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Chapter Text

After the first time he touches the Arete Stone, Clive forgets about it soon after. The training ground within the strange Fallen pillar isn't something he requires with the bustle of the Hideaway, since there's always a task that needs done or an errand that needs run. With Cid's penchant for finding monster-filled shortcuts to send him down under the guise of avoiding detection by Imperial patrols, he has no shortage of real battles to fight in the field without needing to resort to practice bouts against artificial goblins no stronger than the ones he met back in Rosaria when he was barely a Shield.

He clears the stone from his mind so completely that when next he's pulled in, it's as accidental as it was the first time. Following a discussion with Charon about the supplies they'll need for their upcoming trip to Drake's Head, he's on his way to the kitchen to see if Kenneth needs any assistance with deliveries during the lunch rush. A large group of well-fed Cursebreakers hurrying from their meal to a mission has Clive quickly sidestepping and his back presses against the Fallen stone. There's a faint blue light and his entire world shifts.

The inside of the stone is different now than it was the first time he entered it. The training ground he saw before is still present, but there are several other paths branching off in other directions, the nearest leading into a forest. Curious, and with nothing especially pressing to pull him back into the real world, Clive moves towards the trees for a closer look.

Birdsong greets him first, as hard ground gives way to soft grass and the sweet scent of nature. The woods close in and surround him, drawing him into their depths until the crossroads inside of the stone completely falls away and there's nothing left but rocks and trees. It seems the Arete Stone has teleported him to this forest as the Fallen obelisks do, though he doesn't yet see a corresponding stone to take him back to the Hideaway. That might be cause for concern, depending on where exactly the strange Fallen technology has taken him.

A bloodfly buzzes around Clive's face and he swats at it.

"Bastard bloodflies everywhere!" Cid's voice comes from right beside him, and Clive startles violently.

"Cid! Where the hell did you come from?"

Cid doesn't answer or turn, so Clive walks around to face him, but the other man remains standing almost perfectly still. He breathes and he blinks but he doesn't say anything more or meet Clive's eyes. Minutes drag by as Clive tries to get Cid's attention, and each second unnerves him more than the last as he's ignored so thoroughly by someone he considers to be a friend. There must be something wrong, but he can no longer see any sign of the path he took originally, nor any other way back to the Hideaway. He has no idea where they are or how far he would need to travel to find help.

In growing panic, Clive replays their brief interaction before Cid froze in his mind, and, through the fog of his worry, he realizes the whole situation has a strange air of déjà vu.

Clive has always had a good memory, which has been more a curse than a blessing most of his life, as he's relived the Night of Flames over and over in the most vivid detail. He's certain he's been to this place with Cid before. Certain he's heard Cid complain about bloodflies before. He looks down at his own hands and sees he's once more wearing the gloves of an Imperial assassin instead of the gauntlets of a Rosarian noble. He looks at the trees and the slant of the sunlight and thinks he might understand what this is.

The stone can conjure enemies he's fought before from nothingness, so maybe he hasn't been teleported to this oddly familiar forest at all. If that's the case, he has an inkling of what Cid might be waiting for.

"I told you we should have taken the Crystal Road," Clive ventures cautiously.

Cid turns away to where Clive had been standing when he first entered the forest. "And I told you that we're outlaws," he replies, and Clive has to dodge quickly out of the way to avoid being bowled over when Cid walks forward as though no one is standing in front of him. The older man climbs over the log lying across the path ahead and stops again on the other side, arm resting on his swords as he waits once more for Clive's response.

Clive relaxes, his concern for Cid slipping away as he realizes the stone has only conjured him an ally for this exercise. It seems this is another sort of training ground, then. One that should be filled with more worthy enemies than goblins, if it is a complete reconstruction of the Greatwood in his memory.

The potential the Arete Stone now holds is staggering. What other battles might he be able to relive? Could he use it to fight again as Ifrit? An opportunity to gain some skill and experience with his Eikon before next testing its might against a true enemy would make this a much more useful tool than what he'd found in the stone the first time he entered.

While he's eager to see what other possibilities exist, Clive still isn't sure how to actually leave this simulated Greatwood now that he's entered it. The only option seems to be to continue forward and see where this exercise ends. Doing so will also allow him to ensure that this area of the stone truly is what he believes before he ventures on to something more difficult.

Decided, he steps up onto the log and repeats the words he'd said when he stood upon it before, as though his musings about the Deadlands and nature were a passcode instead of his honest thoughts at the time. He drops back down to meet Cid again, swatting at another fly. For all he's now certain this isn't real, the bites still sting true to life.

"We'll be back in Imperial lands soon," Cid says, and Clive must have been following closely in the footsteps of his past self, because when Cid reaches out to clap a hand on his shoulder, the older man's palm meets its mark. "You all right?"

Clive knows he needs to answer for them to continue on with this test, but the words stick in his throat. Cid's eyes on him are filled with such obvious care and concern that it ties a knot within him. They'd only just met, when they went to the Greatwood, how could Cid possibly already look so invested in him? His hand on Clive's shoulder is a welcome weight, for all he knows it's artificial, and he wonders how accurate this world in the stone is. This Cid breathes and speaks, but does he have a heartbeat? Would his touch be warm, if Clive could feel it through his armour?

He shakes his head to clear it and tries to tear his gaze away, but finds he can't entirely. Cid is magnetic, and when he's staring so completely focussed on Clive, the younger man is helplessly unable to do anything but gaze back. It's rare to find Cid so still. He's always talking or smoking or pacing around unnecessarily. The details of him are often lost to the distractions of his words and motions, and Clive can't resist taking this opportunity to really look at him while his defenses are down.

This close, Clive can see that his concerned eyes are as green as the foliage surrounding them, as though Cid himself is a part of nature's splendour. Their heights are similar, but Clive's surprised to find he's a little bit taller than Cid is, when he remembers looking up at the man the first time they passed through these woods. Clive's shaken off some of the weight of the brand since then, it seems. He's lost the slump in his shoulders and stands tall once more.

The bright sunlight filtering through the trees is unforgiving and it catches on the first few grey strands that have begun to sprout in Cid's otherwise sandy hair. Clive wonders at Cid's actual age. Older than Clive is, certainly. By at least a decade, or maybe even as many as two. Cid has a timeless quality that makes it difficult to tell, with both the boundless energy of youth and the experience of age. Now that he's still, he's lost the smokescreen his constant movement affords him and there's something more worn and thin about his appearance that makes him seem older. It begs the question of when Cid last let himself sleep or last ate something more than one of those noxious apples abundant at the Hideaway.

Cid constantly busies himself taking care of everyone, but Clive isn't sure who takes care of Cid. Who it is that ensures he doesn't get too caught up in the responsibilities weighing heavy on his shoulders and remembers things like eating and sleeping. Tarja tries, he thinks, as well as Otto, and even Gav, but Cid barely allows it from any of them, that Clive has seen. He never really drops his guard even amongst his closest friends and most trusted allies, always blowing off their concerns with know-it-all quips and evasion.

Frozen like this, Cid can't hide any of the strain and Clive suddenly, achingly wants to help. He wants to erase the lines of age and exhaustion and worry from Cid's face now that he's paused for long enough that Clive can clearly see them. He thinks maybe he could convince Cid to let him do it, too, with the amount of care he sees mingled with the concern in those eyes. More care than Clive is has seen from anyone other than Jill since his childhood, and at this point Cid had only known him for a few days. What would he see in Cid's eyes now, if the other man were to pause and allow his gaze to linger?

In the time he's spent staring, Clive's found himself leaning in towards the other man. Already, he's more than halfway to closing the small distance between them. He takes a slow, deep breath to steady himself and as near as they are, he can smell the cigar smoke that clings to Cid. His traitor mind wonders if he would be able to taste it in Cid's mouth if he were to kiss him, here in this world of the stone.

The thought comes out of nowhere, blindsiding him as his mind takes the dream a step too far in this strange, unreal forest with this unresponsive, artificial Cid. He snaps out of his reverie and moves back to a more appropriate and companionable distance, dropping hands that have risen up unbidden back to his sides.

"Never better," he chokes out, and he's as relieved as he is disappointed when Cid finally looks away.

-

Still unsure of how to leave, and also still hoping to examine the Arete Stone's potential as a training ground, Clive gathers his wits about him and continues on with a newfound determination to keep his interactions with Cid strictly professional. No more staring at him, and certainly no touching.

