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Scar used to be terrible at cooking.
When he was a monk in training – it seemed like a lifetime ago – the meals were easy and quick to make, and as a man of simple taste it never bothered him. If he wanted a sweeter flavor, his family home wasn’t far, and his parents were always happy to feed him whenever he visited. He didn’t really help in the kitchen though, sticking to stirring pots of warm, sweet-scented sauce while his parents did the actual cooking.
“Let’s put your big muscles to good use,” his mother joked every time while his father shook his head, amused by his wife’s repetitive sense of humor.
Sometimes his brother even joined them, drawn away from his books by the fragrance of simmering spiced meat, and the kitchen filled with animated talk punctuated by the sound of chopping knives and crackling flames. If laughter erupted from their window, the neighbors would show up, carrying baskets filled with vegetables, flatbread and sweet cakes, and suddenly the kitchen was crowded but alive with warmth and joy.
And as usual, after praying to Ishvala, they would sit down on the mats scattered around the dining table and eat. Among his family and peers, squished between nagging elders and rambunctious kids climbing up and down his shoulders, he savored every mouthful of food, and felt wrapped in love and happiness.
Then the genocide began.
He became family-less, landless and homeless, a wrathful ghost of the man he once was. Food became the last of his worries: as long as he had enough strength to track down the murderers and make them pay, he didn’t care about flavor or warmth of comfort.
And after everything was settled – King Bradley dead, most of the people responsible for the genocide either put on trial or dead, his criminal record expunged, the rebuilding process of Ishval initiated – he fell into depression. He would lay in his bed for days on end, wallowing in his misery and wishing he had died. He’d gotten a semblance of justice for his people, but he’d never thought that he would survive his quest and now he didn’t know who he was, let alone who he was supposed to become.
During that dark time, Miles practically moved in with him to make sure he ate at least once a day. The food tasted bland and sad, not because of Miles’ culinary skills – he was more than a decent cook – but because the sadness that consumed him tainted everything. Still, nearly every day the Major cooked for him, opened the windows to air the small apartment and let the sunlight in, and put up with his lack of hygiene. And when Scar cried, silent sobs ripping through his chest, and face hidden in his pillow in shame of his mental disarray, Miles would lay a hand on his head and gently card his fingers through his hair. He never said anything in those moments, but his presence and his calloused fingers on Scar’s scalp were more than enough. It reminded him of the human warmth he’d almost forgotten, and appeased the torment of his mind.
Eventually, Scar got better. He found the strength to get out of bed and take a shower, then to go outside – even if a simple errand was so exhausting that he would sleep for an entire day afterwards. A few weeks later, he was brave enough to go to a weekly group therapy dedicated to Ishvalan survivors. After a couple of months, he even found the strength to talk about himself, his family, what he’d seen and done, how he didn’t know what to do with the many years he had ahead of him. He realized he wasn’t the only one feeling that way, and felt a little less alone.
The sessions helped, and he started reconnecting with his faith. He still felt unworthy of his god and his people, but he knew he could repent – after all, didn’t Ishvala help him take down King Bradley? He remembered clearly: the way he was doomed to die, Bradley towering over him, about to stab him. The way the sun had peeked out from behind the moon, its light reflecting on Bradley’s blade and blinding him for a split second, just long enough for Scar to strike him dead. Ishvala had not only wanted him to win, they had wanted him to survive.
He had been given a second chance, and now he had to earn it.
He decided to move out of Amestris. Things had gotten a bit better for Ishvalans, but racism still ran rampant. The scared, pitying and scornful glares Amestrians threw his way aggravated him, and while most of his people had gone back to Ishval now that rebuilding was in full swing, those remaining in Amestris still lived in ghettos. However, Scar didn’t want to go back to Ishval either. As much as his people finally being able to move back home filled him with joy, seeing brand new buildings stand in the same places where so many of his peers were murdered hurt too much. He couldn’t help but think about what was lost forever, especially since half of the Ishvalan landscape was still made of bloodied ruins and scorched foundations. He would probably come home later, when the new generation would have made Ishval their own and he won’t feel like standing among ghosts anymore.
