Chapter Text
The morning dawned cold and grey, weak sunlight doing everything it could to try to break through the thick clouds. It filled the room with a grey sort of light that invited giving into the want to be slow to rise.
Even after years in the army, and the few years spent training with the Shields before that, Clive had never gotten used to getting up early. He’d learned to be able to put his armor on while groggy and with a pounding head from the lack of food. At least those days he didn’t have to worry about the latter. More often those days, the headache was from staying up too late talking to Cid. He’d function, though. He always did.
With a quiet groan of regret, heard only by Clive’s own ears, he pulled himself from bed. As he dressed, a frisson of anticipation ran through him.
Today was the day. It felt unreal. After months of just talking about it, they were finally making their move on the first Mothercrystal. Some of Cid’s excitement had started to rub off on both him and Jill the closer they got to their planned day of departure. The two of them had regularly met to speak in hushed whispers like small children at a table in the Fat Chocobo. And if they weren't there, they could be found in the solar, pouring over maps. Clive had regularly met with Cid on his own, too.
A lot of this whole affair came back to Cid. The older man, who exuded charisma and confidence, had been like a small child in his excitement each night they’d met to discuss it.
Of course, their conversations hadn’t all been about their attack on the Mothercrystal. It’d been on a surprisingly broad array of topics, ranging from politics to the mad engineering feats Mid managed to create for the Hideaway. Cid was a proud father, beyond a shadow of a doubt, and it made Clive often wistful. But only wistful; mostly, he was just happy Cid had something to hold onto.
Sometimes, Clive worried the man was trying as hard as he could to get himself killed.
Today, though, that was neither here nor there. Well, no, that was a lie. It meant a great deal to Clive whether or not Cid lived or died. But he figured that, since this particular project was Cid’s baby, wouldn’t the man want to see the whole thing through to the end? He hoped so. He hoped that this dream, this idea, was enough to live for, along with the thought of his daughter.
Something in that thought made Clive’s chest twinge, but he heartily ignored it. When he was finally ready for the day, he left his room at The Veil without a backwards glance.
The trip from Northreach to the capitol had been unremarkable, though there were plenty of jeers in Clive’s direction as they traveled through Moore. The gate guard waved them through with little interest paid to them, not even to Clive. And then finally, they were there. Oriflamme.
The place was busy, full of hawkers and buyers and the press of bodies going about their day. He noticed that there were very few Bearers around. It had him sticking even closer to Jill and Cid than he might have normally, but he’d rather they didn’t get stopped because it looked like he was out of place.
They couldn’t help Torgal, of course. The wolf stood out like a sore thumb and drew attention from more than one person who gave them a wide berth. He didn’t seem to take this as an affront, though his head was held high and his ears perked. He looked every bit the companion to a trio of sellswords.
And then he proceeded to jump in a puddle and got soaked in mud and filthy water. All three had chastised him, but it didn’t seem that Torgal particularly cared, ears still perked and tail wagging. When they arrived at the Crystal Orchid, they very nearly got turned away because of it. But with a little extra coin, they made their way in, and managed to convince some of the staff of the brothel to at least get most of the mud out of his fur.
Despite most of his concentration being on Cid and their surroundings, Clive was also watching Jill. He was starting to see a pattern. Mostly, it was in the number of different faces Jill pulled as they settled into the lavish room Cid had talked their way into.
At least, at first. Then came the discussion of how and when they were meant to be making their way inside.
“We’ll be using the Glass Gate.” Cid poured himself a goblet from the carafe on the table, the sound of the pouring liquid surprisingly loud and filling the room. Perhaps it was because they'd been stunned into silence for a moment. “Tonight, just after sunset.” Cup filled, Cid turned and made his way to the couch just below the window. Clive trailed after him, brow furrowed.
Even while he concentrated on the important conversation they were having, he also couldn’t help but notice how tense Cid seemed. It was a subtle tension in the line of his shoulders, the lines around his mouth and eyes. Something hid in the green eyes that scanned over the room, only to pause on his face, but only for a moment. Clive felt he had missed something vitally important when they glanced over him, then flitted away like whatever it was Cid was looking for wasn’t there. It didn’t seem to be in his wine glass, either, but it still held Cid’s attention better than Clive seemed to be able to.
What a stupid thought to have, Clive chided himself as he frowned at Cid’s blasé treatment of his own safety. And so much for thinking he had any self-preservation in him to speak of.
“Where the shards are loaded for transport? That is one of the most heavily guarded points in all of Sanbreque,” Clive protested. The, “are you mad,” hung in the air unspoken; it didn’t need to be voiced to be actually heard.
