A/N: Much much thanks to WildSilence023, Nuzha, one Guest, blazedancer1997, dvltgr, blue_moon_wolf, Lepaud for the reviews/comments on the last couple chapters! This chapter is for y'all EdWin lovers out there… I hope you enjoy it

Rev. 12/28/20

chapter 12: bomb in a birdcage

EightyTwo, Los Angeles, 11:40PM

Another one down.

Another.

And then another.

Zombies keep dropping off left and right on the screen before him, and Edward doesn't know what to make of it. Repressed anger? Outright frustration?

Beside him, Winry is shooting away without a care in the world. She is laughing, smirking, and her posture is surprisingly correct and precise. Did her sister teach her how to fire a gun?

Bam! Bam! Bam!

"Winry, you are scaring me," Ed whispers. He's already done with the game a long time ago. He doesn't even remember which level his gut burst out as his character slumped to the floor.

"I'm just trying to get a high score here!" Winry replies, her eyes locked on the arcade display. When the last tentacle-looking-monster hovers over her sharpshooter, gnawing on the sad woman's shoulder so that blood starts to gush out, Winry loses it and slams the plastic rifle back into the proper slot.

Game over.

Her arms folded across her chest, Winry scowls, "Geez, thanks for your help, Ed. You could've inserted another coin rather than watched me play."

Even if his FPS skill is appalling, making Winry seethe and do that thing she does with her hands on her hips, Ed is grateful, glad, that she can momentarily forget about his departure the next morning. Not that he is too keen on leaving her alone after all that happened.

"Ice cream?" Winry asks then, pulling him away from his thoughts. She straightens her crinkled shirt and loops her arm around his, dragging him out of the venue and out into the chilly weather. "Ice cream tastes best when it's cold."

In their haste, Edward pats his jacket pocket, feeling for a bump beneath the layer, sighing in relief when it's still there, safe and secured. He turns to Winry, who is still shuffling them forward, racing against the twenty minutes before the ice cream parlor closes for the night.

"You're not tired, Win? It's pretty late," Edward asks. Though another minute with Winry is welcomed rather than dreaded. Even after Olivier's threats and warnings of snapping his neck if he doesn't bring her back on time. "I told your sister I'd take you back by midnight…"

Her steps halt, and her hands find her hips. "Damn it, Ed, Liv is not my mom! And this is your last day, I think she'll understand!"

"Well, maybe…"

But it isn't just the prospect of getting hurt by her older sister that stops him. Edward has something else planned for her.

"Please?" she begs, her blue eyes pleading with her.

How can he say 'no' to her?

"Fine. Ice cream and then we head back," he says, trying to sound stern but failing at it.

Autumn made way for winter, and the nipping wind wheedles Edward to slip his hand into hers, finding it just as cold and rough as his. Warmth seeps in, sprinkled with excitement and fear and panic of what's to come, and Edward feels a shiver climbing up his body, tingling the roots of his hair.

Winry doesn't look at him. She doesn't even offer him a glance. But then she twines their fingers together and tucks their joined hands into her big coat pocket, not saying a single word. Knowing Winry, she is just as anxious as he is. It coils a smile across his mouth.

Their ice cream run lasts only five minutes with no other patrons around. Sea salt caramel has never tasted so good, Edward thinks, and he is certain it is mostly company and the thought that he won't see Winry again for a while.

He looks at her, smiling. "Happy?"

"Yes."

"Ready to go home?"

"No."

A single brow raises, and Edward asks, "No?"

She shakes her head and silently mouths her refusal. And just like that Edward knows what she is thinking. It's silly that he even had to ask. Apparently, growing up with Winry gives him the ability to mindread and perceive her tells.

"I promise I'll keep in touch, Winry," he reassures. Lifting his cellphone out of his pocket, he flashes the screen in front of her face. "See? I got your new number."

"I guess that will have to do," she murmurs. And then she takes out her own phone, the blue light reflecting her frown and sad eyes.

But as Edward struggles for words, he sees Winry's face turn pallid. He didn't even have the chance to voice what he wanted to say. His heart stops the moment Winry holds her breath. Under the dim lamplight, she glows ghostlike, eerie, her expression disturbing.

Promptly, Edward bends down to her height and searches in her eyes. He rests a hand on her shoulder, and gently asks, "Winry...? Are you okay?"

She glances at him, tentatively, and in that quick second Edward sees a single tear in the corner of her somber gaze. When she blinks, it disappears. It is as if it never pooled in the first place, as if it were a mere illusion that lodged terror in his throat.

