author's note: I have changed the rating of this fiction to T, but I may have to change it to M, I'm not sure. You can't control what you write. I'm onto writing chapter 5 right now. Hope you enjoy
Oh, try and catch hints of Miles/Olivier in this. Some are pretty big :P (I hope they're in character!)
The Black Sheep
Chapter 2.
'You're not going to drop it, are you?'
'No sir.'
Roy sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. He secretly adored his subordinate, but sometimes she was a pain. Her stubbornness was unbelievable, and whenever she felt the need to poke her nose into something that had nothing to do with her she would always receive the facts. Roy wished he had her talent. Unfortunately he didn't and even after nearly two decades he didn't know how to make her lose interest.
He swept his eyes over the office. Admittedly, it was good of her to wait for everyone to leave, but still: was she really that bothered?
'It's between me and Olivier.' Roy cringed slightly. Hopefully Riza wouldn't get the wrong impression.
The Lieutenant was calm. 'I see. Maybe I should ask her–'
'No!' Roy shot to his feet. Hawkeye blinked, perplexed by his response. A smile crawled over her face.
'This is getting interesting. Sir, you told me to check if there was a dead body near Central bridge this morning. Major Armstrong told me his older sister had gone missing the night before. Now. . .' Riza leaned towards him. '. . . Fill me in. How did you know about the corpse, sir? You had something to do with it, didn't you?'
Roy pursed his lips. He wished she would come a little closer. He could make her shut up easily. Despite an unhealthy farewell to General Armstrong this morning, he still felt he should keep her murder a secret. He knew she would do the same. Then again, Hawkeye was the most trustworthy friend Roy ever had, and Olivier shared a mutual trust too.
He dropped his pen. 'You must keep this confidential.'
'Of course, sir.'
Roy swallowed and leaned over, whispering, 'Major Miles came and found me last night to dispose the body. I burnt it until there was nothing left. I asked you to check if it was still there, because I didn't want anyone to find it, obviously. I don't know if Armstrong would lose her position if they discovered she had murdered an innocent man. . .' Riza widened her eyes. He hastily added, 'But the guy shot her sister – I think, so he wasn't all innocent.'
She lowered her gaze and there was a long silence. Roy chewed on his lower lip, watching her. Riza met his eyes. 'Is she still in Central?'
Mustang scoffed. 'You're mad if you want to talk to her! I tried this morning.'
'Yeah, you tried, sir.'
'She had gone back to Briggs with Major Miles.'
Riza was unconvinced. She straightened up and scratched the back of her head, thinking deeply. There was a wait. 'Will you excuse me, sir?'
He hated the sound of that request. 'Yes, Lieutenant. Be back soon. . . Tell Olivier I send my hugs and kisses.'
Philip was in enough stress beforehand, and it was surprising he didn't explode when he discovered his daughter had murdered three "innocent" gentlemen. He hadn't yelled at her. In fact, he did the exact opposite, welcoming her inside and seating her and Miles down hastily. The Ishvalan felt awkward to be in such fine hospitality because he was so unused to it.
The General had a hunch why her father was keen for her to be here. He wanted to keep an eye on her, not wanting the same fate for her like his youngest daughter. Olivier would have shoved his nicety away, but decided to give a little sympathy. She gathered the pain she felt was ten times worse on her parents.
Olivier froze when her mother embraced her firmly. Her arms remained by her sides, and it was like hugging a statue. Miles noticed the woman's eyes had widened in shock. Did her mother not give her comfort, or had her mother learnt not to? Miles saw her face was tear stained when she revealed herself.
'The military in Central are dealing with the murder,' Philip said. His voice sounded strained. Miles' heart throbbed with sympathy. 'I hope they catch this man soon.'
'Why not let me?' Olivier suggested lightly. Her parents looked at her as if she had grown a third hand. 'I can find him, and deal with him.' Miles frowned. Hadn't she already? 'It won't be a problem–'
'No!' That was her mother. Miles had never heard her shout before. Even Olivier was shocked. 'I will not have you searching for more ways to get yourself killed.'
'I can do this though,' Olivier said firmly. 'You doubt me?'
'Well you wouldn't understand how I feel right now, would you? I've just lost a child, and I don't want to lose another. Just stay out of this, please.'
Miles swallowed, looking between the two. Olivier fell silent for a while, watching her mother wipe away stray tears. The Ishvalan caught a glimpse of guilt sweep over his General's face, and it was weird to realise this woman – this ice Queen – was somebody's daughter; a child.
