OUR LIVES, CHAPTER 4 : "A MODEST PROPOSAL"

By The Binary Alchemist 2012

Sheska didn't drink as a rule, especially during the lunchtime planning meetings for the gala. Chef Ramsay always sent up a cooler with iced long necks whenever there was a power lunch, since most of Havoc's power lunches were fueled by cold brew, grease, salt and carbohydrates as much as brain power. Sheska didn't want to drink in meetings because it made her feel wicked. It made her want to say things that, well, nice girls weren't supposed to say and played hell with her better judgment. Which, of course, was why Havoc requested the beer in the first place. If they could get Sheska even slightly boiled they could talk her into agreeing to damn near anything.

"Nice girls don't drink at staff meetings. Only," she sighed as she reluctantly accepted another cold one from Kane Fuery, "I'm not a girl anymore, am I? I'm an old maid!" Her eyes began to tear up again. "I'm an old maid who's about to turn forty…and…and…what's the biggest worry in my life? Not a husband. Not kids. I'm stressing myself," she wailed dramatically, "over a finding a costume to fit some blonde bimbo who wears a…a…"

"An E-cup!" chorused the men in the meeting room, echoed enthusiastically by Major Havoc, whose eyes were a glazed as the pile of donuts over by the coffee urn.

"Sheska, I don't think you understand…this is history," he told firmly. "This isn't just any blonde bimbo-this is Gladys Turlough."

Sheska sighed. Given the choice she would have preferred investigating the horrors of Laboratory 5 for General Hughes in the old days rather than getting roped into organizing this birthday tribute for the Fuhrer. She had everything she needed , all neatly organized in her brief case. "Too bad I forgot to pack a mop and a bucket for all the drooling around here," she shook her head. "I…I give up. You guys have shot down every idea I've come up with. The Philharmonic-"

"-boooooorrrring!" Havoc chimed in.

"-the Youth Symphony and Choir-"

"—that would be quite appropriate for the spring festival," Falman commiserated, "but a fiftieth birthday calls for a more sophisticated offering—"

"—an evening of jazz? Mustang would enjoy that—"

"—a lot of the radio listeners wouldn't. Too progressive—"Fuery fretted.

"Sheska, this may be Mustang's birthday, but it's a benefit. We gotta give the people what they want…and the people want boobs." Havoc made a generous cupping gesture towards his chest. "Beautiful women. Chorus lines with lotsa leg. And boobs. Gladys Turlough isn't called the Ice Cream Blonde for nothing!"

Sheska slipped off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. "And why do they call her The Ice Cream Blonde?"

Havoc's expression became reverent, like that of a Letoist kneeling in the stained glass splendor of the old cathedral in Liore. "Because they're like…two…perfect scoops of the most luscious, creamy vanilla you can imagine….and all you wanna do all day is lick 'em." The silence that followed was punctuated by a discreet ahem from the corner where Hawkeye was taking notes. "Well? Am I right, guys? Mustang may live with Ed and all but he still appreciates some esthetically pleasing cleavage…and legs."

"I've heard she's temperamental," Hawkeye cut in coolly. "The last thing we need is a performer who could be difficult on the night of the gala." The assembled men looked uneasy. Gladys Turlough was a fixture on the entertainment pages of the Central Times—and would have been on the police blotter had her agent not spread buckets of cens around to keep her escapades out of the public eye. Chris Mustang had even barred her from her supper club—and that was coming from a woman who staff still occasionally rented by the hour. Her fans called her 'high spirited'. Chris Mustang called her 'hell in high heels".

"All right. If she's officially in the gala, who's going to keep her out of trouble?"

"—before we get her into the cake, that is," Havoc clarified.

A lone figure at the end of the table had been listening with quiet attention. He was a late-comer to the proceedings, having arrived in from Creta only three days before.

He rose, adjusted his silk scarf and gestured politely for silence. "Gentlemen-and ladies?" He bowed politely to Sheska and Hawkeye. "I'll assume responsibility for Miss Turlough. She will be at the theatre on time, appropriately dressed, sober, and ready to serenade."

Hawkeye looked suspicious. "You can guarantee this?"

The newcomer offered her a boyish grin that was sincerity personified. "I give you my word, Colonel Hawkeye. The Ice Cream Blond will be…in good hands."

The Colonel thought she heard Havoc mutter something under his breath that sounded like 'lucky bastard'. She ignored him and nodded to the younger man in the aeronaut's scarf.

"Thanks, Alphonse."

###

"You're back. Alive."

