Stealth sections really weren't the prince's forte. In fact, he skipped past them if it was an option in the video games he played. His typical response to instructions like "make your way through the warehouse unnoticed" was usually to kill the more troublesome of the guards and storm right through to the next checkpoint while grumbling about how dumb the level was. For what it's worth, he also detested escort missions.
It made sense, then, that when he was presented with a real-life "make your way through the warehouse unnoticed" task, he was both wholly unprepared and also nervous as he'd ever been in his life.
The floor of the warehouse was bare concrete littered with broken glass, discarded chunks of wood, and rebar at seemingly random intervals. Outside, the sun was setting quickly and without any functioning interior lights it was becoming markedly more difficult to see the dangerous piles of noise making materials. The air inside the warehouse was damp, cold, and smelled a little like wet rotting wood.
Noctis was tense to the point of nausea, his heart pounding in his ears. His back was pressed up against a bare concrete wall and he wished, not for the first time, that he could just disappear right into the structure itself. His left hand was clasped over his mouth in a desperate attempt to quiet his breathing and his right hand trembled at his side, ready to reach between dimensions and grasp something sharp to throw.
Calm down, Princess, Noctis could almost hear Gladio in his head, assess and breathe and calm the fuck down.
Easier said than done, Noctis snarked at the internal Gladio, feeling almost faint. Still, he stopped in his progression through the hallway and breathed and contemplated how on Eos he could one day rule an entire country if he couldn't even keep his cool now.
Noctis was going about his Sunday as normal. It was pretty much his only real day off per week, with no academic obligations and no royal obligations (with a few rare exceptions for major holidays, events, or the reception of visiting dignitaries). So Noctis had slept (a lot) and woke up fairly late in the afternoon as a result. He'd showered and had just gotten done getting dressed and drying his hair when his phone rang.
"Hey, Prom, what's up?" Noctis asked.
"Oh, not much, friendo," Prompto replied, "just wanted to know if seven or eight bags of Sour Patch Kids would be enough for tonight?"
The panic started there.
Noctis was at his front door, yanking on a jacket and boots like it was his job. "How about fourteen and two sleeves of Oreos?"
"Nah, I don't think your pantry could handle that many," Prompto answered dismissively.
"Can you stay on the line with me till we work this out?" Noctis asked. He ran down the hallway to the elevator.
"My manager won't take too kindly to me doing that, I don't think," said Prompto.
"Does your manager know you're on the phone at work?"
Prompto chuckled a little bit, but it was tense. "Oh, he will eventually if he doesn't already!"
"Think you can leave the marshmallows alone this time?"
"Ha ha, nah, man. I gotta go, but let me know if you want me to pick up anything else! Bye!"
There was a dial tone in Noctis's ear.
"Prom? Prompto?" He asked.
No answer.
"Fuck."
The remainder of the elevator ride down to the lobby was far too slow for Noctis's tastes, and he nervously tapped his fingers and his foot as the numbed slowly ticked down. There were several muttered curses in there, as well.
Noctis found Prompto's location using the GPS on his phone and was running as soon as the elevator doors opened on the empty, spacious lobby. His knee twinged enough that he wished he'd stopped to grab his brace, but not enough to deter him from sprinting as fast as he could.
Prompto (or Prompto's phone) was close enough that getting into a car - either grabbing the Star of Lucis from the building garage or flagging down a taxi - would just be a waste of time given the number of one-ways, traffic lights, and stop signs that he would have to navigate. Noctis took the first few moments of sprinting along the sidewalk to run through what he knew about the scenario, desperately trying to work out a plan on the move.
Prompto was being followed by at least seven people (possibly eight), he needed help as fast as Noctis could possibly do so, and he didn't know enough about the people following him to make any informed choices about his own self-defense.
Noctis couldn't use his Official "Oh, Shit" Code - not only was he only supposed to use it for emergencies involving his own person, but the kind of response that it would generate might end up putting Prompto in more danger. He couldn't tell anyone that he was going to do what he was going to do because they would try to stop him, he would ditch them and go to help Prompto anyway, they would follow him, and whoever was near Prompto might hurt or kill him.
Noctis could only rely on himself to help Prompto out of this situation.
At least, that's what he was going to tell himself and anyone who asked him why he would do something so godsdamned stupid.
After the incident with Noctis's most recent almost-kidnapping, the Communications department had been made aware of the elaborate system of codes that Noctis and Prompto used. Communications didn't know all of the codes, and they certainly wouldn't know them immediately upon hearing them while listening in on a call between Noctis and Prompto, but they knew that codes existed, and that was enough.
Noctis had hoped beyond anything that whoever was monitoring his calls and texts today wasn't paying too much attention to what had been said during the phone call and wasn't looking too closely at his location. He especially hoped it wasn't Ulric, Altius, or Ostium, because those three were definitely sharp enough to know when something was up and would be raising all kinds of hell in Communications about the situation.
It was maybe a mile and a half trek to where Prompto's phone indicated, and it was the fastest that Noctis had ever managed to run that kind of distance.
He arrived on the street to find Prompto's phone abandoned on the sidewalk (screen cracked), black scuff marks (presumably from someone's tennis shoes) on the pavement, and a few scattered visible drops of blood. The blood was still wet and gleamed sickeningly in the late afternoon sunlight. Noctis shuddered.
And the panic that Noctis had felt before began choking him, sealing his throat and dulling his thoughts.
It took an embarrassingly long time before he was able to center himself and think through what to do next, and Noctis would be hard-pressed to admit that he had to sit against a building with his head between his knees in order to breathe right again.
"Just think," Noctis said to himself aloud, "just stop and think. I've got blood, Prompto's phone, and scuff marks - what happened and where would they have taken him if they got him?"
It had taken Noctis maybe six and a half minutes to cover the mile and a quarter distance. Assuming that they'd snatched Prompto as soon as he'd hung up the phone, that gave the hostiles around a seven minute lead. If they were smart they would be avoiding drawing attention to themselves and so would either be strictly obeying traffic laws in a getaway car or would have ducked into a nearby building (likely abandoned, or populated by people who wouldn't ask too many questions) to keep from being noticed with Prompto. Seven minutes by car would put the hostiles far enough away that Noctis wouldn't be able to catch up without help, but an abandoned building a maximum of seven minutes away by foot wouldn't be too hard to find.
Noctis nodded once to himself and decided that it was likely the assailants wouldn't want to deal with rush-hour traffic and Crown City Police checkpoints in advance of the Founder's Day festivities in the coming week. He stood up and used the blood on the ground as an indicator of where to begin his search.
Prompto couldn't quite recall how many times he'd been hit, that was the trouble. Distantly, he knew that that was a problem, but his head throbbed too much for him to care properly.
Almost immediately after he'd hung up on Noctis, he'd heard footsteps running at him. Prompto had made to turn around, but something hard cracked him across the temple with enough force to make his teeth rattle and he crumpled. His legs skidded out from under him awkwardly and something warm dripped from the side of his skull into his ear and down his neck.
He'd been focusing too hard on the sudden high-pitched ringing in his ears and the blurriness of his vision to put up much of a fight when someone (someones?) had hauled him up off the sidewalk by his armpits.
Prompto's head was heavy and hot and he remembered very little of the walk (drag? schlep?) to wherever it was that he had ended up. Prompto did know that when he was sat down in a chair the sudden change in position made him vomit, and he suddenly worried about a concussion more than anything.
One of the seven (eight?) badly-dressed men who had been following him was suddenly in front of him and talking at him.
"...going to tell us all he knows about his little friend the prince, isn't he?"
"You– can all go to hell," Prompto slurred.
Prompto tried to stand up and leave the room, but he was stuck to the chair by his wrists. He looked down, more than a little confused. Rope. No, paracord? Someone had tied him up? Why? And when?
Then someone's boot was striking his chest hard enough to knock the chair completely over. He felt something crack.
Prompto definitely blacked out for a minute because he blinked and the chair was upright again and a hand was gripping his shoulder. What was going on, again? He couldn't breathe.
