I really, really should be updating Nox Caelum, but instead, I got run over by another angst bunny this morning.

ALL of the female characters in the XV universe deserved better, but I think Crowe was the one who got screwed over the most. I wanted so much more of her, so here's this in her memory.

Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy XV.

By the time they found her, she had been dead for days.

Of course, Nyx didn't know that when he walked down the polished halls of the Citadel with the Captain. The look that Drautos had on his face when he suddenly turned sharply to him, a surefire sign that something was wrong, was enough to send his heart into overdrive, the hammering of his pulse in his ears blocking out everything else except for no no no non onono non on o nonononono nononononononononono. His next words completely drained the air from his lungs, the world suddenly lurching to a sickening stop.

Later, he wouldn't even be able to remember what those words were. Later, he would just remember the feeling of the smooth black tiles against his boots, pounding as he sprinted down to the Kingsglaive medical ward as fast as he could. Later, he would just remember the feeling of his heart in his throat, the feeling of helplessness and panic and desperation all crashing down on him at once, the same feeling he had when Galahd was under Imperial attack, when he couldn't get to Selena and his mother in time.

Denial.

He had to get to the ward before Libertus. If he made it, it would somehow not be true. It could never be, would never be true. He just needed to be there. Running for all he was worth, praying to every god that he didn't believe would ever hear, he pushed himself, faster and faster, never mind the servants and the carts that he had accidentally pushed and overturned in his way.

She was just going to Tenebrae. Granted, though it was far, there was no way anything should have happened to her, not with her combative skillset. She could take down a whole squad of Niflheim troops single-handedly. Before she left, she had given him and Libertus the barest bones she could about her mission, though classified. They had always had her back. She knew that. She trusted them, and she told them. Nothing was supposed to happen; they were going to catch up on that stupid trashy TV show they loved watching that weekend, cooking their sub-par themed meals to eat as they watched and waited for Libertus to arrive later on in the night with a fresh batch of cookies so he could catch the next show with them. They were supposed to go drinking at that Galahd kebob place tucked into the corner of the city with Pelna and Sonitus and Axis and Tredd the night after that.

She was supposed to be adopting a cat. He was going to go to the shelter with her to pick one out, one who would have waited for her to come home at her apartment every night, that she would bring over to their show marathons at his place and Libertus and Luche were supposed to croon over it, because they were such big softies for cats though they would never admit it.

Nothing should have happened to her. Nothing could have. She couldn't have. Nothing. Nothing could. Nothing- nothing could- should- would- shenothingcouldshouldwouldwouldn'tcouldn'tshouldn't.

When Lunafreya arrived in Insomnia with the Imperials, Nyx knew that something was wrong. He knew, from all his years of fighting in the war, that his instincts were screaming something at him, something so important and so big and so horrible that he didn't want to think about it. It couldn't happen. It couldn't happen. It wouldn't happen. Not to her.

Anger.

Why hadn't he listened? Why hadn't he been able to do anything about it? Why hadn't he demanded, or even brought it up to the Captain that she should have backup? Why hadn't he been there to back her up? What had he even been doing when she had to face the dangers, dangers they all knew only too well, outside the Wall? What had he been doing when she was all alone, taking her last-

"Get the hell out of my way! That's my friend you've got in there, damnit!"

Nyx swallowed hard, forcing his anger and his dread down as he slowed his sprint to a jog. He hadn't made it before Libertus. Libertus still didn't know why he wasn't allowed in; he needed to tell him, to prepare him and get the words out, he needed, he needed…

"Sir, you can't go in until the examination has ended," the attendant in blue scrubs said, trying to calm the distraught Glaive on crutches.

"What examination?!" Libertus almost roared, lifting his right crutch to brush the attendant out of the way none too gently. "What's going on?!"

Words. Nyx should really make some. He tried swallowing again, his mouth dry.

"Hey, hey," he said, as calm as he could when he finally reached Libertus, putting a hand on his arm and stopping him from going in. "Take it easy, big guy."

Libertus' green eyes were full of confusion and concern, a sight that shattered Nyx on the inside. Ignorance was never bliss, damn the person who came up with that to the seventh circle of hell with the Nifs. He could hear himself keening and wailing on the inside, sobbing in grief and in anger, like he once had holding his sister's lifeless body back in the burning remains of Galahd. She had been like a sister to Libertus, he knew, he knew what was going to come next, but he had to be strong for him, for her, for them, because Libertus didn't know Libertus didn't know Libertus didn't know.

"These bastards rushed Crowe in the moment she got back! And now they won't let me in to see her!"

She's-

The reason they've rushed her in is because-

Libertus, listen-

I know you don't want to hear this, but-

I'm so sorry, she's-

Nothing sounded right. What could he say that wouldn't have made his voice crack and break when, if it wasn't for the adrenaline right at that moment, he would have collapsed onto his knees or rushed into the morg- ward, ward, to her side even before Libertus could reach the plastic screen that separated the two of them from her? Nyx could only nod, steeling himself to get the words out, because Libertus needed to hear it from him, damnit, but his best and oldest friend only turned to fling the screen aside before Nyx could let out a breath, and faced the horrible, horrible truth for himself, the one that lay still and unmoving in a body bag on the table.

Crowe had been dead for days when they found her. It was only because of the dryness out in Leide that she hadn't yet started decom- decomposing.

That was the official report.

Found off the side of the road, along with the ruins of what had been her bike, covered in flies.

She deserved more. She deserved better. She always had.

