They'd waited until spring to perform Edward's automail surgery. Not only because his limbs (what was left of them anyway) had needed time to scab over and heal, but also because the post-surgery healing process wouldn't take as long if they didn't have to worry about the cold weather and winter related sicknesses.

It had been seven months since they'd attached the last piece of metal to Ed's body, and Winry was amazed at how quickly he'd managed to learn to control the machinery. He'd done in six months what it took most of her patients, on average, a year to do. Then again, most of her patients weren't stubborn eleven year olds with guilty debts to rectify, and the sooner he was back on his feet and on his way to Central, the better. At least that's what he'd told Winry more times than she could count that first week after she'd begun his physical therapy.

By now, he was almost ready to go. He could go through most days without any problems whatsoever, and he was eager to be off, ready to fix his mistakes. But since the onset of winter, he'd had several relapses. There were days when his joints ached so badly that he couldn't get out of bed. On several occasions either Winry or Al had to sit through the night with him as he tossed and turned, alternately burning up or shivering with fever.

Al was worried, but Winry assured him that this was typical; a result of his body's minimized ability to regulate body temperature. She also told him that generally this only happened within the first one or two years of an automail surgery since the operations compromised the patients' immune systems as well, making them more prone to sickness. Ed would be fine.

And it seemed she was right, Alphonse observed. Even as the winter wore on, the days when his brother was too sore or too sick to get up came less and less frequently and both brothers started thinking, once again, about heading for Central.

--

"Absolutely not!" Came Winry's response on the day they came down to breakfast, dressed (Ed at least) and packed, with plans on heading out for the train station. She informed them that they were not allowed to leave for at least another month. "And even that's pushing it!" she exclaimed, plates clattering to the table as she placed eggs, bacon, and toast in front of herself and Edward.

The real reason behind her refusal actually had more to do with the fact that Christmas was in three weeks and she wanted them home to celebrate it with her and Granny. The rest of the meal was eaten in grudging silence (interspaced with occasional grumbled complaints from Edward); the brothers obviously miffed at having their plans vetoed.

Three days later, however, Alphonse was grateful for Winry's decision and Ed was in too much pain to have an opinion. Even the painkillers that Winry all but shoved down his throat did little to stop the burning agony radiating from his ports.

--

It seemed, however, several days later, that the incident had been forgotten. That morning found the boys bright and cheerful (well, as cheerful as they could be, considering the circumstances). They had made sure to build up the fire well the night before, and some time in the night, Alphonse had rekindled it, so by the time Edward got up, the coals were still hot in the fireplace and his room was warm and comfortable and he felt better than he had in days.

After breakfast (pancakes!), the two found ways to occupy themselves. They were sitting in the living room, discussing eagerly their plans for what they would do when Winry deemed Ed well enough to leave and they arrived in central.

"Three days is way too long for—"

"Brother," Alphonse said suddenly, interrupting Edward's tirade about train rides, "are you sure about this?"

Ed stopped talking mid-sentence, turned his eyes to the suit of armor, obviously startled. "Huh? What do you mean? About what?"

"All of this!" Alphonse made a vague gesture that involved a circular motion and a lot of clanking. "Going to Central, becoming a state alchemist...everything!"

"Don't be stupid, of course I'm sure." Ed snapped immediately; face contorting into a scowl as he stared up at the emotionless steel face.

What Al said next was quiet, and Ed almost didn't catch it. But the words were there, lingering. It was the second time his brother had spoken them this year. "Maybe we should ask Dad."

Golden eyes went dark, a dour expression usurping the older boy's features. "Al," he began, but stopped. Because maybe his little brother was right. Maybe they should wait and ask their father (if they could eve find him). Perhaps if he'd listened when Al had said that the last time they wouldn't be in this mess at all. Ed wouldn't have made this mistake…But no. He shook away those thoughts. This was his burden, his problem. He would find a way to fix it. His own way. He didn't need the help of a good for nothing man who could hardly be considered little more than a sperm donor.

"Anything that bastard has to say is worthless." He spat, hunching his shoulders.

