Chapter Text
A possible reason why bachelors seem to make such good hosts is that only those who have a talent for it make the attempt. There is never any obligation on a gentleman's part to invite ladies to stay with him, whereas it is part of every lady's duty at least occasionally to be a hostess, whether she has talent, or even inclination, for the position or not.
Emily Post Etiquette 1922
It was the end of August, but she was shivering. Her uniform was wet and heavy, but she couldn't quite bring herself to get out of the rain. She had trudged around the same city block about four times already, every joint in her body aching, her head throbbing, and her eyes twinging with a sharp pain whenever she moved them. She was glad that there were so few people on the street to notice her.
It had been simple enough to find an excuse to leave Briggs again so soon. Her father had some legal papers she needed to sign. He offered to mail them to her, but she said she'd come down. It took all of half an hour, and rather than stay for dinner at home, she said she needed to do a few things in the city. Then she would take the overnight sleeper back to Briggs. By the time she left the house, she had already come down with whatever this was. She probably caught it from that kid who threw up just as they were pulling out of North City. The only thing that was worse than a kid on a train was a barfing kid on a train.
She stood in front of the tall apartment building. She knew it was the right address. She had surreptitiously checked it on the guest list that her mother still had. She glared at the front steps as they mutely challenged her to stop being such a coward. She angrily shook her head, which hurt, and she stomped up the steps, which also hurt. If she didn't get this over with, she'd never get him out of her head.
She rode the elevator up to the third floor and stepped out into the corridor, which was thankfully deserted. She strode along the row of numbered doors until she got to the right one. She stood there for a few moments, mentally rehearsing what she was going to say.
Don't you dare get the wrong idea about me…
I just want to get this settled once and for all…
Before you try to say something clever…
She knocked on the door and the sound echoed jarringly in the empty corridor. For a moment, she wondered if he might not be home. She would have wasted all this time for nothing. But the next moment, the door swung open, and as her presence on his doorstep registered, Shua gave a start of surprise. A smile began to grow on his lips but then faded as he peered closer at her.
"You're soaked!" he exclaimed. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her inside, closing the door behind her.
Olivier nearly lost her balance and she weaved slightly on her feet. "Look, I j-just want t-to get…uh…" She clamped her teeth shut against their chattering. Her whole body was shaking and she felt like it was betraying her. All those years in the frozen north, and she was shivering, of all things!
Shua moved in front of her, searching her face for a moment. He pressed his palm against her forehead and clicked his tongue. "Well, you're in a state, laleh." He folded his arms and eyed her critically. "What the hell are you doing wandering around in the rain with a fever and the shakes, hm?"
Olivier frowned irritably. "I came to…to…" For some reason, she couldn't remember any of her prepared speeches. "…borrow some aspirin," she mumbled finally.
"Ah." Shua nodded. "Well, I don't have any, but I'll just run next door and borrow some from my neighbor." He pointed to a high backed chair. "Have a seat and I'll be right back."
Olivier turned toward the chair but began to tip over. Shua caught her by the shoulders and steered her to the chair, maneuvering her down into it.
"Now don't wander off," he told her firmly. "You'll just hurt yourself. When I get back, I'll make you some tea."
"I can't stay…" Olivier mumbled. "Gotta…gotta catch a train…"
"Well, we'll see about that."
Olivier's eyelids felt like lead and she let them slide closed, just for a couple of minutes. She heard footsteps heading away from her and the sound of a door opening and closing. Then she slipped away into fevered oblivion.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.
Elycia Hughes cracked her eyes open. "Mama?" she called out faintly. "Mama?"
Shua's head popped into the doorway of the little girl's room. "Mama's over at my place, sweetheart," he said. He walked into the room and sat on the chair next to the bed. "She's helping me out with a little problem, but she'll be back in just a bit."
"What's she doin'?" Elycia asked.
"Well, you see, a friend of mine stopped by who has come down with the flu—just like you!" Shua tapped Elycia on the tip of her nose, eliciting a little smile. "So your mama very kindly offered to help her get into some jammies and get her tucked up in bed while I sit here and tell you stories. How does that sound?"
