A/N: Super throwback. Belated followup on #8 (or chapter 4, however you're thinking of them).
99. Confession
As much as she really wanted to hear the words, Winry knew the day would probably never come. The rate she was going, she'd be lucky just to see Ed for more than three days at a time. The one time she'd actually spent an extended time in Central, Ed had been dragged off to the eastern desert. If they'd been able to rendezvous back at Briggs, and she might have actually traveled with him, but time and luck were never on their side.
Ed was always on the go, and Winry knew him well enough to know that he'd have found another pursuit even without their body-restoration crusade. He would always have a passion to follow and chase after, and the confessions of love would always be, like Winry, left waiting.
She didn't need the words to know- that much was clear as day. She knew both brothers cared for her, but it was always Ed who was protecting and comforting her. Al would sympathize and commiserate, and occasionally berate his brother along with her, but Ed would be the one knocking on her door when she was crying (or when she wanted to, but held it in to keep their promise). Or diving between her and a serial murderer. It wasn't Al the homunculi had threatened- it was her, and the fact that it worked spoke volumes about what Ed stubbornly refused to say. It still would have been nice to hear, or even acknowledged in some other, clearly more-than-friends way, but Winry wasn't stupid.
That's why she was caught so off guard the day he and Al stumbled so somberly into Rush Valley. She didn't know what had happened, but the way Ed practically crushed the life out of her as he held her was a clear enough confession for even the deafest of ears.