Chapter Four

Auron sat in the same houseboat as before. He could hear the bemoaning cries of anguish, and the subtle sounds of water moving around under artfully shuffling feet. Tears stung his eyes, caught his throat with a lump he couldn't swallow. Jecht stood at the window that looked over the decimated bay, a silent pillar of strength and perhaps some confusion. The Sending would be over soon, and the elders of Kilika Port would want to talk to Braska and treat him well.

Jecht was behind him on the bed suddenly, his arms around his shoulders, a simple heavy, reassuring heat across his shoulders. Slowly, his hands rose, and his fingers curled around Jecht's wrists—not to pull them away this time, but rather to feel the fluttering pulse under the thin skin there.

"You doin' okay?" Auron nodded, a simple jerk of the chin. Jecht sighed against his ear, and nuzzled the soft skin beneath his jaw. "Are you worried about—?"

"I'm fine." But his voice shook when he said that, and was hoarse after being forced through the lump in his throat. Jecht's sigh was heavier and sadder than before, and his arms slipped off Auron's shoulders, and found their way around his waist instead, pulling him back against his chest. Auron went willingly, leaning his head back against Jecht's shoulder.

It was peaceful, leaning together in the growing twilight and trying not to think of a thousand other things. Jecht's pulse was a steady thump in his wrists, throbbing against Auron's thumbs. In the morning, he wondered if everything would be the same as it was now. He didn't want to think about that, worry about it.

He curled in towards Jecht's warmth a little, turning until he could tuck his face into Jecht's neck. Jecht made a soft little noise that rumbled through his throat and vibrated at the tip of Auron's nose, making him chuckle wetly.

"Are you okay?" It wasn't the same question as before. He shook his head, convincing himself that if he didn't look at Jecht, it was alright to admit his sudden weakness. Jecht's arms tightened around his waist, urged him to turn fully around and easing him onto his knees so he seemed to tower over Jecht and his intense red eyes.

He smiled softly, leaving his arms around Auron's waist, his hands loosely clasped so Auron could run if he needed to. Their eyes met evenly, and didn't break until Auron slowly slipped his arms around Jecht's shoulders, and leaned forward into his warmth.

The stubble on Jecht's cheeks was rough and reminding of his masculinity. His lips were a little chapped, but warm and damp, like he'd licked them before they began to kiss. Those strong arms tightened only a moment against his sides, before relaxing gently, hanging loosely around his hips. Red eyes slatted only half way open as they pulled apart, and remained at half-mast as Auron shyly began an exploration with fingertips and lips.

The sun had set. Auron could still hear the tears of ones who had lost their loved ones. He wondered if Braska was crying with them, mourning his six-years dead Al Bhed wife. He wondered if Jecht silently mourned his wife who he had never known had died, who he had never had a chance to grow old with.

Jecht's hands, now on the back of his thighs, kept him from running away. One hand abandoned his leg to lift his chin and kiss him hungrily. He chuckled thickly against Auron's lips, and quietly wondered what Auron had been thinking of.

"Did you ever comfort your wife like this?"

"Never had to." Auron tensed to leave, and Jecht's hand was back on his thigh, his kisses a bit more insistent. He never pulled away far enough for Auron to run, spoke in ghosting breaths that made Auron break out in gooseflesh.

Somehow, his jacket was gone, and then his shirt. He sat cross-legged, his hands under his ankles, and looked at Jecht through his eyelashes across the space between them. It seemed like miles. Jecht smiled softly, and pulled Auron closer by his wrist, leaning back a little so Auron ended up draped along the line of Jecht's body. Rough fingers caught on the ridges of his ribs, on the scars that laced his chest and stomach and back. There was an insistent but subtle tug on the waist of his slacks, and Auron flushed, his fingers tense on Jecht's shoulders and his head bowed.

"What if Braska—?"

Jecht kissed him, but Auron asked again, finishing his thought, when they broke. Jecht sighed, and his fingers slid up Auron's body; his arms draped over Auron's shoulders, and his red eyes blinked up at Auron's darker brown ones.

He shrugged once, leaving the choice up to Auron. His elbows shook where they were locked to support his weight on either side of Jecht. Silently, he grabbed one of Jecht's hand, and moved it very slowly down to his hip; Jecht chuckled quietly, and squeezed his hip reassuringly as he kissed him.

Auron willingly tumbled to Jecht's gentle motions, sprawling on the mattress and staring up at the ceiling beyond Jecht's head. His eyes closed to insistent kisses, and he found a whimper torn from his throat as Jecht slowly abandoned him on the bed. He followed him to the edge of the bed, staring up at him and his knowing little smirk.

"You ain't ready, kid." His voice was pained, his frustration evident in his eyes and the firm line of his jaw. Auron reached for him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back towards the bed, lunging up and kissing him hungrily.

