If loving you

kills me tonight…

then I was ready

for death the

moment you

said hello…

r.m. drake

The loftspace above Alchemy was always quiet, even more so on nights when snow fell. Winter nights had a way of quieting the city noise, but it had been a long time since Ed's living quarters had felt so isolated. He sat at his drawing table scrawling aimlessly to pass the time, waiting for Winry's arrival. Upon receiving her text about being stuck at work, he instead inquired about her having Garfiel drive her to Alchemy. Anxiety settled in as he waited for her answer. His automail leg bounced nervously as he looked at the clock. 6 minutes since her text.

"Don't be paranoid." He muttered to himself, and swallowed another mouthful of scotch in efforts to remain calm. His mindless sketching had turned into chrysanthemums, and then to irises, and then to peonies. Big blooming ones, like what he'd put on Winry's back. His mind fell to her for the millionth time that night, how anxious he was to have her safe in his arms. He took another sip, and thought of her strong hands and how he wanted to feel them smooth over him. How he wanted to kiss every inch of her body, how he'd imaged himself looking down at his work on her back as he worshipped her until they both collapsed.

He looked at the clock again and sighed. 12 minutes since her text. Edward stood and began to pace slowly, stretching his arms above him and rolling his left shoulder to loosen up, trying to keep himself occupied. It wasn't until a single sheet of tracing paper slid off the edge of his desk and swayed to the floor, coming to a stop in front of him. Winry's pretty face in grey pencil met him, and as he stooped to retrieve it he heard another paper slide away and sail to the floor. He scooped up the second drawing and turned to shut the open window, only to halt in his tracks —the window had been closed all along.

Something crept along his spine, a feeling he quickly shook away as he remembered what gravity was, and he turned to sit at his desk again when he watched another drawing shimmy itself off the edge of his desk and glide to the floor, settling at his feet. It was full of flowers, and etchings of blue eyes. He'd been drinking too much, his paranoid mind was playing tricks on him.

"…flowers…"

Edward snapped around, eyes searching for the voice he'd so clearly heard, but found nothing. His breath quickened and his brow furrowed.

"Now I KNOW I drank too much tonight." He strode forward and snatched the bottle off his desk, corking it and stowing it away. He looked at the clock again. 15 minutes since her text, and a wave a nausea passed through him.

"…magic flowers…"

He stilled, eyes searching again but still finding nothing.

"No…not tonight.." He sighed to the empty room, very sure each time he'd heard that little voice is was because he was going mad. "…I can't do this tonight—"

The window shot open. It burst forth a blustering wind that sent the many papers off his desk and into the air, before they floated down around him and sailed to the floorboards. The window was old, stiff, and took a good portion of strength to wrench upwards, yet Edward witnessed it slam open angrily as though it were brand new. Despite the obviously emptiness of the room, Ed was made acutely aware that he was no longer alone as he looked around for the physical embodiment of the presence he felt.

He found nothing.

Deep breathing proved futile in its efforts to slow Edward's heart rate, and it wasn't until he started scooping up the various papers that it hit him —each page had Winry on it. Some were full sketchings of her face, while others were pages littered with flowers, constellations, and her blue eyes. Others bore her hands, or her name, or simply an artful 'W' with climbing ivy curling around it. Edward used to avoid drawing flowers or plants of any kind —now he drew them absentmindedly while thinking of the woman who brought his heart to a place he thought he could never reach again.

"…GO…"

-Edward gasped and whirled around, a bead of cold sweat rolled down his neck and crushing guilt weighed his chest down, for he knew with great certainty who was in the room. His sadness would vanish when the message hit home; sorrow shifted to panic as he looked at the sketch of Winry's eyes, his own gaze finding the clock again as the paper slipped from his hand.

He ran.

