Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Square-Enix. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.

Erased The Line

Chapter 1: Departure

A/N: Set six years prior to the start of the game, primarily in Archades. Not much was explained about Cid and Balthier's past, so I've developed an idea for one myself. Title comes from the following quote: "There is a fine line between genius and insanity. I have erased this line." - Oscar Levant


A fool's errand, that's what they all called it. Said that the infamous doctor of the Draklor Laboratories had finally gone and lost his head. Word always reached him, being out on the streets, running errands and collecting valuable materials. He'd even ventured through the slums of the old city, daring a chance within Sochen a time or two for sport. That's how he knew, listening to people the way a good streetear ought.

But if the gentries had known who he was, they'd surely have run him off.

Anonymity had its perks.

To him, a boy of six-and-ten, it wasn't at all idle gossip. These haughty, foolish windbags knew naught of whom they spoke. Not truly. To them, the doctor was a lunatic, a man who locked himself away night after night, pouring himself out over books and schematics. He knew better, and he should have known that their words meant little, if anything, but he couldn't leave well enough alone.

"Well, now I see why Nalbina's such a hotspot these days," he would often say with a chuckle. "It would seem that the Emperor's grown wise to the fact that the streets of our great capital reek with the filth of judges without mail. He's a smart man, looking elsewhere for a pen to keep the overpopulation of swine."

He damned these people, them and their petty judgments. To Purgatory, which seemed to be quite the stretch even for devils such as these. To be certain, the gatekeeper would kick them out the moment they arrived. It would taste a lie to say that it wasn't what he wanted, to imagine their sorry souls wandering the earth without peace.

That would teach their sorry ilk.

Some would scold him, while others turned up their noses, ignorant to the fact that the boy who chastised them was, in fact, the good doctor's son. His only remaining son.

Oh, that tale from years before still had a good deal of wear left in it. Most often, he'd hear about it in Central from time to time, stopping by to eavesdrop on the fools who judged the mistake as being a crime, a sin against the gods.

"Not just killed," a woman had once said, "but murdered. By their own father, to boot. I'll have you know, that doctor's as crazy as they say. But to kill his own sons... Despicable."

A filthy lie, and Ffamran knew it. There had been no foul play in regards to the deaths of his beloved brothers. They'd each been as big a risktaker as their father, fooling around with trinkets and concoctions that had no business being within the laboratories. The first had unwisely confused two elements in the lab, forging a magick that had quickly stolen him away. The second, caught up in the automatic fire of a fighter vessel, torn almost to pieces.

But that had been near four years prior, and it certainly merited no comment from a collective of moronic stuffed-shirts.

His return to the laboratories was, once again, delayed by his own mouth, having engaged himself in an argument with an elderly gentleman who, not too kindly, had insisted that the doctor ought to be cast out into the slums and left to fend off beasts in Sochen. Were they all lucky, he'd said, perhaps the doctor would run into that fabled Wyrm. Ffamran, in not so many words, informed the man that his opinion was worth about as much as the fresh droppings of a Behemoth, and that, were he so wise as he claimed, he'd refrain from discussing matters that had nothing to do with him or his rather large nose.

Promptly, he turned on his heel and headed back to the air cab, nodding to the driver as the door closed. He was a frequent enough visitor that the man knew where to take him. The machine lifted itself off the platform, and lurched forward, the air outside whistling for a minute as it picked up speed.

Ffamran sat back against the seat, the bag that had hung at his side now secured in his lap. Within, was a wrapped parcel with his father's name printed upon the paper. It was always like this when he ventured into the streets to make pickups or to collect on favors for the old man. Always secrets, always mysteries, never clarity or truth.

He knew better than to ask, for the conversation would end with him far more confused than when it had begun. His father was as skilled with words as he was with his hands in the lab. A man born with the silver tongue of a Marilith.

