Gladio awoke in a haze, entirely too warm and hurting all over. He pushed the blanket off his chest and immediately winced as pain seared through his arm. Opening his eyes he found himself back in the cabin. He was sprawled out on the couch in front of the dying fire in the hearth. Glancing down at his arm he noticed his shirt had been cut away and his wounds had been tended to. Clean gauze and what looked like the upper half of a tube sock was sheathed around his arm. He really wanted to see the damage that was done, particularly to his new tattoo of all things, but he would wait until later.

Near the couch was a small trash can filled to the brim with what was left of his shirt, a blood soaked towel, and a pile of dark red stained gauze. On the table were empty vials of rubbing alcohol, peroxide, iodine, along with an empty remedy and potion vial. It seemed Ignis didn't take any chances when it came to infection. Gladio was happy he was unconscious when all that disinfectant was dumped into his wounds. He could take a punch no problem, but alcohol in an open wound… the thought set his teeth on edge just thinking about it.

Feeling a dull throb in his ankle too he went to move it, but found it heavier than he expected. Looking down he saw Ignis. He was sleeping sitting up with his glasses still on, his head propped up in one arm while the other was draped across Gladio's legs on his lap. His pants were gone as well, added to the pile of stained fabric in yet another small waste bin at Ignis' feet. His leg was tended to in a similar fashion to his arm.

Gladio took a peek under the blankets and was relieved to see his boxers were still on. Well, at least he salvaged one piece of clothing. He wondered where his winter coat was. He'd only brought one of them.

He looked up at Ignis again and took the moment of quiet to appreciate him. Gladio had no clue how Ignis had managed to get him back into the cabin. His head was still swimming and he remembered very little about how he'd even gotten through the woods. He could recall the caterwauls of the havocfangs and the feeling of panic and later the soul crushing acceptance that he was going to die. Then he remembered Ignis standing beside him, daggers drawn and…that was about it. Ignis had saved his life. No doubt about it.

Gladio made to move his legs off Ignis' lap when the strategist snapped his head up in alarm. He winced and rubbed the apparent crick in the side of his neck. "Gladio, you're up. Are you alright?"

"Alive, thanks to you," he said and tried to move his leg again, but Ignis stopped him.

"Hold on, I wasn't finished, I just…" he yawned heavily, "ran out of energy. Almost done." He placed his hands over Gladio's bandaged leg and closed his eyes. Nothing happened for a moment, but soon a green shimmer encompassed his leg. The lacerations beneath the gauze cooled and itched furiously as tissue was slowly pulled back together. A moment later Ignis lifted his hand. "You should be able to walk on it without pulling your stitches out now. Just take it easy if you can. It was a bit of a rushed job."

Keeping the blanket on his lap Gladio swung his legs back out and put his feet on the floor. "When did you learn to heal like that…and did you say 'stitches'?" He glanced back to the table and noticed the iodine soaked spool of threat and curved needle. Yeah, he thought, definitely glad I was unconscious during that.

Ignis yawned again and rubbed his eyes with his palms. "I've been getting better at using the crystals magic through Noctis. Though this was the first time I've done it when he was so far away. I'm relieved it worked." He put his glasses back on. "And yes. Stitches. You're lucky you didn't appear to have any tendon damage or you'd have a hard time holding a sword ever again. Your tattoo was spared as well, thankfully. I'm sure that artwork doesn't come cheap."

Gladio blinked. "How much medical training do you have? You just sounded like a straight-up doctor."

A light smile tugged at Ignis' lips and Gladio's heart gave an unexpected flutter. "I did an internship at Saint Alexander's Memorial Hospital for six months. Mostly field treatment of wounds, bone setting, status effects, and the like." He ran his hands through his hair and scratched his scalp, yawning again.

"Is there anything you can't do?" Gladio asked.

"I can't lift a 200-pound sword, for one, and his Highness keeps insisting I am incapable of relaxing."

Gladio nodded. "That sounds about right. Speaking of which, you look exhausted. Go lie down in a real bed. This couch isn't doing you any good."

Ignis stood up and stretched. "You're probably right. Just don't let me sleep too late."

"You have somewhere to be?"

Ignis paused mid-stretch. "I suppose your right. Still, don't go galivanting off again. Alright?"

Gladio shot him a wolfish smile. "I can make no promises."

Ignis made a dismissive noise and headed toward one of the two bedrooms. "Your jacket is in the dryer in the basement. I'll mend it when its clean. There's stew in the refrigerator and help yourself to any of the books on the bookshelf. I'm afraid the satellite reception for the television is out."

The shield shrugged. "I'll manage to entertain myself somehow." A pause, then, "Hey, Ignis?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

Ignis smiled. "Think nothing of it," he said before closing the bedroom door quietly behind him.

Once Gladio was alone he took a moment to peek under the bandages on his arm and cringed. Just from what he could see he had quite a few inch-long lacerations where the second hound had bitten him. As Ignis said it had missed the edges of his tattoo by a hair, and it looked like Ignis had taken the extra care to make sure the sutures didn't pull the skin in a way to alter the look of his ink. Thankfully between the potion and the healing magic it probably wouldn't leave much of a scar. His hands idly traced up to the line intercepting his eye as he thought.

Deciding that he might as well clean himself up he stood, wobbling only a little bit at the loss of blood, before making his way to the bathroom. As he walked across the room he noticed that the snow was still coming down in earnest, frosting the windows.

When he found where the washcloths were kept he ran one under some hot water. His upper thighs were still caked with dry havocfang blood, as was his lap and lower abs. It looked like Ignis had cleaned the wounded area as best he could, but didn't see the need to get the rest of him.

