Chapter Text
The smell of blood was thick on the air. Acrid, metallic, pure . A symbol both of life and of death, and of many things in between. He had always wondered why the scent of it was considered repulsive when he found it to be so...focusing. After all, it was once the blood had started to flow that he did his best work.
One more scream -- pained, anguished -- echoed through the otherwise empty warehouse, and he knew it was time. He emerged from the shadows just beyond the circle of lights, dressed all in black with cold, venomous eyes piercing out from behind his spectacles, looking altogether like the daemonic figure for which he’d earned his reputation. He approached the trembling body in the chair before him, removing his black driving gloves finger by finger and keeping his gaze locked on his victim.
“Enough, Gladio.”
Those two words, forceful but elegant on his lilting tongue, instantly stilled the room. Gladiolus pulled his fist away from the man’s already bloodied face and cracked his red knuckles loudly. “He’s all yours, boss.” A rough smirk and he was backing away, opening a path for the man to get a good look at his approaching executioner. Through one half-swollen eye, he watched in terror as Ignis the Reaper closed in. Piss rolled down his leg as his mouth opened in pure fear.
“P-please…. No. I’ll talk, a-anything you wanna know, I -- “
“ Shh .” Ignis’ fingers curled around the man’s chin, surprisingly gentle despite the ice in his stare. “It’s too late for that. You had your chance.”
A gross sob, and fresh blood oozed from the man’s lip. “ Please… .”
“Sounds to me like he’s begged for his life before, Iggy,” came Gladio’s amused tone from somewhere to his right. There was a wet sound as he spit on the floor. “I say we put an end to this worm for good.”
“Indeed.” Ignis’ gaze had never left his trembling victim’s face. To the man’s utter horror, those too-beautiful lips curved up into the darkest grin he had ever seen in his miserable life, and he knew his end had truly come. “Do you know why they call me the Reaper?” Ignis asked, voice low and quiet and just for the two of them. There was no reply, but then again he hadn’t been waiting for one. “It isn’t because I’m particularly good at killing, although I am.” Here, he paused to draw a long, thin dagger from the sheath at his hip, turning the glittering blade over in the light as delicately as one might handle fine jewelry. “No, I’m called the Reaper because those who see me are right to abandon hope.”
For an anguished moment, nothing happened. Then those piercing green eyes flashed in the light as the dagger sliced through the air, the tip cutting clean through the man’s jugular and throat in one swift move. Ignis stood up just as the first waves of blood gushed forth from the wound. The man, eyes wide and mouth open in a silent cry, threw his hands up in instinct -- but his red lifeblood spilled through his fat fingers and stained his already filthy shirt, and within seconds his body ceased its pitiful shaking. Several last, dying jerks, then he went still. Ignis snatched a clean towel from the rack nearby and wiped his beloved dagger clean even as he began to walk away.
“Take care of the mess,” he ordered his men, but the Glaives were already in motion before the words reached their ears. Black plastic sheets were being rolled out over clean cement, and a variety of hacksaws and shears were exchanged between waiting hands.
Leaving the others to their well-practiced routine, Gladio grabbed his leather jacket and hoofed off after Ignis.
“You know what they should call you?” he grinned as he caught up and fell into step beside the other. Ignis remained silent, so he answered himself instead. “Ignis the Yapper . Geez, the guy’s about to die and you’re just talking his ear off like a -- “
“I was trying to intimidate him.”
A deep laugh. “Isn’t that what the kitchen knife is for? You’re pretty damn intimidating without all that ‘abandon hope’ crap.”
Ignis arched one trim eyebrow, but otherwise didn’t comment. The pair reached the exit, and, as two men dressed head-to-toe in black opened the front doors for them, stepped out into the brisk night air. Gladio slung his jacket over his shoulders against the chill. “So. Where’d you park?”
About fifty yards away, the Regalia’s headlights burst to life as Ignis pressed the auto-ignition button on his key. The custom-made car had been a gift from the kumicho himself, and Ignis was fiercly proud of it. “Right over there.”