"Now, let's try this again. You're gonna tell us everything you know about the prince's security detail," the man said, sounding like he was speaking through chowder, "or I'm gonna start taking fingers."
In the corner of the space (room? cave? Or were they outside?) another man brandished a massive pair of…scissors? Nope, too big to be scissors. Those were. Prompto's eyes squeezed shut in concentration.
Garden shears! The giant scissors were garden shears.
Prompto blinked and his brow furrowed. His head and his chest hurt way too much to focus effectively on anything, and he genuinely couldn't figure out why someone would need garden shears in a…wherever it was they were. Why did breathing hurt so much? What the hell happened?
"Start talking!" The man demanded. "Tell me about the prince, now!"
The prince? Why would Prompto know a prince? Prompto didn't interact with anybody but Noctis. Noctis was the prince. Tell them about Noctis? Tell them what about Noctis? No.
No. Prompto knew and felt that very strongly. No.
Prompto shouldn't tell them about Noctis.
Prompto wouldn't tell them about Noctis.
Not even if they took his fingers. Not even if they took his eyes. No.
Noctis was too important.
Noctis was too important to him.
When he replied, it was surprisingly clear, loud, and coherent: "I'm not telling you anything about him, you assholes!"
The expression of the man in front of him soured. He reached out, put a hand on Prompto's chest, and pressed. Something in Prompto's chest shifted in a way it was not supposed to shift.
Prompto screamed.
The warehouse that Noctis decided to enter was a couple minutes walk away from the last location of Prompto's phone, and Noctis was immediately certain that it was the correct one by the couple of droplets of blood leading to a busted-in front door.
And so he crept through the structure's concrete hallways, dodging piles of broken glass and metal.
The first distant, meaty thud and pained exclamation he heard nearly made Noctis vomit. Every muscle in his body tense, he'd continued his walk through the dim and confusing pathways.
Over the roaring in his ears, Noctis could hear voices (tenors and baritones, likely male) but couldn't make out anything they were saying.
He sure as hell heard when Prompto yelled back at them, "I'm not telling you anything about him, you assholes!" And then Prompto shrieked and it echoed through the hallway and bounced around in Noctis's brain and Noctis -
Noctis's panic frothed into anger. Anger, because someone had taken his best friend. Anger, because his best friend was in pain. Anger, because Noctis could tell that all of this was because of him.
Anger is good, mind-Gladio cautioned, but you can't let it make you reckless.
Can't be reckless, Noctis acknowledged, Prompto's in danger.
So instead of creeping through the corridors, Noctis stalked through the corridors.
The prince's feet were silent, his posture crouched and dangerous. His hands tore into reality and extracted a shortsword, well-balanced for both close-combat and throwing.
And he was so very, very angry.
When he came upon the first lone man in ripped jeans (he was wearing earbuds and looking the other way, it was far too easy) there was a single breath between Noctis noticing him and the man being unconscious on the ground, and no sounds to alert anyone else in the building.
Noctis pressed onward towards Prompto.
Marlow hadn't necessarily agreed with snatching the blond kid in the first place. It was a massive risk and kidnapping the prince's godsdamned best friend was one of the dumbest ideas he'd ever heard. Who knew what kind of security would be on him?
But Marlow had been soundly outvoted when Ricky brought it up, and the last time Marlow had tried to stand up to Ricky he'd walked away with a black eye.
A bad idea. This was a bad, bad idea.
After Ricky broke the kid's rib, Marlow started to feel uncomfortable. More uncomfortable than he'd been at the beginning of the op, more uncomfortable than he'd been when he hit the kid with the baton, and more uncomfortable than he'd been with the concept of torturing information out of a teenager. Uncomfortable of a wholly unfamiliar variety.
There was pressure in the air. Marlow twitched a little. The spot on his arm where he'd broken it as a kid felt sore.
The kid they'd grabbed off the street (hunted him around the city like an animal) seemed to have trouble comprehending what Ricky was saying. Marlow raised the garden shears on command.
There was pressure. Marlow felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The air felt crispy and staticky, like someone had filled the room with helium balloons. Like lightning was about to strike.
Marlow barely even heard the kid scream, really. Breathing in and breathing out took effort. Oxygen was growing scarce. There was pressure.
He cast his eyes wildly around the room, but it seemed like he was the only one noticing anything that was happening. Marlow was alone in this sudden and inexplicable terror. The spaces in the dark corners of the room seemed to shimmer and buckle in on themselves. Marlow swayed in place and felt like was going to pass out.
A few moments passed after the kid's scream trailed off - it seemed as if Ricky was being merciful and giving him a second to gather himself before continuing with the torture (why did this feel like it was the last time he'd see Ricky?)
There was a noise.
Marlow couldn't decide if it was a dull roar or a high-pitched whine. It may have been both.
Like a rubber band snapping half, the pressure suddenly broke.
Marlow didn't own a gun and didn't carry a gun, and honestly he didn't think it would've helped much against whatever it was that came into the room, but he did think he would've been comforted if he'd had one.
Something glinting and metal came flying through the doorway almost faster than Marlow could see. Across the room Ricky choked and raised his hands to his chest, and from where Marlow was standing he could just barely see bright red bloom on the back of Ricky's shirt around the crossguard of a sword before–
–blue. Crystal blue that skittered and sparked and shattered and pulled at the edges of space as Marlow understood it. Crystal blue that yanked the black-clad form of a person into existence–
Ricky screamed a little, but it was a hoarse, weak, confused thing. The figure dressed all in black planted a boot on Ricky's back and pulled out the sword with one hand.
It took Marlow a moment to make sense of what he was seeing.
Prince Noctis whipped around and Marlow saw and understood. Blood dripped from his sword onto the floor. Ricky collapsed onto the ground with a thud.
"Heard you were looking for me," said the Prince. The grip on the sword shifted and the Prince threw the weapon directly at Marlow and shortly after vanished into thin air.
Marlow's garden shears clattered to the concrete floor at the same time the sword sank deep into his chest, his shaking hands no longer able to support their weight. All of the air escaped his lungs all at once in a pitiful wheeze.
Nothing could prepare Marlow for reality tearing apart directly in front of him. In an instant, the edges of space and time were pulled apart and–
In the space between the edges, Marlow caught a glimpse of somewhere else. And the pain no longer mattered because the fear made his body numb. Prince Noctis emerged from that nowhere place, a grimace twisting his mouth down and his eyes a burning crimson, his hand coiled around the hilt of the sword he'd buried in Marlow's diaphragm.
The hole in reality snapped shut like the maw of a great beast clenching its teeth. Under the Prince's sudden weight, Marlow's knees collapsed beneath him and he crashed to the ground.
Marlow did not hear what Prince Noctis said next.
After what Marlow had seen in that nowhere somewhere everywhere place–
–there were things moving around in there. Hulking and cloaked in shadow and horrifying and smiling at him. They had too many teeth. They were blind. They saw him. There were things living in there in that place there were things there were things there were things–
Marlow welcomed the advancing embrace of darkness.
Working in Communications required a lot of intense focus and concentration. As such, shifts in Comms were relatively short (no more than 4 hours) and assigned at irregular intervals to prevent those who worked there from becoming too habituated to their positions. Habituation bred complacency, which bred mistakes.
Kingsglaive Crowe Altius moseyed her way over from Kingsglaive Command to Communications at around 5:30pm in preparation for the shift-change. The setting sun bouncing from the glass face of the Citadel was orange and blinding, and a gentle mid-autumn breeze teased at the fringes of Crowe's hair. She sighed - what a way to waste a nice evening. She'd be stuck in Communications until at least 9:00, and she sincerely doubted that Nyx or Libertus would be willing to wait for her to hang out.
Being assigned to Comms wasn't the worst thing in the world, though it happened irregularly enough to Crowe that she typically had to review the training manual before starting her shifts. And now she had to start looking out for the seemingly innocuous words and phrases that His Highness apparently had worked out with his little blond friend. And because neither the Marshal nor Lord Amicitia could get out of the Prince the entirety of the code system, Crowe had to be on high alert for anything that seemed off or strange.
