Despite having been back in residence at Rosewood, Balthier had seen rather little of Penelo, who was still recovering from childbirth. She seemed to spend a good deal of her time sleeping and healing, and the remainder of her waking hours were reserved for caring for their infant son.
Matieu had lost a bit of his pinkish, pinched-face appearance, and seemed to be settling well into his role of plump, pampered baby. He spent most of his time crying or wetting his nappies, and then crying because he'd wet his nappies. And when Penelo was asleep, Matieu was consigned to Balthier's care, primarily because he was too fascinated by the tiny infant to turn the care of him over to a nanny.
Ellie was less than enchanted by her new sibling, proclaiming him too noisy for her tastes. And, indeed, the lad had a strong set of lungs that he was not remotely shy about using at any and every opportunity. Rather than being jealous of the attention lavished upon her new sibling, Ellie simply acknowledged the infant with a brief shake of the head, as if she wasn't quite sure why her parents might've wanted to keep such a loathsome creature. Other than to remark upon his incredible aptitude for bellowing at the top of his small lungs, she deemed Matieu beneath her notice.
Vaan, Ashe, and Larsa had all been to visit the baby, and Balthier fancied that Ashe had been more enamored than the others of the infant who had squalled piteously the entire time she'd held him. As unlikely as it would seem, Ashe seemed to adore the child – likely she would have liked one of her own. He was sad for her – if anyone deserved a bit of happiness, it was Ashe. Vaan seemed to share Ellie's opinion that Matieu made a bit of a nuisance of himself. Larsa was entirely too pleased to be the namesake of Penelo's child – he was all too willing to forget that Matieu was Balthier's child as well.
Balthier felt an irrational surge of jealousy at seeing how comfortable Penelo and Larsa were with one another. Despite the fact that she'd summoned him back, they'd had no real resolution, no deep and heartfelt conversations. Perhaps it was due to the new addition to their family; perhaps it was due to his reticence to bring it up. He desperately feared that she had summoned him back only to allow him back into the lives of their children. He dreaded the thought that she might ask him to remove himself from Rosewood.
Her note had been cryptic at best – all he knew was that she had summoned him, and he had come. Now all he could do was wonder how long he would be permitted to stay.
Balthier slowly eased the door open, slipping silently into the room that housed Penelo and their son. No wails split the air, no gurgles, shrieks, or any other such noises, which meant that Matieu was likely asleep – and as long as Matieu was asleep, so too was Penelo likely to be. He had no idea how she'd managed with Ellie. Infants seemed to require much more attention than any one person could possibly give, and to think that somehow she'd managed it quite alone made him feel simultaneously awed and impressed.
As he'd thought, Matieu was sleeping soundly in his cradle, one tiny fist stuffed into his mouth. Penelo, too, was blessedly asleep, huddled beneath a mound of covers. He perched himself on the side of the bed, careful to distribute his weight evenly, lest he wake her.
She was clearly exhausted; the covers were tangled around her, her hair a tangled cloud around her face. As gently as he could, he disentangled the covers and brushed her hair back, then straightened the thin, worn nightgown she wore. As he was laying the covers back over her, she stirred, her eyebrows drawing together.
"Balthier?" she asked groggily, struggling to sit up. "Is something wrong?"
"No, nothing at all," he assured her, already regretting haven awoken her. "I simply came to…check on Matieu. And you."
"Matieu's fine," she said. "But I feel like I haven't slept in months." She scooted back, resting against the mountain of pillows for support, and shoved back her tangled hair, wincing as her fingers caught and pulled. "I must desperately need a bath," she muttered.
Balthier smothered a snicker, managing to keep a straight face as he replied, "Far be it from me to ever insinuate a lady stinks."
She snatched a pillow up, lobbing it at his head. "I do not stink!"
"Oh, no, no, not at all," He responded as he fended off the down-filled missile. "But you do have a certain…aroma, shall we say?"
Another pillow followed his response, and she fell back against the bed with a disheartened sigh. "Oh, god, I do stink, don't I? I can't remember how long it's been since I've had a proper bath! The days have all sort of blurred together. Do you think you might draw a bath for me?"
"Darling girl, you are in no condition at all to be getting out of bed," he said. "It's been hardly a week, and you've had a harder time of it than most, or so I am given to understand."
