Ed had been feeling a lot of things lately. Most of them were some variation of humiliation or panic, and even what some might call depression but he called dealing with it. But today was different.

Ed was getting married today and he was nervous.

"Hold still, Ed," Mustang huffed from behind him, fingers deftly winding Ed's hair around in a loose braid.

Ed tried to keep his head facing forward, but his eyes were drawn out the window where he could occasionally catch sight of one of his friends walking by carrying chairs or a table or food. If he stared long enough, he might even catch sight of Winry—

A firm tug on his hair pulled his head back forward.

Ed scowled and pulled his mask off. "Remind me why you're in here . . . instead of Al?"

Ed could hear the eyeroll in Mustang's response, and his reflection in the mirror hovering right over Ed's head revealed that he did just that, the jerk. "Alphonse is busy, I told you." Mustang picked up a hair tie from the dresser and tied off the braid. "He's working on something else and left me in charge of getting you ready. You're stuck with me."

Ed coughed, raising a bloodied handkerchief to his lips in what was probably a vain effort to save his dress shirt. He'd already ruined his first one in an attack earlier that morning and this was Ed's last dress shirt. Mustang had already reminded him how hard it was to remove fresh stains.

"What are you looking for out there, anyway?" Mustang asked almost conversationally, but Ed could tell the conniving jerk was fishing for something. Ed watched in the mirror as he walked over by the bed where his suit was laid out, picking up a single polished dress shoe. Mustang then grabbed the handle of Ed's chair, wheeling him around to have better access. He knelt down, and Ed tried to help lift his socked foot, relieved when Mustang caught it so that Ed didn't have to try to hold it up too long. His failing strength was a major source of embarrassment for Ed, especially in front of Mustang.

"I've, uh . . ." Ed began, swallowing. "I've never been to . . . a wedding before."

Mustang looked up at him, blinking, shoe stalled comically over Ed's only foot. "You've never been to a wedding?"

Ed looked away. "When we were little . . . Al and I officiated . . . a cat wedding once. I don't think that counts." He lifted the mask to his face, the oxygen helping relieve the pressure on his chest, or maybe that was just to relieve the discomfort of Mustang staring at him.

Mustang's laugh was both sudden and unexpected.

Ed scowled, peeling the mask back. "What?"

"It just makes sense," Mustang said, a smile stretching over his face. It looked strange for a moment, and Ed realized it was because there was an authenticity there that was often lacking. Ed had only seen it a handful of times, and it was usually aimed in Hawkeye's direction. To be on the receiving end felt . . . different.

"Jerk," Ed huffed to hide his discomfort.

Mustang was still grinning as he slipped the shoe over Ed's cold foot, tying it loosely. Ed hadn't worn shoes in a long time, so to have his toes suddenly constricted felt weird.

"There's nothing to be worried about," Mustang continued, reaching behind him on the dresser to grab the red tie Al had picked out for him. "Didn't Breda talk you through this when he got in last night?" He reached up, popping Ed's collar and sliding the silk around his neck. The wheelchair made it awkward for Mustang to reach and Ed resisted the urge to pull back at the way he was being hovered over.

"Vaguely." Ed had been hurting a bit too much at that point in the evening to listen carefully, and his memory wasn't what it used to be. Being severely malnourished and oxygen deprived would do that to you. He honestly couldn't remember much beyond the saying 'I do' part, and the absolute last thing he wanted to do was to embarrass himself and Winry in front of an audience.

Mustang wrapped the tie around itself in some intricate way. Ed tracked the movement with his eyes, finding the motion oddly fascinating. He'd never learned to tie a tie. "Your job is pretty easy, Fullmetal. All you have to do is sit next to Al, repeat after Breda, then kiss your wife."

A thrill ran down his spine, but Ed wasn't sure if it was fear or excitement.

His wife. Winry would be his wife.

Ed pressed his lips together. "Will you . . . help me with something?"

Mustang slid the tie home underneath the oxygen tube, righting his collar over it. "What's that?"

Ed felt his cheeks heat up, but it was probably just the fever. Definitely not because he was embarrassed to voice his request. Wasn't like it was a big deal or anything. "Um . . . can you help—uh, . . . when Winry . . . when she gets there, can . . . can you help me . . . stand?"

Because, for the first and the last time, Ed wanted to stand before Winry and before the world as her husband.

But he needed a little help with that.

Mustang straightened, giving him a look that was hard to decipher, and Ed was gearing up for some sort of "taking it easy" lecture that Al usually dished out. Maybe Havoc or Fuery would be more helpful . . .

But to his surprise, Ed thought he saw a sudden glimmer of understanding in those black eyes. His expression softened, eyes sad but lips pulled into a small smile. "Of course I will."

Ed offered a hesitant smile of his own.

