Chapter Text
"How are the potions coming along?"
"Fine," Noct says to Ignis, without looking up from the energy drink he's currently converting with magic. "Don't distract me."
"My apologies."
Her own thoughts distracted by the conversation, Iris looks down at the cub that's curled up asleep next to her. He had fought them hard despite his wounds when they'd started to wrap him in the blanket, but he'd been no match for four against one—Gladio had insisted she stay back, and she was too relieved they were helping the cub to argue. He'd yowled the entire time they'd been in the Regalia, struggling against the thick blanket, and Prompto had only barely avoided getting clawed a couple of times with the cub's nails poking through the fabric.
It had been for that reason they'd decided to stop and make camp at the closest haven, rather than carry on to Cape Caem. Once they'd gotten set up, Noct had gone with Gladio to restock their supplies while Iris stayed behind to help Ignis and Prompto with the cub. She was thankful they didn't have to worry about him running away, because the poor little guy had certainly tried. Prompto had been correct in his guess, though, and the wounds prevented him from properly using his hind legs.
He'd settled down some when Ignis had fed him some of their raw meat they'd had stored in the cooler, however, and the crushed up sleeping pills he'd laced the meat with had made the cub just drowsy enough to become pliant and not fight while they'd tended to his wounds. Once they were bandaged, Iris had been assigned to cub babysitting duty while Ignis started on an early dinner.
Noct and Gladio had returned about the same time, and her brother had joined Prompto in hunting some smaller animals for both them and the coeurl to eat, as well as gathering wood for a fire. And maybe a little making out, judging by the faint blush on Prompto's face as Gladio had whispered in his ear before they'd left. The cub had gone to sleep not long after they'd taken off, so now Iris has been left to sit here with little else to do but watch him while wandering in her thoughts.
She really does feel a bond with him. Of course it's not the same, she wasn't there when her dad was attacked, she didn't have to sit beside him as he bled out and the life faded from his eyes, but... his yowling for his mom that had led them to finding him, that's the same cry her heart has made for her dad the past few weeks. She's tried so hard to not think about it, to keep moving forward until this is over and she can have time to sit down and fall apart, but the grief has been clawing non-stop at her, slowly shredding her heart a little more each day.
She misses him so badly, and even if she avoids the thoughts during the day they invade her dreams at night—she's lost count of how many times and ways she's seen her dad get killed. She wakes up with an ache in her chest and a tightness in her throat that makes it hard to breathe. And her first instinct is always to pick up her phone and dial his number and have him reassure her that everything's okay, and then she remembers she can't, because it's not okay and won't ever be again. But if she cries about it, she doesn't know that she'll ever stop.
But all the little things—the little reminders that he's gone, like seeing a trinket she'd have bought for him, or trying some new food and wanting to make it for him, and then remembering she can't, the same way she can't call him—they all keep pricking at her, making it harder and harder to ignore. Yet she's been trying, putting on a smile every day and laughing and joking and pretending that's she fine so much that maybe she's started to believe her own lies, because the truth hurts too much.
And then the coeurls come along and show her exactly how not fine she is, and she doesn't know what to do with that. She still doesn't want to fall apart, but she doesn't know how much longer she can pretend. She just wants her dad back. She wants to hug him and hear him tell her that he's proud of her. That she's becoming a proper Amicitia and a fine young woman. He's never really said that outside of her birthday last year—he'd apologised for having to cancel their planned dinner and she hadn't made a fuss even though she had been disappointed—but she likes to think he'd say it after all she's been through in the last few weeks.
That's never going to happen though. He'll never tell her that, or that he loves her, or that he misses her, or that it's all going to be fine, or anything else she desperately needs to hear from him. He's never going to hug her, or rub her back, or put a hand on her shoulder... He won't be there to take care of her these last few years and guide her to adulthood, the same way the cub won't have his mom to teach him how to fend for himself as he grows. She won't be there to lick him clean or feed him or keep him warm at night.
They're both alone, and it hurts.
"Alright there, Iris?"
