From the Stores
From the Stores
Fandom: FFIV
Characters/Pairing: Edge, Kain (Edge/Kain implied)
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~2000 words
Summary: "Two bottles of my best whiskey. Kain, that's almost an offense against the throne. I've got half a mind to toss you in the dungeons."
- - -
Kain awakens to the sound of the world ending. It sounds like stone grating against stone, a dark deep screeching noise, and he's reminded of the evil walls they faced in the Sealed Cave. He tries to stand, but his arms and legs are stuck in some sort of molasses; it's dark as hell in hell. The noise stops; his head continues to pound. Belatedly Kain remembers to open his eyes.
"Well, there you are." Edge greets him with a playful smile that throbs every nerve between Kain's ears. Apparently the sound the world makes when ending is that of Edward Geraldine dragging a wooden chair across Eblanian stone. "When you didn't turn up this morning, we were all a little bit worried. Did you have to hide in the larder?"
Kain turns his aching head upwards just long enough for his eyes to recognize a string of sausages and dusty bags of flour. He feels like he's just taken the beating of a lifetime; he feels like he used to when Golbez was angry and handed him over to Caignazzo or Milon. The thought makes his leg twitch, and something heavy falls to the ground with a sharp bright thud.
"Ah," Edge says, and reaches down to pick up the empty bottle. "Lionheart's best, distilled in the sun-drenched fields of Toroia. You know, if you weren't my friend and all, I'd say you stole this from my stores."
Kain says nothing: not because Edge is right and he feels guilty, but because he can't get the ache of his head to stop long enough to form a truly coherent thought.
"And you drank the entire thing without me." Edge sighs dramatically, and then stands up. "Kain, I'm starting to think you don't like me."
Some sort of sound issues from his lips without his permission. It sounds vaguely like a curse word. Kain is horrified; this is terribly undignified. Undignifying. He needs water. He needs to get to bed. He needs to pretend this never happened.
"C'mon." Edge bends down and grips Kain under the arms. "Up you go, good sir. I thought we were going to spar this morning, but I guess we'll just take you off to bed, instead."
Kain manages not to warble as the entire room lurches grey and nauseous before his eyes, but Edge is strong, and eventually he finds his feet. He shakes himself out of Edge's grasp as soon as he's sure he can stand, mindful of the tattered remains of his pride. Something rolls out from behind him, stopping itself on the leg of Edge's chair with an audible clink.
"Oh, two bottles?" Edge is looking at him now with an unreadable expression. "Two bottles of my best whiskey. Kain, that's almost an offense against the throne. I've got half a mind to toss you in the dungeons."
Kain tries to convince himself that standing has made him feel better, and speaks. "If that's the nearest bed, my lord, I'll take it." His voice sounds like he feels: utterly wretched. A nearby serving-girl hands him a cup; Kain clutches the ceramic and blesses Edge's foresight. After a moment of bliss, crystal-pure water sliding down his parched throat, he curses Edge instead for bringing a crowd of servants to observe his morning of weakness.
Finally, Edge shakes his head, giving a quiet half-laugh that isn't much amused. "Come, then," he says. "Let's get you to bed, my friend."
Kain follows Edge through the hallways, embarrassingly thankful that the king shows no real desire to chit-chat or discuss; it's hard enough to keep his feet without retching, and the first time he sees an available couch it's more tempting than Valvalis and he almost thinks it's over. But eventually Edge leads him, steadily, back to the room where he has been staying. Kain stumbles in - avoids collapsing on the bed and sleeping until the moon returns. He manages a dignified sit instead.
The door closes. Edge is still standing there, and his gaze is penetrative and hard.
"Do you want to explain why you went through two of my best bottles last night?" His voice is still soft and conversational, almost playful, and Kain knows he's doing it on purpose. "Or how? One bottle of Lionheart should have been plenty."
"The first bottle was almost empty," Kain manages to point out. His head feels like a herd of baby chocobos are trampling his brains. "It was really only one and a... and a little."
"Oh," Edge says, smirking, " is that all? That's so much better, Kain. Silly me for being worried."
