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Chapter 4: Metamorphosis

I woke up the next morning and I was a little disoriented. Soldier's instincts dictated that I play possum until I was sure of my bearings. I felt soft sheets and a pile of down pillows propping me up in bed, smelled strong coffee from a few rooms over and I heard someone singing in there too. I opened an eye and turned my head and on my bedside table was a jelly jar with a small bouquet of tulips in it and two glasses, one of them which I assumed to be cranberry juice next to my prescriptions, and a glass of water from the decanter that sat on the nightstand to wash the pills down with. I remembered where I was, I was at Chez Hughes and I realized that Gracia must have brought in the juice and set up the meds and Elysia must have picked the flowers for me. What a way to wake up. This definitely beat the hospital. No strange noises in the night and no parade of doctors and interns making me their science project. There were definitely healing methods that modern medicine had forgotten about and Gracia was a master of them all. I sat up a bit, put the pills in my mouth and took a swig of water, I then turned to put the glass down being careful not to fall out of bed as I set it down. I then braced myself for the effort of sitting up fully, did so and drank my juice. Gracia was brilliant, some breakfast before shower and the whole getting dressed bit and the rest of breakfast after.

Gracia must have heard me moving around because she knocked on the door and told me that she'd held off on making my pancakes, and that she'd make more fresh when she was back from dropping Elysia off at preschool. I panicked at the thought of being alone. Gracia must have read my mind, because before I could even object she said, "No worries, Sciezka is here having some breakfast and reading in the living room. You won't be alone. If you need her just yell, otherwise she'll go about her business while you get dressed and ready. We have errands today. I'll be back soon."

*

Gracia was a Goddess of Domesticity. No wonder Maes had always been so happy. He'd never wanted or worried for anything at home, save for the worry of ever leaving. Who would ever want to go out the front door? This was paradise. I set my juice glass down on the bedside table, transferred to my chair and was on my way into the bathroom.

The old Havoc would have rolled out of bed cursing a blue streak, run into the shower and danced around a bit because the hot water heater was empty and the shower was like ice, then rinse and spit with mouthwash and pray he looked alright because he was running so late. Up and to work in twenty minutes or less was the objective and I did it well. I had it down to a science so I could race to Central and then stride into the office appearing cool and collected.

Those days were gone. I think Gracia must have alerted me early to our plans on purpose as a courtesy. Jim my therapist was an amazing organizer and he must have clued her in on how long just getting ready for the day would take. Never mind breakfast or niceties, I had reluctantly become high-maintenance. I admit I took my time getting ready so I wouldn't drop anything and then have to retrieve it, or worse have to ask someone to get it for me. I also indulged in the hot water in the shower for a few extra minutes. The whole time I'd been in the hospital I'd only had three showers and I found the water beating on my muscles, the feel of the soap on my skin and the shampoo in my hair to be a soothing balm. Maybe I could just live in the shower. That wouldn't be so bad; it was nice and warm, smelled good, felt like heaven and the water beating down on me drowned out any voices of doubt in my head for at least a little while. I couldn't remember if a shower had ever felt this good in the before, if it had, I certainly had not appreciated it. Pondering this I turned off the water, reached for the towel on the bar that had been placed at the perfect height and started to dry myself off. After making sure I'd dried absolutely everything, even between my toes I could commence the orderly process that had become dressing myself. In the old days if it hadn't moved on its own it was clean, and on days off I could just rummage around on the floor of my bachelor pad and throw on anything. Now I'd been trained to bring my clothes into the bathroom with me and put them on in a prescribed order. Jim was a genius really, helping to get me organized to accomplish this small set of tasks in the most efficient way, but I resented having to be so planned. Every guy puts his pants on in the morning; mine just took an age to get on. After wrestling with my khakis and the lone commando sweater I had that wasn't in tatters for a bit I was dressed, if rumpled and I went over to the mirror to brush my teeth, shave and attempt to do something with my overly long hair. It was far from regulation and sloppier than even I could stand. I'd need to ask Gracia if she could drop me by the barber I frequented after we were done shopping since it was on that side of Central.

