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Ed stared at the mirror in front of him, Winry by his side, hovering in case the new leg wasn’t ready to hold his weight just yet. He was only in his boxers, and he could see everything.
The reflection wasn’t familiar to him. Gray metal where there should have been pale flesh, bolts and plates covering over the connections where metal met flesh. It looked hobbled together - reality proved the attachments were simple yet complete, not cobbled together like some amateur - and wrong.
Ed flexed both hands, watching his reflection copy, watching the automail hand take a couple seconds longer to follow through with the action. He knew the actions would be delayed for the first couple months as the nerves adjusted to the automail after not having anything for several months prior, but it felt confusing to him to see it in action. It was like listening to his voice on the radio, how it took some time for the sound waves to reach the correct speaker.
He took a step back, his automail leg buckling just a bit, but Winry was right there, holding him up with a look of surprise.
“You okay, Ed?” She asked, looking at the connections, probably to check there was no bleeding.
“Am… Am I doing the right thing?” He asked, almost in a whisper. He couldn’t stop looking at his new reflection, the gray metal mocking him, reminding him of the cost for just wanting to see his mom one more time.
Winry held him just a bit tighter, careful to avoid the connection on his shoulder. This was only the second day after surgery, afterall. Everything was sensitive and new and prone to the slightest injury at the lightest touch. The scars on his shoulder and thigh were red, not from possible infection but from moving around already.
“I don’t… I don’t know, Ed,” Winry finally answered, looking down at the ground. “Do you think you’re doing the right thing?”
Ed paused, his mouth open to answer. He stared at the mirror and his reflection, before his eyes wandered to the wall, where next door Alphonse was sitting in a body of armour, all because Ed couldn’t let him go.
“It has to be,” he answered, finally, his eyes on the wall, imagining his little brother. “I… I’d never be able to face him again if it wasn’t.”
Winry made a noise from the back of her throat, but when Ed turned to look at her, she had her face turned away from him, simply holding him up until he pulled away, just a tad bit stronger than before.
“That’s enough for today. You need to rest more, if you really want to be ready next year,” she said, her words gruff and thick, like she was close to crying or something. She gently pulled Ed back to the bed in the room, only a few steps away so he could even hop if his automail leg gave him any problems while walking.
Ed nodded, allowing himself to be guided back to bed. It had to be the right thing, the path he was on now. He’d never forgive himself if it was all a terrible mistake.