I think Olivier was an 'almost request', so there ya go.
I find her a difficult character to write, so do let me know if I made her believable enough or not ;)
In Which Olivier Chances Her Luck
The clock ticked, its hands in constant movement. Two. Three. Four minutes past 1200 hours already. She had no doubts that it was that clown of a Colonel's work that delayed the appointment. All the more reason to step in, she thought to herself as she blew a curling blonde strand of hair out of her face.
Finally, footfalls down the hallway. And more than just those of the Major. She lifted her chin where she sat behind her desk, waiting for the knock.
"Who is it?" she raised her voice when it came. Miles peeked his head in, doorhandle in hand.
"It's Colonel Mustang and First Lieutenant Hawkeye, Sir."
"Leave the Colonel outside, I have nothing to say to him," Olivier dryly replied. And of course, he immediately began throwing a tantrum, having overheard, nosy as he was. The noise worsened when he realised that it was his Lieutenant who had been summoned. "You can throw him out the fort, Miles," Olivier waved a dismissive hand.
"Yes, Sir," the Major nodded. Mustang exploded in a fresh surge of what she interpreted as possessiveness, snoopiness and selfishness. Usually, she would have enjoyed scaring him a little more, watch him squirm and his stupid self-complacent grin wiped off for once, but she was not in the mood. After losing a handful of men due to an admittedly precise shot at Briggs' own canon from Drachma, he was the last person she wanted to lay eyes on.
Her brother was a close race though.
Grim frown furrowing deeper on her forehead, she rose to her feet. Mustang had started to urgently exchange a few words with his Lieutenant, probably vaccinating her against whatever he feared the Major General would say. The last thing she needed now – his influence. So she stomped over to the door herself, already irritated that she had to see him. It was like getting up with the first thing one got to see in the mirror being an eruption of pustules all over the face.
She raked open the door, right out of Miles' fist.
"I specifically asked for the Lieutenant, you pompous airhead; get out of my fortress," she barked. A vein bulged on her temple when that exasperating grin came into place.
"Why, it's a pleasure to see you, too, Major General," the Colonel somewhat spit her rank without being too obvious about it. But she heard. And she would remember. For now, she settled with a snarl. That idiot all but smiled back. "It might have slipped your mind, but she is my Lieutenant," his eyes overshadowed for a second. "Then again, I see mornings aren't your bag now, are they, milady?" he switched to his trademark smirk again. She really, really wanted to slice it off his face. Or punch him.
Instead, she exhaled sharply and wordlessly gestured for the Lieutenant to enter the office, signalling Miles to get Mustang out. There were other ways to push his buttons – hammer them in – and the silent treatment was one of her favourites. He looked the proper fool when his Lieutenant did as she was told. In fact, he resembled a puppy left in the pouring rain. Olivier had never thought it possible, but with that, he almost made her day.
Ignoring him to twist the knife in the wound, she turned on the heel. Miles closed the door behind her, not only his steps echoing down the long corridor where he had to persuade – and perhaps threaten – the Colonel to leave.
"Thank you for the invitation, Major General Armstrong," Hawkeye, as formal and professional as always, bowed. As if she could truly ignore the indignity she had just witnessed, not a trace of the glee or cringe of Miles detectable on her features. Features by far too soft and gentle for a soldier, but Olivier knew better. Those emotions that were kept in check so expertly hid the true face of a murderer.
What that face looked like, however, the Major General could only guess.
Unfortunately, that thought brought back Mustang and his idiotism. The Lieutenant must have already been too used to it, too exposed to him to be surprised by his changing temper. That would change soon, Olivier noted to herself. The Lieutenant was a tough case, but not an impossible one. She could be saved, and the Major General reckoned it would not only be for the best regarding her own troops, but the women in question herself.
"Have a seat," she offered courtly. Again, she had expected some kind of change in expression – if not fear then at least the realisation of this taking more than just a minute – but there was nothing. No surprise and no concern. Neither did Hawkeye utter any unnecessary words – not like most people trying to make conversation, complimenting the fort or office or mountain view. Olivier appreciated that – the lack of currying favour.
