January 7th, 1997

The call from Bonnie that morning had been one of the last Ted would ever have expected. When he and Anika had left the night before, he had honestly thought Ian and Bonnie would have things patched up by the end of the evening.

Far from that—if quite the opposite—his brother was in the drunk tank down at the closest police station to his house.

What the shit happened, Ian?

Bonnie sounded tired and frustrated on the phone, but the resignation in her voice was the more concerning. Apparently, she intended to let him sit the full seventy-two hours without a visit. Ted could understand that it was difficult to get away and go down there with five children, but he listened to Bonnie rant about how the hell to manage the next few days. She was going to have to call CV Studios and admit the mess.

Ted passed the phone to Anika, who talked to Bonnie for less than five minutes before asking Ted if he could watch the boys while she went back over to Ian and Bonnie's house.

"Of course." Ted kissed her cheek. "Go. The kids and I will be fine."

When she was gone, Ted wished he had thought to ask Bonnie who, if anyone, was telling anyone else in the family. He appreciated the warning. There was a decent likelihood that when it hit the news—and there was no way a celebrity of Ian's level getting picked up drunk off the street wasn't making at least the local news—he was going to get questions at Headquarters.

The rest of the family was also going to find out, and if his parents' first news about it came from the television… it would not be good.

He would leave it all in Bonnie's hands until told otherwise. That seemed the best course of action. If he hadn't had the boys, Ted might have gone down there himself to visit. Or not. Showing up would only draw more attention, and he could only imagine how his brother was feeling right now. He might prefer not to have his family see him in a jail cell.

The closest Ted had ever come was when they were holding him before his court martial hearing, but he had a feeling it probably felt similar.

Hungover in a cell was worse than drunk in a cell, Ian had decided by mid-morning. The bright white, and the unforgiving light bulb above his head did nothing for his throbbing skull. Dozing was the best he could manage, with the sounds of the station around him. The officers coming and going, the dispatchers and receptionist on the phones, murmurs in the background.

Though so far, he could not object to how he had been treated. For one thing, they had at least granted him his hat to pull down over his face, which afforded him a modicum of darkness and privacy. And he had been escorted to the restroom once that morning. They hadn't even cuffed him. Of course, he wasn't in here on criminal charges. Breakfast had consisted of another cup of coffee, and a croissant. It had been enough to settle his stomach, but not to sate his hunger.

Not that he complained. Ian cooperated to the letter. All he wanted was to get this embarrassment over with and go home with as little fuss as possible. The last thing he wanted, or needed, was to make an even worse impression than he had by being caught staggering around in the rain.

The officers were all polite and professional, and since he was quiet, they left him alone except for glancing in when they walked by.

Ian figured out another kindness they had done him fairly quickly, when he realized that his little cell was not in the same room as the larger group holding cell. Voices down another hall told him that he was not the only person being held this morning, but he didn't see anyone except an officer walk past his door.

Maybe there was hope after all. At least for him maybe not having this end up all over the press. After all, he hadn't made a scene. People had just reported concern over a man staggering in the rain. No one had given them a name. The officer had told him that much.

So as long as no one had seen them bringing him in, or saw him when he left… it was almost too much to hope, but it was all he had.

The day dragged on without a word from anyone outside, and Ian began to get antsy. He wasn't used to sitting still, with nothing to occupy his time. He was always busy… and now he had nothing but time.

He began to wonder if this was even close to how it had felt for Aunt Sara, her first months in prison. Obviously, the conditions were better, and he would be out in a couple of days, but the way time seemed to drag, and the lack of stimulation—how had she kept herself sane in solitary confinement for months? He wasn't sure he could have handled it for even a day.

Not that he was looking forward to facing Bonnie when he got out. The way she had looked at him for the whiskey, he knew full well how furious she would be over this. The fact that she had basically left him to rot out his time told him that much. Not that it would be easy for her to come see him. She'd have to arrange for someone to watch the kids.

What was she telling the kids? Joanna and Zachary were definitely old enough to understand that he hadn't come home, and miss him. The triplets might notice him missing, but they were thankfully too little to require or understand explanations.

Your father is an idiot. Please, never do stupid shit. It's not worth it.

By the end of the day, Bonnie thought she had everything under control, even if her own emotions were still a rollercoaster.

Anika had come over to help with the kids, giving Bonnie time to quietly let the rest of the family know what was going on.

It had been beyond embarrassing to have to call the studio. In the name of keeping it quiet, she had called Tanner's direct line. Thankfully, the director and producer was almost always in on the weekends. Studio work was not a standard nine-to-five deal for a huge number of the jobs on set. She had given him the basic facts, apologized profusely, and been grateful that Tanner seemed to take it all in stride. Of course, he had certainly dealt with worse.

