Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Miles stood by the window of his office, looking outside as Ishval slowly rose from the rubble. There was still a great deal of work that needed to be done to restore the country, but if nothing else, the people were resilient. They'd proved it for years, living in exile after the razing of their land and their people, clinging to their culture on the borders of Amestris as they were looked down on with scorn or pity…

And even so, most of them had chosen a path of peace. It was something that he couldn't quite understand: even though he had never set foot in the land of his grandfather before now, had only the faintest ties to this country, even he had felt some resentment for what the army had done. If it hadn't been for Major General Armstrong, he probably would have left the military. But that would have been all: as an individual, one without any real ties to Ishval, what could he have done? Prayed to a god that he didn't believe in, one that had done nothing to stop the war and the forced diaspora? Stood up as one man against the unstoppable force of the Amestris military?

Yet, one man had tried to do just that, and Miles' eyes fell on Scar, dressed again in the robes of a warrior-priest as he helped load some rubble into a cart to clear the foundations of a destroyed house before it was rebuilt. Although he had returned to the Ishvalan faith, Miles wondered if his renunciation of it was what had set him apart from the others. It wasn't the first time that he had contemplated this: it was why he was here. To rebuild Ishval, of course, but to make it stronger than before, to try to prevent a similar calamity from ever happening again. The Ishvallan people had been too passive, unable to fight back, and if their blind devotion to Ishvalla had been the cause of it, then they had to create a system of governance that would allow for the flourishing of new knowledge and technology rather than relying only on tradition.

But to them, he was little more than an outsider. He couldn't unilaterally force his ideas and plans on them, as it would only breed resentment and distrust, especially with his former affiliations. Which was why he'd invited Scar to come with him: he understood the people and the culture much better than Miles, so together, they might be able to formulate some sort of solution that could be accepted and implemented. To that end, they had agreed on a division of power: a legislative side to provide a more modern system of governance, working alongside the former theocracy of Ishval to maintain the history and traditions of the people.

There had been some pushback and concerns about his proposal to let a mass murderer roam free, of course, but even in the short time they'd spent together, Miles had believed that Scar could be trusted, and with this task in particular. His passion and love for the people and the country was obvious as he took an active role in trying to rebuild it: Miles had already been waiting for an hour beyond their appointed meeting time, as Scar had apparently been waylaid on his way. But he didn't mind: there was just something… pleasant… about watching the other man work, back among the people he'd fought so hard to avenge.

The sun was starting to set, the rest of the crowd dispersing as the growing shadows made it hard to keep working, before Scar continued on his way, and Miles hastily returned to his desk, lighting a candle while looking over his notes again. He didn't want to be found lacking by the other man, especially after Scar had spent almost two hours on physical labor on top of his own work. And when the knock came on his door, Miles took a deep breath before standing up.

"Come in."

He watched the door open before Scar stepped in, slightly dusty from his efforts, before approaching his desk while pulling some crumpled papers out of his robes.

"I apologize for my tardiness."

It was just like the man: no excuses or explanations, and Miles shook his head slightly.

"It's alright. Should we push back our meetings to later in the day? After the sun has set?"

It would be a slight inconvenience, but Miles didn't mind staying in his office or coming back to it after the rest of the staff had left for the day to accommodate the other man's—and the country's—needs. Scar seemed to contemplate the suggestion for a moment before he nodded curtly.

"That would be appreciated. With regard to our last discussion, I have prepared a proposal for your review. In particular, I believe that it is important for the Council of Elders to have some say in the governance of Ishval, which I have outlined here."

Miles accepted the papers that Scar offered him, starting slightly when their hands touched. But the other man didn't seem to notice, and Miles coughed before starting to flip through the pages. He could understand Scar's rationale: it would lend more legitimacy to the new system of government if the old one was involved in a transition period, at the very least.

However, in that regard, the other man's proposal was too aggressive. Rather than a transition with a reasonable timeline, it seemed to push for a bicameral legislature, a prospect that could tip the balance too far in favor of the old traditions that had led to the one-sided massacre in the first place.

