A/N: Morning, everyone! Here we are with a new chapter to this story. Things are moving forward and we are going to see more characters coming together. As usual, I own nothing besides the plot and whatever characters I've improvised.
Thank you very much for reading and for your support. I hope you will enjoy reading and please, let me know what you think of this story! It means a lot to me!
That being said, on we go...
Chapter Twelve – Most Honourable Guests
Buccaneer was very attentive to the manner in which Miles was cleaning the round lenses of his goggles. The Major carefully soaped them up and washed the suds away with clear water, not too hot and not too cold, then patted them gently with a napkin. He looked through the tainted glass into the light, rotating the spectacles under various angles to make sure that they were completely clean.
Feeling his friend's eyes burning into the back of his skull, the Major felt the need to snap him out of it. "Buc, do you have nothing better to do than staring at me?"
The huge man blinked twice and scratched his head. "Well, mate, I know that you're gorgeous-" Miles groaned at that, sounding annoyed, "-but I was actually thinking."
"Oh? Now, really? Miracles do happen, I suppose," Miles replied and put the goggles down.
"You can laugh all you want, but I'm serious. I don't think it's a good idea to have this training together with the Eastern Headquarters."
"It's a contest."
"Whatever. It's just not a good idea."
Miles glanced at the bed where Buccaneer, just as usual, had made himself too cosy to be considered polite. Finding it too much to take a seat on the mattress next to his friend who had little care for personal space, he sat down on the armchair.
"Why do you say that?" the Major asked and lifted his cup of mint tea from the side table.
"'Cause it's fishy, mate, that's why. Hear me out - why would they come over so soon after the war?" He lifted his head from Miles' pillow. "Don't you think it could be dangerous for you? I'm worried for your safety, mate."
"Hmm, I don't know what to say. It was the Major General who'd suggested it in the first place, so I guess there has to be a good reason behind it," Miles retorted blandly. Buccaneer hadn't been told that their commander was planning to meet with her acquaintances from the East and was in need for a decoy, and Miles was not certain that it was his place to divulge anything. "Besides, they should arrive this evening, so there is no turning back now."
"S'ppose not... I still don't like it, mate."
"Believe it or not, I gathered that much."
"Yeah, you're all perceptive and stuff, Miles. Well, the only thing we can do now is to beat'em up at the games, I guess," Buccaneer said nonchalantly and looked down at his huge hands.
Miles grinned wildly. "Ah, don't you talk prettily sometimes, Buc."
XXXXX
Olivier quietly rubbed her hands together, peering at the base of the mountain from the top of the wall. The wind was blowing fiercely against her face, though she could barely feel it. She was so used to its harshness, she hardly sensed its bite anymore.
The scenery before her eyes was large, the whiteness of the snow spreading far into the distance and bleeding into the tiny dots that signalled the outskirts of the North City. If she squinted, she could see the white steam from a train rising up from below the snowy peaks. Little by little, a tiny black chimney appeared, then a small locomotive and some wagons. The long line of steam started to turn greyer, resembling smoke, all gathering around the tubular exhaust, marking the halting of the train.
The forms were minuscule from the distance and the Major General wasn't seeing much, but her ample imagination was able to fill in the gaps. She stuffed her fists into her coat's pockets and inhaled sharply.
Olivier felt unsteady on her feet. Her head was swooning and she found it hard to keep herself straight without having to look down from time to time. She was boiling with too many variables regarding her brother's letter. She was aware that, if one chanced a look at her, they might ask why she was kneading her finger so nervously. There, the bit of conflict occurred. If someone else but herself were the ones to reply, they would say that she was excited because she was finally seeing her brother after a few years. If she were the one to answer, she would probably kindly request for the questioner to go fuck themselves.
She kicked some snow with the tip of her boot. "Corporal!" she shouted and a man appeared behind her, his cheeks rosy from the biting cold. "Why is there snow on the pathway?" she demanded sternly.
The Corporal was clearly new to the ways of the fort, because he was already shivering with fear. He could barely look at the small commander and his hands were trembling. He didn't know if he should salute his superior, or reply to her question, or both, so he simply froze and stared at her.
Armstrong rolled her eyes. How she loved the inefficient new personnel. "Corporal, I've asked you a question," she growled.
The man seemed to wake up from his stupor. "It has just snowed, Sir," he replied, standing straight.
"Oh, no, really? How very fascinating. I haven't noticed," the commander retorted sarcastically. "If it's so, and you're so astute in your observations, Cor-po-ral," she spelled out, almost tasting the letters, "you should have been there to catch all the snow before it touched the ground." She narrowed her eyes. "Clean it. Now."