Mustang grabbed Ed's jacket off the bed before helping him lean forward to push his shaky arms through the sleeves. He worked in silence for a bit, reattaching the fluid line of Ed's IV to the port taped to his hand and adjusting the flow with the roll clamp. He did it all with the careful diligence of someone that had received a crash course in this aspect of medical care just a few days previous. He then turned back to Ed fully, looking him over and resituating Ed's sleeve over the line. "You clean up nice, Fullmetal."

Ed smirked down at the outfit that had to be transmutably resized and was still way too big for his shriveled body. "It's the suit."

"Hey."

Ed looked up, and Mustang was wearing that open, honest smile again. "I'm proud of you."

Ed didn't quite have a name for the warm feeling spreading through his chest somewhere between his heart and his aching lungs, but he . . . well, no one had ever told him they were proud of him before. It felt like one of those big talks, the kind that fathers gave their sons right before big life events.

It felt . . . nice.

But there was no need to get all touchy-feely now.

Ed opened his mouth to say something snarky, but his lungs spasmed hard. He tried to clamp his lips around the cough, but only succeeded in spraying bloody droplets over the side of the wheelchair as he fumbled for the handkerchief that he'd put on his lap a few minutes before.

"Not on the shirt!" Mustang cried, snatching the bloodied cloth from Ed's knee and pressing it to Ed's mouth. Ed weakly replaced his grip, coughing so hard he heaved, bloody bile dripping from between the handkerchief and his chin, down his hand to stain the cuff of his sleeve. His stomach was pretty much empty and had been for over a day now, so the fit died pretty quickly, and Ed was grateful for that.

The shirt, however, was ruined. Again.

Mustang sighed, wiping his hands on a nearby towel, and Ed winced apologetically as he panted against the arm of his chair. It was gross, but he really couldn't help it. "Maybe Al has a shirt you can borrow," the older man said, and Ed just managed to pull the towel from his surprised hand before Mustang had the chance to try to wipe his face off, offering him a scowl as he scrubbed at his mouth. He didn't have the strength to bat him away as he reached down and untucked Ed's shirt to check for bleeding. Satisfied that there was none, he stood up, crossing his arms and smirking down at him, but with that understanding look that took his usual holier-than-thou edge off. "I'll go see if we can stall for a few minutes and ask around for a shirt."

Ed offered a breathy groan. Mustang draped a thick blanket over him and left the room.

Propping himself up on his elbow, Ed dug his bony shoulder into the back of the chair and tried to worm his way back up to a more comfortable position. The struggle left him exhausted and he really hadn't improved his situation, so he slumped against the side and turned his gaze out the window while he waited for Mustang to come back and help him out.

And bad luck or no, he watched the window and tried to catch sight of Winry in the Resembool morning.

XxXxX

"Stop fidgeting, Brother," Al admonished with a grin. "You're going to wrinkle my suit."

Ed had managed to have yet another attack before his wedding, resulting in the use of Al's suit in lieu of his own. He tried to give his brother a glare, but Al's beaming knocked it away before it could stick. He turned his gaze back to the backdoor of the Rockbell home and shivered despite the warm breeze and the morning sunlight dappling the grass around them.

Al and the team put together a really nice venue, despite the sporadic nature of the wedding. Up ahead under the large oak tree they had erected an arbor made of twisted roots and branches, any scaled traces of alchemy concealed by lush green leaves. There must have been seven or eight different types of flowers weaving through the construct in shades of blue, white, and peach.

At least, Ed thought it was peach, unless it was "carnation", or some other similar color. He'd called it pink yesterday, and Alphonse had proceeded to introduce him to the nuances of the color spectrum. Ed, whose personal color palette consisted of black, red, and the occasional white, was baffled but had, with much eye rolling, accepted correction.

Two long tables were set up to the side, one piled high with food, and the other sporting a double-layered cake and refreshments that might have looked good to Ed a few weeks ago. There were no chairs, and Mustang, Breda, Havoc, Falman, and Fuery all stood next to the arch a few feet away, dressed in suits of varying formality while they talked and laughed. Ed felt a bit out of place to be the only one sitting at his own wedding, but then again, he probably should be getting used to it. Not that he was touchy about height or anything . . .

Al consulted a gold pocket watch before stuffing it back into his vest. "Ready, Brother?"

Ed swallowed thickly, gripping his mask in a sweat-slicked hand.

He was terrified.

He was terrified, and he didn't even know why. It wasn't like Winry was going to stand him up. It wasn't like this wasn't real, that he wasn't head-over-heels for her, and she the same for him.

But a small nagging voice in the back of his head told him that this wasn't fair to Winry at all and sometime between last night when he saw her last and this morning, she might have realized that.

His gaze strayed back to the door.

What if she didn't come out? What if she sent Hawkeye out to tell them the wedding was off?

