AN: Armstrong Sibling Shenanigans through the ages, because I adore these two dorks. Set before, during and after the events in the manga/Brotherhood.

Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist and its characters belong to Hiromu Arakawa; I own nothing.

Devotion Passed Down Through Generations

by Miss Mungoe

The day her baby brother was born, Olivier Mira Armstrong found herself re-evaluating her position in the Armstrong household.

"But Mother–"

"Sweet thing," her mother held up a hand, exhaustion heavy in her kind voice. "Mother is tired. Won't you go play in the garden a minute while I make sure your baby brother is fed? You can feed the koi if you like."

Olivier pursed her lips, but did as she was told, casting a scornful glance at the cooing bundle in the crook of her mother's arm as she stalked out of the nursery with her head held high. She passed the servants in the corridor, eagerly chatting about the birth of the new baby boy, and glared all the way into the garden. Not during either of her younger sisters' births had there been this degree of excitement around the estate, and it irked her just thinking about it.

The koi pond was silent when she reached it, and she plopped down into the grass with about as much rebellion as she deemed necessary, arms crossed over her chest as she stared at the fish swimming peacefully beneath the surface of the water.

She stewed silently in her own irritation long enough for the sun to dip down below the mansion roof, and for both her legs to fall asleep, but she stubbornly held her ground – a silent wall of defiance in wake of her family's abject treason.

"Koi?"

Her father's voice reached her from across the garden, but she didn't heed it, nor did she make any point of showing she'd heard. Undeterred, he came closer, his heavy footfalls sure and steady against the neatly trimmed grass. He came to stand beside her, and when she spared a glance at him, it was only to find that he'd brought her brother, the little shape appearing even smaller against his great bulk than it had in her mother's arms. Anger flaring up like a fierce thing, she turned her gaze away sharply.

"Go away, Father."

He sighed, but didn't heed her wishes, and instead sat down heavily beside her. The little bundle made a noise at the movement, but settled soon after. Olivier glared at the koi.

"Olivier–"

"Am I to be replaced now?"

Her father looked startled, but then he surprised her by barking a laugh. "Replaced? Heavens, why would you think that?"

She bit the inside of her cheek, and glared at the bundle. "You have a son, now," she said. "The servants said he would make a good heir. I thought I was to be the heir."

Her father sighed heavily, and gave her the look that meant that 'Father Is About to Make a Point', and so she dutifully kept her mouth shut as he spoke. "You are both my heirs, Olivier, along with your sisters, but you will always be my eldest – you know that." He winked at her – as though it fixed everything.

She sniffed impetuously. "But who will be the favourite?"

Her father laughed – the sound shaking his large frame and, by extension, the baby tucked against his chest, enough so that it began fussing. He then made a series of shushing-noises that Olivier found to be rather ridiculous, but the baby seemed to like them and calmed down.

"Oh, my dear koi," he told her with a wide smile, "There is no such thing as a favourite in the Armstrong household. Haven't I told you how we pride ourselves in the long-upheld tradition, passed down through generations, of not picking favourites amongst our children?"

She looked at the baby, then at her father, before she turned her gaze back to the pond. "So nothing is going to change?" she asked then, as she watched the fish swim in lazy circles.

A strong hand on her arm had her looking up, only to find him proffering the little shape. "One thing is," he told her, as he put it into her stiff arms. "You have a baby brother now. You are already a big sister, but this is different – he will want to look up to you. And that is a great responsibility to be had in this family. And a great privilege."

She had half a mind to throw the bundle into the pond, but the blue eyes looking up at her from her lap had her pausing. There was a gentle dusting of corn-silk hair across a perfectly round head, and two bright pink cheeks. She glared, but the baby only looked at her curiously.

"His name is Alex," her father told her. "Alex Louis Armstrong."

She wrinkled her nose, but had to admit it was a good name. Not as good as hers, but a close second as far as their other siblings went. "Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I'll go easy on you, otouto," she said with a raised nose. "But," she said, as she shifted her grip around the warm bundle, and put on her grown-up voice and used the grown-up words. She was the eldest, after all, and it was important he be made aware of the age that separated them early on.

"Perhaps having a little brother won't be the worst thing imaginable."

Alex was six years old the summer he decreed her the greatest person in Amestris (aside from their Honoured Father), and persisted in following at her heels like a pup.

