A/N: Well, with the conclusion of my first and favorite manga, my plotbunnies have been on an FMA kick here lately, especially anything and everything concerning Ishval. (Well, that and a Barry the Chopper meets Kimbley crack concept, but more on weird matchups later.) So, while trying to get the latest oversize "Blues" chapter and an even more ginormous EdWin / AlMei / Royai / LingFan / Oliveer / TrishHoho / canon-with-bells-on oneshot to proper closes, I present you with a double-shot of bittersweet fluff featuring the Sexy Hobo himself, along with a couple surprise guests. I own none of it, not even hints of Oliviar / Scarvia / S.S Call It What You Like.
"Uncle Scar!" A small form wrapped primarily in pink attached itself to my leg.
Her companion trailed just behind, making hushing noises. "We're on covert mili'ary business. That means we have to be secret. You can't just go jumping at him," Katarie Miles scolded her little sister.
Millie's eyes went watery, and I picked up the younger of my two "nieces" before she started to cry. "What sort of military business?" I asked, patting her back with my free hand.
"Official Briggs business. 'Covert' means that only special people got to know. Daddy taught me that," the elder half-Amestrian girl cheerfully informed me, hands planted on hips. Katarie was every bit as sharp as her father, but sometimes she took her games far too seriously.
"General Armstrong said she'd play snowballs on our team if we could find out your old name!" Millie was no longer on the edge of tears, but those big violet eyes still reminded me of a certain dwarf panda. I wasn't sure which part of this revelation bothered me more: that Olivia Mira Armstrong was curious enough about my past that she'd get Miles's daughters involved, or that she knew me well enough to realize that they would be the most effective means to her end.
"Millie!" Katarie's palm issued an audible smack as it made contact with her forehead.
"Uncle Scar is special," the younger girl reasoned. "Do you really have an old name, Uncle Scar? I know that there are names that only old people and parents use for each other, like what Mr. Ed calls Brigadier -" Her voice attempted a scratchy growl in an impression of one of Ishval's less frequent - and when it comes to his language around young children, slightly less welcome - visitors. Both Katarie and I cut her off. "Mustang," she finished without missing a beat.
Just because I fully sympathized with Edward Elric's sentiments concerning the once and future hero of Ishval didn't mean I wished to hear them parroted by my six-year-old goddaughter.
"But General Armstrong says that it's not like that; she says your old name is secret," Millie continued.
"She said she already asked him and he wouldn't tell her, and he won't tell Daddy, either, so why are we asking him?" Katarie wouldn't look at me as she spoke. Both girls had been born in the north, raised up through their early childhood in the shadow of Briggs, and still revered Olivia Armstrong as something akin to Ishvala walking the earth. Not doing something that both the General (Mustang was merely "Brigadier") and Daddy had asked one to do was a serious crime indeed.
"Well, you'll tell us, won't you?" Millie caught my hand and traced the edge of the deconstruction tattoo peeking from beneath the sleeve as if lost in thought. "Red-eyed uncle?" I knew better, but she was still hard to resist.
"Tell you what," I sighed, setting her down next to her sister and crouching before them. "Ask the town elders about the first Ishvalan alchemist and his little brother. If you ask politely, they probably still remember the names."
This got Katarie's attention. "Well, of course that's you and Daddy. Uncle Scar, are you saying that you've gotten so old that you've forgotten your own name?"
"Only sometimes," I laughed, mussing her long blonde curls affectionately. I wondered sometimes, if that hand I used had been attached to another body, would these girls have other half-Ishvalan playmates instead of just a red-eyed uncle who ran from his past even as he clung to it? I had died twice; I was unworthy of my original name, but my brother's name... that deserved to be remembered by the next generation.