A/N: Yeow. Where in the hell did THIS come from? Well, I like it, in any case. Even though it was originally supposed to be like a two page long vignette and it wound up being five pages. TT Anyway, this takes place just after the beginning of Chapter 3, presumably before YuRiPa go to Guadosalam. I never see any Syndicate fics out there, and I think that's sad, so I wrote this. :D So. Without further ado, hope you enjoy…

Testimonial

When Leblanc wasn't happy, no one was happy. Least of all her beloved henchmen. Ormi hit the nail on the head the night he spoke as much of the depth of their feeling for her, a devotion that bound their passions to hers for as long as time could possibly endure… not in so many words, of course. But Logos understood perfectly.

The stone canopy enshrouding Guadosalam did nothing to protect it from the chill the wind brought from the north: a horrid, cold, wet draft charged and buzzing with nervous energy thanks to the Thunder Plains. Logos didn't even feel it where he sat, secure in his room even further underground, but he knew it was there. He knew, because Leblanc was most assuredly suffering at its hands.

Damn the weather. Yes, it was an irrational thought, but damn it all the same. It wasn't as if the boss hadn't gone through enough already, what with Lord Nooj's disappearance. Oh, it was quite the contrary, and knowing even more intimately that the fact of the matter was neither he nor Ormi could do a thing about it, well… It was all just too much.

Ormi had situated himself quite comfortably on his bed, and it seemed he was nodding off periodically. He supposed he could always wake him— toss a sphere at him or something— but really, what was the use? He wouldn't be sleeping much tonight anyway. When Ormi wasn't dozing, he would shake his head in a particularly bull-like manner and jerk his flagging arm back up to his face, gazing intently into the image projected by the glowing orange orb he held.

"What are you looking for, anyway?"

His companion glanced in his direction, a laughably guileless frown coloring his broad features until his eyes flitted back to the sphere. "Lookin' for Nooj in one o' these. …Thought that maybe if we could find somethin' of him, we could show it to the boss. Cheer her up or somethin', ya know?"

"Hmm, I see. Well, we still have the ones we recorded in Bevelle, you know. I thought you said you saw something… odd."

"Yeah, but you saw what was goin' on in there. Even if it turns out to be him, that's not gonna make her happy, is it? Do ya think?"

It was a genuine question, and one that Logos wasn't sure of the answer to. But it was probably wisest to remain uninvolved, because Leblanc was in love, and people in love do absolutely mad things. He'd have no objection if he didn't think it could potentially jeopardize her very well-being, but the weight of this situation was beginning to grow perilously heavy for the likes of the Leblanc Syndicate. Best to keep quiet and rather let the Gullwings throw themselves in harm's way instead. But for now, perhaps it was imprudent to share this revelation with Ormi; he was too wholehearted, he'd let his concern slip somehow to the boss and then they'd have a fine mess on their hands. The two of them were unlike in that way, he imagined, Ormi ready and willing to do whatever it might take to ensure her happiness, too short-sighted to evaluate the possible dangers that might come along with it. Logos would've loved nothing more than to fulfill her every dream and desire, but sometimes the situation begged for a bit more care. An unhappy boss was better than no boss at all.

That was probably, on second thought, a more self-interested motive than he would have liked to admit. Ormi was selfless; he had to give him that much.

With a faintly exaggerated sigh, he closed the book before him and aligned it with the rest of the objects on the table in a fabulously anal-retentive way before sliding his chair back to face the other man.

"I suppose you're right. It is a little dark, isn't it? Carry on, then. I'm going to take a walk."

He heard a badly stifled half-snore as he closed the door behind him. Well, there was no big rush to get back, in that case. He didn't fancy returning to a bed full of Ormi to contend with for space, and he knew him from experience to be maddeningly difficult to rouse. While he'd try to drag this little sortie out as long as possible, if his cohort wasn't out upon his return it would be a sphere to the skull for him. The thought made him chuckle a bit.

On his way out, he couldn't help but glance up the half-spiral of the staircase towards Leblanc's room, strange and ancient Guado men staring sternly out from contiguous portraits at him. Amazing it had only been two years since the Guado went out and the Syndicate moved in. It felt like he'd known her for decades, at least. But that was all just excessive sentimentality…

An excuse to go up there. That's what he needed. It wasn't all that late, after all. She wouldn't come out for anything today. Not to see anyone or give orders or eat. It was… most worrisome. A certain part of him desired very much to blame the absent Lord Nooj for her present state, but he knew that in all likelihood Nooj didn't want to be missing right now, either. It would be easier with someone to pin her misery on, but no one fit the role. Not him, not Nooj, not Ormi— no one. That was just the way it was.

His excuse would be his concern for her. It was a good idea, in theory. All that remained was the practice. She'd never expressly forbade anyone from disturbing her; she simply lashed out at whoever dared to enter. It only took about four goons to get the point across. But that had been hours ago.

