"Bravo, General. You should give us an encore." Mustang's clapping was loud. Obnoxiously loud, like his trademark smirk.
"Well, this is the last thing I expected to see you doing," Buccaneer said, his famous toothy grin widening. "The boys back at the fort will never believe this one."
"What the hell are you two doing here?" Olivier finally found her voice, but her face was still an embarrassing shade of pink. "Who do you think you are, Mustang, to come barging into someone else's house? And you!" She pointed at Buccaneer, her finger nearly shaking with rage. "You're supposed to be acting as commander of the fort in my place. How dare you desert your post! How can you even call yourself a soldier?"
"I'll have you know I did not barge in. I knocked on the door and your butler let me in," Mustang replied, a bit put out.
"And I didn't desert my post, Miss Armstrong-"
"That's General Armstrong, or have you forgotten?" Olivier bristled. Buccaneer may have been her closest friend and most trusted comrade, but he was still just a captain.
"Actually, now that you're on vacation, Fuhrer Grumman gave me permission to treat you as my equal. See, he sent for me and asked that Henschel replace me as commander. Now he wants me to act as your bodyguard until you return, or at least until the end of your pregnancy. And he said that until your vacation is up, you are no longer my superior, only my responsibility, since apparently you giving me orders would violate the terms of your vacation." He chuckled. "So I get to call you whatever I want."
Olivier paused. "Wait just a minute. Fuhrer Grumman is forcing you to stay in Central for the year with me? The whole year?"
Buccaneer shrugged. "Well if need be I can go back after you give birth. But yeah, he said he wanted to make sure you were well protected since you're a common military target and Central City is dangerous. Plus you're carrying his great-grandchild and you'll be in a more vulnerable state-"
"That idiot!" Olivier yelled, balling her hands into fists. "The nerve of him, rearranging my fort behind my back! Why doesn't he come talk to me face to face and I'll show him exactly how capable I am, pregnant or not!"
"Careful now." Mustang raised his eyebrows. "He is the Fuhrer. If he hears your kind words about him, you may be in trouble."
"I don't care. That man needs to stop poking his nose into other people's business. I don't need a bodyguard; I can take care of myself. And how does he expect Briggs to hold up with me, Miles and Buccaneer gone?"
Buccaneer put his metal hand on his hip. "Come on, you really think I would have left the fort if I didn't think they'd be okay? We crushed Drachma so badly last month I doubt they'll be back for a long time. And the new recruits we got last year have been learning fast; Henschel and Karley are almost as efficient as Miles and me. I'll be checking in with them from time to time just to make sure, but trust me, we have nothing to worry about."
Olivier ignored him, gnashing her teeth. "I can't stand Grumman. First he coerces me into getting pregnant with his granddaughter's bratty child and now this? He'll be sorry when I kick him out of office and take his throne for myself!"
"Ooh, treasonous, aren't we?" Mustang teased. "I may just have to tell him you said that."
"You go right ahead and do that, Mustang. Hell knows you'd never be able to gain favor by merit. Get out of my house, asshole."
Roy didn't move. "Actually, I had something important to talk to you about. You're about halfway through your fifth week, right?"
Olivier crossed her arms over her chest and glowered at him, choosing not to answer.
"You have to go to the doctor no later than eight weeks and they book up fast so you need to schedule an appointment as soon as you can. Just thought I'd let you know."
Buccaneer made a noise that was somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. He turned to Olivier. He pointed to Mustang. "Wait…is he the-"
"Yup!" Mustang grinned at Buccaneer, knowing that Briggs men could be trusted. "I'm gonna be a proud papa!"
"Just get out of here, you twit!" Olivier spat. "I don't need scum like you telling me to go to a doctor. I feel fine and there's nothing wrong with me. I'll decide when I go or if I go."
Buccaneer bit back a laugh. "So let me get this straight. General Armstrong is pregnant with Colonel Mustang's kid?"