After cleaning himself up as well as he was able without getting the gauze wet Gladio changed into a pair of jeans and tank top before microwaving a bowl of stew and setting it down to cool. While he waited he checked his phone to find he had barely one bar, but thankfully no missed texts or calls from Libertus or the others. Gladio browsed the bookshelf and found them organized roughly by genre, as expected. One shelf had a very similar vibe to it. Books like The Shining, Dreamcatcher, Alive, Into the Wild, The Finest Hour, Hatchet, Walden, The Perfect Storm… Somebody was a huge fan of tales of survival.

Another shelf yielded a bit more variety. Fight Club, The Magicians, The Warden Chronicles, Good Omens, Wicked, Horns, Ishmael, The Alchemist, and The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck. Gladio laughed at the last one. He'd have to browse that one at some point. There was some really good selection here.

Finally, his hand landed on a weathered leather bound book with no label. It looked quite old and worn around the edges.

Pulling it off the shelf he laid it down on the couch before going to the kitchen and taking a bite of the now-cooled stew. He moaned lightly at the flavor. Gods damn Ignis knew how to cook. Once he swallowed the first mouthful of food Gladio realized how hungry he was. Tipping the bowl up he downed the contents in a few hefty spoonful's before running a tongue along the edge of the bow and putting it in the sink.

Putting an extra log on the fire he flopped down onto the couch and cracked the book open to the first page and read the swoopy, but impeccable writing, 'Field Journal of Alphonse Scientia'. There was a picture of a man about Ignis' age who looked like him too, thought the clothing style and hair was obviously different. The photo was clearly from at least sixty years ago, minimum. Gladio wondered if this was Ignis' grandfather who owned the cabin originally.

He turned the page and checked the date, confirming his suspicion. It was from roughly this time of year, seventy-one years ago.

'I know it is not wise to build a home in the wilds. Please allow me to be very clear about how utterly illogical this endeavor is. During the day, the beasts of Leide are tolerable if I am careful and I have my rifle on me, but at night… I know it is not wise. But…

With the assistance of my closest friends, some flood lights, and a second-hand generator, I hope to prove to the leaders of Lestallum that they do not have a monopoly on safety just because they have their all-powerful plant pumping light into its overcrowded streets at night.

We did not always cower within the walls of large cities and under the beam of flood lights. Man has survived the past two-thousand years without it, and I'm determined to prove that we can do it again. This journal is my attempts chronicle my efforts. Once my cabin is built I will dismantle the flood lights that we are using to build around the clock and resort only on the skills that the Six has provided for us.' Gladio turned the page.

"I've been looking for that."

Gladio jumped and clutched his chest. "Six, Iggy you scared the shit out of me. I thought you were sleeping."

Ignis shrugged in his t-shirt, and Gladio noticed that this was the first time he'd ever seen Ignis in something other than workout gear or a perfectly pressed button up. "I tried to, but my internal clock won't allow it."

Gladio glanced at the clock. "It's two in the morning. What kind of internal clock do you have that won't let you sleep?"

Ignis was clearly tired as he sat down next to Gladio on the couch. "A vexing one," he said as he looked at the journal. "I haven't seen that in years. Where did you find it?" He reached out and gently took it from Gladio's hand. Their fingers brushed for an instant as the leather binding slipped from his grip.

The shield cleared his throat at the slight touch and pointed to the bookshelf. "Is Alphonse your grandfather?"

Ignis nodded as he flipped through the pages. "I was quite fond of him, but he was about as stubborn as a person could be. He did end up proving that people could live outside of the big cities, even though the flood lights ended up being a permanent necessity. He never did take them down when the cabin was finished… thankfully for us. He was one of the people who helped establish the outposts along the highways. Before then, getting caught out on the roads at night was even more hazardous than it is now."

The shields eyebrows perked up. "I didn't know that. I just kinda…always assumed the outposts have been there for a really long time. Like the havens."

Ignis shook his head and yawned again. He flipped a page and smiled. Turning the journal back toward Gladio the fireplace light danced on an old photo of Alphonse and a woman holding a toddler. Ignis pointed at the child and said, "That's my uncle." Gladio tilted his head to get a better view. Ignis' uncle was in his late fourties, so the chubby toddler in the woman's arms held little resemblance to the man he knew from the Citadel. "My father was born seven years later. I've been told I bear his resemblance." Ignis handed the journal back to Gladio.

The burning log let out a quiet 'pop' in the fireplace as Gladio flipped from page to page. He wasn't able to read the swooping writing very well in the dim light, but he could still appreciate the pictures. Many seemed to be various shots of the cabin's construction or photos of Alphonse and his friends on the trails. One dark haired young man seemed to be in more photos than not. It reminded Gladio of all the photos Noctis' friend took when they were goofing off together.

He turned the page again and came across a photo of two boys roughly seven years apart. The younger of the two did indeed look like Ignis when he was first brought to the citadel at six years old. "Hey, is this your fath…er…" His words trailed off as a weight slowly slumped onto his shoulder. Gladio turned to see Ignis' eyes closed, his breathing even as his temple rested against the shields shoulder.

A smile crept to the shields lips as he tucked the journal into the couch cushion to read later. He reached over and gently slid the glasses off Ignis' face and placed them on the arm of the couch. Slowly, so he didn't disturb the strategist, he slid his arm up and over Ignis' shoulder as he slid down further into the crook of his arm. Gladio wasn't sure what possessed him to do it rather than just wake Ignis up and tell him to go to bed, but he just couldn't bring himself to move him now that he was finally sleeping.

As the fire crackled in the hearth and the wind howled against the windows Gladio tilted his head against Ignis' and drifted off to sleep.