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Gav sighed deeply as the shadowy outline of the new Hideaway came into view, patting Obolus on the shoulder as the little skiff bumped up against the pier. Damn thing still smelled of sawdust, and whatever it was that Mid has concocted to coat the pylons to save them from the blight affected waters of the lake. It wasn’t a pleasant mingling of scents, but it meant they needn’t replace the timbers so often.
He hopped out of the skiff, parting wave over his shoulder and dragged his weary feet over the boards of the walkway, eyeing the lift hopefully. It’d been over two weeks since he left on his mission and he was praying to whatever god might be listening that Mid had finally got the gears for it sorted.
Bardolph was chatting with Nazaire as he made his way to the lift, or the ladder if need be, the pair nodding to him as he came close.
“Please tell me I ent need t’use that fucking ladder,” he said as he joined them.
Bardolph laughed, “no, the lift’s in use now. But only since yesterday.”
“Thank fuck for that,” Gav groaned, shifting the pack on his shoulder. “I’d consider taking a kip right here if it weren’t.”
“Good to see you in one piece, Gav,” Nazaire said as Gav sighed again and headed to the lift platform.
“Catch up when I’ve had some shut eye,” Gav called over his shoulder. Once inside the lift itself, he operated the switch and leaned against the wall as it creaked its way up to the main deck. The cage opened, Gav rubbing his hand over his face and looking about. A fair amount of progress had been made in the time he’d been away. It certainly helped having a full time carpenter, sending a silent prayer of thanks for Bardolph. He stepped out of the lift, noting the quiet. There was a faint light coming from the door on the balcony of Clive’s solar, so he was likely still awake which was no surprise. The infirmary door was open too from what he could see, more light spilling through onto the stairway that had been reinforced just before he left with a new addition leading up higher and would join with the one that led from Blackthorne’s forge on the other side of the main hall.
He fished out the notes he’d made about Titan’s whereabouts and decided to see if Cid was awake.
It was likely. Once Cid had woken after Oriflamme he’d declared he’d had plenty of sleep and had been devilling Tarja ever since to let him out. Thus far she hadn’t relented, citing the months he’d spent laying like a sack of skin and bones recovering from the near fatal wounds he’d endured.
The shouting match between the pair could be heard throughout the whole Hideaway, drawing Clive.
Gav didn’t know what Clive said to Cid, no-one did, Tarja shooing everyone out and standing before the closed door to the infirmary until Clive emerged some time later, assuring her that Cid would behave himself. Provided he had something to occupy his mind.
Otto had very gladly sauntered in with a stack of bookkeeping for Cid to assist with. It spoke of how bored Cid was that there was nary a whimper out of him.
As far as Alphas went, in Gav’s experience, Cid was a rare one, able to control his temper better than most, and easy going the rest of it. As he made his way to the Infirmary, Gav thought about that. Clive was a little the same, in fact, it had taken Gav’s beta nose a while to even cotton on to Clive’s designation when he first got to know him. Apparently not even the Omegas and other Alphas had been entirely sure what Clive was.
A by-product of the Imperial Army it turned out. Too many Alphas brawling in one unit could cause trouble, so they’d dosed them with something that suppressed their scent and Alpha natures.
Cid had not been best pleased by that, in one of his rare foul moods for several days after the Rosarian had admitted to it. Discovering Clive was also a Dominant - of Ifrit, before that unheard of into the bargain - had put the issue of Clive’s muted designation on the back burner.
Cid had been far too concerned with keeping Clive from topping himself to worry about whatever the dosing had done to Clive’s scent and instincts.
When Jill had come out of her shell and Gav managed to ask her a bit about her childhood friend she’d told him that they probably hadn’t needed to dose Clive as he’d always been a very placid Alpha anyway. Neither of them commented on the cruelty of doing it regardless.
He poked his head into the Infirmary, seeing Tarja making notes in her medical journal.
“Burning the midnight oil I see,” he commented wryly.
Tarja glanced up, offering him a little smile. “Good to see you back.”
