Chapter 20

Asphyxia

What Titus had always loved most about Ignis was that Ignis treated him as any other man, and had never been afraid of him.

Maybe that hadn't changed at the base, but Ignis was much less catty now, and Titus regretted that more than anything else. Ignis still had claws, but they were trimmed suddenly, and far too often sheathed. Ignis pulled back now at the last second, skirted and danced and never went too far.

In his heart, Titus knew it was because Ignis was avoiding another slap.

Fair, sure, but not to Titus, and he could never hope to explain that, and so as it often was Titus could only be on his very best behavior.

Ignis pulled back, and so did Titus; no longer did Titus toss Ignis about like a rag doll at night, even though it seemed that Ignis tried to spur him into doing so. No go—Titus was back in full, boring, standard missionary mode, and however hard Ignis clawed his back he wouldn't budge. Ignis couldn't sheathe his claws in the day and then brandish them at night. Had to be both, not one or the other, and until Ignis got over his nerves and once more called Titus a dumb, homely, insufferable son of a bitch (if only by implication), Titus would tread gently.

Ignis wasn't the only one walking on eggshells around Titus.

Luche these days was very quiet, very skittish, kept his head and eyes low and jumped whenever Titus addressed him. No doubt by then Ignis and Luche had had a conversation, while Ignis worked from home to hide his bruise. Ignis was always mindful of the wellbeing of others, and more than likely had informed Luche of Titus' anger so that Luche would know not to press too far and set Titus off.

Six days after Ardyn had meddled, Luche finally gathered up the courage to come to Titus directly.

A knock on Titus' door, and he hadn't even bothered looking up when he grunted, "Come in."

Staring off into the void as he was, eyes on the calendar upon the wall, heeding Ardyn's words and trying to start tying up all of his loose ends.

Time to truly begin aligning his Glaives, then, and when Luche stepped inside, Titus looked him up and down.

This one here, for example, was one of the easier threads to loop.

Luche shut the door behind him, and Titus could already see the cold sweat on his brow, his pursed lips, his tense shoulders. Paler than ever, Luche, and Titus glanced up from over his desk, fingers drumming away as if bored. Luche looked close to petrified, and Titus wouldn't say he didn't enjoy it, because he was an asshole and he did enjoy it, thanks a lot.

Luche was always such a bold, fearless, arrogant creep—seeing him cowering was very satisfying.

Luche clicked his boots together, standing at perfect attention, and then finally began, in a voice that wavered, "Sir! I want to apologize, sir."

Titus lidded his eyes, knowing full well how condescending he looked, but stayed silent all the same and let Luche talk.

Wondered what Ignis had said to him exactly.

Luche hesitated, and then finally tried, "Sir, I apologize for going to your home unannounced. I don't— I don't know what I was thinking, I really don't. I can't figure out exactly why I thought it was alright, for the life of me I can't. I apologize. It won't ever happen again, sir. Why it ever crossed my mind, I can't say. I just thought— I just wanted— That is, I was trying to— I was quite proud of my latest strategies, sir, and you had taken the day off and I didn't want to call, and I thought you would be home, so—"

Luche stammered, stuttered, broke off and restarted helplessly, something cool and clever Luche never did, and Titus couldn't really summon up much anger then. Hell, kinda felt bad then for the bastard, nervous as he was. Anyway, Titus entirely understood why Luche just couldn't come up with a good reason as to why he had gone over to Titus' home without permission; Luche had been bewitched by Ardyn, and had had little choice. Couldn't hold it against him.

Besides, Luche would soon become his most valuable asset, more than he already was.

So Titus held up a hand for silence, and sputtering Luche abruptly stammered to a halt. He stood yet at perfect attention, and Titus could see him swallow.

Titus heaved a sigh, ran his palm over the bridge of his nose, and finally grunted, "At ease."

Luche slumped in a second, took a step forward, and said, far more earnestly, "I really am sorry, sir. I didn't mean anything by it, and I... Nothing happened, you know? Ignis would never."

