Okay, this is an odd little one-off. It should have been straight forward, because the marvelous Difficile asked for it. But this is me we're talking about.
She prompted me with a Balthier/Vaan challenge where Vaan, wanting to impress Balthier, attempts to train himself in gunmanship. Vaan is clumsy! And Balthier is concerned and frustrated. There was the option of Basch stuck in there somewhere. And she requested the genre be Romance. There was a stipulation where Vaan hurt himself either by accidentally shooting himself, or with the firing recoil.
And wouldn't you know it, I barely managed to follow any of those guidelines. I know... I'm bad that way. But hopefully no one will mind. This is less like Romance and rather more like Proto-romance instead. It's "we can't get our shit together" pre-romance. Sorry chica! I promise to write some true, unadulterated romance very soon.
Disclaimer: Balthier and Vaan are mine. But only in an alternate universe because the laws of probability DO encourage my rich fantasy life.
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All in Due Time
Balthier told himself for the tenth time, his mood had nothing to do with guilt, nothing to do with regretting the harsh tongue-lashing he'd given Vaan upon finding the boy had promised their services for a quest that couldn't even be started until the dry season had passed.
His mood was instead--Balthier was certain--the result of being bored. 'Bored' and 'sky pirate' should never meet as concepts. But they evidently had, because he was...very much so.
If the thrice damned wet season would just start...
There was nothing to do in the Giza Plains except wait. Only the waiting was driving him mad. The next time Vaan tried to give his oath to someone, Balthier was going to shove the boy's babbling orifice full of whatever was nearest at hand.
His brain apparently latched onto that far too readily, his thoughts suddenly full of salacious images. Images of Vaan, on his back, his mouth hanging open wantonly, Balthier straddling his chest, ready to...
Balthier shook his head, desperate to dispel the unwanted scene. He was very, very, very bored, apparently. And now, on top of everything, his pants were uncomfortably tight, in all the wrong places.
The desert chit had more to answer for with every passing hour.
Balthier wandered the Strahl, distracting his mind as best he could from the ever more frequent fantasies of his would-be apprentice. And when had Vaan actually officially been named his to teach? Balthier desperately wanted to know who's idea that had been? He had a few choice words for them when he figured it out.
Touring about gave Balthier the opportunity to take in the myriad small changes that had crept upon his poor, lovely ship since she'd become temporary home to more than just him and Fran. It didn't escape him that the largest amount of these small influences belonged to Vaan. Crates put in wrong places--against his express instruction, the occasional platinum strand of hair strayed across some surface, those red desert lilies in the lounge... A spare pair of gauntlet liners in a galley drawer. (And what was that about?)
Was the boy trying to mark his ship?
Contemplating that odd quandary, Balthier realized he'd stopped out front of the armory--the one place the damned urchin hadn't made his presence known, being partial to knife and sword in turn. No, Balthier though. Vaan was definitely a child of the blade. Most certainly the boy was not experienced of the elegance of flint and lock and powder--a fact Balthier had mercilessly employed a time or two, to remind the comely brattling how uncivilized he still was. Pistols and their ilk were a gentleman's weapons, nothing so crude as flat steel and a hard arm. His weapons required finesse, patience...a deft hand and a sharper eye.
Entering the small room with a swift stride brought Balthier before the gun rack, perusing his assortment. The wall had two sections, his combat weapons, specially chosen and in some cases specially modified. Then there was his collection--guns that were more than weapons, they were creations. Balthier worshiped an exquisite firearm as some revered fine paintings, and these magnificent guns were the pride of his private stash.
He stood there letting the calm come over him. In this place, it was only him and his art. Steel and wood came together to met out deadliness with beauty. More intoxicating than a fine serpentwyne, lovelier than the finest courtesan--these weapons were superb.
And missing...
