January 11th, 1997

It had been a long time since Ian had been the focus of every side-eye and whisper on the CV Studio lot. Walking from the parking lot to his office with his head high, his stride normal, his expression calmly neutral, was something he was very out of practice with but he managed. If he couldn't do that much, he should quit acting all together.

There wasn't time to hit Tanner's office before he had to be on set for today's shooting, and it was only the greatest good fortune that in the three days he had missed, he had missed a couple of read throughs, and tech crew days, but not the actual filming of these critical scenes that would shape much of this season, and the plot for the next.

Ian strode onto the sound stage, dressed as usual, acting as if nothing had happened. "All right, folks! Let's start at the top of Scene Two and do one last run before filming. Show me what you've got."

Like the professionals they were, his crew and actors said nothing, they simply got into positions. Ian barely breathed as they moved through the scene. The last few days had apparently not been wasted. When they finished, he gave a few very small notes, and then ran it again, with cameras rolling.

By the time they finished right before lunch break, he was feeling a little more like his feet were back under him. Whatever any of them thought, they still followed his direction without a moment's hesitation, and the scene looked amazing.

Ian stopped at the craft services table and stocked up a plate with today's spread of fresh veggies, dip, some thick ham-and-cheese sandwiches, slices of orange, and a can of sparkling water. Thanking them, he headed back to his office to eat.

Which was where Tanner found him.

"Bart!" Ian swallowed the bite he had just taken of his sandwich. "I was about to come talk to you."

"Don't get up." Tanner waved a hand at him, dropping into the chair next to Ian's desk. "I heard this morning's shoot went well?"

Ian nodded. "Smooth as usual… much to my relief. The amount of scrutiny I had on the walk in, I wasn't sure how it was going to go. It's been a while since I've been the center of a buzz like this one."

"I take it we can both agree it would have been much better if that never happened again?" Tanner asked.

Ian felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach. "Yes, Sir."

It had been a long time since he had seen a look of mystified disbelief on Tanner's face. "You want to explain yourself? I've had my phone ringing off the hook for days, all with questions about you, while you were drying up at the local precinct. What the hell, Elric? I expect this kind of unprofessional screw up from some people, but I didn't think you were one of them."

Not anymore, you mean. Ian sighed. "There really wasn't much to it. I had a rough day, went out for a couple of drinks, had a little too much, and someone saw me walking home in the rain. I guess I looked worse off than I was, because they called it in. Once the police showed up, there wasn't anything I could do but cooperate. It was just a stupid mistake and bad timing." He leaned back in his chair. "What would you like me to do, Tanner? Is this a let it blow over situation, or do I need to address the press? You know I never wanted to cause CV any trouble."

"Normally I would advise keeping your mouth shut, but as fast as the media has taken it in their teeth, I'm not sure that's the wisest course of action," Tanner admitted. "They may not believe the truth, either, no matter how sincerely you sell it."

"I'm aware." There would always be some who were sure he was hiding something deeper. "But this is hurting my family. If it were just me, well my ego can take quite a beating, and—as I rather unhappily discovered not too long ago—it probably won't hurt my rep as much as I would have thought. It seems not everyone has forgotten who I used to be."

"It's a hazard of being in the public eye." Tanner sighed. "I'll set up a press conference for Friday afternoon. In the meantime, go about as much like normal as you can. And… I found someone else to take Fred's place while he's out."

"I was going to ask you to give it to someone else anyway," Ian admitted with an understanding nod. "Bonnie was… well let's say angry was an understatement when I told her I accepted the extra work without consulting her first. That's what our fight was about."

Tanner winced. "I'll keep that in mind. Just keep your head down, your nose clean, and be a model employee for a bit. The more uninteresting you can be, the better. Especially if you don't want them discounting you from the AFA nominations."

Given Ian was notably in the running for Best Actor, which would boost his worth even further, that was definitely not something he wanted to have happen. There was a chance he'd get nominated for Best Supporting Actor again for the latest Hudson movie, but that wouldn't be out in time for the next round of nominations. "Understood. You can count on me."