But in the end, Scar was the one who knew these people the best. If he believed that this could work, then perhaps Miles shouldn't question it simply based on his own biases and preconceptions.

"Well, I suppose we can try this and see how it works out—" he began diplomatically, only to be interrupted by Scar.

"Bullshit."

Startled, Miles looked up again, staring into narrowed red eyes.

"I know that you wouldn't accept this. Everything else I've brought to you, you've argued about it, so I came prepared to negotiate on several points. But you're telling me that this is okay? What's gotten into you?"

Miles felt his face warming at the accusations, and he hoped that the color didn't actually show under his complexion. Scar was right, of course, but the other man had been putting so much effort into his work that it didn't feel right to keep rejecting his suggestions because he didn't have enough bureaucratic experience. And they were gradually growing more workable: while he did have reservations about this plan, he could work with Scar to adjust it as they began to implement it.

But he could hardly explain that to Scar. The other man was proud, and any suggestion that Miles was coddling him ran the risk of ruining the working relationship they had built over the last few months, the trust that Miles himself had been working to earn.

Yet, he couldn’t come up with another excuse.

“Are you ill? We can do this another time.”

Scar reached out as if to take his papers back, but Miles tugged them away before he could, shaking his head. Belatedly, he realized that perhaps he should have accepted that explanation, shrugged it off and agreed to reschedule at a time when he could steady himself and address Scar with the professionalism that he deserved. So the other man could only stare at him, bemused, as Miles grasped for words.

“I didn’t mean that we would implement this in full as you’ve written. There are elements of it that cause me some concern, but you’re also the one who knows this place and its people better than I do. So on reflection, I thought it might be better to let you take the lead on this and offer my suggestions for your review, rather than the other way around.”

Scar was still staring at him, but his expression was growing more inscrutable as Miles tried to provide an explanation. Once he’d finished, the silence between them continued to grow, Miles’ grip on the papers tightening until Scar finally broke it.

“Do you know what they say about you?”

Miles didn’t need to ask who “they” were. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to know, either: he might look like anyone else here, but even so, he was a foreigner, an invader, a representative of the army that had crushed these people underfoot. But Scar didn’t wait for a response before he continued speaking.

“A good man. One who cares about them. Someone who is trying to help. They see it when you go to the marketplace after you finish work, to buy dinner and talk to them. When you listen to their stories and their grievances with patience and compassion.

“They didn’t trust you at first, I won’t deny that. All the petty little squabbles they kept bringing to you at the beginning were a way to try to test you, to see what kind of person you were. Now that they know, they trust you.”

Scar paused for a moment before adding, “... and so do I.”

Trust. Miles still couldn’t speak, shaken by such a heavy responsibility that he hadn’t expected to be bestowed upon him. It was different from the trust he’d given to Scar when they’d hatched their plan to escape Kimblee: he’d believed in the man’s pride as an Ishvallan, so he’d made him swear upon it. And again when he’d proposed bringing him here to help rebuild the country he’d loved. But even though he’d admired Scar’s convictions, he couldn’t have brought himself to trust the man, not until he’d seen him, here, among the people. Until he’d seen more than the murderer blinded by vengeance, using the arms that Miles had only known to destroy to protect and rebuild.

His thoughts were interrupted by Scar clearing his throat, still composed as he gestured to the documents that Miles was still clutching.

“So don’t hold back. This is your area of expertise, not mine. But we both want the same thing: a country that won’t again suffer from the indignities that were inflicted on it in the past. We all want that.”

Miles nodded, feeling a little abashed, as he lay the papers down on his desk, fanning them out so that he could start to point out the sections that he had concerns about before starting an earnest discussion of each with the other man.

Chapter Text

He’d had to light another candle as their debates had ended up drawn out, as usual, but in the end, the two men had finally come to an agreement. With room for further modifications depending on what happened during the implementation of their plans, but now that the country was starting to come back together, they were ready to start offering structure to its governance, as well. But as he shuffled the papers back into a neat pile, Scar spoke again.

“What really happened, earlier?”

Miles looked up from his desk, his eyes wide with surprise. He’d thought that Scar had accepted his admittedly weak excuses, or at least had had enough grace not to pry further. But the other man was standing solidly in front of him, arms crossed over his chest, while he stared at Miles.