Once finished in the bathroom I rummaged around for a watch cap in the dresser to hide my hair until I could do something about it. "Vanity, they name is Havoc." I said to my reflection as I gave myself a final check. I located my wallet and stuck it in my back pocket as usual. Then I started the process of making my bed and promptly gave up. We were on a mission; I could make it when we got back. I did remember to get my juice glass from the bedside table. How would I carry it? Ah, yes, in the lap, between the legs so it wouldn't drop or tip, just not with hot stuff or dangerous stuff. Spill-able stuff was negotiable, it depended on if you wanted to be messy or not.

*

When I rolled out of my room after an hour of readying myself I found nary a sign of Sciezka and Gracia was dishing up my breakfast. I looked at Gracia as I pulled up to the table, placed my juice glass on it and looked around for Sciezka. Gracia must have been reading my mind.

"Sciezka's in the garden, picking flowers to put on the table. I thought that we might go pick you out some more comfortable clothes while Elysia is at school and then a play date, as all you have here are some civvies that have seen better days, some standard issue that looks like it came out of the dumpster and your calisthenics gear is getting tired looking. You're a looker, but really, sweat shirts and sweat pants with holes in them don't cut it. Did you put those khakis through a cheese grater?"

Gracia had very carefully glossed over the fact that most of my clothes had been uniforms and those were now gone, and that truly, I had been a looker and now I looked like shit. The khakis were comfortable and easy to get on, but really, I looked like an escapee from the hospital with my baggy tattered pants, ill-fitting sweater and "bad hair day" hat. I was pale and pasty and in need of some sun. I had lost a few pounds in the hospital as well and that didn't contribute to my overall "looker" status. Maes had always been dressed nicely out of uniform. He really was right about that whole, "get a wife" thing. If anyone could help me pull myself together it would be Gracia, and I trusted her to not push me into anything too dangerous too soon. I knew Sciezka from Headquarters, but was a little apprehensive. She was a new person, as she hadn't seen me like this.

"Um, that sounds like a great plan. Sciezka knows right? I mean everyone knew from my office but Sciezka has always seemed kind of shy and strange, I don't know if this is a good idea...I'm not exactly 'Mr. Social Skills' right now." I broke off my train of thought for a bit and had an idea, "But Elysia raves about her, and so she must be great. I think I'm more worried about being out than about Sciezka. We can always talk about Elysia."

Gracia just smiled and nodded and then said, "We'll have the car and driver, we're only going to a few of my favorite stores. I think I know just what will work. It won't kill you to get out in the air, and I won't even make you try them on. I promise if you completely hate it, we'll go home and we can arrange for clothes to be sent to the house."

I nodded furiously and gave her a playful "Yes Ma'am" salute and dug into my breakfast.

Retired Second Lt. Jean Havoc, fighter of terrorists, a war and homunculi was afraid to go out shopping for clothes. This was definitely a complicated existence.

*

After breakfast I went outside for a smoke and settled in at my table with my ashtray. I lit up, closed my eyes and inhaled, dragging deeply and savoring the sun on my face. I heard someone come up the front walk and I abruptly opened my eyes and there was Sciezka, arms laden with flowers. I quickly stubbed out my cigarette in the ashtray and opened the door, because I could, and smiled at her in greeting.

Gracia saw that all the troops were ready and she suggested we get going.

*

When the car pulled up on the High Street I sucked in my breath, mustered my courage and readied myself for "public display". Gracia had been smart enough to tell the driver to pull over into a plaza a block or so away from our destination, but I still had witnesses to my balancing act. I wasn't sure if I'd ever get used to that.

We headed to the first shop and Gracia had indeed picked winners. Somehow she'd either sized me up visually, or in her unpacking had noted all my sizes and when we arrived at the store there was a range of stuff for me to look over being held at the front counter. The selection included khakis that looked more like my favorite cargo pants for missions, some v-neck sweaters in the softest wool I'd ever felt, a few short sleeve cotton shirts so the sweaters wouldn't itch, a couple button downs that looked like they wouldn't get all wrinkly even if I played all afternoon on the floor with Elysia and some house pants that looked suspiciously like the type Maes and Mustang favored in their off time. She'd also taken the liberty of having them select a few pairs of loafers and driving moccasins that looked comfortable. I wasn't sure why I cared that they were comfortable and I had accepted the fact that I wouldn't be driving anytime soon, but they'd at least be easy to get on and they looked presentable. I sized it all up and smiled, pulled out my wallet from my back pocket, paid and fumbled around a bit and found my back pocket again to put it back.

