A/N: Recommended reading for this chapter: CrimsonCobweb's "Fur Beneath Her Fingertips," from which this scenario is based (with permission.) It is a delicious fic, especially for ZxD fans, so stop right now and go read it. Then come back and read this. Thanks Crimson!
The trip across the plains had been particularly arduous that day: gloomy rain, mud, sticky grass and persistent monsters flooded their path, and sometimes their own blood mixed with the zaghnols' and griffins'. Steiner had a grimy linen bandage around his elbow to attest to that.
In the evening the sky finally broke, steely clouds burning away like embers in the sunset, and in the respite the party decided to start a campfire and cook a hearty meal to lift their spirits.
Eiko sat Steiner down to change his bandage (the stalwart knight declined any "unnecessary fuss" at first, but even he was overwhelmed by the imperious little summoner.) Zidane stalked away to patrol the area (he had been keeping to himself all evening, which was strange for the vivacious boy, but given the long day no one blamed him.) Garnet was already gone, having volunteered to wash laundry at a nearby stream, and Quina had bounded off to accompany her, leaving Freya to tend to the meat that Amarant laid at her feet in big, sloppy chops, his clawed arms dipped to the hilt in butcher's ink ("Bon appetite, rat," he announced with the most amicable sneer she'd ever seen.)
Vivi helped start the fire and set up the spit, though before anything was properly cooked Quina blundered back to the scene, huffing and puffing over their makeshift kitchen until Freya stepped back and let the Qu take over. Steiner eventually realized that without Quina, Her Highness was unaccounted for, and he tore into the brush in quest of her, ignoring Eiko's admonishments.
Supper was ready when Steiner returned with the princess in tow, a coy smile tingeing her cheeks and the laundry in her charge curiously absent. Freya might've made a prying remark on her appearance until Eiko interrupted with a question about Zidane's whereabouts, punting the dragon knight's thought clean out of her head.
The seven settled down to eat, and the missing link arrived with the laundry just as daylight receded. Eiko let Zidane have an earful for letting his portion get cold. Freya was more intrigued by the way his shirt and breeches carried more water than the clothes he was hanging in a tree to finish drying.
"Why are you soaked?"
"I was takin' a bath," Zidane answered briskly, busy with a heavy green shirt that draped from its limb like an oversized leaf.
"You were taking a bath," Freya bounced back, no mistaking her skepticism.
"Yeah," he asserted. Garnet doubled over, her face cupped in her hands with what Freya could swear was a giggle. Steiner's armor rustled belligerently, the stern line of his jaw preaching disbelief. Eiko cawed, "Hah! Zidane wouldn't be caught dead near a bath!"
When the thief elected not to dignify that outburst, Freya pressed him. "You. A bath."
"Yes." For someone rarely serious, he was an expert at acting so.
"In your clothes."
"Yeah, wanna make somethin' of it?" It was a mirthful challenge, though his tail jerked irritably, and just beneath the facade was a testy nerve that nobody was in the mood to pluck.
"Certainly not," Freya yielded, and the subject changed to the weather.
"There's lightning," Amarant spoke from his throne of shadows, gesturing with a subtle nod towards the eastern horizon. Everyone paused and squinted until the apparition repeated itself, a distant thunderhead shimmering like a cymbal.
"It's not supposed to rain again," Eiko proclaimed, her hands on her dainty hips with an air of pretension. "My grandpa said that if the sky is red when the sun sets it's going to be clear all night. Sailors went by it all the time."
"Looks like a storm is sailing this way. So much for that," the bounty hunter scoffed, and Eiko stomped in his direction.
"Are you calling my grandpa a liar?!" Freya imagined her fists balled into tiny white knots beneath her plum red sleeves.
"I read a similar adage in a book once," Garnet offered, pacifying the argument.
"Are we going to sleep outside again?" Vivi asked warily.
"We'll keep our tents up, just in case," Freya declared with a bout of authority that she wasn't self-conscious of until after she said it. The camp exchanged apprehensive nods, not questioning her anyway. They had already erected their tents hours ago, while it was drizzling, and no one had the energy left to pack them up, besides.
