August 22nd, 1991

Every day it got a little less stressful, a little less traumatic, to step out of the house for a couple of hours. As Cal improved, Alyse knew she could leave him alone and he would be all right when she got back. He also insisted he could handle himself, and she needed to get out of the house. They did not need to start spending every moment together just because he was no longer working.

Besides, Shelby still needed help. She had made it through the semester, if barely, but summer with four children and her part-time work, while healing from Sandra's difficult delivery took its toll. Alyse was happy to take short shifts with her grandchildren. Shelby's mother took the other days, and since she had plenty of time on her hands at home, Alyse often cooked meals to take over as well.

Today had been a rare day when Shelby got home early, and so it was only mid-afternoon when Alyse entered the garden house nearly two hours before she had told Cal to expect her. "Calvin?" she spoke up as she shut the door and turned around.

Cal was sitting in the living room in his chair. His eyes wide in surprise. "'Lyse! Yer home early."

Her ears registered slurred language at the same time she saw the bottle of whiskey on the couch-side table. There was no glass. "Shelby got off early today. Sandra had an appointment with the pediatrician." Alyse took a slow breath, trying to keep calm. This was not the moment to over-react, even as her anxiety spiked. "Where did you get that?" she managed to ask in a level tone, looking at the bottle. She most certainly hadn't bought it, and it hadn't come with their things from the other house.

"From a friend." Cal did not offer a name. He just looked at her expectantly, waiting for a reaction.

Which friend would have brought that? Alyse had been home with him when they'd invited people over the last few months. She tried to keep the house lively, to keep his spirits up. "Did you drink all of that this afternoon?" Maybe it had been here a while, and he'd been nursing it slowly, which would be perfectly normal and not something to be concerned about.

"That was my intention, yes."

Her heart cracked. "May I ask why?"

"Because I felt like it," Cal deadpanned.

Alyse bit her tongue. Snapping at him would do nothing, but finding him drunk in the middle of the afternoon, without warning. All she wanted was a reasonable explanation.

"Go ahead and yell," Cal gestured in her direction with one hand. "You want to, so do it. Won't bother me."

"Calvin… I just want to know why. What's wrong?"

Cal snorted derisively. "What's wrong? What isn't wrong?" He waved at the chair he sat in, up and down his whole body. "I'm a bloody cripple who can't even piss without help! What the hell else should I do all day? Go for a walk? Nope, can't do it. Take a shower? Nope, can't do that. Nice drive? Golf with the old-retired-generals gabble at the club? Take my beautiful wife out dancing? Put on my own damned pants? Nope. None of it, and all I can feel twenty-four hours a day in these damned useless legs is pain because it doesn't matter what shit I take, it doesn't do a damn thing. And it ain't like there's anything else I can do to take my mind off it." His expression twisted into one of deep agony, and his eyes darted away.

And she knew, because she knew her husband as well as she knew herself. He'd kept his mouth shut all these months, not because he was trying to be cooperative, but because he honestly didn't care anymore. He was in agony, day after day. There was nothing Cal hated more than being helpless, or kept still, and now it was both. Everything he had wanted for his retirement, all of their plans, had been shattered in his mind from the moment he went over that cliff. It didn't matter that there would be plenty of things they could still do together; that even paralysis did not mean an end to many of the activities they had enjoyed. It would take time, but he was running out of patience.

Cal was afraid. Afraid, and embarrassed… and frustrated; emotionally, sexually.

Slowly, Alyse crossed the room. "We'll get there," she replied calmly, as soothing as she could manage. "It's just going to take a little more time. The other night wasn't a bad start."

"Hah!" Cal snatched at the bottle, eyeing her like he expected her to take it away. "That was nothing short of a complete embarrassment."

Well, it had been short—and ultimately unsuccessful by some definitions—but at least he had felt up to trying, and that had been more than enough for Alyse to consider anything successful. It had been the first time Cal had even made a romantic overture since before his last departure for Drachma. "I don't think so. In any case, it can only get better, right?"

"Things can always be worse, 'Lyse." Cal took a swig from the bottle. "This is worse. This is hell."

She caught herself on the verge of objecting again. Clearly, he was not in the mood for rational conversation. "What would make you feel better?" she asked instead.

"I really don't think that's possible."

"Humor me, then. What could make this a little…less hellish?"
"There's nothing you can do. You can't make the pain go away. You can't make my legs work… or make the nightmares stop. It doesn't matter how hard I work… if alkahestry can't even fix me, I'm just stuck. There's no point in even trying."

"I watch you try every day. You're making good progress."

"Maybe you should have just let me go."

A chill ran through her. "You don't mean that."