Winry's back was flat to a brick wall. Freedom was the street not 40 feet from her, but her path to it blocked by the source of her nightmares. Archer had delighted in his game of cat and mouse, advancing on her and watching the terror grow in her eyes before easing back enough for her to dart away before his sheer size would block her way again with only a step or two. The large knife and all the history it possessed was the perfect toy to keep her afraid, just how he liked her to be —meek and under his control. He hadn't forgotten however, that he was there to teach her a lesson. His free hand grabbed her upper arm and with seemingly minimal strength threw her halfway across the vacant lot where she crashed to the blacktop and remained motionless, the snow though small in amount still bit at her skin with its frigidity. Minutes stretched on forever as she rose to her feet, shaking and disoriented. Her feet barely planted before he was suddenly in front of her again, his hand around her throat as he slammed her against the bricks once more, her feet dangled as she tried desperately to free herself. A glint of light beamed in his human eye; Archer was loving this. His hand released Winry and she dropped to the ground, coughing and gasping for air and unable to scream for help, her lack of a voice worsened with the heavy blow to her stomach his kick gave. The air rushed out of her and she rolled again —something in her pocket pressed into her thigh, and her mind sparked.

—A crash sounded from the alley; something solid colliding with a metal garbage can. It was enough to pull Archer's attention away from Winry as he moved to investigate —making sure they wouldn't be disturbed. Winry seized her moment and pushed away the aching in her ribs as she crept to her feet. She slid her hand into her pocket and nearly cried with happiness when her numb fingers pulled out a small tracking device; Mustang gave her one at the precinct and instructed her to keep it on. She pressed the button and slid the tracker back home, praying the signal would hold up despite the falling snow.

A loud clang sounded from the far corner of the lot, something metal ricocheted off the wall and crashed to the ground. Glancing over her shoulder to be sure it wasn't Archer who'd thrown it, Winry scurried over and halted at the sight of a large iron wrench. It was as long as her forearm, heavy, and one of her favorites. She snatched up her weapon just in time for a blow to the back of her head to send her to the ground once more. Down but not out, she felt a heavy hand press against her back and her mind rocketed to that horrible night as she screamed louder than she thought possible. Her jumpsuit was torn down from her back and then Archer stopped —taking in the sight of flowers where scars used to be. The anger pulsing in him was suddenly new —something unbearable— and he swore he would destroy the man who'd erased the markings on his property.

But first he would put them back.

Archer pressed the blade to Winry's back as she screamed, the tears pouring down and her heart shattering from fear.

—His weight was gone; the pressure of his immense form lifted from her back and a loud thud vibrated the snowy cement beneath her. Her eyes shot open to find a dark figure had wrestled Archer to the ground only a few feet away, but the figure would be tossed aside as she had been earlier, and Archer moved to stand again. She sat up and backed away, clutching her torn jumpsuit to her as panic set in again. The sharpness of metal unsheathing rang out through the darkness and Winry knew her fate was sealed —until the dark figure leapt onto Archer's back and drove something deep into the black webbing under his automail shoulder, in the space where automail joints and wiring are hidden from the elements. A loud grunt and a sharp jerk, and sparks cut through the blackness as they shot out from under Archer's arm. Archer twisted and flailed, attempting to shake loose his attacker to no avail, and he was delivered another blow to the wiring under his shoulder; whoever was attacking Archer knew enough about automail to know how to shut it down. The figure sprang off Archer's back, flipping backward to land on his feet as the force of his kick-off sent Archer crashing to the ground. All was quiet for only a moment before Archer was on his feet again. But rather than charge his attacker, his focus forever remained on Winry.

The figure suddenly appeared between them in a defensive crouch and Winry sat in shock, unable to form words when the faint light from the alley revealed her savior —and what her savior had done to her work.

"Where's his off switch?" Edward asked, slowly crouching lower as he prepared for Archer to strike. She'd had a hard time seeing Ed due to his usual black clothing, and the distant street lights hadn't gleamed off his metal arm because a wide and flat blade covered the top of his forearm and extended to a vicious point nearly a foot beyond his fist. The blade was black.

Winry snapped to. "What did you do to your arm?!"

"—His fucking off switch Winry, the thing that deports his arm! Where is it?!"

