Chapter 3: A Sea of Troubles
He wasn't drunk, not in the truest sense. Not blackout drunk or falling down drunk certainly. He'd achieved that perfect threshold where the world takes on a vague haze of giddiness and unreality. If nothing else, Fayt was convinced he was being positively stealthy as he shadowed Albel through the halls. Even ninja-like.
Eventually, Albel came to the door to the training yard and here he stopped but he made no move to open it. He only stared at the door, metal claw resting on the hilt of his sword. His claws drummed lightly as he considered, and Fayt would have paid any amount of fol to know what thoughts were ambling through that pretty head. Then Albel continued on through the torch-lit halls, leaving the training yard behind and heading for the front door of the castle.
Where's he going?
Fayt followed Albel out of the castle and into the cold, clear night. No snow falling tonight, but there was plenty of it on the ground and the wind shrieked through the narrow streets and around the castle towers. It came in gusts, rattling Fayt's teeth with its chill bite one second and quieting the next. The sting of it cleared Fayt's head enough to allow in an intelligent thought: since when had he been able to sneak up on Albel? Never. Albel surely knew he was there even if he gave no indication of it. He veered off onto a side street and then through a heavy iron gate and Fayt followed.
Tombstones dusted with snow resolved themselves out of the darkness. Albel threaded through them in what looked like a familiar pattern and stopped before a pair of graves. Fayt was too far away to read the names on the headstones, but he could take an educated guess.
He felt suddenly embarrassed, catching Albel in a personal moment like this. He really doesn't know I followed him, Fayt thought. I don't think he would have come here if he did.
Careful to be quiet, Fayt retreated back to the gate and wrestled with a moment of indecision. In the end, his guilt for following Albel couldn't overcome his concern or his curiosity and he made his way back through the cemetery, purposefully making noise this time. Albel turned in his direction with a sinister gleam in his eyes.
"What are you doing here?"
"Sorry," Fayt said. He came to a hesitant halt, far enough away that he could retreat if Albel really didn't want him here. "I saw you leave and I just wondered where you were going."
It was too dark to read Albel's expression, but the Glyphian turned his back without a word. It felt like a dismissal.
"Do you…want me to go?"
No response. No sound at all save the wailing wind. It whipped Albel's hair tails about and made Fayt's eyes sting. The sound of it ate up the silence between them and Fayt edged away. He shouldn't be here in the first place.
"No, stay," Albel said. He spoke so softly Fayt barely heard him. "Talk. It'll keep me awake."
Coherent thoughts were having trouble taking root in Fayt's brain at the moment, but the significance of that statement snagged his attention just long enough to get itself filed away for later. The snow crunched beneath his feet as he came closer, close enough to lean forward and read the names on the headstones. Fortunately for his health, he wasn't quite plastered enough to comment on them. He was little drunk, not completely stupid. Not once had Albel mentioned his parents or the incident with the dragon, but it was common knowledge in Airyglyph and Fayt had heard about it second hand. Looking back over at Albel, he said, "Well…why don't you tell me more about the solstice. When is it?"
"Five days from now. It's the shortest day and longest night of the year."
Fayt hugged himself and rubbed his arms to warm them, shifting his feet to keep his blood going as the wind gusted. "We have a winter holiday on Earth called Christmas. At least it's a winter holiday in the Northern Hemisphere. It's a big deal, lots of decorations and good food and presents."
"That would never do in Airyglyph. We don't flaunt defiance in winter's face. She has a way of biting back. So we keep things understated out of respect for what she can do. The solstice is a bad luck night. Most people will spend it indoors with their families." Then, out of nowhere, Albel looked straight at him and said far too casually, "Do you know how to kill night mares?"
"Night…mares?" Fayt shook his head. Bad idea, it made him dizzy. The cold was getting to him, too, so he huddled closer to Albel and got a derisive sneer in response. "Next time we all get together, it'll be someplace warm," Fayt said. "Maybe Hyda IV. I'll bury you in the sand." He snickered. "And buy you polka dotted swim trunks." As soon as that image got into his head there was no stopping the giggles that followed. He clutched Albel's arm and bent nearly double trying to catch his breath as he pictured Albel frolicking in the surf. Frolicking!
