Hey all, this follows about three-ish years after my story 'Introductions,' but it should be easy enough to follow without having read the previous story. Enjoy!
Prompto aimed, steadied the gun as best he could, but the muscles in his arms burned, shook, begged for rest. Too bad there was no time to spare for a quick breather. He braced for the weapon's kickback and pulled the trigger.
The shot missed. A wave of exhausted disappointment spread through Prompto, but quickly, frantically, he fired off three more shots, sending his opponent ducking for cover.
That…was not great, but I think the last one connected. Maybe?
He risked a quick glance over at Noctis. Breathing hard, form sloppy, eyes locked in a hard glare on his foe, the Prince was obviously struggling to hold his ground. Every move Noctis made screamed of fatigue. The sense of their impending defeat made Prompto's hackles rise.
We're gonna lose…
No sooner than that thought had struck him, Prompto felt his legs fly out from beneath him, felt hands slow his fall so that the impact with the ground didn't completely force the air from his lungs.
When he dared to open his eyes and look up, he found Timmons standing over him, holding a sword to his throat.
"And you're dead," the Glaive said with a little too much joy.
"Noct is dead too," Gladio chimed in from nearby. "We win."
Oh man, Noct is gonna flip…
"Not fair!" Noctis whined, pushing Gladio's sword away from his chest.
Gladio laughed. "Not fair? We only used swords, while you used ranged weapons, swords, magic and I'm pretty sure I saw you throw a dagger or two. How is that not fair for you?"
A group of Crownsguards who were milling around the weight stations on the outskirts of the training room floor gave a few muffled laughs.
Timmons offered Prompto a hand, easily lofting the blond back on to his feet. Then, the redheaded Glaive chuckled and gave Prompto a quick, friendly clap on the back.
"And now you and I take a backseat to the argument that is sure to arise," Timmons grinned, his voice low, meant only for Prompto to hear.
Prompto shook his head. "Ah, you don't take a backset, you simply run away."
A gentle punch to the shoulder and scoffed huff came from Timmons, but the honest smile never left the Glaive's face.
"Some of us," Timmons replied quietly, "know better than to get involved in a quarrel between a Prince and his Shield or a Prince and his Advisor…or a Prince's Shield and a Prince's Advisor…"
"I just hate seeing friends fighting, that's all," Prompto said, gaze drifting back to the standoff starting to take place between Gladio and Noct. He'd missed what the two had been saying, so he wasn't sure exactly what tactic to take on defusing the situation. "Sometimes they just need a distraction to cool down, to realize that what they are so anger about is just…well…kinda stupid. Any idea what they've been starting into now?"
Timmons shrugged. "Gladio just gave the responsibility and try harder speech, mixed with the 'you are in your senior year of high school now – you should be better than this' guilt trip, followed with the ailing King reminder and weight of the Kingdom finale. My guess is that Noctis is probably about to go into shutdown mode any minute, and then…"
"Okay," Prompto sighed, "I got it. I'm going in. Wish me luck!"
"Good luck…Chocobutt head."
"My hair does not look like a Chocobo's butt! I hope those rubber bullets hurt."
Timmons laughed. "They always do!"
After one last friendly glare back at Timmons, Prompto stealthily positioned himself between Noct and Gladio. It was never a comfortable place to be, directly in the midst of piqued anger and frustration.
"I guess we lost the bet then, huh?" Prompto chuckled, hoping no one noticed the slight tension in his voice. "So…Noct and I get to clean the up the training room today. Lucky us!"
Get them back on track, remind of them of what we're doing right now…keep this light…trip on your own feet if necessary…do anything to get a smile or laugh and remind them that they don't hate each other…
"Yeah, but don't half-ass it like last time," Gladio smirked. "You gotta put the weights away, wipe down the equipment and gather the towels."
Ugh, Gladio had to remind us that we lost the last round too…that's not going to sit well with Noct.
"Yeah, yeah," Prompto replied with a grin. "I know. Pick up the million and two weights you all will leave out, wipe down the puddles of gross sweat you'll all leave on the machines and then pick up the hundreds of stinky towels you'll fling all over the room. I think I understand."
Everyone laughed – except Noctis.
Alright, got half the targets letting down their guard, and now…
"On a side note…" Prompto added, "I spotted a weakness in your defense during the fight. It was too late to do anything about it this go around, but Noct and I are totally gonna wipe the floor with your butts next time!"
That elicited a smirk from Noctis.
Grinning, Gladio quirked a brow, "Really? How about next match, if we win, you two have to clean the training room for a week?"
Upping the stakes?
Okay, what would be worse than what they'd wagered this time for Gladio's loss – which was cleaning Noctis' apartment? Cleaning it for a week? No, that wasn't as bad as cleaning the training room for a week. Noctis was a bit of a slob, but nowhere near as bad as the training room after the Glaives and Crownsguards had hit it hard.
"Okay," Prompto replied, trying to hold back his mirth at the idea that just struck him, "but if you lose, you and Timmons have to clean Noct's apartment and…" He paused for dramatic effect. "… help out my elderly neighbor Clara for a week."