Bonnie was glad she had warned the family, because it showed up as the third story on the six o'clock news. Thankfully, Anika was upstairs handling bath time for Joanna and Zachary, so they didn't see it.

Not that it was long, thankfully. The entire report lasted thirty seconds, and the only photo was that horrid in-take photo from the police station that always made everyone look like a hardened criminal, no matter what they were in for. He was part of the overall local police daily report, and it didn't focus on him, but it was enough.

Ian's vaguely glassy look, thin face made starker by the harsh lighting, and flushed skin looked horrid.

It was going to be all over the place tomorrow…. There would be questions, demands for information… articles.

Not that Ian hadn't been regularly in the gossip columns for much of his career. It was a hazard of fame. But not in the last few years. They had managed to keep their life nice and quiet. His image clean and respectable.

They would ride this out and get through it, but she was dreading it none-the-less.

Twenty years ago, or maybe even ten, Aldon would have been unhappy, but not shocked, to see his son in the news for something stupid. The media loved him, even when they were speculating on things that would have ruined the life and career of anyone who wasn't protected by a certain level of celebrity. And, in a way, the Elric name.

They had certainly managed to bring up every possible piece of dirt surrounding the accident that had killed Ian's friend Reggie, and almost killed his son, and Ian had only been a passenger.

Now, while he hadn't hurt anyone, or done anything dumber that get caught in an obviously intoxicated state on a public street, it was not a private matter. Nothing got to be a private matter with a star.

Bonnie had called them half in tears, to admit that it wasn't as bad as it was likely to look. They'd had a disagreement. He and Ted had gone out. She'd admitted her fault in her reaction to his apology, and her terror when he didn't come home quickly with the detergent, and the storm. Her shock that he'd been drinking at all. Let alone that he had gone out and apparently drunk more.

Aldon and Cassie had tried to be comforting, but he knew full well that this was something Bonnie and Ian were going to have to work out between them. The consequences… were honestly likely to be no worse than public humiliation. Actors didn't lose work over misdemeanors. If they did, Aldon suspected half of the film and television world would have been out of work.

Aldon was more concerned about his son's well-being. Clearly Mr. "I can handle it all" was not handling it all. Not well.

Cassie's outlook on the matter was far less fatalistic. "I can't believe he did this?!" she ranted after dinner and the news as she paced around their living room, pausing only to take sips from her cup of tea. "Ian of all people!"

"He didn't do anything criminal, Cass," Aldon sighed as he sat on the couch, watching her pace. It made him tired enough just looking. "Just stupid. The family name isn't in jeopardy. The world isn't going to end. No one's losing their job. If Resembool picked up every person who staggered home drunk on a Saturday night through the streets the jail would be overflowing. It's a lapse in judgement, not a prison sentence. You heard Bonnie, they're not even sentencing him. He'll pay the fine, go home, and this will all blow over."

Cassie looked like she wanted to shout, but she didn't. "Fine. Then you can field questions about him at the hospital for the next week, and in town too."

Aldon wasn't looking forward to that either, though he suspected he would get fewer and more practical questions. He wished he could call and speak with his son, but it would be a couple of days. He wouldn't be able to get Ian's side of things until he was home.

Bonnie said she had also called Ted, Coran, and Callie in Central, along with Cassie's parents, and asked if Aldon would handle telling the family in Resembool. Calling and repeating the story over and over was just fraying her last nerves, and he had been willing to do so.

Reichart and Urey had been startled, and concerned. His parents' and aunt and uncle's responses had been much the same. Shock that it had happened at all, but more concern about how Ian was doing, and Bonnie, and the kids, than any kind of anger at Ian directly. They had too much life experience to overreact to something like this.

All they could really do was brace for the barrage, and support Bonnie and Ian in any way they could.

January 8th, 1997

Hrafn tried to feel confident as he walked into the school building two blocks down from the Central High School. Some of his cousins had gone to school at the regular high school, as had his Grandpa Aldon and his brother and sister. Great-Aunt Lia had taught there before she started teaching at the university. There were other schools in Central, but this was one of the longest standing secondary schools, and it was central enough to the various family homes that most everyone he knew who had gone to school in Central had attended it at some point.

In some ways, he was glad to be in the alternative program building instead for now. It meant no one would have any real expectations of him. Probably no one there knew his family outside of the fact that any students with auto-mail were very likely to know his aunt and uncle. Not that they were the only auto-mail engineers in Central, because even Rockbell Auto-mail couldn't manage all the business of a large city. Still, they were top quality and one of the most well-known names.

He had come to do enrollment paperwork and get a tour of the school the week before, but this was the first day of class. Hrafn had to admit, he had been relieved to find that the school was incredibly normal, and because of the nature of the students, not much larger than the school he had attended in Resembool. It also served all ages for the city, which felt a lot like the school at home.