“Aye, and good to be back,” he said, stepping in. “I came to see if the old fart’s awake, thought he’d like to see my notes and hear my report.”
Tarja snorted, “well, good luck with that. I’d finally had enough of him and told him to find another bed, so you might need to search for him.” A little cat-like smile quirked her lips, “though I have a feeling Clive might know where he’s hidden himself.”
“Ah, so he’s up and around then. Mid’ll be pleased to see her Da on his feet.”
“She was,” Tarja replied. “I’ve not seen hide nor hair of him since she escorted him out, walking circles around him. Think he’d had enough of my lectures for a time, not that he paid any of them heed, mind. Thinks I can’t smell cigar smoke, that one.”
“How’s he doing?” he asked, leaning against her work table.
She pursed her lips. “Better than I expected, truth be told. He can still feel Ramuh, though it’s a faint thing from what I can gather, so I must assume the Eikon helped him survive and aided his recovery. The one good thing that’s come out of it is that his curse will get no worse.”
They both shared a look of relief at that. Gav could still remember how Clive had carried him to Isabelle’s, begging them to find Tarja for him, Cid pale and still. It had been a tricky thing, what with Titan scattering the remaining people of the Hideaway when he destroyed it, but Tarja had been with the rest of their people at Martha’s. When she heard about Cid, she’d legged it to Northreach, leaving Rodrique to look after everyone else.
Cid had eventually been moved to Martha’s after a month or so, when Tarja deemed it safe enough, and then later, when Clive and Otto had decided on the site for the new Hideaway, and preliminary building had taken place, he’d been moved here. But he hadn’t woken for months, just laying in the Infirmary.
Biding Tarja goodnight, Gav headed back down the steps, glancing up to see Clive’s light still on, so he headed into the main hall. It was dark and quiet inside, the Tub and Crown empty and silent, no-one at the tables. The bard that’d arrived several weeks before Gav went on his last mission into Dhalmekia was curled up on a blanket beside the stool he used most days. He made note of everything that had been done since he was last home. Charon’s Toll was finally closed in, the doors to Tome’s Shelves were stacked against the wall, ready to be hung. He peeked out past Blackthorne’s forge to see that the stairs down to the gardens were almost finished, and the ones that would lead up to the schoolroom were being built. It looked like the wall of Clive’s solar on that side was now filled in, at least mostly, large window-like openings still there, but the overhang of the ruin protected the room from any weather.
He smiled to himself. The place was mostly liveable now. It had taken the better part of a year to get to this point, and there was a long way to go, but they were safe out here.
Turning back around, he made his way up to the doors of Clive’s solar.
He tapped twice, but heard no response, which wasn’t all that unusual. If Clive was working on reports, he was likely absorbed in the task and didn’t hear it, so Gav pushed the door open and stepped in.
He froze.
Clive was in bed, but he wasn’t alone.
It took him all of two seconds to make out Cid, naked from the looks of things, lounging back on Clive’s bed, propped up on a few thin pillows wedged against several boxes stacked behind the bed, bare chested, the healed wound still a red and angry mess of scars, one leg crooked up, a head of dark hair resting on his stomach, two arms around his waist. He near choked as his eyes travelled down, taking in Clive’s bare back and very bare arse not entirely covered by a blanket.
Cid took a drag of his cigar, other hand petting through Clive’s unruly black locks fondly, raising his head to look at Gav.
Well, fuck.
It was then that his Beta nose picked up on the scent in the room, heady and thick. Sex and sweat…and rut.
Cid raised a brow at him, gesturing with a finger to his lips, eyes narrowing when Gav’s gaze drifted back to the swell of Clive’s arse again.
“Beautiful as he is, I’ll thank you not to speak of this, and to keep your eyes north of his arse,” Cid growled, and even Gav picked up on the distinct Alpha tone. “I’m feeling a mite possessive right now, and I think he’d be the same.”
Gav blinked. “Right.” He fumbled for his notes, “I…ah…I’ll just leave these here,” he said softly, placing the papers down on Clive’s desk.