The little girl brightened up and nodded.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.
Rain was still slashing against the window pane, and it had grown darker. There was a light coming from somewhere, but she couldn't quite turn her head to see where it was coming from. She still felt like warmed-over death, but at least she was dry and comfortable. Why she was dry and comfortable was a puzzle, but at the moment, she didn't have the energy to figure it out.
From somewhere not that far away, she could hear some quiet singing. She couldn't figure out what the words were, but it was a comfortable, almost familiar sound, a pleasant, lilting melody, and she drifted back to sleep.
The next time she woke up, it was still dark, but the rain had stopped. She felt somewhat more alert and more inclined to try to figure out where she was. There was still some light coming from somewhere out of her line of vision. She turned her head one way, then the other. From what she could tell, she was in a bedroom, just not hers. She tried lifting her head to look down toward her feet, which was an effort, but she could see that the light was coming through an open doorway.
Olivier let her head drop back onto the pillow and thought. She lifted her arms a little, then her legs. No restraints. That was a good sign. The fact that the door was open was also a good sign. But it wouldn't do to take too many chances. Bracing herself with her arms, she slowly pushed herself into a sitting position. Halfway through doing this, her head began to swim, and with a groan, she sank back into the bed.
A moment later, the room grew a little brighter as the door opened wider.
"Well, still with us? Kind of wondered about you for a while."
Olivier's eyes flew open. "Shua?"
The tousled silver head came into view. "That's right, love. Can I get you anything?"
Olivier's mind raced frantically. "What am I doing here?" she demanded in a fierce mumble.
"Well," Shua began, "you showed up at my door, dripping wet, running a fever, your teeth chattering in your head, and then you passed out in my favorite chair."
"What time is it?"
"It's coming up on nine," Shua replied.
Olivier tried to push herself up again. "Damn it! I'm gonna miss my damn train if I don't get- -" Her head throbbed and she suddenly felt nauseous.
Shua gently settled her back down and she didn't have the strength to fight him. "When I said nine, I meant nine o'clock at night. I took a peek at your ticket. That train left the station this morning."
Olivier lay frozen, staring at the Ishvalan's face. "That's not possible!"
Shua turned and left the room, returning a moment later with a newspaper in his hand. He turned the light on that stood on the nightstand and handed the paper to Olivier. "If you don't believe me, this is today's paper."
Squinting against the painful glare of the lamp, Olivier searched the top of the front page. There, in black and white, just above a side column whose headline read Influenza Outbreak Worst in Decades, was the date. It was the 28th. That was when she was supposed to pull into North City Station. She stared at Shua. "Are you telling me I've been asleep for twenty-four hours?"
"That's what I'm telling you."
Olivier suddenly felt frightened. An entire day of her life had vanished. "Did you drug me?" she demanded.
Shua rubbed his face and chuckled. "First time I've ever been asked that. No, I didn't."
The light from the nightstand was really bothering her. She lifted one of her arms to cover her eyes. Then she lifted it again to squint at the cream-colored muslin that was covering that arm. There was black and red embroidery along the edge of the sleeve. She stirred underneath the covers. Whatever she had on appeared to be the only article of clothing she had on.
"What is this?"
"One of my shirts."
She shot a suspicious glare at Shua. "How did I get into this and where is my uniform?" she growled.
"Relax, General," Shua said. "As much as I would have loved the honor, my neighbor lady is the one who got you undressed and into that shirt. Don't you remember?"
Olivier frowned as she tried to concentrate. She shook her head with a vague sense of panic. "No, I don't."
"Well, Gracia said it was like dressing a large rag doll," Shua remarked. "Your uniform is at the cleaners, by the way."
"Oh, God!" Olivier covered her face with her hands for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts. She couldn't be here. She needed to get back to where she was safe and in control. She tried to sit up again. "I have to get back to Briggs!"
Shua pushed her back, not quite so gently this time. "Olivier, you have influenza! There are people dying from this! Don't you read the paper? They're not even going to let you on the train!"
