Author's note: This is a short little thing, one of many FMA fics I've had come to mind over the weekend – and some even before that, just lacking motivation to write them out. But I've decided I need a tiny break from writing Digimon, and FMA is another one of those few series that has my heart forever even though I've got pitifully few stories in that genre. Don't worry; I intend to fix that a.s.a.p.
I don't remember the currency. Frankly, I don't care to find out. Deal. I'm really sleepy and just feel like writing something short and stupid and goofy.
"I owe you how much? Twenty, right," Pinako asked absentmindedly, although she looked rather irritated as she stabbed through her hand bag. Al seemed not to notice her disgruntlement at having lost, folding his hands serenely on top of the table.
"Thirty. You bet thirty."
"Thirty what," Ed asked, oblivious to what, exactly, Pinako and his younger brother were discussing. Al suddenly looked uneasy, and opened his mouth to answer – presumably to say "nothing" in an obvious lie sort of way – but was beaten to the punch by Winry's grandmother, who had never been very afraid of Ed's volatile temper.
"You cost me thirty bucks, you little squirt," she grumbled, finally extracting the money from the depths of her bag and slapping it down on the table in front of Al. But there was a twinkle of amusement in her eye that was barely disguised by the gleam of her glasses in the afternoon sunlight coming in from the kitchen window.
"Granny, um..." Al began hesitantly, too aware of the fact that if his brother hit him now, it really would hurt, "wanted to place a little wager on..."
"Whether or not your balls had dropped, apparently," she mumbled, apparently under the assumption that her voice didn't carry. But it did, and Al's jaw dropped in disbelief before he struggled to compose himself. Ed looked all the more baffled.
"Whether or not you'd, you know, um... talk to Winry when we got back."
If the emphasis on 'talk' was supposed to mean something, it was lost on Ed.
"I did talk to her," he said, looking confused. "I, y'know, said hi and stuff."
"You didn't ask her out," Pinako said bluntly. "Honestly, the two of you bicker like you're married, fuss like you're dating, I don't know what's tak-"
"You were betting on my dating life," Ed demanded, outraged. Al cringed.
"Exactly! What dating life," Pinako shot back. The bickering seemed to have returned her good mood somewhat, and she began pulling out pots to prepare for dinner.
"I, you know, um," Ed blundered, flustered.
"You what," Winry asked, coming into the room. She didn't seem to have overheard anything, looking from face to face in confusion after getting a long look at Edward's increasingly crimson complexion. "Are you feeling okay?"
"Terrific. My brother betrayed me with a shriveled up prune," he said, sounding wounded. But he seemed to be recovering from his shock, and anger was settling into place, simmering like a pot on the stove. Al inched his chair away from him, smoothly pocketing the thirty dollars.
"They bet on –," he began, but he cut off abruptly. Winry looked alarmed.
"Nothing," he snapped. He grabbed Den's leash. "We're going for a walk."
"Um..." Winry raised a hand to stop him (or perhaps to point out that Den was sleeping on the floor of her workshop), but Ed slammed the door shut behind him before she could speak, and she turned to her grandmother, baffled. "Am I not getting something?"
"Probably," Pinako sighed. Al choked on his milk.