Disclaimer: Don't own FMA, or the song "Fall to Pieces," by Avril Lavigne.

Author's Note at the end of the chapter.

Chapter 30: Fall to Pieces

Alphonse Elric took a deep breath as he walked down into the basement of his and his brother's home. Even though they had lived at Winry's for quite a while before, it hadn't been as comfortable as this place. It was considerably smaller than Winry's house, but it hadn't been over-furnished, or empty. She was smart in how to furnish such a house without having either of those two feelings. It was nice, Al had to admit.

But he still preferred his house, his home. One reason why happened to be because of his shop in the basement, which was probably in a terrible need of cleaning and dusting. That was partly why Al had come down from Winry's, another reason being that he'd forgotten to grab a few things. Those items were in a bag by the front door, ready for him to grab on his way out. With that first intention taken care of, Al had decided to take care of his work area.

When he caught sight of his desk, he couldn't help but sigh. The room was more than a mess; it was atrocious. Halfway finished projects were lying about, gathering dust and cluttering up space. Tools were strewn everywhere and in between, a few on the floor or left out in odd places.

Had he really made this much of a mess, and then left it to go somewhere else? Al sighed. He'd left the other night in a rush to get to the hospital for Edward, and hadn't worked in here since. That's what had been the problem.

Al checked his watch. He had to leave in ten minutes to make it back to Winry's house by the time he'd promised Ed. But, he couldn't just leave this place like this. It would irk his conscience. He stood, mentally debating for a few moments whether or not he should stay to clean up.

After a few more moments of staring the mess of his workshop/basement in the face, Alphonse decided to clean up. It wouldn't take him too long to just do a few things, right? He'd just dust off the surfaces, put away his tools (if he didn't trip on them first), and put projects in places he'd remember when he wanted to work on them later in life.

But within thirty minutes, he'd only checked off up to putting away his tools. Al looked around at the pieces of metal that still looked like scraps lying about. He really needed to go, but he really didn't want to leave this a mess. He'd have bad dreams and have to come back the next day to do it.

With the interest of his sleep in mind, Alphonse began to put things away again. It was ten or fifteen minutes later when he pushed the last piece of metal under the cabinet. He was pulling his arm away when the corner caught the soft part of forearm. Al hissed in a breath, looking down at the scratch. Blood immediately pooled over his skin and began to slowly trickle over his arm. This wasn't good.

With a groan, he shut and locked the cabinet, then began to walk away towards the stairs. He clasped his hand around his arm just above his elbow joint in an attempt to keep the blood from flowing too quickly. As he traveled up the stairs, blood dripped onto the wood beneath his feet. This would be fun to explain to his brother. "Gee, Ed, I was just cleaning when I decided you'd had enough attention after being beaten up, and sliced open my arm. What a concept?"

Alphonse growled a little as he stood before the kitchen sink, running water over his cut. It hurt, but he managed to rub out any possible pieces of metal or whatever could have been on his project. What hurt even worse was the alcohol he poured over it a minute later. It stung and burned, but he knew it was necessary.

A heavy sigh made the curtains over the kitchen window move. How pleased was he with his current situation? Not very. He covered his arm with a fresh kitchen towel and started to turn to go to the bathroom, looking for bandages. He stopped moving, though, a second after turning. His gray-green eyes fell upon a figure before him, so familiar, yet so distant. He stared at her, unable to speak for quite a few moments. Finally words came to him, though. A smile slipped onto his mouth, happiness replacing the look of shock that had been on his face.

"Mother," he whispered.

The womanly figure before him nodded, a small smile crossing her lips. It didn't quite reach her eyes, however, as though it was forced. "That's right, Alphonse. Mother is here," she replied, reaching out her arms to him.

Alphonse walked willingly into his mother's embrace, his smile still intact. Forgotten was his bleeding arm, his promise to Edward to be home at that moment, and the fact that his mother had died years ago.

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It was hardly ten minutes after that conversation with Winry on the balcony that Edward found himself speeding down the driveway as fast as he safely could in the snow. Beside him, Winry looked confused, but determined to be where she was currently. Her hands were pale as she gripped the armrest, the poor material being tortured under her fingers. Ed figured it was in defense of his driving and frantic U-turns to make it off her property.

"What happened?" Winry asked when they drove through the front gates.