"Father!" she shrieked into the study, her thin-as-a-sleet-of-ice patience having cracked like glass at her brother's stubborn persistence, and she slammed the door against the wall. "Please tell Alex to leave me alone!"

Their father looked up from his newspaper with a bemused smile. "Koi, what's all this brouhaha so early in the morning?"

Olivier seethed and pointed an accusing finger at her brother. "He won't leave me be!"

Their father sighed, and folded his newspaper on the desk before him. "Olivier, you know there aren't many boys his age at home for the moment. What's the harm in letting him play with you? Perhaps you could teach him a few things," he winked with a warm smile.

She crossed her arms over her chest, expression livid. "I would rather bathe in the pond, Father."

Alex perked up at that. "Can we do that? Can we bathe in the pond? Oh, please, aneue!"

She swallowed her next shriek, and stomped outside, golden hair flying about her face as she stalked down the corridor past the servants. They greeted her in passing, but Alex was the one who greeted them back, waving happily as he trailed at her heels.

When they entered the gardens at the back of the estate, she finally rounded on him, and he sprang back with a start. "Sister–"

"Leave me alone!"

Blue eyes trembled with tears, and he tucked his lower lip between his teeth. "But–"

She pointed a finger. "I have had it up to here with you, Alex Louis Armstrong, and if you don't leave me be this instant I will chuck you in the pond!"

He cowered before her, and when she spun on her heel this time, he remained by the open doors as she stomped down the stone steps, fully intent on spending the day in her own company, or at the very least without the company of her over-eager barnacle of a little brother.

His decision to keep away lasted all about thirty seconds before she heard his footsteps against the stone, racing after her, and she turned, ready to give him a verbal flogging and box his ears for good measure–

–only to watch him trip and tumble down the last three steps, landing face-first against the gravel lining the path towards the back-entrance of the estate. The landing was hard, but to her immense surprise he didn't break down sobbing on the spot. In fact, when he gingerly pushed himself up off the gravel, all he did was look at his hands, and she could see the blood bright against his skin even from where she was standing.

Something lurched within her, and she bit down on her lip, but then she was moving towards him, footfalls strong and sure against the stones as she covered the distance between them. She knelt down in front of him, pulling his hands towards her to inspect the damage.

He whimpered at her rough handling, and she could see fat tears at the corners of his blue eyes, but he made no other protests. She pursed her lips as she turned his palms upward – the scrapes were superficial, but oozing blood, and there was quite a deal of dirt amongst the red. At further inspection, she found the same to be the case with his knees, and he'd torn the fabric of his shorts. She sighed, and rose to her feet, tugging him with her. And without ceremony, she crouched before him, hands tucked at her sides invitingly.

When he did nothing, she looked over her shoulder, and found his red-rimmed eyes wide as saucers above pink cheeks. "Well, come on!" she snapped, and he seemed to startle out of his daze, before he scrambled onto her back. Tucking her hands beneath his knees, she hoisted him up, and set off back towards the estate. For his six years he was surprisingly heavy, but no amount of riches in the whole of Amestris could have made her admit that to anyone.

Careful to avoid the servants, Olivier made for her own room, kicking the door inwards and promptly placing him on the bed, before she went to rummage through her drawers for bandages and antiseptic. Then she made a detour to her own little bathroom, and returned with a bowl of warm water.

Alex was silent throughout the whole process as she set about cleaning and wrapping his hands and knees, only sniffling when she applied the antiseptic. When she was done there were bloodstains on her carpet and dirt on her silk bedspread, but she said nothing as she brusquely packed away her things. When she turned back, he was chewing on his bottom lip. "Sorry, aneue," he said softly.

She regarded him closely for a moment, before she released a long-suffering sigh. Flicking her hair over her shoulder, she made for the door, pushing it open. He made no move to get off the bed, and she arched a brow, placing her hand on her hip. "Well? Did you want to go to the pond or not?"

When he looked up, the tears at the corners of his eyes were gone, and with his new enthusiasm, so were apparently the scratches on his hands and knees. "Yes!"

She shook her head as he bounded past her with renewed energy, and lamented only a little bit that she wasn't spending her summer doing better things.

She'd just joined the military and he'd just turned fourteen when she found him in the gardens one bright sunny day, wiping his tears by the koi pond.

