Olivier retreated to her bedroom (or, as her family called it, her cave) as soon as she possibly could, snatching a pair of toothpicks from the kitchen on her way up. She sat on the balcony that faced the backyard, watching the annoyingly perfect summer scenery and snapping toothpicks, grumbling. She missed the harshness of being surrounded by military men. Everything was so orderly with nothing out of place. She controlled every aspect of the environment, and the days and nights were filled with useful, practical tasks without pointless conversation. Briggs ruled by survival of the fittest first and foremost, but another, more unspoken rule they lived by was that talk was cheap. Action was always better.

But here in the Armstrong mansion, it was like Olivier's world had been flipped, turned upside down, and dropped. There was too much chaos, too much mushiness, too much talking, and way too much affection. Despite being heir to the estate and the oldest sibling, she wasn't in charge here. She'd been commander of an isolated fort and a high-ranking officer for so long it was sometimes hard to remember what not being in charge and not bearing the responsibility for hundreds of lives felt like. At home, she wasn't a fierce and mighty queen. She was just another Armstrong sister, a cute little doll that seemed to amuse everyone. In Central City she was just another officer, and now she wasn't even that much. It was maddening.

And despite Olivier's best efforts, there didn't seem to be anything she could do to change that. It wasn't like she could punish her family the way she punished her soldiers. Even yelling and threatening with her sword didn't have much effect. Olivier sighed. She suddenly felt very old. She couldn't remember how on earth she had grown up here among all this craziness. Maybe it had been easier then.

She became bored with the toothpicks and set them aside. Her stomach growled and she remembered she hadn't had breakfast that morning and her dinner from last night had gone out the wrong way. She lifted her shirt just a tad. Now she was positive it wasn't her imagination, there was definitely a bump there. A very tiny one, but a bump nonetheless. She touched it. It didn't feel any different from the rest of her, and of course she still felt nothing from within. She probably would soon, seeing as now there were two babies floating around in there.

Her stomach growled again and she reluctantly got up and stretched, wondering what she should eat. She was about to leave when she noticed a dark figure standing in the backyard. She leaned over the railing and saw that it was Buccaneer, standing alone and admiring the view. She smiled. One of the reasons they usually got on so well was because he had the same appreciation for nature that she did. She went downstairs and joined him outside, soaking in the sun and admiring the way it sparkled on the pool.

"You must have had your work cut out for you to get away from my sister."

He groaned. "I don't know why she's so stuck on me. Or am I really that good looking?" he asked, turning to her. She raised an eyebrow. His tone was joking, but also held a trace of hopefulness.

"I've seen better," she told him bluntly. He grumbled and she smirked. "I can just see it now. Catherine Armstrong and Buccaneer. How romantic."

He flicked that notion aside. "It's never going to happen, she's way too young," he insisted. "Our names don't even sound good together."

Something occurred to Olivier and she turned to him. "You never told me what your first name was."

Buccaneer coughed and cleared his throat. It's no big deal. Just call me Buccaneer."

Olivier grinned. "Why are you avoiding telling me your first name?"

He tensed. He knew that grin. It was pure evil. "I'm not avoiding it," he lied.

"Then what is it?"

"Why do you want to know?"

She rarely smiled this long. "The fact that you're refusing to tell me by answering my question with another question suggests that your name must be embarrassing. Is that it?"

"No! I just don't prefer it. I, uh, I was named after someone I don't like."

Olivier shook her head, her grin widening. A giggle escaped her. "You're digging your own grave, Pinocchio. I saw your eye twitch."

"Again?" he roared, stomping his foot. "Dammit! I was so sure I wasn't doing it this time." A crucial weakness of his was that no matter how hard he tried, he could not tell a lie. Ever.

It had become a huge source of amusement for everyone at Briggs, especially Olivier. They occasionally called him Pinocchio because whenever he told a lie, he would involuntarily make some sort of physical movement that made it obvious. A twitch of his eye, a quirk of his lips, a nervous smile, or he'd twitch his nose like a rabbit. None of these things were on purpose and it seemed he could never control them even when he made a conscious effort not to do them. In some ways it was useful because it meant he could never lie to his commander, but it got to the point to where he was never filled in on the details of missions until the very last minute, because if an enemy somehow got hold of him there'd be no way for him to bluff.

