Chapter One
A sunny day, the first in a long time. The rainy season was living up to its name that year, the year before the sun would be swallowed and a man who wasn’t really a man would try to become God. The blond in the red jacket and his companion stood on a dusty little porch just outside Central, one debating whether to ring the doorbell, the other irritated his hands were too large to do it.
Before either could move, the door opened, and a brunette whose height fell somewhere in between the two boys’ stepped onto a well-worn welcome mat, broom in hand. Her soft, wavy hair fell over her shoulders, and the blond’s companion found himself wishing he could feel once again.
She didn’t notice them at first, because her hair was blown into her face by a sudden gust of wind. But after she cleared her vision, she smiled.
“The Elric brothers, gracing my doorstep once more,” she laughed, her voice tinkling like bells in the younger’s ears. She laid the broom against the side of the house and opened her arms to them.
The blond, known formally as the Fullmetal Alchemist, but casually as Ed, hesitated before stepping into her arms. He still wasn’t very happy about the fact she had a good four inches on him, but there was little he could do.
“Hi, Bea,” Ed mumbled against her dress. He pressed his forehead into her shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him, brushing her hand across his hair as she pressed her cheek to the top of his head.
“It’s good to see you, Edward,” she whispered. “You’re growing up so fast.”
He gave her a good squeeze, and then she let him go, turning to the younger brother, whom she always called by his full name, Alphonse.
“Hello, sweet,” she beamed, extending her arms as high as she could. “Oh, I wish I could give you a real squeeze.”
He giggled, always receptive of her affection, and reminded her, “Someday you will.” He had to crouch down considerably to allow her to wrap her arms around his shoulders, resting her head against his helmet. He used the lightest touch he could manage as he wrapped his arms around her, resting his hands on her back to return her hug. And she surprised him this time, by turning her head, rubbing at the metal near his eyes, and giving him a little kiss.
He gasped, and one gloved hand went to his face as she stepped back, gesturing into the house.
“Please, come in. I can make you some tea, Ed,” Bea said, bringing the broom back inside. The sweeping could wait; she had very special guests to attend to.
“Uh, we can’t stay long, Bea,” Ed said, but went into her house anyway, Alphonse not far behind.
Bea had gone into the kitchen, filled a pot with water, and set it on the stove to heat before tying her hair out of the way. “I know, I know. Always passing through. But stay a few minutes. I have something for Alphonse.”
Taking a seat, Al echoed, “Something for me?” as his brother collapsed heavily into the chair next to him.
Bea patted the pocket of her dress in thought, looked to the cabinet above her, rolled her teeth over her bottom lip. “Hmm, yes. Let me think of where I put it.”
The pot bubbled, wanting to reenter the conversation, so she plucked it from the stove, poured enough water into a mug, plopped in a tea bag, and placed the mug on the table in front of Ed with a smile. She returned the pot to the stove, to a cold burner this time, and resumed trying to recall what she’d done with her little gift for Alphonse.
Tapping a finger against her lips, she opened the cabinet with a flourish, and reached up on tiptoes to retrieve a package trimmed in robin’s egg blue paper and a gorgeous white satin ribbon. With a twirl, she grabbed it, hid it behind her back, and came to a stop leaning against the counter, just across from Alphonse.
Her cheeks were rosy as she said, “Someone’s birthday is coming up, and I wanted to give you something really special.”
A little gasp rang through his hollow shell as not-yet-fourteen-year-old Alphonse Elric took the package in his hands, pulling the ribbon gently, and taking Bea’s encouragement to “Just rip the paper, it’s okay, you don’t have to be so gentle.” He tried not to peek until all the paper had been removed, and he was left with a blue-green… something, which was wrapped around something else.
Bea took a seat across from the brothers as Alphonse unwrapped the blue-green thing, beaming with pride as he exclaimed, “Oh, it looks so soft! And… there’s a coloring book, and some crayons!”
She watched him flip through the pages, and imagined the expression on his face as best she could as he laughed, “They’re all of kittens! This is amazing!”
Still beaming, she told him, “I’m so glad you like it.”