Torgal joins them, and Cid continues their friendly banter. Clive learns that only some of their conversations are required to progress his memory as they travel through the forest, and often giving no reply at all doesn't cause his companions to pause. Even with his resolve to keep his distance from the artificial Cid, Clive still finds himself responding when he doesn't need to, as much out of habit as because he simply enjoys talking to the other man whether he's real or not.

The monsters that attack them are no more difficult or plentiful than Clive remembers from the first time they came here, and with Garuda's winds added to his flame, Cid's lightning, and Torgal's teeth, the three of them make quick work of anything that stands in their way. Some of the battles against the wolves and living undergrowth are so simple that Clive is able to stand back to watch Cid and Torgal fight on their own, assessing the strengths and weaknesses of his allies in the heat of battle. He promised himself he wouldn't stare again, but it's still Cid who mainly draws his eye, if only because he's spent less time with him than he has with Torgal. Or so he tries to convince himself.

Cid tends towards offense on his right in defense of his left, which may prove useful to know, assuming the real Cid displays the same favouritism. He only ever draws one of his two swords, and Clive would almost believe that the second one is intended to be a spare, except that his style of fighting is better suited to two weapons than it is to one. Perhaps he only lets loose with both in more harrowing situations.

It becomes clear very quickly that Cid doesn't have many weaknesses for Clive to note. For all the obvious exhaustion that he had noted in Cid's face earlier in the Greatwood, the man storms across the battlefield in quick strikes of steel and levin that Clive can't help but admire. Watching him battle threatens to distract Clive from his purpose once more, and he forces himself to rejoin the fray.

After felling what feels like hordes of low-skilled enemies, they at last come to the armoured beast from the North and Clive prepares himself for a proper challenge. The first time they battled the great beast, Clive had barely been able to keep his feet by the end of it, out of breath and leaning on his sword for support.

This time when they engage the monster, he's surprised to find that they quickly wear it down without any issue. Cid and Torgal are created from his memory, and so they must approach the battle the same as they did back then. It's difficult for Clive to believe that he himself could have improved so much in only a few weeks, even with the addition of Garuda's magic. He wonders how much the regular meals and full nights of rest at the Hideaway may be the true cause of his enhanced performance.

The beast rises back up for its last gasp, and Clive easily dodges the blow, rolling back to his feet ready to parry another attack only to find that his opponent has frozen mid strike. A glance at the surrounding area shows that Cid and Torgal have also stilled and Clive's confused what's stopped them for a moment before he realizes that the stone is waiting for him to speak.

"Oh, come on," he says without any of his original exasperation.

"Stand back!" Cid yells, urgent in a way that's almost comedically unnecessary with the ease of the battle this time around. Rather than heeding him, Clive turns to watch him semi-prime, unafraid of the rush of static that races across his skin. In spite of his warning, Clive's certain that even this artificial Cid wouldn't let his lightning bring an ally to any harm.

Cid gathers Ramuh's power, then slams his fist into the ground as though he needs to channel out some of the electricity coursing through him or it would overwhelm even its master. When he stands again, his hair is entirely white beneath the bright purple lightning that's enveloped him. The green of his eyes has been replaced with crackling bright blue aether and, irrationally, Clive wants that battle-ready gaze to turn away from their enemy and fall on him.

Everything about Cid when he's in this state is barely contained, from the lightning dancing on his skin to the arrogant set of his shoulders to the hard expression on his face. The look is surprisingly good on one who normally wears easy going control like a comfortable jacket, and Clive's mouth is dry at the sight of him. Every other time he's seen Cid call on Ramuh like this, they've been in dire, life threatening situations. It's the first time Clive's had the liberty to watch without more pressing concerns to distract him.

All resolve to keep his use of the Arete Stone professional flies from his mind and he wants to freeze time again so he can look his fill. But there's nothing he's meant to say here and Cid calmly raises a hand without pause. At the snap of his fingers, the monster is eradicated, and as quickly as it began, it's done. Cid releases his hold on Ramuh and begins coughing as though the rush of aether has punched the breath right out of his lungs.

When Cid recovers, Clive knows that he's meant to speak. He's supposed to be shocked at this first real glimpse of his companion's Eikonic abilities, but now that he's let himself start again, he can't bring himself to stop watching Cid. Ramuh's Dominant doesn't look like a man who's decisively won a battle. Instead, he's staring down at his glove with dread so strong it seems he might be ill. Clive didn't take notice of Cid's reaction after the battle the first time, overcome with surprise as he was. Curious, he moves in close to Cid's side and follows the other man's gaze to his palm.

Dark blood is streaked across his hand and something inside of Clive twists violently because he suddenly recalls that Cid is suffering. How could he have forgotten? Cid isn't just exhausted from lack of sleep or from taking care of the whole Hideaway; Cid's body is failing him, for all he's trying not to draw attention to it. Clive hadn't known back when they travelled through the Greatwood together, but he has known the truth of the curse lurking in Cid since his first trip to Martha's Rest. He's just been too wrapped up in his own problems to ever consider its meaning.

Feeling numb, Clive removes his glove and slips his fingers under the open sleeve of Cid's jacket before he can think better of it. His bare skin is warm like Clive thought it might be, pulse racing in his wrist from the adrenaline of battle. In other circumstances, even this small contact might have brought heat to Clive's face, so rare has any kind of intimate touching been in his life, but he doesn't have to reach far before his fingers find a patch of rough texture that turns his blood cold. He presses lightly against the stone in Cid's arm and there's no give to it at all, that tiny piece of him already completely dead and gone.

Clive snatches his fingers back quickly, vision blurring and heart pounding. Even someone like Cid is a slave to fate, it seems.

"You're a Dominant," he finally says as he's meant to, voice tinged with despair instead of wonder.

Cid just about flinches, looking away from where Clive is and where Clive was as though he can't meet his eyes in this fantasy world built from memory any more than he could in their real lives. "I am, aye," he admits to one truth, then wipes his hands together to erase the evidence of another. He lights a cigar to clear the taste of blood from his mouth and walks as he explains what little he's willing to, his masterful misdirection working its magic to completely distract Clive's past self from the pain on display right in front of him.

Of course Cid only ever uses one of his swords, even though his style of fighting is better suited to dual wielding. Of course he favours his cursed left side in battle, taking the offensive only on his right. Of course he only calls upon Ramuh's power and semi-primes in situations so grim that he sees no other choice. If this Greatwood in the stone is created from Clive's memories, then everything he's seen today was there before. Clive just never managed to piece everything together properly to create the whole picture. How many other clues to Cid's struggle has Clive missed during their travels together?

Instead of the old guilt, Clive feels a surge of the new determination that's been with him since returning to the Hideaway from Eastpool. He won't be fooled by Cid's evasiveness and misdirection anymore. The Hideaway is Clive's home now, and he's going to shield it and all of its residents from harm. Including Cid. Especially Cid. He'll destroy the Mothercrystals and protect the whole of the Twins, if he has to. He's going to become strong enough Cid won't ever need to call on Ramuh, because Clive will always be there first with Ifrit.

He walks around to where Cid has stopped again, the cigar in his hand strangely smoking without burning down as it waits for time to start up again same as the man who holds it.

"You are not going to die from the curse, if I can help it," Clive promises this artificial version of the man he's swearing the oath to. "Do you understand me, Cid?"

Cid doesn't react. He won't, not until Clive says what he's supposed to and asks Cid to explain his reason for protecting Bearers and Dominants, not realizing back when they made this journey together that the older man is one of the few altruists of the world. Cid's face is drawn and his eyes are lowered, as though he's still unwilling to meet Clive's gaze, and for the second time since entering this version of the Greatwood, Clive reaches for him without fully knowing what he means to do.

The world tilts.

"Can you hear me, Clive?"

Suddenly, Cid is gone and Clive's back in the main hall of the Hideaway. The Cursebreakers he'd moved out of the way for are long gone and in their place Gav stands in front of him, a hand on Clive's arm and a concerned look on his face. The sun has moved, shining through the roof at a different angle than it was before, and Clive must have spent hours standing here, lost in the world of the stone.

"I can hear you, Gav," he says.

Gav releases him and sags with obvious relief. "Bloody hell, you are in there," he says, "Thought I was going to have to go get Tarja for a minute."

"That won't be necessary," Clive assures quickly, eager to stay out of the infirmary when he has no actual need of it. Tarja is busy enough as it is.