“Nice. Mind if I catch a lift? Iris is making dinner tonight.” Iris, Gladio’s younger sister, was the only member of the Amicitia household with talents for anything other than bashing skulls. When she wasn’t helping the Glaive gather intel or in the dojo training to use a sword, Ignis knew she loved indulging in a hobby they both held dear; cooking. At only fifteen, she was already proving to be quite a natural chef. Missing one of her meals would indeed be a waste.
“Fine. But wipe the blood off your boots first. I’ve just had her washed.”
Gladio grinned. While he scraped his shoes clean against the asphalt, Ignis circled around and slipped into the cool leather of the driver’s seat. He gripped his fingers around the wheel -- and nearly laughed aloud when he realized he’d never put his gloves back on after working. He drew them out of his pocket then, smiling to himself as he felt the supple leather slide over his skin with ease.
“You give me shivers when you do that,” Gladio said, shaking his head and squeezing his large, muscular frame into the passenger seat. He was looking at Ignis’ hands, expression caught somewhere between creeped out and turned on. Ignis rolled his eyes.
“Do you ever stop?” Adjusting his glasses, he revved the engine to start the car rolling forward.
“Not really, no.” From his jacket pocket, Gladio produced his phone and immediately swiped the screen to check his latest texts. “Hmph. Cor wants to know if we got any info off that slimy Niff bastard. Whaddya want me to tell him?”
With a sigh, Ignis shrugged. “Tell him we had a bad lead. That man would have told us anything to spare his own life, but they would have all been lies. He had no idea who attacked our men, either. It was a futile interrogation.”
Gladio was silent for a moment as he typed. “...don’t....got…shit. Got it.” He sent a few more messages out as they drove in silence, Ignis guiding them fast but safely through the streets of Insomnia and back toward their boss’ compound.
At last, nearing their destination, the dark-haired bodyguard turned to look at his companion. “What about you, Mr. Reaper? Any plans for the rest of the night?”
“Perhaps a hot bath and a good book before bed,” came the ready answer. But Gladio knew better. He studied Iggy’s face for a moment, taking in the unmistakable dark lines above high cheekbones and the tight-lipped way he was staring forward at the road. Worry, concern. In part for their mission, of course, but there was more to it than that.
“Are you going to see Noctis tonight?”
The car stopped abruptly, still about twenty yards away from the front entrance of the Amicitia manor, and Ignis reached over his companion’s lap to throw open the passenger door. “Well, then. Have a good evening, Gladio. See you bright and early in the morning.”
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It was only a short drive from the main complex to the penthouse apartment where Noctis, son of Lord Regis L. Caelum and heir to the family’s veritable underground kingdom, lived alone. It had been a compromise of sorts between him and his father; while Noctis wanted nothing more than independence, Regis wanted him close at hand to keep learning about the family business. Getting him his own place nearby seemed like the perfect solution, and Ignis himself had been asked to scout the area for suitable living arrangements. As such, he knew the place like the back of his own hand, and even had his own access code to get him through the heavy security.
Stepping up to the front entrance, he ignored the cameras that tracked his every move and punched in his key code by heart. The doors swung open and he was inside. It seemed easy, perhaps, but he knew that one false step, one suspicious move and he would never even hear the bullet coming. Regis took no chances when it came to his only child.
Ignis rode the elevator to the top floor as he’d done countless times in the past. As he waited, he withdrew his phone from his shirt pocket and skimmed through the various messages he’d received throughout the night. There was one from Cor, undoubtedly in regards to Gladio’s half-assed reply after the warehouse fiasco, and a few updates from other members of the Glaive whose names he’d never bothered to learn. Surprisingly, there was a message from Noctis as well; this was the only one Iggy bothered to read. He swiped the notification next to the familiar icon to see only two words:
Bring pizza.
A long-suffering sigh escaped him. Yet as the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open, he had no choice but to step forward into the vast expanse of the ohji ’s suite.
From the foyer, he could see past the kitchen and into the drawing room that Noctis had furnished with plush grey sofas and a gigantic flat-screen television against the far wall. Noctis was there, too, as far as he could tell from the mess of black hair bobbing rhythmically above the edge of the couch to some music only he could hear.