"I should hope so. I've been relying on you for years, Ian. Even when things were rough, I never regretted giving you my card in Resembool all those years ago. You've got years left in what can be an even more successful career."

"I'm not tapping out yet," Ian promised. "I've still got too many projects I want to see through."

"Good. Then let's see if we can dissipate this storm."

They hadn't discussed all of Bonnie's ideas the night before. Mostly they had focused on the kids, who had missed him over the past few days, and asked awkward questions about his work where he had to hedge and improv expertly to avoid saying the wrong thing. He hated lying to his children, and he understood how hard it had been for Bonnie. It was a whole new level of guilt.

Ian met Bonnie at the CV daycare and collected the kids after work. The evening was a repeat of the normal familial routine, except that once the kids were in bed, he and Bonnie sat down across from each other at the dinner table with cups of herbal tea. Ian would have preferred coffee, but given the expression on Bonnie's face and his current footing he didn't want to have a disagreement about his caffeine consumption tonight either. "All right," he said as he stirred honey into it to make it palatable. "You said you and Anika had some ideas to make things less crazy around here. I want to hear them. First though, you should know that I'm not taking on the other directing job after all." He didn't have to tell her he hadn't given it up, and that Tanner had already reassigned it. Either she knew, or he'd look better for it.

"Good." Bonnie nodded. "And yes, we had a couple of ideas I think we should consider. The first, is hiring a cleaning service part time."

"Aren't those expensive?" The idea of having someone else do some of the cleaning was an amazing one, but he had never seriously considered it. He knew how to clean, and so did Bonnie. But that had been before they were trying to keep up with so many kids.

"Actually, I did some calling around, and to have someone come out every two weeks, to deep scrub the bathrooms, the kitchen, dust, and do the floors, is within our budget. It's a little more if we want them to fold clean laundry and put it away, but it's a service they do offer." She told him the amount.

Ian had honestly expected it to be more than that. Oh sure, in his early days starting out that would have been a fortune, but his idea of expense had definitely changed over the years, and his generally frugal nature had served him well in not developing extravagant tastes. "I'm all for it," he replied at once. Pride be hanged.

Bonnie smiled, looking a little nervous. "Good. The second suggestion is… a little more radical."

Ian sipped his tea. "Well, that's new for you. Let's hear it."

"I want to quit CV."

Ian almost choked, and tea sprayed across the table. "You what?! I don't understand. You love your job. You were so happy to get back to it. And if you quit, what are you going to do?" How were they going to keep the budget where it was, and afford new cleaners, if she quit wardrobe?

Bonnie wiped her face of sprayed tea with a napkin. "By focusing on my other designs. The ones you seem to have forgotten. I spoke with Grandpa Silverman. The Walsh line is still his best-selling collection, consistently, every year. If I focused more time on the commercial collections, we could expand them. If I opened myself up to limited custom orders, imagine how many men and women would flock to get original designs?"

The explanation made it sound much more reasonable than where his mind had jumped to. "They'd be beating down the door."

"Exactly." Bonnie smiled. "I could set my own hours, and the best part is, I could do the majority of the design work right here at home, in my workshop. Anything that needs more space I can go over to the Silverman's supplier workshop. If I spend a few office hours at Silverman's during the week, by appointment, they can handle the orders and paperwork. And…. There's something else."

"How much more can there be?" Ian asked. At this point, nothing she said could surprise him.

Or so he thought. "Grandpa Silverman wants to bring me on as a partner. A corporate partner."

"That's… wow. That's amazing."

She gave him a smug little smile. "You look shocked."

"I just never thought about it." Ian shook his head. "But you've always had a head for the business end of your craft. Otherwise, you wouldn't know how to design what sells. Would you have to take over store management?"

