December 23rd, 1990
It was amazing how quickly things could come together these days, with the convenience of air travel, Ted thought as he sat in a tent next to his aunt Sara, in the main military camp outside Holavon. The Northern pass, which they had secured days ago, could do without State Alchemists for the time being. If this worked, they would be replaced with Western Drachman Alchemists, and the Amestrians would make themselves less necessary.
His aunt had sent Rothschild and his plane up for them with only the briefest explanation that they were putting the next part of her plan into motion and she wanted them available for instruction. Particularly Ted and Felix, but all of them would be useful. Also, having Pulse back would give Live Wire and Dr. Von more of a break and much needed help with healing the wounded, and keeping an eye on Whitewater, who despite care was still in a coma.
Today it would be himself, Felix, Trisha, and Sara beginning the primary instruction of the group that had been assembled based on recommendations, and chosen as the most promising to be alchemists. This consisted at the moment of a class of twenty. Not all of them would have what it took most likely, but it was a start. They were a wide mix of people, based on the short bios and information that had been provided to the State Alchemists; of them, only ten were military, the other all civilians. Two had medical background, another three were chemists, and one an engineer. All of them scored well on evaluations involving scientific principals and logic, and based on what background checks they had been able to do giving limited capabilities, they were all of fairly sound moral principles.
That last had been one of Aunt Sara's sticking points. Drachma did not need any more crazy unethical alchemists experimenting on people in its mountains. At least, not ones trained by Amestris. This was hardly going to be as comprehensive as the program at home, but then it didn't really need to be. Only five of the people in front of them, all older gentlemen, had been used as alchemy pawns in the last war. As it turned out, very few of those men wanted that ability back or anything to do with it. The five here were a tiny number who had honestly been interested in alchemy, with the scientific curiosity that outweighed the trauma of their past experiences.
:Good morning,: Sara began, addressing the room. :Today we will begin the assessment and training for you to become the first group of Western Drachman alchemists. Your training will consist of a basic, comprehensive knowledge of the basics, and several functional techniques that you can use to protect and support your comrades once you are able to use what you know. Alchemy is a discipline, and while I am grateful to all of you for volunteering, you will find that not everyone has an aptitude or ability for alchemy. There is no shame in this. I expect that all of you will work hard and put in your best effort. This is not the time or place for egos or expectations. If you have questions, ask them. Doing alchemy incorrectly, or attempting the wrong transmutations, can be life-threatening.:
When she finished the basic introduction, and had each of the new potential alchemists introduce themselves and their specialties, they moved on to the first assignment, which was actually a pre-test to determine their level of scientific knowledge. While they were starting at the very beginning, if they did not have to begin with elementary level information it would go much faster. Ted knew that really, his aunt's plan was to get them to understand safety, the principals of how alchemy worked, and learn one or two useful transmutations. Further education could come later as long as they had that down. In his mind, it was basically the first few chapters of Fundamentals of Alchemy crammed into however quickly they could teach it. As no Drachman translations of that text existed, they were going to have to translate several concepts into Drachman.
The test took an hour, then while the men and women took a short break, the alchemists scored them and discussed where to go next. Thankfully, it appeared that all of them had a grasp of basic minerals and how chemical reactions took place, as well as the ideas of conservation of mass and related principals. So at least they didn't have to begin with baby steps.
Trisha took the first lesson, which made sense in Ted's mind, since she had been running this training for several years. Over the rest of the morning, their students took extensive notes and asked a wide variety of questions over transmutation circles and how they worked, and then after lunch, got to try their hands at drawing their first transmutation circles. For the moment everyone was learning the same simple starter circles. Specialization would occur as particular talents were discovered.
At that point, they were all involved, circling the room, making suggestions or necessary corrections, until everyone had functional circles. Then, and only then, did they get to try their first incredibly simple transmutations.