"You don't know that Ed. Maybe he knows something we don't. Maybe he can help us." Al stated calmly. He was always the voice of reason, always the one to think things through and consider all the possibilities before discarding an idea.

"Why would he help us! He abandoned us!" Ed snarled, standing up to better glare at the chunk of metal that constituted his brother.

"You can't say that for sure! You don't know the circumstances and neither do I!" Al's tone escalated. How did his brother manage to get him riled up like that anyways? Ed had always been one of the few people that could truly upset him.

"I don't care about circumstances! What matters is that he left! He left you, he left me," Edward paused, voice dropping to a shaky whisper, "he left Mom."

"But still! Maybe he knows how to—"

"What, you don't trust me to keep my promise? You don't think I can figure it out?" Ed's voice rose again.

"I didn't say that! I just think that maybe he could help us!" Al floundered, trying desperately to emphasize his point and simultaneously lay his brother's fears to rest. Because he knew it wasn't him that doubted Ed. It was Ed himself, that doubted; terrified that he couldn't live up to his oath, afraid that he would fail.

"Well fine! If you want to ask that lowlife for help, be my guest! But do it yourself, and don't come crying to me when he skips out on you. AGAIN!" With that, Ed whirled, wrenched the door to the closet open, snatched his coat off the hanger and shoved his arms roughly through the sleeves. He didn't bother with gloves or a hat, opening the door and stomping out into the snow, slamming the door shut behind him.

Alphonse sighed and sat down, leaning against the wall. Ed would be back…eventually.

--

Winry chose to ignore the fight in favor of a hot mug of hot tea and a good book in the otherwise deserted kitchen. The door to the living room was closed, so even though she could hear their voices, she couldn't make out what they were saying…thankfully. She wasn't sure what was going on and she was almost certain she didn't want to know.

When at last the shouting ceased, she heard stomping and a slam, and then an almost startling silence. She figured it was safe to declassify the living room as a war zone. She finished her tea quickly, put the mug in the sink and ventured into the other room. Alphonse was sitting against the far wall. He looked up at her when she entered, but said nothing.

"Another fight?" She asked, sounding generally unworried, and she made herself comfortable on the couch. After all, it wasn't as if the brothers hadn't fought before. They always made up sooner or later.

"Yeah." Al managed a sound that sounded akin to a sigh, though how he did it, Winry couldn't fathom, nor did she care to try. She had already given up on trying to figure out how an empty suit of armor could more, let alone speak without the proper body parts to carry out the tasks. She watched him slump back against the wall, somehow managing to look miserable.

She sighed. "Do you want me to talk to him?" She half turned, intending to do so whether Al wanted her to or not. "Where is he? The bedroom?"

"Don't bother, he left." Al gestured towards the window and Winry turned her gaze in that direction. She could see little beyond the snow that was falling harshly outside the cold glass panes. A sudden thought occurred to her and she swung back around, looking aghast at Al.

"You let him leave? IN THIS!" She exclaimed, waving her arms for emphasis.

"What's the big deal? He had his jacket; and it's not like I could have stopped him. You know how he gets." Al was perplexed. This wasn't the first hissy fit Ed had thrown, and generally it was better if he went off on his own to cool down. Ed could take care of himself, and he always came back. Al couldn't figure out why Winry was so upset.

"Al! He can't be out in this kind of weather! He'll be chilled in no time! He'll get sick! His joins will freeze up!" She already had her jacket half on and was searching hurriedly for a winter hat and a pair of mittens.

If Alphonse had been human, he would have blanched at his friend's statement. Instead he let out a high pitched wail and wrung his hands.

"I'm going after him." She said ignoring the hysterical babble that Alphonse was now uttering. She finally found some mittens, and put them on, enveloping her hands in warm pink wool. She pulled open the door and hesitated as an icy gust of wind sent her a face full of snow, but she braced herself and went out into the cold.

--

By the time she found him, he'd already been outside for over a quarter of an hour. If the river hadn't been frozen, she would have been willing to bet that Ed would have been throwing rocks into the swirling waters. And she might have laughed at the irony of the fact that Ed had chosen Al's favorite spot to sulk, but as she came upon him, his red jacket blatant amidst all the white of the snow, she could only bite her lip in worry. She could see, even from a distance, that he was shaking all over. He had his knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs as he stared at the flakes that swirled around him.

