Chapter 5: You Don't Bring Me Flowers

Patsy hung around outside the hotel. The benches here were nice, with pretty flowers growing all around them. And no one noticed her sitting there. She swung her legs, watching the doorway. The armor had walked off and left the man and the woman, and they'd gone into the hotel. Patsy figured that she had a little while before she had to run back and tell Mr. Steinkuhl where they'd gone. Besides, it was really nice here, nicer than the place she lived. She tried to guess what it might be like inside the big building, with those revolving doors. Knowing better than to just walk into the hotel, Patsy contented herself with catching glimpses inside when the doors spun and watching the people entering and leaving the building.

It was fun to make up stories for those people, to think about where they might've come from. Patsy sat on the bench for a while doing that. This part of town was almost like a park, she thought, wishing she knew some kids who'd come here and play with her. They didn't like to play with a chubby girl with glasses, who couldn't run far or was too scared of being struck to hit a ball. That was why she looked through Mr. Steinkuhl's windows. His plants were so pretty, the prettiest that Patsy had ever seen.

She squirmed on the bench, smiling a little. And Mr. Steinkuhl had promised her one of those special daisies of his for finding out where the man and woman were staying! Hopping off the bench, Patsy started back toward Mr. Steinkuhl's shop, thinking where she could grow that daisy so everyone could see it.


"I can't believe Al just left us like that." Ed's grousing was starting to get on her nerves.

Winry rolled her eyes in response, making a minute adjustment to the gear in his elbow. "You've said that a half a dozen times."

Ed snorted in response, oblivious to her manipulation of his forearm as she checked the movement of his elbow joint. "That Lena, she looked like trouble. Did you see how she looked at Al? Like he was edible."

Screwdriver tucked into her mouth, Winry could say little more than, "Mmhmm."

"So you agree with me?" He was practically giddy at the prospect.

Taking the driver out of her mouth, Winry tightened a screw. "No, I couldn't say anything then." She wagged the screwdriver at him before setting it down to pick up a little oil can, squirting some of the lubricant on the gears in Ed's elbow. "Do you really want to know what I think?" Peering up at him through her bangs, Winry lifted her eyebrows questioningly.

As if he could read her thoughts, Edward made a grumpy sound. "No." His lower lip pooched out. "You think it's cute, don't you."

"What's wrong with Al having a crush on someone?" Returning the oil can to the table she'd commandeered, Winry reached for her large, flathead screwdriver. The movement in Ed's wrist was sloppy and while she had him torn down, she could work on tightening that up. "Or some girl having a crush on him? If I didn't know Al, I'd have a crush on him."

Ed whipped around so fast at that, Winry was surprised he didn't get a crick in his neck. "You what?!"

"You heard me. And hold still. If you jerk your arm like that again, the pin might come out." Winry's cross look was deflected by Edward's open mouthed surprise. "Did you hear me?"

"You'd have a crush on my little brother?" The question came out in a strangled groan.

"If I didn't know him. Honestly, Ed, you're not paying attention." She rapped the flat edge of her screwdriver against his forearm.

"Huh?" His face screwed up, speaking far more eloquently than his grunt. "Are you saying because you know him, you wouldn't have a crush on Al?"

Breaking the screw free that connected Ed's hand to his wrist, Winry grinned in delight. "I grew up with Al." She shrugged, absent minded, lost in the connections in Ed's forearm, trying to figure out why the movement in his wrist was so loose.

"Yeah, so?" The hesitation got Winry's attention and she glanced up from the inner workings of the wrist mechanism. Brow furrowed, mouth tight, jaw flexing, Ed gave her a look that Winry couldn't decipher before he asked, "Are you saying he isn't good enough?"

Somehow, she thought that wasn't the question Ed really wanted to ask. "He's plenty good enough, he's just…Al." Shrugging again, not really wanting to say more, Winry bent her head. "Whatever you did to your wrist, Ed," her voice trailed off warningly.

"I didn't do anything!" The hasty yelp meant she'd distracted him and Winry smiled to herself. While she could admit privately that she loved Ed, she wasn't ready to let him know that yet.

"You were in the hospital, Ed, and I was asked to meet you to repair your automail. How is that not doing 'anything'?" Brandishing her screwdriver, Winry was pleased to see Ed's eyes following it and his larynx bob as he gulped. Yeah, that definitely distracted him. All she had to do was keep him that way.

"It's not my fault! That bastard colonel sent me on the mission, if you're gonna blame someone, blame him!" Ed leaned as far away from her as he could without taking his arm off the tabletop.

"He told you to damage the hydraulics?" Winry flexed his wrist for emphasis. "Do you hear that whining sound, Edward? Your wrist should not sound like this."

"So? Fix it!" Scowling, Ed's lower lip jutted out.