"Do you know how many times I've almost died, 'Lyse?" Cal chuckled dryly, and somehow that was worse. For a moment he was quiet, and then he just began to talk, the words coming out without hesitation. "I've lost count. I've been shot, stabbed, slammed with alchemy… and that doesn't even cover getting blown up in Aerugo, or run through by Drachmans. I'm only alive right now because some Drachmans thought I'd be useful, and we have a damned large number of friends who like to play hero. I knew I was dead the moment I hit that water…. Slammed into the dark, the piercing cold, and the rocks. I fought anyway. I'm not even sure why…outside of instinct. But they told me how many times they pulled me back… in Drachma, on the plane, here in Central. All those resources, all that effort… so I can live like this? Such a waste." He drank.

A waste. "No." Alyse disagreed firmly. "How can you say that?"

Cal grimaced. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything. Now you'll never leave me alone again."

"That's what you're upset about?" Calm… calm. Hold it together. "We should discuss this later. When you're yourself." Not while he was upset and inebriated.

"Babe…. This is as me as it gets."

Never, in all the time Alyse had known him, had Cal ever called her babe."That's it. You've had enough." Alyse reached for the bottle, pulling it halfway out of his hands before his fingers latched down.

"Let go." His snarled, his gray eyes gone cold steel. His grip, which got regular exercise daily with his physical therapy, was iron tight.

Alyse tightened her grasp. "No. You're drunk, and you're not thinking clearly. I'm not letting you drink yourself sick." As empty as the bottle was, that was probably already a foregone conclusion. Had he taken his medications today? A momentary fear seized her. Not all of them could be taken with alcohol.

"Damn it, 'Lyse that's not your decision to make!" Cal jerked hard, so hard it yanked her off balance.

With a squeak of surprise, Alyse let go as she grabbed the back of the chair.

The bottle jerked away so hard it slipped out of Cal's grasp, and a second later the house was filled with the sound of shattering glass on hardwood.

For a moment, she just stared at it over his shoulder as pieces of glass and drips of amber liquid scattered across the room.

She wasn't prepared for Cal's hand against her breastbone, shoving her firmly away. "Just… go."

"I need to clean that up," she objected, straightening herself.

"Leave it…. I'll do it later." Eyes downcast, he looked away from her.

"But—"

"Leave me alone!"

Fighting back the tears, Alyse turned and walked out. She scooped the cat up on her way to the bedroom. "Come on, girl. You don't want to cut a paw in there."

Miss Whiskers did not object, but made a soft little half-purr and snuggled into her arms.

At least one of you is cooperative.

August 23rd, 1991

Cal wished he couldn't remember the night before. It would make the rotten mood he awoke in a little easier, and the nausea and egg-shell skull more bearable. It would make the guilt at the things he had shouted at his wife feel slightly less deserved.

He awoke with the first rays of dawn, still ensconced in his wheelchair in the living room, with a large kitchen bowl in his lap that he had most certainly not fetched himself. Which meant that sometime after he had passed out, Alyse had taken care of him.

Cal glanced down at the floor; freshly mopped, not a speck of glass or spot of liquid to be found. It did not improve his mood. I could have done that. Though he felt worse that his first thought was that it had been a waste of very good whisky. He hadn't told Alyse who gave it to him, because he hadn't wanted to get anyone in trouble except himself.

He had not expected Alyse to walk in before he was done.

He hated feeling like he had to sneak around to avoid getting caught.

Particularly since he had been doing just that, to avoid the argument they'd had last night, because he'd never wanted to tell her how he was feeling when she was trying so hard to lift his spirits and keep life interesting. She really believed things would continue to get better.

He wasn't sure he could pull himself back together again.

A door creaked, and soft footfalls on the floor heralded slippered feet. Alyse entered the room, wrapped in her fluffiest robe, Miss Whiskers trotting behind her. She paused as their eyes met.

Cal swallowed, and his insides lurched.

Alyse looked at him for a moment longer, then crossed the room. "Do you need anything?" she asked simply.

He shook his head slowly, but she didn't look like she believed him. "Water." If he asked for what had crossed his mind first, she'd probably slap him.

Alyse nodded, and went into the kitchen, leaving him alone with his bowl. Miss Whiskers rubbed up against the wheels of the chair, purring. When Alyse returned a few minutes later, she had a glass of water, plain toast, and his daily medications. "Try to keep these down," she directed as she handed him the water.

Cal looked at the pills in her hand as he took the glass. "No."

Alyse blinked. "What do you mean no?"

Cal sighed, and took a few sips of water. As his insides settled, he tried again. "I'm not taking them. They don't work."