The Grandfather clock ticked and tocked. Finally Olivier spoke, although her voice had lost some of its coolness.
'I've been in far more dangerous situations than this.' She was choosing her words carefully, not wanting to make her mother burst into more tears.
'You think Katherine wants you to avenge her?' Philip said.
In a second, Olivier's confidence was viciously pushed aside. She stared at her old man for ages, before lowering her gaze. Miles clenched his fists. He knew how she felt – she had given him the same attitude when he wanted revenge for Ishvalans.
'No.'
He felt a strong affection towards her for admitting that. Miles wasn't familiar with Olivier's youngest sibling, but knew her well enough that she was sweet and caring. She wouldn't want death to happen for her. He then noticed the General was trembling a little. Was she mad? He swallowed. Please don't be angry.
'I must leave,' Olivier said, her voice cracking slightly.
'If you must.'
Olivier ignored her mother's broken voice, and left the manor, Miles hurrying behind. He curled his lips. She was walking incredibly fast, and he almost had trouble keeping up. Something was bothering her. Had Katherine's death finally hit her? Miles felt frightened. It wasn't right for Olivier to be upset.
They strolled across Central park, and he realised they were heading to the station. Something – something very noble, but dumb – made him grab her hand and pull her to him. Olivier gasped. His heart stopped. She never gasped.
'Ma'am. . .' He tried to study her eyes, but was failing to find an answer. He wanted her to recognise him as a friend; someone she could talk to. He lowered his voice and spoke gently. 'Are you all right?' His heart was rushing, afraid of her response.
'Whether I'm all right is irrelevant,' she said sternly. 'I've done my work here and I must depart. I should have gone back to Briggs yesterday.'
'I care. . .' He swallowed, feeling sick. 'I care if you're all right.'
'You're wasting your time, Major. You shouldn't care so much. You'd make a pathetic soldier if all you did was care about others. How another feels isn't your concern. If you care you'll trap yourself. Don't let emotions corner you. You're a stupid man if you care about how I feel.'
Miles recognised she was punishing him. Her expression when her father had inquired of Katherine made him feel sorry for her. While her father had a point, he had touched a soft spot.
'Fine.' He struggled with his words. 'I'm a stupid man.'
'What are you saying, Major?'
Miles realised she hadn't removed her hand from his grip. She hadn't pushed him away. For some reason, he felt triumphant about that. Her question sent a pulse of fear through him. He was treading on egg shells. 'Nothing ma'am,' he released her hand. 'Nothing.'
Olivier studied him for a moment.
'General.'
She turned around and was face-to-face with Hawkeye. Olivier contained her surprise. 'Why are you lurking around here when you could be signing papers, Lieutenant? I'm sure your fabulous Colonel will miss you.'
'He's a General, ma'am.'
'Oh. . .'
'Can I speak with you?' Riza inquired, her eyes darting to Miles then her.
Olivier turned to him. 'Go.' Miles obeyed. 'What's the matter?'
Riza knew Olivier wasn't in a happy mood, but that didn't put her off. She had experienced General Armstrong's rough temper before, and the two always left on good terms. Hawkeye was also surprisingly confident around the steely woman, and the question she was about to deliver wasn't difficult. 'An incident happened last night concerning you. General Mustang informed me–' Olivier opened her mouth to speak, '–I don't care what he says. I want to hear it from you, miss.'
Armstrong stiffened her shoulders. 'Why are you interested, Lieutenant?'
'Because I know the feeling. I can relate, but I learnt that if you swallow yourself in vengeance it turns you into a monster.'
'I'm not avenging anyone.'
'Maybe not now.'
'What do you want me to say, Hawkeye?' Olivier said, gritting her teeth.
'Nothing. I don't expect you to say anything, General.' She looked towards the station where Miles was waiting. 'You going back to the North?'
'I am.'
Riza turned to her. She lowered her voice. 'Are you sure that's wise, General? Don't you want to find out who murdered your sister?'
'Unless you don't recall Mustang's story, I already have.'
There was a pause.
'There's more than one man, isn't there?' Riza challenged.
Olivier tutted. 'Has anybody ever told you you're a pain?'
'I want to help.'
The slightly older woman smiled a little. 'Are you implying. . . I should go on some wild goose chase?'
'That's exactly what I'm implying.' Riza glanced at her watch. 'I should go now. Sorry for disturbing you, ma'am.' Olivier didn't reply. She watched the young woman walk away. 'The General sends his hugs and kisses by the way.'