Clive mumbled in his sleep, nuzzling his face into Cid’s stomach, just near the healed wound, and Gav caught sight of a mating mark on Clive’s nape through his hair. His brows rose, Cid smirking at him. Cid tilted his head, exposing his own mark on the side of his throat.
Gav cleared his throat, backing away, hands up, the last thing he wanted to do was intrude on a newly mated pair, especially when they were both Alphas. “I’ll just be going then.” He bumped into the door, slipping around it. But before he left entirely, he smiled at Cid, “you do know there’ll be nary a peep out of any of us about you two? Everyone will be happy for you.”
“Aye, I know,” Cid murmured, fingers carding through Clive’s hair. “More of a rut thing, lad. It’s been a long time coming.”
“Right, won’t pretend to understand about the Alpha stuff, but glad you two figured your shite out.”
As the door closed behind Gav, Clive lifted his head to look up at Cid, blinking glazed blue eyes at him, Cid’s heart contracting in his chest at the sight of them.
“Figured our shite out have we?” Clive drawled lazily, wriggling up so he was laying over Cid fully.
“Mmm,” Cid hummed, stroking his cheek over the healed Branding scar. His fingers drifted to Clive’s nape, tracing the mating mark. Clive shivered in response, sighing happily, lips to Cid’s mark. “I’d say we have, love.” He stubbed out his long forgotten cigar, then slid his hand down Clive’s back to his very delectable arse, giving it a squeeze. He chuckled as Clive dragged him down so they were laying in the bed properly, curled around one another, thinking back to the day Clive had come into the Infirmary.
Clive sat down on the edge of Cid’s bed, blue eyes worried as he gazed at him, taking his hand.
“Don’t do that to me again, please.”
Cid’s ready quip halted on his tongue when he felt the tremble through Clive’s fingers, finding he didn’t have the heart to tease him, nor pretend he didn’t know what the lad was alluding to. “I’ll try not to, Clive. I promise.”
Clive swallowed, looking down at their entwined fingers, biting his lip. “I know you’re itching to be up and around, but it’s too soon, Cid. I…we nearly lost you and I…we…can’t.” He sucked in a breath, shoulders tense. “I can’t lose you. I know it’s…I know you don’t want me, and that’s alright, I can deal with that, but I…I need you alive.”
Cid blinked, staring at the side of Clive’s face, seeing the flush there. “Clive, look at me.”
Lifting his head reluctantly, Clive met his gaze, longing blazing in the blue. Cid’s breath caught in his throat, reaching out with his free hand to trace the scar left behind after Tarja removed his Brand. Clive closed his eyes briefly, looking like he wanted to nuzzle his palm.
“You want me? This old sack of bones? Another Alpha?”
Clive’s eyes blazed fierce and hot. “You’re not old,” he insisted. “And do I look like I care that you’re an Alpha? Because I don’t. I thought you beyond such things, even if I’m not your type.”
Taken aback by the utter sincerity in Clive’s tone, and the faint admonishment there, Cid huffed. He cupped Clive’s cheek properly, leaning closer carefully so he didn’t jostle his wound.
“I lied, Clive.” He sat back to see what effect his words had, seeing a flash of confusion, then indignation.
“You lied,” Clive growled. “Why did you feel the need to do that? You could have just said you weren’t interested in me, instead of letting me think it was impossible…”
Cid sighed, leaning back on his pillows. “I lied because you were in no fit state to be entertaining such things. I lied, because it was entirely possible, and I thought…” He broke off, lifting his hand from Clive’s cheek and showing his cursed arm. “This had a great deal to do with it.”
Clive shifted, glancing down at Cid’s arm, speckled with the curse, at the larger patches of stone that crept towards his shoulder. “You thought you were dying,” he said quietly.
“Aye, I was. I was actively dying, Clive, no other way to look at it.” He blinked again, flexing his hand. “Though, I suppose it’ll get no worse now.”
“Since you forced me to take Ramuh from you,” Clive hissed, withdrawing his hand from Cid’s.
