Who: Nate & Cian What: A favor Where: Cian’s place When: Late tonight Rating: PG-13 for language, mentions of death Status: Complete
It’d been a while.
Actually, Nate didn’t think he’d been back to the apartment building more that a couple of times since he’d moved out. There’d been that whole… unfortunate period, and after that, it had seemed to make more sense to meet up with Cian like he would with any other clients, either in his workshop or out in the open.
This definitely wasn’t that type of meeting, though. What he was going to ask - well. This was personal.
Fed up with his own hesitation, Nate took a step up to the door, reached up behind the lintel, and tugged on the concealed thread that triggered Cian’s ‘someone wants to talk to you’ bell. Never let it be said the man wasn’t paranoid.
A few moments passed before a disembodied voice sounded. “What?” Cian didn’t bother with formalities; the number of people who knew where he lived and where the trigger for the bell was hidden were few. And no one was stupid enough to bother him over a triviality.
Well, that was new. Then again, there were a lot of stairs between Cian and the street… and Nate couldn’t imagine him shouting out a window.
“It’s Nate,” he said. “I need to talk to you.”
Hopefully Cian knew Nate wouldn’t waste his time with anything unimportant. Nate really didn’t want to have to ask his favour over an intercomm system.
The statement was greeted with silence as Cian considered.
It was late. The kid had been acting strange lately, but never thoughtless. It would have to be serious; Cian was under no illusions -- no matter how blatantly he favored the kid, Nate knew there were lines that weren’t to be tested, let alone crossed.
Yeah, serious.
There was a click, familiar to the machinist’s ears considering it came from his own devices. “System’s disarmed,” Cian told him. “Come in when you get up here.”
While Nate climbed the stairs would be just about enough time to find a shirt, his gun -- in case someone was helping Nate up the stairs to “surprise” the boss -- and settle against the counter, with a view of the door, to wait for his guest to arrive.
This was not a conversation Nate wanted to have, but lingering on the stairs wouldn’t get it over with. He took them two at a time. Birdbrain would probably have snarked at him about that, but Nate hadn’t been in the best frame of mind when Christa had told him the news - it had been all he could do to make it outside the walls without dropping the chocobo tail first in the middle of the marketplace. Now, the inside of his head was blessedly silent, quiet enough for him to hear himself thinking.
And he’d done a lot of that.
The last flight of stairs didn’t even register in his mind, and the deceptively simple-looking door almost took him by surprise. He knocked, twice.
There was a click as the last of the locks were undone. No one in the hallways with the kid, according to the peephole. Could still be a ninja, of course, but Nate didn’t look scared so much as tired. His expression was blank, not the sort of blank that came with practice, but the sort that came instead with shock. “It’s open.”
Cian watched, eyes narrowed, as the young man entered the apartment. Not injured, by the way he moved, so whatever had happened, it hadn’t been to him. “Lock it behind you. What the hell happened?” he asked, without preamble. In all his years working with the kid, he’d never come to him like this.
Nate went back to slide the bolts home, rearming the defenses he’d put in months ago as he did.
There wasn’t really an easy way to say this. “There was a fire,” he told Cian, staring fixedly over his left shoulder. He didn’t want to see sympathy or pity right now, and even though he doubted Cian would push on that front, it wasn’t worth risking it. “At my uncle’s smithy. It’s just Christa and me now.”
Cian wasn’t beyond sympathy, though he’d long ago hardened himself against death. You got used to things by exposure, but the kid was green yet. “Sorry for your loss.” No sarcasm in the words. “Accident or arson?” If it was the latter, he could imagine what Nate had to say. If it was the former, he wasn’t entirely sure.
Nate hadn’t even thought of that. Who would - no, it didn’t make sense. “No one with a grudge, no one stood to gain,” he said. “It was just an accident.” If he’d found out sooner… well. He wasn’t exactly easy to find, these days. But still, by the time Christa had managed to track him down, the neighbours had already begun clearing the area. There hadn’t been much to see.
“Listen,” he said, forcing his gaze up. “I - I need to get away from here. For a while. This city, it feels almost like it’s cursed sometimes.” He bit his tongue. Cian didn’t know the half of it, and he wasn’t going to, not from Nate - he trusted the man, but there was no way he’d behave as anything other than syndicate’s head if he found out about the chocobo. Nate wasn’t naive enough to think that Cian’s indulgence of him would trump that. “Besides, it’s not just me now. Christa - she’s not ready to be alone, not yet. And I don’t think it’s good for her to stay here either.”