The transceiver crackled constantly, and Olivier was close to throwing it across the room. She had been attempting to connect to Briggs for the past hour, and so far had no luck. Olivier wondered if the hotel room had bad signal. Those five stars it had received were going to be dropped when she complained.
Miles had been distant with her whilst she tried to connect. It was only when he grew tired of the constant crackles and curses he came to help her. Olivier allowed him to lean across her, and in a few seconds he had successfully worked the radio.
He smiled by her blunt expression.
'Tar.'
After half an hour, she had cleared her absence and left someone reliable in command for the next few days. Miles had a hunch she didn't intend to stay long. She hadn't revealed her conversation with Riza yet, and the Ishvalan had doubts she ever would.
It was already nearing six in the evening.
'Are you hungry?'
He looked at her. 'A little.'
'I'm starving. Let me take you somewhere.'
Miles blinked and watched her walk out of the room. He followed. 'Ma'am, I have nothing to wear.' He was still wearing his military uniform. Olivier glanced at him and pursed her lips. She scrunched her nose. He recognised her expression as embarrassment.
'I happen to have found something that I guessed would look good on you. However it may look awful.'
He was thankful she turned away to collect whatever it was. He was starting to blush. His General had bought him something? He felt touched. No one had bought him anything in his life. She returned shortly after, holding a white tuxedo by the hanger. His lower jaw fell. It looked amazing!
'How much was that, ma'am?' He hoped it wasn't a lot.
She frowned. 'Note this, Miles: Don't ever ask the price of something that was given to you.'
He closed his mouth. She passed him the clothing.
'Go try it on and be quick.'
Miles didn't want to keep his General waiting, and, excited, he changed his clothes. The size was perfect, and he loved the comparison of the bright material compared to his dark skin. He inspected himself in the mirror, turning to the side, running his hands down the smooth jacket.
He heard a chuckle from the crack in the doorway. Miles turned to find Olivier peering at him, amused by his fascination of the tuxedo. He wanted to smile at her, but instead he turned back to the mirror, pulling up his tie further.
Miles was about to leave the room when he had a thought. He turned back to the mirror and released his thin hair. It remained brushed backwards, and fell over the back of his head. He was happy he still looked masculine, and it felt nice to have a change. His white hair made him look almost ghostly compared to the white tuxedo.
He stepped out of the room and found Olivier waiting for him. She hadn't changed completely: she still wore her military trousers, but had removed her jacket, now only wearing a white, fitted shirt. Even though she had undone the first few top buttons, her neck was covered. She was hiding her injuries.
Olivier craned her neck back a little and her eyes drifted down his figure. Miles felt a tad self conscious when she didn't say anything and opened the door. He followed her out of the hotel, and she escorted him to a large, fancy-looking restaurant. Miles swallowed, his timidness kicking in.
Inside it was huge. Two spiral staircases led to an upper landing, and the place was crowded. The carpet was a lavish red all around the restaurant, and jazzy music emitted from somewhere nearby, but was hushed by the noise of chatter. Fortunately there was no queue, but by the looks of it, he and Olivier weren't going to find a place to sit.
'Don't worry,' she said, as if she had read his mind. 'My dad owns the place.'
He smiled, amused she sounded so spoilt.
A waiter appeared and instantly recognised her. He stuttered a little whilst he led them to a table up the stairs, and hastily removed a sign from the table saying "reserved". Miles felt awkward when he sat down opposite her, the waiter passing them menus.
'You're tense,' Olivier said, reading the menu. 'You need to calm down.'
'Ma'am.' He looked at his menu. And didn't understand a word. Miles glanced at his General, panicking slightly but she hadn't noticed. He tried to read a word, but failed. 'Miss Armstrong?'
She rose her eyes to meet his.
'I don't understand this. I'm sorry.'
'You haven't learnt French, Major?'
He bit his lip. Miles may have touched on it, but when he was a recruit, he spent more time learning English. He didn't want to disappoint her, and was worried what response she would have if he revealed he didn't understand French. She clicked her fingers. Miles watched in awe as a waiter hurried over.
'Miles needs an English menu.'
'Of course.'
The waiter returned with the required menu. 'Thank you.'
'No problem, sir.'
Comforted, Miles read what options were available. He chewed his lower lip, still failing to understand what the courses were. He felt ashamed. He was one of the toughest soldiers in Briggs, and he didn't understand English! Miles exhaled, and almost choked when he saw the cutlery. He had way too many spoons, knives and forks. Surely there had been a mistake. He looked over to Olivier, and saw she had the same amount of cutlery.