Startled, she wrenches her thoughts away from her grief, looking up at Ignis. He's giving her a concerned look, but she's not sure why. She isn't crying... maybe she's been looking sad. "Yep, fine!" she says brightly, giving him the biggest smile she can muster. "Just bored, I guess. Not much to do when the little guy is fast asleep!"
"You may help me in preparing dinner, if you'd like. Unlike Noct, I believe you can be trusted to make a salad."
"I'm listening, you know," Noct says, annoyance in his tone, but he still doesn't look up from the energy drinks he's turning into potions.
"I do know," Ignis tells him, and Iris grins as she gets to her feet. He's been making little jabs like that at Noct ever since they got back, and she assumes it's punishment for failing to restock the potions before their hunt.
She chops the vegetables Ignis gives her, glad to have the distraction from her thoughts. Her brother and Prompto come back just as she's finishing up, and she glances at the bits of bark and dead leaves in Prompto's hair with mild amusement, biting her lip to stifle her laughter. It's still not her business, but now that Noct's brought it into the open, they seem less inclined to hide it.
Or maybe Prompto doesn't know, she realises, watching him turn red and stammer when Noct knowingly points out the debris. "I—I fell! Noct! It's not what you're thinking!"
It's weird, she thinks, that they can be so upbeat and still tease each other with everything going on—but then, they're probably pretending too, just like she is. With genuine moments breaking through every now and then. That feels weird too, but it's probably normal. Her emotions have been back and forth since fleeing Insomnia, and she remembers her dad of all people telling her once that grief isn't always going to be a constant, that sometimes you're going to laugh or smile, and it will be real, and that it's okay to still have moments of happiness even when you're sad.
He couldn't have known she'd have to apply that to his own death not even a year later, but it comforts her, to think he was reassuring her somehow.
They eat dinner, and then she checks on the cub while her brother gets a fire going. He's still fast asleep, completely conked out, his front paws twitching every now and then. When they're ready for bed she'll probably bring him into her own small tent and not sleep much, but she's used to that anyway. She hasn't had a full night's sleep since fleeing Insomnia. Dark is when the daemons come out, and she doesn't mean the ones out there in the wilderness beyond the cities and havens.
They end up telling ghost stories as the sun drops below the horizon. Ignis starts, telling a really creepy one that involves bugs—another punishment for Noct, obviously, who's picking at his nails and trying his best to pretend he's not creeped out, but the little shudders he does every few seconds says otherwise. Prompto looks absolutely terrified, scooting his chair closer to her brother who puts an arm around him, and she doesn't think he even realises it.
When they've all taken a turn at telling a story, Ignis declares it bedtime, and no one argues. They've all had a long day, and they're exhausted. Gladio helps her move the still slumbering cub into her tent—an argument that had been hard won earlier—and she crawls into her sleeping bag, struggling to keep her eyes open.
"Thanks, Gladdy," she murmurs.
"Keep him at the opposite end from you, okay? Don't need him waking up in the middle of the night and taking a chunk outta your arm or somethin', yeah?"
"I know," she reassures him. "He won't be near me when I'm sleeping, don't worry."
It takes Gladio another minute of fretting before he'll leave, but eventually it's only her and the cub in the tent. She closes her eyes, more than ready to get at least a few hours of sleep, but now that she doesn't have the cub or the guys to distract her, there's nothing to silence all the thoughts racing through her brain. Sleep is impossible. She misses her dad too much.
With a quiet sigh, she sits back up, glancing over at the cub, wondering if she should go his route and take a pill or two. She'll be groggy all of tomorrow if she does, though, and that seems like a bad idea until they get to Cape Caem. Even then she won't really feel safe.
She misses Insomnia, and her life there. There was danger then too, from Niflheim or people who didn't like the royal family or even just the average threat of crime, but she rarely ever felt afraid for her life. She never had the constant fear of being attacked and killed that hangs over her now. What had happened to Jared a few days ago proved just how fast and easily someone can die out here. In Insomnia, even though she knew bad things could happen to anyone, it always felt like it was impossible they'd happen to her. She knew her dad would always be there to protect her.
