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April first was a strange day in Fort Briggs. General Armstrong, by the mere fact she hated fools frowned on the usual festivities. Regardless, she knew that trying to forbid them outright would only make it worse, so she gave a simple rule to her men: Don’t do anything to compromise the workings of my fort. Experience added two more: Don’t trust anything from the Mess, and Woe betide anyone who thinks they can pull one over on the Queen.
Buccaneer, naturally, adored the “holiday”, skirted the first two rules, and outright broke the third. Anyone (un)fortunate enough to be friends with the Bear of Briggs was sure to be pranked repeatedly on Fool’s Day.
Like all soldiers, he stayed far away from jump scares, deeming them “classless” and “juvenile”. Since classless and juvenile were two words best used to describe Buccaneer, it was a silent, but acknowledged, truth that it was respect for the combat-hardened (himself included) among them that drove him away from scare-tactics. In such a hard, cold, environment it was no wonder that the soldiers jumped on the rare opportunity to relax and prank each other. And the pranks started early. Some were simple and relatively harmless; shampoo swapped for hair dye, boots taken on journeys to far corners of the fort, and being awoken by having livestock smuggled into your room.
Fool’s Day for Miles began with the latter. There was a soft, tickling, sensation on his face that he sleepily reached up to brush away and then a cat pounced. He jerked awake, batting the cat away irritably. Buccaneer doubled over laughing.
“It’s April first, again, isn’t it?” Miles grumbled.
“Don’t tell me you forgot!” The big man laughed, knowing better than to hope his best friend didn’t have any pranks in store for him.
Miles huffed in response, and checked the clock on his bedside table. “It’s not yet five! Couldn’t you at least let me sleep?”
“Nah. My chances of surviving Fool’s Day increase exponentially for every minute of sleep you don’t get.”
“Tch! Get that useless cat out of here, Captain.” The Major ordered, slumping back onto his pillow.
“Aye, aye, Sir!” Buccaneer snickered, as he scooped up the fluffy cat and departed. Or attempted to. He only got as far the door before he noticed what he hadn’t seen in the dark. “Hey! Where are my posters?”
Miles gave no response, opting instead to pull his covers up over his head. Buccaneer scowled at him. He found his posters tacked up throughout the fort, beloved automail designs surrounded by hearts and his initials. Snarling, he tugged them down and scowled at passing soldiers who didn’t even try to pretend they weren’t laughing at him. Well, Miles had another thing coming, if he thought Buccaneer would be defeated by such a simple prank.
-
Karley staggered sleepily out of bed, and began blindly tugging his uniform on. Halfway, he stopped, and rubbed his eyes. “Wha-?”
Sergeant Murray snickered. “That looks a little big for you.”
“Who’s even is this?” Karley demanded, one-handedly opening his other drawers, holding the too-large trousers on tightly. Nothing in his lockers was what he had put in the night before. All up and down the hall, soldiers were scrambling through their drawers and frantically exchanging their mismatched uniform pieces.
Olivier was none too impressed when her soldiers turned up, late and disheveled, for their shifts. She snarled and snapped, and handed out demerits and rooftop duties. And honestly, Karley thought, it was like someone orchestrated the whole thing just to give their beloved Queen an excuse to do one of her favorite things--banish people to the roof for getting on her nerves. He made a mental note to see if either Buccaneer or Miles seemed overly cheerful.
-
Olivier’s day went from bad to worse when she opened the door to her office and a bucket of glitter rained down on her.
“What imbecile-?” She began, her rage-induced Armstrong sparkles making the situation that much shinier, and then her gaze fell on a soldier trying (and failing) to conceal his laughter. “BUCCANEER!” She roared, shoving past Miles to descend on the Captain.
“Yes, Sir? May I just say you look, ah, dazzling today.”
With an inarticulate scream of rage, Olivier stormed into her office and slammed the door, leaving a startled Miles behind.
“Well, Buc,” he said after a moment. “You’ve finally done it. You’ve driven her stark, raving, mad.”
“It’s been my pleasure, Sir.”
“Tch.”
“Er, what now, Sir?”
“Business as usual, I think.”
A grin lit Buccaneer’s face. “Yes, Sir!”
-
Karley raised his brows at the request of the Colonel on the phone. “Perhaps, Sir, you might wish to wait until tomorrow? The General-”
“No, Lieutenant, it has to be today. Put me through.”
Karley silenced his microphone long enough to sigh exasperatedly. “Yes, Sir,” he intoned smoothly. “One moment please.” He silenced his microphone again and made the necessary connections, listening in.
“Well, General,” Mustang sighed, “You’ve won.”