He carefully picked up a curved knife. What on earth was this used for? And why did he have two glasses? He would only need one. Also, why was there a smaller plate provided? Was it for people who were having tiny meals? Or was it for young children? Miles didn't find any children in the restaurant, and saw adults were using the small plates. How peculiar.
Miles removed the mat from underneath his glass and put it aside. He then piled the unnecessary cutlery away. Miles found Olivier frowning at him.
'What are you doing?' He was relieved she didn't sound angry, but felt a little annoyed she sounded amused.
'Sorting out my cutlery, ma'am. I'm convinced they've made a mistake with yours too.'
'No, they've set out my cutlery perfectly.'
'If I may, ma'am: that's a peculiar shaped spoon. What would you need that for?'
Olivier picked up the spoon. 'It's for having soup, Miles.'
'It is?' Miles frowned hard. 'Um. . . Oh.'
'Do you Ishvalans not have soup?'
'Of course, ma'am, but we don't need spoons. We drink it from the bowl.'
'Some of us do that,' Olivier said. 'Yet it's uncommon. Miles, before anyone starts giving you looks of disapproval, I'd return your cutlery back to where it was.'
Miles began to pick up his knives, but stopped. 'I do not know where they go. . .'
'It's quite simple: you work backwards,' Olivier picked up one of the spoons. 'This is for your dessert, so you would place that nearest to your plate.'
'Why? You don't eat dessert first, ma'am.'
Olivier cocked an eyebrow. 'Miles: I was born into the wealthiest family of Central, and possibly the most upper class family you'll find around here. Do you think I'm unfamiliar with cutlery?'
Miles shook his head. 'No, miss. I apologise.'
He observed whilst she repositioned his cutlery back to how it should be. The waiter soon returned, and Miles' eyes were as wide as saucers when Olivier stated what she would like. He swallowed and panicked a little when the waiter asked for his order.
'I'll have the same.'
Olivier pulled a crooked smile.
'I didn't know you liked the bouillabaisse, Miles.'
'Yes, it's my favourite, ma'am.' He had no clue what she had just said.
She snorted. 'Righto. What kind of meals do you Ishvalans have?'
'It depends. They're mostly herbs mixed together, or blended into soup.'
'So you eat herbs?'
'And abondas.'
'Vegetables,' she said. Miles nodded sheepishly.
'That's what I meant.'
'You don't eat meat?'
'That would go against our religion, ma'am.'
She raised her eyebrows and leaned forwards, interested. 'How come?'
'We believe animals should be respected, just like us humans. They have the same soul, and if we ate an animal it would be seen as eating one of us.'
He was expecting her to laugh. He had told a few Briggs bears about this religious rule, and they would either take the piss or just laugh. Olivier didn't. She didn't argue against his belief. He knew she didn't agree with it, but she had respect. She would accept his bizarre rule.
'We don't have restaurants either, ma'am.'
'That sucks.'
'Not really,' he replied. 'Restaurants aren't needed in Ishvala. We would share a home for the evening and eat with others. We'd take it in turns to cook meals.'
Olivier nodded. 'That sounds like something little kids would do after school. Mustang tended to go over to mine to have dinner when we were younger. Then, believe it or not, we'd play these dumb games in my room.'
'You couldn't play games inside a house in Ishvala. Each home is considered a place of worship and needs to be respected.'
'Your God controls you a lot.'
Miles frowned. A spark of anger shot through him. 'God? God? Ishvalans don't worship a God like you Amestrians do. It sickens me we're stereotyped to being like you. Your Chief is considered more mightier than any of you, but in Ishvala you're equal. Our Chief is no different to us.' He hushed himself, shocked he had spoken so rudely to her. 'I apologise, ma'am.'
'Don't apologise.' She was unnerved. 'You have every right to defend yourself.'
Miles caught sight of a gash across her collar bone. He wanted to say she was accidentally revealing her injuries, but was cut off when their food appeared. Miles widened his eyes by what he had been served. A mixture of fish had been neatly scattered on his bowl, leaves placed atop. The waiter poured a red liquid into his biggest glass, and the Ishvalan took a hesitant sip.
He recognised the taste and put the glass back instantly.
'Do you not like it?' Olivier said.
Miles looked at his dinner. 'I can't eat meat, miss.'
'I'm sure your. . . I'm sure the thing you worship won't mind you having a one off with meat.'
Miles hadn't expected her to say something so outrageous! 'Ma'am, I appreciate my way of viewing things is completely unusual to you, but don't insult me.' He didn't know what he was doing. His heart was racing, his mind was blank and he was almost on his feet.
