Work Text:
“As much as I hate to offer you any words of praise, you’ve done a fine job training my cadets,” the grand commander commented to Tyril. They stood at the edge of the training room to watch the sparring cadets. Currently, Anastasia was up against Mitchell, who was much improved considering he usually couldn’t keep up with her at all. Today, he’d held out for ten minutes already, but the bespectacled boy was clearly showing signs of tiring. “It might not be so bad to ask for your services at some point in the future in an official capacity.”
Tyril didn’t take his eyes off the match, and Crius followed his gaze to where his red-headed subordinate had her friend pinned on the ground beneath her. The boy had dropped his sword in favor of gripping her arms, but he wasn’t really putting much effort into breaking out of the hold. Instead, he was panting, looking up at his friend with an intense and unreadable expression.
Unreadable to most, anyway. Like Landon and Hugo, Crius could tell you what the look meant. Frankly, he was a bit surprised Tyril hadn’t stepped in to “help” just to get the young man out from underneath his lover - probably with a vitriolic tongue-lashing to boot. But Tyril didn’t seem affected in the slightest by the display. In fact, if Crius wasn’t mistaken, it seemed as though the inquisitor was looking through rather than at Anastasia.
Odd.
He’d been strangely distracted like this all day. Crius had been discussing Lucien’s newest investments this morning, and while Tyril had followed the conversation well enough, every once in a while his eyes would glaze, like he was lost in thought about something else. Very unusual behavior from a man who was usually so diligently aware of everything around him. Perhaps he was tired and merely letting his guard down in front of a friend, or perhaps he was buckling under some kind of stress.
At any rate, it was time to test how terribly out of sorts he was.
“Oh, by the way, I’ve been given permission by the Church to marry my Garuda. You’re invited to the wedding, of course, though I know such occasions of celebration aren’t really your thing.”
Tyril made a noncommittal noise and was silent for another moment before remarking distractedly, “Celebration? You know I’ll be there for the booze.”
Crius shook his head before running wide eyes over the inquisitor. “Tyr!”
“Hmm?”
“My Garuda’s a male.”
“O…kay?” Finally shifting his focus to the grand commander, Tyril narrowed his eyes, sharp gaze confused. “You want me to get him a gift or something?” Crossing his arms, he snorted. “Do I seem like the kind of guy who’s gonna give a bird a birthday present?”
Crius tilted his head, looking at his friend with clear worry. “Birthday present? Don’t you mean wedding gift?”
“Huh?!” His mouth twisted in horrified astonishment. “Wait, your damned birds are getting married now?!”
Throwing up his hands, Crius accused, “You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said all day!”
“There couldn’t possibly be any prelude to this conversation that would make what you said a second ago anything less than complete, bat-shit crazy driv-!”
Tyril was cut off by the rough hand that seized his arm, hauling him bodily from the training room as Crius set out at a march down the hall to his office. The fuming inquisitor cursed, trying to break the grip as he stumbled behind the other man.
When they reached Crius’s office, Tyril was flung through the door, where he promptly sputtered indignantly at the treatment and rounded on his friend. “Bastard! What the hell is your problem?”
“What’s yours?” Crius roared back, hand rubbing his forehead in irritation. Sighing, he perched on the edge of his desk. “Can’t you tell I’m worried here? You haven’t been yourself.” Concern was writ clearly on his face as he stared down his friend, who had finally managed to look at least a bit chagrined and strangely awkward. The inquisitor turned away, refusing to meet his eyes, which only made Crius more anxious. “Is this about Anastasia? Are you still stupidly fixated on what you spoke to me about befo-.”
“Tch! No,” interjected Tyril. They both stood quietly while the inquisitor gathered his thoughts for a moment, appearing torn about saying anything. Eventually he huffed, lips curled in a grimace. “I can tell you the reason, but I’m sure you’ll regret hearing it.”
Crius’s expression softened. “Idiot. You know I’ll listen to whatever you have to get off your chest, Tyr.”
Oddly, the kind remark only made the inquisitor look more conflicted. He cut his eyes to the grand commander speculatively. “It’s nothing I have to get off my chest, per se. My mind is elsewhere. I really think you’d be happier not-.”
“Just tell me.” He reached for the carafe of water on his desk and poured himself a glass. He held it up in offering to Tyril, but the dark-haired man merely shook his head. He set it back and took a drink, readying himself to be a consoling ear.
Tyril’s posture was defensive - crossed arms, body angled mostly away and head turned to face the closed door. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and said, “I made love to Anastasia last night.” He’d only gotten partway through the statement when the sound of Crius spitting out his water made him glance hastily back. Tyril's arms fell to his sides as the grand commander coughed, bent over while brushing water off his tie, wet hand clumsily setting his glass blindly back on his desk. Then, as though prepared for this reaction, Tyril began, “And this is why I-.”
