Chapter Text
The tension in Noctis’ room is suffocating and thick.
Whatever pressure Clarus had felt visiting his sons, this is far heavier and how he imagines things would have felt if he’d shown up the first night. If he’d had to wait for Gladio to wake up, waited longer for Ignis to wake up… and, speaking of….
His attention strays, just a bit, to survey the room as discreetly as possible. He finds Iris first, close to the door, wringing her hands in the hem of her jacket and shifting restlessly. She sends Aranea worried looks, can’t seem to decide if she wants to be closer to her girlfriend or her brothers.
Gladio’s entire body is tense. Expression set in a thin frown that barely masks the rage bubbling beneath the surface, just below the concern. Hands clasp tight enough his knuckles begin to go white. The only thing that really belies his concern is the way he leans close to Ignis, just enough that their shoulders are touching. For his part, Ignis is leaning into the contact; as close as he can be without physically sharing a seat. Exhaustion settles heavily on his features—Clarus vaguely reminds himself they’d already been at the hospital: Gladio for a check-up, Ignis for his physical rehabilitation visit—but he still makes an effort to be aware of his surroundings. Tries to take in the scene before him through his sunglasses without drawing too much attention to himself.
That alerts Clarus to the change first, makes him realise his mind is wandering. The way Ignis sits up a little straighter—hope evident in the way his expression changes—just before Iris darts out of the room, just before he feels relief flooding over Regis next to him. (A short-lived relief, but painstakingly noticeable from his prior tension.) Clarus finally turns his attention back to the bed, lets himself feel that little bit better when he sees Noctis awake… but….
Gods, he looks terrible. Too pale—more so than he normally is, so much so the injuries look brighter and all the more threatening. So much so that the terrified expression is that much more damning; makes it settle, heavy and forceful, that everything is—as horrible as it already seems—a hundred times worse than they’d ever thought possible. It makes him realise—not for the first time, but much more clearly—that he should have been here.
Unbidden, his attention goes past his shoulder once more, less subtle than his prior surveillance, and he’s forced to acknowledge the condition his sons are in once more. Realises that, as much as he wants to be near them, Gladio would never concede to the worried attention. The way they make eye contact, brief as it is, reminds him of that when Gladio’s eyes narrow in the smallest show of hostility. Hostility he wholly deserves and acknowledges. He consoles himself, if just for a second, with the fact that Regis clearly needs the moral support, as well… but that consolation is gone in a flash. Not even a second before he feels the overwhelming need to be elsewhere, lest he do something he regrets.
He feels the stares follow him out—might hear an annoyed noise when he passes Gladio—but heeds them no mind. He easily recognises the weight of Regis giving him worried looks following him out the door and can only assume the other stare is Prompto, perhaps Noctis. He’ll apologise later… if Regis will let him.
In the hallway, the humourless laugh feels more hollow than ever and the door shutting behind him sounds far too loud. When has Regis ever let him apologise for anything? Or acknowledged that he deserved an apology—all of the apologies that could be offered. Not just from Clarus; the entire world owed him so many apologies.
He remembers the grief after Regis’ wife passed away; remembers staying with him—moving in for those few months so he could keep an eye on the children, just as much as Regis; remembers the way that, so suddenly, Regis wasn't just 'dad's friend' or 'Mr. Caelum' when Gladio started calling him 'Uncle Regis'; remembers Iris parroting her brother and Noctis adopting a similar approach to Clarus and demanding his attention just as much as his father's—and wondering just how beneficial his presence was. And here the world was: trying to tear his happiness away—again—when he’d finally found it. When he finally found common ground, finally tried to make amends with his only child, to be the father he’d never had himself and hasn't been the past twenty years. Someone was trying to take it from him again.
He wonders–not for the first time, but certainly the first in a long while–how things had been for Regis after they broke up. If he would dare compare their situation to any of the other misfortunes and hardships that seemed to follow Regis around. He would certainly classify it as heartache... but enough to be compared to his wife's passing or his son's current state? That he's not quite so certain of—
His thoughts are interrupted by a surprised voice–one he does not wish to deal with at the moment.