Into the Communications building, through the fluorescent-lit hallways, down two flights of stairs to the basement, and through a few keycard-controlled doors to the room where those pledged and trained to serve the royal family would monitor communications.
"Oh! Pelna," Crowe said, seeing the man at the wide, black desk, "Fancy meeting you here."
"Thank Bahamut," sighed Pelna, "I thought my eyes were gonna burn out of my head." He gestured at the blindingly bright white screens.
"Well, looks like you owe me one, then," Crowe joked dryly. "I relieve you, Glaive Khara."
"I am relieved!" Pelna cried happily, smoothly rolling away from the desk in the cushioned chair.
While Pelna was gathering up his belongings – travel coffee cup, a mid-weight jacket, his phone – Crowe was starting to review the communications log and noticed that the Prince had received a call from Argentum only seven minutes before she'd arrived. The algorithm was still working on spitting out a complete transcript of it, but the first few lines looked odd.
"Hey, Pels," Crowe started, her eyes fixed on the screen, "before you go, can you tell me about this call?"
Pelna answered while zipping up his jacket and stuffing his phone in the front pocket, "Yeah, I mean Argentum called the Prince, Prince picked up, and the two chatted about snack foods and plans for tonight? Oh, and I guess Argentum's boss is pissed about him being on the phone at work? Whole thing seemed normal enough to me."
Normal enough for two teenagers to talk about hanging out, eating snacks, and engaging in behaviors that adults might be mad about.
Except that according to Argentum's GPS location at the time of the call, he was nowhere near his work.
Except that Argentum had ended the call abruptly and without giving the Prince the time to say goodbye.
Except that the Prince's GPS location put him currently sprinting down a street he had no business being on during his day off.
"Oh, those idiots," Crowe groaned and tapped the receiver in her ear, "Captain, I might have a code black and I need to be connected to the Marshal and Amicitia."
When the Prince finally used his "Oh, Shit" Code twenty minutes later, a support team had already been on the way for ten.
Noctis panted a little, out of breath from landing so many warps in such a short amount of time. The prince winced when the motion pulled at the burning, weeping wound on his side. One of the last guys had had a gun and got off a lucky shot while Noctis was distracted. On top of that, Noctis's knee hurt like a bitch.
He let his broadsword fall back into the void and watched the blood that had been on it splatter onto the floor without an object to hold it up.
There had been nine hostiles, not eight as Prompto's estimate had been. The first five had been scattered along the corridors on Noctis's pathway to Prompto and three of the final four had been in the room where they were holding Prompto. The last hostile – sneaky son of a bitch – entered the room through a side door just as Noctis was grabbing his sword from Garden Shears and buried a nine millimeter bullet in Noctis's right side. Noctis hadn't been expecting a gun. Nobody else in this little team had guns. Why'd the last guy have to have a gun?
"Fucking ow," Noctis griped lowly.
Noctis had not given Gun Guy a chance to try and hit something more vital. Gun Guy's body lay in the doorway he'd entered through, his head some ten feet or so to the right of where his center mass had fallen.
Not all of the hostiles were dead – most were just unconscious with strategically-severed tendons and ligaments to make sure they couldn't flee if they woke up before help arrived. The state that Prompto was in made Noctis wish he'd killed every last one of them. Prompto had passed out at some point. His skin was pale and clammy, and there was blood matting the hair at one temple.
It wouldn't take much effort to go put all of the hostiles down – they should all be where Noctis left them, after all…
No. Nope. Focus. Help first, revenge later.
The first thing Noctis did was pull out his phone and use his "Oh, Shit" Code (which had been fixed as "Tango 12" for around a week and a half) and then he called Ignis and put the phone on speaker while his hands were occupied cutting the rope off of Prompto's wrists.
As soon as Ignis picked up, Noctis was speaking, "Iggy, gonna need some help."
"A Kingsglaive team is on its way to your location, Highness. What on Eos happened?" Ignis asked.
Prompto seemed to be working his way back to consciousness, blinking a few times at Noctis and squinting a little. "...Noct?"
"Right here, buddy," Noctis replied as he undid the last rope, "I'm working on getting you some help, just hang on, kay?"
Prompto grumbled a barely-there affirmative. The blond's pupils were dilated unevenly and the wound at his temple was dripping blood down his face and onto his shoulder. Concussion. Damn. Noctis would've administered a potion but he didn't want to chance the magic doing damage to Prompto's brain. Prompto's breathing was shallow and Noctis worried that there was something wrong with his lungs.
"Noctis?" Ignis asked.
"Yeah, Igs. I'm gonna need medical for Prompto and me as fast as you can. Like, five minutes ago fast. Prompto probably has a concussion, having trouble breathing. I've got a bullet stuck in my lower right side and my knee really fucking hurts," Noctis complained.
Ignis cursed, which was a very non-Ignis thing to do that gave Noctis some pause, and started conversing with (presumably) other members of whatever team was dealing with this crisis.
Noctis turned his attention back to Prompto.
"Hey, Prompto - how about you keep your focus on me, huh? We're working on getting you out of here, okay?" Noctis asked. "Do you know if you have any broken bones?"
Prompto frowned as he stared at Noctis, "You're…not suspose to….be here." His consonants dragged in some spots and halted in others.
"You needed me, so I'm here," Noctis said.
Prompto looked, for a moment, like he might burst into tears.
"Highness, the Kingsglaive have been informed that you're both injured. They'll make an assessment about locations for medical attention when they arrive," Ignis said.
"How pissed is His Majesty?" Noctis asked.
"From what I've heard, he is not…overly pleased that you've been harmed, Highness."
"Imagine that," Noctis sighed. He was getting a little dizzy – blood loss? The prince decided to take a seat on the floor, just in case.
"The Glaives should be reaching your location momentarily," said Ignis. "I'll stay on the line with you until they arrive."
"Sounds good," Noctis said.
Prompto made a small sound and Noctis looked up at him.
"...Noct, you're…not supposed to be here," Prompto groaned.
Noctis grabbed and gently squeezed Prompto's right hand. "Suck it up, man, cuz I'm not leaving."
The Kingsglaive team was impressively quiet as its members infiltrated the building. Noctis only knew that they'd entered the structure at all because the crown of his head tingled slightly each time they performed a warp in his vicinity. At least twenty Glaives steadily encroached on Noctis's position.
Noctis wasn't the least bit surprised when Nyx Ulric erupted into the room kukris-first.
"Nice of you to show up, hero," Noctis began.
After examining the slumped Prompto and the pale-faced Noctis, Nyx fixed the prince with a Look. "Why do you two always gotta do my job for me?"
"Somebody's gotta show you the ropes, kid," Noctis retorted and grimaced when the bullet wound throbbed.
"S'that Nyx?" Prompto slurred.
The Glaive decided to leave Noctis's comment alone and sighed. "Who's got what and what do you need?"
"Prompto's got blunt force trauma to the right temple – concussion – and heavy bruising to the chest," Noctis started, "I'm near Stasis, I'm pretty sure I fucked up my knee and lower back again, and I have a bullet stuck in my guts somewhere. No magic on either of us until Prompto's head gets looked at and we get the lead out of me."
Nyx was suddenly in Noctis's personal space, pulling the Prince's hand away from the oozing bullet wound–
–and applying more pressure than Noctis had ever wanted to feel on an open injury.
"Fucking shit!" Noctis shouted. He tried to arch away from Nyx's hand but the grip that the Glaive had on his shoulder was so tight he had nowhere to go. The sudden and intense pain knocked the breath right out of him.
"Sorry, Highness, but you've lost enough blood already," Nyx said amidst the arrival of the remaining Glaives.
While Noctis clutched weakly at Nyx's hand and tried to breathe through the agony, he could hear Nyx describing his and Prompto's injuries to the Glaives.
The Prince was dizzy and tired, and the sharp pain in his side made the world feel at once blurry and abrasive. Between one breath and the next, Noctis found himself laying on his back and staring at the bare ceiling. Nyx's hand was still pressed to the bullet wound.