Entirely against her will, tears began to fill her eyes. "No! You don't understand—"
"Well, maybe I don't." Shua swiped away an errant tear from the corner of her eye with his thumb and pulled the covers up to her chin. "I've never been to Briggs, but it sounds pretty solid. It's not going anywhere and neither are you. Anyway, they already know you're laid up."
"What? What do you mean?"
"Gracia called them yesterday," Shua explained. "Her husband was in the military, and it turns out that he once worked with your man Henschel, so it wasn't like a total stranger called them up and spun some tale. She told him not to expect you for a few days. And before you start fretting about your reputation, she told them you were staying with her." He spread his arms. "Everything is in hand, so you may as well just stay put and get better."
Olivier struggled with the realization of her predicament for several moments, then glumly and very reluctantly accepted it. "I don't get sick," she muttered.
Shua smiled. "No, of course not. Germs tuck their tails between their legs and run whenever they see you."
Olivier glowered up at the ceiling. "Why does my mouth taste so bad?" she asked. "Are you sure you didn't drug me?"
"That's probably the kechua you're tasting. It's pretty vile."
"What the hell is kechua?"
"It's a plant that grows in Ishval," Shua explained. "They peel off the bark and boil it to make a kind of tea to help bring down fevers. I had my son send me some when my neighbor's little girl came down with the flu. It's probably why you're not sicker than you already are."
Olivier closed her eyes, feeling completely exhausted. "You have answers for everything, don't you," she grumbled.
Shua laughed quietly. "Ah, laleh, I wish I did." He turned the light off on the nightstand. "See you in the morning."
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.
A hand across her forehead woke her up, and when she opened one eye, she had to squint against the sunlight pouring in through the window.
"Your fever's down," Shua said. He cocked his head to examine her features. "And you don't look quite so peaky."
Olivier had to admit, she felt a bit more human. She braced her arms against the bed to raise herself up, and this time, Shua helped her into a sitting position. Her head was still humming, but the ache was half what it was before. The same went for the ache in her joints. She pushed her fingers through her hair, which felt grubby. "Damn! I don't get sick!"
"So you said," Shua remarked. "You're lucky this isn't the desert fever. You'd still be flat on your ass. Unless you were a little kid, of course, then you'd be up and bouncing in no time," he added cheerfully. "Feel up to eating anything?"
Olivier shrugged indifferently. "What have you got?"
"I have some chicken soup," Shua said, "which Gracia tells me is good for absolutely everything outside of a broken heart, although her soup could definitely take the edge off. I also have some Ishvalan flatbread that I made myself, thanks very much," he added. "Naisha sent me some meskaa flour, so it's chu."
Olivier raised an eyebrow. "It's what?"
"Chu," Shua repeated. "That which is good in the eyes of God." Olivier still looked at him with a blank, dubious expression. "Proper. Authentic. Legit."
"All right, fine. So, you cook, huh?"
Shua gave a shrug. "I get by." He adjusted the pillows on the bed, fluffing them up so Olivier could sit back against them. "Now you just sit tight. I'll have your soup ready in a minute."
Olivier considered the lanky Ishvalan suspiciously out of the corner of her eye. "So what's with the nice act?"
Shua straightened up and gave her an innocent, puzzled look. "I'm always nice!"
"Horseshit! You're a swaggering popinjay with an inflated opinion of yourself."
"Oh, well…that's as may be," Shua chuckled and scratched the morning stubble on his jaw. His lips turned in a brief, somewhat mirthless half-smile. "Yours isn't the first sickbed I've sat by." He turned away. "Let me get your soup."
Olivier was about to hurl a few more remarks at him, but she blew out her cheeks and sat back against the pillows. Now that there was plenty of light in the room, she took the opportunity to look around. Along one side of the room, either lying on the floor, up on shelves, or propped against the wall, was a collection of musical instruments. It looked like the work of a lifetime and a closely-held passion.
