Title: Fort Briggs and a Little Lady
Fandoms: Fullmetal Alchemist, Yotsuba&!
Characters: Falman, Buccaneer, Miles, Yotsuba
Word Count: 627
Summary: Of all the babyfic I ever thought I might possibly be perpetrating in my life, Fort Briggs babyfic was not top of the list. You probably don't actually need to know Yotsuba to enjoy this. You probably do need to find the concept of Fort Briggs + five-year-old-child inexplicably hilarious to enjoy this . . .
It had been over a decade since Fort Briggs had concluded an enemy encounter with anything less than a crushing victory.
Falman's last thought before he fell to the ground with a groan, clutching his stomach, was that it seemed a shame to break the record.
“GOTCHA!” shrieked Yotsuba, jumping up and down with glee. “You're dead meat, buster!” She shot the water pistol again, directed up this time; the jet knocked a few pebbles of ice free from the railing above them and they showered down, bouncing off her woolen bobble hat and clattering to the iron walkway.
Buccaneer loomed over the little girl like a mountain overshadowing a nettle bush. “Nice shot,” he boomed, and spritzed her in the ankle.
“Ahhhh!” Yotsuba flopped backwards with an artistic groan, then, apparently, changed her mind, because she popped up again a second later. “No, you didn't get Yotsuba!”
“Yes,” said Buccaneer, “I did.” He glowered down at her, drawing himself up to his full and immense height. “No cheating.”
“Yotsuba,” Yotsuba informed him, with great dignity, “has an automail leg now.”
“Unless you had special cold-weather automail, it would freeze,” Falman put in helpfully, propping himself back up again. “So you wouldn't have been able to move to shoot me.”
“Yotsuba does got special cold-weather automail!”
“Yotsuba didn't even know special cold-weather automail existed until -”
Major Miles coughed from behind them. It was a very particular and recognizable cough. Falman jumped to his feet and whirled around; Buccaneer turned more slowly, projecting what was probably an attempt at his usual ferocity and was coming off mostly as sheepishness. Yotsuba beamed.
“We're off-duty!” said Falman, before the Major could ask. In fact, it had been strongly suggested that a certain second lieutenant to use his off-duty time as babysitting duty until the child's parent could be located. Some might have protested the unfairness of this, but at least Yotsuba wasn't a hollow automail serial killer; it could have been worse.
(Falman wasn't sure what Buccaneer's excuse for being there was, but he wasn't complaining about it either.)
“I know,” said Miles, patiently. “In fact, I have a question for Yotsuba.”
“Yotsuba is guarding the wall!”
Miles eyed Yotsuba. He wore the wary expression of a man who is not going to underestimate an opponent. “I've noticed.”
Hastily, Falman brushed the ice crusting from Yotsuba's kill-shot off the front of his uniform.
“The Major General would like to know,” Miles went on, “where Yotsuba acquired the water pistols.”
Falman blinked, and then blinked again as he watched Buccaneer's face turn an awkward shade of red. “Might've asked Engineer Neil to whip up something in his spare time yesterday,” he growled. “Had an hour free, so . . . why do you ask?”
“First,” said Miles, each word like a dagger aimed straight at Buccaneer's large target, “because the door from the barracks to the left gate has been frozen shut for the last half hour and the Major General would like to know who besides Yotsuba should be considered responsible . . .”
Falman concentrated very hard on not snickering, as any sign of amusement would inevitably rebound upon him in at least three directions very shortly afterwards.
“. . . and second,” continued Miles, “because she'd like another sixteen experimental models made up, with twice the range and three times the force, and your division to start training in them immediately once you return to duty, Captain.”
Before Buccaneer had a chance to respond, Yotsuba saluted smartly. “Aye, aye, sir!”
For the second time that day, Falman lost his battle.
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