Author's Notes:

Hello, everyone, and welcome! It's great to have you all reading, and I hope that this story ends up being as enjoyable to all of you to read as it was for me to write. But first, an introduction is in order.

Typically, when I start a story, I'll give a brief explanation of the general premise and any content warnings I expect the story to contain. In this case, both are fairly straightforward. This is a story about how Vaan deals with the events following the defeat of the Empire, particularly his grief over Balthier's apparent death. It will line up with the events of the epilogue, but will not follow the plot of Revenant Wings (mostly because I haven't had a chance to play that one). Additionally, the story will have a romantic Vaan/Balthier slant, though for the most part, you can choose to ignore this if you wish, as the central focus of the story is about grief, reunion, and forgiveness, rather than romance. In certain fandoms, I'm known for taking the most unlikely of pairings and making them seem plausible, and that is, in a way, what I hope to accomplish here. I expect this story to be fairly short (by my standards, that means less than 50K, which I understand doesn't qualify as "short" by most definitions). I've already written out the first six chapters, so updates will be steady for a time.

As for content warnings, there will be a bit of violence, some gore, and very possibly a sex scene once we get far enough into the story (though this will most likely be optional if you're really not into that sort of thing). Possibly some darker themes, as well, but nothing more intense than the source material. Ideally, this story will feel similar in tone to the game, with a bit more relationship development mixed in.

That's all for now. Thank you so, so much for reading, and I look forward to hearing what you all think!

Chapter One

"The war is over."

Ashe's words resonate across every channel, buzz in every speaker on every ship. Vaan draws in a breath and holds it, looking out at the horizon. Airships streak through the sky, but their missiles have stopped flying and shrapnel no longer rains down on Rabanastre. They have won, or close enough that it doesn't matter. The war is over. Dalmasca is free.

Penelo's words rip away the moment's fragile peace. "Look Vaan! The Bahamut!"

Vaan follows her gaze to the massive airship. It moves with inexorable slowness through the skies, a pillar of engineering so magnificent and terrifying that he doubts he will ever see anything like it again.

And it is going to crash in the middle of the city.

Already, its base scrapes the paling above Rabanastre. Massive chunks of metal crumble off the airship, plummeting toward the city streets. In a rare moment of clarity, Vaan understands exactly what will happen. Bahamut's fragments will rain down on the city, shattering the paling and crushing thousands upon thousands of people. The battle is won, but everything they have fought for—the restoration of Dalmasca, the protection of its capital city—will be lost.

On the comms, there is talk of ramming the massive airship to knock it off course. The act will save thousands but doom the hundreds of soldiers on the ship. The most surprising thing, Vaan thinks, is that the announcement comes from Judge Magister Zargabaath. A judge, saving the very city he was ordered to attack only hours ago. It is a miracle and a tragedy all at once.

Vaan looks to Larsa, kneeling with his head in his hands at the back of the cockpit. Vaan is not sure who he grieves for now. His brother, twisted by a dark god and slain, in part, by Vaan's own hand? Gabranth, the man who saved Larsa's life at the expense of his own? Larsa's innocence, butchered and bleeding after everything he's seen these past few months? Any one of these would be enough to break a person, yet Larsa just sits quietly, a glazed, hollow look in his eyes as he listens to one of the Empire's most influential judges prepare to sacrifice himself to save Rabanastre.

"Hasty, aren't they?"

Vaan jerks in his chair, and the Strahl lists slightly to one side as he briefly loses control of the steering mechanism. He readjusts, but the greater part of his attention remains riveted on that voice. His voice.

"I think it's a little early to be throwing away our lives."

"Balthier?" A part of him knows that he should not be accessing the comms now, not when the airspace around Rabanastre is already so full of chaos, but he can't help himself. He has spent nearly a year with the sky pirate (a year of clever quips, hard lessons, and desperate hopes), and he knows that tone. It is the same tone Balthier used that day in the Nalbina Dungeons when Vaan found himself staring down three seeqs armed with clubs while he had only his bare hands to defend himself. It is the tone Balthier uses when he is about to do something heroic. Now, it sends a javelin of fear through Vaan's heart. "Balthier, where are you?"