Now she knows better, and she wishes she hadn't learned that hard truth so young.
Gladdy would kill her if he knew what she was about to do, but Iris decides it's worth the risk. She flings back the corner of her sleeping bag, shuffling out of it quietly and scooting over to where the cub is resting, still wrapped up in the blankets. She makes sure to stay behind his head, out of reach of those sharp teeth and claws, and then reaches out and gently begins to pet his fur. He stirs a little at the touch, but doesn't open his eyes. She can't pet much more than the top of his head and back of his neck, but the motion calms her anyway, soothing the hurt a little.
It brings Aspen to mind, all the times she'd sneak out and go pet him and play with him when she was upset. Much like the cub, he'd been an injured stray kitten she'd rescued, a fluffy orange and white ball of affection that made her smile even in her lowest moments. There were no animals allowed at the Amicitia Manor, her dad always said the staff had enough to do without having to worry about an animal underfoot to take care of as well, so she'd known better than to bring him home.
Instead she'd left him in the alleyway where she'd first found him crying, but she'd used a dumpster and some boxes to climb up to the low roof of a one-story building towards the back, where there was enough of an overhang from the adjacent apartment building's balconies to make him a little nest sheltered from the rain. She'd had to put him in her backpack to get him up there, but he'd stayed quiet, only starting to cry again when she was leaving.
She hadn't been gone long though—she'd ran to Bastet!, the pet store, buying him a bed and small bag of food and a couple bowls, plus some treats and a few toys. It all fit in her backpack except the bed, which she'd carried in her hands, and then she'd gone to the drugstore on the corner to pick up some first aid supplies for the claw marks on his back, along with some bottles of water. She'd had no choice but to put everything on the bank card her dad had given her with her monthly allowance, and she knew without a doubt he'd see the charge from Bastet on the next statement, but she'd figure that excuse out later.
The kitten had been happy to see her, and even more happy when he'd realised she'd brought him food. He'd gobbled it out of the first bowl while she poured some water from one of the bottles into the second bowl, and when he'd had his fill of both she'd set about to tending his wounds. He'd sat there calmly as she handled him—he'd clearly been around humans before, and she wondered whether he'd been abandoned or had just gotten lost.
Either way, he'd obviously been on the streets for awhile, judging by the filth and too-skinny look about him, and she'd decided that he was going to be hers now, even if she couldn't bring him home. She'd left him sleeping in the new bed, a stuffed mouse nestled up against his side, and had gone home and picked out the name Aspen for him that night. She'd returned to visit him every day after school and even going on weekends, and he was always there waiting for her, even after he became well enough to wander around and leave the rooftop.
Iris swallows, her eyes filling with tears. She'd still been visiting Aspen right up until the day of the attack on Insomnia... it hurts to think about, but he probably didn't survive the invasion either. The thought is almost as hollow of an ache in her chest as the one made by her dad's loss. Next to Gladdy and her dad, Aspen was probably the being she was closest to back home. She'd had friends at school, but no one that she felt she could tell all of her deepest thoughts and secrets to. Not until she'd started taking care of Aspen.
And now he's gone, just like her dad, and there's no one left to spill all her grief to. She can't go to Gladdy—he's got too much to worry about with getting Noct to Lady Lunafreya and helping him in taking back Insomnia. He doesn't have time to sit there as she cries about missing their dad. And he's probably been pushing his own grief aside for now; if she brings up hers, he might not be able to hold back any longer.
But now this cub is here bringing up all these memories of her dad and her cat and her home, and the losses are engulfing her, swallowing her down into their darkness and wrapping her up tightly in their sorrow and it hurts. She doesn't want this pain, she doesn't want to miss everything, she doesn't want to face the fact that it's all gone and is never coming back and her dad and Aspen won't ever be there for her again. Nothing is the same and it'll never really be okay, even if they do get to go home one day. They'll be home, but they won't really be home, because home has always been where her loved ones are, and now two of them are gone forever.