Gracia should have been a boutique owner with her fashion sense and instincts; I later learned that she'd met Maes while she was a shop girl. I selected a bright blue v-neck sweater, the black house pants and the black driving moccasins to change into as my attire was lacking and looked for a change room, said outfit in my lap. Gracia was having the rest delivered to the house later in the afternoon. We wouldn't even have to carry bags. She'd really thought of everything. When I couldn't find the change room I hunted for a clerk and found one. I asked about a change room so I could put on my new purchases. The sales girl blanched, the day had been so easy I'd almost forgotten, until I realized I'd been looking up at her when I asked for help. She pointed to a set of stairs and I could see a small loft space with curtains that probably concealed changing rooms. I felt my face heat up, and was sure my cheeks were turning crimson. This had all seemed too easy, and I'd gotten complacent about how things are.

Gracia came to my rescue, and whispered something in the sales girl's ear. There was a broom closet on the ground floor and I could change there. I went and changed, and came out with nothing harmed but my dignity. I told myself that these things would happen, and to get used to it, though my day was a little tarnished as I was passing the plate glass window I snuck a look and noticed I looked a lot better since my clothes now fit properly, and the color of the sweater was almost as good as my uniform. Gracia carried the bag of discarded clothes and as we headed out I sat up a little straighter.

"Jean, I'm so sorry, that was the one thing I didn't think through. I'll have to remember that next time," she said as she put a reassuring hand between my shoulder blades.

I just sat there for a bit and thought out my next words. Finally I said, "Gracia, don't worry, you thought of more things than I would have even considered. I didn't have to weave through the racks or reach the higher shelves to find my size. That would have been a nightmare. Forget about matching, I'd have been lucky to get out of there with anything before turning coward and leaving. Besides, this is great. I love it. What is this sweater made of anyway?" and gave her an affectionate elbow in the side.

"That is cashmere, I knew you'd love it," she beamed. "Maes finally started wearing it after I threatened to burn his favorite Military Academy sweatshirt. He never went back to that old thing. The sweaters were just so much softer. Plus that color brings out your eyes. This way the ladies get their sharp dressed man and you get your sweatshirt. Everyone wins."

She'd tricked Maes into dressing sharp with the promise of fluffy sweaters. Maybe Maes had learned all of his investigation and espionage skills from Gracia. She had turned an experience that could have put a damper on the day into an ego boost. Mustang had been right with this whole arrangement, but maybe it had been Gracia's idea as she was obviously tactically brilliant.

Sciezka had opted out of the first clothing store as it was all men's items and met us in the next store. We went in and promptly left. It was just too cramped and the second store had only been back up if I'd hated everything in the first store.

I remembered that my barber's shop was nearby and said, "Gracia, if you don't mind I am getting disgracefully shaggy here," and pointed at my cap. "My barber is just down the street. Why don't you both get your errands done and I'll meet up with you in an hour somewhere close-by."

She and Sciezka agreed that the plan would work as they had accomplished the goal to get me dressed, and we agreed to meet at the coffee house across from the barbershop. I then made my way to the familiar shop. This would be fine. I looked put together, more like myself than I had in ages. I knew this world, these people, there was nothing unfamiliar, standard regulation cut, and leave the front a bit long had been my instructions since I'd hit Central. Maybe I could even get into some of the political discussions. I had really missed office banter since my absence.

I approached the shop, and near the entrance I decided it would be wise for a cigarette to help me muster the rest of my courage. It was simple; take smoke from pack, insert in mouth, light and then the worry would fade away. As I lit up some enlisted men walked past me on their way into the barber. I watched them walk by and couldn't help feeling wistful. They went in to get their names on the list and to sit and wait. I took another drag and another blue uniform walked by. I tossed my cigarette into the bucket outside the door and made my way in to get my name on the list. I found a spot in the corner where I could observe conversations and people while I waited my turn. My name was called and I knew from my regular barber's expression that yes, it was indeed different here too. I asked for the usual and he gave it. I couldn't fault him for the cut. He'd been accommodating, having catered to war veterans before and just put the drape over my shoulders and chair and trimmed my hair while I sat in the wheelchair. We discussed the weather and sports. It wouldn't have been out of the ordinary if the barber's shop hadn't usually been a hot bed of bravado. In general the topics of conversation were our last lay, our next lay and if in a drought the pin-up girls adorning the walls. The barber went to get a mirror and I heard someone call my name, I turned to acknowledge him.

