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nosafeharbour · 2 years

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Day 9: Yawn

For prompt Yawn, as part of FFxivWrite2022. Albi finds an unexpected conversation partner in the dead of night. Post-Endwalker.

“You. Why are you awake?”

It is posed less as a question, and more as a demand. Albi stops in her tracks, only a few steps into the room, face crinkled from the grogginess of sleep and confusion at being accosted.

“I… I needed to use the restroom?” She mumbles in reply. Her attire is unflattering, an oversized shirt – not her own, but Albi had rather forgotten from whom it had been originally borrowed from – buttoned loosely and at a skew over her undergarments, it’s hem hanging near her knees. Her hair often refused to be tamed, its short length a thing of necessity rather than choice, but the angles it found itself in now were positively comical. None of these things bring her any discomfort at current however, not only due to to the late hour, but also due to present company. “And why are you still up, Nero?”

“I needn’t explain myself, these schematics are hardly going to finish themselves.” Nero dryly replies, barely even addressing the question, returning his eye to the sheafs of paper spread across the bench he was sat at. While Garlond Ironworks were possessed of workshops all throughout the realm, in recent months the team’s Chief and chief entourage had found themselves sequestered away in Rhalgr’s Reach more often than not; the space they had been afforded here years previous had somewhat superseded their smaller studio in Revenant’s Toll, and likewise no longer residing in The Rising Stones herself, Albi had also found herself winding back through The Fringes to spend time alongside them.

The fact that Nero had also paused his flights of fancy long enough to remain for longer than a handful of days surprised Cid and Albi in equal measure, and while she would never hear as much from the man himself, she knew Cid was grateful for it too. Their workload did not simply or graciously pause while their attentions were elsewhere, skyward, thoughts preoccupied by starships and engines and the end of all things. The normalcy of paperwork was a relief by comparison, but relief did not lessen the gathering stacks of it.

Albi, for her part, had spent her time in the Reach running simple errands. The technicalities of machinery and the specifics of scientific documents were beyond her, but those who called Rhalgr’s Reach home – the Ala Mhigan Resistance and Ironworks crew both – were never short of tasks that were in want of an adventurer, and the simple work filled her days with a perfect level of monotony and movement both. Albi was still in need of rest, but found her mood turning dour if she remained idle for too long.

The latter was proving to be a pertinent issue tonight, sleep coming in short, fitful bursts. Months had passed since their return from the edge of the universe, a majority of which she had spent bedbound and miserable – but even returning to her feet and walking wellworn paths in hope of finding normalcy and peace had come with mixed success. The expanse of the stars above Gyr Abania now no longer brought her comfort, but felt dizzying and inordinate, a looming presence even when the sun was shining. Streaks of galaxies were smeared behind her eyelids, through her dreams, across her cheeks——

Albi blinks, doesn’t realise for how long she must have been stood their awkwardly, until Nero makes a show of rolling his eyes – a motion he is not wont to make, considering how his eyes are typically hidden from view, but she notices that at this late hour he is not wearing his glasses – and shifting a box of tools from the stool next to him onto the floor. It’s a wordless invite, one that does not need to be stated to someone who often perches alongside their projects to watch with interest without one, but it is one that Albi finds herself grateful for nonetheless.

She heaves a great sigh, shuffles to the stool in a silent acceptance, and tries to imagine that she could also effortlessly slide the weight she carried onto the floor of their workshop.

Nero continues to work in silence for a short while, alternating between quick, messy scribbles on some pages, and precise lines on others. The two of them slip into an odd sort of calm, the night quiet asides from the distant rushing of water from the center of camp, and the sound of pencil to paper. Albi finds both to be soothing, a sensation she did not often feel around present company. As if sensing the feeling, Nero breaks the silence.

“Well, what is it then? Your base needs are not the only think keeping you up at this hour, I can tell that much.” He asks, without looking up from his work. Albi scoffs, not sure whether to appreciate the brevity of it or not.

“I simply feel… off.” Albi bemoans, leaning back on the stool, feeling distinctly displeased with her inability to find a word that accurately captured her feelings. It was as if her head were stuffed with cotton, or her heart had been left to sink to the bottom of a lake, the pressure beginning to warp it. Maybe throwing the whole lot into Silvertear would alleviate her ailments, she finds herself pondering.

Nero, uncharacteristically, does not immediately offer a quip in return. Albi wonders if she has said too much, limited vocabulary asides, and suddenly feels small and childish about it. But Nero simply picks up the small wrench his fingers had been absentmindedly fiddling with on his work bench, turns, and gently taps it against Albi’s forehead. The motion startles her, but she suppresses a flinch.