His eyes are drawn back to the stone, standing tall and unassuming amongst the other Fallen architecture littered throughout the main hall. After Cid and Jill, Gav is probably the person he trusts most at the Hideaway, but still Clive hesitates a moment before asking the question on his mind. "Do you know anything about this stone?"

Gav places a hand on the Arete Stone and eyes it dubiously. "Just looks like another piece of Fallen junk to me." He frowns at Clive, likely sensing there's something more behind the question. Gav has a nose for these things, as Cid is fond of telling everyone. "You sure you're all right?"

Even with a hand on the stone, Gav hasn't been drawn into it, so it must be something to do with Clive himself that makes it work. His magic, maybe? Or possibly it's something to do with being a Dominant that allows him to enter the strange training grounds. "I'm fine, Gav," he says in answer to the other man's question. "I must have just drifted off." The excuse sounds like an unlikely lie even to Clive's own ears, but he doesn't know how else to explain, when the truth is something even he doesn't understand.

"Didn't know Imperial soldiers could literally sleep on their feet." The response is sarcastic, but there's no real heat in it. With Gav, there almost never is. "You need to get some proper rest, mate," he adds, clapping a hand once more on Clive's arm.

"I will. Thank you, Gav." As always, the younger man shies under the sincerity of Clive's gratitude and his words cause Gav to quickly retreat into the Fat Chocobo.

Clive looks back at the stone for a moment, but decides to remain true to his word and head back to his quarters before he goes in again. He has a lot of work ahead of him, if he's going to make good on his oath as he intends.

Chapter Text

Even after Clive wakes in the early evening, he waits until long after nightfall to return to the Arete Stone, only making his way back to the main hall when it should be mostly clear of people and other possible interruptions. He doesn't want to worry anyone else the way he already worried Gav earlier in the day.

Clive doesn't bother lighting a candle as he slips out of the small room Otto's assigned him and into the maze of back hallways that makes up the sleeping areas of the Hideaway. He's long been comfortable in the night, having spent more years than he likes to count completing distasteful tasks best suited to the shadows. The dim moonlight streaming in through the occasional hole in the ceiling of the ruins is more than enough for Clive to navigate by.

While the darkness may be comfortable, the safety of the Hideaway is still a strange thing to him. Even now, after weeks of living within these Fallen ruins, Clive has to tamp down on the instinct to quiet his footsteps and keep out of sight as his years of training insist he should. He feels bare without his armour, skin itching and exposed as he walks out in the open wearing only the loose clothing he normally sleeps in. Even just the security of his sword by his shoulder would set him more at ease, but if anyone walking the Hideaway's halls at this late hour were to see him out of bed and dressed for battle, it would only invite questions that he doesn't know how to answer and concerns he doesn't want to address.

The disquieting journey is quick, at least, and it's not long before Clive reaches his destination. The main hall is as deserted as he'd hoped it would be, and Clive's footsteps echo in the emptiness as he crosses the wide open space to stand before the Arete Stone. For the first time since he discovered it, Clive reaches out to touch the peculiar piece of Fallen architecture on purpose, and the moment he feels its smooth surface beneath his fingers, he once more finds himself in the centre of the stone's crossroads.

Now that he knows the paths branching out around him are all places he's been before, Clive recognizes the roads he hasn't travelled yet as Caer Norvent, the Dragon's Aery, the Kingsfall, and the Apodytery at Phoenix Gate. His eyes are first drawn back to the Greatwood and its lure of companionship. It's only through the strength of his will that he's able to turn away from it and focus on his goal to train as Ifrit.

With resolution, he keeps his eyes and his mind focussed on his task, steeling his shoulders and forcing himself to head towards the battle with Garuda in the Aery.

-

The wind is quick to pick up as Clive moves towards the rocky cliffs, and the strangely smooth ground of the crossroads gives way to grass and stone not long after. Garuda's madness first reaches him as nothing more than a soft breeze ruffling through his hair, but it gradually builds in strength until it becomes gale and Clive hunches against it, concentrating on moving forward while still keeping his feet.

At the edge of the precipice he finds the cloaked figure who had drawn him into the eye of this storm the first time he came here. The voice that had called his name through the wind and led him away from Cid and Torgal. Clive had been chasing shadows back then, searching for a phantom killer that didn't really exist outside of his own mind.

"You called me! Why!?" Clive shouts and the sound of his voice is swallowed by the howling winds.

The cloaked man turns, lifts his head just enough to reveal his mouth, and smiles. Unlike the figure he and Jill chased through the Apodytery, this man is not a reflection of Clive himself: the shape of the jaw is wrong, the stranger is far more clean-shaven than Clive ever manages to maintain, and there is no Brand trailing down his left cheek and along the line of his throat. Cid said at the Kingsfall that he had also seen the man in the whirlwind, Clive remembers suddenly. This man isn't a creation of Clive's mind, but something else. Something real.

The truth of it is startling to realize, but the mystery of this man's identity isn't one that Clive is desperate to solve. The stranger may not be a delusion, but he also isn't Joshua's killer. Clive knows the truth of Ifrit and the Night of Flames now. He's accepted it. Whoever or whatever this man is, with flames rising from his body and flickering wildly in the wind, he isn't the second Dominant of Fire. Only a curiosity. An unanswered question.

Clive doesn't dwell on it. He has another purpose this night, here in the stone.

The man in the cloak blinks out of existence, disappearing into nothingness in a way that should be impossible, and Garuda sweeps in to take his place, sudden and jarring as she destroys the cliff the same as she did the first time Clive entered this storm. The Eikon returns swiftly for another blow before he can recover from the first, and Clive is thrown into the open air. He tumbles head over heels, fighting down panic as he tries to trust that the memory will play out as it should and this freefall will stop long before he can crash down to the ground far below.

Sure enough, Garuda catches him in her claw and a quick jab from his sword at the right moment has her releasing him so he can drop down to the safety of the floating platform they fought upon the first time they met here.

This first portion of the battle Clive fights without Ifrit, so he begins by practicing semi-priming. He tries to get an idea of how long he can hold onto the flames before he loses his grip on them and wonders if he could extend that time with enough repetition. When he isn't semi-primed, he experiments with the skills he's learned since accepting his Eikon: calling orbs of fire to hover around him like a shield first, then flashing forwards towards the Warden of Wind in an explosion of hellfire.

Finally, he sees the opening he was waiting for and stabs his sword into Garuda's eye, sending her tumbling off of the floating platform. The first time he fought this battle, Clive had believed this was the end of it. He knows now that it isn't, but still he sheathes his sword so the blade is out of the way when Garuda surges back up over the rocky ledge and grabs him firmly in her talon. She presses in against his chest until his ribs rub together and he feels as though they'll crack and splinter under the unyielding pressure. He can barely draw enough breath to grind out the words he needs to speak to progress the memory, and only when the strain of her grip against his chest becomes too much to bear does it finally stop.

Everything stops.

For a wild moment, Clive believes that Garuda has snuffed him out completely this time, but then a familiar voice echoes from nowhere and everywhere. It's the voice from the Apodytery and the rooftop of Caer Norvent. The voice from Phoenix Gate thirteen years ago that has torn agony through his mind each and every time he's ever heard it. "Awaken," it orders him, and Clive has no other choice. Suddenly, through no effort of his own, he's Ifrit just as much as he's Clive. More than he's Clive. It should be far more terrifying than it is.

"Awaken," the voice repeats, and the world beyond the searing flame of his Eikon returns. Garuda hovers before him, no longer a creature of awe-inspiring size. Viewed through the eyes of Ifrit she seems almost delicate, and when she flies towards him in her rage, the force of her blow does little to drive him back. Instinctively, Clive moves to retaliate, but it quickly becomes apparent that controlling Ifrit is a battle all on its own. His Eikon's movements are slow and awkward, now that Clive's no longer paralyzed by grief and horror. He isn't willing to allow Ifrit to do whatever he pleases this time, and the hellbeast rankles under his Dominant's clumsy attempts to take control.

The two of them war internally over every small action, and it's not long before Garuda overpowers them, sinking her talons into Ifrit's blaze and tearing ruthlessly until-

Ifrit's gone, and Clive is left standing alone and disoriented in the crossroads of the stone. His heart pounds erratically in his chest and his stomach churns in the aftermath of what could only have been his own death. "I suppose that answers the question of what will happen if I'm defeated while in the stone," he mutters to himself, the words spoken around shaky gasps of breath.

