What's Lost

A "Final Fantasy XV" Fanfiction

…1…

Deep in the dungeons, where the air was stale and old, Ignis was starting to worry. Not that he'd admit it out loud, of course, but he was worried none-the-less. They'd been wandering for what felt like hours down here, and each goblin horde seemed bigger than the last.

"I think we're lost," Noctis announced, bending to scoop a few useless rocks from the floor at yet another dead end. "Why couldn't someone have dropped something useful in here… like a map?"

Gladiolus stood with his back to them, watching the way they'd come. He snorted, crossing his arms over his massive chest.

"Because that would be too easy. The gods can't let that happen."

Ignis pushed his glasses up his nose and sighed. "No choice. We'd better go on."

He turned to look at the youngest member of their group, their gunslinger, who had been oddly silent as he stood there, scuffing the dirt with his boot.

"Prompto? Something on your mind?"

"Huh? Eh? No. Let's just get out of here."

Gladiolus let the three file out before him, ever present was the shield at their backs. Well, at Noctis' back, but Ignis and Prompto received that protection from time to time. It was enough.

After what seemed another hour, Ignis's worry suddenly spiked. He opened his mouth to speak when the attack came.

A horde of Imps and a Mindflayer burst to life all around them, as if they'd been laying in wait. Noctis's storm lance burst to life and began to flash as he waded into the fray. The echo from Prompto's guns was deafening in such close quarters, but what was a little bit of ringing to the ear compared to being dead? And Gladiolus, with his massive sword swinging, was taking chunks out of the Mindflayer. Smirking, Ignis called out his daggers and gave them a spin, then turned on his heel and charged the Imp that had tried to sneak up on him.

They battled valiantly, supporting one another as needed. Flashes of weaponry changing to adapt, and curatives being used to keep them going filled the tunnel they fought in with a mass of light. Ignis thought they might just have this one bagged.

Then he felt the sting in his back, saw the wave of green poisonous light wash over and around him. Gasping, gagging, he went to his knees.

"Iggy!" Prompto screamed from somewhere to his right. "Get up! Iggy!"

Coughing, he waved in the direction of the voice, already calling up the antidote from their supply. He activated it, taking a deep breath as it pushed back the poisonous air around him. An Imp closed in, reaching out to claw his left arm, one single line opening up through his jacket and shirt sleeve, cutting a deep furrow just beneath his elbow. Lashing out, he drove the blade of one of his daggers into the Imp's head, watching as it misted out of existence. Checking the wound, he saw that it wasn't bleeding too badly, so ignored it and ran back into the battle. Afterward, he'd forgotten about it until they'd found what they needed and left the dungeon behind.

That night, as he stripped out of his clothes to clean up and put on something clean, he looked at the wound. About two inches long, it lay open and red on his pale skin. Not wanting to waste an entire potion on something so tiny, he simply bandaged it up and went on with things. It didn't even hurt.

In the pre-dawn darkness of the hotel room the four men were sharing, Ignis's eyes snapped open. Without his glasses, everything wavered and slipped focus for just a few seconds before sliding to near perfect clarity. The only sound was the breathing of the two men in the bed with him and the soft snores of the larger man who had an entire bed to himself. Lifting his head, he looked them over.

Noctis and Prompto were on one side of the big bed, a tangle of gangly limbs and blankets. Those two always slept like they were kids, piled up and uncaring. Ignis supposed that was what having a best friend was like; personal space was nothing. Across the room, in the bed by the door, Gladiolus lay on his back, bare chest rising and falling slowly in the rhythm of sleep. As deeply asleep as he knew Gladio was, Ignis knew that the mountain of a man would come awake in seconds at the slightest provocation. But for the moment, they all slept well.

Moving slowly, carefully, Ignis pulled himself from the bed. His feet found his shoes, his hands finding his jacket, which he pulled over his sleep shirt. Making sure to take a key, he eased out of the room.

It was cool, a slight breeze blowing the left over smell of the night's rain across his skin. Skirting the building, he found the ladder that would let him onto the roof and climbed it, careful not to slip. Once there, he found a sheltered, dry spot to sit. It was still quiet; barely even any birdsong in the trees. He rubbed his face a moment before carefully easing up both of his sleeves on his left arm. Peeling back the bandage he kept on it, Ignis frowned. The wound… he'd received it a week ago… was still there. It didn't bleed, was only mildly tender, but no amount of healing potions he'd had to use in the interim time had made it go away. Any other gash or bump or wound had been mended. But not this one.

And that wasn't the only issue.

A day or so after that run-in with the Imps, they'd met with some pretty low level beasts on a hunt, an easy take-down more for the gil than for anything. Ignis hadn't noticed right away that the spark of his weapon summoning was a bit duller than it should have been, but his daggers had done their work well, although his left arm had started to flag and weaken near the end of the fight. He'd played it off, checking on the Prince and Prompto before tending to himself. It had taken two attempts to materialize the healing potion he needed, but he'd only attributed that to being exhausted. Which he was.