“We’ve been working together for a while, so why the sudden change of heart? I’m no different than I was last week.”

Usually, Miles found Scar’s bluntness refreshing, not unlike Major General Armstrong’s, but belatedly, he realized that having it directed at him was unsettling. Which was probably how the Ice Queen’s enemies felt when she had them in her sights. It demanded honesty, stripped away all pretense, and wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. So no matter how much his brain scrambled for an explanation, another excuse, what finally came out of his mouth was the truth.

“You haven’t changed… I have.”

His voice was tinged with defeat as he lowered his gaze, unable to meet the piercing stare.

“I realized today, when I was watching you work… that I respect and admire you, deeply. Your dedication to Ishval and its people is something that I found striking ever since I first heard about you, but after getting to know you better, my feelings have become more… complicated."

Scar didn't respond, and Miles glanced up briefly to take in his somewhat bemused expression. He couldn't blame the other man: it was understandably unsettling, but just as he was about to ask Scar to forget it, the other man spoke.

"I want to make sure that I'm not misunderstanding you. Are you saying that you… have romantic intentions?"

"No. No, no, not intentions," Miles hastened to explain. "I am interested in you, but I have no expectations of anything in that regard. It wouldn't be right for me to pursue you in my position. But it did lead to a lapse in judgment, and I apologize."

Scar seemed to mull his answer over some more as Miles continued to neaten up the edges of the pages unnecessarily, He just wanted the other man to excuse himself and leave as he always did so Miles could collapse and re-center himself so that this wouldn't happen again, but Scar continued to wait silently. Finally, he decided to take the initiative himself, clearing his throat as he set the papers down on the corner of his desk.

"Anyways, it's late, so we should call it a day," he insisted firmly. "As per our earlier discussion, would 6 pm next week be acceptable to you?"

"That works for me," Scar agreed, and Miles suppressed the urge to sigh in relief. Only for the other man to continue, "If we are done for today, then may I invite you to dinner?"

Miles' head shot up to stare at Scar, who calmly clarified, "I just want to talk, of my own volition."

It was a terrible idea. But the idea of spending more time with the other man, in a more casual setting, was far too tempting.

After a moment's hesitation, Miles nodded.

"Please just give me a few minutes to put this away, and then I'll meet you outside," he requested, still wanting to put some space between them so he could gather his feelings and thoughts. To his relief, Scar nodded before leaving his office, allowing Miles to sink back down into his chair and drop his face into his hands. His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to fend off his impending headache as he tried to sort through the events of the evening. None of it had gone as planned, and he was already starting to regret his latest decision. Everything had happened so fast, and he was relieved that Scar didn't seem to be too uncomfortable with his unexpected realization.

He wasn't sure what more there was for them to talk about, but after he'd taken a few deep breaths and moved their revised proposal to a drawer, he headed out, meeting Scar outside the building.

The other man didn't say anything, though, as he headed toward the open-air market, greeting one of the vendors before ordering two lamb wraps and leading the way to a crumbling wall. Along the bottom edge, Miles noticed the tell-tale marks of alchemy, but it didn't seem to bother Scar as he took a seat on it and offered him one of the wraps. Miles accepted it with polite thanks before also perching on the wall, though he didn't feel particularly hungry as he took a bite and waited for Scar to speak.

"I've never given much thought to love and romance," Scar began between bites of his own food. "I never had the time or interest, mainly. Between the training for priesthood and my family, that was enough for me. Of course, I'd thought about having a family of my own eventually, but it wasn't something that I was seriously considering at the time."

Miles nodded, but he wasn't entirely sure where this was going. He had an idea, though: with another man, Scar wasn't likely to achieve that family he wanted. And it made sense: in his position, he was expected to have children and ensure the continuance of his family and his country. Still, he appreciated the other man taking the time to explain.

"And when I was consumed by vengeance, all I had was hatred. Despite that, you treated me with respect and gave me a chance. From everything that I've seen—and from everything that my brethren have seen—you're an honorable man. So if you are alright with me, I would like to try to accept your feelings.”