Anger roiled up in the pit of his stomach and soon turned to dread as Balthier noticed his custom Antares was not in its traditional spot. The one gun in his entire collection that even he wouldn't fire. The barrel was rifle-bored incorrectly, making firing it tricky at best. He'd retired it from even occasional use, knowing an injurious incident was not a matter of if so mush as when. Balthier had kept the piece because it's teagwood stock was a singular work of sculpted elegance, created by a legend in the world of gunsmithing. And intrinsically aesthetic as it was, it was even more valuable because of the unique error it possessed. Truly a one of a kind. But it wasn't remotely safe to load and fire.
Only that damn boy could have picked the one gun in all of his collection that would ensure a dangerous misfire.
Quick as lightning, Balthier ran to the supply cabinet and threw the door wide. His heart leapt into his throat. A horn of is special blend black powder was gone and so was a great deal of pellet and wad. Enough, in fact, to take down a sizeable mark. Was the boy trying to hunt?
Regardless, there wasn't time to waste. He had to find Vaan immediately, before the fool tried to fire the Antares. Balthier ran through the ship, passing the lounge where he stuck his head in and found Fran, just as he'd hoped. "C'mon old girl. We've got an errant orphan to save...again." He was running back down the hall again before Fran could inquire as to what Vaan had gotten himself into this time.
"Shall we?" she asked Basch, gesturing for the door.
He nodded grimly, having rarely seen Balthier in a rush. It was never good when the sky pirate set aside his nonchalance in favor of speed.
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Vaan had been trying for what felt like forever to figure out loading and firing the Antares. It was a beautiful gun, a true gentleman's weapon if ever there was one. But it wasn't working out to be very simple. He still wasn't sure how something he'd seen Balthier do a hundred times (or so it seemed) could be so difficult. But Vaan wasn't giving in until he'd fired it at least once. He'd figure out how to use this gun, and then maybe Balthier would look at him a bit differently. Maybe then Balthier would stop treating Vaan like something he'd accidentally got stuck to the bottom of his stupid, pointy shoes.
Maybe then the elder sky pirate would notice Vaan, the way Vaan wanted to be noticed. He blushed hotly while liberally pouring more powder down the gun's spiraled barrel.
Not that Vaan was sure exactly how he wanted Balthier to notice him. But it was warm, whatever it was, and deep in the pit of his belly. Balthier made his heart lurch when he was awful. But when he was good...when he acted like Vaan was something other than an orphan and thief, uneducated and unworthy--then Vaan's heart did odder things yet. It pounded hotly in his ears and left him feel giddy for hours afterward. And at night, the things he dreamed of....
Vaan shook his head, refusing to go down that path outside of the privacy of his own quarters.
He took another scrap of silk (only Balthier would use silk as wadding) and wrapped it round the lead ball before shoving it down the barrel, yet again. He'd tried firing and failed, three times already. The problem had to be the powder. Of course, now there was no question he'dpacked enough charge down the barrel. Surely all Vaan had to do was aim and squeeze the trigger and this time it would work.
A memory danced through his mind, making him pause as he lined up the sites. Just out of reach for a moment, it finally came forth. He recalled another step Balthier went through, very quick and equally last minute, a little dash of powder before the hammer. Maybe that was it! Maybe Vaan needed to put some powder in back of the gun as well. So he did just that, pouring a liberal sum of the dull black charge onto the tiny recess right before the hammer. Vaan mentally crossed his fingers, stoppered the powder horn and set it aside--taking aim.
He pulled the steel cock back slowly, eyeing the old chickatrice skull he'd found amid the tall, dry grasses, lining up the sites down the length of the barrel. Just as he began to squeeze the trigger, he heard Balthier yell his name, stomping down the Strahl's gang ramp like a giant toad had just taken a piss on the hull.
Vaan was in for it now, he knew. Balthier looked more than mad. That wasn't going to stop Vaan though--not yet. He wanted to have accomplished something for the lecture he knew was coming. Before Balthier snatched the gun away, Vaan wanted something to show for putting all that work into figuring out the so called gentleman's weapon. He wanted to show Balthier he could do it. That he could learn to be more like Balthier.
Vaan ignored Balthier's second warning yell and pulled back the cold, curved steel of the trigger, just as he had several times in the last half hour. Only this time was different. The discharge was a loud explosion, ringing through his head far more powerfully than he ever remembered Balthier's weapons sounding.