Minutes before, Edward had received a call from Alphonse, interrupting his moment with Winry. Relief at finally receiving said phone call quickly gave to alarm, and then into panic at the garbled noises and muffled protests. Strangely, Ed thought he'd heard water sloshing on the phone before a loud noise, like the phone had fallen to the ground.

As Ed recounted this to Winry in a calm voice, he realized he was switching to his work mode, where he handled even the most bizarre things in a cool, detached manner. He shook himself a little as though to pull himself from that mindset. It was okay to panic. It was okay to be afraid. It was okay to feel.

A moment later, when Ed stopped at a red light, he felt Winry touch his hand. He looked over at her briefly when she said, "It's okay, Edward. Things will be okay." It was like she was confirming his thoughts, the things she'd taught him, over the course of their friendship, their strange relationship.

Slowly, Ed took a breath, nodding his head a bit. "Yeah," he mumbled. "Yeah, it will be." Maybe things were bad at that moment, but if it was as bad as it could be, it would only improve. And who knew? Maybe Ed had just heard things wrong, or it had been a bad cell phone connection. Maybe things were just fine with Al, and Ed was overreacting. He wouldn't know, however, until he confirmed. The only thing he could and would do was try to remain calm, but not detached, and try not to panic while he was driving. He was fairly sure Winry didn't want to experience one of his car accidents, not in the snow.

As Edward drove closer to his house, he kept telling himself that things would be fine. He was trying to keep himself calm, reassure himself that, if something bad had happened, Al was a big, tough guy. The younger Elric could very easily take care of himself. Right?

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With a little more difficulty than what was normal, Edward managed to open the front door of his house. He had to shove it open, only to find a full duffle bag of he-didn't-know-what trying to obstruct the way. A curse escaped him and he was about to curse out loud at his brother for leaving things in the middle of the way, forgetting his earlier panic. When he looked up from the bag his panic returned, tenfold. He hardly felt Winry knock into him from behind, barely heard her fussing at him for only a few moments. But he did hear her gasp in his ear when she caught the same sight filling his entire field of vision.

There, in the walkway between the living room and the kitchen, stood Alphonse. He wasn't alone, though. Standing before him was a slender, womanly figure. She seemed normal. But why was she there, and why did she have her arms around Alphonse?

"...A-Alphonse?" Edward stammered, taking a few hesitant steps forward. His voice seemed to startle the woman, as her arms tightened around Al. There was a sickening, wet sound, and a few muffled noises Edward couldn't make out to be anything intelligent.

He felt Winry place her hand on his shoulder, her fingers gripping his coat tightly. "Edward..." she whispered, "what...who is that?"

Edward looked at the woman a little closer. How was he supposed to recognize her from behind? If he hadn't been so scared at that moment, he would have fussed at Winry for thinking he could do that. But, he had to admit, there was something so strangely familiar about the woman, even if he could only see that she wore a business-like suit and had long brown hair.

Just like his mother's hair.

"No," he breathed. Louder, he shouted, "Alphonse!"

Within the moment he'd shouted his brother's name, the woman holding Al turned. Edward gasped at what he saw. Al's body was halfway emerged in the woman, the upper part of his torso completely disappeared within her. But what shocked him the most was her face. It really was his mother's. He gasped, felt his breath catch in his throat, unable to move from surprise.

This wasn't possible. This was not his mother. His mother was dead. She had died three years ago. Edward had watched her die, had cried at her funeral. How was it she was standing before him now, arms wrapped around his brother? How was it that Al was slowly disappearing into her?

"Edward," he heard his mother's voice say softly.

He shook his head in disbelief. This wasn't possible. "No," he said again, shaking his head for more emphasis. "No, this isn't my mother. Alphonse!" he shouted. He tried to do something, tried to move his legs, but only felt his muscles contract even more, causing pain to shoot up from his prosthetic docking port. Ed felt Winry grab his arm, shaking him a little.

"Ed, help Al!" she was shouting.

Very suddenly, Edward saw his brother cast aside from the figure. As he fell to the floor, his hair was soaked, dripping, as was his shirt. The woman was looking at Winry with a vehement expression set deeply in her face, like it was the norm to see there. Edward couldn't understand this. If his mother was dead…how was it someone with her face was standing before him? How was it that she was made of water, able to almost ingest a person as she had been with Al? And just how was it, if this person seemed to look like his mother, she would do something like that? If this was his mother, why would she try to harm her own son?