Given the lack of materials for anything complex, they had been provided a circle and an object for repairing. Practical alchemy instead of starting from a pile of elements. In this case, each of them had objects with the same chemical make-up, various broken metal pieces of car parts from the vehicles in camp. All things that could be used again once repaired, instead of having to find and purchase replacements. Most of them had a single obvious break. Only one or two had multiple pieces.
The group was broken down into smaller groups at that point, each one assigned to a State Alchemist to watch over five and offer correction—or protect everyone if something actually went wrong. Though Ted doubted that was likely. Most beginner alchemists if they failed at some part of transmuting, just had nothing happen.
Ted's group turned out to be a mixed bag. Four of them managed to get energy circulation. Of those four, three managed to effect change on their items. Only one of them had a perfectly complete item when it was done. :Nice work,: he commented over her shoulder. :Believe it or not, all of your attempts were good for a first try. Remember that the real key is on not thinking too much about every single molecule individually, but to visualize the object in its complete form. These are all familiar parts. Now, let's try it again."
By the end of the day, four of his five had successfully repaired two or three vehicle parts. One, despite trying his best, had barely managed to get even a trickling of energy to come. Ted had assured him that most alchemists took time, and not to be too discouraged. They would be trying again tomorrow. Since the other man was a soldier, and orders kept him from quitting until the end of the first training, and then only if dismissed as inadequate, he would have to try again anyway.
"Well, that was quite a day," Felix commented from across the dinner table in the mess later.
Ted nodded, chewing the large mouthful of mashed potatoes mixed with ham and cheese that was dinner he had just shoveled in his face. The State Alchemists had demonstrated the alchemy principals several times themselves, and while it wasn't nearly his normal energy expenditure, he was hungry. Teaching was hard work. "How many do you think are going to make it?"
Felix shrugged. "Out of the five I had today, only one has any real talent for it, but two more might be able to put in enough work to make it. The last two… honestly, they may be hopeless, but I'll keep working with them anyway. They just might need a little more support at the beginning. Though if we have to keep up this pace they probably won't make it."
"I don't like having to teach this quickly," Trisha admitted, "But it's necessary if we're going to bolster numbers, and give them something to work with whenever we go home. We aren't here to win this war for them, just help them shore up their borders and become legitimately separate. The rest of the resistance's plans are up to the Drachmans." She gave Ted a warning look.
Ted knew why. His father-in-law was still over in the Eastern mountains, and was the other half of the pincer-attack that Marskaya and Mihalov had planned. Since he'd already run off AWOL once to help the Drachman Resistance, he was only here on very specific orders because he was useful. He gave her a roll of his eyes, a look that said without bringing it up out loud that he had no intention of screwing things up, no matter how he felt about the political situation in Drachma. Anika and their son were safe in Amestris. General Marskaya could handle himself. "It's a solid plan," he commented neutrally. "They'll manage. Especially if we do our part right." So far, they were succeeding. It was time to change the subject. "Has anyone heard anything from home?" He had been rather hoping there might be letters that had made it at least this far, or even a telegram.
His hope fell as those around him shook their heads. "Nothing outside of official reports, or occasional words from Dad," Trisha replied. "All he's said is that everyone back home is fine, so I suppose this is one of those few occasions where a lack of news is good, just because it means nothing bad has happened."
That was something at least. "Is there any way to call home from here?"
"There's one secure line in Mihalov's offices, but as you can imagine, getting permission to use it at any time is pretty difficult."
Of course, and calling on a non-secure line was asking for trouble, even if it was a family call. Ted sighed. "So much for that idea. Is there a chance of at least sending letters home soon?"
Trisha nodded. "As soon as Whitewater is stable enough for it, we're sending a plane back with Rothschild, and Live Wire will be on it to keep him alive if needed. The hospital in Central is his best hope. You can at least guarantee your letter will get home quickly. So, if you've got something romantic you want to get out, I'd get it written down." She grinned. "I'm sure Anika would like to hear from you."