“Would that I could just fix whatever is wrong with you, hero, but whatever makes you tick is one of the few things outside my scope of expertise.” He quips.

A smile threatens to creep onto Albi’s face, despite herself. “To think there are feats even you are incapable of. I hope you find it humbling.”

“You know I don’t.” He huffs in return.

They return to an easy silence. At this distance, Albi can see the deep lines under his eyes, and wonders if they are a feature she also carries on her own. His irises bear a subtle glassy sheen, an after-effect of his time spent in the void so many years previous; it was something he kept hidden both from the sight and knowledge of most, his tinted glasses serving to shield his now sensitive eyes, as well as his ego from any questions. It would make sense for him to not be wearing them in the dead of night, for the sake of being able to complete his work, but Albi finds some solace in him finding no need to replace them in her presence.

“Would talking about whatever ails you bring you any peace?” Nero asks, shortly thereafter.

“Oh, and would you listen?” Albi teases.

“Try me, I’m sure I can find something to pique my curiosity within your regaling.”

“I’m sure you would…” Albi rolls the thought about in her head. “But there are simply no words I can use, no matter how messily I string them together, to describe it. What we saw...” Albi surprises herself at how calm and measured she makes herself sound, when the clamour of panic that has her feeling as she does makes her feel off-kilter and unintelligible even to herself.

“I assumed as much, that your experiences out in the depths of the cosmos are what put you in this surly mood.” Nero comments nonchalantly, as if the topic at hand were as casual as the weather, not about the yawning expanse of space. “You had that same far off look in your eye as Garlond oft did.”

“Surly…” Albi repeats the word under her breath to herself, thinking herself a model of poise and grace for not picking at it like an annoyance. It would have only proved his point, and proving Nero correct was always an irritant to avoid. She pivots her bristling to the rest of Nero’s comment; “... Did? How is Cid doing, lately? I regret that I have not spoken at length with him in some time.”

Nero makes a motion that looks as if he is trying to stifle a laugh, an awkward, gangly motion. “That you of all people should be asking me, are you not his drinking buddy? It really does speak to the state of things, if you’ve not gone galivanting in so long.” He scoffs, but his face soon lightens. “Garlond is fine. He saves his fretting for you and the Scions these days, rather than himself. It’s an improvement.”

Albi slowly nods, feeling sheepish. Cid had flittered around Old Sharlayan and her bedside in the wake of their return upon the Ragnarok, staying for as long as he could stay away from other commitments. Her recollection of his worry was murky, as were the first few weeks of her recovery, days and weeks blurring together into a solid lump that still sat in her stomach. They had spoken since, of course, but little more than passing pleasantries, distances of oceans and time making it feel like their ordeals were experienced by other people entirely. She makes a note to catch up with him properly.

“A night of revelry will do you both good, I’m sure. Better than all this,” Nero continues, flapping his hand in the air in a disinterested motion, “moping. If you ask Jessie to allow the team a night off, she’ll certainly take to it better than if any of us did.”

The thought was pleasant, Albi admits to herself. Despite being in Rhalgr’s Reach for almost half a moon now, she had still kept mostly to herself, the placation of friends nearby one she had nonetheless appreciated at a distance. And if others in the Ironworks would also benefit from time to unwind, then all the better. “And would you join us, Nero? Partake in a little revelry yourself?”

“Perish the thought. Watch your tone, little hero, or your overfamiliarity will spook me off again.” He comments, as if his continuing presence was that of a timid beast who could bolt at any moment, and not of a man controlled only by his own whims. His haughty attitude and the notion are both so very him that it shocks a small laugh out of Albi. Nero takes the distraction as some sort of small victory.

Mirth subsided, Albi smooths down the front of her shirt, looking down at her hands in her lap. The sun would be breaking in only a handful of bells, so she truly should attempt to catch what sleep time still afforded her. A strange sort of guilt passes her by, then, having been clumsily comforted by Nero, without offering anything in return.

“I’ll tell you about it, one day. About Ultima Thule.” She looks up to catch his eye. “I just need a little more time, I think.” she ends the sentence lamely, feeling as if she were little more than a child to be coddled, a feeling she decidedly loathes.

Nero makes no show of noticing her discomfort, turning back to his work and shrugging with one shoulder. “Well, time is certainly something we are no longer in short supply of any more, thanks to you. Maybe I’ll even join in with a toast to your victory on that count, should the mood take me.”

Albi rises from her seat, allowing the smile to streak across her face, like a star across the night sky. “I’ll hold you to that.”

#FFxivWrite2022 #fic #albi #nero

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