This has been sitting on my laptop for about two years, and to be perfectly honest I never expected to post it. I do that a lot, starting something that ends up sitting there and collecting digital dust. However, a recent string of mishaps has resulted in a foot with two-to-three broken bones that have simply never gotten the chance to heal, and I was basically placed under house arrest by my very irate doctor. So now I have two months' worth of freedom and absolutely nothing to do, and being a person who responds poorly to boredom, I started searching the archives for any scribbles worth salvation and stumbled across this gem.

The good news is, most of these are already written. The bad news is, all of these are short. While this is not my first attempt at a slash pairing, it is my first story for this game. I've been around this site too long to bore you with the normal 'please r&r' trash. Instead, I say: please enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own FFXII or the characters. I'm just playing with them; I'll put them back where I found them when I'm done.

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The first one was earth.

Basch called it gnoma later, when Vaan finally thought to ask. He didn't bother before because he cared little for such details. He had been half-listening to the others, mostly anxious to be on the move again, watching as the sands danced beyond Rabanastre's high west gate walls. The guards standing nearest to the open desert were faded smudges, the rocks Vaan knew to lay a few steps beyond them eaten entirely by a shifting wall of antique gold. Balthier, a man ill-designed for such exposure, was arguing against setting out into the tempest and pointedly ignoring the helpful fountain-sitter who informed them that this storm would take days to end. Ashe wanted to leave immediately; the sooner to gain her birthright, the better. Having volunteered their opinions, Fran and Basch both retreated a few steps, content to allow their more vocal companions carry on. Penelo stood in between the two groups, plainly torn between offering her knowledgeable input and keeping clear of the carefully shielded barbs.

Vaan sat on the chocobo paddock's fence, staring out at the Westersand and trying to figure out if he really did just see a glitter of gold amongst the swirling tide.

The young thief twisted around to peer at his… companions. He wouldn't call them friends, not quite. Penelo for sure, although she had been treating him differently since the Leviathan. Basch was decent enough after accepting his side of the story of the king's murder. Vaan sent a quick prayer skyward that Reks, wherever he may be, would forgive his little brother for trusting the man that may or may not have killed him.

Ashe was a bossy, impatient enigma. She was all set to lead their little group through a desert and two sandseas just to claim a shard of nethicite that could- could, mind you, not certainly would but could- put her back on the throne and allow her to rebuild her kingdom. They would still live under the empire's thumb, however, and Vaan had almost asked 'why bother with a queen if she could do nothing for her people? What difference does it honestly make if the empire's puppet is Queen instead of Consul?' But he didn't have the heart to so brutally kill the certainty and hope Ashe wore about her and so kept his thoughts to himself.

Fran was quiet and reserved but she could fight, could pick up the slack that less experienced warriors such as Vaan and Penelo couldn't. She minded her business and let them mind theirs and as long as Vaan didn't laugh when she found herself chasing away a man who enjoyed legs that never ended she didn't say anything about that one time she had caught him all but molesting the Strahl's controls.

That thought line naturally segued to her partner, and thoughts of Balthier were chancy at best. Vaan turned back and studied the sandstorm again, trying to think of anything other than a smile as slippery as quicksilver a brow arched in obvious amusement graceful hands dancing over airship controls and gun barrels a long lean body with clothes almost too tight Balthier.

And now he was moving towards the desert because there was definitely something out there and because fighting wolves and urstixes would leave no room for any errant thoughts. He was almost ten minutes into the storm when he abruptly remembered that he hadn't bothered to tell any of the others he was leaving. Thankfully he was prepared for a short stroll through Dalmasca's most brutal desert, and he knew exactly where he was even if he could barely see an arm's length in any direction, so he kept after the odd gold shimmer.

Balthier caught up to him seconds after the entite loomed into view.

It was massive, a sphere easily as tall as Vaan that floated effortlessly over the desert sand. Stones of every shape and color circled continuously around a bright, pulsating orb near the bottom. A flickering ethereal film contained the whole thing and it glowed not gold but bronze. Vaan stared, unable to properly catalogue what he was seeing, before reaching out with a hesitant hand to see what a piece of living magick felt like.

And then Balthier was there, snagging his elbow and yanking him away from the entite. The pirate was yelling in his ear, something about his just walking off and making the others worry and committing the wholly unforgivable sin of making Balthier risk getting sand in places sand had no right to be. Vaan only heard three words:

I was worried.

The little thief was still grinning like an idiot when the others appeared, spat out by howling winds and sifting sands.

The entite, naturally, was long gone.