She encircled her desk, back as straight as her guest's where she sat down.
"Let me get straight to the point," oh, how she liked doing that. She hated useless chitchat. Sometimes, she did have to force down a grin when having her frightened guests take a guess as to why they were there – let them dangle and not seldom confess to something she often already knew. She would not play this game with Hawkeye – she preferred not to be shown up.
Without beating around the bush, Olivier slapped down a military uniform on the desk. A Briggs' uniform, padded and with the standard black coat with white fur lining the collar. Eyeing it now, she judged that it might still be too big for that surprisingly slim frame of her invitee. She did not shove the boots over, knowing the clothes would get the point across.
She did, however, slide a brand-new, factory-shiny and most perfectly balanced – not to mention powerful – sniper rifle up to the uniform. It was the latest model, exclusively adapted and improved for the cold weather in the north.
Eyes burning into the Lieutenant to spot any kind of reaction, the Major General kept her ace up her sleeve until having pronounced her proposal.
"I assume you know what this is," she tapped the rifle with a gloved finger.
"Bribery?" Hawkeye concluded without batting an eyelid. Despite herself, Olivier broke out in a hearted laughter. This blunt side really was to her liking. Yes, that woman would make a fine addition to her Briggs men.
"I meant the weapon," she kept on grinning inwardly, composing her expression into her habitual cold demeanour.
"I don't see how that would change my answer," Hawkeye honestly replied. "But I suppose you want me to name the model. I'm sorry to disappoint, but I haven't had the time lately to inform myself about any new editions to the product range of Hornet 98s, however it looks to me like a revised version of the 14'2."
"Not only a revision, but an entirely new development – go on, take it," pleased with the answer, Olivier leaned back in her seat. Her frown returned when Hawkeye remained where she was, back straight and eyes alert. Her folded hands in her lap did not twitch once.
"Thank you, Sir," she said, not taking the weapon. So Olivier played her trump card.
With another smack to the desk – this time not as nonchalantly but with intent – the shoulder mark landed on the uniform between them. One that had the same array of gold and blue as the Lieutenant's under the coat currently invisible one, only there were three stars embossed instead of two. Not an easy threshold to cross when it came to rising in the ranks of Amestris.
"Join our forces," the Major General said outright. Using the chance while Hawkeye was still quietly pensive, she went on. She knew she had to give reasons, even if those the Lieutenant would conjure up to oppose would be meaningless – anything prompting her to stay in the shadow of that bastard was. "You would fit perfectly into our team – you're diligent, professional, and above all you value true virtues such as hard work and honesty.
"Here at Briggs, we reward your achievements appropriately. You'd be given a squad of your own, use our excellent shooting and training ranges, have an outstanding room to yourself and a fixed plan of free weekends as well as access to the kitchen at any time you want. The canteen here beats the hell out of that jail's gloop at Eastern Headquarters anyway," she muttered the rest, a tinge of anger resurfacing at the memory of having had a look at it sometime in the past. She would rather starve herself all day than eat there, not having tasted a single grain.
Not only the canteen chefs, but half of the military – at least – was an embarrassment, which was why Hawkeye was truly a force worth fighting for.
"My men work harder than any of those weaklings under Mustang's command," Olivier huffed with pride. "You won't have to carry his butt after him anymore either," she added with a sneer, intentionally avoiding a 'wouldn't' to make it less hypothetical. Surely, that must have been a most desirable prospect in any case.
Yet, the brooding frown of her interlocutor had not disappeared. A good sign, so she continued.
"You won't have to do everything yourself for things to be done correctly – no babysitting an entire team; no going on aimless missions to drag you out into the rain or nightly escapades to save your superior in his drunken stupor," she hit a nerve when Hawkeye looked up at that. And finally, finally, something other than polite reserve on her face. Slight shock of all things; the first emotion besides… well, professionalism was not an emotion, but if it was, that would have been her usual face. "You could save yourself the humiliation," Olivier emphasised seriously.