In the meantime, Scar moved east, in a town halfway between Ishval and Xing. The town of Yensi used to be small, but now bustled with life and new opportunities. Quite a few Amestrians, mainly young people, had moved in, but most of the inhabitants were Ishvalan and Xingese. Yensi felt like a fresh start. There, he wasn’t the man whose name he discarded, nor was he the man feared by the Amestrian government and population. A few Ishvalans recognized him, bowing their heads and offering him free food or services in gratitude, but he mostly remained unbothered. Still, although he didn’t feel as burdened as he once did, he remained lost, unsure of what he should or wanted to do. Getting out of bed was still hard sometimes, and existential crises were a common occurrence.
Until he met Mei.
She was sunshine, kindness and bravery rolled together into the shape of a tiny human being. Still, she was just a child, lost in a town she didn’t know and left to her own devices by an overwhelmed foster care system. She was independent and resourceful, but it clearly stemmed from being neglected from a young age.
They developed an unlikely friendship, Scar looking out for her and Mei cheering him up. On the bad days, knowing he was going to meet up with Mei got him out of bed, his worry for her situation trumping his lethargic sadness. She gave him purpose: he wanted to take care of her, protect her, give her the love she deserved but never got. And for that, he had to work on himself.
After he started taking care of her, especially after she moved in with him, Scar quickly realized he had to make an effort in the kitchen. If he was satisfied with eating the same three meals for weeks on end, a child couldn’t – and Mei certainly wouldn’t. So he watched a lot of cooking videos, bought cookbooks, and even tracked down an Ishvalan elder so she could teach him how to prepare the dishes he loved eating as a child but never bothered to learn. Mei also taught him the few Xingese recipes she knew, so excited to have someone to share it with that she jumped all around the kitchen while Scar looked at her with fondness.
Cooking with Mei quickly became something he enjoyed and looked forward to, not so much because he loved making food, but because they were connecting as father and daughter: they had fun, discovered new things together, and learned about each other’s culture. As he showed her how to cook Ishvalan specialties, Scar was reminded of those moments spent in the kitchen with his family, too busy teasing his brother and handing spices to his mother to be bothered by the heavy heat of the oven. Remembering those happy times used to be devastating; now it was bittersweet, the pain softened by Mei’s happy smile and bright eyes as they were creating new memories of their own.
He was doing something right with his child. He could give her something she never really had, something he lost himself. Family, and love.
Today is Sunday, and every Sunday they cook together.
Sometimes it’s a new stir-fry recipe, sometimes it’s baked goods, sometimes it’s something as simple as rice and meat, but they always do it together. It has become one of their favorite traditions, and so far they’ve never skipped it.
Today they want to bake a cake, but not an ordinary cake, no, a fancy one with fruits and colors and cute decorations (Mei loves cute things, and Scar does too even if he won’t admit it). They’re on their way to the supermarket to buy ingredients, Mei skipping happily, her small hand clutching her dad’s.
The supermarket is supposedly five minutes away from their house, but as every time Scar takes Mei with him, it takes twice the time to get there. You would think her short legs are to blame, but they’re not – what she lacks in height she makes up for it in energy. The truth is, Mei keeps getting excited about random things on the street. First, it’s a cute dog, then a colorful backpack displayed in a store front, then she absolutely has to guide a snail to safety. Scar is about to lose patience, but as he’s watching Mei hover above the snail, arms spread in a security perimeter to make sure no one steps on it, his exasperation turns into fondness. She’s such a compassionate soul, and he hopes the world – as cruel as it is – doesn’t suck it out of her.
At last, the snail makes its slimy way to a gutter, and Mei considers it out of danger. They’re about to resume their walk, when a girl suddenly appears in front of Mei and starts rapidly talking to her in Xingese. Mei doesn’t miss a beat and answers in her native tongue, adapting quickly to unexpected situations as usual. Scar blinks, unable to understand a word aside from “My name is”. His daughter turns toward him to translate.