"You shouldn't worry." His hand fists into the bedsheets. "Don't concern yourself."
"Highwind." The change in address is accompanied by a change in tone, and Kain looks up despite himself. Edge's face is serious now.
"When I said you could stay here, I meant it. I know you're hiding from that baby - don't give me that look, Kain, I'm a ninja, not an idiot - and you can stay here as long as you need to deal with it." Edge takes a step closer, gripping the back of the chair. "But that doesn't mean you get to be a dumbass."
"What I do is no business of yours." The words were supposed to be curt, dismissive. Instead they come out sounding weak and petulant to his ears. He mainly wants Edge to go away, before he remembers what he was trying to forget.
"My castle, my rules," Edge says flippantly, "and if you don't want it to be my business, you can go the hell back to Baron."
Kain says nothing. Edge walks over, sits down on the bed next to him. Kain's suddenly self-consciously aware that he probably reeks of alcohol and sausages and sweat, because Edge smells fresh: grass, and a little bit of metal-polishing cream. Ah, that's right. They were supposed to spar this morning.
Edge looks down at his hands, turning them over as he speaks, casually. Kain wonders that Edge's famous rage isn't coming out to play, but the King of Eblan seems much too amused to be angry. "Can you at least explain what got you so upset last night out of all possible nights? Two bottles - okay, okay, 'one and a little' - that's a lot, even for a 'Baronian Elite Dragoon Bastard' or whatever the hell the title really is."
"I was just... thinking too much."
"Shut up." Edge scoots over, closer. "This isn't like you. You wouldn't even get drunk when I wanted you to. Now all of a sudden you sneak off and get impressively plastered? Don't think I'm forgetting this, Highwind. We're doing shots next time."
Kain's stomach rumbles ominously.
"Look," Edge says, picking something out from under a nail: "This is the price for staying here. I'm a nosy bastard, and I also like whiskey, and you are not allowed to drink it without me. As punishment for doing so, you have to tell me why."
Kain looks down at his own hands. He doesn't want to say it out loud - it makes it so much worse - but he owes Edge. He owes the king for room and board, for his self-imposed sanctuary from Baron, and - now - for two good bottles of whiskey.
"Their anniversary was last night," he says, finally. "Their wedding anniversary. And now they have the child together, and it's going to be so much more - to have those two special days right in a row." In his mind's-eye, Rosa turns to him, beaming gold and sunlight over the small bundle in her arms; and Kain runs away, again and again.
"So you drank yourself blind?"
Those images - Cecil and Rosa on their wedding day, Cecil proud in white and Rosa dripping pale pink and peach blossoms; Rosa walking through Baron, her stomach just starting to protrude as she selects fresh tomatoes and gossips with her handmaiden - he'd stayed on Mount Ordeals to avoid such thoughts, only to have his mind produce the pictures for him.
"Not - well, yes," Kain says. He wonders whether it would have been better to see her in the flesh - or worse. There's a long pause, while he collects his thoughts, and Edge watches him.
His mind will not stop showing Rosa, picturing Rosa, free-wheeling images of Rosa and Cecil with a line of children behind them. Despite the nausea and the headache and the unbearable snickering he will have to put up with from the Eblanian staff, Kain cannot help but wish for oblivion again.
"Alright," Edge says suddenly, clapping his hands together. "There are going to be a couple new rules in this castle."
Kain glances up, surprised. Edge grins at him, and even through the headache and despair he can't help but raise a sardonic eyebrow at his friend. This is, truly, why he's here - Edge will make a joke of it, keep it light, not allow Kain to wallow in himself. And - if it comes to it, Edge is really the only person he trusts to kick his ass out of his own misery.
"First of all, no more drinking alone." Edge wags a finger in Kain's face, but the glint in his eyes is serious. "Because despite what you might think in Kain Highwind Land, you're - surprise! - actually not the only man on the face of the planet who has been rejected by a woman."
Kain means to rage back at him, insulted, but he stops; there's a moment where Edge's smile stilts a little, and Kain can see in his eyes the green-haired woman who left.