"But it-"
"Excuse me?" Armstrong asked. "Do I hear you talking back, Corporal? You are new here, am I correct?"
The man nodded, returning to his previous mushy state. "Yes, Ma- Sir..."
"Then it will be a new experience for you to cut the icicles from the ceiling, won't it be?"
"Major General!" echoed a deep voice coming from the building. Olivier didn't turn to look at the source of the noise, knowing it very well.
The Corporal was too shocked to lift his eyes from the ground and see the approaching figure.
Miles reached them and snapped a curt salute meant strictly for appearances, because it went as ignored as it usually did. "Pardon me, Major General, but we have received the schedule approval."
Armstrong only moved from a leg to another. "Good," she said dryly, finally looking at her assistant. Miles nodded and took a step back and nothing more, meaning that he was waiting for her.
She turned her eyes at the poor Corporal who was trembling. "Corporal, start clearing the path," she ordered monotonously.
"Yes, Sir!" mouthed the soldier, saluting her sloppily, resembling a drowning man more than anything.
Olivier had to hold back not to slap the man. "Get out of my face, Corporal," she demanded coldly and turned on the heel of her boots.
Miles looked at the man through his goggles. The Corporal watched him with wide eyes. Miles merely shook his head and followed the commander, clasping his hands behind his back.
Inside the belly of the fort, the Major took a longer step to walk alongside the commander. "Might as well ignore my advice, but you should stop scaring the new soldiers."
Armstrong made a displeased sound. "I will ignore it, thank you very much."
"Very well," he replied and rubbed his wrists. "But to his defence, it had just snowed."
The Major General stopped so abruptly, he would have missed it if he was not looking at her.
"Miles," she barked, "I'm having you shot if you keep on unnerving me, do you hear me?"
Thanks to the dark lenses of his goggles, Miles was able to scan the corridor for any unwanted ears without being noticed by the shorter officer, but he was pleased to see no one else besides them. He smiled kindly at the glaring woman. "You're not going to be the one shooting me, then? That's upsetting."
Olivier pressed her lips together, then snorted. She brushed past him, bumping her shoulder hard into his arm, signalling him to keep on following her.
Trying to hide his smirk, Miles tailed after her. He would never tease or make fun of what the Major General said or did when they had company or when they were working and the etiquette demanded certain obedience of the hierarchy, but they were just walking through an empty section.
Suspiciously empty section, though there was a good reason for the desertion that seemed to happen only when the Major General was passing by.
Ever since they had received the permission from Central to organise the shared training, Olivier started snapping at everyone. More than usual, that is. Miles, being the one who spent the longest time with her because of his position, noticed it far ahead of everyone and attributed it to some passing headache or something minor like that, but after a week of standing on his toes, he saw the clear signs of anxiety.
A nervous Armstrong. A terrifying concept for most, but to Miles, it was a most amusing notion.
However, as amusing as it might have sounded, the unmovable Major General was bubbling with restlessness. She had evident problems with managing her mood and Miles, in the ingrate position of her assistant, had acted as a sponge between the woman and all the personnel she had verbally abused throughout the month.
They had finally reached the office and Olivier looked over at her desk – clean and polished desk, because Miles had tidied up the office and couldn't have left her spot in its usual disarray. He had taken it upon himself to organise everything that resided in their shared bureau, something she had never had the time to do, and she was not one to prevent him from doing it. It was just peculiar to find her things from the first search and not after demolishing half of the lockers.
Around her, the air was infused with the bitter tinge of roasted beans. Miles approached her with a mug filled with fresh coffee and put it down on the table top. He pushed her gently with one knee, making her unassumingly sit on the desk, and grabbed her neck, kissing her fiercely.
She froze with her arms lifted in mid air. Miles let go of her, grinning, and lifted his goggles with a hand. "It's going to be just fine, Olivier, stop fidgeting," he assured her.
Armstrong slapped him hard over the cheek, but his smile only grew wider. "Now, that's more like it!" he exclaimed and lowered his goggles back, leaving her seated on top of the desk as he exited the office.
Olivier put her palms on the tabletop and looked down at the steaming coffee that was waiting by her side. She frowned upon the Major's methods of snapping her out of her spells, but it would not be wrong to say that they always worked wonders on her.
"Pff," she sighed. Damn that bastard.
XXXXX
Major Roy Mustang descended from the train with great aplomb as he always did, nearly biting the metal ladder as he slipped on the uppermost stair.
"Atta boy," said a mothering voice into his ear, belonging to the hands that caught him before he would have broken his neck. The alchemist slapped his rescuer's wrists away and carefully hopped off the train. He stretched his back as if he hadn't been a second away from making a mess out of his exit.