“Her name is Lan Fan and she needs help. She recently moved into town so she doesn’t know the neighborhood, and she’s lost. Her phone is dead so she asked if she could use mine to call her brother.”
“Sure.”
The girl, who seems more annoyed than worried about her situation, nods a silent “thank you”. She doesn’t look older than fifteen, and the left hand poking out of her sleeve is in metal. She makes her phone call, then thanks Mei and seems to expect them to be on their way – but Scar is not one to leave a lost kid on their own, so they wait with her for her brother to arrive.
As the girls chat in Xingese, Scar leans against a wall, thinking. If they don’t get to the supermarket soon, they might not have the time to make the elaborate cake they wanted to, and settle for something less fancy. Mei still has her math homework to do, and they need to get to bed early as tomorrow is Monday. Out of the corner of his eye Scar sees a tall, long-haired Xingese teenager walking toward them. He waves in their direction with a grin plastered on his face, and Lan Fan huffs. Must be her brother.
“What are you doing here?”
Mei’s surprised and accusatory shout startles him, and he stares at her in shock. She rarely gets angry, but now she’s glaring at the teenager walking up to them, her small fists shaking with rage. The teenager looks as offended as her, his affable demeanor turning tense and his friendly smile taking an insolent edge. He says something in Xingese in a mocking tone, and Mei loses it, replying with what Scar knows is an insult. She and the boy start shouting at each other, and Scar quickly steps in between them: whoever this kid is, he makes his daughter upset and that’s something he won’t stand for.
“How about you calm down,” he says, towering over the boy.
“How about you mind your business?” he shoots back, not at all intimidated.
Scar’s eyebrow twitches, his annoyance shifting into anger the longer he stares at the teenager’s annoying smile.
“The way you talk to my daughter is my business.”
The boy’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but he quickly regains his detached composure.
“Well, she’s my half-sister and we have some unresolved issues, so if you don’t mind…” he trails, waving his hand like an arrogant aristocrat dismissing an employee.
Scar sees red and takes a step forward. He’s not going to hurt the kid – he would never do that – but he’s not above grabbing him by the collar to put the fear of Ishvala into him. Lan Fan throws herself between him and the teenager, body tensed into a martial art posture.
“Take one more step and you’ll regret it,” she warns sternly.
“Don’t threaten my dad!” Mei shrieks, standing in front of Scar as if she could shield his imposing frame with her tiny body.
The absurdity of the whole situation dawns on him, and he wonders how things escalated so quickly. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see bystanders throwing them puzzled looks, and he knows his surly face and big muscles don’t play in his favor.
“Okay, let’s all calm down,” he sighs, putting an appeasing hand on Mei’s shoulder. “Is he really your half-brother?”
“Yes. Ling Yao.” Her words are curt and her round features are still tensed into angry lines.
“And is Lan Fan your sister as well?”
You would expect him to know everything about his daughter’s biological family, but Mei has 42 half-siblings and doesn’t like to talk about any of them.
“Nope, I don’t know her.”
“Lan Fan’s grandfather adopted me,” Ling clarifies. “Not that you’re entitled to this information, but you seem painfully confused.”
Scar is starting to get used to the boy’s snark, but it doesn’t make it less annoying. Ling seems to be around fifteen, though, so his attitude is probably more bravado than anything.
“You weren’t in the same foster home as Mei,” Scar states instead of asking. He would have known if he was.
“No, we were all scattered across the region after our father died. Twenty-eight of our siblings were old enough to be our legal guardians, but none of them wanted to. They’re too busy fighting each other for our father’s fortune.” He’s trying to be casual but bitterness still seeps through the words. It’s obvious he’s been as hurt as Mei by their family.
Scar crouches, lowering himself to his daughter’s level.
“Mei, how long was it since you’ve seen Ling?”
“Ever since Father died so three years, I guess?” she replies, confused by his question.
“Was he really such a terrible brother?”