The guard on duty offered a sloppy salute in her fatigue, so Logos rolled his eyes and waved her away. Before he knew it, she had vanished down the stairs, and it caused him to wonder if she wasn't just faking it to get relieved a little earlier. It didn't really matter, though. Less embarrassing for him if the boss decided to give him a vigorous tongue-lashing as well.

He steeled himself, and then opened the door with the utmost deliberation. There was virtually no light in here save for the dim glow of a lamp on the wall, but it gave him the assurance of knowing that she was probably awake. He frowned in the dark for another few seconds, unable to distinguish where the bedspread ended and Leblanc began.

Then he saw her. In the midst of the elegant jumble of cushions, sheets, and veils, she lay curled against a pillow, legs tucked up near her stomach in a way he'd never witnessed before. He couldn't discern her face through the gauzy curtains, but he did pick up on the strange, reedy quaver that floated up on her breath. Fascinated, Logos stepped fully into the room. Immediately Leblanc sprang up and twisted around to face him, voice pure acid and scrubbing furiously at her face.

"What are you doing here?!"

It was undeniable. Amazing. Leblanc was irrefutably crying. That just didn't happen.

"Boss…?" he ventured, hazarding another couple steps closer. "Are you—?"

"Of course I'm not!" More vehement wiping at her cheeks. "Are you blind? I don't do that."

This was thin ice, this moment. Logos hesitated before replying. Leblanc had a keen sense for falsities, so honesty was probably the wisest option. "I… was going to ask if you were all right."

Silence. The one thing worse than the boss's wrath was her silence. In the past four years, that silence had provided the most unbearable suspense of his life. This was the breaking point. This was all or nothing.

Her voice was level, quiet.

"What's the use?"

"Boss?"

She made a sound of disgust in her throat. "Get over here, Logos, I'm sick of talking loudly."

Logos crossed the room with a zeal he hoped she wouldn't notice, or at least wouldn't be offended by, and knelt before the crack in the curtains. She was sitting up now, hands folded in her lap, legs folded off to one side. Her hair was a dreadful mess, and from what Logos could see, her face wasn't in much better shape. He knew that if the lights were to suddenly flare up, he would see red-rimmed eyes and flushed lips, and the sight would be captivating and horrible all at once.

She made no move to… do anything at all, so he took it as an invitation to get comfortable. He thought she might have fallen asleep upright for a second, until she abruptly and wearily broke the silence again.

"What's the use of any of this if he's not here to see it? He's gone."

His reply was tentative, mulling carefully over the words even as he said them. "Boss, under you… we are very likely the greatest sphere hunters in all Spira. Your leadership is… glorious. All that could possibly await us is glory if you would only pursue it…"

The words were minced, and Nooj's statue loomed disapprovingly in the corner of the room. But there was hardly any accomplishment in going right ahead, telling her that they needed her in the same way she needed him, now was there?

"Oh, please. Either stop feeding me that garbage or get out, Logos. I'm not in the mood for appeasing," she spat.

"By no means am I trying to appease you, Boss. It's… difficult to explain my— what you are to us. You are our leader, but there is far more to it than that. There is something invaluable and unfathomable in you that I sincerely believe we cannot live without. I cannot think of a solitary thing we would not sacrifice for you, at your word. And though we are admittedly of limited power, we would go to any lengths for your happiness, and we are fully prepared and willing to do so any moment you wish, if only you would allow us to take up that charge instead of—"

The words died in his throat, and the relaxation that was beginning to creep into Leblanc's body suddenly set like stone, tone coming with a thin razor-edge of danger creeping under the surface.

"Instead of what?"

"Instead of… suffering on your own," he yielded, thankful for the opportunity to recover. All of a sudden Leblanc turned, lying down on her stomach with arms akimbo underneath her head. She still had that same tired ring to her voice, but there was something else as well: something familiar and haughty and demanding that made Logos smile in spite of himself. He was glad she couldn't see it.

"You're so devoted… Then quit sitting around and make yourself useful."

"Useful, Boss?"

She sounded testy now. Even better. "Give me a massage. Or you get the heel as soon as I feel like getting out of bed."

"Anything you say."

Logos heard her sigh deeply when he put his hands on her, but he knew it wasn't one of physical response, and it wasn't one of pleasure. She sniffled once, let out another soft breath, and gradually the tension began to trickle out of her body. As he pressed with his fingers down either side of her spine, studying her back more intently than anything else in his life, she arched a bit… that was quite a delight.

For a few moments after he was sure Leblanc was asleep, he merely sat there. His gloves rested alone in his room with the snoring Ormi, so his palms lay bare against her skin. There was absolutely no way this could end happily, damn it all. Because that meant it would have to end. When he pulled his hands away, they came away bit by bit so as to sustain their contact with that marvelous softness up to the very last fingertip, and having survived the separation he began to pick his way as delicately as possible towards the edge of the bed.

"Stay here."

Logos froze. It was just a murmur, but an undisputedly wakeful one.

"You heard me," she said again. "I don't care what you do. Just stay here."

So he did. He sat beside her so she lay like some proud creature sleeping in the shade of a tree, his back against the headboard, staring half-lidded into the darkness.