On the nightstand next to the bed was a photograph of Shua's son, Dejan, his wife, and his daughter. Olivier picked it up and examined it a little more closely. Father and son certainly looked alike. She could even see a slight echo of Scar in his wife Naisha. Something about the cheekbones. The little girl looked like any other little girl. They looked supremely happy. Olivier put the photograph back on the nightstand. Happy people bothered her at the moment. She herself felt miserable. She hated being in situations over which she had no control. She hated being dependent on someone else. And she couldn't help wondering if Shua had some ulterior motive. If he did, she'd make him pay for it. Then again, she was the one who showed up on his doorstep. She groaned softly and pulled the blanket over her head.
"That bad, is it?"
"I'd rather not discuss it." Her voice came out muffled.
"Suit yourself. Now put the blankets down and sit up proper. Didn't your ma teach you any manners?"
"She gave up."
"Well, this tray's getting heavy, so sit the hell up."
Olivier pulled the blanket down to see Shua standing by the bedside with a tray in his hands. On it was a bowl that emitted delicate wisps of steam. He set the tray carefully over her legs. Along with the bowl was a plate with a couple of round, flat pieces of bread. She had to admit, it all smelled good.
She glanced up at him, a little grudgingly. "Thank you."
"My pleasure, General."
Olivier took a spoonful of soup and sipped at it. It was extremely good. She could practically feel her whole body eagerly sucking it up. After all, she hadn't eaten for nearly two days. She tore off a piece of the flatbread and tried that. It was good, too.
"Did you really make this bread?" she asked.
Shua nodded. He was leaning his forearms against the footboard of the bed. "It's not that hard. If you want more soup, there's plenty. Gracia brought over a whole pot of it."
Olivier sipped more of the soup, thinking she could easily go for seconds. "So is Gracia one of your conquests?"
Shua laughed. "What a filthy mind you have! No, she's not."
Olivier lifted an eyebrow. "Does she bring you treats just because she's nice?"
"Yes. Just because she's nice. Some people are like that. Besides," he added, "even if I wanted to win her over, I couldn't compete with her husband."
"And where's he all this time?"
"He's dead."
Olivier's spoon stilled for a moment. "Oh." Her brows furrowed slightly. "You said he was in the military. What was his name?"
"Maes Hughes," Shua replied. "He sounded like a heck of a guy. Poor bastard was murdered." He shook his head. "He survived the war in Ishval just to lose his life over a desk job."
"I remember hearing about him," Olivier said, recalling the story Fullmetal told her in that tunnel under Briggs. She didn't know how much Shua knew, so she didn't offer any information. She ate a bit more, then realized that Shua was still standing there, contemplating her with a thoughtful look on his face. She scowled slightly. "Aren't you supposed to be off doing something parliamentary?"
Shua shook his head. "No, we're having a recess. About two-thirds of the members are down with the flu." He grinned. "So I have all kinds of time on my hands."
"Until you catch it, too," Olivier replied. "Or have you already?"
"Nope. I'm starting to wonder if having the desert fever as a kid made me immune to damn near everything else." He moved around the footboard and sat down on the bed facing Olivier, stretching his legs out and crossing his ankles. He leaned back and closed his eyes, generally making himself comfortable. Olivier tried to concentrate on her soup, but the sight of his bare brown feet on the bedspread near her right thigh was a little annoying. Still, it was his bed.
"I, um…I appreciate this," she muttered, glaring at her bowl. "I realize I'm putting you out."
Shua waved a hand. "You're not. We Ishvalans take hospitality seriously, especially those of us who grew up with nothing. Poor folk know the real value of sharing a bit of bread and soup." Opening his eyes to look at her, he tapped his chest lightly with his fist. "It feeds you here, not just your belly."
She could find no fault with that, and she felt the slightest twinge of shame at her suspicions about his motives. She tipped the bowl up slightly to get the last bit of soup with her spoon, but Shua said, "Just pick the bowl up, love. That's how we do it in Ishval." He gave her a wink. "I won't tell your mother."
Olivier smiled a little and lifted the bowl to her mouth, slurping the last bit of broth and noodles. As she started to set the bowl down, she tilted it slightly to examine it. It was the same red ceramic ware as the tea set Miles had given her. She turned the empty bowl upside down and saw the same Ishvalan initials painted on the bottom. It was another piece made by Vesya and her brother. She gave a quiet sigh and righted the bowl, setting it down on the tray.