“Yes!” She seems revolted that he would think otherwise. “Father was always busy, and the few times I could have showed him how smart I am, Ling diverted his attention from me.”
“We only saw Father twice a year,” the boy argues, “why would I waste my chance to impress him just for your sake? It’s every man for himself out there.”
Scar presses his lips in a thin line, saddened. Even after the man’s death, Mei and Ling are still fighting for scraps of his attention. It’s clear they weren’t raised as siblings, but as competitors desperate to prove their worth.
“I don’t think you two really hate each other,” Scar says as he stands up. As both Mei and Ling open their mouth to protest, he goes on. “I think you don’t even know each other. You spent so much time trying to be the best in order to be noticed, that you never took the time to actually talk and spend time with each other. Am I wrong?”
Ling and Mei remain quiet, their silence speaking for themselves. He decides to drive the point home.
“My best friend was my brother. We were very different, and we fought sometimes, but I knew I could always count on him, and him on me.” And Scar did rely on him until the very end, when his brother gave up his life in order to save his. He feels a wave of emotions rise in his chest, and pauses to let it go down. His life lesson won’t be as efficient if he starts choking up in the middle of it. “You two grew up differently than I did. Your father let you down. Your older siblings let you down. It sucks, but there’s nothing you can do about it. What you can do is get to know each other, and eventually be there for each other.”
The half-siblings look like they’ve swallowed a lemon whole, eyebrows frowning and mouth twisted into the same sulky expression. Scar’s words hurt them, but that’s what they needed to hear. They’re not arguing with him though, so he hopes that they will at least think about it. He won’t force Mei to spend time with her biological family if she doesn’t want to, but he thinks that forming a healthy relationship with one of her siblings could be good for her.
“I mean, he’s not wrong,” Lan Fan says to Ling, surprising both him and Scar. She has a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You’re my brother, and we have each other’s backs. Why not try to get along with her? She doesn’t seem that bad.”
Ling doesn’t say anything and keeps sulking, but his posture is a little less rigid: Lan Fan is getting through to him. Scar pats Mei’s head, who’s still upset, and tries to think of ways to cheer her up. Maybe he should get her a snail. The little girl raises an arm and grabs his hand, keeping it on her head, and he’s relieved that she’s not mad at him.
“So, you guys are new to town, right?” he awkwardly says. When Lan Fan nods he goes on, trying to diffuse the tension still hanging thick in the air. “Yensi isn’t very big, I suppose we’ll see you around. Get home safely.”
Lan Fan and Scar awkwardly wave each other goodbye while Mei and Ling glance at each other menacingly, but with less animosity than a few minutes ago. But Scar and Mei are only a few steps away when they hear Lan Fan angrily speaking Xingese to Ling. They turn around to see her glaring daggers at her brother, who is smiling apologetically. Scar looks down at his daughter, who reluctantly translates.
“Lan Fan is mad because they still don’t know how to get home. Ling’s used all of his data so they can’t use Internet, and they don’t have a paper map.”
“If they’re still lost, we should help them, don’t you think?”
Mei huffs, but agrees nonetheless. She knows first-hand how scary it is to be lost in a foreign town; that’s how she met Scar for the first time, after all. They walk back up to the adopted siblings.
“You need help?”
“No it’s okay, we can figure it out on our own,” Ling says. The two teenagers seem embarrassed by their situation.
“From what I understand, you’re completely lost, don’t have a map, and both your cellphones are useless. How are you guys going to get home?” As they don’t have an answer to that, Scar keeps going. “Ling, can’t you call your grandfather?”
They wince at these words, and look at each other in unease.
“We’d rather not, actually,” Lan Fan says.
“Yeah, he’s going to be reaaally pissed at us,” Ling adds. “We were supposed to buy a few utensils at the shop across the street and go straight back home. But I wanted to explore the city… and then we got separated… and we haven’t even bought the utensils yet. We’re going to get punished so hard if he finds out.”