Miles froze mid-bite, and then he began to choke, his food suddenly getting stuck in his frozen throat. Frowning slightly, Scar leaned closer to pound him on the back firmly until a half-chewed wad of lamb fell between their feet and Miles could breathe again. But he stared at Scar with wide-eyed surprise, struggling yet again to put his thoughts in order.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Scar asked, still frowning.

Yes. No, not like this. But Scar seemed to be fine with waiting for an answer, so Miles just focused on catching his breath until he finally sighed heavily.

“I don’t… I don’t want you to do this out of some sense of obligation to me. That’s not why I told you about my feelings. I’m fine if we just continue as we have been doing so far,” he tried to explain, starting to ramble in his nervousness. It hadn’t happened at Briggs—Major General Armstrong would have never stood for it—but he had heard stories about superior officers pressuring subordinates into accepting their advances. Their situation wasn’t quite like that, but if Scar had the wrong idea… but the other man was shaking his head.

“That’s not why I’m doing this. I am interested in you. I’m not sure if it’s in the same way, but I’d like to find out.”

Miles wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he just finished eating his meal in silence. After he’d folded his napkin neatly, Scar stood up and began to walk away, taking a few steps before looking back over his shoulder.

“Are you coming?”

“Where?”

Scar’s hand rose to rub the back of his neck, looking a little discomfited for the first time.

“Home.”

Home.

Miles had never really had a reason to visit Scar’s house. He’d wanted to, to make sure that the other man had what he needed, that he wasn’t living in squalid conditions. He didn’t expect luxury, of course—Scar wasn’t that type of person, and there wasn’t much that they could really get, out in the desert—but he at least ought to be comfortable. Everyone did, deserved to be treated with dignity as fellow humans, even as they picked up the remains of their lives.

But it had also felt like an imposition of sorts. Ostensibly, Miles was supposed to keep an eye on Scar, to make sure that he didn’t run off and start murdering State Alchemists again. But he didn’t want the other man to feel like he was a prisoner watched over at every moment of the day. So he’d tried to keep a reasonable distance, let him have a space of his own.

Scar was still waiting, and Miles quickly got to his feet, trying not to rush and seem overeager as he caught up to him.

“Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

Scar’s home was simple. Ascetic, as befitting a warrior monk. But there was also something lonely about it: Miles’ own quarters were also bereft of unnecessary decorations, but he still had a few things lying around: the goggles he’d used at Briggs, a few personal letters, mementos of his time at the military academy… but Scar had no past.

They both sat down again in his living room, which was a relief: Miles wasn’t sure that he was mentally prepared to venture into the other man’s bedroom yet. But the silence stretched awkwardly between them again, both of them seeming to struggle to find words to say, before Scar cleared his throat.

“How did you want to do this?”

How? Miles had never considered it. He’d only just realized his feelings, and he still couldn’t understand why Scar had accepted them. But Scar was staring at him again, and Miles could only confess the truth.

“I’m not sure. How do you want to do it?”

Uncharacteristically, the other man hesitated, and he looked away, a touch of color staining his cheeks.

“I don’t want to be the receiver.”

Oh.

Again, Miles found himself at a loss for words. He hadn’t thought that far, yet: he’d been thinking more generically, about building up a relationship. They might be able to get there eventually, but now that it was a possibility, he wanted to do things properly. To make sure that they were both comfortable and that Scar didn’t feel that Miles was just using him. So after he considered it for a little longer, he nodded.

“I’m okay with that. But we don’t need to rush into it. Don’t get me wrong: I am interested, but I’m more interested in you. So we can take our time and get to know each other better first.”

Scar seemed to relax a little, his gaze returning to Miles as he also nodded.

“Then, tell me about your family. Where did you get your blood from?”

He gestured toward Miles, who understood what he was trying to say. If someone didn’t know any better, they might have mistaken him for a full-blooded Ishvalan. Especially if they saw his eyes: the snow goggles he’d worn at Briggs had been for more than just reducing glare. Major General Armstrong might have run the fortress as her own castle, but when he’d joined Briggs, the army wouldn’t have taken kindly to her openly flouting their decree to have all soldiers of Ishvalan descent imprisoned.

