Nora Durden was one of Winry's many patients, but she'd be the one the Elric family could never forget - however much they would want to. She was in her early thirties when East City's health care system referred her to Rockbell Automail. She'd just recovered from a severe illness that had infected her right leg bad enough for it to be amputated. She'd opted for automail, and Winry had opted to be a subsidized care provider.

Ed had opted to help pick Ms. Durden up from the train station, like he did with many of Winry's patients. As she maneuvered her wheelchair onto the platform, Winry saw a flash of recognition pass across Ed's face.

Ms. Durden seemed to recognize him, too. "Hey, soldier boy," she said with a smile. It was a sweet expression, framed by her brown hair. "You sure grew up handsome."

Winry, who'd had people flirt with Ed in front of her before - though usually not her clients, or in such a bold way - casually asked, "You two know each other?"

Winry was also used to Ed being completely oblivious to come-ons. But at Ms. Durden's words he paled. To Winry's surprise he said, "I'm sorry, but you must have me mixed up with someone else. I don't know you."

With a smirk Ms. Durden said, "You must have forgotten - but I'm sure I can jog your memory."

Ed didn't answer her. Stone-faced, he turned to Winry and said, "I'm going to start the car."

That left Winry to escort her patient through the train station, which Winry would do graciously - despite how terribly uncomfortable said patient had made her husband. (Said husband had better explain later.) They made small talk about Risembool. Ms. Durden had grown up in a similar town that she was sure was deserted now.

"Too many men died in the war with Aerugo," she told Winry. "People just started drifting away after that."

Winry nodded. "I know what you mean. This town got hit hard during the Ishvalan genocide. It's hard to come back from something like that."

"Genocide?" Ms. Durden asked. "People don't usually call it that."

Winry shrugged. She'd stopped calling it the 'eastern conflict' many years ago. "That's what it was. There's no point in trying to hide it."

"I guess so."

Ed pulled up with the car then. It was a cheap model, but Winry had revamped the interior and suspension so the ride up the dirt road would be as smooth as possible for her patients. Ed made no conversation as he helped Ms. Durden into the back seat, and she didn't try to talk to him either. That wasn't abnormal - amputees were usually awkward about needing help doing things they'd done easily before - but their earlier interaction made Winry sensitive to it. She noticed how Ed tried to touch her as little as possible, that he'd avoided eye contact with Ms. Durden since she'd gotten off her train. He was tense in a way he rarely was outside their bed, when he first woke up in the morning. No matter what kind of dreams he had (and the nightmares had subsided some over the years), Ed often woke up heavily alert, jumpy, and on edge. Winry had long since learned not to touch him when he got like that, because it would trigger reflexes he had no control over. Instead she'd wait for his heart rate and breathing to slow. It usually took a few minutes for that to happen, though, and Winry wasn't sure how long it would take for him to recover now.

After Ed shut the car door, she stood next to him and asked, "Will you hand me the keys? You don't look like you're good to drive." She had to keep her voice even, because if she spoke too loudly or too softly, it might upset him.

Ed was taking ragged breaths, trying to control his breathing. "I'm fine," he said. "I'm fine."

He obviously wasn't, but saying so wouldn't help anything. "You will be," Winry told him. "Just let me drive us back to the house."

After a moment, Ed sighed and reached into his back pocket. The drive home was quiet, but Ed seemed calmer by the time they got there. Winry made sure to get to Ms. Durden's side before he did, since touching her seemed to bother him so much. It wasn't too much trouble to lift her patient, though it had probably been easier for Ed. Granny came out to meet their patient then, and once they were inside Winry left Granny to explain the procedure to Ms. Durden.

She took Ed aside and told him, "I can hold off surgery for awhile if you need some time to yourself." He usually kept the kids busy while she and Granny were operating. At the moment they were playing behind the house, and their four-month-old was due to wake up from a nap soon.

Ed shook his head. "I'm okay now," he said. "Really. Playing with the kids helps me feel better anyway."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

He took her hand, and Winry pulled him into a hug. As much as physical contact spooked him during these panic attacks, Ed sure craved it afterwards. She wanted to ask him what exactly had triggered the attack, but she didn't think now was a good time. The baby's cries from upstairs only confirmed that.

"I'll get her," Ed said. "There's still plenty of milk in the icebox, right?"

"Granny said she'd have a bottle ready," Winry reminded him. "It should be on the counter."