'Sorry,' she said. 'I didn't think about what I said.'
'It's okay, ma'am. I'm sorry if I embarrass you–' he stood up.
Olivier shot up. 'Miles, don't be ridiculous. I wanted to bring you here for an experience. I have no intention to insult you in any way. You do not embarrass me at all. We can change your meal, it's not a problem.'
He exhaled slowly and sat down. He couldn't think properly when she clicked her fingers for the waiter to appear. He never knew she could be so kind. Most wouldn't have the patience for him. She did though, and she happily allowed him to have a "vegetarian" meal.
However guilty thoughts pushed into his head: he was making a fuss in a restaurant owned by her father. Wasn't she bothered by this?
'Would you like another drink?' Olivier asked.
'Oh. . . No, don't worry about it.'
'I don't want you collapsing from thirst, Major.'
He caught himself grinning at her. 'Is there any squeezed fruit? Um–'
'Fruit juice?'
'Yes, miss.' He pretended he hadn't noticed the softness in her tone.
'Mm-Hm. What would you like?'
'Orange juice?'
Miles was given his preferred meal after ten minutes. He said a quick thank you to the waiter who bobbed his head and walked off. The Ishvalan drifted his eyes past the General, and spotted several scars where her flesh was revealed. His heart throbbed. Miles blushed when she covered her injuries with her shirt.
'I think you should be proud of them, ma'am,' he said, frantic to let the words out.
'I don't want to put you off your dinner.'
'You're not,' he said. It was the truth. Her scars didn't disgust him. He was concerned for her. She clearly didn't care for her body, and that hurt him.
Miles had taken his fifth bite, when he realised Olivier hadn't even started. She played with her fish tediously, flicking it to the side with her fork. The Ishvalan stopped eating.
'Are you okay?'
Olivier dropped her fork onto the plate. She frowned. 'Something's wrong.'
'I'm sorry?'
The waiter returned to them, and Miles wondered if Amestrians were supposed to order their dessert during dinner. 'Miss Armstrong? General Armstrong is on the phone and he wishes to speak with you.'
Miles' heart leaped. He stood up when Olivier did, and she told him to sit down. He reluctantly obeyed. He waited for ages, and began to feel agitated. She returned, and he was on his feet again when he saw her expression. She looked puzzled – awfully puzzled.
'I – um. . . I need to go, Major.'
'Miss–'
'I've paid for the meal, so take your time to have yours.'
Miles walked over to her. 'What's happened?'
Olivier fidgeted. She looked as if she was fighting back a scream. 'I don't know. But someone has a huge grudge against me.'
'Where are you going, ma'am?'
'To the hospital. I need to go alone. Good night.'
Miles wanted to grab her hand. He refrained himself. 'I'll go with you.'
He was expecting her to push him away and scold him for acting so pathetic. When she looked at him, Miles didn't recognise her. Her mask was slowly slipping. 'Don't bother,' she said quietly. 'You'll get in the way.'
He already missed her the moment she turned away.
Miles dozed, but didn't sleep. Whilst his eyes rested, his ears remained alert for the sound of Olivier entering. She never did. The time whizzed past, and it was half three in the morning when Miles finally opened his eyes. He stared at the ceiling, imagining where she could be and what was happening to her. Was she safe? Was she all right?
He thought back to their conversation in the restaurant about his religion and the way she had acted. She hadn't buckled away from his strong argument, but she had accepted it and given him full respect. It was so hard to find an Amestrian who appreciated the views of an Ishvalan. It was hard for an Ishvalan to find a friend.
Olivier might not be warm and lovely, but there were traits about her that Miles liked. She was confident, arrogant and didn't care what others thought of her. Yet she pushed herself too hard. She had been given challenges sometimes above her standards, and she foolishly accepted them. It irritated him when she wouldn't accept a compliment or refused to accept she couldn't improve; that she was perfect.
She was perfect. To him, at least. She had always been perfect to him.
He groaned and rolled onto his side. Miles' feelings towards her were confusing. When he was young, he failed to receive friends due to his bloodline. It was frowned upon to be half Amestrian back then, and barely any Ishvalan warmed up to him. He was bullied and tormented. But then she came along and accepted him. She even respected his attitude towards her race. How could he not fall for her? This strangely wonderful person had entered his beaten life and given him respect. She was bizarre, and he didn't know how to deal with his obsession.
Over the years, he grew close to the other men and the experience of being accepted became complete. He was no longer infatuated with his commander.
