Balance of Power ~ Chapter Twenty-One, Part Two
“We Can Make This Thing Into A Party”
Arc One: Chapter Twenty-One, Part 2
Balance of Power
WARNING: Post Series, Post Movie **SPOILER HEAVY** and slightly AU
"Well, I miss him. He's hard to ignore, even if he is kind of short." He pictured what his brother would do if he'd heard that comment, then caught onto what Gene was trying to do; it was a trick Ed sometimes pulled. "And stop trying to change the subject."
A/N: Since we are currently running "The Ducky List" contest here, here are the Cracked Bunnies Top 5 Reasons Why Chapter Twenty-One Is So Late:
5. Ed touched the computer and destroyed the motherboard.
4. We let Ducky try to write it.
3. Bond kept threatening to blow us up if he didn't get tea soon.
2. The Shadows kept deleting the file.
1. We all had lots of RL stuff happen at once.
Please forgive us!!!!!
This is Part Two. To view Part One, go here!
June 3, 3:15 pm
Wichita, Kansas
Even after a full morning of playing on the computer, therapy, and going to say goodbye to the babies in neonatal one last time, the after-effects of caffeine had Al twitching. Gene wasn’t kidding when he said I wouldn’t be able to handle it, he thought, making his way back to B-Mod and trying not to tremble from the chemical. Holding the infants was relaxing, but he was just too keyed up for it to last long in the enforced quiet that neonatal required.
Wandering the halls, he wondered where Gene was. He never joined in with the neo-natal visits, citing no desire to be spat up on by podlings. He was always back before Al had finished his visit, too, either reading or trying to con Rick into letting him use the computer again.
He was also always a little more tired after Al got back, as though he’d been working hard. So, in a fit of impulse, Al turned and headed for the therapy wing. With Gene’s limitations, it made sense that the guy would work on therapy more than one kid with a mostly-healed broken arm.
Al flexed his arm as he walked, surprised at how much muscle mass he’d regained already. He’d been diligently retraining it, and while his left arm was still significantly thinner than his right, it no longer looked weak. It could probably hold up to a lot now. He relaxed the arm, letting his hand dangle, and massaged the muscle. It should be fine for this evening…if Ed doesn’t decide he needs to trash the hospital. The thought made his stomach churn, and he sighed. I’ll stop him if he tries. They helped me a lot, so there’s no reason to destroy the place. Besides; Gene still has to stay here.
With that thought in his mind, Al turned a corner and spotted Gene in the therapy room, an assistant holding his legs in place. He paused to watch, and almost wanted to look away as Gene struggled to sit upright, his progress slow and clumsy. There was very little muscle that bulged as he worked, and half of his leg didn’t flex at all.
He looks so…awkward.
Watching as Gene struggled to sit upright it was easy for him to remember how his brother had looked, missing two limbs and still healing before surgery. He’d tried to do everything by himself, and the handicap of not only being sans an arm and a leg but completely off-balance often conspired against him.
~`~`~`~
“Brother! You shouldn’t be trying to move on your own,” Al said as he clanked over to Ed, sprawled on the floor in a tangle of sheets and bandages. “Here, let me help you.
“I can do it, Al.” Completely ignoring the offer to help, Ed hauled himself one-handed into the wheelchair he’d become completely dependent on. “But… could you take me to the shower? I smell awful.”
He didn’t need to ask. It didn’t take long for Al to push him out back, where he could help his brother keep his balance while the shower ran. And as Ed washed his hair one-handed, Al was shocked at how hard even the simplest tasks had become. Something menial and private, like Edward cleaning himself, had suddenly morphed into an ordeal involving an outside person.
Al didn’t mind that he had to take care of his brother. That was what they’d done ever since their mother had died. What they would do even in metallic bodies. Even with missing limbs. But it hurt, seeing how much it grated on Ed’s nerves to have to ask for the help.
“Al, could you hand me the soap?”
~`~`~`~
"I CAN'T DO THIS!"
Al dragged himself out of the memory as he heard Gene yelling at the top of his lungs, and ran for the therapy room. He stumbled through the door and onto the view of Gene trying to get the therapy assistant away from him, as much as legs and skinny arms would let him.
"Get away! I can't do this anymore! What's the fucking point to it??"
He didn't stop to think. Shoving the assistant out of the way he wrapped his arms around his friend. "Hey, Gene! Calm down! It's just me!" The flailing stopped, so Al took advantage of it and hugged his friend tight. "What's going on, Gene? What's wrong?"
