OUR LIVES, CHAPTER 38: RIZA'S CHOICE

By The Binary Alchemist, 2014

"WHAT?"

Maes Elric leaned against the doorjamb to Ed's office. "I said, 'Pops is whacking off with a bottle of champagne'." He grinned as his father's chin dropped about a meter. "Figured you might wanna know about that." He stifled a chuckle. "Before the press does. Or Winchell. Whatever."

Ed nearly knocked the young man backwards as he shot through the door, heading for the garden. "Sonovabitch!" he growled. "Has he lost his fuckin' mind?" Roy had lost it once before under extreme duress…but that had been over Hughes. All the President had on his plate tonight was the wedding reception for Riza and Jean and—

And what? Does he expect her to call him out at her own party and give him hell for making an ass of her, calling her bluff, offering to sleep with her to help her get over him?

"Asshole!" Ed considered Roy's blunder aloud as he swung down the stairs. "If I were Hawkeye, I'd want to beat the crap out of him in public, too…"

###

True, Roy and Ed had personally met the newlyweds this morning at the aerodrome and Roy's apologies to her had been heartfelt and sincere-well, as sincere as you could expect from a master manipulator like Mustang. He had driven them to the Grand Central Hotel where the beautifully appointed Bridal Suite awaited them, along with iced champagne, flowers, hand-dipped strawberry truffles and round-the-clock room service for the weekend of their stay.

Havoc had grinned around his cigarette. "You're not doing this as a tax write-off, are you, Chief?" He poured his bride a tall glass of bubbly. "Pretty damn spiffy."

As for the bride herself…she was….different. For the first time in all the many years that Edward Elric had known Riza Hawkeye, her eyes did not follow Roy Mustang's every move. No, those cognac eyes were clear and bright and when they met the keen blue eyes of Jean Havoc Ed saw the Colonel's expression soften with what genuinely appeared to be affection and contentment.

"You're a real dick sometimes," Ed told his husband as they drove back to Rose Hill. "You came off luckier than you deserve. I think they're gonna be happy at last."

"Of course I'm a dick sometimes," Roy answered smoothly, admiring himself briefly in the rear view mirror. "A nice guy would have kept his mouth shut and kept on letting her hurt herself and she'd have let the better man get away while mooning over the guy who's a dick. Am I right?"

Roy had been right, of course, and for much of the early afternoon Jean and Riza had received friends in their suite, retiring around 3pm to rest up and get ready for the reception at six. Ed turned his thoughts away with a shudder from any other type of 'resting up' the couple might engage in. Somehow the thought of Hawkeye having sex made him feel a little squeamish, rather like confronting the truth that his parents had actually, at some point, taken off their clothing and gotten sweaty together to make him and Alphonse. He imagined that Maes and Nina probably felt the same way about their own begetting, and while neither kid had ever walked in on Ed and Roy defiling any office furniture, the sly humor in his son's tone as he announced that his stepfather was 'whacking off' in the garden meant that the little brat was not so oblivious to their sexual gymnastics as Ed might have hoped….

###

"Take a memo."

Ed glared at Collins, elegant in his new scarlet Hohenheim Institute waistcoat. The young butler had been called back to Rose Hill by Roy and promoted to Ed's new personal assistant and secretary, replacing Ed's long time nemesis, Ruby. After the events of their wedding day, Roy had wanted to reward the young man for his bravery and cool head in a crisis, and when approached, Ruby willingly swapped jobs with Collins, expressing no hesitation whatsoever.

Collins drew a pen and pad from inside his jacket. "Sir?"

"Remind me to kill my kid."

Collins suppressed a droll smile. "Preferred method, Sir?"

Ed shot an annoyed glance towards his firstborn who was, unfortunately, too big to spank. "Something humiliating. I'll give it some thought later."

"Very good, Professor."

"You wanna fill me in on what the hell is going on?"

"Sabrage."

"Huh?"