"I'll make sure they're on the plane." Ted ignored her expression. Leaving Anika alone in Amestris so quickly had never been part of his plan; of their plan. Not that anything in their relationship seemed to be planned on anything other than very short notice. He already had several pages of letter written to her from his time here. He just needed an envelope to stuff it all in. "Not that I'm the only one who owes his wife a love letter."
Felix shrugged, unabashedly. "I've got a nice long one ready to go. Really, what I owe her when I get home is a nice long vacation and about a million loads of laundry."
"True romantics." Trisha looked amused as she turned back to her food.
"What about you, Rapid?" Ted glanced at the other alchemist sitting diagonally across from him. "You got someone at home?"
The younger alchemist, who had been staring somewhat distractedly into his plate, blinked and looked over at him. "What? Oh, no. Not anyone special anyway." He shrugged, and flashed a smile that was more confident than the statement. "Plenty who'd probably like a letter though."
Exactly the kind of response Ted would usually expect from one of his fellow soldiers, especially popular ones like Rapid, who was known for drawing far more than his fair share of female attention. Rapid and Glacier both. Maybe it was something to do with water alchemists. He had heard that Whitewater had been the same way, though obviously that was well before he'd met Alyse. Ted could absolutely imagine his superior officer as having been incredibly popular with women. He also could never imagine Cal Fischer looking at anyone other than his wife with the adoration and admiration he obviously had for her.
Exactly the response he'd expect, except that he didn't buy it. "Or is it someone local who has you distracted?" Ted found himself asking. He would hardly be the first soldier who had ever fallen for someone out in the middle of a war zone.
Rapid snorted and shook his head. "No. Seriously, I'm not that stupid." Then his eyes widened. "I'm sorry, Proteus… Sir. I didn't mean—"
"Yes, you did," Ted cut him off, enjoying watching the other alchemist squirm a little in his chair. "Getting romantically involved with a foreign girl in war time is just about the most foolish thing a man can do—despite how often we alchemists seem to be fools that way—besides falling for another soldier; something else we State Alchemists are notorious for."
Beside him, Trisha sniffed.
"Not that I think it counts if the interest predates joining the military," Ted went on as if he hadn't noticed. There was definitely a long run of military relationships on both sides of that family. "Though there's nothing wrong with that either really." He left the statement hanging. There was something about Rapid's reaction that had him suspicious that his interests—
However long they lasted—might have landed one on of the many female alchemists on this mission.
Rapid did not take the bait, though his grin was a little less sure as he shrugged. "I'm pretty sure they don't care so long as it doesn't mess with the chain of command."
A line that got really fuzzy on many occasions, even in his own family. Ted decided not to press the matter, especially not here in the middle of the mess tent. As long as it wasn't causing problems among the alchemists as a team, it didn't really matter. "Lucky for us." He went back to his food. As soon as dinner was over things would be back to business as usual. With all of the alchemists here, they were changing up the shifts. It didn't matter that the Zinovek forces had been trounced and retreated more than fifty miles away before stopping. If Savahin had more planes, he could send them from all the way in Petrayevka, and the alchemists needed to be prepared and on the watch. Those shifts now consisted not only of at least one active artillery team at all hours, and a couple dozen soldiers on watch all around the area, but pairs of State Alchemists. Tonight, Ted had first watch teamed up with Misty Parkwaller, the Marble Alchemist. He would get her to fill him in on anything he might want to know about the rest of the team, and what had happened while he was further north.
He hoped for a quiet evening. It would be much preferable to catch up on gossip and get the rescue story first-hand than to deal with the enemy.
Franz felt mildly guilty about working late, but it was honestly quieter in his office than it was at home these days, particularly before Aithne went to bed. With people in the house, on top of the puppies and kittens, there was just no quite while his granddaughter was up. When she was up, she wanted to play with the puppies, which riled up the puppies, who then chased the kittens, and evenings were often spent in a state of animal excitement. While Franz loved his family—and the four furballs Sara had brought home, and normally did most of the work with—it was not conducive to focusing. He would go home tonight, just after things quieted down. The pile of work on his desk these days was reminiscent of Roy Mustang's days, and that was with Franz doing his best to keep up with it all, and delegating to his staff everything he could.
