#[without the faintest glimmer of hope].verse:pre-timeskip

[secondflame-archive]

continued from here ft. @thunderingoutlaw

He didn’t have time to call Clive’s name, all his body’s effort devoted to movement. Braced roughly on mossy stone, Cid reached for the other’s outstretched hand. No thought was spared for the risk of dislocated shoulders or the possibility of missing - he would catch Clive. And he did. Cid nearly slumped into a sigh when his hand closed and held around Clive’s wrist, but only permitted himself a huff before a deeper breath as he began hauling the other man up.Once they were both on solid ground again, Cid kept his hold on Clive for a moment or two longer, giving the latter a once-over for any injuries. Patting the man’s upper arm, he then leaned back on gloved palms to ease his breathing. “You tryin’ to make my heart give out?”There wasn’t any real venom in the chiding, with just a mix of concern and relief in his glance toward Clive.

There was little on his mind these days besides his immediate objectives. He was going through the motions, feeling numb, a sense of guilt permeating his entire being. It choked him, but also caused him to jump on any request, anything that would distract him from the painful truth.

He was Ifrit.

The reason for his brother's death. The Dominant of Ifrit, who was no longer an abstract concept, no longer a faceless murderer, a monster he could hunt and bring to justice. There would be no salvation in it. Not like he had hoped. He's asked himself every night since realizing this, what the point was of going on. Why he would not find himself a cliff to to jump off of, give himself the end Cid has denied him. He had begged him for it even, a pathetic sight he must have made, naked and screaming like a child, devastated by a truth that had been staring him in the face all along. He was the monster. He was the source of all the nightmares that plagued him for thirteen years, that plagued him still, but different now that he was aware, that he was awakened.

Clive worked his jaw, a phantom ache, a recent memory, resurfacing. 'Since you're still breathing, you might as well make yourself useful.' And so he did. Despite his apathy He fought like a man possessed, seeking battles even where there were none. He knew others noticed, although he wasn't sure if Cid did, too, or if someone else told him to keep an eye on him. But then again, who would?

Still, it was why Cid was here, Clive thought as he stared at the back of his head as they walked , to keep him from doing anything that would get him killed at last.

Clive wished he had the courage to end it himself, could spare himself the constant agony that accompanied his every waking moment and in turn could spare Cid this farce of pretending that he needed him on this mission, or any mission, that he was not just dragging Clive along because he probably thought he needed to babysit him lest he do something stupid.

If so, Cid wasn't wrong.

Imagine Clive's surprise then, when despite all of this, instead of feeling relief wash over him as the floor gives way beneath him, it is icy panic, fear biting at his conscious causing him to flail his arms, trying to grasp for purchase, gripping nothing but air.

He would die here. He thought. It was over.

But then-- a painful jolt went through his shoulder when Cid caught him by the wrist, his shoulder straining under the pull of his own weight trying to drag him down into the abyss below. Clive could do nothing but stare up at Cid, blue eyes wide and round. Scared, helpless. Before the reality hit him proper like a punch to the gut and he was able to breathe again, his own hand gripping around Cid's wrist in turn.

By the time Cid hoisted him back up onto the ledge, Clive regained just enough strength to actually keep standing, legs trembling, steps a little unsteady, adrenaline flooding his veins still as Cid dragged him a few more feet back to bring some distance between them and the edge.

Cid's words reached him as if through water, blood still rushing in his ears. Clive turned to look at him a long moment later, more composed, but still looking pale. "It's not--" He cleared his throat, fighting the evident tremble in his voice. "It's not like I did that on purpose." There was little bite to his statement, although he tried to sound firm, his gaze dragged back to the ledge.

Founder, that was close.

[secondflame-archive]

He didn't dare to inch closer to the edge again, didn't dare to peer into the depths that almost claimed him, a remnant of shock still sitting in his chest. At the very least he found out that his body didn't share the need for an end in the way his mind did, and Clive was relieved to find that it didn't, that at least one part of him wanted to keep living, to keep going, although he still struggled with the question of whether or not he even deserved it.

Movement to his side had him turn away from the crumbling remnants that were once a proper path and then he watched Cid stand and stretch, roll his shoulders, listened to the small sounds of leather shifting against leather and then to his words that, despite everything, rang true within him.

There was. He thought, eyes going distant for a moment as he thought of the hideout, of Gav and Jill and Torgal, of Tarja, Goetz and all the others, thinking that maybe he could at least do his part for now.

A dull throb of pain radiated through his own arm and the opposite hand reached to absentmindedly touch it through his armor.