She was not fond of blabbing like a pitchman, and she did not solely aim to pick on Mustang with it, but she wanted the Lieutenant to understand that selfishness could be a good thing – that it could be a means of selfcare, especially when everything she had experienced so far had been Mustang's unhealthy selfishness that had consequently dragged her good reputation into the mud with him.
Convinced both about that information's truth as well as her own persuasion, Olivier leaned back again.
Hawkeye was still mulling, gaze lowered, though without the expected shame of people knowing all the way to Briggs about her superior's occasional intoxications. She was obviously musing on the offer.
Waiting, the Major General regarded the blonde with satisfaction. She was going to ask about bringing her dog, was she not?
"Thank you for your generous offer," Hawkeye eventually spoke up. And somehow, despite everything, despite the Captain's badge, it still sounded as if a 'but' was coming. "May I ask you a question?" she circumvented.
"Out with it."
"Does this offer have anything to do with yours and the Colonel's relationship?" she asked. Olivier snorted.
"There is no relationship between that blatherer and me," she crossed her arms over her chest. Hawkeye continued after momentarily awaiting any more statements on the matter. Her voice was even, firm and not backing away, though with respect – another thing the Major General valued.
"Permission to speak freely, Sir?"
"Permission granted," she immediately heard herself answer just as vigorously. Slowly, the dread of her defeat – of her loss – was crawling up on her. A defeat she most definitely did not want to admit, not even to herself, not just yet. Hawkeye really would have made such a fine Briggs soldier.
"Are you offering me this transfer out of spite towards the Colonel?" Hawkeye persisted. Not a single trace of that spite she so damn precisely spotted beneath the Major General's façade was detectable in her own features. She was indeed living up to her reputation, the Hawk's Eye. Because she knew – knew things that had not yet been conceded to oneself.
What a loss she was, though... a loss? When she had not been hers – or theirs; Briggs' – to begin with? She was his and she would stay his, no matter the ranks Olivier could pull. It was infuriating to say the least.
"You truly are wasted on that bastard," Olivier sighed. She did not answer the question, though she figured Hawkeye saw through that, too, understanding how the insult answered the question sufficiently.
Again, it was not the sole reason the Major General wanted to hire the renowned sniper, but it would have been a nice touch – something to make her sleep with a wickedly delighted smile on her face.
Would have served him right, that slave driver. Hawkeye would not have had to wither under his lack of care, his insolent demands and his squeezing-out of her every last bit of sanity for his uses as his most valuable and irreplaceable asset. His nanny, as they said, the one who kept him from falling flat on his face and who could well be the very reason of his success within the military, other than his Flame Alchemy and enraging 'charms' as he would call his prattling.
Olivier realised to have lost this round, though it would not stop her from trying anew someday.
Getting up, the Lieutenant followed suit. She really was showpiece soldier.
"Thank you again for your offer, Major General Armstrong," Hawkeye bowed. "I am honoured you consider me capable enough to suit your ranks of distinguished soldiers."
"Your dedication to your job – not to mention moronic superior – is admirable, Lieutenant," Olivier returned. Because it was the truth, and the poor woman deserved that much credit with all the shit he had made her go along with and account for. Plus, it was a well-placed praise to stay on good terms; to leave a positive impression for the next time she would ask – preferably a moment of rage at whatever imbecile manoeuvre the Colonel would drag his unfortunate Lieutenant into. A moment of weakness in their seemingly – and to the Major General unfathomably – indestructible bond.
She crossed the room.
"It's my turn to ask a question," she said, not having to wait for permission. "What is it that you tell yourself to believe which makes you stay there?" she asked, the 'there' coming as a scoffed offence to the Colonel. "By the amount of thinking you've done in the past fifteen minutes, it can't be much that's holding you there," she remarked. The silence really had stretched, and the feeling of it having been breaking her head over what could have possibly been a plus point of staying at the Colonel's side did not make itself scarce, all save for the unwavering loyalty to her superior.