Zidane finished his chore and stepped into their circle, whistling and bright as usual, any sullen temper behind him. "I hope it doesn't rain; all that wash will get wet again."
--
Thunder rolled over the plains like a hell-bound caravan, dumping its torrential payload on flowers and trees already swamped by the day's summer showers. It turned out to be a blustery, inert storm, all grumbling and hissing without any wind to carry out the bluff. Flat-footed rain tried to trample the group's huddling of tents, and bolts of light occasionally cracked their feeble attempts at slumber. It was a miserable end to a dreary, bruise-ridden day, and all anyone could do was stay as dry as possible while waiting for peace and rest.
Zidane stretched over the dank floor of Freya's tent (there wasn't a second thought anymore; they were tent-mates out of habit), his lean shape conforming to the narrow, steepled corners. He rested his head on his arms and began to idly comb the tip of his tail between his bare toes, bored stiff. The dragon knight was also restless, though self-disciplined enough to sit still as she watched out the flap of the tent. Rain sounded monotonously all around, though once in a while she could see it as well, in fickle, booming starbursts.
He was about to ask what could possibly fascinate a Burmecian about a rainstorm, but then her body language drew his attention. She knelt almost prostrate to the ground, propped on her elbows with her hands folded around her knees. Her gaze was locked timorously on the outdoors, and with every celestial quake her whole body would shrink an inch, eyes flaring wide and ears slicking back. She would recover with aching slowness, ears gradually swiveling high and forward at full alert, until the next stroke of lightning knocked them down again.
Once he realized what was going on, his laughter almost eclipsed the thunder. "Ah, hahaha, hahahahaha!"
Through the turbulent half-light he saw her head jerk over her shoulder and aim a glare at him. "What's so funny?" Her voice retained its usual poise despite her cowering posture.
"You, you... ahaha!" He struggled with his inflamed sense of humor until he'd harnessed enough breath to spit out, "You're scared of thunder!"
He could almost see the hair on her ears stand up like pins, and her words wavered on a screech. "I am certainly not!"
"Oh yeah?" Zidane abruptly sat up. "Look me in the eye and tell me you're not."
The slandered dragon knight picked herself up, taking the bait. She leveled a searing glare at the boy's teasing smirk and began to spit, "How dare you--"
The atmosphere split with an unholy clatter, the sound fierce enough to rattle the tent's flimsy supports. Freya ducked to the ground so fast she could've left a smoke trail. Thunder blasted again in a swift encore, and if any of the others were riled from their tents, Zidane couldn't notice over the embarrassingly effeminate squeal his companion emitted.
He took one look at her, cringing in the dirt with her hands clapped around her ears, and collapsed like a house of cards, limbs thrashing in every direction. The impossible image broke something fundamental in him: Freya Crescent, the cultured, sensible, impeccable voice of reason, laid low like a timid little mouse.
By thunder. "Ahahahaha!"
Eventually the outdoor din subsided, until only the rain and Zidane's crude cackling filled the air. She scooped up her wits and glowered at him.
"Maybe I am," she tersely conceded, "But you don't have to be such a boar about it! And quit flopping around before you knock the whole tent down!"
His crowing didn't relent. "Oh man, I'm gonna tell everyone."
"By the gods' blood you'll tell no one!"
"Everyone. Ahah, I'm going to tell them you sound just like an itty bitty titmouse when you're frigh--mrmph!"
Freya sprang across the tent and smothered his big fat mouth--with a blanket, failing a pillow (a luxury they had to ditch many nights ago.) Zidane sputtered and flailed under the onslaught, pinned to the floor by the weight of her outrage, and his tail slapped her thigh to no avail. As a last resort he spouted through the thin fabric, "Ack-hahak--I can--still breathe, you know!"
She ripped the blanket away, setting him free with a disgusted grunt, and the boy floundered through a few more wheezing laughs, finally running out of wind. He rolled over and pasted his hands to his sides, reigning in his hysteria with some deep gulps of air. "Ow, ahaha, oh my ribs, I laughed so hard it hurt."