It was then that Cid's own touch found his shoulder, startling him slightly with its gentle nature. Uncertain, his gaze still wavered as Cid looked at him, a warmth to his eyes and a care to his touch that Clive wasn't used to from anyone. Not anymore.

Clive leaned into the lingering touch without realizing, then was forced to blink a few times when an old hurt threatened to surface with it. He nodded at last, withdrawing from Cid's touch before he'd be forced to feel him pull away instead. He followed a little closer behind Cid from then on, and decided that he'd need to firmly plant his two feet in the present if they wanted to make it through these ruins in one piece.

They continued on for a little while without incident, the only need for any of their abilities being the moment when it became entirely too dark to see and Clive had to conjure up his flames for a source of light.

But then, as they made their way under a bigger structure, a dull sound emenated through the ruins and sand and dirt began raining down on them from above. Clive's gaze wandered upward, eyes narrowing in suspicion at the old stone. It seemed to hold. For now. But if he had to wager a guess he'd say they were not alone in here and whatever did call these ruins its home was big.

"Remind me to say 'No.' the next time you suggest taking one of your shortcuts."

continued from here ft. @thunderingoutlaw

He didn’t have time to call Clive’s name, all his body’s effort devoted to movement. Braced roughly on mossy stone, Cid reached for the other’s outstretched hand. No thought was spared for the risk of dislocated shoulders or the possibility of missing - he would catch Clive. And he did. Cid nearly slumped into a sigh when his hand closed and held around Clive’s wrist, but only permitted himself a huff before a deeper breath as he began hauling the other man up.Once they were both on solid ground again, Cid kept his hold on Clive for a moment or two longer, giving the latter a once-over for any injuries. Patting the man’s upper arm, he then leaned back on gloved palms to ease his breathing. “You tryin’ to make my heart give out?”There wasn’t any real venom in the chiding, with just a mix of concern and relief in his glance toward Clive.

There was little on his mind these days besides his immediate objectives. He was going through the motions, feeling numb, a sense of guilt permeating his entire being. It choked him, but also caused him to jump on any request, anything that would distract him from the painful truth.

He was Ifrit.

The reason for his brother's death. The Dominant of Ifrit, who was no longer an abstract concept, no longer a faceless murderer, a monster he could hunt and bring to justice. There would be no salvation in it. Not like he had hoped. He's asked himself every night since realizing this, what the point was of going on. Why he would not find himself a cliff to to jump off of, give himself the end Cid has denied him. He had begged him for it even, a pathetic sight he must have made, naked and screaming like a child, devastated by a truth that had been staring him in the face all along. He was the monster. He was the source of all the nightmares that plagued him for thirteen years, that plague him still, but different now that he was aware, that he was awakened.

Clive worked his jaw, a phantom ache, a recent memory, resurfacing. 'Since you're still breathing, you might as well make yourself useful.' And so he did. Despite his apathy He fought like a man possessed, seeking battles even where there were none. He knew others noticed, although he wasn't sure if Cid did, too, or if someone else told him to keep an eye on him. But then again, who would?

Still, it was why Cid was here, Clive thought as he stared at the back of his head, to keep him from doing anything that would get him killed at last.

Clive wished he had the courage to end it himself, could spare himself the constant agony that accompanied his every waking moment and in turn could spare Cid this farce of pretending that he needed him on this mission, or any mission, that he was not just dragging Clive along because he thought he needed to babysit him lest he do something stupid.

If so, Cid wasn't wrong.

Imagine Clive's surprise then, when despite all of this, instead of feeling relief wash over him as the floor gives way beneath him, it is icy panic, fear biting at his conscious causing him to flail his arms, trying to grasp for purchase, gripping nothing but air.

He would die here. He thought. It was over.

But then-- a painful jolt went through his shoulder when Cid caught him by the wrist, his shoulder straining under the pull of his own weight trying to drag him down into the abyss below. Clive could do nothing but stare up at Cid, blue eyes wide and round. Scared, helpless. Before the reality hit him proper like a punch to the gut and he was able to breathe again, his own hand gripping around Cid's wrist in turn.

By the time Cid hoisted him back up onto the ledge, Clive regained just enough strength to actually keep standing, legs trembling, steps a little unsteady, adrenaline flooding his veins still as Cid dragged him a few more feet back to bring some distance between them and the edge.

Cid's words reached him as if through water, blood still rushing in his ears. Clive turned to look at him a long moment later, more composed, but still looking pale. "It's not--" He cleared his throat, fighting the evident tremble in his voice. "It's not like I did that on purpose." There was little bite to his statement, although he tried to sound firm, his gaze dragged back to the ledge.

Founder, that was close.