Part VIII: She wanted to be a phoenix risen from the ashes of weakness
After the wedding, Mustang took a week of leave and it was blissful. He and Hawkeye had never spent so much time together without interruption. They spent hours in bed, kissing, talking and touching, really touching each other. They listened to bad radio plays and ate takeout. They talked endlessly, sometimes laughing hysterically at each others' jokes and sometimes speaking earnestly and sharing secrets. They dreamed about their future child, their future lives and their future world.
Then Mustang left and went to work. Still sitting at the breakfast table, Hawkeye tried to figure out what to do next. She cleaned the kitchen and made the bed, then looked for other housework to do, but there wasn't much. It was a new house and they had just moved in. Eventually, she decided to take the dog for a walk and get groceries for dinner.
She remembered Rebecca's dream of 'living a life of leisure,' and sat in the backyard and read the newspaper for a bit. It was still too early to start making dinner. She wished her mother was still alive so she could get advice on being a wife and what she should be spending her days doing.
A few days later, Hawkeye invited Gracia Hughes over.
"It's natural to feel this way," she said sympathetically, "But don't worry, once that little one is born, you'll be so busy you'll barely even remember what it's like to have free time."
Chris Mustang visited a lot too. She was nearing retirement and scaling down her business. She'd dealt with a lot of pregnancies in her time, and was constantly asking Hawkeye questions and giving her advice. Hawkeye enjoyed the visits, but always felt that Chris Mustang talked down to her slightly, like she was talking to one of her girls.
Even with company, the days were long. Hawkeye doted on Mustang, taking care of his uniforms, cleaning his weapons and cooking elaborate meals. But then he would leave again, and another long day would stretch before her.
The first day of officer training, Olivier Armstrong knew she was in trouble. It started with aptitude tests, and while she knew a lot of the answers, there were whole sections she didn't understand. They talked about wind speeds and cannon trajectories and contained symbols she'd never seen before. She was unsurprised when at the end of the day, the instructor asked her to stay behind.
"Armstrong, you did not answer any of these questions," he said gruffly, shoving her test towards her.
"I did not know any of the answers, sir," she replied. The instructor narrowed his eyes.
"Did you not pay attention in school?" he sneered, as if he thought she was being smart with him.
"Sir, I did not go to school," she replied, slightly embarrassed, trying to seem as obedient as possible. The instructor stared at her with a look of loathing, like he couldn't believe she had dared enter his classroom.
"Please," she added, "I will do anything to learn."
The instructor shook his head and muttered a few choice words about Major Thompson, but to Armstrong's relief, he gave her some vouchers for remedial classes at a local college before growling at her to go away.
For the next six months, Armstrong did officer training during the day, then dashed at full speed to the college, where she did remedial classes at night. Afterwards, she went home and tried to finish the homework for both, sometimes sleeping less than four hours per night. Somehow she muddled through. She got good grades in most subjects, but barely passed math and engineering.
One class she took was called Philosophy of War. She wasn't sure what she thought of it, as the instructor had explained that there were no right answers, the point was to discuss different ideas and figure out which ones resonated with you. Armstrong wasn't sure what that meant and doubted there was much to be gained from a class without right answers, but she still read the assigned essays and participated in class discussion.
One topic they covered was survival of the fittest. As soon as she read the essays, she thought she might have figured out what resonating meant. She was one of few students who argued on its behalf in class.
"You can't deny reality," she explained, "You can try to show compassion, but in most situations, if the positions were reversed, the other party would take advantage of you. You don't see many alchemists denying the Law of Equivalent Exchange, but people somehow think they can ignore this natural law."
The instructor, who was very theatrical, had written "Only the strong survive" on a piece of paper and waved in front of the class as he lectured. Armstrong picked it up afterwards and tucked it into her notebook. Every so often, when she was looking down the barrel of another week of no sleep and being mocked by her instructors, she would take it out and run her fingers across it to tap her inner strength. She wanted to be a phoenix risen from the ashes of weakness, moving upwards and soaring through the sky.
Afterwards, she started her assignment in East City, but was almost immediately deployed into combat in Drachma. She wasn't sure what to expect, but the moment she hit the ground she was in her element. She was bold, decisive and had perfect instincts. She liked to think she contributed a lot to her unit's victories. Moreover, in combat, her unit was like a family. They lived together, ate meals together and cared for one another. The camaraderie was something she'd never experienced. She became fond of her fellow soldiers, taking huge risks to save the lives of anyone in danger. She earned several medals for bravery in the process.
Armstrong would always remember the first time she returned from a deployment. After all they'd been through together, she felt like she and the other soldiers had become such good friends. She was surprised when they parted with a cursory goodbye, and even more surprised when everything was the way it had always been when they got back to the office. She eventually realized the military was just part of their lives, and they had actual friends and actual families.
Armstrong had never before considered what she wanted her life to look like outside of the military, and wasn't sure where to start. Michaels, who she'd trained with as a cadet, was also stationed at Eastern, and sometimes she'd spend time with him and his friends, but she wasn't really part of the group. They'd invite her for dinner once or twice a week, or maybe to play handball on Sunday morning, but she could tell they spent a lot of time without her. She called them on it once, suggesting they hang out after dinner one Saturday, but Michaels had looked at her awkwardly and said,
"Sorry, but we want to meet some girls."