Sebastian offered the President a white linen serviette and a clean pair of gloves. "Sabrage," the Major Domo intoned. "The Aerogoan custom of opening a bottle of champagne with one's saber or other edged weapon. An elegant practice that requires knowledge, skill, good aim-"

"-and," Maes gestured at the puddle of spilled wine and broken glass at Roy's feet, "lots of practice. Hell, Pops, why didn't you try whacking off before the day of the reception?"

Ed folded his arms and leaned against the old cherry tree that had flowered spectacularly at their wedding less than a fortnight ago. Thanks to whatever the hell the Tringham brothers had done with their green alchemy, the whole parkland and estate was miraculously blooming again. "This was what you meant by 'whacking off with champagne, son?" He shook his head. "As your sister would say, I'm underwhelmed."

"Shut up, all of you. I'm trying to concentrate." Roy's dark brows knitted together and sweat beaded up on his forehead. Several bandages adorned his fingers as he wriggled them into a pair of his Pyrotex gloves. "Again, Sebastian."

From a bucket of ice on the children's old picnic table, Sebastian withdrew another icy bottle. "Yes sir. Now," he toweled the glass efficiently and passed the bottle to his master, "Let us review the steps. Step one—remove the foil completely."

"Check."

"Step two—once you are in position, the wire cage over the cork can be safely removed. Remember, the pressure inside a bottle of champagne is roughly-"

"—ninety pounds of pressure per square inch. I know—"

"Ninety pounds?" Maes whistled. "Shit! That's a bomb waiting to go off—"

"-and we all know what an expert you are about things blowing up, right, son?" Ed couldn't resist a jab at his boy.

"I said shut up!" Roy growled ominously between clenched teeth. "You're ruining my concentration—"

"—don't want to be distracted when you're whacking off," Ed offered. "You might drop your saber."

Lightning fast, a small but well-aimed bolt of orange fire singed the branch above Ed's head. Roy's glare darted to his stepson. "You want some too?"

Maes snapped to a salute. "Carry on, Pops!"

Roy looked so damned serious that Ed, like his son, was beginning to see the humor of the situation. It was so like Roy to put on a grand, dramatic display, showing off at the reception. He's an asshole sometimes, Ed admitted to himself, but he's MY asshole. I think I'll keep him for now. "Get on with it, Roy!"

"Very good, Excellency. You've got the seam facing upward, as it should be. Now then, you want to take the bottle in your left hand and thrust your thumb firmly into the punt in the bottom-"

"Punt?" Maes was guffawing now. "What the hell?"

"Geeze, what kind of date are you, Mustang? Shoving your thumb up someone's punt and you don't you even spring for dinner and a movie?" Ed cackled. "Not even a goddamn kiss? Or lube?"

At his elbow, Ed heard an undignified snort from Collins, who was taking great pains to avoid looking at Maes just now.

Roy made an attempt to salvage his dignity, his face a mask of feigned serenity as his husband and stepson were whooping with glee. "Now the sword."

"Now the sword," the Major Domo agreed. "Blade firm to the seam, canted to about a forty-five degree angle. Yes, that looks good, sir. Now, this time, don't pause. You want to make a swift, clean, decisive stroke to strike the annulus-"

Father and son lost it completely. "The what?!" Collins discretely turned his back until he could get control of his emotions, failing miserably.

"—carrying through without stopping. With a proper stroke, the annulus should separate and discharge—"

Maes and Collins were now holding one another up and Ed had snot running out of his nose and tears running down his cheeks. Resolutely heterosexual—as far as anybody knew—Sebastian maintained his composure, but by this point, even Roy was chuckling in spite of his irritation. "All right!" he barked like a drill sergeant, "All of you be quiet. I don't want to lose a finger."

"Right. Gotta keep it shoved in the punt or your saber will never get the annulus off!" Maes had to slap his father on the back to make sure Ed kept breathing.

Firming his resolve, Roy swung the blade in a clean stroke. There was a loud 'pop!' and the glass ring of the bottle's mouth—the annulus—flew cleanly about a half dozen yards, landing neatly in the herb garden. The cork was perfect and intact.