She never understood before how final death really was. Knowing it, and experiencing it, has turned out to be two completely different things.
Tears start rolling down her cheeks, the agony inside her building and building until it's a sharp ache pressing against her lungs, constricting them and making it hard to breathe. It isn't fair, none of this should have happened. They were supposed to be signing a treaty, Insomnia was supposed to finally have peace! She should be at home right now, giving her a dad a big hug good night after a busy day filled with school and playing with Aspen and doing homework. Not—not traipsing around in the woods and watching coeurls die and rescuing cubs and camping at a haven in the middle of nowhere. If someone had said this would be her life two months ago, she would have laughed. Even living it right now, it feels too silly.
She tries to keep quiet, knowing that tents have no privacy and the guys will be able to hear her crying from theirs if any of them are awake, but her grief's too much and sobs slip out of her before she can stop them. They're not loud, and she puts a hand to her mouth to muffle them further, but the sound of a zipper a few minutes later lets her know she was heard anyway.
Footsteps approach her tent, and part of her hopes it's her brother, but the rest of her hopes it's anyone but—she doesn't want to be a burden to him. With their mom gone and their dad so busy, he was always more of a parent to her than he should have had to be. She doesn't want him to be even more of one now that their dad is gone too—especially because he'll never be able to take their dad's place. She doesn't want him to.
But of course, it is Gladdy. "Iris?" comes his uncertain voice, as footsteps halt right outside her tent.
She sniffles, trying to stifle her sobs as she takes a few breaths. "Yeah," she manages to get out, letting him know it's okay to come in.
He does, quickly unzipping the door and stepping through, zipping it back before he settles onto her sleeping bag.
"Sorry," she says through her quieting sobs before he can say anything. She tries to give him a smile, but it feels all trembling and wrong, and it's too dark for him to really see it anyway.
"Look, the... the cub's gonna be okay, you know?" Gladio tells her. He sounds awkward, and she knows her brother hates trying to handle emotional stuff, but she appreciates that he's making an effort. "You guys are taking good care of it. He'll heal up and be fine."
She sniffles again after a few more shuddering breaths. Her tears haven't stopped, and she doesn't hurt any less, but just having her brother's presence is enough to calm her. Gladio isn't her dad, but she still feels safe and loved with him too. "It's not the cub," she says around one last dying sob.
"Oh." Gladio seems confused, but quickly rallies. "Well if it's about the mom, we—"
"I miss dad and Aspen," she admits, her voice whisper quiet. She feels ashamed to admit it—she was trying so hard to be strong like the rest of them. And to be strong like an Amicitia, to act first and deal with emotions later, the way they're supposed to. She wanted to make her dad proud, even if he'll never be here to see it.
"Aw, Iris, c'mere."
She does, moving carefully around the cub and then crawling over to Gladio in the small tent. She's all jagged edges and brittle bones, sharp enough to cut but fragile enough to break, but she cares about neither as she lets her brother wrap his arms around her from behind. They're both tough enough to handle it.
"It isn't fair!" There's more force behind the words than she'd expected, the thread of anger that's been knotted up in her grief untangling itself and breaking free. "This wasn't supposed to be like this! They were gonna have the treaty and Niflheim was finally going to leave us alone so Insomnia could be happy and peaceful, but instead we're alone 'cause dad's gone forever now and I hate it!" Fresh sobs start, louder than the ones before, but she makes no effort to quiet these.
"You're right," Gladio says quietly, tightening his arms around her. He begins to gently rock her with his upper body, the way he'd done when she was little and came crying to him about bad dreams, when their dad wasn't home to comfort her. "It isn't fair. Nothing was supposed to turn out this way. I hate it too."
"I was trying to be strong. I didn't wanna slow everyone down. Dad would say there'd be time for crying later, when everything was over."
"Hey, no. That may be the Amicitia way, but even I know that ain't the healthy way. And you're not a Shield, Iris, you don't need to worry about putting someone before you."
