The Keiran Canon

Three Nights in Archades: Esunaga

2007-04-19T07:11:32Z

TITLE: Three Nights in Archades
CHAPTER: Part Three: Esunaga
AUTHOR: Omphalos
PAIRING(S): Basch/Balthier, mention of Balthier/Gabranth, and just the teensiest hint of Ronsencest
RATING: R for most, NC-17 at the very end

SUMMARY: Balthier's attempts to broaden Basch's sexual horizons went horribly awry. Can he and Basch thrash out the situation and resolve their feelings? (Possible spoilers up through Archades.)

They didn’t speak at all until the next morning. Basch had fallen asleep slung across the fusty green hotel armchair, and Balthier had wrapped himself in the bed sheets so completely that only his ears stuck out. Basch had noticed the Sky Pirate’s ears turned bright red when he was angry or annoyed, and when he awoke hung-over in the cold light of the next day, they were the color of ripe tomatoes. Angry even in his sleep. Worse still, Basch had a crick in his neck and his mouth tasted as if he’d licked a dragon’s backside. It was with no little discomfort and irritation that Basch painfully peeled himself off the armchair and stumbled into the bathroom.

At least the water pressure in the hotel was good. Basch bent his head and let the thunderous spray of the shower hit the back of his neck, feeling slightly better as he did so. The events of last night gnawed at, guilty passion set sharp by prickling fury whenever he imagined Balthier sporting with Noah. Basch hadn’t seen his brother in many years, but he could jealously imagine the two men together- Balthier’s eyebrows furrowed as they did whenever he was about to reach orgasm, Noah’s habit of hissing with his mouth set in a grimace…

Basch had seen it before, of course. Even though their father had been openly disapproving, Noah had always brought boys home. Younger boys, sometimes so young that Basch had wondered whether he ought to call the police. On more than one occasion, Noah had believed Basch to be out of the house whenever he brought another man home with him.

Either his brother had not known, or had not cared, but Basch often sat huddled up in their closet to do his homework. The smell of the lavender their mother used in her wash-water was comforting, and Basch enjoyed the concentric rings of yellow light the closet’s single bare bulb threw onto the pages. He wasn’t such a dab hand at mathematics, but he did enjoy history classes, and many was the time he would pile up outgrown winter sweaters and lounge happily upon them, reading Tales of Ivalice. It was hard to find privacy in his parents’ old farmhouse, hard to get time alone when he shared a room with a much louder and more demanding person like Noah.
In any case, he often heard Noah’s liaisons when he was reading in the closet. At first, Basch ignored it- like most Landisians, he was standoffish and shy about invading another’s personal life- but after a few incidents, Basch decided to peek out between the wooden slats and see what was going on.

It was the beauty of lovemaking that struck him the hardest. For his entire life, Basch would never ascribe to the popular opinion that fucking looked funny. His first glimpses of sex left him with the impression of chiselled muscles, of sweetly cupped hands and floating breath and soft skin rubbing against softer skin. Although he was initially uncomfortable with watching his brother make love, Basch soon found himself observing enthusiastically. It wasn’t the sight of two men naked that intrigued him so much as the heated sighs and thoughtless, erotic motion that forced him to watch. These sessions would always end with Noah and his partner going their separate ways, Noah smoking a forbidden cigarette- hard to say which act their father would have disapproved of more- and Basch panting hotly behind the piny-smelling closet door, a shameful hand stroking his penis and his cheeks burning with embarrassment and excitement. No matter how often he found himself this way, Basch could never manage to orgasm while watching his brother on a date, but that hadn’t stopped his shameful fantasizing later.

Basch turned his face up towards the spray and opened his mouth, letting the water wash away the taste of last night. He couldn’t say what bothered him most- the idea of Balthier having sex with his brother, or the fact that the mysterious little Nomad dancer, Tree, was still weighing on his mind. Despite his sour state, he felt a faint stirring as he remembered clawing the other man’s skinny back while thrusting wildly into him.

When he came out of the shower, Balthier was sitting up in bed and looking out the window. He ignored Basch, who tried to grab his clothes and get dressed behind the closet door. His anger was made him shy. As he hopped around, trying to put his pants on without falling over, he asked, “Balthier?”

“Yes?”

“Is there a public gymnasium around here?”

Balthier stayed quiet. Basch started to put his shirt on, pulling it over his head before sliding his arms into the sleeves. Presently, Balthier said, “In Nilbasse, I believe. Near the Gambitry. You’ll need ten pinewood chops to get in.”

“I have them.” Basch stepped out from behind the closet door, closing it as he did so. Balthier actually looked sheepish- a fact that Basch was fiercely glad about. “I’m going to go work out,” he said shortly. “We’re all to meet at ten by the clock tower. Be on time; Ashe was annoyed with you yesterday for being tardy.”

As he bent over to put his boots on, Balthier said, “…I take it we’re not going to discuss yesterday evening, then.”

Basch set the final buckle with a vicious yank. Not knowing how he felt about having that conversation, he declined to answer.

“Oh, the silent treatment. How mature,” Balthier mocked him. “Jealousy does not become you, Captain.”

Basch leapt up, his heart cold with sudden rage. He crossed the room in three steps and grabbed the neck of Balthier’s sweaty shirt. Pulling the Sky Pirate up to his face, he hissed through his teeth. “You see this? This is what I look like. I have a fucking scar on my face that Noah doesn’t have.”

He dropped Balthier back on the bed, his face twisting with disgust. “Let’s see. You’re a Sky Pirate and the spoilt only child of Archadian gentry. You spend your days trying to snatch money from the Resistance and insulting the Princess, and you try to tell me what adult behaviour is like?” Basch shook his head. “Don’t speak to me right now.”

“You must have known what was going on last night,” Balthier snapped. “It’s your own fault for getting drunk and not looking for me. Besides, how did I know you didn’t use that makeup to cover your scar?”

Basch laughed bitterly. “That’s precisely the issue. I had no idea what was going on last night. I thought that was part of your little game, speaking of maturity.”

“Basch, it’s not as if I went there with the express purpose of pleasuring your brother!” Balthier spread his hands wide in supplication. “I swear it! My only intention was to do something rather naughty for the evening, and if you and I ended up with other people in the meantime, it would only be a…a…an appetizer.”

“Well, thank you very much for a lovely evening,” Basch said rudely. “You managed to betray the Resistance with oral sex. Well done.” Part of him wanted to shout and you betrayed me, too! …but melodrama wouldn’t have made the situation any better.

The younger man scoffed. “Resistance, my arse. I’m so sick of hearing about the Resistance, I could scream.”

That was too much. Basch could only storm out of the room, refusing to give in to the urge to slam the door behind him.

All the way to the gym, Basch was preoccupied with ugly thoughts. It wasn’t that he was in any mood to work out, given his hangover, but anything was better than staying in that room with Balthier- and he wasn’t averse to the idea of punching something.

He had no idea how to respond to this situation. His anger felt both justifiable and utterly unreasonable, and he muddled it about in his aching head. Basch would get angry that Balthier had gone with another man, but then remember that he had, too. In fact, on this point Basch felt worse, because at least Balthier had the excuse of thinking his partner was actually the man he had been searching for. Then again, if Balthier had refrained from playing a puerile game and had just taken Basch to the club with him, none of it would have happened.

Most of all, however, Basch was unsettled by his anger because it carried the distinct taint of his having been emotionally blindsided. This worried him. Although he could say without too much second-guessing that he and Balthier cared about each other in the way of good friends and battle comrades, he wasn’t sure that the other man had any deeper feelings. He couldn’t even say it for himself- at least, not for certain. It was this fruitless question that kept circling in Basch’s mind as he ran up the Gambitry’s stairs. The chopmaster directed him to a back door, which led to a pleasant tiled terrace. Still dizzy from the poisons swirling in his system, Basch sat on a nearby bench and, putting his head between his hands, squeezed his eyes shut. It wasn’t the worst hangover he’d ever had, but it still wasn’t much fun.

By the time Basch finally got to the gym- and imbibed about a gallon of water- he was feeling a little better. He handed his chops over to the receptionist, who gave him a towel, a locking device, and something black and shiny. “What’s this?” Basch asked, trying to unfold the slippery stuff without dropping the towel. It reminded him rather unpleasantly of the previous night.

“We have a dress code here, sir,” the man behind the desk said in a snooty manner. He gave Basch’s scuffed soldier’s gear a rather unsympathetic once-over. “No metal objects on clothing, no shoes in the workout areas, and nothing else that could damage the equipment and the space.”

“Oh,” Basch said. “Wait, no shoes? I—“

“Enjoy your workout, sir,” the man said pointedly. Basch shrugged in defeat and made his way into the locker room.

He soon realized that everyone was wearing the club uniform- a tight, sleeveless shirt and matching shorts, all of it in the same stretchy, shiny fabric. It was rather unforgiving on some of the larger individuals, but Basch’s only problem was that the shorts were a bit tighter than he was comfortable with.

Basch started out on the mats, stretching and doing some army training exercises. No one looked at him- there were very few people here this early on a weekend, and the few who were looked as bleary-eyed and fuzzy as Basch felt. Emboldened, he moved over to the punching bags and started pummelling one, feeling steadier and less frustrated with every kick and punch.

* * * * * *

Balthier waited for as long as he could stand it, then showered and dressed.

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” Fran asked, stretching her long legs and slouching down in the armchair. She was grouchy, and Balthier normally knew better than to rouse a sleeping Viera, but the second Basch had left he knew he had to ask Fran’s advice.

Balthier was shaving in the bathroom, and Fran had to ask a second time before he heard her. He stopped for a minute, contemplating his foamy reflection. “I don’t know,” he said blithely, “but at this point, what have I to lose?”

He heard Fran sigh, and grinned in spite of himself. “I know, I know, you don’t enjoy this sort of conversation,” he called, “But who else can I ask about such matters?”

“Ask Ashe. She has learned how it feels to lose someone’s allegiance as of late,” Fran responded.

“What?!”

“It is not unreasonable, is it? She was fond of Basch, who is her sworn knight. Clearly she thought that this would segue into a romantic relationship. I think she feels as if Basch’s loyalty had faltered a bit, since he did not love her as she wanted.”

“Bitch,” Balthier muttered under his breath.

“I heard that.”

“Well, honestly.” Peevishly, he threw the razor down and, examining his smooth chin for nicks, turned the light off and stepped out of the bathroom. “It’s not as if he’s in love with me, either.”

“Who are you trying to convince?” Fran asked, not unkindly.

Balthier stared at her a moment, then sighed. “I should go find him, instead of waiting until this afternoon to speak with him. I don’t think I’m up to going into Draklor and getting the silent treatment at the same time.”

She looked out the window. It was winter in Archades, and the sky was a mass of dark clouds. After a moment, she asked, “Are you afraid?”

“Of course I’m afraid,” Balthier said. “That is just about the last place in this life or the next that I want to visit.”

“You know that is not what I meant.”

Annoyed, Balthier turned his back on her and pretended to be rummaging through his bags. “Don’t be foolish.” When Fran didn’t immediately respond, he relented, and faced her again. “A little. It seems…stupid, really. Improbable.” He laughed nervously. “It will be the first time I’ve ever insulted someone and then chased them down to apologize. I suppose that’s indicative of something, isn’t it?”

Fran got to her feet, brushing a hank of silky white hair back as she did so. Putting her hands on Balthier’s shoulders, she looked directly into his eyes, and said, “I think it is.”

His shoulders slumped as an odd feeling of relief swept through him. “Thank you,” he said in a subdued tone.

When Balthier exited the building, a light rain had begun to fall. The elegantly-dressed Archadians were retreating, with complaints, to huddle under awnings or crowd themselves into the shops. Balthier quickened his step, hoping to avoid becoming soaked before he reached Basch. He was lucky that no one noticed the prodigal Bunansa running through the streets.

Getting into the Nilbasse public gymnasium without being seen was easy- nothing about Archades seemed to have changed since Balthier had left, and the gym’s wiggly back door lock was as ineffective as ever. He had learned how to break in from one of the establishment’s former owners, a woman he fondly remembered as being inordinately flexible. After jiggling the handle for a minute or so, the lock yielded, and Balthier crept in. The door still led to the same storage closet, and out of habit, Balthier immediately dropped to his knees and crawled on the stack of weathered gym mats to peer through the slats at the bottom of the inside door. He could hear someone punching one of the exercise bags, but the angle of the slats didn’t allow him to look around the room. In the old days, he only had to look out and see if Shalica had left a piece of red tape stuck on the opposite wall or not- she’d had a rather jealous husband, necessitating their sneaking around.

The sounds were familiar enough, however. At this point, Balthier could easily recognize Basch’s gravelley utterances of exertion. Cautiously, he pushed the door open a crack and peered out. Sure enough, there was Basch Von Ronsenburg, beating an innocent punching bag with frightening vigour. He was alone in the room.

Balthier was extremely glad he’d recommended this gym. Basch was clad in skin-tight, shiny black fabric that outlined and accentuated every corner of muscle and rope of sinew in his body. As he extended his foot in a mighty kick, leaning back slightly in a defensive pose, the fabric of his shorts and the gym’s lighting system conspired to outline the perfect shape of his arse. When he twisted around to deliver a backwards kick, Balthier was enthralled- the fabric of the shirt strained over the massive muscles in his arms and chest, picking out every tiny detail. It even managed to cling to his hard abdominals. The fabric was made darker with sweat, and the hair at the back of Basch’s neck was matted, damp, and slightly curly. There was golden dust prickling on Basch’s chin, evocative of the beard he had when they had met in Nalbina, and Balthier felt the same answering stiffness rising in his trousers.

Too mesmerized to break his position, Balthier kept watching. It always stunned him that a man of Basch’s build could be so graceful, especially seeing as his combat training was all military, but sometimes watching Basch fight was like watching a dancer. Balthier had been on autopilot during fights more than a few times, enamoured of how Fran and Basch moved.
After a few minutes, Basch stopped. Balthier figured that the older man had been exercising for at least an hour before he had arrived, and Basch’s sunken eyes and stubbly chin told worlds about how ill he was feeling. He rolled his head around on his neck, as if trying to crack it, and got in position to strike again.

Seeing this, Balthier pushed the door open farther. A startled Basch faltered in his forward strike, turning towards the door to see Balthier on his knees. “What in blazes are you doing here?” he asked.

“We need to talk,” Balthier responded.

“But why are you in the closet?” Basch asked, bewildered.

Balthier got to his feet and dusted off his knees. “You know me, Captain. I always have to make an entrance.”

“But—“

“Basch,” Balthier interrupted, “Gather your things. I’ll meet you outside.” He began to close the door, then stopped and poked his head back into the room. “Keep that shirt, if you can manage,” he added. “It’s quite fetching.”

* * * * * *

When a confused and still annoyed Basch left the gymnasium, Balthier was standing at a railing, looking out over the layers of architecture that made up Archades. There was a light rain misting over the city, and few people were on the streets. Basch walked up and took a place next to Balthier, without looking at him. “So,” he said.

Balthier didn’t respond right away. Finally, he said, “I want to tell you a story.”

“Very well.” Basch glanced over at the Sky Pirate. Balthier was leaning over, his chin resting on his folded hands. The position made him look all of sixteen years old.

“I imagine there’s been some speculation as to the relationship between Fran and me,” Balthier began. “Whatever you’ve all thought, it’s likely the truth.”

This wasn’t what Basch had been expecting. Curling his fingers around the wet railing, he said, “I don’t know what anyone else thought. I merely figured you two were lovers.”

“Yes, but she is also my dearest friend.” Balthier cleared his throat. “I met Fran right as I began my career in piracy, and I don’t believe we’ve been apart since. It’s fair to say that I have loved her the entire time.”

Something in Basch’s heart flipped over and started kicking when Balthier said this. Unsure of how to respond, he kept his mouth shut and his eyes trained on passing cabs.

“About a year ago, I woke up one morning and Fran was gone from our bed,” Balthier continued. “She came back a few hours later, saying nothing. We were quiet for two days, and by the time we started speaking again, everything had changed.” He looked at Basch, who steadily avoided his eyes. “I wondered for months what had happened between us, when I realized that I never told her that I loved her. Not in all the countless hours and days we spent in each other’s company, not in all we had been through together.”

Now Basch did meet Balthier’s eyes, in which there was no mocking light. “Why not?” he asked.
Balthier shrugged and gave Basch a wry glance. “Why? Because I’m immature. And glib. And thoroughly spoilt. Everything you said to me this morning was true.”

“I didn’t mean to be cruel,” Basch said.

“You weren’t cruel, you were angry and honest,” the younger man insisted. “Fran spoiled me by never asking for anything. I grew complacent and careless of her feelings, and by the time I realized this…well, at any rate, my point is that I have a talent for ruining good things through my own lack of…” He stopped, searching for the right word. “Sobriety. I don’t take things seriously. I never have.”

“I suppose I have the opposite problem,” Basch said, not without humour.

Balthier straightened up and, after looking around quickly, touched Basch’s unshaven cheek. “Indeed,” he said with a laugh. Unconsciously, Basch turned his head as if aiming to kiss Balthier’s palm, but caught himself as the Sky Pirate shook his head quickly. “Basch, I’ve done a terrible thing,” Balthier said. “Not only did I do hurt you deeply, even by accident, but I also had the bad taste to insult your beliefs.” He took a quick, deep breath. “For that, I am truly sorry. I’m sorry for what happened with your brother, and I’m sorry for being crass about it this morning.”

“I should apologize as well,” Basch said. He rested his arm on the rail, letting his fingers brush against the side of Balthier’s own arm. “How would you have known? I should not have taken it personally, and…” Basch hesitated. “I’m terribly sorry that I was with someone else, too.”
“I rather expected one of us to end up with another person,” Balthier admitted, “but I was at least hoping to share you with them.”

Basch laughed softly. “You really are perverse,” he murmured.

Balthier gave him a searching look. “Do you hate me?” he asked. His demeanour was so quiet, so much less confident than usual.

“No,” Basch said. “No, I could not.” He couldn’t stand the pleading look in Balthier’s eyes. “It’s the shock, more than anything. Noah and I did not part on good terms, as you can imagine.” He touched the scar on his forehead, feeling its rubbery ridge.

Balthier reached out and did the same, his cool fingers rubbing across its length with uncharacteristic tenderness. “I like it,” he admitted. “You look like a pirate in an old seaman’s tale.”

“Thank you…I think,” Basch said with a small smile.

“Basch, do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”

Basch pulled an exaggerated face of confusion. “That you like my scar?”

Momentarily taken aback, Balthier’s face fell. Basch began to chuckle, and the Sky Pirate’s expression quickly changed to a glowering one. “The one time I try to be serious, and he’s making jokes,” Balthier said, mostly to himself.

“I’m sorry,” Basch said, “But you just made that too easy.” He started to laugh again, but the look in Balthier’s eyes made him realize that something very serious was indeed about to happen.

“Basch, I…” Balthier’s face was very still, as if seeing Basch for the first time. “Basch, I’m in love with you.”

* * * * * *

Basch kissed the neck of his lover as he rode him, deep and hard. Balthier was moaning in pleasure, touching himself as Basch thrust into him. Rain streamed down the windows in little rivers, and muted thunder rolled softly in the sky.

Balthier actually beat Basch to orgasm, his body shuddering in great waves of sensation as Basch matched his excitement with heightened speed and intensity. He quickly joined the younger man, and before long they lay tangled up in one another, Balthier pillowing his head on Basch’s upper arm. He stroked the older man’s chest, trailing his hand down to Basch’s groin.

Basch groaned in response, lazily knocking Balthier’s hand away. “No more,” he begged. “We’ll be in enough trouble with Ashe already for missing her and the others this morning.”

“I want to it again,” Balthier pleaded, rolling over and nipping the flesh above Basch’s clavicle. “Please, please, take me again…”

“I’m an old man,” Basch said. “I can’t just hop back up again.”

“You are not.”

“I am. I’m old and crumbling—“ Laughing, Balthier put his hand over Basch’s mouth. Basch kissed the intrusive fingers, then rolled on top of Balthier, pinning the Sky Pirate beneath himself. Balthier’s eyes were sparkling with mischief, and Basch smiled in response to his happy afterglow. “Say it again,” he said tenderly.

“I love you,” Balthier whispered, never breaking their locked gaze. “I love you, I love you, I—“

--but Basch silenced him with a hard, hot kiss. “Maybe we have time for just a bit more,” he whispered, sliding down under the sheets and between Balthier’s legs. “Just a little bit more, after all.”

THE END

"Three Nights in Archades: Quickening"

2007-03-28T05:47:25Z

THREE NIGHTS IN ARCHADES
By Omphalos
Part two: Quickening

Pairing: Basch/Balthier, Basch/original character, Balthier/Gabranth
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Balthier certainly has a fondness for surprising his lover. Basch might enjoy the teasing and the torture, but will a foray into Archadia's exotic underbelly prove to be too personal?

WARNING: I'm not sure, but there might be spoilers from the end of the game- despite the fact that I'm not there myself. Might be playing a little loose with timelines and character relationships. As usual, if explicit sex ain't your thing, you're better off hitting the local library.

Basch winced as he slid the loose-fitting Archadian dress shirt over his chest. His nipples- not to mention, other places- were still sore from Balthier’s relentless treatment the previous night.

Still nude, Balthier watched him dress from the bed. “I meant to ask,” he said, “However did an upright, proper lad like yourself ever come up with the idea to pierce his nipples?”

Tying the laces on his shirt, Basch considered. He was hesitant about telling Balthier too much personal information, especially concerning his family. Clearing his throat, Basch said, “My brother and I did it after we left school. It was his idea, but I went along with it.”

“Really?” Balthier lolled indulgently on the bed, cradling his chin in both hands. The thin white sheet barely covered his naked bottom, and Basch felt a stab of lust when he noticed the flimsy fabric slithering off the tanned skin and exposing the Sky pirate’s nether region. “Older or younger?”

Basch bent his head over the top of his boots, pretending to be absorbed with tying them. “Three minutes older. We were twins,” he said softly. Balthier’s silence encouraged him, and he pressed on” “He and I were very different, you see. N—my brother decided that this would help make us the same.”

“Two men who looked like you?” Balthier let out a long, low whistle. “You must have driven the girls crazy.”

“Only one of us,” Basch said with a strange, lopsided grin. “My brother wasn’t quite as interested in women.”

Before Balthier said anything else, there was a knock on the door. “Who is it?” Balthier called.

“Fran.”

“Come in, it’s open.”

The Viera entered the room, ducking so as to avoid hitting her ears against the doorframe. She nodded to Basch. Balthier gave her an insolent grin and a limpid little wave, rolling over onto his back and fixing her with his mocking stare.

“Shameless pirate,” she said. “I’ve seen your little toy before.”

Basch had to choke back a peal of laughter. Always a good sport, Balthier winked at her. “Don’t be jealous,” he said. “You can look all you want now, if you’ve missed it.”

“Spare me you disproportionate ego.” Fran turned to Basch and asked, “Have you any chops?”

“Do I have what?”

She handed him a small trinket. Basch looked closely at it. It was made from a fresh, light-coloured piece of wood. Although the wood was unvarnished, the little piece was capped with an elaborately scrolled piece of silver. It curled around the wooden based in a way that reminded the former soldier of a dragon’s tail, with the head apparently forming a hook.

“Pinewood chop,” Fran explained. “You’ll need a number of these to travel around Archades.”

“Oh, skylord’s arse, I’d forgotten,” said Balthier. “What a tremendous pain.”

“Then you have some?” Basch turned towards his lover. “It isn’t as if you’ll be out walking the streets today. May I use yours?”

“Captain,” Balthier snorted, “Do you really believe I would hold onto a piece of identification from my shameful past? Besides, nearly everyone in this bloody city knows who I am on sight. If I had any chops, they’d be Sandals, and those are personalized.”

“Sandalwood,” Fran interjected, seeing Basch’s puzzled look. “The mark of nobility. We’ll likely need those to access…”

“Fran, don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Basch asked, confused.

Sulkily, Balthier ripped the sheet off the bed and used it as a makeshift drape. “Never mind, Von Ronsenburg. Drop it.”

Miffed, Basch shrugged. “Fine.” He turned to Fran, ignoring the Sky Pirate flouncing huffily past him to the bathroom. “That rude fellow in old Archades- I assume we’ll have to talk to him about this?”

Fran nodded, lowering her eyes as she did so. “Balthier will stay here, as should the Princess,” she said. “If we hustle people on the street for information to exchange, they will likely compensate us with more chops. Jules will tell us what we need to get into certain places.”

It turned out to be a long day under the Archadian sun. The four party members split up, trying to spread gossip and garner some attention, but it soon turned into Vaan and Penelo’s task. The two Rabanastrans were just young and cute enough to smile and flit their way through the crowds without raising suspicion, but Fran made people nervous and Basch was wary of approaching anyone and showing his face. He and the Viera eventually slipped into a Gambitry and pretended to read for most of the afternoon. Still, by the end of the day, they had more than the nine chops Jules said they would need to take a cab.

‘It’s too late to go around now,” Vaan said when they regrouped. “We’re going to have to try again tomorrow.”

Penelo’s eyes were fixed on an Archadian girl her age who was wearing a curious outfit. It was form-fitting and exposed the stomach, like most Archadian clothes, but the fabric was the same peachy tone of the girl’s skin and sparkly. It was as if she was nude and clad only in glitter. “Whoa,” she said under her breath. She tugged at the leg of her overalls in consternation. “I could never wear that,” Penelo said wistfully.

“Nor is there any need. Baubles only detract from natural beauty,” Fran said kindly. Penelo brightened. Vaan didn’t seem to agree; his pale eyes followed the girl’s every move.
Basch got to his feet. “Once nightfall comes, the Imperial soldiers will start checking for identification,” he said, remembering what Balthier had told him earlier. “We need to get inside and stay inside before that begins to happen.”

The sun was already setting in the warm winter sky. It seemed to Basch as if it had only been light for a few hours- Archades was located in a strange time zone; the days were short this time of year. “We’ll go back to the hotel,” he continued. “It’s the safest place. Does everyone remember the escape route?” Vaan and Penelo nodded, giving him a strange look. Basch knew that the teenagers had been avoiding him ever since Sochen- not out of animosity, he was sure. Even now, while he was looking, Penelo whispered something in Vaan’s ear. They gave him a rabbity double stare.

Rather than call them on their silly behaviour, Basch turned to Fran. “I did not see Ashe before I left this morning,” he said. “Do you know how she spent her day?”

“I believe she met with some Archadian members of the Resistance,” Fran said. When Basch’s eyebrows shot up in consternation, she hastened to add, “Balthier went with her. I expect the fighters were heartened to see another native son in their midst.” Fran lifted one shoulder and dropped it, a parody of Hume gestures. “He will tell you about the Lady Ashe, I am sure.”
Basch made a noncommittal noise. He and Fran turned towards the hotel, and Vaan and Penelo tumbled eagerly after them like puppies, exclaiming over the pile of chips they’d collected during their long day.

* * * * * *

When Basch returned to the hotel room, he half expected to see Balthier lounging around indolently, ready with a mouthful of smart comments and- he hoped- a bit of flirtatiousness. Their room was empty, but there was something on the bed.

Upon closer inspection, it was nothing more than a simple black silk tunic and matching pants. Basch picked it up curiously. Although Archadian menswear was fairly loose and elegant, it usually came in bright colors to reflect the city’s few hours of sunlight. The trousers looked to be tight, and when Basch held the shirt up against himself, he saw that its dark color was misleading- the silk was so fine as to be mostly transparent. A quick inspection proved that the same was not true for the pants, a fact Basch noted with some relief. A small black case lay on the bed next to the mysterious garments, and when Basch picked it up and looked inside, it proved to be filled with cosmetics.

Stashed inside with the paints and powders was a folded slip of paper. Basch opened it and read, “My dear Captain- please forgive my behaviour this morning. Pressing issues have called me away all day, but I believe I can make it up to you tonight. Wear these clothes and paint your face, and be waiting in front of the building before twenty hours this evening. From there, things will become clearer.’ It was not signed, but Basch recognized Balthier’s spidery, elegant hand.

Later on, as Basch slipped into the odd attire, he wondered at the message. He had peeked out the window, hoping to see Balthier walking up to the hotel, but this was not the case. A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. “Who is it?”

“Fran.”

Basch hurried to unlock the door and opened it to see the Viera. “Hello,” he said, “did you need something?”

Her eyes flickered over his garments and something resembling a smirk crossed her placid face. The transparent shirt was tight over Basch’s muscular torso, and the pants were similarly unforgiving. With a pang of embarrassment, he realized that Fran must have seen his pierced nipples. Thank the hells I haven’t put any makeup on yet, or she’d really stare at me, he thought.

“I see Balthier has invited you to the Quickening,” was all Fran said.

“Pardon?” Basch stepped back, but Fran stayed where she was.

She was impassive as ever. “He wanted me to tell you to leave your hood up.”

Basch stared at her, utterly confused. Finally, he said, “Where is he taking me?”

With no small amount of amusement in her voice, Fran said, “I imagine he’ll take you anywhere he likes.”

With that, she turned to leave, but Basch caught her shoulder. “Very funny. I’m serious.”

“I can’t tell you,” Fran said, “It would ruin the surprise. All I will say is that you are in for…a unique experience.”

Basch watched her white ponytail bob down the hall, just as befuddled as when he received the note. There were ten more minutes to go until the clock struck twenty hours.

He paced the room, as was his habit whenever he had to wait for something that made him nervous. Basch had always been unnerved by surprises- his mother had thrown him and Noah a surprise birthday party when they turned seven, and Basch had taken off running and tried to hide himself into the laundry pile the second he saw people jumping out from behind the furniture. Remembering this gave him a pang of reminiscence, his chest tightening and unexpected prickling at his eyes. Basch scolded himself silently.

Five more minutes. Basch dumped the bag of makeup onto the bed and stared at it. There were all sorts of mysterious items, and he wasn’t sure exactly how much he was supposed to apply. Apprehensively, he took the top off a tube of lipstick and stared at the crimson column, imagining how he would look with a plump ruby pout.

The very idea made Basch cringe. “Not a chance,” he said out loud. Still he had to find something quickly. Basch knocked a tube of green mascara onto the ground, trying to find the least offensive item. A little pot of something caught his eye- some kind of silver paste, probably kohl. He unscrewed the top and looked at it. There was no time to learn how to use the stuff properly, so Basch took a deep breath and dipped his index and middle fingers in, scooping up some of the goop. He closed his eyes and, starting just beyond his left eye, smeared the silver pigment over the lid and towards the bridge of his nose, praying he didn’t look half as foolish as he felt. Basch repeated the process on the other side, then opened his eyes and peeked cautiously into the mirror.

A celestial trail stretched from one temple to the other. It was mask-like, slightly mysterious, and- he prayed- not too effeminate or dramatic. Basch flipped the hood of his shirt up over his head and yanked at it, trying to get it to settle so it hung over his face. Yes, with the hood shadowing his face, the shimmering stripe looked more like metal and less like paint, his eyes made bluer by its steely tone. He had just enough time to yank on his boots and dash down the back stairs.

Basch was very lucky not to run into any other party members on the way down. He could not come up with a single useful thing to say if, say, Vaan caught him. Or worse, Ashe- Basch shivered with embarrassment, imagining how she might respond. He had just crossed the ground floor and reached the front entryway when a very short man in ridiculous gold pants popped through the bead curtain and, after looking around, gave Basch a knowing smile. “I’m looking for a Mr. Landis…?” he announced.

“That’s me,” Basch mumbled. “I think.”

The little man gave him an exaggerated bow. “Your transportation is right outside, sir,” he said. “Please follow me.”

Studiously avoiding the confused gaze of the front desk clerk, Basch ducked his head and followed.

* * * * * *

Half an hour later, after riding in a Chocobo-drawn carriage that was entirely upholstered with hard black leather- “Please don’t, sir,” chirped the short man when Basch attempted to remove one of the swathes of hide covering the windows, “It’s our policy not to reveal the whereabouts of our establishment”- Basch stepped out into a desolate Archadian side street. Unlike most alleyways in the Imperial capital, there were no soldiers standing around, and only one rather apathetic streetlight shone in the gloomy city evening. From what Basch could see, he was not near Old Archades, but this certainly couldn’t have been Central, either. He was about to turn around and ask the driver for directions back when he heard a soft warble and realized that the peculiar little man had already set off for his next passenger. Basch was alone on the dusty cobbles.

There was a staircase leading down from the street to an elaborately carved set of double doors. The motif seemed to suggest some kind of explosion, with a man and a woman’s naked bodies entwined rapturously in the middle. A rather rude handle was placed in the center of the door, right where the carved man’s genitals would have been. Basch wanted to shake his head at how puerile it was, but the poor fellow’s knob suddenly began to depress, and the door opened silently. No one came out, and all Basch could see was velvety darkness beyond. The door seemed to be politely waiting for him. Swallowing his feeling of foreboding, Basch went down the little staircase and slipped past the open doors.

The shut behind him with a whisper. Like clockwork, two women popped out from behind a curtain and gave him identical winning smiles. Twins, two buxom blonde Archadian women in bizarre harness-like gear.

“Welcome to the Quickening,” the one on the right said in a breathless voice. She had a large blue heart painted over one eye and a smattering of iridescent glitter on either cheek. “Are you alone this evening, or are you meeting a party?”

“Meeting a party, I suppose.” Basch said.

“How many people?” asked the girl to the left. She, too, had a heart painted on her face, but in red and on the opposite eye.

“Er, one other.”

The girls consulted a printed sheet. “There’s already someone inside who fits the—“ the first girl began to say, then appeared to check herself. “Is this your first time?” she asked Basch sweetly. When he nodded, she continued, “You are permitted to avail yourself of anyone not wearing a hood. Please keep other peoples’ preferences and comfort in mind. You may approach others, but they cannot approach you, and you must always play safely. Understood?”

“I think so,” Basch said, more confused than ever. He had more than an inkling of what Balthier had planned now, but if it was indeed what he thought it was…”Ah, so no one will…solicit me?”

“No, sir,” said the second girl. “Unless you take off your shirt. That is the signal to switch from power to servant.”

“Right. Thank you,” Basch said, wondering if it was possible to solder a shirt to one’s flesh.
“Welcome to the Quickening,” the girl on the right said.

“—and enjoy yourself!” both women chimed, opening the curtains with a flourish.

What lay before Basch was a scene of undeniable debauchery. A huge stage stood in the center of the room, upon which two nude women writhed to the bleating tune of Garif music. There were three poles stretching from the stage platform up to the ceiling, and Basch saw another woman climbing on one, her lithe body wrapped around the smooth metal like a snake. Blue, white, and pink lights pulsated. The music came from a four-piece band to the left of the stage, the players of which were all dressed in strange red cloaks with black masks tied around their eyes. Thick red silk curtains covered the walls of the room, and Basch saw groups of people disappearing behind them. Some tables were set against the wall and surrounded by circular benches upholstered in plush red velvet, all of which had a clear view of the stage. Naked people were everywhere- Basch even saw a tall, stunning woman in man’s dress leading a meek-looking older man around on a collar and leash. Most, however, were either completely nude or dressed in the same translucent, hooded garb that Basch himself wore. A thrill of fear and titillation rose in his chest.