Garuda had only needed to make it through his guard for a brief moment to change the original course of the battle. Even after Cid's repeated warnings not to underestimate Benedikta, Clive had still believed he came out victorious because he was the stronger of the two combatants. Only now does he understand how truly close it had been. Ifrit didn't defeat the Warden of Wind through greater strength or skill, but through sheer luck and brutality, if the outcome of this first attempt is anything to judge by.

It's not acceptable. Clive needs to be stronger, if he's going to protect the Hideaway and all the people living within, and it's clear that it will take much more than mere acceptance to master co-existing with his Eikon.

Determined, Clive gathers his wits, sets his shoulders, and returns once more to the tempest.

-

It becomes a habit over the next few weeks. Every day, Clive lives the new life he's slowly building at the Hideaway, running errands and learning the ins and outs of this place he's chosen to call home. Every night, he enters the Arete Stone while everyone else is asleep and fights to control the power burning within him so he can become a Shield once more and protect these people who have taken him in without question.

The lack of proper rest begins to take its toll as time passes in this fashion, and it's not long before Clive is fending off concerned comments from both Jill and Gav about his obvious exhaustion. In spite of their worries, Clive doesn't see any problem. The strain is far less than what he endured during his time in the army, and while he doesn't try to explain the reason for his haggard appearance to either of them, he's certain that the long term rewards of all his time spent training in the stone will be well worth any short term cost to his health.

Over and over, night after night, he returns to the Aery until he can complete the battle against Garuda without the other Eikon landing so much as a single blow. It takes so many simulated deaths that Clive almost becomes used to the gut wrenching feeling of it, but eventually he and Ifrit learn to move in tandem, finding ways for their skills to complement one another instead of clashing in disagreement. Clive comes to respect his Eikon's brutality and animalistic instincts, and Ifrit begins to trust in his Dominant's human strategies and quick reflexes.

The only trouble is, even though his skills have improved vastly after so many nights of repeating the battle, Clive still isn't certain how exactly to prime into the beast. It comes without effort in his memory, the strange voice ordering him to do it as soon as his life is truly in a danger. When he changes into his Eikon, it happens through no discernable effort of his own, and he isn't able to trigger it at any other time no matter what he tries. His lack of control in this one area is a cause for concern. It's all well and good to learn to work alongside his Eikon, but if Ifrit won't come when he's needed, it could have disastrous consequences for both Clive and his comrades.

-

Fighting Garuda isn't the only thing Clive does within the stone. Almost every night he wanders down at least one of the other paths once his energy is spent battling as Ifrit, but the adrenaline from hours of hard training is still humming in his veins. Most commonly, he goes back to the Greatwood, and he would be lying to himself if he couldn't admit that his affinity for the trip from the Hideaway to Lostwing has more to do with the company he keeps than with anything else. His resolution not to indulge his desire to stare at Cid has waned as exhaustion has slowly eaten away at inhibition. There is little harm in only watching the past play out again, he reasons, so long as he stands firm in his decision to keep his hands to himself and do nothing more than look.

He visits the Kingsfall once or twice, but there is little of interest there. He spends most of his time alone with Torgal, Cid and Gav only appearing briefly like bookends at the beginning and end of the excursion. He travels with Jill through the Apodytery, but he doesn't feel as drawn to watch her as he does Cid. He's known her since they were children and there is little he can learn about her through the stone, even after all the years they've been apart. There is plenty Clive doesn't know about the time she spent with the Ironblood, but the woman underneath all of Jill's pain and suffering is still, at her core, the young girl he once considered family back in Rosaria.

The only path he hasn't yet gone down is the one to Caer Norvent, in spite of its promise of another journey alongside Cid. Benedikta Harman was unfailingly cruel, the few times Clive encountered her, and whatever history existed between the Dominants of Thunder and Wind, she was more than ready to kill Cid and his companions every time their paths crossed.

At odds with Clive's impression of her is his memory of Cid sitting on a crate outside of Martha's Rest as though the weight of the story he was telling was too much for him to stand under. He spoke of a girl he'd once tried to save with deep regret on his face and hopelessness in his voice and that image of Cid is what's clear in Clive's mind when he looks towards the path leading to the caer. The monster he fights night after night in the Dragon's Aery is aethersick and out of her mind with murderous intent, but the woman he'll see in the caer is the same one Cid wanted so badly to protect.

Clive fears what he might learn of her on a second visit. If the journey through the caer proves her to be someone as worthy of a second chance as Cid so clearly believed she was, Clive will need to add yet another death to the long list of sins for which he and Ifrit already need to atone. It's not something he's overly eager to do.

He doesn't hold out forever, though, and what finally drives him to the keep in the end is, predictably, Cid. The man's been away in Sanbreque since before Clive first entered the stone, and the lack of him around the Hideaway is beginning to feel like a gaping hole. It's only been a few short months since they first met, but Cid's already become such an integral part of Clive's life that he keenly misses the older man's company after only a few weeks apart.

Clive's travelled through the Greatwood so many times that he can recite every offhand comment Cid makes, and it no longer feels like enough. He longs for something more, and it's hardly a surprise when desire finally wins out over concern. One evening, after he's already exhausted most of his energy training as Ifrit, Clive gathers his courage and finally takes the path from the crossroads into the the damp, dirty waterway beneath the caer.

-

The way forward quickly narrows, a stone ceiling appearing above Clive and pushing in closer and closer until he nearly has to crawl through the dark and claustrophobic space. Eventually, when the way through has thinned so much that Clive is beginning to wonder how he made it through the first time, he reaches an opening where he can drop down into a much larger room. "All clear," he says as he enters, and a moment later he hears the quiet splashes of Cid and Torgal materializing out of thin air to drop down behind him.

Though he can see all right in the near pitch darkness, Clive still conjures a small ball of fire to light the path ahead for his companions as he did the first time they emerged from the waterway. "That's a nice trick," Cid murmurs appreciatively, much closer behind Clive than anticipated. The praise in his lowered voice effects Clive in ways he doesn't expect, a shiver along his spine and a strange but pleasant warmth blooming in his chest. "You'll have to teach me sometime."

It was Joshua who taught Clive to create floating lanterns, the pair of them sneaking through the darkened halls of Castle Rosalith on moonless nights long after his younger brother should have already been in bed. Clive hadn't had the Phoenix's Blessing for long back then, and it took hours of practice and Joshua's endless patience before he could successfully call an orb of flame to his hand and convince it to float obediently above him.

Like the small piece of the Phoenix that rests within his chest, the skill is a treasured memento of his brother that Clive's managed to keep with him all these years, but he doesn't think he'd mind sharing it with Cid, if the other man still wanted to learn. Clive should ask, when Cid's finally returned to the Hideaway.

Before heading for the stairs, Clive can't help but turn around to study his companion. The Cid who stands waiting behind him in the low light of Phoenix flame is already much less relaxed than the one Clive's grown used to seeing in the Greatwood. The lines of his face are deep and prominent in the flickering shadows and he somehow looks even more worn out than he did before.

Thinking back on the short time they'd spent in Lostwing, Clive can't recall if Cid ever actually settled down in the corner Quentin had told them they could sleep in. He doubts it, from the look of the other man now, sure he must've been kept up all night by thoughts of the task ahead. They knew Benedikta would be in the keep, and between Cid's history with her, and the entire rest of the caer crawling with Royalist Intelligencers who would love nothing more than the glory of capturing or killing the defected Lord Commander, it's no wonder Cid wouldn't be able to find peace enough to rest.

Traitors to the Holy Empire are put to death, and if the Imperials were to capture a deserter like Clive instead of taking his head on the battlefield, he would be publicly executed. Days of torment at the hands of the guards followed by a nick to the wyvern's tail poison branded into his face and the agony of that death put on full display in the courtyard as a reminder to the other Branded soldiers of what awaits them if they dare to rebel against their masters. He had the misfortune of witnessing the execution of a deserter only once in the thirteen years he spent in the Imperial ranks, and that one experience was more than enough to understand its effectiveness as a deterrent.

Waloed, on the other hand, is known to be a much crueler country than even Sanbreque, and Clive was nothing more than a Branded soldier, as common and disposable to the army as a chocobo. He can't bring himself to even speculate on what kind of punishment the King might have in store for a treacherous Lord Commander. The risk Cid took for a group of Bearers and an unknown Dominant would be unbelievable if it were anyone else.

But Cid isn't like anyone else. For him, continuing forward to help people in need was the only possible choice, no matter the danger to himself. 'Don't you let him down,' had been Gav's parting words in Lostwing and Clive appreciates the sentiment all the more now that he better understands exactly who the scout had tasked him with looking after.

