A/N: WOAH what happened here? God, this chapter confuses me. But you all must love Arok now, because he's so delightful and easy-to-read! Go to my Deviant Art account to see a picture of him (devilishkurumi, as it is everywhere).

I'd like to take a moment to thank all of you for reviewing – a few select, deliciously happy reviews are better than hundreds of mindless ones. I'd also like to thank Starwolf for putting up with my incessant talk about this damned fic, and apologize because it's not gonna stop NOW.

The music is as loud as last night – no, wait... if at all possible, it might just be louder. Kuja is already looking about with a casual grin, most likely hunting out one of the three people he's met in Treno.

Amarant shakes his head and heads for the "bar," intending to use his fists to get free drinks again. Kuja is following him – he can feel the other behind him even if he can't see him.

"I don't think either of those two are going to show up," Kuja grins, "We scared them."

"Whatever." Amarant gets the same as last night and even though he thinks Kuja should go easier tonight, the Genome gets the same as well. They're idle; the music isn't right and they aren't nearly drunk, much less drunk enough to dance.

They see a feather and then brown hair, and then Lani's approaching them with a grin.

"Amarant, you're becoming social," she chuckles, rolling her eyes as he gestures rudely to her. "Kuja! Did you convince him to come? You're amazing!"

"Mm, I know," Kuja waves a hand, "Would you like a drink? Apparently Amarant can get them for free."

"Want to see how?" Amarant asks, and he glares at the 'barkeep' who's really just a thief who steals alcohol. The thief brings him a huge mug of some kind of foul smelling alcohol, and he hands it to Lani.

"And you would think he has no use other than for beating people up!" Lani drawls, taking an easy swig of the drink. Kuja suddenly blinks, and darts off into the crowd; Amarant looks after him, then shrugs, leaning against the bar and taking a long drink.

"So, have fun last night, Ama'?" Lani asks, grinning up at the larger bounty hunter, "You were dancing an awful lot for someone who would never dance with me."

"You never tried to get me drunk," Amarant grumbles. "Kuja doesn't have those kinds of morals."

"Oh, he has morals. You just so happen to be an exception to a lot of them."

Amarant looks at Lani, who's watching the crowd innocently. "What's that supposed to mean, woman?"

"You know, he's awfully girly, for such a refined guy," the girl continues, oblivious to Amarant's question. "He's awesome."

"You're a total fairy monger, that's all."

"So what's that say about you?" Amarant shoots her a glare that could kill a demon at twenty paces and she laughs. "Oh, did I wound your masculinity? Sorry." She isn't, obviously, and Amarant has to deal with it. "He's probably got a huge bounty on his head."

"He doesn't have a bounty," Amarant responds in annoyance. Lani blinks, eyes widening in confusion.

"Then why are you carting him around? He's either your companion or your bounty, right? Isn't that how it's been for the last five years?"

Amarant makes an affirming noise but can't answer Lani straight. It's no doubt – if Kuja had been known before his death, he would have been worth millions... but he's not. There's no bounty on Kuja, there's nothing to gain from humoring him or taking him to Alexandria – other than maybe money from Zidane, who might feel like he owes him something. But despite that, he doesn't feel as if he's – what was Lani's term? – a companion of Kuja's. He feels like a mixture between a babysitter and a bodyguard who can't do his job because his client keeps slinking off into crowds of cutthroats.

"You know, you're different." Lani's offhanded remark strikes Amarant with a club.

"What?"

"You're not... I don't know. Whatever you did with that monkey guy and the princess – queen – really left something on you, you know?"

"Yeah, it left a bad taste in my mouth." Lani laughs, and hits him on the shoulder – hard.

"You went and did the hero thing, didn't you?" she asks, grinning at him. He snorts and finishes the dregs of his drink, grabbing for another one. "I knew it. You came back and you were way too righteous for the bounty hunting business. Traveling with that monkey made you realize your hero capacity!"

"My hero capacity," Amarant repeats, skeptical. "I'm not a hero. I just had some epiphanies."

"The old Amarant would've beat those epiphanies to bloody messes and shoved them in a proverbial box," Lani chuckles. When Amarant glances at her in annoyance, she continues hastily, "It's not a bad thing, Ama'. I like it. You should've invited me along! I need some epiphanies!"