Staying in the office also meant every one of his calls could be routed through someone in the office first, saving him a lot of headache. Not enough, but some.
If only it saved on anxiety. Sara's reports did not instill him with confidence, even though things for the State Alchemists in Drachma—Cal Fischer aside—were going well. No one else had been injured. Sara was moving forward with her plan to train Drachmans to replace them so that the Amestrian involvement would eventually not be necessary. It was a first really, purposefully training alchemists in another country, but it wasn't the potential disaster some people seemed to think. Almost every country that bordered Amestris had alchemists in some form or other now anyway. It was only a matter of time before they did if not. It was better to instill a sense of ethics and a way to use them that would be less of a threat now, under friendly terms. Drachma was having to re-learn from the ground up. That trust would be a long time in coming, but it looked like the West would be first.
Training foreign alchemists, building military aircraft… the world had changed dramatically in the time since Franz first joined up as an enlisted boy just looking to make his family proud and serve his country.
Hopefully this turned out to follow the trend of fight-a-country befriend-that-country. So many former enemies were now allies. It was better that way. Relations with Drachma had always been particularly problematic, as their volatile politics and regime changes often ripped apart tenuous ties of peace and economic prosperity.
"Still going for the title of most diligent and overworked President in Amestrian history?"
Franz looked up from the papers in front of him.
Tore Closson stood in the doorway, leaning against the open door with his arms crossed and a cocky smile. "I thought Sara left you with a curfew."
That was one way of putting it. "I was just finishing up a few things," Franz replied honestly. "I was intending to go home, eventually. I just can't work at home these days. It's too chaotic."
"I hear you." Tore nodded. "Why do you think I'm still here? Camelia invited at least a quarter of the cast of this winter's musical production over to run some extra dance rehearsals in our living room." After watching her brother enjoying theatre through high school, his daughter had decided to give it a try.
Now that was chaos. Since neither Trisha nor James had been all that into performance arts, Franz had never dealt with musical productions in his house. "What are they performing this year?" he asked, feeling a little bad he hadn't kept up with what all of Tore's children were doing. It was hard to remember that Camelia was fourteen, and a first-year high school student. Dare was still stationed at North City, and Brandon had graduated last spring and gone off to Creta to attend one of the worlds' premier Culinary Schools.
"The Mysterious Princess," Tore replied. "The department has gotten very ambitious. The drama teacher says it's because of the talent they've got to work with. Fortunately, that doesn't seem to have gone to my daughter's head."
"Who's she playing?"
"Chiaretta, the Princess."
Franz was familiar with the musical drama based on the old Amestrian folk tale; a drama of romance, a mysterious princess who might not even be a princess who had to prove it by following impossible tests, only to prove it and then fall into an enchanted slumber due to an evil spell. In the end, her prince rescued her and together they slew a monstrous dragon. "Hopefully the dragon won't be breathing fire in your living room."
"The scene they're working on tonight is mostly to get down some tricky choreography. They should be wrapping up about the time I get home."
The pause that came after implied heavily that Franz should be doing the same. "I hope so for your sake." Franz stood, sliding back the chair and reaching for his uniform jacket. "And for mine, I hope everyone's in bed by the time I get home."
"There's a reason we only have one cat."
"Because you had four kids in the house." Including fostering Franz's daughter-in-law as a teenager.
"I like things lively." Tore fell into step with Franz as he left his office, closing the door behind him.
The outer office was empty, all of his staff gone home. Once the new alliance had gotten into full swing, the extra intelligence office that had taken over his had been moved elsewhere, in a more centralized location down the hall. Any critical information would still reach him in seconds. "Glad that works for you. Right now, I'd give almost anything for the world to be a little less lively." Almost, because he would never, in a million years, be willing to give up Sara a second time.