“Mr. Amicitia, what a surprise.”
“Dean Izunia. Always a pleasure.”
The words leave a burning, bitter taste in the back of his throat and it’s only years of practice–of sitting through meetings with Regis–that lets him keep a civilised tone, a neutral expression, and stops him from striking the man. Years of practice and a very simple mantra that he forces himself to repeat in his mind. Regis needs you, do not instigate anything. Your children need you, do not encourage any confrontation. Regis and your children need you.
Ardyn tips his head, sweeping his hat off in the same motion, in what Clarus assumes is supposed to be a greeting. A mockery of one, at any rate. He lets out a slow breath, giving the man a moment to announce his intent. The dean, however, offers no such information and instead studies Clarus with the faintest hint of a smile and a remarkably passive gaze for someone that's been accused of so much.
The mere thought—the reminder of what his sons look like—what Regis' son looks like makes Clarus curl his fingers into a tight fist, nails biting into his palms in a desperate attempt to curb his anger.
They need you here. Not in jail. Here.
He lets out a slow breath. Civilised. He can remain civilised.
"You have a reason for being here, I presume."
Civilised does not include pleasantries. It's worth the moment of surprise that overtakes Ardyn's face—clearly having been expecting a more formal, a more polite, tone. He'll chide Regis later; this man deserves no such courtesy... though... he's quite certain if Regis were to become involved, his tone would be none too formal, either.
"As I've informed Mr. Caelum over the year, I am very invested when my students are in danger. Especially so such prestigious students." His gaze is half-lidded, expression one that should convey sympathy. Should. If Clarus didn't know for a fact that he was responsible for at least Noctis and he didn't doubt for a moment that he was responsible for the other attacks, he may believe the mocking sympathy. He hardly hears Ardyn continue; thankfully, his voice is grating enough to break through his mind wandering and he forces himself to pay attention once more.
"Mr. Caelum's son, of course, is of our utmost priority. Your son and Mr. Scientia, as well. Star students—our best athlete, our best scholar... quite a pair, aren't they?" The sympathy is replaced by concern as Ardyn glances past Clarus' shoulder—specifically, Clarus later realises, right at Noctis' room—and he heaves a sigh full of regret, "I do so hope we see them return to their pedestals. Your son was quite fortunate not to have been the one with a crushed leg, is my understand—"
"Do not presume things, Mr. Izunia." Clarus feels his jaw locking into place, eyes narrowing as he fights to control his tone and the rage boiling in his veins. This... farce is almost too much. Almost enough to make him consider that perhaps prison is a reward of sorts. It's only the reminder he has a purpose—Regis, Iris, Noctis, Gladiolus and Ignis—that keeps him from physically lashing out. "Gladiolus has been beside himself for a month and a half now. Stressing what he could have done differently. Both of them have. Neither is more fortunate than the other. That they are both still breathing and finally moving around—finally home—is the only good news they—that any of us require."
Speculation, for the most part... but, if Regis was correct about Gladio's habits (and Clarus was quite confident in Regis, at least), he knows exactly what his son's been doing since he woke up. Blaming himself just as much as he blames the people responsible. Ignis... he still needs to speak to Ignis. He knows Regis did, briefly, over the weekend to assess his psychological state; but, he would like to make a more personal effort and Ignis is far more likely to let him speak than Gladio.
"Oh, of course." Ardyn waves the words away, tone more amiable, more placating, clearly either trying to win Clarus over or provoke him further, "I meant nothing ill-mannered; I merely wished to express concerns for their futures. Mr. Scientia had quite a bright track ahead of him—"
"He still does." Clarus crosses his arms over his chest, patience thinning quicker and quicker as the seconds tick on, "As does Gladio. Their injuries are but a setback; I'm confident enough that they will recover, both physically and mentally."
He isn't. He really isn't confident at all. He's terrified for both of them—for Ignis, especially, whenever Iris mentions that he still hesitates to set foot in the kitchen without someone there to assist him. Him. The boy Clarus can still remember driving Weskham mad by pestering him in the kitchen—because Noctis wanted a specific pastry, or Iris wanted her cake a certain way, or the tarts that Gladio liked—until Weskham finally threw his hands into the air and retreated in hopes of convincing Regis to gather him. (Not that those attempts ever amounted to much past Weskham quickly returning to ensure a—at the time—ten-year-old Ignis didn't injure himself while baking comfort food for his only friends.)