He isn't sure what went wrong. The night has been wonderful, and while it nearly comes to an end, it wouldn't be the last time they talk to each other. Impulsively, he extends a consoling hand and pulls her into him, enfolding her, comforting her.

The phone in her hand clatters to the ground, the corner chipped. As Edward ducks down to pick it up, releasing her for one second, he comes across the text on her flashing screen.

It is a number he doesn't recognize.

But the text gives out the perpetrator.

Win, it's Russell. I'm so sorry. I am so, so sorry. Can we talk?

Everything suddenly clicks into place. His trembling hand and a too-firm grip nearly crushes her phone, but he schools himself into order. "Winry?"

Winry remains silent, and the slope of her shoulders droop and shiver. Edward takes a deep breath, in and then out, tilting her chin up at him when she eyes the ground. As calmly as he can, he asks again, "Winry… was Russell the one who hurt you?"

Her dreary countenance angles up at him, and Edward knows. He knows the truth. Fury shoots up his limbs, hot and wild and violent, and he clenches his teeth so hard he thought he heard it crack. Winry's cellphone in his hand bends out of place, crumpled effortlessly like a piece of paper.

He glares up at the sky and shouts, "Are you fucking kidding me?! What the f-!" And he shakes his head, putting them into his hands, praying for control even as his mind hurls strings of curses at the man he knew for only a short time.

Russell always did hang around Winry. Edward should have known better. He should have predicted his malice—his problems with the teachers and fellow students should have been enough indication. Guilt soars and hovers above him like a raincloud. And Edward feels the need to condemn the sky again. How unfair. Everything is so unfair.

"I purposely lost my phone so he won't be able to contact me… but somehow he got my new number and…" she says, trying to explain, stumbling over her speech as tears collect in her eyes again.

And Winry starts to cry. Her eyelids are swollen and red, her misty eyes and sloping brows pleading her case. Edward has never seen her so sad and distressed and so… defeated.

Despair replaces anger, if only for a moment, and Edward draws her into him again, shushing her, sheltering her beneath his tightening arms. "Winry, I'm so sorry. I am so… sorry..."

Into his chest, she sobs, shaking her head. "I know… I am, too, Ed..."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to protect you… I am so sorry," he whispers, meaning every word. The need for retribution niggles in the back of his mind, but he turns his attention back to the crying girl again, needing to know what he can do. What she will allow him to do. "Tell me what I need to do, Winry. How can I make you feel better?"

When she says nothing, Edward repeats his pledge again, "Do you want me to kill him, Winry?"

Soon, she untucks her weeping face and confronts him, meeting his golden eyes with hers. Her tears are still there, rolling down, staining her collar, but on her mouth is a weak smile, so strange and amusing.

"That's the second time someone's offered to kill him on my behalf," she says through a whimper. And then she chuckles, confusing him and making him feel better all the same. "Don't kill him, please. Not worth the effort and jail time."

"Sorry… I was just trying to-"

"No, no. I know, Ed," she shushes him, putting a finger on his running mouth. "I promised myself I wouldn't let that get me down… I've been doing so well, too," she sighs, as if what just happened was no big deal.

"That's good, Winry, but it's okay if you need to cry, too… just let it out."

He contemplates postponing what he has planned, but Winry isn't crying anymore. The fire in her eyes is strong and burning, determined to move on, wanting to forget. There is no reason for him to hold off another moment. There is no way he can wait for another half year before he sees her again after tonight.

On the rooftop of her home, Olivier and Riza are waiting, probably wondering where they are. Paper lanterns have been hung, heart-shaped rose petals have been laid out. He has asked them to do just that before eleven o'clock. Edward wonders if the champagne in the ice bucket is still chilled. What about the bouquet of Casablanca lilies he ordered from the florist in West Hollywood? Did they deliver it on time?

But tonight calls for an improvisation. And Edward loops his arm around hers, leading her to a nearby park that seems quiet and safe, seeking a new romantic spot where he can drop on one knee and say the words he's practiced day and night in the solace of his bedroom.

"Ed, where are we going?"

Unanswering, he takes out his phone and searches for "romantic songs." Norah Jones comes up, and Come Away With Me seems appropriate enough.

"What's with the slow song?" Winry asks again.

He gulps, swallowing the rock that's been lodged in his throat. Say it, he tells himself. Do it now. "We never went to prom…"

Winry nods, agreeing. "True."

"So I'm making it up right now."

A small smile tilts her lips up, and she eyes him suspiciously. "What is going on here?"