"Ready for more?"
"Yes." Olivier glanced up at him and added, "Please."
She sat back as Shua took the bowl and left, returning a few moments later and setting a full bowl on the tray. Then he resumed his seat at the foot of the bed, sitting cross-legged.
After a few more spoonfuls of soup Olivier nodded toward the pile of instruments. "That's quite a collection you have," she remarked, mainly to make conversation.
"Isn't it?" Shua replied with a proud grin. "That used to be how I scraped up a bit of bread. Now it's my hobby." He chuckled. "Funny world, isn't it?" He waved his hand around, indicating the apartment. "See this? I used to live in a ramshackle, thrown-together little hovel on the outskirts of Ishval. Now I'm in a furnished apartment in one of the nicer areas of Central, and I've never even been to school! My first night here I laughed so hard, I nearly pissed myself."
"You're here to represent the people of Ishval, aren't you?" Olivier asked. "Don't you take that seriously?"
"Oh, to be sure! On the other hand, it still strikes me as a big joke," Shua said. "I'm just trying to figure out who it's on. I was voted into office by the very people who once looked down on me for being a vatrish."
"A what?"
"A street player. It comes from the word vatri, which means dusty, so that tells you what people thought of us."
"I didn't think Ishvalans could afford to be snobs," Olivier observed.
"Oh, don't you believe it, love," Shua told her. "There were plenty of those. Of course," he added, "there were plenty who weren't. Like Andakar." He shook his head with a slight smile. "A prince among men, that one."
"There are those who might disagree with you," Olivier said, tearing off a bit of flatbread and dunking it in her soup. Her mother wasn't there, after all.
"Hm! Fuck 'em!" Shua replied curtly. "I don't give a shit what he's done. If he had his reasons, then that's fine with me. He helped me out once. I didn't want his help, but I needed it badly."
"How's that, if you don't mind me asking."
Shua thought for a moment, a nostalgic, almost sad smile on his face. "Well, he helped me come to terms with Maya's death, I suppose you could say."
"Maya. Was she your wife?"
"Oh, we weren't married, but I suppose you could call her that," Shua replied. He let out a quiet sigh. "She was a sweet girl."
Olivier paused, frowning, then closed her eyes. "You said mine wasn't the first sickbed you sat by. You had to care for your- -for Maya while she was..." She had never tiptoed around death before, but this was someone else's grief.
"Dying," Shua finished for her. "It's all right. I knew it was going to happen."
Olivier sighed. "I'm sorry. For your loss, I mean. And…for what I said that night," she mumbled.
She glanced at Shua and found him regarding her with a gentle smile, not his usual smirk. It seemed to transform him, and she took the time to study him. She had to admit, he wasn't bad-looking. He didn't have the aristocratic bearing and meticulous grooming of someone like Miles, but he had slightly weathered yet still youthful features. He had a somewhat narrow face and a thin, not-too-long nose, and at the moment, he had an intelligent look on his face.
"Don't worry about it, Olivier," he said. "She's having a well-deserved rest in Ishvala's bosom, but she still keeps an eye on me, I know. I'd like to say I've done right by her. I managed to raise our son to be a decent man, and he's gone on to raise his daughter to be a fine girl. I say my prayers when I ought to, mostly." A grin spread across his face, just as cheeky as usual, but Olivier found it warmer than she remembered. "I may be a bit of a rascal, but at least I admit it, Ishvala bless my poor, raggedy soul!" He nodded at the tray on her lap. "Done?"
Olivier nodded. "Yes, thank you."
She sat back as Shua slid off the bed and reached over to pick up the tray. He headed toward the door, pausing before he left the room. "Anything else I can get you, Miss Olivier?"
She felt tired from the exertion of eating and talking, but she felt that she wasn't quite done. "You can answer a question for me."
Shua lifted his shoulders. "Ask away."
She regarded him critically for a moment, then asked, "Who are you?"
Shua's eyebrows rose slightly. "Uh…has your fever suddenly addled your wits?"
Olivier shook her head. "No, you twit! I mean, who is Shua? Is he a jackass or a gentleman? Is he one pretending to be the other? Or is he just both?"