"Alex," her voice rang across the space between them, and she saw him flinch, before hastily scrubbing at his face. She paused a short ways off, brows furrowed and hands on her hips. "The hell are you crying for?"

He sniffled, but sat stubbornly turned away from her. "Nothing, aneue. Please, just leave me be."

Olivier quirked a brow – intrigued, for she was never one to be dismissed, least of all by her brother. So she crossed her arms over her chest. "No."

He sighed – shoulders slumping. "Sister–"

"Is it Father?"

He turned towards her, red-rimmed eyes bright and blue in his flushed face, before he turned back. "No."

She pursed her lips. "Alex, you are a grown-assed man, and if you insist on crying like a waif at least be honest about what's bothering you. Stop being such a damn pussy!"

The remark had his lip trembling, but something flashed across his face, and his resolve seemed to harden. "It's none of your business, aneue," he said curtly, before once again turning his back to her.

Brows having travelled all the way to her hairline at his sudden cheek, Olivier shifted her weight. "Well, well, look who's grown a pair in my absence." She snorted, but didn't heed his plea – quite the opposite, she walked over to stand beside him, looking into the pond with a grimace. The koi swam in peaceful circles, and she was reminded of the time she'd had to extract one from her hair when she'd been pushed into the water.

She didn't sit down – her pristine uniform had just been pressed, and she wasn't about to wrinkle it or get grass-marks on the seat of her pants like an unruly child. "Talk," she snapped. "I've just enough patience for listening to you whine, but make it brief."

He looked up at her from over the top of his arms, circled as they were around his knees, and for all his awkward bulk he appeared oddly small, sitting beside her as he was. It was both unnerving and a little annoying, and she felt her hand twitch against her side as the silence dragged on. "Well?"

He sighed, and turned his eyes back to the pond. "It's a...girl," he admitted then, voice oddly soft.

Olivier blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before she snorted. "Yeah? What'd she do, dump you?"

He seemed to fold in on himself, and only nodded once, and she was taken aback. She'd been jesting – she hadn't honestly thought her baby brother had had it in him to pursue girls at such a tender age, let alone enough to get himself dumped. Well, damn.

She pursed her lips again, before she reluctantly took a seat beside him, making sure to sit still so her uniform wouldn't wrinkle. "So who is this hussy?"

He startled at that. "Sister!"

She raised a brow. "You got a nicer word for this girl who's got you crying your eyes out like a child?"

His lower lip trembled, but he turned his gaze away, "No."

"So?"

"Sister–"

"A name, Alex."

"No."

"And why the hell not?"

He looked at her, incredulous, "Because I don't want to say!"

She snorted, and crossed her arms. "Coward. Is she poor?"

"What–no!"

"Then what?"

He threw his hands up, "She–" but whatever had been at the tip of his tongue was swallowed as he clamped his mouth shut, and he shook his head. "It's not important. I told her I liked her – and she...laughed, and said she'd..." he trailed off.

"She'd what?" she pressed.

His cheeks coloured – from anger or shame, it was hard to tell. "She'd never be caught dead with someone as pathetic and...unattractive as me."

She was silent a moment, watching him, this awkward bulk of a man-boy who was far too compassionate for the world he was living in – who'd dragged in strays and injured birds alike where Olivier would just have fed the latter to the former and been done with it.

"Did you at least give as good as you got?" she asked then, although she already knew the answer. Her brother was too kind for his own good, and she'd known it would one day come back to bite him in the ass.

The slump of his shoulders spoke volumes, and she scoffed, before tightening her grip around the handle of her sword. "Very well," she said, as she rose to her feet.

"Sister, what–"

She glared down at him, and proffered her sword. "It's that piss-ugly little thing down the street, isn't it? The redhead with all the braids?"

His silence was answer enough, and she smirked. "I knew it."

Then she was stalking away, hair whipping around her face, and she heard him scramble to follow. "Sister! Sister – wait! Aneue!"

"Stay here, Alex – I'll be back shortly."

"But–"

She rounded on him, sword proffered in clear challenge, and he backed away a step. "That's the Armstrong name she's insulting, and I'll not have it tarnished so. So sit your ass down and let me handle this!" She turned back, and took three steps towards the garden entrance before she turned back again.

"Alex," she snapped.

