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whiskeycoffeeTitle: A Good, Old-Fashioned Holiday Conspiracy
Author: m.jules
Rating: Nothing really bad, just a little Ed-language
Disclaimer: NOT MINE.
Pairing: Ed/Winry, Roy/Riza
Author's Notes: Inspired by a picture. *laughs* I'll update with it later. And the title sucks but I'm too tired to care. (It was either this or "How the Ghosts Stole Christmas," which didn't fit, but I didn't much care because I love that X-Files ep.) Much love to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cornerofmadness for braving beta duty on this.
21 December
“Fullmetal!”
Ed cringed as he saw Mustang coming toward him, a flute of champagne in his hand. The Colonel was grinning from ear to ear and Ed knew that meant one of two things. Either he had bad news for Edward (although he thought Roy would look rather more smug than goofy at that) or that wasn’t the first glass of champagne he’d had.
Ed looked around nervously for any avenue of escape, but none presented itself. Al had opted not to come, saying that he’d feel out of place as a suit of armor amongst all the nicely-dressed attendants of the military’s Winter Ball. Ed hadn’t wanted to go at all, but Mustang had ordered him to attend. He’d thought about dodging the draft, so to speak, but then he’d been well and truly checkmated.
6 December (Two Weeks Earlier)
He’d just gotten back to his hotel from his meeting with Mustang when he was notified that he had a call at the front desk. Expecting to hear his superior on the other end of the line, finding something wrong with his report just to be annoying, or tacking on something like “Buy a tux” to his order to attend the ball, Ed was surprised to hear Winry Rockbell, talking ninety miles a minute.
“Ed! Guess what! I’m so excited! I’m going to the military ball! Are you going to be there? It just wouldn’t be any fun if you weren’t there -- you are going to go, aren’t you? It’ll be so much fun! I just can’t believe --”
“Whoa -- wait -- the military ball?” Ed interrupted, feeling the floor drop out from under him. Mustang wouldn’t have...
“Yeah! Isn’t that awesome?” He winced at her enthusiasm. It was just his luck Winry would get as worked up over this ball as she did about new automail. ...Wait a minute. Since when did Winry get excited about formal dances anyway?
“Yeah, that’s... really great,” he managed to choke out. He was dying to ask her how she’d gotten invited, since the only way a civilian could attend was at the invitation of someone in the military, and everyone from the generals on down were only allowed one civilian invitation each.
Before he could blurt it out, however, she chirped, “Oh! Gotta go! Customer just came in. See you at the ball, Ed!” and the line went dead.
Slamming the phone down, Ed stalked out of the hotel and back to Central HQ, where he nearly broke down Mustang’s door banging to get in.
“I knew I should have gone home early,” Mustang grumbled when Hawkeye let Edward inside. “What do you want, Ed? Haven’t I seen you enough for today?”
“What the hell are you doing!?” Ed shouted before he was even inside the room, and Hawkeye raised her eyebrows as she looked over Edward to Roy.
Roy caught her glance and waved her on with a smile, his eyes saying he could handle it just fine. Hawkeye nodded and closed the door, but no one missed the fact that her silhouette was still visible through the frosted glass.
“I’m not quite sure I follow your question,” Roy answered with a bored lift of his eyebrow, settling back in his chair and steepling his fingers over his chest.
“You know damn well what I’m talking about,” Ed growled. “That invitation you sent to Winry! You were trying to make sure I didn’t disobey your order and skip the ball. Why the hell is it so important to you that I come to a stupid winter ball anyway? You want to show off your trick dog, is that it? You want me to walk around on a leash and sit and stay on command? Or maybe you’d rather me roll over and play dead --”
“Edward, enough,” Roy snapped, cutting off the younger man’s tirade. “In the first place, you are not my idea of a show dog,” he said wryly. “If I were trying to impress the higher-ups with one of my subordinates at a formal dance, you’re not the one I’d choose.”
“Why not? I’m not good enough for you? Oh, I’m too short, is that it? Well let me tell you--”
“Edward,” Mustang interrupted again with a sharp growl. “As if that weren’t enough, I didn’t invite Miss Rockbell.”
Edward pulled up short, suddenly out of steam. “You... you didn’t?”
“No, I didn’t,” Roy repeated. “Although I did hear that someone else had invited her.”
