"Achoo!"

"Rin -"

"Not," the man grimaced, rubbing at his face with a handkerchief, "another word."

The fading of winter was gradual for Mi'ihen's Highroad - cooler temperatures moved on as easily as they had arrived, packing their bags in the manner of considerate houseguests and leaving little to be remembered by. One morning saw frost on the windows, and the next, panes of glass standing open to let the sun flood in. The advent of summer was near, and for the Al Bhed, warmer days brought welcome relief.

For one man, they also brought allergies.

Spring rains were heaviest in the start of the year, and the Al Bhed who worked at the Travel Agency were forced to ferry in wood chips to keep the Highroad from melting away. Swollen with humidity, the chips provided a solid pathway through the yawning ditches that sprung up with every round of erosion. Cartwheels creaked as they trundled over the makeshift road; travelers complained of muddy shoes, and one man claimed that he lost an entire chocobo in a puddle.

The renewal of the year also marked the start of numerous weddings. Two of Rin's employees had finally decided to finalize their union, and Mi'ihen's Travel Agency was planning ahead for the ceremony. The match was a fitting one, in gossip's general opinion - he was lazy, but she was an excellent shot with a wrench from halfway across the room. A good combination.

Mi'ihen buzzed with activity. Jests were made, challenges bandied about of sexual prowess, and overall, spirits rose so high that they clamored at the Agency's roof before laughing free out the windows.

Rin, however, was miserable.

"Why can you not use the trees from Mushroom Rock?" The complaint was thick, mumbled through a haze of bleary eyes. Sprawled against the doorway, Rin squinted out at the lane; coated with muddied shards, the entire Highroad looked like an elaborate coconut-chopped dessert. "Those ones, I have no difficulty being around. Instead you choose the ones from Kilika. I protest your tastes."

The man he was speaking to only barked a withered laugh, intent on the machina casing in his hands. "Not enough of them grow in that wasted place. Be happy with what you get, Rin-myt. If you can live in a desert, you can survive a little head cold."

"Zanni," Rin began.

Gruff amusement colored the machinist's voice. He set the screwdriver aside on his tray, gnarled fingers automatically selecting the next size up without having to look. "It's ill luck to pedlr during marriage plans, so be quiet before I send you to sit in your room like a little pnyd boy."

"My room?" Stung, Rin found his lip curling in a snarl. "I own this place!"

"And I'm old enough to have dressed your mother's diapers." Zanni gave a disdainful snort, tilting his chin in the air. Fearless, the mechanic jerked a finger out, aiming directly at Rin's chest. "You're blocking my light. Go mope in a place where you'll be useful."

Wounded pride sent the founder of the Travel Agency slinking back to his office. He deviated to the kitchens long enough to lay claim to half the bottles of wine, demanding them as a medicinal remedy, and shoved the crate all the way down the hall to the tune of his own grumbles.

It was in the middle of what Rin privately decided was the worst hangover of his life that Nooj reappeared.

No one expected the act of social grace that brought the teenager back to Mi'ihen Highroad without a scheduled maintenance appointment for his prosthetic limbs. The event was an accident, or so most of the Al Bhed assumed - errors in the Crusader bookings, a reshuffling of ranks that left Nooj's unit doubled up in cheap hotel rooms. Others bet on emergency machina repairs, or chocobo delays. None of them chose on the side of sentimentalism, but the truth was that, when all the pocket-gil wagers had been paid, Nooj visited the Travel Agency early that spring. Alone.

The teenager made a breezy excuse within two steps inside, passing off the location of his fellow soldiers as stuck in Luca due to a shoopuf incident. Yes, he could use a tune-up of his limbs. No, there were no new scars to be had. Dragging himself along with a curiously sanguine expression, Nooj returned each joke made with equal spirit, ignoring none of the camaderie that was offered his way.

Rin found himself drawn out of hibernation by the sound of Nooj's voice, chasing the echoed tidbits as they bounced their way down to his office. He leaned against the corner of the hall, hands tucked into the nests of his pockets, shoulders rigid. "Taydrcaagan," he called out, properly aloof. And then, "Welcome back."

It took a moment before Nooj broke off in the middle of a particularly lively anecdote about a practice drill, and then he was looking up. "Rin." His voice was similarly detached, proud along the arch of his nose. "Good to see you."

Nooj had changed dramatically in the time he had been away. With the loss of his arm, the teenager had finally switched out of Crusader leathers and into a crimson body stocking that would allow swift attachment of his prosthetic straps. His long swatch of hair, rich as a waterfall of molasses when loose, now seemed permanently bound in a quirky ponytail that glistened with the tell-tale sheen of fixative gels. Muscles which might have shrunk from disuse remained firm, operating in conjunction with his artificial limbs as the teenager hauled himself down the last few steps towards where the Travel Agency founder lounged.

Rin resisted the urge to sneeze on him.

Brown eyes sparked with challenge. Nooj, shifting his weight on his cane, offered forth the first volley. "So, did you remember to celebrate?"

Rin found himself staring blankly. "Celebrate what?"

