For the most part, Olivier Armstrong was happy to have been born a member of status.
To many, the rigid General seemed like a natural outcast to high society, but in truth, there was nothing more that Olivier liked than to proudly remind other people that she was an Armstrong. The superior Armstrong, at that rate.
Still, there were obvious downsides to being born wealthy, including the ridiculous social events Olivier was occasionally forced to attend. Before, when she was originally stationed in Briggs, they were easier to worm her way out of. Drachma was always calling, after all. Constant vigilance was the only way to ensure success.
Olivier had been to plenty of balls and galas in her youth. Her mother, unable to accept that her daughter had no desire to be a debutant, had dragged her to countless parties throughout her formative years. They were always the same. Drunk widows eyeing the newest barely-legal, rowdy men of status- smoking cigars and trying to out-do each other for no apparent reason- and dozens of young women clustering in corners, eagerly gossiping about everyone and everything.
No, Olivier most certainly hated galas.
Currently, Olivier had been stationed in Central for the better part of the year. When Grumman had succeeded in becoming Fuhrer (the arrogant bastard- always managing to get his way at the last minute) she had begrudgingly accepted that helping to rebuild the nation would require her to frequent the capital more often than she'd like. Now, with a week left of Grumman's regime, she was partially glad she would soon find herself allowed to peacefully pass her time up at Briggs for months at a time undisturbed.
When Mustang became Fuhrer, he could kiss her ass. Nothing sort of a miracle or nuclear war would have her venturing into Central and certainly nothing as silly as a gala.
But that was next week. Now, she still had a part to play: Major-General Armstrong.
So naturally, there she was, suited up in her dress blues (the day she wore a dress was the day Alex grew a full head of air), wandering around the Fuhrer's Estate for the last charity benefit of his regime.
"Enjoying yourself?"
Olivier looked to her left to find her sister Catherine smiling eagerly. As one of the Fuhrer's loyal benefactors, the entire family had been invited to the occasion and, now that she was of proper age, this included the youngest daughter. Unlike Olivier, Catherine was thrilled to be here. It wasn't her fault. It was her first presidential gala so she didn't know the sheer and utter bullshit happening around every corner.
"Why don't you go find that General who gets under your skin so much?" Catherine giggled.
"And why would I go do such a stupid thing like that?"
"I don't know. Assert your dominance, or whatever. He'll be Fuhrer next week. Gotta do it while you can."
Olivier raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, stop, Olivier, you know I don't mean it like that. Besides, the rumor on the street is that Mustang's having an affair with the Fuhrer's granddaughter. I'm practically handling you ammo for the gun."
Dumb little Catherine, Olivier instantly thought. Always so eager to gossip.
Then, Olivier's brain processed exactly what had been said. "The Fuhrer doesn't have a granddaughter."
"That's what the word around town is. You hate the General so much, I thought I'd let you know so you could go rub it in his face and make him feel uncomfortable. I know you never listen to gossip."
"Are you sure the girls you are listening to aren't more drunk than you think? The old man has never mentioned a child, let alone a granddaughter."
"Yeah, you're probably right," Catherine said simply. "Okay, well enjoy the rest of the party, sister!"
Olivier only got to enjoy a few moments of peace before a voice boomed from behind her.
"Dearest sister! Are you enjoying the party?"
"Alex." There was no sense of emotion behind the syllable.
"Olivier," he replied, unphased by his sister's blunt greeting. "Providing Catherine with riveting social advice, I see!"
"Not really, the silly girl is getting swept into societal gossip."
"What lovely words are being spread across the populace?" Alex asked, so genuinely if it was anyone else, Olivier would have been immediately suspicious.
She paused for a moment, before realizing that, for once, this gossip may be useful.
"Apparently the Fuhrer has a granddaughter. Ever heard of her?"
"Ah yes. Grumman's granddaughter," Alex supplied. "She's been the talk of the town all evening, but I guess she doesn't like to come to military functions. Grew up in some small town in the Eastern outskirts so Grumman allows her to miss these functions. Or so the rumors say."
Olivier had to physically stop herself from snorting.
"No, his granddaughter exists," Alex insisted. "I'm certain of it. Why else would everyone be talking about it?"
"Because they have nothing else to do with their miserable lives," Olivier retorted.
"Whose miserable?"
Olivier turned to find Lieutenant-Colonel Miles standing behind her, champagne flute held out.
Without hesitation, Olivier accepted the drink, throwing it back in two large gulps before wiping her mouth on the back of her hand and returning the empty flute to her subordinate.
"The rich."
"We were talking about the Fuhrer's secret granddaughter," Alex said before Olivier could stop him. "Supposedly she's here tonight."
"Ah, yes I've heard that," Miles said with a nod. "The one who supposedly tamed the infamous womanizing Flame Alchemist. She must be quite the lady."
"If she's even real."
"Someone's extra hostile."