"Oh, I see." Shua pull a thoughtful face. "Hmm…I guess I'd have to say yes to that last question. I'm probably a few other things besides. Depends on the circumstances, I suppose."
"So when I was in Ishval," Olivier went on with a dry tone to her voice, "what, exactly, did the circumstances call for?"
Shua let out a laugh. "Ah, what can I say, love? You caught my fancy!"
Olivier rolled her eyes, which hurt and made her wince. "I wasn't trying to catch anyone's fancy."
"Who said you had to try?" Shua replied. "You're a lovely woman."
Olivier scowled. It was never something she wanted to be judged by. "I didn't get where I am on my looks."
"Oh, I know that. That's why I figured you wouldn't notice me for mine." He flashed her a brilliant smile. "I had to get your attention somehow." He turned away with the tray. "Get some rest now."
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.
"…and the proprietor was just as pleased because people starting coming to his tea house just to hear me play. By the end of the week, Peng's was turning into the hottest spot in town. Are you going to finish that?"
Olivier looked down at the plate on her tray. While she slept off and on for most of the day, Shua had gone out and picked her uniform up from the cleaners, bought her a train ticket for the next day, collected the rest of her laundry from Gracia, and stopped by one of his favorite restaurants to order take-out. He brought home a feast of stuffed cabbage, pierogies, and sausage. She wasn't quite sure how he happened to know that she loved stuffed cabbage. It was better than her family's cook's recipe.
"I couldn't eat another bite," she sighed.
"Fair enough." Shua reached across the bed and took her plate, helping himself to her leftovers.
"You could catch my flu doing that," Olivier remarked.
Shua shrugged. "I'd rather catch it from you than anyone else."
"Tch!" Olivier settled comfortably back against her pillow. "You're such a flatterer."
"Anyway, where was I? Oh, right! So one night, about a week and a half after I'd started at Peng's, the place suddenly fills up with all these fellows in black. One moment, everything was fine, and the next moment I was surrounded. The place got really quiet." Shua lowered his voice ominously and Olivier had to smile. The man loved to tell a story. "Normally, I could take on a number of footpads and cutpurses without much problem. But these were professionals. They all wore masks, which made them even scarier. I thought at first that I was breaking some sort of law that nobody bothered to tell me about, because I'd done that sort of thing before. But they just stood there, watching me. So I just kept on playing.
"I'm still keeping an eye on them, though. A couple of them lean close to each other and whisper. I had picked up a fair amount of Xingese, but I couldn't hear what they were saying or even read their lips. Finally, one of them steps right up in front of me and holds up his hand to tell me to stop. So I sit there, waiting for him to say something, and he tells me in pretty thick Amestrian that they're taking me to see the Emperor. I hear gasping from the tea house customers, and I think, well, this isn't good. I ask him what I'd done to attract such exalted attention. He told me to just come with them."
Shua lifted his shoulders, a chunk of kielbasa on the end of his fork. "What was I supposed to do? I told Peng to hold on to my share of that night's take, just in case I made it back, and I left with the fellows in black. Imagine my surprise," he went on with a grin, "when right out there in the street was this fancy-ass palanquin thing and a little man wearing the Imperial livery opening the door and bowing to me!" He let out a laugh. "A moment before I thought I was a dead man. I still could be, but at least I was going in style! So I get in and they trot me off out of the city and all the way to the palace. When I get there, I step out of the palanquin and practically right into this chubby fellow in blue silk who looks at me like I was vermin. But I was used to that, so I give him the same look back.
"He asks me if I brought my instrument with me. I held it up, saying that anyone who tried to take it from me would get his arm broken. He gives a sniff and tells me to follow him. I don't suppose you've ever been to Xing, have you?"
Olivier shook her head. "No. My parents went there."
"Don't I know it! We had some grand old times, but that's another story. So I follow this fellow through all these corridors that were absolutely dripping with riches, and we finally end up in this big chamber. All these fellows dressed up in silk and funny hats are sitting in rows on the floor and they were silent as the grave. At the far end is a big silk brocade curtain, and there's a stool in front of this. The fat fellow tells me to sit down there and play. Nothing loud or jarring, he says. Something soothing. So I did my usual thing of just making something up as I go. And I sit there doing this for nearly an hour!"