Gladio groaned, and for a split second, Prompto actually thought the big guy might stand down and refuse the bet.
"Come on, you haven't stopped by to help her since I asked you for a hand repairing her fence last spring," Prompto added, not able to contain the smile nearly splitting his face. "She keeps asking where that 'nice thick-necked gentleman with the big seagull tattoo' has gone off to."
Gladio raised a hand to his forehead, pinching the bridge of his nose as if a migraine had just started. "Seagull tattoo?" He muttered. "She knows it's not a seagull…she just says that to annoy me."
Prompto laughed. "Yep, I think she called it a pigeon last time."
"Alright," Gladio said, "It's a bet. Next week, same time, we'll do this all again."
"Except," Noctis chimed in, "Prompto and I will win."
There was a twinkle of approval in Gladio's gaze, "Yeah, we'll see about that, Princess…"
A wave of anxiety eased from Prompto as he sensed the tension between Noct and Gladio had passed. He cast one timid glance over at Timmons, and the Glaive was quick to give him two over exaggerated thumbs-up coupled with a large cheesy grin.
A bit of light-hearted banter followed and then everyone began to do some cool-down exercises. Soon, the room would clear out. Everyone would leave the biggest mess they could, as that was the tradition when a bet such as this was lost. It didn't matter that the loser was the Crown Prince. Everyone received the same treatment.
The Glaives and Crownsguards slowly started filtering out of the room. Most gave a respectful bow to Noctis as they departed, and then a noogie or head pat to Prompto.
If the training exercise hadn't been enough to mess up his hair, the playful embraces from the Glaives and Crownsguards did the trick, but Prompto didn't mind, not really.
He gave a good show of pouting and dodging, but, in the end, he laughed it all off, trying to fix his hair as best he could. No one acted maliciously. They were gentle with their teasing, always garnishing it with kind words and smiles.
Timmons was the last to leave, reminding the two to send a text to Ignis letting the Advisor know they'd probably be late for dinner.
Prompto shrugged. His stomach was already rumbling, begging for whatever delicious dish Ignis had cooked up, but they still had the cleaning to do, and then they'd have to shower and change. Only then would they get dinner.
As Prompto grabbed a spray bottle of disinfectant and a clean towel, readying himself to tackle the training equipment, Noctis pulled his phone out. Hopefully he was texting Ignis.
After a minute, Noct put his phone away, gave a few grumbled mutterings and started collecting dirty towels.
They worked in silence, save for the angry grumbling of both of their stomachs.
Prompto tried to focus on his work, knowing it would go faster if he didn't allow himself to get distracted, but after Noctis' movements had gone far too quiet, he looked up.
Just as Prompto had predicted, the Prince was slumped over on a bench…sound asleep.
That was okay though. Noct needed his rest. After all, he'd exerted himself far harder during the training than Prompto. Really, Prompto just had to stand there and keep his arms raised, while Noct was warping, swinging a sword, dodging, rolling, jumping, running…
Plus, no one went easy on Noct like they did Prompto. Noctis was covered in bruises and Prompto…well… he didn't have a mark on him.
It had been something that had bothered the blond for years now, and he'd mentioned it a time or two to Ignis and Gladio, but he'd repeatedly been reassured that it meant nothing, that he simply didn't have the training that Noct did, so people engaged him during these exercises differently.
While he could kind of understand that, it still hurt his pride somehow. He hated being treated like he was so fragile. After his bike accident almost three years ago, after everyone learned that he might have suffered some abuse before he'd been adopted by his parents, everyone just looked at him differently. Heck, the guys wouldn't even let him fall to the ground without bracing him a bit, as proved by how Timmons ever-so-gently knocked him down during their fight.
He also hated the fact that he wasn't being trained to actually fight. Sure, he could use a gun, but no one would spar with him in hand-to-hand combat. Yeah, so maybe he was terrible at it, but it wasn't like he could get any better without practice.
Then, there were the few instances he'd taken a good hit during training and everything came to a grinding halt. The training room practically went on a lock down while his minor injuries were tended, and whoever caused the injury was in for the longest, fiercest berating of his or her life.
Ultimately, it was incredibly embarrassing, and after the first time it happened, Prompto stopped coming to the training room for a couple of months.
Something kept drawing him back though. Something deep inside him kept whispering that he needed to keep going, to keep trying to better himself.
Over the years, he'd watched with envy as first Gladio and then Ignis readied themselves for their Crownsguard initiation. Prompto hadn't been able to attend the ceremony, but he'd heard all about it. He daydreamed about achieving that honor himself, but…that was foolish.
He'd asked Cor once, sometime during his sophomore year of high school, if he could ever be a Crownsguard. Cor's answer was not exactly what Prompto had hoped to hear.
"You're claustrophobic, agoraphobic, acrophobic and that just might be the tip of the iceberg. Do you really think you're cut out to be a Crownsguard?"
Well, at least it wasn't a flat out 'no.'