Ed narrowed his eyes. “So you ordered me to attend. Why?”
Roy gave a drawn-out, long-suffering sigh and pushed some papers around on his desk. “Ed, contrary to what you might think, I’m not trying to run your life, and I really don’t care one way or the other whether you attend this dance. The order didn’t originate with me, but since I am your commanding officer, I was the one who gave it.”
“Fine,” Ed bit out, his arms crossing over his chest. “So who did invite Winry?”
“I’m not the person to ask,” Roy shrugged. “Why don’t you talk to Miss Rockbell about it?”
Seeing that he wasn’t going to get anywhere else with the Colonel, Ed huffed and spun on his heel, going for the door. “Fine, I will,” he tossed over his shoulder. He opened the door and ducked around Hawkeye with a near-meek, “Lieutenant,” before returning to his hotel and stomping up to his room. Despite his bravado, he had absolutely no intention of questioning Winry.
21 December
“Colonel,” Ed laughed nervously, still looking for a way to avoid the freakishly-cheerful Mustang. Maybe he could open up a door in the floor, drop right through... what was below here, anyway?
“Wonderful party, isn’t it?” Roy said brightly, his teeth flashing with the broad smile he gave Edward as he clapped the younger man on the shoulder.
“Yeah, it sure is,” Ed muttered drily, inching away from Mustang’s hand. “Fabulous.” His eyes scanned the room restlessly, not only looking for some way to avoid his superior, but also looking for Winry. He’d been here for fifteen minutes and hadn’t caught a glimpse of her yet. He was beginning to wonder if he’d been tricked, if she really wasn’t coming... but no, Winry never would have lied to him about that. If it had only been Mustang, that would be one thing, but Winry had been telling him the truth.
That only left him with one alternative: To stay here and watch for her, and kill whoever had the gall to offer to be her escort to the dance. He’d been thinking about it for weeks and hadn’t managed to come up with a satisfactory suspect yet.
Who else in the military would have invited her?
15 December (Six Days Earlier)
Ed huffed in frustration as the tailor tugged on the sleeves of the military dress jacket, making tiny marks with a white pencil to show her where to hem it.
“I don’t see why I have to wear one of these,” Ed grumbled, wanting to cross his arms but knowing the tailor - a wiry Xingese woman with a sharp pair of scissors and a sharper tongue - would probably do something unspeakable to him if he did.
“Brother, you know why,” Al said with a long sigh, as if they’d had this conversation several times already (which they had). “Everyone is going to be in a dress uniform. You are part of the military, you know. You can wear it just for tonight.”
“I don’t even want to go to this stupid ball,” Ed growled, his face flushing as the tailor pinched the cloth on the inseam of the trousers and made four small marks with her pencil.
“Not even for Winry?” Al prodded, and Ed glared at him in the mirror, not daring to whirl around to face him. Somedays, Ed hated that armor; he couldn’t tell whether Al was smiling or not, and his voice was so perfectly innocent. Without waiting for his brother to respond, however, Al shifted on the velvet chair and asked, “Have you found out who invited her yet?”
“No,” Ed sighed, frowning when the tailor rolled up the cuff of his pants a good two inches and marked the spot with her pencil. “Hey! You don’t have to take that much off!” he protested, and though she didn’t look up at him, her voice was quelling.
“If I do not take off that much, you will look like a little boy who has stolen his father’s clothes to play dress-up in,” she told him in a thick accent, making Ed’s face turn a bright shade of pink.
Ignoring the the exchange with the tailor, Al prodded further, “Do you have any ideas of who it could be? Anybody?”
Ed turned obediently, now facing Al so that the tailor could check the seams on the backs of the jacket and trousers. “I mean, technically, I suppose it could be anyone. Winry did visit HQ with us when she came to Central. Well, it’s not Hughes, because he’s bringing Gracia. Mustang said it wasn’t him. Who else is left?”
“What about Sergeant Fuery?” Al’s suggestion was met with a snort from Ed, who foolishly chanced a look over his shoulder at the mirror and got poked in the thigh for his efforts.
“Stop moving!” the tailor ordered, and Ed faced forward again immediately.
“Falman? Breda? Havoc?” Al continued listing off Roy’s staff, knowing they’d been the ones with the most extensive interaction with Winry during her visit.
