1Author's note: I heard tell that someone did a story like this, but I have yet to find it so no flaming say I stole it. No 2 stories are ((should be..)) exactly alike. Hell, you might rather my version. You might not. Erm, how do I say this? I don't really care. ((That really wasn't as hard as I thought it would be.)) It's a little one-shot, just to get me back in the swing of things, so it might seem kinda off from my usual. But..whatever. Enjoy!

It was late. The moon was casting eerie, somehow comforting light on the floor of the recovery room in the Rockbell home, where they moved patients after their auto-mail surgery. The light was off, for it was late into the evening now and the mechanics/doctors didn't want to wake the room's inhabitants up There was only one patient just now, a boy with short hair the color of straw and eyes the color of the sun, though they currently did not look warm and wild like a young boy's ought.

A young blond girl with sunshine-yellow hair down to the small of her back enterred the room with a sad sigh, her hands clutching a bowl of cooled water. Several wash cloths were draped half-way into this water. She walked over to the bed where this boy lay and knelt down, placing the bowl beside her as she stifled a yawn. She'd been at this all day.

It had been the same routine, every hour she'd get up to change the water in the bowl, wringing out the cloths and rinsing them from sweat and old water before coming back, kneeling in the same position as she was in now, ocean-water blue eyes looking sadly down at her friend.

She dipped one of the cloths entirely into the water, watching the ends where she wasn't holding floating with a sad sort of majesty. Shame such an odd sigh was so pretty, shame it was contained in this small bowl only until Winry had deemed the cloth wet enough. She pulled it out, squeezing it in her fist to wring it of excess water before laying the folded cloth over his fevered forehead, brushing goldenrod hair matted with sweat away. Her teeth caught her lower lip between them as his face wrinkled up in pain, the effect of the fever and the auto-mail surgery she herself had performed..

She wished there had been an alternative, more pain to end pain? But there wasn't, she knew. He'd come to them, them being her and her grandmother, with a bloody stump of a leg and arm, unconscious in his brother's arms. She still only stood bits of what had happened that night, when the thunder had seemed to rumble more menacing than she could ever recall. She shuddered at the memory. He had been right though, he needed this surgery...Once the recovery stage was over ((She had to keep herself from remembering how long a time period that was)), it would be over. She wouldn't have to see that pained expression on his face ever again. ((She hoped. Oh, how she hoped.))

"Win..ry..?" She blinked, having begun to doze on the edge of the bed, about half an hour later. His eyes were half opened, no longer hidden by long lashes ((which, she thought, it was very unfair for guys to have)). He tried to sit up, but she pushed him gently back down by his left shoulder, the right, she knew, being too tender just now to touch more than necessary. He grimaced in pain, his breathing still shallow and painful-sounding. She bit down harder on her lower lip, wishing there was more to do to lower the fever or the reduce the pain, but there wasn't. He'd have to ride it out.

"I'm right here." Her voice was low and soft, replacing the drying-out cloth on his forehead with a fresh one, once again brushing his hair from his forehead with her finger tips. It bothered her how pale his face was, despite the moonlight and the effect of the dark. It scared her, too, how dull his eyes were, usually so fiery and bright.

"Is he...Have..." He winced as another wave of pain racked his body. Winry didn't say anything, but waited as he bit down on his lip to hold back a moan. Was he embarrassed? She didn't see why he should be...Grown men had cried during the operation. He barely let out a shout. So Winry sat patiently, one hand gripping his left one as he squeezed it in pain. After a few moments his body relaxed slightly, less tense but still alert. Like he didn't want the pain to catch him off guard.

She knew what was coming now, the same question that came up every time he awakened. It made her sad, to think of how many times they'd had this conversation. Did he not remember? Or did he fear that her answers would change? Was he hoping to catch her lying? His eyes were so serious, so haunted with pain and hurtful memories that she swallowed a lump in her throat for probably the millionth time that day.