He could tell his wife was trying to hide her exasperation. "Doctors orders."

"Screw them."

"I'll tell Ethan you said that."

"Go ahead. It's just a waste. All of it."

Alyse frowned. "I know the painkillers don't fix everything, but they've got to be better than going without."

"Not really." Oh, they took the edge off the worst of it, but not always, and not consistently. "I was told not to expect them to."

Alyse looked down at her hand, and Cal knew she wasn't even going to ask about the rest. Anxiety? He had nightmares almost every night with or without them.

His wife looked stricken.

Cal sighed. "Give me the damned vitamin." When she handed it over, he took it down with more water, then reached for a piece of the toast. "Thanks."

"We need to talk about last night."

"No, we don't."

"Yes, we do." Her expression steeled. "You're improving. Doctor Linden says you're making great progress in physical therapy. It's just going to take time to recover."

"To recover to whatever extent I'm going to," Cal corrected. He needed her to understand. If she couldn't…. it was going to drive them both insane. "Face it, 'Lyse. I'm never getting my legs back. It's been months, and I still can't even twitch a toe. Just… stop trying to act like things are going to get better than they are. Nothing can fix this. Not auto-mail. Not alchemy. This is where I got with surgery. It doesn't matter how hard I work; I'm never going to walk again.

It doesn't matter to me that there are people out there in situations like mine that are still athletes, or leaders, or who-gives-a-shit but they're out there, leading active lives. I'm broken, and I'm tired, and I don't want to go through all of this again. It took me three years to get back to duty after Aerugo, and I almost didn't. I was in pain every day. I was lonely, and depressed, and I didn't have anyone to help me with day-to-day tasks. I pushed through it, though. But I was still young then, and healthy, and I didn't think there was anything worse than going through auto-mail rehabilitation."

He stopped as his mouth dried out, and his throat tightened. When Alyse didn't interrupt, he continued. "I was wrong. Laying under the open sky thinking I was going to die single and miserable and alone, with my life bleeding out of me slowly for hours… that was worse. Watching you suffer through chemotherapy, and surgery, and almost losing you…that was worse. Arguing with you about this is worse. I don't want to fight. I don't want to pretend I'm enjoying myself, or that things are going to be all right. I miss my life. I miss my house. Hell, I even miss doing paperwork at that damned desk. At least I was useful." All he did now was sit at home all day, do his upper body exercises, and struggle to do basic self-care.

"So, don't pretend you're enjoying yourself," Alyse suggested, startling him. "Your friends don't expect you to be happy about any of this, and neither do I. Just don't expect me to give up on you. I know you were unconscious for most of it, but I spent weeks waiting to find out if you were going to die, or just never wake up again. I didn't know if you could hear me, or if I should be saying good-bye. To me, the fact that you are still here with me—that we can still talk, and cuddle, and do things together—is enough for me. We can still travel, and visit new places, and do things. That's why… I think we should take my parents up on their offer to visit."

The last came out in a bit of a rush, and Cal had to take a moment to absorb what she had said. "You want to go all the way to Resembool?" Cal tried to imagine getting to a train station, and on the train, and out to the house on the hill. Traveling with a catheter… and the rest of the equipment and supplies that seemed to come with his new limitations.

"We could both use a change of scenery, and I would really like to see my parents. They've invited us to come out for the Harvest Festival next month, and I think it's a great idea."

Outside of going to physical therapy appointments and doctor visits, Cal hadn't left the house to go anywhere except once or twice with Alyse on very short errands, and a couple of walks around the neighborhood. He hadn't wanted to. Alyse had invited people over several times. Tore and Charisa came over every Saturday. The only times he had gone out, people had recognized him, and he didn't like the looks of pity, or worry, or the caring-yet-nosy questions about his health. Cal didn't want to be a conversation piece. "If you want to," he agreed reluctantly. At least there weren't as many people in Resembool, and it would be good to get out of town for a while. Even the Elrics' country house sounded more like home than this new place he had occupied for months. "If I can get permission."

"Oh, I'm sure your doctors will let you," Alyse replied. "We'll talk to them."

He just bet they would. Ethan would probably have an entire slate of water-based therapy activities for Cal to do in the Elrics' pool. Cal sighed, and braved the toast. "When would we go?"

"I suppose we could leave whenever we're ready," Alyse admitted, watching him eat. "Though it will take a few days to pack, and I want to make sure that there's someone to cover my afternoons at Shelby's, and arrange care for the cat."

"I bet Cami would watch Miss Whiskers." Tore's sixteen-year-old daughter could use the pet sitting money. Teenagers always needed some way to supplement income, and she was excellent with cats.