He looked at her, clutching the gifts to his chest, and smiled at her with his eyes as best he could. “They’re lovely, Bea. Thank you.”
Tilting her head to the side, she offered a disgruntled Ed an explanation. “You two are still children, as much as you’re forced to be adults by your environment. I want you to be able to have a little piece of childhood back.”
Chin in his hand, Ed looked out the window with a huff. “Yeah, right, Bea. Nice try.”
Alphonse nudged his brother with one arm, almost sending the elder flying out of his chair. “Hey, Brother. Don’t be a stinker.” He flipped through the pages again and wanted to ask Bea if he could color one before they left, but a knock at the door stopped him.
“Seems I’m quite popular today,” Bea laughed as she stood and headed to the door. “I wonder if that’s Charlie with the milk.”
With a sigh, Alphonse wrapped the crayons and coloring book in the blanket, then tied it with the ribbon before depositing it inside his chest for safe keeping.
At the door, Bea peeked out the window to see who it was, and an all-too-familiar face was there to greet her. Opening the door, she remarked, “Ah, I see the boys weren’t kidding when they said they couldn’t stay long.”
“Sorry to whisk them away, Miss Cameron,” Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc apologized, “but they’re needed at the colonel’s office.”
Stepping aside to let him in, she replied, “I understand, Lieutenant.”
Grinning, he reminded her, “You know you can call me Jean.”
She winked at him as she replied, “Only if you call me Beatrice.”
He chuckled, rested his hands on his hips, and stopped laughing when he saw the boys standing in the hallway. “Oh, hey boys. Come on, Mustang’s waiting for you.”
Ed trudged to the door as Bea chatted with Jean for a moment. He stopped short of passing between the two, tugged at Bea’s sleeve, and couldn’t help the pang of reassurance in his heart when she wrapped her arms around him, held him tight, and gave him a goodbye kiss on the top of his head.
“Be a good boy, Edward,” she whispered, giving him a final pat on the back as he walked out to Havoc’s car.
“Poor kid,” Jean sighed. “He never gets to just… be a fifteen-year-old.”
She turned to Alphonse, who had inched closer to receive his goodbye hug. She reached up to him, wrapped one arm around him, and whispered, “Happy birthday, Alphonse. I hope I’ll get to see you both again soon.”
“Goodbye, Beatrice,” Alphonse replied, ducking through the doorway to follow his brother.
They watched the boys climb into the back seat of the car, and after a few moments, Bea said, “That’s why they enjoy getting to stay here.”
Confused, Jean said, “What?”
“When they come here,” she clarified, “I make sure to treat them like children, because almost no one else does. So I do the little things to remind them they don’t always have to be so grown-up.”
Smiling, Jean rested a hand on her shoulder. “They’re gathering quite a collection of mothers, aren’t they?”
She looked at him and laughed. “I’m twenty-four now; I think I’m a bit too young to have picked up some adopted sons. But I do think of them as my younger brothers.”
Jean winked at her, then leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Good to see you again, Bea.”
“Jean,” she whispered, resting a hand on his chest.
With that, he left, getting into the driver’s seat to hustle the boys back to their boss’s office. All three of them waved from the windows, and Bea leaned against the doorjamb, smiling and waving back at them.
Alphonse rolled the window down and called out, “Thank you for the gift, Bea!”
“You’re welcome!” she called back. “Stay safe, boys!”
As Alphonse rolled the window back up, he could’ve sworn she added, “You too, Jean,” in a softer voice.
--
Taking her dinner out of the oven, Beatrice Cameron looked proudly upon her fish pie, still a little somber that she wouldn’t be having any guests for dinner. The milk-boy Charlie usually stopped by for a meal whenever he made his deliveries, but she figured she should count her blessings; his father had found better work recently, and Charlie didn’t need to come to her house to have a full belly anymore.
She sung to herself, letting her pie cool before she sliced it, and set the table for one yet again. Before she could sit down, the phone rang, so she darted over to pick it up before she missed it.
Holding the receiver to her ear, she chimed, “Beatrice Cameron, may I ask who this is?”