He startled, and straightened his back – almost like a soldier giving a salute, and she smirked, enjoying the display of adherence. "If you for one second think you're not good enough for that piss-poor excuse of a woman, I'll come back and string you up by your ankles. You're an Armstrong," she snapped, "and my brother, and you should be proud, not sobbing like a babe." She left him gaping by the pond, striding out of the garden with her head held high and corn-silk hair trailing in her wake like a fierce lion's mane. She wouldn't hurt the girl – much.

But the atrocious braids were coming off, if Olivier so had to rip them from the base of her skull.

The day she got the message her brother had received his certificate as a State Alchemist, Olivier picked up her phone to make a call.

"Hello, hello!" came the cheerful baritone over the line, and she resisted the urge to rub at her temples.

"Otouto," she said instead, voice brusque and to-the-point.

There was a pause, then an elated shout of 'Sister!' that she had to lift the receiver away from her ear so as not to burst an eardrum. When she put it back, he was eagerly asking about her reasons for calling, dropping hints so overtly she had to roll her eyes. "What might be your reason for calling at such a late hour–"

"I called to congratulate you, you oaf," she told him, not entirely without a sliver of fondness. For all his bluster, her brother was a damn skilled alchemist, and she wasn't about to belittle his competence – she was an Armstrong, after all. Pride in her own name was par for the course.

She could practically feel him beam over the phone. "Truly? Thank you, aneue! I will take your kind consideration to heart!"

She sighed. "Yes, yes. Don't let it go to your head, now."

It didn't dampen his spirits in the least, and she had to smile. "How are things in Briggs?" he asked then. "Have they given you that promotion yet?"

She hummed as she leaned back in her chair, resting her ankle on her knee as she spun the cord lazily around one finger. "Not yet – the old geezer is holding out on me. But I'll get it eventually." She snorted. "No one else is more deserving of the post in this sheep-pack."

He hummed, a pleased sound. "I thought you liked your colleagues, aneue?"

She smirked, although she knew he couldn't see it over the phone. "Even so, one can only let personal affections go so far in this career. If I want the position, I must rise above the rest. A sly fox amongst a pack of sheep, if that is what it takes."

There was an amused rumble over the line. "I have always imagined you as more of a bear, sister," he told her, then hastily corrected himself. "Not – not that that is an insult, of course!"

She snorted. "Don't get your panties in a twist, Alex," she said, "I know what you meant." She smirked. "And I find it an apt analogy. Briggs bears are quite fearsome creatures."

He laughed. "Indeed!"

There was a commotion at his end of the line – eager voices in the background, and he excused himself. "Ah, my apologies, nee-chan, but we're going out to celebrate, and–"

She smirked. "Have fun, brat," she told him. "Use that pair of yours and get a girl already so Father will stop pestering me about heirs."

He laughed – and there was a yell of, 'Are you done yet, Armstrong? We're leaving now!' before he excused himself once again. "Call me when you get that promotion!" he told her. "Good luck!"

"Aa," she said, and that was that – the line went dead, cutting off the laughter on the other end. Placing the receiver back on the device, Olivier leaned back in her chair, looking up at the ceiling with a snort. "When, huh?" she muttered to the silence, a smirk curling along her lip.

"Confident brat, isn't he?"

The Ishval Civil War drove a wedge between them it would take years to finally breach.

She'd kept little track of her brother's status during the war, other than the occasional update on whether or not he was still alive. She'd had her hands full without having to concern herself with what Alex was doing, on top of the constant threat from Drachma that lurked like a thief at their back door – ready to strike the moment Briggs turned its head. And so she'd gotten the news of his cowardice second-hand, and the mortification had been a living thing under her skin, and the rumours vicious like a slow-working poison – The Northern Wall of Briggs, related to that Armstrong?

She'd drawn all her hard-earned respect and confidence around her like a cloak in the weeks following, dismissing the rumour with a coldness that had helped earn her her reputation as the Ice Queen. Most laughed at the comparison – the soft-hearted brother and the sister without a heart, and by the time she was back in Central and the war was finally over the animosity had grown to a festering wound. She'd heard he was at the estate, but had opted not to go home, and had left for Briggs at first opportunity. Her next letter from her father had told of how disappointed her brother had been at not being able to see her. She'd torn it to pieces.