"But—"
"You think you're slowing us down? We've all been dragging our heels, finding every excuse to delay our journey towards Altissia. Hell, Noct let Prompto go visit the chocobo ranch. You think we really had time for that?"
Iris laughs a little through her tears. "I guess not."
"We've all lost a lot, and we've all been doing our best to avoid thinking about our losses. But here's a secret, Iris," Gladio says, resting his head carefully atop hers, his breath tickling her hair as he speaks again. "You ain't the first person I've heard crying in the middle of the night on this trip. You're not even the second. And you want another secret?"
She nods, her words stuck around the sudden lump in her throat.
"One of those people crying was me," Gladio says quietly, and she can feel the movement of his throat against her head as he swallows hard before dropping his voice to a whisper. "I miss Dad too."
That brings more tears, and her brother continues to hold her and rock her as she cries, falling apart in his arms until there's nothing left of her to keep breaking. It's exhaustion that finally stops her, and when her tears dry up, she feels lighter. Her grief's not gone, and she knows she's gonna fall apart over her dad again eventually, but the tight grip it's had on her since learning about Insomnia's fall has loosened for the first time, and she can breathe easier.
"Who's Aspen?" Gladio asks after she's been quiet for awhile. He's still got his arms around her, but he's stopped rocking her, and relaxed his embrace.
"My cat."
"You don't have a cat," he says, and Iris can easily imagine the confused look on his face she knows is there.
"I probably don't now," she agrees, but the thought's too painful to dwell on, so she distracts herself by explaining how she'd found and rescued the kitten last year.
"Huh," her brother says when she's finished. "I'm surprised Dad didn't find out, with you buying cat food every month."
Iris smiles, remembering. "He knew." He'd never said anything to her about it, but he'd never needed to. She knew he knew—he kept too close an eye on her bank statements for her to think she'd get away with it. But his silence was a tacit approval, or at least acceptance, and that was enough.
"And he allowed it?"
"I think as long as I didn't bring him home, Dad was fine with it. He even helped me with Aspen once."
"Oh yeah?" Gladio asks, but it's an encouraging tone, not a disbelieving one.
"He was sick, and wasn't eating. He would stay in his bed and not move. I was worried. The vet wouldn't let me bring him in without a parent, so I went to Dad."
She still remembers how terrified she'd been to ask him. Knowing her dad knew about the cat and openly asking him for help with him were two different things, and she was scared her dad would force her to give the cat up to a shelter to be adopted, saying she wasn't capable of taking care of Aspen alone.
"Dad, I need help with something."
He'd looked up from his papers, reading glasses sliding down his nose as he'd regarded her from the other side of the desk. She'd been doing her best to stay still, to stand tall and proud and not let her fear show, because Dad had always said be confident when you're asking for a favour, but she'd kept catching herself fidgeting, shifting from foot to foot, and she hadn't been able to look him in the eye.
"Someone bothering you?"
She'd shaken her head. "Nothing like that. Promise!"
"What's the problem then?" He'd removed his reading glasses, folding them and setting them aside before steepling his hands and looking at her, giving her his full attention. It had been enough to make her nerves subside, and look him in the eye—his duty as a Shield kept him from being there for her as much as they both would have liked, but when he was there, he'd always made sure she felt seen and heard. He'd always made sure she knew she was cared for.
"It's my cat," she'd said, trying to project as much confidence in those words as possible, but it had all fallen apart when she'd remembered how listless Aspen had been for the past three days, refusing all food and not moving from his bed. Usually he'd run over to greet her as she climbed onto the roof, and then would run back to his food bowl in anticipation of being fed, but those past three days he hadn't even lifted his head when she'd appeared. Tears had filled her eyes as she'd continued speaking, her well-thought out argument dissipating in the face of her worry. "He's sick, Daddy, he won't eat and he just lays in his bed and doesn't even look at me, something's wrong with him and I'm scared! I don't want him to die!"
"Iris—"
"I know you said we couldn't have pets in the house, but I never brought him home! He was hurt and I rescued him, I couldn't just leave him, he was crying and all alone, and I love him and now he needs me again but the vet won't help me without a parent—"
"Iris," her dad had said forcefully, stopping her desperate pleading in her tracks. "Where is your cat?"