“No need to be so formal, Bea,” the voice on the other end said.
Smiling to herself, she leaned against the wall. “Hello, Jean. What a pleasure to hear from you.”
He coughed a little, and she stopped herself from reprimanding him for still smoking. Instead, she waited for him to reply. Once he cleared his throat, he asked, “Hey, Bea, do you… do you have any plans for tonight?”
“Well,” she said, “there’s a fish pie I just took out of the oven that’s waiting for me, if that counts.”
“Will a fish pie beat dinner and drinks?”
She sighed, twirled the telephone cord around her finger. “Jean, I really—”
“Beatrice,” he said softly, “I… I just mean as friends. I know how you feel.”
Drumming her fingers on the table, she thought for a moment. “Well, when you put it that way… what time, Jean?”
There was a short pause on the other end, and then he answered her. “How does eight sound?”
“Just perfect,” she said. “See you in a couple of hours, Jean.”
“Bye, Bea.”
The line clicked out, and she replaced the receiver, then went to put the pie in the fridge for the next day.
She double-checked to make sure the doors and windows were locked before heading into her bedroom to get ready. She grabbed a light snack from the kitchen to tide her over until dinner, then began to look through her closet for something suitable.
A black dress was always a practical solution, but she didn’t think hers fit. The green one had a neckline cut a little lower than she usually liked, but perhaps it would do. She already wore too much purple, so the boatneck with the flower detail was definitely out.
“Oh, here we go,” she smiled, pulling a dark blue dress from the back of the closet. “I haven’t worn this one in quite a while.”
Satisfied, she laid the dress on the bed, pulled out her black heels, and decided to pamper herself with a hot bath. She scrubbed her skin, her scalp, and her fingernails, and even took the time to style her hair.
She even pulled out the box of silver and pearl hair pins her mother had left her, pinning them into her updo to add a little bit of sparkle. She slipped into her dress, zipped up the side, and put on her heels. By the time she looked at the clock, it was half past seven, so she went out into the living room and put on a record to listen to while she waited.
The one she picked was an old Amestrian classic, with a romantic lilt to it. As she sat in her rose-patterned armchair, letting the music transport her to another time, she recalled the last time she had spoken to Jean, before the day the Elrics stopped by a few weeks before.
She had just finished baking an apple pie, a recipe she’d saved from before her mother passed away, which had usually been reserved for special occasions. There had been a knock at the door, and there he was, unannounced, still in his work uniform. She let him in, even though she wondered if it would be better not to, and they sat down at the table in the kitchen to talk.
“Transferred to Central. I see,” she sighed. “A phone call would have accomplished the same thing, Jean.”
“I’m sorry,” he confessed. “I… wanted to talk to you in person.”
She looked at his breast pocket, saw the outline of the pack. Her gaze was trained on the table, on her hands folded in front of her. Seeing him still smoking… it made her insides twist with worry and frustration.
It was a habit he’d picked up after he enlisted, and she’d hated it enough to move away from home. Hated the things he’d done for his job, hated how much she’d grown to dislike him since they were children growing up together in the east.
He reached across the table to lay his hand over hers, and she looked up at him.
He rubbed one hand across his chin. “Beatrice,” he sighed, eyes laden with guilt, “I’m… sorry, for how things were when you left. For how I… for the things I said and did.”
She pulled her hand away. “There wasn’t anything for you to be sorry about. I told you I wanted to get out of the east, that there was nothing there for me after Mom died.”
“Bea,” he said, using her nickname for the first time in several years, “I should have been there for you. Should’ve listened to you.”
Pushing herself away from the table, she walked to the counter, letting her weight fall onto her hands. She shut her eyes and promised herself she wouldn’t cry into the sink again, not this time.
She’d spent too many tears on Jean Havoc, and today, she would not add to them.
She heard him get up but didn’t turn to look at him. Part of her hoped he would see himself out, go back to wherever he was staying and just leave her alone. He’d probably gotten her address from the city registry, or even worse, from his parents back east. She knew she shouldn’t have given them a forwarding address when she moved.