If nothing else, the momentary flash of annoyance that crosses Ardyn's features makes him feel just a little bit better about the situation. Just a little and just for a moment before he's on edge again.
"You are correct, of course. Mr. Caelum's company certainly opens all sorts of doors for the people it favours, doesn't it?"
"Everyone in his employ has earned their spot, Mr. Izunia. Regis does not coddle his employees any more than he does investors."
Even that he can't really consider coddling—the way Regis can begin speaking in a meeting and wrap people around his little finger with the bare minimum effort. Charisma, ambition, social charm, and just the right amount of aggression to back his claims. Traits that inevitably drew people to Regis—that would eventually draw people to Noctis when he came into his own—and that initially drew Clarus in, as well. The charm and charisma of the social elite—of the lineage he was expected to uphold—with the softer side only select people were permitted to see. To date, Clarus only knows one other living person to have seen Regis' weaker moments. He wonders if Weskham had tended to Regis during their break-up and, if they hadn't reconciled, would he have been the one monitoring after his wife passed away? Not just weaker moments, though; the softer smiles, the more playful side that would tease Cid, the moments of stubbornness that used to annoy Weskham when he wouldn't eat whatever was prepared, for the most mundane of reasons.
Those thoughts—the small and bygone memories of much simpler years and times—allow him to keep his composure. Allow him to roll his shoulders back to relieve the tension and stand guard, patiently; even if it means feigned interest and bearing words of mocked concern for the situation, the very least he can do is ensure Ardyn is nowhere near Noctis' room and, by proxy, anyone else visiting.
"You're quite close." Ardyn's voice draws his attention once more; years of practice once more stop him from showing any real reaction past a raised brow (though, internally, he feels a familiar suspicion creeping along his nerves and spine). The dean gives a dismissive gesture, like he wasn't just insinuating how deep his connections and knowledge really ran, "With Mr. Caelum, I mean. To address one another on a first name basis, as business partners."
"Associates, if you don't mind."
There's an underlying tone the way he says it. The way he stresses 'business' that makes the uncomfortable twinge of 'partners' more damning than it normally is.
"Oh? I'd assumed you'd been friends for years, given how your children are with one another."
"That has very little do with our professional relationship," Clarus raises a brow to convey he isn't amused by the line of questioning nor is he certain where it's leading, "If you must know, however: Regis and I met in college. As we did with a number of other business associates. We've kept in touch well and remained quite close friends since. That our children are such close friends is hardly a surprise."
"Close friends is certainly a word for your son and Mr. Scientia."
This time, Clarus feels a nerve in his face twitch, a familiar throb of anger beginning to build once more despite his will to stay calm. For the briefest moment, he wonders how much Ardyn really knows... though it's quite apparent he knows enough if he knows that Ignis grew up in close enough proximity to be considered one of their children.
"You have concerns about their relationship?"
"Only that perhaps your son overlooked a very important detail about the real world. One I'm certain you've tried to convince him of—"
Before Clarus has the chance to demand answers—demand to know how he knows—he hears a door behind him. He hasn't seen the police come in yet; and, now that he considers it—as the footsteps trail down the hall instead of disappearing in the room—he realises he hasn't seen Iris. The only reason he knows it isn't the nurse leaving, is the moment of surprise that overtakes Ardyn's expression for the briefest moment, before leveling back out into a smile. A smile that sends an unnatural and uncomfortable sensation up Clarus' spine before he finally glances over his shoulder to check for himself.
Worry and fear simultaneously quell the building rage when he sees Ignis. Watches him leaning on the wall outside of the room before guiding himself down the hall by leaning against the wall. He doesn't have his crutch, nor the cane Regis offered him. Anger—worried anger—and pride... mostly worry, when he's reminded that Ignis is as stubborn as Gladio and just as reckless in some situations.