Finally Albel fisted a hand in Fayt's shirt and hauled him back up. Fayt choked on his own laughter. Their faces were so close. If he only leaned in a little, they would be kissing. Then Albel shoved him away again and said, "I'm surprised Fittir would let you drink the way he worries over you."
All at once, Fayt toppled from his giddy high and fell into concern. "Albel…why aren't you sleeping? You didn't sleep last night either."
Albel shut down. He turned away and started to leave. Their rapport was broken, the wall was back up, but Fayt wasn't going to let it happen again. He grabbed Albel's arm. "I'm just trying to help, you know. Why do you do this? Why do you advertise to everyone that something's bothering you then refuse to talk about it? What, do you just like to see me worry?"
Albel was very still. If Fayt had been operating at full capacity, he might have realized it was the stillness of a snake about to strike.
"Or do you just like the attention? I don't get you. You think just because you've had it rough, it gives you a license to be a jackass to your friends. I'm sick of it. It wouldn't kill you to tell me things. That's what friends do, dummy."
When Albel struck it wasn't fast, but slow, almost a caress as he slid close and raised his claws to close around the cold, soft flesh of Fayt's throat. Those claws tightened, painful, but it was Albel's words that cut him.
"I am not your friend."
This delivered in an even voice and with such easy conviction that Fayt's heart dropped and whatever else he'd been about to say died right there. Albel shoved him and the backs of his knees hit Glou Nox's tombstone and he tumbled over it, ending up on his back in the snow with his legs in the air.
By the time he scrambled up, he was in an absolute huff and Albel was already nothing more than a dim, fading shape moving away in the night. "I don't know why I even bother with you!" Fayt called after him.
He stood there long enough to make sure he wouldn't run into Albel when he got back, shivering violently with the snow melting down the back of his shirt. He practically ran back to the castle. Not exactly clear-headed to begin with, and with his energy draining fast, he managed to get lost twice in the maze of dark hallways before finally stumbling upon his room. The moment he got in he collapsed face first on the bed and was asleep within the minute.
Fayt slept deep, and his dreams were nothing but fragmented nonsense that he wouldn't remember upon waking. Even when his internal clock began to chime and tell him he'd slept too many hours, still he drifted in a languor between sleep and consciousness. In this twilight of the mind, he felt or imagined he felt someone leaning on his bed and calling his name, imagined it was Albel, imagined he ought to take back what he'd said in the cemetery. He reached up and circled an arm around Albel's neck and pulled him down, not because he was feeling at all frisky but because he wanted to apologize and didn't want to sit up to do it.
Then he noticed that whoever he had about the neck lacked Albel's long hair tails. It was short hair he felt. For the second time in as many days, he was surprised to hear Cliff's voice close to his ear. "Having a good dream are we?"
Fayt clawed the rest of the way out of his mild hangover-sleep and peeled his eyes open to see he'd managed to pull Cliff half way on top of him. His head felt stuffed with cotton and he just couldn't muster the energy to be embarrassed. A glance over Cliff's shoulder revealed sunlight shining around the edges of the heavy drapes, providing just enough light to see by. Cliff had left the door slightly ajar; from beyond it came the muffled sounds of a castle bustling with its daily business. "Ugh. Cliff, what are you doing here?"
"Getting molested, apparently."
"Do you have to talk so loud?"
Cliff smirked and rested his weight on his elbows, lowering his voice to a deep, pleasing rumble that vibrated against Fayt's chest in a not at all unpleasant sensation. "Headache, huh?"
After taking stock of his condition, Fayt rubbed his eyes with one hand. "Not really. Just groggy." He got his arms up over his head and stretched, arching his back, and he still couldn't be bothered to care that Cliff had settled on top of him like he planned to make a day of it. It was keeping him warm if nothing else. Besides, it was Cliff. The man would flirt with a brick wall.
Which reminds me…
"Y'know," he said, frowning, "you got awfully grabby last night."
At least Cliff had the decency to look sheepish. "Uh…yeah, I was kinda hoping you wouldn't remember that. I don't usually get that drunk. Sorry."
"You'll have to apologize to Nel for the same reason. And Mirage."
Cliff winced. "Believe me, Mirage'll make me pay for it." All the humor drained out of his expression then. Fayt could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen Cliff look so serious. "But listen, kid, I really am sorry. There's no excuse for it. I should know how to keep my hands to myself."