"What's wrong?" As Al expected, his friend shoved him away and rolled, trying to get to a place where he could face him. The therapy assistant hovered above both of them, but Al ignored him. "What isn't wrong? My legs don't work because I fucking fell down a hole, I can't even do twenty damned sit-ups, my parents hardly care that I even exist, and you have the fucking nerve to ask me what's wrong???"
Al waved at the assistant to get him to go away, and settled down.
The therapist gave him an uncertain look, but something in Al's demeanor must have convinced him that it was all right, because he nodded and got to his feet. "I'll wait over there," he said as he gestured to the far end of the gym. "Any problems and I'll be right on both of you like a coat of paint. Got it?"
Al smiled and nodded, and waited until the man was out of earshot before he faced Gene again. "Wanna tell me about it?"
"What, so you can psycho-analyze me the way the quacks in this hospital do?" Gene pulled himself into a sitting position, maneuvering his legs with his hands. "I don't need any shit like that."
"Psycho-analyze?" Al shrugged at the term, and decided it wasn't important. "I'm not trying to do anything. I just want to hear what you have to say, okay?"
There was silence for a long time as Gene just sat there, rubbing at the thigh muscles that had failed him so many times. Long enough that Al half-expected Gene to just maneuver himself back to his chair and go away. He hardly expected him to speak.
"My parents aren't the shiniest pennies in the bank, for one. Neither are the people who work for them."
The resentment was thick enough that Al almost thought Gene was smothering under it. "Howso?" Realizing just how that sounded, Al coughed and hedged a bit. "I'm sorry, it's really rude of me to ask, and I don't want to do something like my brother would and insult you by badgering you about it..."
Gene let loose a laugh that sounded real enough, which made Al feel slightly better. "Your brother must really be something. When it's just us, you mention him almost every two minutes."
"Well, I miss him. He's hard to ignore, even if he is kind of short." He pictured what his brother would do if he'd heard that comment, then caught onto what Gene was trying to do; it was a trick Ed sometimes pulled. "And stop trying to change the subject."
The depression was back on Gene's face, but Al didn't dare retract his statement. His friend needed to talk about this. Just looking at him, Al could tell he'd held it in for too long and that there was too much resentment and anger for it to have been something simple.
"My parents didn't really try to raise me, when I was younger," he started. He didn't look at Al, but played with his shoelaces. "Instead, they hired out my care to a nanny service. Some woman came and watched me all day, until I was about four. That was when I got a really spacey nanny, who watched soap operas more than me."
Al couldn't believe a mother would do something like that. Remembering his own childhood, he was suddenly even more grateful than normal to how his own mother had raised him and his brother. "Soap operas?"
There was a smile again. An actual amused one. "Really bad TV shows."
Al smiled back. "All TV shows are bad."
"Touché. Anyway..." Gene rubbed at his leg again. Al figured he probably needed some time to think, so he kept quiet. "I fell, when I was four," he said eventually, in a very quiet voice. "There was a big hole in the backyard, because my parents were putting in a pool. I wandered away from my nanny, and fell in."
Al remembered one time when he and Brother had fallen out of a fort they had built. The girls, Winry and Nellie, had panicked and run around the remains of the fort he and his brother had slaved over, crying out for both of them. But the only injuries they'd had were a couple of bruises, splinters, and one very large shiner for Ed. Is it something other than just a fall, I wonder? "Was it a really steep fall?"
"Not really." Gene's voice had taken on that flat sound, the type of tone that Al had sometimes heard in Germany, when veterans from the War spoke of their injuries. A coping mechanism, one that distanced the injured from the event. "Apparently, when the nanny panicked and picked me up, the damage that was already done became a lot worse. I probably would've been fine, had she just admitted to losing track of me and called an ambulance instead of taking me inside and pretending I'd been playing in the nursery all afternoon." Looking up, Al could swear he saw tears in his friend's eyes. "But instead, I'm stuck in that fucking monstrosity, and I can't even do a few simple sit-ups. Because some moron my parents hired to raise me didn't want someone to know she hadn't been paying any attention." He flopped onto the ground and stared at the ceiling. "What do you have to say to that?"
His friend laying there, vulnerable, reminded Al too much of seeing his brother helpless, and him unable to touch or comfort his brother. "You're alive, though. Right?"