For a moment, it seemed like Cid had some spark of humor left in him. His green eyes were bright with silent self-deprecating laughter when they met deeply worried blue that narrowed with a frown.
“But not the most,” Cid helpfully pointed out. He even went as far as to hold his goblet up in mock solute to his own scheme. “And that’s a start.” The spark didn’t last, though. In moments, it was replaced by grim certainty. “Besides, I know a shortcut straight to the heart.”
Clive’s heart turned heavy, and sunk to the bottom of his stomach at the way Cid’s tone went dark and distant. Some kind of unknown disquiet clawed its way in the other direction, up into his throat. It left him to shift his weight from foot to foot. His eyes never left their study of Cid’s face for a moment.
“A shortcut?” It felt like he asked out of habit, not because he really wanted to know the answer. He was afraid he already had the answer, or an answer, and it wasn’t one he liked the thought of. “And how exactly did you come to know about this fatal chink in the empire’s armor?”
Cid took more than a split second to answer, a very noticeable pause. Not good, Clive thought; the heavy feeling got worse. Not good at all.
“Let’s just say,” Cid admitted in a drawn out fashion, eyes on the goblet in his hand, acting as though he was distracted by the wine, “I may have attempted something similar before.” At least by the end, Cid wasn’t just staring into his wine. Instead, with a glance at Clive’s face, he stared off into the middle distance as he remembered the incident in question: “And may have ended up running for dear life after being discovered by Bahamut. But that’s not important.”
Like fuck it wasn’t important. Clive almost said as much. Instead he paced away to put some distance between them. He didn’t actually want to strangle the man, despite the strong, momentary urge. Before he could open his mouth to mention his distaste for the implication that Cid’s life wasn’t important, Jill was speaking.
And Cid… actually seemed to listen. He leaned in, looked at her, didn’t try to turn the heavy topic into a joke. It stung, and made Clive’s chest go oddly tight. He followed as best he could from Jill’s question, and to Cid’s answer, but only seemed to catch the tail end of the tirade.
“The moment you raise your voice against them, you’re decried as an outlaw, clapped in irons, and slung in a cell to rot,” Cid reminded as Clive turned the words over in his mind. Caught, specifically, on one particular word, overlaid on top of a memory that felt like a lifetime ago.
“I told you we should have taken the Crystal Road.”
“And I told you that we’re outlaws.”
“Whoever controls the crystals controls the realm. But our kind can wield magic without them,” Cid told them, voice steady and unwavering. “To our rulers, we must seem the most convenient of tools.” He paused, his point emphasized by the way his stare never faltered. Eyes the color of the sun-speckled leaves of the Greatwood flickered to Clive and held. “And the most dangerous.”
It was no secret Clive’s mother was the empress, had orchestrated Phoenix Gate, and had been the one to sell Clive into slavery. Cid’s words, his gaze, seemed to hold an extra weight in acknowledgement of that truth. Despite the initial implication his words held, his words didn’t imply Clive or Ifrit were dangerous, not to the general populace. No, in that particular case, Cid talked about the implied danger Clive was to Anabella’s power.
He wasn’t wrong. Though, it was interesting that that is what Clive read his words, and gaze, to mean. He didn’t have time to pick it apart, though.
“But what makes them think they have the right to use us?” Jill demanded, arm crossed over her torso protectively. The gesture served to be self-comforting, too. But as her outrage grew, it seemed her confidence grew with it. “To leave us to die when our bodies are spent?”
The look on Cid’s face when he leaned forward wasn’t kind. His green eyes had turned hard, bitter. It stole Clive’s breath and made him ache.
“Does a nobleman weep for a broken mug? A torn tunic?” Jill looked away and down, chastised. Clive hated that Cid spoke the truth: Bearers and Dominants weren’t seen as even human to those who weren’t. Cid’s words reflected Clive’s thoughts: “Our fate means nothing to them.”
But Cid wasn’t done. His gaze turned out through the window and up into a sky painted gold and pink and starting to hint at the purple of oncoming dusk. It didn’t seem Cid saw the sky at all, though, and he sounded more like he was talking to himself than to either of them.
“No… This isn’t a battle you can win with words. Believe me, I’ve tried.” Cid paused, just a moment, but enough to be noticed. Clive wondered what it was he was remembering. “…but nothing ever gets through. The world is simply not ready to listen.”