Ed grew thoughtful. “Havoc, maybe,” he admitted, anger knitting his brow. “But if he did...” He tensed, slamming his metal fist into his flesh one.
A pin-prick to his gluteus maximus made him jump and he yelped, trying unsuccessfully to leap away from the tailor, who still had the fabric of his trousers clutched in her hands. “I am sorry, sir,” she said around the many pins still held in her mouth, “But I did tell you to stop moving.”
21 December
“Say, where’s Lieutenant Hawkeye?” The question was as much honest curiosity as it was a way to hopefully get Mustang away from him. If he went looking for his precious First Lieutenant, he wouldn’t be bothering Ed anymore.
“Oh, she’s on her way,” Roy said, still with that unnerving grin. “She had to pick up her date.”
“Her date?” The confusion in Ed’s eyes was genuine and tinged with a hint of distress. “But I thought you two were...”
“Here,” Roy said suddenly, reaching behind him and snatching a red rose out of a nearby arrangement. He thrust the flower into Ed’s hand, and Ed took it by reflex.
“What the hell?” Ed demanded, looking down at the rose.
“You’ll need that in a second,” Roy assured him, and then they were interrupted by the sound of a warm voice.
“Say cheese, boys!” They both looked up, though neither of them smiled, and were instantly blinded by the flash of a camera.
“Dammit, Maes,” Roy growled, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut. “Now I’m not going to be able to see anything for a week...”
“That’s good,” Maes grinned. “That means you won’t be able to see to shoot me when I show off this picture of you and Edward with roses and champagne.”
“Hughes,” Ed snarled, panic entering his expression.
“I don’t have to see you to burn you to a crisp, Maes,” Roy reminded him, his thumb rubbing against the first two fingers of his hand as if seeking for that spark that wouldn’t be there. He wasn’t wearing his gloves. “Or maybe I’ll just melt your camera.”
“But you will have to find me,” Maes grinned unrepentantly as he slipped back into the crowd.
“That man is insane,” Ed grumbled as he rubbed his eyes, trying to blink away the white spots that filled his vision.
Before Roy could answer, the gentleman at the door who was announcing all arrivals (apparently, when the Amestris military threw a formal ball, they meant formal) called out, “First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye; Miss Winry Rockbell.”
Roy and Ed looked up toward the door as one, Roy’s face being reclaimed by his huge, goofy smile, Ed’s jaw dropping open in surprise.
Riza, along with the rest of the female officers, had been given the choice to wear the full-dress uniform or an Amestris-blue evening gown. With mild surprise, Roy realized she’d chosen the dress, a high-collared sleeveless affair that showed off her strong shoulders and shapely arms. Winry, beside her, was dressed in a deep rose color that shimmered when she moved. Both women looked absolutely stunning, and if Roy and Ed didn’t move for a few moments, no one blamed them.
“Ed!” Winry called, her face lighting up. “You are here!” She came sweeping over the marble floor, the movement of her dress making her look graceful even as she hurried. “Is that for me?” she asked softly, her eyes turning to his hopefully as she gestured to the rose.
“Y-yeah,” he stammered, managing to hold it out to her without thrusting it in an awkward fist. His eyes were fixed on the way her hair fell around her face, framing it, so he didn’t see the smile Hawkeye and Mustang exchanged to the side.
“Thank you,” Winry whispered, taking it from him. She leaned forward and kissed him, lingeringly, on the cheek, and the blush that spread over Ed’s cheekbones rivaled the flower in her hand for color.
“You’re welcome,” he managed to get out.
“Edward,” Riza interrupted, “I hope you won’t mind -- I am Winry’s escort for tonight, but I’m afraid looking after the Colonel is going to require most of my attention. Would you mind escorting her for the rest of the evening?”
“Of course not, Lieutenant,” Ed accepted. Refusing to look at Winry’s face for fear he’d lose his nerve, he added, “I would be honored.”
“Good,” Riza answered, and the smile that touched her mouth would have done Roy and all his smugness proud. “Sir?” she asked, turning toward Mustang.
“Allow me, Lieutenant,” Roy said smoothly, stepping forward and offering her his arm. The pair glided off and Ed turned toward Winry.
Straightening his spine, he gathered all his courage and resolutely silenced his embarrassment. “Shall we?” He extended his elbow gallantly, but his grin was crooked and his eyes shone as she slipped her hand through his arm and followed him further into the room.