The silence of the next few seconds is the longest of Vaan's life. Finally, the sky pirate's voice crackles from the speaker. "Ah, Vaan! Sounds like you made it out okay. The Strahl's a fine airship, eh?"

"Balthier, what are you doing?" Marquis Ondore asks, his voice loud and clear on the comms. It is the same exact question flailing around in Vaan's mind, yet lacking the utter horror he feels.

"Marquis!" Balthier says, as if surprised. "Stop that fool judge on the Alexander for me, would you? I'm just getting somewhere with these glossair rings . . ."

The pieces come together. Balthier finished fixing the Strahl's glossair rings a full ten minutes ago, with orders for Vaan to take off as soon as they activated. He would have had to be in the engine room, but the few lessons the man has given him on the operation of the airship have imprinted numerous facts in his mind, one of which jumps to the forefront now: It takes twenty seconds for a repaired glossair ring to charge sufficiently to allow for flight.

Another thing that takes twenty seconds: the walk from the engine room to the emergency escape chute.

Balthier and Fran are still on the Bahamut.

Ashe snatches the comm from its hook and clicks the button. "Balthier, do you understand exactly what it is you're doing?"

"Princess. No need to worry. I hope you haven't forgotten my role in this little story."

"Quite a performance," Balthier says, stepping into the palace treasury.

Vaan draws back, pulse thrumming in his neck. "Who are you?"

"Why, I play the leading man. Who else?"

"I'm the leading man," Balthier says now, less than a quarter of a mile away, yet so far that he may as well be in Archades. "You know what they say about the leading man?"

Briefly, Vaan closes his eyes. When Balthier answers his own question, Vaan hears the lie in his voice as if he has known the man an entire lifetime rather than a single year.

"He never dies."

Twenty seconds later, the Bahamut regains power, its rings glowing bright as it lifts into the sky and changes course, away from the center of the city and toward the desert. It spews smoke from a hundred different places, and scraps of metal the size of Migelo's shop continue to fall, breaking apart when they hit the paling protecting Rabanastre. Bahamut will not make it to the Estersand.

"Listen to me, Balthier," Ashe pleads. "Get out of Bahamut immediately. Please, Balthier! You mustn't die!"

Silence on the comms. Vaan can barely spare the attention to pilot the Strahl, but he has to do something. Without thought for falling debris, he invades the Bahamut's immediate airspace, searching for a place to dock. There's still time. Balthier can set the thing on a course, find his way back to the Strahl, and they will all make it out alive. It is the only acceptable alternative, the only option Vaan will be able to live with. Because if Balthier is still on that ship when it hits the ground . . .

"Vaan," Balthier says, his voice calm even as Bahamut crumbles around him, "the Strahl's in your hands now. You'd better take care of her, you hear? If there's one scratch on her when I get back . . ."

The Strahl. It has taken months for him to convince Balthier to teach him how to fly it, but the man is still immensely possessive of his airship. This is the first time Vaan has been allowed to touch the controls without the sky pirate looming over his shoulder, and if there is one thing Vaan knows, it is this: Balthier would never let anyone borrow his airship so long as he still drew breath.

"Vaan, do you hear me? Take care of my ship."

He steels himself against the terrible pain ripping through his chest and guides the Strahl away from the Bahamut. There is so much he never got a chance to say, but now there is no time, and if Balthier wants to lie one more time as the world falls apart around him, Vaan will let him. Just this once. "Roger that. We'll be waiting for you."

I'll be waiting for you.

He knows he will find nothing in the ruins of the imperial airship, but as soon as Vaan deposits Ashe, Basch, Larsa, and Penelo in the Marquis's care—hoping they will be able to handle themselves without bloodshed—he flies back to Bahamut and docks the Strahl on one of the upper levels. Smoke continues to billow out of the airship, though it landed in the Estersand and lost power a quarter of an hour ago, and the floor wouldn't be considered sturdy by even the most lax of standards. He doesn't care. He has to know.

He wanders for hours. A few times, he has to pull a piece of cloth from his pack and cover his mouth so the smoke won't overwhelm him.