And then his skin became a blanket of fire.
An instant passed and the burning was atrocious. Vaan didn't know if he was screaming, he just knew he wanted to. Vaguely he was aware of the gun leaving his hands in pieces, as he lost count of the thousand pinpoint agonies showering him. His reddened, mottled vision was darkening as the seconds screeched by.
Hard arms came around him suddenly, making it hurt all that much worse. A harsh, panicked voice reached his ears, indecipherable amid the scream of his skin. Vaan struggled blindly against the unbearable touch as his knees folded and the world fell away beneath him.
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Basch heard Balthier yell ahead of them for Vaan to stop, and it wasn't the yell that surprised him, but the spike of terror pounding through it, crisp and desperate. Fran's ears perked and she hauled after her partner with inhume speed. As they reached the ramp, Balthier called once more, his voice followed close by a deafening explosion rocketing through the air. When the smoke cleared and Basch looked out onto the grass expanse at the scene below, he somehow found himself matching the Viera's pace.
Balthier was alternately cursing and begging the boy quietly, holding onto Vaan tightly and rocking in an oddly tender way that made Basch afraid for their youngest companion...afraid for Balthier too. Vaan himself was eerily limp, barely recognizable underneath a gruesome spray of blood and soot. The stink of pungent sulfur and sickly sweet copper tinged the air so heavily that Basch could taste the cloying metal and acrid smoke on his tongue. It brought back a hundred images of dying boys whose last acts had been playing at soldier. It tasted like fields of war and death.
Dropping down hard onto his knees, Basch peered close, desperately searching for the telltale rise and fall of breath within the boy. But Balthier clutched Vaan too tightly to detect anything useful.
A grim glance shared with Fran was all the communication needed. Instantly they worked together in tandem, quickly coaxing Vaan from the sky pirate's arms. "Let us have him, Balthier," Fran insisted softly, and Basch had never heard that particular tone from her before. It was as close to maternal as he'd ever witnessed Fran being. And it worked, Balthier released the boy to her with nothing but a strangled gasp of air.
Blood was everywhere, the boy's chest and arms and face a sick tapestry of devastation. "What happened here," Basch asked roughly, surveying the terrible damage with as much detachment as he could summon, knowing at first glance no Curaga would fix the young Dalmascan. There was breath in the boy yet, but it rattled in a peculiar way he was only too well acquainted with.
Fran pulled out a potion from her belt, uncorked it, and pushed it into Basch's hands. Balthier didn't answer him and there was no time to ask again. No time for anything as Basch's world narrowed to the terrible task before him. No time to worry about how to delicately part ruined lips or work passed a swollen tongue impeding the way. No quarter given to the niceties of gentle ministration--necessity was expedient and grisly and brutal because every drop down the spasming throat was a second more purchased.
Only when Basch had done his level best to force the potion into Vaan, did he spare a moment's look at Balthier. The sky pirate looked alarmingly angry--his empty, bloodstained fists clenched at his sides, shaking. Dark eyes set in a shock pale face, glared down accusingly at the mess of a boy. Basch's heart went out to Balthier, but he spared no effort toward comforting words. There were no words adequate to the task.
So he turned his attention back to Vaan. The potion had indeed bought them a few precious seconds, but no more. Fran prepared to cast an Arise and laid the spell down just as Vaan's last breath stuttered haltingly in his breast.
"Vaan," Basch took a bloodied hand and squeezed it firmly--knowing the boy was beyond pain now, but perhaps not beyond a tether. "Tisn't yet time to join your brother. Reks would wish your proper years upon you first." He found himself silently begging gods he'd long ago given up on that the boy wasn't gone from them, not yet. Long ago he'd failed the elder brother, please let them not fail the younger as well.
One sighing breath and a terrible, weighty pause before another, more intrepid one followed it. Then came another at length, and then another. Flesh filled in and grew anew, bone was sealed and covered as the spell dissipated. Fran sat back on her heels, heaving a small sigh of relief. A moment later, Basch watched her rise gracefully as she frowned down at the newly mended youth. "Inside would be a better place for him now." She spared a concerned look at Balthier, her head tilting thoughtfully ears coming to stand erect. "Come Balthier. Come inside," she said gravely. Fran waited only a moment for him, then turned on her heel, marching toward the Strahl.
