Chapter Two
Auron stood over Jecht with his sphere-recorder for some time before the larger man cruelly snarled, "What're you shooting me for?"
"So you don't do anything stupid again." Jecht rolled his eyes a little, and Auron growled down at him, peering at him over the recorder. "I can't believe you attacked that shoopuf. Sir Braska had to pay the handler out of his own travel money—."
"I said I was sorry," Jecht grumbled, cradling the back of his head. "It's never gonna happen again. I promise."
"Oh, a promise?" Auron scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Which you'll forget come tomorrow!"
Braska touched Auron's shoulder gently, calming his growing rage. "Auron, please. He did apologize. He knows he was wrong."
Jecht stood, brushing past them both. Auron followed his movement with the recorder, his gaze angry and intent. He was quiet for some time, looking out over the river, and finally whirled back to glare at Auron a little vindictively.
"That's it. Only thing I drink from now on is Shoopuf milk."
Braska watched him for a moment; Auron could hear the skepticism in his voice. "You're sure?"
Jecht threw up his arms in aggravation. "We're on a journey to fight Sin and save Spira, right? If I keep screwin' up and . . . making a fool of myself—. My wife and kid are never gonna forgive me."
"That's on record." Jecht sneered at Auron a little.
Auron watched Jecht critically for a moment, as he shut off the recorder, and tossed it back to the other man. Jecht caught it without really looking at Auron, and tucked it back in among his things. His red eyes were a little distant and pained, and Auron could only hope that, this time, Jecht would keep his promise.
They traveled, their pace languid, and came upon Djose a few days after the incident at the Moonflow. Near Djose, Braska detoured to visit a relative—an uncle or cousin of some sort, who was quite a bit older than he was—and spoke with young men and women he'd known when he was younger. The Temple was mostly quiet, and the cloisters seemed devilishly easy, compared to Macalania's.
After they had acquired the aeon of Djose, they loitered in the temple for several days. Braska deserved the break, and Auron wasn't about to complain. But Jecht was antsy, always up and around, and barely sleeping.
As Braska rested on their fourth night in Djose, Auron abandoned his feigned sleep, and stalked Jecht out onto the balcony outside their shared room. The older man had his back to the railing, and was shivering slightly.
He demanded, without opening his eyes to look at Auron, "What d'ya want, kid?"
"Why do you insist on calling me that, 'kid'? I'm almost as old as Braska and yourself." His voice was a stage-whisper hiss of vindication. Jecht opened one eye and peered at him skeptically, sighing gently. He looked up at the sky and stared at the stars for a while.
"They aren't the same here."
"What?" Jecht pointed at the stars vaguely.
"They aren't the same here as they were on the beach near Bevelle. That's where I washed up, ya know? But they aren't the same here."
"Well, we've moved south." Auron looked up at the sky himself. "It's a different expanse. The lights are dimmer here as well. They—Jecht?"
The older man was watching him intently over his arms, crossed over his knees as they were. Auron flushed a little under the scrutiny.
Quietly, Jecht sighed, and buried his face in his arms. His voice was a little muffled. "Look, uh . . . I'm sorry. About that whole thing in the Thunder Plains. I was drunk."
"I know," Auron groused, and then swore under his breath. "What I mean is—. I mean—. Uh. Don't worry about it . . . ?"
"Well, I'm worryin'." He looked back up at Auron, and frowned a little. "It's not like I was doin' all that on purpose just to piss you off or something. I mean . . . look, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to offend you or nothin'."
"You didn't offend me, Jecht. Just . . ." Auron suspected if he ran with his mouth he'd only prove to insinuate and embarrass himself. He stopped his rebuttal of Jecht's apology. "You're forgiven though, if it eases your conscience."
"It does," Jecht grumped, and was tucked back behind his arms again. Auron looked out over the quiet darkness surrounding Djose, and sighed softly, leaning against the railing.