Hawkeye hesitated. Waiting with opening the door, Olivier wordlessly demanded a reply where she met conflicted brown eyes. The Lieutenant drew a breath.
"With all due respect, Sir, but I've pondered on nothing except how to turn you down as politely as possible since I entered the room," she admitted. A heartbeat of silence passed. Then Olivier laughed again. So that's how it was…
Stepping away, she swiped the rifle off the desk and shoved it at a now puzzled Lieutenant before reaching for the doorhandle.
"Just in case you need to blow a certain someone's brains out; you have my full support," she grinned, still laughing. Stifling herself, her eyes burned with seriousness as she pierced the Lieutenant's. Her tone darkened. "Now I'm not saying this as damage control or because I cannot accept a defeat – I know I won't be getting you to switch today," she emphasised the last word, seeing how Hawkeye comprehended – for once showing a different sentiment as she heaved a quiet, yet amused sigh. It vanished as soon as Olivier continued. "But what you're doing is dangerous, and if you hold him as dear as it appears to me, then you will only precipitate into ruin, and you will destroy yourself along the way," she grimly added.
Oh yes, she knew there came more into play than just professional loyalty, suspecting the Colonel's disgusting charms to have worked – however that was possible, not least since the Lieutenant got to see his worst sides, his laziness and lack of discipline – and that she might be sticking to him out of some futile and admittedly risky crush.
Olivier was livid about how Mustang must have probably been enjoying exactly that, playing with his Lieutenant on purpose and massaging his ego by keeping a woman near him at all times, pleasing himself with the knowledge of egoistically having seduced her beyond repair.
"I'm afraid I don't follow," Hawkeye plainly returned. They both knew it was nothing but self-protection.
So the Major General let it go, accompanying her guest to the exit.
Their chat down the hallways was by far more pleasant than the last topic, and it was one of those rare moments when Olivier found herself to be content with an aimless banter. It was unceremonious and most importantly, honest. No overly cautious debates on the weather.
She had expected Mustang to have left a long time ago since it was bitingly cold outside, and because that was just the man he was. It surprised her – something she outwardly got under control within less than a second – to see him shivering just outside the main gates. Miles and a few other men protected the entrance lest the Colonel tried to break back in. Reduced to a half-snowed in ice lolly, he shivered with his arms wrapped around himself. Pathetic.
"Lieutenant," he called upon seeing her. Not upon the opening of the gates, no, upon seeing her. Next, of course, he started to complain, asking her as to why he had not gotten any souvenir once spotting the rifle over her shoulder.
The Lieutenant trudged through the snow with a chide of her own, nagging at him how he should not have waited to which he retorted with an equal level of annoyance, lamenting how he had been kicked out. He threw a glare at the Major General at that, but she showed him no emotion whatsoever. Secretly, she was boiling with anger.
All she did was listen to their bickering. His question as to whether his Lieutenant was okay, followed instantly with a protest of how he should have worried about himself. Hawkeye tugged here and there on his coat, making him look ridiculous when pulling the collar closely around his face, completely back in her babysitting mode as she made sure he was warm. She even surrendered her own scarf, compelling his hands to stay in his pockets.
Olivier watched them for another moment, and although neither stopped nagging for even a single step, they both seem kind of… happy. Of course she did not admit to herself that the Colonel had seemed genuinely glad and not slyly triumphant to have his devotee back – he was sincerely relieved and content now.
Tutting to herself, the Major General left. When arriving upstairs and glancing out the window again, unable to help herself, she could make out the two figures where they plodded through the snow, the Lieutenant's arm without a doubt linked with her Colonel's judging by how closely they walked, almost a single blob with two dots for heads.
Unbeknownst to her, that blob stayed connected at the hotel down the mountain, not separating into single rooms, and not separating into single beds, either.