"Serves you right. Are you quite done?" Freya asked peevishly.
He settled at last, tail wrapping loosely around his ankles, and wiped the tears from his eyes. "Okay, okay. Seriously, I, ahaha, what? Thunder? Are you kidding me? Doesn't it rain constantly where you're from?"
"Yes, rain, never storms!" she petulantly explained. Burmecia truly didn't know the sound of thunder; its perpetual rainfall was as much a blessing as it was a curse, that way.
"Never?" He still couldn't believe it. It was a chink in her armor, a little paradox in her headstrong, independent nature. It was totally ridiculous. "You've never seen lightning before, not in your whole life." It was almost charming, really.
"Of course I've seen it before, you dullard. Just never this close!" A rumble overhead pinched her with a shiver, and he merely chuckled at her misery. 'Insensitive jerk!'
His tone mellowed, reasoning. "It's nothing to be scared of, y'know. It's just bright and noisy. I mean seriously, you have more of a chance of an air cab dropping out of the sky and crushing you in your sleep than you do of being struck by lightning. Unless you decide to run out there and wave your spear around like a lunatic, I guess. Metal poles tend to attract electricity."
"Don't lecture me like a child on this!" she bit back, no taste for his condescension.
"Well you're acting like one!" he chortled, still making light of her humiliation.
Refusing to take that, Freya turned away, tuning him out. Ahead of her, a film of rain glossed the opening in their tent's flap. Behind her, the thief appealed, "Aw com'on, don't be like that. I didn't mean to laugh that hard. You don't have to be ashamed of anything. It's no big deal, y'know?"
Freya sniffed indignantly. She didn't have to listen to the likes of that from the likes of him. She didn't need anyone's cheap consolation to deal with a thunderstorm. It was just another obstacle, like a monster, or a high wall, or a rough mountain trail, and if she couldn't overcome it, she'd simply bear it and grow stronger on her own. She always did.
At length Zidane sighed, a small, defeated sound. "Fine then. You can look out for lightning all night if you want, but I'm exhausted. I'm going to sleep."
--
The rain didn't disperse, nor the thunder, though both faded into the background enough to lull the campers into an uneasy sleep. Freya dreamed of the gods snoring in the clouds. Reis reached from her majestic altar to brush her arm, and then twice, and then on the third time she started to think something might be strange, though instead of enquiring she woke up.
Haphazard fingers skittered across her wrist, and Freya realized the interruption was less divine and more critical. She looked for her tent-mate and found him in an unconscious tantrum, digging his toes in the ground and grasping for invisible purchase with his hands. His eyes were screwed shut and his lips quivered in a raging dream.
Freya considered his state for a long minute, and whether breaking his nightmare would be safer than letting him ride it out. Waking up naturally would be the best thing, she supposed, but--
The dream took an ominous turn, a plaintive wail rising from his throat. A spasm kicked his tail, his legs started to churn the air and his hands clawed erratically at nothing. Freya decided to put a stop to it before he inadvertently punched her in the nose or something, but the instant she grabbed his shoulders Zidane railed against her, swinging at his unseen enemies with heightened vigor. Suddenly she was wrestling against all his desperate might, and when the boy started screaming, "No, no! No!! Help!! Oh gods, help me!!" Freya was chilled to the core.
"Zidane!!" She pooled her strength into her legs and shoved him back to the ground, butting his head against the floor with excessive force. He twitched all over and then finally stopped.
Everything grew still. Freya thought even the rain hesitated, but when she exhaled it was there, applauding the muttering thunder. She couldn't hear anything beyond, in the other tents; seems their scuffle went unnoticed. At a loss for what to do now, she squatted on her congealing thoughts.
What just happened? Was he attacking her? Defending himself? Was he even aware? He must have been dreaming the whole thing. She never knew Zidane to be afflicted with sleepwalking, nor night terrors. Maybe it was stress? From what? Why wasn't he moving? Did he go back to sleep? Did she tackle him too hard? What if she'd knocked the life out of him?
To her relief, the body beneath her shifted, breathing raggedly. A sunken, bewildered look turned up to her. "Freya...?"
