They stood before the small headstone; Al laid his hand on Ed's shoulder, and Ed offered Winry his handkerchief. She accepted it, blowing her nose and brushing away the tears at the edges of her eyes.
"That arm…was my best work," she sniffed.
Al cleared his throat.
"Should we…say a few words?" Winry nodded, eyes clouded over with memories. Ed rolled his eyes and sighed.
"Here's to…my right arm. It was a good arm, even if it jammed during thunderstorms and sometimes made a really annoying squeak when I flexed my elbow after a shower. It saved my life against Scar, and those train thugs, and that chimera, and those other chimeras, and that one time out in West City two years back, wait maybe it was three years—well it saved my life a lot."
"And thanks, for all those times it pieced me back together," Al seconded, "even when it wasn't in that great of a shape on its own."
"I know I complained about having so much repair work," Winry choked out, "but really, my design was so superb that I couldn't help amazing myself every time." She produced a screw, that had formerly held Ed's thumb joint in place, from her pocket, and laid it gently on the fresh mound. "I'll never forget you, my masterpiece. Your blueprints will always hang in the workshop."
They bowed their heads in silent respect.
"…Is that enough mourning? Damn, I can smell Granny's roast from here. Can we go now?" Ed checked his watch. "It's already half-past seven!"
"Yeah," Al agreed, rubbing his stomach, "I could eat a horse."
They both received a wrench to the head.