"Edward!" Winry's voice yanked Ed from his thoughts. He felt her hands shove into his arm, making him fall to one side. He tried to grab onto something, anything, to keep him from falling over. His head whipped around just in time to see the woman who resembled his mother rushing toward where he'd just been standing. He was only able to see her for a moment before dizzying pain registered in his mind as his head connected with the back of the couch. Moments later, dark and stars clouded his vision.

It took Ed a bit, but he managed to climb to his feet unsteadily. He reached up to his head to touch the sore spot on his head. He winced when his fingers encountered the sore spot, wet with blood. A groan escaped him, but even that sound made the pain in his head increase considerably. His face contorted in pain; at least until he heard Winry's frantic voice as she called out his name again.

Ed whipped his head up straight, paying dearly with a bout of dizziness for a few moments before his eyes settled on Winry. She was across the room now, looking quite afraid. From the edge of the cloudiness in Ed's vision, he saw that person who looked like his mother advancing towards Winry. For another moment, Ed was frozen in place. He knew he had to move, had to save Winry and his brother, but his legs were rooted to the floor in his living room. Another scream from Winry put the life back into Ed, though, and he leapt forward. Before he knew what was happening, Edward was shielding Winry from the woman before them. The angry, disdainful expression was still on her face as she stared past Edward at Winry.

As the woman raised her arm, it turned into water. Edward braced himself for something, anything. From behind, Winry's hands went around his arms near his shoulders, holding tightly to him. Time seemed to slow. Ed became aware of everything around him. He could hear the water making up the woman's body moving, gurgling as it changed from one thing to another. Winry's breathing was harsh, coming in gasps, near his ear. Her heart was beating furiously against his back. The woman before them raised her arm even more, the water extending to almost the ceiling.

Was this the end? Ed had heard many things about those last moments given to you before your death. Most of them were philosophies; others were from people who had experienced near-death situations. Some people said that your entire life flashed before your eyes, reminding you of the hideous and heinous things you'd done, making you appreciate the good you'd done or felt. Some said it was like a high, a beautiful, glorious high before death in which you became part of everything, aware of the very earth breathing beneath your feet. Another group had said there was nothing. You were so caught up in the moment of dying that you didn't have time to realize anything, felt no revelation, had no answer for the world.

In that moment, though, Ed felt it would be his last. He was going to die, right then and there from a blow to the head. What did he feel? No high, for sure; he felt nothing of the earth beneath him. No knowledge of the future, of what could have been if he'd made different choices entered his brain. No. Nothing of what he'd heard. Instead, he was acutely aware of every single muscle in his body, aching with the strain he put on them. His lungs burned from not taking any breath. His head ached from the concussion he probably had. He could feel Winry's grip tighten on her, could almost taste her fear. Or was that his own fear he tasted?

One final gasp of breath, one last feeling of oxygen filling his lungs and Edward was almost ready to die. He felt regret though, for one thing he had never done, for something he'd never said. It nagged at him in a most annoying way that seemed quite unfitting for him about to die. He ignored it, though. There was no way he could say it now. It would make no difference, only his final, parting words that probably wouldn't be heard anyway.

Edward waited for that final blow to come down upon him, to make his ears ring one last time like they did whenever he shot a gun without sound-deadening earmuffs. He waited for the final sensation of pain. It didn't come. He waited and waited for what seemed like an eternity or maybe even just one second. Instead of with pain, his ears rang with the silence in the room until one scream split it all.

"Stop!" It was Winry's voice, from behind him. Ed felt her hands grip tighter to him, felt her hot tears burning his neck. She was shaking; her entire body was shaking behind him. He heard her sob and the sound wrenched his heart.

"Stop," she said again, voice weaker. If it had been any other time, Edward would have fussed for her thinking that the single word would have any difference on this person trying to kill them. It didn't.

He was wrong, though. That single syllable seemed to put their enemy into a trance. When Edward looked at the woman, her hand had changed back into a hand. Her face was ashen, stuck in an expression of shock and devastation. Was she…showing remorse for what she'd almost done?

Before Edward could comprehend any of it, the woman seemed to literally disappear. One moment, she was standing before them and the very next, she was gone. Edward couldn't even fathom how she had done it. There was a very wet spot on the floor, though, where she'd been standing. When he looked down at it to analyze the spot, it disappeared as well, taking almost all trace of the woman away.