The marble floor in front of him teemed with bodies, some clothed and some not, almost all of which were engaged in something highly sexual. Basch watched, transfixed, as a muscular young man fell to his knees and ran his tongue lasciviously over the cloth-covered groin of a young woman with long black hair, who was herself kissing another woman. Her eyes opened, makeup smeared across her face, and smiled at Basch without ever breaking her embrace. She was clearly enjoying his voyeurism, and Basch could not help but smile back.

Just about the only thing Basch couldn’t see was Balthier. A heavyset young man draped in leather straps handed him a red tumbler, and Basch automatically put it to his lips before realizing that the concoction held something alcoholic. Whatever the drink was, it burned his lips like fire and left them stinging- it reminded him of the oils he and Balthier had played with the night before. He took another sip, moving over to the brass rail surrounding the dance floor. The drink sent ripples of fire racing down his throat and into his groin, finally settling with coy warmth in his pelvis. One of the dancers onstage gripped the pole, leaned back, and whipped her body upwards in an orgasmic display, and the sight of the woman’s long, curly hair flying upwards and her wide-open mouth made him suddenly and inexplicably stiffen. This was no standard cocktail, to be sure.

Basch finished the drink and grabbed a second almost immediately, setting his empty glass on the passing waiter’s tray with a click. He scanned the people on the dance floor for Balthier again to no avail.

The song ended, and the dancers bowed gracefully before running offstage. Some of the people who had been standing at the rail or watching the show disappeared with each other, while most of the people on the floor kept grinding and moving to their own inexplicable beat despite the break in the music. Basch had an abrupt inclination to stroke the silky fabric of his shirt, and ran one hand down his chest without thinking. The feeling of the cloth under his hand was strangely arousing, and he stroked himself a few more times before dropping the offending appendage and looking around nervously. Yet… what was there to be ashamed of? One man in the corner was fondling himself under a table, watching a woman on the dance floor do a slow striptease. Basch was touching a much tamer body part.

The stage lights went out, plunging half the room into blackness. A strange, ululating moan came from that general area, and the musicians suddenly began shaking cactuar rattles. Some of the people on the dance floor gave off answering calls, as if they knew what would happen.
All the white lights turned on at once, bathing two figures onstage in luminescence. A boy and a girl, neither of whom looked older than sixteen, stood in the light, which was so bright their features were obscured. The catcalls from the audience grew louder and longer. A desert violin began to play, and the lights faded out to a more subdued, natural tone.

The two performers began a strange dance, all precise hand movements and flirtatious hip-shaking. Both wore scarves tied about their hips, which had been decorated with paillettes of hammered metal. The girl had a matching brassiere, which held her small breasts aloft and rather pointed, but the boy wore little more than his scarf. They danced in unison at first, but the girl’s hip movements soon became faster and faster, and the boy hung back a bit and moved in a more subdued fashion, letting her have the floor. As her swaying and shaking became quicker and more hypnotic, Basch felt another pull of arousal from his groin.

The woman bent slowly, gracefully back, going all the way down to the floor and still undulating her long, pale arms and she did so. Once she was bent fully backwards, she continued to move her torso and arms in a sinuous fashion, all the while maintaining a triangle of space between her legs and head. The male dancer came and stood over her, showing his profile to the audience, and the girl came up. In unison, they rounded their backs and contorting their torsos, so that they moved like waves. The boy had long, curly hair, dyed an impossible reddish shade, whereas the woman’s hair had been completely shaved off. Strange tribal patters wound up their legs and arms, and Basch noticed that even their feet were painted. He had a sudden desire to kiss his way up the woman’s decorated toes and follow the line of painted leaves up her leg to beneath her short, sheer skirt.

Wanting a better look, he came out from behind the brass rail and walked around the perimeter of the dance floor, trying to avoid the mass of bodies around him. Balthier was no longer foremost in his mind- the strange drink had left him with heightened sensation and an unimaginable yearning for sex, and Basch was more interested in the whirling flesh onstage that figuring out why he was so fixated.

* * * * * *

“There you are!” Balthier said, seeing the line of Basch’s jaw peeking out from the edge of a black hood. He had been walking around the Quickening for nearly an hour, wearing the garb of a Power-mate in order to prevent himself from getting distracted and missing Basch, and the older man had been sitting at the bar all this time.

“Pardon?” Basch asked, giving him a confused look. From the way his lover’s eyes slid past his face and resettled messily on the general area of his head, Balthier knew he must have been hitting the club’s potent signature drink, Rictus, quite heavily.

Balthier whipped the shirt off his head and stood bare-chested in the club’s humid air. A young Power-mate woman next to Basch gave him an interested look, but Balthier gave her an answering shake of the head and placed his hand on Basch’s arm, signifying that he was spoken for. She turned back to her drink, and Balthier turned his attention back to Basch. “Have you been waiting long?” he asked.

“I don’t understand,” Basch said. His words were horribly slurred.

“Oh, dear.” Balthier pressed his chest against Basch and kissed him hungrily on the mouth.

“You’re drunk, Captain,” he whispered.

“Damn right,” the older man said. “You are…hey, you are really cute.”

“Why, thank you,” Balthier purred, fingering the gentle bow of Basch’s collarbone through the thin fabric of his shirt. “I’m sorry about all the secrecy,” he said, “But I wanted to give you another surprise, like I did last night.”

Basch nodded happily. Drunkenly. ‘Sure! A surprise” he said, as if it was news to him.

Balthier only hoped that Basch wasn’t too drunk to perform. A quick stroke between the other man’s legs confirmed that at least part of Basch was sober. “Why don’t we go back behind a curtain, and I’ll show you the length and breadth of my surprise,” he suggested.

“Oh, I’d love to see the length of you,” Basch said, sliding off the stool- and nearly melting right onto the floor.

“What a flirt,” Balthier smirked.

He half-carried Basch over to the rooms allocator, who bowed without a word and handed Balthier a square of metal with a large, ornate “2” etched onto it. Balthier and Basch staggered to the nearest unoccupied enclosure of curtains- Balthier noticed with glee that Basch was quite grabby when drunk- and he pushed his partner in, onto the circular mattress. Basch made a contented noise as he hit the soft pillows.

Balthier stuck the metal tag onto a large, flat magnet just outside their enclosure, shut and fastened the curtains, and turned back to Basch. The red fabric made the dim little space glow crimson. “It’s just like the tent in the Uplands, isn’t it?” he asked.

Basch pointed to the mattress. “Come here,” he commanded. He had painted a stripe of what looked like black makeup across his eyes, and some of it had smeared. Balthier found this terribly endearing.

“What would you like me to do?” he murmured, taken aback by the naked lust in Basch’s drink-bleary eyes.

Basch responded by unzipping his pants and pointing, this time not to the mattress.

As Balthier ran his lips over the tip of Basch’s rock-hard penis, he marvelled at the effect alcohol had on the normally taciturn man. Basch might be slavering and groaning now, cursing him for not going faster, but come the morning he would be almost cold. He had to admit , he found it cute when Basch’s formal demeanour dropped in the wake of sex- and, Balthier rather hoped, in the wake of burgeoning emotion.

He moved his head under and licked a long, careful stroke up the underside of Basch’s erection, then whipped his tongue around the head and took all of it into his mouth. Basch groaned, deep and full, and grabbed the back of Balthier’s head, forcing him to allow all but the last inch into his mouth. When he could pull away, Balthier said disapprovingly, “Manners, Captain.”

“Fine,” the other man gasped, waving at him to continue. Balthier’s brows creased. It wasn’t like Basch to be rude, no matter what the situation, and Balthier didn’t find it as attractive as might have expected. Still, he eagerly continued to suck the other man off. Basch seemed more than pleased with his technique now, and moaned loudly while flicking his fingers over his pierced nipples. Excited himself, Balthier began touching his own hardening member.

He heard Basch say something in Landisian when Balthier slipped his index finger into his entrance. He was looser than the previous night, allowing Balthier to insert a second digit and apply pressure without having to do much first. He matched the machinations in back with an answering increase in intensity as he caressed the length of Basch’s cock with his mouth, and the drunk man’s orgasm surprised them both. Balthier had nearly manipulated himself to release by the time Basch began to come, and he hurriedly laid off stroking and concentrated on swallowing Basch’s fluids. When he was done, he raised his face triumphantly, expecting to be rewarded with a kiss or a smile.

Instead, Basch gave him a rather fishy stare. Confused, Balthier asked, “Was that good?”

“Indeed,” Basch said. Balthier noticed at the back of his mind that Basch must not have shaved properly in quite a while, as he had the beginnings of a goatee. He saw Balthier’s expression and gave him a small smile, saying, “That was excellent.”

Relieved, Balthier smiled. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” he purred.

“I think I need a moment,” the other man mumbled. “Actually, I need to use the…facilities.” He lurched to his feet, steadying himself on the edge of the room’s small table.

“Should I stay here?’ Balthier called.

“No, I think I’m leaving after this,” the older man responded. He hesitated at the entrance to the tent, then turned back. “If you’re ever here again,” he said, “let the director know that Noah has requested you in perpetuity, and we can do this again. I also pay well for outside encounters,” he added, then was gone.

Balthier sat there, stunned, not entirely sure what had transpired.

* * * * *

The male dancer bent forward over the side of the stage, smiling. In Basch’s drug-addled mind, the boy’s face was as beatific as an angel’s. Odd script ran under each clear grey eye, and the peculiar color of his dyed hair made his pale skin looked flushed. His body was as long and slender as Basch’s was hard and muscular, and the gentle ghosting of ribs against his outer flesh filled Basch’s heart with something like pity and bloodlust combined. He wanted to press his lips sweetly against the lad’s protruding sternum, and then he wanted to rend boy’s meat with his teeth and feel the hot blood run down his chin. Surprisingly, the thought didn’t disturb him as much as it should have.

“What’s your name?’ he asked the boy, stupefied.

The lithe dancer smiled. There was a drawing of wings on either side of his chest, a motif that Basch knew was repeated on his back. “Tree,” he said, his voice barely audible over the music.
Basch nodded, not sure what to say. “You’re beautiful,” he said, feeling foolish.

Tree gave him another knowing grin. Running his tattooed hand over Basch’s face, he said, “Be behind curtain eight after my show.” When Basch gave him a second nod, the dancing boy backed away and rejoined his partner, who had since shed her top and was still gyrating away with her breasts bared. Basch backed away, not wanting to miss anything. The frenzy increased, and he had to dodge a trio of embracing women who veered too far off the dance floor. Tree and his partner struck their final poses, the music stopped, and the crowd cheered, but Basch was already making his way towards curtain number eight, which had “Reserved” written in fancy letters on a little metal sign. He pulled the hanging fabric halfway across the gap, then sat awkwardly on the round mattress.

After about ten minutes, the curtain opened, and Tree stepped in. He had removed the coin belt and stood only in his shorts. Seen in person, Basch realized that Tree was a Giza Nomad. ‘You’re a long way from home,” he said.

Tree let the curtain fall behind him and stood silhouetted against it, his body outlined in a soft red glow. He did not respond, but gazed at Basch. Finally, uncomfortable, Basch said, “Will you come over here and sit with me?”

He did so, silently. Basch gazed at Tree’s lanky body as he sat down, feeling a stab of lust when he caught the boy’s scent of sweet wood and thick Nomad cologne. After a minute, he looked at Basch. His face was feminine, almost innocent-looking, and his smile was back. “You’re the most beautiful man here tonight,” he told Basch. “I wanted you the moment I saw you coming towards the stage.”

“Thank you,” the older man said. “I…thought the same thing about you.”

Tree came and sat on Basch’s lap, his weight settled comfortably against the ridge of Basch’s still-present excitement. He wrapped his skinny arms around Basch and gave him a look of contentment. ‘Where are you from, then?” he asked.

“Landis, originally.”

“Hmm, I don’t even know where that is.” Tree had begun to grind the bulge in Basch’s pants.

“Doesn’t matter.” Basch placed his hands on either side of Tree’s ass, squeezing it. The slender boy laughed in response. “I have to ask you,” Basch continued, “what is in the drinks here?”

“The owner’s a Viera,” Tree said, kneading Basch’s back as he continued to gyrate. “She puts Vision Dust and a few other weird things into liquor, and there you go- a Rictus Cocktail.” With a grin, he added, “Emphasis on the cock.” Tree accompanied his pun with an extra-hard nudge, and Basch moaned. He leaned in for a kiss, biting Basch’s lip as he did so and furthering the older man’s arousal.

Somewhere, in the back of Basch’s brain, the idea that he might be being unfaithful to Balthier flashed. This would normally have given him pause, but the combination of drugs and alcohol in his system was lowering his inhibitions. Tree mashed his mouth against him, rather hard, and Basch responded in kind. The long strands of the dancing boy’s dyed hair brushed against his face, and the Rictus in Basch’s system registered each separate whisper as an erotic frisson.
“I can’t take it anymore,” he panted. Even the sensation of his shirt rubbing against his piercings was giving Basch a hard-on.

“Fuck me, then,” Tree whispered. He nearly leapt off of Basch’s lap and lay back indulgently against the pillows.

“Okay.” Basch prayed his hands would be less clumsy than his tongue. He helped Tree wriggle out of the tiny shorts. Basch’s suspicions were confirmed- the hennaed marks stretched all the way up Tree’s body, framing the front of his form in twisting vines and heart-shaped leaves. The sight of the naked boy, his strong bones clear beneath their layer of skin and ink, was heartbreakingly lovely to the older soldier, and as he touched his lips to the cup of Tree’s navel, he could have sworn he was touching something Empyrean, eldritch, not anything as simple as a young man made of flesh and bone.

The drugs in Basch’s system made Tree’s tattoos look as if they were moving, and he had to shut his eyes. Tree must have noticed Basch reacting strangely, because he heard the younger man ask, “Is everything all right?”

“I…” Basch swallowed, then forced himself to look up. Tree’s face was sweetly concerned. “I’ve never taken anything before.”

“You—oh!” Tree sat up and pulled Basch up to his chest. Planting a soft kiss on Basch’s lips, he said, “Why don’t you let me pleasure you for a while, then.” When Basch nodded, Tree gave him a triumphant smile and moved smoothly around to kneel between his legs.

Basch had experienced more than a few rounds of oral sex in the past weeks, but Balthier had not done what this strange dancer was doing. “What the--?”

“Hmmm,” Tree said. Shocked at the sensation, Basch gasped. Tree had run his tongue up and down Basch’s cock a few times, just to tease him, but now his mouth was busy in the cleft of Basch’s ass. The feeling was both bizarre- mainly because he was unaccustomed to it- and delicious. Tree’s hand still slowly squeezed and stroked Basch’s member, the combination giving the older man incredible pleasure throughout his entire body. He spread his legs farther, obliging his partner, and was nearly unmanned when Tree’s clever lips began humming into his entrance. Between the drugs and the vibration, he came almost immediately.

Once Basch’s orgasm had passed, Tree withdrew and stood before him, still on his knees. “You’re still hard,” he cooed admiringly.

“What?” Yet he knew it was true- perhaps not as stiff and ready as he had been a moment ago, but Basch’s member was clearly still in evidence. What was more, he still felt unbelievably randy.
Tree laughed. “The Rictus potion is a strong one- you’ll be ready to fuck for hours to come.”
Just hearing the word “fuck” made Basch shoot up into a sitting position. “Get on your hands and knees,” he commanded Tree. “Please.”

Looking quite happy, Tree did exactly as Basch asked.

Basch had espied a basketful of bottle and potions earlier when he was waiting, and grabbed one at random. Spreading the thin oil all over his fingers, he hesitated, then cautiously slipped two of them inside Tree’s ass. The younger boy made a sound- pleasure or surprise…or was it both?- and, encouraged, Basch began slowly sliding his fingers out. He repeated this motion another couple of times, then anointed himself with the oil and plunged in.

Although Basch was not particularly violent during sex, he found himself absolutely tortured by the heady combination of poisons in his system, and as such began fucking Tree very hard. The younger boy didn’t seem to mind, and Basch was soon lost in the sensation. If he had enjoyed doing this to Balthier, who was admittedly tighter, then the same act with Tree was something close to poetry. It was a feeling akin to running very fast down a hill with the wind hitting one’s face. Basch left clawmarks of pleasure down Tree’s back, the broken red lines running below the delicate wing tattoos. Tree cried out, but Basch was beyond slowing down. He wanted to go deeper into Tree, to feel him even more. Every part of Basch seemed poised to experience the smell of their sex and their sweat, the sounds Tree made coupled with his own shouts of ecstasy, and the tremendous, incomparable feeling of the other man’s tight, warm flesh surrounding his cock. Every time he withdrew from Tree’s body, the younger man would utter an exclamation of combined loss and relief, a noise that only made Basch’s subsequent re-entry all the more forceful. When Basch finally came, violently, Tree was alternately cursing and letting out his own harsh cries of passion.

Basch had just collapsed weakly onto the cushions, pulling Tree’s trembling body onto his own, when the sides of their tent bulged. “Basch?” he heard Balthier’s voice say.

It took exactly four nanoseconds for Basch to sober up after that. Confused, Tree called out, “Who is it?”

No response. Cursing under his breath, Basch stood up and opened the curtains at face level. Balthier did indeed stand there, shirtless, but with a terribly confused look on his face.
“What game are you playing?” Balthier said. “That wasn’t funny. For a minute, I thought—“

“Game? Look who’s talking, bringing me here,” Basch hissed. Rictus still pulsed inside his head, and the jewel on Balthier’s earring was weaving a crimson trail around his vision. “Oooh, pretty.”

“You were so drunk on Rictus, you didn’t even recognize me,” Balthier accused him.

“What?” Basch could hear Tree moving around behind him, and shook his head to try and clear his fuzzy thoughts. “I haven’t seen you all night,” he said. “You’re lucky I’m…that I drank those horrible concoctions, or I would have already left this place out of fear.”

“But—“ Balthier stopped abruptly, and looked at his face. “When did you change your makeup?” he asked.

* * * * * *

“I can’t believe you went off with that dancer,” Balthier said. The two men were seated in another mysterious, leather-bound carriage, headed back to the inn.

Basch gave him a sideways look. The driver had permitted him to turn on a small light, although he claimed it was against regulations- Balthier had barked something in High Archadian that made the man comply in a hurry- and Basch examined the other man’s face for signs of anger. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I don’t know what came over me. It was the drugs, and the people—“

“I’m not mad,” Balthier insisted, placing a hand on Basch’s knee. “I figured as much, and I…” His voice trailed off. “I was with someone else, too.”

Against all logic, this set off a deep pangs of hurt in Basch’s chest. Moving his leg, he swallowed, then tried to be casual as he asked, ‘Who?”

“That’s what I was talking about earlier,” Balthier said. “I thought he was you.” Seeing the look on Basch’s face, he said, “I swear on my oaths as a Sky Pirate-“

“-which are worth nothing,” Basch countered automatically. It was a running joke between them.
“Fine, then I swear on the Strahl that this man could have been your twin.”

Fear replaced the pain Basch was feeling. He stared at Balthier, dumbfounded.

The Sky Pirate fidgeted under Basch’s intense gaze. He appeared to have forgotten their conversation that morning. “Look, if I had known what makeup you were wearing there, or where you had been, it wouldn’t have happened!” he said. “Anyways, it’s not as if you didn’t—“

“Balthier.”

“Oh, what?”

“Did you…” Basch’s tongue suddenly felt six inches thick. He checked himself carefully before continuing. “Did you talk to this man?”

“I suppose,” Balthier said. “He was terribly drunk to be holding a conversation. Afterwards, he told me to look him up again if I was ever at the Quickening.” With a slight grimace, Balthier added, “He offered to pay me, of all things. Now, I won’t pretend I’ve never bought pleasure before myself, but I certainly wouldn’t make that statement to someone I met in a sex club. In fact, that’s the rudest—“

“His name. Did you get his name?”

Confused, Balthier said, “He…he said to ask for Noah.”

Basch dropped his head and squeezed it violently between his he. He had a brief but satisfying vision of his skull shattering like a ripe melon, and a much less satisfying vision of the last time he had seen his brother. “Oh, my gods in hell and elsewhere,” he groaned.

“What? What is it?” Balthier demanded to know.

Basch looked up at Balthier silently, but was unable to say what he was thinking. The cab drove on through the dark city streets.

TO BE CONTINUED

Three Nights in Archades: Cockatrice

2007-03-14T07:56:56Z

THREE NIGHTS IN ARCHADES: COCKATRICE Part one of three
Author: Omphalos
Pairing: Balthier/Basch
Rating: ND-17
Follows: Heat of the Uplands
Spoilers: Nothing that happens after Sochen Cave Palace.
Summary: The party's reached Archades, and Basch and Balthier finally have some alone time. Balthier wants to try something new, and Basch can't help but give in.

WARNING: Bondage, yaoi, and the possibility that someone will go, "Hur-hur, cockatrice."

Midnight in Archades. Basch could hear the gentle whirring of cabs and the low hum of peoples’ voices as they passed. From where he lay on the bed, it was possible to look up and see a tiny patch of navy-blue night sky between the interfering spokes of tall buildings. The open window made the whole room smell of a city night- an intriguing foulness against the crisp smell of the air- and Basch inhaled happily. The party had arrived in Archades only a day earlier. Basch had been touched at Vaan and Penelo’s open-mouthed admiration of the place, and he was reminded of the first time he left his family’s fields in Landis for the city.

Balthier had practically turned his face inside out, so virulently did he disguise himself upon entering Archades. It had been Fran, with no small amount of amusement, who came up with dressing the dapper Sky Pirate in the garb of an old woman. Normally, Balthier would have rather eaten worms than dress like a hag, but the situation called for a bit more obedience than usual. Still, it didn’t stop his complaining.

“I can’t believe this,” he grumbled as Penelo carefully wrapped the thick grey shawl around his head. “Can I at least be disguised as an attractive woman?”

“Attractive women don’t usually have such hairy legs,” Penelo responded, fastening the makeshift headwrap with a safety pin.

“Some of those Nomad women did,” Vaan said thoughtfully. Penelo rolled her eyes at him.

Fran had jury-rigged a veil out of a stray ribbon and a second shawl, and silently handed it to Balthier. He held up to his mouth and, turning to Basch, batted his eyelashes in a paroxysm of femininity. “What do you think?” he asked mockingly.

Basch, who was sitting on a ledge and watching the proceedings with great amusement, pretended to give Balthier an appraising look. “I think you need better breasts to pull this off,” he said.

“Basch!” Ashe gave him a shocked look. Vaan hooted with laughter.

“Captain Von Ronsenburg, there’s no need to be so utterly crass,” Balthier said. “…you think it makes that much of a difference?”

Remembering the exchange, Basch smiled. He rolled onto his side, facing away from the window, and placed both of his hands under his head. This tiny rented room in Nilbasse may have been modest by Archadian standards, but after weeks of field rations and sleeping in tents, Basch was more than happy to accept the small, but clean accommodations, complete with a real four-poster bed. His eyes fluttered closed, and he unconsciously rubbed his face into his hands. He didn’t know where Balthier and Fran had gone, but if they didn’t return soon, Basch knew he would be well underway to a good night’s rest before he saw them again.

Just as Basch’s consciousness began to blur and whispers of dreams mixed with the sounds of the night, the door opened. Balthier stepped in with a flourish. “You’re not sleeping already, are you?” he asked, closing the door and locking it.

“Very nearly,” Basch said sleepily. He watched as Balthier sat down and started taking off his boots- the old hag costume was nowhere to be seen. “Where were you?”

Balthier popped the boot of his left foot and chucked it into the corner, where it bounced. Wiggling his toes, he said, “Some foolishness about a cockatrice.”

“A likely story.”

“Really! It had cornered some Imperials up in Central and everything. We managed to catch it- the silly thing was looking for a husband.” Balthier removed his other shoe.

“In Central?” Basch raised himself on one elbow. “Wait, what was a cockatrice doing in Central in the first place?”

“That’s the part I wasn’t too clear on.” With a tired sigh, Balthier made his way over to the bed and flopped down bonelessly, his torso slung across Basch’s hip.

Basch wriggled into a sitting position so that Balthier’s head was pillowed in his lap, then leaned in for a kiss. “I admit, I was a bit worried,” he said.

“Pfft.” The Sky Pirate turned onto his side, pressing his face into Basch’s stomach and wrapping an arm about his midsection. “What’s the worst that could happen? Besides the whole high treason thing, of course.”

“Oh, well, that’s immaterial,” Basch said. “The trifling matter of your imminent death.”

“Child’s matters.”

“Wouldn’t frighten a farmer’s boy.” Running his fingers through Balthier’s short hair, Basch asked, “Where are the others?”

“Fran and Ashe are a floor down, and the children right next to them.” Here Balthier grinned. “I told them that this was the only other room available.”

Although Basch and Balthier had been discreet, their trip through Sochen and Old Archades had cleared up whatever lingering doubts the other party members might have had. When the two men had finally caught up to the others, halfway beyond the waterfalls and nearly into Old Archades, they had been discovered kissing by Vaan and Ashe. Although no one else mentioned it, Basch knew that they were being given extra space where good sense and money might not have otherwise permitted. His sense of duty struggled against his other, more base needs- and this time, it had won.

Balthier was wearing a thin ribbed sweater without sleeves. As he lay curled in Basch’s lap, the older man slid a questing finger under the lip of the light fabric and gently stroked the silky golden flesh beneath. Reverently, Basch held his full hand against the warmth of Balthier’s taut belly, using his fingertips to crawl upwards. Balthier’s eyes were still closed, but he smiled, his face like that of a sleeping cat’s. He sighed softly in pleasure as Basch’s gentle petting arced over the curve of his recumbent side.

“I thought you were sleepy,” he said.

“Dalmascan soldiers have great stamina,” Basch replied, tickling Balthier’s right nipple.

“Is that a fact?” Balthier reached up and pulled him in for a second kiss, this one far steamier than the first. “Stamina for what, exactly?”

“Fighting,” Basch said, pushing Balthier so that he rolled onto his back. “Killing. Marching.” With this, he threw off the light sheet and straddled Balthier just above the slight curve of his hips.

When he saw that Basch was nude, Balthier’s eyes widened in surprise. “Anything else?”

Basch pretended to think for a moment, running his hands over Balthier’s chest. The younger man helped him take off the thin shirt. “There is one other thing,” he said in a thoughtful voice, shifting his weight so that he sat farther back, dangerously close to the bulge rising in Balthier's pants.

"Oh? Are you going to tell me?" Balthier said with a smile.

"No, I'm going to show you." Basch leaned down and kissed the divot where Balthier's ribs ended and his stomach began, lips lingering over the little hollow. Balthier drew his breath in sharply. The older man moved up, his mouth barely skimming the valley of Balthier's sternum, hot breath trailing up the center of his chest. His lips still hovering over the base of his lover's throat, Basch relaxed his body and put the full weight of his torso onto Balthier’s, resting his head on the other man's chest for a moment.

Balthier wrapped his arms around Basch's wide back. "Is everything all right?"

"Mmm-hmmm," he responded, his eyes closed. Basch inched his hands under Balthier's silky back, pulling him even closer and pressing his face into the Sky Pirate's body.

He felt Balthier sigh- hopefully, in contentment. "I had no idea you military men were so cuddly," he said, amused.

Basch raised his head and smiled. "Strategic, not cuddly."

"Strategic?"

"I like frustrating you." He felt Balthier's penis stiffen slightly at that.

"I'm not the only one who gets frustrated." Balthier's hand moved down to cup Basch's ass. "Remember what I did in Sochen?"

Basch did, and involuntarily shuddered with the sudden flush of arousal that memory had brought. Balthier had teased him the entire day, giving him ephemeral strokes between his legs and planting maddeningly light kisses on his bare shoulders and sensitive neck, then ducking away before Basch could reciprocate. By the time the group reached Old Archades, Basch was working on a cockstand so large he could barely walk. He and Balthier had lost track of the others, as Basch threw his tormentor up against a wall and took him roughly. He was surprised by himself, but Balthier had been delighted.

Currently, Balthier was running his finger over the cleft of Basch's bottom. "I also like making you do things you wouldn't normally do," he continued.

“You do, do you?” Basch rolled off Balthier and onto his back. Placing his hands under his head, he said, “All right, I can tell you’ve got an idea in your head.”

“Which head?” Balthier asked innocently.

“Churl. Come on, out with it.”

Balthier smiled wickedly. “Well, Captain, since you asked so nicely…”

Ten minutes later, Balthier and Basch were both naked. The lights had been turned off, the room filled with ambient city light, and Balthier had placed a medium-sized black bag on the rumpled bed. “Now, for the rules,” Balthier was saying.

“Rules?”

“Indeed. We don’t want anyone getting hurt…at least, not permanently.” Balthier grinned, his bedroom eyes looking oddly hooded in the low light.

“Balthier, what are you planning?”

“If at any point you’re uncomfortable with what I’m doing,” he continued blithely, “you’ll need to say ‘cockatrice’.”

“What?!” Basch frowned. “Is this what you meant earlier by chasing a--”

“I know, I’m terribly clever. Stop interrupting.” Balthier’s languid voice was different- commanding, more forceful. Basch wanted to protest, but he was slowly realizing that Balthier was engaging him in some kind of game. Anxiety flickered in his belly for a moment.

“Now, if you say ‘cockatrice,’ I’ll stop what I’m doing. If you say ‘no’ or ‘stop’ or anything more conventional, I’ll keep at it.” Balthier had a strange smile on his face. “I promise not to scar your forever.”

Basch had caught on. “I’ve never done this kind of thing before,” he said in a low voice. “What if I don’t enjoy it? Can we do something normal?”

“Normal?” Balthier scoffed. “There’s nothing abnormal about this, Captain. I think you’ll find it quite…pleasurable.”

When he chose to, Balthier could make his words come out like velvet, and Basch had always had a weakness for a pretty voice. “All right,” he said, his own voice thick, “I trust you.”

“Lie down.”

Basch did as he was told. Balthier leapt onto the bed after him, snatching up the strange bag as he did so. Basch couldn’t help smiling when Balthier’s eagerness made him bounce on the bedsprings, but quickly went po-faced when he saw the stern look his amusement received.
From the bag, Balthier brought up a scrap of what looked like cloth. “Head up,” the Sky Pirate commanded. He wrapped the cloth around Basch’s eyes and tied it in the back, then pushed Basch’s head down with two impatient fingers. The knot pressed against Basch’s skull, but he decided complaining wasn’t going to get him far at the moment. With the cloth over his eyes and the dim light, Basch could see nothing. He was suddenly more aware of the softness of bedsheets, of Balthier’s smell of cologne and sweat, of city night. Against his will, he felt his manhood stir.

The touch of Balthier’s hands against his naked thighs gave him a jolt. They pressed down for a moment, then only one, then neither, as if Balthier was stabilizing himself. He straddled Basch now, what felt like a knee on either side of the older man’s hips. He picked up Basch’s hand and wrapped something around it- no, wait…

Yes. Basch was sure of it; Balthier was tying his wrist to the bedpost. He inhaled as Balthier affixed first one hand, then the other.

“Beautiful,” he heard him say. “Gods above, Basch, if you could see how good you look with your wrists tied up.”

Basch pulled down slightly, more to show off the flexing of his well-muscled arms than to actually try to escape. He was a bit surprised to notice that he was indeed held fast. “I can’t move,” he said, and smiled inwardly at Balthier’s inadvertent response- a quick intake of breath; the sound he always made when Basch did something he found erotic.

“That’s the idea,” Balthier said, covering his arousal with bravado. Basch felt spidery touches on the head of his penis. Automatically, he arched his back. Balthier laughed at him, and Basch surmised that the gentle touch had been accidental- at least, until it was repeated. He was hard, but not fully, and the delicate sensation was maddeningly vague. Basch made a small whining noise by accident the fourth time the mysterious touch came.

“What’s that?” Balthier asked, his voice stern once more.

“You’re teasing,” Basch replied.

Balthier didn’t respond. Then, Basch felt something else- his mysterious tormentor, evidently another piece of fabric, being wrapped around his shaft. Balthier didn’t wrap it tightly, but started pulling on it so its slick surface slid around Basch’s stiffening member repeatedly. It was thin, and the effect of having something stimulating only a tiny portion of his erection gave him radiating spikes of mild, but obvious pleasure. It was as maddening as having an itch on one’s palm, but a thousand times more enjoyable. Basch gasped when it started moving faster, being drawn tighter- or perhaps he was fully hard now. It certainly felt that way. Balthier drew the loop of fabric higher, massaging the middle, the end, then the very summit of Basch’s cock until the sensation suddenly stopped.

Basch couldn’t help himself. “No!” he said, almost in a gasp. The answering bubble of Balthier’s mocking laughter was infuriating. “You are filthy, haksaa.”

“Ooh, right into the native tongue.”

Basch grunted as he felt Balthier doing the same to his left ankle as he’d done to his wrists. “Come over here and I’ll show you my native tongue.”

“Rude little beast. That kind of sass will only get you punished.” With that, Balthier tweaked one of Basch’s nipple rings, hard. Basch’s answering yelp went ignored. Balthier finished securing his second foot to the bedpost. “Besides, you’re not to tell me what to do.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll do that again.” Balthier did it again, anyways.

The captive man was still hissing pleasurably from that when he felt Balthier’s skilled tongue caress his throbbing cock. In his heated state, with his senses unusually heightened, what was normally wonderful became near-divine. Basch loved the curve and dip of Balthier’s tongue, the way it circled his sensitive head before the Sky Pirate plunged the length of his erection fully into his mouth again. His orgasm was just beginning to loom when Balthier stopped and pulled away.

Basch cursed in Landisian again. He couldn’t help himself. Balthier answered pertly in High Archadian, which Basch didn’t understand, but he was past caring. His entire body prickled with sweat. “Isn’t it just the most aggravating thing,” Balthier said lightly, “being so close to coming?”

Basch’s reply was a half-snarl, half-moan. Balthier went on blithely. “If only you could move your arms,” he continued, “You could make me finish you off, couldn’t you? Oh! I see you can’t.”

Basch yanked viciously at the straps, but they held.

“Notice, my Captain, that your legs are spread?”

“Balthier,” Basch finally managed, but was interrupted by the pressure of three slender fingers against his dry lips. Witlessly, he kissed them, then nipped the middle one.

“Naughty, naughty,” he heard Balthier chastise him. “Didn’t I say I was going to punish any bad behaviour on your part?” A stinging slap on the side of his ass. “Be silent when I’m speaking to you!”

“No.”

A second, harder slap.

“Balthier!”

A third.

“Fuck you,” Basch cursed.

He heard Balthier sigh. “Once again, my little prisoner, you have things backwards.” Basch felt Balthier’s fingers, coated in some sort of oily substance, tracing the outer rim of his entrance. He had a fleeting hope that the pirate’s rings were off.

