One More Confessional
Part Thirteen
197S9.9.19
Looks like the Maesters want us to stay one more day. They said they want all of us to travel together, but I'd bet they're really afraid to let Squadron Five out of their sight in case the pistols go with us. Those fools have such one-track minds. Another day of rest and unlimited water will do us good, I suppose, but I was so looking forward to getting out of this desert hell. I miss the ocean. I've never been away from it for this long before.
Baralai was way ahead of me on the painkillers. Being a Healer probably puts him more in tune with that sort of thing. He'd already made up a whole batch of capsules; he gave me two of them, along with a seasickness remedy. Plus, he handed me a large stock of sunscreen and burn salve. He's been a busy boy. Maybe he's working this hard in order to take his mind off his compromised honor. I still don't pretend to understand all that, but it's clearly important to him, so I'll let it be.
When Nooj came back with the news that we were staying put tonight, he opened up the cave to the other candidates, to give them access to the water. I guess that means we're giving up on competing for resources. That's more of a relief than anything else; I was getting uncomfortable with being so much better off than the others. Anyway, when he returned, I was waiting for him, sitting on the ground next to his rock. It took a minute for him to notice the capsules in my outstretched hand. I told him they were from Baralai and then said no more; when he asked what they were for, I shrugged. I knew he would never accept them if he realized that he had given away his suffering -- stubborn pride taken almost to the point of idiocy, that's Nooj. Anyway, he took them from my hand, looked at me, then met Baralai's gaze from the other side of the cave. I don't know what was communicated between them during that long moment, but Nooj must have seen something that convinced him. He swallowed the pills.
Not fifteen minutes later, I felt his body, so tight and tense next to mine, begin to relax as the painkiller worked its magic. Baralai kept throwing me casual glances; when I was sure, I caught his eye and nodded. He smiled, then went back to the dice game he was playing with Gippal. Nooj looked down at me, equal parts relief and surprise on his face. Then we sat together there in pleasant silence until bedtime, my head resting against his leg, his hand curled around the back of my neck, watching our broken comrades visit the spring.
197S9.9.20
Fayth, this is dull. I am so, so restless. Another day with too much time to sit around and think is really not what I needed.
Nooj is going to go check on the condition of all the other recruits; I think I'll join him if he doesn't mind. Baralai is still messing with his herbs and Gippal is napping again -- how much sleep can one person possibly need? -- so there's nothing to do in here.
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That was ugly. Everyone seems better rested, but they're still all filthy and half of them are totally wrecked -- mentally, physically, or both. Nooj looks completely disgusted at their condition, and I have to agree. It's a far cry from the order of the Crusaders. Baralai's going to have his work cut out for him. It makes me so angry, thinking about all he's had to do by himself, never mind everything yet to come. The Maesters know healing magic; why don't they spend a few hours out here, helping clean up this mess of their own making, instead of sitting on their asses in the tent, interrogating people about an event they didn't even witness? Do they want their recruits broken and dying?
To say that the whole thing makes no sense is a gross understatement. What possible purpose could this exercise have had? This was no training mission; we're the only group who got any real training, and only because we took it upon ourselves to teach each other. This is more like some sort of brutal winner-take-all survival game. For what reason are seven people dead and many more likely to follow? For glory, for the fight against Sin, for the people of Spira? No, for some secret and undoubtedly poisonous plot of Yevon.
Okay, I can't think about this anymore, not if I want to remain calm. Wouldn't do to work myself into a such a state that I end up breaking into the Maesters' tent tonight and killing them while they sleep.
I checked in on Dani; he's still crying and shows no signs of being able to pull himself together any time soon. The Squadron Three recorder -- I still haven't caught his name -- has taken responsibility for him, so at least someone is keeping an eye out, making sure he gets enough water to replace all he's losing to tears. I wonder if we'll ever know what happened to him out there.
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The battered and bruised have once again been tended to; Baralai and I made the rounds one last time this evening with his herbal remedies and magic, although he saved the latter for only the most dire cases, like sending Dani to sleep. Now it's time to pack up and make ready for the final leg of our journey across Bikanel. Tomorrow night, we'll be on the beach, and the day after that is the boat. Baralai has instructed me in the proper method of dosing Nooj with the seasickness remedy and given me the rest of the painkillers to dispense as I see fit. I can't wait to see how Nooj deals with having to take orders from me for a change.
Nooj-- something is happening there. I can't even begin to describe it properly. All I know is that our connection, shattered so badly in the desert, seems to be mending, stronger and deeper than it was before. Whenever we aren't otherwise occupied, we are together, saying little, each simply relishing the presence of the other. He rarely reaches out to me, but he doesn't need to -- he just looks at me, and my heart turns over in a lazy somersault of happiness.
But I can't be near him without touching him. It's practically a compulsion, these constant pats and small caresses, reassuring me that he is still there, still alive, not gone yet. I'll rest my hand on his back, or his shoulder, or his arm -- machina or flesh, it makes no difference to me; it's all Nooj. Is it strange that I should feel the same tingling in my palms whether I'm brushing against the warm muscle of his right thigh or the cool metal of his left? I used to think so, but I've gotten used to it now.
Words have never been the best means of communication between us. So I touch him instead, to show him that I am here and that I am his. And that I love him.
Because I do love him. I can't deny that anymore. Not to myself, anyway. I can't bring myself to tell him, though; I'm petrified of what he might say. What if he doesn't return my feelings? Even worse, what if he does, and it's still not enough to tie him to life, to keep him with me? I don't think I could take knowing that. So I'll stay silent. It's safer that way.