In fact, Cor had agreed to teach him a few defensive moves when he had the time. The problem was that Cor didn't often have any extra time, and, when he did, Prompto preferred to spend it doing something fun. It just didn't feel fair to make the man who spent all day at the Citadel, doing paperwork and training, stay at the Citadel and work more.
"Need a hand?"
Prompto jumped at the voice, whipping around quickly, only to find Gladio staring back at him.
"I kind of figured Noct would be too wiped out to do much cleaning…" Gladio said, already starting to pick up some dirty towels, "which meant you'd be doing all the work alone and that just didn't feel right." He glanced up at Prompto and smiled. "After all, it's normally Noct and I that make these silly bets, and you and Timmons just get pulled in."
Glancing over at Noct, Prompto found the Prince was still out cold.
"Except for today," Prompto added as he started wiping down the exercise equipment once again. "So, next week is entirely my fault."
"Yeah," Gladio let the word roll out slowly, as if he had more to say, but the long pause that followed had Prompto wondering if he'd just imagined that. Finally, the big guy continued on. "Thanks for earlier. For doing what you always do, to keep the peace."
Prompto felt his cheeks warm at that. "I don't know what you're talking about." He knew the playing dumb act wouldn't work, but it was all he could think of at the moment.
"Sure you don't, kid. Sure…" Gladio answered with a chuckle.
They kept working in a companionable silence. Gladio was quick, gathering all the weights and putting them away with ease. Honestly, Prompto was more than a little happy the big guy was there to help with that task. Not only would it have taken Prompto at least an hour to do, he would have been sore from head to toe after he was done.
Once they had finished, Gladio slipped out the room, opting not to let Noct know that he'd lent a hand. After all, he explained, he didn't show up for Noct's sake – he was there for Prompto.
Eager to get to dinner, Prompto most unceremoniously shook the living heck out of his Prince, and when that didn't work, he got a cup of water and splashed it on Noct's face.
Sputtering, gasping, Noct rolled off the bench and glared up. "What was that for?"
"Dude," Prompto grinned, "what do you think it was for?"
Scowl set in place, Noct glanced around the room before his expression softened. "Did you clean up everything by yourself?"
Prompto shrugged, "Kinda?" He didn't exactly want to lie, but he didn't want to admit Gladio had helped either.
"You should have woke me up," Noct grumbled as he got to his feet. "I should have helped."
"Dude, it's fine. It wasn't that bad anyway, and I'd say that next time you could clean it up all by yourself, but there won't be a next time," Prompto paused to flash a grin at Noctis, "Because I don't plan on losing to those two goons again!"
Noct's smile beamed back at him. "Yeah! Sounds good to me. Now, how about we go get cleaned up and then get some grub. I'm starving."
Prompto nodded, more than happy to start making their way toward whatever Ignis had cooking.
The plan was simple. Samson had learned long ago that complex plans, those with too many moving parts, were easily thrown off course.
"Have you been watching the school?" he asked, his gaze shifting over the greasy, dark-haired man standing before him.
"Yeah, sir…just like you said. Been writing all the Prince's movements down in my notebook so I won't forget them either."
Samson shrugged. He'd not been particularly enthralled with his latest recruits, but, seeing as he needed every last one of them to be expendable, he didn't dare hire his regular team. They were far too valuable to risk. Also, he knew few of his more experienced employees would willingly make the trek from Tenebrae to Lucis – no matter how good the payout promised to be.
"That's good work, Viktor. I'll take the book and look over the information. It will prove invaluable to the plan."
Viktor grinned, which, unfortunately, did nothing for the man's hideous face. Taking a step forward, he set the mentioned notebook on Samson's desk. Its cover held various stains and a peculiar odor of boiled eggs wafted off of it.
"When do we nab the Prince?" Viktor asked, painfully awkward grin still in place.
"I have a few more elements to put into place, and I'll have to review your information, but probably soon– a few days, perhaps. Our timeframe for smuggling Prince Noctis out of Insomnia is closing sooner than I'd anticipated."
"Yeah…" Viktor nodded. "That's because you didn't think that the…"
"I believe we're done here." Samson kept his gaze fixed on the little man, watching him squirm as he realized his misstep. He didn't need one of his lackeys pointing out his errors. He was well aware of those without this bumbling commentary.
Hunching in on himself, Viktor scurried out of the room. The unpleasant odor of boiled eggs and farts remained though.
Samson stood and cracked open a window, praying that would help dissipate the stench. Viktor was an unpleasantness, but he was not without his uses. The man had proven himself so unremarkable that he'd even managed to fly beneath the Crownsguards radar.
They probably just saw him as some harmless imbecile feeding pigeons in the park across the way from the high school. Even when he strolled down the streets, following not far in the Prince's wake, did anyone think to question him. He was so good at blending in, at becoming lost in a crowd, it was remarkable.
There were few others that could have pulled off such a feat. There were few others that could have tracked the Prince for months on end, going totally undetected.
Yes, Viktor had his uses. Unfortunately for Viktor, those uses would come to an end once they had Prince Noctis, and Samson had no desire to keep useless people around.