"Well, that's just delightful, isn't it? I never did get a chance to speak with Mr. Scientia about that unfortunate accident he was in, shall we—"
Clarus immediately turns back on Ardyn, following his sideward step to keep him from passing. There's still room between them—about an arm's length; just enough that when Clarus raises his hand, it isn't the least bit threatening. A simple gesture telling the man not to move, not to even attempt bypassing him a second time... and also a warning. Not a threat to anyone observing the situation; but, he knows Ardyn recognises and very much acknowledges the warning, in the way he doesn't immediately attempt to step around Clarus a second time.
"I believe I speak for Regis, as well, when I say this, Mr. Izunia: While we appreciate your concern, your presence is not welcome here. He will not permit you to visit Noctis, I can promise you that." His eyes narrow, expression hardening from the careful neutrality. He takes a brief moment to enjoy the way Ardyn shuffles back half a step; clearly uncertain whether or not Clarus does intend to strike him. He's heard about Noctis lashing out and he's quite certain the dean is well aware that Clarus' punch would be much more painful. Detrimental to Clarus in the long run, yes; but, it's enough that Ardyn is uncertain whether or not Clarus cares about the consequences of the action he could take. For the time, Clarus merely offers a thin smile, one he knows comes across with forced civility, strained formalities, but necessary. He keeps his tone business neutral, just in case anyone over hearing them thinks there is conflict brewing, "That being said, I will offer you a courtesy, Mr. Izunia."
Ardyn tips his head in a gesture of curiosity, a gesture asking Clarus to continue. His smile grows, just the smallest fraction.
"Stay away from my daughter and my sons. Regis will be the absolute least of your worries, if I hear word that you've so much as approached my children. Even if it pertains to their future on campus, I advise you to send a teacher or speak to me directly."
"A fine courtesy, indeed, Mr. Amicitia; though, that hardly changes the fact I need to speak with Mr. Scientia—"
"You seem to have misunderstood, Dean." Clarus' eyes narrow once more, "My daughter and my sons." He stresses the plural this time, makes sure Ardyn holds eye contact, "You will not be setting foot near Iris or Gladiolus or Ignis. This warning does, of course, by proxy, extend to their roommates. To Ms. Highwind and Mr. Argentum, just as well as it does to Noctis. Now, if you do not mind, I've a son to see to. Good evening, Dean Izunia. It is well past time you took your leave."
He turns, sharply, on his heel without waiting to see if Ardyn heeds the warning; but, he's rewarded by the sound of retreating footsteps—brusque and agitated, enough to bring him the smallest satisfaction—and knows he delivered his point well enough.
♣
Ignis hadn't been able to stand the situation in Noctis' room.
He's nigh overwhelmed with shame for his behaviour; but, he also knows that... well. Aranea and Prompto may not understand. But, he knows that Gladio understands; that Mr. Caelum does; and, most certainly, that Noctis does. Even at his best, Ignis wasn't one to physically handle such emotional situations. He much rather let Gladio or Iris buffer those occasions while he waited for the tension to lessen a bit; would rather wait for logic to be an option of comfort (not that he wasn't willing to offer a shoulder and ear). And, whenever that method failed, he was at least assured he could offer comfort food. Noctis' personal favourite for any situation, especially so stressful ones, was a flaky, cinnamon custard pastry; and, at that very moment, Ignis would give absolutely anything to be able to bake for him. For him, for Gladio, for Iris—for all of them. For a sense of normality and something that resembled control amidst the utter chaos that their lives had become.
He inhales, deeply, and exhales, slowly; repeats the exercise a few times before he turns and, mindful to keep a hand on the wall, begins walking away from the room. He just needs a few moments to clear his head, then he'll go back and maybe be able to handle things just a little bit better. At the very least, he's confident he'll feel a little less embarrassed by needing Gladio to explain the scene to him. He pushes the thoughts away in favour of thinking over the weekend.
He's still digesting the information Mr. Caelum supplied over the weekend—their roommates had all made plans to be away from the house for Valentine's Day, though he's still uncertain whether it was intentional or accidental. Beneficial, at the very least, as it gave him and Gladio time to finally talk away from the hospital, to finally get on the same page again, to try adjusting to what life would be like over the next few weeks and months. As long as it took Ignis to stop relying on a crutch. (Truly, he wasn't even supposed to be out of his wheelchair very often; but, if he was nothing else, he was just as stubborn as his fiancé.)