The whole point of moving halfway across the country was to actually leave the past behind. That was a point she had missed, clearly.
“Beatrice,” he said, his voice soft and gentle, just the way he used to be when they were children. She felt him move closer, anticipated him reaching out for her, so she turned toward him, anger and hurt mixing on her face.
“Bea,” he repeated, cupping her face in his hand. There was pain in his eyes, too. He’d never looked that sad before, not even when the puppy he’d found when he was ten died in his arms.
Sniffling, she closed her eyes and cried, “Jean, I… I can’t, not anymore,” as tears begun to roll down her cheeks.
He sighed, stepped away and let his hand fall from her face, and told her, “I’ll respect that. I’m sorry, Beatrice.”
And with that, he’d left, not to appear again until he came to collect the Elrics from her home, on orders from his boss, the indomitable Colonel Roy Mustang.
She wanted to kick herself, remembering how badly she’d wished he hadn’t left. But it had been better off for them to have more time apart. There was an unspoken healing that had taken place, and it was the reason why she hadn’t been angry when he’d kissed her cheek that day she saw the Elrics.
As much as he played the part of the woman-chaser, always going after the next pretty girl to cross his path, she knew Jean had a good heart. It was one of the things that had first attracted her to him, and she had tried to look past her disgust of the military for his sake.
She was distracted from the memory by a knock at the door, and she grabbed her shawl before going to answer it, wrapping it loosely around her shoulders, purse in hand. She peeked through the window, relieved that it was exactly who she’d been expecting.
Funny things had been happening in Central, and she wasn’t quite happy about it. But she knew she would be safe with Jean.
“Good evening,” she said as she opened the door, “I see you still clean up well.”
Sporting a handsome blazer over a crisp white shirt, black silk tie, and nicely-pressed pants, he took his arm out from behind his back to reveal a small bouquet. “Yeah, well,” he laughed, gesturing to her dress with his free hand, “you don’t look too bad yourself.”
She stepped aside to let him come in, saying, “Let me get a vase for those so they don’t wilt. You can tell me all about them while I look for it.”
She found the vase more quickly than anticipated, so he waited until she’d filled it with water and was ready to put the flowers in.
“White lilacs, for humility,” he began. “Gardenias for joy, and daffodils for new beginnings. Some delphinium sprinkled in for lighthearted fun.”
Taking the flowers from him, she held them to her face to smell them. “They’re beautiful, Jean. Thank you.”
With the flowers secure in their vase, he offered her his arm. She accepted it, and he led her out to the car once she’d locked up the house. He even held her door for her, then closed it once she’d gotten in.
Wrapping her shawl a little more tightly around her, she asked, “So, where exactly are we having dinner?”
He smiled at her, shook his head, and said, “No, Bea, it’s a surprise. Don’t make me spoil it.”
Content to trust him, she sat back to enjoy the ride, Jean taking the long way back to the center of the city. They passed a number of possible locations, but every time she’d look out the window, he’d say, “Mmm, getting warmer, but not quite.”
Finally, when they reached a seedy-looking place, she wasn’t so sure of herself. He parked the car, then got out to get her door, and led her to the entrance of a place called “Madame’s.”
She wasn’t very sure she’d made the right decision in agreeing to dinner and drinks with Jean, especially not if it was at a place she thought was a brothel. What did he have up his sleeve this time?
“Umm, Jean?”
He looked down at her, and wrapped an arm around her to give her a reassuring hug. “We’re just stopping in here for a second. The restaurant’s around the corner.”
“Okay,” she replied, and Jean led her inside, where they were greeted with a loud shout.
“Hey! Havoc!” a rather drunk-sounding man called from the bar. His hair was disheveled, falling in his dark eyes, and he held some half-empty glass in his hand, brandishing it like it was a neon sign.
Bea recognized him as the famed colonel Jean had been dutifully serving for the last several years, and wondered how he had made colonel so young when he seemed to be such an idiot.
“Evening, colonel,” Jean replied, giving his boss a little wave.
Mustang made his way over to them, walking steadily for a man who sounded to be past his drinking limit, and held a hand out to Bea. “Havoc told me you’d be stopping by. Nice to meet you, Miss Cameron. I’m sure he’s told you all about me.”