"...notify Scientia that we'll be taking both of them back to the Citadel. Neither of them are in serious danger and they'll get the best care there, anyway," Nyx's face appeared in Noctis's field of vision, "You just take it easy, Prince. We'll have you two fixed up in a hurry."
Noctis hazarded a glance over to his right, where four Glaives were hoisting Prompto carefully onto a bright orange backboard.
"S'gonna be okay, Prom," Noctis managed hoarsely. Black spots danced in front of his eyes and he squeezed them shut. He was unsure whether Prompto could hear him at all, but he figured it was worth saying. "Jus' hang on, bud, we're gonna be okay."
Loading His Highness and Prompto Argentum into the helicopter was a much less dramatic process than Nyx had been imagining, but that was probably for the better. No paparazzi, no concerned citizens nearby, nobody to really interfere – just two incredibly pale and injured teenagers in need of some help, and all of the medical personnel that had arrived with the chopper.
Something very angry sparked in Nyx's bones upon viewing the state of the boys. The bright-eyed young man who'd come to the Prince's rescue – and had been ready to end Nyx's life for even approaching him in the Citadel hallways – was nowhere to be found; this Prompto Argentum was weak and confused as a newborn kitten. The Prince wasn't looking too hot, either.
Both boys were fitted with oxygen masks and as many IVs as the EMS crew could manage before takeoff, and both of them looked heartachingly delicate and small on the medical stretchers. Even so, with a great deal of noise and frenzied gesturing, the chopper lifted off and bore the two teenagers back towards the Citadel. Nyx followed its path with his eyes until his view was eventually blocked by a high-rise and then he turned his attention back to the warehouse.
The Glaive quietly snuck his way back into the darkened corridors of the building. He knew he should wait until the Crown City Police showed up to contain the scene and conduct a proper investigation, but Nyx couldn't help himself.
Among the nine hostile individuals involved in the incident, four had been killed. A very dark and savage part of Nyx was fiercely proud of Prince Noctis – the trail of injury and carnage was impressive, to say the least, and such measures to defend a friend spoke of a truly admirable amount of loyalty.
A much more realistic part of Nyx was mildly terrified of the power of the line of Lucis. Nyx was powerful and skilled, but his power was borrowed; Prince Noctis and King Regis were born with the magic of a hundred generations of royals. Nyx would expect this kind of result (the Prince had run these men through. With thrown swords.) from a team of battle-hardened warriors, not a single coddled Prince safely living in the Crown City.
Those men who still lived were wounded and could not stand or move without assistance. Three adopted defeated expressions and two of the five gibbered and sputtered, only really able to express that they'd seen something they shouldn't have seen.
"N-no…no more…please," said the one with the shamefully scraggly beard, "please I don't…"
The one with the black eye and the severed Achilles tendon just stared into space and whispered the same phrase over, and over, and over.
They saw me.
Nyx helped to load all of the assailants into transport vehicles as soon as the Crown City Police grabbed the photographs they needed, and he stood around outside and breathed in the cool night air of Insomnia until his earpiece crackled with orders that he return to the Citadel for debrief.
The man resigned himself to another late evening at work and hopped into a waiting black truck.
The kind of anger that swelled in Gladio's veins was the kind that made it hard to breathe, let alone think.
Gladio was so angry at Noctis, so pissed at that little royal brat for going off and getting himself shot.
It wasn't Noctis's job to get shot at, that was Gladio's job. Or Ignis's job. Or even Prompto's job, for fuck's sake. It was Noctis's job to stay alive and healthy so he could learn to be a good king some day. Shit like this – the Prince shouldn't be dealing with shit like this.
Gladio had been right next to Ignis when the advisor had been on the phone with the prince. Gladio had heard the sound that Noctis had made when Ulric applied pressure to the bullet wound. There was a brand new hole in the drywall in the shape of Gladio's fist.
(Noctis's scream would feature in Gladio's nightmares for months.)
"They've both been reported stable by the emergency medical evacuation team," Ignis reported briefly while continuing to track Gladio's infuriated pacing with his eyes. "You're not doing anyone any good wearing a hole in the carpet, you know."
"And what good am I supposed to do, huh?!" Gladio exploded back, "His Royal Fuckhead just went and got himself shot like a dumbass!"
"What on Eos do you expect to be able to do, Gladio?" Ignis asked. "There is nothing to be done but wait until Noctis and Prompto are treated and stabilized."
Gladio grit his teeth. "How are you being calm about this right now? You're really pissing me off, Ignis."
"Would you like me to pace around, as well?" Ignis raised a brow. "Would you prefer I raise my voice and complain about things I can't control, like a child having a tantrum? Or, would you rather I injure myself," Ignis jabbed while pointedly looking at the split skin of Gladio's knuckles, "punching a hole in the wall?"
Irritation pressed behind Galdio's eyes and he grit his teeth. He wanted to plant his foot in Ignis's stomach. He wanted to wrap his hands around Ignis's neck and squeeze.
Instead of doing any of that, Gladio stormed towards the door and bit out over his shoulder:
"Fuck off, you godsdamned robot."
"Where are you off to, Gladio?" Ignis called back mildly.
"Infirmary. To wait for my little shit to get there."
Gladio heard Ignis sigh and slammed the door closed behind him.
That dreaded alarm had gone off again. The one that only went off when Noctis was in danger.
Initial reports stated that Noctis reported having been shot.
At some point in his pacing back and forth in the lavish office, Regis had summoned his blade.
Someone had put a bullet in Regis's boy and if he did not receive news promptly, he would become absolutely monstrous.
"Noctis has been retrieved by Citadel medical personnel and is being transported here as I speak, Your Majesty," Clarus reported promptly as he entered Regis's chambers. "The helicopter will arrive in approximately ten minutes."
Regis rounded on him, a grim set to his mouth and his sword clutched in his hand. "How is he?"
"It is as reported initially by His Highness - he's sustained a gunshot wound to his lower abdomen, he's strained the muscles and ligaments in his back and leg, and he is very near Stasis. However," Clarus continued, "the medical team reports that his injuries are not life-threatening to him and he will likely make a full recovery."
The King halted his frantic pacing, and a shadow of something like relief crossed his eyes. "He'll be alright?"
Clarus dared to put a hand on Regis's right shoulder. "He'll be alright, Regis."
Regis's knee wobbled and threatened to give out. His sword fell from his grip and cut into another plane in impressive blue fractals. With some assistance from Clarus, Regis sat heavily in his office chair and allowed himself to breathe.
–
Prompto's hold on consciousness was shaky at best and nonexistent at worst. He kept slipping from moment to moment with no clue how much time had passed, but main features of being awake were an unbearably loud thrumming noise and an unrelenting sensation of movement.
There were a few moments where he looked over and saw Noctis. Oxygen mask, too many tubes and monitors. The Prince was sickly pale and there were thick bandages wrapped around his middle.
When had Noctis gotten hurt?
Prompto tried to get up, tried to move, but his limbs wouldn't respond no matter how much he struggled.
Time slipped and blurred again, and the next thing Prompto knew he was staring at a clean, well-lit, white ceiling. A glance to his left found medical monitors, a glance to his right found huge bay windows looking out over the twinkling lights of Insomnia at nighttime.
Prompto could feel the light pressure of a cannula draped over his ears and under his nose, with cooling air pushing its way into his nostrils. A glance down at himself found tubes, monitors, and stiff bandages wrapped around his chest.
When…?
"Ah, awake, are you?"
Ignis stood in the doorway of the room. The advisor appeared mildly rumpled, and there were dark circles under his eyes.
"Please don't bother trying to speak - you've acquired two broken ribs and I'm certain that talking will affect your oxygen levels given how hard it will be for you to breathe," Ignis said, crossing the floor and taking a seat in the chair by Prompto's bedside.
Prompto nodded, too tired to try and reason through that to argue.
"I also understand you're concussed at the moment and you might be missing some focus or awareness of your situation. I'll try to explain as best I can, given the information that we currently have," Ignis began. He pushed up his glasses and began.
By the time Ignis had finished the story, Prompto was more than a little stunned and slightly dizzy.
The blond stared wide-eyed at the wall across the room, at a loss for thought. He had…and then Noctis had…?