"Sorry to disappoint you." Ed slid into the back seat of the staff car that came to the Aerodrome to pick him up. "Why'd they send you? "

"Your son's car—"

Ed cringed. "Lemme guess—he tried out a new fuel mix and it blew the engine?"

"Blew it half way across the garage. Your daughter finds that very amusing. She arrived yesterday and they've been fighting over that old wreck since she got here. If you weren't such a cheapskate you'd buy Nina her own car."

"Nina can buy her own like Maes did. There's a reason my kids aren't spoiled little bastards. Even you have to admit that, Ruby."

"Yeah. They turned out all right in spite of you. Must have been Mrs. Curtis' influence," she grudgingly admitted. "Hope you know all hell's about to break loose around here, right?"

"Define 'hell'. I've seen a couple of 'em in my life. If it doesn't involve a river of blood, crazy assed nut jobs with Philosopher's Stones, would-be gods or homunculi, I can probably deal with it, Ruby."

She glanced at him through the rear-view mirror. "Something called democracy. You ever heard of it?"

"Before my time," Ed shrugged, "but it looks good on paper. Gonna be ratified on New Year's Day. Mustang's gonna stick his dick out on the line and let the people vote him back into office."

"Yeah? Well, lemme give you a news flash, Little Man. The Big Guy with the Big Ego better not trip over his own dick. I got a feeling he's not going to just waltz right back into the Command Office, in uniform or out."

Ed snorted with laughter. "Load of crap and you know it! I mean, Mustang's the most popular president this nation's had, long as anybody can remember. It's not like anybody would be stupid enough to run against him!"

There was something about her smug silence that gave Edward a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. After a couple of miles, he blurted out, "Do you know something I don't know?"

"Usually."

"Awww, c'mon, Ruby! I know you'd like to cut my head off and spit down my neck, but…you've done okay since Roy's been in office. Right? You know he's the best man for the job!"

She stopped the car and turned around, giving him an appraising look that made his hackles rise. "Maybe the best man for the job is a woman, Ed. Ever think of that?"

###

Grumman's birthday gift came early. "Getting on now, son. Hoping I might die in the bed of a beautiful young woman, Roy, so open this when you get it. Regards, Grumman."

It was wrapped in an archival envelope and was so old and so brittle Roy had to lay the old book flat on a table to read it. It was one of the only surviving translations of The Theory of The Democratic Republic by the Xerxian philosopher Cleisthenes, whose works had been preserved in the Great Library in Xing. Far from being a dry read, Roy found himself chuckling over the ancient's sharp edged wit, particularly a passage that read :"It is sensible to conclude that one useless man is called a shame and a disgrace. Two useless men are called a Council of Law, and three or more useless men are called a Parliament. It is the unenviable task of the President of a Democratic society to unite such useless and self-serving souls into a Body of Government worthy of the people it presumes to serve—however under the best of circumstances that task can be equated to the herding of cats."

In his mind he silently lifted a glass to the old man, now confined to a wheelchair and prone to pinching any woman hired to nurse him. Old goat…he'll be missed when he goes. Who knows what he might have accomplished if he'd stayed in office as long as I have…

Below him, the Parliament rumbled like some uneasy beast. This was the closing session before Harvest and Solstice—they would reconvene after New Year's. A motion had been put forward to hold a national election for the presidency, with the permanent retirement of the military position of Fuhrer. To Roy's relief the arguments may have been sharp but they were mercifully brief. After three weeks of simmering tempers it was being put to a vote. "You do understand what you stand to lose here, Fuhrer?" the Minister for the North had asked him bluntly. "If candidates who meet the requirements are found, you may find yourself in a close election. You may even lose."

Roy refused to rise to the bait. "Then l lose. That's the way democracy works. The people of Amestris have been treated like sheep for decades. Fuhrer Grumman made the first steps to giving our people back the right to vote for their president. I'm completing a promise to make this country a democracy, pure and simple."

They would adjourn to vote in about fifteen minutes. Down on the floor, seated among the floor runners and interns and pages he could see an elegantly dressed young woman—too young, really, to wear such peculiar Aerugoan fashion, but in spite of all that she stuck out like a pearl among pebbles, gazing up at Roy with steady affection and support. Her brother, a bit grubby from his workshop, was up in the gallery, his amber eyes intent, one blond eyebrow cocked at half mast as if the hubbub below him was both amusing and exasperating.

When a tall figure slipped in the side door and grabbed a seat beside the overdressed young lady, Roy could not suppress a smile. He saw Maes dart out of the gallery, moments later joining his family on the floor, hooking one long arm affectionately around his sister, the other over his father's shoulder. He gave Roy an impudent thumb's-up.