"So," Edge continues, clearing the shadows from his face. "You've got to get over yourself, Highwind. From now on, you're going to take it like a real man, and drink your memories away with the rest of us."
"Second," Edge says, barreling right through Kain's protests. "This is your first and only allowable absence from our morning sparring. The next time you drink your balls off, your punishment's going to be fighting through that hangover with a fleet of Eblanian ninja." He pauses, and grins at Kain again. "You were a Captain. Don't tell me Dragoon cadets don't ever drink the night before drill."
"Well," Kain admits, "yes, but-"
"And how do you teach them that it's a terrible idea?" Edge wags his eyebrows. "You make them fight through it. Which is what I'll do if you break another promise, Highwind. I take my sparring seriously." His eyes meet Kain's, and for a second, there is honesty: caring, compassion, sympathy. He and Edge are alike in some ways, truly, underneath the ninja's fiery temper and deplorable use of dirty words.
"For now, though," Edge says, and he stands up. The gesture actually makes Kain tip as the bed rights itself, and he is lost, exhausted; he falls the rest of the way. His head hits the pillow, which is cool and crisp. Kain realizes just how tired he is, and how absolutely terrible he feels. The pillow's soft, and the bed is warm from Edge. He's already drifting off.
"Get some sleep, you absolute moron," Edge says fondly as Kain's eyes flutter shut and the pounding in his head begins slowly to dim into a dull roar.
Kain hears footsteps crossing the room, each fainter than the previous, no longer echoing in his head like thunder. He is so grateful to Edge for leaving him here, letting him rest in peace. Tonight, he will let the king know how much he appreciates it. "Tonight," he murmurs into the pillow.
Edge's grin can be felt all the way across the room. "Yeah, tonight. Now that I know you can drink like a man, we're going out tonight, so you'd better be well-rested."
- - -
Initially for shanaqui for a bad day so long ago that I forget what had actually happened. I suck at gifts! Much thanks to lassarina for the beta/pre-read.
Fandom: FFIV
Characters/Pairing: Edge, Kain (Edge/Kain implied)
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~2000 words
Summary: "Two bottles of my best whiskey. Kain, that's almost an offense against the throne. I've got half a mind to toss you in the dungeons."
- - -
Kain awakens to the sound of the world ending. It sounds like stone grating against stone, a dark deep screeching noise, and he's reminded of the evil walls they faced in the Sealed Cave. He tries to stand, but his arms and legs are stuck in some sort of molasses; it's dark as hell in hell. The noise stops; his head continues to pound. Belatedly Kain remembers to open his eyes.
"Well, there you are." Edge greets him with a playful smile that throbs every nerve between Kain's ears. Apparently the sound the world makes when ending is that of Edward Geraldine dragging a wooden chair across Eblanian stone. "When you didn't turn up this morning, we were all a little bit worried. Did you have to hide in the larder?"
Kain turns his aching head upwards just long enough for his eyes to recognize a string of sausages and dusty bags of flour. He feels like he's just taken the beating of a lifetime; he feels like he used to when Golbez was angry and handed him over to Caignazzo or Milon. The thought makes his leg twitch, and something heavy falls to the ground with a sharp bright thud.
"Ah," Edge says, and reaches down to pick up the empty bottle. "Lionheart's best, distilled in the sun-drenched fields of Toroia. You know, if you weren't my friend and all, I'd say you stole this from my stores."
Kain says nothing: not because Edge is right and he feels guilty, but because he can't get the ache of his head to stop long enough to form a truly coherent thought.
"And you drank the entire thing without me." Edge sighs dramatically, and then stands up. "Kain, I'm starting to think you don't like me."
Some sort of sound issues from his lips without his permission. It sounds vaguely like a curse word. Kain is horrified; this is terribly undignified. Undignifying. He needs water. He needs to get to bed. He needs to pretend this never happened.
"C'mon." Edge bends down and grips Kain under the arms. "Up you go, good sir. I thought we were going to spar this morning, but I guess we'll just take you off to bed, instead."