Luche would, but Ignis would never, and Titus in his heart knew that, in spite of all of his own insecurities.

Luche shuffled, shifted, awaited Titus' judgment, and it was a long while of contemplation before Titus finally lifted his eyes and met Luche's fidgeting gaze.

In a softer voice, Titus said, "Forgiven."

Luche slumped ever more, audibly sighed, and closed his eyes momentarily in obvious relief, as his blazing path to continued promotion seemed secure.

A weak, "Thank you, sir."

And now came another blazing promotion, because Titus needed Luche more than he needed most.

When Luche opened his eyes and bowed at the waist, Titus abruptly and very randomly said, "I'm promoting you to Brigadier."

Luche's eyes shot open, his mouth fell, and he gawked at Titus in shock before uttering, as if he had misunderstood, "Sorry—what was that, sir?"

"You heard me," Titus griped, irritably, as he finally stood up from his desk.

Luche fell back into attention, brow low and pulse racing, and even though Luche shoulda been grateful, he instead just asked, quietly, "But why?"

Titus rolled his eyes, and answered very honestly, "Because you're the only person whose goddamn legs I've been forbidden to break. That automatically makes you more useful than the rest. Can't put you out of work for a year." To be slightly more believable, for now, Titus did add, "And your strategies were brilliant this time around. You exceeded my expectations on both paper and out in the field. Your days on the sea have warranted this."

That was true.

Luche was adept at stealthily wiring explosives, at creeping up, at working in the dark, and that could soon be extremely useful closer to home.

Luche swallowed again, seemed to be uncertain if Titus was stringing him along or not, and then Luche bowed his head once more, and whispered, "Thank you, Captain. I won't let you down."

"I know," Titus drawled, and glanced over at his calendar.

A twinge of unease.

Out of nowhere, perhaps, Titus met Luche's eyes again, and asked, breathily, "Luche. What's the most important thing in life, for you?"

Luche's brow furrowed, his lips pursed, he clearly didn't really want to be in Titus' office anymore, but he thought for a moment all the same, and then finally responded, "Galahd, sir."

Good answer.

"Dismissed," Titus said, and Luche immediately spun around and made for the door.

As he was hanging halfway out, however, Luche hesitated, and looked over his shoulder.

Another soft whisper.

"Sir. Don't be upset with Ignis. He really didn't do anything wrong. Nothing happened. I swear it on my mother's grave."

Well, that was an oath. Did Luche know about the outburst all the way? Seemed that way, suddenly, and if Luche knew, then who else knew? Or maybe Titus was being paranoid again.

Titus was still and silent, gave one curt nod, and then said again, "Dismissed."

Luche shut the door, and was gone.

Titus sat back down, staring at the calendar so furiously he was surprised it didn't ignite.

Ardyn had set things into motion, he said, and Titus dutifully awaited orders.

Until they came, Titus' mind whirred away, and he once more began his endless fretting as to how to secure Ignis' safety. Ignis had to be outside the wall, but Titus wasn't so certain now that he wanted Ignis to be with Noctis. He may have had to intervene out there, and that was where Luche may have once more come in handy.

Ardyn and Titus danced around each other, each having their own motives despite sharing the same end goal, and though Ardyn was clever and all-knowing, so was Titus. Titus would appease Ardyn on the surface and let Ignis leave the city with Noctis, but Titus wouldn't sit there and let Ignis become a martyr.

As in everything in his life, Titus had a backup plan for his backup plan, and then one more backup plan just to be certain.

His mind was ever whirring, the gears always grinding, and sleep was harder and harder these days to find.

January became February, and then March, and still Ardyn hadn't come to him, and so Titus was left to wander in shadows and begin gauging the loyalty of each Glaive to their King.

Fretting constantly.

Ignis wasn't blind to it, as usual, but didn't say a word, because no doubt Ignis assumed this newfound restlessness had everything to do with Luche's unexpected arrival and the confrontation, for the timeline matched. Ignis still wasn't looking for another slap, and so didn't say a word when Titus tossed and turned and then rolled out of bed at all hours of the night and morning. Just sat up and watched him go with a sigh, but never followed.

