Chapter Text
Arms straining with the weight of the crate he holds, Dion steps through the halls of Ifrit’s hideaway with purpose. That purpose being the need not to show his unfortunate underestimation of how bloody heavy the object in his hands is.
If anyone spies the way his arms tremble from exhaustion then he’ll never hear the end of it from Lady Tarja.
He would deserve it, of course. Only three days since he and Joshua returned to the hideaway after the fall of Origin - only two since Lady Jote’s departure on her search for Terence - and already Dion has thrown himself into desperate distraction and the need to feel useful. Even after the long trek from where they awoke after the final battle, his body still aches with the soul deep strain of invoking Bahamut’s might in full. Elixirs and tonics can only work so quickly, and the vow he, Lady Jill, and Joshua made to limit the use of their Eikons is still fresh in mind. They cannot rely on the Phoenix to mend their every pain.
All the same, he is grateful when he rounds the corner to head down into Mid’s workshop. She alone occupies the space below, bent over some contraption he couldn’t place the name of if he tried and muttering under her breath while she tinkers with it.
It seems she doesn’t even notice his arrival with how focused she is on the task, so he quietly clears his throat once he reaches the bottom of the stairs. “Delivery for you.”
Her head pivots up so fast that her braid whips against the table. “Ah! That’ll be the parts for the filter, yeah? You can set ‘em over there by the desk. Won’t need ‘em ‘til later. You busy?”
Grunting from the effort of carefully laying down his cargo, Dion shakes his head. “Not particularly. What is it you require?”
“Water purifier's on the fritz again, which I was worried ‘bout since last time I may have been a bit hasty in just tryin’ to get it fixed fast as possible. Coulda been more careful I guess, gone back to scoopin' the water the old fashioned way, but who wants to do all that?” Mid sets down the tool she was holding, her expression bright in spite of her tone belying her disappointment. She gestures to the contraption on the table. “Had a new part made though ‘cause I figured ‘better safe than sorry’ and it’s up to snuff no doubt, but now I’ve got to install it. Needs to be tight as possible so it don’t come undone or anythin’. But…”
A low chuckle passes his lips. “Let me guess, you require my strength.”
“It en’t just that!” Mid protests with a laugh of her own. “I mean true, my assistants have all gone off and left me alone here, and I’m not near as burly as you are. But it’s more than that. Figured it might be nice to spend some time together. Maybe keep Charon from usin’ you even more as a delivery bird.”
With a shy smile on his lips, Dion motions for her to lead the way. “I appreciate your consideration, Mid. I will help how I can.”
Mid graces him with a giddy smile, then proceeds, with gizmo in hand, deeper into the hideaway’s belly. The sound of lapping water against the outside of the ancient airship is more apparent this low down. The air grows colder with each step. At the end of their trek they stand before the machine in need of repairs. Carefully smithed metal forms a furnace, inert at present, with a great basin above it and twin pipes that snake up to the ceiling and away.
“Alright,” Mid murmurs to herself once she besets upon the iron beast, groaning with the effort of unscrewing the thankfully already loose bolts. “Get this pump in place and we’ll get you back spewin’ bubbles and steam. Your Highness mind holdin’ this while I pop the old one out?”
“Not at all.” He steps forward to receive the contraption - a pump apparently - then watches her dismantle part of the water purifier. The use of his honorific gives him brief pause. It feels wrong somehow coming from her. Especially after everything they’ve all been through, but particularly given her usual blasé lack of reverence for her superiors. “... You may call me Dion, if you wish.” The offer leaves him before he’s had time to give it proper consideration. Yet looking back, he finds he does not regret it. “At least when we are alone.”
Her eyes find his own for less than a second before her focus returns to her work. The curve of her smile is unmistakable. “Alright then. Gimme just another second… There, okay. Switch out. You can dump this old thing to the side. I’ll have one of my assistants see whether it’s worth scrappin’ for anythin’ useful or if it’s junk now.”
Parts change hands. He’s fascinated by the careful manner with which she fits the pump into place. Forceful, to be certain, yet mindful of how it settles into its new home.
“Okay. Grab that wrench there and I’ll show ya where and how to use it. S’pretty simple.”
Dion does as he’s told and follows her guidance setting the bolts in place. At once he becomes aware of his error in agreeing to this task after having once already overestimated his strength today, yet he feels he must persevere in it regardless. He gave Mid his word after all. So even as his muscles scream in protest when she urges him to turn the bolts tighter and tighter, he persists. Once, then twice until Mid assesses the work and declares it more than satisfactory.
His hands shake once he’s set the tool back in place and he quickly drops them to his sides. There won’t be any hiding his trembling now. Especially since Mid catches the movement from the corner of her eye and slaps a palm to her cheek. “Damn it- You’re supposed to be takin’ it easy… Sorry ‘bout that, Dion. If I’d remembered I never woulda bothered you over it.”
He merely shakes his head, a weary but nevertheless genuine smile on offer for her. “It slipped both of our minds. You have no need to apologize. Though I cannot guarantee your name won’t pass my lips if Lady Tarja inquires as to how I overexerted myself.” His eyes crinkle with the jest.