"Why wouldn't I be?" Olivier snapped. "If she is real, it's only further proof of how much of a brown nose Mustang is. Dating the Fuhrer's granddaughter. Doubt there aren't motives behind that."
"Dearest sister! Don't think such terrible things! Mustang is a man of honor!"
"Yeah, yeah," Olivier said with a wave of her hand. "I'm going to go find the restroom. See you gentlemen later."
She turned, leaving Miles at the mercy of her brother. He's dealt with worse, she rationalized to herself.
"General Armstrong?"
She turned, not fully recognizing the voice.
The young man must have sensed her hesitation. "It's Alphonse. Alphonse Elric."
Alphonse was a man now, broad shoulders and a warm face accented with a strong jawline. His eyes were bright and he looked utterly, utterly full of life.
"Alphonse? You're looking healthier than ever. I'm happy to see it." She meant every word. Even the Ice Queen herself could not help but smile widely at the sight of his healthy, well-built body.
"Thank you, General!" His smile reached his ears.
"Is Edward here as well?"
Alphonse shook his head, a small frown ghosting his face. "He wishes. General Mustang invited both of us for the inauguration but Winry's due any day now with their third child and they both decided it was best to stay close to home."
"Third child? They must be insane."
"They are a little. But also insanely happy," Alphonse laughed. "Not everyone can be married to their careers, no matter how admirable. Still, I hope she has the baby on time. I wouldn't want them to miss both the inauguration and the wedding."
"Wedding? You're getting married?"
Dear lord, am I getting old, Olivier thought to herself.
Alphonse flushed a deep shade of crimson. "What! Me! No! I'm not there yet! I assumed you were invited…"
Olivier took a chance. "To Mustang's wedding?"
She could feel the relief wash across the young man's body. His posture relaxed and he let out a telling breath of air. "Yes. Wow for a second there I thought I was in serious trouble."
"Of course, I know about Mustang's marriage to the Fuhrer's granddaughter. I am a general."
Olivier was talented at many things and lying through her teeth had always been one of them. Secrets are best spilled when one thinks you're in on them, after all.
"Hopefully you'll see Ed there. He wouldn't miss it for anything except the new baby, of course. Plus, from everything I've heard, it's a rather small affair. Only the closest of the close know. His and Winry's absence will be felt."
Olivier nodded, signaling to the nearest butler to refill her glass.
Maybe Mustang really had slept his way to the Fuhrership, right past her. The bastard.
"Hey, Captain Havoc!"
Olivier turned to where Alphonse was waving. The Captain, also dressed in his best blues, was walking towards them.
Olivier held out her hand to stop him before he had a chance to salute.
"Havoc, it's nice to see you," Olivier said, surprised that she also truly meant this compliment. Havoc was a fine officer. Way to fine for the ranks of Mustang's group. She had always believed Hawkeye and Havoc would have truly benefited from being under her command.
Maybe in a different life.
"General. Alphonse," Havoc said. Up close, his cheeks were visibly flushed from alcohol. "Have you seen my wife? I think she wandered off somewhere with Hawkeye but I can't find either of them."
It took Olivier a minute to remember who Havoc had married. Ah, yes. Lieutenant Catalina, now Havoc, who had retired from active duty shortly after her marriage.
"No, I haven't seen-"
"Captain Hawkeye!" Alphonse interrupted, spotting their target from across the room.
Riza turned towards the sound of her name. Seeing Havoc and Alphonse wave her towards them, she bid the gentleman she was talking to goodbye and joined the small group.
"Have you seen Rebecca?" Havoc asked as soon as pleasantries had been exchanged.
"Not for a while now. She went to get another glass of champagne and never came back."
"Great," Havoc said as he rolled his eyes. "She'll be clinging to the porcelain throne tonight at this rate."
"I can go look for her," Alphonse offered. "I haven't seen Mei in a while either, so I don't mind making my rounds."
"Please. I'll stay in this area just in case," Havoc said to the young man. "She drank so much after the last banquet she had to call out of work for two days after. She made me promise to not let it happen again but it's kind of impossible when she's missing."
"She was pretty drunk," Riza said as Alphonse walked away.
"How did you lose her?"
"I'm not here to babysit your wife. There's someone else I have to keep an eye on, you know," Riza said. Her eyes went across the room to where her direct superior was standing, laughing with a group of rich military widows.
His act made Olivier want to throw up.
"He can handle himself," Havoc said with a wave of his hand, dismissing Hawkeye's worry.
After a brief moment of contemplation, Olivier decided to go for it.
"So Hawkeye, you must know. Apparently Mustang slept his way to the top."
To their credit, neither Havoc or Hawkeye reacted.
"Pardon, general? I don't understand."
"There's a rumor going around that Mustang is dating Grumman's granddaughter. I've never heard of him having a child, let alone grandchildren. You follow him around like a shadow. I won't believe you don't know. I'm not an idiot. Did Grumman pick Mustang over me because of that?"
