Noctis Lucis Caelum (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
berriedmemories) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
childrenofbahamutlogs2025-02-01 06:49 pm
berriedmemories) wrote in childrenofbahamutlogs2025-02-01 06:49 pm
berriedmemories) wrote in childrenofbahamutlogs2025-02-01 06:49 pm
Iron Chef (XV spoilers)
(All losses that bleed deep - all people he
doubtswonders if he'll ever see again. With Cor, at least, Cor seems to have thought he had died or was dying in his own time, which is years away yet from Gladio's perspective...but it frightens him, all the same. Cor's not meant to die - and not because he's called the Immortal. Simply because Gladio can't imagine - doesn't want to imagine - a world without him.)Iggy...he's not going back to his own death, wherever and whenever he's been sent back home. It's just the thought of being without him again that feels like dying.
But he holds it together, as best he can. The memory of how badly he'd fallen short the last time he grieved over Iggy is etched too firmly in his mind. This time he resolves to do better. Has to do better - he's got three people who can't hold as strong as he can. What else is a Shield for? And, to his own bittersweet relief...he acquits himself. Proves he's not the same fuck-up he used to be. Not perfect, not yet - he snaps at the others a few times when his attention lapses, knows he isn't hiding the stress and fear as well as he ought to - but no longer a disgrace.
A partner Iggy could be proud of, if he were still there.
He'd given up all hope practically from the moment he'd woken up to an empty bed, a house that was emptier than it should be. (Not empty, not with Prom and Noct, but the loss was still palpable from the first.) So Iggy's return, only a few hours later...Ravus throwing him into the Regalia hadn't knocked as much wind out of him. He's stunned nearly to silence, scarcely able to believe it's real.
And it isn't the same Iggy who left, either. An older Iggy, still not his Iggy but so much closer. An Iggy who remembers their road trip, remembers so many things...and, judging by that look he gives Gladio, an Iggy who remembers things that haven't even happened yet.
It's a guilty weight off his mind. Gladio had never known how he was supposed to tell the younger Ignis about the prophecy - about the idea that Noct would have to die to save the world. He'd shrunk from doing so; not just because it would distress Iggy, but because he'd felt that an Iggy who knew that fact while being stuck in a place where he couldn't work to try to avert Noct's fate would potentially tear himself apart. But it had never felt right keeping such important information from him, either.
Now...it seems it's not his decision to have to make anymore.
It's not surprising that Iggy gets cooking almost as soon as they get back to the cottage after fetching him. Never mind the fact that of course he'd fuss over all of them not eating properly(as though they could have, under the circumstances, as though Iggy would have eaten if any of them had vanished), but Gladio knows his partner, and he knows displacement activity when he sees it. So he follows him into the kitchen, lurking silently nearby, doing little but occasionally handing things as Iggy asks for them...until he sees what he's expecting to see. The tremors of those hands.
Then he steps up behind Ignis, pressing up against his back, his hands moving to gently bracelet Iggy's wrists. "Pushing too hard," he murmurs in his ear.
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He knows - they know - that Gladio will step forward when he needs to.
Like now.
Ignis breathes out, tries to keep it as steady as that pressure against his spine, and doesn't pull his hands away from Gladio. For once, he allows the reassurance of their pressure, their grip. "Just a bit of adrenaline," he says quietly, staring down at where their hands are connected. The knife he still holds in his hand, and the grip that he has to remember to keep as a proper cooking hold rather than... anything else. It's not needed, here. There are no enemies to tear through. Just vegetables and chicken which needs to be cut and cooked.
"...I worried you dearly, didn't I?"
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He rubs his thumbs along Iggy's wrists. "As for the shakes - doesn't matter why you have them. What matters is you're pushing yourself too much. You haven't even settled down to breathe since you got back...or the adrenaline would have worn off."
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"If I settle down, I don't think I'll quite wake up," he admits quietly, turning his head to return the soft nuzzling he's being given. Just having the weight of Gladio back with him is reassuring, and every other little detail only adds to the blanket over his heart. A feeling of ease. Different from the pure numbing relief of having Noctis in his grasp, of knowing he was safe and alive and well, but...
Important, still, in a different way.
"It's just as when we finally pulled ourselves out from the depths of Costlemark. I can still do this much." Even if he'd go through Costlemark a million times and more, if to never have Noctis in that kind of situation ever again.
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His breath is slow and warm against Ignis' ear. There's a feeling that Gladio is somehow trying to pass his own steadiness into Iggy to stabilize him - through his touch, through his breathing, through his presence. Trying to get Iggy to harmonize his body with Gladio's, wordlessly. "You pushed yourself too hard after Costlemark, too, not that anyone's counting. But that wasn't as bad." Costlemark had been a whole ordeal, sure, but that had just been tiring. This...this is Iggy rattled down to his bones. No mere gauntlet could do that.
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But they were all still together, in the end.
And he always thought that they could keep each other safe from all else.
The weight of the prophecy weighs at the back of his neck again, something unbearable and asphyxiating. Only Gladio's presence there against him, solid as a rock, keeps it from getting any worse, and Ignis finally relents in setting the knife down on the counter. "Perhaps it's both," he admits softly, the truth coming out easier for him than it would have in a time that is both only the other day and also many years ago. "If you won't let me chop things like this... Can I at least have my hand free for something else I would like to try?"
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Iggy is dealing with...a whole different source of stress. One that weighs on Gladio, too, but Gladio's had years to reconcile with it to some degree. (And, between here and Amani, years to hope that perhaps they're free of that damn prophecy, somehow.)
At the request, Gladio's eyebrows raise, but his grip also loosens. "Might depend on what it is, but if you're not pushing yourself..."
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A breath, a gesture, and words in a language that Gladio may not know but may ping Lawrence.
From Ignis's point of view, it's been years now since he struggled to learn magic from Sveargith in this kitchen. Ever since the idea had come to him and the bartender had idly mentioned what he could do in his tavern, he'd been determined to get a knack for it. Why wouldn't he? In matters both practical and professional, it had just seemed like the right choice. An ability that could fix torn clothing on the fly, or something which could help protect those he loves... Why would he try anything else but to learn it if he could? Sveargith had certainly thought it could be possible, although he'd advised on learning small things first.
So they'd gone with a small thing to practice. Magic in this place varies spell to spell, apparently, with people dedicating much of their life to it. He'd been warned about that. Yet, as a youth, a part of him had been just a touch impatient. Been quietly frustrated as much as he was stubborn that he was clearly doing the gestures perfectly, speaking with the right words, and yet nothing.
Ignis quietly but clearly speaks the words. His fingers trace through the air.
And something finally pulls itself into physical reality.
Opening his eyes comes with some of Sveargith's commentary. Oh, that's an interesting choice. I normally made mine white. That seems to track, from what he knows of the dragon's preferred color. But not Ignis.
Instead, what flickers into existence there at the counter is a shimmering hand of burning bright blue.
Completely detached, of course, like someone's practice hand brought to life, but moves just as fluidly as Ignis's own where it picks up the knife he'd left there on the counter. Gets right to work chopping the vegetables, with none of his own jitters.
Which is quite handy, really.
Ignis lets out a breath, folding his arms over Gladio's. "It only took years to do that spell," he comments idly. Just a very dumb joke. A part of him is fairly certain that it's not time in his case that has anything to do with why he can now access reserves of magic inside of himself.
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"It is... a very strange thing," he admits quietly. "Remembering this place, as though a dream, from my youth... and then coming back. And not a soul has been changed, physically speaking."
Disorienting is puttig it lightly.