"Awfully quick on the draw, aren't you, Bucktooth?" Olivier retorted, knowing if she used his hated nickname it would get to him. For all that Buccaneer was popular at Briggs, there were plenty of people who enjoyed thinking up ways to irritate him.
His smile vanished, then quickly reappeared. "Don't call me that unless you want me calling you Fat-Lipped Floozy. The recruits made up insulting nicknames for you too."
Olivier growled. She could see her subordinate was quite enjoying treating her as his equal. Damn that Grumman. When she became Fuhrer, he was getting demoted for sure. Maybe all the way down to private.
"Fat-Lipped Floozy? That's genius!" Mustang laughed. "I can't believe I never thought of it."
"Watch it, Mustang. You seem to have forgotten I am carrying your child, so unless you want me to take a tumble down the stairs and get rid of it, you'd better shut up."
Mustang cleared his throat and replaced his goofy expression with a serious one. "All right, all right. Just please promise me you'll find a doctor soon. It's important."
"I told you, I feel fine. I don't need a doctor."
Mustang held up his hands. "Armstrong, with respect, you do need a doctor. We have to make sure the baby's okay. Please, we don't want anything to happen to this one."
"I'll see what I can do."
Mustang fished a card out of his pocket. "Here," he handed it to her. "This is the doctor Riza went to, she says he's very good. Give him a call when you get the chance."
She snatched the card from him and crushed it under her tap shoe. "I can find a doctor myself. Now if that's all you wanted to say, then show yourself out."
Mustang raised his hands in defense and backed toward the door. "All right, I'm gone. I must say, it was lovely to see you again Armstrong, and your home is as grand as ever."
"Just get out." For once, he listened. Buccaneer saluted him and turned back to her, wearing that stupid smirk again.
"Wow. Not only does our Queen sing and dance, but she got pregnant by, out of all the men in the world, Colonel Mustang."
"It's not like that and you know it. This isn't my child, it's Riza Hawkeye's. And I'll admit I used to sing and dance when I was much younger, but I rarely do it anymore."
"That's a shame. You were really good. I can't wait to tell the men about it."
"You're not going to tell the men about it. I don't care what Grumman told you, I'm still your superior and you still owe me your respect, Captain Buccaneer."
He scratched his head. "Ya know, now that we're equals, you can drop the rank. Ya know, keep it a bit more casual."
Olivier's glare remained plastered to her face. "Fine. What's your first name?" She'd known it at some time, but had long since forgotten. She'd even forgotten Miles's first name. Little details like those just weren't important when she had so much more pressing information to remember.
"Nah, don't use my first name. Just call me Buccaneer. Without the rank." He grinned. "Can I call you Olivier?"
"No."
He frowned. "Aw, why not? Do I really have to address you as Miss Armstrong every single time?"
"It's General Armstrong."
"Not anymore. Now I'm just your bodyguard."
"I don't need to be reminded of that," she snapped, kicking her tap shoes off and flinging them into a corner.
"Does that mean you're not gonna dance anymore?" Buccaneer gestured to the tap shoes, sounding disappointed.
"I'm going out. And bodyguard or not, if you try to follow me, you'll lose the only flesh-and-blood arm you've got left." She shoved him out of the way and left the ballroom.
Buccaneer grinned. For whatever reason, he loved seeing her get mad. It was a dangerous enjoyment, but he couldn't help himself. When her cheeks puffed out and her lips pursed, she was so…cute.
Whether she welcomed it or not, the thought of getting to spend time with his Queen away from Briggs and out of uniform made him happy. And seeing her spinning around and clicking her feet like that, with her hair swirling around her…he didn't even know what to call it. She'd looked almost divine. And that voice! At first he'd searched the room with his eyes to make sure there wasn't a music player and she wasn't lip-synching; she sounded so perfect. The voice of an angel for sure.
He only hoped that while he was there, he could find a way to get her to do it again.