He was dimly aware of the precarious nature of his slightly wanton pose, but chose to ignore it. On any other night he likely would have straightened the instant he'd fallen into the stance. But that night, he was tired and stressed, and the stretch to his back felt nice.
He started when he felt Jecht behind him, and whirled until his back was to the railing. Jecht was peering at him with a strange intensity, his hands suddenly on either side of Auron's hips, pinning him to his spot.
"Ya know," Jecht observed, cocking a brow towards his hairline, "most guys . . . ya kiss 'em, and they deck you."
"Speaking from personal experience?" Jecht nodded, abandoning the pretense of the boastful rogue for a more honest face. Auron flushed a little—more frustrated than angry, though he refused to delude himself to the idea that he had wanted to be Jecht's first and only man.
"I'm just saying . . ." Jecht was leaning in awfully close, all of a sudden, though his eyes never broke from Auron. "Just saying that—."
From their room, Braska gave a husky, tired grumble of, "Auron? Jecht?" Auron ducked under Jecht's arm as he pulled away, and hurried back into the room immediately.
He didn't want to think about the embarrassed heat on his cheeks.
The inn on the Mi'ihen Highroad was owned by Al Bhed, as were many of the inns on the path of a Summoner's pilgrimage. Auron no longer thought this an odd thing, though he could admit to being slightly unsettled when some set of darkly intent, swirling green eyes darted to him. They rested languidly for the night; Auron found he couldn't sleep, laying in the dark and listening to the soft breathing of Braska and the occasional abrupt snort or snore from Jecht.
In the morning, Auron was the last to leave their room. Jecht was leaning against the front desk, smiling and obviously flirting with a young Al Bhed woman with a thousand braids and eyes so dark they seemed nearly black. Braska was standing to one side, speaking with an older man who looked harried and bothersome.
Auron addressed that situation first and foremost.
"Sir Braska?" The Summoner turned, and smiled fleetingly at Auron. He gestured to the older Al Bhed gently.
"Ah, Auron. I was just being told by Dr-"—he faltered, furrowed his brow, and tried again—"Drate—."
"Dratajem," the Al Bhed offered quietly; he was smiling a little at the Summoner's inability to say the foreign name. Auron held in a flush and light groan.
"Ah, thank you, yes. Dratajem was telling me that they've been having a problem with a fiend near here."
"A . . . fiend, sir?" Auron wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know where this was going, but was pretty sure he already did. The wizened Al Bhed nodded emphatically, and sprang into a long and detailed description of the horrendous sin spawn and its deeds against the chocobo housed at the inn.
Auron had a sudden, overwhelming urge to retreat to the room they so freshly vacated, crawl under the bed, and never come out again, if it meant avoiding an unnecessary battle. He was just hypothesizing the best way to retreat from the situation when Jecht's arm, crooked and heavy, landed on his shoulder.
"We've got time, don't we? What'll it hurt?"
Braska was giving Jecht an expression that he should have earned weeks ago in the prison at Bevelle. The wizened Al Bhed beamed thankfully at Jecht, and touched Braska's shoulder gently, his eyes just one side of desperately pleading. Far be it from Braska to turn down the obvious need of a stranger.
Auron had a sudden, overwhelming urge to beat Braska over the head into unconsciousness, and drag him to Luca, simply to avoid the entire situation. He sighed, and shrugged his unoccupied shoulder.
"Jecht is right, Sir Braska. It would be in good service as well—."
"We'll see what we can do," Braska offered. They abandoned their things near the door, and stepped into the clearing outside the inn. Auron thought he could hear Braska muttering something about a waste of time. He started as Jecht suddenly pitched the sphere-recorder at him, smirking a little and giving him a thumbs-up; he obligingly turned the damn thing on.
Braska strode out from the inn a little, turned back, and looked over the area skeptically. He had one thin brow cocked a little. "A giant fiend that attacks chocobos . . ."
"Hmph. What's it waiting for?" Auron cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted, "Hey! Come out and fight!"