She swallowed. "Yes, it's me. Are you okay?"
Zidane croaked something unintelligible and threw himself at her, burying his face in her shoulder. Freya rocked back on her haunches and accepted the strange bundle, too stunned to react otherwise. He was trembling and he smelled like sweat and he clung to her like a sticker bush as he started prattling, "I was, I was trapped, in the Iifa Tree, and nobody could hear me and all those roots were coming after me and I couldn't get out, and I, it felt so real. I was alone. Gods, I was so alone..."
Freya's heart melted. He was fine, and stupid, but fine--or simply stupid, and she felt a little dumber just touching him, but for once it was a good feeling. She tucked him in her arms and rested her chin on his head, whispering dulcetly, "Shh, no more. You're not alone. It was just a dream. Nothing to be scared of, like thunder, right?"
Now he was the one being patronized like a child, and he snickered at the irony. "Ahaha. Good one." He sniffled and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. "Augh. I'm sorry."
For what? For waking her? For scaring the wits out of her? For getting snot on her blouse? For laughing at her earlier?
It really didn't matter anymore. She patted his hair. "I know."
He sighed and reclined in her lap, savoring her maternal comfort just a moment longer. Freya stewed in the benign silence. It was funny; Zidane was almost bearable like this. Quiet, submissive... vulnerable. On second thought, it didn't suit him at all.
Then she noticed the cause of his ailing disposition, the alarming heat radiating from his skin, and she swept the back of her hand over his brow to confirm it. "You're burning up!"
He blinked numbly. "Uh? Naw."
A proper scolding surfaced in her tone. "Yes, you dolt."
"Oh," he uttered with bland surprise, as if she had just made some casual observation on the weather or last year's tomato crop. "Go figure. I am feelin' kinda... swarmy." He grimaced. "That's not the right word, is it?"
"I don't think that's a word at all."
"Okay." He lolled out of her arms, taking drowsy hold of the floor. "Mmm, just lemme sleep it off."
"No! It'll take just a minute to get you some gods-honest medicine." She untangled their limbs and left him in a heap on top of the blanket. "Park it right there."
"Totally not going anywhere," spoke the disheveled lump, and he made no move to correct his lopsided position as Freya lit a small lamp, set it on the ground at the rear of the tent and ferreted through her travel bag.
She fished for clues as well as medicine (Eiko's herb-hunting skills proved invaluable, especially for mixing potions), wondering what could've invited this illness. She then recalled an inane story fed to her hours ago.
"How DID you get soaked earlier, anyway? And no rubbish about bathing." She shot him a second, cross look. "And quit sitting like a chimp with its head stuck up its bum. Lie down like a human being."
"Oh." His thighs hit the floor with a thump, his every word and action drunk with malaise--compliant in a distinctly addled, lazy way. "Had an accident, doin' the laundry," he admitted, remarkably candid--perhaps also out of laziness.
"I don't want to know what a 'laundry accident' entails."
He stared into space with a guileless, lame grin, and when he didn't elaborate, she snipped, "What are you so happy about?"
"...Dagger made a pass at me."
Freya leaned across the blanket and tested his forehead again. "You must really be ill; you're delirious."
He bunted her arm away. "A gentleman never kisses and tells," he said roguishly.
"That's why you're about to tell me everything, isn't it?" A scandalous, intrigued side of the woman repressed the snide edge to her tone, prompting him instead. She was afraid she actually wanted to hear this.
"It wasn't me this time!" He wasted no time setting up his defense, his speech suddenly lively and a healthy blush painting over the sick one. "I swear to Hades I was being good. I was helping her with the laundry, we had a nice little chat..." He rolled the words on his wrist for emphasis. "I go to walk away and BAM: she, she grabs it."
Freya mussed up her brow, disconcerted already. "It?"
"Yeah, you know, my... my tail," he stammered weakly, and Freya could've hit the floor for reading him correctly. Dagger did what? To his what? And what's more, Zidane Tribal, acting uncomfortable? About his tail? The word "shy" nearly darted across her mind, but the thought might've made her explode, and she was trying to handle delicate chemicals. She'd seen enough strange sides of him tonight to fill a scrapbook, but this was by far the most bizarre.