"My birthday." Pulling himself upright, Nooj flicked at the fur ruff on his shoulder, falsifying indifference. "I turned nineteen last week."

Rin blinked.

When provided with no praise, the teenager glowered. "Which means I've stayed alive another year. No thanks to you," he added, poise slipping away into a familiar irritation, one that snapped and grumbled like a beast chained to a pole.

"Congratulations," Rin retorted, crisp and neat. "Shall I tell you how most Al Bhed celebrate such an event? I am certain any number of individuals here would be willing to take to your bed, if you petition them properly."

"No, thank you."

A twitch of his nose, and Rin found his eyes watering as his sinuses began a tickle. "You've interrupted me during a very important stage of my health," he informed the teenager. "If you do not allow me to return to my tonic, then I believe I will die in the hall from tree-chip overdose. I intend to alert my employees that you will have to clean up any mess."

Nooj's lips made a tart smirk in the corner, a tightening of flesh that was too curved to hide the fact of amusement. "Very well," he agreed, flourishing a bow of his head. "Lead on."

The office was far enough removed from the main entrance that the clamor had nearly died out by the time the both of them had lurched their way down the hall. Rin shoved his door open with the side of his hand, too bleary to care about theatrics around the teenager. Any surprise at Nooj's appearance only lasted for a short while; as far as the Al Bhed was concerned, now that conversation was in full swing, Nooj could go hang himself.

In the meantime, handkerchiefs took higher priority.

Nooj, navigating through the maze of paper stacks and empty bottles, stopped to nod back at the rest of the Agency. "I noticed you changed the décor," he remarked. A tap of his cane against one bottle and it tipped over, thudding with a hollow clunk on the carpet. "Permanent remodeling?"

"You came in time for Cirra and Hallo's marriage decision, so now they can stop bothering us all with their dinner-time flirtations and start demanding we change the curtains." Sorting through the crate by his desk, Rin pulled out a fresh bottle and braced it against his leg, struggling gamely with the cork. With deceptive carelessness, he tossed forth the next question. "Do you plan to wish them good fortune?"

"I might."

Caught off-guard by the uncharacteristic joviality, Rin blinked. The corkscrew squeaked in his hand. "You are a spring child," the Al Bhed stated. "Cold as winter for the mornings, and then rainy for the rest - not balmy as summer when my employees joke with you. Perhaps no one else wonders if you have been replaced by a fiend. I have my suspicions."

Nooj attempted a tight smile once more; the expression betrayed itself with a wince when the wine-cork popped, a hollow tok of noise that released a flood of alcohol fumes into the air. He lowered himself into the seat across from Rin, glancing away even as the Al Bhed began to pour a fresh glass. "I had someone translate what you told me back on the Moonflow," he offered instead, dodging the accusation, "that day you rode to see me, so long ago."

It took a few seconds for recall, but Rin dredged the phrase out of memory. Fyga ib, tispycc. "Oh?"

"It wasn't very flattering."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Rin claimed. The lie tasted good with the wine; tart grapes stung at a throat coated with slime. Another healthy swallow, and the Al Bhed decided that any white mages were fools for prescribing teas as their remedies. Alcohol was far superior. "Indeed, I am amazed you remember it at all. Would you like a glass to drink?" Waiting for Nooj's slow, eventual nod, Rin pointed at the bottle. "Pour it yourself. You should be capable."

Unruffled, Nooj only repeated that same, strained smile. "You're in a bad temper today. Are weddings so painful?"

"And you are in a good mood." Finding honesty sneaking from his mouth, Rin resorted to a cold stare. "That alone makes me suspicious, taydrcaagan. There is something you are not telling me, and I doubt that it involves your birthday."

Again, that flash of defiance. It moved like quicksilver underneath Nooj's skin, surfacing briefly through the outer layer of charm. "Just because we have an arrangement, it doesn't mean you have a right to my life," he snapped.

"No," Rin began, vocal inertia propelling him along in a rush before he realized he had no justification. "No," he repeated instead, quietly, "I do not. But tell me anyway."

Nooj chose silence for the time it took to reach for an empty glass of his own, filling the cup nearly to the brim. The dark liquid shivered in its bowl. He watched it as if hypnotized; eventually, when he spoke, it was as if the teenager was as distant as the Farplane, separated from the troubles of the living at last.

"I'm going to be enrolling in a special training academy soon." Words carefully detached, light as feathers. "The Maesters took note of me when I was fitted with these." Nooj's fingers lifted, tapping them against his spectacles. "They determined that I was eligible for their course. It's meant to be a selection process for the elite of the Crusaders. Those who come out highest in the class will gain a commanding position. There are only a small number picked; we'll be assigned in teams of three, with a recorder watching us at all times. It is... we have been told that it is quite an honor simply to be selected."

Rin found himself coughing a wet laugh. "Let me guess? This course is terribly hazardous, which is the only reason you agreed to sign up." Another twitch of his nose, and he took a deep sip to keep his allergies stifled. "Should I be surprised?"

