Work Text:
Where does one even start, when tasked with rebuilding a country? A life? A future?
Miles is a military man, practical, down to earth. He wants to start with the basics and work upwards. First, make sure that people have food and water, shelter, medical care. There's value in that, to be sure. As the Ishvalans return to their homeland, they need to be able to survive there, first and foremost.
But Miles wasn't raised in Ishval, and he doesn't know its people like Scar does. Scar believes that even as they provide nourishment for the people's bodies, they also need to ensure nourishment for their spirits, which have been so wounded and battered over the years of war and of exile. Start at the highest level, he believes, and the rest will follow from that. And so the first thing he sets to work on rebuilding is the High Temple.
He works on it himself, alone at first, then alongside others as more gradually arrive. He spends his days in hard labor, using his strength to carry wood and stone instead of to kill. It's grueling work, especially as the sun rises higher, but he doesn't complain. At noon, everyone takes a break to eat and wait out the heat for a few hours, and then Scar goes to find Miles.
"Put me to work," he says the first time. "There must be something I can work on."
Miles takes a look at him and pours him a cup of water instead. "There always is, but you're not a machine. Rest. Breathe." After Scar reluctantly sits down and takes a few sips, Miles says, "You do know this isn't supposed to be a punishment, right?"
It's not a punishment, but it is, he thinks, a penance of sorts. If he can do enough good here, maybe eventually he can balance out the bad - maybe he can justify being alive when so many more worthy than him are not. He isn't sure he can explain that to Miles, though, so he just nods.
Miles comes to sit beside him. "I know it seems insurmountable - like unless we work every instant of every day, it won't be enough. But there are two things I know. The first one is, we don't have to do this alone. Already there are more people here than there were a month ago, and more will come after them."
Scar nods, seeing the truth in that. "And the second?"
"The second is, it will never be done. It won't be done in our lifetimes, or our children's, or their children's. The work always has to be ongoing, to keep things from falling back into war and ruin."
"That isn't exactly a compelling argument for taking a break." Scar leaves aside that neither of them have children, or are likely to at this rate.
"It's an argument for pacing ourselves," Miles replies. "Do you want to dig yourself into an early grave, or be here in fifty years to see the results of our work?" When Scar doesn't answer, Miles says, "Let me put it another way: I want you to be here in fifty years." He puts his hand over Scar's, and Scar doesn't instantly pull away, but he does tense up, unused to being touched like that. Miles doesn't press the matter, and withdraws his hand. "So that means work hard, but take breaks too. Trust that the task will continue, in one way or another, even while we rest."
Miles has a bedroll in his tent, and he always lies down there for a nap around midday. The heat bothers him more than it does Scar - he's been at Briggs for so long that his system finds it hard to adjust - and this is the best way he's found to cope with it. After enough persuasion, Scar starts lying down too. He doesn't usually sleep, but it's a break nevertheless, and that seems to make Miles happy. Somehow, at a moment in time he can't pinpoint, making Miles happy became something that matters to him.
He likes that when Miles lies down to rest, he takes his glasses off. It's an unguarded moment, strangely revealing, that few get to see. Once he wore them to protect against the glare of the snow - now he wears them as protection from the blazing sun and the grains of sand that the wind kicks up. As Miles dreams, Scar watches over him. Sometimes Miles sighs or moans in his sleep, but he quiets when Scar puts an arm around him. They all have their own reasons for nightmares, and he doesn't need to pry. From there, it becomes a natural step to lie nestled together, Miles' back against Scar's front. He sleeps better than way, and sometimes Scar even drifts off too.
One afternoon he wakes with a momentary start and finds they've shifted, rolling over in their sleep, so that Miles is embracing him, pressed up against his back. Scar remembers where he is and lets out his breath, and his muscles relax. It feels good - safe. It feels like home.
"Your hair is getting long," Miles mumbles, nuzzling the back of Scar's neck, and Scar, finally, smiles. Ishval's rebuilding will go on for years - maybe forever - but he can imagine it now, and his place within it, with Miles' help.