He seemed to come back to himself, just as Clive shifted to reach out. His fingers flexed at his side with the ache of holding back, and he wondered why the urge was so strong. It didn’t feel like a sudden one, either. Strange.
Even though he came back to himself, Cid still didn’t look at them. Clive wondered at that, too.
“So to hell with talking. If they won’t give us a say, we’ll decide our fates another way. You can’t blame a man for wanting to bring an end to all this… can you?”
Alarm settled hard and heavy in Clive’s gut right alongside his heart, making him feel like he’d been punched. Despite understanding what it was Cid was trying to say, the choice of words didn’t go unnoticed. Not when he’d just been thinking earlier of Cid’s lack of self-preservation. Especially when Cid sounded so very tired, his chin dipped downwards and eyes focused on anything but either of them. Clive needed to get Cid’s attention again, needed to pull him out of that headspace.
I can’t lose you… the thought was soft, whispered, a hard knot in Clive’s throat that momentarily choked him. He had to push past them to speak. It meant the first words out of his mouth came harder than he wanted them to.
“I can’t. But what of all the people you mean to rob of their comforts? Are you happy for them to call you outlaw?” Once more, he thought of that moment in the Greatwood: batting at blood flies, feeling a complicated mix of gratitude and annoyance, and tense with his need to see their task done. He’d been so naïve. But it’d been the start of this comradery between them, and what made him feel comfortable enough to speak his mind as he had.
Of course, Cid didn’t exactly answer him. He seemed to toss the thought around in his head briefly before he smirked.
“ ‘Cid the Outlaw’.” He raised his goblet up towards Clive in a salute. It was almost like he was saluting Clive. “Aye, that’ll do me.” There was no actual joy, no true victory in it. If possible, Clive’s heart sank further.
Jill mistook the fake cheer for something else, even stated as such.
“You could at least pretend to take this seriously.” Her hand was on her hip as she paced forward, her eyebrows low over narrowed eyes.
What she hadn’t understood was what Clive had already seen: Cid was deadly serious about this, about putting himself in the position to be blamed. Better him than the other men and women working toward the same goal. Better Cid than Clive and Jill. But Cid didn’t act like it hurt, or even phased him, that Jill thought less-than of him.
“Have a little faith, Jill,” Cid chastised, voice sounding like he was on the edge of a chuckle, “even if you don’t think much of my choice of digs.”
Once again, Clive noticed the way that Cid seemed to refuse to quite look at him. And once again, Clive pretended it didn’t hurt as much as it did. It didn’t stop him from questioning the hurt, though. Why was the need to be at least somewhat under Cid’s gaze so strong? To the point that it hurt when he didn’t have it?
Odd.
“If it means my deeds will be remembered,” Cid carried on. It drew both their full attention back to him, “I’ll gladly play the role of villain.” His mind seemed to whir, thinking of some complicated problem or other. Half the time, Clive would be left wondering what it was the man was thinking, if he didn’t outright ask or if the man didn’t tell him. He was a beautiful enigma, wrapped up in leather and tobacco smoke, with an air of mystery and the smell of rain.
It was fucking infuriating.
“But first we have a gate to crash,” Cid continued on, as though he hadn’t paused. And as though Clive hadn’t just had his thoughts on his face plain as day like he knew they likely had been. He’d already been told to never play poker, or he’d lose his whole purse by the end of it and say thank you to whoever won it. He wondered what Cid might have seen, if he’d looked. “And once we’re in, there’ll be no turning back. So you’d best make ready.”
At some point, Cid stood and wandered towards them. Now, he turned away and wandered back to the table to refill his goblet that Clive was sure he never emptied. Jill and Clive glanced at each other, and Clive tried to, once again, fight back the unease that slid through his guts.
One step closer. Just a few hours, and they’d be making their way into the gate.
Clive crouched low and followed in Cid’s footsteps directly, overlapping them to keep them from being followed. Old habits died hard, but he didn’t want them being followed.
At least, not because of him.
It was almost a relief to sit against the wall. But it died in his throat when he heard it. It was such a steady noise, that he hadn’t recognized it at first. And he didn’t go over to the other low wall to check, but— He could swear he heard the sound of waves crashing against the cliff the Mothercrystal rested on.
He was so lost in the sound of the waves, he almost missed Cid speaking. They were on the sharper side with each other than usual, but it was just nerves. Just nerves.
“Life’s too short for perfect plans,” Cid said breezily at one point, as though this were a lesson of some kind. “Even life’s smallest challenges offer the opportunity to grow and change!” Cid clapped Clive on the shoulder, and squeezed gently. “You must embrace these moments: allow them to suffuse your heart with a deep sense of fulfillment.”