Basch watched Balthier sit there in stunned silence, staring at the gory evidence all across the now sleeping boy, staring at the scattered crimson speckling the dry soil. Basch grabbed newly healed wrists and pulled the limp youth up, hoisting him over his shoulder, swallowing a groan under the weight as he stood. "I will see to Vaan. You'd best go change." Basch would want answers, and soon. But it was obvious the sky pirate needed time to put himself back to form. Washing the boy's blood away would be a good place to start.
Balthier seemed to come alive then, peering up at Basch, a strange dismay overtaking his face. "He was taking aim. What if his eyes..."
"Soldiers don't borrow trouble, Balthier. Nor should sky pirates. Come inside and wash yourself."
Only then did Balthier seem to notice what Basch meant. The sky pirate brought his hands up, curling his lip at the sight of already drying blood soaking all the way up his arms. Then he peered down at the sticky mess of red caked across his middle, masking his horror with a sneer that barely curled his lips. "This doublet is ruined, and my cuffs... They don't bear mentioning." Basch accepted the attempt for what it was, though Balthier's complaining rang hollow and empty as he peeled a small speck of what could only be flesh away from his sleeve.
"Come inside Balthier. The blood washes away," Basch offered grimly, knowing his was the voice of experience. He adjusted the boy more comfortably and made his way to the ship, far slower than the Viera had.
He spared a glance back at Balthier, hoping the man came to himself before long.
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Despite Basch's urging, Balthier knelt there a moment longer, looking at the garish evidence of near tragedy. Amid the stain and grass and sand were pieces of wood and steel--some singed, some not, all splattered with crimson. He wasn't sure why he gathered them up with his discarded powder horn--only that he felt the need. The ruin was complete, the Antares would never be whole again. And yet oddly, it was the pieces that mattered to Balthier, not the weapon they had once been.
Rising numbly to his feet, he eventually made his way into the Strahl, nausea clenching threateningly at his guts. With distance, the smell of burn lessened in his nostrils, but the sick, sanguineous tang seemed soaked in and inescapable. By the time Balthier reached his quarters and set aside the fragments of the Antares, he couldn't remember ever having smelled anything else.
His clothing was cast hastily aside as he stripped and climbed under the shower--barely aware of what temperature it was as he watched pink tinged water roll off him and swirl down the drain. His hands trembled as he gripped the wall, a perverse urge striking him, to stop up the drain...prevent any more of Vaan's blood from needlessly leaking away, wasted. The cold distance of shock gradually wore away, and Balthier leaned into the wall, head bowed, breathing hard and swallowing thickly against the sounds that wanted to escape him. That damn, damn, damn, DAMN, boy! His stomach rebelled again, but he swallowed his gorge, refusing to leave before he was spotlessly clean.
His fist made contact with the pale tile repeatedly, until a little of his own blood ran down the wall to join with Vaan's in the water pooled around his ankles. Balthier didn't know why he found it calming, only that he did.
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Basch sat at Vaan's bedside and felt relieved. Relieved the boy was alive, relieved that Balthier had called for Fran before facing whatever had occurred outside, relieved he'd come along as well. But most of all, Basch was relieved that for once he hadn't been too late. For once he was allowed to sit at a comrade's bedside.
He'd been in prison when he might have sat with Reks until the boy's last--maybe reconciling the young soldier to the truth before he passed on. The sting of Reks having died thinking him a betrayer still pulled in his chest far more than words could ever express. And Rasler...He'd been in the field as the Prince had died.
How many had been lost to Basch without any kind of ritual vigil? It was his firm opinion that bedsides were reviled by far too many. They were opportunities, even if they were sometimes final ones. He knew better than most the ache of missing those final opportunities.