"I told you this was a waste of time," Braska muttered. Still, he was holding his staff loosely in his hand, ready to summon one of his powerful aeons at a moment's notice. Auron glanced between them, wondering over the subtle shift of their demeanors.
Jecht grinned winningly at Braska. "Hey, come on! It's the right thing to do! Everyone's depending on us." Braska approached him slowly, now looking around with a bit more intent. Auron could feel his hackles beginning to rise. That grin on Jecht's face became a somewhat feral snarl. "Besides, it's good practice."
"I guess you're right," Braska admitted. He was watching off up the road, back north, towards the Mushroom Rock road. "Well then . . ."
There was a sudden crash of motion. Before Auron could think, the recorder was out of his hands, replaced with his sword, and his ambient disbelief had shifted to a primal drive to simply protect.
The ugly thing was there, snarling and reeking like some long dead thing. Auron stared at it blindly for a moment, his sword slackening in his grip for a split second.
Jecht's voice brought him back. "There it is! Auron! Let's get 'im." There was a smile in his voice, a vindictive blood lust and that same overwhelming urge to protect their Summoner. At once, they were Guardians. Auron smiled a little.
"Right!"
It was some days later that they arrived in Luca. Auron had never thought himself much for the hearty gaming town, but he let himself be swayed by a little bit of the maniac energy that swarmed the streets when they arrived off the Mi'ihen Highroad.
Braska streamed off to the Temple, and admonished both Auron and Jecht to indulge in their wilder sides for a while. For Jecht, that apparently meant finding the closest gambling ring and subjecting himself to a firm losing streak; for Auron, that included taking his sword to the weapons' shop to be properly adjusted, and then ducking into a bar for a few hours.
Auron wasn't a heavy drinker. The clergy had frowned on any excess indulgence, and Auron had never really seen why alcohol was such a joy for most of the commoners. Now, as life was slipping away with the pilgrimage, Auron was beginning to understand.
He drank. Not heavily, but enough to dull the senses a little. So it didn't surprise him too much when Jecht managed to sneak up on him in the street.
"Whoa there, kid. Let's get you back to the inn, huh? Shit." His hand was hot on his waist, his body firm as Auron allowed himself to be guided to their inn.
The three of them had a large suite, practically fit for a king, and three decently sized beds instead of the two—or, even more likely, one—they had been getting used to. Jecht leaned Auron against the headboard of one bed, lifting his feet onto the mattress and removing his heavy boots.
As he came up to work off Auron's jacket, the younger man batted his hands off, grabbed his face, and kissed him firmly upon the mouth. Jecht stood stalk-still after they broke, and blinked stupidly at Auron.
He growled drunkenly, "That's what you get for not doing things properly at Djose."
"Eh?"
Auron looked away, crossing his arms over his chest and brooding pointedly—well, perhaps not brooding. Pouting was probably a better term for the petulant frown marring his still-young features. Jecht sat on the edge of the bed, and didn't say anything, waiting for Auron to explain.
Auron spoke a bit more clearly then. "okay, it's more for pissing me off in the Thunder Plains with your comment about me having the—being attracted to Braska."
"But you are attracted to Braska," Jecht pointed out needlessly. Auron blushed, and smacked Jecht upside the fool head. Jecht actually fell off the bed, and clutched his head as he hissed and grumbled and swore. "What was that for?"
"Whether I'm attracted to Lord Braska or not is nothing for you to worry over, you insufferable, incorrigible, nosy, Yevon-forsaken, horny old goat!"
Jecht was silent, staring at Auron for some time, before he snorted, and leaned up towards the younger man.
"Did you just call me a horny old goat?" Auron grumbled, and returned to his 'brooding'. He crossed his ankles, and then drew his knees up to his chest. He suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to hide under the blankets and cry.
Jecht climbed onto the bed again, and knelt at Auron's feet, staring at him insistently. Auron rolled his eyes, and pushed at his side with one foot.
"Oh, leave me alone, Jecht. Haven't you done enough?"