December 26th, 1990
Amalea Finn had not expected to spend her holidays suspended in the sky, using her alchemy to keep alive one of the men in the world she had wanted most to make proud of her, and he might never even know how hard she pushed herself. Not that the flight itself was as traumatic or draining as the first days after his rescue. They had stabilized him, only to have one issue or another come up, with the result that they had saved him three more times before he had been declared stable enough to survive the act of being put in a plane and flown in the air. No one knew how the air pressure changes, minimized as they were in the cabin of the plane, would affect a man in a coma who could not be considered stable.
For all of the flight back, she had stared at the monitors hooked to him, refilled his IV bag with the appropriate medications and liquids, and used her alchemy only to monitor him more directly, and continue to feed him energy from outside, to bolster him, and try and allow him to heal a little faster.
Just have to get him to Central, then the physicians there would be able to do what they couldn't in a small city Drachman hospital. The best Alchemical doctors in Amestris were in Central, too. She just had to keep him alive that long.
Not that the trip went smoothly. Rothschild had to land once to avoid a terrible storm, and veer off course to avoid part of another. The turbulence rocked the plane, and the very possibility of falling out of the air made her nauseous, and occasionally terrified. She tried not to think about it.
Finally, in the pre-dawn hours that always seemed darker than usual, they landed. As soon as they taxied to a stop, everything happened at once.
Loud banging was followed by the metal hatch door swinging open, and people swarming into the plane. Amalea recognized them as military emergency responders as they unhooked and took control of Whitewater's gurney, lifting it and his IV and unloading him off the plane in a rush of barked orders and lights from the headlights of an ambulance outside.
No one said a word to her as they disembarked and moved to load the General into the back of the ambulance.
"Calvin!" A frantic female voice gasped, and the shape of a woman clambering into the back of the ambulance with him almost certainly had to be his wife.
In the dark, Amalea had to squint, her eyes having trouble adjusting as she stepped down onto the concrete. She wobbled, almost collapsing on the unmoving ground after nearly two days in a vibrating air machine with no real sleep. Her hand on the doorframe saved her.
The ambulance doors closed, and without another word to her, it took off towards the hospital, leaving her standing there. Alone.
"Are you all right?"
Amalea jumped, spinning around fast enough Rothschild had to catch her to keep her from falling backwards into the dirt. "They… didn't say a word."
"Don't take it personally." He smiled kindly; the edge of his expression just visible from the light coming out of the doorway. As she steadied herself, he let go of her arm. "There's still a car here for us too." He nodded behind her.
Turning, Amalea realized he was correct. There was a vehicle waiting for them, and a single person approaching out of the darkness at a more sedate pace. "Lieutenant Rothschild, Major Finn."
Her eyes were adjusting, though not quickly enough. The voice, however, was vaguely familiar, and then she realized why as Alphonse Elric stepped into the square of light from the doorway. He must have brought his daughter. "True Soul, Sir!" Amalea wobbled slightly as she snapped upright to salute.
The old man's smile was gentle, and clearly amused. "At ease, Amalea. I've been retired for decades."
"Do you happen to have our instructions, Mr. Elric?" Rothschild asked with a moment of hesitation clearly deciding how to address the legend in front of them, though his voice was much steadier than hers.
"I do." He nodded. "I'm to take you back into town, and drop you where you want to go. Ostensibly, that's supposed to be your homes so that you can change, get a meal, and rest." Then he flashed a knowing look at Amalea. "However, they did not expressly say that was the first place I had to take you. Once you're rested, you're to report to Headquarters for a debriefing. Shock wants you there by noon."
Which only gave them a few hours to catch a quick bit of sleep really. Amalea supposed they just couldn't take much time. Besides, as soon as possible, they needed to turn around and she was to return to the front with the other alchemists. Still, it rankled that they hadn't taken her with them to the hospital. She had been the physician in charge of him for the entire flight! "I should have been taken with them to the hospital," she replied irritably.