"Noctis is currently next door receiving treatment for his injuries, though when he's had lucid moments he has been asking after you. The medical staff plan to allow the two of you to share a room as soon as you're both settled to ease some of his stress. His Majesty has decided to expedite your and Noctis's recovery with his magic as we were unable to administer curatives due to the nature of both of your injuries. You'll be sedated lightly and King Regis will heal as much of your ribs as he's able, and he'll do the same with Noctis's wound now that the bullet has been removed via surgery," Ignis concluded.
There was a pit in Prompto's stomach. The guilt threatened to choke him.
"Ig," Prompto croaked out. "This–was this–?"
Ignis made a gesture that indicated to Prompto that he should stop talking. The advisor shook his head.
"You were in danger and you reached out to someone you believed would be able to help. You had no way to know what would happen. You are certainly not responsible for the actions of a Prince who should have known better than to go off half-cocked on a rescue mission alone," Ignis asserted.
Prompto's fists clenched loosely in the bedsheets. "'s not how I see it," Prompto said, barely audible over the beeping of the monitors.
"Everything – including official blame-placing – can wait until you and the Prince are healthy once more," Ignis said. He reached out and covered Prompto's right hand with his own. "Please continue to rest and recover. His Majesty will be along to speed your healing as soon as he's able."
Ignis left the room, presumably to attend to advisor-ly duties which one must attend to when one's charge gets shot.
Prompto took a few deep, painful breaths and tried very hard not to think about what had happened at the warehouse as it began to come back to him. Tried very hard not to think about Noctis's desperate eyes, pale face, shaking hands.
He discovered with great frustration that those were the only things he could think about.
"You needed me,
so I'm here."
Prompto tried very hard not to consider the idea that the only reason Noctis got shot was because of him.
–
Gladio was standing guard at Noctis's bedside when Ignis finally made it past the three layers of security and into the Prince's private room in the Infirmary. The Shield cut an intimidating figure by the Prince's side – livid, glaring, and slowly sharpening a knife.
Noctis's stint in the surgical suite had ended approximately half an hour before Ignis had gone to visit Prompto, and the surgeon reported that the bullet had been removed in its entirety and that – assuming the assistance of King Regis's magic – the Prince would not experience any lasting damage to his internal organs. Ignis had allowed himself twenty-five minutes of sitting quietly in relief and consuming two cups of coffee before moving on with his duties.
Ignis did not greet Gladio when he entered the room and instead moved to take one of the open chairs by Noctis's bedside.
An oxygen mask was fitted over the Prince's nose and mouth. Fluids and blood were delivered via IV bags and needles. Noctis slept, his pulse a slow and steady beep on the EKG.
"Any word?" Ignis asked, but kept his eyes fixed on Noctis and especially on the Prince's ink-dark hair. He'd really have to speak with Noctis about getting it trimmed.
Gladio stopped pulling the whetstone across the blade for a moment before continuing as he said, "The Marshal and my dad have been working on the alive ones for a while. Been slow-going 'cause Noctis did most of his attacking by warp and the perps are still pretty scrambled about it. Preliminary word is they went after Prompto to get information about Noctis's security and activities. Kid didn't squeal, though, so I guess there's that."
"Indeed," Ignis agreed.
"How is the kid, by the way?" Gladio asked.
Ignis sighed and stared up at the ceiling for a moment, "Prompto seems convinced that this entire incident is his fault, and he is most definitely awaiting some kind of catastrophic punishment to befall him as a result. He's also incredibly worried for His Highness's wellbeing."
"He told you all that with two broken ribs and a concussion?" Gladio asked.
"I've spent more time with that young man than I have with most other people in my life - trust me, he didn't have to tell me anything; it was written all over his face."
"He can't hold himself responsible for this one's stupid choices," Gladio said quietly, nodding at the unconscious Prince.
Ignis let that gem of a comment sit for a moment in the air, listening to the grinding of the whetstone over Gladio's blade. Ignis weighed the worth of saying his piece. He decided to risk it.
"...Neither can you," Ignis said. "I know that's at least partly why you were so upset earlier; you feel like you failed Noctis by not protecting him, somehow. You know that that's not true."
Gladio didn't seem to have a reply to that.
"I'm going to consult with Noctis's physician to see when the optimal time would be for His Majesty to start healing him," Ignis declared. He rose from his seat and made for the door on the far side of the room.
"I was an asshole," Gladio said suddenly.
Across the room, Ignis stopped in his tracks with his hand on the door handle.
Gladio went on, "You were trying to keep me calm and I was an asshole to you, and I apologize for that."
"Apology accepted," said Ignis.
"I'm going to work on being less disruptive with my emotions in the future, because what I did and what I said wasn't fair to you, and I get that. But we need to get one thing outta the way right now – you're never gonna know what it's like to be a Shield. What is and is not a failure to protect my charge is not up to you, and it never will be. And if you ever try to tell me how to do my job or how to feel again, we're gonna have a problem. Got it?"
The pause was uncomfortable and broken only by the beeping of the monitors.
"Understood." Ignis replied after a moment, not even looking at Gladio. "And likewise."
When the door swung shut behind the advisor with a soft click, Gladio stared down at Noctis. His Highness was still asleep, his rhythmic breaths fogging the clear oxygen mask. The kid should probably go get his hair cut soon, Gladio thought.
The Shield sighed and picked up his knife and whetstone to continue the maintenance.
"Do you have any idea how much of a pain in the ass you are?" Gladio asked Noctis.
The Prince slept on.
Cor emerged from the prisoner's cell and wiped a bloodied hand with a clean towel. Clarus was waiting for him, posted stoically near the opposite wall.
"Anything new?" Clarus asked.
Cor shook his head. "Nothing new. At this point, I think we can be fairly certain that none of the other local gangs had anything to do with this."
"Good. This threat has been contained, then. How many more are there left?" Clarus gestured for the Marshal to walk with him towards the elevators. The Shield wished to regroup with Regis before the King made his attempts to heal the wounded teenagers. Delivering news of the assailants himself was the most surefire way to keep innocent parties from experiencing the King's poor mood.
"Just one. The first two were euthanized as a mercy – it appeared they'd gone insane and were suffering quite a bit as they were. The other two," Cor nodded back towards the cell he'd just exited, "did not survive questioning, unfortunately."
"And of course His Highness killed the other four on-scene in self-defense," Clarus said, though that was definitely not what had happened and Clarus knew that full well.
"Of course," Cor agreed immediately, though he was also aware of the truth.
If the two men were anyone but who they were, they would have felt the need to share a conspiratorial glance. As it was, Clarus and Cor boarded the elevator and returned to the Citadel proper.
The two of them found King Regis in his office guarded by a small company of Glaives.
"What news?" Regis asked immediately.
Clarus stepped forward. "There is no further threat against the Crown, Your Majesty. The assailants were working independently and we captured all of them. One remains alive."
"And their primary motivations?" Regis pressed.
"The story we managed to extract is that they kidnapped and attempted to torture information out of Prompto Argentum in regards to Noctis's security protocols. Compiled with data from Communications, it seems that Argentum alerted the Prince to his predicament and the Prince decided to take matters into his own hands rather than reach out for assistance. The Prince infiltrated a warehouse where Argentum was being held and successfully incapacitated the nine assailants within," said Cor.
"Only one perpetrator still lives, Your Majesty," Clarus noted.
Regis nodded. His mouth said, "I assume now that the threat to the Crown is ended, I may move freely about once more?" but his eyes and posture said "If you try to tell me that I must remain apart from my son for one more moment I will end you."
"Of course, Your Majesty. We'll escort you to the Infirmary," Clarus said, and it was all he could do to barely keep up with the King as the trio of them near-sprinted through the hallways of the Citadel.
"The Glaive who originally discovered Noctis's coded message - it was Altius, yes?" Regis asked even as he blazed through the marble corridors.
"Yes, Your Majesty," Cor confirmed.
"Please arrange with Drautos for Altius to receive a commendation for special services to the Crown. If it weren't for her attention to detail and quick thinking…" Regis trailed off, but both Cor and Clarus understood what would have been said next if it hadn't been so painful.