Just as Balthier slid a finger inside Basch, he lowered his head and began sucking on the older man again. The combination was nearly too much. Whatever Balthier was using as lubricant gave off a faint warming sensation, which was momentarily alarming before Basch realized that it had dripped onto his testes as well, covering them in something that tingled- odd, but quite pleasurable.

Balthier slipped in a second finger. “Relax,” he said disapprovingly. Basch attempted to obey. However, only a few minutes later, a strong blast of heat built in his lower belly and, as Balthier licked upwards in a particularly greedy and lascivious manner, Basch came screaming into his mouth. The feeling of release seemed endless, and the sensation of being bound to the bed actually caused Basch to experience a second shock of pleasure before he finally relaxed, almost sobbing in relief.

Balthier’s helpful tongue was licking him clean. It caused Basch to twitch wildly, still rocked from the power of his orgasm. “Nooo…” he said weakly, futilely attempting to kick Balthier away.
“Hush.” Oh, the agony of stimulation after orgasm! Basch had always been the sort of man who needed a cooling-off period, as the sensations became momentarily too intense after he had come, but Balthier was insistently stroking him still. Helpless, Basch succumbed, his eyes teary.

He felt cool hands caress the hot flesh of his ass and thighs. “You came before I wanted you to,” Balthier said disapprovingly. “I wanted us to come together.”

“Sor-sorry, I’m sorry,” Basch gasped.

“What am I going to do?” At odds with his chastising words, Balthier was rubbing circles into Basch’s upper legs and down into the crease of his buttocks. It felt wonderful. “This will be the third time I’ve had to punish you,” he said, “and I’m afraid it’s going to have to be quite a dire punishment, indeed.”

Miraculously, Basch could already feel himself gearing up for a second round. Balthier’s unwelcome licking was evidently better-received than he had thought. Still, he remained silent.

“Good boy.” Balthier was threading something through Basch’s nipple rings- he could tell by the feeling of silk moving across his chest and the slight tugs that followed. Balthier kissed Basch on the lips- rough, biting. Basch answered with a vicious nip of his own. From the sudden metallic taste in his mouth, he realized that one of them must have drawn blood.

Balthier sat back, moving down between Basch’s splayed legs. He slathered the bound man’s nethers with more of the tingling oil, rubbing a good handful into Basch’s stiffening member. Halfway expecting a handjob, Basch relaxed once he felt Balthier’s nimble fingers slowly delve into his opening again. This time, though, they were not merely teasing.

He felt something else, suddenly. Basch became cognizant just as Balthier, with a triumphant exclamation, entered him.

Basch had never had another man fuck him before. The feeling was entirely different from having Balthier’s fingers inside him- he yelled, it did hurt a bit, but Balthier was relentless. Rather than protest, Basch gritted his teeth and waited for the stinging to subside.

As Balthier withdrew, Basch felt a second jab of pain from either side of his chest- the ingenious bastard had managed to truss Basch up like a horse, with reins to boot. This time, Basch couldn’t help but let out a shriek.

“Shh!” Balthier placed the flat of his free hand over Basch’s mouth. Basch burbled something against the unyielding appendage as Balthier slid back inside him, a little deeper this time. “You’ll wake up the whole cursed building,” Balthier said. “I should have gagged you, too.”

“Kiss me, then,” Basch said huskily, a sudden sweetness overtaking him. The oil apparently soothed as much as it tingled- the pain was subsiding. Balthier didn’t argue this time, lifting Basch’s haunches slightly to accommodate the change in position. This inadvertently drove him in deeper, and Basch moaned mid-kiss. There was the pleasure, after all.

“Just relax, I’ve got you,” Balthier said. His tone was quite different than it had been- softer and less demanding, and Basch did indeed loosen his muscles. He took Balthier again, groaning in pleasure this time. Balthier’s hands trembled with a combination of arousal and supporting Basch’s weight, but he held steady and quickened the pace of his thrusting. Whatever the Sky Pirate was doing- Basch wasn’t sure if it was the angle or that he was getting used to the feeling- it was delicious.

Unconsciously, Basch began to tighten his muscles whenever Balthier pushed into him. The answering moans from younger man boosted his confidence, and he began to thrust back. Balthier pulled on whatever held Basch’s nipple rings again, forcing a harsh cry from his lips.

Suddenly, Balthier’s thrusting became much faster. Basch tried to keep up, but soon realized that it was better to let the other man control him. Balthier had left go of the silk attached to Basch’s piercing and now held his taut arse in both hands, fucking him with all his strength. It was painful again, but this time with the raw pain of new pleasures, and Basch did his part to ensure Balthier’s subsequent orgasm was as powerful as the one he’d had. He succeeded.

Trembling with release, Balthier withdrew from Basch and dropped his lower body back onto the bed. Basch felt the Sky Pirate’s hair bristling against his belly- Balthier must have been slumped in a sitting position.

Basch waited for a minute, amused, then nudged Balthier with his hip. “Untie me,” he said softly.

“I can’t move,” Balthier groaned, but Basch felt his fingers fumbling at his left wrist all the same. One the one hand was free, Balthier flopped back onto Basch’s chest. “Do it yourself,” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around the older man.

Basch reached up and pushed the blindfold off his eyes. He managed to pick the knot securing his right wrist apart, then carefully pushed Balthier down into his lap in order to get to his bound feet. Once he had been freed, Basch took hold of the smaller man’s torso and forced him to move up the bed until his head lay on one of the pillows.

He placed one hand on the side of the Sky Pirate’s face, cupping it. “How was that?” he asked.
Balthier smiled. “How was it for you?”

Basch thought for a moment. “Different. Strange.” He swallowed. “That was my first time.”

“Being bound?”

“That, and…the other.”

Balthier’s drooping eyes snapped open. The moonlight was strong enough that Basch could see him blinking rapidly. “Why didn’t you say something?” he finally said.

Basch smiled, placing his hand back down against his side. “Because ‘cockatrice’ is a stupid word,” he said, amusement plain in his voice.

TO BE CONTINUED

Heat of the Uplands, Part 5

2007-03-09T08:09:08Z

Here's the last part of this fic! I've already outlined the sequel, which will be a bit kinkier and probably involve the other party members less. Thanks again to everyone who read and reviewed this fic; it was my first effort at yaoi, and I'm pleased that it's been relatively well-received.

HEAT OF THE UPLANDS
by Omphalos
Chapter Five

WARNING: If you are upset by anal sex, oral sex, or "the gay," this is not the chapter for you.

Basch gathered up his courage and climbed slowly to his feet. Although he was rewarded for his efforts by a stab of pain across his belly, he eventually managed to stand. The tent was too low to stand up straight, but from what he could tell, doing so probably wouldn’t kill him. Basch unfastened the flap and, ducking his head, left the tent for the first time in over a day.

It was later than he had thought- the sun was hanging dangerously low in the western sky- and Balthier was nowhere to be seen. Basch glanced around. Only the tent he had been occupying was set up; nothing but that and the charred remains of last night’s cook-fire indicated the presence of Humes in the dusty landscape.

With one hand over his injury, Basch surveyed the surrounding plains. The others must have set up camp in a hurry- the tent was smack in the middle of a field with no cover and nothing to block it from predators. Most importantly, Balthier’s rucksack was missing. Basch frowned. Had the Sky pirate been so offended that he had left a sick man to fend for himself? It seemed unlikely, but Balthier had been acting so strange overall…

Well. First things first. Carefully, Basch drew the bedroll out of the tent and began collapsing it. When he had finished his task and slung the overstuffed backpack over his shoulders, the sky was growing warmer, but Balthier had not returned. Bash weighed his options for a few moments. If Balthier had indeed gone off in a huff, Basch would rather head for Sochen and maybe get there before the Uplands became totally dark. On the other hand, if Balthier was off killing animals or doing some other, non-abandonment activity, Basch would feel awful about leaving him alone.

As Basch stood there contemplating, he noticed something odd. Not far from where he stood was a little stream. He had seen others in the Uplands, but this was definitely the first one he’d seen that had what appeared to be soap bubbles floating on top of the water. He looked up, trying to see where the waters ran from, but part of the flow was hidden behind a rough outcropping of rock.

The sky wasn’t getting any lighter. Basch scratched a large arrow in the dirt with his toe, just in case, then bent under the weight of his bag and started walking towards the stream’s head. Although it was a short distance, the pain in his belly caused him to go a bit slower than usual, and sunset was in full splendour by the time he rounded the outcropping.

Balthier stood, completely nude, under the modest trickle of a small waterfall. His face was turned up towards the flowing water, letting it run down his face and over the length of his naked body. It gleamed like gold, caught in the hollows between his solid muscles and outlining them with reflected sunlight. Basch watched, transfixed, as Balthier reached up to caress his head, stretching every inch of his torso as he bent slightly backwards. He either took no notice of Basch, or pretended not to.

Basch dropped his backpack.

Balthier had evidently been shampooing his hair- the cause of the bubbles Basch had seen earlier. Now the younger man shook his head, water droplets flying from his hair. He opened his eyes and smiled at Basch.

It was too much. Pausing only long enough to take off his boots, Basch dashed into the shallow pool of water and came straight at Balthier, pushing him indelicately into the rocks behind the waterfall.

Balthier’s wet skin squeaked under Basch’s acquiescent fingers. He stroked the other man’s strong midsection, the hard planes of muscle on his chest, making his way to Balthier’s sculpted shoulders. Balthier thrust his pelvis into Basch’s, grinding his erection against the older man’s. Basch slid an arm around Balthier’s lower back, drawing him even closer and plunging down on his mouth for a hot, wet kiss. His stomach wound was pulsating, but for the first time in more than a day it wasn’t the prevalent sensation in his body.

Without breaking their kiss, Balthier began unfastening Basch’s shirt. Basch wasn’t making it any easier for him- the older man was still holding Balthier tightly and running his hands all over his wet, naked body. Balthier made a noise that was half-arousal, half-whine, and Basch let up long enough to struggle out of his travel gear and expose his upper body.

Balthier immediately seized something and started laughing, even as Basch’s hands continued to traverse his frame. “How have I never noticed these before?”

“What?” Basch looked down. “Oh. I forgot about those.”

Balthier smirked and tugged one of the nipple rings in question, giving Basch a little shiver up the back of his neck. “You’re just full of surprises, Captain.”

“Hmm.” Their mouths met again. Basch slid his hand down to Balthier’s member, gently enveloping it in his calloused hand. “You have no idea,” he whispered, before falling to his knees.

Slowly, almost reverently, Basch began taking Balthier into his mouth. The younger blonde keened with pleasure and reached for the back of Basch’s head. Even though Basch had never really enjoyed giving oral sex, the feeling of running his lips over the silken head and following with tongue gave him an erotic thrill that had never affected him before. Still, he went slowly. Balthier cursed. If Basch hadn’t had his mouth full, he would have laughed at the younger man’s impatience. Soon after, he began to pleasure Balthier in earnest, drawing his head back and stroking the other man’s thick shaft with his tongue as he did so. Balthier cried out senselessly, his hands trembling on Basch’s head. Basch snuck his own two hands up the backs of Balthier’s firm thighs and onto his backside, kneading the smooth flesh- but as he started moving faster and listening to the various groans and cries coming from Balthier, Basch had to return one hand to his lap.

“Oh, god,” Balthier moaned. Trying to imitate the finger-and-tongue technique he had received two nights ago, Basch moved his hand around to the other man’s front and grasped the thick root of Balthier’s erection, touching it gently with only the tips of his fingers. “Oh, GOD.”

Basch withdrew for a moment and grinned up at Balthier. “I said I’d surprise you.”

“Don’t stop, don’t…” Balthier pleaded, trying to push Basch backs towards his groin.

“Are you surprised?”

“BASCH!”

“Answer.”

“Yes, yes, I’m surprised! Now continue!”

Basch frowned at him mock-seriously. “But I haven’t really surprised you yet.”

“Wha…? Oh!” Balthier swallowed audibly and then moaned as Basch thrust him back into his mouth. This time, instead of using his hand or tongue, Basch’s hot, hungry mouth slid all the way down to kiss Balthier’s belly. The younger man nearly screamed in shock and pleasure once he realized what Basch was doing.

“I don’t believe it!” Balthier yelled.

Basch couldn’t answer. It had been a while since he had deep-throated anyone, and Balthier was larger than Reks. For a moment, even Balthier’s cursing and ululations of ecstasy were blocked out by the sheer force of Basch’s concentration.

It wasn’t long before Balthier tugged urgently at his hair and said something garbled, but full of purpose. As quickly as he could, Basch drew back and started sucking Balthier faster than he had so far. It wasn’t long before Balthier let out a scream and, thrusting forward, came hard into Basch’s waiting mouth.

The second either of them could talk again, Balthier gasped, “Where…did you learn…how to--?”

“Army training,” Basch responded, not without a tinge of bitterness mixed with the humour in his voice.

He smiled as Balthier pretended to swoon, sprawling across his lap. The younger man’s eyes were wide open, rapturous. “I’ve never know anyone who could actually do that,” he said, dazed.
Basch sketched a little bow from his seated position. Balthier sat up and pressed his warm chest against Basch’s, the meeting of their bare skin giving the older man waves of pleasure, and wrapped his legs around his back. “Will you teach me?” he asked, pouting at the amused expression on Basch’s face.

“Maybe.” Basch smiled.

“Please?”

“How are you this perky after coming so strongly?”

Balthier wiggled. “You didn’t answer me,” he said with a smirk.

“I’ll teach you if you do something for me,” Basch responded, still smiling. He whispered into Balthier’s eager ear, “I want to be inside you.”

Balthier pulled away, and for a brief moment Basch wondered if he had gone too far. Then the Sky Pirate’s face broke into a mischievous smile, and he pushed forward for a tender kiss.

“Is that a yes, then?” Basch asked once they broke their embrace.

Balthier ran his hands teasingly down Basch’s sides and shifted slightly so that the stiff tip of Basch’s arousal poked teasingly into the crease between his own penis and his left leg. “Like I said before, Captain, you’re the party leader.” After a beat, Balthier added, “and I desperately want you to fuck me.”

Hot arousal dashed through Basch’s lower body as quickly as a flame when he heard Balthier say this. He managed to stop an animalistic growl of lust before it escaped his lips, but his hands suddenly clenched down on the silky handles of Balthier’s hips, and the younger man hissed knowingly at the sudden hard contact. His bare chest was right in front of Basch’s face, and Basch leaned forward and bit Balthier’s left nipple with savage force. Balthier’s yelp of surprised pain quickly turned to a purr of pleasure, and soon Basch was leaving a row of red welts across his partner’s pectorals and upper abdomen, biting and revelling in the slightly sour flavour of Balthier’s flesh. The taste was intoxicating.

Gently but firmly, Basch nudged Balthier off his lap and the younger man obeyed without comment, shying backwards and looking into Basch’s eyes as he moved slowly back. Basch’s pants were already unbuttoned, his penis having passed from rigid to flaccid and hard again, and Balthier grasped them by the bottoms in order to pull them off. When he realized that Basch wore no undergarments, he laughed. “Why, Basch, did you expect something untoward to happen this evening?”

At this point, Basch wasn’t interested in banter. The idea of burying himself inside Balthier had become unbearably delicious. As a reply, he kicked at his pants and sent them flying in a little heap over Balthier’s shoulder. Vaulting off his left arm, he stood. “Bend over,” he told Balthier.

Balthier looked up at him, then lazily started getting to his feet. Basch knew he was deliberately being baited, and grabbed Balthier’s shoulder, pulling him upwards much faster.
As soon as his hand had shot out and taken Balthier by the shoulder, it was grasped and held fast. Surprised, Basch looked down at the hand clasping his, then up at Balthier’s face. All play had left the Sky Pirate’s eyes. “Not like that,” he said softly. “Please.”

Realizing the abruptness and force with which he had been treating Balthier, Basch’s own eyes widened. “I’m sorry,” he said, raising a hand to Balthier’s tanned cheek.

Closing his own eyes, Balthier moved turned his elegant head and took Basch’s index finger in his mouth, sucking on it as he withdrew. When he moved over to the middle finger and did the same thing, Basch understood that it was not only foreplay. Once his fingers were thoroughly moistened, Basch stepped closer to Balthier. The Sky Pirate made an about-face, graceful as a dancer, and Basch’s querying fingers strayed down, nearly touching the ridge of Balthier’s spine as they made their way south. When he reached the graceful curve of Balthier’s ass, Basch nudged him, and Balthier obligingly spread his legs.

“We don’t have any…?” Balthier asked delicately.

Basch shook his head.

“Ah, well.” Balthier grinned and widened his stance just a bit, bending forward at the waist. “Part of camping is roughing it, I suppose…’though I doubt it should always be so literal.”

Despite the fact that his fingers were delicately tracing the circle of Balthier’s entrance, Basch cringed a bit and had to laugh. “You are truly terrible,” he said. “Stop it. You’re ruining my—“

“—Your huge, thick cockstand?” Balthier might still have been teasing, but the words had a very serious effect on Basch. He pushed the first finger inside Balthier, who made an exclamatory gasp in response.

“Tell me again,” he said in a low voice.

Balthier pushed back against the insistent, intruding finger and gasped, “Oh, god, Basch, I love your massive cock. I get hard thinking about how big and thick it is—“ Here Balthier paused for a quick intake of breath, for Basch had rewarded him with a second fingers. “—oh, I just want to suck it forever,” he continued.

“What else?” Basch asked, clasping Balthier around the upper chest and forcing his face towards the wall.

“I want you to fuck me with your huge cock,” Balthier said as Basch bent him over. “Basch, fuck me now! Fill me with it!”

Basch barely had the wherewithal to remember to wet his hand and penis before sinking it into Balthier’s body. Instantly, his senses were assaulted with the incredible heat and tightness of the other man’s opening; his lover’s cry of pain and pleasure coupled with his own incredulous, harsh yell, and the smell of Balthier’s neck and hair as he leaned in, pressing his chest against Balthier’s back even as he pulled out and thrust back inside him. Dimly, he remembered the night on the Tchita beach when he had been trying to get his clothes back. Could it really have only been four days ago?

Basch threw his head back as he pushed himself back into Balthier. The younger man arched his back then, changing the angle of the pressure and giving Basch a completely different feeling. He put hands on Balthier’s slender hips again, using the extra control to force himself farther in. Balthier pressed back eagerly, clearly enjoying the feeling. Sweat rolled down Basch’s back in beads, and soon his grip on Balthier’s lower body became slippery. Still, the feeling of his desperate hands sliding over Balthier’s sweat-soaked skin gave Basch an extra erotic thrill.
This was nothing like being with Reks. This was every inch of Basch’s body vibrating in time to his manic thrusts, every sound on his lips coming roughly and involuntarily. His mind was blank, devoid of anything but thoughts of pleasure. At that point, Basch could no longer focus on what was happening. He knew he was fucking Balthier, straining, trying as hard as he could to touch every inch of his lover’s golden skin and make him scream in pleasure, but everything else had left his mind.

When Basch came, the ecstasy came in light ripples at first, then waves of delight. It seemed as if he would never stop, and the end of his orgasm found Basch holding Balthier tightly to himself, the force of his release drawing tears out from his eyes and falling onto the other man’s back. Balthier might not have come himself, but Basch knew he had not disappointed him. Cautiously, he withdrew. Balthier turned around and opened his arms, and the older man fell into them, letting his still-excited body relax into Balthier’s strong embrace. His knees trembled.

“You’re shaking,” Balthier said softly, kissing the corners of Basch’s forehead.

Basch couldn’t answer right away, so he continued to pant deliriously into Balthier’s neck. The pleasure had not yet left his body.

Once the two men were sitting and calmed, Basch’s head pillowed on Balthier’s knee, he felt the younger man stop stroking his hair. “Basch, look at the moon.”

He raised his head a bit. Although the little waterfall obscured much of the view, Basch saw the edge of a beautiful moon poking out, perfectly round. It seemed larger than usual, and brighter.
“I haven’t seen moonrise on the Uplands yet,” he said softly.

Balthier shifted slightly. “It’s gorgeous.”

Basch shifted his gaze and looked up, but the darkness of the overhanging rocks prevented him from seeing much of Balthier’s expression. “Are you happy?” he asked.

“Of course,” the Sky Pirate said without a pause.

“Was it good?”

Now Balthier laughed, but it was a sweet-natured chuckle. “It was perfect,” he replied. His hand cupped Basch’s cheek, and Balthier leaned down for a kiss. “You have talent, Captain.”

It was Basch’s turn to laugh. As he looked out at the moon again, Balthier asked him, “Should we leave for Sochen soon?”

“I’m in no hurry,” Basch said quietly.

Balthier smiled, although his lover could not see. “I’m not, either. Let’s stay out of the rest of the world for just a while longer, and look at this moon.”

THE END

Heat of the Uplands, Chapter Four

2007-03-07T02:39:56Z

HEAT OF THE UPLANDS
By Omphalos
Chapter Four

WARNING: Oh noes, the buttsecks! In all seriousness, though, I'm taking a few liberties with Reks's character for dleightful yaoi purposes. Forgive me.

Balthier sat in Ashe’s tent, cross-legged on an embroidered cushion and with a cup of tea in one hand. All in all, playing nursemaid to a princess’s object of affection had some perks. Briefly, he wondered if she had a coffeemaker stashed away somewhere.

Basch lay next to him, naked save for the soft blankets that covered his legs and groin. The wound was not bandaged, in order to facilitate his caretakers in watching it for any change. Disturbing things had happened in Basch’s body that evening- what appeared to be large purple boils covering his stomach, odd lights shining from within his chest and abdomen, and a peculiar moment where he had opened his eyes, looked up at Penelo, and asked her to dance before vomiting profusely into her face. Balthier hoped Penelo wouldn’t hold it against him for laughing when she ran shrieking from the tent, but it had been pretty funny, all things considered.

Now, however, things were quiet. Although Basch was sleeping deeply and breathing fine, the waxy tone of his skin reminded Balthier of a mannequin, and he could not rouse the other man long enough to try and feed him.

With a tremor of something that tightened his throat, Balthier cast an eye down the length of Basch’s body. Even now that he was so ill, the man’s chest and shoulders made Balthier feel...well, how one shouldn’t feel about a living corpse.

Balthier felt as if he was doing something forbidden as he reached out and touched the side of Basch’s sleeping face. He stroked the length of it, from forehead to chin, then started back up top. He drew his fingers lightly over the ridge of Basch’s scar, so dark in his face white from illness. Balthier’s curious digits moved downwards, stroking the fine shelf of Basch’s brow, the proud nose, the high cheekbones and the hollows under them that ran directly to the corners of Basch’s full mouth. Lightly, Balthier touched Basch’s lips, thrilling at their softness and remembering the heat they had caused only a day before.

Only a day before, Balthier had been given a chance. He could have reached out and stayed with Basch that evening. Instead, panicked and slightly sheepish, he had struggled into his clothes and run back to camp without even waking the older man. Worse, he had spent the next day ignoring Basch’s intense, longing looks.

He had never been in a situation like this before. Balthier truly did prefer women overall, and his few trysts with other men had been as brief as they were enjoyable. Certainly, he could count on his hands the number of men he had looked at and suddenly wanted. Basch had joined their number, but Balthier had not been prepared to feel this way about someone he had spent time getting to know. Other Sky Pirates he knew laughingly referred to the practice as “Soldier’s Comfort,” implying that only men forced into a homogenous battle situation would take another man in a sexual way. Balthier had occasionally been in a strictly male situation, but he had long known that travelling with Fran meant he wouldn’t have to look for a sex partner if he didn’t want to. She had never before called him out for looking elsewhere for sex, either, he realized.

So what made Basch different from the other anonymous partners, male or female?

A soft sound came from the patient. Anxiously, Balthier leaned over into Basch’s face to see him slowly open his dark eyes. “Basch?”

Basch looked at him, pain written clearly on his face. “Don’t talk,” Balthier said hurriedly, putting a hand on Basch’s chest. “Can you nod yes and no?”

After a moment of hesitation, Basch jerked his head yes.

“Great,” Balthier said. “First question: is this not the most absolutely horrible day of your whole life?”

Basch choked a little, trying to laugh. His breath rasped in his throat- clearly, laughing was not a good idea. “Second question. Does it hurt?”

Nod.

“A lot?”

Basch rolled his head weakly to one side, then the other.

“Are you going to throw up again?”

Basch gave Balthier a look as if to say, you think I would do THAT?

“All over Penelo,” Balthier continued.

“Fuck,” Basch said, a whistle in his voice. He let out another little silent chuckle, and Balthier joined him.

“You shouldn’t talk,” Balthier said, picking up Basch’s hand and holding it to his own chest.
“The Wyrm cast Sap on you and stupid Ashe healed the wound before anyone could get the infection under control.”

“Not stupid,” Basch wheezed. He sucked air in through his teeth, apparently trying to breathe without expanding his chest and using muscles.

“Stupid Ashe.” A tear threatened at the edge of Balthier’s eye, but he ignored it. “She almost killed you.”

“She tries.” Basch reached up to Balthier’s face and held his hand there, caressing the other man’s cheek, before letting it fall limply into Balthier’s lap. “Not…meant for this.”

Balthier traced the lines of Basch’s palm with his index finger. He looked into the older man’s eyes. Basch looked like he was hurting, but his gaze remained patient. He was just about to explain why he had run away the previous night when Vaan came in.

“Balthier, Ashe wanted-hey! Basch!”

“H’lo,” Basch grunted.

Vaan knelt next to him. “How you feeling?”

“…great.”

“See, his sarcasm’s kicking in,” Balthier told Vaan. “I wasn’t even aware he had any in him.”

“Can I get you something?” Vaan asked Basch. The injured man shook his head.

“What did you need, Vaan?” Balthier asked, hating the interruption.

Vaan fumbled with a little bag. “Penelo and Fran cooked up some kind of super-potion. It’s an X-Potion crossed with two tufts of Phoenix down and a Remedy. You’re to take it if there’s…” His eyes met Basch’s, and Van faltered. “Um…if there’s…any change.”

Balthier held his hand out for the bag, and Vaan handed it over. “You know you barfed on Penelo?” Vaan asked eagerly. Basch managed to gather enough strength to roll his eyes.

“Be a good Vaan and go play in traffic,” Balthier said.

“What? It was really-“

“Out!”

“Sheesh.” Vaan ducked out, slamming the tent flap to the bets of his ability.

“Never going to live that down,” Basch said. “Poor Penelo.”

Balthier desperately wanted to lay his head on the smooth expanse of Basch’s chest and hold him, but restrained himself. “Go back to sleep, Basch,” he ordered.

“Not sleepy.” Basch’s eyes were closing even as he said it. Balthier waited a few moments, then gently began getting to his feet.

Basch opened his eyes. “Hey.”

“Do you need something?”

The sick man gave him a long look. “Last night…” He appeared to be trying to take a deep breath. “…you were gone.”

“I know.” Balthier fell heavily back into a sitting position. “I’m sorry. I was just being…stupid.”

Basch smiled loopily at him. “S’okay,” he said, barely audible, as his eyes fluttered closed and he surrendered to sleep, willingly or not.

It wasn’t poetry, but it was enough for Balthier. Relief washed over his whole body. As big of a jerk as the Sky Pirate had been, Basch seemed to either understand or forgive. Maybe even both.
Trembling a little from unshed emotions, Balthier picked up Basch’s flaccid hand and held it for a long time, looking down at him.

* * * * *

“I don’t get it,” Vaan said around the cook-fire later that night. “I’ve never even heard of someone getting a magick trapped inside them. Basch is the strongest of us all- how’d it happen to him, of all people?”

“Right place at the wrong time- or maybe the wrong place,” Penelo responded, hugging her knees. “Do you think he’ll be all right?”

“I hope so.” Vaan looked over at Ashe’s tent, a greyish spot against the setting sun. Just then, Fran ducked out of the tent. She peered over at the teenagers huddled by the fire, then turned and walked away, over the nearby hill.

“Balthier’s been in there all day,” Penelo said thoughtfully.

“I guess,,” Vaan replied. “You’d think Ashe would have been in there, since she has such a crush on him, but she kept going over and then leaving without even looking in once.”

“She blames herself. That’s awful, isn’t it? She was only trying to help.”

“Yeah, but Balthier was really mad. He kept yelling at her right after we killed the Shield Wyrm. She looked like she was going to cry.”

“I know, she didn’t even try to fight back.” The Rabanastran girl was digging in the dirt next to her feet with a twig. She made curly patterns in the soil, trailing away once they met the grass. “I never thought Ashe would let Balthier speak to her like that.”

“He was acting weird, though. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him go off on someone like that.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the Sky Pirate in question poking his head out of Ashe’s tent. “Hey,” Balthier called, “can one of you find Ashe for me?”

“She’s watching the sunset. I’ll go get her,” Penelo called back.

When Penelo came back with the Princess in tow, Vaan stood up. “Hey, Ashe, you okay?”

Ashe had the look of someone who has spent the day in heavy introspection- bite marks on her lips, bitten cuticles, and her hair ruffled as if from putting her head in her hands. “Fine,” she muttered, brushing past Vaan without much of a look. Surprised, Vaan stepped back and watched her make her way towards the tent where Basch lay. She tapped on the flap, and Balthier stepped out. Vaan couldn’t hear over the noise of the fire, but Balthier and the princess exchanged a few obviously heated words. The Sky Pirate side-stepped and made a sweeping gesture, as if to offer Ashe her own tent. Ashe harrumphed past him and ducked into the structure.

“She’s so not happy,” Penelo said softly from somewhere behind him.

Balthier walked over to the fire and nodded to them. “You’ll be happy to hear that Basch is much better,” he said casually, as if discussing a change in the weather. “He’ll be up and ready to fight again in just a day.”

“That’s a relief,” Vaan said. “He didn’t look so good for a while.”

“Fran’s really good at healing,” Penelo added. “So, does that mean we’re staying here another day?”

Balthier turned his head towards the ocean. The sun had almost completely set. “Well…yes, and no.”

“Huh?” Vaan asked.

Balthier rolled his eyes and made a gesture of annoyance. “The Lady Ashe doesn’t want to ‘waste any more time,’ as if waiting for her own sworn protector was a misuse of her precious existence.” The sarcasm in his voice was cutting. “You three and I will continue on to Sochen- we went in the wrong direction, incidentally- and Fran will stay here and look after Basch. They’ll meet us somewhere between Sochen and Old Archades .”

* * * * * *

“What’s taking him so long?” Penelo asked sleepily, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. It was not yet light outside, and she, Vaan, and Ashe had been waiting for Balthier to come out for nearly twenty minutes.

“Maybe he’s saying goodbye,” Ashe said flatly. Something about her tone struck Vaan as odd, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“We could start walking and wait for him to catch up,” Vaan suggested. “He knows the way, doesn’t he?’

“Vaan, we can’t just let people go off alone around here!” Penelo scolded. “What if we run into another Shield Wyrm?”

Just then, Fran came out of the tent. Her rucksack was slung over her shoulder, and her bow was in hand.

“I thought she was staying here,” Penelo said.

“I was,” Fran replied. “There are parts of Basch’s convalescence that I am not comfortable with performing.”

“Like what?” Vaan asked innocently.

“Personal things.”

“Yeah, but like what?” Penelo elbowed him, and Vaan shut up.

“We will follow the cliffs back and then north to Sochen,” Fran continued. “Balthier and Basch will be with us before we reach Archades.” Noticing the look on Ashe’s face, she added, “Lady Ashe, Basch will be fine. All he can do right now is lie on his back and wait.”

“That’s all?” Ashe asked suspiciously.

Fran nodded. “Don’t worry,” she said.

Vaan and Penelo gave each other confused glances.

Balthier waited until he couldn’t hear their voices anymore before lying down and putting his head next to Basch’s on the pillow. He stared at the other man’s sleeping face. Even in repose, Basch’s forehead was creased in worry. Balthier waited a few more minutes in silence, then inched closer and kissed Basch softly on the lips.

“Mmmf.” The injured man started for a moment, then relaxed. “Morning, Balthier,” he said softly, his voice creaky with sleep.

“Hey,” Balthier said quietly.

“Where’s Fran?” Basch asked.

The Sky Pirate propped his head up on one elbow. “There’s been a change in our itinerary,” he said. “Fran decided to go with Ashe and the other two. I’ve been elected your new nurse.”

Basch cracked one eye open. “Truly?”

Balthier nodded, looking not a little smug.

“Hmm.” Basch closed his eyes and smiled. “You’d look funny in a nurse’s uniform.”

Most of Balthier’s morning was spent trying to feed Basch, and much of Basch’s by alternately refusing the food and falling asleep. Around noon, he managed to take a few bite of something mushy from a reconstituted food packet, which delighted Balthier to an extent that he personally found ridiculous.

“Looks like you might live after all, Captain,” Balthier said, putting the rest of the food aside for later. He sealed the bag. Basch was sitting propped up against a few bags of supplies. By this time, after another round of curative magicks and some food, he almost looked normal.

“Thank you for helping me,” the older man said quietly.

Something in his voice made Balthier look at him quizzically. Basch sighed in response to the Sky Pirate’s querying look. “Balthier, before we go any further, you and I must talk.”

“Of course.”

Basch looked down at his lap for a moment, then right into Balthier’s eyes. “Are we going to
continue our…physical relationship?”

“Are you joking? You’d probably explode if I tried anything right now- and not in the way I prefer,” Balthier said flippantly. He had meant it to be funny, but all it earned him was a glower from Basch.

“Balthier, please. Be serious for five minutes.”

Now it was Balthier’s turn to sigh. “All right, Basch, if you’re asking whether or not I want to continue having sex, then the answer is yes.”

“Fine,” Basch said.

“Fine?”

“No, I meant…” Basch looked a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I meant that it’s a good thing. This is something I want to continue, as well…but I think it’s best we inform the rest of the group.”

“How, may I ask, is it anyone’s business what we do in private?’ Balthier asked, feeling heat rise to his cheeks.

“Ordinarily, I’d say it’s none of their business at all,” Basch replied calmly. “However, since we are travelling in such close quarters, I feel it’s more courteous to make our wishes known to the entire party. I dislike sneaking around, and I especially hate the turmoil this situation is causing between you and Ashe.”

“Ashe and I are just fine the way we are,” Balthier said. “I’ve never liked her, even before I became interested in you.”

This was the wrong thing to say. Basch’s eyes narrowed and his lips flattened to an unhappy line. “If that’s the way you feel about Ashe, then perhaps we’d best end this now,” Basch said coldly.

“It’s nothing personal—“

“Considering the relationship Ashe and I have, it’s very personal!”

“Relationship?” Balthier laughed. “You’re her bodyguard, Basch, not her husband.”

“Her welfare is my primary concern.”

“And mine isn't?”

“Not everything is about you, dammit!”

Basch and Balthier glared at each other for one intense moment. Finally, Balthier picked up the little bag of leftover food and got to his knees. “Well, there’s no use in your getting angry and aggravating your condition,” he said in his usual light, haughty tone. “I’m going to take a walk.”