“Beg pardon?” Olivier said, in a tone that managed to make her confusion sound condescending.
“You’re always requesting a transfer for Lt. Hawkeye, and it’s finally been approved.”
Silence. “Today is Fool’s Day, Mustang.”
“Er, is it really?” Colonel Mustang coughed, unconvincingly.
“Call me back tomorrow and give me the news again, if you have the guts.”
“Well-”
“That’s what I thought.” There was no mistaking the sneer in her tone, before she dropped the receiver with a loud thud.
Karley shook his head and turned his attention to the paper Buccaneer had slipped him after the morning’s uniform incident. Fort Briggs was fast drawing lines, dividing into two teams for what was becoming war between the two superior officers. It wasn’t that he disliked Miles, but he was more than a little irritated to have rooftop duty that night, all because of the uniform swap. Grabbing a pen he began to refine Buccaneer’s prank plans. A paper shredder, he could manage. A trebuchet? Less so.
-
Miles froze and stared, horrified, at the mountain of shredded paper on his bed. “You-” he stuttered, turning to Buccaneer, “My books- You wouldn’t-?!”
Buccaneer shrugged and pulled a brightly colored strip from the pile. “Did you have one called The Ancient Springs?”
“You-!” Miles choked. “You monster!”
Buccaneer roared with laughter. “Eh, they’re just books.”
Miles glared before storming from the room, already planning his revenge.
“Wasn’t that when you were supposed to say ‘Fools!’ and show him his books?” Karley asked, watching the Major nervously.
“Eh.” Buccaneer shrugged. “I’ll tell him later.”
-
“Hello, Doc.” Miles gave the spiky-haired doctor his most charming smile.
“Well, I was wondering when someone was going to invite me into the prank war.” She set her coffee down to study him. “What’s the plan?”
-
Olivier opened the office door angrily to find herself being presented a bouquet of flowers. There was no note and as she slammed the door, she heard the sergeants who had delivered them whispering that it was cold to mock someone, even the Ice Queen, with a fake love declaration. It was probably that Colonel Mustang, they muttered to each other.
She buried her face in the bouquet; acacia blossoms, gardenias, and forget-me-nots. Secret love and loyalty. While Mustang certainly hadn’t sent these she understood why they would think it. He had once sent her a bouquet with a note describing the meaning of each flower; aster and azaela for daintiness, fragile passion, and womanhood, calla and eucharis lilies for beauty and maiden charms. Olivier had returned him a bouquet of wilted orange lilies for hatred and geranium for stupidity
.
Consequently, Miles had nicked a book on the language of flowers from one of his sisters. He could only utilize his knowledge one day a year; a day when no one would believe the simple truth set before them. Olivier would storm and rage and threaten to throw the flowers off the roof, but at the end of the day she would put them in a thermos on the corner of her desk and only she and Miles would know.
-
Buccaneer perched on the exam table in the infirmary, and swung his feet idly. “I could’ve sworn I just had my physical.”
“We’ve started doing them twice a year, now.” Doc explained, casually. “The environment is so harsh up here, Central asked me to do a little side research for them.”
“Side research?”
“Nothing big, Captain, not to worry. Just need some more information from all you boys, quality of life and all.”
“Hmmph.”
“Here.” Doc rummaged in her lab coat pockets. “Have a sucker.”
“Thanks!” Buccaneer popped the candy in his mouth.
“If you’ll just fill out this form for me, I’ll start on your exam.”
Buccaneer took the clipboard suspiciously. To his surprise, the questions were actually pretty straight-forward. He’d been expecting them to be embarrassing. Distracted, he didn’t even notice the doctor shaking a little powder onto her gloves before she began.
“Alright,” she concluded her exam and took the clipboard back from him, “just to let you know, there is a little virus going around. Nothing major, but come back to see me if you start experiencing any symptoms.”
“Symptoms?”
“Itching, purple-ish blotches on your tongue, bursts of adrenaline, shivers, and the like.”
“That sounds major to me.”“Eh.” Doc grinned and ran a hand through her spiky locks. “Clears up in twenty-four hours, no known long-lasting effects.”
“Alright.” Buccaneer tugged his coat back on, eyeing her a bit suspiciously. “I’ll see you around.”
Neil’s head emerged from his workroom as the door swung shut behind the Captain. “What happened to ‘do no harm’?”
“There’s no harm in a little Fool’s Day prank, Neil.” Doc smirked. “Mind your manners, or you’ll be on my bad list.”
“Aye, Ma’am!”
-
It was probably power of suggestion, but Buccaneer was itching fiercely. He scratched himself, irritably. Miles quirked a brow at him. Buccaneer, maturely, stuck his tongue out at the Major. Miles’ brows rose higher, then furrowed
“Have you been eating blueberries?”