"You should know by now that you can't lie," Olivier reminded him. He wanted to wipe that smile off her face. "You always give yourself away."

"Shut up."

"Tell me your name."

"No." He folded his arms and glared. She couldn't make him tell her, not anymore.

"You know I can find out if I want to. It would take one phone call."

"Headquarters won't talk to you."

"Hawkeye owes me a favor. I'm sure she'll be more than happy to look up your records for me." She folded her arms, mocking his stance. "You can either tell me now or I'll find out for myself."

He made a fist. "Why do you wanna know so bad? It's not important."

"Because you're refusing to tell me, and that is important. One can never know too much."

Buccaneer heaved a huge sigh. He held up his hands in defeat. Clearly there was no way around it. "All right, I'll tell you my name. But you have to swear you won't tell anyone else."

The evil grin returned. "So it is embarrassing then?"

"Some people think so. Maybe just a little bit." He wrinkled his nose before he could stop himself. Damn. "Just please promise me?"

Olivier nodded. "Fine."

"All right. As long as you don't tell anyone." He did a quick glance around the yard to make sure no one else was around, then leaned in close to her so he was practically whispering. "My first name is Angel." He winced and recoiled, waiting for her to laugh.

He didn't have to wait long.

It started with a giggle. "No it's not. Come on, tell me your real name."

"That is my real name. Angel Q. Buccaneer."

"Q?"

He shrugged. "Yeah. It doesn't stand for anything, it's just a Q. Ask my mother, I have no idea."

Another giggle. "Your name is Angel?"

"Look, I don't care what anyone says, it is not a girl's name! It can go either way!" His explanation fell on deaf ears. Olivier was ignoring him, shaking her head. The giggles had evolved into full-on laughs by now, which only increased as he protested.

"Your name is Angel? That's got to be the most ironic thing I've ever heard!" she jeered between laughs. "The bear of Briggs, the fierce mountain monster, the huge captain everyone's afraid of who crushes Drachmans with his bare hands, and his name is Angel?" She doubled over, laughing so hard her face turned a light pink. If it hadn't been at his expense he would have enjoyed the sight; she had a pretty laugh.

"It's not like I had a choice!" he yelled, his face going red. "I sure as hell didn't choose it."

Olivier was still laughing, covering her mouth with one hand and holding her side with the other. "Angel!" she said, and burst into a fit again.

"It's not that funny," he growled. He had never seen her laugh like this before. If someone who didn't know her were to watch her now, they might have confused her with the peppy cheerleader type from the way she was acting.

She finally straightened up and caught her breath, her cheeks still flushed. "Wait until Major Miles hears about this."

His mouth fell open. "You can't! You swore you wouldn't tell anyone!"

She shook her head. "That was before I knew your name was Angel. Miles will have a field day with this one."

He saw red. "You liar!"

Olivier shrugged. "Call me what you will, this is too good not to take advantage of."

"You wouldn't." He was begging now. "Come on Olivier, the major would never let me hear the end of it."

"I know." Olivier's evil grin was so wide you could have driven a tank over it.

"I won't let you." He jabbed a metal finger at her. "I'm warning you, if you tell him I'll make you regret it."

She bit her lip. "I highly doubt that."

"Why?"

"Because you're too much of an Angel to do anything bad!" And there went the laughing again. Buccaneer clenched his fists. This was why he hadn't wanted her to know his name. It was just like her to use it against him.

"Stop laughing!" he shouted, which of course made her laugh harder. She doubled over again, eyes closed, holding her cheeks and attempting to control herself.

An idea instantly dawned on him. He would teach her to laugh at him.

"I can't wait to see the look on Miles's face when he hears your name is- hey!" Before she could insult him again, he had bent down and slung her over his shoulder. Her hair rained down over her face so she could barely see where he was marching off with her. "What are you doing? Put me down!"

