and once in your life, you'll be mine
ffxiv | cid nan garlond x warrior of light (utha ofanwytawyn) | 2,350 words | rated M | spoilers for each expac
summary: five times utha left cid, and one time she stayed; one glimpse into their relationship per expac.
note: this is a gift fic for @oschonseleven, to whom the wonderful utha belongs! happy new year, i'm so glad to have you in my life, pal!! <33
read here on ao3
i.
With her head thrown back in laughter, Cid allowed himself to study Utha. Warmth radiated throughout his body in the knowledge that he elicited such a joyous reaction from his friend.
(Though he was always warmed by her. He was not a man used to thinking in poetic terms but as a man of science, he could understand that in a short period of time, Utha Ofanwytawyn had become his sun: the fixed point around which he orbited, her presence—and absence—the measurement of his time.)
He admired the long, elegant line of her neck, the scar across her strong nose, the gap between her front teeth. He had long ago committed these features to memory, to his sketchbook, but the thrill of seeing them—seeing her—up close had yet to wane.
When Utha had sought him out after liberating the Scions from Castrum Centri, he had been moved that out of all her friends and comrades, she chose to celebrate with him. She understood what this victory meant to him as well. They had made short work of undressing and losing themselves in each other, and now basked in the afterglow, brightened by each other’s company and the sweat on their skin.
Cid wished to live in these moments.
Yet Utha’s linkpearl chimed. Even before she finished her conversation, Cid knew she had to go; plans were in motion to topple Gaius van Baelsar and his Ultima Weapon, and Utha was once again key to their success, with Cid working as support. He knew with her on its side, Eorzea was sure to win.
She looked over at him with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, duty calls. I’ll see you afterwards, yeah?”
“Of course.”
Too soon she was dressed and leaving one final smudged lipstick kiss next to his third eye on her way out.
They both had work to do. Yet Cid, already cold without her, yearned for the next time he could hold Utha in his arms.
ii.
By now, Cid had learned to treasure what moments he and Utha managed to steal.
This one was no exception, though it was tinged with loss: Utha had shown up at his door following the attack on Baelsar’s Wall and Papalymo’s sacrifice. Wordlessly, he had folded her into his arms, letting her put down her grief and anger if only temporarily.
Though physical intimacy was a constant in their relationship—an unlabelled yet nonetheless significant one, Utha having triumphantly confessed her feelings to him after their shared victory over Bismarck and he in turn (in shock, in joy) expressed his—this time, they laid together chastely and quietly.
The cost of today’s victory was a palpable presence, a reminder that they were at the start of a revolution. It was an unspoken truth between them that their love for each other must yield to their shared love for the world—yet when they were together, they belonged to one another.
Cid held Utha until she was once again strong enough to face the world outside his arms. She dozed off as he stroked her hair, and he too felt more grounded for her comforting weight on him.
Finally, too quickly, Utha stirred. She heaved a sigh as she sat up.
“I imagine you will be off to Ala Mhigo now?”
Utha nodded. “We’re bracing for retaliation now that we’ve breached Baelsar’s Wall. We can’t let the people there face it alone.”
Cid gave her a kiss on her shoulder. “Be safe—and give them hell.”
Utha lifted his chin and left him with a lingering kiss. When she pulled away, that familiar resolve glinted in her eyes. She parroted his words—said ages ago, joking in tone then only because he knew she would succeed—back to him: “Don’t even think about dying on me.”
He did not know when he would see her again, yet he had faith that he would.
iii.
Perhaps the Ironworks office in Rhalgr’s Reach was not the best place for this particular victory lap, yet Cid could not find it in himself to care. They had defeated Omega, Zenos yae Galvus was dead, and Ala Mhigo was free. If ever there was a time to celebrate, to revel shamelessly in joy and in one another, it was this.
With a final cry, he collapsed against her chest. A low, smoky laugh rumbled from her, intoxicating in spite of—or perhaps because of—its (well-earned) smugness. Cid soothed his slightly bruised ego by kissing Utha’s knuckles, leaving her momentarily breathless in turn.
As he caught his breath, he took stock of the office: papers were strewn about the floor, gadgets were pushed to the side of the desk, and his desk chair below them now rocked unsteadily.
“Quite the mess we’ve made,” Utha murmured in his ear.
“Will you help me clean it up?”
“I don’t know… do you trust me to organise your files?” She wore his favourite of her smiles, a gently playful one, and he hid the way his heart clenched with an affectionate eye roll.
After sorting themselves out, they began straightening the office. They worked in tandem, in companionable silence, fluidly navigating around one another. So often in the past, their rendezvouses would end with Utha having to rush off and Cid left alone to clean up both himself and his space. To have her here in such mundane circumstances was thrilling.
Not for the first time Cid let himself picture what domesticity between them might look like.
He wanted it so badly his hands trembled.
—Then Utha’s linkpearl chimed, as if reminding him of this nigh impossibility. By now, Cid knew that meant their time together had ended.
When they emerged from his office, they had an audience. Biggs and Wedge made a show of waving goodbye to Utha, who laughed off their teasing, wished them well, and asked them to look after Cid for her. Her eyes glimmered as she mouthed farewell once more to Cid, who blushed like a schoolboy.
“Nice one, boss—” Biggs called.
“Get back to work.”
Cid turned abruptly on his heel and returned to his office. He was not yet ready to leave their moment, though it had already left him.
iv.
The longest months of Cid’s life were finally over.
Utha’s disappearance to the First was a test of his resolve like no other. Being unable to see her, hear from her, knowing she was likely in mortal peril—he felt like he had aged many years. This was not the first time he and Utha had gone so long without seeing each other, but it was the first time that he knew he could not see her.