"What you need is a lobotomy," he drawls, and Kuja's coming back to them with Arok by his side.

"...'n he just wen' an' ditched me!" the pickpocket is complaining. Kuja has a look of dull interest on his face – he cares, but only so much.

"I need another drink," he says to the thief behind the bar, who hastily looks from Amarant to the Genome before fixing him another of the same, "And my friend would like one too."

"Wow, y' gettin' special trea'men' by ev'ry'n!" Arok exclaims, and Kuja shrugs noncommittally.

"Gilgamesh abandoned our friend here," Kuja says to Lani and Amarant, who wear equal expressions of mild annoyance at the pickpocket, "And you shouldn't glare at people who can slit your throat in the dark from twelve paces to your left."

"What, now?" Amarant asks gruffly, looking at Arok, who looks like a kicked dog.

"Y'lookin' at on'na th' finest boun'y hunners in alla Gaia!" the pick pocket quickly grins, pointing to himself. He suddenly ducks his head and mumbles, "'Sides yerselves."

"Well, at least he knows his place," Lani smirks, crossing her arms and looking a lot like Amarant. "Fess up, then, why are you hanging around Gilgamesh?"

"Why's Kuja hangin' 'round y'two? 'E's highclass 'n boun'y hunners ain't... but 'e likes y'all, so 'e hangs 'round."

Amarant deciphers the slurring accent and looks at Kuja, eyebrow raised in mild curiosity, "So, you like us?"

"Mm," Kuja nods, "I like Lani. You, I'm not so sure about," he grins, and Lani laughs.

"My heart's breaking," Amarant rolls his eyes, "Why don't you and Lani share a bed, then, and she can take you to Alexandria."

"I'm not going to sleep with him!" Lani exclaims.

"I don't sleep with people I like!" the Genome huffs, looking like a bird with ruffled feathers.

"Then who do you sleep with?" Amarant asks, smirk on his face. He knows Kuja's going to have to struggle to get out of this one, and nothing he says won't dig him deeper –

"People I don't know if I like or not."

Lani chokes on her drink and Amarant blinks, confused. He thinks about it and realizes that that's what he is, but he can't say anything and Kuja doesn't elaborate.

They hang around the wall and talk; Lani's laughing with Kuja, Arok's making fumbled attempts to flirt with the bounty huntress, her letting him continue because the attention is good and he's probably attractive. Amarant wouldn't know – he doesn't think about that unless it's presented before him on a goddamned silver platter.

They're steadily reaching their previous amount of alcohol, but Kuja seems to have the swing of things and it's probably going to be a bit longer before he gets drunk enough to think dancing with Amarant's going to be any fun. Amarant's not looking forward to it, of course. He just wants to keep track of Kuja's drinking to make sure the monkey doesn't collapse.

Kuja's leaning against Arok when suddenly the two girls – the two girls from last night, they must be the only locals who can carry a goddamn note – start up a song that Lani must like. "Kuja! Come dance with me!" she shouts, and the Genome laughs and nods, because he doesn't need to be drunk to know Lani can dance.

Amarant isn't annoyed by that, of course.

"Y' keep glarin' like tha' 'n jus' maybe 'e'll notice, hm?" Amarant shoots a deadly look at Arok, warning him to keep his mouth shut. He's a lightweight, already drunk, so he doesn't notice it. "'m surprised y' let y'mate outta y'sight like tha'."

"My mate?"

"Ah!" Arok suddenly flushes, "Naw, naw, not like tha'! Y'mate, y', whazzit, y'friend. Kuja!"

"He's not my friend."

"'Sright, 'e's yer mate. 'Nyway, tha' Lani's gonna take 'n scoop 'im up for any boun'y 'e might 'ave. Watcher back."

"He doesn't have a bounty," Amarant insists for the second time that night. Arok shrugs, and swallows the rest of his fifth drink. Amarant finishes his twelfth and wonders if Kuja's had seven or eight now.

"Mm... Yanno, 'e's got sad eyes. Eyes like tha' gotta mean 'e's done summin bad. Pro'ly bad 'nough for a boun'y."

Amarant wonders if the little, broken-nosed guy knows what he's talking about. Kuja would've had a bounty if he had been alive longer... Maybe he does have sad eyes and Amarant just doesn't notice it because he doesn't think deep enough.