Instead of replying, Edward bows to her, extending a hand out. "Will you dance with me?"

Winry laughs, her face amused and her gaze studying him. But she takes his hand and folds herself into him, "Of course."

The song doesn't even matter, Edward decides soon enough. All he can think about is the warmth of her body beneath her dense coat, the silk of her breath on his neck, the satin of skin as he sways with her slowly and languidly. In his mind is when, when when. When should he pop the question? When will be a good time?

He doesn't even realize when the song switches to a pop number. To the beat, Winry begins to spring on her steps, releasing him, twirling him around.

"I didn't think we'd have to dance to this kinda song," Ed groans. His movements are spastic, his legs moving on their own, even when he tries so hard to take control.

"Just do it, Ed," Winry laughs once more, completely entertained. She is still drumming away with her feet, shuffling to what sounds like a combination of Backstreet Boys at the height of their fame and Avril Lavigne if she wasn't so emo. It's a confusing, little tune. Raucous and then upbeat... and kind of catchy?

It's not helping his case.

"Wow, you suck at this," Winry says, teasing. But she takes his hand and guides him through their grassy dance floor, trying to teach him, laughing when he can't follow through. "Just listen. It's much easier when you do."

"When did you even learn how to dance?"

"I don't know. I never did. Not really."

Edward chuckles. "Well, you're doing much better than I am."

His phone eventually stops playing music, and Edward's steps halt with the final beat. His hands won't stop trembling, and a whirlpool shakes and spirals the content in his belly, pushing bile up his throat. He swallows down and reaches into his pocket, taking out a worn out velvet box that safeguards his mother's engagement ring.

It's been years since Ed's seen her ring. His mother passed away much too soon, and what a terrible, terrible day it was. He could barely remember what it looked like until Alphonse retrieved it from Pinako. He drops to one knee, dismissing the wet soil and freezing ground. With shaky fingers, he opens the lid, presenting it to Winry. The tiny diamonds that circle the gold band glitter in the collected lamplight. It's as pretty as Edward remembers.

He sees Winry take a step back, surprised, shocked. Then she gasps, understanding the meaning of his gesture, and she searches for the truth in his eyes.

"Winry…" Edward begins. His breath rattles in his chest, but he's been waiting for this moment a lifetime, and he is not going to delay another second. "I know we're not exactly in a… normal relationship. But I want to keep you safe. I want to take care of you until you're grey and old… I want us to have a life together. I'm saving up. I don't have much now but," he can feel his tongue stumbling, his mind running faster than his own mouth, but he pushes through, "I'm yours, always have been, completely and unceasingly… if you will have me."

Her gaze finds the ground, no longer looking at him. She stands in silence, and Edward can see her knuckles clench until they turn white. "After all that happened… you still want me?" she asks quietly, sadly. And then she finally finds him, sees him, and tears are in her eyes again.

Panic starts to overwhelm, and he bolts up to his feet. He feels himself sweating through his thick jacket, pooling on his back and palms and everywhere else. It's making him even more nervous than he already is.

"Winry, I'm no good with words… but if there's one thing I know that's true is that I can't imagine growing old with anybody else. I love you. I don't care if you look like Frankenstein or if you turn out to be a blood-sucking vampiress I never knew about. You would make me the happiest man on earth if you marry me."

At this, Winry starts to giggle. The sound is lovely and endearing and delightful. A pretty smile lifts her solemn mouth then, and she stretches her fingers and intertwines them with his. "Well, I'm not a vampiress or a Frankenstein, thank goodness. And if you will have me… then yes."

Hope flickers beneath his ribcage, and Edward asks again, making sure he is hearing what he's supposed to hear, "Yes?"

This time Winry nods, assuredly, her hand firm around his. "Yes, Ed. Yes!"

With his slippery grip, he takes out the ring and slides it onto her finger. It fits perfectly. It fits her perfectly. In elation, he rests his forehead on hers, eyeing the buds of her pink lips.

Softly, he asks, "Is it… okay?"

"Yes…"

The brush of their lips is tentative at first, reluctant, but it grows confident, certain, just as they are from their first meeting under Pinako's oak tree and the decade thereafter. Winry sighs against his mouth, her lips parting, and he gathers her into him, letting her in. When she inhales and speeds through her motion, rushing as if time is running out, Edward slows her down, telling her that it's okay, that their distance apart will not be forever. That they will eventually find each other again.

And she concedes, following in his tread as she curls into him, letting her fears go.