"—I don't know, I've never seen anything like—"

Archer dove forward —Edward sprang at him and sent his black blade into base of Archer's neck. It cracked the steel easily and one swipe was all it took for Edward to pull the wiring, earning more sparks. Every severed wire slowed Archer more and more, and while Archer's size and strength would normally give him the upper hand, he lacked a full range of motion. He was no match for Edward's speed and agility. Archer lashed out, the knife connected to his arm finding purchase on Edward's bicep as it sliced through his shirt —a flesh wound that drew blood but didn't slow Edward down as he stalked around Archer's faltering, short-circuiting body. Winry had done her best to try to locate the killswitch —the one spot on an automailer that would forcefully export a limb from its dock without the use of tools that normally took limbs off easily and painlessly. Killswitches were used in times of emergency only, because they expelled the limb off the body and would fracture the port in the process. It was a similar concept to wolves who would chew off their own foot to escape a bear trap. But they were cleverly concealed and not always in the same place, and as Winry watched Edward gracefully dodge Archer's punches and kicks, she also examined what she could of Archer and wondered, if half a person's body is automail including torso, neck, and head, they couldn't possibly have a killswitch, could they?

"Edward!" Realization struck her and jumped to her feet —the torn remains of her jumpsuit fell to settle around her waist, exposing her chest. "He doesn't have a killswitch!"

When Ed's gaze transfixed on her Archer landed a blow to Edward's head that sent him to the ground rendering him motionless, and Archer advanced on Winry with the intent to end it all.

A new rage set in, Winry was done. She raced forward, gripped her wrench and sent a clang ringing loud into the night as she connected with Archer's skull. She hit him again, and again, and when she changed position and landed a blow to his organic skull only then did he drop to the ground and stay there.

She stood panting, unsure if he was alive or dead and her wrench slipped from her freezing fingers. Time slowed and the city was silent, her mind unable to catch up before Edward's black jacket was wrapped around her and she was whisked away towards the street and into a cab.

Hymens Braeda studied the detailed map on his phone, shouting directions as Mustang drove. They'd followed the tracer for several minutes —not speeding quite as much as they'd be under normal weather conditions— when suddenly the signal stopped.

"Where'd it go?! The signal is gone, both of them."

"You sure it's not shorting out due to the weather?" Roy asked as they idled on a quiet street.

"Not sure, although the wifi signal is still going strong. Our pinpoint is still here, but both Winry's and Ed's just went off the map, —that was smart thinking, by the way."

Braeda was referring to Roy's idea of giving Winry a tracking device and also giving Ed one to switch on if they crossed paths with Archer. Mustang dialed Ed and put it on speaker, he answered on the second ring.

*We're okay.* Ed panted still shaking off the effects of adrenaline. *We're heading back to my place, he's in an abandoned lot next to Garfiel's.*

"Do you need an ambulance?" Roy asked, and Edward knew it wasn't in reference to him. His eyes slid towards Winry, who was glaring at him as though he were Archer himself. Edward gulped.

*…Uh…remains to be seen…*

"What?"

*Nothing, we'll be ok I swear. We just need to get inside and calm down.*

The cab slowed to as stop outside Alchemy and Winry didn't wait for Ed as she got out and climbed the steps to the door.

"Do me a favor and turn your trackers back on. It'll put my mind at ease."

*Will do, I'll call you tomorrow.* Ed muttered as the cab drove off. He unlocked the front doors and ascended the staircase with an all-too-quiet Winry next to him. He could feel the storm brewing, anger bubbling under her exterior, and when he'd opened Alchemy's door to usher her inside was when the rain came down.

"You altered your arm! You LIED to me!"

Her tears threatened to fall but Edward stood his ground. He would not be made to feel sorry for this, even as she stood there quaking from fear and anger, clutching his black jacket over her shoulders and pushing wet, snowy hair from her eyes. She was shivering —exhausted and melting down— but Ed would not falter. His eyes fell to the fresh stomach bruises peeking out from under the jacket. She wouldn't admit it, but she needed someone to be strong for her because her body had been strong for too long.

"I never meant to hurt you." He said as he closed the door behind him. The light from the street lamps gleamed off a portion of his arm, the silvery beams halting at the edge of obsidian abyss on his forearm. Winry stared at it and her expression crumbled.

"You— you saw another engineer behind my back! You've been outfitted for a weapon!"

"You never would've agreed, so I did it anyway. I did it for you."