Ed scowled at his own rebellious thought processes and pulled the mask down. "Yeah," he choked.

Al started grinning again. Ed was starting to wonder exactly which one of them was marrying the love of their life here. "Alright, I'll see you up there," he said, gripping Ed's shoulder in a flesh and blood hand and Ed watched his little brother's back as he headed into the Rockbell home.

Ed was struck with how very wonderful it was that in his life, he could have the best friends in the world, all gathered for a wedding in which Ed got to marry the woman of his dreams, and his little brother got to be here in the flesh for it.

And he smiled, because really, was there anybody in this world luckier than he was?

"You haven't even seen her yet and you're already grinning like an idiot," Mustang smirked, coming up behind him to grab the chair by the handles.

"I'm practicing."

"Keep it up. It almost looks natural." Mustang started to slowly roll him over the grass toward the archway, but no matter how gently he went, the bumps still caused him an undue amount of pain. Ed's responding smirk became a grimace, breath hitching as they rolled over a lump in the terrain. Thankfully Mustang didn't notice. "Are you ready?"

"Why do people . . . keep asking that?" he demanded, pressing his mask to his face, hoping he'd be able to make it through the ceremony without it if he loaded up on oxygen beforehand. Was that how lungs worked? He'd tweaked the liters-per-minute setting when Al wasn't looking and asked Breda to keep it short so maybe he could save a little bit of face.

"Because your face keeps alternating between joy and terror. It's confusing."

Ed made a face that was neither of those things. "Shut up, Mustang." He coughed into his handkerchief, his sore abdominals making the exercise difficult. Mustang just chuckled in response.

Fuery, Falman, Havoc, and Breda turned to face Ed as they approached, all grinning down at him. "Hey, Boss!" Havoc said. "You ready?"

Mustang sounded like he was going to hurt himself if he held in his guffaws any longer.

Ed's sickness did a fair job of reigning in his fury, but he was still very much annoyed. "Yes, Havoc . . . I'm ready."

The men glanced at Mustang and exchanged a puzzled look over his head. "Well, you look sharp!" Fuery piped up, beaming at him through his glasses.

Ed smiled. "Thanks."

Mustang rolled him into place at Breda's right. Fuery, Falman and Havoc all assumed their positions, making a sort of half-circle facing the archway and leaving a gap as a center aisle.

The men resumed their chatting and Ed's eyes strayed to the backdoor again, his heartbeat ticking up a couple of notches as he waited. He wiped his sweaty palms on his knees.

Finally, the door cracked open. Conversation ground to a halt and a hush stole over the meadow.

And Ed laid eyes on the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

He couldn't tell if it was the sun making her absolutely radiant, or just her innate being shining through. She had her pale hair piled and woven on top of her head, courtesy of Mustang, and wore a crown of flowers to match the trellis and the bouquet she clutched to her chest. Her dress, the one her mother had worn on her wedding day, draped over her in layers of ivory chiffon and lace. Her mother's pearls encircled her slim throat and glowed from her ears, and Ed felt nailed where he sat by her eyes, the same color as cornflowers, gazing at him through the veil. Her painted lips smiled at him from across the yard and he swallowed as he took in the sight of her, her physical beauty stunning in itself.

But her beauty went beyond that. It was her sharp wit and her gentle spirit, her stubborn tenacity and her tireless compassion. It was the way she pulled all-nighters so that he could have his mobility back as soon as possible. It was the kindness in her eyes and the spirited fights and the way she gave without expecting anything in return.

Yeah, he was going to marry the most beautiful woman in the world.

Alphonse appeared at her side, offering his arm. She wrapped her right around it, her left cradling her bouquet. Hawkeye came behind the two, smiling and following them as they started their tiny precession through the prairie grass to the archway. Winry was smiling like he'd never seen, all brilliant and soft.

Ed couldn't take his eyes off of her.

He pulled the mask from his face, letting it slide to the ground, and pushed himself up. He dimly noted the sharp burst of panic from all around him, but true to his word, Mustang swooped in from the side, grabbing Ed's arm before he could fall back down. Ed's single leg quivered under him like a new colt's, but Mustang only stepped in closer, letting Ed lean his sorry weight against the much stronger man.

And Winry was still smiling at him. She understood. She always did.

She reached the archway to a symphony of birds and insects, the faraway bleating of sheep, the wind whispering through the trees. Al released Winry and moved to stand beside Ed, looping his arm underneath Ed's free one. Ed gratefully let his little brother support him from the other side. He gasped and shivered at the strain of being upright for so long, but he wasn't going to let his rebellious body ruin this moment. He was going to stand here and marry Winry or die trying.

He reached across the distance between them, and Winry passed her bouquet to Hawkeye, reaching to wrap her warm hands in his cold clammy ones.