Approaching, Ignis cleared his throat twice before the young heir, finally noticing him, yanked out his earbuds and turned around. “Oh! Hey, Iggy,” he grinned, and set his game controller on the cushion next to him. “Didn’t hear you come in.” He got to his feet and circled around the edge of the sofa.
“You should take more care. Lucky for you I’m not an enemy of your family, but the next time….”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Not like this place isn’t harder to get into than a maximum security joint.” Still smiling, Noct folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the sofa. Dark blue eyes roamed up the length of Ignis’ body, taking in the sight of his suit, his gloves, the way his hair was beginning to fall out of place where he’d slicked it back much earlier in the day. Fresh off work, then, and decidedly not carrying dinner. Noct feigned a pout.
“All out of pizza at the pizza store?”
He almost laughed aloud at the way Ignis stiffened. “Apologies, your Highness, I only just received your message. If you’d like I can call for delivery, or -- “
“It’s fine, I’m kidding. Anyway, I’m sure I’ve got some ramen or something around here.”
As he brushed past his advisor on his way to the kitchen, Ignis released another sigh. “Highness….” No response. “Noct, please. At least let me prepare something for you.”
“It’s fine ,” came the reply, Noct’s voice muffled inside the half-empty pantry. “C’mon Igs, you’ve gotta be exhausted. Don’t worry about me.”
A firm hand closed around his shoulder, causing him to jump half out of his skin in surprise. He hid it as smoothly as he could behind a cough. Above him, Ignis’ eyes softened. “Noctis, you are the one and only son of the most powerful man in the city. You need to learn how to let others serve you. Trust me, cooking for you is a pleasure, not a chore.”
The red tint that started at the bridge of Noct’s nose and spread slowly over his cheeks was impossible to hide. He swallowed, dropped his eyes to the gloved hand on his shoulder, and nodded. “...Then, uh, thanks. I guess I’d like that.”
“Very good.” Ignis shifted, moving instead to the refrigerator to inspect what little his ward had in the way of ingredients. “Hmm. How does a simple stir-fry sound to you?”
“Yeah, fine.” Mostly recovered now, the dark-haired heir to the criminal underworld hopped up on the edge of the kitchen counter and stared his advisor dead in the eye. “But no veggies.”
“...H-highness….”
In the end, Noctis acquiesced to the addition of green peas to the stir-fry provided Ignis double the serving of potatoes and smother the whole thing in sauce. While certainly not the most balanced meal, it was a far cry better than what Ignis normally got him to eat, so he accepted the deal without much argument. Noctis watched as, stripping off his gloves, Ignis stepped up to the sink and began to rinse his bare hands under the warm water. He noticed, of course, the dried blood under the other man’s fingernails, and the subtle red tint as the water washed away the rest, but he knew better than to comment. Ignis never talked about the details of his work with Noct, and now was hardly the time to press.
They ate together in relative silence. The dining table in Noct’s penthouse was large enough to seat eight guests comfortably, but more often than not it held only one. Dinner for two was a rare treat for the young ohji . Perhaps that was why, when Ignis got up to collect the tableware and, inevitably, excuse himself for the night, Noctis jumped up to stop him before he even knew what he was going to say.
“Wait a sec.”
Ignis paused, a plate in each hand, and glanced over his shoulder. “Something the matter?”
“No, I just, um.” The young crime lord shook his head, thinking quickly. “Don’t you want to grab a shower or something before you go?”
The look Ignis gave him made him instantly regret his choice of words. But never one to back down from even the scrappiest of fights, Noct straightened his back and continued. “I mean obviously you have a perfectly good shower at home and all that, but, well, it’d be a shame to get your car dirty on the way, right?” Open mouth, insert foot , he chided himself, though he managed to hide his grimace behind a convincing smile.
Ignis glanced down at himself -- his pristine suit jacket, his pressed pants, his polished shoes -- and arched a brow. “Do I offend ?”
“N-no, no!” Kicking himself mentally, Noctis decided to spare himself further humiliation by instead sidling up to Iggy and very gracefully snagging the plates from his grip. “I just mean, why don’t you take it easy for once, hm? Relax, pamper yourself. You go shower, and I’ll take care of the dishes.” That dark green gaze narrowed in suspicion until he was forced to add, “Well, I mean, I’ll at least put them in the sink for you. Go on, stop wasting time.”