“Get the hell out of my office,” Crius demanded through clenched teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose, face an angry red. “I can’t believe I felt sorry for you, and this-!”
“I told you you wouldn’t want to hear it!”
Neither noticed the sound of the door creaking open until Anastasia asked, “Hear what?” from the doorway, glancing between her lover and her boss. When her wide eyes met Tyril’s, she blushed lightly and quickly turned her attention to Crius. Seeing the state he was in, she quickly closed the door, moving forward with worry. “Grand Commander! Are you okay?”
He waved her away, a shadow there and gone in the smile he flashed her. “Spilled a little water. How are you? Is… your body okay?”
She froze, blinking at him in confusion. “My body?”
Tyril stiffened, opening his mouth to interject, well, anything other than what was going to come out of Crius’s mouth, but Crius anticipated this and cut him off easily, saying, “You should have asked for some time off. In fact, you should go home early. I shudder to think what this brute may have subjected you to.”
Anastasia’s face was quickly approaching the same shade as her hair and irises. Her hands clenched tightly by her hips as she whirled to Tyril, who had the sense to step back, surprised by the fury in her eyes. “You…!” She got in close and whacked him hard on the back.
“Ow! D-Dammit, woman!” He raised both hands in innocence as pain flared across his shoulders, tone bordering on offended. “I didn’t want to tell him anything at all, but he kept pestering me!”
“I hope those scratches hurt!”
They both ignored the grand commander’s groan at that particular bit of information. Tyril caught his girlfriend in a vice-like grip when she tried to smack him again. She struggled futilely against his chest. “Feels like you scratched the hell out of me, yeah, but...” He put his lips next to her ear and continued more quietly with a hint of his usual mischief, “Totally worth it.”
She looked fit to bop him another one if she could get loose, but Crius jumped ironically to Tyril’s rescue by defending, “As much as I’m loathe to admit it, he’s not lying. I was foolish enough to think this heartless cur needed my advice.”
Somewhat cowed, Anastasia quit struggling. Being quite used to misfortune, a shiver ran down her spine at the thought of Tyril seeming bothered enough to gain the grand commander’s attention. “Nothing is wrong, is it?” she asked the raven-haired man, hands settling at his waist. It wasn’t quite a hug - she wasn’t ready to let him off the hook quite yet - but she wanted to let him know she was there.
Tyril drew back enough to flash her a comforting look and a roll of the eyes. “Cas is just mad I don’t want to get his dumb bird a wedding gift.”
Silence punctuated this remark, lingering until Anastasia quirked a brow at him. “...Huh?”
Tyril scoffed and asked, “How the hell do you even know which one of the things wants to get married to whoever anyway? Are they even monogamous?”
Completely lost, Anastasia glanced to Crius for help, only to find him with a slack-jawed expression of disbelief. “Um, Grand Commander? What is he talking about?”
But Crius didn’t respond to her inquiry, raising his voice at Tyril instead. “I didn’t say they were getting married, I said I was getting married.”
The couple both looked shocked, though Tyril was somewhat baffled by how he’d managed to twist their earlier conversation so badly.
“I didn’t even know you were dating!” Anastasia cried, slightly hurt.
Crius ran a palm over his face, irritated with the world. “To my Garuda!” he grit out.
This stunned the lovers enough to drop their hold on one another. Tyril’s face was torn between disgust and an extreme level of concern. “Go get the doctor, Anastasia. I’ll stay here with him.”
When she turned to do just that, Crius thundered, “Stop! I was merely proving a point. I’m not…” He faltered. “How could you even think that I’d…”
Lips curling into a sneer, Tyril demanded, “Then what are you on about?”
“You!” he said. “You and the fact that you were completely out of character this whole day so far! I couldn’t even get you to follow a simple conversation all morning, Tyr! So I made up a crazy story about marrying a Garuda, and you still didn’t pull your head out of the clouds!”
“Bah!” Tyril looked condescendingly at the grand commander, arms crossed. “Spin something more outrageous next time! Seems plausible coming from a birdbrain like you.”
Crius stared him down with a deadpan look. Even Anastasia was side-eyeing him critically. “Setting aside who’s marrying what, just where the hell are we supposed to find the budget for a wedding anyway, smartass?”
The constipated expression on the inquisitor’s face suggested Crius had him on that one. In Tyril’s mind, it was really the only logical argument against the notion. He harumphed, conceeding, “Fair point.”
Anastasia’s laughter broke the tension. The men turned toward her, watching with confusion as she shook her head before smirking at her boyfriend.