The man behind him followed his lead, though with more elegance. Or at least, he had managed not to endanger himself as he stepped out of the wagon. "Well, Roy, I must say – you have the grace of dying a swan."
"And you, Maes, one of an elephant," Roy muttered between his teeth at the grinning officer that had 'saved him'.
"You're just being jealous," Captain Maes Hughes replied carelessly and looked around them. The train was slowly emptying, all the military personnel barrelling into the snow. A huge man clad in a heavy uniform coat trimmed with thick fur awaited the Eastern convoy, and as soon as the two officers raised their heads to look at him, the host saluted with his shovel of a hand.
"Officers," the waiting man boomed and turned around to salute Grumman who, despite looking his age, had more vigour than many much younger than him. "Lieutenant General, Sir, we have been expecting you!" the huge man said, pointing towards his fellow Northmen. Nor Maes, neither Roy noticed that there were other people next to the giant who towered over the entourage – not that those soldiers were small, by any means. They were just smaller than him.
"Ah, thank you, my lad," Grumman retorted with an easy smile. He wasn't as tall as he used to be in the prime of his youth, but in the company of the Briggs bears, the old man resembled a garden gnome. He patted the arm of the large soldier who, after a closer inspection, Hughes indentified to be a Captain, like him. "Hopefully, you didn't have to wait too long for our arrival."
"Not at all, Sir, the train was right on time."
Which was a lie, because the snow had made the advance of the vehicle harder, therefore, slower, but to Buccaneer, the officer that was on the receiving end of those curious glances, it was hardly that much of a deal. He was used to waiting at any temperature, for any amount of time.
"I hope that the journey was uneventful," Captain Buccaneer continued. "The Major General is waiting for you at the fort."
"Splendid, my lad, splendid."
"It's getting dark, so I suggest we get moving, with your permission, Sir."
"Oh, yes, yes!" the old man approved. "Of course, Captain, we shall follow your lead."
XXXXX
Miles chewed on the edge of his tongue, finding it hard not to tell the Major General to stop fretting. The woman was completely beyond reason inside her head, making all sorts of wild scenarios about what she would eventually hear from the Easterners. She was buzzing with energy that was meant to drive Miles insane, as he was the only one who actually noticed that the commander was not fully behaving like herself.
They were currently at the base of the fort, right at its entrance, like the customs dictated when someone of high rank was visiting. The wind was even more vicious than before and powdered snow was lashing over frozen cheeks, but Miles felt nothing but the heat of Olivier's hot trepidation. She was literally radiating with exuberance and the Ishbalan was praying for a faster arrival of their guests, because he was afraid that she might have a stroke if she kept that act up.
As if he was heard, the darkening mass of the Easterners emerged from the blizzard, making its way toward the fort. Olivier stilled in that exact moment, regaining her composure like nothing had happened. All around them, the soldiers who chaperoned them outside the fort exhaled with relief, finally able to breathe around the tight-strung commander.
At the front of the crowd, Buccaneer was chatting with a quite vivacious Grumman, who was keeping up the pace with him with little to no sweat. Behind them, a blonde woman was walking without a sound, face all stern and searching for anything amiss, shoulder to shoulder with another lady with dark hair that was blowing hot air between her cusped palms. Some more soldiers flanked them, and in their vicinity, Roy Mustang was complaining fiercely about the weather.
"What the hell is this storm?!" Roy exclaimed loudly, his teeth clattering. "It's freezing!"
"And you could die and that would be a bash," Olivier Armstrong greeted the party with bite, dismissing the alchemist like a flick of dust. Not really professional of her, but she couldn't let the opportunity to insult Mustang to go to waste. "Lieutenant General Grumman," she said formally and saluted her fellow commander. "I trust that you have travelled pleasantly."
The old man smiled at her, intelligence spiced up with slyness dancing behind his small, bright eyes. "Major General Armstrong!" he exclaimed and shook her hand with great enthusiasm. "It is always a pleasure to see you, my dear, so the travel was barely acknowledged, thank you very much!"
Olivier fought her best not to cringe at the usual antiques of the old officer. She simply turned her head to her assistant. Miles nodded at her silent command and retreated back into the fort, to see to what he was meant to do. The woman turned her steely eyes back to Grumman and, over the snowy head of the old man, she could clearly see the huge figure of her brother choking back emotional tears, the great weepy lumber Jack that he was.
XXXXX
Miles returned to a great room that served mainly as a hangar, the first one in a series of many such multi-purposed deposits. It was the closest one to the entrance, for it was not intended to carry the Eastern soldiers around the entirety of the fort. He checked that everything was in the right order, the pride of their fort being at stake, and soon regained his usual spot by the side of his commander.