Until late April, when Titus was sitting at the kitchen table well into the morning hours, staring off at the wall and still attempting to calculate every possible reaction from every possible Glaive; who to trust, who to dispose of, who to lie to, who to tell the truth to. Who to use. Who to send to the Citadel. Who to sacrifice, when the time came.

Didn't trust Nyx, but didn't wanna hurt him, either—

"Can't sleep again?"

At the rough whisper, Titus came out of his trance, and gave a noncommittal grunt.

The first time Ignis had spoken up during Titus' sudden insomnia, and perhaps it was because Titus was looking rather rough these days, sleep deprived as he was and nerves shot.

Ignis came up behind him, quietly, hesitated, and then warm hands fell atop his shoulders.

"It's been a while. What's keeping you up?"

Titus knew what Ignis was thinking, but didn't really help matters much by grunting, "This and that."

What could he say? No answer would satisfy Ignis, especially an honest one.

Ignis shifted about behind him.

"Come to bed. You're wearing yourself out. Shall we procure you some sedatives?"

No; Titus needed to be ever clearheaded.

He shook his head, and Ignis sighed.

"Come to bed, then. Try to rest."

More than the lack of sleep, what Titus hated the most these days was how Ignis yet tiptoed around him. Ignis spoke so tentatively yet to Titus after Ardyn's intrusion. Missed catty Ignis bossing him around, missed being ordered about and fearlessly stood up to. Missed Ignis not being afraid of him as others were. Missed Ignis walking right up and grabbing his ear and giving him a what for.

Missed Ignis brazenly taking charge of him.

Missed Ignis.

Titus reached up, rested a hand atop Ignis', and finally rasped, "Is that an order, boss?"

Before, Ignis would have instantly said, drolly, 'Yes, now get in that bed right now.'

Now, Ignis hesitated, Titus could sense him analyzing the situation, and finally Ignis uttered, so deeply, "Merely a suggestion."

Couldn't stand it.

Titus twisted at the waist until he was able to look up at Ignis, and he knew he must have looked as exhausted as he felt, because even his damn voice was tired when he said, "I miss you ordering me around. I know I've earned it, and I know I can't take it back, I can't make you forget, but I... I can't stand you being scared of me. I miss you treating me as you treat everyone else. You were the first one who ever did. I miss the way you used to be. Forgive me for breaking that trust."

A pass of regret on Ignis' face, and then, for the first time since that awful day, Ignis reached out and took Titus' face in his hands.

Oh—

Thumbs over his cheeks, and Ignis said, very firmly, "I'm not frightened of you, Titus. I never have been, and I never will be."

Oh, yeah? How to explain that look of fear on Ignis' face, then, when the Ardyn-Titus had cut off all air for a brief moment.

Titus closed his eyes and leaned into the touch anyway, because he missed it and needed it more and more the closer that day came.

Ignis asked then, "Is that what's been bothering you?"

Seeing a perfect out, Titus hesitated, swallowed, and finally grunted, weakly, "Maybe."

It had been bothering him greatly, yes, but that wasn't why he wasn't sleeping.

Ignis accepted it all the same, and gave a heavy sigh.

"Oh, Titus," he began, almost chidingly, as Titus opened his eyes and peered up at him. "Whatever am I going to do with you?"

'Whatever you want' is what he would have said before, but with everything hanging over his head and that awful longing of just wanting Ignis above all else, Titus was silent.

Sometimes, like right now, his burden of expectation felt very overwhelming. Stifling. Suffocating.

As if Ardyn were asphyxiating Titus then without ever touching him.

Thought he felt his brow crinkle a little as he abruptly blinked quickly. Could never explain even to himself why he suddenly felt as if he had been swept out to sea and was beginning to sink under the surf. So many people, so many plans, so many threads, and so many ways things could go wrong.

