Right: so here's my first one-shot, set after the end of the anime. For Christy-chan, who reads and edits my crap and makes me feel important by calling it gold. I wrote this on the day of your auspicious birth (my favorite Taurus), which makes this special. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Yeah, in my dreams...

Rain meant Ed.

It hadn't always been so.

Al had come with Ed, at first. Al, who'd been returned to flesh. And Ed, who hadn't. She didn't know if that bothered him or not. She watched him watch Al, saw the sense of pride, of accomplishment, when he looked at his brother. He had kept his promise. At the expense of his arm and leg. And soul, perhaps, though Ed never spoke of that. But she could feel something missing, a part of him that was shattered and broken and gone, dead even.

In the beginning, the weather hadn't determined a visit. At first, they had just showed up whenever, whenever Ed had totaled his arm or leg or both. Ed was still a State Alchemist, and still outside Central—a dog of the military with a more generous leash than most. Mustang's doing, Al told her. Al had become one too, working side by side with his brother. Still a team. Al was still taller, too. Ed didn't mind anymore.

Then Edshowed up one day, alone. It was raining.

"Where's Al?" she asked, worried.

Flat golden eyes watched her from beneath wet, dripping bangs.

"Safe."

He'd gotten colder, harder. Sometimes, Winry couldn't believe he'd ever been young. She reached out and touched his coat.

"Come on."

He still didn't talk during the attachment process. It hadn't bothered her until he'd come alone. When Al was there, she had someone to talk to, to keep her from panic and nervousness. Someone to anchor her in reality when she was working on Ed, Ed who embodied her deepest wants and needs and failures.

"Talk, Winry," he ordered through gritted teeth as she started. "Talk so I don't scream…."

So she did. About everything she could think of. Once, she talked about the intricacies of automail. When she'd finished working on him and talking, his lips had twitched faintly, a ghost of a smile.

"Wild stuff floating around in that head of yours," he'd said, flexing his arm.

She'd smiled nervously, spasmodically.

"Yeah."

He got older, harder.

He visited more often, stayed with her longer, when he could. Al came sometimes. But when his automail got trashed, Ed came alone. She'd gotten used to it, found she liked it, preferred it. And it only rained when he came home hurt.

Al got married.

Winry went to the wedding with Ed. They were together, but not. Once, just once, late one night, she had turned to him in the darkness of the room they shared when he was home and asked,

"Why don't you stay?"

He'd been silent for so long that she'd thought he wasn't going to answer.

"Not yet."

It was enough.

Mustang was there, Hawkeye and Armstrong and the others. Al had moved up, become a paper pusher. Ed was still outside Central. Better for him, Mustang said to Winry, as if trying to explain.

Ed watched Al, that pride and accomplishment shining in his eyes. Winry watched Al too, happy for him. She took Ed's metal hand and squeezed. He squeezed back.

She asked him once, just once, why he hadn't gotten his arm and leg back. He'd watched her, golden eyes quiet, void. They'd eaten dinner, then gone outside to sit on the porch. Night was falling.

"Equivalent exchange," was all he said.

She accepted that for the same reason he accepted her attempts to explain automail to him; she didn't understand it, but it was there so it had to be true.

She kissed him.

"I like getting to put you back together."

She heard the smile in his voice that he still couldn't show on his face when he murmured,

"Automail freak."

She smiled and snuggled into his side.

"Alchemy freak." she returned, affection coloring the words.

Al's first child was a girl. He named her Trisha, for their mother. He called Ed first, wanting his blessing. Ed was home, visiting. They'd spent most of it in bed, sleeping and loving and enjoying each other's company.

Ed was quieter after the call, more withdrawn than usual. He left the house for a walk and didn't return until well after sun down, his automail arm hanging limp at his side.

"Damn screw," he grumbled, annoyed and vaguely repentant.

She held her peace, having moved beyond wrenches and screaming. There were more adult ways of punishing him.

"Never mind, let me see it."

He submitted quietly while she examined the damage.

"You're lucky it was just a screw," she chided gently, tightening and retightening as she saw fit.

He grunted.

She laid her tools aside, loosened his braid. He'd kept his hair long, refusing to bow to convention. To Central. She rubbed his scalp, watched him close his eyes and relax.

"Al have good news?"

"Her name's Trisha."

"Good name."

He opened his eyes and looked at her. She met his gaze, that mysterious gaze that kept his secrets from her. It didn't bother her anymore.

"Thanks Win."

She shrugged.

"Wanna get married?"

The question startled her out of her sleepy daze. They were laying in bed, the windows thrown open. It was midday during summer, and it was too hot to move. She'd stripped down to her underwear. Ed had a light bed sheet draped over his hips.

"What?" she murmured, turning surprised eyes to his face.

He shrugged.

"Wanna get married?"

She watched him, her heart thudding loudly in her ears.

"Now?"

She saw his lips twitch. Any day now, he'd be ready to smile again, really smile.

"You might have to get dressed first," he said dryly.

"I'm not naked."

"Might as well be."

There was a long pause.

"Ed?"

"Yeah."

"Really?"

"Say when."

They lay silent for a long time.

"When," Winry whispered.

It rained the day they got married.

Ed quit the State Alchemists first. That was the only reason Mustang found out. Winry wasn't surprised by the unexpected guests, even though she and Ed had called Al and invited him, his wife and their three children, and no one else.

"It was supposed to be family," Ed groused, irritated with the intrusion.

"They are family, Ed," she returned, rolling her eyes.

He didn't reply, though he snorted under his breath.

They didn't notice the change of weather until they walked outside, after quiet, thoughtful congratulations. They watched the sky silently. Winry took hold of his metal hand. He glanced down at her hand in his, then looked up at her, a question in his eyes.

"I like putting you back together," she said, staring into the silent orbs.

He watched her, understanding spreading over his gaze. A smile slowly curved his mouth, and his eyes crinkled at the corners.

"I know." He squeezed her hand. "I like you putting me back together too."

"I know."

They stepped into the rain as one, cracked and broken, but put back together again, piece by piece. Not whole, not yet.

It was enough.