Chapter Text
“People of Amestris, today will always be a day marked by sorrow. We stand now, in the settling dust of a coup d’etat, and wonder how it all went wrong. But, we also have hope. Even in light of all that’s happened today, we have the chance to move forward as a nation--unified--and rebuild. So, for today, let’s focus on what matters: the nation is safe. Tomorrow is a new day.”
“General Grumman,General Grumman! A few questions!”
“Go ahead.”
“Why did Briggs march on Central?”
“Who killed the Fuhrer?”
“How much of High Command was involved?”
“How can we be sure we’re safe now?”
“Is it true there was an alchemical component?!”
“Ladies, gentlemen, one at a time, please! To begin with, we know several of the deceased generals: Gardner, Fox, and Raven were involved in the conspiracy. Of the living generals, Edison and Clemin, are being held awaiting court martial-”
“What about General Armstrong?”
“Wasn’t General Raven missing prior to-”
The radio shut off with a click and Miles’ head snapped up, as his hand went to his gun, but it was only Karley.
“It’s enough to make you sick isn’t it, Sir?”
“Hmm?” Miles stretched the crick in his neck and glanced at the clock. It was extremely late, especially for a press conference, but it wasn’t every day a coup d’etat shook the foundations of the country.
“General Grumman wasn’t even here and he’s-”
“I wasn’t either.” Miles spoke less to the lieutenant and more to the unconscious figure on the makeshift infirmary bed he was sitting beside.
“Sorry, Sir, I didn’t mean-” the lieutenant trailed off looking pained, and Miles let it slide.
“It’s alright, Lieutenant, you should go get some rest. There’s still a lot of work to do.”
“With respect, Sir, maybe you should rest. I’ve already had a sleep shift. I can watch the general.”
“Lieutenant, I-”
“You don’t need to sit up all night, Sir. The whole mansion is being used as overflow for the hospital. I’ll sit outside and guard the door. No one will look at it twice.”
Miles glared sharply. “What are you implying, Lieutenant?”
Karley raised his brows at him. “Do you know what it takes to be a successful gossip-monger in Briggs? It’s not about running around finding out secrets to tell, but about knowing everyone’s secrets and deciding which are safe to tell and which should remain secret.” He smiled. “With respect, Sir, you and the general were always a secret worth keeping.”
“Oh.” He frowned. “Alright, then. Go ahead.”
Karley drew back and saluted. “Yes, Sir!”
---
Miles woke to the sound of a scream and nearly catapulted out of bed from the sheer shock. He switched on the light and grabbed a knife from the bedside table. He didn’t need it, however; he and Olivier were alone in the room. She was no longer screaming, but sitting bolt upright with an arm across her face. For a moment, he was bewildered and then the horrible truth hit him; she hadn’t stopped screaming, rather she had muffled the sound by biting her own arm.
He caught her shoulder with one hand, and with the other gently pulled her arm free. “Liv, wake up. It’s just a nightmare, love. Wake up.” Her eyes snapped open and she stared at him. Tears ran down her cheeks. “Hey, love,” he reached up to wipe at her tears, “are you alright?”
“I-” she faltered, looking around, trying to get her bearings, “I’m fine.”
“Please don’t lie to me.” He moved closer to her, sliding his hand to her back and rubbing it soothingly. She hissed when he got too close to her fractured ribs and he murmured a soft apology. “What were you dreaming about?”
“I don’t remember.”
Miles studied her for a moment, debating pressing her, but he decided against it. He waited silently in the semi-darkness.
“Buccaneer is dead.” She wasn’t looking at him.
Fresh grief washed over him. “I know.” He watched her; she continued staring at the wall. “I’m so sorry, Liv.” She swallowed, as though forcing back tears. “I can’t stop thinking if only I were here-”
“Don’t!” Olivier cut him off sharply. “There is no room in Briggs for ‘if only’s and ‘what if’s. They accomplish nothing and serve no one.”