Clive, of course, came back with the obvious: “Narrowly escaping death is not my idea of fulfillment!”
Jill laughed, and wondered if they were done, with something in her eyes that Clive couldn’t quite place. He couldn’t say if it was good or bad, but he turned his attention back to Cid. He always turned back to Cid.
The moment of teasing had been broken, though, and Cid rose. That was when their mission truly began.
Despite the moment of levity, and the nerves that were beginning to affect all three of them, they were serious and their hands were steady on their blades.
When they entered the Glass Gate, that odd sense of unease crawled up his spine stronger than before. He wanted, more than once, to look over his shoulder just to make sure they weren’t being followed. And he had, at least a few times, and they hadn’t been. But the sense of impending doom prevailed as they moved deeper.
First it was the fight with the first set of soldiers:
“I swear this passage used to be secret.” Trust Cid to lead them through a shortcut that didn’t end in disaster of some kind.
With a heavy sigh, Clive rolled his eyes and concentrated on the soldiers in front of him.
“Of course it did.” It was said flatly, and with as much annoyance as Clive could put into it.
Not quite a chuckle, but Cid was no less amused, “Perfect plans, Clive. Perfect plans.”
When the soldiers were dispensed with, they moved on. The tunnel Cid led them down was roughly hewn, and they had to duck low in several spots. Clive was certain this was not part of the main tunnel; it looked to be some sort of service entrance. Or, perhaps it was one of the first attempts to delve in and make the space their own.
Not that it mattered. They weren’t there for the scenery.
They moved on, and when they’d passed the point of where the path led them, and into the main part of the mine, they found themselves once more fighting soldiers. Cid made the comment that they were likely going to be faced with more fights from then on, and Clive had sighed again, for all that he knew that it was both true and not truly Cid’s fault.
Besides, his annoyance covered up the niggling feeling in the back of his mind, where it’d taken up residence after crawling up his spine.
There was a battle to win, though, so he’d focused more on that. But the soldiers had more tricks up their sleeves, even though they’d all been dispatched. With a great creak of the metal gate, one of the largest men Clive had ever seen came into view, holding a giant cannon under his arm. Fuck. A cannonier. It presented them with a whole different set of problems.
As they fought, more than once they’d nearly been blown to bits. They dove away from fire and the sulphuric smell of the cannon going off. Sometimes the man would give great swings of his arms and his cannon, causing them to have to dive out of the way or be sent flying. The four of them dove and weaved and had worn the man down, and it seemed like they might actually win without any larger issues than a bruise.
But then he fucking went and turned Akashic.
That, of course, was when they noted the aether. Thick and cloying, it felt like it almost stuck to their skin. A proper flood. Cid hypothesized—with a leaning towards actually being correct—that the soldiers weren’t at the gates anymore to keep people out, but to keep the Akashic in.
And it wasn’t just the cannonier, either. It wasn’t just abandoned miners they encountered, or the guards; it was the wyverns and other creatures that had taken up residence, thinking it a safe place to roost. There was nothing for it, but to put them down, each and every one of them. Each one was a reminder of why the Mothercrystal needed to go.
The aether flood smelled sickly sweet, and grew stronger, the haze of it growing thicker, as they delved further into the mine. He worried that Torgal might have trouble with it, but the wolf didn’t seem bothered. In fact, he pinned his ears back when Clive made the suggestion he turn back.
Clive hadn’t blamed him. He might’ve punched someone if they’d recommended he stay back.
But his worry never abated. Not just about the flood, either. He only got more worried when Cid nearly fell to his death.
It happened when they came across a bridge that was half missing, boards broken and splintered, mostly dry rotted through. It was deemed stable enough to jump across, though. Clive leaped across, easy as you please. Torgal went next, not even shaking dust loose as he landed on light paws. Jill landed a little heavier, but caught herself easy enough. Cid, though. Cid was worried, Clive could tell.
“It doesn’t look that far,” he said, trying to talk himself into it. Clive wondered if it worked, or if Cid went for it, anyway. Either way, he got there in the end: He’d paced back a few steps, then ran forward and leaped across, landing heavily on a rotted board that creaked beneath him. It held up with a creak of warning. But he moved forward off that one board, and stepped on the next. That was the one that gave way.
Clive hated admitting he froze at first. Heart in his throat, he wasn’t sure what to do. His mind went completely blank. But Cid’s voice reached him, called for help, and Clive dove in before the words were finished coming out of his mouth.