“No. Why?” Buccaneer said, though it sounded more like “oh-eye?” because he was trying to look at his tongue.
“Your tongue’s turning purple.” Miles stepped closer, looking bewildered.
“Ih-iss?”
“What?”
Buccaneer returned his tongue to it’s proper place. “It is?”
“Yeah. Have you seen Doc? I heard Bobby down in maintenance was in the infirmary all night with a fever and chills, and his tongue turned purple.”
“I feel fine.” He insisted, trying to ignore the fact his arm was itching again. Giving in, he scratched it viciously.
“Uh-huh.” Miles looked supremely unconvinced. “Well, if you start feeling jittery, go to the infirmary right away. That’s an order.”
“Yes, Sir.”
-
Sergeant Roach was making his way down the hall, having sent three more of Buccaneer’s unsuspecting teammates to the infirmary, when the general opened her office door. “Sir!” He jumped back and saluted.
“Sergeant.” She greeted, returning his salute. “You’re not involved in any petty foolishness today, are you?”
“I-” he swallowed. “Nothing harmful, Sir.”
“Hmm.” She crossed her arms, and glitter rained onto the floor. She glared down at it. “Whose team are you on?”
“Major Miles’, Sir.” He tried not to sound too optimistic that name-dropping would get him out of trouble, but Buccaneer was currently persona non grata with the general.
“I see. Not anymore.” She handed him a folded piece of paper. “I need you to take care of this promptly and secretly.”
“Yes, Sir!” Marvelling, the sergeant took his new instructions. The Queen, famously, never got involved. Unless...Was she really so good no one even knew?
-
“Well, the virus is spreading further than I thought.” Doc remarked as Karley, squirming to get at an itch on his back, made his way into the infirmary. “Have you been hanging around Echo or Delta?”
“A little.” He admitted. “We were trying to make sure all our uniforms were back where they belong. But everyone was getting kinda...hyper.”
“Ah.” Doc looked a bit chagrined, but Karley couldn’t imagine why. “Well, the beds are all full, but-” she pointed to a jar on her desk, “you can have a sucker.”
“Thanks!” He took one, gratefully, and perched next to Sergeant Murray, who was practically bouncing in place, on the plastic waiting chairs.
“My pleasure.” Doc shared a glance with Neil, who shook his head. She threw her hands up in response. Karley quirked a brow at Murray who shrugged.
-
“Would anyone care to explain why half my fort is in the infirmary with a virus that doesn’t exist?” Olivier demanded, darkly.“Er.” Doc swallowed. “We don’t have proof it doesn’t exist-”
“Really?” Olivier advanced on the other woman. “Then, why, are there several empty bottles of ground velvet bean* in your trash bin? And pure, powdered, caffeine in those purple-centered suckers you’ve been handing out?”
“That’s my fault, Sir.” Miles intoned, smoothly, and the doctor breathed a sigh of relief. If anyone could sweet-talk their way out of this, it was the Major.
“Your-?” Olivier stared.
“Yes, Sir. Captain Buccaneer shredded some of my books as a Fool’s Day prank, and I retaliated.”
“Wait!” Buccaneer jumped up, scratching his arm desperately. “You didn’t really think we would destroy your books, did you?!”
Miles opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted. “Miles.” Olivier sounded angry and even, disappointed, “I expected better from you.” Silence descended in the crowded infirmary.
“I’m sorry, Sir.” Miles looked abashed.
“When you’re done helping Doc make sure everyone is in good health, you will come to the office to discuss your punishment.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“The rest of you, clean up and get back to work.”
“Yes, Sir!”
-
Miles made his way up to the office as slowly as he dared. His books had been returned to him in pristine condition, and he felt a little bit bad about pranking everyone. He knocked steadily, and when Olivier ordered him to enter, he did so with his head up.
Inside the door, he stopped, absolutely bewildered. Set before him was, at first glance, a scene plucked straight from a high-end restaurant. A table, with a cloth (something he hadn’t seen since coming to Briggs), candles, flowers, formal place settings. Just for two. On closer examination, the tablecloth was a bedsheet, the candles were from the emergency stores, the flowers were the ones he had sent, and the place settings were from the Officer’s Mess.
“What-?” He turned to find Olivier leaning on the door, dressed in a civilian outfit--quite probably the only she owned.
She started toward him with a smile. “I suppose, on a day dedicated solely to fools I can stand to be a fool in love.”
He grinned, brushed errant glitter from her hair, and kissed her. “My fool?”
“Always.”