Fayt blinked up at Cliff and grappled for words, surprised to find the Klausian more upset about this than he was himself. That, and he never did know how to relate to Serious Cliff. It simply didn't come up that often. In a way, it threw him for a loop even more than Albel at his worst. But last night he'd been loose, not as drunk as Cliff but pleasantly buzzed. He remembered the laughter getting louder as the night went on, the view getting hazier, and he remembered hands that roamed a little too freely.
But he had to smile. Wasn't it just like Cliff to apologize for feeling him up while lying on top of him. "It's all right, Cliff, really."
"It's not."
"I wasn't that upset about it to begin with." He shifted, suddenly uncomfortable as embarrassment stirred for the first time. This would be a good time for Cliff to make a joke or do something…Cliff-like that would restore their usual camaraderie. Instead, a silence stretched between them during which Fayt couldn't quite meet Cliff's eyes. Feeling awkward, he searched for something to focus on and settled his gaze upon the green lines circling the Klausian's neck. They were close enough that he could feel Cliff's breath feathering against his cheek as he searched for a graceful way to change the subject.
Then the door squeaked open the rest of the way and Albel stepped in.
Anyone else, Fayt thought, his face growing hot with something close to guilt as he peered around Cliff's muscular arm at Albel. Literally anyone else would have been better. Luther himself would have been better. And of course Cliff just had to flash a smirk over one shoulder and press himself even closer against Fayt. I swear I could just kill him.
Albel's face betrayed nothing but the usual default disdain. Somehow that made it worse. "Peppita wanted to know what was taking you two so long." One eyebrow lifted in an elegant arc as he cocked his head to the side. "I'll tell her you need another fifteen minutes." He slammed the door on his way out.
"You sure you don't wanna join us, Alby?" Cliff shouted.
Fayt barely heard the exchange. He was too busy replaying the exchange in the cemetery. He'd broken the rules, stepped over the line. Interacting with Albel was a constant chess match, one he thought he'd been winning recently, but last night he'd overturned the chessboard and scattered the pieces everywhere. And now he had to clean it all up.
He pressed both hands over his face and groaned. "This is not good."
"I'll say. Albel thinks I can't last more than fifteen minutes."
Fayt took his hands away from his face so he could roll his eyes. "That's not really what I was talking about."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. You really should get up now, though. Peppita sent me up here to get you in the first place. You promised her we'd all go out shopping today, and if you make her wait much longer she's liable to bust up in here and start jumping on the bed. How are you feeling, now?"
After a thorough assessment of his physical state, Fayt said, "I have to pee really bad."
"In that case, I think I'll get off now, thanks." After he got up, Cliff threw the drapes and Fayt winced at the harsh light that flooded the room. "We'll be waiting downstairs. Try to have some coffee or something."
The first thing Fayt did after Cliff closed the door behind him was stagger over to the curtains with one hand shielding his face and close out that awful sunlight. All of his clothes were still stuffed in his travel pack, so after he splashed some cold water on his face at the washbasin in the corner, he rummaged around for something warm to wear. On top of his other clothes was a folded white T-shirt too clean to be anything of his.
Curious, he lifted it up and unfolded it then busted out laughing. I love the UP3 was written in red letters across the chest.
Cliff. This's definitely from Cliff. So the Airyglyph solstice gift giving had officially begun. He had some catching up to do.
Before anymore unexpected visitors could drop by, he got himself ready and made a quick trip to the privy. He'd really have to introduce the Glyphians to advanced plumbing technology and the UP3 be damned. He even had time to duck into the kitchen and gulp down a mug of tea before joining the others at the entrance to the castle.
The first thing he noticed as he made his way down the stairs was Woltar standing just inside the door and engaging Albel in quiet conversation. Albel was scowling at whatever Woltar was saying, but as Fayt approached the group the two of them separated and Woltar took his leave of them after a polite nod to Fayt.
On their way down the snowy street to the market, Fayt drew up beside Albel. Time to repair the damage from last night. "When did Woltar get here?"
"This morning, while you were sleeping."
"And how did you sleep?" Not well, from the look of him. Not at all was more likely. His eyes lacked their usual sharpness and they had dark circles beneath them. He moved like his limbs were heavy.