"What nonsense," she replied, throwing back the covers. "Women have been going through childbirth since the beginning of time. And I've had it up to here with being in bed. I am taking a bath right now."
"If you even attempt to get out of that bed, Penelo, so help me, I'll –"
She swung her feet over the side and made to stand. Her muscles were weakened by the ordeal of childbirth and lack of use since, and she swayed unsteadily. All at once, Balthier was on his feet, catching her up in his arms before she fell.
He fixed her with a disapproving look. "I ought to turn you over my knee."
She heaved a sigh, frustrated by her own lack of energy. "I just wanted a bath." Her fingers caught in his shirt. "Please, Balthier."
He hesitated – he knew he ought to put her right back in bed where she belonged. She could just as easily wash with a pitcher of water and a bar of soap. But he made the mistake of looking into her eyes – and he was lost.
"Fine," he muttered irritably. "But you'll stay where I put you and not move a single inch unless I permit it, or it's right back in bed with you. Understood?"
"Thank you!" Impulsively, she threw her arms around his neck.
"Don't thank me yet," he warned. "We've yet to see if you can actually behave yourself." He carried her into the bathroom and set her at the edge of the massive tub, with her back supported by the wall. He gave her a speaking look as he adjusted the taps, testing the temperature of the running water as the tub slowly began to fill.
She held up her hands. "I'm not moving an inch," she said.
"See that you don't," he responded, scooping up a handful of rose-scented bath salts and tossing them under the running water. The fresh, floral fragrance filled the room, and Penelo could have wept with gratitude.
"Arms over your head," he instructed, grabbing the hem of her nightgown.
"I'm perfectly capable of undressing myself, thank you," she replied.
"I thought we had an agreement," he said testily. "I did as you asked – I drew you a bath. Now, do you wish to avail yourself of it, or do you wish to go back to bed?"
"Honestly, Balthier." She gripped her nightgown and drew it tightly over her knees. "I can bathe myself!"
"Not in your condition, you won't." He tugged the fabric from her fingers. He glanced at her face, and his irritation faded as he noticed the blush that had risen high on her cheeks. "Darling girl, in case it has escaped your notice, we have not one, but two children. I assure you, I've seen everything you've got, so there's no need to be shy. And, as I might remind you, you are hardly in any condition to indulge in any…strenuous activites."
In the face of such logic, she could hardly argue. She gave up the fight for her nightgown graciously, and he drew it carefully over her head. He didn't so much as glance at her body, which simultaneously relieved and concerned her. Surely, he was curious – or did he choose not to out of respect for her modesty?
In any case, he gathered her carefully in his arms and set her gently in the tub. The warm water cascaded around her, soothing her aching muscles, and the sweet scent of roses enveloped her. She could feel the aches in her body practically melting away. She closed her eyes, leaning back against the rim of the tub, feeling more at peace than she had in months.
The water rose steadily, until all at once she was buoyant, wincing as the muscles of her stomach clenched and protested the sudden exercise. She reached out to grasp the rim of the tub to steady herself so that she wouldn't have to use her aching muscles for stabilization.
"What's wrong?"
"The water's gotten too high," she said helplessly. "It hurts a bit, that's all. I'm still sore. I can manage." She squeezed her eyes shut, willing away the pain.
"No, you can't." His fingers worked the buttons of his shirt and he quickly flung it aside. "Damn it all, I knew this was a bad idea." He yanked his boots from his feet, tugged off his pants, and climbed into the tub with her. His arms lifted her against him as he sunk down in the water behind her, trapping her legs between his, holding her securely against him.
"Better?" His voice was a low murmur at her ear.
"Much," she squeaked as his arms encompassed her.
"I hope this is worth it," he muttered. "I loathe the thought of smelling like a bloody garden for the rest of the day."
She stifled a giggle at the thought. It wouldn't do to antagonize him, especially when he'd gone to such trouble to see that she had her bath. And it was such a nice bath, too. After such an agonizingly long labor, and the virtually sleepless days and nights that had followed, these precious few moments of peace and quiet and relaxation were just short of heaven.
"Why did it take you so long to get here?" The question popped out before she could stop it, and she bit her lip, wishing she could take back the words. Though she had wondered, she was terrified of the answer.
"I was hunting the Grave Lord in Golmore Jungle," he said. "I was, perhaps, a little careless. I did take it down, but I was wounded in doing so. Fran found me; she and her sisters took me to Dalmasca to recover. I was unconscious for two weeks; that is why I did not receive your letter."