She'd wiped at her face, sniffling a few times before answering, hope flaring in her that maybe her dad would help after all. "An alleyway a few blocks from here. I can take you there."
"Let's go then," her dad had said, locking the papers he'd been working on in a desk drawer before standing, grabbing his coat from where it'd been flung over the back of his chair.
She'd looked up at him, her eyes wide as she'd continued to blink back tears. "Really?"
"Really."
"Thank you, Daddy, thank you!" she'd cried, running to him and throwing her arms around him in a hug.
He'd hugged her back, quickly but firmly, and then gently pried her off, looking down at her with a rare smile. "There will be time for thanks later. For now let's take care of your cat."
She'd nodded, and they'd grabbed shoes and then left the house, Iris leading the way. She'd told him how she'd came to rescue Aspen as they'd walked, and he'd listened without much comment, but nodding to indicate he'd heard. He'd looked disapproving once she'd gotten to the alleyway and climbed up to the roof, but followed her without a word, observing Aspen for a few minutes.
"See, he's sick, right? He doesn't look okay at all."
"He's sick," her dad had agreed. "We should have taken the car, the vet's too far to walk with him in this state."
"I don't wanna leave him," she'd said, sitting down beside Aspen and gently petting him.
"I'll be quick, then."
She'd blinked, a little surprised her dad was willing to agree so easily to her staying, but she'd supposed he'd realised she'd already been coming here alone for months and arguing would have been pointless.
He'd taken his leave, and then had been gone long enough that she'd started to get worried he'd changed his mind about helping her, but eventually he'd returned, and when she'd seen the cat carrier in his hand, she'd understood the delay. Tears had filled her eyes, because him having a cat carrier meant he'd had to go buy one, it meant he'd cared enough about her to do this for her cat even though she'd kind of disobeyed him by keeping the cat in the first place, using a technicality to justify it.
But there would be time for crying later. Blinking away the tears, she'd helped him get Aspen into the carrier and down into the car, where they'd driven to the vet in silence. After filling out all the paperwork, they'd been told to take a seat and they'd be called into a room shortly, and she'd sat next to her dad, staring down at Aspen's carrier, unable to take her eyes off him.
"He'll be okay," her dad had said quietly.
She'd reached out, fumbling for his hand until she'd found it, squeezing it tightly, comforted when he'd squeezed hers in return. "What if he's not?" she'd asked, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. "What if he's not okay? He's such a sweet cat, Dad, he's so affectionate and he loves to play, and he always lets me pet him and cuddle him when I'm upset—" She'd had to stop then, too afraid she'd burst into tears.
"There's no need to worry and borrow trouble. If the worst happens, we'll deal with it. But I'm certain he'll be fine. He isn't having trouble breathing or vomiting. It's probably the cat equivalent of a cold. The vet will give him some medication and he'll be back to running around with you in no time."
"You're—you're not mad?" she'd asked, wishing her voice hadn't sounded so small. "That I kept him even though you said no pets?"
Her dad had sighed, squeezing her hand again. "You broke the spirit of the rule, but not the technicality of it. I'm not mad. And truthfully, Iris, you did the right thing. You helped a being in need, the way I've always taught you—that it was a cat does not matter. You've got a good heart. And coming to me today, being able to ask for help when you need it despite knowing the risk of getting in trouble... you put another's wellbeing above your own. I'm proud of you, Iris."
They'd been called back then before she'd had a chance to respond, but she remembers squeezing her dad's hand one last time, flashing him a quick smile and whispered thanks before picking up Aspen's carrier and heading towards the waiting tech.
And he'd turned out to be right—Aspen had only had what they'd called a fever of unknown origin, and with a bit of care and medication he'd been fine. They'd never spoken of it again, but she'd mention Aspen to him from time to time. Little things, like the way he'd ran in circles chasing his tail after she gave him catnip, or that he loved cuddling with the new plush toy she'd bought him. And her dad would always offer her a brief smile and say he seemed like a happy cat. And they'd leave it at that, until the next time.