"Active combat is supposed to be a part of this, yes." Nooj made his admission gracefully, swirling his wine with a shift of his wrist. "We'll be tested against fiends, or so they say."

"And Yevon has not caught on yet that you are incapable of this in your current state. Well done," Rin informed him over the lip of his cup, his fingers making a crescent-moon around the glass. "You've won."

"Not yet." Unapologetic, Nooj shrugged one shoulder. The fur on his pauldron whispered, smelling faintly of musk and the wood-chips from the road. "Before, I always had a squadron of other Crusaders around. The fiend that took my arm would have had the rest of me if they hadn't been able to stop it. This time," he continued, staring into the distance of Rin's office, warm approval filling his voice, "I will make sure that no one will try to keep me from my wish. Not this time."

Rin paused in mid-sip. When he lowered his glass, he wiped his thumb against his mouth to catch a stray drop. "If you are hoping that I care enough to say otherwise," he accused stiffly, "then I should remind you that I am sick, not drunk. I ask because I am curious. Nothing more."

Reaching out, Nooj claimed the bottle. He titled the neck forward, refilling Rin's cup even though the Al Bhed had barely finished off half. "I'm hoping you won't remember this conversation," he stated, matter-of-fact. "I think it'd make it easier."

"Make what?"

Nooj's face turned away again, back into that private fantasy just over Rin's shoulder. "Nothing."

Rin fought down the urge to grab the teenager's chin and steer it towards him until he could imprison Nooj's pupils with his own. Instead, he fumbled for words. "You are being reckless," he tried, discarding the angle immediately as he realized the futility of it. "This effort will only be another ruin, and then you will need a third false limb. Did we not already discuss this?"

Nooj looked undaunted. "I am a deathseeker." Again, his fingers gripped the wine bottle, adding liquid into Rin's glass until it threatened to overspill the rim. "I hunt for my own destruction, you know that. Have another drink."

Thwarted, Rin shoved his cup away.

It slid an inch before it was interrupted by Nooj's metal hand, set down as an impassive barrier on the table.

The motion caused the wine to slop onto the artificial fingers; tiny grape rivers dribbled down the teenager's knuckles, bloodying joints that never would never be privy to veins. Rin found himself staring at the inorganic lump of Nooj's thumb, an object so innately comfortable as machina and yet providing itself as an enemy now.

"There is something ill with your mind," the Al Bhed decided aloud. "In all this time, I have never seen you look like you do now."

"And how is that?"

"Excited." Rin wrinkled his nose, radiating as much disapproval as he could manage with a skull clogged full of his own mucus. He tossed his head up, regretting the motion instantly as his temples began to pound. Across the desk, Nooj's eyes hovered, smug. "If I had a word, it would be aroused. At your own impending death. You lust for it as you could a woman."

Nooj's grin was breathless in its execution. "We all have to want something."

The wine was making Rin's lips heavy. Too numb to determine a frown, the Al Bhed mentally shoved at the combined haze of illness and alcohol. He ordered his fingers to keep Nooj's attention; vaguely, he noticed they were obeying him by gripping the teenager's wrist. "Yes," he replied, hard, willing Nooj's attention on his words. "We do. We have to want something. Why don't you start? It is not difficult. If anything, I have found that it is only...too easy."

Only when Nooj rotated his hand did Rin realize he had grabbed the wrong limb. The spilled wine made the metal joints slick, cool and careless.

Then Nooj's other palm was on the Al Bhed's knuckles, warm flesh closing over Rin's, skin against skin.

"It's been four years." Refusing to look at the Al Bhed directly, Nooj only held the physical contact. "Four years, and two body parts, and I'm still not any closer to my goal." Soft, almost desperate in his ramblings, the teenager spoke in a murmur that nearly drowned in the background clamor of the Agency. "I don't know why I came to tell you of all people this. Do I honestly think it would change anything? That you might say to me -"

Nooj's body heat was higher than the Al Bhed expected. That or the wine was to blame; despite his self-control, Rin found himself making a slight hiss as he watched one of Nooj's fingers crook, tracing the tendon on the back of the Al Bhed's hand.

At the noise, Nooj stopped. "I should leave," he announced abruptly, and let go.

Like a mechanical insect, the teenager unfolded himself from his chair, reaching for his cane. Rin found his hand pulled away from Nooj's metal bones, all his strength leeched away from the wine. "Taydrcaagan -"

"You can tell Zanni that he doesn't have to worry about upgrading the knee joint," Nooj stated, blithely speaking over Rin's protests. "And let him know that I haven't seen better work anywhere else. I think he'd like to know that."

"Nooj."

At last, the teenager stopped.

Caught in the trap of only one sentence's worth of time, Rin opened his mouth. Wine-haze rose from his tongue into his nose; struck mute by the unfairness of the situation, and uncertain why, Rin took a breath and tried again.

"If I do not see you afterwards, taydrcaagan," he began, fighting the words out in coherent order as he felt a coeurl's worth of anger roaring in protest, "I will be sure to bill your squad."

Nooj's face performed one last, painfully familiar smirk.

"Goodbye, Rin. Kuutpoa. Kuutpoa."