“Balthier, wait—“

The Sky Pirate had already left the tent. Frustrated, Basch punched the ground, then winced as the sudden movement made his stomach muscles contract oddly.

* * * *

“Why do we have to pretend we don’t know one another?”

“Reks, be serious. It would be an unimaginable scandal if the higher-ups discovered what we’ve been doing. Not to mention, if we’re captured…”

Basch was lying on his stomach on the cramped army cot. He was naked, his body covering Reks’s. The barracks’ tiny window was open, allowing a night breeze and city noise to flow over the two men as they lay cuddling.

Reks squirmed, the firm flesh of his stomach rubbing over Basch’s semi-erect member. The friction edged the pesky appendage into full wakefulness, but Reks was frowning. “Basch, it’s not as if you wouldn’t know me. You’re my commanding officer.”

Basch grinned.

“Oh, you know what I mean!”

With a sigh, Basch pushed himself up on his hands and looked down at his companion. The room’s dim lighting created strange hollows beneath Reks’s eyes and the corners of his mouth, a grim effect when coupled with the baby roundness of his face. It gave Basch a strange feeling of foreboding. To chase away the premonition creeping up his spine, Basch covered Reks’s mouth with his own, seeking escape between the silky lips.

“Reks,” he said, not far from his mouth, “what if this is our last night together?”

“Don’t think like that,” Reks pleaded. He reached up and wrapped his skinny arms around Basch’s broad back, hugging the other man as close as he could. “I hate it when you talk like that in bed,” he said, his voice muffled by Basch’s hair.

Basch sighed a second time.

Reks pushed him away, looking up at him with the pout that Basch found irresistible. “If it is our last night together,” he began in a teasing voice, “won’t you feel silly in the Empyrean when you realize you spent it being depressive when you could have been doing something more fun?” He wiggled knowingly against Basch’s erection, still apparent after having to listen to such downhearted talk.

With a groan, Basch moved down a bit and nudged Reks’s own penis. “They should really promote you,” he said thoughtfully, as Reks reached down for him. “You’re so sensible.”

With a start, Basch awoke. He must have dozed off after the tiff with Balthier- where was Balthier, anyways?

He hated remembering times with Reks. They had not been lovers for very long, and Basch always felt a confusing mix of foolish and guilty whenever he thought about their brief affair. Reks had fallen fast for him, and fallen hard, and Basch at the time didn’t know what to do. Although the orphaned boy was quite a bit younger than he was, Reks was far more experienced when it came to men. Unfortunately, he was also a great deal more romantic when it came to them.

Basch had known full well what men in his unit were doing. The female soldiers had their own camp, and there was little opportunity for the two groups to mix. Although the idea of his soldiers seeking relief together didn’t bother him, he never gave the issue a serious thought until the night he realized Reks was watching him.

He first noticed the young blond at a celebration prior to the beginning of the Archadian battles. Everyone was drunk enough to set off the air purity sensors with their breath, and even Basch was feeling jovial enough to slap a few backs and toast other members of his team. What the hell, it was a party! As the night grew older, more and more men either staggered off to their barracks or passed out right where they were, sprawled in meaty piles around the room- under benches, on tables, and one poor recruit with his top half inside an overturned garbage can. Basch and Reks were two of the last men standing.

Basch had been wary of Reks’s penetrating gaze all evening. Feeling ill at ease- and perhaps a bit ill in general- Basch stumbled out of the mess hall and started weaving his way towards his bed. Unable to walk properly, he tripped over his own feet and nearly fell.

“Let me help you,” a young boy’s voice came from near him. Slender hands grasped Basch’s shoulders, and with the other soldier’s help he righted himself.

“Thank you,” he said, wincing inwardly at how slurred his voice sounded. Basch turned his head to behold the recruit who had been staring at him all night. “I don’t drink verrrroffen,” he explained.

“It’s all right,” the boy said with a smile.

“Reks, isn’t it?” Basch asked, nearly plunging headfirst into the path as he did so.

“Yes, captain.” Reks helped him stand again. “Sir, why don’t we take a seat next to this building?”

“M’allright,” Basch said thickly.

“With all due respect, sir, you need to sit.” Reks just barely nudged Basch in the direction of the nearest building’s wall, and Basch fell into it with a good smack, his face mashed against the wood.

“Feel like a fly onna win’shield,” he said. He heard Reks laugh. “Fuck.”

“Here.” Basch felt himself being turned around, and he tried to help by throwing himself back against the wall. There was absolutely no light behind the building. He hit the back of his head hard, and cursed at the pain.

He felt something behind his head- Reks’s hand? Oh, he was in trouble for this. He could hear the reprimand already. What kind of commanding officer was he, getting so—

Basch’s thoughts were interrupted by the sudden and startling pressure of Reks’s lips against his own. He raised his hands to push the other man away, but in his intoxicated state only managed to put them on Reks’s shoulders. He seemed to take this as encouragement, forcing his tongue into Basch’s mouth. Too stunned or too drunk to resist, Basch sat sprawled there and let a complete stranger maul his mouth.

After a moment, Reks drew away. “Now we have dirt on each other,” he whispered into Basch’s ear. “So you know I won’t turn you in for drinking.”

Still shocked silent, Basch allowed Reks to half-lift him to a standing position and help him walk to his private room.

The next day, which began in the throes of a hangover that felt like baby turtles biting the inside of his brain, Basch had sought Reks out in order to thank him for helping the previous night.

He had found Reks in the showers, alone. Not wanting to face him without pants, Basch had tried to walk out, but Reks had spotted him. “Captain von Ronsenburg!” Reks saluted. With everything.

“At ease,” Basch mumbled, trying his damnedest to look away. “Ah, Reks, I wanted to thank you for your aid last evening.”

“Sir, I was happy to help, sir!”

“Yes…well…I would appreciate your discretion regarding my state yesterday night. It’s no secret that we were all celebrating a bit too hard, but I’m sure you understand why it looks worse for a captain than for a private.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Right…well…thank you. As you were.” Basch turned to leave.

“Sir!”

“Yes?”

Reks stood, legs slightly spread and one hip cocked to the side. He put his hand on that hip and gave Basch a very insubordinate grin. “Sir, you’re an excellent kisser, sir!”

For nearly a week after that, Basch had to restrain himself from checking Reks’s cheeky look with the back of his hand. Every time he looked at the boy, Basch cringed in embarrassment. What was worse was the fact that Reks seemed to realize it, and gave Basch a combination of longing glances that ranged from puppy-eyed to smouldering. Basch tried to ignore it, but as that week progressed he found himself looking back. He had to admit to himself that, as unwelcome as the kiss had been, he felt a strange, clawing sensation of pleasure in his chest and groin whenever he thought about it. Mixed with his embarrassment over the whole situation, Basch’s head swam in a cocktail more potent that anything he had drunk that unfortunate evening.
When he finally confronted Reks, Basch made two mistakes. Number one, he asked Reks to come to his tent for a private chat. Number two, he had set up his tent quite far from any others. Had there been more people in the vicinity, Basch never would have been brave enough to let what happened happen- namely, that Reks came straight at him for a kiss and he allowed it. He allowed it, and he allowed Reks to strip his shirt off and run his hands up and down his bare chest, and he allowed Reks to get naked himself and to bend over, and before Basch consciously realized what was happening, he was inside Reks, thrusting and moaning and trying to keep everything lubricated with his own saliva. He took Reks standing up, the younger man holding on to a support beam and pleasuring himself as Basch fucked him. The whole event could have lasted no longer than five minutes, but both men came away from it satisfied.

With a rather bitter smile, Basch recalled the frequency with which Reks started visiting his tent during that long march to meet the Archadians. The others must have known something was going on, but since Basch was religiously close-mouthed and usually kept to himself, most of the soldiers accepted Reks’s cool explanation that Basch was helping him learn to read. Since literacy wasn’t a prerequisite for becoming an army grunt, and perhaps due to Reks’s parentless state, this rather silly piece of fiction was readily accepted- at least, as far as Basch knew.

It wasn’t long until the sex turned into emotional investment. Although Basch was still writing the trysts off as mere soldier’s comfort, Reks began taking matters seriously. He insisted on spending the night with Basch, spooning the older man who more often than not lay awake wondering how in hell he would get his teenaged lover out of the place before reveille.

However, one night, his mind changed. He was lying in bed, dizzy from orgasms and a long day in the field, waiting to drop off to sleep when Reks turned over and nuzzled his bare shoulder with his lips. Basch shifted slightly, and the young recruit settled with his head pillowed in the space between Basch’s collarbone and shoulder. Reks sighed with pleasure, snaking his hand up Basch’s chest to rest directly on his lover’s breastbone. It was at that moment that Basch
looked down at Reks and realized that the lithe, strange Rabanastran boy was more to him than an outlet for sex.

Dimly, Basch realized tears were prickling at his eyes. He wiped them away, frustrated at his stupid weakness.

The motion gave him a slight twinge around the midsection, and the reminder that he had been asleep for a not-insignificant period of time. He tried to ascertain what time it was by looking at the ceiling of his tent, but not enough sunlight came through the thick silk for him to get a good idea. Still, the overall temperature of the little enclosure told him it must be early afternoon at least.

Basch hoped that one day, he would stop feeling guilty about his last exchange with Reks. He hadn’t meant to be callous by asking the younger man to play dumb- it was an attempt to hide their relationship from Imperials in the area. The Archadians had outlawed homosexual intercourse some years before, and a captured Dalmascan soldier had enough trouble in their harsh prisons without having a penchant for men’s flesh attributed to him as well.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly to no one in particular.

Heat of the Uplands, Chapter Three

2007-03-07T02:31:10Z

Heat of the Uplands
by Omphalos
Chapter Three

Warning: this fanfic implies that sexuality is fluid enough that two otherwise straight dudes would totally hook up and enjoy it.

The next day, it began to rain. This made Fran and Basch happy, but everyone else seemed put out by it. Still, by the time the group reached the very edge of the Uplands and began passing into Cerobi Steppes, everyone’s previous sour mood seemed to have lifted. Even the perpetual frown of worry on Ashe’s face had subsided a little, and she and Basch walked together for much of the day, discussing various pieces of news about the Resistance.

Even the rain and the pleasant conversation with Ashe couldn’t distract Basch from the fact that Balthier was once again avoiding him. He might have fallen asleep in the younger man’s embrace, but the grey morning found Basch huddled uncomfortably on the floor of the cave with dirt on his face and a sudden, panicky feeling of displacement. He had walked back to camp and constructed an excuse about chasing a Bellwyvern and getting lost earlier that morning, and everyone except Fran seemed to think nothing of it.

The Viera, however, had taken one look at his dusty clothes and rumpled wet hair and narrowed her fiery eyes. She walked up to Basch while the rest of the group was packing up camp and said, “Not a good explanation.”

Basch could only look down at the ground. “When did Balthier come back?” he asked.

“Two hours earlier,” she replied, “and he’s sleeping again.”

The exchange had ended there, and Fran had fallen back into her customary silence ever since. They had crossed the border between Tchita and the Cerobi Steppes- with Balthier cursing when he realized they had gone the wrong way- before she spoke again. “Wyrm.”

“What?” Vaan asked.

In response, Fran inclined her head. Before them, in the clearing, stood a huge, sleeping dragon. “Shield Wyrm,” she clarified.

“Oooh…” Penelo said weakly.

“Should we try to escape?” Balthier asked from behind the others. His hand crept slowly towards his gun.

“We can take it,” Basch replied. “Balthier and Fran, stay in the back and cover me. These things have high HP, but they aren’t too difficult to bring down.”

“You’re going up front alone?” Ashe asked, putting her hand on his shoulder. “Basch, you can’t.”
“I can, and I will,” he replied a little harshly. “And quickly, too, before it awakens.”

Ashe bowed her head. “Good luck,” she said quietly.

There was little to no cover at all in the plains, so Balthier and Fran tried to station themselves out of its range of vision. Basch, however, headed straight for the wyrm’s massive head.

The fight started well enough. The dragon was strong, but Basch felt the old singing of battle rise high in his veins before long. He managed to hit it nearly four times before the stupid creature awoke, snorting smoke with rage. One of Fran’s poisoned arrows him it directly above the ear, and the beast turned towards her with a roar, but Basch quickly stabbed the monster in the foot, effectively crippling it. Howling in anger, the Shield Wyrm spat filthy bubbles directly into his face. Basch could feel his strength seeping from him, and quickly countered with Regen.

After about ten minutes of fighting, Basch’s arms began to ache from holding his sword. He didn’t want to waste a Quickening on bringing the thing down, and Libra told him that there was plenty of fight left in the creature. He had just turned around in order to call Vaan in as a replacement when the dragon made its first truly smart move.

The Wyrm’s movements became impossibly fast. It lashed out, laying Basch’s right side open with one of its brutal claws. Basch crumpled to the ground, dropping his weapon in order to clasp his hands to the wound. Hot blood ran between his fingers with frightening speed. The idea of casting a healing spell did not even occur to him in the wake of the excruciating pain, and his normal level-headedness was further derailed when he realized the dangerous depth of the injury. Basch knew he must be screaming, but the entire world had been reduced to a single hot, pulsating redness. Dimly, he could hear Balthier crying out in shock, and feel a pair of strong hands at his back, but it wasn’t long before the sucking crimson haze pulled him under into a black blindness.

* * * *

“Why isn’t he getting better?”

Basch was laid out along the path, looking very pale and unhealthy indeed. Fran kneeled on one side of him, Balthier on the other. Ashe crouched at his feet, her face creased with worry.
Fran turned to the worried princess. “The Shield Wyrm cast sapping magicks on him before we managed to close the wound. By casting Curaja and sealing his skin, you allowed the deterioration to remain inside.”

Ashe began blinking rapidly, obviously in an effort to hide her tears. Still, they fell. Fran felt a momentary pang of remorse for being so blunt, but it was overshadowed by the burning infection trapped in Basch’s guts, accompanied by a heat so great she wondered how he could possibly still live. “We can open him again,” she said, “and cast Regen. If we cannot cure the extent of the disease, however, he will die.”

Penelo, from where she and Vaan sat a little apart from the others, put both of her clenched hands up to her face in horror. Vaan put a protective arm around her. “If we cast Regen over and over, won’t it hit all the infected parts?”

“Maybe.” Fran bent over Basch, putting her face close to his. She smelled death all over the man, but would never have told the children that. “I fear that opening his wound will be the end of him, but we have no choice. The Gutsap is a terrible condition, and you must attack the source.”

“We can’t just leave him here like this!” Ashe burst out, ignoring her falling tears now. “Please, we have to try!”

“I agree,” Balthier said, his voice tense. “Cut him, Fran. We don’t have time to argue.”

With a nod, Fran sliced the newly-healed weal open with a single sharp claw. Instantly, the stench of putrefaction hit her sensitive nose. Now truly fearing the worst, she immediately cast Regen. Balthier, Ashe, and the other immediately did the same. The five quick bursts of strong curative magick did not appear to have an instant effect, but the purplish fluid seeping from the gutted man’s side slowed to a trickle. A good sign.

“Again.”

All five party members cast a second time. This round improved the smell and Basch’s overall colour, but he remained unresponsive and the infection continued to rage, judging by his temperature.

Balthier was readying a third blast when Fran stopped him. “Enough. Any more would be too much for him now.”

“What about Cleanse?” Penelo asked. She readied her hands. “Can I try?” When Fran nodded, the Rabanastran girl sent a bolt of healing energy towards Basch. The edges of his wound actually appeared to suck it in, but there was no visible change.

Fran looked at Balthier. The Sky Pirate’s face was wrinkled with stress and fear, but Fran read his expression as more than that of a troubled friend. “A Remedy, Balthier.”

“What? But—“

“Quickly.”

Without a word, Balthier tossed her a small bottle. Fran uncorked it and, closing her eyes briefly, poured it directly into Basch’s body.

It sizzled. The pain must have been unbearable, for Basch’s eyes fluttered and a groan of pure agony escaped his lips. Had the man retained any strength at all, Fran knew he would have screamed outright. However, in his weakened state he could not wake. Fran watched the decaying tissue directly under Basch’s rent skin start clearing up, turning pinkish from the sickly green-violet that belied infection. “Another.”

A second Remedy went in, then a third. A fourth. Part of Fran was fascinated- she’d never seen so much of a Hume’s insides- but she had no idea what the effect of saturating their bodies with chemicals would be. She poured vial after vial into the man, and only when the actual Remedy fluid itself began hovering above the flesh, like water in an overfilled flowerpot, did she stop. “Regen, then Curaja. That order.”

Ashe cast the first magick, Balthier the second. Basch’s torn flesh smoothed together so perfectly that no one could possibly have known what raged inside by just looking at him. His color was better, and when Fran pressed her hand to the wound, she felt that it was only slightly warmer than the surrounding skin.

“How is he?” Ashe asked.

Fran stood slowly. “For now, he fights. Whether he will last the night or not is up to him.”

“We’re pitching a tent,” Vaan said. “Back in the Uplands, where there are no Wyrms.” He ran off, but Penelo stayed, looking at Basch with fear on her face.

“Go help Vaan!” Balthier ordered her, his voice strangely shrill. She ran after her friend, towards Tchita.

“I’m going ahead to kill any more Wyrms,” Fran told Ashe. “Will you watch him?” the princess nodded.

“I’m coming, too,” Balthier said hurriedly.

“Don’t move him,” Fran said to Ashe. “Once the other two come back, cast Float and pull him carefully by the legs.”

“You know everything,” Balthier murmured.

They were already off and hunting before Fran responded, “I seem to know more than anyone else.”
“Those Remedies would have killed a weaker man,” Balthier said. “How did you know he could take it?”

“I didn’t,” Fran responded. She paused to shoot at a bandercoeurl, which snarled at her before running off yelping. “Why did you not remain with him?”

Balthier did not answer her.

“Balthier.”

He paused, either listening for dragon footsteps or stalling her, Fran couldn’t tell which.

“Ffamran!”

Balthier jumped and then gave her a dirty look. “He’s in fine hands with Ashe,” he responded, “and she seems to hate anyone sniffing around her property. If his cock was made of Nethicite, we’d never see the poor fellow.”

They were approaching a series of ruined windmills. Fran poked her head around the side of one and beheld a second, larger Wyrm on the horizon. She held her breath for a minute, waiting, but the dragon disappeared over the side of the hill. The sun was setting. “You would know about that,” she said.

Again, Balthier was silent. Fran turned to look at him. The usually coy Sky Pirate was glaring at her with mixed shame and defiance plain on his face. “Do you walk around smelling everyone, trying to decipher their misdeeds?” he asked, fury in his tone.

“I was not aware that sex was a misdeed,” she responded coldly. “In any case, I know what Hume spoor smells like, and what it looks like in someone’s hair when they come around looking dirty, unshaven, and as if they had not slept all night.”

Now Balthier looked truly embarrassed. He sat on a nearby rock, slinging his gun between his knees. “What if he dies,” he said in a dazed voice. It was not a question.

“We will watch him all night,” Fran responded. “I will make sure Ashe stays away for at least part of it.”

“Thank you.” Balthier reached up and grasped Fran’s hand, seeking comfort.

She covered it with her own large paw, cradling their clasped hands against her thigh. “He is more alive than dead,” she said, trying to help.

“If he dies, the last thing he’ll remember about me is that I left him half-naked on a cave floor and didn’t talk to him all day,” Balthier said. “Wonder of wonders, I’m a heartless Sky Pirate stereotype after all.”

“You’re not heartless.” Fran sat next to him, still holding his hand. “This fact I know best of all.”

Heat of the Uplands, Chapter Two

2007-02-17T01:08:01Z

HEAT OF THE UPLANDS
By Omphalos
Chapter Two

WARNING: Reading stories about two men having sex with render not you, but your children impotent. Please, won't somebody think of the children?!

By the end of the day, Penelo was feeling much better, and Ashe seemed to be getting over her mood. Basch proposed that the group travel that night to make up for lost time, but only Fran backed him up, and the group spent the night where they were. It was Basch’s turn to watch over the camp that evening, and he spent the time in nervous agony, waiting for Balthier to come out of his tent. No such luck. The entirety of his shift remained solitary.

Halfway through the night, Ashe came out to relieve him. Lost in thought, Basch didn’t even notice her standing beside him until she cleared her throat. The sudden noise made him start.

“Princess.”

“You can go to bed now, Basch.”

He nodded and stood up. “It’s been very quiet all night,” he informed her. “You should have an easy time.”

She smiled wanly in response.

“Goodnight, princess.”

“Wait.” Ashe caught his arm. “Basch, I’ve been in a terrible mood the past few days. I’ve been exceedingly rude to you, and I…well. I’m very sorry.”

Surprised, Basch stopped. “You haven’t been rude to me,” he said gently. “Sometimes, people need to withdraw. I’ve felt quiet myself since we entered the Uplands.”

Ashe sighed. “Thank you for your kindness,” she said. She was still holding his arm.

“You’re…you’re very good to me,” she continued in a tone he couldn’t read.

“It is my duty.”

“Mmm.” She lowered her eyes and smiled. “Goodnight, Basch.”

“Goodnight.”

Basch walked over to his tent, confused. He could not decipher what Ashe’s aim had been during that exchange, but a new concern began prickling his heart.

The next morning, he forced everyone to start two hours early. It was still dark when the group began walking, although a slender line of orange sun soon appeared over the ocean. Much to Basch’s disappointment, their road turned inland, and the group no longer had a view of the sea.
To his further disappointment, Balthier seemed to be casually ignoring him. He watched the younger man flirt with Penelo, then with Fran, who responded to his sass by walking farther ahead. Not for the first time, Basch wished he could bottle some of the Viera’s composure for his own use.

Fran stopped and took aim at a faraway Serpent, who was sliding towards them. Hidden in the grass as it was, no one but Fran had noticed its quick movements. Her arrow struck the Serpent directly behind the head, and it immediately fell still. Basch walked up behind her. “Good shot.”

She inclined her head in thanks. “You must sever the blood flow from their brain,” she said. “It is quicker than attacking as a group and hitting its body.”

“Indeed.” Basch didn’t expect much, but he figured it was worth a try: “Fran, you’ve known Balthier a long time, haven’t you?”

“Perhaps to a Hume.”

“Erm…” The hell with it. “You two are…together, yes?”

Fran raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s none of my business.”

“It is not.” Fran glanced over her shoulder at the rest of the group, who were a few feet ahead of them. “Did Ashe speak to you?”

“Not since last night, why?”

Fran began walking again, but seemed in no hurry to catch up to the group. Basch fell in step alongside her, and she said, “I sometimes wonder why Humes think they are being coy when they are only being rude. Do not tell me you cannot think why.”

“She apologized for having been in an unpleasant mood for the past two days. That’s all.”

The Viera sighed. “I don’t understand it.”

“Fran, I don’t understand you right now.” Basch said.

She looked at him. “Ashe has developed unexpected feelings. I expect you understand this idea?” Basch opened his mouth, but could say nothing. Did she know?

Fran went on. “I know that Humes do not always fully comprehend their emotions. This is a difficult fact to appreciate, but I am trying. Ashe feels romantically towards you, but does not believe you share this.”

Basch had never felt quite so popular.

He paused for a minute before catching up to Fran, who had continued walking. “I don’t really think about Ashe that way,” he answered truthfully. “I’m surprised to hear this, honestly.”
“As was I.” Fran looked over at Ashe, who was in tandem with Penelo. “I only learned this because I asked her why she was so angry at Balthier.”

“Oh.” Basch nodded, then realized. “Ohh…”

“Be cautious,” was all Fran said. Before he could utter another word, she was walking double-time to catch up with the rest of the group. Basch stood for a moment, reeling, then jogged towards the party on order to rejoin them.

They went on for a few hours, only pausing to eliminate any creatures that slithered up to them along the way. Basch was silent, as was Fran, but as this was rather normal behaviour for both of them, no one else in the party noticed anything was amiss.

He watched Balthier out of the corner of his eye. The sky pirate was in a fine mood, it seemed, but continued to avoid him. Basch’s own outlook darkened.

It wasn’t until well into the evening when the party stopped to eat dinner that Balthier came and sat next to Basch. “Hungry?”

Basch looked into Balthier’s eyes. “Extremely,” he said, deliberately attaching a double meaning to the statement.

With a wry smile, Balthier handed him a bag of rations. No more could be said, as just then Ashe sat down next to Basch. Remembering Fran’s words from earlier, he turned and offered Ashe the bag of food. She accepted it with a grateful smile. Basch turned back to Balthier just in time to see an expression of mild consternation cross his face. “Well, well,” he remarked, loudly enough for Ashe to hear. “Aren’t we chivalrous tonight, Captain Von Rosenburg?”

“Some men are,” Ashe replied, tearing the bag open and shaking some water onto the contents from her canteen.

“Princess!” Balthier put a hand over his heart in mock horror. “I’m deeply wounded! I am the very picture of chivalrous behaviour.”

Ashe smiled at Basch, ignoring Balthier. “Would you like to share? I’m not all that hungry.”

“Oh, but he’s just starving,” Balthier interjected, giving Basch a second foil bag of rations. “Aren’t you, Captain? Want to fill yourself with something more substantial?”

“Stop it,” Basch said. Getting to his feet, he handed the bag of food back to Balthier. “I don’t know what you two are fighting about, but you can sit next together and work it out. I’m sitting alone.”

“Ooooh,” Balthier said. Basch heard Ashe trying to apologize, but he pretended not to. He took a seat over next to Vaan, who was crunching his rations.

Basch looked over. “Don’t you mix them with water?”

“I kind of like them this way,” Vaan responded. “It gets too mushy if you add water.”

Basch smiled. “Hey, where’s yours?” Vaan asked.

“Not hungry.”

Vaan shrugged, putting another clump of dried food in his mouth. “Do you get the feeling that everyone’s been kind of grouchy lately?” he asked through a mouthful of crunching.

“A bit. It must be the heat.”

“Ten minutes, guys,” Penelo called out, “and then we have to get moving.”

“How long is it until Sochen, anyway?” Vaan asked. “Another two days?”

“If we hurry,” Basch said. He looked up at the red mountains, towering in the dusk. “As strange as it seems, I’m starting to enjoy this place,” he said. “The color of the earth against the grass…it’s nice.” He brought his knees up to his chest and looked up at the sky. A sliver of moon was rising.

* * * * *

Rather than spend another night in the tent, trying to figure out whether he should sleep next to Balthier or not, Basch had volunteered for another night of guard duty. It was technically Vaan’s turn, but the younger man had no qualms about putting off his shift until the early morning.

The party members had only been in bed for an hour before Basch heard someone coming out of a tent. This time, Balthier did indeed walk up to him. “Care for some company?”

Basch nodded. He was sitting on a large rock, and moved over to allow Balthier to sit down.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” Balthier said. Their legs were touching, giving Basch an electric buzz along that leg and up his side. “Ashe has just seemed rather…pissy towards me. You’ll be happy to know that I apologized profusely and she seemed to forgive me a little.”

“From something that Fran told me earlier, she’s been angry at you out of jealousy,” Basch said.

“Oh?” Balthier leaned a little closer, so that his arm was against Basch’s. “That’s interesting.”

“Balthier, not here.”

He backed off, his hands raised in mock surrender. “What? Just two friends sharing a rock. Nothing to see here.”

Basch sighed.

“Look, I know you’re wondering why I didn’t talk to you all day.”

“Not really, no.”

Balthier ignored the lie. “I know you don’t want anyone else to know what happened. Frankly, I understand- I do wish it wasn’t so embarrassing for you to admit, but I can’t change that.”

“I’m not embarrassed.” Ironically, Basch looked over his shoulder to make sure they were still alone. Balthier gave him a knowing look. “It’s just…” He looked down at his hands, which were clasped in front of him. “I’ve only ever been with one other man,” Basch said softly. “It didn’t turn out very well, and I haven’t really been interested in any men since him.”

Balthier nodded thoughtfully. Basch continued, “I find it confusing, to be honest, because I’m usually attracted to women.”

“As am I.”

“Then…what is happening?” Basch rested his chin on his clasped hands, looking at out a nothing in particular. “Balthier, I’ve been dizzy for the past day, I’m trying to hard not to think about how it felt when we—“

“Why do you need to qualify this?” Balthier spoke in an unusually gentle voice. “What’s wrong with just feeling? Is it Ashe?”

“A little.”

“Whenever you touch me, I feel like my skin is on fire.” The younger man’s voice was intense. “I want you in ways I’ve never even thought about wanting another man before. You feel that way, too- don’t you?”

“Yes.” Basch closed his eyes.

Balthier slid one hand up the length of Basch’s thigh. It left a tingling trail that felt so good, Basch thought it must glow in the dark. “I’m not going to be someone’s dirty little secret,” Balthier said in an undertone.

His hand was resting quite high on Basch’s leg. “I’m not ashamed,” Basch said, “I just don’t want anyone to know my business.”

“It was Vaan’s brother, wasn’t it? The other man?”

Basch swallowed. “Yes.”

“Oh, my.” Balthier removed his hand. “That explains a few things,” he said, almost to himself.

Basch turned to him and placed his hands on the other man’s shoulders. “You can’t tell Vaan.”

“Don’t worry,” Balthier said. “Although…you might have to earn my silence.”

“How would I do that?” Basch asked, his hands still on Balthier’s shoulders.

“Kiss me like you did this afternoon.”

Basch was only too willing to oblige.

After a few minutes of furious, breathless kisses, Balthier nipped Basch’s lip, eliciting a moan from the older man. “Let’s go somewhere that we can’t be seen,” he said.

“What happened to being open?” Basch asked with a smile, running his fingertips lightly over Balthier’s back, enjoying his partner’s answering shiver of pleasure.

“What happened to being paranoid?” Balthier shot back. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t do everything in public.” He stood up, tugging on Basch’s hand.

With a resigned laugh, Basch rose and wrapped his arms around Balthier. “Hmmm…” His lips moved from the seashell top of Balthier’s ear to the lobe, biting and sucking on it at the same time. Balthier groaned with enjoyment, a sexual noise that heightened in pitch and sheer pleasure as Basch followed by inserting his tongue into his ear. “Oh, wow,” he whispered, causing Basch to laugh a second time.

“That’s sophisticated,” he whispered, kissing the silky stretch of skin just below Balthier’s ear, on the other man’s tanned neck. Basch trailed his tongue down the other man’s neck, tasting the salt of his sweat. By the time he reached Balthier’s collarbone, Basch felt ready to explode. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Yes. Yes. Where can we go?”

“I saw a cave a ways back,” Balthier said. Hand in hand, the two men made their way around a nearby hill to where a small cluster of rocks stood. It wasn’t quite a cave, but it was out of sight from the camp, and it looked as if it could block out any wind. Basch headed in enthusiastically, but Balthier pulled on his hand, stopping him. “Basch…”

“What?” Basch was so turned on, he was almost panting like an animal.

“Are you sure about this?” Seeing that Basch’s eyes were clouded with lust, Balthier adopted his sternest tone. “Yesterday, you told me you weren’t ready for anything more intense than kissing. I want to know that anything we do won’t be something you regret in the morning.”

Basch rubbed his mouth, trying to clear his head. Although his erection felt as if it would come to life and make its own demands at any moment, the expression on Balthier’s face made him want to reassure him. “Balthier,” he said finally, “I promise you. I will not feel anything but wonderful tomorrow.”

“You’ll stop me if you need to.” Basch nodded in reply. Balthier smiled.

It took Basch all of half a second to yank Balthier into the cave and thrust him against a wall, pushing him back against a stone and kissing him so hard that Balthier squeaked a little bit in protest. Still, Basch couldn’t press his body into the other man’s hard enough. He felt Balthier’s erection rising thick against his thigh.

“I want you so much,” Balthier whispered.

Basch bit his collarbone. Balthier moaned. His lips and teeth still digging into the younger man’s neck, Basch slowly slid a hand down the sky pirate’s lean chest, thrilling at the feeling of tight skin and firm muscle under Balthier’s thin shirt. He had just reached the waistband of Balthier’s pants when the other man stopped his hand. “Let me.”

“You don’t have to,” Basch whispered, although he felt explosive with need.

“I want to.” Balthier nudged him, and Basch flopped back against the wall. He raised his hands to chest level as Balthier knelt down between his legs, running his hands along Basch’s belly and thigh as he did so. Basch looked down, his breath coming hard and fast as he watched Balthier unfasten the fly of his trousers. His long, thick cock sprang out of his pants, so hard that Basch could have sworn he would come if the wind changed.

“Oh, Captain.” Balthier said reverently. His words were mocking, but there was a greedy gleam in his eyes that indicated just a tiny bit of truth in his teasing statement. He tickled the underside of Basch’s cock with the soft flesh under his wrist, making the older man suck in his breath quickly. “And what should I do with this?”

“Anything,” Basch gasped. His groin was throbbing so hard, it felt as if his heart was beating down there instead of in his chest. “Anything, just…please…”

He almost shouted in surprise when he felt Balthier’s mouth envelop his swollen member. The sky pirate slid his mouth over Basch’s erection, filling his mouth with the turgid flesh. Basch’s head fall back and his mouth gaped open. Balthier withdrew until only his lips were touching the very end of Basch’s cock. He moved his tongue in a circular fashion, spiralling around the head and licking lightly over the slit, making Basch nearly shriek in pleasure. Balthier continued teasing him that way, the stroke of lips and tongue stopping just below the head of Basch’s penis. The older man arched his back, unconsciously trying to force Balthier to take in his entire shaft, but crafty Balthier matched his movements, placing only the very tip of his tongue on the end of Basch’s erection.

“Do you want me to suck your whole cock?” Balthier asked. His words were muffled, yet his facetious tone was unmistakable.

The titillating vibration of Balthier talking into his hard-on made it difficult for Bach to answer right away. “Yes, yes, please,” he finally managed to choke out.

“Say it.” Balthier’s hand snaked up the side of Basch’s thigh, gently caressing his lover’s testicles, further heightening Basch’s pleasure and making the older man shudder.

“Suck it,” Basch gasped.

“Suck what?”

“Suck my cock, goddamn it!” Basch said gruggly, frantic to feel the younger man swallow him again. “Suck my cock!”

He was answered by Balthier sliding his mouth down his rock-hard shaft. All conscious thought left Basch’s head, and he moaned and yelled with every flick of the tongue, every slip of the lips. Balthier wrapped two fingers around the very base of Basch’s erection, sliding them up and down so that not a single inch of aroused flesh would remain untouched. His other hand continued to stroke Basch between his legs, bringing him closer and closer to the brink of orgasm. Basch bent his head to watch, deeply enjoying the sight of Balthier moving up and down the length of his cock.

It came to a clawing, shouting end. Basch twined the fingers of his left hand in Balthier’s hair, forcing him to continue sucking as Basch abruptly reached the brink. All the muscles in Basch’s body seemed to contract, then expanded as fireworks of release suddenly went off in his groin. With a yell so harsh and low he barely recognized it as his voice, Basch came so hard he smacked the back of his head against the rock wall. It was unimportant. Spikes of pleasure shot through his entire body; even his head tingled with the sensation. Balthier kept licking, sucking, and swallowing as Basch finished coming in a haze of giddy delirium, experiencing the orgasm by which he would eventually measure all future release.