"No, thankfully. I'd never have time to design if I did." Bonnie shook her head. "But your grandfather is ready to retire, and he admits he should have long past. He's offered another share of the business to Callista. Given how much of the advertising photography she's done for them the last few years, it's a smart move. No, his management plan is to promote his current assistant manager to full store manager. Grandpa will maintain ownership until his passing. The only thing he hasn't put down yet, is whose name goes on that line when he dies. He wants the rest of us to talk it over."

Ian hated to think about his grandparents passing, but his mother's parents were as ancient as Grandpa Ed and Grandpa Winry. It was really a miracle they were all still alive at this point. "Is he considering anyone else?"

"He suggested co-ownership between one or two of the grandchildren, depending on who wants it. I suggested he approach Coran and Gale. They wouldn't have to run the shop, of course, but they already run an incredibly successful international business. Of course, they may decline because they're so busy, or unless several of you sign on. If you all did, the profits that go to the owner would be split between all of you… or us. I mean, your name doesn't have to be on there if mine is. You have enough on your plate."

But if everything fell apart, it would also be a very nice safety net. Not that Ian knew anything about owning or running a garment store. He just modeled and wore the things. "I mean, you and Callie would be a fantastic start. Callie's at least worked there and I know Grandpa's been teaching her all the family secrets." It was a huge change, coming at him very fast, but then he was used to winging it. "If that's what you want to do, Bonnie, I'm behind you. I think you'll be great, and I think having one of us home on a more regular schedule will be much better for the kids…and for all of us." There were so many nights when he came home for dinner, and then had to run back to the studio to work, or had to go in for early morning shoots. Odd hours were the name of the game in film and television.

Bonnie's face lit up. "Ian… thank you. As much as I've appreciated working at CV all these years, I'm just ready to focus in a different direction. And I won't miss the drama."

Drama that did not always involve them, but it would step her out of this mess too. "When would you quit?"

"I need to talk to my boss, but I'm almost done with the designs for this season. Once I'm done, I can step out without leaving unfinished business. So…a couple of weeks. Unless you think that's going to look suspiciously close to this mess."

Ian shook his head. "No. Go whenever works for you. I've got a press conference tomorrow afternoon. I'll clear this up, offer up my ego for sacrifice, and we can move on with our lives."

Bonnie's sad smile was the first sympathetic expression he had seen on his wife's face in days. "I'm sorry I pushed so hard for you to turn down the other job, Ian. I was just trying to get you to take a little off your plate. You've been doing too much. I didn't want you to break."

"Which… I did." Ian sighed. "You were right, and I was stubborn…and this is where it's landed us. I lost my head for one evening, and now you and the kids have to pay for it. You'd think at my age I'd know better."

"So, let's call this the shortest midlife crisis on record, and forget about it." Bonnie suggested. "Presuming, of course, that you've decided to go back to being your usual, sensible self."

"You mean by listening to you?" Ian offered her a reconciliatory smile. "Yeah. I remembered in one day exactly why I used to get drunk…and why I stopped. I also discovered I am not meant for prison life."

Bonnie shook her head. "You spent three days in the local jail drinking coffee and making friends with the officers. Even if you were locked in a cell, somehow, I don't think that's an accurate prison experience."

"No, but it made me think about it." Ian shivered. "I don't think I'll be auditioning for that prison break movie they're casting."

"Good. Prison gray is not your color."

In any situation. Ian nodded. "Trust me, we agree on that. I guess the only thing I haven't asked yet is… how badly do your parents want to kill me?"

"Well, I think Mom is already over it, to be honest, but there might be some serious groveling needed the next time you see my father."

"I'll start practicing."

January 12th, 1997

If anyone had presumed that Tore's life would settle down and become dull after the chaos and drama of defeating, trying, sentencing, and cleaning up Arsenic, they would have been wrong. Even in a time of relative peace, the President of the Military had more than enough to occupy his time.

Without the constant threat of assassins, the rest of his plans to strengthen and improve the military were moving forward. His plans to rearrange personnel for increased efficiency, as well as it being a good time to work on breaking up knots of potential future dissention and focus on rebuilding the military's sense of unity at the same time. It was happening in stages, but so far, the departments were already seeing improvements where the changes were happening.