It always made him wonder what was so important that it had to be kept secret, even from him, the doctor's own son. He rarely found out anything. So, he would waste his days away in a hangar of his own, fiddling with an old, abandoned fighter craft which had been destined for destruction. The machine had been a favor done for him by his father, likely to keep him busy and away from his more important discoveries. But Ffamran had been happy to do just that, keeping himself pleasantly occupied with rewiring the ship's circuitry, and replacing and cleaning the parts.

Even so, the ship alone wasn't enough to keep him from asking questions.

It was only when the cab driver raised his voice that Ffamran looked up to see the rising red stone of Draklor above. A marvelous building, probably the finest in all the capital, save for the royal palace of the emperor. He wouldn't have been the slightest bit surprised were someone to tell him that Draklor's defenses were greater than that of both the Senate house and the palace combined. The nation's best kept secrets were, indeed, within its mighty walls.

To one of the many offices on the top floors to deliver the goods, then out to his risen hangar, high above the cityscape to the point that clouds seemed to call him closer.
He was intercepted, almost the moment he strode into the place, an arm thrown about his shoulder, turning him elsewhere.

"You have it, yes?"

Ffamran nodded, rolling his eyes. As if he even knew what "it" was. A boy, as his father had once said, wasn't supposed to know of such things. Not yet.

He pulled away, his bag just out of the old man's reach. "I ought to tell you, I've grown tired of these games. It's high time you stop being so damned secretive."

All that earned him was a laugh, interrupted by the shouting of orders, researchers scurrying past the two. Ffamran's head was on a swivel, following one of the scientists as she darted down the hallway and through a door that took her to a hangar, where was docked a vessel for travel, a number of materials caught up in her arms.

The bag was gone then, unhooked from the the strap that had been left to hang over his shoulder. The boy scowled, pretending not to notice the almost manic look on his father's face. He'd bet a thousand gil that it had something to do with...

"A wonderful thing, the powers of Magicite," began the speech. "It has given mankind much, dazzling us with spells and skies, and yet..."

"Something's still missing," Ffamran finished, sighing. The old man was so predictable. "Yes, yes, I know. I can't even count the number of times you've said that in the past two years. I swear, by the time my life comes to an end, that'll be the only thing echoing in my lonely, empty head, and it'll be entirely your fault."

"But wouldn't you like to know, Ffamran?" he laughed. "Aren't you at all fascinated by the possibilities in all this? Oh, how much more the marvel of Magicite can offer to the sciences. I'm sure the Fates jest at the foolishness of humes, but I will not be laughed at. No, no, there is still much more work to do." Cid stood there for a moment, likely struck by his own words. "That reminds me... Perhaps it is time to test our ships in Jagd... Yes, maybe..."

Ffamran scoffed aloud, snatching the bag, and removing the package from within. He wanted nothing to do with his father's toys. He had a ship waiting for him. "Whatever the hell you're planning, just tell those Fates of yours to leave me out of it. I much prefer being the captain of my own ship, thank you."

He turned away, not the slightest bit bothered by the fact that his father kept on chattering. If he'd learned anything from being Cid's son, it was that ignoring him became easier as the days went by. A lot of stuff and nonsense, it all was.

And so, the old man would leave again, vanishing for days, if not weeks, at a time, leaving his son to fend for himself. Ffamran was used to such neglect. After all, being the youngest of three sons, it had always been a common thing for him to be left behind. Eventually, he had grown tired of clamoring for others' attention, and had developed ideas and tests of his own. He liked to think that that was what had brought him his nameless vessel.

Cid would leave for Jagd, and he would be content with his own company.

Hours were spent up in the hangar, hands becoming raw and clothes dirty with grime as the ship came closer to being finished. He'd have to think of a name for her, something worthy of the machine he'd restored with his own flesh. Perhaps, by the late summer months, she'd be ready to take him far away. To the ports of Balfonheim, perhaps, just for a chance to fly across the sea, granting more freedom than he could ever have in a city full of self-important pinheads.

Oh, the memories his travels would make.