"For the last time, put me down! Get out of here and leave me behind, that's an order." Olivier screamed over the roaring winds of the blizzard. Buccaneer only held her tighter and continued trudging forward. Olivier wanted to shake him, strangle him, make him realize that she wasn't worth him getting killed over. It was her own fault that she'd twisted her ankle by tripping over that damn tree root. It was her fault that a bullet had grazed her. If she died, the men were supposed to write her off as being too weak; that was the Briggs way. If nothing else, better to have only one soldier die than two.

Buccaneer, that useless idiot, refused to listen to her. She'd seen the grey clouds coming and had told him in no uncertain terms to get himself out of there before it was too late. It was a simple matter of survival of the fittest, and he could still make it to safety. That is, he could have. Instead he'd scooped her up bridal style and carried her in his arms for miles despite her protests. She'd struggled, kicked with her good leg, and tried to wriggle out of his arms, but he never dropped her. Until now, he never even faltered.

Buccaneer began to slow down as the snow underfoot increased. He grunted. She felt his body trembling. She felt dampness near her legs and when she leaned forward she smelled blood. As fine as Briggs engineering was, Buccaneer's automail couldn't support her weight, stay attached to Buccaneer, and deal with the cold all at the same time. Panic rose in Olivier's chest. What if his automail was being torn right off of his skin?

"Idiot, listen to me!" Olivier shouted again. "You can't last much longer in this storm. Stop trying to be a hero and just leave me. I'll be fine." He took another step, then another. "I understand what you're trying to do, but there's a fine line between looking out for your comrades and plain foolishness, and you crossed it a long time ago!"

That was a lie. She didn't understand at all what he was trying to do. Olivier couldn't imagine why in the world Buccaneer would do this. He was captain; lower-ranking men depended on him.

Then again, she didn't understand a lot of what Buccaneer did.

Like how he left flowers on her desk with every holiday and birthday, most of which she burned or threw away. Or how he'd break off a branch of mistletoe and teasingly wave it over their heads. All the other men who had tried to hit on her had taken a hint (and a beating) and given up, but not him. It was pathetic and Olivier was losing her patience with it.

"I'm not gonna leave you, so you can just shut up!" he shouted back. This was the first time he'd spoken in over an hour. "If you die, I'm dying too."

"And why the hell is that?" Olivier shot back. "Why lose two lives when you only need to lose one? That's just wasteful." Buccaneer slowly regained his footing and pressed on. Olivier swore and punched his cheek. The fact that he still didn't drop her was maddening.

"Don't you get it?" She yelled into his ear. "I don't need you and I don't like you! If you think that trying to rescue me is going to win you my affections, then you're sadly mistaken. Put me down now or I swear if this storm doesn't kill you, I will."

Even she knew she didn't mean it.


Buccaneer was close to passing out, but he was far too stubborn to quit. Having an extremely unwilling damsel in distress yapping in his ear was not helping, however. This insane storm seemed to go on forever; he couldn't remember a time in all the years he'd been at the fort when a blizzard lasted this long. Olivier wasn't heavy, but she could get heavy after a while, especially when she wouldn't stay still. He had to find shelter soon or they'd both die fairly quickly. He could barely stand up.

Several agonizing steps later, his prayers were answered. A very old and decrepit brown shed rested under a few trees. It wasn't much protection since there were holes in the walls and it looked like the roof was falling apart, but at least it had a door that closed. Buccaneer headed for it, yanked the door open, and unceremoniously dumped Olivier on the ground a bit less than gently.

"Ow!" She clutched her hurt ankle and bit her lip, but he felt no sympathy. His feet had lost all feeling and it would be a miracle if he didn't lose all of his toes to frostbite. As soon as the door was closed, Buccaneer scanned the shed for any supplies and spotted a few old, heavy blankets tucked away in an open closet. He snatched them up, struggled out of his jacket and uniform top, and pressed one of them to his right arm, which was killing him. His automail had been designed with the freezing north in mind, but even technology had its limits. He wished he had some warm oil to put on it.

"You're a fool," Olivier continued to seethe from where she was curled up on the floor, still nursing her ankle. "An idiotic, naïve fool—"

"Can it, will you?" he snapped. "You may not value your life, but I do. You can call me whatever you like, but I'll die before I leave you out here alone."

Olivier huffed. "I didn't ask for your help," she sulked.

"Believe me, I would never accuse you of that." To his immense relief, the bleeding began to slow. He took his left hand away for a minute and searched in his pocket for the box of matches he always carried around. Just as he had feared, they were too damp to be of any use. He tossed the box aside. He wanted to ask Olivier how her ankle was; it looked bad, but he was feeling too annoyed with her at the moment.

She didn't seem to mind speaking to him, however. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why should my life be worth more than the others'?" she asked, and her voice was surprisingly calm, if exhausted. "You seem to be going against your own logic, Captain. You've always told the men you trained that Briggs soldiers fight as one. No cog in the machine is worth more than the others, not even the high-ranking ones."

Buccaneer didn't have an answer for that. Not a good one anyway. "Every rule has exceptions," he grumbled. "'Sides, if you'd have died, the people in Central would panic and send us one of their sissy generals to replace you. Drachma would have had a field day."

He saw Olivier smirk a bit at his comment on sissy generals. They both thought getting promoted in Central City was ridiculously easy and happened far more often by money and favor changing the right hands than it did actual merit and skill. Buccaneer would bet money none of them had been forced to seek shelter in a ramshackle shed with the wind pounding against it and the temperature well below freezing.

"Given how tightly they hold onto their favorites, my guess would be that Central would promote Miles first and put him in charge, and have you be his assistant." She turned to face him. "Are you sure you want to give that up?"

Buccaneer feigned interest in his automail, which had stopped bleeding even though it hurt like hell. Olivier sighed.

"What is this really about, Captain? Out with it."

Buccaneer was already blushing so fiercely he was grateful for the darkness. "You're the best commander I've ever had." And there was a time when I never thought I would say that about a woman, he thought but was smart enough not to say.

Olivier asked, in a tone he'd never heard her use before, "Is that all?"

Buccaneer took a breath to slow his heart and mumbled, "No." He hated awkward silences more than anything else in the world and tried to dispel it by getting up and walking around the shed. He stumbled over something and discovered it was an old, wadded up blanket. "Here," he said, tossing it at her.

Olivier moved closer to him. "Did you even think to take this for yourself?"

Buccaneer forced himself to face her. "No. Not really."

Olivier sighed and came even closer. His heart began to speed up again. "It makes more sense for us to share it." She spread it out and the two of them wiggled underneath it. Before he knew what he was doing, Buccaneer's arms went around her.

"Body heat," he grunted. "Extra warmth."

"Of course," Olivier said. Finally submitting to exhaustion, she let her head rest just a little on his shoulder.

"Thank you," she said in such a low voice he might have missed it if he hadn't already been hyperaware of everything she was doing.

"Of course." He felt confident enough to get a little closer to her. She bristled under his touch at first, then slowly relaxed. He wondered how long it had been since anyone had touched her like this.

Judging by the wetness of her eyes, he wondered if she had ever felt loved at all.