"You call this living?" Gene gestured wildly at his legs. "I'm nose-to-crotch with most of the world, stuck in a freaking remote control chair that no one can see past. My parents view me as either a commodity or a burden they have to 'make better'. I can't run, can't walk on my own, and no one wants anything to do with me. Fuck, I can't even roughhouse with the one guy that's even been somewhat nice to me." His eyes dared Al to say anything. "Do you really call that a life?"
"Yes, actually." Before Gene could get a word in edgewise, Al continued, sprawling on the ground next to his friend. "It's not an ideal one, true. Not even a really favorable one." He rested a hand on Gene's knee and squeezed. "But you're alive, and you're breathing. You can reason, a lot better than most of the people in this ward. You can feel, even if it's not in the way you really want to." He squeezed harder, and smiled as Gene reacted to the sensation this time. "You have a soul, Gene. You're still alive, still breathing. The flow of life hasn't stopped for you, yet. Don't let it before you're ready." He paused. "...though why do you want to roughhouse with me?"
Gene sighed and stared at the ceiling. "It has to do with my dad."
"Your dad?"
"Yeah." Working hard, Gene turned on his stomach, and propped his chin on his hands. "My dad wrestled in high school. Went to the state competition, too. He has all these trophies on the wall from things he placed in." The depressive air around him grew worse, and Al almost saw his friend deflate from it. "I wanted to do something like that. But I can't now."
"Who says you can't?"
"My legs." He sighed. "Wrestling takes a lot of leg strength. A lot of lower body strength, and a lot of upper body strength. Mine's just not up to it."
Al smiled. Here was a way he could help his friend. "Wanna bet?"
Before Gene knew what hit him, Al had pounced. A lock that Al had once used on Ed as a kid was quickly thwarted by some fast maneuvering on Gene's part, and soon Al found himself pinned by the arms. He unbent his elbows and slid out of the lock, wincing as Gene accidentally clocked him going for his waist to pin him. He was laughing, and struggling, and his movements were jerky. But they wrestled for a good few minutes, until the assistant came over.
"Hey, boys, boys! There's no need for this!"
"Yeah there was." Neither one was really sure who had won, but Al was certainly feeling less twitchy. And Gene looked about ready to burst his seams with smiling. "We both needed it."
The assistant frowned. "Well, next time? Warn a man before you do something like that. Okay?"
Al and Gene both blushed, then laughed at each other. "Okay." Al's stomach rumbled in irritation as the therapy assistant cleaned up the room, and he made a face. "You know something, Gene? I now understand why Brother always complained about hospital food.”
"It's either bland and tasteless, or so chock-full of vitamins that the taste of zinc and iron overwhelms your poor tastebuds?" Gene refused help and made it to a position where he could get back into his chair. "Be grateful you've only been having it for a few weeks."
"That, and I'm hungry again." Al smiled tiredly. "Maybe your mom'll cook you something when you get home."
Gene thought about that for a few minutes, and smiled back. "Maybe." He maneuvered himself into his remote wheelchair, and laughed. "Though I'm not sure I'll want to eat it."
0o0o0
Ed was certain this was where the group had been sitting. He looked around for familiar landmarks, and mentally kicked himself for not paying closer attention earlier… but it looked like the right place. Except instead of Hughes or Reilly --or anyone else even slightly familiar-- there was a large, dark-skinned family setting out an even larger spread of food that was literally painful to look at. Among them, he spotted the little girl who had followed him earlier, carrying a bowl to the table that was nearly as big as she was and making a valiant effort to see around it.
Panic welled up as he scanned the area nearby, and still he saw no sign of anyone familiar. They left? Had he really messed up so badly this time that even Hughes would abandon him? Ed shook his head to clear it. Not possible. And even if Reilly was furious with him, she wasn’t vindictive.
A handsome woman with a quiet dignity about her that reminded Ed so much of Hawkeye it hurt approached him from the laden table and asked, “Are you looking for your friends?”
“Uh, yeah… I think they were at this table earlier.”
She smiled warmly, took him lightly by the shoulder and turned him. “You walked right past them, hon.”
Ed instantly relaxed. They were no more than 30 meters away, scattered around a large blanket that was dominated by a reclining Hughes. Ducky and Heist were intent on their lap-tops and Reilly was leaning against Tom, who held a comforting arm around her shoulder. The stone in the pit of his stomach grew into a boulder and decided that now was a good time to learn how to roll over when she dabbed at her eyes. Hughes reached out without actually looking, and offered his hand to her. She squeezed it with a sad smile and Ed was amazed once more at how the man always seemed to know just the right thing to do or say to make someone feel better.