"Right." Ed kissed her quickly. "I'll see you later." And with that he was upstairs.

It really wasn't fair, Winry thought as she joined Granny. Ed had defeated so many demons - what right did they have to bother him long after they were gone?

Ed put his two youngest children to bed first. His two-year-old, Andar, and baby Izumi were the only ones who came close to breaking his and Winry's rules for naming their children. Specifically, their rule against naming them after any dead people they knew. There'd been too many for them to name all their kids after. Andar was named for a dead guy Ed had only met through his father's journals, and Ed's very much alive teacher was more than honored to have Ed's youngest named after her. Once the little ones could be left in their respective cradles, Ed tiptoed out the nursery door.

He had to remind his two oldest children, Henry and Ellen, to stay quiet. He picked up Ellen, who'd been chasing her brother down the hall, and asked if she'd brushed her teeth.

"Do I have to?"

"Yes," Ed answered. "You don't want to have stinky breath, do you?"

"I do," she said just to be stubborn.

"Gross," said Henry.

"You're gross!"

"Shh." Ed put a finger to her lips. "Don't wake up the babies." He set her down in the bathroom. "Now brush your teeth, or you're not getting a bedtime story."

"No fair," said Henry. They shared a room and usually got the same bedtime story. "Why do I have to not get a bedtime story just because she doesn't want to brush her teeth?"

"Then make sure she does," Ed told him.

When the two of them were finally in pajamas with brushed teeth, Ed held up his end of the bargain. "What story do you want tonight?" he asked them.

Ellen said, "Tell us about the priest who transmuted his arm together with a gun!"

"No, the Devil's Nest," said Henry.

"Let's go with the Devil's Nest," Ed said. Winry wouldn't be happy if she knew he'd mentioned that particular detail about Father Cornello. He regretted telling them that himself.

Ed had never planned to tell his kids about his adventures. Most of them were actually state secrets he was forbidden by law to tell. But one night Ellen refused to have any of the usual books read to her. "Tell me a different story, Daddy," she'd demanded, and he'd told her about how the youngest state alchemist and his armor brother bought the Youswell mine with fake gold.

Every night after that was another request for 'the little alchemist,' a title Ed begrudgingly started using. It sounded better anyway, more like a kids' story. Ed never called any of the characters in his stories by name, mostly so he could have deniability in case his stories ever reached the wrong ears.

But it was also strangely cathartic for Ed, talking about what had happened to him as if he were an outsider. It made the emotions associated with it less raw, somehow, and he could process what had happened rather than push it all away. Even the most disturbing parts, which Ed left out, lost some of their ability to unsettle him. Telling these stories was more helpful than Ed ever could have guessed.

"The little alchemist and his brother were visiting their alchemy teacher," Ed began, "when the little alchemist remembered that he needed to renew his state alchemist certification. While he was gone, the armored brother got kidnapped by some very strange people. One was part cow. Another was part dog."

"And there was a snake lady!" Ellen added.

"That's right," said Ed. "She helped capture the armored brother by s-s-slithering" - his hands slipped over their bedcovers like snakes, and the room filled with their laughter as he tickled them - "inside his armor. They wouldn't have been able to catch him otherwise, he was too fast and too good a fighter. They took him to their lair -" Ed cut off, distracted by the bedroom door swinging open.

"Mom!" said Henry. "You finished the port surgery?"

"Yes," Winry said as she came and knelt by his bed. "I just came to kiss you good night, and then your dad and I need to talk about something."

"But Dad's not done with our bedtime story," Ellen protested.

"Can't he finish it first?" asked Henry.

Winry conceded, and Ed was relieved. She probably wanted to ask him about what had happened earlier, and he wasn't sure how he was going to explain to her. And anyway, he suspected she liked hearing these stories as much as the kids did.

He was tempted to drag the story out as long as possible, but it was hard to draw up details since he hadn't been there for most of it. He wasn't the type to remember a lot of details anyway. So he continued telling the story the way he usually did.

"Then the fuhrer showed up," he told them, "and killed the homunculus and all the chimera. He said he would kill the little alchemist too if he had shared any information with Greed. But the little alchemist hadn't, so the fuhrer let them go."

"So it was good the little alchemist got mad and broke the deal with Greed," Henry said sleepily.

"Yes," said Ed. "But it was sad because Greed didn't like the other homunculi. It would've been good if the little alchemist could have learned more from him." Ed could never tell this story without missing the Greed that had shared Ling's body. Ed hadn't spent much time with him, but he'd been a good friend.