“My grandfather.”

Miles paused, taking a breath as Scar waited for him to continue.

“He… was killed during the civil war. Along with all my relatives on that side. But when I was younger, he used to visit us, sometimes. In my memories, he was a gentle man: kind, always smiling, ready to sneak me a small toy or a sweet. He didn’t like fighting or war, but when I was accepted to the military academy, he sent me a letter. Encouraging me to do my best to protect my country.”

And soon after he’d graduated, that military had been ordered to exterminate their own people.

“He told me stories, too. About Ishval. I’d always wanted to come here, someday. To visit him and see the land that he loved. But now it’s too late.”

He didn’t even notice that Scar had moved, but suddenly, there was another hand covering his own, warm and comforting. And when he looked up, the eyes that stared back at him were a little softer than usual.

“We’ll find him. Where he lived, what he saw… and we’ll go there. He sounds like a good man: I wish I could have met him.”

“He was.”

Miles couldn’t say any more than that as his throat tightened. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, since neither of them really knew what the future would hold, but the casual promise meant more to him than he could ever express. And then Scar’s other hand was reaching out, resting hesitantly on his cheek as the other man leaned closer, and Miles’ eyes widened as his heart beat a little faster.

Scar's lips were soft as they whispered against his with barely any pressure. He seemed to be a little hesitant, so Miles pressed back, which seemed to encourage the other man. His hand slid around to rest against the back of Miles' head, adjusting their positions to something that felt more natural to both of them as they simply kissed, drawing comfort from each other.

He wasn't sure how long it had been before Scar drew back, his own breath coming a little quicker. But his expression suggested he hadn't disliked it: his eyes met Miles' steadily while a touch of color stained his cheeks. His scarlet irises seemed to scan Miles' own face, trying to gauge his feelings, and Miles smiled, a little self-consciously.

"Thank you, but you didn't have to do that. Just your words were enough for me—"

But Scar was shaking his head, his brows furrowing as his expression slowly changed to one of bemusement.

"I wanted to do it. When I saw how you looked…"

He trailed off, and Miles couldn't stop himself from shaking his head, still smiling. Scar had never been very sociable, but Miles had never seen him at a loss for words, either. It was… different. New. And he couldn't help but feel a little pleased that he was seeing another side of Scar—that the other man was allowing himself to show some vulnerability in Miles' presence.

"Thank you," he repeated softly. "I appreciate it, truly. But are you alright?"

To his surprise, Scar's flush deepened, and the other man looked away. That was different, too, but in a way that made Miles' chest tighten, afraid of the answer. Perhaps, after the moment had passed, Scar had realized that he couldn't do this, after all. But if so, Miles just wanted the other man to tell him that in his direct, frank way.

"Scar?"

He was answered by a dry chuckle, and Scar finally looked back at him. His cheeks were still flushed, and his eyes shone a little, while a self-deprecating smile played on his lips. As Miles struggled to understand what it meant, Scar sighed.

"It seems that I can't take it slow, after all. Do you think that you'd be up to it?"

Up to..?

Realization struck him, and Miles' eyes widened as his own cheeks heated up. He glanced at the other man, but Scar's clothes were too loose for him to notice anything in particular. But if Scar was ready to try…

"If it's alright with you."

Scar nodded, getting to his feet and offering Miles his hand. A little anxiously, Miles took it, letting the other man lead him to the adjoining room. His bedroom.

It was just as simple as his living room: a clean mattress in the corner and a wooden chest that Miles assumed held his clothes and whatever else Scar needed.

Then, he remembered that they'd need something else.

"Do you have any lotion? Or even just oil?" he asked, feeling embarrassed again. "When it's between men, something like that is necessary. It won't be comfortable otherwise, for either of us."

Scar seemed to consider it for a moment before nodding, leaving the room—and Miles—before quickly returning with a small, glass bottle and offering it to him. When he unstoppered it, the rich scent of olives rose to his nose, and Miles nodded.

"This should do."

"What should I do?"