He faced the dark-skinned woman and said, “Thanks.” Without meaning to, his eyes darted to the food that was miraculously multiplying on the table, and with effort he forced them back to the woman. “Thanks,” he said again and started to move to the group on the blanket when he felt her hand on his shoulder once more.
Her smile was, if possible, even warmer than before, as she said, “Why don’t you and your friends join us. We have more than enough.”
It took a moment for Ed to process just what she was saying and he felt his jaw drop. “Join you? F-for the food?”
“Of course.”
Ed gulped, half from shock, half from the feeling that his stomach had suddenly decided to start eating itself from the inside. He felt completely out of his element at that moment. Had this been Resembool, or even Central, he wouldn’t have hesitated. An invitation like this wasn’t given unless sincere, but here he’d seen people say a lot of things they didn’t really mean. Sometimes out of anger or ignorance, sometimes out of politeness. He weighed the options then shook his head. “Thank you, but no. We couldn’t impose.”
She chuckled, a deep, rich sound that was naturally soothing. “On the contrary, we were the ones who imposed, and your friends were kind enough to let us have the table. Besides, wasting good food is a sin. I insist.”
His stomach chose that moment to loudly voice its own opinion and he made a mental note to have a long talk with it about its rather manic-depressive behavior today. It wouldn’t do to have it flop yet again and he lose his lunch. After all, as the woman said, wasting good food was a sin. “Thank you. I’ll go tell them.”
He stared to dash off when she said, “Do you have a name?”
Chagrined he nodded and said, “Sorry. I’m Ed.”
She held out her left hand and he took it. Her grip was as warm as her voice and strong without being crushing. “Hello, Ed. I’m Johnna. And I’ll introduce you to the rest of the family when you get back with your friends.”
“All right. Be back in a minute.”
As he approached the group, he caught part of Tom’s comment to Ducky, and wondered just what the hell they were planning for tonight.
“-you can’t crawl through the ducts, you idiot. They only do that in the movies.”
“Aw c’mon, me and Ed are small enough to pull it off, and we’d avoid the security cameras.”
“I don’t give a shit how small you two are, if -and that’s a very big if-you could even squeeze your skinny asses up in there, they wouldn’t support your weight.”
Heist looked up from her lap-top and said, “Actually, they could do it.”
“You’re not helping here, woman.”
She twirled the computer around in her lap to show Tom a schematic that Ed could see over his shoulder as he approached. “The building is late 19th century. The ductwork came in about early 20th century and was huge. From the looks of things, it’s all still in use. Big enough that you could damn near drive a golf-cart through, anyway.”
“Ugh,” Tom groaned. “Let’s not mention golf-carts right now.”
“You have to admit that was sheer brilliance on my part,” Ducky said, then looked up and grinned at Ed. “Hey, Terminator. Feel up to crawling through some air ducts tonight?”
“Will it get Al out of there?”
“Does a bear shit in the woods?”
Ed didn’t bother to try to puzzle that one out, and said to the group at large, “We’ve been invited to lunch.”
Hughes opened one eye. “By who?”
Ed pointed back at the family that had taken over the table and made the mistake of glancing over his shoulder at the same time. The amount of food had multiplied even more than just a moment ago. No wonder they were invited to join them. “Damn,” he muttered in disbelief.
“I think they were just being polite, Ed,” Tom said without taking his eyes off the computer screen.
Hughes sat up and stared openly at the table. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
Tom looked back and did a double-take. “Damn.”
Hughes stiffly got to his feet, and smoothed out his scrubs. “Well, you can sit here and starve. I’m accepting the invitation.”
0o0o0
Ed could have sworn he saw the table bending under the weight of all the food. A tangy-spicy-sweet smell wafted around the offerings from the grill, there were heaping platters of neatly cut vegetables, and several bags of those crispy potato things they used to dip in Hughes' guacamole. Incredibly, Ed even spotted a small bowl of some familiar-looking green spread. He counted no less than six different noodle dishes and --are those cookies?
He felt a warm grip on his left shoulder and he instinctively grabbed the paper plate that was pressed into his hands.
"You can blink, dear, the food's not going anywhere," their culinary benefactor said with a laugh. Johnna then handed him a set of plastic utensils wrapped in a napkin and picked up another plate. "Any ideas about what your friend might like?"