It made him weak.
Helping her, G’raha Tia, and Alisaie now with the cure to tempering was a small salve on a wound he knew would take many moons to heal.
His struggle of course paled in comparison to what Utha experienced, which he was only beginning to understand.
Upon her return to Eorzea, Utha had not sought him out immediately. Cid had quashed the urge to run to her at Revenant’s Toll—to lay eyes and hands on her and verify for himself that she was okay—yet it was a near thing.
If he had made more excursions to Saint Coinach’s Find hoping to hear news of her and the Scions, well. That was his prerogative.
When he finally did see her during their work together on the supercomputer, she was turned inward; her familiar warmth he had loved for years was nowhere to be seen. He tried to rationalise this—she had been whisked away against her will to another shard, she had apparently averted another calamity at great cost, and she had just returned to Eorzea—but unease curled dark and oily in the pit of his stomach.
She only appeared at his door after they finished their project. As always, Cid welcomed her in.
After an awkward, silent few minutes of Utha avoiding Cid’s gaze, Cid sat down on his bed. “How are you?” he ventured.
Utha fidgeted. She went to sit down next to him, then seemed to think better of it and opted to stand with her arms crossed tightly against her chest instead.
“Not…great. I don’t— I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Utha.” At this she looked at him. “Come here?” Cid opened his arms.
He watched her war with herself for a moment before she relented, though she walked towards him as if approaching her executioner. He tried to mask his hurt, even as the pit in his stomach yawned ever wider.
It took more restraint than he could muster to not embrace her with all the longing, all the desperation, all the relief he’d stored up since last they were together.
Yet Utha remained rigid in his arms. Her breathing ran ragged and she trembled from the effort of holding herself back from him.
Cid could not comfort her with his touch, so he changed tactics. “I’ve missed you,” he confessed into the crook of her neck. He could have said more but surely—surely, she must have known he’d been mad with worry, paralysed in the face of his own inability to help her; surely, she must have known he loved her regardless, even if she could not look at him right now.
Even this understatement was too much: with a choked sound, Utha stumbled out of his arms and towards the door.
“Utha?”
She hesitated at the door for a moment before she said, “I can’t do this right now, I’m sorry. I’ll—talk to you later.” Utha left without a backwards glance.
Left alone once more, for the first time in the course of their relationship, Cid was not at all sure that he would see Utha again.
The pit in his stomach swallowed him whole.
v.
When Utha returned from Ultima Thule, it was one of the happiest days of Cid’s life.
When Utha later appeared at his doorway, not as the victorious hero but as the battered shell of herself, and gave voice to what he had already known (she needed space—she could not be with him right now—she could not be around him), it was one of the darkest days of Cid’s life.
He would live in wait for the next time his sun shone on him. Until then, he was consigned to the shadows to nurse his broken heart and hope that Utha would (could) do the same.
vi.
The vast ocean between Utha and him was a blessing: on particularly difficult days, it was the only thing that stopped Cid from reaching out to her. He hoped the change of scenery that Tural provided would help Utha find her way back to herself—and eventually, back to him.
He understood and respected her wish for space, but that did not make it any easier to live without her. He missed her as a lover: his bed was empty, his sheets too neat and too cold without her there. He missed her as a friend: sharing his triumphs and breakthroughs, his petty grievances and daily minutiae, with anyone else paled in comparison to her.
He missed her in his marrow.
Still, he had work to do: their star had averted the Final Days, but many lives were still in tatters or irrevocably changed. What succor he and the Ironworks could offer, they did. He found several talented engineers among the fallen empire’s survivors whom he and his colleagues trained so they could build technological infrastructure for the new Garlemald. The work was meaningful and dulled the ever-present ache he had learned to live with.
In quiet moments when his mind wandered, though, he filled his sketchbook with Utha: her mouth mid-tease, her eyes watching him, her hands languidly twirling her weapons. Pages and pages of her until she occupied his sketchbook as much as his mind.
And so his life without Utha continued: bearable except when it was not.
—Until one day, many moons into their separation, when she appeared at his door.
“Hey Cid. Can I come in?”
It took him a moment to remember to breathe, for his heart to settle back into his chest from where it had lodged in his throat, but he ushered her in just as he had done so many times before.
“You look… great,” he offered when he could speak.
She did: She looked healthy and strong, her skin more freckled from time spent in the sun, and she stood relaxed and confident. He noted her temples had greyed more; this visible reminder of their time apart sat like a weight on his chest.
No matter—she was here now.
After some tentative small talk, they caught one another up on their lives: her time in Alexandria, his time in Garlemald. He felt stilted, still caught off-guard, yet each time he stumbled, Utha was there with an understanding and quietly apologetic smile.
Gods, he loved her (still; always; forever).
They soon slipped back into a more comfortable dynamic, reminiscent of—though not quite the same as—their early friendship. The longer they spent together, the easier it was. Utha’s laughter and light teasing, which he missed even before their separation, was a balm; seeing her well again made the devastation of their separation worthwhile.
Like old times, Utha’s linkpearl chimed and interrupted them. Cid rose from where he had perched on a chair and said, “I take it you have to go?”
Utha smiled at him, eyes glimmering like they used to. “It’s not anything urgent. Would it be okay if I stayed for a while longer?”
…Truly nothing could have prepared him for this day.
“I would like that a lot.”
She patted the space next to her on his bed, and he eagerly took his place. Cid felt himself thawing, warmed once again by Utha’s sunlight.
Despite all the heartache she had put him through, he knew he would do it again.
But maybe—just maybe—he wouldn’t have to.
