OUR LIVES, CHAPTER 17: SEASONS BEATINGS

By The Binary Alchemist 2012

Jean Havoc grimaced as he yanked up his pants. "Be thankful I didn't have to treat you for gunshot wounds," was all Dr. Knox had to say, laying the syringe aside. "Now wrap it up," he jerked his thumb towards Havoc's crotch, "and stay out of trouble."

That had been a month ago. His ass and his dick had stopped hurting. Jean was not quite as sure about the rest of his anatomy, his heart in particular.

Shoot it off? That would have hurt a lot less than coming home to a closet full of empty hangers and plenty of vacant space in their his n' hers gun cabinet. Not to mention that she had not said one word to him outside of the call of duty since he got back from Resembool. Hell, even Black Hayate IV had taken to growling at him, and from the smell of it had taken a whiz on his briefcase. "I feel lower than tits on a chicken," he confessed to his superior just before Solstice.

Mustang didn't even glance up from his paperwork. "Really."

"I mean, if I could just get her to listen to me."

"Huh. Ever listen to her?"

"Funny. That's what Ruby says."

The President finally looked up at him. "Use your head, Havoc," Mustang growled, "and I don't mean the one inside your shorts. You lied to her. You screwed around. And now you're complaining she won't talk to you? Huh! You got off lucky. "

"Well…yeah…." Havoc looked desperate. "But still, she—"

"Oh…so it's the Colonel's fault?" He threw down his pen in disgust. "That's right…I forgot. She made you sleep with that actress. Repeatedly. You were helpless." He stood up and ruffled his hair in irritation. "Wrong, Havoc. Wrong. You walked into this mess with both eyes wide open. You're not a fool. You knew what you were doing. Either fix it or live with the consequences."

"Haven't you ever cheated on Ed?" Havoc blurted out, instantly regretting it.

A corner of Roy's mouth lifted up. "I'm not blind. Neither is Ed. And if I should notice someone I ask myself if a meaningless tryst when my husband is away worth the loss of our relationship? The answer is always 'no'."

"You think Ed wouldn't forgive you if you slipped?"

Mustang adjusted his cap. "I'd never forgive myself."

###

There was nothing like having one's sling back pumps full of dirty slush to put a lady in a foul mood. Well, foul-er mood, made even nastier by the appearance of "Buckety-Buckety The Big Brown Bear Has Tea With Wibbles The Wolf" on the best-sellers list all over Amestris. The fat royalties check that had just been deposited in her bank account did not take the sting out of Kelley Winchell's humiliation. She still had no idea how in the hell that loathsome first book of hers ever crawled out of the back filing cabinets at, Dickon and Howe and Sons but somehow Mustang must have had something to do with it. And revenge, she vowed, might be served cold but by damn it would be a sumptuous feast and she hoped the President would choke on it.

He was waiting for her at Barnes and Walden, waving her over to the coffee bar with a genial smile. She gritted her teeth behind her smile. Bastard. Dealing with Frank Archer made her skin crawl. He might wear finely tailored suits and have a 500 cenz polish on his shoes, he was still a parasite. She, at least, had scruples, goddamn it. Archer, she believed, would blow a chimera if he thought it would give him information—and that was the point, wasn't it?

Archer knows about chimeras. He knows what I know about Mustang, about the eclipse and the battle in Central that day. And, as they used to say in the old days, 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend'—at least for the moment.

She allowed him to bring her a cup of coffee—black, two pink packets of Skinny N' Sweet—and she sat a safe distance so his manly cologne didn't overwhelm her. "You said this was urgent?"

"I said it's essential." That smile made her shudder in all the wrong ways. She trusted Frank Archer about as far as she could comfortably fling a piano. "Some galleys for my upcoming book. You might find them entertaining."

A leather portfolio was shoved across the table. "Let me guess," Winchell simpered. "Another one of your dreadfully entertaining picture books? Something like "Thrones Of The Sun King: Historic Bathrooms of Aerugo'? Or—oh, this is a good one—'I Love Ewe: Merry Lives Of The Eastern Sheep Herders'. My, my, that will be good for simply minutes of sparkling conversation the next time they interview you on Cover To Cover. " She flipped the folio open. "Really, Frank, I don't know how you can face yourself in the mirror without a shot of gin after publishing such dreary—FUCKING ISHBALLA ON ICE SKATES!"