Ed followed her nod over to Hughes, sitting stiffly in a canvas folding chair. Away from the others, his everything-is-fine demeanor had degraded to one filled with pain and exhaustion. A grimace flicked across his face and his hand reached up to gently probe his injured shoulder. Ed turned back to the food table guiltily; he still hadn't heard how Hughes had gotten hurt. Johnna peered at him, holding the empty plate expectantly. Ed cleared his throat, "Umm, I'm not really sure what he'd like... but he'll be fine with anything." Because that's just how Hughes is...
"A little bit of everything, then," she said. "We can always get him seconds of the things he likes best."
Ed mirrored Johnna's actions, taking a small portion of most of the dishes. By the time they reached the other end of the table, his plate was very nearly overflowing, especially after she balanced two golden squares of some yummy-looking dessert on top of his hamburger bun. "You don't want to miss out on those, hon. They're always the first to go."
Johnna made her way over to Hughes, materializing a small folding tray for his plate somewhere along the way, but Ed hung back with the food. He glanced around; Ducky and Heist were filling their own plates, Tom was talking amiably with a middle-aged man by the grill, and farther away Ed could see Reilly just now leaving the temporary security of the group's picnic blanket. Arms wrapped around herself and head bowed low, she looked more defeated than Ed had felt since he'd arrived, being without his brother. She joined Tom and his new friend and surveyed the area. When she pointedly skipped over him, Ed's appetite completely disappeared.
He glanced down at the feeling of a light tug on the hem of his shirt. Peeking out from under his plate was the little girl from the trees. She gave him another wave.
"Come sit with me!" she exclaimed. With his shirt fisted in her tiny grip, Ed had no choice but to follow as she walked away. She led him to a quilt that had been neatly laid out next to Hughes' chair and in a gravity-defying move that only a small child could accomplish, she jumped, crossed her legs in mid-air, and landed with a rattle of beaded braids --all without letting go of Ed's shirt. He almost ended up wearing his lunch for the second time that day and scrambled to keep the plate level as he dropped down onto the quilt with a muffled thud. She waited until he had settled his plate more securely on his lap before picking up a half-eaten dog that looked much cleaner to eat than the one Reilly had ordered for him earlier.
Johnna bustled back to them and handed Hughes a cup. "There ya are, darling. Now you just concentrate on eating and try to relax a bit." She rounded on Ed, studying him close. "And how are you doing? Did Tessa get you a drink? She didn't, did she?"
The little girl jumped up with a squeak, dropped her hot dog and ran towards a smaller table covered in an assortment of pitchers and jugs. The hot dog bounced off her plate and landed mustard-side down on the quilt. Johnna sighed, returned it to its appropriate place, pulled an extra napkin out of thin air and in less than ten seconds had the yellow spot cleaned enough that Ed could barely see it.
Ed felt a rush of guilt at just helping himself to all this wonderful food and not offering anything in return, and said, "Can I give you a hand with anything?"
Johnna stopped her straightening of the quilt and gave him a measuring look. "Yes," she said after a moment. "You can eat up." She nodded back at the enormous spread and the brood that had gathered. "My kids won't take much home with them, and they all seem to think that Henry and I will starve to death if they don't pile all the leftovers on us. Unfortunately, even with the boys, too much of it will spoil before it's all eaten."
Ed gaped. He'd counted eleven adults, not including Johnna and her husband; he kept losing track of the number of teens and children. "They're... all your kids?"
She laughed. "Well, six of them I gave birth to, but yes." She pointed out the small cluster of five teen boys. "When my youngest went off to college, Henry and I decided the house was too big for just the two of us, so we fostered the boys. The rest are my grandchildren."
Ed could only stare. The woman hardly looked old enough to be the mother of the teens, let alone six adults.
"The holidays must be a lot of fun at your house," Hughes said.
"So is every other day, Maes. The house is always full with the neighborhood kids. My children's childhood friends and their kids are always coming to visit, same with members of the parish. Henry and I have been blessed with a lot of love and a very large family." She gave Ed a pat on the arm as she got to her feet. "Family is not always defined by blood, after all."
A sudden shout from the general direction of the teens caught Johnna's attention. With a shake of her head and a soft sigh, she gave Hughes and Ed a slight bow. "If you'll excuse me. One thing about a large family? There's never a dull moment." Then she buzzed off to break up the impending fight.
She patted Tessa on the head as the little girl skipped by with a clear plastic cup full of a red liquid, and the little girl instantly changed her gait to one less likely to slosh the drink all over the place. When she reached Ed, she thrust the cup at him, and said, "Here! I brought you my favorite."
"Thanks." Ed took a sip of the overly sweet, semi-fruity concoction as Tessa returned to her spot next to him and tore into her dog voraciously. "What is it?" he asked.