"Of course, Your Majesty," said Clarus.
The arrival of the trio at the Infirmary was met with little pomp and circumstance, with several Crownsguard posted at the wide double-doors silently shifting into a slightly different formation to allow the King and his retinue through. A team of Glaives met them on the inside, also standing guard.
"Ah, Your Majesty; just the man I was hoping to see!"
Regis turned to see Dr. Christine Patel approach with a medical chart in her hands. Dr. Patel hadn't been on the Infirmary rotation that evening originally, but she was called in with some urgency when the medical team realized that she was the one with the most experience handling Noctis's older injuries.
"Doctor," Regis addressed shortly, "how is my son?"
Dr. Patel took a breath, "Well, he made it as difficult as he could for us, but we've got the bullet out of his abdomen and he is resting comfortably now. The shot perforated his right kidney and a chunk of his large intestine, but I won't be worrying about infection or sepsis until after you work your magic on the wounds. His Highness did strain the muscles and ligaments in his knee and lower back, consistent with his older injuries. I don't doubt he'll make a full recovery, Your Majesty."
Regis felt relief cooling his bones.
"May I see him? I would like to start healing him as soon as I can," Regis explained.
"Of course, Your Majesty. Please follow me."
Dr. Patel led Regis down a couple of hallways to a secure, private wing of the Infirmary. As they approached Noctis's room, security grew more visible and intimidating.
"Ulric, Ostium," Regis greeted the Glaives standing guard outside Noctis's room.
Both of the men bowed to the King and allowed him and his small party to pass without problem.
Regis crossed the room to his son almost on autopilot, disregarding the greeting from Gladiolus, who had been standing guard at Noctis's bedside.
Noctis had been a little sickly, as a child. The Prince caught colds too easily and would become feverish seemingly at the drop of a hat. The physicians told Regis that the Prince's poor health may have resulted from the difficulty of his birth – the difficulty that had taken Aulea's life, in the end. Regis spent many an evening by the bedside of an ill Noctis, entreating the Six to ease his son's struggle to breathe even just a little.
Regis should count himself lucky that Noctis's health improved as he grew, though it was hard to see that bright side when Noctis still ended up in the Infirmary battling for his life with dire injuries.
The Prince's face was relaxed in sleep, but his skin looked clammy and pale. His steady breath fogged up the clear oxygen mask over his nose and mouth, and Regis gently traced a finger along the elastic bands that indented his cheeks. Noctis was dressed in a hospital gown and the bedsheets were pulled up to his chest. Blood, fluids, and a bright yellow mixture of vitamins and minerals dripped into Noctis's veins through a cannula attached to the back of his hand.
Regis's hands clenched at his sides and he huffed out a heavy breath.
"My boy," Regis lamented quietly. He swept Noctis's hair off the boy's face and bent to press his lips very gently to his forehead. "Let us make you well, again."
The King took a seat at his son's side and took a deep breath. The hand adorned with the Ring of the Lucii hovered above what Regis knew was the bullet wound – the wound that would've ended a lesser being, but not Aulea's son.
Something sparked at the edges of Regis's mind. The Ring began to glow.
Not Regis's son; Noctis was of the Line of Lucis. As all of his forefathers before him, Noctis journeyed through the Elsewhere and the fabric of the Void clung to his bones. Noctis laid his eyes upon what was Other and allowed the entropy to unravel what weakness would destroy lesser men.
No, Regis's son was strong. Aulea's son was strong. Noctis was simply better.
Regis reached for what he knew was there and he found it, softly shining and holy.
"Kings of Lucis," Regis murmured, "grant me your wisdom and power."
The chorus of ancient voices in Regis's head found a resolve and harmony.
Mend, knit, heal, cleanse, Regis directed. He is important. He is needed.
The King reached out and grasped at the power, and the room filled with bright white light.
The bar was lively and bright around the Glaives, the three of them sitting at a well-worn table with a small collection of empty glasses and bottles growing quickly.
"Those kids are gonna be the death of me one day," Nyx shook his head and took a swig of his beer. He cast a glance over at Crowe. "Heard you made a real good catch with His Highness's code words. Good job."
"Just glad I caught it before it was too late. You and the strike team did most of the heavy lifting," said Crowe. The kebabs on her plate sat uneaten.
"Way I hear it," Libertus chimed in, "the little Prince himself did the heavy lifting. How many bodies did the cleanup team have to scrape off the walls, again?" He looked over at Nyx in askance.
"No wall-scraping needed, but the disposal crew had to cart four stiffs away from the scene – Prince's kills," Nyx said. "One of 'em was curiously missing a head."
Libertus shuddered a little. "Brutal, man."
"Word is at least a few more were put down by the Crownsguard after. Somethin' about warp void exposure. Any truth to that?" Crowe asked.
A grim silence fell over the table.
Ordinary people without the protection of the King's magic were liable to fall into insanity upon seeing the hole in space made by a warp. While some could be cured of this mental break, a small percentage would never regain normal mental functioning – a life of existential terror and dread until death. Glaives and Crownsguard didn't have this problem because of their ties to the magic of the Crystal, but some still experienced nightmares and nausea during earlier points in their training.
Nyx had woken up screaming more than a few times when he was a trainee. The nightmares eventually stopped, of course, but he still remembered how terrible the experience had been. And he knew that Libertus, Crowe, and Pelna had had the same problems.
"Can't say anything for certain," Nyx grumbled, and he knocked back the rest of his beer before reaching to grab a new one, "but if that's the case then I'm betting killing them was the most humane thing to do. Poor bastards."
Crowe tossed back her fourth shot without a word.
–
The King's personal office was a very benign place to have a meeting with the most powerful man in the country, Ignis mused. Warmly lit, photos of family and friends all over the walls, and a light smattering of paperwork and clutter atop the dark wooden desk.
"Ah, Ignis. Right on time," Regis said as Ignis entered. "Please, pull up a chair."
The King himself was not a very intimidating man when not dressed in his raiment. Black cotton t-shirt, a light gray wool cardigan. The man was wearing reading glasses, for goodness's sake, and looked for all the world as if he were just about to go to bed.
Ignis dragged a cushioned chair over to Regis's desk and sat in it, awaiting an explanation for the purpose of the summons he'd been issued.
"I do regret pulling you away from Noctis's side, my friend, but I find myself in need of your perspective for a rather sensitive matter. My apologies," Regis said.
"It is no trouble, Your Majesty," Ignis said. This was true and untrue at the same time.
"Well, all the better to get to the subject at hand, then," Regis paused here and sighed a little, "Is my son's friendship with Argentum worth the risk to his safety?"
Ah. It would be that sort of conversation, then.
It was an interesting question, certainly, and one to which Ignis did not have an answer.
"I ask you because you have more knowledge on the subject of my son's social and personal life than me, Ignis. My son is lying in a hospital bed with a bullet wound for a second time. This is the second time this year that Noctis has had to use that damn emergency alarm. I don't recall him ever using it before he came into contact with Argentum," Regis explained.
Ignis recalled the mugging incident, the more recent attempted kidnapping, and the events of earlier in the day which caused so much grief. However, he also remembered several other attempts on Noctis's safety which were being ignored for the convenient scapegoat of Prompto Argentum's friendship.
"I see your point and understand your concern, Your Majesty. I truly cannot imagine the fear and worry that you must feel even now with Noctis recovering well," Ignis began. He stopped and tried to phrase the next part of his statement carefully. "I feel that in order to avoid doing both Noctis and Prompto a disservice, though, I must remind you that Noctis's person has been in danger before from outside agents. There have been attempted kidnappings prior to the other recent alarm incident to which you refer – the same one that we, incidentally, owe Prompto a great deal of credit in assuring Noctis's safety – and more than one attempted murder, if you'll recall. The Marilith attack comes to mind, as does an incident in the Citadel gardens.
"This incident is not the first of its kind. It likely won't be the last, though I ask you to consider how much of that likelihood is due to your son having an outside friend and how much of it is due to Noctis simply living his life as a Prince," said Ignis.