Miles felt his face burning: talking through all of this was more embarrassing than he'd expected. Especially since this was his first time with a man, too. He understood the theory—there were more than a few same-sex partners in the military, and they enjoyed gossiping as much as any other couple on average—but he'd never wanted to put it into practice. Until now.

"I… ah… need to prepare myself. Would you mind turning your back? I'll try not to keep you waiting."

Scar looked a little confused, but he nodded, turning around to face the wall. Taking a deep breath, Miles stripped before crouching on his bed and dribbling some olive oil onto his fingers. Then, he reached behind him and began to rub around his hole. The slick feeling of the oil on his skin was strange, but he couldn't dwell on it for long, not with Scar waiting for him to finish.

Even so, it took him longer than he thought it would to build up the confidence to slip a finger inside with a soft grunt. That felt even stranger, but he concentrated on working it in and out. He wasn't sure how to tell when it was enough, but as he gradually grew accustomed to the intrusion, his tense muscles starting to relax, he added more oil just to be safe before looking over his shoulder at Scar, who was still staring at the wall.

"I'm ready now." I hope.

Scar turned around, taking slow, deliberate steps toward Miles before joining him on the bed. Only then did Miles notice that the other man's breathing was also uneven, his lips dry as his eyes slid over Miles' body. It made him feel self-conscious, but as Scar began to take off his clothes, too, found himself staring at the toned, scarred body that was revealed.

It was the body of a survivor, honed with years of training that had ultimately protected him… though at great cost. And as the loose robes fell, Miles glanced away, but not before noticing that the other man was larger than he'd expected.

"Is this still okay?"

Scar's voice was rougher, slightly strained but still considerate. After another deep breath, Miles nodded, feeling the mattress sink slightly as Scar repositioned himself on it. He could feel the warmth emanating off the other man's body as he leaned over him and rested large hands on his waist, smell the sweat from his earlier exertions. There was something familiar and comforting about it, but he still flinched slightly when he felt Scar press against him. Before he could ask again, though, Miles spoke first.

"Just… take it slow."

"Alright."

As the pressure increased, Miles continued to take long, slow breaths, trying to stay relaxed while Scar slowly pressed inside. He could feel his body stretching around the other man: while it was uncomfortable, it wasn't painful, which he thought was a good sign. But then Scar slid over something, and Miles suddenly gasped, tensing around Scar.

"Miles? Are you alright?"

Scar's movements had stopped, but Miles wanted them to continue, to feel that shock of pleasure again. So he shook his head, his breath shuddering as he spoke.

"It's fine. It just… felt so good. I was surprised. Please, keep going."

Scar seemed to be hesitating, so Miles rolled his hips instead, sinking lower on his cock with a stifled moan. He was starting to grow more accustomed to the feeling of penetration, and as he rocked back onto Scar, his pleasure continued to build. It seemed to reassure Scar, and he started to move again, still slow and careful despite his own quickening breath. Too slow, and Miles groaned in frustration.

"Faster," he urged, and Scar seemed happy to comply, his thrusts lengthening even as they sped up, sending waves of pleasure through Miles. They crashed against each other, resonating as they built toward a peak, and Miles panted and moaned as he thrust back, chasing the bright spark. He felt dizzy—almost delirious—as he listened to Scar's own broken gasps and felt the press of skin on skin.

Then, he cried out as he came, tightening around Scar again before he felt the other man swell even larger inside him, groaning as he flooded Miles with warmth. He collapsed onto the bed, Scar following him down and pressing his chest against Miles' back as they both struggled to catch their breath. Despite their awkward position, it felt comfortable—and all the more so when Scar's arm snaked around him in a loose embrace. He thought that he could even feel the other man's heartbeat, racing like his own. It all made it harder for him to calm down, and eventually, Scar spoke after a long, slow inhale.

"Was that alright?"

Miles nodded, still struggling to speak, and Scar's arm pulled him closer.

"I'm glad. I… enjoyed it."

Somehow, those words filled Miles with a sense of pride, and he reached up to rest a hand against Scar's arm as his throat worked to squeeze out his words.

"I did, too."