"You know she could never feel the same way back." The princess' irritating voice seeped into his mind and disturbed him from the delightful view he had just been taking in. From the glass front of the Strahl he could see Fran on the ground below, bent precariously over the back of the hover bike, which she was attempting to rebuild. She was currently wrestling with a piece of twisted metal, tugging at it in sharp jerks which not only caused her hips and backside to sway enchantingly, but also made her hair flick back and forth like a whip, and he did so love her hair, especially when she took it down, which was rarely, and usually only if he made her.
"Well… you do, don't you?" She snapped at him again, and all pretence he had been maintaining that he could not hear her had to be swept aside. He wasn't sure what she was getting at, but he was instantly irritated. What right had she to interfere where she was clueless? When did she earn the privilege of being self-righteous? Perhaps it was a royalty thing, he decided, as he lifted his head from his hand and turned his body in her direction, arching one eyebrow.
"Princess, are you feeling well?" He enquired, feigning a look of puzzled concern. Clearly his skills as leading man were not in question, for she looked somewhat taken aback by his expression, shook her head, then tried again.
"Fran. You know she will never feel for you what you feel for her." She frowned slightly, looking at him as she sometimes did Vaan when he said something particularly stupid, and he wondered whether she had manufactured this look for him, or if her face merely formed clichés of expression through sheer habit.
"Ah, I see what you're driving at." He sat back into his pilot's chair, ran a hand through his hair, looked at the multitude of buttons on the panels before him. "And what exactly do I feel for her? Since you're so knowledgeable of my thoughts and feelings, My Lady." He layered sarcasm on the title, tilted his head to look her in the eye defiantly. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again.
"Well It's obvious to everyone that you're besotted with her. You're hopelessly in love…" She waved a hand dismissively "Oh, not real love, of course, you're completely unable to feel such things, but you want her. You love her body." She had paced whilst giving this speech, her hands speaking as much as her words, but stopped finally to turn to him, and look him in the eye. With genuine shock, he realised she was being sincere. That she actually thought Fran was going to hurt him somehow if he carried on what she assumed was a tragic one-sided obsession with an unobtainable Viera. "She doesn't want you back. How could she?"
"Oh." He made a show of looking dejected, but it just couldn't last. He began to find himself cross with her. "Do you mean because I'm hideous? Or because she's a Viera?" He pondered, mimicking her own hand gestures as he did so. "Well, obviously you can't mean that I'm hideous because, well, look at me, fine leading man material. You must mean it's because she's a Viera… And what about that would deem her incapable of returning my 'lust'? The fact that she is incapable of lusting? Or that she is of another species?"
"I…" She had the decency to redden then. Her shoulders falling inwards slightly. "I merely meant…" She looked at the floor. "It is not possible for a Viera to love a Hume."
"Not possible?" He rolled the words around. "No really, would it be possible for her to love something else? A Bangaa say? Or a Garif? Better still, something more similar to her own species… What about a Wyrdhare? Could Fran lust after one of those?" He arched himself over the arm of the chair towards her as she spoke, watching her flinch with each new potential suitor he mentioned.
"You're being ridiculous. I was only trying to warn you…"
"No, Princess," He interrupted, realizing that perhaps he was being slightly hard on her. "You were being racist." He softened, slid from the chair to a standing position, sloped over to her, close enough to smell her anxiety. "But it's ok, I used to be like it too. Snobbery happens." She gasped and looked up at him, mouth slightly open, cheeks red with a mixture of shame and anger. "So you don't think it can work for me and Fran?" he sighed.
This distracted her. She glanced out of the window to Fran below, who had now been joined by Basch, who was handing her tools, and, if Balthier was not mistaken, being hypnotised by the slow sway of her breasts as she bent over the now straight piece of metal, and attempted to fasten it into place. Ashe sighed, looked back to the Sky Pirate, her face flooded with sympathy.
"I'm sorry, but no…" Her voice was gentle, barely audible over the hum of the air filtration system.
"What a shame…" He mused, gazing out of the window himself now, if only to make sure that Basch didn't make a move. With a smirk and a quirk of his brow, he turned to face her again, "How do you suppose it's been working for five years already then?"
"You mean… The two of you… Already?" The news seemed to genuinely shock her, and Balthier relished in the feeling of revealing a plot twist to the uninformed.
"Ashelia Dalmasca… do you mean to tell me that in the weeks we have spent travelling together you have not once noticed that Fran and I always share a room? Or that when we camp, we have the same tent, or even that when we sleep under the stars we share a bedroll?" He laughed, then, not maliciously, of course, the leading man is nothing if not kind. "I suppose we don't go around declaring our undying love for each other as you do for you late Prince… But believe me, Princess, my love for Fran goes much deeper than her skin. I can't imagine this life without her. She is my partner in everything… And I'm fairly sure she feels the same way towards me. Either that or she's a much better actress than I thought… And we can't have that now, can we? The leading man must never be upstaged!" His triumphant grin was momentarily infectious, and he caught the hint of a smile across her face before she settled into her customary mark of petulant outrage.