She flung the folio from her as if it had bitten her. Archer calmly handed it back. She stared at him in horror. "This…sweet Leto…where did you get those pictures?"

"Holiday snaps from a friend with mutual interests."

"I think I may be ill." Under the dusting of powder and rouge Kelley Winchell had paled noticeably.

"Get off your high-horse, Kel." Archer's smile was razor thin and nearly as dangerous. "You're so proud of your tawdry little sex scandals and catching the rich and powerful in the middle of their bedroom follies. The Johnny Lunchbuckets and Jane Dishpans of Amestris just love the scandals and they spend a packet on your books—mainly because they're written in words with less than three syllables. Throwing popcorn to zoo animals. That's you're career. Now," he lifted a finger to quell her outraged snarl, "do you want to keep hiding under beds all your life? Or," he pressed the folio back into her hands," Do you want to help us change the country? Maybe you'd rather write children's books?"

Kelley Winchell didn't answer. She opened the folio again, a lace-trimmed handkerchief pressed firmly to her mouth, her eyes darting away from the photographs now and again. Abruptly she rose and dashed into the ladies room where she remained for quite a long time.

When she returned she reeked of breath mints and was slightly sweaty. She offered a cold, clammy hand out to Frank Archer, who shook it firmly. "Let's get started."

###

"Happy Solstice!"

Mrs. Bradley looked up into that open, kindly face and was reminded yet again how much young Maes favored his father, although the younger Elric was already considerably taller and more broad-shouldered and tended to wear his blond mane in a flyaway tumble that gave him a leonine look that suited his outgoing nature. The young man carried an enormous armload of flowers and a blue and gold bakery box that smelled wonderfully of ginger and spices. A glance at the mantle clock made the old woman smile; visitors were inevitable from 1:00 to 2:00pm, when Collins was taking the daily hour of personal time that Mrs. Bradley insisted on. Nearly every afternoon someone came to sit with Collins on his lunch hour—Madame Christmas, Miss Nina, Mr. Sebastian came calling, but more often it was young Maes or Elycia Hughes, who tended blushed and colored prettily when she called for Collins, glancing up at the good-looking young butler with shining eyes. She also noted that when Maes Elric stopped by, Collins seemed especially glad to see him, and the two would disappear into the conservatory, returning in unusually good spirits.

The visitors were always solicitous towards her health and nearly always brought some treat or gift for Selim. Miss Nina would stop at the library to drop off the picture books and primers that Selim loved to read to his mother, while Ms. Hughes' generosity arrived as cunningly decorated cookies and tea cakes from her bakery. Master Maes made toys and puzzles in his workshop that were simple enough for her son's fragile mind and gave Selim hours of enjoyment. The fact that her boy was older than both of the Elric children was politely ignored. Selim was treated with great kindness by Collins' friends and Mrs. Bradley was grateful indeed.

Selim eagerly tore open his surprise, his dark eyes growing wide when he saw the ginger house, the tin of candies and the parchment tubes filled with colored frosting with little metal tips to pipe out different designs. "See, Selim? You can decorate your ginger house any way you like and you and your mom can eat it on New Year's. Sound like fun to you?"

Selim was so excited he nearly forgot to say thank you. Mrs. Bradley fretted over the want of manners but Maes laughed and waved it off before the maid escorted him to the conservatory, a third parcel tucked under his arm.

"Hey!

Deep blue eyes glanced up from the daily paper. "You didn't go to Resembool?"

"Not without a court order. I told her I had guests coming to Central for Solstice." A parcel was thrust into Davy's hands. "Happy Solstice, and let's leave my mother out of this, or you will ruin a perfectly splendid erection I've been saving for you."

"What? I thought Petrovna Illyich Lobachevsky wasn't coming up for the holidays." It was no secret that the grand master of Stoltovgrad University had been eyeing Maes Elric as fine son-in-law material for years, and Edward certainly had no objections. Petrovna was smart, level-headed, pleasantly cynical and her research in water alchemy set the standard in the field. Maes had known Peta much of his life and enjoyed her company when visiting in Drachma but had no plans to settle down with her or any other man or woman he was seeing.