"He said he was proud of me," she says to her brother, who's stayed quiet while she got lost in thought. Gladdy makes a wordless noise of encouragement, so she goes on. "For helping a being in need, he said, even if it was a cat. And for being able to ask him for help when I needed it."
"Is that why you wanted to help the coeurls today?" he asks, sitting up. "You wanted to make Dad proud?"
She shrugs, curling up and snuggling back into him. "I wasn't really thinking about that. But Dad's always said we should help those in need. And—" She stops, swallowing, the mental images she'd had before springing back into her mind. They're not pleasant, and she tries her best to banish them.
"And?"
"And... the mama," she says quietly, hoping she doesn't cry more. "Her dying. I just... I kept thinking about dad, dying alone in the hotel, hurting, knowing he was leaving us..."
"Aw, Iris," Gladdy says, his voice pained, and tinged with sorrow.
"An' the cub was gonna be an orphan, just like me. I couldn't leave him all alone like that. It felt like Dad would have wanted me to help him, the same way I'd helped Aspen. I guess I felt like I would be letting him down somehow if I didn't."
"Kiddo, I think he would have approved either way, just because you cared. But what you did today, sitting with the mom like that, and then fighting us to help the cub... Yeah, it was stupid. But it was also really brave and compassionate. And you're right, I do think he would have wanted you to help if you could, an' me too. You were more of an Amicitia than I was," Gladdy tells her with a little laugh. "Dad's not here anymore, but I know he would have been so proud of you today."
"Yeah?" she asks, tilting her head back to look at him. A small smile steals across her face as she imagines her dad saying to her the words that her brother's saying. That she'd been more of an Amicitia than Gladdy today. That he's proud of her. That, like with Aspen, she'd done the right thing.
Gladio nods. "Yeah. And it's okay to miss him, ya know? If you need to cry, or you just want to talk about him or remember him, you can always come to me. Any time. It ain't gonna slow me down. An' I think it makes you stronger to cry when you need, rather than keeping it all in. I could stand to remember that more."
"Can we talk about him now?" she asks hesitantly, half-expecting a denial, an apology that it's late and they need sleep, and he meant any time other than now.
But the answer comes immediately, easily, with no hint of reluctance anywhere. "Sure. What do you wanna talk about?"
"Good stuff," she says instantly, because she's had enough pain and crying for one day. "Funny stories. Happy ones."
"Did I ever tell you about the first time he tried to teach me to drive?"
"Yeah," she says, remembering the story with fondness, a wider smile coming to her face this time. A real one, one of those genuine moments her dad had told her she'd have in her grief. "But tell me again."
"Okay," Gladio says with a laugh, wrapping his arms back around her in a hug again as he settled into starting the story. "Well, for some reason he'd thought I'd learn better if I jumped right into driving, instead of taking it slow and practicing in an empty parking lot. And to his credit he picked what would normally be a slow time on a not busy street, but he didn't take into account the festival going on that weekend, or all the traffic that was being redirected..."
Iris listens as her brother continues to tell the story, laughing at all the right moments, easily picturing her dad's panicked yelling at Gladio as he turned the wrong way down a thankfully empty one-way street. When he finishes, she launches into a story of her own, and word by word, her grief continues to ease into something bearable as his loss finally begins to feel real to her.
Because as she and her brother trade stories, she realises—her dad may be gone physically, and she'll never get to see or hear him again, but he isn't completely lost to her forever. His memory still lives on within the two of them. The same as Aspen's memory lives on within her, and the memory of the mama coeurl within the cub. They may be orphans now, left to finish growing up without parents, but they're not alone. The cub will find a pack to join once he's better, and she's got Gladdy.
And she can't go back to Insomnia right now, maybe not ever, but as long as she has her brother and their memories of their dad, she'll still have a home. Because home is where her loved ones are, and they're all right here with her, even her dad and Aspen. They don't need to be here physically—they're in her heart, where they've been all along.