"She'd be perfect. I'll make arrangements." Alyse straightened up. "Do you want anything else?"

Cal shook his head. "Not right now." If he could manage to eat his toast in peace and keep it down, it would be about as well as he could expect to start the day. He still wasn't sure how to take the unexpected turn the morning had taken, but at least Alyse wasn't steaming mad at him. He had expected more of a lecture this morning. "I'm sorry for being an ass last night."

His wife smiled softly. "Apology accepted. Now don't worry about it. Everyone has bad days. We've gotten through a lot of hard times. We'll get through this together too."

Cal smiled weakly. "Sometimes, I don't think I deserve you."

"Lucky for you it isn't about deserving then." Alyse ruffled his hair. "Are you sure I can't talk you into a haircut?"

He resisted the urge to swat her hand away. "I told you. It's fine." It had been longer in his life, but this was definitely the longest it had been since he made Colonel. It had been decades since his curls had been allowed to grow how they pleased, and he was just grateful at his age to still have a thick head of hair.

"All right." Alyse kissed the top of his head and headed for the kitchen. "I'm going to make some real breakfast. Do you want anything else?"

"I could probably keep down some eggs."

"Eggs it is."

August 24th, 1991

"It'll be great to have them," Winry responded enthusiastically to Elicia's declaration that Alyse and Cal had accepted their offer to come stay. "The downstairs guest room will be perfect."

"It's already set-up for it," Edward agreed. That was the one in which auto-mail patients usually rested while waiting for their reattached limbs to stop hurting, and was already set up to be fully accessible. The bathroom next to it was also more accessible, which was good, since all of the other bedrooms and bathrooms were up on the upper floors. "That, or I could transmute an elevator."

"Tempting, but I don't think that will be necessary, Ed." Winry smiled. "Cal can use the ramp on the side porch, and the main level has everything they'll need. Besides, it would have to come up and down the center of the house, and I don't want some metal monstrosity creaking in my living room."

"Ed's limbs are bad enough," Alphonse quipped.

A knock on the door saved his brother from a knock to the head. "I'll get it." Edward turned and crossed the living room.

It was Aldon, grinning ear-to-ear and holding what looked like a role of plans. "Hey, Dad. Do you have some time? I've got a project that could really use your and Uncle Al's special talents."

"Okay, I'm intrigued." Edward eyed the plans. "Let's see what you've got."

"I have concerns about anything that involves Ed's special talents," Winry commented from behind him as Aldon came in and headed for the dining table.

"What do you need both of us for?" Alphonse sounded equally intrigued.

They all gathered around as Aldon unrolled the architectural blueprints across the table, revealing his ambitious master plan.

"This is the new outdoor stage!" Alphonse spoke aloud first.

Aldon nodded. "That's it exactly. The old one down at the fairgrounds lot is shot, and it's getting unsafe. It's time to build something new, and I just got this passed by the city's approval committee, but we don't have a lot of time for construction."

"You don't want them to transmute the whole thing, do you?" Winry frowned.

Aldon grinned. "No worries, Mom. Nothing that crazy. We've got the materials and a crew to handle the major construction, though if we fall behind, a little extra boost wouldn't hurt. What I was really hoping for, is help with the artistic features." He ran his fingers up the sides of the stage and across the top of the arch, where Edward saw the light sketching of what looked like carvings, and possibly metalwork.

Winry looked even more dubious. "You want to subject all of Resembool to your father's artistic tastes?"

"Hey! I have great taste." Edward objected, though he was looking at the drawings curiously. "What kind of decoration are you looking for, and why would you need it transmuted?" There was no way his son was asking for woodcarving or metalworking. As passable a carpenter as Edward had become over the decades, this was far beyond his capabilities, and their available time span.

"The lack of time for one thing," Aldon admitted. "Beyond that, this is a lot of work, and it's much cheaper to get you to do this than to hire professional artisans that don't exist within a hundred miles of Resembool. Besides which, we don't have a design for them yet. I was hoping for something more classically Amestrian. Carved vine and animal motifs maybe, some artistic wrought iron. We'd treat it to weather proof it all afterwards of course."

"That's awfully palatial for an outdoor stage," Alphonse pointed out.

"That's the idea."

"I like it." It was ingenious design, with all of the functionality of a professional stage, if scaled down, and still being an outdoor venue. The stage itself had a roof, but the coverings for the wooden bench seats beyond it were a framework for canvas weather coverings, designed to keep off rain or sun, but something that could be taken down in bad weather or when it wasn't in use. "I know a few alchemy tricks that will help make that weatherproofing last for a few generations."