Roy rapped the gavel for attention. "Ladies and gentlemen of the assembly—we will reconvene in fifteen minutes to vote on the motion for open election for the office of the President. We are adjourned."

"How much time do we have?" Ed demanded when he let Roy come up for a breath from a ravenous kiss that was about six months overdue.

"Not enough for what I want to do to you." After the better part of half a year, Ed couldn't have arrived at a worse time. He had stopped off at Rose Hill to clean up and change before heading to the Parliament and it was a test of Roy's self-discipline not to drag the younger man over to his desk, flip him on his back and chew the zipper right out of his lover's trousers. Thankfully he was wearing his formal uniform, which provided some modest concealment of an erection that, Roy feared, was draining all the blood out of his head. "Damn, you look good." His eyes scanned the familiar features. There was something in Edward's expression that filtered through the hunger and joy of holding his lover again. He drew back a fraction and held Edward at arm's length. "Talk to me. I know that look."

Damn. He knows me too well. "Nothing that can't wait—and nothing about you and me or the family. Okay?" Ed shook off Roy's grip and yanked him close again. "But I'm damn glad to be back…and I've got a special present for you. Have to give it to you when everybody's at dinner tonight." He colored, looking suddenly awkward as he had been in the first days of their relationship.

Relieved, Roy gave his lover a slow smile, full of innuendo. His mouth brushed the rim of Edward's ear, warm breath doing utterly unfair things to Edward's nervous system, including raising goose-bumps on his arms, raising the hair on the back of his neck, accelerating his pulse and indecently tenting out the front of his trousers. "I'm afraid what I've got for you isn't appropriate for a family audience." A soft nip right under his ear and Edward began to sweat. "It involves vintage champagne, a Xingese silk scarf and a stick of fresh butter. Oh…and perhaps some restraints…just to be sure you don't run off on another trip before I'm done with you."

Ed's pupils dilated. "Did you say restraints-?"

"-and butter. Yes…I did. You were very…very…selfish to go off so long…I couldn't even speak to you and the letters took ages to reach me. I've been deprived, Ed, and when I get deprived…I get depraved."

"Is that a threat, old man?"

'It's a promise."

'I was hoping you'd say-ohhh, what the fuck is that?" Somebody was knocking on the door. Ed glanced at his watch. "Shit—it's not even quarter past—"

"Dad! Uncle Roy! The press is out here! You guys might want to pull yourselves together and come on out before they let themselves in!" Maes warned through the closed door.

"Fuhrer Mustang! Sir! If the vote is defeated, what will you do?"

"We'll address that as the final tally warrants-"

"—Sir! Are aware that there are already a number of public figures who are discussing the outcome—that may risk running against you in the new year?"

"That's commendable, and I wish them good luck and a fair fight on the campaign trail…"

"Fuhrer! Is your family rallying around you because you are concerned that your motion is going to be defeated?"

"My family has gathered around because the holidays are coming up, as well as my birthday, and we intend to spend time together-"

"—speaking of your birthday, Sir—were you aware of the new biography Kelley Winchell has written about you that's due out on your fiftieth birthday?"

Roy froze for an instant. He glanced at Edward. That's what's got him upset. As if the bleatings of a two-bit hack could do me any harm,

Then again—it was that same two-bit hack who wrote an expose about Grumman that eventually led to him resigning and appointing Roy to take his place.

Damn it.

He flashed the cameras his most winning smile. "I'm afraid I don't have a great deal of time to catch up on popular fiction. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must return for the vote…"

###

Roy was too exhausted to be jubilant. He wasn't even particularly interested in the splendid family supper Ramsay had put before them. Elycia and Gracia had joined them, and Havoc, Hawkeye, Breda and Dr. Knox rounded out the crowd around the table. Ed and Roy sat close together, with Maes and Nina on either side "to keep you two from flipping bread rolls at each other," Ed teased. When Ramsay offered strawberry tart or cream puffs with caramel sauce, Roy murmured a suggestion that Ed should opt out on the sweets. "We'll have dessert later." It was just loud enough and suggestive enough for Maes to hear it and he made a great show of leaping up and putting his hands over his sister's ears, declaring that Nina was obviously far too innocent to hear such randy talk. "That's not what she said in her letters!" Elycia blurted out then turned scarlet when her friend shot her a killing look. "Remind me to send you to a Letoist convent so you'll stay out of trouble," Ed mock-growled at his daughter, who broadly protested that she always behaved like a lady. "Yeah, pure as the driven slush, that one!" his son hooted, earning himself a rap on the top of the head from his father's knuckles.

