Winry woke up too late. It was already half past six when she finally dragged her eyes open from heavy, much-needed slumber. Only to realize her alarm had been shrieking at her for fifteen minutes.

Oh NO! Ed's train!

She propelled herself out of bed as if the sheets were filled with pins. Yanking the first clothes she saw out of her closet, she stumbled into them, ran her fingers roughly through her hair, and flung herself out the bedroom door, only to nearly collide with the former alchemist in the hallway. She stumbled back from him with a startled squeak, but couldn't help noticing that Ed looked remarkably refreshed and awake after so short a night.

"AH! You haven't left yet! Oh, I was so worried…" Winry's words trailed off as she noticed the growing smirk on his face.

"You're awfully concerned about being awake to see me off," he expressed in a more-than-suggestive tone.

"Well—you haven't—it's just that—your leg!" She clutched at the excuse as if to a lifeline. "You haven't let me look at it in a while, and you at least need me to tell you how to take care of it—properly—before you leave for who knows how long!"

She saw something flash across his face, and she couldn't decide if it was disappointment or apprehension. She could read his features like a book—well, at least in most cases. Is something up with his leg again, and he's just too chicken to let me get ahold of it?

Winry almost considered forcing him to miss his train just so she could get him into her workshop, but he might misconstrue that as her trying to coerce him into staying longer. Her cheeks heated up, especially as memories of the night before flooded her mind. She had passed out as soon as she hit the pillow after their 2 a.m.…exchange…and she still hadn't totally processed the events.

Are we just going to pretend that didn't happen?

They hadn't had any conversation until they finally released each other and quietly went to their beds, with only a murmured, "good night," to mark the separation.

Now, in the chilly morning light, he was rubbing the back of his neck—like he always did when he was nervous—and looking a little bit sick, like the words he was trying to force out were physically choking him.

"Winry—do you—doyouwannawalkwithmetothestation? I mean. Just to tell me all that.

"Oh, yeah!" Winry enthused with a little too much pep. "That's perfect! I just need to put on some shoes." And she promptly walked back into her room, closing the door on him. Yikes. Get it together, gearhead.

In ten minutes, Winry and Edward were out the door, treading the familiar path to the train station. Al and Pinako had said their goodbyes at the house. Both of them wore indulgent smiles on their faces, even though Winry loudly declared her resolve to acquaint Ed, yet again, with the finer points of automail maintenance, and if he wasn't receptive, to acquaint him with the finer points of her largest wrench.

"Whatever works best, Winry!" Al chirped too innocently, prompting her to consider him as the next potential target.

As the yellow house shrank behind them, Winry's nerves calmed, but there was soon another reason for worry. The morning was absolutely frigid, and the wind was knifing straight through her thin summer dress—the first article of decent clothing that had touched her fingers when she reached into her closet. Cursing herself for not remembering to throw on some sort of covering at the house, Winry tried to keep her teeth from chattering audibly. However, before she had to work too hard to conceal her discomfort, something soft and white was thrust into her arms.

"I didn't think you had time to grab something to keep warm, so I brought this along just in case."

Winry unfolded the fabric and immediately recognized Ed's white hooded jacket—the one he wore when he and Alphonse had returned home to her. Smiling, she pushed her cold arms through the sleeves and appreciated the instant relief from the sharp breeze.

"Thanks Ed. That was considerate of you." Glancing through her bangs, she saw his head dip and his ears turn red. That sweet idiot. Without thinking, she reached out and squeezed his fingers briefly. His head snapped up and he looked over at her, but she only grinned at him and dropped his hand. Then she launched into her familiar tutorial on all the things he'd have to do to keep his automail functional while traveling.

"Now the first thing you'll have to do is find the right kind of oil—and your automail is different, remember. It's the special alloy they use at Briggs, so you can't just walk into any store and buy the first oilcan you see—they have a place that sells the right stuff in Central, I'll write down the address for you when you stop there…"

Equivalent exchange—did he expect me to take that seriously? And why was he so offended by having to make an appointment? And—oh, oh no—I said EIGHTY-FIVE PERCENT. Who in the world quantifies their relationship like that?

After the giddiness of the train station deserted her about halfway back to the Rockbell house, Winry was tempted to beat herself over the head with her own wrench after analyzing—and over-analyzing—the conversation that had just transpired.

Why couldn't I have just said, "I love you," instead of acting like a complete basket case? For that matter—why couldn't he have just said, "I love you"?

She froze mid-step, working to simultaneously fight and feed her growing annoyance and embarrassment. She knew Ed was not the most articulate individual, and that his "equivalent exchange" metaphor was probably the closest he could manage to a proper declaration. Still!

And now it occurred to her that she had absolutely no idea what the two of them had just agreed on. Were they "together?" Should she tell her friends to save a date? Was he just expressing a deep desire to be her only automail client who didn't need to call ahead?

Winry almost sat right down in the middle of the road. She wasn't sure she could go back to her house, to face her grandmother and Al, only to tell them that the vaguest conversation ever had left her more confused than certain. Instead, she hunched her shoulders and buried her fisted hands into the pockets of the white jacket. Her knuckles brushed something inside the right pocket, and she pulled it out.

Did he forget something?

It was a small piece of paper—an old picture, to be exact. Winry glanced at it with instant recognition, remembering Pinako secretly snapping the shot and showing it to her after having it developed. It had been one of the "rejects"—that is, it hadn't gone up on the wall along with all the favorites—but she knew it had been kept safe in a drawer because of what it documented. Edward was walking on his automail leg for the very first time. His face was contorted with a mixture of pain and deadly concentration, but he was moving forward again. And beside him, arm linked protectively around his shoulders, was Winry. She vividly remembered how fierce he had been about walking on his own, and he had almost refused her help—especially since she was slightly taller than him—but he finally gave in and allowed her to help steady his first steps.

Neither Pinako nor Winry decided to show Ed the picture; they thought they were correct in assuming that he didn't want anything by which to remember those difficult moments. But he must have found it sometime in the last two years, and decided to hang onto it. Winry shoved a sleeve across her eyes to ease the telltale stinging. Don't be stupid. It's just a picture. After looking at it for a few more seconds, she folded it in half to put back in the jacket pocket. She stopped when she saw script on the back of it. Opening it up again, she read the brief note penned on the blank side.

Winry,

I've been meaning to bring this up for a while, but this kind of thing is honestly more frightening than my worst battle with a homunculus, so this is my safety net in case I just run out of courage or say something dumb.

You've always done this for me—helped me keep moving forward—and I seem to do it best when you're there next to me. So think of this as a bookmark, I guess—or a placeholder—until I can get back, and we can keep going. I'll miss you, automail junkie, and I'll be back sooner than you think.

Ed

A salty drop landed on the capital "E" on the last line, and Winry suddenly giggled as she remembered the "only happy tears" promise Ed had made to her. He was doing a remarkably good job of holding up that promise, even when he wasn't physically present.

Noticing the dust cloud from an approaching wagon in the distance, Winry suddenly realized she had been standing in the middle of the road for the last five minutes, staring at an old picture with a stupid grin plastered on her face. She started walking again, but kept the piece of paper clasped gently in both her hands. She looked at the golden-haired boy in the photo once more before slipping it safely back into the jacket pocket.

I'll miss you too, alchemy freak. Don't make either of us wait too much longer.