Miles realised he hadn't fallen for her then.
Not like this.
The door opened.
Miles kept his eyes wide open whilst he heard her feet shuffle across the floor. He then heard her approaching, and waited for her to enter her own room. Her footsteps stopped. Miles swallowed, his heart pounding against his chest.
He heard a faint knock against his door.
'Come in.'
She didn't speak. He heard the door open and close. Heard her walk to the other side of the bed and felt her crawl in.
'What happened, ma'am?' He whispered.
'She was shot, but survived.'
Miles widened his eyes. 'Who?'
'My mum.'
He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he should look at her. He didn't need to. Olivier rested herself against him and slept in silence.
When he was certain she was in deep sleep, Miles wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.
'Wow, your ego is even bigger than mine!'
Roy was far from happy to know his rival hadn't left Central, and was displeased when she decided to wait in his office for his arrival. He had no idea how she got in without the key, and wasn't sure if he wanted to ask. It would be five more minutes until his colleagues would arrive.
'You think I'm trying to flatter myself?' She asked.
He looked away. 'Right. Let me get this straight: you think someone has a big grudge against you and wants to hurt you by. . . hurting your family?' He pursed his lips and snorted. 'Right.'
'Fuck you. You'd make a crap Führer. While you Central assholes have been doing sweet, innocent paperwork, up in the North you'd be blown away by what goes on.'
'Oo, impress me.'
Olivier was silent for a few seconds. 'I used to torture people.'
'What?' Roy screamed, shooting to his feet.
'Calm down. Gosh, you've had the worst reaction out of everyone I've told.'
Mustang inhaled deeply. 'Okay. Um. . . Who told you to torture people?'
She rolled her eyes. 'This was years ago, Mustang. Bradley wanted information out of some people, and gave them to me to deal with. I decided to experiment around.'
'These people you hurt want to kill you now? I honestly don't blame them. I'm surprised they can still walk around though.'
Olivier cocked an eyebrow. 'That's the thing. I wasn't just harming adults.'
'What?' It clicked. 'Children too? Like, little babies?' He gasped. 'You're unbelievable! I'd quite happily kill you here and now.'
'Moron, that's not what they want!' Olivier retorted, now growing impatient. 'They want to hurt me emotionally, not physically. Katherine's death wasn't an accident.'
Roy slowly widened his eyes. 'They're killing your family to hurt you?' He raised his eyebrows. 'That sounds fair. . . But I like your family. How many are there?'
'Oh let me think,' Olivier said, her sarcasm heavy. '. . . I don't know, Mustang.'
'You got a plan?'
'Yes, I do. Who has the next promotion?'
Roy clenched his fists under the table. 'Several people along with Hawkeye. It's in two days. You're not thinking what I think you're thinking, are you?'
'I think I am. Now I can't believe the words are coming out of my mouth, but will you help me?'
Roy smirked. 'I'd be honoured.'
Olivier had been gone for hours, and Miles was tempted to go out and search for her. He forced himself to stay indoors though, as she had commanded him to stay by the transceiver in case Briggs needed to contact them. For the moment, there didn't seem to be any problems in the North.
He entertained himself with the radio and a game of cards. The time swept away slowly, and the Ishvalan began to drop off. Someone laughed loudly over the radio which made him awake abruptly. Cursing lightly, he turned the volume down.
Miles brightened when he heard the apartment door open. He watched Olivier enter, and she seemed to be in a hurry when she walked to him. 'Any news?'
'No,' he said whilst she walked past.
'There's something I need you to do. In two days Hawkeye and a few others will be having their promotion. During that time, I want you to be looking out for anything suspicious, especially in tall buildings for snipers.'
He frowned, not quite understanding this order.
'I've discussed with Mustang how we're going to corner these culprits. Hopefully at least one of my relatives will be there, and it's a good chance one of them will be targeted.'
'You're using your family as bait, ma'am?' He asked, bewildered she was taking such risk.
'. . . I know it sounds foolish, but I've spoken to Mustang how this will work. If his Central dogs do as they're told, then it should go down smoothly.'
Mustang, Mustang, Mustang. . . Miles sneered slightly. She had discussed this plan with Roy Mustang, not him. He felt a little rejected. His commander wasn't very fond of Roy, so why had she made plans with him? Miles faltered. He couldn't believe he was jealous.
'I'll do what you tell me to, miss.'
Olivier quickly looked at the clock, 'I need to go again.' His heart dropped. He wanted her to stay a little longer. She walked past him, giving him a small smile and exiting the apartment.