How? Nyx asked over and over again, himself and the doctors, half-listening to mumbled answers. How did this happen?

It was impossible to tell what had killed her. There were no evident wounds, no markings that could have given them any clues short of an autopsy, no way to know how the hell she would have died like this, on a standard escort mission, because the only way to cover anything that happened to her would have been with magic- even a cure spell worked on bodies, if used correctly; that was how most embalmers prepared bodies for funerals with cure flasks supplied by the Citadel- and no one outside of the Wall would have had any magical capabilities save for her.

They waited.

Acceptance.

Nyx was pretty sure there were a few more steps to the grieving process, but he figured that after losing his mother, his sister, a few of his closest friends, and now one of his best friends, his grief must have dulled. He must have either hit his head on something really, really hard, or after losing Crowe, he just gave up entirely on how things were done properly. That was always her thing- she was always the one to correct him, to make sure his head was screwed on the right way and slap him back to his senses when it wasn't. She was the one who read the instructions on the back of boxes, the one who meticulously studied every step in a recipe.

As Drautos handed him a small box filled with Crowe's effects, as he watched Libertus limp away from the Glaive, he opened the box and took out her phone, the one with the cartoon Marlboro charm on it, battery now dead, and held it tightly in his right hand.

Glaives died all the time. That was pretty much in the job description, and a fact they had to come to terms with, fast, if they wanted to become a good soldier, a better soldier. No one could protect their homes and families if they were dead. Crowe was a good one, Drautos was right, but if Nyx knew anything about her, it was that Crowe Altius didn't just roll over and die. No, he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that whatever happened, she had fought until the end. He thought back to his own words to Libertus-

"Crowe died a Glaive. You can still honor her by fighting as one."

Had his acceptance come too easily? Where was the bargaining? The Depression? He was the Hero, a nickname well-earned on the battlefield because of his pride, his impulsiveness and recklessness- but he always had her to patch him up after, no matter what kind of mess he got himself into. Wasn't he supposed to beg, to bargain for her life? Surely after all they had been through, all they had fought for, the universe would be kind for once.

The universe had never been kind. The universe never cared. These orphans that became soldiers from beyond the Wall had been taken in, had fought for their future, clawing their way to where they were, who they were with broken fingers and bleeding mouths.

On that overcast, rainy day, back at his dark, dingy apartment, surrounded by cement walls without Crowe or Libertus, he never felt colder. Pelna sent him a text earlier- Nyx, I heard about Crowe, I'm so- Nyx didn't allow himself to read anymore, turning his phone to silent and vibration off before tossing it onto his messy bed. Carefully putting the box onto his desk, he summoned a small flame and lit two little tea lights, the small warmth flickering off the board he had on his desk, pinned with pictures of his mother and sister, his friends, and newspaper clippings of their accomplishments in the Glaive. It made the small space a little bit more bearable as he opened the box for the second time that day, carefully pulling out the contents and placing them on his desk.

The hairpin that he had last seen in her possession caught his eye, the enormous stone twinkling in the light. He swallowed, closed the box, and tucked it into his uniform jacket as an idea struck him. That didn't help prepare him though, the next evening, on the roof of the Caelum Via Resort overlooking the entirety of Insomnia, surrounded by elegant music, and beautiful fireworks, when Lunafreya approached him and asked him the last question he ever expected her to ask.

"There is something else I wish to ask you, Nyx Ulric. King Regis said he sent one of your order to come find me. I should like to offer my thanks in person. Where might I find this brave soldier?"

Nyx opened his mouth to tell her, the words at the tip of his tongue, but the devastation that was still fresh yanked him back, and he felt a sharp pain slash right through his heart when he could only manage to shake his head. He wanted to tell her, more than anything, Crowe's name. She deserved to be remembered, needed to be remembered. He wanted to tell her who she was, just how powerful, how skilled she was and how Lunafreya would have been safe in her charge, but he couldn't. The pain was too new, his grief still drowning him even though he thought he couldn't lose any more than he already had.

"Oh," Lunafreya's mouth had opened in shock, her blue eyes wide and apologetic. "I did not- I'm so sorry."

He cleared his throat. Words.

"Don't be." Reaching into his right pocket, he pulled out the hairpin, quickly handing it to her before resuming his stance. "She was carrying this. It was meant for you."

"For me?" the Princess asked, looking down at it in wonder.

Nyx clenched his hands into a fist behind him, his fingernails digging into his palm. "Keep it. She would have wanted you to have it."

Nodding in understanding, Lunafreya held tightly onto the hairpin. "I will carry it with me always."

Her words stayed with him for the rest of the night, well into the hours of the morning. Nyx tossed and turned in his bed, staring up at his ceiling and out at the city lights through his window.

That's for you, Crowe, he thought before he fell asleep, the same thought that raced through his mind when he drove a car down the side of a building less than twenty-four hours later in an attempt to escape Insomnia with Lunafreya, as he put on the Ring of the Lucii and felt its power burning him away like fire through the night. It was the same thought that steadied his hand when he and Drautos- the traitor, the one who ordered Crowe's execution at the hands of Luche Lazarus- were at each other's throats, the same thought he held onto when pink light touched the horizon, its warmth spreading like wildfire as his ashes drifted into the sky.

"Not the worst way to go," Nyx mused, watching his last dawn with his broken body. The light reminded him of the red flecks in Crowe's eyes, the ones that were vibrant and alive, not like the ones that he saw on that examination table, the dulled, devoid of color, dead. He spoke for both of them then, the last words that she never got to say.

"Rule well, young king."