December 1st, 1988
Charlie had forgotten what it felt like to get a good night's sleep, or even a full night's sleep, or what it was like to be told he had done a good job at work. Though he hoped that, maybe, this morning might make a first. He had woken up after somehow managing a solid five hours of sleep in one block—a new record with the baby!—eaten breakfast, and still gotten to work on time.
The day had been relatively peaceful and productive, since Sergeant Major Rol Vensen had been in meetings with the brass all morning, and locked up in his office most of the afternoon. Charlie had actually enjoyed his current project, which was a full engine rebuild in one of the old crew-hauling trucks. He was just polishing up the last bit and checking to make sure nuts were screwed on just right as it came to the end of the day. He's got to approve this job. At least, he hoped for even a nod, just one, instead of dismissal—which was a good day—or a tongue-lashing, which was what half of them got on a daily basis. He had already taken her out for a quick test drive, so he knew the truck was fully functional and running smoothly.
At five o'clock, right on the chime, Vensen stepped out of his office, and everyone lined up at attention beside their assignments for the day. Charlie had gotten good at standing and saluting, and waiting at attention without making facial expressions, over the past few months. So he stood, waiting, as Vensen moved his way down the line, inspecting each man's work with agonizing slowness. He never missed a thing.
Finally, he reached Charlie's truck. He waited, trying very hard not to sweat as the man stuck his nose under the hood, inspecting every nook and piece of machinery. Then he went to the cab, and turned her on. He listened for ten seconds, then turned it off and got out. "Do it again, Fischer."
Charlie bit his tongue, stifling the frustration and anger that threatened to boil over. Instead, with perfect calm, he asked "What's wrong with it, Sir?"
Vensen stared at him. "It doesn't purr, Fischer. I want it to purr like a damned kitten, soft and quiet. Now do it again."
Given how noisy the engines were by their very nature, Charlie was fully aware that they were never going to be quiet, but he had gotten this one about as soft as they got, certainly no louder than they normally ran. Still, arguing was not in his best interested. "Yes, Sir."
Vensen moved on down the line. Charlie waited until he was back in his office before he released the tension in his body and took a deep sigh.
"Wonder what's up his backside today," Ace quipped as he joined Charlie. His own work had gotten minimal response, which in this case was almost praise.
Charlie smirked. "I'm beginning to think he doesn't like me."
"Coming to the bar tonight?"
Charlie shook his head. "Not tonight. I promised Shelby I'd bring home dinner."
"She's home all day and you have to pick up food?" Ace looked skeptical. "What does she do all day?"
"Take care of two small kids who never sleep at the same time," Charlie retorted. Cameron wasn't even a month old yet. "You try getting anything done with a toddler and a newborn under foot."
"And this is why I'm single." Ace chuckled, then shrugged casually. "Don't tell me we're going to lose you permanently."
"Nah, I'll be around, just not tonight." Charlie did not intend to give up spending time with the few friends he had up here. "I can probably get away for an evening later this week." Shelby wouldn't mind, he just had to schedule around everything else and make sure she and the kids didn't need anything for an evening, or for one where she might have a friend over. A couple of the girls she worked with had come by to say hello and see Cameron already, and even brought some home-cooked meals over, which had been a saving grace. "It'll take a couple of months before things get back to a normal schedule."
"Well, we'll keep your stool open at the bar," Ace replied with a shrug. "Show up when you get free."
Who knew when that would be? "Thanks, man." Charlie appreciated the offer for what it was. "I'll let you know."
He was glad the day ended without further incident. It was a cold, miserable sludge back to the apartment. At least it wasn't sleeting, he thought, trying to keep on the bright side.
Home was in its usual state of chaos. He opened the door to the sounds of squealing toddler, fuzzing baby, and pots on the stove. Shelby, looking tired but determined, was working on dinner. "Hey, beautiful." Charlie kissed her cheek before hanging up his coat. "How was your day?" Judging by the frazzled ponytail and the fact she was still in sweats, he doubted her day had been any less nuts than his.
"Busy," she replied with a tired smile that looked forced. "Abby's definitely caught a cold. Cam's been fussing all day and I'm not sure why, but we've had two of the worst diapers yet." She shuddered. "The chores are all maybe half done, but nothing's finished, and so this-" she gestured at something he couldn't identify in a pan, "is dinner."
Charlie winced. Definitely a rough day. He sniffed the air, and tried not to look revolted. "What is it?" he asked, trying to sound like he was curious about specific ingredients, instead of finding it completely unidentifiable.
"I'm really not sure at this point," Shelby admitted, growling with frustration. "There's chicken in there somewhere, and tomato sauce, and a turnip, and some garlic."
"Where did we get a turnip?"
"They were out of potatoes at the market yesterday."
Ah. "Well, I'm sure it will be an adventure," Charlie assured her, wishing he could offer to just go pick up food again, but it wasn't in the budget. So his stomach would just have to suffer, and he refused to complain. Maybe, despite the smell, it would be edible. He didn't want to make Shelby's day any worse. "Can I help?" he asked, kissing a night on the couch—or in the bedroom—a wistful goodbye.
He could have proposed again for the look of relief and joy on his wife's face. "Oh, heck yes! Abby needs a glass of water, and then if you could finish folding the laundry, and put it away, empty the diaper pail, take out the trash, and scrub the toilet…"
"I'm on it," Charlie assured her, trying not to feel guilty that he partially cut her off to keep from getting the whole list at once. "I'll give Abby her drink and I'll do everything else as soon as I've had a shower. I don't think you want these grease-hands all over your intimates."