“Hold on!” Clive had been desperate, diving for the edge of the dry rotted bridge. Even then, he barely grasped Cid’s arm in time. Adrenaline coursed through him, his blood pounded in his ears, and he pulled Cid up as if the man practically weighed nothing, though his body protested that assumption. He’d been half tempted to hug the man tightly to him when he pulled him free of the hole, grateful he hadn’t fallen.
They breathed hard, as though they’d run a marathon, and Clive had looked him over visually, just to make sure he was alright. And he seemed to be, for all that Cid now glared at the place where the board had been. He looked at it like it’d made a personal insult.
Suddenly, he blinked, and Cid had not only stood, but there was now a hand in Clive’s face.
Cid helped him up, but their hands didn’t part immediately, with Cid adding another point of touch to his forearm near his elbow. There was something there, in that moment. Clive couldn’t put a name to it, had no idea where to even start looking for the word. But they stared at each other a moment, and held onto each other’s hands. Clive had been caught in a verdant gaze that once more searched his for something. And once again, he came up wanting.
Cid finally let him go with a friendly pat to Clive’s shoulder. Something about that moment both warmed and chilled Clive to the marrow; the imprint of Cid’s hand remained wrapped around Clive’s, firm and real, the weight of his hand on his shoulder reassuring. But the niggling worry started to coalesce into genuine fear.
Cid had survived the awful attack from Benedikta, thrown back into the statue as he’d been. He’d kicked Clive out of the way in the heart of the wind storm, and narrowly escaped being crushed, himself, not even an hour later. And now this: he’d nearly fallen to his death thanks to an old bridge that was nearly completely dry rotted through. Clive remembered folk tales he’d been told when he was young about luck and threes.
He didn’t want to believe it. So he went on as if it didn’t mean anything to him.
Deeper they went. They nearly were nearly choking on the thick aether, at once point, and had to wave their hands in front of their faces to be able to see. Torgal sneezed more than once, shaking himself out from nose to tail each time.
But then something weird happened. The aether flood... just seemed to disappear. It didn’t peter out, or become thinner, or simply shift into something else. It just ceased to exist, as though there were a pocket of space inside. It was almost like the aether flood was a wall, and they’d just penetrated it.
Despite his confusion, when they stepped into the dark past the grate Clive and Cid kicked in, he set it aside and called up a wyke, shooting a look at a bright-eyed Cid when he asked if Clive could teach him that trick. Something in his chest had gone warm for a moment, and then he’d made a promise.
“Later,” he told him. Simple, one word, but a promise all the same.
“I’ll hold you to that,” Cid chuckled, and they moved on.
Put in the lead thanks to the light, Clive led them through puddles of water, some deeper than others. He could only imagine how hard a job it was going to be getting Torgal’s fur clean of the blood and now strange water that didn’t smell tepid, for all that it was free-standing, and had been for who knew how long.
Finally, Cid informed them of some good news: “The opening’s just up ahead.”
“Are you sure? I can’t see a thing,” Jill complained, and proved her point by stumbling. Cid caught her under the elbow and Clive paused, motioning for the wyke to hover over them. Something about the way they stood made Clive supremely uncomfortable, though he couldn’t say what.
Perhaps it was the strange, barely-there flush that dusted Jill’s cheeks, only just visible in the light of the wyke. But as soon as she was stable, Cid let her go and nodded at Clive with a small smile.
Swallowing the weird feeling down, he turned and began to lead them once more.
Snaking around, the tunnel wound its way through in no particular fashion, with no particular rhyme or reason. Just when Clive was about to call Cid out, he came around a corner and all at once the tunnel was flooded with light. He squinted from the suddenness of it, but he continued forward regardless, and when he got close enough that he could see his footsteps without the wyke, he put it out completely.
The rush of water is what he noticed the most. Not the size of the Mothercrystal, though that was impressive all on its own. But the rush of water made him distinctly uncomfortable, echoed by an odd pang just up under his ribcage. It was one he ignored; he instead concentrated on the warmth at his shoulder and the brush of aether. It wasn’t quite as cloying, here, though he thought it was supposed to be the opposite. But even as he watched, he noticed that the crystal glowed as the aether flowed towards it.
“There,” Cid pointed. Clive was drawn to his voice, and stared down the line of his arm towards a broad bridge that connected the spiraling path they were on, presumably, and the center of the crystal. “That’s our way into the inner sanctum.”
Besides the giant gate that he could vaguely make out from their vantage point, he thought perhaps there might be a chance they would make it out of this all in one piece.