"I won't let you down," Clive promises Cid in the quiet darkness beneath the caer. It does nothing to smooth out the tension in the other man's face, of course, but it makes something in Clive relax to have said it out loud and he finally pulls his eyes away from Cid's strained expression to lead them up the stairs and through the empty dungeons until they come across their first group of Intelligencers.

"The traitor Cid may already be in the caer," says one.

"Find him and kill him!" orders another.

Clive doesn't hesitate as they enter the room full of soldiers at the top of the stairs. He sets the Royalists alight in an explosive burst of hellfire before Cid can so much as quip about their good fortune.

-

Navigating the caer is a much simpler task now that Clive knows the way and doesn't have to waste time wandering down the wrong paths and engaging enemies they don't need to encounter. Cid's comments as they make their way are far from the witty repartee Clive has become used to in the Greatwood, his voice instead saddened by the devastation around them, even though the bodies are those of Imperial soldiers who would have been nearly as happy to kill or capture them as the Royalists. Cid's capacity for empathy seems to know no bounds and manages to encompass not only beasts, but their most bitter enemies as well. Clive finds himself hurrying through the maze of hallways and courtyards as though hoping to spare Cid the sight of it.

Only once they approach the chapel does Clive's pace finally slow. "Great Greagor must have plans for us," Cid says quietly behind him as they enter and the other man's voice sends another shiver through Clive, much less pleasant than the one before. The words feel ominous, and even knowing that none of this is real, Clive still dreads to imagine the goddess' plans for them. But it's much too late for misgivings. The gate before them is the only way forward.

Benedikta rises from where she'd been waiting for them, and when Cid holds out an arm to keep Clive back so he can confront her alone, Clive slips around it easily. He makes his way through the chapel and perches on the edge of one of the pews where he has a clear view of both Dominants. Now that he's committed to facing this, he may as well do it properly.

The conversation is rocky from the very beginning, as Benedikta is quick to refuse them the information they need and quicker to turn negotiations away from her captives and towards Cid himself instead. Being Branded has left Clive with very little experience when it comes to any kind of courtship, but Benedikta's attempt at seduction is so blatant that even he picks up on it. It upsets something unfamiliar in him, an unpleasant sensation similar to nausea rolling through his stomach as she tells Cid how she needs him and begs him to return to her as though they'd been together before. The feeling only subsides when Cid outright scoffs at her advances.

It's quickly apparent that the wedge that's been driven into whatever relationship the two of them may've once had is the King of Waloed. From the way Cid has spoken of him, it's clear that any love he once held for his former liege is long lost, and to hear him and Benedikta speak of it now, Clive wonders how much of the violence and instability he's seen in Garuda's Dominant has been bred by Tharmr's influence. It begs the question of what person Cid might have become, if he'd stayed in Waloed instead of defecting. Could this man so full of empathy who exhausts himself trying to take care of every person who crosses his path have also been completely smothered into something as bloodthirsty and angry as Benedikta, if he'd stayed and continued living his life beneath the weight of the Waloeder King's will?

The picture Clive's mind is attempting to paint is an ugly one, and he forcefully pushes the thought away, turning his focus back to Benedikta. To look at her this close, she's much younger than Clive had assumed. Closer to his own age than to Cid's, if he had to guess. How young was she when she came into King Barnabas' poisonous care and changed from the girl Cid describes as searching for freedom into the cruel and monstrous harpy Clive met again and again on the battlefield? She may not have been much older than Clive was when he was taken by the Imperials, and drawing that parallel between them makes watching her like staring into a strange and distorted looking glass. Slaves to their fates, Cid had said of the both of them.

Finally, Benedikta puts her head in her hands as though Cid's words are clashing with her own beliefs so strongly that it's causing her physical distress, and when she finally looks back up, the rage familiar to Clive is burning in her eyes. When Benedikta calls on Garuda, Clive is quick to step back and retreat from his spot in the pews to the safety of the corner from which he'd watched this battle before. As much as he would like to help Cid instead of waiting on the sidelines, this is only a memory. Cid won't come out of this fight victorious on his own, but there is nothing Clive can do now to prevent that outcome.

On Garuda's wings, Benedikta flies at Cid with such obvious intent to kill that it very nearly erases all empathy Clive had begun to feel for her. Cid calls upon Ramuh so he can meet Garuda's power on a level field, but Clive's watched the other man fight enough times now to recognize that he's holding back. Clive has seen him semi-prime in the Greatwood and take out an armoured fafnir with a single blow. He's watched Cid descend upon an entire section of Imperials in the Kingsfall like some kind of Deus ex Machina from one of the plays Clive enjoyed as a child. Compared to those battles, the lightning he calls down now against Benedikta is paltry.

Cid can hit harder than this, but he's trying not to hurt her.

Once he's seen it, Clive can't unsee it, as Cid pulls back his attacks again and again. The guilt begins to rise up in Clive's throat, burning like bile. The battle would be done by now, if Cid were going all out, but instead he wants to save her so badly that he's risking his life to keep from hitting her too hard. Even now, with Benedikta trying to kill him, Cid still wants to give her another chance. He still has hope that she'll come around, and Clive will snuff it out completely less than a day after this in the Aery.

Cid summons down judgement's bolt - though nowhere near the magnitude Clive's seen before - and sends Benedikta flying back. He's wearing thin, Clive can tell. In the Greatwood, he was only semi-primed for a short moment and even that caused him to cough blood. He's held onto Ramuh much longer this time, and the battle still isn't over yet. Benedikta rises back up, and the two monsters she calls her sisters join in the fray.

The three of them keep Cid on his toes until finally Benedikta whips around him with incredible speed and readies her talon in an attack Clive has used many times himself, now that he wields Garuda's winds. Cid turns too slowly, and the blast hits him head on. "Cid!" Even though Clive was prepared for his companion to lose this battle, the strength of the attack that sends the other man flying across the room still startles the shout out of him, same as it did the first time. Cid slams into the statue of Greagor, and Ramuh's power leaves him abruptly as he drops like a stone to the floor. Slowly, the statue tips forward to crash down on top of him, and Clive can't help but think that this must've been the plan the goddess had for them all along.

Clive speaks to Benedikta quickly, cutting down her two monstrous sisters with impatience so he can hurry to where Cid fell, taking the stairs of the dias two at a time. Cid's crawled out from under the rubble and propped himself up against a stone by the time Clive drops to his knees beside him, hands hovering, unsure of what to do. Cid looks much more terrible than Clive remembers, covered in a hundred tiny scrapes and cuts. With the the force of the blow that threw him into the statue, Clive wouldn't be surprised if some of his bones might even be broken.

With a start, Clive realizes that he doesn't know. He hadn't cared enough to ask the extent of Cid's injuries or to check how badly he was hurt the first time this happened. He hadn't even remembered how brutally Benedikta had tossed him across the room, or how huge the statue that fell upon him had been. He'd taken Cid's blasé treatment of his own injuries at face value and put the entire incident from his mind.

Clive lets his hands fall back to his sides, as useless in this memory now as he was in the past. "Cid, are you all right?" he asks as he's meant to, knowing it's futile to try asking anything else.

"Do I look all right?" Cid’s tone is cheeky as he deftly avoids giving the question a proper answer, but his attempt at levity falls flat as he follows the words with a painful-sounding bout of coughing. Clive doesn't have to look to know there's blood on his palm this time and Cid doesn't bother trying to hide it as he did in the Greatwood. Even Cid's breathing, a comfortable sound Clive's become used to hearing during his travels both in and out of the stone, is ragged and pained.

Cid tries to push himself up and crumples under the effort. There's blood on his face, Clive notes absently, barely listening as Cid speaks some nonsense about Clive needing to catch up with Benedikta before she can take her captive and fly away to freedom. It's absurd for Cid to tell him to go ahead on his own. The man needs a healer, and there's no way Clive can leave his side now. Not while his injuries have made him defenseless and the caer is still crawling with bloodthirsty Royalists.

But Clive did do that, didn't he?

He did leave Cid here, badly injured, alone and unguarded. How could he have been so blind only a few months ago, to risk all that he'd found in Cid so he could chase after vengeance? Joshua was already gone, but Cid was right here. He could easily have been lost as well, had the Royalists happened upon him. The state he's in now, even the foot soldiers might've been enough to end him, Dominant or not.

