass by each other civilly. Winry would sometimes smile at him, though it never reached her eyes, and all Ed could do was look away from her, his chest hurting.

What really made him feel bad was the wrap Winry wore around her hand those two days. It was cream colored and circled her wrist and part of her hand, stopping at her fingers. He would watch her when she wasn't looking, examining the way she held her hand; her fingers were always curled in on it and, from what he'd seen, she couldn't bend it at all. Luckily, it wasn't her right hand, so she could still do things like writing, but Ed soon realized that she couldn't work on any of her automail projects anymore or help Granny with customers.

One day, the day after he'd hurt her hand and her second night with the wrap on, he had walked by her workroom and watched her as she gently touched each tool with her good hand, her eyes sad and bored, and Ed had felt so ashamed that he'd practically run outside and had remained there for a good hour.

Now, two days after he'd hurt her, here he was, standing outside her bedroom door, his fist raised and ready to knock. Only problem: he couldn't. He wasn't ready to face her, to face this, the fact that he could actually hurt someone he cared for. He knew he'd hurt Alphonse worse than anyone, but this was Winry, and something about seeing her in pain was almost as bad.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked softly on the door. "Winry?"

Silence. He knew she was in there though, so he didn't move, even though he felt terrified.

"Winry, c'mon, I need to talk to you."

Nothing.

Biting the inside of his lip, Edward sighed softly. "Please, Win. Just…please."

The door opened softly, Winry standing there, looking down at him; not because she was trying to be condescending, he realized, but because she was taller than him. She looked normal, like she always did, except that her hair wasn't in it's usual high ponytail, but in a low one, the hair band hanging loosely at the base of her neck. Her eyes weren't as bright as usual, colored instead a dull blue.

She raised her eyebrows inquiringly, waiting.

"Ah…hey," he muttered lamely.

"Hey," Winry replied in the same tone, leaning against her doorframe.

"I…can I talk to you?"

She nodded, then turned her back to him and went toward her bed, sitting down on it. Edward shut the door behind him, then walked forward and remained standing; he was scared she's hit him if he sat beside her, so he opted for standing in front of her.

Ed coughed slightly and was about to mumble a weak apology when Winry suddenly said, "It's okay."

Taken aback, Edward looked down at her, eyes absorbing the way she certainly didn't look okay. She looked tired and slightly pale, her eyes dim.

And Edward suddenly found himself speaking. "No it's not! I don't care what you say, I was an ass to you. Like always," he muttered quietly before continuing. "I was mad at you. I don't even know why I was mad, I just was, and I had no reason to be, because you didn't do anything but try and fix my arm. It's just…you're always right about that kind of stuff, and you pretty much knew what was wrong and didn't tell me, and I just…I just get tired of you always knowing everything."

"Because you like to know everything," she stated calmly.

Instead of denying it, he said, "Yeah. Exactly."

Edward could tell this surprised Winry, him accepting her words so easily, but he wasn't finished. "I like knowing everything, or thinking I do, because it makes me feel better. I feel safer that way, and I feel like if I know all that I can, I can take care of Al. But that's not an accuse, and I'm not trying to make one. I just know that you have every reason to hate me because I'm a jerk and I deserve it."

Once he was finished, Ed looked down at Winry, taking in her silence. Her expression was strange, a mixture of many feelings, but he could see anger there and was instantly ready to accept anything she threw at him.

Except a wrench.

The metal tool came out of nowhere, slamming into his left cheekbone with so much strength that it nearly tipped him over; somehow, he managed to pull himself up, his hand going to his cheek, holding it tightly. Normally, he would have screamed at her for doing that. Instead, for the first time, he took it like a man; after regaining his balance, he stood up straight and simply looked at her.

Winry was standing now, her arm still outstretched from swinging the tool/weapon. Her eyes were brighter than they had been in days, her breath coming in slight gasps, and a big grin was on her face.

Edward was shocked into silence.

"It's about time I get an apology like that, you jerk!" she said, almost laughing as she grinned down at him. "You've never said anything that nice to me."