More time passed before she once again found herself back at the family estate, and her ire had had time and a cold Briggs winter to soothe it, and when she strode in through the front doors it was with a calmness that made her father visibly wary.

She stopped before him in the foyer, dropping her bag without ceremony. "Father."

He raised a brow, but a smile curled along his mouth. "Koi. What brings you home?"

She bristled at the nickname, but let it pass. "Military business," she said simply, and threw a glance around the empty foyer. "Where is Mother?"

Philip Armstrong regarded his eldest with a knowing look. "In town with your sisters."

"Indeed," she said dismissively, and promptly picked up her bag again, "Well, I'll get settled. Call me when the meal is served."

She was halfway up the stairs when his voice reached her ears, decidedly meddling, "Alex is sitting out by the pond."

She threw a look over one shoulder. "And?"

He raised a brow. "It's been a while since you've fed the koi," he said simply, before turning to walk away.

Olivier glared after him, before stomping up the last few steps and down the corridor towards the room set aside for her infrequent visits. Dumping the bag on her bed, she made for the bathroom, but paused by the window. Overlooking the back garden and the pond, her little brother's hulking shape was easily visible – the blue of his uniform stark against the green grass.

She sighed, the sound a heavy thing, before turning on her heel and stalking out of the room, and as she walked out the back door, tried to ignore her father's knowing eyes on her back.

The trek to the koi pond was brisk and she made it with minimal effort despite the expanse of the grounds. He knew it was her – you couldn't call yourself an Armstrong without being able to distinguish between people's distinct footfalls. It was a family trait, passed down through generations.

He looked up at her approach, and she was momentarily reminded of the day she'd come home after she'd first joined the military, and he'd had his heart broken. There was heartbreak on his face now, too, but for an entirely different reason. When he finally spoke, she noted he sounded younger than should be allowed for a grown man of his age. "I'm sorry, aneue. The rumours–"

She held up a hand, cutting him off. "I can handle rumours," she spat, perhaps a bit too sharply, for he winced. She let her hand drop to her side, and regarded him for a long moment. "Can I ask why?" she asked then.

He tightened his arms around his knees. "It was wrong. All of it. I couldn't call myself an Armstrong and abide by such wanton bloodshed."

She tilted her head, gaze cold and calculating. "And what about calling yourself a soldier?" she asked. "What about your pride as a State Alchemist?"

He seemed to shrink in on himself, but when he answered his voice was sharp. "If I cannot have both, I will gladly forsake the latter."

She scoffed, but didn't correct him. It was not in her place to dictate his actions or his beliefs – it never had been. "Fine."

He looked up, surprised, and she glared back. "You honestly thought your actions would ruin my reputation? Tch. What do you take me for, Alex?"

A small smile curled along his lip. "I shouldn't have doubted you, aneue."

She snorted, and crossed her arms, gaze shifting to the koi in the pond. "Damn straight."

He didn't move for a good while, and neither did she, settling down on the grass beside him despite the fact that she'd just had her uniform ironed. Her sword she placed in the space between them, and for a brief moment shed the cloak of the Briggs General as she settled for watching the koi swim.

A while later, their youngest sister called them in for dinner, and when Olivier rose to her feet she held out a hand in silent offering. He accepted it with a trembling grin, but a sharp look had him hastily scrubbing at his eyes, muttering an apology under his breath.

When she left for Briggs later that week, it was with a lighter heart than when she'd come to Central, stepping easily back into her role and revelling in the respect shown to her by the soldiers under her command. Her brother's words lingered at the edge of her mind for days, and she turned them over in the silent hours spent in her quarters going over reports, and found that for all his cowardice, he'd had the guts to stand for his decision.

And so when the rumours reached her ears next, she did not dismiss them with as much vitriol as before.

She was close to tipping her fourth decade when the tables finally turned.

She'd rested her eyes a moment, exhaustion tugging heavily at her mind and her limbs, and when she opened them again she was being moved. She startled, and nearly threw herself backwards in alarm, but the hands carrying her kept a strong grip around her shoulders and knees, and when she looked up it was into her little brother's face. "Alex," she said, voice thick with sleep, "What–"

"The battle is over, aneue – I'm taking you to the hospital. You might have a concussion."

She snorted, and tried to move out of his grip, but he kept her still. She glared. "Alex, put me down this instant."