"What about you?" Clive finally asks, the words he's meant to say laced with the regret now rampaging through his mind.

"Before or after I catch my breath?" Cid asks with another attempt at a smile that looks a lot more like a grimace. He's trying to make light of his injuries and for a moment, anger overwhelms Clive's upset. Anger at Cid for his recklessness, and, even more than that, anger at himself for going along with it. Gav had been right not to trust in him. Clive did let Cid down.

"Sorry," Clive says, his voice breaking a little. He's unsurprised to find that he's crying, overwhelmed with exhaustion and guilt. It's not so different from his own battle against Garuda, he thinks as his mind grapples with how close a thing this night had been. Benedikta had been aiming to kill, and Clive could have lost Cid right here in this moment. To the enemy, but also to his own choices. Cid might've been gone, if things had played out just a little bit differently.

The truth of it paralyzes him, cementing him to the floor, and he sits helplessly as the image of Cid hurt before him burns itself into his mind in a way it didn't the first time they travelled this road. He needs to call Torgal and chase after Benedikta. It's the only way the memory will progress, no matter how much every part of him rebels against the very idea of it, but he doesn't think he can bring himself to leave Cid behind again. He can't relive the rest of this memory. He won't.

The moment that certain thought passes through his mind, the half-destroyed chapel blinks out of existence and Clive finds himself back at the crossroads. For a long time he continues to stand where the stone has placed him, staring back down the path to Caer Norvent. A path he doesn't think he'll be going down again any time soon, if ever.

After what could have been minutes or hours, he finally shakes himself out of his stupor and turns towards the exit. He won't be able to sleep, if he goes back to his room now, but he's spent enough time lost in his memories for one night.

Clive returns to the Hideaway's darkened main hall with only a few hours left before dawn, judging by the angle of the moonlight. There's a chill in the night air that he hadn't felt in the crossroads, his fingers cold and stiff when he pulls them away from the stone. Now that he's back in his own body, he can still feel wetness on his face, and he reaches up to wipe at the tears that have streaked down his cheeks even in reality.

A small sound to his right - nothing more than a quiet shift of fabric - has him turning sharply in surprise, right hand darting up for the sword he isn't wearing at his shoulder, dressed only in his sleepwear as he is. It's just as well. When he blinks away the blur of tears and his eyes adjust to the dim light of the waning moon, Clive finds that there is no threat waiting for him in the Hideaway.

Only Cid, sitting on the staircase and watching him in the dark.

Chapter Text

Cid sits halfway down the main stairs, unmoving and staring intently at Clive. He looks as though he's been there awhile, still dressed in his dusty travelling clothes with his swords propped up against the banister beside him. His arms rest comfortably on his knees, and his feet are planted a few steps below where he sits. Clive isn't sure when he got back from Sanbreque, but he's certain Cid hasn't taken any time to recuperate following the journey home, from the slump of his shoulders and the tired lines around his eyes.

"Cid," Clive says when it becomes clear the other man isn't going to speak first. "What are you doing?"

The words set Cid into motion in a way that almost makes Clive think he's back in the stone. "I've read that you're not supposed to wake a sleepwalker," he says, "So, I thought it best to keep an eye on you and make sure you didn't wander out of the Hideaway and get yourself into trouble." He stretches out his legs one at time, then stands with a groan that suggests just how long he's been sitting on the stairs watching over the younger man. "Might need to see if Lady Charon can procure a lock for your room to keep you from wandering out and about in the night."

Clive doesn't know what to say. He wasn't sleepwalking, but to admit that invites other questions Cid could ask that Clive isn't sure he wants to answer. His time in the stone suddenly feels illicit, for all he hasn't done anything wrong. He'd never considered what it would be like when next he met Cid in person after all the time the two of them have spent together without the other man's knowledge. The very idea of trying to explain fills Clive with a nauseating dread.

Here in the real world, he can't pause Cid to give himself time to think the way he could in the stone. Clive doesn't feel as if he's been silent too long, but already the older man is heading down the stairs to place a hand on his arm. "You all right?" Cid asks, squinting a little as though trying to see past Clive's eyes and directly into his mind. The care and concern that were present in Cid's gaze when he asked the same question in the Greatwood are back again tenfold, and Clive isn't sure how to respond now that he can recognize them for what they are.

"I'm fine," he forces himself to say, voice rough from the tears and the long hours he's spent standing in the late night chill of the hall.

Somehow, his attempt to deflect the question has the opposite effect to what he'd hoped, causing the concern on Cid's face to increase instead of clearing it away. A frown pulls at the corners of the older man's mouth, and Clive doesn't know what else he can say to erase it.

"You don't seem fine," Cid murmurs. Slow and careful, as though he thinks Clive is some sort of wild animal that might bolt at any sudden movement, Cid lifts his free hand and swipes his thumb at a stray tear still on the younger man's cheek. The touch across his brand causes a shiver to run down Clive's spine, and the downward curve of Cid's lips deepens further. "You can talk to me, Clive."

It sounds so simple, when Cid says it out loud. As if Clive's embarrassment is meaningless, and there is no real reason why he shouldn't give in to the offer of a friendly ear and a shoulder to lean on. Since the day the two of them first met at the Nysa Defile, Cid has offered nothing but help. It's only natural for Clive to accept.

Appalled by his own desires, Clive pushes the thought aside before he can give into the temptation to turn it into action. How can his plans have gone awry so quickly? He hasn't been out of the stone and back with Cid for more than a moment, and already he's nearly lost sight of his purpose. Sharing his worries is the last thing Clive wants to do when the other man already has so many other burdens to carry. Clive wants to help, not make things worse.

But already Cid's saying he wants to put a lock on Clive's room to keep him safe from an ailment he isn't even suffering. He's losing sleep looking out for Clive instead of getting some rest when he's obviously tired from the road. He's even caught Clive crying, and added worry about the cause of his tears to the many other concerns already vying for his attention.

It's not the way Clive wants things between them to be. He needs to be stronger than this, if he wants Cid to rely on him instead of the other way around.

Squaring his shoulders, Clive takes a step back and pulls his head away from Cid's hand on his face. The loss of the touch causes a strange sort of disappointment to bloom within him, but Clive mentally shakes that off as well. They aren't in the stone. He doesn't have time to analyse it right now. "I'm fine," he tells Cid again, voice firmer than it was before.

This time, the words cause something in Cid's face to shutter immediately. A shift in expression so subtle that Clive's not sure if he would have seen it at all, were it not for his time in the stone. It's only now, after the many hours he's spent watching Cid, that such a minute change in the other man's demeanour suddenly seems obvious.

"So you are," Cid says easily, letting his hand fall to give Clive a friendly pat on the shoulder as if that's what he'd meant to do all along. He pulls away completely, steps back, and smiles with good cheer. A performance meant to distract his audience away from his troubles in the same way Clive's seen Cid do so many times before in the stone. "I'll head up to my solar, then. See if I can't catch a few hours' sleep before sunrise. You should go on to your own bed and do the same."

Inwardly, Clive panics as Cid turns and starts up the stairs. How often has he done this? How many times has he pushed Cid away without realizing? Hurt Cid without realizing. He's going to rest the way Clive wanted, but the pain of rejection lurking behind the grin plastered on the older man's face makes Clive feel as though he's made a grave misstep.

"Cid, wait," he calls before he can think better of it.

Cid pauses with a hand on his swords, then turns back with an expression caught somewhere between annoyance and curiosity. "Did you need something else?"

Even more than he doesn't want to worry Cid or to discuss the events he's been reliving in the stone, Clive doesn't want to make the other man think he doesn't trust him. He'd admit to any crime and endure any embarrassment, he thinks, if it would only heal the hurt he can still see past the guarded look in Cid's eyes. "Does the stone not work for you either?" he asks reluctantly.

"Work for me?"

"When I touch this pillar, it takes my mind someplace else," Clive explains, gesturing beside himself towards the Arete Stone.

The curiosity on Cid's face wins out over the annoyance as he drops his hand away from his swords and makes his way back down the stairs. "It does, does it? Can't say as I've ever noticed anything strange about this particular bit of debris myself." Cid tugs off his glove and touches the stone with his bare hand, going so still after that first brush of his fingers against the strange Fallen architecture that Clive thinks he actually must have entered the crossroads right up until sharp eyes turn back in his direction filled with silent questions.

"It didn't work for Gav either," Clive admits around a sudden surge of disappointment. "I thought it might've been because I'm a Dominant, but I guess it can't be that, if it won't work for you."