He returned to an interesting scene made up of many new faces he was certain that he would eventually become quite familiar with, given the shift in the Major General's expression. He knew how her muscles worked, though to the untrained eye, her grimace would have merely passed as bored annoyance and nothing more.
What he saw was apprehension and pondering.
From the doorframe where he still stood in the shadow, the first person that he noticed was Grumman, whom he knew not in person, but matched all the descriptions that Miles had heard of him – a small old man that had the air of a crooked fox.
His eyes then landed on a pale man with eyes as black as his hair. That man was purposefully ignored by the Major General, her head turned away from him at a very obvious angle. Next to the brunette soldier, an easily smiling man with rectangular glasses had his congenial sight set on him. Noticing that he had caught the Major's attention, the bespectacled stranger politely nodded at him. Miles returned the gesture curtly, guessing that the two young officers were Olivier's 'friends from the academy'. A blonde woman with short hair was standing rigidly behind the men, studying their surroundings carefully.
The spectacle in front of him left Miles intrigued. Those were a strange sort with strange dynamics, judging just by the few people he noticed at the first glance. He began approaching the Major General, scanning the many foreign persons in the room, but his eyes stilled on a huge man, probably the same height as Buccaneer, if not taller, that looked suspiciously like someone else that he knew, but not quite.
Given the piercing blue of his eyes, the extraordinary blond curl and even more spectacular moustache that he sported on his upper lip, Miles guessed that he was the commander's little brother, Alex Louis Armstrong. That was, perhaps, the only small thing about him.
Miles finally arrived next to Olivier, who looked like a curvy little child next to her bombastic younger brother. She was clearly uneasy in the presence of her sibling and welcomed her trusted hand's appearance a little too eagerly. "Lieutenant General," she said, underlining the grim fact that neither of the two commanders were fully-starred Generals, "I believe that you are acquainted with my assistant, Major Miles, at least by name, if not in person."
Grumman smirked under his white moustache. "Oho, but of course! The fine lad you have snatched right from under my nose, yes! Alas, what a pity that was! Great to meet you at last, Major," he retorted with a wide gesture. He extended his hand to Miles to shake his, something that was absolutely outrageous among the ranks before a formal salute that neither performed. However, such eccentricity was more than welcomed in Briggs, and the Major respectfully shook the offered hand.
Olivier felt a rush a pride inside herself, but she stifled it as fast as it had come. She refused to look at her assistant, and her expression was professional and blank.
They all exchanged words of little importance, but all the while, Miles noticed two things of yet unknown importance – that the blonde short-haired woman was looking around as if she was expecting an assault, and that the man with rectangular glasses was staring straight at him.
XXXXX
The evening passed along with an endless series of pleasantries and promises of winning the tournament in which the two regiments were competing against each other in the name of improving themselves. The Easterners that had arrived in the North were a selected few, of course, supposedly the best, but for some reason, Miles suspected they all knew that the reason they were there wasn't for winning against Briggs – something he considered impossible, and he had made sure of that – but for something far more important.
He understood there were other things at stake besides amicable victory, and they were also aware of it. This was more than a chance for senseless bragging – it was an opportunity to learn how the other was going to respond in case of a major conflagration. It was clear from the way his commander was talking to their commander and how the soldiers were treating each other.
Probably for the first time ever, Miles had to admit that he was an outsider who had landed in the middle of a mined field. Those gathered around him were all people who had returned from the Ishbalan war theatre. The smirking Mustang and the cheerful Hughes, the woman whose eyes screamed about regret, the other woman with brown ponytail that laughed continuously, and the old man with the quirky moustache, even Armstrong's little brother who, indeed, seemed incapable of hurting a fly. They were all murderers from a war that he did not comprehend.
A war that had brought him straight into a web of variables he had no idea what to make of. He didn't know those people, he didn't know the true reason why he had to organise this common training. In the big scheme of things, he knew nothing.
Olivier kept him dangerously close to her persona wherever she went. She established that he was pretty much her running dog, a position he might have found insulting if he was not so curious about all those new people. He settled for observing every one of them, being aware – the only thing he was entirely sure of – that the Major General would later ask him what he thought of the visiting party and how they ought to proceed with gathering as much information as possible.
Later, when Buccaneer insinuated by his side, it was one of the rare moments when Miles was not breathing the same air as the Major General and whomever she was talking to. They were finished with the short tour around the fort and the dinner that followed, and were currently gathered in a sort of reception that implied lots of alcohol and good cheer. It was overlooked by both commanders, who were left to discuss in private.
The Easterners were already mingling with the merrier type of folks that Briggs had to offer, all making preposterous boasts about themselves. Miles looked at his friend. "Tell me, Buc, what do you make of all this?" he asked him.