Quietly, she made her way to his side, and he remained soundless when she sat down beside him, mimicking his position and hugging her own knees. He looked at her then, noted the concern on her face, and turned back towards the river.

For a few moments, the world consisted only of white noise, particles of frozen water collecting on their clothing as she regarded him as he continued to stare at the ice and shivered stoically, jaw clenched to keep his teeth from chattering.

"How could he want that bastard's help? After everything that he did…or should I say didn't do!" Ed asked finally, managing to look both angry and hurt.

Winry desperately wanted to remain neutral on the subject. She didn't know what this was about and couldn't very well give her opinion on the topic. This was one of the reasons she'd chosen to ignore the fight completely earlier. She was quiet for a moment, wondering how she should answer, knowing that if she went about it the wrong way, it would only serve to further anger Ed.

Luckily, she didn't have to answer at all. Ed sneezed and Winry looked at him with alarm, noticing once again, how violently he was shivering.

"Ed," She said gravely, pouncing on the opportunity to change the subject, "let's go back. You're going to get sick."

"I'm fine." He snapped, shrugging the hand she'd placed on his shoulder off.

"You sneezed." She stated, tone humorless.

"Allergies." He lied.

Winry chose to ignore the fact that the only thing Ed was allergic to were bee stings and that bees weren't around in the wintertime. Not to mention the fact that a sort of allergy like that wouldn't make him sneeze.

"You're shivering." She pointed out instead, her hand moving to rest on his shoulder again. She could feel the chill of the automail beneath her fingers, even through the thick fabric of his coat and the wool of her mittens.

"Yeah well…you are too." He countered stubbornly, bracing himself as another gust of wind send the cold straight through their clothes.

And she was; though not nearly as badly as he was. "Maybe so, but I don't have steel attached to my body," came the exasperated reply. "Come on Ed, stop being stubborn. You're not helping anyone and you're only hurting yourself."

Ed shuddered and Winry felt his entire body tremble beneath her hand. He didn't even have gloves or a hat, she noted.

It was a moment before he responded, and when he did, he turned his head away, snow dampened bangs falling over his eyes; a protective barrier for his emotions.

"I'm not ready to face him yet." He admitted finally, sounding a bit muffled.

"He feels bad you know," she squeezed his shoulder, "…that is, for upsetting you….and making you leave."

"…"

"Come on, let's go back. He's worried." She stood up, tugging on his arm and causing clumps of snow to fall from the folds of his jacket. Ed didn't move.

"Ed."

"Go yourself. I'm fine."

"Edward," she dropped to her knees in the snow beside him and he turned his head away from her again, hunching his shoulders, "if not for him, than for me?"

She reached out, brushing his bangs back and tucking them behind his ear.

He glanced at her, and she grabbed hold of his chin, forcibly turning his head so that he had to look at her. He blinked up at her and scowled, but did not break from her grip.

She leaned forward, brushing her lips against his, which, at this point, were tinted blue. It was a quick kiss, and Ed was too startled to react in any other way but to stare at her.

She leaned back, retreating with a tentative smile and a slight blush.

"Please?" She stood again, mittened hand gripping his arm firmly.

"Fine," he grumbled at last, and she grinned. But when she tried to help him up, he drew the line there. He pulled his arm out of her grasp with a groused admonition that he could do it on his own. She glowered at him, but backed off. Stubborn boy.

She said nothing as he staggered to his feet and pretended not to notice the way he limped heavily as he began to walk. And she ignored his winces, despite his best efforts to conceal them from her. When he slipped and fell on a patch of ice hidden beneath the snow and she had to help him to his feet again, he grumbled, but she stayed quiet.

And when he started to fall behind half way home and she put her arm around his waist and slung his arm over her shoulder, he didn't complain and both kept their silence. They didn't need to say a word.

She smiled at him, and he leaned on her the rest of the way home, where a roaring fire, a pile of blankets and a steaming mug of hot chocolate awaited him, courtesy of a very remorseful and guilt-ridden Alphonse.

End