"Well… I'm happy for you." She managed to get the words out in a normal, if somewhat strained tone, before turning on heel and sweeping out of the room. Balthier watched her go with a smirk, knowing that she would come and apologise later, once the feeling of stupidity subsided. He turned back to the window, noting that Basch seemed to have disappeared somewhere, and that Fran was now polishing the piece which she had successfully re-attached. Humming to himself happily, he hopped out of the flight room, down the ramp, and across the seemingly deserted forecourt to the area Fran had chosen as a workspace.
She knew he was there, he assumed, because she always did, but she felt no need to show the fact. She continued to polish, her hand moving in uniform circles across the metal, leaving the spaces she had attended to gleaming, the areas yet to be touched dull and grimy. He found her captivating, and spend a few moments just taking her in, until he noticed a smudge of grease on her left cheek. Smiling he crouched down on the opposite side of the bike to her, and reached across to wipe the smudge away with his thumb. She ceased her actions and brought her eyes up to meet his.
"You are troubled." It was more of a statement than a question, and not for the first time, Balthier wondered if she really could read minds. He gave her a small, but sincere smile.
"Ashe says you don't love me." he murmured, and realised to his own chagrin how boyish he sounded. How all of his insecurities could be summed up by that sentence alone. She simply continued to look him in the eye, and he remembered suddenly why she was the only person he could ever have said that to. She just made him… Comfortable. Smiling more widely, he leaned forward over the bike, and pressed his lips to hers softly, but definitely. She responded, barely, tilted her head, and he felt her own smile grow against his. When he pulled back, her eyes were warm.
"Ashe does not know anything." One side of her mouth quirked upwards, and she leaned forwards to capture his lips again in a reassuringly soft kiss. "However, should you make a mark on my freshly polished hover bike, you will no longer be alive for me to love or not love." She grinned impishly then, and Balthier knew that she loved him, because only he could make her do that. Feigning complete nonchalance, he looked at the thumb which had wiped the grease from her face, looked back to Fran, and smiled.
Slowly and deliberately, he lowered his thumb to the metalwork, his eyes never leaving hers. When his thumb hit the cold surface, he made a comedic gasp, before looking down to his task. With equal deliberation, he trailed his thumb slowly across the gleaming metal to write 'Bal'. Upon running out of 'ink', he reached up to dip his index finger into a slick of grease which had deposited itself between Fran's collarbones. She watched him, her expression a mixture of amusement and fury, as he returned to the bike, and wrote 'Fran' next to the abbreviation of his name. Finally, he drew a smudgy, greasy heart around the two names, and finished with a flourish.
"There." He declared. "My first official act of graffiti!" He looked up at Fran, and his face fell to a look of dread at her expression.
"And it shall be your last." She growled. Before he could react, she threw herself over the bike and onto him, toppling him onto his back, and pinning him down. "You asked for it, Sky Pirate." She hissed, reaching for the can of oil which was near them. "Now your pretty hair and tailored shirt pay the price!" She raised the can above her head as she might a deadly weapon, and Balthier jumped at the chance to play his part.
"No, please!" He groaned. "Anything but my hair and clothes! Please, show some mercy!" He wriggled as a token gesture, not trying too hard to escape, but knowing that even if he did, he had no chance. Fran tilted her head back and let out a peal of laughter, which went right to Balthier's core. Breathlessly, she leaned in close to his face.
"I have no mercy." She purred, before pointing the oilcan square at his heart. "Any last words?"
"Yes…" He chuckled, just as breathless. "God save Vayne Solidor!"
"Oho!" She cried, and then, roaring with laughter, deposited the entire bottle of oil over his torso. Not satisfied with this, she slicked some onto her palm, and scuffed it through his cropped hair, delighting in his muffled cries of protest. Finally pleased with her work, she allowed herself to flop down and rest her head on his filthy chest, one of her ears twitching in amusement.
"I'll have you know that your ear is tickling my nose." Balthier said as indignantly as he could manage, under the circumstances, and whilst stifling a giggle.
"Well I'll have you know you smell like a moogle." She countered, lifting herself on one elbow to peer down at him, her eyes dancing.
"Well, so do you." Balthier grinned, tilting his face up towards her, then turning it away and wrinkling his nose. "Disgusting. Filthy." He held his nose daintily with two fingers. "I mean, anyone would think you were an animal or something!"
Fran batted him playfully with the back of a clawed hand. "I believe…" She purred, "that a bath is in order."
"I believe, dear Fran, that you may be right." He forced himself to stand up, and offered her a hand. Together, dripping a trail of grease, they made their way towards the Strahl. When they reached the doorway, Fran paused and tilted her head.
"Balthier." She said his name only to ensure she had his full attention. He hummed in reply. "Don't ever listen to Ashe."
Author's Note: For some reason I forgot to add this last night, but ehy-ho, here it is now. Anyway, this is my first plunge into the depths of Final Fantasy XII's fandom, so any advice would be greatly appreciated. This idea kind of formed itself in my head late last night and refused to go away, so I sort of cranked it out in an hour before bed. Hopefully that explains why it might be a bit rough around the edges. Anyway, let me know if anyone would like to see the next chapter, which may or may not involve Fran, Balthier, and bath bubbles. Hope you enjoyed!