"Havoc, so good to see you, I got some bad intelligence, I'd heard you'd gotten messed up and ended up a cripple, it's nice to see you up and about," a young Sergeant whose name I never got said.

My face fell when I recognized him as someone I'd sometimes smoke and chat with outside of the mess; I swallowed hard and said, "No Sergeant, your intelligence was quite correct."

I fumbled for my wallet, took out a few bills and placed them on the barber's counter and then fought with the drape. My mind was racing and I heard the young Sergeant call my name as I got out of the shop as quickly as I could.

"Lieutenant Havoc, Havoc, I'm sorry, come back!" he called, but gave up when I headed across the street like a madman.

I don't know who was more embarrassed, he or I.

*

I found the coffee house, located a table in the corner and situated myself there. I could at least hide out there until Gracia and Sciezka arrived. The mission had been a critical failure. The only up side was that I no longer looked like a scruffy ward escapee.

I fished in my bag underneath the chair and pulled out my notebook and started writing. I didn't care that I hadn't ordered anything. No one would have bothered me. Not once they saw the chair. What was so conspicuous made me invisible to some and an oddity to others, though most saw me as some thing in need of aid.

It took a few tries for it to register that someone was once again addressing me.

"Hey, hi, hello...it's a bit crowded in here," said a female voice. "Mind if I sit here?"

"It's a free country for now, go ahead," I sniped and quickly closed my notebook. I looked up and realized that it was Sciezka.

I ran a hand through my hair and said, "Sciezka, I'm sorry. That wasn't because of you. Truly. I am an out of sorts bastard today. Have a seat, please."

She smiled shyly and accepted my invitation and forgave me with a smile and nod.

"Gracia and Elysia call you Jean, is it ok if I am that informal with you Second Lieutenant Havoc?" said as she stood at attention and saluted.

I chuckled, saluted back and said, "At ease, I'm a civilian now, and Jean is more than fine. To make up for my mood back there, can I persuade you to have a coffee with me while we wait for Gracia? I'll buy it, if you go get it. Coffee is dangerous stuff," and I pointed at my lap and pretended to shrink back in horror lest I be splashed with coffee.

She giggled and said, "Gracia was right, you are self-deprecating. Oh, maybe she didn't want you to know that. Um, I'll just go get that coffee, are cream and sugar ok?"

I nodded in the affirmative and pasted on my best pleasant smile. She turned to walk away and I was still distracted from my earlier experience that I didn't even check out her ass. Primo view and I turned it down. Mustang would lecture me for that later.

Sciezka came back with the coffee and I decided that we should stick to a neutral and common topic, that topic being Elysia. I had been right in the morning when I made my "orders" for the day in thinking up some discussion topics. Other than Gracia and Elysia I was horribly rusty talking to people on a non-medical or professional level. Our conversation was companionable until we came to the topic of children's literature.

When Gracia arrived we were engaged in a heated debate on the Frog Prince book that I had read to Elysia the night before and Sciezka had given her. She loved it and wasn't it a tale of true love conquering all, even princes cursed to ugliness until they found unconditional love? My opinion was that it was a fairy tale that some bumpkin had dreamt up and passed down and truly the frog should have taken the golden ball, found a new pond and dealt with it. If he had to be alone, at least he'd have the ball.

Sciezka declared me a "total cynic with no imagination" and I concurred. She prescribed a reading list for me to remedy my "ignorant" state and informed Gracia she'd bring it by when she came to visit Elysia in a few days. She thanked me for the coffee, turned on her heel and huffed out.

Gracia pronounced the day a success. She praised how I'd fended for myself, even if I did retreat to the coffee house early, spoke with someone outside of the home and managed to engage Sciezka in a conversation that lasted more than five minutes without losing her train of thought or Sciezka shrinking away in shyness.

I was utterly lost as to what Gracia was getting at, on how she could call this debacle a success, but the reading list Sciezka had prescribed would have to be more interesting than military history, economics and political science. The only other books Maes had on the downstairs shelves were photo albums.

When the car and driver pulled up I was more than ready to go home. I noticed my leg twitching and thought, "I must have been sitting on my freaking wallet."