Riza stood there for a moment, mouth opened in shock. She was speechless, completely dumbfounded, and for a moment Olivier genuinely felt bad. Riza Hawkeye was not easily rendered speechless.
"Rumors? Is- is that what everyone is saying?"
"If it helps, tonight was the first night I've heard anything about it." Olivier said, bulldozing on. "So tell me, Hawkeye. Is that why the old man passed me up?"
"No," Riza said. Her voice had stopped shaking and her composure had returned. "I've known Mustang for a long time…" Her voice trailed off before she heaved a large sigh. "I might as well tell you enough to calm your mind. It will be public knowledge soon enough."
Olivier did not catch the bewildered look that flashed across Havoc's face at Riza's words.
"The Fuhrer's granddaughter was the daughter of his apprentice. He's known her since well before his military service. Her relationship to the Fuhrer was a coincidence they both learned later on. Her father had little contact with extended family."
"Sure," Olivier said, one eyebrow still raised. She trusted Hawkeye and truly respected the woman, but Olivier knew that the Captain's loyalty was to Mustang and Mustang only. "If you say so, Hawkeye."
"Speaking of Mustang, he's coming this way," Havoc interrupted, his voice tense.
"Hawkeye! What the hell! I've been giving you the signal for five minutes. The widows wouldn't leave me alone. I needed you to get me out of there!" Mustang said as he approached. "I thought you were at the service bar with Rebecca!"
"If it helps, chief, I thought she was with Rebecca too."
"Havoc, your missing wife is your problem and yours alone," Riza said. Olivier could not help but notice the softness in Riza's voice. Clearly she was grateful for the change in topic.
"Ah, General Armstrong. What a pleasure to see you!" Roy said with a large smile.
"Sure."
Mustang's smile vanished almost instantly.
"Something will never change, huh General?"
Olivier rolled her eyes so hard she could feel them graze her brain. "Shouldn't you be off fraternizing with the elites?"
"But I am," Mustang said, his cocky demeanor returned. "You are an Armstrong after all."
"Oh my god. She looks so drunk. Please tell me both drinks aren't for her."
Sure enough, Rebecca was stumbling across the room, a glass of champagne in each hand.
"Riza! Yo! Rizaaaaa!"
"Getting her home should be fun, Havoc," Mustang smirked to his subordinates' dismay.
"Riza!" Rebecca stumbles upon the group, ignoring everyone including her husband. "Geez, Riza! How could you leave me like that! Your grandfather is driving me crazy. I don't care if he's Fuhrer, if he slaps my ass one more time, I'm going to murder him in cold blood. You can classify this as an official threat of terrorism. I shouldn't have to put up with his crap now that I'm married." Rebecca finished her tangent by changing an entire flute of champagne, oblivious to what she had just revealed.
Olivier paused, uncertain of the words that had just been spewed out of the mouth of former Lieutenant.
All the color left Riza's face. To her left, Havoc stood there wishing for the sweet relief of death.
"Grandfather?" Olivier said the word slowly, carefully, as though it would burn her tongue if said with too much confidence.
"About that…"
"Why yes, Captain Hawkeye is the Fuhrer's granddaughter," Mustang supplied with a smile.
Riza shot him a murderous look. "Sir, stop talking."
Olivier ignored her protest. "His only grandchild? Or do you have siblings I'm unaware of."
"His only."
"Sir. You really need to stop talking."
By now, Mustang had caught on to the tense mood of the group. Only Rebecca, drunk and swaying at Havoc's side, remained unphased.
"What is it?" He asked.
Olivier decided that it would be now or never.
"There's a very interesting rumor going around, Mustang. A rumor that you and the Fuhrer's granddaughter are to be married. Some think you slept to the top. It's not too farfetched, given your history."
"General- please-" Riza began to beg before Olivier cut her off.
"Apparently you are to be married in a small, private ceremony shortly."
Roy and Riza stood there, paler than the moon with eyes wide and desperate.
"Armstrong, you have to promise-"
Olivier held up her hand, effectively silencing Mustang as well.
"Listen very carefully Mustang. I don't believe in rumors. I don't gossip. This is just a rumor after all. Whoever you love is none of my business. All that matters is that you didn't sleep your way to the Fuhrership over me."
Havoc, Hawkeye and Mustang all let out a collective sigh of relief. Rebecca simply continued to sip on the drink Havoc was too distracted to take away.
"I'm an Armstrong, Mustang. I don't believe in stupid rumors. But if I did. I'd say congratulations. And also, what the hell is that woman thinking? Rumor is she can do so much better than the likes of you."
Mustang paused, before cracking the softest, warmest smile in Riza's direction.
"Well then, General Armstrong. It's a good thing it's just a rumor after all."
A/N: That's all folks. The final one shot. Thanks for coming along for the ride!