Kain manages not to warble as the entire room lurches grey and nauseous before his eyes, but Edge is strong, and eventually he finds his feet. He shakes himself out of Edge's grasp as soon as he's sure he can stand, mindful of the tattered remains of his pride. Something rolls out from behind him, stopping itself on the leg of Edge's chair with an audible clink.
"Oh, two bottles?" Edge is looking at him now with an unreadable expression. "Two bottles of my best whiskey. Kain, that's almost an offense against the throne. I've got half a mind to toss you in the dungeons."
Kain tries to convince himself that standing has made him feel better, and speaks. "If that's the nearest bed, my lord, I'll take it." His voice sounds like he feels: utterly wretched. A nearby serving-girl hands him a cup; Kain clutches the ceramic and blesses Edge's foresight. After a moment of bliss, crystal-pure water sliding down his parched throat, he curses Edge instead for bringing a crowd of servants to observe his morning of weakness.
Finally, Edge shakes his head, giving a quiet half-laugh that isn't much amused. "Come, then," he says. "Let's get you to bed, my friend."
Kain follows Edge through the hallways, embarrassingly thankful that the king shows no real desire to chit-chat or discuss; it's hard enough to keep his feet without retching, and the first time he sees an available couch it's more tempting than Valvalis and he almost thinks it's over. But eventually Edge leads him, steadily, back to the room where he has been staying. Kain stumbles in - avoids collapsing on the bed and sleeping until the moon returns. He manages a dignified sit instead.
The door closes. Edge is still standing there, and his gaze is penetrative and hard.
"Do you want to explain why you went through two of my best bottles last night?" His voice is still soft and conversational, almost playful, and Kain knows he's doing it on purpose. "Or how? One bottle of Lionheart should have been plenty."
"The first bottle was almost empty," Kain manages to point out. His head feels like a herd of baby chocobos are trampling his brains. "It was really only one and a... and a little."
"Oh," Edge says, smirking, " is that all? That's so much better, Kain. Silly me for being worried."
"You shouldn't worry." His hand fists into the bedsheets. "Don't concern yourself."
"Highwind." The change in address is accompanied by a change in tone, and Kain looks up despite himself. Edge's face is serious now.
"When I said you could stay here, I meant it. I know you're hiding from that baby - don't give me that look, Kain, I'm a ninja, not an idiot - and you can stay here as long as you need to deal with it." Edge takes a step closer, gripping the back of the chair. "But that doesn't mean you get to be a dumbass."
"What I do is no business of yours." The words were supposed to be curt, dismissive. Instead they come out sounding weak and petulant to his ears. He mainly wants Edge to go away, before he remembers what he was trying to forget.
"My castle, my rules," Edge says flippantly, "and if you don't want it to be my business, you can go the hell back to Baron."
Kain says nothing. Edge walks over, sits down on the bed next to him. Kain's suddenly self-consciously aware that he probably reeks of alcohol and sausages and sweat, because Edge smells fresh: grass, and a little bit of metal-polishing cream. Ah, that's right. They were supposed to spar this morning.
Edge looks down at his hands, turning them over as he speaks, casually. Kain wonders that Edge's famous rage isn't coming out to play, but the King of Eblan seems much too amused to be angry. "Can you at least explain what got you so upset last night out of all possible nights? Two bottles - okay, okay, 'one and a little' - that's a lot, even for a 'Baronian Elite Dragoon Bastard' or whatever the hell the title really is."
"I was just... thinking too much."
"Shut up." Edge scoots over, closer. "This isn't like you. You wouldn't even get drunk when I wanted you to. Now all of a sudden you sneak off and get impressively plastered? Don't think I'm forgetting this, Highwind. We're doing shots next time."
Kain's stomach rumbles ominously.
"Look," Edge says, picking something out from under a nail: "This is the price for staying here. I'm a nosy bastard, and I also like whiskey, and you are not allowed to drink it without me. As punishment for doing so, you have to tell me why."