Presently, Ed tapped his wine glass with his spoon and called for attention. Roy noted that odd, flustered expression was back again. He seemed to be struggling with something and Nina, sensing her father's mood, reached past Roy to lay her hand over his. "Daddy? What's the matter?"

Ed stared down at his plate. "Nothing the matter. It's just…kinda strange. Not used to…y'know…I don't…" He took in a deep breath. His eyes darted to Roy's. "Laugh at me and I'll fuckin' kill you."

Everyone went silent. Roy nodded slowly. "I give you my word." He glanced at Maes, who nodded. "None of us will. If you've got something to say, just say it."

"Okay…okay. I….wanted to say this in front of everybody, 'cause…y'know I don't talk. About. These….things. Y'know?" He gnawed his lower lip , struggling for the right words and it would have been downright comical if Ed hadn't clearly seemed so uncomfortable. "But…all these years you were just…right out there. I mean," his eyes darted across the table to Gracia, "when all that stuff came out about you and Hughes, you didn't deny anything that was truth. You didn't deny me or tell me to hide…or make excuses or y'know, find some woman to…y'know…cover for us. President of the fuckin' nation and you had the balls to dance with me in public, and stand there with Maes and Nina and say to the world 'hey, these are my kids and I'm proud of them'. Damn, that took guts. And now you're about to risk everything you've worked for—everything that matters to you-to keep a promise you made to me and to Hughes to make this country a democracy….to give us the rights we handed over to the Fuhrers in the last century…I just wanted to say…I'm …I'm in this with you. All the way. And…ohhh hell!: Roy's hand covered Edward's and gripped it tightly. "You told me you'd never mention it until I was ready. If I was ever ready. So…I just wanted to say….let's go ahead and get a couple of rings and make this official. Let's do this right. Okay?"

Roy didn't answer for a long time. When he finally looked at Edward there was a certainty in that steady dark gaze that didn't even require an answer—but answer he did. "I won't ask you if you're sure," Roy said slowly. "You wouldn't ask me if you weren't. I am curious why you wanted to ask me in front of everyone instead of when we were alone."

Ed shook his head. "I—I knew you'd believe me if I risked making an ass of myself." He glanced at Nina, then Maes. "And it affects their lives too, even if they are grown…mostly."

Roy placed his hands firmly on Ed's shoulders. While they never made a secret of their relationship they were seldom if ever demonstrative around anyone other than the kids, who had been invited into their hugs nearly all their lives. He was about to speak when Nina touched his arm gently. "Poppy…it's okay. It really is." On the other side, Maes gave his father's back a playful shove. ""Go'wan…if you can't kiss him in front of us, where else?"

A scarred hand slid from Ed's shoulder to curl around the back of his neck. 'I'd say its about damn time," Roy answered simply before pulling his long time lover close enough for a reasonably chaste but lingering kiss that held the promise of better things to come when they were in private. And when they embraced their children were cheering loudly and hugging them both, Nina's assumed sophistication evaporating as she broke down and wept, alternately kissing both of her fathers and even her brother's cheek as well. Elycia jumped out of her seat and joined them. "Uncle Roy," she whispered in his ear, "Daddy would be so happy…I just know it. He was always telling you to get married, wasn't he?"

Ed grinned up at Hughes' little girl, now all grown up and running Il Gattina on her own. "Yeah, but he was always telling Roy to get a wife!"

Roy didn't miss a beat. "You'll look lovely in white satin and a veil.'

"What the fuck?" Ed scowled and raised his fist. "You'd have to shoot me and stuff my dead ass in a dress."

"Tinker can be the flower girl," Nina teased.

"And I'll get the flowers right off your grave, Nitwit!" her brother growled back.