He thankfully misinterpreted her astonishment. "I know, unbelievable, right? She didn't warn me or anything--just started petting it, like a cat or something. And I'm trying to sort it out in my head, like, why would she do that, and what is she even thinking, but I can't get a grip on it--I'd just finished telling her not to grab it! I mean, my tail is really, ah, you know..."
"Sensitive?"
He recoiled from the less-than-manly label. "No! I mean, ah, yes. Okay, so it is. But that just makes it worse!"
"So what did you do?" Freya didn't bother hiding her fascination at this point.
"I-I was in shock at first! I didn't know what she expected me to do! But hey, if someone did that to your tail that's making a move, right? It was totally a pass--I thought it was, anyway. So what do you think I did? I passed back."
"Dear gods, you didn't..." She held a hand to her lips, checking her volume. The last thing she needed was to wake her sleeping neighbors over gossip, especially about the next queen of Alexandria.
Zidane crossed his arms with a sour grumble. "Don't worry, nothing serious happened. Captain Cockblock showed up and ruined the moment. Took her away and made me finish all that laundry by myself. Anyway, that's when I fell in the creek."
"Gee, you poor thing," Freya offered her sarcasm. "And once again the uncouth street monkey doesn't get to kiss the beautiful princess. A true tragedy if I ever heard one."
His frown inverted with a sly wink. "Who said we didn't get to kiss?"
Freya rolled her eyes, crawled closer and passed the boy a shaken vial. "Whatever, Mister Romantic. If you think I believe a word of that tall tale, your brain is already cooked. Take this for your fever, anyway."
He swallowed the herbal potion with a bitter shudder. "Geez, think you could make up a less obvious way to poison m--"
Thunder knocked loud and clear, breaking the storm's deceptive hiatus, and before Zidane even had room to curse, Freya yelped like a kicked puppy and dove for cover--right on top of him. The bombshell of light and sound disoriented them both while the heavens roiled for an agonizing minute, nibbling at the Burmecian's shattered composure.
The minute after was spent assembling her pieces of dignity and reason, and that was when Freya grew crushingly aware of how close Zidane was, his breath teasing the hair below her ear and his wild body heat kindling her cool fur like a grass fire. She froze, an uncertain, portentous buzzing under her skin and in her joints, and before she could deliberate the best way out, a furtive hand curled around her shoulder, anchoring her to the spot. He leaned in, dreadfully close, dusted her collarbone with two feather-soft, heady-warm pecks, and then pulled away as gently as if he had never moved.
Freya was struck speechless. What just--did she imagine--he just kissed her, didn't he?
Zidane kissed her. Zidane. Why? What was he trying to say? What was she supposed to think? What was his game?? Wasn't he just bragging about his little romp with Dagger? Was this even comparable to that? Was this his way of thanking her, or making fun of her again? Did he think he could get away with that??
At the lattermost (and most likely) notion she bolted up, back arched and hackles raised like a scorned cat, her hand poised to reprimand him clean across the face--for the impropriety of it all, if nothing else. However, her fury ebbed at the sight of his sallow complexion and closed eyes in the lamplight, and his slow yet heavy breathing, lost in a fit of sleep.
She nudged his arm, the claw of her thumb deliberately scraping the skin, to no reaction at all.
'He's passed out. Unbelievable.'
Freya shook her head, giving up. He could have his rest for now; she'd make him rue some other day.
Still, it tortured her, even as she burrowed under the blanket and turned in to sleep: Why?
Was she reading too much into it? Was it--gods forbid--a genuine gesture of affection? Did he feel that way about… whatever it was they had?
Friendship?
No, she ultimately concluded, it was just a dose of delirium--just a little fever, just a little crazy. She had sprinkled some sleeping weed in that medicine, after all. He probably wouldn't even remember come morning, and that was for the best.
Far and away, on the fringes of dreams and memory and behind a veil of thunderclouds, Reis agreed.