Kain looks down at his own hands. He doesn't want to say it out loud - it makes it so much worse - but he owes Edge. He owes the king for room and board, for his self-imposed sanctuary from Baron, and - now - for two good bottles of whiskey.
"Their anniversary was last night," he says, finally. "Their wedding anniversary. And now they have the child together, and it's going to be so much more - to have those two special days right in a row." In his mind's-eye, Rosa turns to him, beaming gold and sunlight over the small bundle in her arms; and Kain runs away, again and again.
"So you drank yourself blind?"
Those images - Cecil and Rosa on their wedding day, Cecil proud in white and Rosa dripping pale pink and peach blossoms; Rosa walking through Baron, her stomach just starting to protrude as she selects fresh tomatoes and gossips with her handmaiden - he'd stayed on Mount Ordeals to avoid such thoughts, only to have his mind produce the pictures for him.
"Not - well, yes," Kain says. He wonders whether it would have been better to see her in the flesh - or worse. There's a long pause, while he collects his thoughts, and Edge watches him.
His mind will not stop showing Rosa, picturing Rosa, free-wheeling images of Rosa and Cecil with a line of children behind them. Despite the nausea and the headache and the unbearable snickering he will have to put up with from the Eblanian staff, Kain cannot help but wish for oblivion again.
"Alright," Edge says suddenly, clapping his hands together. "There are going to be a couple new rules in this castle."
Kain glances up, surprised. Edge grins at him, and even through the headache and despair he can't help but raise a sardonic eyebrow at his friend. This is, truly, why he's here - Edge will make a joke of it, keep it light, not allow Kain to wallow in himself. And - if it comes to it, Edge is really the only person he trusts to kick his ass out of his own misery.
"First of all, no more drinking alone." Edge wags a finger in Kain's face, but the glint in his eyes is serious. "Because despite what you might think in Kain Highwind Land, you're - surprise! - actually not the only man on the face of the planet who has been rejected by a woman."
Kain means to rage back at him, insulted, but he stops; there's a moment where Edge's smile stilts a little, and Kain can see in his eyes the green-haired woman who left.
"So," Edge continues, clearing the shadows from his face. "You've got to get over yourself, Highwind. From now on, you're going to take it like a real man, and drink your memories away with the rest of us."
"Second," Edge says, barreling right through Kain's protests. "This is your first and only allowable absence from our morning sparring. The next time you drink your balls off, your punishment's going to be fighting through that hangover with a fleet of Eblanian ninja." He pauses, and grins at Kain again. "You were a Captain. Don't tell me Dragoon cadets don't ever drink the night before drill."
"Well," Kain admits, "yes, but-"
"And how do you teach them that it's a terrible idea?" Edge wags his eyebrows. "You make them fight through it. Which is what I'll do if you break another promise, Highwind. I take my sparring seriously." His eyes meet Kain's, and for a second, there is honesty: caring, compassion, sympathy. He and Edge are alike in some ways, truly, underneath the ninja's fiery temper and deplorable use of dirty words.
"For now, though," Edge says, and he stands up. The gesture actually makes Kain tip as the bed rights itself, and he is lost, exhausted; he falls the rest of the way. His head hits the pillow, which is cool and crisp. Kain realizes just how tired he is, and how absolutely terrible he feels. The pillow's soft, and the bed is warm from Edge. He's already drifting off.
"Get some sleep, you absolute moron," Edge says fondly as Kain's eyes flutter shut and the pounding in his head begins slowly to dim into a dull roar.
Kain hears footsteps crossing the room, each fainter than the previous, no longer echoing in his head like thunder. He is so grateful to Edge for leaving him here, letting him rest in peace. Tonight, he will let the king know how much he appreciates it. "Tonight," he murmurs into the pillow.
Edge's grin can be felt all the way across the room. "Yeah, tonight. Now that I know you can drink like a man, we're going out tonight, so you'd better be well-rested."
- - -
Initially for shanaqui for a bad day so long ago that I forget what had actually happened. I suck at gifts! Much thanks to lassarina for the beta/pre-read.