She giggled and said around a mouthful of food, "Cherry, silly!"
"Ah. Of course," he said. "I don't know what I was thinking, not to realize that this was cherry." Ed took another sip and tilted his head curiously. "In fact, I think this is probably the best cherry I have ever tasted."
Tessa seemed to find Ed's comments uproariously funny as she fell back on the blanket in a gale of belly laughs. They were contagious, and Ed felt himself cheering. Then he glanced up, and saw something that flit quickly across Hughes' face --a look of pain that wasn't physical-- then he glanced at Ed and smiled.
A moment later, Tessa was back up and dashing off for reasons only known to her. Hughes watched her, and Ed saw the longing in the man's eyes. He stared down at his plate, once more unable to find something to offer as comfort. Of all the people to be trapped somewhere they didn't belong, Hughes deserved it the least... yet he made the best of it.
Shame wrapped around Ed, then. He and Al had made their choices and he should accept the consequences. Good, bad, or something between, it didn't matter. Instead for the past few months, all he could seem to do was to sulk over the whole situation. Worse, out of all of them, Ed had lost the least. He was separated from Al, but that was only temporary. Hughes lost his family; Ducky, Tom and Reilly lost a friend, and more. And now their lives were in danger.
It was all spiraling out of control, and Ed considered once more taking Al and just disappearing. Maybe the trouble that always seemed to show up whenever he was around would follow him and leave the rest of them in peace.
"She thinks you're mad at her," Hughes said.
Ed's head shot up. "Huh?"
Hughes wasn't looking at him though, and he followed the man's gaze to see Reilly and Tom sitting on their blanket together -separated from the rest of the party-- their heads bowed and touching. He could see Tom rubbing the back of her neck as he talked to her and his other hand holding one of hers. An occasional nod came from Reilly, but she didn't meet the older man's look.
"For losing her temper like she did," Hughes explained.
Ed's hand instinctively came up and he rubbed at the tender spot on his cheek. "I deserved it," he said.
Hughes chuffed. "That's what I told her."
"Thanks... I think."
He continued watching the two of them, and noticed that Reilly seemed to be in at least a better mood than earlier. Ducky chose that moment to flop down on the blanket next to her and he said something that Ed couldn't hear, but the result was that Reilly gave him a good shove that tipped him over and his insane cackle carried on the breeze.
"Can't that asshole ever be serious for a minute?"
"Ducky's like me," Hughes said. "We'd rather put on a happy face than let people see how much we're hurting. And Tom? He's hardly said more than five words at a time since last night. Reilly's... overwhelmed... And you're more irritable than usual. We're all upset about what happened and we're all dealing with it in our own ways." He pushed his glasses further up on his nose, "But we still have to move forward, right?"
"Yeah," Ed said as he looked down at his plate without really seeing it. "Yeah," he repeated.
Tessa returned and plopped back down in her favorite spot next to Ed. Without a word, she started chomping away at a yellow square like Johnna had given him earlier.
"I think I've been adopted," Ed said as he watched the little girl devour her dessert with a low trill of happy noises.
"Providence only knows why," Hughes said with mock disgust. "Come on. Eat up. Then you can fill Al in on the great stuff he's been missing."
"Like decent food?" Ed bit into one of the yellow squares from his plate, and grinned at the taste of sugar and some sort of puffy, crunchy substance that looked kind of like grain. "We should keep one of these for him. I'm sure even here, hospital food sucks."
Silence fell between the two of them once more, but this time it was comfortable. As Ed watched the family interact with each other and their new found friends, he noticed that the motley group he was a part of had grown relaxed. Johnna had spent quite a bit of time --between herding children, pushing food and general buzzing about to make sure everyone was taken care of-- talking to Reilly. Occasionally she would glance back Ed's way, and always there was a look of compassion and acceptance. He wondered just what Reilly had said to her.
He suddenly felt a small body fall against his side and glanced down to see that Tessa was heavy-lidded and sucking her thumb. Without a thought, Ed draped his arm around her and an instant later she was asleep. He was officially stuffed and he needed to toss his plate into the trash before it attracted bugs or blew off in the breeze, but he just didn't have the heart to disturb the little girl who had latched on to him from the moment they'd met.
Johnna returned and looked down at her granddaughter with a shake of her head. Then she knelt and picked the sleeping child up without Tessa even stirring. As she shifted the girl into a more comfortable position she said, "We're about to give thanks. I hope you'll join us."