"Well done, Your Excellency. I believe you have it now. You should acquit yourself admirably when you serve the toast to the bride and groom." Sebastian looked pleased.

"J-just….just…be careful where you aim that thing," Ed gasped from the ground, wiping his eyes and nose. "Don't want to go shooting your annulus all over. You might hit the wedding cake…"

"Edward." Roy stood over his giggling spouse and poured an icy draft of champagne over Ed's head. "Kiss my annulus."

###

"What the-wow, will you look at that?"

Precisely at six o'clock, the horse drawn carriage pulled up at Grand Central Hotel. The carriage had been a surprise, but since the warm spring evening was clear and the moon was up neither Mr. nor Mrs. Jean Havoc had any objection, especially with a grinning Maes Elric manning the reins. He'd hugged them both enthusiastically and presented Riza with a fragrant bouquet of snowy white roses and pink exotic lilies with a kiss on the cheek for his much loved 'Aunt Ree'. As they trotted through the fading light the young man could barely contain his excitement. "We're so happy for you," he had chattered, "and Pops and Dad and everybody have had a blast getting this together."

"So it's 'Pops' instead of 'Uncle Roy' now?" Jean asked.

The long blond pony tail in front of them nodded. "Yeah. It's legal. Mom's not completely thrilled but Uncle Pitt said this is because Pops wants to keep everything legit and make sure his estate and alchemy stuff and all go to me and Nina if anything happens to him or Dad. Not like we give a shi—uh-damn. But it makes Pops feel better."

Jean and Riza exchanged knowing glances. That bullet that had caught Roy shallowly in the chest at his wedding had been a near thing. If it hadn't struck Nina's arm first, slowing its speed and altering its trajectory, it might have caught Roy straight in the heart. No wonder their commanding officer was wasting no time to make sure his stepchildren would be provided for—and protected—in the event of another threat.

Riza shook her head. This was not a time to think about the events of that day, and as if he'd read her mind, Jean's strong arm slipped around her shoulders, pulling her close. "You look fantastic!" he whispered.

"Flatterer," she observed dryly. "You'd say that if I was hosing out the kennels."

"Wouldn't be any less true," her husband assured her proudly.

"Hssst! Did Roy have to invite that Winchell woman?" Alphonse fretted as he straightened his apron. It had been Maes idea that Roy and the Elrics would dress up as waiters and serve the couple, and while Al was enjoying himself he was working himself into a bit of a frenzy attending the Bride's Table while Roy lopped the tops of bottle after bottle of chilled champagne and did his duty as host, making sure everyone was well fed, well watered and well entertained.

Nina had spotted Kelly Winchell lurking around in the corners, scribbling notes, occasionally stuffing canapés into her purse. "What—she doesn't get enough to eat at home?"

Prince Sheng looked unperturbed. "Best place for an enemy is under your nose where you can see , her."

"I see Roy's point but I don't have to like it." Al sighed. With the trial only days away, Roy was all but keeping Kelly Winchell under house arrest, not wanting to let her stray far enough from him or his aides to stir up any more trouble. Winchell, it was noted, was putting on the feedbag at several receptions, including Roy and Ed's homecoming party. She was, he also noted, putting on a few pounds in the bargain.

"I offered to prepare a bento of our best canapes for her enjoyment," Prince Sheng sighed, inspecting a tray of grilled samon in pastry with fresh dill before sending it out to the buffet. "A Nihonese hospitality custom from my mother's people." He glanced at Nina, who nodded in agreement. "She…declined."

"Her actual words were, 'if I want Xink food take out, I'll call Wong Foo on Eighth Avenue. Huh choo-shung tza-jiao duh tzang-huo!" Nina shook her head in disgust. "Chr ni-duh!"*

Alphonse, whose familiarity with Xingese language, both elegant and profane, dropped a full tray of Drachman caviar, which splattered all over his well polished shoes. His mouth hung open in fascinated horror. Hearing such…colorful… invective coming from the lips of his precious niece was like dropping a fresh turd into a jade vase.