Edward wanted to collapse. His entire body hurt: his lungs, his head, his legs; everything. Part of him, the part that hated pain, wished that he had died moments before. The tight grip on his arms, though, reminded him of that regret he'd felt when he'd thought he was going to die. Maybe it was a good thing he was still alive. There was something that he honestly wanted to say to someone before they were parted forever.

"Edward…" he heard Winry breathe from behind him. "What…what was that?" Her grip loosened on his arms, but she didn't let go. Instead, her arms went around his waist as though for some form of comfort.

Ed felt slightly uneasy as she held onto him, not sure he was stable enough to give her the security she felt she needed at that moment, not with what he'd just seen. He was still reeling from the sight of his mother's face on that body, what she'd done to Alphonse.

That struck his memory.

Within a second, Edward had carefully pulled out of Winry's hold and rushed over to his brother. Alphonse was lying on the floor, soaked from his mid-chest up. There were still droplets of water on his face, slipping down his cheeks. Edward felt panic sweep over him like cold fingers touching his skin, chilling him to the bone. He shivered as he reached out to his brother. His skin was pale and felt like ice, frozen beneath Ed's fingers. In surprise, Edward drew his hand away.

"No," he breathed. The familiar feeling of loss loomed above him, coming back to wrench him from the inside out. He hadn't felt this way since the day his mother died. His entire body began to tremble and a feeling of helplessness tugged at him. It felt like he was going to be alone, finally, without any family, no one who knew every detail of his past on which to rely. That feeling scared him to no end.

Winry's hand slipped onto his shoulder. He could feel her fear, as well, with how she held onto him. "Is he…is he all right?" she asked, voice small and weak.

Almost reluctantly, Edward reached his hand out to his brother once more very slowly to check his pulse. Gently, Edward pressed his fingers against Al's neck. Ed almost panicked. For a brief moment, he thought he'd felt nothing. When he pressed his fingers even more into his brother's neck, it was in desperation for some sign of life in Al. Ed nearly gave up, nearly began to accept that his brother was dead when he felt a faint, barely-there rhythm beneath his fingers, a very weak pulse.

A sigh of relief escaped Ed. He leaned his head down to his brother's chest, not sure if he should be happy yet, or if he should try to help him more. Against his forehead, Edward could feel his brother's heart beating slowly. After a few moments, he sat up again and began to pat Al's cheek.

"Hey Al," he said, voice almost frantic. "Al, come on...wake up." Ed felt weak now, felt small again, like the whole world was moving so quickly around him while he was still standing still. He'd felt this way only a handful of other times in his life and he wasn't fond of it. The feeling had usually come only when he'd been about to lose something. The only other time he'd felt it when he hadn't lost something, he'd gained something wonderful, some knowledge that he'd never forget.

"Al!" Edward's voice was louder now, bordering madness. "Alphonse, wake up!" Tears filled Edward's eyes, fearful tears that he was unable to hold back. They spilled over his face, one after another, as though it was a race to escape. "Al…don't…don't leave me. Don't leave me alone."

Slowly, Edward lay his head down on his brother's chest again, letting his tears come freely now. His fingers gripped his brother's shirt, unwilling to let him go just yet, not so soon. They still needed each other…Ed still needed his brother.

Ed didn't know how much time had passed when he felt Winry's hand lifting him to a sitting position. She held him sitting up. "He's going to be fine, Edward. Let's get him into the car and we'll go back to my house."

Not sure of what to do, Ed looked at Winry, then at his brother. Al hadn't moved, so what gave Winry the idea he was going to be fine? Had he missed something? Upon feeling her grip on his shoulder tighten a little more, Ed nodded. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out. So carefully, he stood, lifting his brother with him. He pulled one of Al's arms around his shoulders while Winry took the other. When Ed stood up, he swayed at first, the dizzy feeling reminding him of his head injury. He shrugged it off, trying not to alert Winry of it.

"Edward?" he heard her say softly.

He shook his head. "Come on," he mumbled, giving her no choice but to walk with him when he started towards the door.

Like she'd said earlier, things were going to be okay. Ed finally resigned himself to that knowledge, trying to make himself believe it. Things were going to be okay.

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It was early the next morning when Winry's eyes opened. For the second time in the past week or so, she woke cold. For a moment, she had a fear, stronger than the last time. This time, she was momentarily afraid that these past few months with Ed and Al, falling in love, were just a dream. When she opened her eyes, she was going to see her pillow and blankets, and Primus was going to announce Ed's arrival. Downstairs in the front room, where she'd dreamt her best Christmas in years, would be Edward, all prickly and anti-social.

