Gippal sat in the lounge room of Baralai's luxurious ship, staring out of the misty window at the malevolent looking ocean. He'd always enjoyed being around the ocean, especially after a long stint in Bikanel, but now his feelings had changed rather dramatically. The water didn't offer relief anymore; it now seemed to fill his insides with ice.

Despite the crackling fire, the heavy blanket pulled round his shoulders and what seemed like a bucket of steaming herbal tea, he still felt cold inside. Empty. There was no way he would be able to relax, and sleep was definitely out of the question. He knew what he would see when he closed his eyes.

Gippal stung viciously with guilt, and a bewildering kind of defeat. He was an Al Bhed through and through: an ace with Machina and other contraptions of all sorts. He was reputed as a top notch marksman and was one of the few Al Bhed gifted with a flawless safety record. Until now, that was. The worst part about it all was that the accident was entirely his fault.

The Al Bhed inhaled the strong, scented steam that rose from the cup, before putting it back down on the table and letting his golden head drop into his hands. His success and degree of fame had made him overconfident. Evidently it was a confidence he didn't deserve to possess. He'd been reckless and had showed off. If Yuna died, he would never be able to forgive himself, much less ask for the forgiveness of his friends.

Slamming his fists on the table, he rose from his seat to begin pacing around the room. It had been nearly two hours and there had been no news of any kind. Clutching at his side, which had begun to ache, he hoped fervently that he had done the right thing by calling Baralai. He didn't think there was anything else that he could have done. There was no radar in his Commsphere. He couldn't possibly know who else could have been around, to reach them faster.

It had taken half an hour or so for the ship to reach the wreckage. Gippal was amazed. He'd never seen a lump of wood go so fast. Even in the light of the moon, he could see the sail snapping in the wind, the mast bending to the point where it should surely have snapped. It seemed like lucky chance, or something more mysterious, that Baralai's ship was in the area. If they'd taken another few minutes to get there, he didn't know what would have happened to Yuna or himself. He dry retched suddenly, the pain forcing him to collapse back into his chair.

It was about then that Baralai entered the room. The Praetor's olive complexion was unusually pale and his eyes were hunted and empty. Gippal looked up, his questions obvious in his face, and wiped the veil of perspiration from his forehead. Baralai looked as awful as he felt.

"She's alive, but they won't let me see her..."

Baralai slumped against the door frame and dragged himself to the nearest chair.

"They won't let me see her..."

Much as Gippal had earlier, Baralai let his face drop helplessly into his hands. He tugged uselessly at his silvery hair, his ragged breath clearly audible from across the room. Gippal sighed and stared resolutely at the ceiling, an ugly lump growing in his throat.

"It's entirely my fault, B." The Al Bhed whispered. "I was showing off and I guess I was being careless. I was far too reckless."

His usually cocky voice cracked.

'I'm sorry."

As Gippal spoke, Baralai's head had slowly risen from his hands. His knuckles were white from clutching the armrests, and a vein was fluttering visibly in his neck.

"You said what?" It was an ugly voice. Neither of them registered it as being Baralai's own.

Gippal continued to look upwards, anxiously avoiding his friends gaze.

"You heard what I said, Lai."

Baralai stood up slowly, his stance very upright and strong.

"You were showing off?"

Gippal nodded after a long moment, and swallowed.

A small frown creased Baralai's forehead, and he clenched his fists angrily.

"You were a little careless, you say?"

Gippal somehow managed to incline his head jerkily, as Baralai took a few solid steps closer.

The silvery haired man laughed a soft, and rather ugly laugh.

"Reckless, huh?" His voice was dangerously low.

There was a moment of perfect silence, before Baralai reached forward and tore Gippal out of his chair, by the scruff of his jacket. The Al Bhed's cup and saucer was knocked askew and the teapot fell directly onto the floor, shattering on impact. Still staring resolutely at the ceiling, Gippal winced. He was covered in sweat from the injury to his side, but he was determined not to show that he was in pain. Only Baralai's torn breath and the fragrant liquid cascading onto the floor broke the silence.

Baralai shook Gippal roughly, his eyes narrowing.

"Reckless." he spat, as though it was a taboo word that dripped with filth.

Nothing.

The tea had slowed to a drip, like the persistent hands of a clock counting down to its inevitable conclusion.

With a wretched scream Baralai lifted Gippal up, and slammed him violently against the wall.

"Yuna might die, Gippal! She might die because you were feeling reckless!"

Nothing.

Baralai released one of Gippal's shoulders from his grasp, and swung a fist violently at the Al Bhed's face. It connected with a clearly audible thud.

"LOOK AT ME, YOU BASTARD!"

Still, there was no response. Baralai raised Gippal up and slammed him against the wall once more, but the sheer vehemence was gone.

"Look at me, damn you…"

Gippal slowly let his gaze drop to match the eyes of his assailant, trying to hide his sudden fear.

"We were on our way to Bevelle, to see you."

After that moment of eye contact, the Praetor's breaths became increasingly fractured and stressed. A second later they were punctuated by harrowing sobs. Shaking, he lowered Gippal to the floor and released his grip on his friend's clothes. He took a few steps back and collapsed onto the floor beside the remains of the teapot. Gippal fell ungracefully against the wall, a moan of pain escaping his lips. Baralai's strike had caused his lip to split open, and blood had begun to stream from the wound.

"I-I'm sorry, Gippal. I'm so very afraid."

Gippal stood silently, pressing his hand against his side. He could hardly bear to see the look of despair on his friend's face. The Al Bhed wiped pointlessly at his wound, with a deep sigh, and foundered beside his companion.

"I know, Lai. There's nothing for me to forgive. I should be the one apologizing to you."

They sat then in silence, staring at the pool of tea that had mingled with the blood that had been spilt.