“The way I see it, you’re screwed either way, so call him. If you don’t, I’ll have no choice but to drag you to the nearest police station. I don’t want to see your faces in the “Missing Children” section of the news tomorrow night.”
Lan Fan winces while Ling exhales a long-suffering “urrgggh”, but the boy takes his phone out of his pocket and calls anyway. A few seconds later, a very angry voice is telling them off in Xingese through the phone’s speaker, then is requesting to speak with Scar. The man on the phone speaks in a no-nonsense manner, with a pronounced accent.
“Hello, I’m Fu. You are?”
“Scar.”
“Scar? Just Scar? What kind of name is that? Anyway, where exactly are you? My grandchildren couldn’t tell me anything. You would think they have half a brain cell between the two of them, but no!”
“We’re near the train station.”
“Hm. It’s pretty far from where we live, no wonder they’re completely lost. Listen, I won’t be able to get off work before a couple of hours. If that’s not too much to ask, could you keep an eye on them until I get there? They might get even more lost if left unsupervised.”
“Sure. I live five minutes away from here, and I was about to go grocery shopping then cook with my daughter. They can tag along if you’re okay with it.”
“I’ll come pick them up at your place. Send me your address, your full legal name, your phone number and a picture of you. If my grandchildren disappear, I’ll kill you before the police has a chance to get their hands on you.”
“That’s fair.”
Scar sends Fu the requested information, including a very awkward selfie, then turns toward the teenagers.
“So. It seems you’re tagging along with us.”
Ling seems supremely displeased, and Mei protests.
“But what about our Daddy-Daughter Cooking Session?”
“They can cook with us.”
“But then it won’t be the Daddy-Daughter Cooking Session anymore! It’s just going to be… Cooking With Two Randos.”
“Either we cancel baking that cake and buy one at the supermarket, or we bake it with them. Your choice.”
“…Lan Fan can cook with us, she’s pretty cool, but I don’t want Ling to,” she bargains.
“And what makes you think I want to cook with you?” retorts the boy, offended.
“Mei…” Scar sighs.
“Ugh, fine!”
They all make their way to the supermarket in a tense and awkward silence. By the time they’re browsing the shelves in search of the recipe’s ingredients, the tension has diffused somewhat but the bickering is still meaner than friendly. Scar buys enough ingredients to make two cakes instead of one, because four people making one pastry is a little overkill.
Half an hour later, they’re all in Scar and Mei’s kitchen, and the kids are too busy mixing ingredients and eating the sugary dough to fight. Ling and Mei get a little too competitive once it’s time to decorate the cakes, but they don’t try to sabotage each other’s work so Scar counts it as progress.
Two hours later they’re sitting around the dining table, eating slices of cake and drinking hot tea. Xiao Mei is sprawled on Scar’s lap, purring as he’s scratching her head. Mei is in awe of Lan Fan’s metal arm, who describes her how the mechanism works, and Scar is grateful for the conversation. He’s not talkative, and can’t make small talk to save his life – especially in situations as awkward as this one. Ling silently eats – he already gulped down half a cake on his own – and occasionally shoots Lan Fan betrayed glares.
Scar hears a car pull up in his driveway, and the doorbell rings a few seconds later. He stands up despite Xiao Mei’s protests, and opens the door to see a grey-haired, stern-looking Xingese man.
“Fu, I presume.”
“Yes.”
Ling and Lan Fan stand up and bow apologetically while Fu steps into the house and glares at them.
“We’re really sorry, grandfather.”
“We will discuss your punishment once we’re home.” He turns towards Scar. “Thank you for looking after them. They told me you adopted Ling’s half-sister, little Mei Chang?”
“Yes! He’s my daddy now!” Mei says with a proud and bright smile, sauntering to Scar and grabbing his sleeve. He can’t help but smile back, and pats her head. Fu’s face remains unreadable.
“Maybe we should keep in touch, in case the kids want to spend some time together,” Scar suggests. “It could be good for them.”
Mei pouts at these words, and Fu looks at her, then at his grandchildren trying to fit as much cake as they can into Ling’s bag. His stern expression flickers, revealing fondness and affection.