Yet it looked entirely normal, outside of the fact that the entire campus was designed to be more accessible and usable by students with a variety of infirmities, temporary or permanent. Some students came for a term, or a couple of years, and went back to the regular schools. A smaller number went their entire schooling here. There were no stairs, only small ramps, and the entire school was a single level, rare in Central.

There were three wings to the building off the central square, which had an auditorium, cafeteria, library, and the main offices. The secondary hallway consisted of eight classrooms, two for each age group. Students were split based on types of handicap or disabilities so that the accommodations were similar for most of the students in each room.

Hrafn knew there were five other students in his class. In Resembool he had always been fairly popular and gotten along with all the kids in his age group, even if they weren't all close. He had no idea if that would carry over here. It was an unfamiliar setting, and as much as he got along fine with his cousins, it did not follow that all city kids were the same. He had opted for one of his favorite outfits that he thought wouldn't look too provincial; black denim and a black cotton shirt with the name of one of his favorite bands on it—one that was classic but fairly widely known, if not popular with everyone given their edgier sound—and a short-sleeved collared shirt worn open over it in red.

He'd also felt much more confident then. Now, just a few weeks out from his auto-mail surgery, he still felt a bit… off from himself was the best he had to describe it. Still, he felt less in a fog than he had the weeks immediately following the accident. His parents had agreed to pay for him to call home if he wanted to talk to his friends or, if he preferred, to carry letters back. Hrafn had opted for letters, which his cousin Damian had helped write out. He had already gotten replies to all of them, and the responses had been more encouraging than he'd had any right to expect. None of his friends were glad he wasn't coming home yet, but none of them hated him for it.

Hrafn had no trouble finding his room, even with the crowd of arriving students. His homeroom teacher, Mr. Carson, was waiting for him. Carson was a man of medium height, and middle age, lean of build, with thinning brown hair and thin-rimmed spectacles. He really looked like the most stereotypical teacher Hrafn might ever have met. But he smiled, and warmly shook Hrafn's good hand when offered. "Good morning. You're right on time. Please come in."

Hrafn stepped into the room and tried to take it in. He appreciated that it was immediately quieter, and also the size of the room, which could easily have held twenty students, even if it was currently set up for six, and not at all in rows. While the teacher's desk was in one corner to the front, the desks were set up in a semi-circle that faced sort of to the front, but also allowed the teacher to close it into a circle if they weren't writing on the board. The subject teachers rotated through the rooms during the different hours, so once he had his spot, Hrafn would only need to leave it for lunch, and physical activities. There was a gymnasium and play area for all grades with modified equipment, but he knew that a good part of their physical activity would include their prescribed physical therapy. Hrafn kind of liked that, if only because it wouldn't take time out of the rest of his life.

Then there were the types of desk, which varied, he supposed, depending on the needs of the student. There were some off to the side as well, demonstrating a variety of options, from those with enough space under them for someone to roll in in a wheelchair, to adjustable heights, to desks attached to chairs or not attached, and the ability to slant the top. Hrafn had never seen so many options.

"Pick whatever you feel will be most comfortable for you," Mr. Carson gestured to the selection. "Then the open space in the circle is yours. I'll be happy to help you move it into place."

Hrafn selected one that would allow him to rest his sore, new arm without it getting in the way, and a chair of the right height, and they had just gotten it into place when the next two members of his class arrived, followed soon after by the other three. Hrafn felt a flutter of nervousness. He was the only one of them starting this term, which meant that they all knew each other already.
"Good morning, everyone," Mr. Carson started at the beginning of the bell. "Before we get into discussions of this term's upcoming activities, I thought we'd take a few minutes. We have a new student starting with us this term, so let's do some quick introductions. Andrew, will you start us off?"

The largest of them, a guy in a wheelchair who looked like he might spend a lot of time with arm weights, with light brown hair, brown eyes, and a big grin, nodded. "Of course. I'm Andrew. Been here since third grade, so if you have any questions about anything, I'm your guy. Not sure I've got a best subject or anything, but I do shotput for the track and field team."

Hrafn resisted the urge to ask about the team. He didn't think the alternative school had one, but maybe they did. Or maybe he was good enough he did it for the high school down the street. Andrew certainly had the muscle for it. He also wondered what had happened to Andrew that he had been in a wheelchair that long, but obviously whatever had happened was permanent.

Introductions continued in that way; name, how long they'd been here, and a bit of a fact about each of them. No one mentioned their specific injury or disability, maybe because most of them were obvious to the naked eye, but knowing how long they had been here made it pretty clear at least when it had happened.

Londro, who looked at least part Ishvallan, had walked in under his own power, but with a cane, wore a pair of glasses that had a tint to them that wasn't quite dark enough for shades, and he spoke just a little too deliberately. He had been in the program for four years so far, preferred it because it was quieter, and was apparently a huge bookworm that was happy to offer study help. Hrafn had a feeling he might need it, after having been out for months.