Her tone was so harsh that he replied, “Yes, Sir!” almost on instinct.
“Grief is for the weak!” She snarled, but then spoke more softly. “I lost a lot of men today.”
He took her uninjured hand, small and cold, in his. “We lost a lot of men today.”
“It is the price of war.” Her voice was steady, but she tilted her face just enough for him to see the tears still running down her cheeks.
“It is.” He agreed. “Doesn’t mean you can’t grieve.”
She looked at him, at last; her face was still damp with tears, though she was no longer crying. “He was my friend, and this seems so naive, but I-” she swallowed thickly “I just never thought I could lose him.”
“I know, love.”
They sat in silence for so long Miles wondered if Olivier had fallen asleep sitting up, but then she spoke. “Did you hear Fox is dead?”
He hesitated. “Did you-?”
“No.” He let out a breath of relief, but she continued. “Technically, I didn’t kill him, but only because the homunculus smashed him. I was disappointed to find out Blackburn wasn’t in on the conspiracy. I would have loved the excuse to take him out.”
“You shouldn’t say that, Olivier-”
“I shot General Gardner in the head.”
“Oh.”
“Officially, I’ll be responsible for Fox’s death, I’m sure.” She spoke as casually as though discussing the weather.
“That makes three Generals, Liv.”
“I can count, thanks.” She scoffed.
“You’ll never be Fuhrer.” He murmured, concern lacing his voice. “They’re going to try and blame you for as much as possible, Liv. The more Edison and Clemin can pin on you, the lighter their sentencing. And anything Blackburn can use against you, he will.”
Olivier scowled at his tone. “You worry too much. They’ll destroy each other in their desperation to shift the blame.” But, when she spoke next, it was the most defeated he had ever heard her. “You’re right. I’ve lost it all.”
Miles considered her for a long minute. “You saved your country. That’s always been what mattered most to you.” She snorted, but didn’t respond. “Your family is safe, thanks to you. And you still have me,” he offered with a self-depreciating smile, “whatever that’s worth.”
“No.”
“Er, sorry?”
She drew a breath and looked at him head-on. “I’m about to lose you, too.” He opened his mouth to question her, absolutely bewildered, but closed it again. She continued with a bitter snort. “To Mustang, of all people.”
“I would never-” he interjected, offended.
“Yes, you will.” She smiled at him suddenly, making him all the more nervous. “He’s starting a project to rebuild Ishval. You are exactly the person he needs.”
He stared, momentarily slack-jawed with shock. “He’s really going to do it?”
She nodded. “There’s something, well, someone, else, too.”
“The scar-faced Ishvalan you smuggled in here?”
She blinked. “How did you know?”
“Karley.”
“The little brat. I ought to-” she trailed off. Obviously, after the day’s events, threatening death and dismemberment didn’t appeal to her as it usually did.
“Anyway,” he cleared his throat, “why?”
“He’s going to help us with the Ishval project.” Her eyes glittered darkly. “And if he refuses," she shrugged, "no one knows he’s even alive.”
“Ah.” He watched her shift and wince, clutching her broken ribs. “Perhaps we should discuss this later.”
“I’m fine, Miles.” She scowled at him.
“Mmh.” He brushed the hair out of her face and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “You should sleep, love. You’re injured, you need to rest.”
“I’m fi-”
“Shh, love.” He kissed her, tenderly. “Go to sleep.” She scowled darkly, but obediently leaned back against her pillows and closed her eyes. He smiled fondly, and curled around her as close as he dared without exacerbating her injuries. “I’ll still be here when you wake.”
Her breathing quieted, but when Miles drifted to sleep he knew she was still wide awake, blue eyes staring blankly into the darkness above them and her mind, ever active, turning the past several weeks’ events over and over again.
---
“Fuhrer Grumman, Sir!” Olivier’s words were polite, but her tone sounded more like a challenge than anything.