Much to his credit, Regis did not grow angry or indignant. The King simply raised a brow.
"Was I told a falsehood, then, when it was explained to me that Noctis rushed off and got himself shot in the middle of a warehouse for the sake of Prompto Argentum?" Regis asked.
"Your son is fiercely loyal to his friends and incredibly skilled with more manners of weaponry than I can count. Noctis is a very powerful young man. However, he is still a young man," Ignis emphasized, "And young men are capable of making poor decisions, whether they are princes or not. If he had alerted the Citadel to the situation instead of running off by himself, professional assistance would have been summoned for rescuing Prompto, and Noctis likely would not have been wounded. It is true that Prompto was kidnapped due to his association with Noctis, but Prompto should not be faulted for discreetly contacting His Highness when he was in danger."
Regis scrubbed at his eyes with one hand. The King looked a great deal more tired than he had at the beginning of their conversation.
"Is Argentum good for my son, Ignis? Enough to make all of this," here the King waved a hand around as if to indicate everything, "worth the trouble?"
"In the span of time after the Marilith attack and before Noctis and Prompto became friends, I can count the number of times I saw His Highness smile on one hand. Now…" Ignis trailed off, offering a half-hearted shrug. "His grades have improved, his study habits are healthier, and occasionally he does even try to eat a vegetable."
Regis allowed Ignis's words to settle into space between them.
"I see," the King said eventually. He nodded. "Very well. Issue an order for the Kingsglaive to begin monitoring Argentum's communications on the same level as Noctis's, and ensure that he is issued an emergency code of his own. And speak with Noctis and Prompto and see that this 'secret set of codes' nonsense is put to rest, for everyone's sake."
"Yes, Your Majesty. It shall be done," Ignis said.
"Thank you, Ignis. And thank you for the work you do," the King said. "You may return to your duties."
Ignis rose from his seat and bowed once before heading for the door. He turned back towards Regis briefly.
"For my own curiosity, Your Majesty, what will happen if Noctis and Prompto refuse to cease using their secret codes?"
Regis contemplated for a moment.
"If they refuse to comply, Noctis will move back to the Citadel and be tutored privately here, instead of attending school outside. The two of them will need to visit each other here if they want to associate at all," said Regis. He looked at Ignis and his eyes were dark, haunted. "Noctis is welcome to hate me as much as he'd like. My first priority is his life."
And though Ignis was deeply worried about the amount of damage that effectively quarantining Noctis would do to the young man's mind, there was a part of him that understood.
–
When Noctis was younger, the most advanced television sets were CRT TVs. Noctis didn't know all of the fancy physics and engineering that went into their construction, but he did know that right after turning one of them off, there was a palpable layer of static electricity across the screen that was pretty fun to trace with his hand.
That fuzzy, staticky feeling was the exact same sensation that buzzed all over the skin after being touched by Crystal magic, and was the exact reason why Noctis knew that his dad had healed him while he had been unconscious.
Returning to the waking world was disorienting on a normal day, but doing so after being shot and then apparently healed right back up was more wild than usual. As soon as his eyes opened, he scrunched them shut again with a small huff. He rubbed his forefingers and thumbs together. Staticky. And the room was too bright.
Noctis was in his room in his Citadel chambers, but all of the lights were on including the recessed lighting in the ceiling.
"Back with us, Noct?"
Noctis cracked an eye open to see Gladio, "Yup. How's Prom?" He sounded a little like he'd been swallowing glass recreationally.
"He's healed up just like you," Gladio replied.
The relief. Noctis's eyes slipped closed again and a huge breath escaped his lungs.
"You want me to tell you off now or wait 'til next time we have a sparring session?" Gladio asked, clearly restraining himself. The man's jaw and shoulders were tense.
"Now, if you want," Noctis invited.
"In all likelihood," Ignis chimed in from the corner of the room where he stood with his arms crossed, "a lecture would be wasted on him as he is now. I'd wait if I were you, Gladio." The expression on the advisor's face was closed-off, dark.
"Raincheck, then," Gladio nodded. "I'll go let blondie know he can come in whenever," Gladio made his way to the bedroom door, but before he left he turned to Noctis and said, "If you try this kind of stupid, reckless bullshit again, you won't have to worry about getting shot cuz I'll kill you myself. You hear me?"
Noctis imagined that he had caused Gladio more than a little grief. A wave of shame washed over him. He nodded.
"Loud and clear, Gladio."
"Dumbass," Gladio huffed affectionately under his breath and made his exit.
As soon as the door was closed again, Noctis looked over at Ignis. "How do you think I should tell him that the only reason I got through that whole thing was 'cause I could imagine him calling me an idiot in my head?" The Prince asked, trying his best to lighten the mood.
Ignis's arms were still crossed. "I'm fairly certain that Gladio wishes to distance himself from every part of this incident, Prince Noctis, so telling him of that fact may indeed be the wrong course of action."
"'Prince Noctis,' huh? I'm really in trouble, then, aren't I?" Noctis asked.
"Not only with Gladio and I," Ignis confirmed, "but with His Majesty, as well. He called me for a meeting before you were moved here from the Infirmary, and he wanted to know whether you and Prompto should be allowed to associate at all, given your apparent unwillingness to entrust his safety to anyone else."
Noctis winced. He toyed with the edge of the sheet that had been pulled over him.
"What'd you guys end up deciding?"
"Prompto will be given an emergency code and a security monitoring team similar to yours. You will be allowed to continue your residency outside the Citadel and your friendship with Prompto so long as you both promise to stop using your own made-up codes when in real, observable danger. If not, your outside residency and your friendship will effectively be terminated. His Majesty will not be swayed, either," Ignis threatened.
"Sounds reasonable enough," Noctis murmured. Comply with his father's wishes and he gets to keep his independence and his best friend. Got it. He stared down at the creases and slopes of the bedsheets. "Anything else important I should know?"
Ignis finally uncrossed his arms and snatched a thin, black notebook off Noctis's bedside table.
"Low to no activity for the next week. Mostly bland, liquid meals for the next two weeks. You'll need to pay special attention to how your lower back muscles are feeling and the range of motion in your knee to determine whether you need additional physical therapy. Dr. Patel will want to see you tomorrow morning, bright and early, for an additional examination – as a condition of your rather early discharge," said Ignis.
Ignis sounded pissed off even just reading out a physician's instructions.
"Prompto's kidnappers?"
"Their goal was to torture him for information regarding your security measures and procedures," Ignis said.
"Yeah," Noctis interjected, "that's what they were doing when I got there."
"All nine of them are dead."
Noctis had only killed four, so the other five…
"I see."
"Do you?" Ignis asked, and it was like a dam breaking. "Do you see? Do you understand?"
So Ignis had decided to have this argument now. Noctis was instantly on guard – Ignis was incredibly well-spoken and polite, but he also knew exactly how to cut Noctis down to size instantly.
"Igs–"
"No, Noctis! You have a duty to the people of Lucis to become their leader! You have a duty to your father to be his successor! You can't accomplish either of those things if you're dead because you engaged in a rescue mission alone!" Ignis shouted.
A low anger started to burn in Noctis's chest.
"Prompto needed me!" Noctis argued back.
"Prompto needed anyone!" Ignis exclaimed, "Anyone could have taken on that task – you could have called for anyone! But no, you were so single-minded in your desire to be a hero–"
Noctis's mouth hung open and he gasped indignantly, "–that is out of line–!"
"–that you ran off by yourself and got shot for it! Imagine if their aim had been better. What would have happened to Prompto if they'd shot you through the heart? The head?" Ignis pressed.
"I was the closest to where he was. Nobody else would've gotten there before it escalated. He was being tortured," Noctis ground out, frustrated, "Prompto needed me, and I–" Not the time, Noctis, not the time for that. "He's my friend."
Ignis bowed his head and clenched his fists. "And am I not?" He asked quietly.
"What?" Noctis asked, confused.
"Am I not your friend? Is Gladio not your friend? Do we not even factor into the calculus you ran when you were risking your life alone? The damage that losing you would do to us – or to your father?"