His helpless cries died down as the intense pleasure slowed to a dull, enjoyable ache in his lower belly. Unable to continue standing, Basch slid slowly down the rock wall, feeling boneless. He was panting and covered in sweat. Basch opened his eyes to see Balthier wiping his mouth, looking dazed with lust.

The sky pirate smiled, enjoying Basch watching him. “Did you like that?” he asked softly- but there was no need for Basch to answer.

Balthier leaned forward and kissed him softly on the mouth. For some reason, Basch felt a frisson of arousal at the taste of his own bitter semen. “That was…” He could not find the words. “I have never felt…anything…like that.”

The younger man laughed, kissing him deeply. “Happy to oblige,” he said, his tone pleased and rich. “One question, though- how long until I can do that again?”

Basch reached out and pulled Balthier back, once again pressing his lips hungrily against the sky pirate’s. “What about you?” he asked, almost in a whisper. “How can I possibly thank you for what you’ve just done?”

Balthier remained fixed to Basch’s lips for a few moments, sucking gently at the other man’s mouth. “May I fuck you?” he finally asked. Basch must have looked apprehensive, because Balthier quickly said, “Too soon.”

Basch nodded. After another kiss, during which Basch’s hand strayed down to the bulge in Balthier’s pants, the sky pirate sat back. Basch followed, once again aiming for the fasteners at Balthier’s waist. With his teeth, he nudged the pants fabric over the buttons, tonguing the heat of Balthier’s erection through the thin cloth of his underwear. The younger man keened with desire, but put a hand on the side of his lover’s face. “I want you to kiss me when I come,” he said. “Please, Basch, please…just use your hand this time.”

In lieu of an answer, Basch hooked his fingers over Balthier’s waistband and gently pulled. Balthier obligingly lifted his slim hips, allowing Basch to slip his rather tight trousers off and expose his swollen member. Worshipfully, Basch slid it between the fork of his index and middle fingers and moved them slowly up. A bead of semen was already glistening at the end of Balthier’s cock. Basch propped his body up on one hand, leaning in for a kiss just as he began applying gentle, constant pressure to the thick shaft.

At once rough and gentle, the other man’s technique made Balthier unable to concentrate on the torrid kisses that the obedient Basch laid upon his hungry lips. Basch was aware that Balthier was trying to say something, but knew it would only be love-talk, snatches of sexual dialogue interspersed with ululations of pleasure. Selfishly, Basch kept running his tongue around Balthier’s mouth and stroking the younger man’s turgid arousal, trying to remember to vary the pressure and fingers used with every tantalizing movement of his hand.

His efforts were quickly fruitful. With a gasp and a moan, Balthier began to come. Basch kept lightly massaging his partner’s member, even as his hand came into contact with the hot semen. Balthier was in no position to kiss him back any longer, his head lolling backwards in a rictus of ecstasy, but Basch continued to kiss him lightly along the throat and collarbone, relishing the taste of Balthier’s sex-soaked skin.

Once the sky pirate’s orgasm ended, he lay as limply as Basch had before him. Basch sat halfway upright for a brief moment, trying to discreetly wipe his hand off on the dirt before his partner saw. He managed to get it reasonably clean- in any case, clean enough to reach out and hold Balthier with. Through a small crack in the cave wall, Basch saw that the night’s color had deepened from deep blue to black. He heard a snatch of nocturnal noise- something snaking through the grass, the call of a nightbird, a small breeze blowing.

“Thank you,” Balthier groaned with sleepy enjoyment. He rolled over with some effort to face Basch, who instinctively wrapped his right leg around Balthier’s pelvis and upper thigh.
“You’re welcome,” he said softly.

The two men shared a few more brief, soft kisses in the darkness, but it had been a draining evening for Basch. Even as he felt Balthier running his hands all over his relaxed body, Basch’s blue eyes closed as if under an enormous weight. Balthier said something to him, but Basch was already unreachable, his subconscious on a different plane than Tchita Uplands.

Heat of the Uplands, Chapter One

2007-02-17T00:59:20Z

HEAT OF THE UPLANDS
By Omphalos
Part One

WARNING: Contain adult themes that may horribly scar and defile you FOREVERS. Specifically, men that like teh buttsex0rz

It was unbearably hot. The sun beat mercilessly down on Tchita Uplands, scorching its long grasses a sickly shade of yellow. Below the unrelenting orb, Couerls prowled and pounced, their golden spots shimmering in the bright light. The Lizards stayed near-underwater, only their nostrils poking out so that they could breathe, and even the usually relentless Serpents were hiding under rocks, trying to get away from the burning sunlight.

Basch Von Rosenburg stopped his weary trudging for just a moment to stare out at the sea. Even though he knew the water would be too tepid in this heat, he couldn’t resist the delicious thought of diving in, his toes curling as they left the sand, the taste of salt in his mouth and the sensation of cool water caressing his sun-warmed head…sensual pleasures that he could not take time for now.

He unrolled the map and looked again. It would take three days to cross this searing landscape, and he could already tell it would not exactly be a pleasure. Ashe seemed inexplicably irritable, Vaan and Penelo were playing a game that seemed to consist of trying to kick each other in the ankle, and even Fran appeared to be wilting under the driving sun. The idea of spending three days sleeping in the red soil and having to listen to Vaan and Balthier snoring did not further the appeal of this trip.

“Are we going straight through to Sochen Cave Palace?” Balthier asked him, his earring winking brightly in the sun.

“I suppose,” Basch asked.

“Suppose?” Balthier raised one eyebrow. “You’re the party leader. Whatever you say, we have to do. I think it calls for a little more conviction.”

“So if I tell you that you have to keep silent for the entire trip, will you do it?” Basch asked. He was only half-joking.

Balthier smiled sarcastically at him. “Well, then I suppose I would have to stage a hostile takeover.” He straightened his vest. “I do have a bit of a dashing, mutinous air about me, don’t I?”

Fran stopped abruptly and glanced at the sky. Turning her head towards Basch, she said, “Let us rest now, until noontime passes. It will soon be too hot to continue.”

“I agree!” called Penelo, right before Vaan landed a good kick on the side of her knee.

That clinched it- he’d had enough. “Very well.” Basch looked around, trying to find a good spot to rest. There was a clump of trees next to a cliff that looked as if it would provide enough shade for all of them. He pointed, then started walking over. The rest of the party followed.

When he reached the tree, Balthier sat with a massive sigh. “Ah! Much better,” he said, fiddling with the zipper on his vest. He stripped it off and folded it neatly over a protruding root, then started pulling at his turtleneck. As Penelo crashed down next to him, sweaty and rather grubby, Balthier looked at her with a smirk. “Mind if I take this off?” he asked, gesturing to his shirt.

“I…guess not,” Penelo said, her eyes widening slightly.

Balthier arched his back and crossed his arms, pulling the sweater over his head. Basch watched, fascinated, as the muscles on Balthier’s stomach flexed. There was a small freckle on the right side of his navel, and a modest trail of light hair winding its way out of the waistband of his pants and halfway up his stomach. The sky pirate’s upper chest, however, was smooth and hairless.

Basch realized he had been staring, and quickly turned away. His cheeks flamed in embarrassment, which he hoped would be taken as a by-product of the heat. No one seemed to be paying attention, but his heart still pounded as if he had just been caught stealing.

“I am so hot,” Vaan declared, folding his arms behind his head and lying down in the marginally cooler dirt.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Penelo said good-naturedly. Vaan laughed.

Basch walked around the cluster of trees to where Fran was standing, staring out at the sky and cliffs. Her velvety ears were twitching. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Viera don’t enjoy the heat,” she responded, not looking at him.

“Would you like some water?” he offered. She nodded in response. Basch took his canteen out of his pocket, screwed off the top, and handed it to Fran.

“Thank you,” she said, and took a large swallow.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, Fran sipping quietly and Basch leaning against a tree trunk. Then, suddenly, Fran looked directly into his eyes. Her ochre gaze was disconcerting. Basch tried to look away, but his own eyes kept flickering back to her steady gaze. He cleared his throat a little. “Fran…?”

“Ashe,” she responded.

“What?”

Fran turned to face him. “Look at Ashe,” she clarified.

He looked. She was sitting away from everyone else, her sword in her lap. The corners of her eyes were crinkled, as if she were lost in thought. Although Ashe was responding to things Vaan and Penelo called out to her, it was obviously from the expression on her face that she wasn’t really listening.

Basch looked back at Fran. “Is she all right?”

Fran lowered her elegant head, looking at Basch. “Be kind to Ashe,” she said, in a softer voice than usual.

“Why wouldn’t I be? I’m sworn to protect her,” Basch said, now completely confused.

Shaking her head- apparently, at his denseness- Fran stalked off on her long legs towards a small stream running through the rocks, which she sat by and dipped her feet into. Basch remained, befuddled, next to the tree.

* * * * * *

It felt as if nightfall took forever to come in the Uplands, but when it did, the sun went out like a snuffed candle and the air turned cold quite quickly. No sunset. Basch was disappointed- he had never seen the sun set over an ocean before.

There had been mixed opinions about where to camp. Balthier had wanted to pitch their tents right on the beach- “Who wouldn’t want to fall asleep under the stars, listening to the ocean?” he had argued- but Fran had been explicitly against it, citing the numerous carnivorous night fishes as rather unpleasant bedfellows. Although Basch had liked Balthier’s idea, the group decided to make camp next to a large rock on a cliff just above the beach, so as to eliminate at least one side they could be ambushed from.

Vaan was sound asleep, mumbling softly to himself as he often did. Basch, who never fell asleep until hours after everyone else had, usually dreaded the sound of Vaan’s sleep-talking. On more than one occasion, Vaan had called out to Reks in his sleep, and Basch had been hard pressed to not wake the boy. His sleeping bag stuffed in his ears, Basch would pray for Vaan to be silent and stop torturing both of them. Tonight, however, he welcomed the sound. He had plans for the evening that he wanted to carry out by himself.

Cautiously, he unfastened the flap of the tent and poked his head out. The watch-fire had dwindled to almost nothing, and the figure of a slumping Balthier could barely be seen in its dying glow. Bash had been counting on this: Balthier always dozed off when he was on watch, a fact that usually bothered the older man. This time, it was a boon.

Trying not to rustle anything inside the tent, Basch slowly crawled out on his hands and knees. The tent could only be closed from the inside, but he wouldn’t be gone long- besides, he knew from experience that Balthier would start awake if anything dangerous actually approached them. Keeping an eye on the slumbering sky pirate, Basch got to his feet. He slipped around the far side of the rock and was headed towards the beach in mere seconds.

The sand looked unbelievably white in the moonlight. Basch took a few steps before slipping his shoes off in order to feel the cool sand under his feet. The ocean seemed so loud in the night silence. Despite Fran’s concerns, Basch couldn’t see a single creature meandering along the edges of the water even after tossing a rock in to elicit a response from any swimming animals. No reaction came except the feathery, rolling waves. “Perfect,” he said aloud.

Basch had been sleeping in his undershirt and pants. He stripped both items off, kicking them father up the beach towards his shoes. Clad only in his underwear, Basch took a few steps into the water. It was much colder than he had expected; even the bubbles seemed to pop with chilly menace, but another three or four paces in, and his legs found the day-warmed water deeper in. He had to be cautious, not knowing if there was a drop-off on this coast.

With a sigh of pleasure, Basch lowered himself into the lukewarm surf. He was now half-squatting, letting the soft water rush over him. After a few more awkward hops, he pushed off and started actually swimming in the deep water. His stroke was clumsy at first, then deepened and grew stronger. Basch flipped over and began backstroking, so as better to consider the stars. The very vastness of things began to fill him- the endless sky, the unfathomable sea…He ducked his head under and turned it towards the far ocean, hearing the throb and hum of underwater space. This was his favourite thing about swimming in the ocean- the closeness of shore was such a contrast to the distance stretching from his body to whatever far coast lay beyond.

So busy was Basch with his reverie, he didn’t notice he was being watched. Lazily, he started stroking back up the beach, wiggling his fingers so that water could flow between them. He realized he was coming in a little, and stood up for a moment to gauge how close he as to shore. As Basch turned around, he saw a dark figure on the beach. He wiped saltwater from his eyes and looked closer- Balthier.

The other man gave him a jaunty wave. “I see I’ve discovered your dirty little secret!” he called.

Basch clenched his fists, annoyed at being jolted out of his dreamy introspection. Advancing towards Balthier, he called back, “Who’s watching the camp?”

“My shift’s over,” Balthier replied. He was wearing pants and his vest, but no shirt. The vest lay open, exposing his toned chest to the night air. He was barefoot. “Fran took charge. I noticed you weren’t in the tent, and thought you might have had the same idea I did.”

Basch came out of the water. Shaking his head to get some of the water out of his hair, he said, “I’ve wanted to do this all day.”

“I noticed.” Balthier’s gun lay across his lap. He put it next to him on the sand, and said, “I love the ocean, but I can’t swim.” He noticed the look of surprise on Basch’s face and added, “I never really took the time to learn. Teach me someday, would you?”

Realizing he was still in his sopping-wet underwear, Basch said, “Do you have my clothes?”

“Your clothes?” Balthier’s voice was utterly innocent. Started from Basch’s ankles, he gave the other man a long, slow look that seemed to linger on Basch’s groin an extra second.

“I came down in pants and a shirt,” Basch explained. He looked up the beach, but didn’t see them.

“Maybe the tide came in.” Balthier’s voice was bland.

He gave Basch another look, this time obviously concentrated on his lower half. “I saw you looking at me today, Basch,” Balthier said in an entirely different voice.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Balthier smirked. From behind his back, he produced a bundle of wadded fabric. Waving it in the air, he asked, “This yours?” Basch made a grab for it, but Balthier pulled it out of reach. “Ask nicely.”

Basch sighed. “Please.”

“Hmmm…not nicely enough.”

“Balthier!” Basch made a more serious grab for his clothes, but missed again. “We shouldn’t have left camp. If we don’t get back soon, the others will be in danger.”

“Oh, all right.” Balthier got to his feet. He brushed sand off the back of his thighs, and said, “Tell you what, Basch. If you can get these, you can wear them.”

Annoyed, Basch lunged for him, but the younger man laughed and swivelled out of his way.

“Come on!”

“Catch me!”

“You—just give them to me!”

Balthier faked left, then right. He was grinning. “Ask nicely.”

“I SAID please.”

“More nicely.”

Basch stopped. “This is utterly childish, Balthier,” he said. “I’m going back to camp and getting some sleep. Just give me my clothes- I don’t want to walk into a camp full of women practically naked.”

“Why not? It might help you get some feeling in those dormant loins of yours- get your sense of humour back.”

He was through playing. Fast enough that Balthier couldn’t dodge his movements, Basch grabbed the younger man’s arm and twisted it behind his back.

“Ow!” Balthier hollered. Basch had the feeling he was secretly enjoying the roughhousing. Even still, Balthier held the clothes far out in front of him with his free hand, out of Basch’s reach.

The damp skin on Basch’s chest touched that of Balthier’s back. He was astonished by how much heat seemed to be coming off the smaller man. The arm that wasn’t pinning Balthier’s was reaching out, trying to snatch at his clothes. He stumbled a bit on the uneven sand, causing him to fall forward and closer to his opponent. Reflexively, he wrapped his free arm around Balthier’s taut belly, even as his lower body pressed further against Balthier’s backside.

Instantly, Basch felt hot. The hair on his arms seemed to prickle. Somehow, he found himself actually tightening his arm around Balthier. Worst of all, however, he could feel himself becoming aroused, his erection undeniably rising hard and fast against the warm flesh of Balthier’s ass.

Basch backed away so fast, he tripped and fell on his own behind. Legs splayed, no way to hide his shame. “Shit!” He scrambled into a more concealing position.

Balthier hadn’t turned around.

“I—“Basch could not think of a single useful thing to say. He squeezed his eyes shut, expecting to hear a mocking comment or embarrassed laughter coming from the other man.

Instead, he heard a soft plop. He looked at the sand in front of his tightly-closed legs to see that Balthier had dropped his clothes. Basch chanced a glance upwards to see Balthier staring at him pensively, with no trace of anger or amusement in his eyes.

Basch lowered his head and started to struggle into his shirt. A deep feeling of shame overwhelmed him. He closed his eyes as he rose to put on his pants, praying that Balthier would have the courtesy to remain silent. Once he was fully dressed, he opened his eyes again, knowing that Balthier would still be standing there in shock, waiting for an explanation.

Instead, his eyes beheld an empty beach. When he turned around, Balthier was standing closer to the hill leading up to camp, looking out at the sea. His gun was back in his hand. Awkwardly, Basch began making his way back towards camp.

He had walked past Balthier and halfway up the hill before he heard, “Basch, wait!”

Basch turned around to see Balthier dashing up the hill after him. An unbidden feeling of hope welled in his chest. Before he could say anything, Balthier thrust something at him. “You forgot your boots,” he said, avoiding Basch’s eyes, then ran past him towards camp. Basch was left standing alone in the shadow of the cliff, watching Balthier’s retreating back.

* * * * *

“This is what you get for acting like children,” Ashe scolded Vaan and Penelo. With quick, angry movements, she cast Blizzaga on a spare shirt. Once the fibres were saturated with ice, she wrapped it around Penelo’s swollen ankle. The blonde Rabanastran girl had awoken that morning to find that her ankle was puffy and unable to support her weight, presumably due to Vaan’s kicking. “It will take at least another day for the Curaga to fix that if it’s broken,” Ashe continued, “which means we are going to be even later getting into Archades.”

“Geez, Ashe…” Vaan scratched his head in consternation. “I’m sorry. We were just fooling around—“

“Sorry?!” Ashe’s voice was uncharacteristically shrill. She turned on Vaan, who actually backed away from her. “Has nothing we’ve experienced affected you in the slightest? Can you not understand the grave importance of this mission- and the value of time?”

“Ashe, I can walk!” Penelo said from her supine position on the floor. “Really!”

“No, you can’t,” Vaan said. “You tried all morning.”

Ashe sighed in frustration, obviously struggling to maintain her composure. She handed another piece of fabric to Vaan. “Keep icing her ankle,” she told him. “If the swelling goes down by afternoon, we might be able to start out again.”

“Where are you going?”

“I just want to be alone,” Ashe said, and ducked out of the tent.

Balthier had been standing outside, listening to the commotion. “What’s going on with you today?” he asked as Ashe slapped dirt off her knees.

She gave him a cold look, ignoring his question as she stalked away. “I’m going to scout around,” she said stiffly, “and see if the entrance to Sochen is anywhere near here.”

“Don’t go alone,” Balthier said. “There are Marlboros everywhere.”

Ashe appeared not to have heard, stalking towards the eastern hills with frustration visible in her steps. Fran, who had been doing a little target practice from a nearby mound, came down and stood next to Balthier. “How is the girl?”

“Cracked her ankle, it seems.” Balthier crossed his arms, staring after Ashe. “I think she’ll be fine by the end of the day if we keep casting Curaga on her.” He sighed. “I understand Ashe being annoyed- I am too, I suppose- but she’s quite upset.”

“Over other things, it would seem.” Fran looked over to where Basch was sitting, facing the sea. “Morale appears low overall.”

“Hmm,” Balthier grunted noncommittally.

“Balthier.”

“What?”

“You are hiding something.” Fran’s flat voice held a note of accusation.

“Me?” Balthier gave her his most blinding smile. “What could I possibly hide from you, my perceptive girl?”

She narrowed her eyes.

It was Fran’s best tactic. Balthier could never stand up to hr penetrating gaze. With a sigh, he jerked his head towards Basch. “I had an unusual-“ He was going to say encounter last night, but checked himself. “—that is, I heard an unusual noise last night. Sort of a growling, grinding sound. Be a friend and catch up with Ashe? I’m afraid she’ll run into trouble on her own like that.”

Shouldering her bow, Fran nodded. “I go. Later, you tell me what you are really thinking.”

Balthier gave her a mocking little salute with two fingers. “You always know,” he murmured.

“Large ears. I can hear you think.” A corner of Fran’s mouth twitched, as if she was going to smile, and then she turned to follow Ashe.

Balthier stood for a minute, considering things. He heard Vaan and Penelo joking in the tent- something about making foot-flavoured ice lollies. At least someone around here is still in good spirits, he thought to himself.

Last night had left him with what felt like an emotional hangover. Balthier had very little difficulty being honest with himself about most things, but allowing those feelings to be visible to other people was a wholly different skill. Of course he had noticed Basch watching him before. Not only yesterday, when he had been trying to cool off under the tree, but at various points during their expedition- the time in the Estersand village when he and Basch had been forced to use a communal shower, for example, or once in Paramina when the leg of Balthier’s leather trousers had ripped and exposed skin dangerously high up his thigh. He hadn’t said anything, not wanting to embarrass the older man by pointing out his voyeurism, but last night’s events were not something he wanted to ignore.

Balthier had gone down to the beach to watch Basch swim nude. He had known that from the start. As far as he was concerned, Basch had the perfect male body- thick with muscle, the wide, battle-scarred shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. His arms were massively strong, roped with even more sculpted musculature. His powerful thighs, the hard planes of muscle that made up Basch’s stomach and chest…Balthier became aroused just thinking about it. Of course, his newfound knowledge that Basch looked pretty powerful in other places wasn’t helping him maintain a cool head.

Still, before he tried anything at all, Balthier had to set things straight with the older man. It wouldn’t be wise to continue the journey with Basch not speaking to him and Fran giving him knowing looks every five minutes. Balthier could not have handled the tension. He crossed his fingers and tried to cross his toes, for luck, then made his way over to where Basch was sitting.

“Lovely day, isn’t it?”

Basch visibly jumped at the sound of Balthier’s voice. “It’s not too hot,” he responded, still looking at the sea. “Better than yesterday.”

“Indeed.” Balthier sat down next to Basch, who moved about six inches away. Undaunted, Balthier leaned back on his elbows.

Neither man said anything for a minute.

“Are you never going to speak to me again, Captain?”

Basch sighed, lowering his head and slumping his shoulders. “About last night—“

“I can’t stop thinking about last night.”

Basch winced. “Can I possibly express to you how sorry I am?” He finally turned and looked down into Balthier’s face. “It was an accident. I mean…you were right.” Basch let out an awkward, gruff little chuckle. “Maybe I do need some…physical intimacy. It’s been a while.”

Quietly, Balthier sat up. Now it was his turn to keep mum and look out into ocean.

Taking his silence for injury or anger, Basch rushed to say, “I really didn’t mean to be rude. It was the close contact more than anything.”

“I understand how troublesome a penis can be. I’ve had one for a few years now,” Balthier said, but he didn’t feel anywhere near as facetious as it sounded.

With obvious relief, Basch laughed. Too loudly.

“Basch.” Balthier still couldn’t look at him.

“Yes?”

“I didn’t say ‘I can’t stop thinking about how weird last night was,’” Balthier said, in a softer voice than usual. He met Basch’s eyes. “I meant that I couldn’t get it out of my head.”

Basch bent one knee, as if he were going to rise, then paused.

“You don’t understand, do you?”

“I should go check on Penelo—“

Balthier put his hand on top of Basch’s. As if the contact had shocked him, Basch made a startled noise. “Basch,” Balthier said, his voice still low, “I can’t stop thinking about how you made me feel last night.”

Comprehension dawned on Basch’s face. It quickly was joined by an expression of mixed joy and worry.

They looked at each other for another moment, neither man knowing what to say.

Tentatively, Basch slid back over towards Balthier, who diplomatically moved over until their hips were touching- lightly, but enough to stimulate a frisson of warm energy through his body. He could see that Basch was having much the same reaction. He slid his fingers from the top of Basch’s hand to underneath the other man’s rough fingers. Basch lifted his hand to accommodate him, and threaded his own digits with Balthier’s. Palm to palm, as intimate as a kiss. Balthier looked down at their clasped hands, then back up to Basch’s face. The other man was not smiling, but his face was glowing with restrained emotion.

Balthier looked at Basch’s lips. At odds with his tanned, masculine face, he had rather full lips. “Can I kiss you?” he asked in a whisper.

Those lips parted briefly, then shut. “Not here,” Basch said, in a tone that suggested he had forgotten to breathe.

“No one’s watching,” Balthier said, He began leaning towards Basch’s face, but stopped just centimetres from kissing him. “Vaan and Penelo are in the tent,” he said, feeling the heat from Basch’s face on his lips. “Fran and Ashe are off looking for Sochen Cave. No one can see us except the gulls.”

Basch hesitated. Balthier felt the other man’s breath flicker over his own lips. Then, with eyes closed, Basch thrust forward and kissed him.

He pressed hard against Balthier, his soft lips creating hard suction. Surprised at the ferocity of Basch’s kiss, Balthier uttered a small, muffled sound of shock, but kissed back just as hard. His own eyes were open, watching Basch’s brow furrow at the intensity of their kiss. It felt as if someone had slid a warm hand between Balthier’s legs and caressed him there, not on his face.

As suddenly as the kiss began, it ended. Basch pulled away, his mouth still slightly open. He raised one hand to his lips, as if he couldn’t believe what had happened.

The older man might have looked calm, but Balthier felt as if he’d been steam-cleaned and suddenly hung out to dry. “Basch…” he said, in a pleading voice.

Basch was still rubbing his lips, his eyes unfocused.

“Why did you stop?”

Basch gave Balthier the first grin the younger man had ever seen on his older compatriot’s face. “So that I could do this.” With that, he reached out and grabbed Balthier’s torso, enveloping him in a one-armed embrace before pulling the younger man over and down, into his lap. Balthier’s head bounced momentarily against Basch’s firm thighs before the older man slid his other hand under Balthier’s head and lifted it, kissing him again.

This time, there was more conviction in it. As the two men embraced, Basch brought the hand clasping Balthier’s body up to stroke his face, running the pad of his thumb down Balthier’s cheek. When it reached the corner of his mouth, Balthier willingly opened his lips wider, allowing Basch’s tongue to join his.

As he welcomed the tip of Basch’s tongue teasing his own, Balthier began to feel as if a colony of bees was nesting in his brain, all buzz and vibration. He couldn’t even raise an arm to hold Basch; just let it flop limply into the dirt, helpless in the wake of their embrace.

Even when Basch pulled away, Balthier felt a phantom pressure on his lips. He had to blink before he could focus on the other man’s face. Basch looked so severe, with his forehead creased and his eyes narrowed, that Balthier wanted to laugh. “Now what do you want?” he asked breathily.

Basch cleared his throat. “I think we should stop.”

“What?” Balthier sat up.

“To be honest, if we keep going, I won’t be able to restrain myself any longer.” Basch inclined his head towards the rising bulge in his leather trousers.

“Well…” Balthier said, reaching out, “that’s okay.”

“No.” Basch stopped his hand. “Not yet.” He changed his grasp, so that he and Balthier were clasping hands again.

Balthier weighed the situation for a moment, and then drew their joined hands to his mouth. Kissing Basch’s knuckles, he smiled. “Take your time,” he said jovially. “We have plenty of it.”

“I hope so,” Basch said.

Speaking Memory- Chapter Six

2006-02-22T08:12:27Z

SPEAKING MEMORY
By Omphalos
Chapter Six: A Green Fate Approaches

We decided to go out one evening. Although we’d been seeing each other for almost a year, Keira and I had never gone out on an actual date. It was too risky- I wasn’t exactly inconspicuous, and she was a hard woman to miss. I always thought that was the thing she found the most difficult- the lack of privacy, the frustration of going outside and people knowing your name right away.

So, we hid ourselves. I tucked my hair into a ridiculous fedora that I had borrowed from my friend Zack. Zack was the kind of guy who could wear something like that un-ironically; he said it brought the chicks running to him, but I thought it was pretty goofy. Still, my hair fit under it.

Keira had a pair of coloured contact lenses she liked to wear when going somewhere not on duty, so she’d be all right there. I was worried about myself. Mako eyes are not easy to hide. I tried on a pair of sunglasses, but combined with the hat, I looked like the main character of a bad detective novel.

She knocked on the doorframe before entering. “Hey, are you ready yet?”

“Almost.”

Keira walked in, though not too far- we didn’t want anyone guessing at our familiarity. She had the contacts in, which dimmed those lovely silvery eyes to a very ordinary bluish grey, and her hair was uniformly brown.

“What happened here?” I asked, picking up one silky strand and twirling it in my fingers.

Her eyes slid over to the hallway, and she swatted at my hand. “Temporary dye. As long as it doesn’t rain, I’ll be fine.” Keira was wearing a tight-fitting black t-shirt with a very low neck, which I approved of far more than the hair. She noticed my gaze and cocked an amused eyebrow at me. “What are you doing about those eyes?”

“I have no idea.” I tried the sunglasses again, which made her giggle.

“Poor Seph,” she said, reaching up and removing them gently. “You really need to get some lenses made. Don’t you ever get sent on undercover missions?”

I closed my hand around her upraised one, but she squirmed and inclined her head towards the open door. A pair of merry voices echoed down the corridor, and I reluctantly dropped her hand. “How could I get sent on undercover missions? Everyone in this damn city knows SOLDIER First Class.”

She leaned back against the doorframe and looked at me. “I guess that’s why they keep us poor, sad women around,” she said, her tone wry. “No one expects boobs and SOLDIER to go together.”

“I think they go together nicely.”

Keira laughed. I always thought I loved her best when she smiled. She had such a stern, sad expression when in repose. “Look, I can wear the sunglasses or the hat, but not both. Take your pick.”

She came around behind me and took off the hat, sending my hair tumbling down. “Can you slick back your bangs?”

“With what?”

“One second, I bet Zack has some hair gel. With that stupid haircut, he’s got to have a bucketful of goo around somewhere. Be right back.” With that, she left.

I sat in the desk chair and pretended to read a book about Wutaiian swordfighting methods until she returned, carrying a small jar. “I knew he’d have some. Stand up?”

She came over to me and held a rubber band out. “Put your hair in a low ponytail and tuck it in the back of your shirt,” she said, and I did so to the best of my ability. I was wearing a loose, sloppy turtleneck, and with my hair tucked in, it looked like it ended where my shirt began. Keira held out the jar, and I scooped a dollop of the sticky stuff onto my hands and gummed my bangs to my head as well as I could.

“How does it look?”

“Very sleazy.” Her accent always grew stronger on the r’s, rolling them a bit. “That’s perfect for where we’re going.”

I picked the sunglasses off the dresser and slid them on. Keira fell in step behind me and waited as I locked the door. “So, which one of your creepy lower Midgar haunts are we going to?”

Keira took the clasp out of her hair and shook it out, then gathered the long mass into one hand and twisted it. Pinning it against the back of her head, she said, “It’s not one of mine. Tiri told me about it. Some place in Sector Seven that serves really good food.”

“Dark and quiet and anonymous?” I asked as we entered the elevator and pushed “BP”- below plate.

“Just the way you like it.”

I remember the evening being very warm for so late in the year. The second we had taken two steps out of the elevator, Keira turned to me and threw her arms around me, hugging me close as she pressed her face into my neck. I felt the warmth of her breath on my clavicle as she said, “I thought you were never coming back from Wutai.”

My arms were clenched so hard around her, I was afraid she would snap in two. I raised her face to mine and gave her a very soft kiss. “It wasn’t so bad,” I murmured into her sweet lips. “We didn’t lose anyone this time. Ben barely even broke that leg; it’s probably just a fracture.”

“I always worry.”

“You don’t need to—“

“I know I don’t need to worry about you, but I do. That’s love.”

Maybe that was love. I certainly felt it. If only there was some way I could have told her when everything went wrong, some way of saying to her—

Keira wiped Kalm Fang off her sword. “Ugh, what the hell inside of an animal is green?”

“Beats me,” answered Tifa, flicking a bit of skin off her knuckles.

The two women, Cloud, and Vincent had decided to travel the long way: through Midgar Valley, past the grasslands, through the swamps and the caves, and across the other half of the continent to Junon, where they would catch the boat from there to Costa Del Sol. Vincent had called ahead to Nanaki, who had agreed to arrange a buggy to meet them and take them to Cosmo Canyon. It was safer than hiring transportation in Kalm or Midgar, but it would take them two days, and Cloud was nervous. Every time some kind of vehicle passed them, the group would have to split up and hide, then wait until things seemed safe. It was time-consuming, not to mention annoying. Monster attacks didn’t help.

Keira sighed and tucked her sword into her back holster. “There are more monsters this time of year than usual.”

“They’re uglier than usual, too.” Tifa said. Keira laughed.

“Back on the dusty trail,” Cloud mumbled, then started to slog forward. He hadn’t slept well the previous night. His dreams were fragmentary, furious, filled with stabbing sword and shards of ice. He had dreamt about Sephiroth, Sephiroth killing Aerith over and over and over, in different ways. It had made for a damned uncomfortable sleep.

Lost in his thoughts, Cloud walked on. It was an exceptionally pretty day for late autumn. There weren’t many trees in this area, but Cloud could see the occasional small shrub turning orange and red around the edges. The muffled creak of his brown leather boots, the sound of birds…for a minute, Cloud’s mind quieted, and he began to enjoy the sunlight and crisp air, despite the worry tugging at the back of his mind.

“You have to really develop a sense for what’s going on behind and next to you,” Tifa was saying. “I mean, it has to be really good.”

“Yeah, but when you’re an armed combatant, it’s so much harder to rely on anything but your weapon,” Keira said. “I never learned how to fight well without a sword.”

“It could be done, though,” Tifa argued. ‘I mean, Vincent, you’re great at taking something down without even seeing it.” To Keira, she said, “I once saw him shoot down a Tonadu that came from behind. No one else even saw it.”

“It’s not so much,” Vincent said.

“Hey, be proud, man,” Keira said.

“Man?”

“Fine, be proud, Mister Vincent.”

Vincent didn’t respond. Tifa laughed.

After listening to the older man and the brunette talk for a few minutes, Cloud sensed Keira come up behind him. “Tifa’s really smart about the fighting arts, isn’t she?” she asked cheerfully.

“That she is,” Cloud agreed. “She trained under Master Zangan when she was a teenager.”

Keira whistled. “Holy and the fucking Moon, that’s a pedigree.”

“You’ve got quite a pedigree, yourself,” Cloud said lightly.

She paused for a minute.

“SOLDIER, I mean,” Cloud added hurriedly.

“Yeah, you better mean that,” she said, but her tone was amused.

Cloud squinted at the horizon. It was late morning already; he’d wanted to be out of the caves by nightfall. “Keira…”

“Yeah?”

“Did you ever meet Professor Hojo? When you were in SOLDIER, I mean.”

“Yeah, a few times.” Keira pulled an awful face. “He was a real slime. I remember when I first joined Shinra, he wanted egg and sperm samples from all the SOLDIER members. Thankfully, old man Shinra shot that down, but I wonder how many samples he got away with before the upper echelons intervened?”

