Work Text:
In one universe, he dodges left. He avoids the blow entirely, bloodies his opponents until they cry for mercy, and goes on to save the realm several times over.
In this universe, you ask? Well, in this one, Pike goes right.
Pike slumps back in the bed as the chirurgeon leaves, a frustrated scream building in his chest. He swallows it down in favor of clutching Haurchefant’s hand. His fiancé squeezes back, gentle as anything, but doesn’t speak.
“Well,” Valliant says, face carefully blank. “That’s…not good.”
Pike shakes his head mutely. Months, at least, that he can’t stand on his knee, just to have a chance at getting full mobility back. Something that can’t be promised—the odds are, he’ll live in pain and be slowed for the rest of his life. Gods. And it couldn’t have happened at a worse time.
“Somebody…” Pike clears his throat. “Someone’s going to have to go with Alphinaud. I don’t trust Estinien to keep him safe, as capable as he is. He seems liable to go haring off and leaving Alphinaud behind in a snowdrift.”
Valliant snorts. “Yeah, seems likely. I hate to leave you on your own, but I could—”
Pike waves a hand, interrupting her. “Milo will do it.”
Valliant blinks at him, before her face twists, and she looks away to cover it up. Haurchefant looks between the both of them. “Milo…your student? Is there something wrong with him?”
“You’ve met him, right?” Valliant asks, raising an eyebrow. “He’s like a walking political disaster wrapped up in a stabby bow. There’s a reason you only had him stand in when he just needed to stand there and look pretty. Are you sure?”
Pike thinks about a face, bloody and bruised, giving him a sharp grin and saying, “I do not think Ul’dah likes you.” He thinks of golden eyes watching from the shadows as Pike speaks with grateful villagers, the yearning burning like a brand. He thinks of hands, carefully cooking meals to keep them fed in the cold, but refusing to hand them out.
“Yes,” he says, voice strong and unwavering. “I’m certain.”
Pike gives it a few days before he summons Milo.
His student’s already been by to visit, of course—he’s a sweet kid, despite the sour look he constantly sports. Proximity and time have given Pike the ability to read concern and no small amount of trepidation in the way Milo had stared at the unwieldy brace restricting his knee and the bandages swaddling his torso.
That, however, hadn’t been the time to speak of things of great import. Not while Pike looked like an invalid three days from burial. When the bandages had been taken off (the brace, to Pike’s chagrin, would be around for a few more months at the very least), then he’d had a messenger from House Fortemps track Milo down.
He’d also managed to bully Valliant and Haurchefant into helping him into the sitting room. This was for Pike’s benefit. This was hard enough of a decision for him without making it feel like a deathbed confession. He needed to feel like he could be back on the field in a minute if so needed, like this was him making the choice to dial back.
(He would be. He had to be. This was no small burden he was placing on Milo, and he refused to leave it longer than it needed to be.)
Milo, ever prompt, returns within a half hour. The messenger looks a little bedraggled as she announces his arrival, and Pike chuckles to himself. Probably had to track Milo down on some rooftop—or, more likely, out in the wilds of Coerthas itself. Pike had told him to say close, but their definitions of “close” differed greatly at the best of times.
“Thank you for coming to see me,” Pike says, gesturing for Milo to sit across from him. He picks up a teapot, raising an eyebrow, and Milo shakes his head, so Pike pours one cup for himself. Thankfully, the lingering weakness in his body had finally begun to fade, and his hands only shook a little when he set the pot back down. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I asked for you.”
Milo nods. He’s quiet, as usual, but—whether due to Milo picking up on something, or Pike’s own projections—it feels tenser than usual. Pike doesn’t think Milo knows what he’s about to ask of him, but it’s not like they usually have these kinds of sit-downs. Mostly it’s Pike going and tracking down Milo, then beating situational awareness into his brain as best he can.
“I’ve consulted the best healers Ishgard has to offer,” Pike begins, voice seeking to give out on him. It’s still hard for him to admit this, even to himself. “All of them have told me, unequivocally, that I need rest. A few months at least before I can walk on my knee, if I want to have any mobility going forward. But a break is something we can ill afford right now.”
“The dragons,” Milo states, his head tilting. “Will not wait.”
Pike nods, glancing down at the tea in his hands. He swirls it absentmindedly. “Just so. Alphinaud seems bound and determined to attempt to parley, of course, but every moment we delay, the chance for peace falls. Someone needs to accompany him into their lands, to speak with them, and to be prepared to slay Nidhogg should words fail. And…well, who better than a dragon slayer?”
Milo blinks, processing that, then startles. “Me?” he asks, eyes wide. “But—Valliant?”
“She won’t leave me undefended,” Pike grumbles. “And I can’t deny I may need it. I can hardly dodge in this state, after all. She will also be an asset to negotiations here, should it be necessary—something you, Milo, would not be suited to.” He has to bite back a laugh at Milo’s scowl. “And there are no others I would trust, Milo. You are strong, yes, but more than that, you have goodness inside you. I can trust you to guard Alphinaud well, and to do what is right. Not just what someone tells you to do. I trust you to make the right call, Milo. Whatever that may be.”
For once, Milo’s nigh permanent scowl drops off, replaced with pure, unadulterated shock. He stands suddenly, hands fluttering, and begins to pace around the room. Pike can hear him muttering to himself, a combination of Common and Miqo’te, but he doesn’t try to pick out the words. Whatever conclusion he comes to, he will tell Pike, and Pike will know everything he needs to.
Finally, Milo sits down, scowl fixed firmly back in place. “No,” he says firmly, though Pike notices a waver in his eyes. Ah, there’s his in. “Short meetings? Fine. You are easy to be for short times. But this is whole trip. This is…being hero. I am not hero.”
Pike almost argues that point, but he knows better. Milo doesn’t mean it disparagingly, he knows. He just has this very specific idea of what a hero is and means, and has no way of recognizing those traits in himself. The important things—the want to help, the knowledge of what is right and what is wrong, that burning at the injustice of the world—those Milo has in spades, however much he tries to ignore them. He’ll see it eventually, Pike knows, even if he has to force him.
Instead, Pike sets his tea aside. “Then you’ve found me another solution. Excellent! I would hear your wisdom on this matter.”
Milo glances away. Honestly, he makes it too easy sometimes. Pike almost feels bad. “No,” he mutters. “But there is better person for the job. You need to find them.”
“That takes time,” Pike counters, “time we don’t have. Milo. I understand I lay a heavy burden on your shoulders, and given the chance, I would not ask you to take this up for me. But there are no better solutions. You know this. And you can do it. I believe in you.”
“Idiot,” Milo says under his breath. Pike, in all his magnanimousness, lets that pass, in favor of raising an eyebrow and waiting. Finally, Milo sighs. “...This is mistake,” he says. “But I will do it.”
“Thank you,” Pike says. He leans forward to place a hand on Milo’s shoulder. “This eases my heart, truly. Perhaps the lack of stress will heal me faster.”
Milo snorts at that. “You still have wedding to plan. And you can’t run from Edmont now.” He looks at the brace significantly.
Pike feels the blood drain from his face. “Fuck. I’m never getting out of this brace.”
He hears Milo laugh, a real sound that makes Pike smile even as he buries his face in his hands.