King Regis's health was failing – anyone with eyes could see it. Holding the Wall was taking a toll on him. He needed Noctis to take over in the near future. But more than that…
Noctis never knew his mother. He knew that when he was born, something had gone catastrophically wrong and she had passed away shortly after naming him. Most of all, he knew that his father loved her and missed her dearly. Noctis had been injured in an assassination attempt when he was thirteen and had been lightly sedated for the healing process. He wasn't sure if he'd dreamed it or overheard it, but he distinctly remembered a whispered conversation between his father and Clarus Amicitia.
" –if they'd been successful–"
"They weren't, Regis. Noctis lives and will recover."
"He Aulea's eyes, you know," his dad had said.
"He does," Clarus had agreed.
"I thought I'd never– after she passed, I didn't think I'd ever see them again…" And there was so much pain in his voice that Noctis wanted to cry.
If anything had gone even slightly worse when he went to go save Prompto, Noctis could have forced his father to experience that loss again. It would have been his fault.
Noctis suddenly felt quite small. "I didn't think–"
"Evidently not," Ignis interrupted dryly.
"…I'm sorry, Ignis," Noctis said eventually. "I acted with complete disregard to my health, safety, and duty. I fucked up bad."
"Indeed, you did," Ignis replied. He pushed his glasses up with one finger.
"What can I do to make it up to you?"
Ignis stared at him hard. "Don't do it again."
"...got it."
"Do you?"
"Yes, I promise," Noctis assured.
"Excellent. Now," Ignis said, "I am going to acquire you a light broth to drink and let Prompto know that I am done shouting for the evening."
"Could you ask him to come in, please?" Noctis asked sheepishly.
"I don't think I'll need to ask – he's been quite eager to see you since you were both released from the Infirmary," Ignis said while on his way to the door.
There was still enough tension in Ignis's shoulders that Noctis simply needed to ask, "Hey Iggy– you and me– are we…good?"
"Yes, Noct, I believe we are."
And he was "Noct" again. That was good.
–
Prompto looked a sight better when he appeared at Noctis's door than he had when Noctis had last seen him. There was some light bruising to the right side of his face and a small patch of his hair had been shaved out of the way to make room for a tiny square of gauze and some tape, but other than that he looked well.
"Hey, Prom."
"Heya, Noct."
Noctis's smiles came easier when Prompto was around.
"C'mon in – the memory foam is fine," Noctis patted the open half of his bed with one arm.
"How are we doin'?" Prompto asked as he stiffly got settled next to Noctis.
"Only a little worse than usual," Noctis quipped.
"Whoah, that bad, huh?" Prompto teased lightly.
Noctis huffed out a laugh and used the remote on his bedside table to fip on the TV.
"Diagnosis?" Noctis asked.
Prompto fiddled with the edge of his black pajama shirt. "Had a couple of broken ribs, moderate concussion. Nothing nearly as bad as you. And King Regis was kind enough to heal them up for me, so all I have is a little bit of soreness, now."
"I'm glad it wasn't anything more serious," and Noctis meant that with every fiber of his being.
"...Noct. I'm so sorry," Prompto said quietly, deadly serious, "I shouldn'tve dragged you into it."
"Dude, don't apologize. I mean it," Noctis held up a hand to stop Prompto's protests. "I made the choice to come help you alone. I should've waited for backup – called Specs, called Gladio, somebody. I didn't do that, and that's on me."
"If you didn't need to rescue my sorry ass, you wouldn't have had to make the choice at all."
"If you weren't friends with my sorry ass, you wouldn't have needed to be rescued," Noctis sniped. "They grabbed you because they wanted to use you to get to me – don't think that I don't feel shitty about that, Prom."
"We're kind of a mess, huh?" Prompto asked. He cast his eyes over to the TV. An action movie was playing.
"Just a little bit," Noctis allowed.
"Hey, Noct," Prompto began, catching Noctis's gaze again, "Thank you. You don't know how relieved I was to see you there."
On any normal day, Noctis may have thrown a "Just repaying a favor, bud" at his best friend, but this was not a normal day. As it was, Noctis reached out, gathered up Prompto's left hand in his own right hand, and simply held it for a moment. Prompto's hand was warm.
"I'm just really, really glad you're okay," Noctis choked out around the sudden lump in his throat.
Prompto's thumb rubbed over the back of Noctis's hand. "Right back at ya."
The two of them sat in companionable silence for quite a while, half-watching the action movie and half desperately trying not to fall asleep, fingers intertwined and neither of them willing to separate.
Then Prompto said: "Hey, if you thought your dad was going to be pissed at you last time…"
And Noctis collapsed back into his pillows with a groan, willing the bed to swallow him whole.
–
Some hours later, Ignis peered through Noctis's slightly ajar bedroom door. He had wanted to enter in order to retrieve the – hopefully – empty soup bowls he'd dropped off, but he definitely didn't want to wake either Prompto or Noctis if they were asleep.
The lights had all been turned off and the boys were cast in gentle blue light from the television.
Noctis was still awake and sitting propped up by a myriad of pillows, watching the near-silent program playing on whatever channel they'd decided on. Prompto had evidently fallen asleep at some point and lay heavily up against the Prince, his blond head on Noctis's shoulder. The fingers of his left hand were zipped with Noctis's right.
Prompto shifted a little in his sleep and a chunk of his hair fell across his face to rest against his eyes.
Noctis smiled down at Prompto, and it was more peaceful and fond than anything Ignis had ever seen on the Prince's face before.
Noctis reached his free hand up to brush the hair out of Prompto's face and then turned his head to press his lips against Prompto's forehead.
And as Ignis allowed himself his own smile and backed away from Noctis's door to allow the two some peace, he suddenly knew with utter certainty what Noctis had been about to say during their argument.
Quick, dark blue eyes desperately trying to force Ignis to understand but being unwilling to let the words out:
Prompto needed me, and I–
I love him.
The voice Ignis had heard comforting Prompto through his end of the phone call, exhausted but still full of an affection he couldn't express any other way:
You needed me,
so I'm here.
(I love you.)
A translation of the phone conversation between Prompto and Noctis. Please note that the code system used here should be considered to be largely fluid and evolves as conversation usually does: it isn't always ideal to use one specific sentence and so it is up to the other party to pick out code words/phrases and parse their meaning in context. The translations I've provided include the meanings of the code words/phrases and what Noctis inferred from Prompto's statements and hoped to imply in his own replies.
"Oh, not much, friendo, just wanted to know if seven or eight bags of Sour Patch Kids would be enough for tonight?"
Friendo: An innocuous/goofy way of calling someone your friend, in this case designed to alert either Noctis or Prompto that the other is in serious distress and needs assistance as fast as possible.
Sour Patch Kids: There's someone following/stalking me.
7-8 bags: Modifying the above code by stating approximately how many individuals there are. In this case, Prompto is unsure but is estimating between 7 and 8 potential hostiles.
"How about fourteen and two sleeves of Oreos?"
Fourteen: A combination of the numbers 10 and 4, usually a way of notifying someone that you understood what they've told you (As in "10-4. I read you loud and clear" - typically used by law enforcement officers).
How about…two sleeves of Oreos?: Noctis is asking Prompto whether he wants Noctis to call the police. Crown City Police typically respond to incidents in pairs, and their uniforms and equipment are typically predominantly black with white accents.
"Nah, I don't think your pantry could handle that many,"
No, the situation is unclear and police presence may worsen the incident.
"Can you stay on the line with me till we work this out?"
No translation needed.
"My manager won't take too kindly to me doing that, I don't think,"
My being on the phone may make the situation worse if it makes the hostiles upset.
"Does your manager know you're on the phone at work?"
Do the hostiles know that you know they're planning something?
"Oh, he will eventually if he doesn't already!"
No translation needed.
"Think you can leave the marshmallows alone this time?"
Marshmallows: citizens/noncombatants/innocents
Can you defend yourself without harming citizens/noncombatants?
"Ha ha, nah, man. I gotta go, but let me know if you want me to pick up anything else! Bye!"
No translation needed.