"You said it takes your mind someplace else. Where do you go?"

Clive weighs his options. "It's similar to a training ground," he says, hoping he won't need to explain much further. There might still be a chance to save himself from some embarrassment, and lies through omission are the safest given his track record for being caught out in the smallest dishonesty.

"Interesting," Cid says, taking Clive's words at face value and turning back towards the stone. "I wonder how it works, and why it would activate only for you." He traces his fingers along the grooves and edges of the Fallen architecture as if searching for some hidden clue, and Clive can't help the way his gaze follows the movement.

"So, that's all it was," Clive goes on, tearing his eyes away from Cid's roving hand and clever fingers with no small effort. "I wasn't sleepwalking. There's no need for you to be concerned."

Cid turns from his inspection of the stone to look at Clive again and the younger man resists the urge to squirm under his measuring gaze. Cid's different now than he was in the stone. His eyes more intense. The silences between them a much heavier weight pressing down against Clive's shoulders.

"I'll leave you to get some sleep," Clive adds awkwardly, taking a step back in the direction of his room. "You must be tired after travelling."

A hand on his arm stops his retreat before he can get very far. "It doesn't explain what's got you so upset," Cid points out. "Or why you look like you've barely slept a full night since last I saw you." Cid doesn't look like he's slept much either these past few weeks, but Clive bites his tongue. The last thing he wants to do is start an argument when Cid already has him on the back foot. "What sort of training have you been doing in there?"

"It's..." Clive frowns, searching for some explanation that won't give too much away. "It allows me to fight battles I've fought before as though I'm living them again."

"Alone?" Cid asks, eyes narrowed.

"No." Clive swallows around the dread in his throat. "I meet the same enemies and allies I encountered originally."

Cid's expression becomes thunderous, solidifying in Clive's mind that his actions these past weeks have been nothing more than a series of terrible mistakes. Certainly, Cid's already put two-and-two together. He must've figured out just who Clive's been spending his time with, and, from the look on his face, he doesn't approve of the younger man's actions one whit.

"Clive," Cid says, voice stern in a way the younger man hasn't heard since his early days at the Hideaway, "Whatever this stone's purpose may be, I can assure you that the Fallen didn't put it here so you could torture yourself. There's no need for you to revisit the horrible things you've been through. Least of all, Phoenix Gate. Even if it might let you see your brother again, what good could it possibly do for you to waste away reliving that night?"

For a moment, Clive's mind blanks entirely in the face of the conclusion the other man has come to. Even after all his efforts to come to terms with the blood staining his hands, such an unexpected mention of Joshua is still enough to freeze his thoughts in place. "Founder, no," Clive whispers, forcing his voice out with lungs that have very nearly forgotten how to function. "I'm not able to go back that far, and even if I could, I wouldn't- I couldn't..." He lets the words trail off without completing the thought, just the idea of living through the Night of Flames again almost more than he can bear.

Clive shakes his head to clear it, doing his best to push the onslaught of pain-filled memories away and concentrate on the present moment instead. On Cid, and the warmth of his hand where it still rests on Clive's arm just above his elbow. On the way the pale moonlight throws shadows across his face, and the frown that still lingers on his lips, no less concerned than it was before. Clive can only guess at what the other man must be thinking, but it seems safe to assume that Cid's mind is running rampant with a hundred other possible scenarios that could explain Clive's earlier distress.

He isn't going to let the issue rest until he's satisfied that Clive isn't using the stone to harm himself, that much is clear. And if that's the case, then there doesn't seem to be any way around making a proper confession. Only the truth will do, if Clive wants to set the other man's mind at ease. "I was back at Caer Norvent."

"The caer?" Cid repeats in disbelief, his worry slipping quickly into surprise. "What about that night could possibly have you looking so upset?"

Cid's confusion is honest, and the anger Clive felt within the stone is quick to resurface in response. He shouldn't be surprised. He just witnessed Cid's cavalier treatment of his own injuries, after all. Listened as he encouraged his only ally in a fortress filled with enemies to continue on without him. Watched as he coughed blood while insisting he needed nothing more than a moment to catch his breath. Of course Cid would deem the events of that night insignificant.

With a stilted, forced calm, Clive tries to explain. "I left you behind so I could chase after Benedikta and her captives, seeking vengeance against a man who was innocent of the crime I was so certain he must've committed." Clive's hand clenches into a fist, and he glares down at it. "I was so blinded by revenge that I didn't even check how badly you were injured before I went. I let you down, just as Gav thought I might."

"You didn't let me down at all," Cid says, sounding dismayed by the very idea that Clive would think such a thing. "I told you I'd be fine after a rest, and I was. Everything turned out all right."

"I just relived it, Cid," Clive reminds him. "Nothing about that night was 'all right.'"

"Even if it wasn't, it's in the past now, isn't it? No need for you to dwell on what's done."

"I haven't been dwelling," Clive snaps, frustration building as Cid stubbornly refuses to see his point. He meets the older man's eyes with a glare. "It was the first time I'd gone there since living through that night originally. I've mostly been using the stone for practice fighting as Ifrit in the Aery and travelling with you through-" Clive stops abruptly, his face heating as he only barely keeps himself from telling Cid about the amount of time he's spent just walking peacefully through the Greatwood in the other man's company. Whiling away the hours studying his companion in a way that he can't so much as conceive of trying to explain.

"And?" Cid asks, prompting Clive to continue before he's determined anything he could possibly say to save himself. "Travelling with me through where?"

"Nowhere." Clive tries to make the word sound final as he takes a step away with the intention of making his escape.

He doesn't get very far, as Cid's grip on his arm becomes steel. Tight enough to bruise as he pulls Clive back in until the two of them are standing much closer than they were before. Clive's heart pounds so hard he wouldn't be surprised if Cid could hear it echoing in the heavy silence of the empty hall.

"How about I try to sort this out myself, since you seem keen on being difficult," Cid suggests. "You've been revisiting recent memories - not to wallow in guilt, but to train in the stone as it seems it might've been meant for - and also to do something else involving our travels together that has your face turning red as a Rosarian emblem." Cid pauses, considering the facts he's just laid out before presenting his conclusion. "I'm going to hazard a guess that you've been doing something a little more interesting than just fighting battles and letting your memories play out as they're meant to. Sound about right?"

Impossibly, Clive flushes further. There's nothing he can answer that isn't going to sound incriminating. Even his silence feels like an admission of guilt, and he steels himself for the other man's judgement.

"C'mon now, lad, you can tell me," Cid says with a laugh, eyes shining with delight in the darkness. "What've the two of us been getting up to in that stone of yours that I don't know about?"

"Nothing untoward," Clive insists, even as his mind flounders in its inability to parse the reason behind Cid's sudden good cheer. It almost seems like he wouldn't have minded if Clive had touched all the times that he wanted to, or if he'd continued to stare as much as he pleased. As if Clive might actually have been welcome to check if the other man tasted like tobacco the same as he smells like it.

Cid raises a single skeptical eyebrow. "Nothing?"

"I touched your arm once," Clive admits, and just saying it out loud feels similar to confessing a crime, even with Cid's fingers still digging into his bicep.

"That it?" Cid asks, and, Founder, Clive must be imagining the way he sounds disappointed.

"Of course that's it," Clive snaps, hearing his own appalled voice as if from a distance. His face still feels as though it's on fire, and he keeps his gaze trained on the floor, certain he'll never be able to look the other man in the eye again after this night. "Even if you never found out about it, it still wouldn't have been right to take advantage."

Cid doesn't respond, staying quiet for so long that Clive risks lifting his eyes from the floor to look at him. The expression he finds on the other man's face is somehow completely unreadable, even after all the time Clive's spent learning how to read him.

"You wanted to, though," Cid finally says, and it doesn't sound like an accusation or even a question. The words are a statement of fact, and there's nothing Clive can say to deny them that wouldn't be an outright lie.

Cid takes yet another step closer, near enough now that Clive's fairly certain their chests would brush if he took a deep enough breath. He firmly ignores the urge to test it. "If that's the case, Clive," Cid says, voice low as he drags out the name until it becomes something long and languid, "Then I hereby give you my full permission to do more than just look." Clive forgets how to breathe and Cid isn't even finished speaking yet, leaning in until their noses nearly brush and Clive can feel warm breath ghosting across his face. "Although, if you're planning to touch, I'd prefer if you did that out here instead of in there."

The words are unmistakably an invitation and Clive barely knows what to do with it.