He smiled smugly, the return of her angry voice was satisfying. "No one makes fun of me and gets away with it. When you made the mistake of laughing at me, you let your guard down. And now you're gonna pay."

"I said put me down!" She started to kick, but he solved that problem by wrapping an arm around her knees and pressing them to his chest tightly. She squirmed, but he had a strong grip. Olivier was forced to resort to pounding his back with her fists like a child, not that it did much other than make her look stupid. The blood rushed to her head and she looked up to see the mansion retreating from them. "Where are you taking me?"

"Where all the bad little girls go," he replied sarcastically. Just to add insult to injury, he pinched her butt, knowing it would enrage her. The few men who had tried to touch her there hadn't lived to see the next day.

Enrage her it did. "If you don't put me down right now-"

He stopped. "All right, all right. Hold still and I'll let you go."

Surprised he'd actually listened, Olivier calmed down a bit and stopped moving. True to his word, his hands moved to her waist and he gently lowered her.

Or at least, he started to. Just before her feet touched the ground, he tightened his grip on her waist, swung his body around, and just as Olivier realized what he was doing and opened her mouth to scream, he had tossed her into the middle of the pool, where she landed with a loud splash. It was deep enough that she wasn't hurt, but when she pushed herself to the surface, completely soaked through and blinded with rage, he had already turned and run.

"GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW! I'LL KILL YOU!"

He knew Olivier would have to swim to the side of the very, very wide pool (which was precisely why he'd thrown her into the middle of it), climb out, and catch up to him before she could follow through on that, so he wasn't too worried. He sprinted into the mansion and ducked behind a bookshelf, grinning nervously when he heard her kick the door open.

"WHERE ARE YOU?" He had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing. Whenever she was this mad she would always scream everything she said, and he found it comical.

"Olivier! What on earth are you doing all soaking wet?" That sounded like her mother, but he couldn't be sure. All the Armstrongs sounded the same to him.

"BECAUSE MY IDIOTIC SUBORDINATE THREW ME IN THE POOL, THAT'S WHY!"

"Not so loud! Use your indoor voice, dear."

"Where is he?" she snarled. "I'll kill him. I'll rip his head right off his shoulders-"

"Not in those wet clothes you won't! You'll ruin the good carpet and catch a cold. At least get changed into dry clothes before you kill someone." Buccaneer blinked. How was Josephine so calm all the time?

"And let him get away? Hell no! He's going to pay. As soon as I find him he's dead."

Buccaneer's eyes shifted nervously. He was beginning to regret hiding here; it didn't give him much chance of escape if she found him, which she undoubtedly would. And it must have been one of the few places the maids didn't bother with because it was covered in dust.

Josephine sighed. "Whatever you say, dear. Just don't walk on the carpet until you're dry."

A speck of dust drifted into Buccaneer's nose and without warning, he sneezed. Oh no.

"Aha! Now you're gonna get it- hey! Mother!"

"Olivier, I refuse to let you ruin that carpet."

"Put me down!" Olivier screeched. Buccaneer carefully moved away from the bookshelf and giggled at the sight of his general in her mother's arms, kicking and shivering (that water had been cold). He was impressed Josephine could lift her, but then she was an Armstrong. And she was so tall that Olivier didn't stand much chance of getting away.

"I think you need some time to calm down. And a hot bath. Let's go dry you off."

"Mother, for God's sake I'm not a child! Put. Me. Down!"

"You're not a child, but I am still your mother. I told you not to run on the carpet until you were dry, and you completely disobeyed me. Now I am forced to resort to more drastic measures."

Buccaneer cracked up and Josephine winked at him with a grin of her own. Her patronizing isn't-little-Olive-cute-when-she's-furious tone was the perfect cherry on top of the sundae of Olivier humiliation.

Olivier turned in her mother's arms and pointed a finger at Buccaneer. "I'll get you for this! Mark my words. I'll make you wish you'd never been born, Buccaneer."

"Yeah, yeah," he said snidely as the two women disappeared into another room. He might have made her hate him, but he had still won the battle.

Because she sure as hell wasn't calling him Angel anymore.