Though his mind was spinning a mile a minute trying to catch Noct’s angle, Ignis couldn’t very well ignore a direct order. He padded down the hall to the bathroom, stripped and folded his clothes, and placed them neatly on the counter. While waiting for the water to heat up to an adequate temperature, he stole a glance at himself in the mirror.
And frowned. He had served for the Caelum family his whole life, just like his father and grandfather before him, and from a young age he’d gotten accustomed to the plethora of scars and injuries that came with the territory. But something he had never quite learned to accept were the tattoos. A mark, a brand even of his history with the yakuza, his irezumi were colorful, exotic, covering nearly every inch of his body from waist to neck. His chest was a menagerie of gruesome beasts with great, open maws. On his left arm, lotus blossoms scattered on the surface of a blood-red stream. On his right, falling leaves burned and blackened in a fiery wind as great, winding dragons ascending to the heavens. His back held the largest piece of all; the most fearsome skeletal figure imaginable, a Reaper, surrounded by the anguished souls of its countless victims.
Horrors, all of them. Noctis had never seen the tattoos, and Ignis was determined to keep it that way.
He tore his eyes away from the mirror and stepped into the hot water, letting it burn away the filth and rot of the day’s unsavory work.
When Ignis returned to the living room, hair damp but not a button out of place on his suit, he found Noctis once again on the sofa with his headphones. This time, however, he was nose deep in a comic book and, much to Iggy’s chagrin, had his shoes propped up on the arm.
“ Really , Noct,” he started, swatting his feet down and snatching the comic from his hands. “Is this all you do in your free time?”
“No. I play videogames, too.”
A resolved sigh before Ignis was taking a seat on the sofa at his side. There was a stack of black, sealed files set on the table in front of them, and he swiped up a few to pass forcefully to his companion. “Why not read up a little about the state of your family’s current investments? This is going to be very important for you one day.”
Noct accepted the files, glanced at the title on each, and tossed them back onto the table without ceremony. “Money comes in, money goes out. Got it. Hey, here’s a question,” he said suddenly, shifting a little closer until he could pick up the scent of lilac soap on his advisor’s skin. Ignis leaned back a few inches out of instinct. “Why don’t you tell me about those Glaives? Y’know, the ones who died yesterday.”
Behind his glasses, green eyes widened in surprise, then just as quickly narrowed. “Where did you hear about that?”
A shrug, and a smirk. “Y’know, around . ...Actually, it was Nyx.”
“Of course it was.” Ignis pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose with one gloved finger and sighed. “How much do you already know?”
“Not much. I heard it happened in broad daylight, that three of them were attacked and -- “ He paused, drawing his thumb across his throat in a meaningful gesture. Ignis’ mouth twitched.
“Beheaded, yes.”
“Right, that. So they’re dead, and now my father thinks someone is trying to start a turf war, or whatever.” He looked at Ignis for a long moment, his deep blue eyes searching for answers, for affirmation, anything written in his stoic expression. “Is that what you were doing today? Why you had blood on your hands?”
For once, Ignis wasn’t sure how to respond. As much as he wanted Noctis to someday successfully fill his father’s shoes, he was also loathe to drag him down any further into a world he didn’t yet belong. Still, he supposed this counted as studying in its own right, so he was willing to let both the comic book and the economics issues slide for now. “Yes. And no,” he added quickly, not missing the curiosity piquing on Noct’s face. “Nyx isn’t entirely wrong, but your father knows this is no mere turf war. The killings were sudden, unprovoked. Neither the Niffs nor the Nox Fleurets have stepped forward to claim the acts, and we haven’t been able to find any witnesses or reliable….informants.”
The young heir let the words sink in for a moment before asking again with renewed interest, “So who did it? What’s your theory?”
He shrugged. “A couple of rogues? Or a mistake. Even a fool wouldn’t pick a fight with the Caelum family without some kind of deathwish. Still,” he sighed, reaching forward to lay a gloved hand on Noctis’ shoulder. “Until we sort things out, it isn’t safe for you out there. Noct, you’re going to need to stay here for a few days.”