"'s pretty cute, though. If 'e isn't yer boun'y 'r yer mate, y'should bed 'im 'fore someone else takes 'im."

"I'm not going to sleep with Kuja," Amarant growls, voice low. Arok must realize now that he's hit his boundaries and he holds up his hands, spilling his drink a little.

"Okay, okay! Didn' mean nothin' by it, jus' makin' observations."

"Make an observation about the size of my fist in relation to the size of your face, and then you can tell me if you want to keep talking."

"Amarant, are you harassing Arok?"

The two bounty hunters turn to see Kuja and Lani, slightly out of breath and both wearing easy grins because yes, Kuja's had about eight drinks now and Lani's always drunk.

"Naw, naw," Arok fills in for Amarant, responding to Kuja's question, "Jus' talkin'."

Kuja's hair is already loosened up and silver is falling in his eyes, black ribbons trailing over his shoulders and Amarant 'asks' for another drink. He's not nearly drunk enough to excuse thinking about Kuja.

"When are you dancing with me?" Kuja pouts, and Amarant takes an extra moment. No, his eyes look normal enough to him.

"I'm not dancing with you."

"How many drinks have you had?"

"...Fourteen, maybe."

Kuja grins and nods, "Then you have to. It didn't take that many to get you to last time, come on."

Kuja grabs Amarant's hands again – the bounty hunter trips up and spills some of his drink before Lani grabs it for herself – and pulls him directly to the floor. Lani's laughing and Arok's talking about something stupid, and then Kuja's hands are on his shoulders and Kuja's pressed lightly against him. The song is loud and fast and happy, and he thinks he's heard it before. Kuja's laughing and they're moving around the floor without even needing to look at the other people because it's all instinctive. Kuja swings his hips in time to the music and slides backwards, hands snaking down Amarant's arms and grabbing hold of his hands.

They step to either side and then back, and at just the right moment Kuja lets one hand go and Amarant easily pulls him back, and wow apparently it really was fourteen drinks to get him dancing well enough to keep Kuja grinning. He feels Kuja's hips under his hands and realizes the tricky monkey put his hands there; they swing so he swings and when Kuja slides his arms against Amarant's sides they move to the left and avoid being hit by two rowdy drunks. The girls do a few solid hits against the piano and at each note Kuja tilts his hips and they're at the very end of the song and Kuja falls against him at the last note.

"You're a wonderful dancer, for sure," Kuja is breathing faster than normal, out of breath. "It's really not just the alcohol talking."

"Hn." They're still swaying because – well, because Kuja's still with the music and Amarant's still with Kuja. His hair is all over his face, and almost too quickly for Amarant to guess it, his hand reaches out and pushes it behind Kuja's ear because, really, he looks better when you can see his eyes.

His eyes are sad. You just have to look the right way.

"Are..." Amarant stops himself from asking any questions; he's already acted stupidly by dancing, and then messing around with Kuja's hair? He must be drunk.

"Mm," Kuja nods, because the damned monkey probably already knows what Amarant was going to ask. "Fine, fine." This song is mellower, still bouncy but without all of the crazed undertones. "I really do think you're an excellent dancer," Kuja confesses, as if it's so hard to believe. It is.

"I don't dance," the bounty hunter drawls even as they sway with the music.

"Then what do you call whatever that was?" Kuja grins, looking up at the bounty hunter from against his chest.

"Being foolish."

"Ah, there is a foolish corner in the mind of the wisest men," Kuja replies in a soft, easy voice, "I guess we should make sure Lani and Arok don't kill each other."

"Wouldn't mind it if they did," Amarant drawls and Kuja laughs.

"Unless you want to keep dancing?"

Amarant doesn't know. "Whatever."

They stay, Kuja breathing deep and looking tired. The song ends on a soft note and they finally drift back towards the two they had left at the 'bar.'

"Y'wanna try it!" Arok's voice shouts over the crowd and Kuja frowns, moving faster than Amarant wants, but the bounty hunter follows as well.

Arok is facing off against a tall, muscular guy with excessive scars, Lani wailing about a ruined shirt from somewhere to the left. Kuja immediately goes to her, and Amarant approaches the two.

"What's going on?" he asks, because he would rather not have a fight when he's so pleasantly drunk out of his mind.