"I told Mom she was. It was an easy out. Peta and I exchanged Solstice cards, but that's it. I told her I would use her as an excuse not to be forced back to the sticks. She found it amusing and said she'd used me as an excuse to her father not to be dragged down to the dacha for Winter Carnival. Turn and turn about, equivalent exchange and all that shit."

Maes seemed oblivious to the relieved look on Davy Collins' face. "Well…I'm glad you've come."

"And I'll be glad when I've come too…once we get someplace secluded. Now hurry up and open it before I start bleeding from my ears, you idiot!"

"What in the…wow…did you make this yourself?" It was his very own radio, including a two-way broadcasting mode and small enough to move about the house. The design was streamlined and elegant, with a real leather bound case and tasteful brass trim. He turned the power knob and it hummed briefly before the announcer of Radio Capital struck the one o'clock chimes just before the news segment following Midday Amestris. The tone was rich and clear and Davy Collins was clearly delighted. "You've outdone yourself. It's wonderful."

"And, " Maes added with a wink, "the music provides cover for other sounds that are no business of anyone else." He turned the dial to the Amestris Broadcasting Company's Lunch Time Requests, and as Al Parsons and His West City Wanderers struck up a lively rendition of "One O'clock Jump" Maes led his best friend behind the potted plants and the pair spent the better part of the lunch hour whetting one another's appetites, making haste to make certain that Collins was back in his livery and neat as a pin before assuming his duties for the remainder of the day.

Maes could hear the sobbing down the corridor as Collins escorted his guest to the front door. It was an unnerving sound—the sound of a grown man choking out his tears as if his whole world had come crashing down around his head. "What the f—is that Selim?"

Collins, on duty once more, nodded slightly. "Indeed. Master Selim has…moments. If you will excuse me, I'll have the maid show you to-Maes, wait!"

"I broke it…I broke it. I'm sorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry." Even the toughest of hearts would have felt a twinge of compassion for the dark haired man crumpled miserably on the kitchen floor, weeping over his broken ginger house. Mrs. Bradley was kneeling on the floor, half hugging her son, assuring him that Maes wouldn't be mad, and that she would take him to Il Gattina's this very afternoon and buy him a brand new ginger house and some Kooky Kat cakes too.

Already tender-hearted by nature, Maes felt awful. Before Collins could stop him, the young alchemist crouched down beside Selim and patted him comfortingly on the shoulder. "Hey, buddy! It's okay…I'm not mad at all…it was just an accident and I can fix it for you in a jiffy." Snatching up a tube of icing, Maes squeezed a blob on his finger and quickly smeared an array in the middle of the mess. "Now watch this!"

Smiling and confident, Maes clapped his hands. A warm, golden light shimmered between his fingers as his hands touched the rim of the array.

Selim shrieked.

When the flash and light subsided, the ginger house was whole but Selim Bradley was not.

Collins was dragging Maes down the hall by the collar and shoving him out the front door as an ear-splitting keen tore through the air, followed by a low, strangled cry that grew louder and shriller with each gasp of breath: "DARK!DARK!DARK!DARK!DARK!DARKDARKDARKDARKDARK!"

"Get out of here, Maes!" Davy Collins snapped at his lover.

"But," Maes was struggling to his feet, trying to press past his best friend and back into the house. "What is it? All I did was-"

"You don't understand…you don't understand anything! GET OUT OF HERE!" Collins shoved Maes in the chest, and the younger man sprawled painfully on his back on the steps as the front door slammed and locked.

###

There was a bright flash, and the front door to President Mustang's mansion was kicked to splinters. That in itself was an impressive feat. Even more impressive was the fact that the palace guards didn't lift a finger to defend the perimeter. They didn't dare.

A braded head poked through the wreckage. "Maes? Nina? Nana's home!"

At the slap-slap-slap of bathroom slippers on the inlaid parquet wooden floors the downstairs maids dove into the wine cellar for safety. The silverman and the stable boy were right behind them, followed by Chef Ramsay. "Bloody hell, we're doomed," he muttered, a sauce pan over his head in lieu of a helmet. "She'll feckin' KILL us all!"