"What have I done?" Jecht complained, then thought about it, and shrugged. "okay, besides the obvious stupid crap."
"Just go away." Auron leaned forward and shoved at Jecht's shoulders. Jecht grabbed his wrists, and tugged at him a little; Auron tugged back, growling under his breath darkly. "Damnit, Jecht, why can't you just go away?"
"Don't you think I wish I could?" Jecht grumbled. He shook Auron a little, and sneered at him. "But I can't. I'm stuck with you and Braska until I can hightail back to Zanarkand. So if you've got a beef with me—."
"Just go away!" Auron bemoaned, managing one hand free and socking Jecht right in the jaw. Jecht wasn't a Blitzer for nothing; he took the punch, grabbed Auron's wrist again, and wrestled over control with him until he had the smaller man pinned to the mattress.
"What's your beef, damnit?"
"It would've been easier without you!" Auron snarled, his face a mask of ugly self-betrayal and loathing. "If you weren't here, I could have just ignored it, you know? But you had to show up, and come with us, and point it out! And now . . ."
"Now what, Auron?" Jecht demanded, shaking Auron a little.
"Now I can't stop thinking about it!" He was crying, he knew, but he didn't really care. He swore, and slammed his head back against the forgiving mattress, relaxing in Jecht's hold a little. For a little while, he simply cried, until he could pull together the coherence to tense and lash out once more.
"I don't want to think about that," he snarled, managing to rear up a little and get right into Jecht's face. "I can't. And you just keep reminding me—."
Jecht kissed him. Auron shut up, his hands going slack in their fists and his mouth opening heedlessly. It was not a good kiss, by any stretch, but it was something anyway. Something different then the hurried, brutal affair back on the Thunder Plains, or the nearly tender expression shared at Djose.
The door to their suite opened. Jecht didn't stop kissing him until the door shut. He pulled back then, and shoved Auron onto the bed, where he choked and hiccoughed on a sob, twisting to look towards the door.
Braska was looking between them skeptically, and quietly asked, "Jecht? What happened to your jaw?"
"Auron's a mean drunk," he excused, and straightened himself out swiftly. "I'm going for a walk."
Auron returned from a jaunt before their ship docked, and joggled a few spheres one handed, quickly discerning a blank one and slipping it into the recorder. He was scanning the dock without even thinking about it by the time he heard Jecht's voice.
"Hey, Auron! Did you get that last match?"
He turned, frowned a little, and grumbled, "Yeah," tossing the required sphere at Jecht, who caught it easily and turned it over in his hands. "But I don't understand why you wanted me to. Didn't you say you have Blitzball in your Zanarkand?"
Jecht was more intent on the sphere than Auron's words, but still snorted a little. "Not a sportsman, are ya?"
"Working on your form?" Braska asked, sounding almost half interested. Jecht snorted again, looking over at the Summoner.
"My form don't need no work. I'm the great Jecht!" He didn't sound as boastful as his words might assume him to be. He was staring at the sphere as he wandered towards Braska. "It's for my kid."
"Your son plays Blitzball?" Braska asked. Jecht stood face to face with him, and Auron simply watched over the edge of the sphere recorder. He felt strangely detached from the entire situation, like he should leave the two fathers to their business and mind his own.
"Yeah, and he wants to beat his old man bad." He chuckled a little, and recounted, "Once, I told him to give it up. He didn't speak to me for a week." Then, Jecht became very quiet, staring into the distance like Braska often did, as though somewhere out on the ocean he could see his wife and son, and his Zanarkand. "Wonder what he's doing now. I hope he got bigger and put on some muscle."
He strode off, and it was with half a mind that Auron turned and followed him a little, catching just a hint of a sniffle before he whirled and snarled, "Hey, what's the big idea? Stop shootin'."
Auron, with a small hum of misunderstanding, turned the recorder off, handing it over to Jecht. He snatched it away, and stuffed it in among his things.
Braska called to them as the ship pulled up to dock.