Confession is good for the soul. She'd heard it said time and time again, an irritating axiom made even more so by the annoying refrain it played over and over in her head – now that she had something to confess.
But she didn't want to. Confessing, however good it might be for the soul, was hard. And she'd never been very good at it. Most especially she'd never been very good at discussing her feelings. God, being in love was embarrassing. She didn't know how she'd survived that near-fatal round of blushes that had overcome her the moment she'd realized that she was more than in like with Gippal. At the dinner table, no less. When he'd leaned over to whisper in her ear, "Pass the biscuits, kid."
Hell, even Tidus had said she'd looked like she'd dipped herself in crimson paint. And Gippal had teased her all night about it, much to her chagrin. Of course, he'd been delighted with it – every time he called attention to it, her face went up in flames again. It had taken her a whole month to live down that humiliating episode.
Truth to tell, she didn't know why she loved him.
But she did, and therein lay the problem.
Because she found the words hovering on her lips half a dozen times a day, and she only just managed to swallow them back each time. And she was finding that eaten words made a bitter meal.
So there she was, taking inventory of faction supplies, wondering over what she could possibly do. She knew it was only a matter of time before her accidental confession ruined their relationship. And surely it was inevitable.
Ninety-nine potions. Zero on order.
She was sure sooner or later her subconscious desire to confess would manifest itself in other ways.
Ninety-nine hi-potions. Zero on order.
God, what if she started sleepwalking?
Seventy-eight ethers. Twenty-one on order.
Or worse, sleep talking?
Sixty-five sleep powders. Thirty-four on order.
And it hit her like a ton of bricks. If he was asleep, he'd never know. If he was asleep, she could finally speak the words aloud she'd bitten back for so long. If she confessed to him while she was sleeping, knowing he wouldn't hear, would it work? Would just knowing she'd spoken the words aloud relieve her burden? She wasn't sure. But it was worth a shot. She pocketed a packet of sleep powder, then carefully erased her last line, and rewrote it.
Sixty-four sleep powders. Thirty-five on order.
Now all she had to do was get him alone.
---
"Gippal?" She knocked lightly on his bedroom door. "Can I talk to you for just a minute?"
"Sure, kid. Come on it."
She twisted the knob, and closed the door behind her, palming the packet of sleep powder. Now that the time had come, she was nervous and jumpy. She stood by the door while he straightened his shirt a little. He'd obviously just come from a shower – his hair was still damp, and he smelled faintly of soap.
"So, what's on your mind?" He was paying more attention to adjusting his eye-patch than he was to her, and the sleep powder wouldn't work if he didn't get a snootful of it.
She hesitated, unsure of how to get his attention.
He caught her gaze in the mirror. There must have been something in her eyes that worried him, because he turned immediately to face her.
"Rikku? Are you okay?"
Great, now she only had to get him a little closer to the bed – there was no way she was going to be able to catch him when he went down. She turned a little towards his bad side, forcing him to turn to keep looking at her.
"Rikku?" He really did sound worried. She felt awful for what she was about to do to him.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Sorry?" He sounded as confused as he looked. "Sorry for what?"
"This." She whirled, tossing the contents of the packet at him. He recognized it an instant before it hit him square in the face, surprise and shock warring for dominance of his face. Almost immediately his expression relaxed, his eyes closed, and he swayed. She shoved his chest, hard. He landed with a bounce, just a little more than half on his bed. Hurriedly, she grabbed his booted feet, yanking them up on the bed, swinging him around to lay lengthwise on it.
"Oh, god, I'm so sorry for that," she whispered, even knowing he couldn't hear her fervent apology. She scrambled up on his bed, examining his face, tranquil and remarkably innocent-looking in sleep. Involuntarily, her fingers drifted across his cheeks. She'd never touched him like this before. She'd been too afraid of giving herself away.
But now that she'd started, she couldn't seem to stop. She stroked her fingers across his forehead, touched the stubble along his strong jaw, and felt the gentle, easy sigh of his breath through his parted lips. They were so soft and warm. She would never get to touch them again, she was sure. He would never kiss her. He would never touch her in any way that extended beyond a casual friendship.
"I love you," she whispered as her fingers plunged into his hair, feeling the cool, silky strands twine about them. "I didn't mean to do it. I know…I know you don't feel that way about me."
