Title: the things we do
Fandom: Fire Emblem
Notes: Crack. Another product of ten minutes of boredom. Unbetaed. Unedited. Posted immediately upon completion.
For the upteenth time that day, Lucia denies everything. Everthing.
"He's not my boyfriend, and we so totally did not jack your car and take a joyride down memory lane."
"We took it down Wall Street!" Janaff supplies, piddling with his handheld and smashing buttons that shoot off the heads of bad guys with frightening accuracy; he misses the glare Lucia shoots his way, misses the way her eyes narrow as she imagines his head spontaneously combusting.
Ike stares at Lucia in the exact same way, except he's hoping that his version of a glare will produce a brand new Toyota from the miraculous confines of subspace. Or at least his house keys. (Lucia swore up and down that her cat ate them, but Ike doesn't believe her. Mordecai was a sweetheart.)
"It was an emergency," Lucia confesses, looking cornered and mousy and nothing at all like a young woman in the prime of her adulthood and career. "The party was over and Elincia went into labor and you were passed out on the couch with Sor-"
"I was conscious."
"-looked so cozy together and I didn't want to bother you-"
"I was conscious," Ike insists and Lucia pauses to reaccess him.
"Of course you were," she says soothingly (Ike is not in the least soothed) and launches into a terrifying description of childbirth.
"So you fell asleep cuddling with me on the couch, woke up in the morning to a phone call from the police informing you that your Toyota had been stolen and crashed into a fire hydrant over the course of last night, and that the culprits had not been apprehended? Did I get that right?" Soren sounds suspiciously amused.
"We didn't cuddle. And, yeah, that about sums it up. Oh, wait, I forgot: the culprits are my friends who were too stupid drunk to differentiate between the Stock Exchange and the hospital!" Ike looks dangerously close to continuing this rant when Soren intervenes with a hand on his arm. Ike stares at the hand like it's some kind of alien growth and gapes like a fish; Soren finds the look boorish and unseemly.
"Ike," he makes sure to stress the name. "Everything will work out."
Immediately, Ike starts rummaging through Soren's hair, an expression of utmost seriousness pasted on. Soren bats him away. "What are you doing?"
"Checking for body-snatchers," he murmurs and proceeds to look behind Soren's rapidly reddening ears.
An hour later, Ike has an epiphany.
"Lucia and Janaff would make a great couple."
Soren eyes him critically from where he lays sprawled across Ike, head on his chest. (we are not cuddling we are not cuddling we are not cuddling, Ike's brain chants in the background of his stunning realization.)
"No. Seriously. They would."
Soren mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like: Your logic is unfounded. And what about us?
"And what about us?" Ike reiterates, and when Soren levels one of those grumpy looks that Ike secretly likes receiving (the effect is doubled when taking into account mussed hair and the red imprint of clothing wrinkles on the side of his face), Ike says: "Well, you're not an alien."
It's some time later that someone finds Ike's prone body laid out across the floor, a suspicious bump rising from the back of his head. It's Lucia who finds him and she finds him because she's returning Ike's house keys (they were in Mordecai's water bowl, incidentally) and in the scramble to find the house phone and tripping over Ike - Lucia loses those house keys.
No one ever finds them.