But that didn't explain what was happening now.

Letting the sleeve drop, he held up one hand. Sending a plea and a prayer to the Hexatheon, and tried to summon up one of his daggers. There was the barest, faintest spark that was instantly blown away but the dew damp breeze. Gritting his teeth, Ignis tried again to the same end. Growing frustrated, he tried again. Again. Again. The spark finally stopped coming and his left arm throbbed, robbing him of his breath. Laying a hand over the wound, he panted softly, trying to calm himself.

"Iggy?"

The familiar gruff voice, quiet this morning, caught him off guard. How Gladiolus, with all of his girth, could move so silently was anyone's guess. Ignis got to his feet, letting his hands drop to his sides.

"Here," he called back once the other could see him. "I'm here."

Gladiolus made his way over, his step just as stealthy as it had been when he'd snuck onto the roof. The talent never ceased to amaze Ignis, not that he showed much surprise for it.

"What're you doing up here?" the large man asked, stopping a few feet away and crossing his arms over his still bare chest. "It's barely dawn, you should still be sleeping."

"Bad dream," he admitted, shrugging noncommittally. "Nothing to worry about."

Gladiolus studied him before closing the distance and placing a hand on Ignis's forehead. Frowning, he batted the large hand down gently.

"Iggy, you look pale. Even for you. What's going on?"

"Nothing," Ignis shot back, more sharply than he'd intended. "I had a bad dream is all. With all of the horrid things we face, wouldn't you expect that?"

Without a word, Gladiolus placed his hand to Ignis's forehead again. This time, the logic brain kicked in and left it alone. A tight frown creased Gladio's scarred face and he pulled the shorter man close with a hand placed gently on his shoulders. Leaning slightly, he searched Ignis's eyes closely.

"You are getting sick," he declared, letting Ignis go finally and stepping back. "Why haven't you told us? And why haven't healing potions worked? You've used plenty lately. We all have."

Ignis shook his head, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets. "I'm not sick. You know me, I don't even catch colds. So why would you think I'm sick?"

Gladiolus, smirking slightly, lifted a hand and started ticking items off on his fingers. "You're paler than normal. Your eyes are seriously glassy. You've dropped weight, and don't bother saying otherwise. All the links we do, I can tell the difference in your body weight by now. And when's the last time you finished an entire meal, especially of your own cooking? It's been nearly a week now."

Ignis's left eye twitched as he turned his gaze away. He hated how forthright and insightful Gladio was sometimes.

"It's nothing," he said stubbornly, aware of how much like Prompto he sounded. "Just let me be, would you?"

Eyes hardening, Gladiolus reached out and grabbed Ignis by his left arm, right over the wound. Gritting his teeth, Ignis hissed, brought to his knees by the firm squeeze Gladio gave him. The big man leaned to follow him down, easing his hold but not letting go.

"You think I haven't noticed? You think you've hidden this from me?" Gladiolus growled. "Iggy, I know you. I know your moves. I know the flex and flow of every limb of your body." Ignis felt himself color at the hidden innuendo of the statement. "I can tell that you've been favoring this arm in battle, in everything. So tell me what the hell is going on, or by the gods, I will beat it out of you."

Half an hour later, they descended the ladder and headed back to the room, neither speaking. Knowing Gladiolus would be true to his threatening word, Ignis had told him, in growled phrases, about his arm and the wound that wouldn't heal. He'd barely managed to keep the other part of his problems from spilling out before Gladio had let him go. A small whimper had left him then, and he'd all but collapsed as he leaned over, cradling his arm to his stomach as it throbbed.

"Show me."

Sighing, Ignis pushed himself upright, doing as he was told. He slid his sleeves up again, peeling back the bandage. It wasn't bleeding, but it was a brighter, more irritated red than it had been. And there was…

"Oh gods, Iggy…" Gladio's voice fell sharply as he saw the bruise his grip had left on the pale skin of his arm. "I… I didn't mean to do that! I didn't think I had that tight a hold… I'm so sorry…"

Ignis waved him off, shaking his head. "That's another to add to the list. I bruise far more easily now. The healing potions can take care of those, though. Just not this."

Gladiolus wasn't eased by that as he crouched down, taking a far gentler hold of Ignis's arms. Ignis shivered at the touch. Gladiolus was so full of contradictions; his touch could harm and heal, his voice could frighten and soothe, his smile could turn your blood to ice and it could boil it in your veins. It all depended on how he chose to use it all. The older man leaned close, studying the wound before kissing just below it. Carefully, he covered it back up with the bandage and drew down the sleeves.