Last night hadn't happened. Alphonse Elric only knew her from her CDs, which he loved to listen to while he was working. He hadn't had the near death experience from last night in which someone with the same face as his mother had tried to kill him. There was no almost-healed bullet wound on his shoulder, beginning to scar at last.

Edward Elric hadn't been to the hospital for numerous reasons over their time together. He didn't have the stitches in his side and arm from the fight the other night. That fight hadn't even happened. He was still clinging fruitlessly to the secrets he held from almost everyone. His personality was still just as annoying and hard to accept.

That would be all right, though. Winry would know what to do, how to handle the two, and the dark secrets Edward's past held. She would know how to keep them safe, provided things went the same way and not some alternate route. She'd know some details about her case that had taken Edward a while to figure out. She could hint to him different things for him, to help him along.

Best of all, though, she would still love him.

When Winry opened her eyes, she was both relieved and strangely disappointed when she didn't see her bedroom. She was in her house though. She was lying on a pallet in the front room. It was the day after Christmas, after that disturbing incident from last night. Carefully, Winry sat up. Where was Edward? She looked around her. Al was still on the couch, wrapped up in the blanket she'd put around him. He didn't look like he'd moved an awful much over the night. Winry should probably check his temperature to see if his fever had gone down at all. She was about to stand up to do that when she her eyes fell on Ed.

He was lying a little bit away from her, almost under the coffee table. In fact, if she was to startle him awake, he'd probably end up smacking his head on the table. That was no good; very carefully, so as not to wake the sleeping man, Winry moved the coffee table a little further away from Edward. It was her best bet, in contrast to trying to move Ed. She didn't need him with a double concussion and another knot on his forehead.

When that was finished, the young woman walked on her knees over to Alphonse. She rubbed her cold hands on her legs to try to warm them up a little. With how cold they were, the chill would probably wake Al when she pressed her hand to his still slightly damp forehead.

He was still feverish, but it definitely wasn't as high as the previous night. Her worry reduced a bit, though she knew the fever could spike still. Hopefully it would continue to go down.

When Winry was about to move away, she saw Al's eyes open a bit. Winry stopped moving to look at him. He barely croaked out her name pitifully. A sympathetic smile touched Winry's face.

"Go back to sleep, Al," she told him. "You still have a fever."

There seemed to be no argument in the younger man, since his eyes slid shut almost before she finished speaking. A very quiet chuckle escaped Winry. She stood up then walked over to the doorway. Before she left, she turned, leaned against the doorjamb with her arms folded over her chest. She shook her head.

"My two sleeping men, safe but not sound," she murmured, a soft, slightly cynical smile on her face. She shook her head one more time before stepping towards the kitchen.

When she entered the room, she shivered a little. The fire had gone out sometime over the night and the heat hadn't kicked on yet. It was only about six-thirty, and the heat was supposed to turn on around seven. Well, if yesterday had been any indication, the kitchen could definitely become the warmest room in the house. So she turned the oven on, deciding to make something in it and not just waste the gas used to heat it. Then she moved to make coffee. Both would generate heat, and coffee was wonderful in the morning.

Once the coffee was set up, Winry looked around her. The room seemed empty after everything that had been in it yesterday, all the people. In fact, that had to have been the most people the house had seen in quite a while on a social event. Before Edward had come around, Winry had been much too paranoid to have friends over. She figured she was safe with the person who was always around, Primus. That had been such a falsehood; Winry wondered why her perception of reality wasn't off its hinges yet. After the lies, the hoops jumped for Primus to become her live-in butler…Winry wondered if it had been devised that way specifically for the reason of being in her house.

Well, they had done that. They'd infiltrated the place that had been her haven, the place she should have felt safest. Why hadn't they killed her, though? Whoever was after her had had her in their grips. Primus could have killed her in her sleep and she would have been none the wiser. There had been many manners of ways that he could have done away with her while he'd been here. Edward, too, when he and Al had lived here. If her enemies had felt like Ed was in their way, one or two words could have ended their lives. It made Winry wonder why they were all still alive.

Well, it seemed like that old saying remained true: the closer you are to danger, the farther you are from harm.