“Yes, General?” Grumman asked benignly, as the other generals in the room eyed her warily; no one had officially laid the blame of the Promised Day at her feet, but it was plain they were all playing the long-game--waiting to see who the people would accept as guilty, and who would be martyrs.
“I understand Colonel, excuse me, Brigadier General Mustang would like Major Miles to be the ground commander for the Ishval Project?”
“That’s correct.” Grumman’s eyes narrowed. “Do you object?”
“Yes.”
Miles furrowed his brow and then hastily fixed it.
“You’re retaining Lt. Falman in exchange, Sir, surely-” Mustang began sounding frustrated.
“That’s not my point.” Olivier regarded the council coolly. “I’m not objecting to Miles being Ground Commander, at all. What I do object to is having a Major as GC.”
“Ah.” Grumman smiled. “You would like to see him promoted to Lt. Colonel, then?”
“I wanted him promoted to Colonel, Sir.”
“You can’t just jump your favorite soldier up the ranks because you want to! Promotions are earned, not-”
“Shut up, Sir.”
“Fuhrer, she-!”
“No, she’s quite right, Blackburn. Be quiet.” Grumman nodded to Olivier while Blackburn opened and shut his mouth, sputtering indignantly. “Please, make your case.”
“Yes, Sir.” Olivier passed a thick folder to the Fuhrer. “This is Major Miles’ unofficial service report. I would have filed all of this in his official report, had I not been concerned it would call unnecessary attention to his heritage.” Miles struggled to keep his face neutral as several officers flicked their gazes to him and then away. “If you’ll look where I’ve bookmarked, you can see where I would have promoted him to Lt. Colonel, had I not had legitimate fear for his life.”
“I see your point.” Grumman nodded, regarding the page. Miles wondered at what point Olivier had wanted to promote him and hadn’t.
“I’d like to request a backdated promotion, Sir.”
“I don’t see why not.” Grumman smiled. “I’ll allow it.”
“Thank you, Sir.” Olivier nodded briefly, but wasn’t done. “Further, Sir, if you’ll turn to the second bookmark, you’ll see my notes on his leadership in my absence, specifically the successful counter to the Drachman attack. Obviously, I wasn’t there, but the late Captain Buccaneer wrote a detailed report which I included along with Miles’ own assessment.”
Grumman read in silence for a moment and then turned directly to Miles. “Well, well, you’re quite a hidden gem, aren’t you? I’m surprised Mustang hasn’t snapped you up before.”
“Thank you, Sir.” Miles replied, hoping he didn’t sound too unsure.
Grumman smiled, wide and genuine. “You’re welcome, Colonel.”
---
Miles stared numbly as he watched Olivier, finally without her sling, waiting to board the Northbound train. The rest of the Briggs men had headed back weeks before. Grumman had insisted on keeping her on hand to help with the reorganizing, had claimed it would help with her image. She’d scoffed at him. Miles hadn’t minded. For the first time ever they’d been almost like a normal couple, sharing a bed every night and waking up side by side every morning. But, now, she was leaving.
He wanted to run over and say goodbye to her, but he couldn’t. No one could. In her arms she was holding a simple wooden box with an urn inside. Buccaneer’s ashes. And, while escorting a fallen soldier home, she could neither speak or be spoken to. Home. She was going home without him. No, she was his home.
He turned with reluctance and faced his new commander. “I’m ready when you are, Sir.”
Mustang gave him a long look. “Are you sure, Miles? You still have an opportunity to take leave and go home. This might be your last chance for a long time.”
There was that word again. Home. “Yes, Sir.” They say you can never go home again. “Ishval will be my home now, Sir.”
He spared one last glance over his shoulder just before the train doors slid shut. As if sensing him, Olivier turned her head at the last second, glancing back toward him.Home will always be with you, my love.
“Right,” he said more to himself than in response to whatever Mustang had just said. “Onward.”