And then they reached the first landing. The strange enemies he and Jill had first run across at Phoenix Gate down in the Apodytery proved to be no trouble. It was odd, though: when she commented on them, she didn't sound surprised. It was a curiosity, but it didn’t keep his attention long enough for him to figure it out.
The dragon was tough, but they managed to take it down with little fuss. They stumbled and dove, magic flew, and they cut at it with all they had. The poor Akashic beast had more than a few tricks up its sleeve. It roared, and spun, using its wings and tail to brush them aside. But they eventually managed to take the beast down. There were some fresh wounds between the three of them, though, including a sharp slash across Jill’s cheek and a tear in Cid’s jacket.
But then Cid clutched at his arm, pained. And he was uncertain, solemn, almost…afraid. He said, himself, he’d made it about this far before Bahamut had swooped in and chased him away, or something to that effect. But it seemed, faced with the actual realization of his dream, he wasn’t entirely certain as to what the future would hold.
“Luckily, two out of the three of us have faith in you,” Clive told Cid as he wandered over from checking on Jill. His hand was gentle on Cid’s right shoulder, even if it was the one untouched by the curse. And if it lingered there a moment longer than it perhaps should have, well, that was his secret. He didn’t want to think about luck and threes and the sound of Cid’s words edging towards something terrifying.
Cid was here, and solid, and alive, and they were going to do this, they were going to get through this.
Elated, almost giddy, he followed Cid into the inner sanctum, Jill right beside him.
The stonework was beautiful on the staircase leading in. And the shine of it was breathtaking, reflecting the glow of the Mothercrystal, and their steps were echoed by Jill’s words. He watched in awe as Cid marched right up the last set of steps and unsheathed his sword to move in a vicious, swift strike. It struck the core with a ring of metal on crystal, but did exactly nothing.
“I think we’re going to need a bigger sword,” Cid mused, studying the heart, surrounded by the beautiful motes of aether. It cast the man in an otherworldly light, and dragged the breath out of Clive for what felt like the millionth time today, but it didn’t stop him from offering himself up.
“Mine’s bigger,” he reminded, hand up and ready to take up his sword. But Cid’s outstretched hand stopped him.
“Thank you, Clive, but I meant that figuratively,” Cid chuckled, and it’d seemed he lingered in the humorous moment that left Clive sure his cheeks glowed red. He’d walked into that without even trying. Dammit.
Finally, Cid turned back towards the puzzle laid out before him.
“The core’s clearly made of sterner stuff.” He seemed to come to a decision as he turned back towards the two standing a few feet away. His voice carried as he muttered to himself, “Tarja’s going to have a fit when she hears about this.”
Clive’s stomach sank. The stone girl, Chloe, rose up in his mind. The abbey, too, and the Bearer man who died afraid and feeling alone. He remembered the grey that peppered Cid’s arm, and the way he clutched his shoulder not even a minute ago. He wanted to protest, but he didn’t have the words to bring up an argument that would have been convincing.
“Stand back,” Cid called, ordered them. “It’s about to get crowded.”
Clive wished he’d stopped him.
Destroying the crystal— that was the easy part, when it was all said and done. Ramuh’s staff was thrown into the heart shattered the thing like it was made of glass. But the— the thing. There was a thing that looked to have been torn in half, and the portal it rose from, those were not in the plan. His head split open, then, and a rush of a voice filled his head, talking in a language that felt old but that he somehow understood. He only just caught sight of Ramuh’s staff fly by a second time, right before another unplanned occurrence: it felt like his head split wider, and fire was being dumped inside.
Grow and change, Cid had said. No such thing as a perfect plan.
From there, it was a series of confused moments. Clive felt out of control. Desperate. There was a battle with the thing, with Typhon, and then another but with Ifrit against it. And then he'd come back to himself, and he—
Clive knelt beside the other man, heart breaking, head hurting, feeling unable to breathe. There was blood on the floor around him, and blood staining the grey-purple jacket he always associated with the man.
He— Cid couldn’t be, he couldn’t. No.
“We’ll find you a healer.” Even as he said it, even before Cid answered him, he knew. He knew. Staring at the wound, the way it looked like something had ripped through Cid, he knew.
“Here? No, you won’t.” Cid didn’t bother being gentle.
But wait, wait, he could try, he hadn’t tried—
There was a noise. Or perhaps it was the shift out of the corner of his eye, but the result was the same: gooseflesh rose all over his body, and warning bells began to toll in the back of his mind. He turned and rose to his feet, and there was that— that other thing, and Cid—
“I know who you are,” Cid growled, wet and full of hate, “and if you think I’m going to let you have him…” Clive felt his presence at his shoulder, familiar and giving him strength, breaking through the strange spell holding him in place. The blade had been swift, a strike as fast as lightning, right through the thing’s neck. “Think again!”