Author: m.jules
Rating: Nothing really bad, just a little Ed-language
Disclaimer: NOT MINE.
Pairing: Ed/Winry, Roy/Riza
Author's Notes: Inspired by a picture. *laughs* I'll update with it later. And the title sucks but I'm too tired to care. (It was either this or "How the Ghosts Stole Christmas," which didn't fit, but I didn't much care because I love that X-Files ep.) Much love to
cornerofmadness for braving beta duty on this.21 December
“Fullmetal!”
Ed cringed as he saw Mustang coming toward him, a flute of champagne in his hand. The Colonel was grinning from ear to ear and Ed knew that meant one of two things. Either he had bad news for Edward (although he thought Roy would look rather more smug than goofy at that) or that wasn’t the first glass of champagne he’d had.
Ed looked around nervously for any avenue of escape, but none presented itself. Al had opted not to come, saying that he’d feel out of place as a suit of armor amongst all the nicely-dressed attendants of the military’s Winter Ball. Ed hadn’t wanted to go at all, but Mustang had ordered him to attend. He’d thought about dodging the draft, so to speak, but then he’d been well and truly checkmated.
6 December (Two Weeks Earlier)
He’d just gotten back to his hotel from his meeting with Mustang when he was notified that he had a call at the front desk. Expecting to hear his superior on the other end of the line, finding something wrong with his report just to be annoying, or tacking on something like “Buy a tux” to his order to attend the ball, Ed was surprised to hear Winry Rockbell, talking ninety miles a minute.
“Ed! Guess what! I’m so excited! I’m going to the military ball! Are you going to be there? It just wouldn’t be any fun if you weren’t there -- you are going to go, aren’t you? It’ll be so much fun! I just can’t believe --”
“Whoa -- wait -- the military ball?” Ed interrupted, feeling the floor drop out from under him. Mustang wouldn’t have...
“Yeah! Isn’t that awesome?” He winced at her enthusiasm. It was just his luck Winry would get as worked up over this ball as she did about new automail. ...Wait a minute. Since when did Winry get excited about formal dances anyway?
“Yeah, that’s... really great,” he managed to choke out. He was dying to ask her how she’d gotten invited, since the only way a civilian could attend was at the invitation of someone in the military, and everyone from the generals on down were only allowed one civilian invitation each.
Before he could blurt it out, however, she chirped, “Oh! Gotta go! Customer just came in. See you at the ball, Ed!” and the line went dead.
Slamming the phone down, Ed stalked out of the hotel and back to Central HQ, where he nearly broke down Mustang’s door banging to get in.
“I knew I should have gone home early,” Mustang grumbled when Hawkeye let Edward inside. “What do you want, Ed? Haven’t I seen you enough for today?”
“What the hell are you doing!?” Ed shouted before he was even inside the room, and Hawkeye raised her eyebrows as she looked over Edward to Roy.
Roy caught her glance and waved her on with a smile, his eyes saying he could handle it just fine. Hawkeye nodded and closed the door, but no one missed the fact that her silhouette was still visible through the frosted glass.
“I’m not quite sure I follow your question,” Roy answered with a bored lift of his eyebrow, settling back in his chair and steepling his fingers over his chest.
“You know damn well what I’m talking about,” Ed growled. “That invitation you sent to Winry! You were trying to make sure I didn’t disobey your order and skip the ball. Why the hell is it so important to you that I come to a stupid winter ball anyway? You want to show off your trick dog, is that it? You want me to walk around on a leash and sit and stay on command? Or maybe you’d rather me roll over and play dead --”
“Edward, enough,” Roy snapped, cutting off the younger man’s tirade. “In the first place, you are not my idea of a show dog,” he said wryly. “If I were trying to impress the higher-ups with one of my subordinates at a formal dance, you’re not the one I’d choose.”
“Why not? I’m not good enough for you? Oh, I’m too short, is that it? Well let me tell you--”
“Edward,” Mustang interrupted again with a sharp growl. “As if that weren’t enough, I didn’t invite Miss Rockbell.”
Edward pulled up short, suddenly out of steam. “You... you didn’t?”
“No, I didn’t,” Roy repeated. “Although I did hear that someone else had invited her.”
Ed narrowed his eyes. “So you ordered me to attend. Why?”