"Which is where you can go after you report in to headquarters." The older alchemist startled her with the firmness in his tone. "You're almost falling asleep on your feet, and you've used all of your own resources keeping Whitewater alive for which, you should know, our family is incredibly grateful. Thank you."
That was right; they were family. "You're welcome." He was right of course, about all of it. "And, I appreciate the lift."
"Did you think they would really forget you out here?" Now he was smiling again.
"The thought had crossed my mind," she admitted as they started to walk towards the car. She was only vaguely aware of Rothschild closing up the plane as they walked out through the hangar door. As they stepped out, she realized that the place wasn't as empty as it looked either. While no one was building planes on the brief winter holidays, there were security guards stationed at several points. "It was silly though." This was the military, it had nothing to do with personal feelings and everything to do with completing the mission. In this case, they had delivered Fischer into the waiting hands of a swarm of medical professionals far more experienced than she. There was nothing else there that required her.
"No, it was a natural reaction in our exhausted state," Rothschild corrected gently. "I, for one, will be glad to close my eyes and not have to worry about dropping us out of the sky for a while."
Amalea just hoped that wasn't what she dreamed about.
It felt like an eternity before Alyse was finally left alone in a hospital room with Cal. The entire rush to the hospital, the rushed but professional order of the hospital personnel, the terrifying litany of medical concerns, illness and injury, that plagued her husband—all of it was enough to crush her in its whirlwind. It had been almost two days since she had gotten any kind of sleep, because from the moment she had been told that the plane had lifted off from Drachma with Cal on it, she had been praying, begging, anyone who might hear to bring him back to her alive.
Well, he was alive, if only in a very technical sense. If the wan, aged looking man in the bed by which she sat was Cal Fischer in a better state than when they had rescued him, it was more than a miracle that he had even survived being rescued. The antibiotics were working, they told her; the pneumonia was not yet gone, but it was improving. The fever was down, and manageable, but not gone. Cracked and broken bones were set, and some almost entirely healed thanks to the exhaustive work of physicians and alchemists alike. The worst of the bruising was gone, leaving only mottling in places that must have once been black and bloody. Gashes were closed lines of skin, most no longer in need of stitches.
Someone had removed the broken and shattered remains of his auto-mail prosthetic, leaving just the port whole and intact, waiting for a new leg.
Yet he lay there, in a nearly vegetative state, unresponsive to anything they had done to him. He breathed. His heart was beating. His brain—so Ren assured him—had enough activity that he was certainly alive. Still, he did not look it, and he had no awakened in all that time since the battle.
Worse, was the concern of his spine, and his legs, and any potential damage to them or to the brain that they could not yet fully confirm or identify. Paralysis would mean nothing to a man who might never awaken, or who might be little better than a vegetable. Both were possibilities, and they terrified her.
Permanent paralysis wasn't a much better prognosis. So many unknowns, so many questions; even survival was still uncertain.
Alyse clutched his hands in hers, grateful for the monitors beeping out a slow consistent heartbeat, because she could barely feel a pulse under her fingers. "Don't you dare die on me, Calvin Fischer." She had no idea if he could hear her. Many stories of patients in comas said they remembered what people said to them while they were unconscious, but she had never met one of those people in person to ask them. She just hoped it was true. That, and just thinking her words weren't the same. "You can't let a little thing like a falling bomb and a river stop you after all. The landmine didn't. The gut wound didn't. The dozen other times you've come home full of holes didn't. All the times you made me furious with you didn't. You made it home, and I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere, so you can't either, not until you wake up and come home. You got that?"
If he did, there was no outward sign, no anomalous blip in the readings, no reaction. Not even a twitch.
Inside her, the dam broke. The anger and impatience and worry of the past days washed away, subsumed in a flood of overwhelming despair.
Through the window in the hospital room door, Ethan watched his cousin, head down on her arms, sobbing, Cal's hands clutched tightly in her own, and his heart ached for her. He had not been one of the physicians on staff waiting when Cal had arrived early that morning, but he had gotten a thorough report on arrival. Ren had seen him and done the alchemical part of the examination, and they had the medical records that had come from the hospital in Drachma and through military reports.