"I will!" They exchanged glares, neither willing to be the first to break eye contact. Winry suddenly stuck her tongue out at Ed, a childish display, but it made him snort in response, shaking his head. "Next time," she said, going on as if they hadn't interrupted the discussion with a little spat, "pay attention when your arm makes this noise." Manipulating the joint again, Winry gave Ed a pointed look. He rolled his eyes but nodded. "Honestly, Ed, it's a good thing you've got loads of money for your automail. This kind of work would cost…well…a lot in Rush Valley."

"But not in Conway?" Ed showed his teeth, obviously thinking his joke was funny.

Winry managed to keep from sighing in response. "You're getting off cheap paying for my ticket out here."

"And your room. And your board." Leaning his chin in his flesh palm, Ed muttered, "Don't know why the bastard didn't put us in a military hotel."

"Because this is much nicer." The rooms Winry usually stayed in with the brothers barely compared to this place, though she did wonder at the instructions to stay at this particular hotel.

Ed snorted eloquently. "More expensive."

"You weren't complaining when you were picking stuff out of the fruit basket to eat!" Winry set down the screwdriver and picked up a seven-sixteenths socket wrench.

"That's food." Scoffing, Ed glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Food makes it different?" Fitting the socket around a bolt, Winry broke it loose, the racheting sound comforting in its familiarity.

"Food always makes it different." There was a surety in Ed's voice that made Winry shake her head. He shifted his body without moving his arm, something he'd had a great deal of practice in over the years. "Did you even try one of those apples?"

"Not yet."

Ed stretched his legs out in front of him. "They're great. So are the plums."

"Maybe I'll try one when I get done here." Winry made a pleased little sound as his wrist loosened up a little more. "Which might be just a few minutes more." She could see into the inner mechanisms now. There was a leak, which explained why the hydraulics weren't working properly and Ed's wrist was so loose. Repairing the leak, Winry did a thorough maintenance of Ed's automail, making sure everything was lubricated, tightened or loosened as necessary. "So," glancing Ed's way, she bent her head to her task again, "I'm almost done here. What do you want to do?"

"Eh." Shrugging his flesh shoulder, he turned his attention to her. "Well, you didn't get a good meal last night. You wanna go try to find a restaurant?"

Was Ed blushing? No, it had to be the light. Winry focused on the last screw as she drove it home. "Yeah. That could be…nice." Darting a look Ed's way, she saw the faint smile on his face, the warm light in his eyes. Her gaze dropped back to his arm and she set down her screwdriver, picking up a burnishing cloth and tossing it to Ed. "Get cleaned up and I'll go change." Winry couldn't help the giddy feeling as she got to her feet though she did refrain from skipping across the room. Ed would think she was nuts.

As Winry left the room, Edward finished wiping the excess oil from his arm. He started to toss the cloth on the table, thought better of it, and folded it neatly, placing it on top of Winry's portable tool chest. It always amazed him how easily she could lug that thing around. Tools were heavy, as he knew, especially since that old hag of a grandmother liked to use him for grunt labor when he was back in Rezembool. It was kind of weird to think how strong Winry must be, physically, when she looked like someone could snap her like a twig.

Wincing at the connotations of that particular image, Edward set his chair back under the table. He thought for a few seconds of tidying up the tools but figured Winry had a specific place for each of them. Far be it for him to put some ratchet in the slot where the screwdrivers were supposed to go. Even worse would be listening about it later.

Shaking off the weird mood, Edward headed for the bedroom he shared with Al. A funny little grin tried to form and he forced a scowl instead. This wasn't a date. It wasn't. They were a couple of friends going to get some food. Without Al, the little voice inside his head sounded suspiciously like that bastard, Mustang, It's a date.

"Is not," Edward growled in response, closing the door behind him. Still, he stood in the room for a few seconds, wondering if he ought to take a shower first. A surreptitious sniff under his flesh arm told him he didn't stink or anything, but did he actually smell? It wasn't like he could go bang on the door to Winry's room and ask her, after all. She'd think he was crazy. The bastard's voice returned. If you have to ask, you ought to take a shower. "Aww, man." You want to be clean and…shiny…don't you?

Grumbling Xingese curses picked up from that old geezer, Fuu, Edward dug in his suitcase for his canvas trousers and stiff-collared shirt. A clean pair of boxers and socks were added to the pile. "Can't believe I'm doing this for Winry." He completely ignored the bastard's stupid voice in his head and the suggestion that he might want to shave and splash on aftershave to the list of things to do prior to leaving the bathroom. What did the stupid little voice know, anyway? Hell, too much, probably. "Dammit." Edward rubbed his palm across his chin, thinking that facial hair wasn't that great of a thing. He scowled at the idea that a beard would make him look like Hohenheim. That was one thing he never wanted. Bad enough that that bastard thought he wore his hair the same way.

With a full-body shudder, Edward gathered up his clothes, stomping out of the bedroom. "I'm taking a shower," he announced to the empty room, loud enough that Winry could hear it behind her closed door, and slammed himself into the bathroom, the door rattling on its hinges.