And true to his word, Breda kept it short.

"Dearly beloved," he began, a thin book in his hands that he referenced several times and a big grin on his face. "We are gathered here today to join this man, and this woman in holy matrimony. Not to be entered into lightly, holy matrimony . . ."

Ed quivered in Mustang and Al's grip, but held tight to Winry's hands, her eyes shrouded behind the veil but still luminous.

And when she looked at him like that, he felt more alive than he had in a long time. In all of their years together, in the times where he'd been two limbs short of a full set, she'd never looked down on him, never thought of him as a cripple. She'd always seen who he was beyond all of that, beyond his mistakes. She knew what he meant to say when he couldn't get the words out, she knew him in a way that no one else ever could, and if Ed had an hour or a lifetime, he knew exactly who he wanted to spend it with.

He was so distracted by her that he almost missed his cue.

"The rings?"

Ed held out a hand for Alphonse to deposit the two rings in, both smooth and silver and made from the remnants of the very first leg Winry had ever crafted him. It had been Ed's idea, something he'd tossed around for a while when he'd found out she'd saved every piece of automail Ed had brought home that wasn't entirely decimated. Ed was more sentimental than he liked to think, and as much as he liked touting around the notion that everyone should stand on their own two legs, he would be remiss if he didn't acknowledge there had been a lot of people holding him up the whole way.

Starting with Winry.

Breda stopped talking, and Ed realized that was his cue to say something.

"I do," he said, and he couldn't tear his eyes from her and his hands shook, but he was able to slide the ring onto her slim finger, nestling it against the engagement ring he had given her months ago. It fit perfectly.

"And Winry, do you take Edward to be your husband? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect him, forsaking all others and holding only to him forevermore?"

Her smile was as brilliant as it was gorgeous as she slipped the ring onto his finger, the cool metal feeling so very real. "I do."

"Then by the powers vested in me," Breda said, closing the book, "I pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride!"

Ed fumbled with her veil for only a couple of seconds before she pulled it back and pulled in close, sealing her lips against his.

Havoc and Breda both whooped while the others settled for clapping politely. Ed wasn't sure, but he thought Fuery might have been getting a little teary eyed.

Lightheadedness had him pulling back far sooner than he would have liked, the taste of her lingering on his dry lips. She squeezed his hands, her smile golden, more joy than sad, and Ed decided he could deal with that.

His leg chose that moment to completely buckle. He sank fast, but both Al and Mustang held him tight, gently lowering him into his chair like he weighed nothing—which was probably more true than he wanted to admit. Mustang was the closest to his oxygen mask, slipping it over his head with that strange smile Ed couldn't quite describe and a warm hand on his shoulder. Ed was feeling far too generous today to just shrug it off, so he let it stay a while. Alphonse gave Winry a hug and he murmured something in her ear. Ed couldn't make it out, but it made Winry's smile turn up a few watts and she pulled away with a laugh.

After that, there was a lot of eating and chatting and general comradery. Winry was glued to his side, and Al to his other. If it were any other day, he wouldn't have put up with so much mother henning from them and everybody else, but it seemed little could get him down. That is, until he took a bite of cake and immediately regretted it.

He spent the rest of the day horizontal on the couch, sick as a dog but unwilling to be shut up in his recovery room and mess up Winry's day more than necessary. Finally, after a particularly spectacular attack that scared Winry and the rest of the room, he begrudgingly allowed Alphonse to put him to bed, hooked up to another blood bag and a fresh IV, mask secured to his face. It took him a matter of moments to pass out.

He woke up briefly during the night. He wasn't sure exactly why until he felt the mattress dip, a warm body pressing into his side and an arm draping over his hallowed stomach. In the dimness, he saw the glint of a silver ring and smiled. Tilting his head to the side, he was met with a pillow of blonde hair, soft breath tickling his neck in little puffs. He laced his fingers through his wife's and drifted back to sleep.

;V;

Don't worry, things will completely fall apart next chapter. Just enjoy the fluff while it's here :'D This was entirely self-indulgent fluff. I cannot lie. But I hope you enjoyed it just as much as I did. I haven't had this easy of a time writing a chapter in a long time, so that was a nice switch lol.

If you follow DOA, you'll know that I've lost YET ANOTHER APPLIANCE. That's three in one month. My fridge went out, and the repair guys are like, lol sorry, it's gotta be replaced, and I'm like ;v; fantastic. And then I was on the phone with my mom, and she was like, "The good news is you don't have that many appliances left! And you know, dryers rarely go out," and I screamed. "WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT?!" So if my dryer catches fire, we'll all know exactly who jinxed me.

I hope everybody's Saturday is off to a lovely start :heart: Drop me a review if you have the time, and I'll see you next chapter for a little bit of trauma xD

God Bless,

-RainFlame