He doesn't find a trace of Balthier or Fran. A desperate part of him insists this is a good thing—if there are no bodies, they must be alive somewhere. But the more logical part of him—a part he once ignored, but which he's gradually developed over this past year—tells him that it is more likely they burned up in one of the numerous fires, and that the only trace he will find of them is a patch of soot indistinguishable from the ashes of so many others.

Long after night has fallen, Vaan flies the Strahl to the aerodome. He does not know proper landing procedures, but with so many people moving through the aerodome, it does not seem to matter. When a moogle tells him he must pay for the space he now occupies, he hands over the requisite amount of gil (a fortune to the orphan boy he used to be, but a pittance to him now), and walks out into the common area.

Penelo is waiting for him. She cries and calls him a fool as her arms wind around his neck. He returns the embrace, says all the right words, but feels nothing but a bleak darkness inside him where there used to be light.

Ashe, Larsa, and the marquis spend most of the next four days making political arrangements. They invite Vaan to sit in on the conference, but less than an hour passes before he can no longer tolerate it. He walks out, arms wrapped around his chest, as if he can stop himself from flying apart, broken beyond repair.

It hurts too much to go to the Strahl, so he goes to the Sandsea. Tomaj takes one look at him and hands him a pitcher of ale, telling him its on the house ("But only tonight," he adds. "Have to stay in business somehow, right?")

"I'm worried about you," Penelo tells him. Several weeks have passed since that day. "You've barely spoken. You hardly eat. You're not . . . yourself. I know it hurts, but there's nothing we can do except . . . except follow his last request."

The reminder hits him like a punch to the gut. The Strahl. He feels simultaneously guilty and intimidated by the thought of returning to it, though he suspects he will owe the moogles at the aerodome more money, considering how long he's left it there. What will they do if he doesn't come back? Sell the airship? Bring it to a scrap yard?

The idea is horrible enough to peel away some of his numbness. He is not ready to return to the airship yet, but he will not ignore Balthier's last request (and it was his last request. He knows that now). So he stands, swaying slightly. Penelo casts a worried look in his direction, then follows him out the door.

Balthier would be livid.

Up until this moment, Vaan has not allowed himself to think about the condition the Strahl is in. The few times he's allowed himself to think of the ship, he remembers it as it was the first time he saw it—pristine, unblemished, and fully functional.

After the battle against Bahamut, it is no longer in that condition. In fact, it is so scraped up and dingy that Vaan doesn't even know where to begin.

"Doesn't Balthier have a team of moogles on call to repair it?" Penelo asks.

"He never told me how to contact them." He feels numb. This is the sort of thing he should know, the sort of thing he's sure Balthier would have taught him, but now he feels adrift, a piece of skystone carried by the wind.

"I'm sure he'll have their contact information somewhere in the ship," Penelo says, desperation in her voice. "If we go on board."

"No." The word escapes his lips before he can guard himself against it, and Penelo's eyes dart to his face. After a few seconds of indecision, she reaches out to take his hand.

He pulls away before she can, muttering something about finding a bucket and some rags so he can start cleaning off the outside of the ship. Penelo does not feel this loss the same way he does (Penelo's eyes never followed Balthier's every move like his did. Penelo never opened herself up to Balthier's insults just to hear the sound of his voice. Perhaps that makes her a stronger person than Vaan is. He's too lost to care). She does not understand. He will just have to accept that.

Later that night, Vaan walks Penelo home, promising he'll get some rest. Her smile makes him think he may one day be as good a liar as Balthier was ("You know what they say about the leading man? He never dies."). As soon as Penelo disappears inside her apartment, Vaan returns to the aerodome. They spent the majority of the day cleaning the grime off her hull, but the airship is huge, and this problem, at least, is one Vaan can fix.

He scrubs through the night. Penelo finds him the following morning and joins him without a word. Together, they remove every trace of dirt, soot, and grime from the Strahl's hull. Satisfied, Vaan returns to his apartment (he has one of his own now, separate from the one he shared with Kytes and a handful of other orphans Migelo took in), and promptly collapses onto his bed.

His dreams are of fire in the skies and frantic pleas across the comms.