On top of that, the major clean up in the city was completed—with much thanks to the State Alchemists assigned to repair work to fix the streets and parks, the zoo, and anything that they could. Now, with the rubble cleared away, rebuilding could begin in the areas where the buildings had been too damaged for even an alchemist to repair them. Regular contractors were getting lucrative contracts to build and make repairs, which could only generate more good will, as Tore saw it.

His days of being a moving target had not ended, even if he was less of a target. He still visited the hospital to see patients, though almost all of the soldiers that had been wounded were out now. He appeared in every office at least once or twice a week, still on his rotation schedule, to make sure everything was coming along smoothly. Workouts fit back into the schedule, as did the occasional sparring session with the alchemists. He needed to be seen, available, the same way he had been before, to show that this was a long-term plan and this was still how he planned to do things. It had not just all been for show.

Though he did have the pleasure of getting to go home at a reasonable hour most nights the past couple of weeks, and getting to spend more time with his wife definitely made up for it. The reprieve of the holidays had even involved spending more time with family and friends. Still, he wondered how long it would take before Charisa got tired of having him around every evening—which had yet to happen in their lives, he had to admit. But it was a very good thing they couldn't have any more children.

There was nothing late on tonight's schedule either, he thought with pleasure as he looked at the last reports on his desk for the afternoon. The ones the Sensation Alchemist had been waiting all day for him to sit down and look over, along with a small stack of orders he needed to sign.

"They found another supply depot," he noted aloud as he looked over the report. "Though this one appears to have been mostly food and medical supplies?" He supposed that was better than more contraband alchemical ingredients. They'd cleared several dangerous stashes of those earlier in the investigations.

Flynn nodded. "That's right. They arrested two people who were maintaining it, but it probably won't come to much. As you'll see further in the report, it looks like they were just paid off to rent out and guard the place and weren't necessarily active members of Arsenic. That's how it is with most of what we're finding now; storage in legitimately rented units and rooms."

Tore nodded and flipped to the part of the report talking about people. Reports from the borders and other nations included a few attempted escapees had been picked up at or on the other side of borders into both Creta and Aerugo, identified as named but missing members of Arsenic. Thanks to all the arrests and questioning after the fight in Central, they had a very long list of names. While they might never identify all of the dead, the coroners of Central would be paid well for all the work they had done, and were still doing, in confirming identities. Still, it shortened the list substantially, and only a very few people with warrants out for their arrest were on that list now.

There was a knock at the door. Before Tore could say anything, Flynn turned and walked to the door, stepping out to see who it was. She returned a few seconds later. "General Tringham is here, Sir."

"Send him in." Tore nodded. There were several things he wanted to discuss with Genesis.

As Flynn left, Tringham entered, coming to stand in front of Tore's desk. "Where would you like to start?" he asked as Tore motioned for him to take a seat.

"Alchemist reassignments." With all of the Third Laboratory gone, there had been some reshuffling to fit alchemists into spaces in the remaining three Labs. They were very fortunate that the building had been essentially empty on the day it had been destroyed. With all the combat, they had lost very few State Alchemists.

Tringham nodded, and pulled a sheaf of papers out of the folder in his hands. "I was able to fit everyone who wanted to remain in the laboratories into new assignments in Labs Two and Four. Lab One is still at full occupational capacity." Which made sense, since it was also the oldest and smallest building. "You'll find, however, that the list on the last page contains the State Alchemists who have requested that they would prefer to change MOS, and take a more active role, rather than continue in research. Or at least, split their time if possible. After what's happened, I can't say as I blame them."

Neither could Tore, he looked at the list, which had fifteen names. "Do you think they'll be any good?" While every State Alchemist maintained certain levels of training in fitness as well as their alchemy, they were not all combat officers working in the regular military structure. Lab State Alchemists missions were generally limited to those that were unlikely to involve combat: inspections and the like mostly went to them if they weren't working on a critical project at that time. They were researchers in the labs.

