Chapter Text
It’s late enough in the workshop nobody should be around. There’s only the dimmest of lights from a lamp illuminating the silhouette against the wall, and nothing but the occasional chime of machinery to punctuate the silence. It’s the perfect time to work, for someone who would rather not be disturbed.
Cid Garlond sits slouched forward, halfway off the chair he’s perched on, a nearly empty mug of ale clutched in both his hands. “Sho… that’s what I’ve got, so far,” he slurs, staring blearily at what’s passing as a captive audience before him. “’nd it only cost me absolutely everything.”
The tiny toy Omega Biggs made years ago stares up at him from the floor. If it can understand him or not, it’s unclear. Frankly, Cid’s far too drunk to care at this point. It’s something he’s made a habit of recently. Nobody else wants to hear his bitter drunken ramblings, so he tells them to the only thing that can’t tell him to piss off. “D’you think I did the right thing? It’s such a long shot. Dooming this world to give a different reality a chance…”
It’s probably his muddled thinking, but the toy Omega does a remarkable approximation of a nod, lowering and raising its body in rapid succession multiple times.
Cid doesn’t think that specific movement was part of the toy’s programming, but then again, it’s something of a miracle a toy Biggs made to study Omega over two decades ago is still operational at all. “This wasn’t a mistake, was it?” he slurs at the tiny machine. “There are so few people left. The Ironworks used to employ hundreds.”
Though they’ve recovered as best they can, the fact remains that much of the Ironwork’s technology had been lost in the exodus. If it hadn’t been for Nero, he’s not sure what he would have done. Hells, Nero had been the one to rally people to Cid’s side. Though he had initially vanished after the Warrior of Light had defeated Omega, it hadn’t taken much for the man to return.
If only it hadn’t happened under the circumstances it had. Everyone in the Reach dead, save for those of the Ironworks who hadn’t been present for the attack. News that continued to become bleaker and bleaker with each passing day. Even when the worst came to pass, he didn’t leave. Cid wouldn’t have blamed Nero for vanishing, in search of something even as the world continued to crumble around them.
He never once vanished as Cid desperately tried to rebuild.
And he’s never left since.
Perhaps Nero never intended to permanently leave in the first place. It doesn’t matter now, because Cid does have Nero with him. They’ve spent all these years together. There’s nobody Cid is closer to. He can confide just about anything in Nero. Just like when they were children, there are often times when they say nothing at all and still communicate everything they need.
Cid couldn’t ask for a better lover, a better friend.
But Nero has made his opinion of Cid’s drinking quite clear, and so here he sits. Talking to an ancient little toy.
Cid drinks deep from the mug as the miniature Omega seems to consider the question. Or maybe it’s always done those small twitches. The little machine does an odd shuffle from side to side. It doesn’t make any sense to Cid, who stares at it blearily. Mayhap someone has been tinkering with it when they have time off from pouring over theories for bells at a time. It’s something to ask Biggs later, if he remembers in the morning.
As it is, he doesn’t quite understand the motion. “Are you trying t’dance?” he murmurs, more to himself than the toy.
It repeats the same motion, and then stops, almost like it’s looking at Cid expectantly.
“…talking t’me?”
The toy Omega takes a very long time to move. Cid’s slurring is getting worse, and he’s starting to think maybe he should sit back in his chair before he falls over. It’s a good thing slumping back wins out, because only a moment later, the toy Omega repeats the movement he’s positive is a nod.
Even after the nod, it still takes Cid far too long to process what he’s seeing. “You… you can understand me?”
Another nod.
“Incredible!” Cid exclaims, attempting to sit up before remembering why he’d decided to lean into the chair to begin with. Trying to stand and create flashcards to communicate with the tiny Omega is out of the question.
There’s no mistaking what the toy does next. It skitters closer to Cid, gazing up at him in a way an automaton wouldn’t. The metal eye peers at him expectantly. “Perhaps I could install a voice synthesizer on you,” he murmurs to himself as he studies it with naked curiosity.
The tiny Omega looks up at him with its one eye. It’s clearly capable of intelligent thought, though the drunken game of charades leaves much to be desired. It’s equal parts exhilarating and unsurprising when the little machine repeats the nodding motion, before its attention turns to something behind Cid’s right shoulder.
“Here’s where you’ve been hiding, Garlond,” a familiar voice drawls from somewhere close by. Cid doesn’t even bother turning around.
“Are you so drunk you won’t even look at me?”
Cid twists his head to look in the direction of the voice and immediately regrets the way it makes the room spin. He pitches forward only to be stopped by a firm hand pressing him back against the chair. “If Jessie saw you, she’d be furious,” Nero mutters. “Rather good that she saw fit to retire early tonight, hm?”
Cid rolls his eyes. “Let go of me,” he says instead of answering.
“Don’t be like that,” Nero says in a gentle tone, rather unlike him. He gives the back of Cid’s neck a tender squeeze. “You know I worry.”
“You needn’t worry,” Cid grumbles. “I’m just thinking things through.”
“Yes, you say that every time you’ve been drinking,” Nero says patiently. He brushes a thumb against Cid’s cheek, against the hairs of his beard. It’s enough to get the tension to leave Cid, the momentary annoyance to melt away. Cid lets out a contented sigh, leaning into the touch. Nero learning how to soothe him had happened to gradually, Cid hadn’t even noticed until it’d occurred to him one evening that it had been ages since Nero had last truly provoked him.
Nero’s face breaks into the slightest of smiles. “Much better.”
“I still have work to do,” Cid complains.
“Not tonight, you don’t.”
Cid motions to the toy Omega, which turns its attention from him to Nero with an audible skitter of its feet. “There’s aught I could learn about it,” he grouches.
Nero gives a dismissive wave of his hand. “A mere distraction keeping you from bed.”
“I’ll sleep when I’m tired.”
“Hmm,” Nero muses. “You must be slipping. Your comebacks could use some work.”
In response, Cid shoves at his shoulder. It’s a gesture of annoyance, nothing more. And by the way Nero lets out a tut, he’s entirely unfazed.
Long fingers brush through Cid’s hair. Cid leans further into the touch. “That machine has shown remarkable awareness,” he mumbles against Nero’s hand. He motions at it, and the tiny Omega deliberately skitters between the two of them.
“You need to stop talking to that bloody toy,” Nero says with a frustrated sigh.
“It can understand us,” Cid growls. “I’m certain it’s been able to for a very long time.”
Nero sighs again, deliberate in exaggeration. “If it responds to you when you’re sober, then I’ll believe you. Not a moment sooner.” But there’s something in his eyes that indicates he might believe Cid anyway. It’s the first time either of them has noticed a glimmer of intelligence from the tiny Omega. Even if Cid is very drunk.
It takes a precarious minute for Cid to attempt standing, and once he does Nero wraps a protective arm around his shoulder.
Mayhap he did have a touch too much to drink tonight. On his second step, he nearly trips, only stopped by the taller man’s grip on him. It takes the third to steady himself, and only by the fourth does he think he can keep himself from falling over.
“You wouldn’t happen to want to carry me to bed, would you?” Cid quips.
“The day I can pick you up,” Nero growls, “is the day you’re too frail to continue on, old man.”
“’Old man’?” Cid scoffs. “My hair has looked like this my entire life. More than I can say about you.” He brushes his thumb against the stark white hairs that extend from Nero’s temples for emphasis.
Nero makes a face but doesn’t do more than bat Cid’s hand away. “You’re drinking water before bed,” he hisses. “The last thing I want is you complaining in the morn about a headache.”