Alphonse Elric was always keen in his observation of others, a trait he developed when he had no body and all the sleepless time in the world to roll things over and over in his mind—a habit he'd never lost. The candles on the table were above eye level, and when Roy pulled Edward into his arms amid the clapping and cheering he saw a queer expression shadowing Riza Hawkeye's face for just a second before it was willed away. The light from the candles flickered on her cognac brown eyes in a way that suggested to him that she was struggling to keep them from brimming over. At the edge of her formal uniform collar Alphonse could see her pulse jump. Her hands moved mechanically as she applauded the couple, arms stiff, expression carefully schooled. He noticed Havoc tossing her a quick, appraising look as if to gage her mood. To the eye she was as cool as ever. Havoc, not the most perceptive man in the world, turned his attention back to Ed and Roy, cheering as loudly as the rest of the table.
This isn't good, he told himself. Not sure what I can do, if anything. Alphonse was a man who genuinely loved women—loved them, understood them and cared for them as people. Oh, he admired their beauty, without a doubt. It was their minds that fascinated him So many men took women for granted, objectified them or referred to them by their body parts—a piece of ass, a great pair of knockers, pussy, etc. Alphonse had broken quite a few noses over the years instructing other males to behave like gentlemen. He loved women and seeing Riza struggling inwardly to maintain her composure and feigning a happiness she clearly didn't feel troubled him deeply. When Maes pressed a glass of champagne into her hand, the fingers that clutched the stem were trembling almost imperceptively.

He would never forget seeing her fall apart in that battle with the homunculi when she believed Roy was dead. She was ready to die. She was actually ready to give up her life. And brother said she threatened suicide when Roy was out of his mind with grief, trying to kill Envy in the tunnels. If she really loved Roy, giving up and harming herself would be the last thing she'd want to do if she thought he was dead. No, she'd fight harder and never give up, keep living for his sake. This is so wrong…so wrong…

She was staring at Mustang—and Roy was only seeing Edward, a satisfied smirk on his face as Edward ranted and yelled over the suggestions that he wear a dress to their wedding. She never took her eyes off him….and Alphonse never took his eyes off her…

###

Caramel was exceptionally sticky and nearly impossible to get out of velvet, silk or pubic hair. Butter was exceptionally slick, but it melted and dripped. Being an optimist, Roy chose to see the advantages of both substances, and if they made a bit of a mess on the upholstery on the red velvet chaise in Room 5, well, that's what alchemy was for. They had used and abused that poor piece of Gilded Age furniture so hard and so often and so messily that it was a wonder its molecular structure hadn't begun to disintegrate from the countless times Roy had reshaped it or remade it just to keep the upholstery clean.

Aunt Chris ruled the restaurant from her armchair, greeting her guests as they arrived. Rebecca Catalina did the legwork now, and it was Rebecca that collected the annual rent on Roy and Ed's private love nest. In return, Room 5 was always spotless, the small ice box was well provisioned with fresh butter, whipped cream, honey, chocolate sauce, champagne and strawberries. In addition, the 'toy chest' was also stocked with oils and lotions and its more anatomically correct contents carefully locked away from the prying eyes of the cleaning staff. There had been one little blonde that Rebecca had been forced to dismiss when she caught the girl kneeling beside the toy chest, staring frankly at a set of priceless solid jade pleasure beads strung on Xingese silk. "That's not a necklace," Rebecca snapped. "Get Chris to write you a check. I don't want to see you around here again, understand?"

Tonight she had laid out plenty of fresh towels in the adjoining bathroom, topped off the shampoo bottles and unwrapped new bars of Roy's favorite sandalwood soap. The butter was in its gilded crock, and she'd placed certain specified items on a covered serving tray from Spenser's Adult Emporium where Mustang had a private charge account. The Fuhrer was a generous tipper—Rebecca was quite accustomed to the well-stuffed envelopes he left for her after every night of debauchery he and Edward spent in their hideaway.

"They're on their way," Chris told her gruffly. "They just got engaged, Roy says. Send them some strawberry cheesecake."

"On the house?"

"Hell no! I'm not running a charity soup kitchen around here!"

###

"Should I carry you over the threshold?"

Ed punched him hard in the shoulder. "Start that crap with me and I'll marry you just so I can divorce you and sue your ass for mental cruelty." He sniffed and then grinned. Something smelled warm and brown-sugary and he gave his lover a wicked grin. "Is that what I think I smell?"

A sly smile answered him back. "Tonight's menu features 'Salted Caramel Surprise'.

"HUH?"

Before Edward could inquire further a pair of handcuffs were snapped on both of his wrists and they were quickly and alchemically fused to the ornate iron wall hook that previously held a hanging basket of flowers. Roy lifted the cover off the silver service tray, revealing a couple of long silk scarves and a small warming dish filled with what appeared to be caramel dipping sauce. One of the scarves was put over his eyes after several breathless kisses. Ed had no idea where the second one was going, but Roy had just grabbed hold of his waistcoat and shirtfront and casually ripped them open, buttons pinging off the walls.

Something very warm and rich-smelling was brushed over his lips and then sensuously licked off.

Ed groaned. His fiancée chuckled. "Surprise…"

….TO BE CONTINUED…..