Anger flared to life almost instantly in those usually calm eyes. “Stay here, alone in this glorified prison?” Noct spat, suddenly raising his voice. “The tournament is this weekend, Father promised he’d let me go this year!”
“Noct, calm down. I’m sorry, this isn’t my decision.”
“But you agree with it, don’t you?"
"For your safety, yes, I do." His reply was met with rebellious silence as the dark-haired nineteen-year old folded his arms over his chest.
It wasn't that Ignis didn't understand. Of course it was only natural that Noct was lonely, of course he wanted a taste of freedom. The boy had spent his entire life under constant surveillance, after all, under lock and key by an overprotective father who was doing what he thought best against the dangers of the cruel world. But no teenager ever understood that. And Ignis, for his part, would have given the world to see Noct happy, if only that choice were up to him.
"If it helps," he offered, voice quiet and soothing in the space between them. "Once this all blows over, I promise to take you fishing. Outside of the city."
"...Really?" Noct’s tone was a mix of hope and incredulity, but if nothing else the thought got him talking again. "And you think Father would allow that?"
A warm smile, one that made Ignis’ eyes crinkle as he patted the other’s cheek. "It may just be our little secret." That was the kind of thinking that would likely land his head on a spike someday, but he wouldn't really be Iggy if he wasn't risking his own neck to please the prince.
Although still somewhat reluctant, Noctis managed a smile up at his advisor. His gaze faltered for a moment, then before he lost the nerve he leaned forward and pulled the taller man into a hug. "You're the best, Specs."
Few things made Ignis the Reaper’s heart thud in his chest. Danger, the adrenaline-fueled thrill of a fight, was one. Palming a brand new set of knives was another. But perhaps more than either of those was the feeling of holding Noctis Caelum in his arms.
Only five years apart, Ignis had quite literally grown up alongside the young would-be boss. They'd been friends once, back when the innocence of youth had allowed such things, and even as they fit piece by piece into their ever-shifting roles, Ignis had wanted nothing more than to stay by Noct’s side. Selfish, perhaps, given the sheer amount of secrets he kept to preserve their relationship, but it was a feeling that gave him strength all the same. And, at times, had him questioning his own sanity.
He returned the hug gently, almost reverently, and willed his mind to focus on the present. "It's late, Noct. Would you like me to help you to bed?" Because that didn't conjure up any vivid images at all.
Against his shoulder Noctis shook his head. "Nah. Not tired yet. But...you don’t have to go right now, do you?”
Once more Ignis checked the clock on the wall. He had a meeting first thing in the morning, and Regis would be expecting results that he didn’t yet have. What he should be doing was making his report to Cor and checking that his men had properly disposed of the evening’s evidence.
What he did instead was pull Noctis closer and settle into the cushions of his sofa while he watched him play videogames for several more hours.
The young ohji had fallen asleep against him sometime just before midnight. Ignis carried him to his room and laid him out on his bed, at least taking the liberty of removing his shoes if nothing else. In sleep his face was so peaceful, so beautiful that tearing himself away from the sight was almost physically painful. Yet it was as he turned out the lights and made his way back toward the foyer that he finally retrieved his phone once more from his pocket. Now that Noctis was settled, it was time to get back to business. He pressed a single key on his screen and the line was ringing before he even stepped into the elevator.
Cor answered after only two beats. “Scientia, where the ever-loving fuck have you been?”
“Working,” he replied politely. It wasn’t entirely a lie.
“You’d better be. Now that our last informant is sinking in about twelve different parts of the Crestholm -- and I suppose I have you to thank for that? -- we’ve got nothing to show the boss. He isn’t going to be happy. You and Amicitia have exactly seven hours to fix it.”
“Overtime again, then, I take it?” His answer came in the form of a dial tone, and Ignis raked his gloved fingers back through his hair before switching to text.
Be outside in ten , he warned Gladio, letting his head fall back against the wall of the elevator as he continued to descend.
On the bright side, at least he’d already had a shower.