You may be the toughest son of a bitch I've ever known. Somehow, no matter how many times Cal got shot, stabbed, blown up, and now sent down freezing rapids without a boat, he came out alive. At least, up to this point. Ethan wished any of them could be sure of a full recovery, or any recovery. For the moment, Cal's condition had stabilized, but that did not give Ethan any confidence given the current situation. Alyse knew Cal's chances of waking at all were currently at about sixty percent, if Ethan was feeling optimistic. The number would change, but it could do so rapidly. They would do everything they could to save him, and to help in recovery, but there were too many unknowns and concerns right now for him to feel confident of giving any kind of solid answer.
And he'd been honest about that with Alyse. They had gotten together in a war, in which Cal had almost died from a severe gut wound received in combat. They had survived wars, marital issues, her cancer treatment, and had been looking forward to Cal's impending retirement.
Now it all hung in the air, with Gloria back in Drachma covering the news, and Charlie still missing. Ethan wished there were something he could do to ease Alyse's suffering, but all he could do he was already doing, and that was doing everything he and the team of doctors who would see him regularly, could possibly do.
In some ways, the coma was almost a hidden blessing, if only because he knew how irascible and disagreeable and impatient Cal was as a patient. Many of his injuries were healing better and faster, not only because of alchemical treatment, but because he wasn't exacerbating any of his conditions.
It wasn't much of a bright spot.
"We'll take care of her." Ren spoke as she came up beside him. "With so many family visiting, we're already cooking for seven. She eats with us most nights lately already."
Ethan nodded. As representatives of their respective countries for this alliance, it had been a pleasant irony to have Ren's brother and his wife, and Minxia and Thrakos (with their young son in tow), assigned alongside their respective embassy teams in Amestris. It was easier now that the alliance was in the public eye, and those representatives did not have to be kept out of sight. "I know. I just wish we could do more. Even everything might not be enough."
"We all know that, and we'll do it anyway." The look in Ren's eyes said everything Ethan was feeling, she also felt, possibly even more keenly.
"Did you get a chance to call Gloria and let her know her father arrived here?"
Ren nodded. "I couldn't get through to her directly, but Mihalov's secretary swore to pass on the message."
It was something. Ethan wondered if Charlie had any idea of his father's plight. Surely, where-ever he was, he was following the news?
January 1, 1990
The morning of the new year was dismal and gray, even at the late hour at which Charlie awoke after staying up well into the wee hours of the morning at the local bar with most of the other singles and childless couples in town, celebrating the incoming new year.
Not that there had been much to celebrate. It had just been the most convenient place to spend the evening, where he could be semi-forgotten in the crowd, and still appear to be sociable. No one wanting to have deep, meaningful conversations at a new year's party.
It was also earlier in the evening, before they turned off the news station on the radio and swapped over entirely to music, that Charlie had heard the public announcement that General Fischer, the Whitewater Alchemist, was back on Amestrian soil, and in the hospital. There had been next to no report on his condition. Given what Charlie knew about military hospitals, and the current situation, if his father had been doing well, they would certainly have put it in the news report to lift people's morale.
Which could not mean good news.
Ignoring the dull throbbing of his head from lack of sleep, more than anything else, Charlie crawled out of bed, and glanced at the clock. It was almost noon. The shop was closed today, so he wasn't expected to be anywhere in particular. Last night, as much as the rest of the recent news, had made him antsy. He couldn't hide here forever. If nothing else, his feelings made that abundantly clear. He couldn't move on in his life, leaving everything as unsettled as he'd left it. No one had gotten closure from his leaving, or any sense of peace, not even himself.
Charlie didn't have a real plan. He wasn't even sure if he was going to do it yet, or how long he would stay if he did. It depended on the phone call he made today, he supposed. There was no reason to put off the decision he'd made last night on the walk back.