"Don't you generally do that before diving into the food?" Hughes asked.
Johnna stood and cradled Tessa. "Normally, yes. But we all got a late start and the little ones don't exactly feel thankful when their tummies are growling. God can accept a compromise in this case."
"We'll be right there," Hughes said. With that, Johnna smiled, nodded and carried Tessa off.
Ed got to his feet, then went to give Hughes a hand up. He was far from thrilled at the prospect of being forced to listen to some religious bilge, but resigned himself to it. Equivalent Exchange, he thought. They fed us; the least I can do is be polite.
His cynicism must have been plain on his face, because Hughes scowled and said, "It's not going to kill you, Ed."
The younger man felt some of the tension in his body ease and he nodded.
With that, Hughes threw his arm around Ed's shoulder and they strolled to the rest of the group.
When they reached the circle of people around the table, Ed put himself to the right of Hughes and far enough away to keep from jostling the man's injured shoulder. He gazed around at the different faces, pale and dark and shades in between. He hadn't really noticed until then the variety of races within Johnna's family. There were genetic markers every stripe--even the boy who took the spot on Ed's other side showed traces of Xingese heritage.
However, the one person that Ed was most concerned about --the one who had taken it upon herself to protect him and rally the others to help-- was not among the large gathering. He scanned the circle again, thinking he missed her, but he saw no sign of Reilly.
Worry lanced through him, and he was just about to leave to find her, when the Preacher cleared his throat loud enough to be heard over the murmuring group.
"Let's all join hands," Henry said.
Ed suddenly felt an instant of panic, and snapped around when he felt a tug at his right shoulder. Now was not the time to have to explain the automail to an overly curious adolescent. Instead, he met sad hazel eyes and looked down to see that Reilly had rescued him once again by taking his right hand. He gave her a gentle squeeze in silent thanks and some of that sadness left her face.
Henry cleared his throat again and even louder to get the remainder of his brood to settle down and they finally went quiet. "Bow your heads, everyone." The atmosphere went taut with anticipation and even the sounds of children playing and people milling about the park seemed to develop a distant quality to it, as though a canopy of privacy had settled about the circle. The pastor threw his head back, and began in an overly-dramatic tone, "Gracious Lord, who saved us from our sins and delivered us from fire and brimstone--"
One of the teenagers right next to Henry made a gagging sound. "Aw, c'mon, Dad! Save the sermon for Sunday!"
Making a good-natured face at his fosterling, Henry sighed and looked around. "Well, if you insist. We'll do a round-robin, then." He looked straight at Ed and his friends, then smiled. "Just tell us what you're thankful for, folks. Can be anything, we ain't particular."
The boy next to Henry started it off, with good health, and around the circle it went. Some said they were grateful for friends, others said family. There were cries of "Awesome food!" and laughing "Video games!" Heist let out thanks for caffeine when it was her turn, and Ed was surprised at the casual nature of appreciation in this family; it was as if they took nothing for granted.
When his turn came, Ed thought a moment. "I'm... not from around here," he started softly. "When I arrived, I didn't know anyone and everything seemed so strange. But someone took me in, and she accepted me without question." He looked around at Tom and Ducky, then settled on Reilly. "She's helped me in ways I... I can't even count. Even when I'm acting like an idiot, she seems to take it mostly in stride, and she doesn't ask for anything in return." He smiled a little. "There are a lot of things I'm grateful for right now. I'll be reunited with my brother tonight." He glanced over at Hughes. "I've found an old friend I thought I would never see again." Then he looked around the circle again and spotted Tessa. He smiled at her, which elicited a short burst of giggles and caused her to clamp her hand over her mouth to smother them. "Made some new ones." He nodded at Johnna. "And realized that family really isn't defined by blood." He looked down, took a deep breath, then said, "That's what I'm really thankful for. As puzzling as they can be. Sometimes aggravating. But they're willing to put up with me, so I guess that makes them family." He rolled his eyes nervously to his right, then his head shot up the rest of the way when he saw tears stream down Reilly's face. He was certain he'd screwed up again, even if he didn't know what he'd done this time, and was about to apologize when she smiled warmly.
The moment was broken when one of the men in the group chuckled and said, "Man, he's as long-winded as you are, Dad."
"Hey, a little respect for your elders there, boy," Henry teased and everyone else joined in the good humor.
Hughes chortled softly and said, "You have no idea."
Ed shot him a look of mock offense. "Gee, thanks, Hughes."
