Title: Song Without Lyrics
Author: vanillavinegar
Rating: K+
Summary: "Excuse me, miss, could you spare some water for a thirsty traveler?"
Warnings: SPOILERS for the end of the manga/Brotherhood. Sweet enough to give you cavities.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist and all associated characters, settings, etc., belong to Hiromu Arakawa-san. The only profit I make from this work of fiction is my own satisfaction and, possibly, the enjoyment of others.
Author's Notes: This fic was written for prompt 141, 'poetry', at fma_fic_contest. It won second place that week. Thanks to everyone for reading!

Write a review, get a response from the author – promise! :)

Granny had gone to visit Mrs. Smitherson (which meant she had gone to haggle over the price of tobacco in old lady Smitherson's shop in town), taking Den with her for company, and for once they were caught up with their orders, so Winry grabbed the hoe from the shed out back and set out to weed the vegetables. She'd rather have been dreaming up designs inspired by her latest Monthly Mechanic, but the weeding needed doing. And it would be nice to surprise Granny if she finished quickly.

She hummed as she worked, settling into an easy rhythm. It was early yet, and the heat from the sun was still just a pleasant warmth on her back and shoulders. The weeds weren't too numerous – between them, the Rockbells kept their garden in tidy shape – but it had been a couple of weeks since the weeding had last been done and there was work enough.

Winry became so focused on her task, in fact, that the approaching footsteps – irregular beats, those of someone with one leg flesh and one automail – didn't even register.

"Excuse me, miss," said a voice she knew as well as her own or Granny's; she dropped the hoe, turning around and getting an eyeful of morning sun. "Could you spare a glass of water for a thirsty traveler?"

"Ed!" she shrieked, still trying to blink away her momentary blindness. She leapt toward the voice, and she must have guessed the direction rightly because suddenly she was enveloped in a pair of strong arms. She hugged back fiercely, even as she tried to hit him on the shoulder. "You never call before you come! Why didn't you let me know, you jerk? Wait," she pushed away from him, her vision having cleared enough where she could make out the bright grin he shot at her. He was tanner than he'd been when she'd seen him last, his hair a bit longer – was he taller, too? Hard to tell from this close. "What did you do to your leg?" she demanded.

His grin flipped into a scowl. "Nothing!"

"Then why'd you come back?" she asked, still suspicious.

Ed's mouth worked for a moment before he growled and pulled her to him again, and then he was kissing her. Winry's eyes fluttered shut as she kissed him back; she had missed him, so much.

Then she realized what was happening and broke off the kiss. "Don't think you can distract me, Edward Elric!" He kissed her again. "I want to know—" And again. "—what you've done—" Again. "—and why you're here—"

"God, woman," Ed groused against her lips, a flush – irritation or embarrassment? Or maybe a bit of both? – working up his neck, "if you would just shut up, I'm trying to tell you."

When his lips found hers this time, Winry wound her arms around his neck and didn't say a word. Ed can be such a dolt, sometimes, she thought, but a sweet one.

"There's only one way for you to tell if your love is true, young man," the bartender went on in a lecturing tone.

Ed gave him a flat look. This had not been the kind of legend he had meant when he asked the man for any that he knew.

The bartenders in Creta, he'd quickly learned, were vast repositories for all sorts of rumors and stories, including ones about alchemy. This particular bar – still mostly empty at ten in the morning, which was why Ed had ordered tea – had looked quite seedy from the outside – usually a good sign as far as information gathering went. But now the bartender was telling him some weird love story.

Oh, well, Ed thought, sipping his tea, maybe he'll tell me something good after the stupid love thing.

"They say that when you kiss your true love, you hear the music of the planets all around you," the bartender explained, propping his chin in his hands and staring into the distance dreamily.

"What's the music of the planets?" Ed couldn't help asking.

"They say," the bartender replied slowly, deliberately drawing the words out, "it sounds like a song without lyrics – like poetry without words."

Ed took another swallow of his tea. They made it too sweet out west, but he'd grown to tolerate it over the past few months. "That doesn't make any sense," he pointed out.

"If you'd ever been in love, young man, you would understand," the bartender reproached. Ed frowned at him defensively, hoping the bar was too dark for the man to make out the red on his face. He knew he was out of luck when the bartender started to smirk. "Oh-ho, it's like that, is it?" he said, chuckling. Ed transferred his glare to his cup, shoulders hunching. "Well, the next time you see her, young man, see if you can hear the music!"

Ed shook the memory away. That had been over a week ago, and when he'd found himself missing Winry more and more every day since, he'd wondered why he didn't do something about it. Which was why he'd found the next train bound for Amestris without so much as calling the Rockbells to let them know.

He relished the feeling of Winry warm in his arms, even coated with sweat and dirt from working outside. He had tried to listen for whatever the 'music of the planets' was, but all he could hear was Winry; shouting his name when he surprised her, whispering "I missed you" when they paused for breath, laughing at his equally soft murmur of "I love you."

Whatever, he thought, mentally shrugging as Winry yanked him closer, poetry's overrated anyway.

THE END