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Ed’s never really understood her love of automail. He thinks it’s only the the whirling gears and gleaming metal that makes her heart race and fills her dreams with new designs. Coming to Rush Valley was a mecca for her and the first time it did overload her senses to the point she could hardly form a coherent thought. Automail is beautiful. But it’s so much more than just functioning, glistening metal.
It’s life, pure and simple.
She’s never been a mother, never held a tiny baby she could call her own, but she has cradled her creations in her arms and whispered her hopes and intentions into the cold steel. Ed always thought she was insane when he caught her, but he doesn’t understand how important a simple piece of metal could be. He only sees his automail as a tool no matter how much loving care she puts into each refit. It’s an old argument and one she’ll never win. He’s always in such a hurry, she’ll never be able to do things the way she wants, and even if she did he’ll only end up using it as a club. He doesn’t understand what she tries to do, and that’s why he’ll never get something like this.
Winry stops in the doorway to look at the blond woman wearing only military pants and a black tank top. She’s beautiful, her body perfectly honed like a fine edged blade and that’s the reason Winry slaved to make the gleaming metal replacing most of her left arm unlike any other. It’s unique and delicate, lean and slender, just like the flesh and bone counterpoint on her right side. It’s made to disappear under clothes or even long, fine silk gloves. It’s her master piece and she only hopes it functions the way she’d hoped.
The scent of gun oil and and black powder fill the room, carried over from a makeshift firing range out back and she holds her breath as soon as she asks, “How was it?”
The beaming smile she receives in response takes her breath.
“It’s perfect.” Riza’s amber eyes shine as she stands and comes toward her and Winry’s heart flutters at the vision she makes. “Right or left, measured or fast, it made no difference at all.” She curls and uncurls the delicate automail fingers which barely make any sound at all, just like Winry designed, then reaches out and takes Winry’s hand with an easy touch that feels suspiciously like flesh and bone despite the cool metal against her skin. “You kept your promise. You made me…whole.”
Winry squeezes her hand back and though she knows she’ll only feel a hint of pressure at the touch it doesn’t matter. This is why automail is beautiful to her. It’s making someone what they once were. It’s making things right and if it means shiny metal and whirling gears go along with it, that’s just an added bonus.