Her breath hitched. It was harder than she'd thought it would be, even knowing he would never know what she'd said to him.
"I'm sorry for this. It…it was the only thing I could think of. And I'll probably have to leave." Genuine panic welled up inside of her as she realized the truth – she would never be able to explain to him why she had intentionally drugged him. She'd really have to leave Djose. She'd have to leave the job she loved and the man she loved. A little sob broke from her throat.
"I don't want to leave. But I don't want you to find out. And I don't know how long I can keep it a secret."
She knew now that it would probably be the last time she ever saw him. The last time she would ever touch him. She wanted to remember the look of him, the feel of him. Her hands slid over his shoulders, feeling the solid muscles there, the strength that years of hard labor had endowed him with. They traced the hard lines of his chest, the clearly defined contours of his abdomen. They twitched under her gentle exploration – he was ticklish. She almost laughed.
She ran her hands down the length of his arms, impressed by the thickness of his biceps. Her fingers couldn't span his wrists – she guessed they were probably twice as big around as hers. She rolled the beads of one of his bracelets between her fingers.
"I'm going to miss you," she said, "even though you tease me all the time. I just don't think I could take it if you teased me about this." It would crush her to be brushed off with the same witty banter he always used. And he would brush her off. Maybe he'd do it nicely, but he would inevitably shut her down and revert to the same coolly casual behavior he reserved for strangers. They'd known each other all their lives. She couldn't take it if he treated her like a stranger.
She blinked back the tears that welled up, and played with the spiked bracelet on his other arm. Probably they would do good amount of damage on fiends, in the event he ever ran out of ammunition for his gun.
"Confession's supposed to be good for the soul," she said. "At least, that's what everyone says. I could never have told you if it wasn't…"
She halted abruptly, staring dumbfounded at the accessory she'd uncovered, lurking just underneath the cuff of his shirt. It was a lilac ribbon, twined about his wrist, half-hidden beneath a mess of other bracelets. But it wasn't just a ribbon. It was a Ribbon. The rare and very expensive sort of accessory that made him invulnerable to attacks including (but not limited to) sleep powder.
Slowly, hesitantly, her horrified gaze drifted up to his face. He'd realized that she had discovered his little deception and was staring back at her calmly.
With all due haste, she rocketed off the bed, nearly dumping him off in the process.
Her breath caught on a sob and her stomach heaved. "I think I'm going to be sick."
"I'd rather you didn't." He sat up, stretching, seemingly unperturbed as she bolted for the door. Even as she opened it, he was there, gently but firmly pushing it closed.
"Leaving so soon, kid? It was just getting good."
"You were never asleep," she accused without turning around. "You only pretended to be asleep."
"You tried to drug me," he shot back. "It's not my fault it didn't work out like you'd hoped."
"Can I go now, please?" Futilely she twisted the doorknob, hoping he'd relent and let her go.
"Not quite yet," he said. "I think we have some things to talk about before you go running off." He pried her hand from the doorknob, clutching her cold fingers in his as he spun her around to face him.
Her eyes strayed no higher than his collar – she stubbornly refused to so much as peek at his face. Of course, it could be humiliation as much as anger that caused that reaction.
"You look like a cherry," he teased amiably, hoping she'd look him in the eye finally. A fine tremor shivered through her. Her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Carefully he tilted her chin up, noting with amusement that her gaze slid sideways. She wasn't crying yet, but her green eyes had an unnatural sheen to them. He was willing to bet if he teased her just a little more, those just barely withheld tears would come spilling over.
"So," he said. "You have something you wanna tell me, honey?"
"No." Her lips pursed tightly, as if by sealing them she would be able to hold in all her secrets. "And don't call me 'honey', either. You don't have the right."
"You gave me the right, honey," he responded softly. "Won't you just tell me?"
She remained obstinately impassive.
"Rikku," he chided softly. "I've heard it once, already."
"Don't hold your breath for a repeat performance," she snapped. "You're so…so pushy and arrogant, god knows why I –"
"Love me?" He interjected.
He'd hoped her anger would outweigh her embarrassment, but it obviously wasn't the case. Her eyes went huge in her pale face, and though she tried valiantly to sniff back the tears, they slipped down her cheeks in near-torrential streams. Rikku never did anything by halves.