Cid collapsed back, and Clive finished the job, the words that the thing spouted ringing in his ears: “Why do you deny your fate? Your purpose...?”.
The thing disintegrated and he turned, and was forced to face reality.
Three to rise, four to fall. There was some longer version that came from a fable, but Clive hardly cared. He remembered only his own math earlier.
The statue. The boulder. The bridge. Three times lucky, and now…
“C-Cid, Cid,” Clive stuttered, not sure what he wanted to say, what he was meant to do. He didn’t care that he knelt in Cid’s blood, and smeared it across his armor. He helped Cid to a sitting position, and drew him close, not caring when the position smeared blood across his jerkin, staining the leather.
Clive felt dizzy. This wasn’t happening. It had to be a nightmare.
This couldn’t be happening.
He watched helplessly as the man in his arms fumbled around in his inner pocket. Part of him wondered if he should help, but he was numb, and couldn't found himself unable to do anything besides watch.
Cid cheered roughly when he found there was one last cigarillo in the case. “One left! That’ll do me.”
The moment was full of contradictions. Jill’s face was red and ruddy, her eyes red rimmed, tears beckoned by the tragedy unfolding. The pretty sound of crystal tinkling together filled the air as the crystal began to disintegrate around them. Torgal’s muzzle glowed green as he nuzzled gently at Cid’s knee, understanding that Cid was hurt, but not that it wasn’t something he could help with. Clive lit the cigarillo with a shaking hand, even as he begged Cid not to talk. The warm light of the Phoenix Blessing filled the blue-tinted air, casting Cid in warm tones, making the blood brighter.
Talk Cid did, while the smoke hung in the blue-lit air, that last one caught between his teeth stubbornly.
“Clive…” He didn’t want to hear this. He wanted to tape Cid’s mouth shut, like that could have stopped him. Like it would help the situation. The world went blurry, Cid went blurry, and he blinked rapidly to try and clear it so he could see again. He ignored the tears that tracked down his face. “For so long, I thought I had all the answers…” Clive’s hand slid across the back of Cid’s shoulders, and he pulled the man fully to him. He looked down at him, struck by the blood at his mouth that ringed the cigarillo. “But then I met you.”
Cid’s eyes were hazy, but still a brilliant, living green. He was still here, he had to stay here.
No, this can't be happening.
“And I learned it wasn’t a good death we should be fighting for, but a better life.” Fuck, no, how fucking dare he. Cid threw Clive’s own words right back in his face, and Clive hated him for it. They were supposed to see this to the end together.
Something in his chest fractured, and broke. The roar of the demon he’d unleashed against the monster from the portal echoed in Clive’s ears, but it didn't emerge. It couldn't get past the lump that had formed in his throat. But while it rang in his ears from within him, it wasn’t loud enough to drown out Cid’s words.
“It’s all very well, a man reclaiming his fate,” he gasped, pain in the lines of his face. Clive’s hand glowed with the Blessing of the Phoenix, hovering over the wound, but despite all the aether around them, it wasn’t enough. It’d never be enough. “But if he can’t choose how he meets it…” Cid seemed to at least be soothed by what little Clive and Torgal could do.
Torgal whined, pitifully. Clive wished he could do the same, but the lump in his throat was choking off any sound he might make.
“…What’s the point?” The tears spilled readily down Jill's cheeks, silent as the ice she wielded. Cid replaced the cigarillo in his mouth and grasped Clive’s wrist. The orange glow faded as he pressed Clive’s hand to his chest. “So, I made a choice.”
Clive knew. Immediately, he knew what Cid was doing.
Even while he knew what was happening, no matter how hard he mentally screamed at his brain, his hand wouldn’t move away. It was almost like it was glued there. It didn’t help that Cid held fast as he growled through the pain, as aether swirled around them, his teeth digging into the cigarillo in his mouth in earnest, now. Some wild part of Clive knew the wrapper around the sweet-smelling tobacco couldn’t taste good.
Clive felt like his chest might explode with the influx of energy. It felt electric, and it scraped out his insides. He didn’t want this. Take it back take it back take it back!
I don’t want you to die, Cid, please! You can’t, don’t do this to me!
“No, don’t do this!” His voice was wrecked. Still, still, he couldn’t pull his hand away. The chest beneath his hand heaved with the effort, the heart caged there beneath Clive's hand starting to stutter.
