DISCLAIMER: If I owned Fullmetal Alchemist, that travesty of a movie (Shamballa) never would have happened.
I'm trying to get my characterization of Olivier right, so this is just something I spat out in pursuit of that. And I love me some Olivier/Miles. :3
Olivier hadn't had a problem being tough during the battle. She was a soldier of Briggs, after all; tough wasn't just a part of her vocabulary, it perfectly described everyday life. Do what needed to be done, no matter the cost, and keep focused on the goal. Distractions equaled death. If you survived, it was because you deserved to.
At least, that's what she'd believed up until now. But those four words had hit her like a mortar shell—"They were all killed"—and suddenly nothing made sense anymore. Buccaneer had been one of the top soldiers under her command: Trustworthy, loyal and highly skilled. Although nobody would ever dare say it, and the Northern Wall was even less likely to admit, Buccaneer had been one of her favorite men. He didn't deserve to die. A week ago Olivier would have most likely shot herself for even thinking such a stupid thing, but now, as she steps into the shower, it doesn't matter. The ache in her chest refuses to be ignored; in fact, it draws her attention like a magnet. For the first time she understands what Izumi asked of her.
Isn't there anyone you'd give anything to see one last time?
As soldiers, we don't focus on the dead. At least, we're not supposed to. But now…maybe….
The dirt and blood fall away from Olivier's body, and she's able to pretend the drops of water on her face are all from the showerhead. Injured arm cradled close to her side, she slowly slides down the wall, hissing ever so slightly as the running water seeps into her cuts. "Why, dammit?" the blonde growls, allowing her voice to shake because nobody but her will hear. "Why did you have to go and get your stupid self killed? I needed you to help me get Briggs back under control. You're better than that, you worthless scum!" Her fist strikes the tiled wall, and although her knuckles scream in protest she doesn't care. Olivier squeezes her eyes shut, struggling not to fall apart as her mind continues to beg.
Why?
Miles is the only one who can come into the General's quarters unless it's a dire emergency. And after the day he's had, he needs to see her, to reassure himself that she really made it through all right.
He raps smartly on the door; four times, to let her know it's him. His worry comes surging back when she says rather dully "Enter." Miles opens the door and is rather shocked to find the fearsome Northern Wall sitting calmly at her desk and drinking tea like—well, he supposes she really is a highborn woman, but rarely does she act like one (not that he'd say it; Miles rather likes his limbs where they are). Her face is calm, as always, but the glare in her blue eyes is missing and he notices her uninjured hand trembling slightly as it grips the teacup. His heart sinks; he knows about Buccaneer, of course, but in all the excitement of the Promised Day he never considered how Olivier was going to react—privately, of course. On the outside she would appear to be disaffected and bark at anyone who mentioned the fallen captain to "shut up, stop sniveling and get back to work". Miles reaches up to take his glasses off before remembering, for the tenth time today, he isn't wearing them anymore. Olivier notices and smirks faintly.
"I like your new look, Major."
"I no longer need to hide my eyes."
"You never did. If anyone had complained…" She motions to the corner where her sword is propped against the wall. He chuckles slightly.
"The bear is protective of her cubs."
"Any that isn't would be a poor excuse of a creature indeed." Unconsciously Olivier shifts her injured arm in its sling. Miles' eyes widen, but before he can say a word she rolls her eyes.
"I was fighting one of the homunculi."
"I see." That would make sense; Miles doesn't believe there's a human alive who could harm the General. He's about to ask if she received any further injury when she snaps at him.
"What?!"
He blinks, taken aback. "Sorry?"
"Why are you looking at me like that? Do you expect me to suddenly keel over and die?" Her voice is wry, but there's a challenging undertone that tells Miles she knows exactly what's bothering him and dares him to say it. So he does.
"Are you all right? I heard about the captain…"
"People die every day. Why the hell should this be any different?" Olivier turns halfway away from him.
"I think we both know that." Slowly, as if approaching a wild animal, Miles steps forward until he's close enough to her that he can smell her shampoo. "It's just me, my lady," he says softly. "It's all right."
Olivier glares at him but doesn't say anything, and that's how Miles knows that she's really hurting, because the occasions when she doesn't yell at him for using the title are rare. "Who the hell asked you?" she growls, her eyes glimmering slightly, and then she grabs him by the jacket lapels and pulls him down into a rough, desperate kiss.
Miles respects her enough to pretend she doesn't taste like saltwater.