"All right," said Winry. "Story's over. Time for sleep." They kissed the children good night, and once they were settled she led Ed down the hall to their own room.

Ed let out a breath as he closed the door behind him. He didn't feel ready for this conversation, but Winry wasn't likely to let him out of it. When he finally turned to look at her, she seemed to be bracing herself as well.

"Ed," she began, "you know that I trust you, right?"

That wasn't what he expected her to say. "Yeah?"

"It's just - Ms. Durden said some things when she was coming out from under, and I wouldn't be asking you about it if you two didn't recognize each other earlier, and it's not like people just make up those kinds of things when they're drugged, not like that - I just -"

Ed's stomach felt like it was sinking in. "What did she say?" he asked.

Winry looked away from him. "Nothing I want to repeat," she said. "But she made it clear that she'd slept with you."

She thought he'd cheated on her. It wasn't like that, but it was - god, it was shameful. How was he supposed to tell her? And if she didn't take it well -

Winry rested a hand on his shoulder. "I just want to hear it from you. Whatever it is, we can work it out. Okay?"

Ed let out a breath. He said, "I should've told you years ago. I just haven't ever been able to talk about it. I don't like to even think about it."

She'd been telling him for years that that wasn't a healthy way of dealing with bad things, but instead of repeating it now, she just looked at him expectantly. Ed continued, "It was before the Promised Day. I was with Greed, and we went through this town in the middle of nowhere. She let us stay at her inn, just asked us to do some things for her - chop firewood, stuff like that - and we hadn't slept in beds for weeks, so we said yes. She kept talking about how all the men were fighting with Aerugo - thought we were deserted soldiers, which was close enough to the truth. And, well, I was glad she included me in that, even though I didn't look like your average soldier."

Winry smiled softly. "She flattered you."

"I just thought she was nice, then. Because of that. Anyway, we all slept in separate rooms, it was nice to have some personal space for once, and we were dead beat. I guess I was sleeping really deeply, so I - I didn't realize . . ." He took a deep breath, bracing himself. "I woke up with her on top of me."

Winry gasped. "Oh my god."

"I pushed her off me, I did, but she was - and I'd already -"

"You don't have to tell me any more," Winry said, her voice wavering. "Not if you don't want to."

Dammit, how many times did he have to make her cry over him? "I'm sorry, Winry," he said.

"No," Winry said firmly. She met his eyes with a steely, albeit wet, look. "You have nothing to be sorry about. None of this is your fault."

"I should've told you earlier."

"It doesn't matter. You've told me now. I know it can be hard for rape victims to come forward."

Ed winced. "I'm not -"

"If a man had done to a woman what she did to you, would you call it anything else?"

Ed didn't know how to feel about that. He had impressions of rape victims in his mind - pictures of broken, helpless women - that he couldn't imagine applying to himself. He'd always thought of that incident as having let his guard down at the wrong time, with the wrong person. It was yet another mistake he'd made, another nightmare of the many he'd spent years trying to leave behind.

Winry crossed her arms and glared at the wall. "She can't stay here," she said. "You shouldn't have to be around her."

That was fine with Ed, but - "She just had port surgery. She won't be able to go anywhere for a few days."

"I don't care," said Winry. "We can find someone to look after her. But I shouldn't be treating her anymore, it wouldn't be ethical." Ed saw her hands clench and her eyebrows knit together. "I can't believe she had the gall to talk to you that way after what she did. If she weren't a patient I'd -" She groaned angrily. "I'd be willing to recant the Hippocratic oath if it meant I could beat her bloody."

"Winry -"

"Or I could let you do the smacking. Would that help you feel better?"

"No." The answer surprised Ed. He usually had no problem roughing up people who'd betrayed his trust. But that woman was - he didn't know how to feel about her.

It was just as well, he figured. Winry would never actually carry out her threat, though the sentiment behind it was real. Ed was just glad it wasn't him she was angry at.

Winry sighed. "I'm sure Pitt will take care of her until she's ready to travel. I'll call him right now." Ed moved out of the way so Winry could open the door. She stepped out into the hallway and turned back to look at him. "It'll be okay, Ed. She'll be gone tomorrow, one way or another."

For the rest of the night, Ed took comfort in that. That woman would be out of his life forever, and he'd be one step closer to forgetting what she had done to him.

If only it would turn out to be true.