"Th's ass'ole wants t' try takin' me on!" Arok exclaims, looking like a house cat against a mountain lion, "First y' throw y'drink on Lani 'n now y'wanna fight me? Let's go, I'll take y'on right fast!"

"You threw your drink on Lani?" Amarant asks, confused. Why would someone waste a perfectly good amount of alcohol on Lani's clothes?

"Who the hell are you?" the cutthroat asks Amarant gruffly, "Back the fuck out of my business."

"Y'dunno who yer talkin' t'!" Arok shouts, and the cutthroat growls lowly before socking him square in the jaw, a hollow crack drawing the attention of some of the crowd. The smaller of the two yelps and falls back, hands over his bloody mouth.

"Stop buggin' me, you runt!"

Amarant growls and grabs the cutthroat by the neck, dragging him close. "You want a fight? Let's fight."

The cutthroat responds by punching Amarant as well, right in the nose. Amarant snarls and throws the asshole into the crowd, which splits to either side. The two girls see the fight and make exclamations about tickets and bets, starting up a rowdy, vicious Burmecian war song. The scarred man stands and lunges at Amarant, who blocks him with an arm and swings, catching him in the gut. The man cracks against the ground when he falls but springs back up, twisting strangely before throwing something at Amarant.

The form is sloppy and the bounty hunter catches the projectile between two fingers – a wicked blade stares at him and he throws it back at the assailant. It catches him in the shoulder and he stumbles back, feet hitting the ground in time to the drums. He rips the knife out and attacks Amarant viciously, swinging with all his might and not bothering to defend the seldom, powerful blows the bounty hunter throws at him.

Lani's shouting at him and he turns just in time to block a kick from one of the scarred man's friends, who falls into line with the first and now he's outnumbered by one, but hey, he's done worse.

They're fighting in unison and maybe they're brothers or something, reading each other perfectly and then there's a third – okay, perhaps this is outnumbered. Amarant backhands one and sends him flying into the crowd – he doesn't return so the other two fight harder. He feels a sharp jolt and looks down – one of the two brothers tried to stab him, but the shirt blocked it?

He fights harder and grabs one by the throat. "Enough!" he roars, and the original fighter falls back, staring at Amarant in shock. He tightens the grip on the other's neck and hears him gag. "Get the fuck out of here, you fool," he hisses, throwing the brother to the thief and growling.

There's a shout from the crowd and Amarant turns – the third comes charging, and he holds up his arms to defend himself, when suddenly the attacker is hanging upside down in the air.

Kuja looks beyond displeased. His dark eyes are laced with red and his hair is flickering very slightly. "You're going to want to leave now, if you want to live," he growls, voice changing slightly but he's getting control. He lets the third out of his grasp and the three go running to loud, rowdy catcalls from the stage, in time to an Alexandrian fighting tune. The crowd laughs and Amarant breathes deep. Kuja comes next to him and looks at him curiously.

"Are you okay?" he asks, but the bounty hunter stares at him.

"You nearly lost it," he growls, "Don't do that."

"You would've gotten stabbed in the neck if I hadn't stepped in!" Kuja exclaims.

"I've handled worse." No he hasn't. "Do it again and I'll knock you out." No he won't.

Kuja makes a noise and stalks off, looking even angrier than before. Amarant shrugs to himself and leaves the building, heading back towards the inn. He feels a sharp jolt when he uses one leg, and figures there's probably going to be a nasty bruise there.

The inn is warm compared to the night, and the little barmaid looks up, sees him, and gasps in shock. "Mr. Amarant!" she exclaims, "Are you alright?"

Does he look bad off? He catches himself in the mirror and sees that his nose is swollen – dear god if it's broken, nothing's going to stop him from killing all three of those assholes. He's got a black eye, too, but he's had that before.

"Nn, fine." She's over in an instant, reaching up (practically has to stand on her toes) and feeling along the ridge of his nose. She sighs in reluctant agreement.

"Your nose isn't broken, you're lucky. Did you get into a fight with Mr. Kuja?"

"You think Kuja could do this to me." It's not a question, he's too annoyed (Kuja's too fucking smart to try and hurt me) to really place it as such.

"He's a lot stronger than you think," the girl replies (she can probably read my mind, wouldn't be the first time a bint's done that) and he shakes his head.