He ignored her. "No."

"Alex Louis Armstrong–"

The movement jarred the arm that had been put in a sling around her neck, and she hissed at the pain shooting through it. "Goddamnit!" She wanted to hit him, to make him put her down before someone caught sight of them, but the one arm not in a sling was clutched firmly beneath unyielding fingers.

She settled for glaring. "You will pay for this! If anyone sees–"

"They won't think less of you for being human, aneue," he said, cutting her off, and surprising her enough to make her rebuttal die on her tongue. And when he looked at her, it was with an uncharacteristic seriousness that struck like a physical blow. "Not after this battle, anyhow."

She fell silent, momentarily thrown by his words, and settled in her resistance with a dark look. She noted idly that he'd made a point avoiding the crowd that had gathered at the site of the final showdown of the Elric brothers, taking instead an obscure route that was sure to take more time, but that was far enough away from prying eyes for anyone to make note of their passing.

Gratitude lingered at the tip of her tongue, but her pride was a fierce thing, and so she swallowed the words. She resolved to thank him later, when she wasn't quite so battle-worn and had gotten to clear her head a bit.

For his part, Alex said nothing, and the rest of their trek to the hospital was made in silence. When she'd finally been settled in a bed despite her protests and been given something against the pain, her brother had left to check on Izumi Curtis on her behest, and she'd been left to her own devices long enough to fall into a drug-induced sleep.

When she awoke next it was with heavy-lidded eyes to a too-bright and too-warm hospital room. Her throat felt thick, and she had to blink her eyes several times before her vision adjusted.

Her brother's face popped into her line of vision then, and she started despite herself. He smiled warmly. "You're awake."

She grumbled, and shifted gingerly, "The hell did you have them give me?" she muttered. "You know I don't like being on pain medication."

He only shrugged, and shifted in his seat so that he was sitting on the edge of it – the chair looked almost ridiculously small against his great bulk. In fact, the entire room looked small next to him, and by extension, Olivier as well, devoid as she was of uniform and her fur-lined mantle.

She took note of his own uniform, shredded and stained with blood. She frowned. "Your injuries–"

He looked down, seemingly surprised he'd forgotten to change. "Ah! Oh, it's nothing – just some minor scratches!" he laughed nervously, but she didn't remind him that she knew damn well it hadn't been just scratches. She thought back to the sluggish and much-too-persistent Homunculus, and blood flowing free and red against the blue of his eyes, but didn't push the subject. Instead she shifted in her seat, and grimaced at the ache in her muscles.

She heard something clatter, and looked up to find him holding out a tray, straightening the salt-shaker that had toppled over with a warm smile. Placing it in her lap, he removed the napkin that had been folded across the plates. "I thought you might be hungry when you woke up," he said simply at her incredulous look.

"Alex," she said, gaze on the plate before her, displaying all her favourite indulgences – things she hadn't even been aware he'd known about. Olive-bread with a thick slice of cheese, a glass of orange juice and coffee that looked strong enough to dissolve the porcelain of the cup. Cherry tomatoes and one hard-boiled egg. And on the side, on its own little plate, a piece of rich chocolate cake and a large, red strawberry.

When she looked up, he was beaming, blue eyes crinkling at the corners, and despite herself and her pride fierce-like-the-Northern-cold, she felt an ache at the bottom of her ribcage, and she thought of the men she'd lost and the near staggering relief that the boy-turned-man standing before her hadn't been amongst them. But she couldn't get the words out – lodged as they were at the base of her throat.

His gaze softened suddenly, and he proffered the tray again, adjusting it so it balanced in her lap. "I know," he said then, and her eyes widened. He smiled. "I know you, aneue, and you are welcome. I'm happy to."

His fingers uncurling from the edge of the tray, he turned for the door. "I'll leave you to your meal–"

"Alex."

He turned back, surprise evident in his eyes, and Olivier smiled, proffering the small plate with the chocolate cake. "Keep me company?"

His grin was wide and bright like the open sky over Briggs, and Olivier found, not for the first time in her nearly forty years, that having a younger brother truly wasn't the worst thing imaginable.

AN: Written because these two deserve all the love in the world and more. Please drop a word if you've got the time; feedback is always appreciated!

aneue/nee-chan: older sister

otouto: little brother