"Unconcious? For two weeks?" She twisted as much as her sore muscles would allow. "What sort of injury keeps a grown man unconscious for two weeks?"
Wordlessly, he took her hand and pressed it to his midsection, drawing her fingers gently along the raised scar tissue. Eyes wide with shock and horror, she felt the scar from his right hip all the way up to the middle of his chest. The width of it told her it had been deep and the way he flinched when she probed a bit too hard suggested it wasn't yet fully healed.
"You were wounded this badly, and…and you still came?"
He cradled her hand in his, bringing her fingers to his lips to brush a kiss across her knuckles. "You sent for me, and so I came. As I ever will, if you call for me."
"I wasn't sure you would. For a while…well, for a while, I was certain you wouldn't," she said.
"Why was that?"
"Because we parted so badly. Because…because I made a great mess of things. Because I didn't trust you." She shrugged self-conciously. "If I had been you, I probably wouldn't have bothered with me. Too much trouble, I guess."
He chuckled. "You are, at that. Well, you are," he said, when she fixed him with an icy glare. "But, as you'll notice, I came just the same."
"Why, then, if I'm so much trouble," she asked, a bit petulantly.
"Haven't you been listening? I love you, you complete nitwit." He wrapped his arms around her, relishing the softness of her skin under his hands. "And I rather think a bit of trouble ought to keep things interesting."
"But why me?" She shook her head. "I mean…I'm nobody. And it's been years between us."
"Ah, darling, I don't think there's a man in all of Ivalice who could resist you, if you set your sights on him. You had me years ago; it just took me a while to…come to terms with it, if you will. And when I did, I'd lost you." He reached for a pitcher at the side of the tub and filled it with warm water. "Close your eyes," he warned, as he slowly tipped the pitcher over her head, soaking her hair. He poured some fruity-scented concoction into his palm, working it into a foamy lather as he spread it through her hair.
"I'm not a child," she protested, "I can wash my own hair." But his fingers were gently massaging her scalp, and it felt so nice.
"Humor me," he insisted, gathering up her sodden hair and piling it atop her head to better coat it with the shampoo. "I suppose I found it more difficult than most to admit I'd been bested, and by a fledgling girl, no less. All I can say in my defense is that I'd not been taught to love. How to fight, how to steal, how to guard myself against unwise emotions, yes, but love? It was always a weakness, suffered by fools and children. And all I knew of family was my own – and a poorer excuse for that you'll never meet. With the exception of Mariette, we were none of us close or loving. Any emotion was crushed out of us, ridiculed or punished."
Penelo swiped a hand across her eyes, brushing away an errant patch of filmy bubbles that had slipped over her forehead. "You must've had a terrible childhood," she said.
He shrugged. "It was all I knew," he said simply. "It's a miracle that Mariette made it out more or less unscathed. But we all have our scars, Penelo. I've just worn mine a bit more proudly than most. I took what I knew and I became what I had to in order to survive. It is difficult to unlearn the lessons one has been taught from the cradle."
"Your father," she said. "He must've been very difficult."
"I suppose he knew no better than we. He tried to make each of his sons into his image…and he succeeded with all but me. I was always the black sheep, the scapegrace. He could not break me down into becoming what he wanted me to be. And yet, even after I made my escape, I became more like him than he knew."
"And your mother?"
"Absent." He said it in a neutral tone. "Always absent. She did her duty in providing my father his heirs, but she had no interest in children, could not be bothered with us until we were old enough to start bettering our family's interests. I saw her so rarely, I didn't even know what she looked like until I was eight, and they shipped me off to school. From then on, they visited me and my brothers once a year to see our progress, but always she was a stranger. She had a way of looking through you instead of at you, as if she were gauging your value. I suspect she always found me wanting."
"That's tragic." Her heart ached for the little boy he had once been, denied the love and affection of his parents, unaware that such a bond should even have existed at all. "My childhood was so different…my family was not nobility, of course, and sometimes we went wanting, and our apartment was so small. The four of us, crammed in to two rooms, Mama, Papa, Matieu, and me, but…but there was always so much love there. Even when Vaan and Reks came to live with us, it was like a tangible thing. Mama and Papa, they were happy to have them stay, even though it crowded our home even more. When they died, I had never felt more alone. I thought I would die from the grief."