"Does he...Has he...mentioned it...at all?" Each word seemed to hurt him, his face now warped with pain again she pressed the cloth to his forehead, seeing beads of sweat, created by the high fever, slid down his nose. She took another cloth, wringing it out and wiping his face. His expression didn't change, like he didn't know she was even there anymore, one hand still holding tightly to hers.

"No Ed," she said quietly, her tone soft and reassuring. "He's only been asking if you're alright, how you're doing, and if you'll be okay. He's worried, he wants you to get better. So you have to." She tried keep her tone even as she gave his hand a small squeeze. He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut.

She knew what came now: tears.

"He only... wants me to get... better so he ...can kick my ass." His words were pained, speaking through the feeling that his body was being sewn back together without any pain killers, and Winry shook her head sadly, though her action went unseen.

"That's not true," she said quietly, her free hand now running through his matted hair. She vaguely remembered her mom doing that from her, when she'd been sick and bedridden with fever. It had been comforting to feel that someone was there when she couldn't see. "Al loves you. He's worried himself into a frenzy. It's all Gram can do to keep him busy so he doesn't think too much."

"Night...He...He can't..." More tears. Winry brushed them away with one finger, biting her lip harder yet. She tasted blood, and she winced slightly. His grip was going to crush her hand, she was almost sure. She didn't say anything though, just squeezed back comfortingly..though she wasn't sure if it reached him.

She knew what he was referring to, even though the thought seemed to painful for him to voice. As a suit of armor, empty..his soul only attached to this world by the blood seal, he couldn't sleep. He couldn't forever postpone that time when all was silent and his thoughts were forced to wander. That was about the extent of her knowledge..but it was all she needed to know to feel sorry for him.

But Alphonse could never hate his older brother. She'd known them long enough to know that for sure. She was about to open her mouth to say so when Edward moaned in pain, and she raised herself slightly to see what was wrong.

It seemed it was just the fever again...She sighed, feeling his hand shaking in her grip. She slowly eased her hand from it and removed the covers, damp with sweat and vomit and probably tears. She walked over to the cabinet, dumping the old linens in the basket before taking fresh ones over to Edward's bed, draping them over him. She took his hand again..It was the only thing she could do to comfort him, even a little bit.

He turned on his side and vomited again, his face growing ever-paler. She held his hair back from his eyes, patting his shoulder gently until he was done, and then cleaned it up without complaint. It was far from the first time she'd done this.

"Go to sleep Edward," she said softly, resting her hand over the newly replaced cloth on his forehead as his breathing was quick and shallow. It unnerved her. She never thought she'd have to baby her best friend. "I'll be right here when you wake up.."

"Al...someone should...he's...He's all alone," he choked, coughing. She tipped some water into his mouth, dry now from the vomiting. Winry nodded, using a dry cloth to wipe his mouth.

"I've been going to chat with him whenever you seem calm...Bad dreams," she asked, knowing the answer. She shuddered. If she'd seen what they had, she'd probably go insane.

She wondered if that with the added strain of recovery would bring him to that point...She shoved that very unwelcome thought away.

He nodded, biting his lip again, sweat trickling from under the cloth in beads. She sighed, resuming running her fingers lightly through his hair.

"One day," she said quietly. That was all. One day things would be better. One day the pain would be over. One day Al would be back to himself, and one day they'd go back to smiling instead of the worry and pain and fear that seemed to hang in the air above the house.

"One day," he repeated quietly, his voice weak. Winry looked at him worriedly, not moving her eyes from his face until his breathing was a steady rhythm, if not occasionally accompanied with muttering and groaning. She rested her arm on the bed, her head on her arm, as her eyes closed. She wasn't going to leave him in here alone...Alphonse had come in, despite her words, from time to time. If he got lonely, or scared, or something, he'd rouse her.

"I love you Ed," she murmured drowsily, her mind not really processing that she'd said it out loud. She sighed sadly, quietly, and drifted off into sleep as her words penetrated his dreams, a little tint of normalcy in a realm of unpleasant reminders.

I love you too..