Could you do I for Olivier Mira Armstrong?
I = Broken Glass
Olivier slammed the door of the restroom behind her.
She balled her fists. Damn Mustang.
Eastern had beaten her men in the annual East-North military exercise. To say that she was pissed off was an understatement.
The bastard will be crowing about it for the next year.
She walked over to the sink. Remembering his smirk as he commiserated with her, she scowled at her reflection in the mirror. She would love to smash that smug face in. She settled for punching the mirror instead. Pain blossomed on her knuckles and she instantly regretted it.
“I wish you seven years’ bad luck, Mustang,” she growled.
“I don’t think that’s how it works, sir.”
Olivier whirled around and saw Hawkeye standing there. She turned back to the cracked mirror.
“You don’t think I believe in that superstitious nonsense, do you?”
Olivier caught Hawkeye’s raised eyebrow in the mirror.
“I’m not the one talking about seven years’ bad luck.”
Olivier’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t say anything. She was impressed by the woman’s audacity. Mustang clearly let his team on a long leash.
Hawkeye stepped closer. “You’re bleeding. Let me patch you up.”
Olivier shook her head and turned on the tap running the water over her fingers. It stung a little.
“With respect, Sir, you should really let me clean it up.”
Olivier sighed. “Go on then, but make it quick.”
Hawkeye inclined her head and headed for the First Aid Cabinet in the corner. She rummaged in there while Olivier continued to bathe her hand. By the time, Hawkeye returned to the basin the blood had stopped. Hawkeye took her hand, and gently wiped the cuts with antiseptic. Her touch was gentler than olivier expected for a sharp shooter.
“You’re a woman of many talents, Hawkeye. I can see why Mustang keeps you around even though you don’t always respect the rules.”
“That was a backhanded compliment, Sir, but i’ll take it.”
Fin