Ed's head popped over the railing. "Shit!"

Roy was right behind him. "So much for the Season of Peace."

Ed ducked behind Roy. "She didn't knock. Not a good sign."

"Have you done anything lately to make her angry?"

Ed did a swift mental inventory. He sighed with relief. "Not since Granny's funeral. Not that I know of."

Roy stepped neatly aside, leaving Ed exposed. "Then you don't have any thing to worry about, except repairing the front door. After all," he smirked, "she's your teacher."

Manning up to the situation, Ed straightened up, drew a deep breath land leaned over the banister. "I'm up here, Teacher. We didn't know you were coming for Solstice."

Izumi stepped into the foyer and beamed up at him. "Edward! Happy Solstice!" She waived a cheery greeting to the President. "Roy! How are you?"

"Always good to see you, " Roy answered drolly. "If we'd known you were on the way we'd have left the door open. Hope you didn't bruise anything kicking it down, did you?"

Izumi smiled broadly, wiggling her toes. "I'm just fine, Roy!" she called back. "Where's Nina?"

"She's out with Ruby," Ed told his sensei. "There's a big package from Winry and Pitt they're picking up and then they were getting a late lunch with Rebecca and Aunt Chris since they're working over Solstice."

Izumi nodded. Her smile evaporated. "Good. Now…where… is… The Boy?"

Ed paled. Roy's strong hand closed over his shoulder. "You're not the one in trouble," his lover whispered, "this time."

They didn't have time to wait. A pale and badly shaken Maes stumbled though the front door ten minutes later. He was so disturbed and upset over the incident with Selim Bradley that he didn't even notice that his foster grandmother was lying in wait for him behind the potted plans in the foyer. He put one foot on the bottom step before she caught him by the collar, already half torn by his best friend. "Maes…Urey…Elric…" Every syllable was double dipped in implied threats of bodily injury.

Roy glanced at Ed. "Should we save him?"

"If we do, who's gonna save us?" Ed drew back. "As his grandmother she'd never lay a hand on him. As his sensei…well, all bets are off." The memories of the afternoon Izumi found out that the Elric boys had attempted human transmutation made Ed flinch. "As his teacher, she has the right to correct him. He gave her that right when he formally became her apprentice years ago."

Roy shook his head. Master Hawkeye was more inclined to discipline students with his lacerating tongue, hard labor and reduced rations. He'd never actually raised a hand to Roy—mainly because Roy made damn sure the crazy old man had never been given cause to do so. "We stay out of it, I take it?"

"Uhhh….yeah. Guess so."

Izumi glared over at Roy and Edward. "If you'll excuse us, my idiot pupil and I are going to have a talk." She gave a tremendous yank and began to drag her young pupil backwards down the steps outside, bumping on his backside down every step. "A long...BADUMP!…hard…BADUMP!…talk…BADUMP! about…BADUMP!…good…BADUMP!.."

"OWWW!SHIT! NANA!-I mean, SENSEI! "

"—MANNERS!"

Ed and Roy stepped cautiously around the splintered remains of their front door and watched as Izumi Curtis continued to bodily drag their son across the lawn towards the old potting shed, his boot heels leaving deep marks in the thin blanket of snow that had fallen that afternoon.

Roy shook his head and draped his arm over his lover's shoulder. "Like father like son…"

###

She had reached the stage that Havoc—damn the man!—used to refer to as 'butt-whupped'. It irritated her that she was this fatigued. It irritated her even more that Havoc wouldn't leave her the hell alone. She'd packed up, walked out and never looked back. He was simply Major Havoc now, nothing more than her subordinate—in more ways than one, to her thinking.

The bakery section of the recently expanded Il Gattina was packed this afternoon. Solstice cakes, mince pies, fancy cookies and box after box of hand-dipped chocolates. Riza took refuge in a quiet corner of the café with a hot cup of ginger spice tea. She had waved away the waitress who offered her a slice of rich layer cake or the 'mile high meringue' that was the tea-time special. Elycia had stopped by Riza's table and brought her a cinnamon scone, hot from the oven and sat down to join her favorite 'Aunt Ree' for a few moments. "You sure you're feeling all right?" Elycia asked gently, not wanting to pry but concerned that Riza seemed pale and tired.