“Something like that,” she replied, shaking the colonel’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you. I’m Beatrice, an old friend of Jean’s.”
“Roy Mustang,” the colonel replied. “But you can call me Roy.”
Jean knocked him in the shoulder, earning him a lighthearted reprimand.
“Hey,” he replied, “you might be my boss when we’re at work, but you’re not gonna break out the womanizer attitude in front of a girl I’ve known since I was five.”
Hanging his head chastely, Mustang whined, “Aww, Havoc.”
Confused by the whole ordeal, Bea interrupted, “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Mustang. I think we should be going now.”
Perking up immediately, Mustang gave her a smile. “Have a good evening, Miss Cameron. Keep an eye on Jeanie boy here for me, will ya?” He pointed a thumb at Jean, wiggling one eyebrow and winking.
She’d never had the urge to both roll her eyes and cold-cock someone at the same time, but today was the day for new things, apparently.
“Will do. Have a good evening, Mr. Mustang.”
With that, they left, Jean flipping the bird at a mock-offended Mustang on the way out. He hoped Bea didn’t notice him doing it.
She did.
She was glad he’d done it, or else she would’ve had to herself.
Taking his arm once more, she let him lead her outside, down the sidewalk, and around the corner, falling into a comfortable silence. They walked at a languid pace, taking in the sounds and sights of the city at night.
Jazz music drifted out of an open door on their right, which made her smile. His brother used to love playing jazz records in their bedroom when Jean still lived at home.
A pang of nostalgia and regret hit her heart. Maybe she’d missed him more than she thought.
Suddenly, he stopped, and gestured grandly to the door in front of them.
“We have arrived,” he announced, bravado leaking into his voice. “After you, my dear.”
He held the door for her, and she stepped inside Casabelle, a much fancier restaurant than she’d been anticipating. She was glad she’d put the pearl pins in her hair, or else she would’ve felt underdressed.
The host led them to their table, where a rather shiny bottle of wine was sitting in a cooler, waiting for them. He poured for them, then handed them menus to look over.
“Thank you,” Bea said, opening her menu after clinking her glass against Jean’s. As she raised the glass to her lips, she stopped, set it down on the table, and peered more closely at the text on the menu, not sure she was reading correctly.
Smug, Jean asked her, “Something wrong, Beatrice?”
Squinting at the menu, she replied, “Jean, there… there aren’t any prices on this menu. Why aren’t there any prices on the menu?”
Gesturing with his wineglass, he explained, “Oh, Bea, there are prices on the menu… on my menu.”
“Jean,” she exclaimed under her breath, just as a waitress appeared to take their order.
“Good evening,” she greeted them, “my name is Sylvia, and I’ll be taking care of you this evening. How would you like to start things off?”
Grinning far too suspiciously for Bea’s taste, Jean pointed to something on the menu, and asked, “Would you recommend this appetizer with a red wine?”
Sylvia glanced over his shoulder, pad of paper in hand, and said, “Yes, that’s an excellent choice.” She scribbled whatever it was down on her pad, then asked, “And your entrée?”
Just as before, Jean pointed to something on the menu, but she recommended a white wine instead.
“Though, you could enjoy that with a red,” she admitted. “I’ve heard it’s just as delicious either way.”
“Only heard?” he smiled, closing his menu to hand it to her. She scribbled something down on her pad, then took his menu before holding her hand out to take Bea’s as well.
“Yes,” Sylvia replied as Bea handed her menu over, dumbstruck. “I don’t drink, so I give recommendations based on the sommelier’s word and that of our clientele.”
“Understandable,” Jean said. “Thank you, Sylvia.”
“Of course,” she said with a smile. “I’ll get that appetizer to you as soon as possible.”
With that, she left, and Bea stared at him, openmouthed, trying to figure out what had just happened.
Innocent, he sat back in his chair, shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. “I’m not sure why you’re so surprised. You know me well enough, Bea.”
Shaking her head, she replied, “Oh, Jean, I’m beginning to wonder if this was a good idea.”