Per usual, Tyril was adept at reading what was on her mind. He scowled at her, hoping she’d be intimidated into keeping quiet, at least until they were out of Cas’s office, but she folded her arms and stepped in front of him to smirk right into his face.
“I believe you owe me an apology,” she said.
Tyril did his best not to glance at Cas, but he could feel the man’s eyes dead on him, curious. “I think y-.”
“Don’t try to deflect,” she cut in. “What was that lecture you gave me about shifting priorities?”
When Tyril clenched his jaw and turned red, Crius gaped. Up to this point, he’d believed his friend to have no shame. He barked out a laugh, and Tyril’s eyes cut to him with a scowl. The look only served to make Crius laugh harder.
Not one to lose the upper hand, Tyril sassed, “You mean the one I gave you when you said you’d be stuck only thinking about me when I told you I’d bed you after the trial?”
It was Anastasia blushing now, with Crius’s laughter abruptly dying off in the background. “That’s the one,” she said, still standing her ground. “You’ve been worrying your best friend all day, it seems. Why haven’t you placed last night in the back of your mind, hm?”
“You’re my best friend,” he responded, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to the back. His mouth tipped up in a charming smile.
She couldn’t help but melt a little inside.
“Just a reminder that I am still in the room,” Crius put out there dryly.
“H-Hey!” Anastasia pulled her hand away. “You’re trying to sidetrack me from the point!”
Just then, the door flew open, and everyone turned to watch Zenn enter. The detective, seeing what looked to be an altercation between Tyril and Anastasia, glanced over to Crius with worry. “Is this a lovers’s spat?” he asked, narrowing his brow at the two in question.
“There’s no argument,” Anastasia told him. “Tyril was just about to admit he’s a hypocrite and apologize.”
Knowing the likelihood of that happening was about as good as Anastasia admitting she had a little too much of a martyr complex, Zenn raised a white eyebrow, cigarette dangling precariously as his mouth hung open.
Tyril scoffed haughtily. “I could have put it out of my mind any time I chose, but I had no pressing engagements, so I chose not to.”
“Huh?” Zenn said, completely lost.
Tyril shot Crius a warning look that the grand commander promptly ignored.
“Tyr’s been in a daze all day, and he’s being very Tyril about owning up to it,” Crius explained.
Zenn frowned. “That’s… unusual. Not the being Tyril part.” He narrowed his eyes at the inquisitor. “No, I don’t think I’ve ever known you to be anything other than at the top of your game. Are you-?”
“Don’t be too alarmed,” Crius sniffed. “Apparently that’s just what getting laid does to him.”
Without any choice of his own, Zenn’s wide eyes shot to Anastasia, who seemed distinctly uncomfortable to be having her business so carelessly thrown out there. He colored, tipping his head down and turning on his heel before marching silently back out the door.
“Hope it wasn’t something important he came here to speak to you about,” Tyril muttered after a moment of silence.
Finally thoroughly fed up with his afternoon, Crius retreated to his desk, where he threw himself into his chair and waved a tired hand at his present company. “I’m at my limit for today,” he sighed. “Anastasia, you can take the next few days off.”
“But-!”
“And Tyril, compose yourself,” he finished, completely steamrolling over Anastasia’s objection. “You’re a mess.”
“Huh?!” the former inquisitor balked. “The hell-!”
“Out!” Crius dismissed them with a firm shout.
As the red-haired cadet hauled her outraged boyfriend out the door by the arm, Crius sank his head into one hand while the other pulled open the desk drawer that held his emergency stash of alcohol for particularly trying days. He hefted a half-drunk bottle onto his desk with a heavy sigh, wishing he hadn’t chased Zenn off. Maybe they could have drowned their woes together. After all, Crius was sure he wasn’t the only one with a particular soft spot for the reincarnated goddess. It was one thing to accept that she was dating their caustic friend, but… something about knowing he’d taken her innocence really put it in perspective.
He guessed it was actually rather cruel of him to say what he did to Zenn, now that he thought about it.
To hell with drinking alone, he decided. He was going to find Zenn and buy him a drink in apology.
Just as he was putting away his bottle and getting up to leave, one of his cadets popped his head through the door. The young man saluted him, tipping his head in greeting. “Sir, I just wanted to come by and congratulate you.”
Crius went still. His tone was guarded as he asked, “Why?”
The young cadet cocked his head. “Um, that inquisitor that’s been training us just said you were getting married, so-.”
“That insufferable ass!” the grand commander spat. The cadet quickly moved out of his way as he shot out the door, leaving the poor guy staring in shock in his empty office. “Tyyyriiiiil!”