"Aren't I a girl?" was Armstrong's first thought, but she knew the truth: she could either be one of them or she could be a girl in their eyes, she couldn't be both. She told them it was fine and suggested getting together another time. She tried not to dwell on what they might be doing to meet girls that they didn't feel they could do with her present.
One of Michaels' friends was married, and suggested Armstrong attend a military wives' club his wife was a part of. She attended and the women were very kind. They were so impressed that she was actually in the military, as opposed to being married to it, but she could also tell they found her very strange. The women often laughed at her when she wasn't trying to be funny, starting with when she explained she didn't use her first name. Sometimes she felt like they were speaking a foreign language, talking about crushes and recipes and fashions. She could also tell they did the majority of their social activities without her.
Armstrong knew deep down she had trouble connecting with people, but the problem was also her upbringing. People like her didn't make friends, they had family friends. People like her didn't date, they asked their family to introduce them to a few prospects. Sometimes she felt like a strange chimera: part male, part female, part noble, part common combined to make something grotesque. She started to wish she could be deployed more often, so she could live in the moment, surrounded by comrades.
After her experiences on the street, Armstrong thought she would never be interested in men again, but her sexual desire came back with a vengeance. She considered dating, in a sort of vague, abstract way, not quite sure what was involved or whether she would like it, but it didn't seem practical anyways. Most men in East City were in the military, so it would be hard to meet someone without breaking the non-fraternization policy, and even if she did, she would be away on deployments a lot and might even get transferred. She'd read through the military policies on marriage and they only mentioned wives. She was pretty sure she never wanted to get married, but if she did get really attached to someone, she also was pretty sure a request to bring a husband on an assignment would be considered a joke. And even if it wasn't, what man would have no professional connections and be able to move on a moment's notice? It was a good thing no one wanted to date her anyways, Armstrong would joke with herself sometimes.
Armstrong started picking up men in bars. She would stand outside, sometimes imagining she was hiding behind a tree, like she had in Capture the Flag, and surveille the area to pick out who she wanted. Acting completely unlike herself, sweet, polite and demure, she would flirt with him and invite him back to her apartment where she would transform into a monster with many eyes and many hands, leaving him terrified.
Armstrong had been assigned to East City for two years when Major Thompson walked into her office. She was so excited to see him. They spent a while catching up, but it turned out he had come to talk to her about an opportunity. A Fort she knew little about was having difficulty retaining officers, and the ones who stayed tended to get promoted very quickly. Armstrong thought about it.
"What's the catch?" she asked, wondering why if it was such a great opportunity, others weren't jumping at it.
"Have you ever been to Fort Briggs?" Thompson asked, "Let's just say you won't have much of a social life."
She thought that sounded perfect.
A few days before she left for Briggs, Armstrong was sitting in her office clearing up loose ends. She sorted through her mail and found a letter from her brother, who had started writing to her a few months ago. They were childish letters full of good news and everyday happenings, with no acknowledgement that she had left on bad terms or the amount of time that had passed since they'd last spoken. She read through the latest. He'd grown another inch, and was now six foot four. He'd started learning alchemy. He was planning to attend a polo match to celebrate his fourteenth birthday. Their new sister Catherine had just taken her first steps. Olivier put it in her bag so she could write back at Briggs with her new address.
For a long time, she had been afraid her family would find her and force her to leave the military, but she wasn't afraid any more. She had her own power now, her own allies who she believed would stand up to her father for a variety of political reasons. Also, hearing from Alex meant that her family knew where she was, and it had been long enough she thought they had decided not to intervene.
Armstrong brushed her fingers across her new insignia. She had recently been promoted to First Lieutenant. She was the first female First Lieutenant (and was very tired of related puns), though really she was the first female everything. Just as she was about to leave for the night, she heard a knock at her door and someone entered. It was her father.
"General," she said, getting to her feet. He looked back at her without speaking, seeming nervous.
"Olivier," he said finally, "It is so good to see you alive and doing well. I keep hearing about my brilliant, resourceful daughter, and I am ashamed to say I did nothing to encourage you."
She stared at him blankly.
"You mother and I want to apologize for everything we've done," he went on. Olivier started thinking about insults to throw at him, but he said all the right words, clearly rehearsed. They didn't listen to her. They didn't value her. They wanted to start over with a blank slate. She was about to speak, but he lifted his arm to silence her.
"I don't need an answer right away," he said, "I understand if you need more time, but I want you to know you are welcome back home any time with open arms."
This apology hit Olivier in the heart, but she was also outraged. How did he think he could win her back by simply stating his regret? She wasn't sure if she wanted to hug him or murder him.
He laid a long black package on her desk,
"I brought you something, and I do hope you will think about what I said."
He turned around to leave, but then added,
"You brother really misses you," giving her one last stab in the heart before walking away.
Olivier sat drained, trying to process what had happened. She didn't believe that she and her parents could just wipe things clean. She almost threw the package her father had given her in the trash, but then wondered angrily what he thought he could give her that would buy her back into the family and opened it. It was the Bancroft sword. There was a note in her father's handwriting that simply said "For Bravery".
Armstrong put her head into her hands and sat that way for a long time.
A/N: If you need a refresher on the Bancroft sword, it's in Part V. Also, reviews are appreciated, and thanks for the good feedback so far!