The action left Cid feeling bereft. “I…I did that because you were the one person I trusted, Clive. I thought that was it, that it was better you take him than let the cycle begin again with someone else. I knew you could handle it, even if you didn’t yourself.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “And I…I wanted you to keep a piece of me with you.”
Clive was silent for a long time, eyes wide as he stared at Cid, his expression…odd, was all Cid could decipher. He’d never seen anything quite like it on Clive’s face before.
A belated “oh,” came from Clive like he’d finally discovered the answer to a puzzle. Cid watched, rather entranced as his cheeks took on a pink tint that was every attractive on an already attractive face.
“Aye,” Cid whispered, gently taking Clive’s hand again, relieved when he didn’t pull away. “Didn’t know I was so sentimental, but there you are. Maybe it was a tad selfish, but I wanted you to remember me somehow, and Ramuh was the only thing I had to give that meant a damn.”
Clive’s eyes darted to the corner where Cid’s swords had been propped against the corner since his arrival in the new Hideaway months and months before, witness to his silent stillness, and then his wakeful recuperation. “Not…”
Grimacing, Cid shook his head. “No, not those. Those are a relic of another…life, such as it was. I’ve only kept them this long because they were useful and it felt wasteful to ask Blackthorne to make two new ones.”
Clive worried at his lip, eyes darting from the swords to Cid. “They were from…”
“Tharmr, aye, they were.” He sighed, running his free hand over his face, “and that was another reason not to entrust them to you. I’d not have you tainted by anything to do with him.” That was his own burden to bear. “So I gave you Ramuh, hoping he’d provide some wise counsel and you’d think of me from time to time.”
“But you’re still here, Cid, and I can’t…I don’t know how to give him back to you…”
“I’d not take him back regardless, sweetheart,” Cid said, wincing after his slip of the tongue. Clive’s eyes widened further, making him look adorable, if shocked. “I might now be a lump with no use, but with you not being affected by the curse, well, it makes more sense for you to wield him.”
Lashes came down over Clive’s eyes in a flutter, then those blues were boring right into Cid’s. “You are useful. Even if you never wielded a sword again,” he said in that perfectly blunt way he sometimes had. “Your knowledge is invaluable. I’m floundering, I don’t have a fucking clue what I am doing…and I…I’d fucking miss you were you not here.”
“That so?” Cid murmured. “Well, I am still here, taking up a bed and Tarja’s time and not much else.”
“Then help me,” Clive pleaded. “Run this place, you know how. I don’t know anything about boosting morale, I know less about Otto’s fucking ledgers. I’ve no clue how to charm people…”
Cid couldn’t help it, laughing at that. “Oh, Clive, you hardly need help on that account I can assure you. I find you to be thoroughly charming, especially when you aren’t actively being a pain in my arse. Actually, even then, I find myself charmed by you.” He sighed when Clive scowled at him, “aye, alright, I concede on some of your points. I’ll help as much as I can, and as much as Tarja lets me.”
The scowl vanished, replaced with a blinding smile. “Thank you, Cid.”
“Well, if I knew I’d get a smile like that, I’d have demanded Otto bring me the ledgers an age ago.” He halted Clive’s protestations with his free hand to his cheek, stroking over the slightly raised skin of his scar. “Beautiful you are.”
Clive groaned, then his mouth was on Cid’s, his tongue delving, flicking against his own. As abruptly as it started, Clive wrenched away with a sheepish glance.
“Come back here,” Cid murmured, tugging him close again.
“You’re still recovering,” Clive protested weakly against his lips, hands flying to Cid’s shoulders for balance.
“I think I can handle some kissing,” Cid retorted, hand curling in Clive’s hair. He leaned all the way back against his pillows, taking Clive with him.
Cid sighed at the memory of a very pleasant if exhausting half an hour that they’d passed kissing and learning the taste of one another. It had only stopped because Clive sensed Cid’s faltering energy, promising they had plenty of time to take things further.
And they had. Eventually. Cid’s impending rut and his improved stamina had seen that through. He curled his fingers in Clive’s hair, hearing his pleased hum, smiling down at his mate.
His mate.
Two words he’d never thought he’d get to say.