"That's no business of yours," Albel said, but even that lacked any real bite.
Ahead of them the others marched along their merry way, talking back and forth, and Fayt lowered his voice. "I'm sorry about last night." He looked straight ahead. If he turned and saw those red eyes piercing through him or else looking away and ignoring him completely he might lose his nerve. "I was just…out of it. I didn't know what I was saying. And I know you didn't mean what you said either."
"Oh, you know that do you?"
Fayt stopped. Albel continued on a couple of steps before he stopped as well and looked Fayt in the eyes. The uncomfortable silence grew until Albel broke it. "I meant what I said."
After that they didn't walk together, didn't even look at each other. Albel walked on one side of the street, Peppita chattering happily at him, and Fayt walked on the other. He wasn't sulking—he was too old for that—but he was close to it. Albel the Wicked? he thought. Albel the Stubborn. Albel the stupidhead who won't accept help when it's offered. Albel the Jerk.
Okay, maybe he was sulking a little bit.
They all came to a stop before the outfitter's shop, the Glyphian citizens parting around them in the street, going about the day's errands. With a magician-like flourish, Peppita whipped out a black marker. "I already know what I'm giving all of you! Autographs! Things are going so well with troupe, now, these'll be priceless! You first, Fayt!" She whirled him around so she could sign his shirt at the small of his back, just as she had when they first met, and he laughed out loud. Either she didn't understand or didn't care for the idea of subtle gifts. Probably a little of both.
No one said a thing, not so much as a peep of dissent. Why fight a battle you were sure to lose? They were getting autographs and that was that. Cliff got his bicep signed, then Maria her holster. Sophia had Peppita sign the staff of the Sacred Ether, for luck in battle she said. Mirage and Nel both got autographs on their clothing. Then it was Albel's turn.
"You are not writing on my clothes," he said, crossing his arms as if he thought that was the final word on the subject.
"Okay!" Without even a pause, Peppita bent and started scribbling on his bare stomach.
Pin-drop silence. Fayt would've sworn he could actually hear the circuitry in Albel's head frying. Absurdly, he wished he had a camera with him, for the look on Albel's face was one he'd never seen before and would never see again. Before that moment he would have said no one in creation could put such an expression of shocked paralysis on Albel Nox's face. And in the end, what did it take to render the swordsman motionless and speechless? A fifteen year old girl with a common black marker.
Cliff busted out laughing as Peppita straightened and popped the cap back on the marker. That was the cue for everyone to avert their eyes and search for something else to be interested in. Sophia tugged at Maria's sleeve and they shuffled away stifling smiles. Mirage and Nel retreated too, continuing down the market street together.
When Cliff had himself under control, he sidled up to Fayt but his eyes were all for Nel and Mirage. The two walked on talking quietly to one another. "Now that is a beautiful sight," Cliff said. "I think I'll just join them." He gave Fayt a clap on the shoulder before going after them and calling over his shoulder, "Good luck cleaning up this mess."
Albel still hadn't moved. His eyes were awfully big and Fayt just hoped Albel wouldn't have a stroke from the effort of not killing something.
"Uh…Albel?" Best not to get too close, not if he wanted to keep his head.
"She…she…!" He was livid, red in the face, and he threw his hands up as he glared at his own stomach.
Fayt sighed. "I know. Just…try to have a sense of humor about it, okay?"
"But…look at what the little twit did to me!"
That's what Fayt had been trying not to do because he knew he'd laugh, but he forgot himself and his eyes strayed down to Peppita's messy signature and a smiley face with Albel's belly button as the nose. Laughter welled up—how could it not?—and Fayt tried to suppress it and ended up making a lovely choking cough sound.
Albel's eyes—his tired eyes; even now they looked so tired—narrowed at once. "Are you laughing? Laugh again and I'll kill you. Now I'll have to wear something that covers my stomach!"
Here was a good opening to ask about something Fayt had always been curious about. "Why do you dress that way?"
"What way?" Albel said. The tone of his voice just begged for an excuse to get violent. "In what way do I dress?"
"Uh…well…" Maybe this wasn't such a safe subject. Did Albel really not notice his own odd style? You dress like a rentboy on working night, was what came to Fayt's mind, an observation worthy of Cliff Fittir if ever there was one, but what he said was, "Y'know what? Never mind. I've no idea what I was talking about."