He leaned across the little table, held his hand out to her, and smiled when she took it. “Beatrice,” he said, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles, “you wouldn’t have come if you really didn’t want to. I know you well enough for that.”
“I thought I came just as a friend,” she retorted, though she could hear the lie herself.
He nodded, but stated, “If that’s what you wanted, I’ll respect that, same as always. I just don’t think that’s what you really wanted,” he added, lowering his voice.
Squeezing his hand, she sighed, the weight of the past bearing down on her more than before. Her eyes closed, heart heavy. “Jean, I… I don’t know what I want anymore.”
“Talk to me, Beatrice,” he coaxed, holding her hand in both of his. “And… and before you say anything, I’m…” He trailed off, rubbed his thumbs across her hand and cleared his throat. “I’m working on quitting. For real this time.”
Blinking in shock, when her vision focused on his face, she swallowed hard.
His eyes, bluer than the sky, looked upon her with the tenderness of a lover who longed for forgiveness.
He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a handkerchief, which he held out to her. She took it, dabbing at her eyes, and smiled.
“I won’t ask for too much,” she laughed, “though I do worry about you still being in the military.”
He smiled, and she felt her heart melt; she could never stay mad at him for long, as much as he drove her crazy sometimes.
“I know you don’t like it,” he admitted. “But it’s a stable job, and it means I don’t have to take over the general store back home. Plus, I’m usually on desk duty under the colonel’s—er, under Hawkeye’s careful watch.”
She wiped at her eyes again, and they sat there in silence for a few minutes, happy to enjoy each other’s company. He held her hand in both of his, smiling to himself, and only let go when the appetizer arrived.
Smoked cheese and flatbread crisps began the meal, as did light chatter about life in Central, the antics of the colonel, and shared worry over the Elric brothers. The wine they set aside for water, but it paired well with the gorgeous roast and potatoes that comprised the entrée. Water became the drink of choice again for the dessert, an unbelievably giant slice of cake they shared between them. She excused herself to the powder room as they were getting ready to leave.
Leaning against the sink, peering into the mirror, she was surprised to see how flushed and full of life she looked. There was a sparkle in her eyes that she hadn’t seen before, and her heart beat content in her chest, not too nervous and not too bored.
She refreshed her lipstick, took a deep breath, and returned to their table, as Jean adjusted his tie and offered his arm once more.
“Fancy a little stroll?” he asked, and she nodded, so he led her out of the restaurant and down the block, where the street had been closed for an open-air, free dance.
“Oh, Jean!” she laughed. “You always have to have a little trick up your sleeve, don’t you?”
With a flourish, he asked, “May I have this dance, my lady?”
Wordless, she took his hand, and he led her onto the dance floor, where prepared sheets of parquet had been laid to make a smoother dancing surface. There was a live band parked in front of one of the storefronts, and just as they hit the dance floor, they began playing a gorgeous, languid ballad.
She rested one hand on his chest, and he wrapped his arm loosely around her as they swayed to the beat, her head on his shoulder. Her hand clasped his, and he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles once more.
She could feel his heartbeat beneath her fingertips, skipping and lilting along like a guilty child’s, and she raised her head to look at him. His eyes were misty, with a faraway look, almost as if he was seeing into the past.
“Jean,” she whispered, and he started, blushing pink for a second, then red.
“Um, yeah,” he mumbled, as she slid her hand up to wrap around his shoulder.
“Jean,” she repeated, her voice breathy. “Look at me.”
He swallowed, blinked, and did as she asked, his heart dropping into his stomach as he thought, Oh, Beatrice, please don’t look at me like that.
He guided her other hand to his chest, then wrapped both arms around her, holding her close, and pressed his forehead to hers, eyes closed.
They swayed together, their breath mingling, and he wondered if her lips would taste of the wine they’d shared.
He didn’t get a chance to find out, though, because a breeze picked up out of nowhere, followed by a concussive blast from somewhere in the city.
Screams tore through the air as many of the people were knocked off-balance, Jean holding Bea steady as they both sunk to the floor. He covered her head with his hand; protecting her became his first priority.