“Oh, you sly bastard.” Mid just laughs. “I’ll just have to keep you down in me workshop ‘til you’re not shakin’ like a leaf in the breeze. Come on, least we can do is head back up so you can have a sit and rest.”
Dion follows her up, trying to cling to the lighthearted sound of her laughter to keep afloat above the guilt steadily rising in his chest. “And what would you have me do? I cannot offer you work in this condition.”
“Sod the work. I told you before, it was as much about spendin’ time with ya.” Mid folds her hands behind her back as she climbs the stairs. Her long braid sways with each step. “Didn’t get much of a chance to meet you when the lads brought ya here from the Dominion. Then with you joinin’ us on the way to Stonehyrr, everythin’ else that went down… Kept us all right busy. But now we’ve got some time and no pressin’ matters to attend.” She tilts her head to the side to look back at him with a warm smile. “Been mighty curious to get you alone, y’know. You’re like lookin’ at a music box.”
Dion pauses just before he reaches the landing to look at her with furrowed brow. “I… Believe that was meant as a compliment?”
Mid turns to him, her smile growing. “It is, believe you me. Think about it, yeah? Pretty on the outside, no doubt about that. Got a lovely song to share. But the real interestin’ parts are inside. All the mechanisms and whirrin’ gears that make it croon when you turn the key. So if you’d let me, I wouldn’t mind takin’ a look under the lid sometime.”
He finds himself stunned by her words. The fascinating comparison, the friendly request. So disarmed is he that Dion nods without thought. “... I believe I would like that.”
Mid lights up and gives him a wink. “Excellent. Now you have a seat while I put these tools away.”
Dion finds a stool by one of the desks to settle onto, amused and finding that the heaviness in his torso has faded. It may return in full force in time, but for now Mid’s company has dulled it to less of an ache than that which plagues his limbs. Oh, how we wishes more than ever that Terence were here to meet her. She would charm him as easily as she has the prince. And perhaps if dear, level-headed Terence had been present neither of them would have been too swept up to allow Dion to strain himself unnecessarily.
A throat clears softly and Dion pulls free from his wandering thoughts to see Mid beside him, having dragged over her own stool and pulling a journal out to write in. “Looked like your mind was halfway to Ash just then.”
Breathing out a humorous huff, he runs a wavering hand through his hair. “It was. But nevermind that. May I ask what it is you’re writing?”
“This? Just makin’ a note about the repair. Like to keep track of when these things get done, lets me know at a glance if I need to check in on somethin’ that’s been left too long.” She finishes notating something with a flourish then lets the quill’s feather rest against her cheek. “Like the lift. Hadn’t been seen to for a few months so we checked it out a couple days ‘fore you and Joshua came back, just to be safe. All was good, thankfully.”
She flips forward in her journal by a handful of pages, revealing various sketches and scribblings the likes of which leave Dion endlessly curious. Some he can grapple at the nature of, but the rest are either too unfinished or too mysterious to grant him any certainty over. “You have… A remarkable mind, Mid. And a commendable discipline to put it to such good use.”
Her eyes dart sidelong towards him and her lips quirk up to one side. “Shucks, gettin’ compliments from a prince. En’t that every girl’s dream?”
He smiles, keeping his gaze on the pages. “May I ask where you were taught?”
“Certainly. Got my formal education down in Kanver. You know Miss Vivian was one of my professors? Imagine my surprise to hear she’d come to join up with this lot. Anyway, that was just the formal stuff. I’ve been tinkerin’ since I was a wee lass and me dad was the one made sure I knew the basics. He might not’ve been made for teachin’, but we managed. Clearly.”
“Clearly.” Dion echoes goodnaturedly.
Mid hums softly for a moment. Then turns in her seat to brandish her quill, the plume brushing Dion’s nose before he can lean back in time to avoid it. “My turn to ask a question.”
A chuckle leaves him. “Very well.”
“What were you thinkin’ about before? When you were far away like that.”
“Ah,” Dion starts, his voice softening. He can only imagine the bittersweet expression he wears. “I had realized that someone I care for would enjoy your company as much as I do. Yet I worry that…” He can’t bring himself to finish his sentence. He swore to himself that he wouldn’t entertain the possibility of Terence’s demise until the Phoenix’s attendant returned with such news.
A gentle hand settles over his own. Mid’s skin is warm, bearing callouses born of different labor from his own. “Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have asked. But I can’t help wonderin’, is this about the person you had Jote go off to find?”
He sits up even straighter, struck over the face with the very idea that anyone but Joshua and Jote know the truth of such a private matter. “How do you-”
“Sorry! Sorry, I just-” Mid squeezes his hand, chuckling awkwardly. “I was speakin’ with Joshua last night and he mentioned she’d gone off to look for someone important. And with you all gloomy, lookin’ like a sailor’s widow on the balcony… Promise I ‘aven’t told anyone else.”