One of the two girls, Gellica, had been at the school for a year-and-a-half, and was missing an eye, and appeared to have limited motion in one arm. She was quite pretty, with curly reddish-blonde hair, a bright pale blue eye, and she apparently loved movies and animals. Though the dog with her today was clearly working. It was a fluffy red setter, who lay quietly beside her desk on a folded blanket clearly in the room for the purpose. His name was Duke, and he was quiet and alert.

The fourth boy in the room was shorter than Hrafn, with a mop of dark hair, an auto-mail arm, and a quiet smile. His name was Vian, he had been at the school for two years, and was a member of the student council.

The last was the second girl. Her name was Taniya. She had long, dark brown straight hair, lighter brown eyes, and a smile Hrafn might have called mischievous. She was also in a wheelchair, and from the lumps under her skirt, he suspected she had an auto-mail leg. The surprise though, was when she grinned and said, "and I play the drums."

And then it was his turn. Hrafn was glad no one had used last names. Maybe they wouldn't immediately figure out who his family was, or connect him with his uncle on the news. "I'm Hrafn. I've only been in Central for a couple of months, though I'm living with my aunt and uncle while I'm here. I like most sports, and I play…well, played, guitar in a band back home. I'm hoping I'll be able to work back up to it."

He thought he saw a look of interest in Taniya's eyes at the mention of guitar. Well, she was a musician, too. He wondered what kind of music she liked. Maybe, over lunch, he'd get a chance to ask her.

Winry had already been enjoying having been invited down to Aldon and Cassie's for dinner, when Reichart and Deanna showed up afterwards to join them all for dessert. The look of relief on Reichart's face told her immediately that there must have been good news from Central. Today, she knew because she kept track of things, had been Hrafn's first day at his new school.

Her hunch proved to be right as she and Edward and the others sat around the living room, sipping hot tea or coffee and nibbling on the coffee cake Cassie had made, and Reichart and Deanna recounted the conversation they'd just had before dinner with Hrafn, who had called to tell them all about it.

Winry had found the entire idea of a school specialized for students in need of particular care a fascinating and wonderful development. It hadn't been built when her own children were in school, and the program was fairly new, but it was apparently thriving. She had gotten a lot of details about it from Coran, but Hrafn's account was far more detailed and, most importantly, from the student perspective. What mattered was that he had found the lessons engaging, his classmates friendly and welcoming, and he seemed to like the teachers and the school.

"It was the most like himself he's sounded since the injury," Reichart ended the account, smiling. "He was actually enthusiastic, and he sounded pretty confident that he could get caught up."

"That's wonderful!" Cassie beamed. "I'm glad he's happy with his decision to stay, and it sounds like a good school. Did you talk to Coran at all?"

Deanna nodded. "He said Hrafn was that enthusiastic when he came home, too, and told them all about it. So, he's not just putting on a good front. He said Hrafn had even asked how long Coran thought it would be in healing before he could try playing his guitar again."

That would be several months, Winry knew, but it was very encouraging to hear that he had expressed the desire. It would give him something to work toward that he really wanted when his physical therapy was hard.

"Any chance that has anything to do with the girl who said she played drums?" Aldon asked with an amused, slightly knowing smile.

Deanna chuckled, but shrugged. "I'm sure it's far too early to tell, but at the very least, the fact that someone else in his class is a musician must be encouraging. Hrafn's never had a difficult time making friends before. If the group is as accepting and open as they sound, it will make his transition and healing that much easier."

"Which makes it easier for you," Winry commented. It wasn't a question. She'd watched these kinds of scenarios play out with thousands of patients' families in her lifetime. "Knowing that he's not regretting his choice." She had watched her grand-nephew and his wife very carefully since getting back. The collective trauma that had hit Resembool did not only affect those who were injured, and they still had their three younger children at home, and three older to be concerned over, as much as their middle-most who had been hurt. While it had been difficult for them all, something about that whole experience had shaken Reichart deeply. Part of the load he'd been carrying since then seemed to have lifted, at least a little.

Reichart nodded. "It makes it a little easier, knowing that he's starting to feel optimistic again… about anything."

Deanna, sitting beside him, subtly squeezed her husband's hand that was resting on his leg. "It does make it easier to keep moving forward with everyone going on here as well, knowing that he had a good day. And… he said he'd like to try and come home over their spring break, if he can. That is, if we managed to get things up and running in time for the Spring Sheep Festival."

Winry smiled. If he was looking forward to that, then he really must be feeling a bit better. It would help, given the plans already being worked on, that the new layout for the grounds would be quite different from the last one, to accommodate growth, as well as new safety regulations. "That is excellent news."