Winry's angry retort died on her tongue as she gazed at him, his face serious and unwavering, but not angry. His head throbbed where he'd been struck and his arm shouted in protest even though it had stopped bleeding.

"Why aren't you yelling back?" She asked. Edward reached for her and she stepped back, pushing her arms through his jacket sleeves and pacing frantically, letting the jacket hang open. "Fight back Edward!"

"I'm not gonna fight with you about this." He said solumnly, watching her unravel from lack of control. His eyes once again fell to the bruising on her exposed skin and wondering how much physical pain she was trying to hide. "You need to stop trying to be so strong."

"Fuck you!" She cried. "Don't tell me what I need! You don't get to do that! You lied to me!"

"I watched him press a knife against your back. Your screams were the things I heard at war, the things I hear when I sleep. I almost lost you tonight, and if I hadn't gotten this blade, I wouldn't have been able to save you. I did this to keep you safe."

"WHY?! Look at what you've gone through! I'm not worth the trouble! Why the fuck would you make all this effort to save me?!"

Edward snatched her arm as she moved to leave and spun her to meet his glare. He felt the answer bubbling on his tongue, squeezing his throat as it ached to spring forward. He shoved it down when his hands dove into her wet hair and he kissed her. She paused only for a moment before exhaustion slackened her and she felt her knees give out, but she was supported in her careful decent to the rug. Ed looked her over.

"I should take you to the hospital, you're pretty banged up." He'd felt the energy leave her body and it spiked fear in him when she went lax in his arms. She shook her head in protest, touching his face to bring his eyes to hers. She silently pleaded to stay. Her body may have been weak, but her mind roared with unabashed demand as she curled the fabric of his shirt in her fist and pulled him over her. She kissed him, feeling the weight of him pressing her into the floor and suddenly her fears and anxieties, her aches and pains, were all gone. She felt nothing besides his chest against hers, her fingers laced with his, their mouths asking more of one another than ever before. Winry knew that when it came to her, Edward treaded lightly. It was with this knowledge that her hand found the hem of his shirt and lifted it, silently urging him to cast it off which he did quickly before reclaiming her mouth. From then on there would be no second-guessing from either of them.

Mustang and Braeda ignored the bitter chill as they surveyed the abandoned lot near Garfield's. Snowy winter nights had a way of quieting even the busiest of neighborhoods, and a fresh coat of white on the ground served to cover up a lot of evidence. They'd been there for not even an hour, and quickly deduced that while the uneven levels of snow showed signs of people there and a possible struggle, they could collect no solid proof in the current weather. It was with a dejected shake of his head that Roy followed Hymens back toward their street-parked cruiser, only to halt in his tracks when he looked across the street to the bodega gleaming brightly in the dark night and the convenience store clerk who stood out front smoking a cigarette and watching them intently. Mustang caught Braeda's attention discreetly and motioned him to follow suit as they crossed Houston st and approached the bodega clerk.

"You guys find anything?" The clerk asked upon their arrival, not bothering to wait for them to produce badges or even introduce themselves.

"What did you see?" Roy speculated. The clerk extinguished the cigarette in the snow and stuffed his hands in his coat pockets. He was in his early 20s, of Middle Eastern decent but Roy could tell he was a born citizen —his brooklyn accent made it evident.

"I saw a monster." The clerk said. Roy and Braeda exchanged glances. "Yo I know it sounds crazy, but thats what I seen, I swear."

"Can you elaborate?" Braeda entertained.

"I people-watch a lot, you know? This corners kinda quiet at night. Anyways, I heard a commotion over there. Or maybe I didn't, I dunno, I heard shouts but its New York. Hard to know half the time if its actual trouble or just crazy people acting up. Whatever it was I wound up looking across to that lot, can't see much over there at night, but theres a little bit of light towards the back. I saw a guy and a girl come running outta there —he was kinda half carrying her, I hope she was okay. They flagged down a cab and got away, but a few seconds after they drove off I saw the monster. This guy, but he wasn't a guy he was like a half-metal guy, he was shooting sparks and walking funny. He looked down Houston, I guess he was looking to see where their cab went, and then he disappeared back into the lot again."

"Did you call for help?" Roy asked.