"Just fine, thank you. I'm not really hungry, but—"

"I'll just wrap it up and you can have it for breakfast—it's on the house," Elycia told her. "And I've fixed you up a basket to take home for your Solstice breakfast. I know you and J—ah…I know you love my coffee cake ring."

You and Jean….You and Jean…How long before mutual friends stopped binding their names together? "That's so kind of you. Thank you." Her cognac eyes fell to the tabletop. "I must be coming down with a cold. I'm off duty for the next 48 hours so I'll get some rest and turn in early."

Mercifully, Elycia had left her to tend to her other customers and she could focus on the afternoon edition of The Central Times. There was a blurb about Donal Samuelson accusing Roy Mustang of being soft on national security and a 'return to traditional values' being a cornerstone of the Samuelson platform. Annoyed, she flipped the page and was further irritated by an interview with Kelley Winchell about the release of her book about Roy Mustang, Fire and Vice. "It actually proved fortuitous that the release was delayed due, I am certain, to the mismanagement of my former publishers. I have signed a new contract with—" Riza didn't bother to read another word. She scanned the movie listing; perhaps she'd take in a show tomorrow, since she and…

"Yoo-hoo!"

That voice. Baby soft. A voice like pink candy floss coming from pinkly rouged lips. A voice Riza Hawkeye never wanted to hear again if she could help it. She glanced over the edge of her paper and found herself staring into a wide pair of baby-blue eyes fringed with thickly mascara'ed lashes. "Don't be mad," the vision cooed. "Jean and I –we both got duped by that Carlotta. We didn't know she had the…you know. "

Hawkeye stared at the Ice Cream Blonde. "Carlotta?"

"Yeah…she came over to see me when Jean was checking in and had this bottle of the best champagne….and…you know how it gets sometimes, right?"

Riza Hawkeye gave the starlet a frosty glance. "No. I don't."

The Ice Cream Blonde leaned in and whispered, "She took advantage of us. Me and Jean, y'know."

"She didn't."

"I swear on my life. Cross my heart and hope to die."

"We're not that lucky." Neatly folding the paper and laying it to one side, Riza motioned for the waitress. "Check please?"

"You're not mad, are you?" Gladys Turlough seemed genuinely concerned. "I mean, Jean's all down in the dumps and cryin' in his beer because you won't come home."

"That is not my concern."

"Oh, but he's a grand fellow, that country boy. Just grand."

"Fine. You're welcome to him."

The platinum blonde's pretty forehead began to pucker in consternation. "You're breaking his heart—"

"He's not my concern. You and…Carlotta…are welcome to him. Have fun." Turning smartly, Hawkeye shook off her unwanted companion and marched up to the café register/ "One cup of tea." She handed over a twenty cenz coin, and when the girl behind the counter rang her up Riza waved away the change. She just wanted to get the hell out of Il Gattina and as far away from this perfumed hussy as she could.

Gladys Turlough wasn't through. "Listen to me! You are not walking away from this. Jean is my friend and you've hurt him. I want you to talk to him." Manicured fingers curled around Riza's wrist and tugged.

"Take your hand off me," Hawkeye warned.

"No! That uniform don't scare me, Miss High And Mighty Hawkeye! What are you going to do—shoot me?"

"You're not worth the bullets."

Nearly as quickly as Riza Hawkeye would have drawn and fired in the heat of battle, a Mile High Meringue Pie™, golden brown and light as a cloud on top, sinfully creamy in the middle and made with the finest dark rum and imported chocolate, vanished from the glass top counter and smashed into Gladys Turlough's face with a soul-satisfying SPLATTT!

A 100 cenz note was slapped down beside the register. "Sorry about the mess."

As she marched out into the cold a flailing fury with meringue in her hair screamed after her. "YOU BITCH!"

Riza Hawkeye paused at the door. "That's Colonel Bitch to you, Miss Turlough. Happy Solstice."

….TO BE CONTINUED….