"So, you'll do it then." His son looked hopefully between him and Alphonse, his expression just shy of begging.

"Well, I'm up for it."

"Me too." Alphonse grinned. "It looks like fun, and it would be nice to contribute something meaningful to the festival."

There was that. As much as Edward enjoyed being asked to judge various competitions—

usually food related—or voice opinions or lend his being there to making something more popular, it had been several years since he had felt particularly useful. He turned a keen eye over the details his son had sketched in. They were, as he had said, classic Amestrian motifs as one might see in old carvings from two or three centuries ago, but they also looked vaguely like other carvings he had seen. In fact, that he had sketched. "Hey, Aldon. Do these designs need to be recognizably Amestrian?"

"That's the aesthetic, but no, not entirely. Why?"

"Come with me." Edward turned, following his instinct and the spark of a brilliant idea forming as he headed for the stairs. He heard two sets of feet behind him, Aldon and Alphonse he was fairly sure, on the stairs. Up he went, and again, until he reached his personal study. Through the main room he went into his little hidey-hole with the pool table, and some of his most personal books. Straight to the shelf, he pulled a couple of old journals out, and started thumbing through them. He knew those sketches were in here somewhere.

"What are you looking for, Ed?" Alphonse asked.

"Do you remember those carvings we saw in Breisach?" Edward asked, he paused and looked up in time to see startled recognition on his brother's face.

"The limewood carvings." Alphonse nodded. "You have drawings?"

"Drawings, and a few photographs stuck in here somewhere." Edward handed his brother the other journal. "Start flipping. We'll find them faster."

His son looked bemused. "Where is Breisach?"

Edward grinned. "Germany."

That was all the explanation he needed to give his son. As rarely as they spoke of it anymore, as they had gotten older, Edward had spoken a little more freely about his experiences in the other world they had somehow gotten to through the gate, and then back, so very long ago.

Aldon's eyes widened. "Okay, I have to see these."

"I'm sure they're here," Edward promised, looking back down and continuing to peruse through the book, full of his own notes, and observations. It only took a few more minutes of searching before he found them in the book he was holding. "Here!" He slammed it down, open on the edge of the nearest table. "This is what I was thinking of; the style at least. Obviously, we could just leave out the religious iconography, not that anyone would even recognize it, but they might ask questions."

They all crammed in to look down at the sketches and the handful of old black and white photos that he pulled out and laid beside the journal. Back when they were trying to find out everything they could about the flows of energy in the other world, Edward had drawn all sorts of things, taken every detail in that he could that might even remotely turn out to be related to some story, some history, anything that might lead them to be able to use their alchemy or find a way home. Some of it had just been really beautiful. Fortunately, his hand for copying details was much better than some of his own early designs. Not that he would ever say that out loud.

"That's stunning," Aldon breathed. "Can you really do that?"

"As long as we're using alchemy, and not actual woodworking tools, I could make you anything you wanted from forest creatures to topless mermaids."

Alphonse laughed.

Aldon grinned. "We should probably forego those. If Cassie thought they were my idea she'd have me skinned."

"You could always blame me."

"Winry would kill all of us," Alphonse pointed out. "Let's just go with the trees and animal work, maybe some faces. Adding some decorative metal off the grid for the lights would help hide that and make it look more artistic."

"Fine, I'll handle the wood, you handle metalwork, and when it's all done, we'll have a stage that will dazzle the whole countryside." Edward liked that idea. They could make something that really would last for another hundred years or more, well after he and Alphonse were just dust and memories. He could already imagine the design. "We can get a real plan sketched out and ready to go by the time your work crews have completed the structural part of the stage."

"Great! Thanks Dad, Uncle Al. I really appreciate it. I mean, it's a nice stage without the extras, but this will really make people take notice."

"Even retired, you just can't help doing things to improve the town, can you?"

"Of course not. I've got to do something to keep from being forgotten." Aldon stepped back. "Besides, I missed building things. This project will be as much fun as it is enjoyable. Let's just hope the family theatre snob likes it."

"Oh, is Ian coming to visit?" This was the first Edward had heard of it.

Aldon nodded. "Ian and Ted agreed to come down to visit for the festival. Cassie's been on them about it for weeks. She's insistent on seeing her grandbabies while they're still babies."

Edward snorted. "She's got enough of those here, doesn't she?"

"Of course, but they're not those specific ones," Aldon pointed out. "Really, she's just as excited to see the boys, and spend time with Bonnie and Anika. I'm sure they could all use a little time to hand off the kiddos to grandparents and take a little time to enjoy themselves."

Edward couldn't resist. He grinned wickedly. "Isn't that how you ended up with the first five?"