He got a derisive snort in response as Albel stalked away back toward the castle, presumably to put on something more concealing.
Fayt sighed and looked around. Peppita was still there and when he began to wander along the snowy streets of the markets she fell in beside him.
"Was that really necessary?" he asked. The hangover headache that eluded him earlier was starting to pound at his temples now. He needed a vacation from his friends. Already.
"It's good for him! He's been too broody lately." She cast her eyes about the open stalls and the windows of the shops, bright and happy, and he wished he could leech some of that good cheer from her "You have to admit one thing. For a few minutes there, it made him forget about whatever's bothering him."
With Peppita's help he picked out gifts for each of his friends. For Sophia a simple hair ribbon and for Nel a whetstone upon which she could sharpen her daggers. He despaired of finding anything for Mirage until Peppita pointed out a tiny figure of Dirna carved of wood. Maria's was difficult too, but he settled on little bag of hard candy that he new she liked. He'd already decided that for Cliff he'd take a cue from an old Earth Christmas fancy and give him a couple lumps of coal. Two could play the humorous gift game, and Cliff was on the bad list so far anyway.
Peppita elicited a promise from him that very first thing he'd do when rejoined the civilized part of the galaxy was watch her troupe perform and claimed that as her gift. Which left Albel.
He'd seen nothing so far that caught his eye and he had nothing in mind either. It was with the hope that the right gift would cross his path that he wandered from shop to shop. Peppita waved any number of random and bizarre gift choices before him, but this gift had to be right and it had to be something he found.
As it turned out he didn't find it in a shop at all, but laying atop a silversmith's cart in the street outside the inn. The vendor had put a plank over the top of his cart to act as a countertop upon which to display his pieces, and Fayt's eyes went immediately to a simple silver chain with a small medallion on the end of it. When he looked closer, he saw the medallion was actually a stylized canine head. Elegant and fierce-looking, it reminded him of a wolf.
Peppita had wandered off, but as Fayt paid for this final purchase Cliff, Nel, and Mirage rounded a corner down the street. The girls were carrying nothing but had laden Cliff down like a pack mule. Fayt met them halfway.
"I see you found a few things," Mirage said. "Cliff will carry them for you."
The Klausian in question affected a long-suffering look. "Am I nothing but a pair of finely sculpted arms useful for carrying heavy objects to you two?"
"Serves you right," Nel said, and she gave him a little pat on the rear that was so condescending and such perfect justice that Fayt had to laugh, especially with the expression of surprise on Cliff's face.
"We're heading back to the castle, now," Mirage said. As they walked away, she added, "Don't take too long Cliff. You and I are going to have a little sparring session when you get back."
Cliff waited until they were out of sight, then stacked the parcels and bags on the ground and stretched. "Have you seen Albel since the autograph incident?" When Fayt shook his head, Cliff went on. "Well I have. He asked me something about night mares. I thought you might know what's up."
"He asked me something like that last night. He must really want an answer if he asked you."
"Well, he's worked it into a conversation with just about everybody today. I don't think anyone had a real answer for him."
Fayt rubbed his hands together. He'd forgotten gloves and he was feeling the cold now. He looked up and down the street, but didn't see Albel anywhere. "I don't think he's slept the last two nights but he won't tell me anything." Night mares. Nightmares. Albel's bad dreams sometimes woke him up—though he deny that with his dying breath—but they never stopped him from sleeping What made this different, then? "I give him every opportunity, but it's like nothing's changed since the day we met. And the last couple days he seems…"
"Batshit?"
"I would've said troubled." He scowled down at his hands, trying to rub sensation back into his numb fingers and thinking how much easier it would be if he didn't have to tread so lightly around Albel's psyche.
"You should've worn gloves," Cliff said. He caught Fayt's hands in his own and breathed warmth upon them. He kept hold of them, massaging feeling back into the cold skin. "Don't give up on Albel just yet. Keep at him. I admit, I don't see what you get from him but aggravation, but you're the one who's always told me there's more to it than that. Just give him time."