His own plight aside, information. That Mr. Caelum and Mr. Amicitia were working diligently to get to the bottom of their year of misfortune. That Mr. Caelum had actually made up with Noctis. Somehow. Gladio looked skeptical—more so that his father was helping, especially so in light of their last conversation. But, he had at least agreed to ask Noctis later (which they had and confirmed everything to be true, with both Noctis and Iris) and, quite begrudgingly, agreed not to incite any hostility with his father for the time being. Thus far, the two had been adamantly avoiding one another; Ignis is actually quite certain that today is the first time they've seen each other since Mr. Amicitia visited them a week or so ago. It's only the situation as a whole that seems to have kept Gladio from being excessively hostile, though Ignis is quite certain he heard annoyed growls and doesn't doubt for a single moment that there were a number of glares.
Wish as he might, he has the vaguest feeling that may have very well been the last straw for Gladio. It's been a long time coming and he knows that for a fact, but... given his relationsip with his own parents, there are very few things that pain him more than watching his friends—his fiancé, especially—voluntarily neglecting their fathers. He's relieved Noctis has made progress, at the very least. Mr. Caelum's voice has been softer, as of late, as well; a bit more like Ignis remembers from being younger. Before he began grooming Noctis to be the perfect heir. Iris, oddly enough, has been making more attempts than usual to try talking Gladio into meeting with their father. To try talking to him again, now that they've had a bit of time away from the hospital. (He suspects those attempts will cease for the moment, if just so they can focus their attentions to Noctis' recovery.) ... But, so far, Gladio has been solid in his conviction to not speak to his father under any circumstances, even if he is tolerating his presence for the sake of closure. For some sense of hope that things will finally end.
He doesn't realise how long he's been gone—how far he's wandered—until his right leg begins to protest. Until his steps are becoming more unsteady, until he feels a tell-tale throbbing and pulsating in his knee that makes him stop. Makes him lean heavy against the wall as he tries to control his breathing and take pressure off his leg. He regrets leaving his cane in the room; but, truly, he hadn't meant to wander so far. He'd only meant to collect his thoughts and return, not... he isn't even sure how far down the hall he got.
A soft curse leaves his lips, dissolves into an annoyed grumble. Trust it to be the one time there wasn't a nurse hovering at his side this would happen. He berates himself for leaving without Gladio. Without waiting for Iris to come back. Without his cane or crutch. Without considering that he's been in physical rehabilitation for hours prior to this and his body was well past its capacity for physical stress, never mind still recovering from the emotional trauma of the past month and a half he had been in the hospital.
Perhaps... perhaps if he's careful, if he takes it slowly, he can turn. Can put the weight on his left side to make it back down the hall. At least back to where he can get a staff member's attention.
Of course, all of this would imply he has any small sliver of luck. Luck that he's proven, quite thoroughly lately, he does not possess.
The second he tries to straighten himself—the very second he tries to take the smallest bit of his weight from the wall to center himself, the pain in his leg shoots through every nerve in his body. But, before he can even process the panic, can even begin to consider the consequences of stumbling—of falling—an arm catches him. A gentle, but sturdy brace against his chest and a hand on his back in a show of comfort, of consideration. Grateful as he may be, he still feels panic. Uncertainty. As his luck has been, he's not the least bit surprised (and twice as annoyed) that the little vision he does have is blurring as he tries to regard whoever helped him.
Familiarity washes over him, but it does nothing to soothe his nerves. He knows for a fact it isn't Gladio. He knows Gladio's presence and this isn't it. Not quite. Similar but... oh. The realisation hits him just before a voice breaks his thoughts.
"Ignis, what in Eos do you think you're doing, walking around?"
"I—uhm—"
He isn't really given a chance to answer. He winces when he tries to right himself, to pull away. The motion ends in him gripping Mr. Amicitia's arm in a desperate attempt to ignore the pain.