"What's to be made – that those daffodils from the East are just some pansy sissies! What's more to make?" Buccaneer jested. He lowered his head to whisper in Miles' ear. "Something's definitely aloof, mate, that's what I make," he muttered and straightened back.
Miles sipped on his tea from the mug. He didn't feel like drinking anything stronger when there were so many persons he didn't know around. He sketched a smile at his friend and kept on gazing forward.
Buccaneer shrugged, knowing it wasn't the time or place to talk about serious business. "Have you seen how humongous the queen's brother is?"
The Major snorted. "Just about as big as you, you blind fool."
"Sure, but why's the queen so small? Did her mother keep everything for her son or something?"
Miles had it in mind to say that Buccaneer should have a look at the Armstrong twins, who were two massive ladies themselves, but he wasn't even sure that his friend knew what anyone from the Major General's family looked like. From the sound of it, it was the first time he was seeing her brother.
"The queen is smaller because that's how she is," Miles replied.
"Eh, she makes up for her height with her temper. Anyway, have you seen our fairest monarch?"
The quarter Ishbalan shook his head. "I noticed she had disappeared just about the same time as you did."
"Mate, what sort of second-in-command are you if you didn't see that the commander is no longer here?"
"One that has made a little slip, I'd say," said a voice by their side. Captain Maes Hughes slid to Miles' right, holding up a cup of coffee. "This is one of the most... interesting coffees I have ever drunk."
"Nice way of saying that it tastes like paint etching," Buccaneer said and patted the newcomer on the shoulder. "It's a rite of passage around here, drinking that thing. If it's not the mountain killing you, it's the coffee. You should be proud you've survived it so far."
"Then I shall drink it fully," Hughes made genially and saluted with his mug. "To a satisfying end of this exercise and the beginning of a great friendship between our troops!" he toasted into the air and drank a mouthful of coffee to his words.
Buccaneer chuckled and left Miles to deal with Hughes.
The quarter Ishbalan merely sipped his tea, waiting for the other to say something. All evening, he had been watched closely by this man whom he only knew from the few stories he had heard from Olivier. He looked like a decent character, hard to be taken seriously, but Miles had to remind himself that he was the one who had beaten the stuffing out of a guy who had hit on the oldest Armstrong sister.
No innocent bystander was ever truly innocent.
"Major, please forgive me for my little slip of tongue, if I may call it so," Hughes started, the word 'slip' rolling with the same melody as the first time.
"Please, Captain, no offence taken," Miles replied with a small smile. "I have to felicitate you on drinking our finest brew, though."
"Ah, this thing? It tastes like shoe polish, excuse my frankness."
"I couldn't agree more with you."
"That's why you drink tea?" Hughes asked and pointed to the Major's mug, who nodded. "Well, I will remember to follow your example, Major, and stop experimenting with murky things."
"It is advisable."
Hughes shook the liquid around in his cup. "You must forgive my ignorance, but after the first impression, I am very impressed by Briggs. The stories I've heard give it too little credit."
"How so?"
The Easterner chewed the inside of his cheek, as if in thought. "The image I had of this fort was one that might have been true before the Major General's tender care. What you have here is a veritable machine and I applaud your work. Only half a day in here and it's clear that you're very well organised." The man made a vague motion with his cup. "You see, I am not one that fits well with the ideal of an army head, and, with no disrespect, I believe nor are you, Major. I am more of a clerk. In fact, I am working in the same department as your commander's brother, in Central."
"I see, then, in the Investigations Office?"
"None the other!" Hughes stated proudly, mentally noting that Miles must have had some knowledge about the Armstrong family. "It is the kind of position any young man wanting to start a family should be looking for, if you ask me. I'd rather look through criminal records than fight for no cause. I have little taste for their wars."
Miles pondered over the way Hughes said 'their wars'. He was not sure what that man knew, why he was approaching him and where his role fell, but he was certain that he was sniffing him out. Perhaps it was done in the light of his supposed friendship with Olivier, or maybe it was for another reason altogether.
A man of deep intellect and perception, Hughes realised that Briggs' Staff Clerk was aware that he was being checked out, so he tried to keep their exchange of words amicable and see what he could learn about him in other ways. "Don't you find it unpleasant to live in a fort, Major?" the investigation officer asked, changing the subject quickly after dropping his former line. "It must be at least a bit constricting!"
"Not at all," Miles replied, feigning disinterest. He was more than interested in the other man's game. "There is little time to spare to feel constricted by the walls. It is a most fulfilling job if you're looking to write lots of reports and then some more."