Sheng Yao knelt and chalked a quick array around the mess. He clapped his hands and the hideously expensive sturgeon roe was back in the antique crystal dish Tsar Dimitri had shipped it in as his gift to the couple. "She didn't learn that from me," he whispered in apology. "Her accent, however, will benefit with time and practice."

"Let's see if it improves when her dad puts soap in her mouth."

Even if it all falls down after the trial…we have this.

The only 'magic' Riza Hawkeye-Havoc had ever known was the blood-soaked legacy of her father's flame alchemy, the secrets of which had been driven by needle and ink into her very flesh. Alchemy was a terrible tool of war at worst, a healing miracle at best. She never wanted any part of it, and yet for most of her life had yearned for the affection of an elegant man who became a killer because of that arcane art.

She hadn't known there were other forms of magic until the late spring snow fell in Stoltovgrad and she and Jean had walked there, hand in hand, without speaking.

Roy had hurt her. Even if it had all been manipulation—especially if it had been manipulation—his words had cut deep and drawn blood. Not the words about herself—the words about Jean. She hadn't known how much she still loved him until Roy had made those cool observations about Jean getting older and less dependable.

Smacking that pale, smooth face had felt better than putting a bullet in a bullseye on the rifle range. She'd clobbered him with a force and an anger she hadn't dared acknowledge before. She was furious. Furious at Roy Mustang—and furious at herself for a lifetime of self-deception.

And as they walked in the snow and he held her hand, she was taken aback to recognize how her head seemed a little clearer away from Mustang's charisma. She was surprised at how quickly she started smiling again in Jean's company. I always know where I stand with you…you always kept me first in your heart, always. Why didn't I keep you first in mine? All those years…you kept waiting for me to turn around and truly see how good you are, even when we were living in the same house, sleeping in the same bed. And now…

It was the puppies that made up her mind. Prince Georg, a rambunctious seven year old, had grabbed Havoc's hand and practically dragged him to the kennels to see the Tsar's new litter of Drachman wolfhound puppies. Havoc had scooped the boy up, swinging him onto his broad shoulders, and carried him out to the fence.

Moments later, he was flat on his back in the snow, laughing merrily as a half dozen puppies and one laughing seven year old pounced on him, throwing handfuls of snow in the air for the sheer exuberance of it.

The sound of Jean Havoc's laughter melted the ice she'd felt inside for a lifetime. She knelt down in the snow beside him and he pulled her down, kissing her, tickling her and handed her a puppy. Prince Georg giggled. "Are you going to get married, Uncle Jean?"

Their eyes met. "Yes, he is," said Riza Hawkeye.

And yes, they did.

###

Peta Lobachevsky found Maes leaning against the doorway, eyes on the ballroom that was slowly beginning to empty. Those friends and family members who had volunteered to help make the evening success began discreetly tidying up. There was a strange, almost wistful look on the young alchemist's face.

"My friend…you are all right?" Peta asked softly in Drachman. She had been a friend to Maes Elric since childhood and knew him so well…this was a mood she did not recognize.

Her keen green eyes followed his gaze to where his father and stepfather were dancing slowly together along with the other couples on the ballroom floor. She couldn't see the President's face but Professor Elric's eyes were closed, his face relaxed and smiling as they moved together. "They look well," she nodded in approval. "Uncle Edward—never have I seen him this…content? Is that the right word?"

"Da." A faint rumble of a tea cart behind them made the pair step aside as Collins ferried a Drachman tsamovar and a silver Cretan coffee urn into the party, along with bite sized pastries for anyone with an odd corner of the tummy that was not yet filled.

The girl noticed how Maes' eyes followed the older man, and how the wistfulness seemed to deepen into something very close to sadness.

She touched his arm gently. "There is nothing you can't tell me if it will ease your heart, tovarich."

He watched David Collins in silence. At long last, he sighed heavily. "I could…be…like them. I…really could." He bit his lower lip pensively. "Like Dad and Pops. I could be happy like that."