Poking her head out of her room, Winry frowned at the bathroom door, still shivering in its frame from impact. Ed was lucky he hadn't cracked the plaster. Wagging her head, she retreated back into her room, wondering, "Why am I in love with such a weirdo?"


The little girl's information had come at a very good price, he thought, tapping his fingers lightly on the planting table. A flower, nothing too extravagant, a gerbera daisy in a rich salmon color and fifty sens. Very worthwhile, knowing where he might be able to pick a new flower for his garden. The fact that the man in the suit of armor had gone off on his own was also noteworthy and worked well for his plans. Now, he simply had to close up shop….

The sound interrupted his thoughts and his brow creased infinitesimally. The drumming of his fingertips on the table increased as he shot a look toward the door. One of the daisies he'd plucked was becoming wakeful and he'd need to deal with it before starting his quest. It wouldn't do to leave such a thing unresolved, after all. Strange noises sometimes attracted attention. It was a good thing his hired help was so hard of hearing.

Going to the doorway, he switched the sign from 'open' to closed, carefully locking the door. He pulled the shades down, though the sunlight was good for the plants. For this type of work, shadow was better; perhaps even more appropriate. He didn't consider that thought long, almost moving by rote. The shop front taken care of to his satisfaction, he moved further inside, closing behind him the door that led to the interior and Mrs. Thiry.

There were tables, of course, with plants carefully set upon them to catch the rays of the sun coming from overhead. The warmth in the room could be stifling come full summer but right now, it was pleasant enough. Bags of soil and fertilizer were stacked along the wall, near a darkened doorway that led to the basement. More fertilizer was stored downstairs, out of the direct heat, and it was here that he planned his special garden. The staff, consisting of one elderly woman, was unable to travel the length of the stairs and was nearly deaf, as well. Mrs. Thiry was, he thought, absolutely perfect with her pottering around and watering the plants, mumbling to herself. He sent her on her way for the evening, reminding her to mind the strangers in town. Paranoia in the elderly assisted him in his acquisition of – and retention of - some of his flowers, after all. Why, she'd alerted him that the police were searching for one of his newest daisies, the one with the pale petals. It was truly amazing what you could learn from gossip.

After making sure Mrs. Thiry was truly gone and not likely to return for a forgotten scrap or knitting or whatever it was that took up her time when she wasn't in his shop, he shut off the upstairs lights and started into the basement. Down here, the coolness of the earth seeped into his skin and he took a deep, cleansing breath. The tangy scent of fertilizer, the rich smells of loam and peat, the all coalesced into one fragrance that tickled his nose. He couldn't help but smile as he made his way through the dim room, the only light coming from a few windows scattered about at ground level. Shifting a pair of barrels out of his way, he pressed lightly on the hidden latch, opening the door into the next room.

Switching on the lights, he made his way into the room, one that mirrored in many ways the work room upstairs with its many tables and bags of earth. The fertilizer here was different but he was the only one to know that. There was still a faint chemical smell and the whiff of quicklime but he was accustomed to those scents and, of course, the most amazing bouquet of all, drifting to him from the flower waiting for him.

Her petals were a hue close to rust, rich and shiny brown, tumbling down the stem in luxuriant curls. Eyes dark as a black-eyed susan's widened at the sight of him. "Why are you holding me here!" She struggled against the florist wires holding her to the planter's stake. "I can pay you money. That's what you want, right? You have to let me go!"

Humming to himself, he went to get his tools, unlocking the cabinet where he kept them. He tested the shears and set them back inside, thinking he wouldn't need them for this particular plant.

"Wh-what are you doing?" She thumped against the stake. "I have money. I do. I can get it for you. Just let me go and I'll get it. No one…I won't tell anyone that I was here."

My, but she is noisy. He continued humming, a little louder, trying to block out the sound of her rustling. The flensing blade came out and he rubbed the ball of his thumb over the edge, pleased when a pearl of blood rose off his skin. Setting it on the tabletop next to him, he took out another blade, this one originally made of an old file, with a handle at each end. It flexed slightly and would be used to smooth the pulp from the stalk. The next blade was short and pointed and edged on both sides with a sharp tip. It was his favorite. He held it up over his head, smiling at the Xingese craftsmanship. The blade almost looked as if a waterfall was caught in it, with the design work in the surface of the metal. The light sparkled off of it and she fell silent except for a gasp.

He turned to her, smiling.

"No." Her little mouth moved in such interesting ways as she thumped against her stake. "No, you can't. You…you can't!" She struggled, her curling petals flying as she jerked her stem around, trying to break free. "No! Help me." She looked from the knife to the doorway behind him. "Someone please help me!"

"Shh," he crooned, catching her forehead in his hand and pressing it back against the stake. "It'll be all over soon."