Cian was quiet for a few moments, thinking, watching for shifts in expression. “Let me get this straight: you want me to put you and your kid sister in a safehouse? Somewhere away from here? Pretty big favor you’re asking, kid.” Nate knew as well as he did that the work he did here was necessary to the organization’s continued function -- and to Cian’s personal safety.
Nate blinked. “No, not - nothing like that.” He hadn’t even asked Cian to put him up for more than a handful of weeks when he was down to absolutely nothing, and he’d earned his way out as quickly as possible even then. “Christa’s Fighters’ Guild, she could find a new apprenticeship anywhere big enough for a guildhall. We can support ourselves. I -” Nate scratched at the back of his neck. “I was more hoping you might know someone I could work with. Pick up some useful skills. I’m not saying it’s forever, and I’d obviously keep filling your orders, but - just for a while.” He looked down. “Please.”
“Useful skills,” Cian repeated. Then, “Take a seat.” He strode towards the kitchen area, pulling the half-empty bottle of whiskey from a top shelf, then two glasses. “Drink,” he said, bringing them back to the table, a low level of amber liquid poured in each. Good for shock. Good for hard conversations, too.
Would he let him go? With nearly any other key employee, the answer would have been an immediate no, but…
“If I agree, you’re going to do the work I tell you,” he said. “I’m assuming there’ll be no complaints?”
Nate hesitated. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Cian, but… “Nothing that involves me directly injuring or killing anyone, and nothing involving or harming my sister,” he said, picking up the glass and breathing in. Even the fumes burned - it was strong. Nate took a swallow, and let it warm his throat.
“Otherwise, you know I know how to get things done,” Nate said. Surely he’d proven that by now.
“Wouldn’t send you to kill someone,” Cian said with derision. “You’d make a fucking mess of it. And I don’t need your sister, either, though you’ll have to keep her out of your business -- and mine, by proxy.” There was one place.
Fucking inconvenient. But it seemed he’d offer this last indulgence. The scales would tip back in his favor someday.
“You know anything about the Anjou dialect?” he asked.
“I’ve been keeping Christa’s nose clean for her whole life, I think I can keep it up,” Nate said. Though it had never been easy. Hopefully a fresh start and a new town would keep her too distracted to notice anything he might need to get done after sunset.
Anjou? He’d heard of it, but… In the end, though, that didn’t matter. “I’ll figure it out,” Nate said. How hard could it be?
“Get a book,” Cian suggested. Then: “Roscoff, Ordalian border. They speak the common Valendian more or less, but you’ll do better if you learn Ordalian. The town is pretty small, but doubt they go entirely without fighters, considering it’s the desert, and the desert tries to kill anyone who’s stupid enough to walk out in it. Your sister’ll find something to keep her busy. As for you, I’ve got a person down there, checks shipments in and out. You’ll go down, relieve her of her post.” A mind-numbingly simple task, but with one benefit. “You keep the authorities out of my hair and keep sending along your dice and other creations on schedule along with whatever else comes in. Large shipments go through every other month, smaller ones more irregularly. Ask Armina once you get there, she’ll give you the rest of the details.” He polished off his whiskey before adding: “I don’t have anyone heading down there for another month; you want out so bad, hire onto a caravan or airship partway, though there’s no direct route from here. If it doesn’t suit,” he shrugged, “no other offers.”
That sounded… “Perfect,” Nate said firmly. “Can’t think of a better place to stay out of trouble.” It wasn’t likely he’d find anyone to teach him much, but then, he’d always done just fine figuring out new inventions on his own. He’d just have to think carefully about what to bring with him, and set up his own workshop. They could find their own way out - it might be a good idea, give Christa time to get to know him since they’d barely spoken for years.
Nate finished his drink and set the glass down. “Thank you,” he said, needing to say it out loud. “I’ll keep my side of the bargain. And I’ll keep working on improvements for you.” It might actually be easier to test some of them, out in the desert. Not to mention the fact that he could probably use the easily available solitude to hash out a deal with his feathery tenant.
“You’ll owe me.” That went without saying, but he said it anyway. “Couple years, we’ll talk about that. For now,” he gestured to the door, “you’ve got packing to do. It’s late, get out of here. Send word when you leave and when you arrive. You’ll have network access once there, but not in-between.”
“I know I will.” Nate nodded. Cian was right, he did need to start packing - and he needed to tell Christa he’d found a place for them. Not to mention, he had a language to learn.