"They all consistently score well on annual assessments." Tringham nodded. "Changing over should be a matter of a few weeks of extra training with Whisper's team. Chrome's weakness for fried food may mean a few extra workouts, but he's eager enough. I plan to approve them all unless you've got objections."

"I have none," Tore replied. He recognized all the names. Chrome was a good natured, jovial type with a build not dissimilar to Tore's late father-in-law. He'd gotten his commission four years ago. He was smart, capable, and determined though. "Give them all over to Whisper for a few weeks and then assign them as you see fit. If they decide they really aren't cut out for this, let them go back to research without reprimand."

"I'll do that," Tringham agreed. "We'll see if they're ready to go by evaluations next month. Some of them may need a little more time, but I'll keep that in mind. Which takes me to the second point: State Alchemy exams are next month as well. The current class of prospectives is the smallest we've had in years."

"How many of them are any good?" Tore asked, refraining from frowning. The smaller numbers were not a surprise. That had been the case for the past several years. Given the political conflict stirring underneath everything thanks to Arsenic, he wasn't surprised. It made more sense now, really.

"Quite a few. There's really only a small number that don't have the right mentality for it, and that could change." Tringham did frown. "That said, I'm no longer certain, after what happened with Ultraviolet, that that's a reason to turn them out on their own anymore."

Tore sighed. "There were always other ways for alchemists to learn things we'd rather they didn't, Genesis. While Amestris' State Alchemists do have access to the biggest alchemical library and best research facilities for alchemists on the continent now, for what we do, if you'd ever seen what they have for alkahestrists in Xing, they still make us look like amateurs at times, and in certain areas. We benefit from that now, but only because of years of hard work on the part of civilian alchemists. The State's supplementary funding for training medical alchemists has come from the Assembly and the civilian government, not the military. We benefit when alchemists with medical training also want to serve. Alchemy as a science isn't as big in some other countries, though the new program in Drachma will almost certainly impress us." He hoped that, now that Arsenic was dealt with, and more people could see the benefits of the work of alchemists, perhaps the numbers would rise again. "But there have been plenty of non-military ways for alchemists to learn what they want. There are still plenty of alchemists in Amestris who have never worked for the military. As long as they follow the laws of the land regarding its use, they're welcome to do so.

"So yes, sometimes we're going to get someone dangerous, someone unhinged, or who just doesn't have the moral compass we wish they did, who tries to pull something. Most of the Alchemists who retire from our military have not turned into psychopaths and murders, or lost their minds from grief and combat trauma. A lot of that has to do with several factors, but taking care of the minds of our alchemists as much as the rest of them has been a big part of that.

"Though I'm not sure that really answers what I think you're asking." Tore admitted, smiling slightly. "I'm prepared to take more of this year's applicants if they pass the exams. Our numbers are still lower than they were before the Drachman War, and have been consistently. We need more State Alchemists, and we need to continue diversifying their areas of usefulness. That said I'd also like you to pick a half-dozen or so alchemists who have an aptitude for engineering or repair alchemy, and include them in the new cross-training going on with the aeronautical program. There's no reason if they're going to be sent up in planes that they shouldn't know how critical repairs work. There are repairs an alchemist could do, if they knew how, that a mechanic could never do in mid-air, or fast enough to save them from say, a crash. If it goes well, we'll work on swapping out more of our alchemists during additional training."

Tringham looked pleased at that prospect. "I'll get right on it, Sir. Anything else? What about the pilot half of the program? After all, Whisper's still keeping up her flight hours, and she's quite good."

"Only if they have the temperament and skills for it." Pilot training took much more time, and regular assigned flight time to keep in practice. "We don't want to bog too many down in that, but at the very least, being able to handle an emergency landing would be helpful. The more officers in the air who know how to get it down safely, the better."

"We'll stick to engineering for now. Anything else, Sir?"

"Not today. Let me know how it goes."