"I thought about it when I seen the guy and girl run out, —they both looked like something was wrong. But then that thing showed up and it scared the shit outta me. I know I sound nuts, I didn't think anyone would believe me if I called."

Roy and Hymens weren't sold on the story of the monster, but before leaving Roy asked, "The guy and girl, did you see what they looked like?"

The clerk scratched the back of his head as he tried to recall. "Well I couldn't see real good with all this snow, but they were both white with blonde hair. Oh and someone had a ponytail, but you know what I think it was the guy."

The hairs on the back of Roy's neck stood on end. "Did he have a metal arm?"

"Hm? Oh well, they both did. Not the girl, but the guy did, and so did the monster."

Braeda quickly handed the clerk a card with their info, asking to please be updated with anything new and letting the clerk know they'd likely need a copy of his stores street footage from the security camera. He and Roy strode out quickly as Roy dialed Ed but received no answer.

"This is too insane," Braeda said. "If it really was Archer after them, then when the hell did he get automail and why would the clerk describe him as a monster instead of just a guy with a metal arm?" They slid into the cruiser and drove off back to the precinct.

"I have no idea," Roy answered. "But it's time to do some digging into what happened during Archer's time in prison."

Wooster Street was silent, but the voices in Archer's head screamed louder and louder at him to abandon his original plan in light of new developments. Action needed to be taken. It wasn't about the fight with the Artist. It wasn't about getting so close to slicing that beautiful skin again. It wasn't even about taking back what was rightfully his. The game had changed, he would involve no one else, he would abandon his last remaining loyalist at the precinct. His final act would be his and his alone.

He stood in the shadows of the alley between buildings and gazed up at Alchemy's window, fixated on Winry and Ed as yellow street lights illuminated a desperate, naked tangle of sweaty skin, swollen mouths, wild hair. He watched the Artist crawl over her, kissing her body, working his way up to bury his face in her neck. He pumped into her carefully again and again, her sweet mouth opening in ecstacy. Archer resolved that if he could not have her, no one would.

She would burn for this.

"Daddy, I don't feel well. Will you draw me magic flowers?"

It was such a simple and innocent request, one that she asked often on the days she was home sick from pre-school. The doctors were still searching for the source of her on-going fatigue and her unstable blood sugar; blood tests had come back normal for everything and her painful visit to the allergist produced no results beyond typical dust and mold allergies. So until they could pinpoint the source, Edward would keep Nina as comfortable as he could. Drawing was their favorite pastime, and the day Edward decided to draw flowers for Nina was the first time something had a profound impact on her health. The flowers made her happy —she felt better. Doctors and psychiatrists could attribute it to nothing more than simple happiness brightening her heart when she was feeling exhausted or nauseous. It didn't make much sense, but it helped heal Nina on her more difficult days, and so Edward swore he would always be there to draw Nina's 'magic healing flowers'.

After recovering from his automail surgery Edward was sent home to see his daughter and begin the process of divorcing Noah. Edward spent as much time as he could with his little girl, knowing it wouldn't be long before he had to go back to war. They would take walks through the woods near their home so she could look for wild rabbits, he would braid her brown hair into two long tails for her, and when she wasn't well he would spend the day in bed with her surrounded in colored pencils and pads of paper and they would draw until she fell asleep. It was his pen and pencil sketches of flowers that always brought the biggest smile to her face and brightened her chocolatey eyes like nothing else.

"I have a gift for you," He told her one day as they sat on her bed amongst the pink pillows of satin, drawing rocket ships in outer space, princesses with frogs, fire-breathing dragons. He would be leaving the next day for his second tour in Afghanistan, and produced a flat parcel wrapped in the sparkliest, most absurd paper Edward could find for his tutu-wearing, tiara-toting, flower crown-making girly girl. When she got past the beauty of the wrapping paper her face gleamed even more for what the paper concealed.

A book. A sizable coffee table style book that covered her little lap and legs as she held it. The hardcover book was white with a blank cover and white pages, but as Nina opened it and carefully turned each page she found the large prints of her father's drawings. Page after page, flowers of every kind; some were old favorites and others were new ones she'd never seen before, each one with its proper name written below in careful calligraphy. When she reached the back of the book she was met with a message on the inside back cover.