"Good Lord, you and Roy both! He hasn't even returned to his desk job yet and he's already complaining about reports!" Maes Hughes laughed genially. "Anyway, reports are better than fighting, let me tell you. You weren't in the latest war, am I right?"
"No, I was not," the Major retorted. His eyes were covered by his tinted glasses, hiding his wary gaze. The easy-going man in front of him had no idea of the gaffe he had committed, or perhaps, given his area of expertise, he might not be as unaware of his situation as he let on.
"Then take my word for it, Major – reports are a far more savoury business. All the time I was stuck in that mess, I could only think of retuning to my little desk at the end of the office and to my dearest sweetheart. There is little a man should wish for more besides that."
"I gather that you're married, Captain?" Miles asked, stirring the conversation to a spot he trusted that would take the other man off his inquiry. He seemed to be someone who could be easily riled up.
"Not yet, but soon!" Hughes rummaged through his pockets. "Here, that's my Gracia," he said, introducing his fiancée. "Ah, pardon me, Sir – I always get carried away when it comes to the softer things in life."
"They tend to make us forget about other things, indeed," Miles heard himself saying, and he instantly wanted to smack himself. He had carried the investigation straight back to him.
However, Hughes seemed to still be daydreaming about his lady friend. "Do you have someone special, Major?"
"Time is the only real constriction we have here," he replied, avoiding directly answering the question.
Thankfully, the Captain understood the more favourable version. "That's a pity. Oh! You must pardon me, Major, but I must tend to my other charge," Hughes pointed to Mustang, who was probably boasting about something or another. Miles nodded and was once again left alone to roam his eyes through the room.
Watching the investigative officer floating away from him, the Major adjusted his goggles over his eyes, wondering what exactly Hughes wanted from him. Peculiarly, he had felt more like the avant-garde than someone in search of a friendly chat.
XXXXX
"My fiercest Major General! It is such a pleasure to see you looking so lovely," Grumman told Armstrong as soon as they were a fair distance away from the great hall. She made a noncommittal sound and pushed another door open.
"And what a fine moment to hear you talking bollocks, old man," she retorted flatly.
"Oh, but you should believe this old man, my dear! I have seen many things throughout my years and yet, you remain a flower under the eye."
Olivier chuckled as she entered the commanding office. "Do you pay the same compliments to your granddaughter, Grandpa? I might be wrong, but I believe she's only a few years younger than me."
"Ah, pretty words fitted for a queen may be delivered to you, my dear, but you bite back worse than a dog," the old man commented in a low voice.
"Hah! If you only knew how right you are, Grumman." The blonde woman went to the decanter on the shelf and turned her head. She wore a small, conspicuous smile. "Would you fancy some, old man?"
"I believe I would!" he replied and took a seat on a chair right in front of Olivier's desk. She soon followed him, holding two liquor glasses. She offered one of them to the Lieutenant General and hopped on top of the desk in front of him, discarding etiquette for a little while.
"So, what winds are blowing you to our fine establishment?" she demanded and took a big gulp out of her drink.
Grumman lifted his glass and drank from it. "Straight to business and no fun, as usual, Olivier. You should sometimes leave yourself carried through a friendly chat first."
"I will keep that in mind when the situation may dictate it, but this is no friendly chat."
"Perhaps."
Armstrong shook her head. "I heard from your singing birds that things don't smell like roses from up above us."
"You might be a horrendous flirt, Olivier, my dear, but you have a way with words. No, the stench is definitely not from the rose beds from the upper floors, and rest assured that you will get to learn everything that we have gathered up to this moment, as little as it is. However," Grumman halted to throw a dramatic gaze over the rim of his round glasses, "I need to be sure that you have the right people to rely this new information to. This is not a one person's job, this time."
"You think it's something greater."
"I'm afraid it is, my dear. I don't like the ones that are leading us, and not only because they keep on refusing to promote me." He rested his back on the chair. "There is a lot we need to discuss, but I want to bring my singing birds along, as you like to call them, and I'd love to meet your own grumbling bears."
"So I guess I will be seeing more of your finest stallion than it should be necessary."
"Roy is not that bad, Olivier, and you cannot contradict me on that," Grumman made parentally.
There was a bit of an interesting relationship between the old commander and the young alchemist, the former student of Berthold Hawkeye, who had been the Lieutenant General's late son in law. They had a bit of history behind them, and it went further than just this obscure fact.
On the other hand, it was widely known that the kindly looking old man was sly and cunning, always looking sideways for the latest gossip that had the potential of bringing more valuable information – a word in the wind carried more gold than a mine and was more powerful than any money. He was benign in his pursue of knowledge, of course, but many feared his slippery nature. He was a snake with a backbone, however, and that was why he was never being promoted and was left stuck in the Eastern Command.