“Yes, it could be,” he says, before his features tense once again into a strict expression. “Ling! Lan Fan! Let’s go. Goodbye, Scar and little Mei.”
He starts walking toward his car, and the two teenagers hurry after him.
“Thank you for the cake, Mr. Scar,” Lan Fan says as she’s getting on the backseat. “See you around, Mei!”
Mei waves her goodbye with a smile, then sticks her tongue out at Ling.
“See you never, mini-shrimp!” he retaliates.
The little girl screams in anger as Ling laughs. As the car drives away, Mei and Scar gets back into their house.
“Ling ate most of the cake,” she grumbles as they sit down at the table.
“You ate three slices and couldn’t even finish the last one, so does it really matter?”
“Yes! It’s very rude to come into people’s home and eat all of their food. He lacks basic manners.”
“To be fair, he cooked with us so he was entitled to eat as much as he wanted. And since when do we limit our guests’ access to food?”
“ Why do you keep defending him??” she yells, abruptly pushing her chair back as she stands up.
Scar is taken aback by the outburst. Mei had calmed down during the afternoon, but now she looks incredibly upset: her face is red, her eyes fill with tears, and her little hands are curled into fists.
“Why do you want me to get along with him so bad? Do you want to adopt him too? Am I not enough??”
His chest constricts with sadness and guilt, and he quickly kneels in front of his daughter to meet her eyes. She looks away from him and crosses her arms, sniffling. Scar hates himself for making her cry. He really screwed up this time.
“Mei, I'm sorry I made you feel like you weren’t enough. This is the last thing I wanted.”
She still doesn’t look in his direction.
“You’re more than enough. Way more than enough. You need to understand that, Mei. And don’t worry, I don’t plan on adopting Ling: he already has an adoptive family and he’s too much of a little shit.”
The corner of Mei’s mouth twitches up at these words, and Scar goes on, encouraged.
“I’m sorry if I insisted that you try to get along with Ling. But it wasn’t for him, it was for you. I thought it would be good for you to have a brother with whom you have a healthy relationship.”
She finally looks at him with sad eyes.
“You miss your brother a lot, don’t you?”
Scar didn’t expect that question – but then again, Mei has always been a perceptive child.
“…Yes. I do. More than I can express in words. And maybe… maybe I wanted you to gain what I lost. A loving brother. But you’re not me, and Ling is not my brother.”
He bows his head, trying to hide his abrupt and crushing sadness, and embarrassed to have projected his issues onto his daughter. He can’t see her, but suddenly Mei is hugging him, arms looped tight around his neck. His sadness subdues, going from sharp, devastating pain to a dull throbbing. It’s still there, will always be there, but it’s not as painful. He can live with it.
“I shouldn’t have rushed things with Ling, and I won’t force you to see him again if you don’t want to. Okay?”
“Okay.” A beat. “Dad, I’m sorry about your family.”
“Thank you. And I’m sorry about yours. But it’s okay, we make up a pretty good family together, don’t we?”
She steps back enough to be able to look at him, and smiles wide.
“Yeah, we do.”
Scar offers her a small smile, then ruffles her hair. Mei frowns the way she does every time she’s thinking hard about something, then inhales deeply as if she’s taking a big resolution.
“Daddy,” she says, looking at him with determined eyes.
“Yes?”
“If I see Ling again, I’ll try to be nice to him. But! If he’s mean to me, I’ll kick his ass!”
“That’s my girl,” Scar chuckles.
Mei kicks and punches the air to emphasize her words, and Xiao Mei starts meowing and jumping around her, woken up from her nap by the girl’s excitement.
Scar stands up and crosses his arms, staring at his daughter with fondness. It’s a pity she will never meet her Ishvalan uncle and grandparents: his parents would have spoiled her rotten, and she would have loved to spend time with his brother.
But that’s okay. He has come a long way, and for the first time in several years, Scar thinks – knows – that his family would be proud of him.