So you'll always have magic flowers.

I love you.

-Daddy

That memory was his most cherished and yet the most painful to endure, for it was the last time he would ever see his little Nina. Even worse was when Noah had confessed that she'd sold the book to fund her drug problem after her parents cut her off. It was a complicated mixture of anguish and relief, for everything in the house was lost to the fire. He had nothing of his daughter, and while he was enraged to know that her mother had sold Nina's Magic Flowers, the tiniest speck of light shined in him; it was a reminder that a piece of his daughter's life still existed somewhere. Edward and Alphonse scoured the city for any leads, desperate to find the book. But when the dealer Noah had sold it too turned up dead, gone was any hope they had of finding the book. As years passed, he'd mostly given up on finding it, but any time he passed a used book store in the city, a tragic pull in his chest would force him inside to comb through the shelves in search of the modest, white book.

Finding it in Winry's automail garage was the last place on earth he would've expected, and it made him wonder about things like fate or God's design, or chance and dumb luck. What was real? He'd known that Nina had never left him, and that continued to torture him everyday —wondering if she'd passed onto heaven or the next life, if such things even existed. Or were we all doomed to wander earth for eternity after we died? Was his little girl doomed to watch her father suffer more and more each day? Edward had gut feelings, but they were different after losing Nina. Those gut feelings and unexplainable urges to act manifested themselves as a tiny voice. Her tiny voice in his head, and he wondered for the first year if he could be going mad with grief. Nina was gone, so how could he be hearing her voice? It seemed so impossible, but Ed could clearly hear her saying 'Daddy, no.' when he'd reach for his gun with the consideration of ending it all. But never before did the little voice chime to him so much than when he'd first spoke to Winry on the phone, and answered yes to her question if tattoos could cover scars. Winry asked him for flowers, and he nearly gave her to another artist but was stopped when, for the first time in months, a tiny voice in his head chirped 'Magic flowers!'

Edward lay awake in bed in the loft, thumbing through the pages of Nina's book with Winry curled against his side. Finally having her was everything he'd dreamed it could be, he was steady and mindful of their wounds, but it was the perfect opportunity to softly stroke every inch of her, to curl his hand around her soft rear as he pushed into her and savored her gasps and sighs. He'd recalled every moment he craved her, from the first moment he saw her and took in pouty lips and nervous eyes, to her dangerously lowering zipper on her jumpsuit when she examined his arm. The night of the storm in her apartment he was sure he would have her —he'd sat there wet and nearly naked and she was soft from wine and in need of comforting. When he'd finally kissed her, really kissed her properly, the way he'd always imagined doing so, he swore he could've died when they were wrenched apart by the commotion in the studio. Now that he'd finally had every part of her, an anxiousness in him quieted at long last. He'd scooped her off the floor and climbed the stairs to the loft where he'd laid her on the mattress and let himself melt into her —releasing his exhaustion like a breath he'd been holding for months, and then it happened. She'd gently pushed him back but entwined her fingers with his as she turned to lay on her taught belly, and he kissed the scars under her tattoo and worked his way up her back as he sank into her again, groaning in satisfaction at getting what he'd secretly wanted. Her, with him, moaning in the throes of pleasure that he gave her as he looked down on his artwork on her body. She'd whimpered when he touched her back, and asked with a gasp as he pushed into her again and again if he could see her scars. His hand squeezed her hip as he moved, and he crawled over her, pressing a kiss just below her ear. He wouldn't lie to her, and groaned low into her ear that she was beautiful, that she always had been.

"I wanted to tell you about my arm." Edward said to Winry as she watched him turn the pages of Nina's book, "Every day I thought of how I might bring it up, but it had to be the right time and the right setting, and things haven't exactly been easy."

He'd told her everything, about Nina, about the voice, the book, everything. Now that she knew the complete truth, Winry understood why he'd weaponized him arm without telling her.

She nodded against him and he set Nina's book aside before curling a warm arm around her. Winry looked up at him.

"I'm surprised that blade did so much damage to Archer. Is it carbon coated?"