Dion stares at her for a long moment. He’s well aware he did indeed stand on the balcony the night prior looking out over the Bennumere, but indignation creeps into his voice. “Like a… I did not look like a widow.”
“Yeah, ya kinda did.” She pats the back of his hand before letting go. “It’s alright, though. We’ve all lost folks, no one would judge you. Hell, Clive spent plenty a time lookin’ the exact same way about his brother bein’ missin’ or when Jill got taken by the royalists. It’s alright to miss them.”
“It-” Dion runs a palm over his face, unable to look at her. “Your deductive skills are rather astute, I admit, but there is more to what troubles me than mere longing.”
He drifts into silence, jaw working as he considers what he feels willing to divulge. “I sent away someone I care deeply for when the conflict with Ultima grew to a boiling point. I reasoned with myself that I was doing so with good intention; to protect him and another from the danger I knew I must confront. But in reality I wanted to spare him the heartache of… Of watching me throw my life away for the sake of Valisthea. And now I know not if he lives, or if my decision is what may have sealed his fate.”
“Oh…” It’s all Mid says for some time.
The guilt surges up once more, as he expected it would. Joined in force by grief and anger at himself. But he holds them at bay. Keeps a stoic mask as has become second nature to him. Only when the silence becomes unbearable does he finally look at her.
Mid’s eyes are downcast. Lips set in a thin line and hands folded on the desk.
“Have you ever been in love, Mid?”
Surprise colors her features, eyes widening when she meets his gaze. Then she snorts out a soft laugh. “Probably not, no. Not that kind of love, anyway. The one that makes widows and weddings. Had a few people back in school you could say I was infatuated with, but those faded eventually.”
Then she looks at him so keenly that he feels like an ant underneath a spyglass. Under curious inspection. “This fellow, you love him?”
His breath hitches. Dion gives a melancholic smile. “Nothing escapes you. I do, yes. He means more to me than I could ever put to mere words.”
“Then I hope she finds him.” Mid leans over so that her head rests against his shoulder. Hesitantly does he raise a weary arm to put around her waist.
They spend something like an hour together in her workshop just chatting and occasionally doing work. Mostly it consists of him reaching for something on a high shelf for her or fetching her something while her hands are preoccupied. They speak on anything that comes to mind, which with Mid tends to be a wider variety of topics than Dion ever thought possible. Talk of port trade logistics, what pets they may have had, what it feels like when he primes, what their plans for the future are, whether they sleep on their sides or their back. Mid was ecstatic to hear that Dion had personally tamed wyverns in the past. Dion was appalled to learn that Mid sleeps on her stomach without a sheet, save for on the coldest nights.
The day wanes, sunlight growing scarcer until the room - so far down in the belly of the airship - is lit only by the various lamps around the space. Mid declares it as good a sign as any that they should part ways.
“But!” She holds a hand out to stop him from walking off. “Not without your pay.”
Dion blinks down at her, watching her move to the desk. “My pay? I have no need of any, I assure you. Mid?”
She waves her hand in a dismissive motion, her back still to him, rummaging around until she plucks up a spare quill. “Fine, not pay then. A gift. Have a seat real fast, you’re too damn tall.”
“I-” He breaks off with quiet laughter, but he won’t disobey. Once he’s seated on the stool again he watches with curious wonder as she removes the ribbon from halfway down her extensive braid then steps over to his side. “May I ask-”
“Patience.” She cuts him off with the admonishment. “It’s not like it’ll take that long.”
Her fingers brush against his scalp pleasantly. Picking out a thick tress of his hair and gently tying the quill in place with the ribbon. That is, as best as he can tell without being able to see what she's doing. The slight weight of his new accessory is hard to ignore.
Mid steps back and checks her work, nodding in satisfaction. “There. Pretty as a prize chocobo. As thanks for keepin’ me company, and to pay you back for workin’ ya harder than need be. Oh, here-” She digs around in one of the desk drawers. Then another. A third, which houses the item she was after. A compact mirror that she holds out for him to take.
With the mirror held aloft, he turns his head to admire the sight. The quill’s feather is clay brown with darker speckles, coming to a steel point. It clashes a bit with the rosier color of the ribbon tied in its slap-dash bow, but in that way it holds a certain charm. He’ll definitely catch a few eyes like this in the mess hall. Maybe it will serve as a sufficient topic of distraction from his exhaustion. Either way, he has no plans of removing it until he makes ready for bed tonight.
“You are too kind, Mid.”
She pats his shoulder. “Think nothin’ of it. And keep it. I’ve got excess fabric to replace that one, anyway.”
“Very well.” Dion stands and dips his head in a bow. “Thank you for your company. I shall see you on the morrow.”
Mid waves after him when he turns to go. “See ya around! And when you see Joshua tell him I’ll be expectin’ him to visit soon, or else I’ll track him down meself.”
Laughing, Dion assures her he’ll pass along the message. His arm still aches when he lifts it up to touch the decoration in his hair. But he finds the pain is much more bearable after the lovely evening he’s shared with the resident engineer.