"We don't need to tell the others yet," he said softly, but firmly. "If it comes to a battle, I'll do what I can to cover you. We'll just have to play it off the right way."

Ignis looked shocked at that, his eyes wide, lips parted. "…what?" he gasped. "You… you can't… your job is to protect Noctis, not me. Don't you dare shirk your duty to the Prince, Gladiolus Amiciata!" He knew his voice had dropped, indignant and demanding, perhaps even a little whiny. "He matters, Noctis matters. Not me."

Gladio's eyes blazed as he gripped Ignis's chin with firm fingers, staring into grey-blue eyes with his own honey brown. "You. Do. Matter. To me. More than you care to admit. So suck it up."

A small smile tugged at Ignis's mouth then as he stared back into Gladio's eyes. "I know I matter. I matter behind closed doors. It's how it's always been for you and I. The Prince comes first."

Gladiolus sighed and let go of Ignis's chin, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip before pulling his hand away. "You matter to me more than just then, Iggy," he said softly, his voice rough. "Way more than just then. It's not my fault you hold so hard to your propriety when people are around."

Getting up, Gladio turned on his heel and walked away. The smile slipped from Ignis's thin lips, replaced by a frown and a deep knowing that things between himself and Gladio weren't well lately. And not just because he'd kept the wound a secret. There was more to it than that. Groaning as his arm throbbed, he got to his feet and dusted the grit from his knees. Gathering himself, he followed after Gladiolus, going down after the other, knowing the big man wanted to be at the bottom in case he fell.

They entered the room in time to see Prompto emerge from the bathroom, barefoot and wearing only his pants, his wet hair clinging to his face and neck.

"Good morning," he sing-songed before dropping the wet towel onto Noctis's sleeping face.

The Prince, for his part, jerked away, throwing the towel off with a loud swear. Gladiolus laughed heartily, pulling his shirt on. Noctis sat up and rubbed his eyes, groaning and mumbling at the rude awakening.

"I'm going to get the coffee," Gladiolus announced once he was dressed.

"I'll come to!" Prompto pulled on his own sleeveless shirt and a vest. "Even your big hands can't carry all of the coffee the four of us need to wake up."
Shaking his head, Gladio walked back out, Prompto bouncing in his wake. Now that the room was quiet, Noctis flopped back down, already asleep again. Ignis took this as his chance to take a shower of his own with little fear of being barged in on. He gathered some clean clothes from his bag.

In the bathroom, the door securely shut and locked, Ignis undressed and studied himself in the mirror. Gladiolus was right. He was pale and thin. Waifish, really. The bruise on his arm stood out more than it should have, making him worry at his lip. Yanking his gaze from the reflection, he started the water and stepped beneath it, shivering as it battered over his body.

His hair fell into his eyes as he soaked it, and he ran his hands through it and pushed it back. His left arm twinged at the elbow, but he ignored it, setting about washing his light brown hair thoroughly. The Regalia was best experienced with the top down, after all, and that mean road grime and whatever the wind could carry would build up quickly, and Ignis did not enjoy feeling grimy. Well, that wasn't entirely true, but that was neither here nor there. The way things were going, travel grime was the only kind he'd be wearing for a long while.

Once his hair was clean, he turned attention to his body. Even as ill as he looked, he made sure to clean from head to toe, using soaps to soften his skin and leave him feeling and looking refreshed. Finally, he turned off the water and stepped out.

The image that greeted him in the mirror shocked him. He looked worse than before, all of his bones showing, his eyes sunken in. Gasping, he ran his hands over himself, feeling firm flesh that the reflection was denying. Gripping the sink in his hands, he closed his eyes and counted to ten, slowly, working his heart down to a normal pace. When he opened them, his reflection was fine, or as fine as it had been before the shower. A tap at the door caused him to jump and make a surprised noise.

"Iggy… coffee's here. And some breakfast. Hurry up." Gladiolus's voice was level, friendly, but Ignis could almost see the worry in his eyes, since surely his back was to the younger men as he spoke through the door. "Before Prompto eats everything."

"Hey! I would not! Okay, maybe I would, but I SO would not!" Prompto's voice was defensive, and Ignis knew he was on his feet, ready to defend his own honor as a food hog.

As the three men outside of the bathroom began to tease each other, the laughter eased something in Ignis's heart. It made him feel that everything would be okay, somehow. Taking a deep breath, he redressed the wound and pulled on his dress shirt. He made sure that he was tucked in and his belt centered, gloves in place on his thin hands before he stepped out. He'd worry about his hair once it was dry. Happily, there was plenty of food left, and the coffee, while not Ebony, went down smoothly and tasted very good. Gladiolus knew just how he took it, and for that, and all of the shield's attentive ways, he was grateful.