Pulling on pants and a shirt, he padded downstairs to the phone, and once again dialed his uncle's house number, praying fervently that Uncle Will was the one who picked up the phone.
"Elric residence."
Charlie froze as the person who picked up had a female voice. It wasn't his aunt, and it only took him a second to recognize it as the voice of his cousin Minxia. He swallowed, and hoped she wouldn't recognize his as he lowered it just slightly and spoke seriously, "I'm calling for Professor Elric. Is he available?"
A moment's hesitation and then a cheerful, "Just a moment." He could hear her voice calling across the house but away from the phone as she shouted, "Dad, it's for you! I think it's one of your students."
If it was weird that he was calling on the first of the new year, between terms, Minxia didn't ask anything, and a minute later, he heard his uncle's footsteps in the distance, and the phone changing hands. "William Elric."
"Hey, Uncle Will. It's Charlie again."
He realized how tight a spot he might have just put his Uncle in, calling with his family there, having promised not to reveal he was talking with his nephew. "Good morning," he replied sounding jovial, if slightly formal. "Happy New Year."
"Happy New Year to you," Charlie replied back automatically. "I was calling to ask about Dad. The news isn't telling me anything except he got home a couple of days ago, and I…I was hoping there was something you could tell me."
"Sure, I'd love to tell you about that. Let me take this into my office." He heard shuffling, and another line picking up, and the first receiver being hung up, presumably by Minxia. "Okay, you have terrible timing for someone who doesn't want to be talked to," Will replied in a much more normal voice. "Yes, your father is here in the hospital in Central. Short summary is this: he's in a coma, and we're not sure when or if he will wake up again. He's still fighting infections and severe injuries, but the doctors give him about a sixty-percent chance right now of waking up again. They won't even give us any kind of answer or solid estimate on recovery. If there's anything you've ever wanted to say to your old man, you're running out of time. As it is, he might not hear you."
It felt like being struck with a bullet—a feeling he remembered not at all fondly—the way his uncle's words hit home sharply, setting off a flare of guilt. "H-how's Mom?"
"How do you think?"
Charlie winced. "I don't know what to do," he admitted then. "Would coming home make things any better, or would it just make them worse?"
Will sighed. "I still don't have an answer for you, but I really don't see how it could get much worse. Make a decision you can live with."
Oh, that's helpful. "I'll… figure that out. Thanks, Uncle Will… for the update." He should end the call there, but he wasn't quite ready. Somehow, that tenuous electrical strand between them felt like a lifeline, and he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that either.
"Take care of yourself," his uncle replied. "And if you want to talk to me after this, I recommend calling my office number during weekdays instead." He rattled off the number, and Charlie fumbled to scribble it on a piece of grease-stained paper.
"I'll keep that in mind."
After he hung up, he went back up to the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. His stomach growled. If he went next door, Eli probably had something in the kitchen leftover from this morning, or possibly lunch already in the works. It was likely to be cold food today but Charlie didn't particularly care one way or the other.
He couldn't get the words out of his head. You're running out of time. It wasn't just his father who could be dead even before he got back to Central, but to ask his mother's forgiveness, to be there to support her, to be there when Gloria came home… or to apologize to Shelby. He had no real hope that she would actually forgive him, but he had to try.
There were no trains running today, being the first of the year. Even they got the holiday. Still, it would take him a little time to get things together, tell Eli he needed to take a personal trip and would be gone, and get a ticket. He didn't think the ticket office would be open until tomorrow either.
Which meant the first thing he needed to do was get time off from Eli. He had little doubt the old man would understand, he just hoped he didn't want too much information. There were days when Charlie couldn't help wondering if Eli had suspicions about Charlie's identity, especially lately. Still, he never pried, and that was something Charlie appreciated. Despite the man being old enough to be his grandfather, he never treated Charlie like a boy.
Charlie just wished that at some point, he would stop feeling like a boy who was just screwing things up. The first step then, was to make sure if he walked away, he was walking, not running.
There was only one way to figure out which was which.