“Maybe that’s how he was making Sephiroth clones,” Cloud mused aloud.

“Ew, thanks for that thought.” She frowned. “Can get off that topic altogether, please?”

“Your speech is very interesting,” Cloud said, abruptly changing the subject- he felt rather uneasy talking about Sephiroth after the dreams he’d had, anyways.

“How do you mean?” Keira asked. She had a rather perturbed look on her face. Cloud realized he was probably annoying her.

“Well, it’s just that it’s such a mix of elegant and foul language.”

“I didn’t learn much Midgair as a child,” she said, a little less irritated now. “Just the standard conversational stuff in primary school. When I turned fifteen, Shinra Inc. started offering free language courses to anyone willing to come to the East Continent and work for them. I wanted to get out of that miserable place, and it seemed the best way. The cursing, I learned from the other SOLDIER trainees, and other than that…I don’t know, I read a lot when I was trying to learn it.” She laughed again. “So now, I talk like a dirty sailor and a book all at once.”

Cloud laughed at that, too. “I’ve never heard North-speak before.”

Keira looked at him, her glowing eyes focused and furious, her mouth set in an expression of deadly severity. She opened her mouth, and out came a harsh, guttural mass of ugly noises.

Cloud jumped. “Goddamn…I mean, hunh.”

She continued to glower at him for a moment, then burst into laughter. “Just fuckin’ with you, man,” she chortled.

“Oh, VERY funny.”

Keira chuckled, and responded with something loose and musical, heavy on the consonants and unevenly inflected. “That’s the real one, I promise,” she said, still laughing.

Cloud had to smile. “What did you say?”

“’I am a tomato,” she responded.

“Is that a traditional Northern phrase?”

“Only in the really classy social circles,” she told him, her eyes teasing.

By the time Yuffie had arrived, gasping, in Wutai, the fuss was over. Although she could see several of the locals standing around and looking upset, no one appeared to be hurt. She didn’t see fire or anything else to indicate an accident, but the troubled faces of the townspeople convinced her that she hadn’t imagined the strange light she had seen.

One of the kimono-clad old ladies saw Yuffie and waved impatiently at her. “Lady Yuffie! Your father has been looking for you everywhere! Go see him immediately!”

“Don’t tell me what to do, you old bat,” Yuffie muttered under her breath, but her confusion and worry took precedence over her irritation. She pushed through the crowd, scanning every face for her father’s. When she finally spotted Lord Godo arguing with some of the workers of Turtle’s Paradise, she quickened her steps and walked up behind him. She waited a few minutes, glaring down the workmen her father was talking to until they slunk away.

Godo turned around. His initial expression of relief was quickly replaced by a disapproving scowl. “And just where have you been, young lady?” he bellowed.

“Come off it, old man, I was training!” Yuffie sniped back. “Gawd, Godo, just tell me what the hell happened here!”

He was still frowning, but his voice was calmer when he said, “I can’t understand it. Everything was normal, when all of a sudden, there was an explosion in the river.”

“The river!”

“Yes, daughter.” Godo put his hand on her elbow and guided her until she faced the small, trickling creek that ran beyond Turtle’s Paradise. Yuffie silently appraised the round little hollow that had appeared in the formerly shallow crick. “There was a rumble from beneath the earth,” he exclaimed. ‘We thought it was an earth tremor, but the river shot straight up in the air and came down again so hard, it made a pond.”

“Da-Chao…”

“Perhaps.”

“Come with me,” Yuffie ordered. A sneaking suspicion was growing in her heart; this was not the first time she had seen rebellious waterways act against the people who lived near them. “I want to look at the place the water exploded.”

Godo walked her over to the spot. After a few choice words with eager bystanders, Yuffie managed to clear them out and stood, leaning over the little pool. It was no more than a meter across on either side, but its perfect symmetry worried her. “Was anyone hurt?”

The Lord of Wutai shook his head. “A few old grandmothers claim they’ve been injured, but I imagine a healthy glass of warm sake would cure them quite quickly.”

“Typical.” Yuffie stared at her reflection, tucking a few strands of black hair behind her ears. She was sweaty and red-faced after her panicked dash into the village.

As Yuffie gazed into the pool, she became acutely aware of her heartbeat thrumming in her ears. It was so shallow, but she still felt an illusion of depth, of endlessness….her heartbeat grew stronger. Dimly, she recalled the sensation of her fist view of the Lifestream, at Mideel…

Yuffie shook her head violently, then backed hurriedly away from the pool. “The sacred name of Da-Chao…Godo!”

“Daughter?”

She turned and grabbed her father by the collar. “Please tell me no one fell in! Please!”

“Yuffie, Yuffie!” Her father clutched her hands and forced them down from his neck. Please, control yourself—“

“Dad, promise me!”

The desperate note in her voice stopped him. “Yuffie, no one fell in,” he said. “I don’t understand why you’re acting like this.”

“Dad, get the people who got splashed into the hot springs as quickly as you can, she ordered, her heart pounding so hard she could practically taste it. “Then rope this area off!”

“Good gods, what’s wrong!”

“Does the phrase ‘Mako poisoning’ mean anything to you?” she asked, knowing full well that it did. In the war between Wutai and Midgar, many a native Wutaiian had been permanently disfigured or driven insane by the harmful effects of Mako. When her father’s frown deepened, she hastily added, “Dad, I’ve seen the Lifestream break through the ground in places. It’s horribly dangerous. Get everyone out of here!” She turned and began dashing towards her apartment.

“Where the hell are you going?” Godo said, in a strangled whisper.

Yuffie didn’t even face him as she replied, “I gotta call Cloud! He needs to know about this stuff!” She hurried off, fear holding court in her heart.

Speaking Memory- Part Five

2006-02-06T05:07:05Z

SPEAKING MEMORY
By Omphalos
CHAPTER FIVE: Explosions and Confessions

Yuffie was hanging upside down in a tree.

Her father, Godo, had told her that the greatest and most powerful of ninjas was a man who had hung upside down for a week without any problems. What Godo hadn’t told her was that it was a ploy to get her out of the house and out of his hair. Yuffie knew he was trying to mess with her head, but she also thought it might be a terrific joke to pretend to proudly go back and show Godo that she could do it. The trick was eluding her.

She had just opened her eyes after taking a short snooze, her legs maniacally clamped around the tree branch, when she saw a sudden flash. Shocked, Yuffie let go, and plummeted towards the ground, catching herself at the last moment. “What the hell?” she exclaimed aloud. Her eyes went to the origin of the light- Wutai.

Yuffie remained still for a second. She was nearly a kilometre from Wutai, and therefore was unsure as to whether she had really seen the mysterious flash. She had always had fairly keen eyes, and from what she could see, there was no sign of distress. The young ninja was about to ignore what she thought she had seen when, as she gazed directly at the distant town, another flash- a bigger one- went off.

With that, Yuffie broke directly into a run and went racing towards Wutai, fear choking her.

The real estate agent in Kalm was a small, plump, cheerful-looking woman with reddish-brown hair wound in a perky knot atop her head. “So, Mister…LaForge? You say you’re looking for a new home?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Reno took off his hat and bowed in what he hoped was a folksy manner, combined with a friendly wink. The little woman coloured, as she assumed the younger man was flirting with her. Stupid cow. “In fact, we’ve actually got a specific problem for you.”

“Oh?”

Reno nodded towards Elena, who had stuffed a small cushion into the front of her blousy peasant top. On cue, she giggled a bit. “My wife, see,” Reno said, carefully attempting to sound like a rube, “she’s…in the family way.”

‘Oh, Jim!” Elena said in mock-embarrassment.

“We’ll be needing a new place soon,” Reno continued, and “we heard from a friend- we got a friend here, says he’s about to sell his place and move on, and we were wondering if maybe you knew of his property.”

The agent opened one of the drawers in her file cabinet and started rifling through it. “Has he put it up for sale yet?”

“I don’t know, ma’am,” Reno said, trying to look ashamed. “I hate to be a bother, but our friend told us he’d save the place, you now, seein’ as how we’ll be needing to cut corners, what with the little one on the way.”

“So, it’d be a direct sale, then?” The little woman smiled at him. Reno looked in her eyes for any hint that she knew she was being fooled, but they remained brown and sparkling and utterly guileless.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s no problem,” she said, shutting the drawer. “Although, I’m not sure why you’d come to see me and trouble yourselves, if you just need to speak to your friend.”

“Well,” Elena said, coming forward with a caressing hand on the bulge in her shirt. “It’s just so embarrassing, but we lost his address and phone number on the way over, and we simply don’t know what to do!”

Now, the woman looked quite confused. “Did you look in the phone book?”

They hung their heads. “Unlisted number,” Reno mumbled.

The real estate agent smiled reassuringly at them. “Now, now,” she said soothingly, “there’s no need to look so down! It’s no trouble at all to look it up for you. Now, what’s the name?”

Good, she’s buying the idiotic act. “Cloud Strife, ma’am.” Reno raised his head and examined the woman’s face as she looked through her pink leather properties binder.

“Strife…S-T-R-I-F-E?”

“Yes.”

She looked for another few moments before shaking her head. “I’m terribly sorry, sir. I don’t seem to have a listing for Strife.”

“Oh, are you sure” Elena interjected, sounding terribly upset. Reno gave her a quick warning look, but her big blue eyes remained focused on the woman in front of them, an expression of mild panic on her face.

“I’m so sorry, dear.” The agent closed the binder. “There is one other agent in town who may have the listing- I do mostly houses. Was your friend’s place a full-sized house?”

“Yes,” Reno said quickly. “At least, we think so- all he said was that it was big enough for three.”

The agent took a small piece of paper off a note cube and wrote a number and address on it. “This is the contact information for North alms Real Estate,” she said. “Ask for Lynnette and tell her what you told me. If I don’t have the listing, she definitely will.”

Reno stood up and bowed quickly, taking the scrap of paper. “Thank you, ma’am. We’ll check it out right away.” Elena also sketched a small bow, smiling at the woman, and they both turned and began walking out.

“Good luck! Have a nice day!” the little woman behind the desk called merrily after them as they left.

After they had gone, the woman picked up the phone and dialled a series of numbers. The machine picked up. “This is Elmyra,” she said, being careful not to address the recipients by name. “Some people…are looking for you. They’re not friendly. Look out.” She placed the phone back into its cradle carefully, then ran to the door and looked out. The lobby was bare, except for the chairs and a potted plant. Her secretary was gone, probably out to get coffee. Elmyra ducked back into her office and dialled again, her tone more urgent this time. “It was the Turks,” she whispered into the phone after she got the machine again, “be careful!”

Cloud lowered the PHS from his ear, stunned. Tifa, recognizing the expression of shock on his face, asked, ‘What’s wrong?”

“The Turks are in Kalm. They’re looking for us,” he answered shortly.

“Damn it,” Vincent said softly.

Night had fallen just as the travellers had started to leave Midgar. Even though they felt the city wasn’t safe, Cloud, Tifa, and Vincent agreed that it was better to spend the night at an inn than to try to get out. Keira, who was still with the group, mentioned that Tentacle was particularly bad at night, and that traveling in and out of Midgar once it got darker was just a hair short of completely stupid. They now sat in a small bar in Wall Market, a place that Cloud remembered from two years back, not far from Don Corneo’s old mansion.

“Did you get that off the machine?” Tifa asked.

Cloud nodded. “Reno and Elena came into Elmyra office earlier, pretending to be friends of mine who I’d promised could buy my house off me.”

“Is she all right?”

“She said she’s fine.” Cloud shook his head. “Damned Shinra…”

Keira glared at him. She had put her shading contacts back in, but her eyes had lost none of their intensity. “Keep that to a minimum,” she said quietly, “they’ve been rebuilding like crazy. A lot of people got their homes and still get their food from them.”

Cloud hunched over. Vincent drummed his fingers on the tabletop, the soft leather of his glove doing a poor job of concealing the noise of metal tapping on wood. Tifa sighed.

“You still haven’t explained why you needed to talk to me,” Cloud said suddenly.

“Holy and the fucking Moon, you have clearly bigger problems than that,” Keira said, irritated.

“Look,” Cloud said, leaning across the table with a scowl on his face, “you took care of Tifa when she was hurt, sure. Thank you for that. We don’t want any Shinra hanging around.”

“Shinra!” Keira’s voice rose slightly. Looking quickly over her shoulder, she leaned in towards Cloud, her face stormy. “I’m no more Shinra than you are, Strife.”

“Prove it.”

“Cloud, why are you being like this?” Tifa hissed.

“Well?” Cloud ignored her. “Come on. Prove you’re not with Shinra.”

Without breaking her stare, Keira started unbuttoning the front of her black shirt. Tifa’s eyes widened and she moved in closer, so as to shield the other woman from other patrons. A few buttons down, Keira opened the front of her shirt and bared her chest and the top of her breasts to the other three.

A long scar, about two inches thick and white, curved from an inch below her clavicle, stretched into her cleavage, and disappeared into the middle part of her bra. Keira kept her shirt open for a minute, then closed it and started re-fastening it. “I think you can guess what that’s from,” she said, her voice slightly shaky.

Cloud sat back, stunned. Tifa’s mouth was open in surprise. Even Vincent seemed a bit uncomfortable.

“So, you know I don’t want to exact revenge on you,” Keira continued. “I want some of my own. I need to know how he died.”

“Sephiroth attacked you?” Tifa asked.

“He did more than attack me,” Keira said bitterly, “but that’s not important right now.”

“I’m sorry,” Cloud said, stunned.

“I don’t blame you,” Keira said, leaning back as if nothing had happened. A bleary-eyed man at the bar turned around, ogled her and Tifa, and then went back to his drink. “If I were you, I’d be cautious.”

Vincent cleared his throat. “Do you really want to know what happened to Sephiroth?”

“I do,” she responded.

The dark-haired man looked at her with something like sympathy. “If I may say so, you seem to have an emotional investment in this information.”

“I was very much in love with Sephiroth,” Keira said, her voice so calm and flat, she might have been talking about the weather. “When he went mad, it ruined my whole life. I want to know exactly what went on so that I can finally consider him dead, buried, and gone.”

If the other people at the bar hadn’t been making noise, the silence coming from their corner table would have deafened them. Tifa had clapped her hands over her mouth in shock, and even Vincent’s stoic face had contorted into a surprised look. Only Cloud looked anything short of staggered.

“Can we please talk alone?” Keira said to him. She stood up. “Outside?”

“We’ll be back,” Cloud said to the other two, then stood up himself. As he and Keira made their way over to the door, he heard Tifa furiously whisper something to Vincent.

The night was cool and dank and smelled vaguely of mildew. “Shall we walk and talk?” Keira asked.

Her accent sounded strange to him. “Where are you from?” Cloud inquired, as they started slowly walking up toward Don Corneo’s mansion.

“I’m from the North Continent,” she told him, “a little town called Crimson Peak.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“Most people haven’t.”

They walked a little ways farther until they reached a large metal column that had fallen across the path. Keira walked to the end and sat down, smoothing her black pants over her legs. “Want to sit?”

Cloud took a seat a little ways away from her. He studied her face. Keira was looking straight ahead, not at him, her mass of burnished hair falling over her shoulders and halfway pinned up in the back. She’s really beautiful, Cloud thought, looking at the elegant sweep of her high cheekbones, the ski-jump shape of her slightly long nose, the full lips.

“So. Tell me what happened.”

Cloud began telling the story, watching her closely for signs of distress or crying. When he got to the part about Sephiroth falling into the reactor, Keira nodded in recognition. “I thought it was something like that,” she said. “I remember them telling all the other SOLDIER members that he had died in an accident, but I knew there had to be something more.”

“It was no fault of his,” Cloud said softly.

“I know. I’m not looking for you to compliment him, Strife.” Keira looked down at her hands, twisted in her lap. “Please go on.”

He picked up the story again, describing how he had woken up with Zack and how they had tried to escape, until his companion was shot down by Shinra troops. Keira looked unhappy at that, but waved at him to keep going.

It was hard for Cloud to tell the story without giving too much away- namely, his own bizarre connections to Sephiroth, the whole issue of Jenova- and stuck to when he had last seen Sephiroth, alone with him in the Crater. Quietly, he explained how Sephiroth had succumbed to his sword, how the body had disappeared when the Crater caved in, and how he and the rest of AVALANCHE had escaped by air.

When he finished, Keira was silent for a minute.

“I want you to know, he died fighting,” Cloud said.

She remained quiet.

“Are you all right?”

Slowly, she nodded. Cloud, not wanting to press her too much, looked away and out at the Midgar night. Despite the overall gloominess and oppressive upper plate, the lights of the lower city were actually quite pretty, in a garish way, and he had slipped off into a reverie when Keira interrupted his thoughts with, “Thank you, Strife.”

He glanced at her. She didn’t look upset. “Call me Cloud, okay?”

“All right.” She stood up. “I suppose we’d better get back, now.”

“ Just a minute.” She turned to face him. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Your story.” Cloud looked up at her face. “Were you and Sephiroth in a relationship? No one ever knew.”

Keira sat back down and sighed heavily. “We were pretty good at keeping it a secret. I took care to never be seen with him in public, at least, nowhere SOLDIER trainees ever went. He thought it would be too dangerous for me to be linked to him, and I didn’t want people to think I had gotten a job with SOLDIER just because I was fucking Sephiroth.”

Cloud was slightly taken aback by her coarseness. Keira looked at him and laughed. “I’m sorry; it’s been seven years in the Midgar ghetto.”

“It doesn’t bother me.”

“Good.” Keira’s eyes became distant. “We never wanted it to get out, and as far as I knew, it never had.”

“Were you still together when…?” Cloud asked, trying to be delicate.

Her lovely face became sad. “He had proposed a week before he disappeared.”

“Oh.” Cloud didn’t know what to say. “I’m…I’m sorry.”

Keira gave a wry little laugh. “Well, it seems to have been for the best, doesn’t it?” She looked down at the ground and kicked the dirt a bit. “There was always an undercurrent of him being troubled. I think he felt very isolated for most of his life- growing up the way he did.”

“I heard he was adopted by the Shinra Corporation.”

“In a way.” The redhead started drawing in the dust with the toe of her boot. “He was an orphan. What he told me is that he had a mother, named Jenova, or something outlandish like that, who died in childbirth, and that he didn’t know who his father had been, but he had worked for Shinra labs.”

“Jenova?” Cloud tried not to give anything away through his tone. She nodded. “I see.”

“We met in training,” Keira went on, a little dreamily. “He was my sparring partner. I’d never been beaten in a fight before, and he grabbed my hand to show me how I should have parried differently…” She scoffed a bit and looked at Cloud, a little sheepish. “Well, it’s not important anymore.”

Cloud didn’t respond. His mind was racing. This woman probably had known Sephiroth better than anyone else had, but he had more information about the man’s actual life. It struck him as a particularly sad situation.

“Now, we really need to be heading back,” Keira said, hopping off the downed column. “We’ve been gone almost an hour. Your friends must be frantic.”

“I haven’t thanked you properly for helping Tifa out,” Cloud said, “and I apologize.”

“It’s nothing,” she insisted.

“It means a great deal to me, actually.”

They began walking back to the bar. “It’s my turn to ask a personal question. Are you and Tifa together?”

Cloud coughed, uncomfortable with the question. “We have been, but…we aren’t anymore.”

“I was just wondering. I sensed a closeness,” Keira said.

“We grew up together, and we’ve been through a lot,” Cloud explained.

Keira cleared her throat, as if she expected him to go on, but Cloud wasn’t about to start enumerating the intricacies of their relationship, and just kept his eyes in front of him.

Just before they re-entered the bar, Keira softly touched his shoulder. “Thank you for telling me about Sephiroth,” she said, a touch of sadness in her voice.

Cloud glanced at her. The tremble in her voice did not show itself in her face, but her eyes were wider, more candid, and did not slide away nervously when they tried to meet his, as they had been. Her pale skin and the deep tone of her eyes gave her stare an enormous amount of power, and he found himself at a loss for words.

Then, suddenly, he realized something. “How did you know that I was the last one to see Sephiroth?”

Her eyes flickered, then went back to being evasive. “Everyone…I mean, it was news, then, that you had been pursuing the Man in the Black Cape,” she said haltingly. “I just…I heard from friends who were still in Shinra that the brass was saying it was Sephiroth, and so I just put two and two together.” Hurried, she added, “and it seems I was right, eh?”

He looked at her a moment. “Yeah,” he finally said, “you were right.”

When they walked back over to the table, Tifa looked up with a questioning expression. Cloud nodded to her, as if to say, I’ll explain later, and said, “Let’s get going.”

“We were discussing that,” Vincent said. “You obviously can’t return to Kalm.”

“Or Rocket Town,” the blonde man agreed. “If Cid’s really being threatened and the Turks are looking for me, it’ll be a lot safer for him if we stay away.”

“What Vincent and I were thinking,” Tifa said, elbow on the table and her head resting on her fist, “is that we could go to Cosmo Canyon. Nanaki will happily hide us, and there’s no Shinra presence there.”

“That’s a good point,” Cloud said. “I like the Canyon; I could stay there for a few days.”

“It’s settled, then.” Vincent shredded a paper napkin with his claw hand. “I’m sure the people of the Canyon will value any insight you two have about the Lifestream and other things.”

“Wow, Vincent, have you of all people gotten sentimental?” Tifa teased.

Keira cleared her throat. “I need to ask another favour of you all.” The other three all turned to her. “I’ve always wanted to go to Cosmo Canyon and study for a while, but I’ve never had the opportunity to travel all that way. If you three are heading there, can I join you for the journey?”

Vincent didn’t react, but Tifa immediately said, “Of course, you can!” She shot Cloud a look of her own, but he smiled quietly at her and nodded his own assent.

The tall redhead looked from one person to the other, before breaking out in a pleased smile. “Well, all right, then!” she said. “We’re on our way!”

Cloud smiled back at her, but couldn't shake his sudden feeling of trepidation.

Speaking Memory- Chapter Four

2006-01-31T09:13:33Z

SPEAKING MEMORY
By Omphalos
Chapter Four: Old Wounds

We had all taken an oath we thought was close to sacred.

We stood in that marble hallway, wearing what we thought were the uniforms we would die in. Some of us were excited, some of us were, scared…how was anyone to know that amongst them lay two hearts so resigned?

There was nothing I could say that day as I saw her walk past me. She was so close, I could smell her; that delicate scent of freshly-cut grass that haunted me even in my dreams, filled my waking hours. To a stronger man, seeing her walk would have been torture. For me, it surpassed pain and became a kind of religious ecstasy.

No one would ever know how I felt about her, except for the person I wanted most, and the person I wanted least to know.

A man like me could never have loved, but I loved her.

Cid had just finished telling Barret about the mysterious phone call when Marlene ran in, flushed and dusty from a hard day at play. “Uncle Cid!” she yelled, running towards the blonde man at full tilt and leaping into his lap with all the grace of a thousand rhinocerii,

“Hey there, sis!” Cid bellowed in return, trying not to cringe as her heel came within dangerously close range of his crotch. He held the little girl closer to him, trying to gently manoeuvre her into a less precarious position. “Where’ve you been all day?”

“School,” Marlene answered pertly, then bit Cid on the knee and jumped from his lap into Barret’s. Cid tried to suppress a yelp of pain as she launched herself from his left knee, but only succeeded in stifling his shriek into a grunt.

Barret caught Marlene in midair and, tucking her under one huge arm, said, “Well, missy, don’t you have anything to say to your daddy?”

“Hi, Daddy!” Marlene said with a wave.

“That’s better.” Barret swung her up in the air and onto one of his massive shoulders. “Did you have a good day at school?”

“Yep.”

“What’d you learn?”

“Stuff?”

“What stuff?”

“Just STUFF, Dad!” Marlene said with impatience. “Can I go to the Gold Saucer next week with Meg and her parents? Please? Please?”

“Let me think about it,” Barret said, setting her down, “an’ go play in your room for a while, okay? Uncle Cid and I have to talk about something important.” Marlene dashed off without another word and Barret looked apologetically over at Cid. “Sorry, Cid- she’s always real hyper when she comes home from school.”

“It’s okay,” Cid replied, “I wasn’t planning on havin’ kids, anyways.” He ruefully rubbed his knee and grinned at the bigger man. “Besides, I like Marlene. She’s a real good girl.”

“Yeah,” Barret said, looking thoughtfully after her. “I hope she stays that way.” He shook his head, as if to clear away his sentimental thoughts. “So, you sent Shera away?”

“Not away- she has a place of her own,” Cid explained. “I told her to stay there until I got to the bottom of this whole phone call business.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs at the ankles. “Still don’t know who the asshole is, but believe me, they’re gonna hurt when I find out.”

“I ain’t seen anyone from Shinra around here,” Barret responded. “We got a reactor; Rocket—‘scuse me, Highwind doesn’t. It would be pretty weird for them to start a fight with you over here or any other reactor town.”

“Maybe they found out we’ve been buyin’ coal from Corel,” Cid said.

“So? Why’d they target you and not us?” Barret scratched his chin. “It don’t make sense, Cid. I think it’s a prank call. Ignore it.”

“Maybe.” Cid thought for a minute. “Barret, you got any spare men who aren’t working in the mines?’

“A few. Guys who’ve been injured or need a break from the bad air down there.” The bigger man looked suspiciously at him. “Why?”

“I wanna set up a police force,” Cid told him. “It wouldn’t necessarily be one that had to fight, just enough so that people would think twice before coming after Highwind.”

“Yeah, I dunno…”

“Look,” Cid said, “I’m gonna level with you, Barret. I’m scared.” He held up his hands. “I admit it, I am. See, I’ve worked real hard to get the town back on its feet. We’re starting to turn into a real community- we’re developing faster than any other former Shinra region on the continent- and I got plans for the place.” Cid leaned forward earnestly. “I’m willing to pay them double what they’d be getting’ in the mines, and I’ll up my purchase payment for the coal by fifteen percent.”

Barret looked at him in silence for a minute. Finally, he sighed and said, “Forty percent more.’

‘You crazy fuck!” Cid swore, “I’ll give you twenty!”

“Twenty-five.”

“Done.” Cid and Barret shook hands, then began laughing uproariously.

“You’re a real crazy bastard, Highwind,” Barret said with a grin. “I’m gonna need two days to get a group together. You want to stay?”

Cid shook his head. “I need to get back to Highwind, but I’ll be back to pick up the team when they’re ready. How many men can you give me?”

“I’ll let you know,” Barret said, “but there’s a catch.”

“Yeah?”

Barret stretched. “You’re takin’ Marlene to the park. I need a nap.”

Tifa was apprehensive.

When Keira had made that remark about asking Cloud some questions, Tifa had assumed that the tall redhead meant nothing but ill, and had prepared herself for a fight. Keira must have sensed her shock, because she had hastily added, ‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad, just a few small details I need to know,” but Tifa still didn’t completely trust her motives. Her suspicions weren’t abetted by the fact that after she reluctantly agreed to let Keira accompany her, the taller woman went over to the wall of lockers in her room and took out a huge, dull-green knapsack, a heavy bracelet that looked like armour, and a sword almost as tall as she was, which she had calmly whipped around like a toy before sliding it into the straps on her backpack.

Now they walked in silence. Keira had shown her through a winding set of small alleyways and awkward paths made more difficult by the scattered rubble. Tifa did have to say, there hadn’t been any sight of Tentacles as they walked, thanks to the Mako-powered flashlight the other woman held, but her odd insistence on traveling with Tifa still made the brunette nervous.

Still, Tifa thought, she’s much taller and has a sword as big as I am. If she was going to cut me down, she’d have done it already. I probably owe her my life; I should at least be polite. Clearing her throat, Tifa asked, “How much time is left on that Mako light?”

Keira lifted the black cylinder to her face and stared at the digital display on the end for a moment. “About half an hour.” She sighed. “Damn it all; there’s no way of getting new Mako charges for this thing, not unless I’m willing to sell those black market bastards in Sector Three my left leg.”

“Oh, that’s bad,” Tifa said politely.

Keira shrugged, a faraway look in her eyes. “I have a feeling I won’t need it anymore.”

They continued without speaking until Keira stumbled over a huge block of concrete that had been thrown into the path. With a strangled squeak, she hit the corner hard and went tumbling head over heels, sprawling across the block with her face in the dirt and her legs in the air. “Shit!” came her muffled reply.

Tifa ran around the block and, grasping Keira’s shoulders gently, helped the other woman flip onto her back and sit up on the block. “Oh, my god, Keira, are you all right?”

“Holy and the fucking Moon!” Keira said, then suddenly covered her left eye with one dirty hand. “Oh, damn, I dropped my stupid contact lens!”

Tifa stood stock still, then carefully bent down and started feeling in the dirt for it. Keira flipped onto her stomach and started sweeping her hands around where she had fallen. The two women grimly patted and stroked the nasty ground for the contact for almost five minutes before Keira said, with extreme relief in her voice, “Oh, thank the…well, I found the damn thing.”

“Oh, good,” Tifa said. She had been kneeling away from Keira, but stood up as she said this and brushed the dirt off her knees. “Is it dirty?” she asked, turning towards the other woman.

Keira’s head was down, and her fingers fumbling awkwardly near her face. As Tifa watched, she became aware that Keira was having real trouble getting it in. ‘Let me help,” she said, reaching out towards the redhead. “I used to be able to help my friend get those things in pretty—“

“No!” Keira said sharply, struggling to a sitting position with her hand covering that eye again. “I mean, thank you, but I can do it,” she said breathlessly.

Tifa wasn’t distracted by Keira’s fluster. She still noticed something odd was going on behind Keira’s hand. With her brow furrowed, she held up her hand.

Keira froze.

“I see it,” Tifa said calmly. “It’s okay.”

The other woman lowered her hand, revealing her eye. One eye remained the unremarkable blue-grey it had been before, but the orb without a contact in it blazed forth in a startling shade of silver that was noticeable even in the Midgar gloom.

Mako eyes. Keira had Mako eyes.

With a sigh, she reached into her other eye and floated the contact out. She held her hand out to Tifa, so that the other woman could see the contacts were darkly tinted. ‘that’s why I tripped,” Keira explained, “These things really restrict my vision.” She stood up, pocketing the little disks. “I suppose you’re either going to run away or fight me, now.”

Tifa didn’t say anything.

“Please don’t run, okay?”

“I won’t,” she replied, “but before we go any further, I need to know what you need to talk to Cloud about.”

“We were in Shinra together,” Keira explained softly.

“Are you…” Tifa swallowed. “Are you a Sephiroth clone?”

Keira jumped as if she’d been stung. “A what?”

Tifa explained, “They were created by Professor Hojo. We saw them two years ago, during the…crisis.”

Keira turned so pale, Tifa was suddenly worried she would faint. The taller woman sat down with a thump. “Clones,” she said in a small voice, ‘he was making clones? Of Sephiroth?”

“Do you have a number?” Tifa asked harshly.

“What??”

“A tattoo of a number! Do you have one?”

Keira shook her head slowly, a look of bewilderment on her face. “No, no, I don’t. I swear!” She held out her arms, as if to prove something. “See? Nothing!”

“They’re on the ankle,” Tifa said, but Keira yanked up her pant legs and showed her feet and lower legs to Tifa without a word, and there wasn’t a mark upon them.

“I didn’t know that,” Keira said with wonder. “I mean, that it was possible. Did they look like Sephiroth?”

“No,” said Tifa, “they were just injected with his cells. I think most of them were real people Hojo experimented on.”

“This is terrible,” Keira said, almost in a whisper.

Tifa’s confusion and irritation was immediately assuaged by seeing the formerly blasé Keira looking so upset, and she sat down beside the other woman and took her hand. It was ice-cold. “They’re gone, I promise,” she said in a soft voice. “They threw themselves off Gaea’s Cliff long before Meteor came. I know; I saw them.”

A tear rolled down Keira’s alabaster cheek. ‘It’s not that,” she said, her voice still low and husky, “I’m just sorry…for those people.”

Something about her tone struck Tifa as odd, but she decided to let it slide, and continued to hold the other woman’s hand as another tear, and then one more, fell from her phantasmagorical eyes. Keira was as still as stone for a few minutes, but soon she let out a huge sigh and put her head in her hands. “I’m sorry,’ she said from under her hair, “it’s just that I used to know Sephiroth, and I know how pissed he’d be at that.”

Again, Tifa said nothing.

“We should keep going,” Keira said, rising to her feet.

Tifa immediately held a hand against her throat, balled into a fist. Keira froze. “Not until you promise me that you’re not coming with us to start trouble,” Tifa said in a steely voice.

“I said I promise,” Keira said, “now don’t crush my goddamn larynx.”

Tifa dropped her hand and stepped aside, waiting for Keira to pass. She did so, her head lowered, and Tifa fell into step behind her. The rest of their walk was spent in utter quiet.

Cloud was about ready to go crashing into Sector Six, sword swinging, when a shout interrupted his brooding. Turning to face the source of the noise, he saw Tifa waving at him. He took a few steps towards her, then broke into a run. She began running as well, until she threw herself at him and wrapped him in a huge hug. Cloud hugged back, tighter than he had ever embraced anyone. “Don’t you let anything happen to you,” he whispered into her ear.

She stiffened slightly, then relaxed, slipping from his grasp. “I’m sorry, guys.”

“We were worried,” Vincent said, fiddling with the safety on his gun. “I was about to go in after you.”

Cloud shot Vincent a look, but the older man was looking at Tifa, who had run up and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m fine,” she said, “and I’m so sorry to worry you.”

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Cloud said.

“Wait!” Tifa grabbed his arm. “The woman who found me- she helped me get here, and avoid Tentacle. She wanted to speak to you.”

“Tentacle?” Cloud looked up.

The silver glare of her Mako eyes stuck him somewhere in the bowels, a shiver of recognition traveling up into his head, which suddenly buzzed with something—

Leave her alone!

“—hell?”

Cloud blinked several times in confusion. The woman was staring at him. Her eyes were nowhere near as shocking as before, but that glow was unmistakable, as was the massive sword she had strapped to her back. That and the boots triggered a memory, and Cloud said, half in a whisper, “You’re from SOLDIER.”

“Not anymore,” she said. Her voice was oddly inflected, as if Midgair wasn’t her first language. She held out her hand. “I’m-“

“You’re Halyenne.”

She paused. “You can call me Keira now, Strife.” His hand was hanging limply in the air; Keira grabbed it and shook it. “I don’t outrank anyone anymore.”

Vincent gave him a look. “Do you know this woman, Cloud?”

“Yeah,” Cloud said, keeping his eye on her, “I know her.”

“She’s the one who rescued me,” Tifa interjected. She sounded worried.

Cloud still hadn’t broken his gaze with Keira. “I suppose we owe her thanks, then.”

“You owe me more than that,” Keira replied calmly, “and I think you know why.” Her limpid stare turned into a more intense expression, but her voice stayed even and sweet-tempered.

“I’m confused,” said Tifa, crossing her arms.

“I am, as well,” Vincent replied. ‘May I inquire as to what is going on?”