Gladly though, this bedside wasn't a deathwatch. Far from it, Vaan was clean and tucked away under fresh linens, breathing soft and even. Basch had been left to tend the boy, Fran heading off to parts unknown within the ship. He suspected she intended to visit Balthier at length. Someone should. Basch had not witnessed the man so beside himself, in all their travels.
But then the scene had been terrible and gruesome and Basch still knew far too little of the details.
He knew that which was most important though, the boy was mended, with all his proper compliment of parts. His face and chest, arms and hands touted pink, new skin--delicate and translucent. But he was whole, despite the cannon loud explosion Basch had heard, despite the gore he'd washed away from Vaan's unconscious form. The Arise had restored flesh along with life, as it aught to have. But there had been much for it to do.
The door opened and Fran came through. She nodded a silent greeting and set a tray before him with a meal for two and a jar of what looked to be salve. "I am off to find him. You will remain here, I suspect."
"Indeed, Fran." Basch thought for a moment. "Assure him the boy is well. I do not know that he...understands that." Fran nodded knowingly and left with quick, crisp steps. Apparently even the Viera was not unaffected by the afternoon's misadventure.
He set the food aside, still covered, and took up the small glass jar. Uncorking it, Basch cautiously sniffed the contents. Nothing too pungent. A simple aid to keep new skin supple, then.
Basch set the jar aside, sure that Vaan would rather apply the salve himself. Or at very least Basch knew the boy had another that he would rather have aid him in that. He'd been watching the dance between pirate and apprentice, and having seen the boy survive the day, his thoughts turned to wonder which of their stubborn ways this would change more.
He kicked his feet up on the edge of the bed and waited.
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Vaan woke to a mildly burning pressure on his cheeks. It was a moment before he recognized the vaguely rhythmic sensation as someone rubbing his face. It stung a bit.
He halfheartedly batted the hand away, not bothering to open his eyes. Everything felt slow and heavy, and if whoever it was would just leave him alone, he'd gladly go back to sleep. "St'p it 'nello. Wanna sl'p"
A masculine chuckle wasn't what he'd expected at all. Vaan cracked his eyes open, trying to focus. His vision was blurred and indistinct, the sunlight filtering into the room seeming far too bright. But he could tell it was Balthier next to him.
"Sleeping Beauty awakes," Balthier's rich, smiling voice confirmed Vaan's guess.
"Why're you in my room?" he asked lazily, rubbed at his eyes. There was something oily on his cheeks. "What the hell..."
"Stop touching your eyes." Balthier voice sounded a bit stern to Vaan's ears. Vaan instinctually ignored him and kept rubbing all the same, his eyes beginning to itch and burn in earnest.
There was a shift of weight on the bed, and long fingers gently grabbed his wrists, dragging them away from his face. Then a firm hand slid beneath his neck, lifting a fraction. "Be still, Vaan," Balthier said with a hint of a growl. And Vaan actually listened to him...for a moment.
A cold cloth made contact with his eyes, causing Vaan to jump. It rubbed gently into his sockets, easing the burning a bit, until Vaan sighed and relaxed into Balthier's touch. "That's better, I take it?" the pirate asked softly.
"Uh, yeah..." Vaan considered things much improved, and more than just the discomfort of his eyes. At very least the cold distance between him and Balthier seemed a thing of the past. Gone as strangely as it had come. Balthier surprised him again spreading a cooling cream across his eyes. But his touch was sure and gentle and Vaan wasn't certain what the hell was going on, but Balthier obviously was. And that was just fine, he trusted Balthier implicitly. "Only now that I've got that goop in my eyes, I can't open them."
"That's for the best. The flash badly burned your eyes." Vaan immediately tensed under Balthier's touch.
"My eyes..." He reached up again, and again Balthier stopped him.
"Calm down. You didn't let me finish." Balthier let go, and Vaan could feel him withdraw to the edge of the bed. "Fran says your eyes are perfectly fine, the spell cured them completely. But they'll be easily irritated by light for a few days. Just let them rest. You could use it anyway."