Ignis must have seen it, for he leaned down, kissed Titus' forehead, and then very forcefully turned Titus back around and replaced his hands atop Titus' shoulders. Titus closed his eyes again when Ignis' fingers began kneading his muscles, trying to settle him down.

Why was he a wreck tonight? Needed to get his head sorted out, and fast.

Every day was one day closer.

Ignis leaned down, kissed the back of his neck, causing a shiver, and after a good long minute of massaging, Ignis pressed lips into Titus' ear and said, with absolutely no hint of anxiety, "Come to bed. That's an order."

No quiver at all in Ignis' voice, as if nothing at all had ever happened.

Everything Titus had wanted, and so he didn't understand why there was an unexpected and entirely uncontrollable rush of sadness, out of nowhere. It caught Titus entirely off guard, washed over him as a wave, and he could never have explained why. What had set it off. Where it had come from.

Suddenly...

He really only wanted Ignis, and he had never wanted anything else aside from his homeland.

The notion of Ignis and the notion of home had become so intertwined in Titus' mind that he was no longer certain which was which and which one he was actually fighting for. They seemed one and the same, and suddenly, sitting there at his kitchen table, Titus felt that same incomprehension and hurt and terror he had felt sitting at the long table many years ago as he had watched hands flying in the air to surrender his homeland.

Felt everything and nothing, then, and was appalled and alarmed when his eyes started stinging and his throat clenched. To save face and steel himself, he rested his elbows upon the table and buried his face in his hands.

Couldn't breathe.

Ignis, as always, missed nothing, and fell deathly still. If Titus couldn't believe he was about to start crying, then he could only imagine how Ignis might have felt, as the impervious Captain buried his face and breathed far too heavily.

An awful silence.

Instead of speaking, Ignis merely wrapped his arms suddenly around Titus' neck, buried his face in Titus' messy hair, and clenched him up.

Gods above, couldn't take it, the thought of something going wrong and losing Ignis. Couldn't. Home and Ignis, he had convinced himself once, and now needed them both.

Pressure had been building for so long now, his perfect plans had had a wrench thrown in them, and hell, Ardyn was right; love did very strange things to men.

Titus clenched his teeth, tried so hard to gather up his composure, and an awful noise of distress somehow escaped his chest as he fought against the tide. Humiliating, utterly humiliating, but no matter how hard he tried he just couldn't seem to get rid of that despair.

It only took one misstep, one miscalculation, one wrong outcome, and Ignis would be lost, either in the line of fire or because Ignis discovered who he truly was. Ignis would never choose Titus over the line of Lucis, never, and if it came down to the wire Titus was so certain that Ignis would summon his arms, would fight against him, to the death, and, oh, the thought of ever having it come to that, to think that Ignis would force Titus to strike him down—

If he stood over a slain Ignis, would home even be worth it?

Titus realized his shoulders were shaking, with the effort he was giving to suppress emotion. Obviously wasn't working. Clung hard to pride then, although it may have been easier just to collapse and let it out and get it over with, and clear his head a little. Ignis may have been inclined as well, for he suddenly moved about, grabbing Titus' wrists and forcing his arms down. When Titus turned his head aside in one last effort to save face, Ignis sat right down on his lap, grabbed his face, and yanked him in.

Goddammit.

An awful, deep sob, muffled by clenched teeth, and Titus had little choice then but to give in and bury his face in Ignis' collar. Ignis clenched him up, held him against his breast as Titus' hands flew up to Ignis' back, and Titus would forever be grateful that Ignis didn't say one single word in the entire fifteen minutes that Titus cried into his shirt.

The longest fifteen minutes of his life.

Pitiful.

When he exhausted all tears (and all pride), Titus kept his face buried in Ignis' shirt because he was too goddamn tired to lift his head but also too embarrassed.

These last four years had been exceptionally confusing for him on an emotional level.

After a while of silence, Ignis ran a hand up and down his back, and finally uttered a word, to ask, huskily, "Feel better?"

Well...

Yes, actually. Yes he did. Less stressed. Less overwhelmed. As if a bit of that tension in his chest had been released.