Blushing furiously, Edward stuttered, "W-well, then don't ever except anything like it again!"

Winry did laugh this time, and Edward, though horribly embarrassed, felt himself relax slightly. "I won't," she said, "but it was really nice to hear it."

A shaky smile spread across Ed's face and he scratched the back of his head. "Well, I, ah…"

Winry giggled, then suddenly, her face sobered. Edward felt his nerves kick in at this and he watched her anxiously. "What?" he asked, voice almost a whine.

"You…didn't get Granny to fix your arm."

Edward looked over to his automail arm, at the large space where the plate should have been and at the wires that coiled around inside. He looked back to her, eyebrow raised slightly. "Yeah. So?"

"But…why?" she asked, large-eyed and confused.

Edward felt a small, soft smile spread across his face. "Because I don't want anyone working on my arm but you."

He watched her as realization set in; he saw it in her eyes, the way she held herself. Suddenly, to his dismay, large tears suddenly spilled over her eyes and she was crying.

"Hey, hey! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you sad, so stop crying, okay?"

She laughed through her tears as she reached her hands up to her eyes, the left still wrapped up tightly, and scrubbed the tears away. "Because," she said, voice watery and so happy it made Ed's heart nearly stop, "you said that."

Ed laughed softly, relieved, and he moved forward, placing his real hand on top of her head. "You're such a crybaby," he said affectionately, messing with her hair.

"I am not," she said, but she was smiling at him through her tears. Carefully, she lifted her left hand up and placed in on top of his.

Edward inhaled roughly at the contact, her smooth skin and the rough material of the bandage against his hand.

"What?" she asked, clearly confused.

He sighed, eyes sad, as he gently held onto her hand, moving it to where he held it in between them. It wasn't until then than Winry seemed to remember it was hurt; she tried to pull it back, to hide it, but Edward wouldn't let her. His fingers were already on the wrap, gently pulling at its edges.

"Ed, wait—"

"I just wanna see it," he said, stopping only to look at her eyes momentarily. "I want to see how badly I hurt you."

I was worse than he'd expected, and once the wrapping was completely discarded, a soft cry escaped his lips at the sight. Ed's fingers shook as he held her hand up gently by her lower arm, right above her bruised wrist. The skin along her wrist was dark purple and blue, the edges lightly tinged with the greenish color of recovery. Only part of her hand was bruised, large fingertips imprinted on the pale skin, and by the way she still held it, Edward knew the bones in her hand were sore.

Ed knew his eyes were wide as he took in the sight, but he just couldn't believe he had hurt her this badly. His hand, his automail, the limb she'd crafted for him, had done this to her because of his stupidity. Because he hadn't let her fix his arm, because he'd gotten mad at her.

He didn't realize his entire hand was shaking until Winry was holding it in her good hand, his fingers soft against his rough skin. "It's really not that bad," she stated truthfully. "It looks worse than it is."

"You promise?" he asked, voice breaking.

"Swear."

He nodded his head, still looking at her hand. "I'm so sorry, Winry."

"I know. And I forgive you. I'll always forgive you, because you never mean to."

Edward looked up at Winry, a real smile on her pretty face, just for him. Pretty? Ed faintly wondered, but simply decided to enjoy this moment with her. Winry moved forward, throwing one arm around him loosely; she knew he didn't like it when she hugged him. Now, though, Edward welcomed the contact. Smiling, he wrapped his real arm around her as well, his hand landing on her back. She smiled at him, resting her head against his, sighing gently.

And Edward realized, right then and there, that he would never, ever, hurt this girl the way he had, not physically or emotionally. That was when he promised that, unless it was necessary, he wouldn't touch her with his automail hand. Ever.

Because he couldn't stand to see her hurt.

When they let each other go, Ed walked to her door and smiled his usual grin at her. And everything was normal again.

Except for one thing.

As Edward walked back toward his room, he felt himself wonder, for the hundredth time in the last three days, why he had wanted to see her cry. And when it finally came to him, he blushed so furiously that he didn't think his face would ever go back to its normal color.

Ed had wanted to see her cry because when she did, she looked so pretty it took his breath away.