Balthier, who had so recently suffered through his first experience with grief when he had thought Penelo was forever lost to him, felt he in some way understood. "When my mother died, and the school master informed me, I felt as though we might've been discussing the weather. I had no attachment to her whatsoever. I wonder how I might've been different, had they been any sort of parents at all." He tipped her head back, rinsing her hair of the soap, then set to work massaging conditioner through it.
"That feels so nice," Penelo murmured. She had to force herself not to melt beneath his gentle ministrations. "But your parents…that's so sad." Her shoulders rose and fell with her deep sigh . "I was so lucky; my family was so close and happy…I want to give Ellie and Matieu the same happiness I had as a child. They'll never want for love and affection."
He took a deep, steadying breath. "I don't know what a happy childhood is supposed to be like, Penelo," he said, his tone disheartened. "I never had one, and I wouldn't know the first thing about raising my own children. I could so easily fall back into the same behaviors I learned from my own parents. I've never been so terrified in all my life. I haven't the slightest idea how to be a father."
"Don't be ridiculous." Her gentle rebuke shattered the feeling of unease and fear that had crept up on him. "Don't you love Ellie? And Matieu?"
"Yes, I…yes." He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "Of course I do." He let out a long breath. "I never thought about the possibility of children, I never imagined I would have them…much less that I would actually care for them. It just…in all honesty, it never occurred to me that children were anything other than creatures to be borne, given into the care of nannies or nursemaids, and then shunted off to school. But when Ellie…she just…she simply threw her arms around me, called me stupid, and said of course I must love her, because I was her papa…and I did. I did love her." His voice grew hoarse, choked with emotion. "She made me love her. I didn't want to. I had no interest in children, no use for them, no desire for the messes they make or the time and attention they require. But she made it impossible for me not to love her."
Penelo could not repress a smile; he had the almost perplexed sound of a man who'd been brought to his knees by the most unlikely of foes – and perhaps he had in a sense, since, to a man like Balthier, a family would have been the most fearsome and loathed of all enemies.
"I wish I had been there," he said almost wistfully. "When she was born, as she grew. I've missed so much of her life already." He hesitated, for here was the crux of his dilemma – he had no desire to repeat those same mistakes with his son. He would never get back those missing precious moments of Ellie's early years, but perhaps he could still take part in his son's formative years, still be a part of Ellie's life…a part of Penelo's life.
"I wish you had been there, too," Penelo sighed as he rinsed her hair. "She was…well, a little monster most of the time," she laughed. "But she was wonderful. And she looked just like you. Whenever she was angry, I could see you in her face. She really does have your eyes. And your attitude."
His lips quirked in a wry smile. He finished rinsing her hair, setting to work on massaging the tense muscles in her neck and shoulders, which coaxed a low moan from her throat as her head dropped back onto his shoulder. "You'll have the devil of a time with her when she's a bit older, I'm afraid. She is so very like me, and I was not very…obedient at that age."
"I can't imagine you ever were," she giggled, then sighed as he worked a particularly difficult knotted muscle loose. "That feels wonderful. And what do you mean, I'll have the devil of a time with her? Exactly what do you plan to be doing?"
He stilled. "Penelo…what are you saying?"
She turned to look at him. "What do you mean, what am I…" she stopped, suddenly silenced by the look in his eyes. He looked so hesitant, so unsure, so totally not the Balthier she had once known. Her heart leapt in her chest as she finally realized…he had believed she would tell him to leave. All this time, he had been waiting on her to command him to go.
All at once, she understood how completely he had changed, for she had never seen him appear so vulnerable before. Probably he didn't even realize how much of his inner torment she could read in his eyes. Her heart squeezed in her chest and she blinked back the tears that sprung, unbidden, to her eyes.
"Balthier," she said, laying her hand over his, where it still rested, motionless, on her shoulder. "Please stay."
"For how long?" The question was imbued with a wealth of hesitance and hope.
"For as long as you like." She gave him a tremulous smile. "I'd be amenable to forever."
His arms closed around her, gently, carefully, as if she were something fragile and precious and he was afraid of being too rough with her. His lips touched the back of her neck, whispering over her skin, touching anywhere he could reach. A fine tremor shook him, as though a great weight had been removed from his shoulders, and he shuddered with relief.
"Darling girl," he breathed in her ear. "It would be my pleasure."