The giving of thanks continued around the rest of the circle, but Ed hardly heard a word of it. He felt the tension he hadn't realized was in his shoulders ease, and while he didn't fool himself into thinking that everything was all right, he was able to console himself with the knowledge that Reilly had at least forgiven him for his earlier stupidity, and she didn't blame him for the horrors of the night before.
0o0o0
Ed buckled himself in at the back of the Ninjavan as the whole crew settled in. They'd all agreed that it would be better to go to the hospital in one vehicle, rather than two, so earlier, Reilly had moved the Hummer to a place less likely to attract the wrong kind of attention and would be fairly easy to get back to afterwards.
Hughes sunk into the seat next to him with a pained groan, and then proceeded to get into a one-handed wrestling match with the seat belt. Without a word, Ed leaned over and snapped the buckle into place.
"Thanks."
Ed stared contemplatively at the lightweight cooler between the older man's feet. Before they'd left, Johnna had managed to pack up as much of the leftovers as she could, filling the cooler nearly to bursting, and there was still a ton of food that she complained was going to go to waste.
"Nice family," Hughes said. "And it's kind of comforting to know that people here aren't that much different than anywhere else."
"Yeah."
"Hey, Tuckandroll, can we hit a Starbucks on the way? I need a transfusion," Heist said as she bounced into one of the middle seats.
"Sure," Ducky said as he snapped his seatbelt into place. "Goddess forbid we let actual blood infiltrate your caffeine system."
Reilly yawned hugely from the seat next to Heist. "I think we could all use a little boost." She yawned again. "Gods, what is it about a big meal that makes you want to go to sleep after?"
"It's the tryptophan in all that smoked turkey you were putting away," Tom said. "And all that pasta and cheese."
"Thank you, Cliff Claven," Ducky said as he shoved the key into the ignition and started the van.
"Just shut up and put it in gear, Ducks."
"Well," Hughes amended with a chuckle, "most of them, anyway."
"I heard that," Reilly said.
"You gotta admit, some of the things you people consider insulting are pretty weird," Ed said.
Reilly twisted in her seat and arched a brow at him. "Oh, please, Ed. Calling someone a wanker has got to be rude no matter where you're from."
Ed shrugged, but didn't look the least bit contrite. "I was talking about that moronic midget calling me a bundle of sticks. How is that an insult?"
Reilly just made a confused noise, and everyone else looked at him as if he'd grown a second head.
Hughes coughed nervously and asked, "Ed, did he call you a bundle of sticks? Or did he call you a faggot?"
"Same thing."
Hughes rubbed at the back of his neck and looked as though he was about to be forced to swallow something bitter. Ducky exploded with a short cackle, Tom groaned and mumbled and Heist just looked lost.
Hughes glanced up as a spectacular battle of emotions laid seige to Reilly's face. "A little help here?"
She just shook her head with a snicker, turned in her seat and sunk as low as she could. "You're on your own, Hughes."
"I'll remember that," he grumbled, then faced Ed. "Well, see... it's like this..."
0o0o0
Johnna sighed happily as the last of the picnic had been packed away and hauled off. She really had no intention of dragging that odd little family into their party. But when she saw the look in Ed's eyes, she saw a hunger there that wouldn't be satisfied with just food. There was a palpable tension and overwhelming grief that had blanketed the entire group, and if they didn't have a pressure valve they were all going to explode.
She never pressed for details --it wasn't her place-- but she did pick up enough to know that they had lost a friend in a violent accident, and that Reilly had lost her home the night before. And no one had to tell her that what ever was going on right now with their lives was far from over. Inviting them to join her family may not have been much, but sometimes the little things made the biggest difference.
She felt a familiar and comforting arm snake around her waist as she watched the black van start up, then Henry kissed her lightly on the temple. "You never could resist a stray, Dear Heart," he said.
"You don't mind, do you?"
Henry hugged her closer. "I learned a long time ago that it was a waste of energy to try and talk you out of doing anything you set your mind to. Besides, I trust your judgment." He chortled and shook his head. "Although, that short one? You can tell he has a temper."
"Perhaps, but he has a big heart. Did you see how Tessa latched onto him?"
"She's got your talent for reading people. Uh-oh. What's this?"
Johnna perked up as the black van suddenly rocked violently, and then a shouted epithet burst from inside.
"LET ME GO! I'M GONNA TRANSMUTE THAT PINT-SIZED PINHEAD INTO A--" The rest of the diatribe was lost in a screech of tires as the van took off.