Kissing Winry is like stretching under a warm sun. Kissing Winry is like being transported back to a past where everything is right and pure. And kissing Winry is like watching the stars wake beside the moon. It's beautiful and faultless and absolutely breathtaking.

Kidsland, Los Angeles, 11:44AM

"Izumi, how about this one?"

The stroller Olivier points to seems perfect—the price is affordable, and it's sturdy enough when she gives it a little shake.

But it only takes one glance from Izumi. Then she looks at Liv incredulously and shakes her head. "Liv, I'm not rich like you. That thing costs over a thousand dollars."

"How about I buy it for you?" Liv offers.

Izumi chuckles. "No, thanks. You can buy me lunch though." She gestures to the back of the room, towards the sign overhead that spells "Clearance," and says, "Maybe we'll go check out that section."

Liv follows her, eyeing a mountain of strollers stacked up together. They seem feeble, definitely less fanciful, but functional enough. Her palms find her knees, and she flips the tags for the price.

When she stands up again, her rear bumps against someone behind her, and she quickly turns to apologize. "I'm sorry. I didn't see you."

The redhead smiles, and the familiarity of her features prompts Olivier to tilt her head. She looks oddly familiar. Her pale complexion and blue eyes, the buckteeth that make her look endearing rather than silly.

"Have we met before?" Liv asks.

And the woman seems to share the same sentiment. Her face lights up. "Are you Desmond's partner?"

"Yes."

"It's me Lilian. We met at the precinct's New Year's party last year? I gave you the glass of punch?" she says, leaving a trail of clues for Liv to pick up. "Do you remember? I'm his wife."

Her heart skips a beat. Of course Liv remembers. His wife. The woman has been lovely, and she defended her from all the men who called her "Ice Queen" for not wanting to participate in a game of drinking and tossing ping pong balls.

And there's the fact that Liv's been hanging out with Miles outside of work, kissing and sleeping with him, slowly swindling her out of her husband even when she didn't mean to. A tinge of regret billows, and the urge to leave the store is strong all of a sudden.

And why is Lilian here now?

Is she pregnant?

"Yes, I remember," Liv nods. "How are you, Lilian?"

Lilian smiles, but then she shrugs. "I suppose things are okay."

"I heard about you and Miles… I'm sorry."

"Yes, it's all too bad. He's a good guy but he married his career first and foremost," Lilian says.

Not quite true, Liv thinks. But she leaves it at that.

"But I am willing to work things out between us, especially now," Lilian finishes. Then she places a hand over her flat stomach, caressing it, running her palm in a circular motion once and again.

All Liv can hear is the quickening of her pulse in her ears. It's fast and loud and deafening. "Oh…"

"I haven't told him anything, but I'm about 14 weeks along," Lilian says. The excitement in her bright eyes is palpable. "I just found out not too long ago. The stress and everything, I thought the missed period was from that. Turns out Desmond left me with a little gift before I moved out!"

Olivier doesn't know what to think. She doesn't even know how to feel. A mass of emotions rise like a tidal wave, and they sweep her up, compelling her to run. Far away. Until she figures out a way to work this out perhaps she should stay away from Miles… ask for a different partner… transfer to a different precinct…

All at once her thoughts jumble together, spinning her head. Her mouth murmurs the appropriate farewell, but all Liv wants to do is punch the rack of baby clothing behind her. "Congratulations, Lilian. I hope things work out for you."

Then without another word, she dashes for the exit, rushing past her stunned best friend, tinkling the bell above the entrance.

Variety Building, 5:30PM

Riza punches the "Print" button again, only for the screen to ask her to remove some invisible paper from the tray above it. She lifts the lid, closes it, and presses the button again. Again. And again.

Error.

Error. Error.

"Freakin' printer is jammed all the freakin' time..." she mumbles her rage under her breath, her fingertip pale from poking at the thing.

Suddenly, Riza feels a hand touch her shoulder, making her flinch. Then she finds a set of strong arms wrapping around her from behind, tightening around her torso. His sandalwood aftershave is distinctive, dizzying her head with love, dampening the rage that's built up in the course of the last five minutes. If they weren't at the office, she would have pushed him against the wall and peppered him with kisses.

Probably.

"Don't get mad," Roy's voice whispers. "The day's almost over, then we'll have dinner soon."

It's impossible to stop smiling, but Riza unlatches him from around her. Playfully, she swats at his hand, and Roy's expression twists into pretend-hurt before he chuckles and distances himself from her. Impropriety will only get them in trouble, and with Roy's career at stake, she really doesn't want to take any risks.