So Titus nodded into Ignis' collar, Ignis grabbed his face and forced him to lift his head, and as he gazed at Ignis through bleary eyes, Titus grumbled, "If you tell anyone about this I'll break your legs."

He said it, naturally, so that Ignis could prove once and for all that he wasn't scared of Titus, and Ignis rose up to the challenge by snorting quite loudly and replying, in that catty way Titus had so missed, "You wouldn't dare! Then you'll be doing all of your own housework. And we both know that would prove your demise."

Another awful crinkle of Titus' brow, another squint of his eyes, another momentary collapse, but that time he pulled it together.

A comforting moment of Ignis' thumbs once more over his cheeks, and then Ignis teased him a bit by adding, "You know, it was rather pleasant for once to be the one to make you cry."

Titus snorted that time, sighed, and pushed his forehead into Ignis'.

"Never heard you complaining about it."

A moment of nuzzling, and then Ignis said, far more seriously, "Talk to me, Titus. I'm always right here. You need not cause yourself such stress."

Knowing that he would never be able to truly talk to Ignis about his fears, Titus nodded anyway, to appease him, and felt suddenly exhausted. Could have slept right there like that, and maybe he had dozed off for a moment because the next thing he knew, Ignis was suddenly dragging him to his feet and leading him into the bedroom. He collapsed on the bed and was out like a light.

The last breath of consciousness that he remembered was Ignis, running fingers through his hair and whispering right in his ear, "If you only knew how much I love you."

Likewise.

They didn't say those words often, and so to hear it aloud was always rather breathtaking.

Finally, some sleep came to Titus, and there were no dreams.

Deep and dark.

For the first time, Titus overslept, as his stressed body and mind sought to catch up on lost time, and when he finally came to, the sun was high in the sky.

As Titus reached for his phone, Ignis' deep voice crooned, from beside him, "It's past noon. You overslept, Captain."

Titus' hand froze very still, and so did everything else.

Just the way Ignis had leeringly drawled the word 'Captain'. Made him shudder, and Titus turned his head.

Ignis was sitting upright on the bed, one leg drawn up and the other straight out, elbow on knee and sneering down over at him. Titus sneered right back at him, and responded, gruffly and huskily, "Get the fuck out of my bed. It's disgusting. I'd rather burn it than use it again after you touch it."

Ignis scoffed in offense, but of course it wasn't Ignis, so Titus had no problem being rude to him when personal boundaries were crossed.

"What is it that gives me away? I was very certain I had the tones down today."

Hardly; Ardyn could never rid himself of his lilt, however hard he tried. The only thing that Ardyn seemed incapable of doing.

Titus sat up, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and saw a note from the real Ignis on the nightstand next to his phone.

'I didn't wish to wake you. Rest up. I've informed the Crown you'll be taking the day off.'

Titus stared down at it, his back to Ardyn, and finally asked, "What do you want now?"

"The plan is made. I come to give you your orders. It's begun."

Ardyn was still using Ignis' form, and it was very surreal, as Ardyn relayed the lengthy and complex plan for Insomnia's fall and the Crystal's relocation while borrowing Ignis' voice.

To hear the plot to fell Lucis in Ignis' voice—

Incomprehensible, for Ignis was so steadfast and blindly loyal, and perhaps that was why Ardyn did it, just for the extra shock value, because of course Ardyn loved dramatics.

Titus stared at the wall, and listened to Ignis' eerily familiar and yet not voice murmuring away behind him.

The beginning of the end.

All things now came full circle, and Titus hoped that Ignis would be standing there in the loop when he came back around, waiting to take his hand. Every step now could create the breeze that led to the whirlwind. Tread lightly; easy on paper, less so when Ignis had Titus tripping over his own feet.

As Ardyn spoke in Ignis' voice, all Titus could see in his mind was himself in armor, standing over a slain Ignis, who had fought against him for a King who so gladly would have thrown him away.

'For hearth and home', they always said, and Ignis would defend his with his life as Titus would. If only their idea of 'home' were the same.

One year, and the world would change.