Roy Mustang caught his trained ear the first time he had heard a whisper about him. If his son in law had accepted to teach that boy, he must have been something special. So, patiently, the old man waited to have some more revealed about the apprentice. He was pleased to learn that he wanted to enter the military as an alchemist, and that was how Grumman really began to keep a close watch on Mustang's path. As soon as he had entered the academy, Grumman found a way to learn more about him, and the moment he had graduated it, he had snatched the young man for his office.
The moment that event had occurred, Grumman had been contacted by a certain Chris Mustang, better known in Central as Madam Christmas, the owner of a lavish club that was hard to place under the label of high class or low morale. He was well acquainted with the sumptuous lady through her vast network of 'friendly whisperers', as she called her informers and contacts. She wanted to make sure that her nephew, Roy, was going to be very well treated and left alone, given his family's record.
Olivier Armstrong was familiar with the infamous Mustang clan that, when it had been more numerous and thriving, had specialised in undercover missions that usually involved espionage or blackmail in the interest of the state. Roy had become the first one not to partake in the heirloom occupation and worked visibly for the state as an alchemist and officer.
Her family was somehow connected to Mustang's through the web that the Armstrongs had sewn to accomplish their goals during the span of many generations. The family had always performed primarily in the National Investigations Department, working with the wildest of intelligence and craziest of people. Their families had operated together, in a way, and continued to do so through Madam Christmas' tangled thread and the Armstrong siblings. And, following this connection, Grumman landed in both families' scheme. That was how Olivier had met the old man and included him in her own plans, whenever it suited her agenda.
This seemed to be another case when their interests overlapped, and the person of interest, however curios that appeared, was the Major Roy Mustang. Up until that moment, Olivier had believed that Roy didn't have the guts to stand up to anything but to defending his wounded pride. The two of them considered each other begrudging friends after the many situations in which they had had to help each other, but the woman did not count too much on his support. She had more faith in Maes Hughes, Roy's friend, than in the alchemist himself.
The Major General smacked her lips together in a disbelieving gesture. She looked behind her back, at a drawer. "Would you like a cigar, old man?" she asked, avoiding retorting in any way to Grumman's statement.
"Thank you, my dear, though you'd only waste them on me. I have no palate for cigars, I'm afraid. But please, don't mind me."
"Oh, I won't," she said and took one for herself. She meticulously cut the end that didn't have the ring at its base and lit it. She puffed the stick a few times and focused her attention on her guest. "So, with whom are we going to work on this – what did you call it? Sensitive information?"
"I don't remember calling it that, Olivier dear, but you always take the words out of my mouth and say them better than me. Yes, I am certain that it will all be quite sensitive, so you must understand my reluctance."
"No, Grandpa, I don't," she cut him off. "You know why I arranged for your arrival here with the whole entourage, and you know it, as well. So let's not hide behind the tall grass."
"Ah, but I heard it was your, hm – assistant that took care of the real organising. You merely signed some papers, if – and mark the 'if' – you were the one who signed them at all."
"You seem to hear many interesting notions, old man," Olivier said flatly, her voice not betraying how impressed she was.
"I happen to have made some good research about your helping hand before you took him away from me, dear. I had my reasons for wanting to take him under my wing, but perhaps your whim proved wiser for him."
"Perhaps," she agreed.
"I have noticed that you have dragged him around like a weight tonight," Grumman noted and took another draw from his glass. "What amused me the most was that, even if I couldn't see where he was looking, he scanned everyone. He is a useful asset, if you ask me. It is a pity his advance will be hindered due to the latest conflict in the East. He's made of very different stuff than your regular soldier, such wasted potential. He was very watchful."
"I don't know most of those you have brought with you, it's only natural to have someone checking them out."
"So you trust this one that much? More than your mountain of a ranger, Buccaneer?"
"I have my reasons to believe so, yes," Olivier replied through a haze of smoke. "Buccaneer is of a different mold, and as much as he is loyal and has proved himself so times and times again, Miles is far more cunning."
"Hm, this is where I agree with you. You know of his former - occupation, let's call it, yes?"
Armstrong blew more smoke and nodded. "I do. I run my own evaluations on everyone I surround myself with, you know that."
"Good, good," Grumman approved. "I will make a bit of a gamble with this, Olivier, but is it safe to assume that he would eventually dig out whatever he can out of the real reason behind our encounter?"
"Naturally."
"So you want him included?"
Olivier looked down at the fuming cigar that she was holding between her fingers. She wanted to look like she was pondering over the situation, when in truth, she already had the answer. "Yes," she said eventually. "He might prove useful to us. And," she added with more nerve than she thought she would muster, "if he strays from the line, his path can be easily meddled with. Definitively."