Cloud continued to stare at Keira, whose brow was now furrowed in a visage he couldn’t quite read. “I killed him, if that’s what you want to know,” he said.

Her eyes widened, and their eye contact was finally broken as she backed up a couple steps. “I know,” she said, her eyes flickering over to Tifa and Vincent, “but that’s not what I meant.”

Cloud felt a bubble of rage rise in him. Of all people, at all times, in all places…he couldn’t believe his lousy luck. Slowly, he moved his hand back and closed it around the hilt of his sword, which he’d long since unwrapped from its coverings. “You’d better tell me exactly what you mean and what you want,” he said.

Keira held up her hands. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said, her accent becoming slightly stronger as she began speaking more quickly, “but you’re wrong. I swear it. I haven’t come looking for revenge against you, Strife. I always liked you, and I know whatever you did, you it because you had to.”

“Cloud!” he heard Tifa say warningly.

Keira cocked an eyebrow at him. “I mean,” she said, her voice becoming stronger and the bravado returning, “If I was really after you out of anger, do you think I would have waited for you to come to me?”

Cloud left his hand on his sword.

“As well as saving your girlfriend, here?”

“I’m not—“ Tifa began to say, but Vincent put a warning hand on her shoulder, and she shut up, throwing him a little look of resentment.

“I’ve thanked you for bring our friend back,” Cloud said, “and you’ve said yourself that I did what had to be done, so I can’t imagine what your question could be. I think you’d better leave us alone.”

“Oh, for…” Keira shrugged off her backpack, sending it and her sword clattering to the ground. Tifa and Vincent took two steps back, but Cloud quickly whipped his sword out of its back holster and held it out at her. She put both of her hands over her head and took a few steps backwards, leaving her pile of weaponry and other items on the ground well out of her reach. “Look, I’m unarmed. Take my sword and all my things- hell, you can keep the underwear, if you’re into that- but I need to speak with you for just five minutes.” Cloud didn’t respond. ‘Five minutes, and I’ll leave you be.”

“Vincent, grab it,” Cloud said. Vincent came forward and gingerly picked up the heavy green sack, then the long sword, and backed up again.

Keira didn’t move. With an inward sigh, Cloud sheathed his sword. “Okay, then,” he said uncertainly. “What do you need to know?”

“Can we at least get out of the street?” Vincent asked.

“Or out of Midgar?” Tifa added.

“Fine,” Cloud said shortly, “we’ll start walking towards the gate now.”

“I have a Mako light,” Keira said, her hands still half-raised. “If you promise not to cut my damn head off, I can walk ahead and make sure Tentacle doesn’t come near.”

“That’s a very good idea,” Tifa said, giving Cloud the hairy eyeball. “You can show us the best way out. Is there enough time on the light?”

“Sure,” Keira replied, “I can get you out of here in ten, fifteen minutes, maybe.” She raised her eyebrow at Cloud. “That okay with you, Strife?”

“Fine,” he said shortly.

Keira shrugged, then started walking. She unclipped a black cylinder from her belt and pushed a button on the end. A beam of greenish light shot out. As she walked, Keira moved the light back and forth, quickly sweeping the area. Tifa gave Cloud another puzzled look, then turned and followed the red-haired woman.

When they were a few paces ahead, Cloud started walking as well, Vincent an arm’s length behind him. “SOLDIER allowed women to enrol?” he asked quietly.

Cloud kept his eyes on the lithe figure ahead of them. “Not many,” he said softly. “They couldn’t very well keep them out of the army when there was such a need for people to fight in the war, so it stood to reason SOLDIER would have to start accepting their applications eventually. They weren’t very fair, of course- forced them to have the exact same qualifications as the male applicants. Be able to lift the same amount, and all that.”

Vincent pushed his bandana farther down on his forehead, almost over his reddish eyes. “That’s far from impossible,” he said.

“I know, but it worked- as far as I knew, there were only ever three women in SOLDIER.” Keira and Tifa were talking about something; Cloud couldn’t hear what, but Tifa looked concerned. “She was a good fighter, before she disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

“After I…after Sephiroth died at Nibelheim, she just vanished.” Now Keira was gesturing wildly. Cloud heard Tifa laugh nervously. “Some people said that all high-level SOLDIER members who’d had contact with Sephiroth within a certain amount of time were being eliminated. Others said she got kicked out for insubordination. I’m willing to bet this is the first time anyone’s seen her in a long time.” To himself, Cloud added, and who could blame her? If the rumors were true...

“She knew Sephiroth?”

“Probably better than anyone else,” Cloud said grimly, “which is exactly why I don’t want her with us.” He could sense Vincent about to ask another question, but Cloud wasn’t aware of all the answers, himself. Neither man spoke again until they had reached the edge of Midgar.

I remember sitting on the examining table in that idiot’s office, naked and bored, swinging my legs and waiting for him to be finished with his stupid tests. I was nineteen, too young to still be putting up with Hojo’s constant prodding and poking. The whole thing verged on molestation, as far as I could see it.

“Hmmm…very good, very good,” the old vulture muttered to himself, adjusting the focus on the microscope. “Very good development, young man.”

I amused myself by looking at the poster of the female musculoskeletal system next to his head. She wasn’t bad-looking, for a woman with no skin. “Are we finished yet?”

“Not quite yet,” Hojo said. “How are you feeling, Sephiroth?”

“Fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Perfectly normal in every way. May I please be excused now?”

“No.”

It had been this way ever since Professor Gast died, and I never missed him more than I did during these “routine” examinations. Maybe I had Hojo to thank for some of my battle skills, but, as I often pointed out, I hadn’t exactly asked for them. Gast had at least talked to me like I had a brain in my head, and been polite. With Hojo, I felt like a piece of meat, a lab rat- though I suppose to him, I was.

A few minutes later, Hojo turned around, fiddling with his glasses as always. “Your Mako cell count is higher than it should be.”

“Oh, and whose fault would that be, I wonder?”

As usual, sarcasm was wasted on him. “Have you been spending too much time in the reactors?” he inquired, his piggy little eyes magnified by his thick lenses.

“I go where I’m sent, PROFESSOR Hojo. Ask my commanding officer.”

He frowned. “Your attitude is as unwelcome as it is unnecessary.”

I looked back at him, unblinking as a lizard. After a couple of silent moments, he harrumphed and turned away. “I’ve heard you’re seeing a young lady.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Might I inquire as to whom?”

“No, because it’s none of your business.” Holy hell, where was he going with this? More importantly, how did he find out?

“Sephiroth, your well-being is very much my business.” Hojo heaved a huge sigh and bowed his head for a minute, looking over a sheaf of notes in his hand. “Halyenne, is it?”

I must have jumped a little, because he looked back at me with a smirk. “A trainee.”

“What of it, Hojo?” I’d had enough. Pulling on my shirt, I hopped down from the examining table and started to dress.

“You don’t think it’s suspicious, a younger woman playing up to a man of higher rank?”

I kept mum, but my anger was boiling. Buttoning the fly of my pants, I simply said, “That’s disgusting.”

“I’m looking out for you, my boy.” Ugh, I hated the sound of his adenoidal breathing, his nose always stuffy… “I don’t want anyone furthering their career based on their relationship with you.”

“No,” I responded, tying my left shoe, “you’d rather have a monopoly on that, wouldn’t you?”

When I was younger, Hojo would have slapped me for talking back to him like that. Now, he just sighed. “Such an angry young man. I’m merely reminding you that your relationship with the girl is against the Shinra Employee Code- and that a promising young man such as yourself will have plenty of time for romance later.”

I had to play it cool. “Hojo, she’s a very nice girl. We’re friends. We don’t take anything seriously.”

“I should certainly hope not.” As I walked to the door, Hojo put his hand on my shoulder. I turned to face him, bothered as always by his touch. He was smiling at me with those horrible brown teeth. “It would be a very great loss indeed if anything were to jeopardize your career.”

Speaking Memory- Part 3

2006-01-24T06:38:06Z

SPEAKING MEMORY
By Omphalos
Part Three: Vendetta?

It took Vincent half an hour to come down from his Chaos rage. Cloud and Tifa sensibly hid behind a pile of rubble until he reverted to his normal state, and hashed out their plan of action. When the sounds of roaring and snarling had ceased, Cloud poked his head out from behind a junked truck and appraised the situation. Vincent was standing stock-still, looking confused, several of Midgar’s unsavoury pests lying dead at his feet. “Over here,” Cloud called. Vincent nodded at him and gestured for him and Tifa to come over.

As they walked towards him, Tifa murmured, “This wasn’t really fair of me to ask, was it?”

“It was the only idea we came up with,” Cloud responded quietly, “and it worked. I’m sure he doesn’t resent you for it.”

Still, Tifa’s tone was apologetic when she said, “Vincent, that was too much to ask of you. I’m really sorry.”

“Not at all,” Vincent responded, brushing some dust off his sweater. “It was a good plan. I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

Vincent waved away her apologies and put on his dark glasses. Cloud frowned. He knew Vincent did, in fact, mind quite a bit, that the shapeshifting had become painful for him lately. However, he kept quiet. You coward, he thought, you want them together because it makes things easier for you.

“Cloud?”

Tifa’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Yeah, I’m listening, sorry,” he said.

“I was just telling Vincent that you and I think we should split up,” she said. “We all have a PHS, right?” The men nodded. “Okay, then. Are we good with this?”

“Who’s going where?” Vincent asked.

“Well, we were thinking. We’re only looking in Sector Six, right? So, there are three main areas people there could be living in: the Honeybee Inn area, the apartments above shops in Wall Market, and there are a few apartment buildings not too far from Don Corneo’s old mansion.” Tifa took a small map of Midgar out of the bag and pointed out the places in question.

“I know where it is, though,” Vincent interjected. “Why can’t we all go together?”

Cloud cleared his throat. ‘There’s…somewhere I’d like to visit,” he said. Vincent looked at him in surprise, but Tifa slid her eyes away, looking slightly peeved. “The church in Sector Five where I first met Aerith,” he explained to the older man. “I want to go back and see if it’s still there.”

“So, you and I can just go to Sector Six,” Tifa responded, finishing his sentence. “Okay, Vin?”

“That makes sense, I suppose,” Vincent said. “When shall we meet?”

“You call when you find what we’re looking for,” Cloud replied. “I won’t be anywhere but her church.”

“You seemed upset when he said he was going to Sector Five,” Vincent remarked. He and Tifa were weaving their way amongst the vast piles of refuse that made up lower Midgar. It was not easy going; the damage done during Weapon’s attack on the city had, of course, hit the lower levels worst, and Tifa was having a very hard time finding her way around. The only good thing about the devastation wracked upon Midgar was that the upper plates were damaged as well, letting precious sky become visible to the underlayers. Tifa remembered her late teens in Sector Seven, the street kids who had never seen sky in their lives- and probably never did. Fervently, she hoped that Midgar would continue to crumble, that the whole hideous place would disappear into the ground.

“I think ‘upset’ is a little strong,” she replied, checking a mound of trash for signs of whatever had grabbed Cloud. So far, they hadn’t seen anything, but she wasn’t taking chances. “It’s just that I know how Cloud felt about Aerith, and combined with us breaking things off, it was just insensitive of him to mention it.”

They continued picking their way through the garbage. Neither said anything for a few minutes before Vincent said gently, “If I may be so bold, Tifa, it always seemed to me as if Aerith was more interested in Cloud than he was in her…and that he is insensitive in general.”

Tifa stopped and stared at him. Indignant words bubbled up in her throat, but instead of defending Cloud’s behaviour, she just turned away and continued walking. There was another long stretch of silence before she said, “Well, you’ve always been down on Cloud, Vin.”

“I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have!” Tifa felt the blood rushing to her cheeks as she grabbed Vincent’s arm, forcing him to stop and look at her. “Do you realize that every time I’ve complained to you about Cloud, you’ve turned it into an extreme?”

“I’m only going on what you have told me, you know,” Vincent said calmly. “You only seemed to mention the negative parts of your relationship to me.”

“Look, I’m sick of discussing Cloud altogether, okay?” The lights of Wall Market blazed about half a kilometre ahead. “You know, I don’t tell you everything!”

Vincent didn’t say anything in response. Miffed, Tifa sped up, trying to put a little distance between them. She wasn’t angry at Vincent for his opinion so much as annoyed that her feelings about Cloud going to the church in Sector Five had apparently been so transparent. Tifa didn’t know why discussing Cloud with Vincent irked her so much, but she was confused and tired, and not much in the mood for inward reflection.

Presently, Wall Market loomed in front of them. Tifa stopped for a minute to take inventory of what items she had brought- earlier, she had thrown in some simple Magic materia, but she couldn’t quite find it. She was rummaging in the bag when she heard Vincent say, in his emotionless, flat voice, “So, the famous Wall Market outlasted everything.”

“Greed’s awfully hard to kill,” Tifa responded, her head practically in the bag. “Vin, did you take the Fire materia? I can’t find it.”

He didn’t respond, which Tifa took to be a “no.” “Never thought I’d see this dump again,” she continued.

Vincent’s voice was low when he replied, “Me, neither.” She looked at him. “I have not been here in nearly thirty years.” His expression behind those dark glasses was unreadable, his tone as calm as always. “You know, there is not one thing that looks different to me.”

“You okay?” Tifa asked.

“Fine, thank you.” Vincent looked at her. She could see the sleazy glow of the neon signs reflected in the opaque glasses. “The question is, are you?”

Tifa looked away. “Yeah, I’m all right.” She looked down at the ground, hands in the pocket of her shorts. “Hey, Vin, do you mind if we split up? I want a moment alone to think.”

He didn’t say anything for a few minutes. “I know exactly where the Poplar Building is, though.”

“I know.” Tifa kept her eyes on the ground. She heard Vincent sigh.

“All right,” he finally said, “but stay in touch with me. The Poplar Building is west of here, near Midgar Food Court. I’ll give you a five-minute head start. Is that acceptable?”

Now, she looked at him, and managed a smile. “Thanks for understanding, Vincent.”

He gave no response, merely turned away to face the ruined façade of a pillar. Sensing her cue, Tifa walked away in the direction he had indicated.

No one ever would have known there had been any kind of disaster in Midgar, looking at the people in Wall Market. Innkeepers shouted at her, waving their arms in order to attract her attention. The various motley stalls still housed loud, red-faced matrons, bargaining madly with customers over the prices for weapons, clothing, materia. Even the Honey Bee Inn seemed to be up and running, despite the death of its owner at Wutai two years ago. Tifa averted her eyes from the garishly-painted girls, cooing and undulating at the passers-by.

She studied her map again. “West” was all Vincent had said, but she couldn’t go much farther west than she already had. Maybe the building was one of those unique to Midgar architecture- not on a street per se, but attached to an unpleasant alleyway off a main road. With a slight feeling of trepidation, she flattened herself against the wall and inched over to the entrance to the nearest alley, the peeked into it cautiously. The rusting fire escapes dripped nasty water onto the piles of soggy trash, and Tifa saw a big rat run across it and into a dumpster, but it seemed otherwise deserted. She proceeded warily.

That alley led her to a mucky courtyard, lined with a row of burnt-out sheds. It looked like Weapon had hit this part particularly badly. Tifa took a look inside some of the ruins, but nothing useful turned up. She went back out and tried another side street. Besides the back doors to several seedy establishments, and the leering bouncers who manned them, it presented no difficulties. However, it also didn’t present much in the way of evidence.

After half an hour of futile searching, Tifa was getting annoyed. She took the PHS out of her bag, but the weird metal constructs of lower Midgar made getting a signal quite difficult. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath. Her eyes on the PHS’s screen, Tifa ducked back into an alleyway and started making her way towards the main drag. The little device let out a confused-sounding bleep and started flashing, meaning Tifa was getting a call, but when she raised it to her ear and pressed the TALK button, nothing happened. “Hello? Hello? Vin? Cloud? Hey, can anyone hear me?”

Her focus on the PHS, Tifa didn’t notice the slight rustling noises coming form behind her. “Hey, Cloud, if you can hear me, I’m lost, but I’m going back out to Wall Market,” she yelled into the phone, probably louder than necessary.

Suddenly, the rustling became louder, and Tifa froze. She spun around, fists out—but no one was there. With her elbows out and fists still raised, Tifa turned a slow, careful circle, but didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.

After a few minutes of standing in the ready position, Tifa lowered her guard and focused her attention on the PHS again. The machine was still beeping and flickering at her. Tifa reached down with one hand to pick up her dropped bag, the other frantically punching buttons. ‘Oh, come on, you stupid thing,” she muttered, taking a few steps forward, “work, would you?”

All of a sudden, something crashed down in front of Tifa with a loud thump. Her head jerked up and the PHS clattered to the ground as she began bringing her fists into the ready position, but a long, thick, snakelike thing shot up from the ground and wrapped itself around her wrists. Before she got a chance to react, her ankles were similarly shackled. Tifa screamed for all she was worth, but the sound was absorbed by the thick brick walls around her. She brought her arms and legs together violently, hoping to shake the alien appendages, but they held her fast and slammed her against the ground, much like they had to Cloud. Tifa swiftly realized what was going to happen, but she simply couldn’t break free as the tentacles sent her flying into a brick wall at top speed.

The air was thick and golden with sunlight. Cloud was kneeling in the ruined church, in the aisle between each row of shattered pews. Before him, the splintered floorboard gave way to a semicircle of pink and yellow flowers growing in lush abandon, their insistent, dense foliage pressing against the rotting wood of the floor. Cloud wondered if it was coincidence that the flowers bloomed in the dead centre of the church floor, under the jagged hole that he had left in the roof two years ago.

Before he reached the church, Cloud had thought of nothing but getting there, but now that he was inside…well, he was unsure about his insistence. In the back of his mind, he thought Aerith would be there, somehow…

“You’d know what to tell me about Tifa, if you were here,” he murmured aloud. “How to be what she wants.”

“Why don’t you just ask her?”

Cloud opened his eyes. Aerith was sitting directly in front of him, so close that he would see the faint freckles on her cheeks.

“What is there to ask?”

Aerith floated up a few inches. Her smile was as warm, the mischief in her green eyes as vivid as ever. “Well, what she wants, silly!”

Cloud shook his head. “What if I don’t want to be with Tifa?”

“You’ll have to tell her yourself!” Aerith shook her head at him. “Jeez, Cloud, of all people, I never thought you’d be one to beat around the bush! She probably just wants you to tell her what you’re looking for!”

Cloud opened his eyes and sat up with a jerk. The church was dark, silent except for the skittering of night creatures. How long have I been asleep? he wondered, hastily grabbing the PHS and flipping it open. Eight missed calls, all from Vincent. Fantastic.

When the older man picked up, Cloud was surprised to hear a note of panic in his normally level voice. “Cloud? Is Tifa with you?”

“What? No, I thought she was with you,” Cloud said, getting to his feet. “Did you guys get separated?”

“She said she wanted to be alone for a while, so I gave her a five-minute head start,” Vincent explained, the anxiety in his voice rising. “I didn’t think she could get very far in such a short amount of time.”

“Shit,” Cloud swore under his breath. “Vincent, we’ve gotta find her! Where are you?”

“The Underplating,” he responded. “It’s a bar in Wall Market, next to the Honey Bee Inn. Are you still in Sector Five?”

“Yeah, I fell asleep…” Cloud frowned. “…I think.”

“Tell me about it when you get here.” With that, Vincent clicked off. Cloud punched in the number of Tifa’s PHS unit, but she didn’t pick up. Swearing again, Cloud unwrapped his sword and, sliding it into the back holster, ran off into the dank Midgar night.

“…there?”

Tifa moaned.

“Hey, she’s making noises.” Louder. “Can you hear me? Hello?”

Her head hurt. Tifa attempted to get up, but a stabbing jolt of pain from the back of her head stopped her, and she settled for making another strangled groan.

“Whoa, don’t move.” It was a woman’s voice. “Stay down and keep your eyes closed. I’m gonna get you more ice, okay?”

Tifa heard a few rustling sounds, the tinny hum of a cheap refrigerator, some cracking noises- the woman, or whoever was in there with her, must have been chopping shards of ice off a block- and the quiet sound of something unlocking. Gently, her hand was grasped, and what felt like a plastic bag filled with ice placed into it. “Put that under your head and try to find a comfortable way to lie on it, all right?”

“Thank you,” Tifa mumbled.

“I’m turning the lights down a little.” The sound of footsteps moved from next to the bed next to what must have been a wall. “When it feels like a level that won’t hurt your eyes, open them and tell me if you can see, okay?”

The light slowly began to dim. Tifa waited a few moments before cautiously cracking one lid. When no pain followed, she slowly opened her eyes and said, “Okay.”

She was staring at a dingy, water-stained ceiling until a woman’s head replaced it. “Can you see my face?”

“Yes.”

The woman held up three fingers. “How many fingers?”

“Three.”

“Well, you’re not brain-damaged, at least.” Her head moved out of Tifa’s line of vision. “Think you can sit up now?”

Gingerly, Tifa raised her head a few inches, wincing at the resulting pain. She held her head like that until the discomfort it faded to a dull ache, painstakingly raised herself on her elbows, and then moved carefully to a sitting position. “What happened?” she asked, though she had a pretty good idea.

The woman had one of the most purely lovely faces Tifa had ever seen, though it was dirty and had a scrape on one cheek. High cheekbones, a short, straight nose, with full lips. Her eyes were lowered. The woman’s hair was a long, tangled mane- deep red, with streaks of blonde. A true slum flower, Tifa thought, remembering Wedge’s old term for the pretty girls of lower Midgar. “Looks like the Tentacles got you.” The stranger’s voice had a queer lilt to it, caressing of o’s and a bit slurred. “They’ve become quite a problem lately. Good thing I have Restore material. You might not have made it, otherwise.”

“Tentacles?” Tifa tried looking around and found that her neck worked, at least. The room was small, with walls badly in need of paint, but Tifa had seen far worse when she herself had lived in the slums. One wall was entirely taken up by grey lockers of various shapes and sizes; another boasted a rusty sink and rickety-looking stove, along with banged-up cupboards, the doors of which hung down crookedly. Aside from the bed Tifa herself lay on, the chair the woman sat it, and a door that must have led to a bathroom, the room had nothing else. Sad conditions, yes, but it was clean at least, if not particularly attractive.

“Not from Midgar, are you?” The woman crossed her arms and laughed bitterly. “Fucking things appeared two weeks ago. No one knows where they came from, or what caused them, but all of a sudden it isn’t safe to walk around anymore.” Hearing that, Tifa suddenly realized that, except for Wall Market, she hadn’t seen anyone walking about, not the usual crush of people she associated with Midgar. “Only thing that seems to chase them off is a Mako light, but there’s damn few of those now that Shinra’s out of business.” She paused and held out her hand. “I’m Keira Halyenne, by the way.”

Tifa took her hand and shook it. “Tifa Lockheart…and thank you.”

Keira shrugged, brushing a hank of her messy hair back over her shoulder. “I wouldn’t normally bring a complete stranger back here, but I’m not gonna pretend I don’t see some poor girl getting the shit kicked out of her by those things.”

“It took me completely by surprise,” Tifa admitted. “I was trying to answer a call from some friends I came to Midgar with, and I lost track of my surroundings. It was stupid of me.”

The other woman stood up and walked over to the kitchen area. She was very tall, Tifa realized, watching her reach for a glass from one cupboard. “Not so stupid,” she called back over her shoulder. “It’s not like you knew, if you’re not from here.” Keira attached a small, white contraption to the mouth of the faucet and turned it on, filling the glass with water. “There isn’t exactly any kind of press covering stories from here.”

Keira walked back over and offered the glass to Tifa. Remembering the foulness of Midgar tap water, Tifa waved it away, but the taller woman shook her head. “It’s filtered, I promise. Otherwise, I’d drink my own piss over this stuff.”

Tifa took it and suspiciously took a sip, but the water was clear and cold and tasted good. She knocked her head and downed half the glass in one gulp. As she lowered it, she noticed a hint of a smile on Keira’s face. “I used to live here,” Tifa said.

“Yeah?”

“In Sector Seven.”

“Hmm.” Keira leaned back in the chair, her arms folded. “Wait, Tifa Lockheart…hey! Did you used to run a bar over there in Seven?”

“Seventh Heaven!” Tifa exclaimed. “That was my place, all right!”

“I went there once,” Keira said, “back when I was in school.”

“Oh, did you go to Shinra University?” Tifa asked.

The other woman looked to be on the verge of answering her, but a shadow passed over her face. “You could say that, I guess.”

Tifa wanted to ask for clarification, but Keira had stood up and moved over to the far wall. “Hey, I found a bag near where you were getting thrashed.” She turned to Tifa and held up the sack in question. “Is it yours?”

“Yeah!” Tifa exclaimed. “Thank you so much!” Keira brought it over to the bed and handed it to her. “There’s a lot of rare stuff in here,” Tifa explained, digging through the bag. She checked the secret compartment with the rare items- untouched- and rifled through the main parts. Everything seemed to be in place, except… “Hey, the materia’s gone.”

Keira stretched. “Sorry. Was it magic materia?”

Tifa nodded. “Basic stuff, none of it mastered. Odd that someone would take it over the X-Potions or the Turbo Ethers.”

“I doubt anyone took it. The tentacles like to steal magic materia,” Keira explained. “No one knows why, but it can’t be good. They don’t seem to want any other kind.” She took Tifa’s PHS out of her pocket. “Found this, too.”

“Oh, thank you!” Tifa breathed, grabbing the PHS and staring at the screen rapturously. “It still works!”

“Better call your friends,” Keira said. “I’ll be outside, so you can have some privacy.”

Tifa waited until the other woman had left the room, then punched in Cloud’s number and raised the unit to her ear. Cloud answered midway through the first ring. “Tifa! Is that you? Are you okay? Where are you?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Tifa put her hand to the back of her head and winced. “I’m okay. I think.”

“What happened?”

“Those tentacle things that grabbed you on the way in,” Tifa said, “they’re apparently a huge problem here now. I was in Sector Six when they got me.” She heard Cloud curse. “It’s all right. My head’s a bit sore, but I’m otherwise fine. A local woman found me and took me back to her place to recover.”

“Holy and the Moon…” Cloud said. “Tifa, I was so worried—“

Tifa felt a rush of pleasure at the concern in his voice. “It’s okay, Cloud. I promise you, I’m all right. Where are you and Vincent? Did you find the Poplar Building?”

“I’ll explain all that to you when I see you,” Cloud said, “We’re in Sector Six right now, right outside Wall Market. Can we come get you?”

“I don’t know where we are,” Tifa said, “but I’ll ask. One second.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed and lurched ungracefully to her feet, the pain in her head a constant reminder to be careful. Tifa walked over to the door and quietly opened it. Keira was leaning against the wall, staring out at the Midgar darkness and chewing reflectively on a wad of gum. “Um, sorry, Keira, but can you tell me how to get to this place from Wall Market?”

The redhead turned to face Tifa. “Your friends trying to get here from there?” Tifa nodded. “It’s better if they don’t come this far into Six; Tentacles are more active at night. I can take you out, if you like…”

“Oh, that’s not necessary—“

Keira fixed her with a particularly steely gaze. Although Tifa was not easily intimidated, the cold gaze of the other woman’s dark grey eyes made the words die on her lips. “Tifa Lockheart,” the older woman said, the calmness of her voice completely at odds with her vicious gaze, “I am correct?” Without waiting for an answer, she said, “If so, I want to meet your friends.” She smiled then. “I have a few questions to ask your buddy Cloud Strife.”

Speaking Memory- Part Two

2006-01-21T06:34:43Z

SPEAKING MEMORY
By Omphalos
Part Two- On the Move

There was a shuttle bus between Kalm and Midgar that some independent company had set up a few months back. Not much was really rebuilt, even after two years, but several people in Kalm and Midgar had begun the slow process of making life move forward again. Tifa wanted to take the bus; it was only fifteen gil per person and the seats were pretty comfortable. Vincent disagreed.

“It’s not safe.”

“HOW is it not safe, Vincent? I took it once before. It was fine!”

Vincent pushed back a hank of thick dark hair and adjusted his shirt. In an attempt to cover his prosthetic hand, he had put on a huge grey sweater that hung almost to his knees and a pair of thick black work gloves. He was also wearing sunglasses, even though it was a cloudy day and they were going to spending it in lower Midgar, where the sun barely penetrated. Tifa thought he might be overreacting a bit.

“I just don’t want us to be visible, that’s all.”

“Yeah, but won’t three people traveling alone be more conspicuous than three more passengers on a tourist bus?” Cloud asked, trying to fit his sword into a guitar case. He succeeded in getting all but the last three inches in. “Dammit, Tifa, don’t you know anyone who plays the bass?”

“Try wrapping the tip in something and just closing it as much as you can,” Tifa suggested, “it’s a soft case.”

“No,” Vincent said in response to Cloud’s query, “I think it would be better to stay away from large groups of people.”

“Why?”

The dark-haired man remained silent. Cloud pressed on. “Vincent, do you know something we don’t?”

Vincent looked askance. “It’s just…that address. It’s a bad part of town.”

“So?” asked Tifa. “All of Midgar’s a bad part of town.”

“I know, but it’s just…well, that used to be a building that a lot of ex-Shinra lived in. It probably doesn’t mean anything anymore, but there are some people at the Canyon who just moved there from lower Midgar, and one of them told me that they’ve seen several rescue workers in the worst areas wearing…well, wearing Shinra Incorporated uniforms.”

Cloud looked quickly at Tifa. Shock was written all over her face. “What?” she gasped. ‘But…but how? Who can be leading them? Everyone who was in charge of Shinra’s dead!”

Vincent shifted uncomfortably. “Everyone who was in charge, Tifa. Not everyone who could be.”

“I don’t get it,” she said, sitting down on the couch with a thump
.
“We have to go either way,” Cloud said. “There’s no point in worrying about this right now, Tifa, okay? First we go to the address, then we can investigate the Shinra.”

“Don’t you get it?” Tifa asked sharply. “It’s a trick. It must be! The remaining Shinra must have gotten ahold of Reeve’s communications technology and are trying to lure us into a trap!”

The two men weighed this in their minds carefully. Cloud was torn between pushing ahead regardless, and taking off for some more obscure area and lying low until they knew exactly what was going on. Vincent felt the group needed to get the mission over with, but was worried enough to take as many measures as he could.

He was the first to speak. “I think we need to go.”

“I want to know what you meant by ‘could,’ Vin.” Tifa demanded.

Vincent tried to evade her suddenly steely eyes, but Tifa was insistent. “Vincent! What the hell are you trying to pull?”

“All right,” he said quietly, “but I need you to promise me you won’t have a conniption fit when you hear this.” Tifa nodded grudgingly and adjusted herself on the couch. Cloud sat next to her. “Rufus Shinra was not the only heir to the Shinra fortune. He had a younger sister, Leslie.”

Tifa’s face grew grave. “I never knew that.”

“She was a bit of a black sheep, from what I remember. I was quite a bit older than she was, but I remember her father talking about her. It seems there was some minor scandal with a member of the Turks who was quite a bit older than she was- my boss, actually. John Renaldo.” Vincent shook his head. “I never expected her to resurface, but it seems likely that she has.”

“Damn,” Cloud muttered under his breath. Aloud, he said, “What makes you think she cares about us? It’s been two years since we last had any contact with the Shinra. I mean, we saved the Planet. Shouldn’t they leave us alone for that, at least?”

“Who knows about that?” Tifa asked.

It was a simple question, but it stunned all three into silence. They had come so far, done so much- saved an entire world, and yet here they were, anonymous, mere wastes of carbon in a sea of crushing bodies. No one knew what they had accomplished, and although none of them particularly wanted any kind of recognition, it was a sobering thought to realize that while they were responsible for the life of every person on that planet, not one soul knew where its saviour had come from. Even worse was the realization that the one group of people who may have had an inkling, Shinra Inc., didn’t care one bit where their lives came from.

“Yeah…I still don’t get why they’d be pissed.” Cloud said. “I mean, it’s not like they’re watching us through the windows or anything. Why get paranoid now?”

“Well, I’m still against going,” Tifa replied stubbornly. “There’s clearly some kind of trouble waiting for us. It would be stupid to run into it head-first. I say we wait and try to figure out what’s going on!”

“Oh, so waiting for something to come and get us is better than facing it?”

“I didn’t say that, dammit, I just meant—“

“And I’m going whether you two are or not,” Vincent said with a vehemence that surprised the other two. “Do you understand me? I have better things to do than listen to people bicker.” Cloud and Tifa stared at him, open-mouthed. “Got it? Good.” the older man finished.

The group remained angrily silent for a moment before Cloud, heaving a massive sigh, picked up the guitar case. “Fine,” he grumbled, “but take off those stupid gloves, okay?”

Cid was looking over plans for a new store some local farmers wanted to build in Highwind when the phone rang. “Shera!” he yelled. “Hey, Shera, you by the phone?”

“Yes, Captain,” came her reply.

“Call me Cid, goddammit!”

Shera didn’t say anything in response. Cid mumbled a little to himself as he surveyed his paperwork. Highwind was shaping up to be one hell of a town, in his opinion. It had blossomed in the two years since the Jenova crisis, and he was rather proud of his work. Of course, his friends accused him of having a massive ego, but Cid preferred to think of it as unflappable self-confidence. It was also quite pleasant, having a town named after him. That hadn’t been his doing, either, but he liked the compliment just the same.

“Cap…err, Cid?”

Cid looked up, irritated at being interrupted at his work, but his irritation was suddenly struck very still. Shera was standing in the doorframe between the main room and the hallway, her hands outstretched, fingertips touching either wall. The back door had been left open, and the afternoon sun was streaming in. The golden rays illuminated every swirling mote of dust in the air, and lit Shera from the back, turning her brown hair bronze and lending a delicate rosiness to her fair skin. Cid had never before seen Shera as beautiful, had always thought her mousy and plain, but something about the way her colouring responded to sunlight struck him as suddenly as lightning.

“Cid?”

He shook his head. “Jeez, Shera, I don’t know where my mind is. Who’s on the phone?”

She came out of the light and stood nervously in the cooler darkness of the main room. “I…I don’t know. It was a man’s voice, but it was all garbled.”

“Prank call?”

“No, it was…he said he had a message for you. Whoever it was, they said, ‘tell your friend Highwind to keep his papers in order. We’ll be by to pick them up shortly.’ Then they hung up.” Anxiety was plain in her face. “What should I do?”

“Don’t do a damn thing,” Cid said roughly. “I’ll take all the calls today, all right? Cancel my meeting with the Shopkeeper’s Guild; tell them I’ll let them know when I can reschedule.” He stood up and started violently stacking papers.

“What do you think it means?” Shera asked, uneasily tugging at a strand of hair that had fallen from her ponytail.

“I don’t know,” Cid said grimly, “but I’m sure as shit not leaving my papers around until I do. Get the rest of the files and hide them.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere!” he roared. Shera jumped a bit, but nodded and ran into the storeroom. Cid heard her rapidly opening and closing the drawers of the filing cabinet, then realized something. Arms filled with documents, he ran in. “Wait, don’t take them all out.”