Peta smiled up at him. "Then," she told him gently, "go be happy."

"It's…not so easy, Pets. I mean…you know my family…" His voice trailed off and he shook his head.

"I know they love you. They want you to be happy, da?" Her face lit up. "Your sister—she would want this too. All of us do."

He patted her hand. "I know, Pets. I know. But….what about…." His expression tightened. "I have a responsibility. He touched his pale golden hair, braided neatly for once. "You know the truth about us. You know….we're the last of them. The Xerxians. Me. Dad. Nina." She could hear the pain and confusion in his voice. "Uncle Al hasn't….didn't…we'd know if he'd had any, y'know. And Nina's…I don't know if she will….hard for her to trust that far, right? So it's up to me, isn't it? So I can't be with him."

"Bullasheeet."

"Huh?"

"Eto piz-detz!** Now, you listen to me, my friend," she caught him by the lapels of his waistcoat and leaned in, nose to nose. "The future, don't let it breathe down your neck like some dog trying to bite you. Bite it back! Let it take care of itself—and it will, if you are brave enough to be happy." She kissed his cheek and gave him a gentle shove.

As Maes stepped up to the coffee urn, he glanced anxiously over his shoulder. Peta was smiling and giving him a thumbs-up. He turned to David Collins, who looked as crisp and unflappable as he had when the party began. Good thing to love someone who can keep his shit together when I'm losing mine—and knows first aid in case of lab accidents. Well…here goes….

"I'm eighteen."

"I beg your-"

"I said I'm eighteen. You're twenty-five."

"Maes? What are you—"

"I'm young. I get that. And I don't want to make stupid mistakes like my folks did when they were young. But—" he swallowed nervously, "—I…shit! I'm tryin' to say is…we have time…and…if you…think you might want to…can we give it a chance and find out…?"

The older man stepped closer, his polished demeanor vanished. "Are you asking…?"

"—for time to see….if you can learn to love me?" This last came out in a breathless rush.

When she saw the two tall figures embrace, Peta skipped back to the kitchen, cheerfully humming an old Drachman love song, utterly baffling Nina and the prince as she hugged them and swung them around the room.

"Peta? Are you drunk?" Nina gasped.

"Nyet! But I celebrate nonetheless!" She dove for the icebox, rummaged around and spun around with a crow of triumph. "And since there is no vodka, I'll settle for chocolate mousse!"

She tore off the cover and held the dish to her mystified friends, who only paused for a moment before grabbing spoons and digging into the chocolaty goodness.

###

Now as the lights dimmed, most of the guests were gone. A few still lingered, and the band played slow, dreamy jazz tunes like "Moonlight Serenade", which coaxed Ed and Roy back onto the dance floor beside the new couple. Riza and Jean had laughed over the way the two men always tossed a coin to determine who would lead.

"Mind if we cut in?"

Riza smiled warmly at the two men as they approached. "Not at all." She reached out her hand….

….and swung Edward out into the spotlight.

Roy and Havoc exchanged glances. "You man enough?" Roy offered.

"Only if I get to lead. I'm taller, Chief." He dug into his pocket. "Oh, Ed gave me this earlier to hang on to. Said he had to get it back at all costs." Havoc held out a small bundle wrapped securely in a handkerchief.

Soon as he touched it, Roy knew instantly what it was. As they glided along the dance floor, they passed Edward and Riza, smiling and laughing over some private joke.

Roy held up the bundle. "Ed?"

The love of Roy's life grinned back at him. "Dance with all the men and women you want, old man….but remember…your annulus belongs to me!"

….TO BE CONTINUED….

*" "Filthy livestock fornicator!" Fuck you!" in Mandarin. Translation courtesy of the Firefly-Serenity Chinese Pinyinary

**"This is fucked up!"—Russian slang

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sabrage—or the art of 'sabering' a champagne bottle is a real practice—and can be really dangerous. Don't try this at home!