Shua sat back against the footboard, setting his empty plate aside. "Finally, the curtain gives a little stir, and the fat man hurries up to it and pokes his head behind it. He whispers for a bit, then turns to look at me. He tells me that His Celestial Majesty is pleased, which is always a good thing to hear. I'm escorted from the room, I get set up in a very nice little apartment, and I'm told that my services will be required for the foreseeable future. So I spend the next several months strolling around the palace, eating the most incredible food, rubbing elbows with the quality, and playing music a few times a day to soothe the poor, ailing Emperor of Xing. Not bad, eh?"
Olivier shook her head. "I'd say I didn't believe a word of it, but this is you we're talking about."
Shua gave a chuckle. "Oh, Miss Olivier, I have even more unbelievable stories than that. But," he said, getting up and gathering the empty plates, "you need to get to sleep if you're going to catch the train in the morning."
Olivier nodded and lay back. Oddly enough, as anxious as she was to get back to her citadel, she felt a fleeting twinge of disappointment at the thought of leaving. Apart from being sick, the last few days had actually been pleasant. She supposed that if she was going to get sick and wallow in bed, she was glad it had happened here rather than at Briggs or at the Armstrong mansion, God forbid.
Shua took the plates out of the room and returned. "Anything else I can get you?" he asked.
Olivier gave a luxurious stretch and drew the covers up to her chin. "What did you play for the Emperor of Xing that pleased him so much?"
Shua gave a quiet laugh. "Oh, so you'd like me to sing you to sleep, too, your Celestial Highness?"
Olivier smirked. "Idiot," she muttered sleepily.
"I'll do you one better," Shua said. He went over to his collection of instruments and picked up something that looked like a long-necked mandolin. He looped the strap over his head and gave it a quick tuning. "I don't do this for just anyone. I used to sing this to Maya when she was fretful and couldn't sleep. Times were tough back then."
Accompanying himself with soft, rhythmic strumming, Shua began to sing quietly in Ishvalan. Even without knowing what he was singing, Olivier could tell it was a lullaby. It was a warm, gentle, comforting melody, and as she drifted off to sleep, she last thing she remembered was a pair of lips brushing against her cheek and a whispered "Good night, princess."
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.
She still wasn't quite a hundred percent, but it would be enough to get her on the train and back to Briggs. Shua had woken her up in time to take a shower, and with her freshly cleaned uniform, she felt invigorated.
"Thanks again for everything, Shua," she said as they stood by the door. "And thank Mrs. Hughes for me."
"It's been a treat, General," Shua replied. "And Gracia loves helping people. Are you sure you don't want me to call you a cab?"
"No, I'll just wave one down." Olivier turned toward the door. She suddenly felt vaguely awkward, as though she ought to say something else. But despite all her mother's efforts to teach her eldest daughter social graces, Olivier never really learned how to graciously conclude a situation like this. Especially with someone like Shua, whose red-eyed gaze was at once both casual and unnerving, as though he could easily see right through her. "Um…thanks again," was all she could manage.
Shua just smiled and grasped the doorknob, giving it a turn. Then he stopped and gave her a quizzical look. "You know, I can't help wondering, Miss Armstrong."
Olivier frowned at him slightly. "What?"
"Why did you come by here in the first place?" he asked. "Was it really just to borrow some aspirin?"
Olivier had actually forgotten, and she returned his question with an unguarded look, which caught Shua a little by surprise. Then a grin spread across his face, which would normally have irritated her, but this time it caused a flutter to start in her stomach that had nothing to do with influenza.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.
Henschel hung up the phone and sat frowning at it for several moments. The second lieutenant and the quartermaster who had been talking to him when the phone rang waited silently. Henschel glanced up at their questioning looks.
"That was the general," he said. "She's going to be another couple of days in Central. She says she's still not quite recovered."
"Huh," the second lieutenant remarked. "That flu's a pretty big deal."
Henschel shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so. Dismissed!"
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.