After a few moments, the commotion settled as people realized they were okay. Confusion replaced the fear as people questioned the source of the blast, and Jean helped Beatrice to her feet.
“Jean,” she said, “we should get to a phone. Call the colonel.”
“You’re right,” he said, wrapping one arm around her to guide her down the block. “It might be quicker to just go back to Madame’s, though. He’s probably still there.”
“What is it about that place?” she asked, taking careful steps so she wouldn’t twist her ankle.
He looked down at her, confused, until it dawned on him. Laughing, he explained, “The owner is his adoptive mother, his aunt, Chris Mustang. He hangs around there so much because he grew up there, basically.”
“Oh,” she said, and they hightailed it, a bad feeling creeping into her stomach.
Once they reached Madame’s, the colonel was at the bar, barking into a phone, clenching his fist on the table.
“What do you mean, it exploded?!” Mustang exclaimed. “Get a car over here now! And get the Elric brothers out of there, now!”
“Colonel!” Jean shouted, still holding Beatrice to his side. “What’s going on?”
As he slammed the receiver down, Mustang turned to answer him. “Edward and Alphonse went to investigate the Fifth Laboratory, next to Central Prison. While they were there, it exploded. I just got word from Ross and Brosh. They’re taking Ed to the hospital.”
“No,” Bea gasped, her legs giving out. She would’ve hit the ground if Jean hadn’t been holding her. He guided her to the floor, holding her and whispering that they would be okay as she began to cry.
“Beatrice,” he said, keeping his voice low so only she could hear, “they’re strong boys. They’ll be okay.”
“They—they’ve lost so much, Jean,” she sobbed, “they… they can’t lose each other.”
“They won’t,” he reassured her, pressing his lips to her temple. “They won’t.”
He held her until she calmed down, and Mustang told him to drive her home before doing anything else.
When they reached her home, Jean walked her all the way into the house and made sure
she sat down on the couch to try and relax. “Wait here for a minute,” he told her, and then he went out into the hall to use her phone.
A woman picked up on the other end, but when he asked for Mustang, she immediately handed the phone over to him.
“Yeah.”
“I got her back to the house, colonel. What are my orders?”
“Stay with her, Havoc,” Mustang told him. “I’m going down to the hospital myself. According to Ross, Al’s fine, and Ed’s injuries aren’t critical.”
Relieved, Jean replied, “Yes, sir,” and hung up the phone.
“Jean?” Bea called, and he returned to the sitting room.
He joined her on the couch, wrapping his arm around her as she leaned into him. “That was the colonel,” he said, “and the boys are fine. No serious injuries.”
“Oh, thank God,” she sobbed, pressing her hands to her face.
They sat together in silence until her sobs faded.
She collected herself, cleared her throat, and asked, “Don’t… don’t you need to go be with your boss?”
He cupped her chin in his hand as he answered her. “Boss gave me the night off. You’ve got my full attention tonight.” He tucked a stray hair behind her ear and asked, “You still got that record I gave you?”
“Y-yes,” she whispered, and he guided her off the couch, turned on the record player, and held his hand out to her. She decided to forego that, choosing to drape both arms around his shoulders, resting her head on his chest.
A tender smile blossomed on his face as he held her waist, and they swayed to the music drifting out of the record player.
When the first song ended, he cleared his throat to speak, but couldn’t find the right words—for the situation, for how either of them felt. So he continued to hold her, rubbing her back and humming along to the music.
At the end of the second song, he licked his lips and sighed. The night could’ve gone a lot better, though it also could’ve gone a whole lot worse. He was thankful no one was dead.
Voice soft, Bea said, “Hey, Jean?”
“Yeah,” he answered, as she lifted her head to look at him.
She licked her lips, rolled her teeth across her bottom lip. Ran her hand through his hair, tilted her head to the side as her eyes fluttered shut.
He kissed her.
And she did, in fact, taste like wine.
Jean Havoc found himself thinking he’d be happy to get drunk off her kiss any day.
Beatrice Cameron found herself wishing she’d never run away from him.
