His heart is hammering in his chest. It's wild and violent and has his stomach twisting in nervous knots. He's anxious and wants to leave. He wants to drop the duffle bag slung over his shoulder and book it down the road. He wants to leave a trail of dust in his wake as he runs to hide, like a child, from his insecurities. But he doesn't; because she's right there. Beyond the sheetrock, the plaster, and the old paint on the walls, of the house he's known since childhood, he knows she's there. She's sitting at a table with glasses on her face staring down at a screw she's twisting into place to finish some prosthetic. She's soldering wires, weaving together a network of artificial veins, muscle and tendon that will allow someone to live and live more fully. She's baking. She's reading. She's sleeping. She's existing and she's waiting and that's what matters.

Edward swallows the knot of nerves that have formed in his throat and steps forward. His hands tremble and his single knee feels weak and he's suddenly thankful his automail isn't influenced by emotions. He presses up the hill to that unmistakable yellow-hued house and he takes a deep breath. It eases his anxiety, calms his nerves, and hushes his hammering heart. He's been waiting for this day from the moment the train left the station those many months ago. It feels like a decade has gone by but, in truth, he's stopped counting how long he's been gone. Has it been months or has it been years? All he knows is that it's cool again and the colors of the leaves hover somewhere between warm yellows and cool greens.

His right hand is shaking when he knocks on the pine hued door of the house. The sensation of the rough wood against his knuckles slips down his arm and settles into his elbow as he waits. He can hear the sound of someone walking toward the entrance. Their footfalls are light, slightly uneven, and slow. In an instant he knows who will open the door and he's thankful for it.

The entryway creaks open and there she is, Pinako Rockbell. Her gray hair is pulled back in its typical fashion and her apron has grease stains on it. No doubt from working on automail. She looks dumbfounded when she sees him and he can't help but smile at her shock. Reaching up, however, he places a finger over his lips to hush her because he can see her glancing over her shoulder, toward the kitchen. She nods in understanding.

Quietly dropping his bag he moves into the house and shrugs out of his coat as silently as he can. Pinako shuts the door and takes his mantle from him. Her face is still struck with awe and then he hears it. The sound of footsteps coming from the kitchen and out into the hall and he's standing there, heart racing. He reaches down and pats at his pants pocket to make sure he's got what he needs; what he wants.

"Granny?" her voice chimes from down the hall and he can feel his cheeks flush red. His nerves act up again and he swallows the thick bundle of anxiety that's collected in his throat once more. "Who's at the door?" she asks and it's all he can do to keep his composure because he's excited and he's nervous and he's ready to see her.

Then she's there, standing at the entrance to the hall, and he's rooted in place. His legs have fused with the ground and all he can do is stand and stare. His heart it racing, thumping like a drum against the cage of his ribs, and all he can think about is the woman standing before him. "Winry," he breathes and her name is like a prayer on his lips and before he can think she's running at him. Tears are in her eyes and he's hoping she isn't crying because she's upset. He swore he'd never let that happen again.

"Ed!" she calls his name and all but throws herself at him to hug him. He holds her close, as close as he can because he's been waiting too long for this. He's been waiting to wrap her up in a tight embrace and hold her, breathe in her scent, and soak in her warmth.

He holds her for what seems like an eternity. No words are spoken, no noises are made and he's thankful to share in the comfortable silence. But he's come here for more than just a hug and the bless'ed quiet of familiar company. He pulls in a deep breath and eases back from her. She resists some but gives into his silent request. He dips a hand down into his pocket and fishes, for a moment, for the precious little object he's brought back with him from far to the West.

Before her he holds a petite silver band and he watches her eyes grow wide.

"Equivalent exchange," he says and smiles because he's nervous and he swears she is too. The pink tint of her cheeks gives her away. She opens her mouth to say something but he takes her left hand into his and the action silences whatever she was about to say. With bright awe-struck eyes she watches as he eases the silver band down over her finger and she stares at it and he anxiously waits for her answer.

No words seem to come to mind for her. Instead he feels her bring up her other hand to his chest and curl her skilled fingers into his black sweater. A tug on his collar and she's up on her toes and he's dropping his head down to meet her lips in a kiss.

It's clumsy at first. Nothing's ever perfected on a first try. But it's magic, it's alchemy, and his heart picks up a rhythm that isn't a nervous one. No, this is different. The pounding of that life-giving organ is reassuring and he feels the anxiety seep out of him. She's overwhelming and all he can think about is her body pressed against him, her fingers, once knotted into his sweater, now gently pressed against his chest. It's her warmth that consumes him, her touch, her kiss and by God it's the way she tastes. He wants to draw her in closer, to consumer her as she has so clearly consumed him. However, he decides to part their embrace.

Breathless and lightheaded he looks down at her, reaches up to brush a thumb over her lips, made rosy from their kiss, and smiles. He slips his hand back into her silky hair, presses a kiss to her forehead, another to the bridge of her nose, and then touches his forehead to hers.

Vaguely he's aware that their breathing syncs up, that Pinako has left the room to put on tea, or that twilight has settled in. All he can really register is that she has waited for him, that she is here in his arms, that she will be his, and that he will be hers. Which is all that really matters.

Notes:

Author's Note: So, this is my first ever fanfiction. Ever. Generally speaking I don't share my work but this piece as pulled me out of a writer's block, which is amazing for me. I apologize for any errors or continuity issues with characters and their personalities. It's difficult for me at the moment to really capture these characters because I personally didn't breathe life into them. I still love them though and writing this first fanfiction for this fandom was pretty awesome. Oh, and I've posted this on my Tumblr account too.

TL;DR: This is my first time. Be easy with me.

Also, thank you so much for allowing me to use your image m7angela! It was a real inspiration and I hope you like the fic!

Want to see the fanart that inspired this?

There's a link there to it on my profile!