Maybe Once

His last image of her is of a blonde-haired, leggy teenage girl, naked and sprawled across his bed, looking at him with sharp green eyes. Something that might be betrayal or possibly hurt hovers uncertainly in her expression, and he pushes away the guilt that eats away at him.

"Hey, beautiful," he says lightly, as if he isn't fully dressed and with a traveling bag slung over one shoulder. As if he hadn't slept with her last night. As if he isn't leaving her this morning. "Kiddo, maybe you should go back to sleep? It's early."

It's been said that Al Bhed are all born as adults, ready to bear the weight of the world's prejudice from day one. They're taught to fight and steal and salvage at an early age—married off to form alliances between tribes that can't afford to not get along. There were no exceptions to this. But Al Bhed were also born with thick skin and a streak of fierce pride as wide as the Sanubia desert—smart and perceptive and wily.

And of all the tribesmen on Bikanel Island, the girl in front of him, staring at him with apprehension and disbelief, is definitely one of the best examples of all things good about the Al Bhed people. She is smart, and she knows what he's doing.

She sits up slowly, not really bothering to cover anything up because there really isn't any point anymore; she's never been particularly modest before and he's already seen everything she has. "Pops said for sure that you'd stay this time. He always says that." With a frown, she tosses her head slightly, sending her long, thick blonde braids swishing through the air. "For an old man, he's sure naïve."

That makes him frown also, even though he doesn't have the right to feel offended by her words. "Hey… Rik—"

She cuts him off abruptly, continuing on as if he'd never spoken at all. "Yeah, I figured you'd be off the first chance you got. Guess I'm used to it or something."

It's true. Even he has to admit that he's become very predictable over the past few years—coming Home and staying for a few weeks before running off to some distant corner of Spira. He's only sixteen, but has been a man since he was born.

He wants to tell her the truth—wants to tell her that he isn't off drinking or gambling or sleeping around when he's off on those long excursions away from her. He's been training—fighting—and trying to get stronger so that one day he might be the sort of man that she needs. He wants to be good enough for her.

She would slap him if he said that, though. Slap him and then ask where he's been doing all that so-called training. And if he tells her the truth—if he tells her that Bevelle is where he's been—he knows she will throw him out and never speak to him again. An Al Bhed that willingly walks into the church city of Bevelle is an Al Bhed who has betrayed his people.

So he doesn't say anything, and he knows that his silence hurts her somewhere deep down inside, even though she doesn't speak either. It's those expressive Al Bhed eyes of hers that tell him everything he needs to know.

Without a backward glance, Gippal leaves.