Roy gave a drawn-out, long-suffering sigh and pushed some papers around on his desk. “Ed, contrary to what you might think, I’m not trying to run your life, and I really don’t care one way or the other whether you attend this dance. The order didn’t originate with me, but since I am your commanding officer, I was the one who gave it.”
“Fine,” Ed bit out, his arms crossing over his chest. “So who did invite Winry?”
“I’m not the person to ask,” Roy shrugged. “Why don’t you talk to Miss Rockbell about it?”
Seeing that he wasn’t going to get anywhere else with the Colonel, Ed huffed and spun on his heel, going for the door. “Fine, I will,” he tossed over his shoulder. He opened the door and ducked around Hawkeye with a near-meek, “Lieutenant,” before returning to his hotel and stomping up to his room. Despite his bravado, he had absolutely no intention of questioning Winry.
21 December
“Colonel,” Ed laughed nervously, still looking for a way to avoid the freakishly-cheerful Mustang. Maybe he could open up a door in the floor, drop right through... what was below here, anyway?
“Wonderful party, isn’t it?” Roy said brightly, his teeth flashing with the broad smile he gave Edward as he clapped the younger man on the shoulder.
“Yeah, it sure is,” Ed muttered drily, inching away from Mustang’s hand. “Fabulous.” His eyes scanned the room restlessly, not only looking for some way to avoid his superior, but also looking for Winry. He’d been here for fifteen minutes and hadn’t caught a glimpse of her yet. He was beginning to wonder if he’d been tricked, if she really wasn’t coming... but no, Winry never would have lied to him about that. If it had only been Mustang, that would be one thing, but Winry had been telling him the truth.
That only left him with one alternative: To stay here and watch for her, and kill whoever had the gall to offer to be her escort to the dance. He’d been thinking about it for weeks and hadn’t managed to come up with a satisfactory suspect yet.
Who else in the military would have invited her?
15 December (Six Days Earlier)
Ed huffed in frustration as the tailor tugged on the sleeves of the military dress jacket, making tiny marks with a white pencil to show her where to hem it.
“I don’t see why I have to wear one of these,” Ed grumbled, wanting to cross his arms but knowing the tailor - a wiry Xingese woman with a sharp pair of scissors and a sharper tongue - would probably do something unspeakable to him if he did.
“Brother, you know why,” Al said with a long sigh, as if they’d had this conversation several times already (which they had). “Everyone is going to be in a dress uniform. You are part of the military, you know. You can wear it just for tonight.”
“I don’t even want to go to this stupid ball,” Ed growled, his face flushing as the tailor pinched the cloth on the inseam of the trousers and made four small marks with her pencil.
“Not even for Winry?” Al prodded, and Ed glared at him in the mirror, not daring to whirl around to face him. Somedays, Ed hated that armor; he couldn’t tell whether Al was smiling or not, and his voice was so perfectly innocent. Without waiting for his brother to respond, however, Al shifted on the velvet chair and asked, “Have you found out who invited her yet?”
“No,” Ed sighed, frowning when the tailor rolled up the cuff of his pants a good two inches and marked the spot with her pencil. “Hey! You don’t have to take that much off!” he protested, and though she didn’t look up at him, her voice was quelling.
“If I do not take off that much, you will look like a little boy who has stolen his father’s clothes to play dress-up in,” she told him in a thick accent, making Ed’s face turn a bright shade of pink.
Ignoring the the exchange with the tailor, Al prodded further, “Do you have any ideas of who it could be? Anybody?”
Ed turned obediently, now facing Al so that the tailor could check the seams on the backs of the jacket and trousers. “I mean, technically, I suppose it could be anyone. Winry did visit HQ with us when she came to Central. Well, it’s not Hughes, because he’s bringing Gracia. Mustang said it wasn’t him. Who else is left?”
“What about Sergeant Fuery?” Al’s suggestion was met with a snort from Ed, who foolishly chanced a look over his shoulder at the mirror and got poked in the thigh for his efforts.
“Stop moving!” the tailor ordered, and Ed faced forward again immediately.
“Falman? Breda? Havoc?” Al continued listing off Roy’s staff, knowing they’d been the ones with the most extensive interaction with Winry during her visit.
Ed grew thoughtful. “Havoc, maybe,” he admitted, anger knitting his brow. “But if he did...” He tensed, slamming his metal fist into his flesh one.