Vaan couldn't argue, as he was fighting sleep again as it was. But he thought Balthier sounded odd. There was far less of that swagger in his tone than Vaan was used to. Balthier almost sounded...worn down. Eventually things started coming back to Vaan, borrowing the pistol to practice, loading it several times, struggling to get it to fire at a simple target. He recalled adding charge to a new place on the gun... There had been a loud report and a jarring force, stealing his breath. "What happened?" Vaan asked, because something obviously had.
"You don't remember the explosion," Balthier stated flatly. Vaan heard a long sigh and wondered what it meant.
He snaked his hand up to his eyes again, but Balthier wasn't fooled. His fingers were met by Balthier grip, again. "I said leave them be. Must you challenge everything I say?" And it was there in Balthier's tone, something new and odd that Vaan couldn't name. It different than frustration. Upsetting and unnameable.
Vaan frowned, trying to push himself to sit up. Only, Balthier stopped that as well and Vaan flopped back, huffing indignantly. He didn't really feel like getting up anyhow. But it was the principle of the thing, as Balthier was so fond of saying. "I don't challenge you all that much. And you can't just expect me to obey your every command."
"Vaan," Balthier sounded almost defeated. Which bothered Vaan more than he could say. "Oft times my commands would save you from dangerous folly."
"And when they can, I follow them." There was a heavy silence and Vaan could just imagine Balthier's expression, skeptical cocked brow and all. "Okay, for the most part..."
Balthier made a near-snort noise, which Vaan instantly recognized as unwilling amusement, and couldn't help smiling himself.
Neither spoke for a while and Vaan was getting uncomfortable, sure that Balthier was just staring at him laying there.
He squirmed and stretched, noticing how his skin seemed to pull and stitch in some places. He cautiously ran fingers over his arms and chest, Balthier forgotten for the moment. He was tender in so many places and the skin felt too smooth. "I... I loaded your gun wrong, didn't I."
Vaan heard the hiss of Balthier exhaling heavily through his nose. "Yes and no," the sky pirate said evenly. "The size of the explosion... I was there. I saw..." Vaan almost wanted to tell him not to continue. He hated seeing...well...hearing Balthier struggle for words.
Balthier cleared his throat. "It certainly indicates you went overboard loading the shot. But the actual explosion was because you took a gun that wasn't meant to be fired."
"What! Why do you have guns that don't fire?" Vaan squawked.
"Why did you steal a gun in the first place?"
Okay, Vaan thought. This is what we call an standoff. He waited for a moment, choosing his words a little better. They'd just sort of (kind of) resolved the coldness between them and Vaan didn't want to do anything to bring it back. "Is...Is that why my face... Is that why things feel so weird? The explosion?"
Vaan's heart jumped again as warm fingers gently wrapped around his for a moment. He didn't know what to think as Balthier's thumb traced a patch of tender skin across the pad of his thumb, except that the pirate was definitely inspiring that fluttering in Vaan's gut again.
"Yes," Balthier finally answered. "You almost died. Fran has a clear head and a fast cast, else you would be dead." His voice carried a chagrined tone that Vaan could only guess at the cause of.
Wow, Vaan thought. What do you say to that? At length he figured it out, from the minute tremor in Balthier's fingers as they withdrew. "You okay?"
"I'm fine." Only Vaan could tell Balthier was lying.
"You don't sound fine. Is your gun ruined?"
The sensation of Balthier shifting on the bed again came along with an exasperated noise. "The gun is destroyed. But that's... It doesn't...." Vaan could feel tension in the air and desperately wanted to understand it. What was it Balthier needed to say that he couldn't?
Finally Balthier stood up, and Vaan heard him step toward the door. "Balthier, don't..."
"Get some rest." Balthier's voice carried a thread of some irritation or anger and Vaan's stomach clenched. He'd ruined it again. They were doing fine and he'd said something wrong.
"Balthier!" Vaan cried out. "You don't have to..."
"Vaan, just go to sleep. Please." The door opened and closed, leaving Vaan alone with his confusion--his eyes stinging again, for another reason altogether.
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Balthier heard his apprentice coming before he saw him. That distinct, soft walk that belied the boy's armored boots. "Vaan, what are you doing up?" He smiled knowingly as there was a pause, just around the corner. He'd caught the boy unawares.