Shera paused, a messy sheaf of papers sliding from her outstretched hand. Doubling over to pick it up, she said, “What do you mean?”

Cid was thinking madly. “Take out the important shit- the Defence League contracts, the records of how we run this place without Mako reactors. If someone does show up looking for my stuff, they won’t find anything significant.”

“Okay!” Shera started scrabbling in the drawer. “Got ‘em. Should we leave financial records?”

“Yeah, okay. Take out anything related to the stuff I just mentioned, and leave everything else in there- and lock that cabinet!” Cid started looking around for a hiding place.

Shera picked out the rest of the files, slammed the drawers shut, and started fumbling in her pants pocket for the key. Cid ran out into the hallway and looked around frantically. What wouldn’t be obvious? The television stand? The kitchen cabinets?

“Captain!” Shera was behind him, panting. “I have an idea! We can put them at my place!”

“Your place?”

She pushed her glasses back onto her nose with one finger of her free hand. “Yes; I still have that apartment in Rocket Heights. I’ve been storing my winter clothes there.”

“Shera!” Cid grabbed her and enveloped the startled woman in a massive bear hug. “You’re goddamn brilliant, you know that? Great! Go now!” He released the blushing Shera and thrust the documents into her arms. “Stay there, okay? If somethin’ bad’s going down, I don’t want you to be in danger.”

Shera blinked twice, nodded, and ran out. Cid slammed and locked the door after her, then rushed to the back and did the same. “Sons of bitches!”

He picked up the phone and dialled Tifa’s place in Kalm, but there was no answer. He let it ring eight times before slamming the receiver down, then picking it up again and dialling Barret in Corel.

Barret picked up after three rings. Cid started talking before he could even say hello. “Barret, it’s Cid. We need to talk in person?”

“The hell you talkin’ about?” Barret’s voice crackled over the phone. “What’s going on? You okay?”

“I think so, but I need to see you. We can’t talk over the phone. I’m going to fly over to Corel, all right?”

“Yeah, okay…when can you be here?” Barret sounded wary.

“Be there by nightfall, all right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Bye.”

It was late afternoon by the time Cloud, Vincent, and Tifa arrived, sweaty and tired, at the gates of Midgar. The sun had peaked and the day had become extremely warm in spite of the morning’s sullen coolness. Vincent had by then shed his massive sweater and one glove, and was carrying them in his prosthetic hand. Tifa had donned a hat and a bulky, long-sleeved shirt herself, but she rolled up her sleeves halfway from Kalm and the hat was long discarded. Cloud was feeling fine, mainly because he refused to overdress just to disguise himself. “It’s just going to be more conspicuous if we look like we’re hiding something,” he had argued. Tifa and Vincent had just rolled their eyes in response, but still felt his idea was the best one.

Now Tifa bent over, stretching her back. “Uggh,” she moaned. “My spine feels like it’s been permanently twisted.” She dropped the bag of items she’d been carrying and dropped her head forward, raising both arms to the level of her shoulders and, clasping her hands together, pulling them forward. “How many Turbo Ethers do we really need?”

Cloud laughed, looking at Vincent to see if the older man was amused. However, Vincent wasn’t laughing. He was staring at Tifa with an expression Cloud had never seen before- that is to say, an expression. Period. “Hey, Vincent.”

“Hnng?” Vincent seemed far away.

“Vincent!”

“What?!” the taller man said sharply, too sharply, whipping his head around to face Cloud. Taken aback at his vehemence, Cloud took a step back. “Err…nothing. Nothing. How…you doing?”

Tifa turned around to give Cloud a perplexed look. Vincent cocked an eyebrow. Embarrassed, Cloud coughed into his hand. “Well…let’s mosey.”

Vincent turned away, staring to put his sweater back on. Tifa shook her head as she faced Midgar and began walking again. “You guys are weird.”

After Tifa had moved a few feet ahead of the two men, Cloud playfully grabbed Vincent’s shoulder. “Hey, Vincent.”

“What,” Vincent said flatly, looking straight ahead as he walked.

“Vincent, I hate to ask, but were you just…”

“No,” Vincent hissed. Taken aback, Cloud moved his hand from his shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay, I just—“

“Cloud, I am finished with this subject.” With that, Vincent sped up until he was walking a few steps behind Tifa, his shoulders hunched unhappily around his ears. Cloud stood still for a minute, surprise washing over him.

Vincent had a thing for Tifa. Why hadn’t he seen it before? Cloud looked back over the time Vincent had spent with the group. Now that he really thought about it, Vincent had always treated Tifa differently. He was less cold, much less likely to dismiss her and actually listen than he was to anyone else. She was pretty much the only member of AVALANCHE he kept in close contact with, and ever since Cloud and Tifa had started living together Vincent had treated him differently. Before, Cloud would have counted the older man as a good friend. Things seemed to have changed since them. He still thought of Vincent as an ally, but Cloud suddenly realized how far the rift was between them…and why.

As the trio reached the gate, Tifa reached into the sack and pulled the Key to Midgar out of the secret compartment the group kept their more important items in. “Think we’ll need this?” she asked sceptically, turning it over in her hands.

“Doubt it,” Cloud said, raising one foot. He aimed a solid kick right at the high iron gate.

Suddenly, Cloud’s whole body was whipped into the air. The guitar case holding his sword went flying, and before Tifa or Vincent could react, he hit the dust and was run up against the gate. “Shit!” he yelled, scrabbling on the ground.

“Cloud!” Tifa cried, running over to him. She grasped both his hands and started pulling with all her might.

“It’s got me!”

“What has?”

“I don’t know! Some kind of—awp!” Cloud’s body was lifted again, shaking Tifa off and sending her tumbling across the ground. She raised her head to see the blonde man held aloft by some kind of thick, dark cable. Just as Tifa had gotten to her feet and begun running towards it again, there was a bang, a screech, and Cloud was unceremoniously dropped into the dirt. The cable snaked back behind the gate as quickly as it had appeared. Tifa turned to see Vincent, his gun aimed at where the thing had been, a small wisp of smoke rising from it.

“Good job,” she said breathlessly.

Cloud had picked himself up and run back over to where the other two stood. “Thanks, Vincent,” he said, a note of panic in his voice.

Vincent holstered his gun. “What in hell was that?”

Cloud shook his head. “I didn’t exactly get a chance to look.”

“It was some kind of snake or tentacle or something,” Tifa said. “It has to have been. Where did it come from?”

“Behind the wall, certainly.” Vincent said. “Other than that, I couldn’t tell.”

All three stared back at the gates, but they were as silent as ever. “Weird…” Tifa said in a low voice. “What do we do now?”

“Well, I’m sure as hell not trying to go in that way again,” Cloud responded, rubbing a bruised arm.

“Let me see if I brought a rope,” Tifa said, rifling through the bag. “We could try scaling the wall that way.”

It turned out that Tifa had indeed brought some rope, but after fifteen minutes of futilely trying to catch the loop over one of the support poles a ways from the gate, it wasn’t quite long enough to reach the ground.

“Okay, so now what?” Cloud asked.

Tifa thought for a minute. “Vincent, can you turn into Chaos? You could fly up and grab the end of the rope, and we could sit on your shoulders.”

Vincent sighed. “Yes, that would work. Give me a minute, please.” He walked a little ways away from the other two and sat down on the ground, staring out towards the sea.

Tifa put her hand on Cloud’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Cloud nodded and put his hand over hers. “I’m all right. Mostly, that just scared the hell out of me.” He looked down at her. “Tifa, have you ever talked to Vincent about Lucrecia?”

Tifa looked surprised. “No, of course not. I thought it would make him too sad.” She looked over at Vincent, who was hunched over with his hands over his ears. “I remember when we found her in that cave, he had this look on his face like everything might turn out all right. Then when we went back to get her later, when she was gone…” Tifa lowered her head. “I thought he was going to have a heart attack. That was the first time we saw him transform into Chaos, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I thought to myself,” Tifa continued, “after that happened, I mean, I thought about it, and I decided that maybe she was the catalyst for that. His morphing into Chaos, I mean. So, I just never thought it was a good idea to bring her up.”

A snarl from where Vincent had been sitting made both of them snap their heads up. The Chaos beast was coming towards them. “Okay,” Cloud said, “we’d better do this quickly.”

Just before Chaos reached them, it made a sharp turn and stood still for just a minute. Knowing the level of mental control Vincent must be exercising in order to remain master of his movements, Cloud and Tifa grabbed ahold of the monster’s arms the minute they could. At their touch, Chaos took off immediately, running in bounds towards the rope, almost too fast for the others to keep holding on. They weren’t far from the wall, so it wasn’t long before Chaos leapt up and grasped the rope, scrambling up the wall and flapping its wings. Cloud got a good faceful before they had reached the top of the wall. The beast stopped for a minute, looked around, then jumped down into the murk of the Midgar streets.

“It was a stupid idea to take this bus,” Elena grumbled, pushing her sunglasses up to her forehead.

Reno pushed them back down harshly, so that the young woman squeaked in pain. “It’s a stupider idea to show your face,” he said in the quietest voice he could muster.

Reno and Elena, wearing the garb of peasant farmers, had caught the Midgar-Kalm shuttle bus from Sector 3. It hadn’t been Reno’s idea- he would have much preferred to walk over being crowded together with a hundred smelly strangers on a crowded bus- but President Shinra had insisted, on the off chance one of their targets was travelling with them. Rude had been permitted to take a motorbike and explore the general area, in order to track down anyone who might be going back and forth on foot. There were to meet in Kalm the following evening.

Although Reno didn’t like much about Leslie Shinra- besides her figure, that is- he had to admit he respected her. The woman had appeared out of nowhere, fresh from her family’s private beach house at Costa Del Sol, and had assembled the fragmented corporation within a matter of weeks. Before she came into Midgar, Reno, Elena, and Rude had been living in the old train tunnels and eating canned food. A few former Shinra employees had found their way down there as well, and the group assumed the form of an autonomous collective for a month or so. The Turks were nominally in charge, but Reno privately believed that the little community would have disbanded if Leslie Shinra had not come looking for them.

Reno was slouched against a concrete post in the tunnels, half-dozing. The people scraping by in the tunnels took turns keeping a lookout for monsters and looters, and it was his turn to stand guard, although he wasn’t paying much attention. He had just begun the slow slide into a wary sleep when he heard someone clear their throat directly in front on him.

His head lowered, Reno opened his eyes and saw a pair of tanned woman’s feet, the toes an immaculate field of shiny red, shod in expensive-looking gold stilettos. Reno’s gaze traveled up, taking in a pair of long, tawny legs, a nicely-shaped lower half clad in a pricey green suit, breasts like cabbages crammed into a matching jacket, and, finally, a haughty, yet familiar face topped with strawberry-blonde hair. The first words out of Reno’s mouth were, “how much do you charge?”

The mysterious woman’s eyes were hidden in the dimness of the tunnels. “I doubt very much that you could afford me,” she said in a scratchy voice, “but I happen to know your annual salary is three hundred thousand gil, Mr. Reno.”

Reno’s sleepy eyes snapped open. He took a second look at the beauty in front of him. Yes, that shade of blonde in her hair, the pale blue of her eyes…”Leslie Shinra?”

“Madame President to you, please.” She took a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of her gold chain-mesh purse and lit one. Reno’s nose twitched and he inhaled reflexively as the smell of tobacco smoke reached his nostrils. “Oh, would you like one?”

Reno’s mouth was watering. “Yes, ma’am, please,” he said, hoping she couldn’t hear the desperation in his voice. It had been two weeks since his last cigarette, and he had been craving them ever since.

Leslie Shinra handed him the pack and the lighter without a word. Reno’s hands were almost shaking as he flicked the lighter and inhaled a lungful of nicotine for the first time in a long time. When the sweet haze of relief had abided some, he asked, “how did you find us?”

She shrugged. “I still have connections, Reno. The one thing my worthless brother did properly was put all our information in order and send it to me, in case of emergency. I knew there were still Turks in Midgar when that White Materia incident happened, and I knew all the escape routes from the Shinra Building led down here. It was a matter of time and money, and I had enough of the latter to make the former not matter.” Leslie held out her hand, and Reno dropped the cigarettes and lighter into it with a feeling of regret. “So. Is your little adventure in the underworld over with? Are you ready to get back to work?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Reno said, his voice betraying a little more relief than he had wanted.

“Excellent.”

...and they had come out of the tunnels, first in secret, then flagrantly. Two weeks after everyone had grudgingly come to the surface, she had convinced some of the more attractive former secretaries to go to the local areas and ask around, seeing who was willing to join a rebuilding corps. The girls didn’t mention Shinra Inc., and the workers didn’t say anything about where they came from, once they found out who they were working for. After a couple months, when the Shinra Relief and Rebuilding Force had become familiar and trusted faces, then they started wearing uniforms with the Shinra logo on them. Some people began objecting, but most residents were grateful enough for the food and shelter the new Shinra Inc. provided that the Turks very rarely had any problems.

However, that sure as hell didn’t mean that Reno enjoyed being stuck on a two-hour bus ride next to Elena.

“How are we gonna sniff them out?” Elena asked, brushing her bangs back from her forehead.

Reno shrugged. “Not the way we used to be able to, that’s for sure. We’re gonna have to be nice to people. Ask around the local shops and taverns, maybe try to get ahold of some of the real estate establishments in town. If they’re in an apartment, we’ll find out which buildings those are. If there’s a house, we’ll try to get the location.” He slouched in his seat and pulled the tacky straw farmer hat over his eyes. “I’m going to sleep now.”

Elena sighed and looked out the window.

Speaking Memory- Part One

2006-01-18T07:29:26Z

SPEAKING MEMORY
By Omphalos
Part One: How Things Were

The dream was always the same.

The light was heading towards them. Cloud could hear Cid cursing, Yuffie’s scream of panic, the various shouts and utterances from every passenger on the Highwind, as the power of Holy raced towards them. Cloud tried to face the blaze head-on, but had to duck away at the last minute, cowed by its brilliance. He felt Tifa grab his hand…

…but the flesh slipped off in his hand like old leather. Horrified, Cloud looked up to see Tifa’s face melted and burned beyond recognition, the bloated, charred tongue lolling in her skull like a slug. Cloud tried to scream, tried to pull his hand away, but his skin was burning, his bones twisting, the pain was unbearable…

Tifa woke up gasping, drenched to the skin with sweat. She tried to swallow, but her throat was dry- a moment of vestigial panic; was her throat split open and dry from the searing heat? No, no, not real, not real. One breath. Two breaths. Her heart was calming down now, no longer slamming itself against her sternum in an attempt to escape. A dream. Only a dream.

Instinctively, Tifa reached over to the other side of the bed, but dropped her hand at the last second. Even after a month of sleeping alone, she still wasn’t used to it, still slept curled up on the left side of her bed. The only difference now was that she was curled around a lumpy pillow, instead of Cloud.

Tifa lay back down, trying to soothe her jangled nerves. She had been having these dreams for a week now. Each time, she was someone other than herself, and every dream ended with her, as the other, being burnt and polluted by dream-Tifa. There was no rhyme or reason in these dreams. They didn’t follow what had actually happened when Holy burst towards the Highwind, they didn’t express anything Tifa herself had done, and there had certainly been no wrenching, disfiguring force. No one had been burnt alive, least of all her.

Lying in bed, Tifa turned her head to the low window on the eastern side of the bedroom. She could see a few quiet pines, a sliver of bright moon. The early morning was peaceful and lovely, certainly not a night for sweat-slick nightmares. Especially seeing as Tifa had never had more than a few nightmares in her entire life, and only following major emotional upheavals- she usually slept like a coma patient. Seven straight days of bad dreams was extremely unusual for her, and she didn’t know what to do about it. “It’s got to stop,” she mumbled aloud.

She looked at the clock. Four in the morning- with any luck, Vincent would still be awake.

“Vincent? It’s me,” Tifa’s voice came over the phone.

Vincent groaned and squinted at the clock. “You do realize it’s not yet sunrise?”

“…sorry…” came her sheepish mumble. “..thought you’d still be up.”

The reticence in Tifa’s tone surprised him. “I’m up,” he assured her, “I just prefer to pretend I’m not. Sometimes, I can convince myself that it’s not insomnia, it’s just a very dull and realistic dream.” Her responding laughter seemed small. “Is everything all right?”

“I guess so,” Tifa said, “but I could use some advice. I’ve been having these horrible dreams lately, and I can’t seem to shake it.”

Vincent sat up and touched a button next to the bed, causing the overhead lights to emit an answering glow. “All right…?”

Tifa explained her dream to him. Silently, Vincent didn’t find it particularly terrible, but he knew his experience with nightmares was a little more exhaustive than most peoples’. After all, he’d had a couple decades of solid bad dreams. Still, the incredible detail in Tifa’s explanation was noteworthy, particularly the intricacy with which she described the snapping of bone and burning of her flesh. “So, you’re never yourself?”

“Never. I’m always a different person in the party.”

“You’ve had this dream seven times”?

“Yes.”

“May I ask…who were you, ah, ‘playing’ each time?”

Tifa was silent for a moment. “The first time-and this last time-I dreamt I was seeing it as Cloud. The second time I was you, the third time I was…” She paused. “The third time, I seemed to be watching it from outside the plane, and I- I mean, Tifa was reaching out towards me…er, whoever I was.”

Now it was Vincent’s turn to keep mum.

“Vin?”

“I’m thinking. You dreamt you were me?”

“Uh, yeah. Does it bug you?”

“Only because I’m not aware of the context.”

“Look, it’s really scaring me. I’ve never in my entire life had really vivid dreams, and now I’m having them all the time. I don’t like it very much.”

“Obviously. Have you told Cloud?”

“Uh…” Tifa sounded strangled. “Um, no.”

Vincent frowned. “…?”

Tifa coughed. “Yeah, no, um, Cloud’s not…I mean, he doesn’t know. I mean, whatever, he wouldn’t know what to say, right?” She gave a strangled little titter. “He’d probably just say, ‘oh, you must have eaten something weird before bed.’ You know how he is.”

“Based on how you’re talking, I know he isn’t there.”

Tifa was quiet.

“Tifa.”

“Okay, no, he isn’t. Cloud and I aren’t really speaking right now. He’s staying at Cid’s.”

“Oh, Tifa…” Vincent shook his head, knowing Tifa wouldn’t be able to see him. “How long have you two been fighting?”

“We’re not fighting,” she said sharply. “Matter of fact, we’re not anything. He barely spoke to me for two weeks, and then a month ago he just looks at me in the middle of breakfast and says, ‘I’m going out’…and that was the last thing he said to me. I went upstairs a few hours later, and all his stuff was gone.”

Vincent didn’t know what to say. “Tifa, I…I’m sorry. Had you fought?”

“No!” she insisted, “We were getting along just fine. In fact, he had been talking about moving out of Kalm and getting a better place somewhere outside Junon. I mean, we had problems, but what couple doesn’t?”

This was not the conversation Vincent wanted to have this early in the morning. With a sigh, he reached down and fished a shirt off the floor. “Tifa, dreams are one thing, but please don’t ask me to be your couple’s counsellor.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“No, wait, I didn’t—“

“Whatever, Vincent. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay> Sorry for bothering you. Goodnight.”

“T—“ Too late. She had hung up. Vincent sighed again and began to dress, looking bleakly at the desert dawn. Sunrise, sunset, and everything astrological may have been venerated in the rest of Cosmo Canyon, but as far as Vincent was concerned, the passage of solar time only served to remind him of his long and sleepless nights.

Of course, Cloud and Tifa had gotten together after the end of their long adventure. It had seemed only natural- Tifa’s face followed him like a sunflower turns to the light, and Cloud had seemed…well, Vincent privately never thought Cloud had seemed all that interested in Tifa, or any other woman, but the pair had seemed happy enough. He hadn’t heard from Tifa in a couple weeks, but she had seemed all right when she last called him.

It had only been two years since the destruction of Sephiroth and Meteor, and the AVALANCHE crew had parted ways. Tifa and Cloud had moved in together in a house in Kalm; Tifa had thought about opening another restaurant, but business in the area was slow and she had decided to wait until more of Midgar was rebuilt. Cid returned to Rocket Town, re-christened it Highwind, and proclaimed himself the mayor. Oddly enough, the citizenry had been quite happy with it, and last time he’d visited, the town had been thriving. Cid still lived with Shera, and claimed there was nothing between them, but most would agree Shera felt differently. Barret had made a similar move, returning to Corel in order to rebuild the depressed area. Yuffie went home to Wutai, where she was probably having a fine time fighting with her father and practicing her martial arts.

Vincent himself, having no home to return to, had agreed to accompany Nanaki back to Cosmo Canyon. He felt that if there was nothing else to do for a while, he may as well learn something of Planetary history. The incident two years ago had changed much in the way of topography and biology, and scholars at the Canyon were eager to gather as much new information as they could. Someone like Vincent, who had traveled the world during the upheaval, was very valuable to them, and he passed most of his time with the Canyon elders, helping with cartography and passing on bits of information about Shinra’s early reactors- data that was now more important historically. With them, Vincent and Nanaki had also taken Cait Sith- what was left of him, anyways. The stuffed cat had stopped talking and moving after the advance of Holy. The general consensus of the party was that Reeve was either killed in the blast, or simply lost control of the technology controlling the toy, and hadn’t been able to rebuild it. Either way, the furry hulk stood in the corner of Vincent’s room, silent, just in case it was ever reclaimed. The other party members pronounced this morbid, but Vincent rather liked the situation. It saved him a great deal of time in decorating.

Fully dressed now, Vincent sat on his small balcony and watched the sun come up over the horizon. Below him, the denizens of the Canyon were performing their morning ritual, chanting blowing small reed flutes that emitted a birdlike hoot traditionally believed to chase away lingering spirits who roamed the night, as Nanaki had explained to him. Vincent was often invited to join the ceremony, but always abstained, preferring as usually to be an observer.

He pondered Tifa’s dream. What could it mean, appearing so long after the Meteor incident? Lingering trauma? Guilt and self-blame from her problems with Cloud? Or was it something more sinister, something more…supernatural? He didn’t know, but he desperately wanted to find out. Vincent himself had felt uneasy lately, as if there was something important he had forgotten to do.

“Give me the status report.”

“Yes, Madame President.” Reno stood to the left, Rude to the right, and Elena right behind him, facing the window. “The Company has no money, no clout, and no prestige. Everyone thinks we dissolved, we’ve lost our Mako sources, and everyone thinks you’re dead.”

Leslie Shinra took a long drag of her cigarette. Reno watched, fascinated, as her red lips pursed around the small cylinder, caressing it, it seemed. “Perfect. That will make secret operations so much easier.”

Reno coughed.

President Shinra gestured to their rather unpleasant new base. A small, claustrophobic basement room below an abandoned grocery store in Sector Four with grease stains on the walls and piles of garbage in the corners. Reno remembered the former pomp and splendour of the Shinra Building with not a little wistfulness. Moving back in was out of the question, though- several former slum dwellers were squatting in the marble lobbies and plush, carpeted meeting rooms, “reclaiming” what the Shinra had “taken” from them. Call it what you want, Reno thought grimly, but it’s still pretty slummy.

“Look at this place.” resident Shinra’s face was contorted with disgust. “If my father could only see this dump- he’d have a heart attack.” She banged her fist on the table in front of her. “I will not see my family reduced to this state forever, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Madame President,” the three Turks chorused.

“You are Turks. Your loyalty is to Shinra Incorporated until the day life leaves your bodies. Am I wrong?”

“You’re absolutely right, Madame President,” Elena piped up.

“Don’t patronize me.”

“Yes, ma’am…”

Rude cleared his throat. “…if I may ask…orders?”

President Shinra stubbed out her half-finished cigarette and promptly lit a second. “Cloud Strife and his cronies. They have been confirmed dead?”

The Turks looked at one another uncomfortably.

“Well? If I remember correctly, my brother’s last commands to you were to seek them out and eliminate them once and for all.” She looked from one blank face to another. “I see. Was this deliberate insubordination?”

“No, ma’am,” Elena said, “we simply were not appraised of the situation properly. We were not told how much materia the group was carrying, or we could have taken them out.”

“What Elena means,” Reno interrupted, “is that Cloud and the others had been—“

“I am not interested in your excuses. That goes for both of you.” President Shinra eyed Elena, who was bristling under the criticism. The blonde woman opened her mouth, then closed it with a grimace. “You were unable, for whatever reason you like, to kill three very ordinary people, no matter how well-equipped they were. Do you know anything of their current whereabouts?”

“We’ve done some reconnaissance, but it’s not conclusive,” said Reno. “We know, for instance, that one party member seems to be deceased, but we’re not sure which. The group is fractured now, anyways, but most have returned to their hometowns. The former Shinra pilot, for instance, Cid Highwind—“

“Cid Highwind doesn’t worry me.” Shinra studied the burning tip of her cigarette. “He’s the lord of some West Continent hick town, fine. We’ll go in when it’s necessary. That area never had a strong Shinra presence, and I’m not going to worry about building one until we reclaim more significant regions. Junon, for example.”

“Yes, Madame president. We also know that Cloud Strife was last seen in Kalm, but that was over two months ago. Is that enough of a lead, or would you like us to confirm his location?”

Leslie Shinra thought for a moment. Reno took the time to appraise her bosom as it strained out of the tailored suit jacket, and decided to award her a seven out of ten. “Two months?”

“Six and a half weeks.”

“That’s not impossible.” She eyed him coldly, and Reno felt momentarily unnerved. “Not for a Turk, hmm?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Very well. I’d like someone to search Kalm. If he’s there in any permanent sense, he must be in a record somewhere. If not, you should be able to track his activity. Go immediately.”

“You’re a damn fool.”

“I know that, thank you.” Cloud took another swig of his beer.

“She’s a damn pretty woman. Smart, too.”

“Cid, this is not about Tifa, okay? Tifa is great. I like Tifa. I might love her, I don’t know.” Cloud stared at the ceiling. “It’s me.”

“Bullshit! You don’t know if you’re in love wit her after living with her for two years?”

“Exactly. The problem is with me.” Cloud picked up his glass and downed the rest of the golden liquid in one gulp. “I’ve never been what she wanted me to be, and she started mentioning it.” He looked straight at Cid. “You know what she said a couple months ago? I forgot it was our anniversary, and she said, ‘I bet the real Cloud would have remembered.’”

Cid raised an eyebrow. “That’s not like her.”

“I know it’s not.”

“That’s downright bitchy, in fact. Not even true.”

“I know. That’s my point exactly. I seem to bring out the worst in her.” He sighed. “Maybe it’s just time for us to stop being in a romantic relationship.”

“Yeah, well, you should have said something to her.”

“It’s not like I didn’t try, Cid. I called her after I got here and asked her what she thought.”

“And?”

“She said it was too late to start talking about my feelings and she wasn’t aware I had any, and hung up.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

Shera poked her head out from inside the house. “Cloud? Can I get you another beer?”

“I’ll get it myself, Shera, thanks.” Cloud stood up and grabbed his glass. “I can finish the dishes, if you like.”

“Thanks, I’d appreciate it.”

Inside the house, Cloud shook his head. He had tried. Whether he had failed or not, he’d given his relationship with Tifa everything he could, but they didn’t seem to want the same things. It was difficult for her to understand his moments of withdrawal, and he couldn’t cope with her bouts of emotion. Cloud had never been much for sweeping declarations of love and fits of postcoital crying, and Tifa’s expectations had frightened him. He could not be a bleeding heart, and Tifa could no more easily stop expressing her feelings. She had done nothing wrong, but Cloud had noticed lately that they enjoyed each other more when behaving as friends. Perhaps that was just what they were meant to be.

Cloud was drying the last dish when the phone rang. He heard Shera run in and answer it in the bedroom. A few moments later, she walked into the kitchen. “Cloud? Sorry to disturb you, but Vincent is on the phone.’

“Oh. Thanks, Shera. Can I take it in your room?”

“Sure, go right ahead.”

“Thanks.”

Cloud walked into Shera’s bedroom and sat down on the chair next to the bed. If Vincent was calling, there was probably something going on back in Kalm. Cloud knew that Vincent would never try to make him hash out the Tifa situation, like Cid kept doing, but he probably wouldn’t be calling on his own behalf, either. Vincent hated phones. “Vincent?”

“Cloud? Hello.”

“Hi. What’s going on?”

“I won’t bother will small talk, Cloud. Tifa called me early this morning.” Cloud inwardly groaned. “She’s really upset.”

“Vincent, I—“

“It has little to do with you,” Vincent said without rancour, “she’s just been experiencing some unpleasant dreams as of late. Nightmares, really.”

Cloud remained quiet.

“It’s really disquieted her. I think you should call.”

“Look, Vincent, I’m sure she told you what was going on with us. If I call, it’ll just make things worse. Last time I tried, she wouldn’t even speak to me. What am I supposed to do?”

“Cloud, let me explain her dreams. Is that all right with you?”

Cloud sighed. “Yeah, okay…”

Vincent told Cloud what Tifa had related to him. As the older man’s story went on, Cloud felt icy fear grip his heart. The dream was more than familiar to him- for a week now, he’d been having the exact same nightmare. He stopped Vincent in the middle of a sentence. “This is exactly what she told you?”

“Yes, she—“

“She dreamed she was me?”

“Yes.”

“And you?”

“Cloud, yes. What are you—“

“Did you have a dream like this?” Cloud demanded.

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m entirely sure, Cloud. As it is, I haven’t slept in three days. How would I dream?”

“Oh, man…” Cloud slumped over in the bed. He gazed at his crossed leg and noticed his free hand was shaking slightly. Making a fist, he continued, “All right. I’ll head back to Kalm and talk to her.”

“Cloud, there’s one more thing.” Vincent’s voice sounded more unsure than usual. “I believe it’s important.”

“Yeah?”

“You know how I have the Cait Sith in my room?”

“Yeah, and I still think it’s kind of gross.”

“Cloud, be silent and listen.” Vincent was more normal now. “It’s been static ever since the destruction of Meteor, as you know. Well, after Tifa called me, I went out to watch the sunrise. When I came back it…” Vincent stopped for a minute, as if searching for the right word. “…it seemed…alive again.”

“Really?” Cloud leapt to his feet.

“Not the way it used to be, but its eyes seemed less dark, as if it were just waking up. When I went over to investigate…a fortune popped out of the Mog.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yes, that was pretty much my reaction, as well. I have it here. May I read it to you?”

“Of course.”

“’347 Poplar Building, Sector Six.’ Does that mean anything?”

A wave of disappointment washed over Cloud, and he slumped back onto the chair. “Dammit, no. I mean, it’s a Wall Market address, that’s clear, but what does that mean these days?”

“I don’t know, but it’s a spooky coincidence. You two having these dreams, and then Cait Sith coming back to…well, not life, but you know what I mean.”

“God. 347 Poplar Building? What is that?”

“No idea. I believe we should investigate, don’t you?”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Cloud scratched his ankle, worry gnawing at him like a maggot. “I can be in Kalm by later tonight. Should I have Cid pick you up, too?’

“Yes, thank you. I think we have much to talk about.”

Tifa was waiting nervously in the living room when she heard familiar voices out on the front walk. Three steps, a knock, and then the door opened. “Tifa?”

She stood up. Tifa was wearing a new dress- sort of a rosy pink, short, but not too short. The color set off her skin and dark hair, and she took a little comfort in knowing that she looked lovely, even if her intestines were wrestling in her gut. “Cloud? Come in.”

He pushed the door further open and looked at her for a minute before crossing the floor and pulling her into a hug. Tifa hugged back, pleasantly surprised to see the warmth in his eyes, and even more surprised that she wasn’t throwing herself into his embrace. I can handle this, she thought. “Cloud, I…”

Cloud stepped back and put a hand on her cheek. “Later?”

“Of course.” Tifa turned to the door and threw a big smile at Vincent. “Vin, hi, thank you so much.”

“Certainly.” The dark-haired man seemed slightly uncomfortable witnessing their greeting, but Tifa insisted on giving him a hug as well. “I thought I should come along. I, too, would like some answers.”

“Fair enough,” Tifa said, giving him an extra squeeze. “You look good, Vin. I haven’t seen you in too long.”

She looked up at him, expecting a response, but Vincent’s eyes were evasive, troubled. Some of her good humour flattened, and she backed away. “Well, ah…are we going tonight?”

“Can we go tomorrow?” Cloud asked. “It’s pretty late. If this is someone’s home we’re going to, I doubt they’ll appreciate us barging in at bedtime.”

Vincent looked at him, then at Tifa. Oh, I see… “Of course.”

Tifa got a spare blanket from the linen closet and handed it t Vincent. “Are you all right on the couch?”

“Yes, thank you.” Vincent sat down on the couch, placing the folded blanket next to him. “Goodnight.”

Upstairs in the bedroom, Tifa stood with her arms crossed. Her body was towards Cloud, but she couldn’t quite look him in the eyes. “So. We need to talk.”

“Can you at least come over here and sit down?” Tifa glanced over at him. Cloud was sitting on the bed. He noticed her looking and patted the space next to him. “Come on, please? I know you’re angry, but I’m glad to see you.”

Tifa sighed, but she crossed the room and took a seat next to Cloud, smoothing her dress over her hips. “All right. Better?”

“Much. Thanks.” She could feel his eyes on her. “You look fantastic.”

“Thank you. Can we talk about the important stuff now, please?” It gave her a perverse pleasure to hear his admiration, but her anger was strong enough to prevent her from feeling any warmth at his remark.

Now it was Cloud’s turn to sigh. “Tifa, look. We haven’t been happy in a while. Every time we get into a discussion, it ends up becoming an argument about each others’ shortcomings. You’re not pleased with how I react to things, and I’m not crazy about how you can be, either.”

Tifa’s chest felt tight, her throat almost closing. “I never said that.”

“I know you didn’t, but I also know you well enough that I can tell when you’re not happy.” Cloud put his hand over hers and squeezed. “Admit it, Tifa, you’d be better off with someone more…sensitive.”

She laid her head on his shoulder. “Maybe. That doesn’t mean I don’t still want us to work.”

“Do you think wanting it work is enough to make it work?”

Tifa thought for a minute. Her heart was so heavy in her chest, she was afraid it would splash into her stomach.

Taking advantage of her silence, Cloud pressed on. “Tifa, don’t you think it’s kind of telling that we’ve lived together for almost two years without once saying ‘I love you’? Or talking about the future?”

“Well…”

“You’re my best friend, Tifa. I can’t imagine life without you, but I don’t think we can continue as we have been.” Cloud put his arm around her and looked into her eyes. Tifa stared into his with sadness, regret…and a little relief. “Can we try just being friends for a while, please?”

She was quiet at first, then said, “You know, if you’d been this forthcoming with your feelings in the first place, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”

Cloud looked chagrined for a moment. Then, a smile broke out on his face and he began to laugh. “You’re absolutely right about that.”

TO BE CONTINUED

Testing

2006-01-18T07:16:50Z

This is only a test.