Another shiver escaped Winry as she walked back into the kitchen, now wearing her house sweater. For some reason, she expected to see something in her kitchen upon entering. She expected to see that thing from the previous night, just standing there, waiting for her. Winry had been the one to make it leave. How? She still wasn't sure. She was just happy, though, it had gone without anymore harm to her two men.

That thought reminded her of Edward's head. She hadn't checked on him all night after he'd gone to sleep. It had been a few hours after midnight when that had happened, and Winry had promptly fallen asleep after him. It was still early for her to be awake, but her body was too jittery feeling. Hopefully, though, Edward was fine. Once she started breakfast, maybe the smell would wake him. If not, she would.

Breakfast. Muffins sounded nice. She would probably fry up some eggs, as well. So she set about that. Unfortunately, she had no blueberries to add, so settled for chocolate chips. Unless someone was allergic to it, chocolate chip muffins was definitely the way to go as an alternative to blueberry. What else? Winry was trying to think of what else she could make with her still slightly limited supplies. Since they hadn't been at the house in a while, her groceries were low. There was no juice or milk in the fridge – not that the milk mattered. Ed didn't drink milk. He'd probably rejoice over no milk.

Winry smiled a little as she went about making breakfast. The kitchen was beginning to warm, which was a good thing. She could already hear Ed grousing about it being cold. Following his grumbles, she could hear herself telling him, "Gee, it is winter! I can't imagine why it's cold." Then he'd respond to her with an incoherent mumble and ask about breakfast. A bit of a chuckle escaped her.

Almost immediately after, though, a screech left her lips when she felt Edward lean something on his face against her shoulder. She guessed it was his chin from the boniness poking into her.

"Eggs say something funny?" he asked, voice still thick with sleep.

Winry cleared her throat, trying to recover. "You scared me," she whispered. "No, they did not. I was thinking about…" she paused, "I was thinking about your bad attitude in the mornings before a cup of coffee or four."

Ed grumbled a little at her in his own defense, but seemed to condemn himself instead. "I don't have an attitude," he told her, shifting a little. Winry felt him move against her back and it made her eyes close slowly. She fought them open again, reminding herself that she was cooking.

"Yes, you do," she replied, voice soft, unwilling to argue with him so early in the morning. "That's why the coffee should be almost done." She tried to move away from him, but Winry was stuck between Edward and the stove. It may have seemed like a good thing to her another time in her life, but now it made her feel a little claustrophobic and uncomfortable. After that conversation with Ed last night, Winry wasn't sure about her relationship with Ed.

"Coffee," Edward said, drawing out the two syllables in a happy tone.

Winry reached back and grabbed his shirt. "Not yet. Come here," she said as she shoved the eggs to the back burner. They were done anyway.

When Ed was facing her, he gave her a vaguely annoyed look, like he wasn't happy about standing where he was when coffee was clearly calling his name and was only doing this to humor her. Winry frowned at Ed as she touched his cheek. He made a face at her since her hands were still cold but didn't move, not even when her fingers slipped up this head.

Winry didn't touch the bandage on his temple, settling on tracing his skin around it. "How does your head feel?" she asked softly. While she had been joking with him before, her voice carried a different tone now, concerned rather than comical.

Ed shrugged at her a little. "It's felt better," he told her, voice a little indifferent. Then he made another face at her, this one a little uncomfortable. His hand slipped up to hers, pulling it away from his face as he mumbled her name.

Winry frowned a little more, pulling her hand from his. As she turned around, she said, "I was just wondering, Edward." Then she went back to being concerned with breakfast.

She hated how things were between them now. One conversation had seemed to change everything, at least many things. It felt strange for Winry to express herself to him in a way that had been almost natural before. Ed seemed to want to push her away slowly, gently so she wouldn't be too hurt. It was too late, though; she was already hurt, the damage was already done. It had been done last night, upon finishing their conversation about their seriously messed up relationship. With each word she'd spoken, each word she'd heard Edward say, it had broken her heart more and more until she now felt like it would never be whole again.

But she wasn't going to let Edward know that. Slowly, she was going to put the pieces of her heart together, with or without any help from anyone. She didn't want to, she wanted to tell Edward how she felt, just what she thought. She wanted to tell Edward that she was still so in love with him, always would be it felt like, even though he was a prickly, pain in the behind ninety-five percent of the time. She just wanted to talk about them more.

As Edward placed a mug full of coffee beside the stove for her, Winry knew that things wouldn't be the same again.