After a moment, Vaan rounded the corner and walked onto the bridge "I'm fine Balthier. I don't need to lay around anymore." He plopped languorously into the co-pilot's seat, swinging his legs.
Balthier took note of the still pinked skin peppered across Vaan's tanned features, the minute lines of fatigue still tracing Vaan's eyes. Ah, how the youthful do deny, he thought.
The boy grinned up at him, blushing a little at the scrutiny. "Besides, I... I wanted to say I'm sorry...again."
"For?" Balthier inquired a little archly.
"Why, for wrecking your already broken gun, of course." The cheeky grin, the lazy posture, the keen eyes... Balthier had walked right into that.
Vaan was glowing again, with that inexplicability so unique to the desert youth. It heartened Balthier to see it. Half imp, half innocent and all Vaan, hale and not much worse for wear.
He shook his head ruefully and laughed. "You're impossible, you know."
Said imp swung a leg over the armchair of Fran's seat. "Yeah, but I think that's okay...isn't it?" And Vaan examined him, just as he had the boy, unabashedly searching for the truth to deny his insecurities.
Balthier grinned and turned away. Not so easy to read me as that, Vaan. "I don't know that I have a choice in the matter. So...yes."
With his back turned, Balthier felt a change in the air. Vaan shifted in his seat and silence reigned for a moment. "I didn't mean to worry you, you know." The words were, much like Vaan himself, both open and earnest.
And Balthier felt an ache for not being able to give like in turn. It hadn't been in his nature to do so for many years and only Vaan had the power to make him wish it were otherwise. "I wouldn't call it worry." he said casually.
He watch Vaan smile from the corner of his vision. "No?" the boy asked.
"Basch was worried for you, not I." He turned just enough to see the boy's cocked brow, a trait Vaan could only have picked up from Balthier himself.
"So Basch was..." Vaan was fishing, and Balthier couldn't help find it somewhat endearing.
"Worried. Yes." Balthier tightened his lips against a grin when Vaan snorted at him.
"And Fran?" Vaan inquired. He was swiveling said Viera's chair in circles now, gaining momentum pushing off the console.
"Horrified," Balthier answered flatly, wondering how the boy didn't make himself sick spinning round like that.
The chair came to a dead stop and Vaan pinned him with a keen, narrow-eyed stare. "I see. But you weren't? Not even a little?"
Balthier wasn't sure what madness had him absolutely loving this game. "No, I wasn't." But in every jest there was a grain of truth. "Just... No more near-death experiences for a while. Eh?"
Vaan didn't nod, didn't agree, didn't lie. He didn't promise to be more careful and he didn't swear to keep the death defying circumstances to a minimum. What a time for the boy to withhold his word, Balthier mused. He hadn't really been expecting such an evasive form of truthfulness, but he had to respect it. No empty platitudes between them, not from Vaan anyway.
"It's raining," Vaan observed at length.
Balthier had to smile again, wider this time, more selfdepricating. The boy was such a distraction, he hadn't even noticed. "So it is." He looked out over the expanse of plain, watching the rain pound against the Strahl's windshields. "This means a hunt soon."
"How about a hunt now?" Vaan asked, and Balthier realized part of this was that the youth was himself bored.
Funny that their roles had switched so completely. Balthier suddenly found himself inclined to wait for several more days at very least. "No. Your skin needs time to toughen up. Too much of it is still new and the sun here, even during the wet season, wouldn't do it good."
There was a dejected sigh and slumped shoulders. And suddenly the imp was a child again. "But..."
"Just listen to me, just for once," Balthier pleaded quietly.
The sound was sad in his own ears, to the point of almost wishing he could take it back. Balthier wondered what Vaan had heard, given the thoughtful look he was receiving.
"Alright," Vaan surrendered easily. Balthier watched the boy's reflection in the glass before him, as he toed the floor abashedly. "So... Are we okay?"
That open honesty again... Balthier would never grow tired of it, never be able to achieve it. "Yes, Vaan. We're, as you put it, okay." He smiled at the relieved sigh behind him. "Only, I've been wanting to know. Why did you take a gun?"
