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“You need to get ready,” Thancred murmurs, as Pike begins to kiss up his jaw.
“Shh,” Pike says against his throat. “The Source can wait a little bit longer.” He nips a little, producing a low groan from Thancred, and he pushes Pike off with a look.
“You and I both know that ‘a little longer’ turns into another day,” Thancred says. “Believe me, I want you to leave just as little as you do, but the longer you delay, the harder it’ll be to leave, darling.”
Pike sighs. “Every time I go back, I worry that…”
“That the shards will fall out of alignment and I’ll be without you for another five years?” Thancred finishes. Pike nods, and Thancred takes his hand. “You think I don’t? But we have to trust the Exarch when he says we’re in for a long period of synchronicity. We can’t live our lives entirely in fear.”
Pike wrinkles his nose and rolls over. “I hate when you’re right.”
Thancred watches him as he dresses. Pike always carries himself with such grace, making even putting on his trousers and shirts look beautiful (though maybe that’s just Thancred’s love for him coloring his vision). He drinks in the sight, burning it into his memory just in case.
He stands to help Pike with his armor. He hardly needs it, of course, well used to putting it on alone, but it helps Thancred to settle that worried knot that always crops up. He can be sure that the armguards will be in place to block a blow if he’s the one double checking the straps are tightened to perfection, after all.
It has the unfortunate side effect of shortening the time it takes to put the armor on, however, and eventually they both run out of excuses to delay Pike’s departure any further. And so, they stand by the door, and Pike pulls him down for one final kiss.
“See you soon,” Pike says.
“Soon,” Thancred agrees.
And just like that, Pike’s gone.
Thancred does the same thing he does every time Pike leaves: throw himself into work. There’s always something to be done, thankfully; the Empty won’t build itself up, after all. Work means Thancred not thinking. Work means Thancred can’t imagine Pike up against a Garlean army. Work means being so exhausted that he can collapse into bed and not miss Pike sleeping beside him.
Eventually Ryne manages to pull Thancred away, dragging him to take her and Gaia shopping in the Crystarium and roping him into dinner with the other Scions. Valliant, the only one of them with any skill in the kitchen with Pike gone, manages to put together a fairly delicious stew and they settle down at a borrowed table in Valliant’s Pendants room with far too many bottles of wine.
Friends are just as good as a distraction as work, thankfully. Thancred finds himself dragged into a debate about the merits of the gunblade over a standard sword with Valliant, which eventually ropes in the rest of their motley crew and ends with Y’shtola threatening to show everyone the “might of magic” by treating them to a Fire spell right then and there.
And Thancred, wine-drunk, can only laugh and laugh. Pike would love this , he thinks idly, and for a moment he feels the threat of melancholy taking over him. But then Urianger—who, in an effort to stop Thancred from drinking too much and “making a bad example of himself,” has gotten amazingly drunk— stands on the table and begins to recite Sharlayan poetry. That sends him into several more peals of laughter and wipes any gloom from his mind.
When he finally stumbles to his own room, many, many more glasses of wine later, he can only think briefly to miss Pike before he passes out.
In the wee hours of the morning, Thancred wakes to a body crawling into bed with him, and a blinding headache. He blinks against dry eyes for a moment, confused, until he sees Pike’s blue hair. “Hey,” he rasps.
“Hi,” Pike returns. “Did I wake you?”
“Probably. Can’t be sure.”
“Sorry if I did.” Pike nuzzles into his neck. “You sound rough.”
Thancred shrugs, then hisses as his headache flares. “Was at dinner with the Scions, and somebody brought far too much wine.”
“That’ll do it,” Pike says, amused, though there’s something to his tone that Thancred can’t quite place. “Go back to sleep, love.”
“Hm,” Thancred hums, already halfway there.
The next time he wakes, he feels much better. Pike’s gotten up already, and he hands Thancred a glass of water with a smile.
“Ugh,” Thancred moans, after gulping down the whole thing in one go. “Much as I might pretend, I cannot quite drink as I used to in my youth.”
Pike snorts, running a hand through Thancred’s hair. “Sounds like you had fun.”
“Mm.” Thancred leans into the hand. “You missed Urianger’s poetry recital. It was quite something.”
Pike’s hand stills for just a moment, so brief Thancred would believe he imagined it, if not for the bitterness in his tone when he says, “I’ll have to get him to repeat it for me sometime.”
“Is something wrong, darling?” Thancred asks, confused.
“No, no. I’m glad everyone’s having fun without me.” Pike pulls away, turning towards the window.
Thancred stands unsteadily, and he wraps his arms around Pike from behind, resting his chin on Pike’s shoulder. “It’s not like that.”
“I know,” Pike sighs. “I know. It’s just...when I go, you have everyone here. But I have no one , Thancred. Lyse is too busy running Ala Mhigo to make time for me, though she tries, and there’s no one else. And I hate it. I feel like I don’t have a place here.”
“You will always have a place with me, Pike.” Thancred turns Pike around to face him, and cups his cheek with one hand. “I promise you that. And I’m certain that goes for the rest of us, as well. You’re ours .”
Pike leans into his palm, and finally his smile meets his eyes. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Thancred grins wickedly. “I can show you just how much I missed you, if you’d like.”
“Yes, please.”