"We are at the office, you know," she breathes. "You should at least wait until we're at your place or something."

At this, Roy grins. He tangles his arms together and leans against the doorframe. "I am looking forward to our fifth date."

Riza chuckles. "You've been counting?" Though she's been counting herself. As far as she knows, their relationship (as inappropriate as it is) has gone on longer than any of her previous ones. But finding the perfect composure at work has never been an issue. As Bradley puts it now and again, Riza Armstrong is the perfect employee.

"Remember. This time I'm cooking," Riza reminds him.

"Why won't you tell me what you're cooking?"

"It's my mother's recipe. Think something German," she smiles.

"Schnitzel."

"Nope."

"Currywurst?"

"That's like street food," Riza scoffs. "How about something nicer? It is a date."

Roy sighs, "Unfortunately, my knowledge of German food is kind of lacking." Then he smiles, fondly and adorably. It makes her legs wobble and her heart speed up. "I think I'll let you surprise me," he says.

Out of nowhere, Rebecca peeks her head into the printer room and knocks on the door.

And Riza can only breathe a sigh of relief that she and Roy are no longer hugging and doing whatever they aren't supposed to be doing in the office. Riza hasn't told Rebecca about them. And she probably will never. Not until she quits or Roy moves to another company.

Besides, what would her best friend say about her dating someone she used to despise?

"Big big boss wants to see you two in his office.," Rebecca says.

Roy's brow lifts in curiosity, hinting at Riza that he has no idea what the meeting would be about. Anxiety suddenly overwhelms, and Riza senses her heartbeat begin to pick up, sprinting at fifty miles an hour.

The walk to Bradley's office feels more like a slog with her steps so heavy and her mind so full. Inside, Bradley sits in front of his monitor, his black gaze piercing as he peers at Riza and then Roy and then back at her again.

Bradley looks at Riza, his hand motioning to the stack of stationery in the cabinet wall, telling her to take notes. Then he turns to Roy, who pulls out a sofa chair tucked into his desk and folds himself into it, calm and composed.

"It's been brought to my attention that there may be misconduct within your department, Mustang."

"Misconduct, sir?"

Her attention is on the notepad in front of her, but her heart is in her throat. Did they find out about them? She did double check with Rebecca that the security cameras are merely decoration, installed to discourage questionable behaviors. Like theirs.

"Yes. I've been told that someone pitched the board about an affordable housing opportunity. If approved, it will push my five-year plan for the new office building another two years."

The line of her shoulders relax, though Riza can't help but wonder if Roy was the one who did it. It sure sounds similar enough to what he's been wanting to do. And her undiplomatic suggestion to reach out to the "people who matter" might have given him ideas that she fears put him in their current predicament. Anything to help the poor, Roy once said. And Riza's been holding onto that thought ever since.

"No, I'm not aware," Roy says.

"I've convinced them that it's better to put our capital elsewhere."

"But I understand if they decide to approve it," Roy interjects politely. "The tax cuts will save us more money. I'm sure whoever spoke up to the board only wanted to save the company more money."

As they volley back and forth, Bradley arguing his side of the story and Roy defending the perpetrator, she pieces the clues together, hoping against hope it isn't what she suspects. At the end, Bradley dismisses them, but before advising Roy that he needs to find out who has done the dirty deed and that revealing the person would earn him a promotion.

Then, just when Riza senses relief, her hand on the door handle, Bradley says, "Oh, and one more thing, Mustang. I also heard rumors about an unreported relation between a manager and subordinate within your department. This type of misconduct is grounds for immediate termination. Can you look into this as well?"

Her grip is slick with sweat, but Riza holds onto the pen in her hand like a buoy, wishing it would keep her afloat. It doesn't help that she begins to feel a trickle of perspiration down her temple, making her anxious all the more.

Beside her, Roy merely nods, his expression betraying nothing. "Yes. Will that be all, sir?"

"Of course. Thanks, both." And Bradley waves them away with his hand, adjourning the meeting. "Close the door behind you please."

As they walk back to their respective office and cubicle, Riza wonders if the proper course of action is to end their relationship. She chews her inner cheek. Or perhaps she should quit. But what would Olivier say to that? Then she glimpses at Roy, who is glancing at her. He smiles, weakly, dejectedly, and Riza makes up her mind then.

With thorns in her throat, Riza rasps, "Roy… I think we need to cancel tonight. And anything else we plan going forward should be strictly professional."

A/N: I'm sorry Olivier. I'm sorry Riza. Please don't hate me.