Vaan made a surprised noise and scratched his head, the very picture of coy as Balthier turned 'round to face his apprentice. "Well... I... You see...." Vaan sighed, obviously searching for a starting point very carefully. "You were mad, and I was... I don't know what I was. But I wanted to prove something to you... not sure what, exactly. Maybe that I could make good choices."
Balthier nearly choked on the irony and Vaan blushed crimson. "Hey, don't laugh. I was talking about the side quest, not my choice in guns! I wanted you to respect that I'd given my word for a worthy cause."
"Ah...." Balthier nodded sagely, instantly planning a future lecture about the nature of 'worthy causes'. In the mean time... "And what exactly, pray tell, does that have to do with my guns?"
"Well, you keep telling me I'm... I'm not... And.... I wish I was..." A few more false starts and Vaan took a bracing breath, puffing out his chest. "I thought that if I learned to shoot a gun, you might think of me differently. 'Cause it's a gentleman's weapon."
Balthier paused at that, speechless. Not only because Vaan was actually blushing pink enough to blend his new flesh with the old, a startling thing in itself--but because Balthier really hadn't thought this insanity could be as improbable as it turned out to be. The boy had actually just been trying to earn a little respect?
A strange sort of guilt slithered into Balthier's mind. "Vaan. First of all, I must apologize. I've been rather harsh of late. Though I still think this side-quest is poorly sworn, I might have overreacted." Balthier couldn't admit an outright err in judgment, especially as he still thought the boy far too ready to sign his life away on a moment's quick oath. But it occurred to him with sickening clarity that he might have actually prevented the horrific experience had he but been more...mentoring? ....Supportive? "As for firearms, next time you want to try one out, let me know and I'll give you a lesson."
"Really?" Vaan nearly squeaked.
"Yes, really."
"How about now?" Vaan asked eagerly, starting to rise.
Trust the boy to leap before he could walk. "No, it's raining."
"Ah, right... the powder'll get wet."
Balthier rolled his eyes. "No, that's a myth. I'd be dead by now if I needed dry weather to shoot a gun. I just don't happen to want to get wet." He sniffed indignantly. "I hate sodden leather, it chafes."
Vaan eyed him deadpanned. "Figures," the boy mumbled.
Balthier chose to ignore him. "Besides, Vaan. The first lesson of any weapon is not its use, but its anatomy. Come," Balthier gestured for Vaan to follow. "I'll give you a crash course in the fine art of flintlock gunmanship... how to clean and load a weapon." He suddenly came upon a new game to play, and smiled salaciously.
Balthier caught Vaan's eye as he stepped off the bridge, and winked. "Discharge comes later."
Vaan followed, blushing deeply again. "Uh...Discharge?"
"Why yes, Vaan." This was already fun. Vaan was far too easy to incite and watching the youth torn between frank interest and embarrassment was far too entertaining. Why hadn't he realized this before? "Firing your gun, my dear boy."
"Ah..." Vaan offered noncommittally. Then suddenly he grinned, all white teeth and flaxen locks. "See, now that sounds more like the fun part."
Balthier nodded, proud of his apprentice. He'd teach the boy to flirt by afternoon's end. Maybe eventually he'd teach him more... "Only to a philistine like yourself."
"Come again?" Vaan asked.
"Oh...hopefully," Balthier quipped slyly, taking the lead as they walked.
"WHat?!" Vaan squawked, pausing in the hall.
"Nothing Vaan," Balthier called over his shoulder. Then he paused, waiting. "This way, lad. I'll show you which of my guns you may and may not touch." Balthier laced his voice heavy with seduction, and wasn't disappointed when Vaan trotted up to him, cheeks veritably glowing, eyes bright with interest.
This time though, there was a challenge in Vaan's look. "You're....you're gonna let me touch your guns?"
Balthier had to laugh out loud. His apprentice was an apt pupil indeed. "Why Vaan, I may even let you touch my favorite gun." Balthier threw an arm over Vaan's shoulder and off he led him. "All in due time, of course."