He sighed, mopping at her cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt. Finally the storm ceased, leaving just a small, forlorn young woman in its wake. Her shoulders were slumped, and when she spoke, her voice was just a little husky from all the wailing she'd done.
"Can I go?" It was a meek, timid request, not at all like the girl who'd made it.
"Not until you tell me," he said patiently, warm hands curving over her shoulders. He wished she would stand up a little straighter. It hurt him to see her so dejected.
"I love you," she told her toes. "I'm sorry. Can I go, now?"
"No." He swept her into his arms, relishing the startled little squeak that slipped from her throat. "Never, Rikku."
"I don't understand." Her fingernails dug into his shoulders, trying to keep her balance.
"I've been waiting a long time for you," he said. "I'm not letting you go now. Even if you are a little embarrassed."
"A lot embarrassed," she corrected, still confused. "What do you mean, you've been waiting for me?"
He set her down on the bed and tugged off his boots. "When I left for the Crimson Squad," he began, "I knew you had a crush on me. But you were too young for a relationship, and I didn't know if I'd even be coming back. So I didn't say anything."
"Well, that was kind of high-handed of you, if you ask me," she sniffed.
"I didn't." He ruffled her hair. "If you wanna hear this story, you'll can it."
"Fine." She pouted.
"Anyway, fast forward two years. I was an up-and-coming businessman, and you were a legendary heroine-turned-spherehunter. You showed up at Djose with Yuna and Paine, and I realized I'd lost the ability to read you." He reclined beside her, folding his arms beneath his head. She didn't know what she was supposed to do, lying there with him.
"Read me?" She turned onto her side, propping her head up on one hand.
"Yeah. It used to be I could always tell exactly what you were thinking. You were an open book to me. Somewhere along the way, either I forgot how to read you or you learned to guard your thoughts." He'd never been very sure which. "So I tried to feel you out, you know, telling them how we made quite the couple and all that.
She was beginning to see where he was going. "And I shoved you away and yelled at you."
"A rather large blow to my ego," he groused.
She could've told him that a little ego-deflation would not necessarily be uncalled for, but she figured at the time she probably had hurt him, if only a little.
"So I gave up gracefully."
"You what?" She gasped.
"I gave up," he repeated. "You didn't want me. I figured maybe you'd met someone else along the way. Who was I to deny you your happiness?" He shrugged. "But not six months later, you show up at Djose, still single, and looking for a job. Then I figured maybe I'd gotten a second chance. I didn't want to blow it."
"But I've been here for two years," she observed.
"Yeah, and I was beginning to think you'd never fall in love with me," he said dryly. "There you go again. Did you know that when you're embarrassed, you bear a striking resemblance to a strawberry? Or really any red fruits, really. It's uncanny."
"Stop," she groaned, covering her face with her hands. He pried her hands away from her burning cheeks. Then he leaned down and brushed those soft, warm lips ever so gently across both cheeks. With the sweet caress she could feel the tension slipping from her body, feel the blush receding. Maybe he really wasn't making fun of her. Maybe he actually cared.
"It's cute," he assured her with a smile. He leaned over her, brushing her hair away from her face. "You really love me, huh?"
She gritted her teeth at his overly cocky announcement. "Yes."
"Okay." He buried his face in her hair, breathing in the subtle scent of her shampoo.
"Okay?" she gasped. "Okay? That's all I get?"
He smiled, kissing the place where her shoulder met her neck, feeling her shiver at the sensation. He cupped her face in his hands, pleased to note that she looked more irritated than embarrassed at this point.
"I love you, honey," he said. It was like someone had lit a candle inside her – all of a sudden she lit up like a nightlight, aglow with pleasure. And again her eyes shone with tears. He wiped them away, frowning.
"It's just that I'm so happy," she said. "I really would have left, you know. I couldn't have stayed after that. But I didn't…I didn't want to leave."
"Oh, I would've dragged you back," he assured her. "I didn't invest two whole years in being charming and lovable just to have you skip out on me." He kissed her, smothering her disbelieving snort. And after a few minutes, she couldn't even remember what she'd been so up in arms about.
"I have just one request, if you don't mind," he said.
"What's that?" she asked.
"Do you think that the next time you have something you need to confess, you might be able to find a way to do it that doesn't involve knocking me out first?"
She grinned. "I suppose that could be arranged."