Grumman's eyebrows jumped on his forehead. "I see, then. Alright. I shall put my trust in him, as well. But keep in mind that he will have to make his situation known to those we will be trusting in this."
"Who are those others?"
The older man smiled. "Roy, of course. Maes Hughes, that one is too smart for his own good. Your brother, he is thought to pose no threat to anyone and we will use that to our advantage. And my granddaughter, Riza Hawkeye. You must have noticed her, standing next to Roy. The blonde girl."
"I have. She is very well guarded," Olivier expressed. "Very careful around your golden boy, too."
"Oh, that," the Grandfather made. "Those two have a secret that keeps on slipping through my grasp. Nothing scandalous, rest assured, but enough to have linked them as closest confidents. She is sharp, you will see. I have this hunch that you will want her in your team, no nepotism involved on my part. There will be others, of course, but not involved in the thickest of things."
She shrugged. "Alright, then. If I am recommending my assistant, then you can recommend your granddaughter. I will also want Buccaneer, but not for everything. He will have his share of shadow on this, but I want him for my protection. And I have a few others from my team that I will use for certain tasks that don't need much implication."
"Agreed."
"Oh, I almost forgot, old man," she exclaimed. "It is Mustang that will do the actual talking, am I correct? Otherwise, you wouldn't be promoting such frankness between us that would have my assistant endangered if someone talks about his condition. You would just say what you wanted and not made such a fuss."
Grumman chuckled. "Couldn't get that past you, could I? You are correct, my dear."
"Then," she said as she leaned forward, "It will be interesting to hear what the idiot has to say. For the both of us."
The old man grinned impishly. "Oho, it will certainly be."
XXXXX
Later that night, Miles walked on the tip of his toes. Pacing around in his room, he silently darted from a corner to another. He fumbled with his lower lip, lost in thoughts.
His face nearly connected with the wall when he was startled by a knock at his door. He hurried to answer to it.
"Ye- wow, easy," he said as he was pushed back inside the room by Olivier. "Are you alright, Sir?" he asked.
"Don't 'Sir' me right now, we have a problem."
"Bigger than the one that would be caused if someone among our honourable guests were to see you randomly entering your subordinate's room in the middle of the night?"
"A problem that could get you killed, do you like how that sounds?" she snapped.
"Hm, now that you say it, what I suggested would only get me court martialed. And killed, after that, but first imprisonment."
Olivier smacked his chest. "Shut up, Miles! This is serious!"
"Then you should have started with that aspect."
"I am stapling your mouth shut if you keep on talking," she threatened. "I've spoken to Grumman and he proposed a bargain over whatever Mustang has to say."
"Okay, and how do I get killed by that?"
"You will have to tell about your origins as a token of faith. They don't trust you."
"And I don't trust them, at that, because I have no idea who they are," Miles replied calmly. "I have no qualms with who I am, so if it helps you get what you want, I have no problem with playing this card. But, Olivier," he said and forced her to look at him, "If it gets out, you can be executed for having harboured an undesirable of the state. Even if the war has ended."
"I know."
"Is it worth it? There is no guarantee that they won't blackmail you with it, however unlikely, but it might jeopardise more than just your position. I wouldn't want to cause you any damage if I can help it."
"Yes, you-" she gurgled and abruptly stopped. "I believe it is worth it," she added hastily. She wanted to say that he was more valuable to her than the bullets that might pass through her brain if words got out about him. That came as a shock to her, one that flowed through her with uncontainable electricity.
Miles saw her being enraptured by a shiver. He placed a hand over her arm, to steady her. She all but jumped at the contact, but relaxed a moment later. "Are you cold?" She shook her head.
"No, merely tired. I should get going, that's all I wanted to say."
"Okay." Miles bowed to kiss her forehead. "I've got your back on this like always, don't worry. Just tell me what to do, and you can be sure that I will do it."
Olivier blinked at him. She sketched a tiny smile, more of a grimace to the corner of her lip. "Thank you, Farid," she whispered softly.
Miles returned the smile, but with more confidence, then let go of her arm. He stuck his head out of the door, making sure there was no one outside. He motioned for her with his hand and the woman slid through the opening, leaving him alone in the room.
Quietly, he sat down on the armchair and crossed his legs. Absently, he gazed through the chilly window, wondering if his decision to help was only going to prove being another nail to his coffin.
But if Olivier requested it, he would gladly hammer down the nails himself.
A/N: Ta-da! That's it for now, thank you kindly for reading and I hope you had a great time! Please, leave me a few words with your thoughts, I love hearing from you!
See you soon, and until then – bye-bye, and take care!