Ed nodded. "It unsheathes from under a plate on my forearm, it responds to a fingerprint scanner beneath the loose edge of the plate on my collarbone."

A small angry spark still lived in Winry, but it was subsiding the more she realized just what lengths this strange and tortured man had gone to in order to keep her safe. She still found herself asking why, and then the pieces fell together and she pushed herself up on an elbow to look over him. She made a bold move.

"Nina's death wasn't your fault." She said. Edward lay immobilized, his sharp eyes glaring into her.

"You can't feel so responsible. You did everything you could." She elaborated. "I know you're desperate to protect me because you want to make up for not being able to help Nina, but that wasn't your fault."

His throat tightened and his eyes went glassy; Winry had struck a nerve. Suddenly her hands held his face carefully, cradling him in a way she never had before but that he'd realized he'd always wanted. An intimacy he hadn't known in years, for the only ones who touch our faces are our mothers and fathers, our children, our lovers. She kissed him to calm him.

"What did she look like?" She asked. The corner of Ed's mouth tipped up and he sat up and reached over to a stack of books on the floor. He pulled one from the pile and from under it's cover cam photograph.

"She was all smiles, all the time. Even when she was sick she always found a smile for me when I'd draw with her."

She was pure joy in a single image, with her long brown braids trailing on the floor around her as she lay coloring —a candid shot of her happiest of moments, captured by her father. She was peaceful and content in her practice, seemingly unaware of being watched, fully focused on the task at hand and clearly loving it. Winry was lost for words but Edward thankfully filled the silence as he placed the photo inside Nina's book and set it aside. Winry watched him with quiet awe, marveling at how he was able to go on with life despite what he'd been through. She'd memorized his every stunning detail while waiting for him to wake after his nerve reattachment. He was sharp eyes and high cheekbones and a sculpted, firm mouth to go with every other perfectly sculpted part of his body. His flowing hair stood in juxtaposition to his strength; long, soft, shiny, but wild as the spirit of the man himself. His beautiful tattoos adorning his body like paint on a warrior, Winry ran her fingers over them softly. Every aspect of him was strong and yet here he was, rendering himself vulnerable, sharing his deepest despair with her.

"That was all I had left of her until I saw that book in your workshop. How did you wind up with it?" He asked.

Winry swallowed and clutched the sheet to her chest, the answer was almost cruel in it's irony.

"Archer gave it to me. Years ago, he brought it home from Strand. It was in their sidewalk sale."

Ed sat staring, eyes wide and almost glazing over as the memories flooded him. He'd spent countless days returning to that storefront time and time again, hoping the book would be there. He'd scoured the carts meticulously, and always wondered why he couldn't even have so much as Nina's book —why he'd had to lose everything. His focus came back to Winry, who watched him cautiously with shining, sad eyes.

"Do you believe in fate?" She asked.

"It's been years since I've had faith in anything," He said, "but I'm having a hard time chocking all this up to mere coincidence. I was obsessed with finding that book. For years it was my greatest priority, and it was only this year that I'd finally given up the search. It was killing me."

Winry knit her brow in response and he elaborated, "The disappointment became harder and harder. I finally woke up one day and realized that life is unfair and cruel, and that I would have to make due the best I can, just like I had to as a kid."

Delicate fingers softly swept away an errant lock of golden hair threatening to fall in his eyes, and as he turned Winry was suspended by his intense gaze. Metal fingers ran through her hair and his eyes searched hers.

"What has our suffering been for all this time?"

They said nothing as his forehead came to rest on hers and their eyes closed, losing themselves in the sound of each others breathing, the feel of the others skin under their palms, loose hair sliding through fingers. Beating hearts roared in their ears and they drew closer, mouths barely skimming eachother before Winry stilled.

"Do you regret this?" She asked fearfully.

"Not at all." He replied. "You?"

"No."

He claimed her mouth again, and relished in the sounds she made. Music to his ears was her gasping and crying his name, her heart beat double time at his hot breath on her neck, her hearing the the beautiful things he rasped into her ears.

They did not hear the firebomb shatter through the studio window.

A/N: I didn't forget you, not for a second. I'm not done here. I'm coming back with more.