"Bar fight."

He stares at the girl and wonders if this is her silver platter offering. She's close; hand still on his face (she really is standing on her toes, she's so small) and wide blue eyes staring at him in awe, because he's treating a bar fight as normality. She's got soft brown hair, but it's shorter than he would prefer, but it's curly and falls out of a bun in little ringlets. She's small (practically three feet shorter than me, damn) and she's shy (look at that, she's blushing, been spending too long staring) but it looks alright on her.

"I still need to close up, but afterwards," she starts, stepping back and landing on her full feet, "I'll come up with some ice for that eye."

"Thanks," he mutters, and heads up the stairs. Maybe he should've worn those pants Kuja got him.

He gets into his room and closes the door, falling onto the bed and groaning in annoyance. He manages to sit up long enough to struggle out of his shirt (it really did help, huh?) and his shoes, and then falls back again, staring at the ceiling for what seems like an eternity, closing his eyes and breathing deeply (one, two, three four).

He wakes up – slowly again, damn it – and hears muted voices at his door. He doesn't bother to look – it's dark, he'd only see the silhouettes anyways – because he knows who it is.

"I don't think it's broken," the barmaid's whispering, "But put some ice on it to keep the swelling down. If it is broken, let me know."

"Thank you," Kuja's murmuring (forgot to lock the door), and then the door clicks shut and he's alone again.

Kuja sits on his bed, and he blinks in surprise (guy's too damned quiet) and he catches Amarant's eyes even in the dark.

"Are you okay?" he asks, for the second time tonight. Again, Amarant doesn't answer (do you want that in essay form or a list?) and Kuja sighs. He feels Kuja feel out his bruises and frowns, because it's not that big of a deal (I've never needed anyone before, why are you acting like I need someone now?).

Kuja leans over him and examines the bruises, hands soft and twice as dexterous as his own (if I did this I'd probably end up breaking my nose). His hair is out of his braid and the ribbons are gone, leaving only silver hair to frame his face. It glows in the dim light from outside, just like his dark eyes (yeah, it wasn't the light, they're sad) and his skin is pale.

His hands work against the bruises and he puts ice on his nose, wrapped up in a towel from downstairs (smells like beer and perfume), and then his hands trace along scars on his chest that are hidden by the netting of that damned shirt, bruises forming from punches and the failed knifing. That one's going to hurt like a bitch (but it's better than if I'd been stabbed) and it hurts now as Kuja pushes his hands against it, muttering soft words. The pain almost immediately goes away (white magic?) and Kuja does this to all of his bruises, massaging out the lingering pain before going to the next one.

His hands are soft against Amarant's face again, and now he can hear the silver haired man's mumblings (yeah, that's a spell) and his nose feels a lot better.

Kuja doesn't say anything; he just sits on the side of the bed and feels Amarant's face and scars, tracing them in a way to commit them to memory (why would he want to remember them, I sure as hell don't). "I'm sorry," he murmurs, and his hands push hair back softly, as if it might hurt. "I didn't mean to lose control."

"...You didn't," Amarant mutters, voice hoarse.

"I almost did. I just didn't think you should get stabbed in the neck for defending Arok."

"I wasn't defending that fool," the bounty hunter mumbles, flushing slightly (so glad it's dark) and finishing reluctantly, "He just ruined my good mood."

"I didn't know you had those," Kuja laughs quietly, smiling. Amarant looks away (he looks like a damned woman) and Kuja's hands stop stroking his hair, and he looks so familiar...

(Zidane looked like that when he came back and told me about how Kuja'd died and how he'd taken three days to bury him.)

He can almost see Zidane crying in Kuja's eyes. (It took a long time before he'd tell anyone.)

He feels stupidly sentimental about that moment – it's the only time anyone's confided in him first before their lovers or their real friends, and it's stuck. Kuja looks like he's about to cry and Amarant has no idea why.

"I don't want to die again," Kuja murmurs, and Amarant blinks, looking at the Genome in confusion. "I'm afraid of it."

His hands are on his face, and he closes his eyes, takes a few deep breaths (one, two, three four).

He wakes up to the door closing softly with a light click. A moment later, and a few deep breaths and he doesn't hear it open again. He won't wake up until morning.

Let the poets cry themselves to sleep.