A pin-prick to his gluteus maximus made him jump and he yelped, trying unsuccessfully to leap away from the tailor, who still had the fabric of his trousers clutched in her hands. “I am sorry, sir,” she said around the many pins still held in her mouth, “But I did tell you to stop moving.”
21 December
“Say, where’s Lieutenant Hawkeye?” The question was as much honest curiosity as it was a way to hopefully get Mustang away from him. If he went looking for his precious First Lieutenant, he wouldn’t be bothering Ed anymore.
“Oh, she’s on her way,” Roy said, still with that unnerving grin. “She had to pick up her date.”
“Her date?” The confusion in Ed’s eyes was genuine and tinged with a hint of distress. “But I thought you two were...”
“Here,” Roy said suddenly, reaching behind him and snatching a red rose out of a nearby arrangement. He thrust the flower into Ed’s hand, and Ed took it by reflex.
“What the hell?” Ed demanded, looking down at the rose.
“You’ll need that in a second,” Roy assured him, and then they were interrupted by the sound of a warm voice.
“Say cheese, boys!” They both looked up, though neither of them smiled, and were instantly blinded by the flash of a camera.
“Dammit, Maes,” Roy growled, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut. “Now I’m not going to be able to see anything for a week...”
“That’s good,” Maes grinned. “That means you won’t be able to see to shoot me when I show off this picture of you and Edward with roses and champagne.”
“Hughes,” Ed snarled, panic entering his expression.
“I don’t have to see you to burn you to a crisp, Maes,” Roy reminded him, his thumb rubbing against the first two fingers of his hand as if seeking for that spark that wouldn’t be there. He wasn’t wearing his gloves. “Or maybe I’ll just melt your camera.”
“But you will have to find me,” Maes grinned unrepentantly as he slipped back into the crowd.
“That man is insane,” Ed grumbled as he rubbed his eyes, trying to blink away the white spots that filled his vision.
Before Roy could answer, the gentleman at the door who was announcing all arrivals (apparently, when the Amestris military threw a formal ball, they meant formal) called out, “First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye; Miss Winry Rockbell.”
Roy and Ed looked up toward the door as one, Roy’s face being reclaimed by his huge, goofy smile, Ed’s jaw dropping open in surprise.
Riza, along with the rest of the female officers, had been given the choice to wear the full-dress uniform or an Amestris-blue evening gown. With mild surprise, Roy realized she’d chosen the dress, a high-collared sleeveless affair that showed off her strong shoulders and shapely arms. Winry, beside her, was dressed in a deep rose color that shimmered when she moved. Both women looked absolutely stunning, and if Roy and Ed didn’t move for a few moments, no one blamed them.
“Ed!” Winry called, her face lighting up. “You are here!” She came sweeping over the marble floor, the movement of her dress making her look graceful even as she hurried. “Is that for me?” she asked softly, her eyes turning to his hopefully as she gestured to the rose.
“Y-yeah,” he stammered, managing to hold it out to her without thrusting it in an awkward fist. His eyes were fixed on the way her hair fell around her face, framing it, so he didn’t see the smile Hawkeye and Mustang exchanged to the side.
“Thank you,” Winry whispered, taking it from him. She leaned forward and kissed him, lingeringly, on the cheek, and the blush that spread over Ed’s cheekbones rivaled the flower in her hand for color.
“You’re welcome,” he managed to get out.
“Edward,” Riza interrupted, “I hope you won’t mind -- I am Winry’s escort for tonight, but I’m afraid looking after the Colonel is going to require most of my attention. Would you mind escorting her for the rest of the evening?”
“Of course not, Lieutenant,” Ed accepted. Refusing to look at Winry’s face for fear he’d lose his nerve, he added, “I would be honored.”
“Good,” Riza answered, and the smile that touched her mouth would have done Roy and all his smugness proud. “Sir?” she asked, turning toward Mustang.
“Allow me, Lieutenant,” Roy said smoothly, stepping forward and offering her his arm. The pair glided off and Ed turned toward Winry.
Straightening his spine, he gathered all his courage and resolutely silenced his embarrassment. “Shall we?” He extended his elbow gallantly, but his grin was crooked and his eyes shone as she slipped her hand through his arm and followed him further into the room.
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