Shelby looked at his coveralls and hands and nodded. "You're right. Shower first."
At least he got the reprieve of hot steam and decent water pressure.
Charlie took a cup of water over to Abigail, who was laying on the sofa under her favorite blanket, cuddling her stuffed bunny and whimpering. "Hey, sweetie, I have your drink," he offered her the sippy cup.
Abigail reached up for it, sitting up enough to drink properly. "'Ank you, Daddy," she murmured around the end.
Charlie's heart melted, like it did at least twelve times a day around his daughter, no matter how fussy she was. He kissed her forehead. "I'll be right back," he promised, pausing next to Cameron's bassinet to look at his son, who's fussing had softened to gurgles. He might finally be passing out. He decided not to risk attracting his son's attention, and ducked into the bathroom, where he stripped out of his sweaty, grease-stained clothes.
Under the hot water, he closed his eyes, and tried to put the day's frustrations out of his mind. He couldn't bring that home. Not to his kids. And not to Shelby, not when her day was tough too.
He needed a break, but there wasn't one coming in the foreseeable future. Oh well, it wasn't like he needed sleep, or great food, or job satisfaction, or regular sex… right?
December 8th, 1988
"Thank you for letting us go to the barn first," Bonnie kissed Ian's cheek as he closed the trunk of the taxi out of which he had just taken their suitcases outside the apartment complex.
"Like I was going to get you alone before your baby was absolutely comfortable," Ian chuckled. Rosie had taken the train ride surprisingly well for a first time, but Bonnie had spent almost the entire ride in the livestock car, babying her horse. If Ian wanted to spend time with her, it meant sitting on a hay bale surrounded by horses, cattle, and a few sheep. Yet he wouldn't have had it any other way, not seeing how happy having her horse close by made her. The studio stables were well-equipped, and the staff attentive, and they had left Rosie happily grazing in the small paddock attached to her new, roomy, box stall.
"Hey, we did have to drop off her luggage first," Bonnie pointed out. "Unless you wanted to haul her tack chest upstairs."
"No, no, I'm good," Ian assured her, though he was happy to see one of the complex's employees, Dean, coming to meet them with a cart.
"Welcome back, Mr. Elric… Mrs. Elric," Dean grinned a little wider as he added a nod to Bonnie. "It's nice to have you home."
Bonnie's face flushed. "Thank you, Dean. It's nice to be home."
It was only after everything had been unpacked, dirty laundry tossed into the washing machine, and a long, steamy hot shower was accomplished that Ian found himself sitting on his couch, in his house robe, next to his beautiful wife—also in her robe—with nothing urgent that needed doing. At least, not tonight. Tomorrow they would be back at work for the first time in weeks. It felt wonderfully, delightfully normal.
"So, what do you want to do tonight?" Ian asked.
Bonnie rested her head against his left shoulder. Her hair, still as damp as his, clung lightly to his robe and neck. "Well, I'd like to eat a dinner I haven't cooked myself, cuddle, sleep like a rock, and try not to think about the disaster that's probably awaiting me tomorrow after being gone this long. How about you?"
"Ditto on everything but that last part." He had left his directing work during a break between filming, so there was nothing left hanging, just new work to get started on as soon as possible, and new lines to memorize. "Though I was hoping that now, with Rosie happily elsewhere, I might get some of the attention she stole on the train."
"Jealous that she's prettier than you?"
Ian brought one hand up under Bonnie's chin as she tilted her head up to look at him. "No one's prettier than me… except you."
"I guess I can't argue with that," she acknowledged softly before they kissed. "Did my love for my horse bruise your fragile movie star ego?"
"Nah. I knew getting involved with you would mean being accepted by your first love." Ian slid his left arm around her shoulders. "I know better than to try and separate a girl and her horse."
"One of your many redeeming qualities," Bonnie teased.
"Nice to know I have some." Ian stretched out his legs and kicked them up on the ottoman in front of him. "One of which, is the ability to reach this phone here on the side table and call in whatever delivery you desire." There was a reason he had paid a little extra to have them run a phone line under the carpet to the table where it was more easily reached. Lazy, maybe, but it had come in very useful more than once, like days he had been too sick to crawl off the couch.
Or now, when he finally had room to stretch out and snuggle with Bonnie in privacy and comfort. Trains were not great for intimacy.
"Whatever I desire. I like how that sounds." Bonnie stretched out along the remaining length of the couch. "I'm thinking…seafood."
"Any particular style?" Ian could think of seafood recipes in at least five or six different styles. The only one he hadn't had was Drachman, and there weren't many Drachman restaurants in Amestris.
"Something lightly grilled. Not too spicy."
"Cretan it is." Ian picked up the receiver and dialed the little Cretan restaurant around the corner. It only took a couple of minutes to order grilled fish and vegetables, and a side of their indulgent cheesy biscuits. "They said it will be here in forty-five minutes," he told Bonnie when he hung up the phone. "What would you like to do until—"
He stopped speaking when he saw his wife's expression. Words were unnecessary.
Author's Note: 9/5/18 Possibly my shortest chapter ever! Came up to a time jump and there just wasn't much else left to add. Story continues!