"I apoligse, I—"
"None of that." His voice is sharp. Enough to make Ignis immediately snap his mouth shut and he imagines how guilty, how miserable he must look; because, a moment later, the man lets out a slow breath and is a bit calmer, "Will you be all right with an arm over my shoulder?"
"I... yes, sir, I believe so?"
A moment later, Ignis lets out a soft hiss of pain when he feels his weight adjusted to a new position—one arm across Mr. Amicitia's shoulders, while the man's right arm is around his torso.
"I apologise, this will only take a moment. Put your weight on the left."
His tone is much... softer than Ignis is used to. All the same, he complies and lets out a relieved sigh when pressure is relieved from the right half of his body, especially so his leg. Barely a second later, he's lowered to a bench and he lets out a deep, relieved sigh as he slumps back against the wall, panting softly and gripping his right leg tightly in an attempt to alleviate the pain.
"I... I apologise, Mr. Amicitia, I didn't—"
"Ignis." The man cuts him off again, much gentler this time, "There's no need for that. Regis and I have both told you that such formalities are unnecessary. ... Well. I'm certain Regis has...." A bitter note of laughter fills the hallway, "I suppose I've never spoken to you, these past years, have I? All the same, there's no need for that. Clarus will suffice."
Before Ignis can find the will to argue, he goes tense when the man settles on the bench next to him. He frowns, willing himself to breathe, to calm down, to assess the situation.
"I... very well... Clarus." He test the name, uncertainly. It feels... odd, but not entirely unpleasant. Not the way he would expect after years of being on the receiving end of the man's criticism. Of course, the minute he considers that, he's tense once more as he recalls the last time they'd been together had been Gladio yelling at his father. He's not sure what to say. Silence is usually welcome but this feels... far too tense, far too volatile. He jumps when Clarus breaks the silence first.
"I owe you an apology, Ignis."
"... I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me." Clarus chuckles, short and bitter, and Ignis strains to see him through his sunglasses. "I suppose I owe you more than one, however... most notably, though, I certainly owe you an apology for how things went the last time I visited. I... did not intend to upset Gladiolus." The man sighs, but offers nothing more in explanation.
Ignis turns over the information he's gathered since that visit. From Iris. From Noctis. From Mr. Caelum. He mulls on it for a long moment before he finally tries to fill in a few remaining blank spots.
"I gathered as much. Iris has been... persistent, trying to convince Gladio to seek you out. To attempt a new conversation. I believe she hoped that Gladio would be inclined to follow Noct's example."
He's genuinely surprised the words earn him another laugh. Detached and a touch regretful, but a laugh none the less.
"I'm certain she has been. I apologise, if she's been pestering you... I suppose that means you've heard... bits of what happened on Noctis' end, the night I visited."
"I heard that he and Mr. Caelum made steps towards reconciliation and that they have since then begun to see eye-to-eye on matters." Ignis offers, confused by where the conversation could be going, "It was... alarming, given how things have been between them over the years. Reassuring and encouraging; but, alarming, all the same."
He wonders if he's imagining the smile. But, instead of commenting, he merely tilts his head in a curious gesture, waiting for Clarus to offer insight on the matter. When there isn't an immediate response, Ignis steels himself and tries to prod a little harder; mostly to sate his curiosity.
"I imagine that, despite the situation, Noct feels at least a little bit more reassured, having his whole family here for him." Ignis turns his attention to the floor, letting out a slow breath when he feels Clarus go tense next to him, "I do not wish to denounce you; but, you must realise how this appears. I will be frank: your presence—Mr. Caelum's, as well—is very... threatening—please, let me finish." He doesn't try to look at Clarus this time; instead, he waits a beat to ensure he's heeded and continues, "Logically, the two of you being here makes sense. Despite whatever differences they may have had before, Noct is an only child and has been groomed for success. We've all known that out entire lives and, even if he is rebelling, that does not change that fact. Under prior circumstances, I'm quite certain Mr. Caelum could have used this situation to pull Noct back onto the prepared path... or, perhaps today would have made him realise just how horrible the years have been to his son. Regardless, they made up before now, and there is nothing but worry and relief in that room and it is... comforting, in its own way. But... for Gladio and I—for... for us... to—to see," he hates that he stumbles over the word. He jumps a little when Clarus puts a hand on his shoulder, giving a soft, comforting squeeze and Ignis responds with a weak smile, "I apologise. I was saying... oh, yes. For us... after having been alone for most of our stay, to see not only Mr. Caelum, but you as well... I'm sure you understand why the two of us feel... perhaps threatened was not the correct word. But, Gladio is far and long past meeting you half-way, at this point. I'm certain he's only even tolerating your presence as a favour to Iris and Noct, in light of the fact you and Mr. Caelum are helping us."
