I don't own FMA.

Day 21 - Fake

Olivier froze mid-strike as Miles caught her attention with the clearing of his throat.

"It's time for the next group, Sir," he informed her.

As she sheathed the paring sword, she eyed the three men swordsmen hunched over their own swords, the one she had just been practicing against panted heavier than the other two.

"Work on your footing. Once you've got that mastered, it all comes together," she addressed all three of them.

Their backs went ramrod straight as they answered 'Sir, yes, Sir' in unison and saluted.

Olivier returned the salute and left in the direction Miles had come from. He stood inches from the wall next to the door of the female locker room. Olivier grumbled as she closed the door behind her. The room was really a waste of valuable space with the sparse female population in the fort. A look up at the clock on the wall tore a growl from her throat, she'd gone fifteen minutes past the allotted training time without noticing the difference.

When she swung open the door she saw Wendle walking away, and she looked over at Miles with a raised brow.

"Buccaneer is awake, and his rehabilitation starts tomorrow," Miles passed on the doctor's words.

"Is that so?" Olivier asked feigning disinterest as she marched past the dark skinned soldier.

Miles followed behind her, only bothering to straighten out his knowing smirk when they walked down occupied corridors.

Just before she closed the door to her office he called her, "Sir?"

"Major?" she inquired.

"I'm going to go to the cafeteria for some coffee, anything for you, Sir?"

"The usual," she answered, and let the door close.

When she was through with her sixth review she shoved the paperwork aside and ventured out of her office. Upon seeing Miles hadn't returned, she told Henschel she was going on her usual rounds, and marched off.

She turned left the first hall, a direction that would take her to the infirmary sooner than her walk around the fort usually did. When she walked into that glaringly white room her unusually tense shoulders relaxed.

From the end of the ward she could see Buccaneer playing a game of cards, metal glistening from his collarbone to shoulder and wrapping around to his back, attached to his skin like a parasite.

Buccaneer looked over as soon as her boots clicked on the floor and saluted. "Miles left something for you, Sir," he reported, motioning to a paper cup on the bedside table.

A grin slipped onto her face and she took her seat as he shuffled the cards with one hand.

"You've been practicing," she observed.

"Not bad, huh?" he asked, using his thumb to deal a card in her direction, one to himself, set the deck down, and then repeated the process, this time with the cards face up.

Olivier took a sip from her coffee while she peeked at the facedown card.

Writing on the cup caught her eye just as she was about to call blackjack . You don't have to fake it was scrawled in Miles' small slanted script. She wasn't quite sure if the sound that escaped her throat was a gasp or laugh, but she should have known well enough that Miles would be able to see through any walls she put up.

Buccaneer looked at her with wide eyes.

"Just a hiccup," she reassured him.

"Hit?" he asked, holding out another card.

"Blackjack," she announced as she flipped over the hidden card.

He pulled her cards towards him and shoved them in a pile to the side along with his, and set to deal out the next round.

"How's your shoulder?" she asked while looking at her next hand.

"Sore, and stiff," he answered, giving an expression that fell somewhere between a grin and grimace.

A.N. - Thanks for reading!

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