Tringham stood. "I'll get on it right away. Will we see you and Charisa tomorrow night? Mikena's been on me to have you both over for weeks."

Tore grinned. "Yes, we're still coming. Nothing's come up that I have to be stuck here for. If there was, you'd probably be here too."

Tringham chuckled. "Good point. I'll let her know. Both of the kids will be home tomorrow night, too. She's excited."

"Sounds great." Like his own children, Tringham's kids were almost out of the house, if not quite yet. His daughter Flora was in her first year of university, though still here in Central. His son, Melvin, was in his first year of high school, so there was some time there. Though as active as he was in school activities, the fact that both of Tringham's offspring would be at tomorrow's dinner was still a rarity.

Tringham headed for the door. "Don't be late. Mikena got some great steaks."

Ian would rather have been anywhere else, for any other reason, than sitting in front of a bank of reporters who wanted a statement after his brief jail stint. If they wanted to kill it as any kind of major news, it was better to address it than to stay silent. At least in this case. After this, he hopefully wouldn't have to speak on it again.

The Studio press-room was the best place for it. It limited the number of attendees, and kept it more private. It also meant no one could sneak in without getting past studio security. Ian had dressed to the occasion, looking as professional today as he could, though without over-doing it. He dressed as he would for any official meeting on the job. Looking around the room, he actually thought he knew the names of most of the reporters there. After decades in the business, he knew the regulars. That would be helpful.

"Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you for taking the time to come today. I know there's been a lot of speculation over the past few days about last weekend's incident, and I'd like to put rumors to rest, so we can all move on to something more newsworthy. There's really not as much of a story as those looking for some juicy gossip would wish. I went out on an evening errand. I'd had a bit too much to drink over lunch, and got a bit turned around in the storm as it got dark. A kind stranger, I don't know who, called in a concerned report. The police picked me up, and I went with them. They were very polite and professional about the whole thing. That's it, the whole story. I know my audience has come to expect better from me, and I'm sorry that a very normal, human mistake has caused this much trouble."

Not that the coming questions would leave it there. There were always specific rumors and theories to kill. But they would ask those questions.

"Ian, is there any veracity to the rumors about a strained relationship between you and your wife?"

"None at all, Anne," he addressed the reporter directly. "I've always been honest and transparent with the press. I am still happily married to the most amazing woman I have ever known, and neither one of us has any intention of changing that." And that was all he was going to say on that subject.

The next question hit. "Is this indicative of a larger problem?"

"I'm afraid I don't have any fuel for your fire, Ron. I was tired, had a bit more than I intended, and a concerned citizen saw me stumble and called it in. If everyone who ever got a little tipsy in Central got pulled off the street walking home, we'd have overflowing jails. It was a singular error in judgement, not a pattern of behavior. The officers who came out to check on me were respectful and professional, and I appreciate the work they do making sure everyone on the streets of Central is safe."

"So, you don't drink often?"

"Very rarely," Ian responded. "My family and my career both matter to me. I wouldn't be much good to either if I did."

The next couple of questions were much the same. Ian breathed a slow sigh of relief as the interview ended. No one had dared voice suggestions of possible infidelity out loud. Perhaps, this could be the end of the whole thing. It certainly meant that there were no rumors related to anything happening with Denissa. She had clearly kept her mouth shut about her own error in judgement.

As soon as he was back out of the room, Ian felt a little of the tension in his spine ease.

Tanner smiled at him. "I'd say that went well. Good answers. Now, just go back to business as usual, and we should be good to go."

Ian nodded. "Well, as usual as it can be, but that's the plan. I take it none of them have heard about Bonnie's plans, since they didn't ask."

"It's generally not all that newsworthy when a costume designer stops taking new projects. Even if she is married to a well-known face." Tanner shrugged. "But yes, we've kept that quiet. I'm sorry to lose her, and I made it clear that if she ever wants to come back, we'd love to have her, but I understand why she's taking her career in this new direction. You've got quite a lot on your plate with your family."

"Quite a lot… is an understatement, sir."