He more senses than sees the nod, but it's enough for the moment. Ignis pauses, considers where he had meant to take that point.
"... When I woke up—you, of course, remember what happened to my uncle and with my parents." He hears a confirming hum and, despite the situation, finds himself smiling, "I was terrified when I woke up—well. I was dreadfully confused, first... but, when I realised I was alone—when I realised Gladio wasn't with me, wasn't already waiting... when no one but the attending nurse was present... I was absolutely terrified. I assumed the worst, despite all reasoning that the passenger side had taken the brunt of the damage." His hands clasp tighter until he feels his joints protest and distracts him from the throbbing in his leg. He lets out a slow breath, "I am not the least bit pleased by the situation. To have the one place we all considered safe by desecrated in such a manner, I am... upset does not begin to cover it. Less so, when I consider the information we have on Noct's injuries, the certainty that he was bold enough to attack Noct head on." He takes a moment, takes another deep breath and releases it slowly, "... That was not my point. My point was that I am at least grateful that Noct was not alone when he woke up, even if it means witnessing tension between you and Gladio. That I am very grateful the dean did not appear, as he did for our past two visits to the hospital—Mr. Ami—er... Clarus?" He startles when he feels the man go rigid next to him, wonders what he could have possibly said that would trigger such a reaction after everything else.
"... What I'm about to tell you stays between us. I do not want this reaching Regis or Noctis. Or Gladiolus. No one else." The man's voice is quiet. Softer than Ignis can ever recall hearing it. He frowns and gives a slow nod. It's odd to consider that Clarus is confiding in him—something he doesn't want even Mr. Caelum to hear.
"Of course."
A beat of silence before Clarus lets out a strained breath.
"The dean left, just before I came to you. He intended to be here—likely to rile up Regis or terrorize Noctis, perhaps both. To antagonise all of you, as he's been shown to do."
As angry as Ignis wants to be (is; he's absolutely livid, just thinking about Ardyn attempting to go near Noctis in his present state), he also feels ripples of doubt and fear twisting his insides.
"... I had hoped—but then...? He simply... left...?"
"Not quite so simply, but... yes. After some time, he left; but, I do not believe he was expecting to see me." Clarus lets out a slow breath, "I can only be hopeful he did not run into Iris on his way up or on his way out."
"Iris is quite capable of handling herself and is far more level-headed than Gladio." Ignis puts in; but, even then, his tone is doubtful. He knows the words to be factual, but... even so, he cannot account for her emotional stability. For the emotional stability of any of them at the moment. He would still like to believe she would know not to repeat Noctis' mistake by striking the man, no matter how tempting. After a moment long, Ignis frowns, "You said it took time to convince him to leave. How long?"
"Not long enough to be too concerned. Between the time I left the room and the time you left." He feels Clarus shift next to him, "He's a rather talkative man, isn't he?"
At that, Ignis has to smile. A small smile, barely a twitch of his lips; but, he nods all the same, "Extremely so. ... Might I ask what his clever reasoning was this time? To be present, I mean? Is he still weaving a tragic portrayal of the grieving dean, concerned for his students?"
Clarus chuckles, "Eloquent as ever, Ignis. Correct, as well. He tried to tell me he was worried about Noctis, at first. And then about you and Gladiolus. I'm sure he was just looking to incite conflict, hoping I would anger as easily as my son. I do—did, quite honestly. But, I do know restraint. I know getting caught up in his tempo would be detrimental to the work Regis has managed and will manage."