After all the years he spent with the Imperials, Clive isn't used to allowing himself to want, let alone have. It's been so long since he's experienced any sort of creature comfort or luxury. He can hardly even imagine anything as decadent as the world of possibilities that Cid's laid before him. Clive's still getting used to the idea of helping himself to hot meals daily and warm baths whenever he wants. Only a few months ago his greatest hope was nothing more than to find his brother's killer before one day ended so he wouldn't have to live to see the next. The idea of what Cid is offering him now is almost more than Clive can hold in his mind all at once.

He's been silent too long again.

"No need to decide right now," Cid says as he releases Clive's arm and takes a step back out of his personal space. "You can think on it and let me know later if it's something you might be interested in."

Cid hasn't rescinded his offer, but it still feels to Clive as if he's putting distance between them in more ways than one. The moment the thought makes its way through his head, Clive's hand snaps up of its own accord, grabbing hold of the front of Cid's jacket before the other man can take so much as another step away. He doesn't know if he wants to pull Cid back in close as he was before, or just to keep him in place until Clive's had a moment to sort out his thoughts. Either way, one thing he is certain of is that he doesn't want Cid to leave.

Clive relaxes when Cid doesn't immediately try to pull away. He allows his hand to unclench from the leather, splaying his fingers out against Cid's chest until the tips of them are just brushing the bare skin where Cid's unlaced shirt gapes open. Clive can feel Cid's heartbeat beneath his hand, racing almost as quickly as it was in his wrist after the battle with the fafnir in the Greatwood.

"There's no need for you to push yourself," Cid says quietly, his voice much calmer than his heartrate as he interrupts the trail of Clive's thoughts yet again.

"Cid, please." Frustration bleeds into Clive's voice as he curls his fingers back into the leather of Cid's jacket and searches for the right words to explain what he needs. "Could you just... be still and let me think?"

The moment Clive speaks, Cid halts all movement, responding to the request as if it were an order. He stands motionless except for his eyes, the green of them darting back and forth across Clive's face, sharp and alert.

Clive watches him in return, allowing his own gaze to takes its time as it trails over sandy hair and now-familiar features same as it has hundreds of times in the stone. He never tires of looking at Cid. Of spending time with Cid. Over and over and night after night, Clive has spent his time reliving his memories of that one afternoon in he Greatwood for no reason other than his desire for the other man's company. He's fought as Ifrit until he was too exhausted to go on, motivated only by the desire to better assist Ramuh's Dominant. Even during his waking hours, every scrap of Clive's energy has gone into the Hideaway, working towards making himself invaluable to the people of Cid's home.

For weeks, the two of them have been apart in the real world, but not once have Clive's thoughts ever strayed far from Cid.

Without the aid of the Arete Stone, it might have taken Clive months or even years to understand the reason why. Instead, all of his many half-formed feelings, straying thoughts, and aborted movements during his time inside of that Fallen training ground merge together into one simple realization: he's in love with Cid. He likely has been for some time. And with the man standing before him offering more than Clive's ever dared to dream of, the path ahead is clear, no matter how daunting.

With purpose, Clive lifts his hands. All those times in the stone that he didn't know what he intended to do and now he finally touches his fingers to either side of Cid's face and draws him forward. Clive hasn't kissed anyone before, but he's seen enough of the world to at least have an idea of where he's meant to start. He presses his lips to Cid's, then waits for a reaction - for some indication of what should come next - but the other man does nothing to help things along.

Cid doesn't move at all.

Feeling as though he's been doused in cold water, Clive releases him and steps back. It makes no sense. Cid had been clear in his invitation to touch, but Clive doesn't know what it means that he didn't reciprocate. Was this not what he meant? Has Clive misunderstood and taken a step too far?

"Is it all right with you if I move now?" Cid asks, the sound of his voice cutting cleanly through Clive's thoughts just as they begin to spiral.

He had asked Cid to stay still, hadn't he? Clive never would've expected him to obey the request so thoroughly, and yet... "Of course," he says.

The same as he stopped the moment Clive made his request before, Cid shifts into motion again as soon as he has permission. He reaches out, one hand gloved and the other still bare. Fingers gentle as he brushes a few strands of hair away from Clive's face before closing the distance between them and kissing the younger man properly. He keeps his mouth light as his hands, touch almost delicate as if Clive's someone meant to be treated with care instead of a Branded soldier accustomed to all the harshness the world has to offer.

The touch is intoxicating - far moreso than Clive's own attempt a moment earlier - and it doesn't last nearly long enough before Cid is pulling away. "How's that?"

"Good," Clive tries to say, but the word comes out strangled. He clears his throat and tries again. "It was good."

"So we're both amenable to kissing, then," Cid says with a crooked smile that makes the rhythm of Clive's heart stutter. "Anything else you might be wanting?"

This time, the question isn't one Clive needs time to think about. He's already found his answer. "You," he admits, voice as firm as it is embarrassed. "I just... I want you, Cid."

There's a light in Cid's eyes that Clive hasn't seen there previously, even after all the many hours he's whiled away with Cid in the stone. A brightness that's somehow managed to appear in spite of the dark night still wrapped around them. "I can give you that," he says as though it really is so simple. "How do you want me?"

Clive swallows, but that doesn't make it any easier to breathe. "I don't know," he admits. A future with Cid is filled with possibilities that Clive only has the vaguest knowledge of from stories overheard and encounters accidentally spied from a distance in the garrison over the years. "I want everything. I don't know where to start."

There was no doubt lurking behind Clive's words, but still Cid hesitates. "You sure?"

"I wouldn't have said it if I wasn't sure," Clive answers, somehow finding it within himself to glare.

Cid's smile transforms into both pleased and wicked. "Then I might be able to give you a hand," he teases, "If I have your leave to do so, that is."

Normally that joking tone of Cid's would only serve to spark Clive's irritation further, but it's different when Cid's breath is mingling with his own. When he's standing close enough to touch and taste, with the scent of cigars and worn leather filling Clive's nose. How had he ever thought that the Cid in the stone was anything like the real thing for even a moment? Being this close to together is so much more than anything he ever experienced within that Fallen training ground. "Please," he says, and even to his own ears it sounds like he's begging.

The word is barely out of his mouth before Cid is moving again. His mouth and hands still gentle, but his touch carrying a heat that wasn't there before. He takes his time, lips lingering against Clive's for long enough that the younger man becomes accustomed to the taste of Cid's tongue and the sensation of another mouth pressed against his. He reciprocates as best he can, mimicking Cid move-for-move as the other man completes his exploration of Clive's mouth and shifts his attention from lips to jaw to throat.

His hands wander from Clive's face, one combing blunt nails into his hair while the other meanders down the front his chest until it reaches the hem of his night shirt and slips up under it to rest against his waist. Cid presses forward, guiding Clive back until he's sandwiched between the older man and the wall behind.

A flash of light and everything changes.

Clive finds himself back at the crossroads, alone and disoriented. It wasn't a wall behind him, but the stone, he realizes as he recovers his bearings and catches his breath. Everywhere Cid had been pressed against him buzzes angrily with the sudden lack of contact and Clive doesn't waste a moment before turning around and taking himself back out into the real world.

When he returns to himself in the hall of the Hideaway, Cid has already stepped back, eyes flitting between Clive and the stone with a mix of concern and scientific interest. Clive could almost believe that he imagined their entire encounter, if Cid weren't flushed and out of breath with his hair rumpled beyond all repair.

A smile reappears on the outlaw's face once he realizes Clive's returned to himself. "That stone of yours is the damnedest thing," Cid says, voice rough and somehow even lower than normal. There's a lightness in his posture now, and the brightness in his eyes shows no signs of dimming. It's obvious the other man could still use a full night's worth of sleep, but much of the strain within him has somehow disappeared.

Clive had wanted to help Cid, and it seems he already has, albeit not in the way that he'd planned. If only he'd known sooner how much of a difference a bout of kissing a heartfelt confession could make.

"How about we move this chat of ours someplace where the Fallen are a little less likely to interrupt?" Cid suggests, turning away without waiting for an answer and heading towards the stairs to retrieve his swords.

'Chat' isn't quite the word Clive would use to describe what they were up to during those last few moments before he was pulled back into the stone, but he chooses not to mention it. Instead, he follows Cid, moving quick and with an eagerness that should maybe be embarrassing, if the older man's startled laugh is anything to judge by.

It's a long time before Clive enters the Arete Stone again.