“The rest is in your hands,” Cid grit out, teeth bloodied as he strained to get the words out. “The crystals’ blessing is a prison, Clive…” Clive wanted nothing more than to listen, but he wanted nothing more than to stop Cid. He was— Cid was—“If it’s an outlaw the world needs…” It was getting close, and Clive’s brain screamed once more to try and get his hand to move. To do something different, to heal, rather than take. “To help it break free…”
“Stop this!” Clive begged, his voice cracked and broken. His voice rose in volume like that, too, might change something. “Please!” Cid ignored his pleas, though the aether dancing around them started to fade. As Cid started to fade.
“I can think of none better…” It hurt. So much. His insides were shredded as though glass had been poured into him. Cid released his hand, finally, but it was too late to matter. Cid used some of the last of his strength to press the back of his hand to the skin just below Clive's collar bones. The glove was smooth against his skin, the hand still warm through it. Part of him wanted to grasp that hand and demand Cid hang on. Part of him wanted to throw that hand away. Part of him wanted to scream at the injustice.
Why was it Cid that had to suffer for Clive’s weakness?
“…Than you.” Cid breathed the last words, and his heavy eyes fell closed. The aether around them died away completely, finally, with a last pop of static that hurt as it popped against his skin. His chest hurt.
There was an echo of emptiness as Cid’s lips parted as his muscles went lax, and the cigarillo that had been between them fell to the ground, where it smoldered, then went out as the blood soaked into it. He felt the moment the heart beneath his hand stuttered once, twice, then went still. The stillness fuelled the desperation clawing its way around Clive’s own. It didn’t feel right, none of this felt right. The wrongness of the moment was compounded when he looked down into Cid’s still face. The man was always so expressive, his face just as animated as the rest of him.
It wasn’t right to see him so still.
Clive’s breath stuttered and stopped, caught in his throat. This had to be a joke, a dream. This couldn’t be real. Almost desperately, he pressed his hand a little harder, just to confirm. He had to know. This couldn’t be happening.
But nothing changed. There was no heart beating beneath his hand. The chest did not rise and fall. The eyes shut by gravity didn’t open. There was no life left in the body in his arms.
A bereft scream ripped out of him, his arms wrapped around Cid tightly. Jill’s face was streaked with tears. A second primal scream that ended in a desolate sob ripped through him, one that was half muffled in the warm leather of Cid’s jacket where neck and shoulder met, echoed in Torgal’s soft, uncertain whine and heightened by the aggrieved sound Jill buried into the soft, thick fur of Torgal’s neck.
It had to be a lie. This had to be a nightmare. Cid couldn’t be— there was no way he was– really–
Cidolfus Telamon couldn’t really, truly be dead.
There was no time to reconcile reality and nightmare, however. Soon enough, that voice he’d heard spewing from the second monster’s mouth returned with more words that Clive… understood. He didn’t want to, tried to shut them out. But they still forced him to tenderly, so gently, lay Cid down to rest on the cold, ancient stone floor among his own blood. On the way down, he found his lips brushing Cid’s temple and for a split second, found himself breathing him in. He tried to commit to memory the old feeling he got, the warmth and appreciation and care he had for Cid’s steady presence. His mentor, his friend, the man who had reminded him that it was okay to live.
But he couldn’t help that not only did he breathe in the tobacco and rain and Cid, the metallic tang of blood coated the back of his tongue. It tainted everything about this moment. The memory of this point in time would overtake everything good, all of them tinted blue with purple-white-blue sparks that had disappeared, right along with Cid's heartbeat.
The moment passed, time ticked forward again, and Clive braced himself.
With Cid settled on the ground, he turned, focusing.
“Denial. So this is how you would waste your will.” It echoed oddly in the chamber, ricocheted through Clive’s brain and reignited the headache in its wake. The blast of fire from where the shattered heart of the Mothercrystal once floated was blue in its heat, but the air blasted from it dug icy fingers past Clive’s armor. He raised his hand against the sudden influx of light, brow furrowed and eyes squinted.
“Perhaps it is time you learned…” Clive’s face felt tight as he looked back towards the platform, squinted, only to widen his eyes.
Suddenly, flames blasted towards them again, a great wall of it headed straight for them. Clive felt guilt stab at him as he dove across Cid’s still body to shield Jill. Torgal, meanwhile, tried to shield all three of them.
There was fire and heat and stabbing cold and sparks burst over his nerves and everything exploded and—