The moment of amusement evaporates into conviction—support, when Clarus reaches over to put a hand over Ignis' (still clasped in his lap, wringing in an anxious manner) and gives a gentle squeeze.
"Crossing Regis will be the last mistake he ever makes. I promise you that. He will answer for what he's done. To all of you."
Ignis lets himself smile, lets himself believe the words, and gives a slow nod, "Thank you. ... I suppose that means Mr. Armaugh is involved, as well. Delightful." Despite still smiling, the sigh that follows is sad. He feels it. Feels the regret down to his core and works one of his hands free to grip Clarus' for a moment, hoping to reassure himself. That the man's been so forward, so open... that is almost reassurance enough, "Perhaps... after this is all done and over... please, try to speak with Gladio again? There's a... I would very much—" He bites down on his lip, hesitating.
Early on, Gladio had made it very clear that he didn't want Clarus involved with their wedding. Didn't want him to know unless it was at the last possible moment so that if—and what they thought was a certainly—Clarus tried to talk them out of it, tried to interfere in any way, he wouldn't be able to. After their one-sided confrontation when Clarus visited in the hospital, he had reiterated that he did not want his father anywhere near their wedding. At all. Even so... Ignis wants to hope they can at least speak to one another. Maybe not reconcile the way Noctis and Mr. Caelum have, but... to at least speak to one another. He takes a breath; but, before he can try again, Clarus speaks up.
"Iris already told me." The man supplies. Ignis isn't sure they're referring to the same thing, for a moment; not until he continues, "Regis and I will be attending your wedding. ... Let me clarify that Regis was extended an invitation and I was invited as his guest. At least, that was Iris' logic, for any complaints Gladiolus is apt to make. I will... try to speak to Gladiolus before then, but I... am not certain how quickly we will be able to finish this. I will speak to him, though."
Hope feels more like a reward—like relief—than ever before. Ignis smiles as the last few pieces fall into place and he wonders if he's truly put the puzzle together correctly. For a moment, he wishes he had visual cues to check; but, he's quite certain that he's added all the information up correctly.
"Spectacular. I will speak to Gladio, as well. Try to convince him to let this talk happen. I believe you two have quite a bit to discuss—"
"You as well." Clarus points out, voice calm if not a little surprised. But more than that, amused. Proud. Ignis turns his head a little to regard the man in a curious manner.
"I can't imagine my presence would be necessary—"
"Ignis. Please. You're to be my son soon and I... would very much like to speak to both of you. About many things. And apologise to both of you. Humour an old man, for one more conversation?"
Ignis gives a small nod, feels his smile become a fraction wider, the slightest bit more natural, "Hopefully, more than one?"
"Hopefully." He hears Clarus shift and stand and tilts his head up to the man. Clarus gives a quiet laugh, "Come along. We've been gone long enough, I'm certain. Gladiolus is likely worried sick right now. I'll look for my daughter once I've seen you back; now, come along."
Ignis accepts the offered assistance, gripping the extended arm to pull himself upright. He doesn't argue like he normally would and concedes to walking close to Clarus in case his leg gives out again. It feels... well... not better; but, it doesn't feel like the joint is getting ready to snap under pressure, either.
Amusingly enough, as soon as they get close to the room, they find Iris trying to balance a tray of seven coffees, three bowls of individual creamer packets, and a handful of sugar packets, while trying to figure out how to open the door. Clarus shakes his head and carefully takes the tray from her, tilting his head with a simple order for Ignis and Iris to go back in first. Iris immediately takes up to Ignis' side, fussing about the fact he doesn't have his cane or crutch; but, as soon as she gets the door open, she ceases in favour of announcing their return and that she got coffee for everyone. She helps Ignis sit back down before she starts passing the coffees out.
Ignis just smiles and lets out a slow, calm sigh, when he takes his offered cup and leans on Gladio.
"You ok?"
Gladio's voice is soft, trying to keep attention off of them incase Ignis hasn't calmed down. But, he has, he is, and... overall... he knows everything is going to be ok. He gives a small nod, leaning his head against Gladio's shoulder.
"All things considered? I believe I am."