Fayt nodded slowly and thought about that—about the necessity of patience when dealing with Albel—and let Cliff warm his hands. There came footsteps crunching in the snow from behind him, and he didn't even need to turn around to see who it was. The way his luck was pulling today, it could only be one person.
"If you can peel yourselves off one another," Albel said, "the king has invited you all to sup with him at the evening meal."
"You're not coming too?" Fayt said. Cliff had let go his hands and was busy gathering up his various bags, boxes, and packages.
"I have better things to do," Albel said. He'd put on a long, heavy cloak, but as he shifted to rest his metal hand upon the hilt of his sword, Fayt saw that it was not the Crimson Scourge on Albel's hip. Odd. Before he could do more than note the sword's absence, Albel swept away down the street, not toward the castle but toward the mountains.
"Wait, where are you going?" Fayt started after him, but when Albel didn't answer or cast a look back, Fayt slowed then stopped. He watched Albel walk away down the main street of Airyglyph and out onto the bridge that would take him into the Traum Mountains. A sense of foreboding compelled him to follow, but what would that get him? Nothing but a death glare and some barbed words.
(I'm not your friend.)
"You coming or going?" Cliff said.
Sometimes intuition wasn't strong enough. Sometimes the rationale had to be there too. "Coming," he said. "It wouldn't do any good to bother him now."
"Let me carry your bag."
All the little gifts Fayt had bought barely filled up one little bag, but still he raised both eyebrows interrogatively. "Your hands are full."
Cliff opened his mouth and Fayt slipped the handle of the bag between his teeth, smiling but not feeling any real humor. His thoughts were with Albel, out there alone in the mountains.
Five hours later, Fayt's thoughts were still with Albel. He sat with his elbows on the windowsill and his head propped in his hands, watching the streets below. It had been dark for awhile and Albel had not yet returned. It didn't take any arguing with himself to reach a decision this time.
He spared only enough time to grab a coat—and gloves this time— before heading down to the castle entrance. Cliff was just coming in, massaging the small of his back and looking like he'd been through the fight with Luther all over again.
"Sparring?" Fayt asked, allowing himself a grin.
"I'm officially done apologizing. Where's the skirt?"
"He never got back. I'm going out to look for him." But as Fayt passed by, Cliff grabbed his arm.
"You know there's nothing out there that can take him. He's fine."
"I know that, but I just have a bad feeling." Fayt tried to tug away and was again pulled back.
"You stay. I'll go find him," Cliff said.
If Fayt made a half-hearted attempt at a smile, it was in the belief that Cliff was surely joking. An instant later, he realized it was no joke. "What? Why?"
"I've been wanting to have a word alone with him. This is a good chance. And I'll make sure he's okay."
Snow was just beginning to drift down in the darkness beyond the open door. Cliff and Albel alone together. Albel in the grip of exhaustion. And who knew what was on Cliff's mind. Oh yes, that was an equation for pleasantness. "I don't know."
"C'mon. I promise I won't call him Alby." And so it was decided for him. Cliff left him with quick wink and a smile. It was all meant to be reassuring, but as Fayt stood in the open door and watched Cliff disappear, he felt an indescribable melancholy. Then he realized what it was, and why they had all had such trouble reconnecting. Whatever it was that had kept them together, made them a team, made them all one, it just wasn't as strong anymore He'd expected it to be like it was a year ago, but they couldn't go back to that. There was no going back.
We can only go forward, he thought. Try not to kill each other. Get out whatever you need to say but try not to kill each other.
AN: Whoo, it's been a long time, huh? Sorry about that. Real life got in the way. You know how it is.
So I guess you can tell I also like CliffxFayt, huh? I like to amuse myself by imagining what might have happened if Albel hadn't walked in. This chapter went through three drafts. Originally, the graveyard scene took place inside and was much more lighthearted, but that wasn't working so it got revised into what you see here. The shopping thing provided one last opportunity to inject a little humor into the story before things get really bad.
Fayt's T-shirt is supposed to be with a lesser than sign and a 3, y'know like to form a heart? So it would have been "I (heart) the UP3" but ff.n's weird formatting doesn't like the lesser than sign and wouldn't show it, so it had to be "love". There was no real reason for me to tell you this, except that it irritated me and I wanted to point out how it was supposed to be.
Next chapter: do I even need to say it? Violence, yo.