Jecht pushed him back onto the bed, leaning over him, and then stood, just staring down at him. He sighed, and quietly reprimanded, "Go to sleep."

The seasickness came back on the deep seas beyond sight of Spira's shores. The deep-fishermen mostly sniggered behind his back, talking about what a weakling he was, unable to hold in his sickness for the benefit of his Summoner.

He wasn't even sure what had possessed Braska. Most assuredly, this wasn't part of their original plan. But when Braska became intent, it was hard to dissuade the older man. And Jecht wasn't being very helpful, come to think of it; he seemed perfectly pleased with the idea of heading out to the middle of the ocean to look for a temple that had, supposedly, sunk into the sea.

Auron was, of course, obligated to come with him. The water was insanely frigid and knocked the air right out of Auron's lungs—Jecht fleetingly promised in a chaste whisper to warm him up when they got back.

It was a long swim to the temple, and Auron shivered fitfully when they surfaced within. Braska smiled apologetically to both his Guardians, and struck off, deeper into the cave-like temple.

"Lord Braska," Auron managed through his chattering teeth. "What do you hope to find here?"

"An aeon." His fingers caressed a wall, and then picked a sphere from the floor, inserting it into the slot on the wall. An unfamiliar glyph flashed, and the interior of the antechamber they occupied burst alive with a pale gray-green glow.

Braska continued quietly, his eyes intent on the glittering wall before them. "An aeon called Leviathan."

They approached the wall, and stepped through slowly, into yet another room, likewise lit by the dim light. There were six statues set in six deep alcoves. Braska looked around at each of them, running his fingers reverently over one after the other.

"Auron, get the Baaj sphere from the last room," he murmured as he stood before the last statue. Auron hurried back into the last room, removed the dark sphere, and returned to the room to hand the sphere over. Braska inserted it into a slot on the statue, and watched the glyph glow to life again.

He dug in his robes, retrieving five other small spheres—one from each temple they'd seen, Auron slowly deduced as each glyph flashed and glittered on the stone.

When the last sphere hit its slot, the room erupted into a brilliant light, and opened to a huge chamber. There were hundreds of flickering wicks, lit by the holy fire conjured from the spheres, and the soft trickle of water through veins in the floor and wall was a calming reflection. A flight of stairs led to the inner Chamber of the Fayth. Braska took a deep breath, and stepped forward to mount the stairs.

Auron collapsed into shivers when Braska disappeared, clutching his arms and rubbing them fitfully to try and bring life back to them. Jecht grunted, and stepped over, wrapping him tightly in his arms.

"You shouldn't've come."

"I-I h-had to," Auron hissed through his clenched teeth. Jecht sighed and rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath something about stubborn, pig-headed idiots which Auron supposed included him. He barked a laugh through his shivers, and ducked his head into Jecht's neck. "W-what about you?"

"I'm fine. Used to the cold." He ran his rough hands up and down Auron's arms, trying to bring the normal warmth back to them. "Ya should've kept your jacket."

"Would've . . . slowed m-me down."

"Then ya should've stayed on the fucking boat." Auron smiled slightly. Jecht frowned; his lips were nearly blue. He rubbed his thumb over them slowly, trying to coax the blood back up to the thin skin. "Damn it, Auron."

"I'm f-fine, Jecht." He pushed at Jecht's shoulders, and even stood for a moment, before his legs shook and gave out, and he fell back into Jecht's arms, clinging to his shoulders desperately for balance. Jecht sighed, and grabbed Auron under the shoulders and knees.

He sat on the cold stone of the steps to the Chamber of the Fayth, and settled Auron atop his thighs. As he rubbed his hand over Auron's arms to try and warm them, he dipped a finger into the water running in veins that left the stairs. The water was hot to the touch, and he cupped his hand to gather some, and splashed it over Auron's arm.

He hissed, and flinched away. Jecht rubbed his arms gently, working the warmth into the clammy, pale skin. Auron grumbled under his breath—it wouldn't do much to get warm if they were just going to swim back to the boat; he'd only get cold again.

His lips were still a little blue. Jecht caressed them again, then slowly leaned forward, pressing him lips against Auron's.

Auron flinched back, demanding an explanation. Jecht rolled his eyes a little and shook his head.

"If you don't warm up, being cold when we get back to the boat 's gonna be the least of your problems." Jecht gripped the back of Auron's head and tilted him a bit before leaning forward again. Auron darted back. "What now?"

"W-we're in a t-temple!"

"Yeah? And you're freezing to death." Jecht balanced his hands against the air, and then gestured to Auron. "Which is more important: religious honor? Or keepin' your sorry ass alive long enough to get Braska to Zanarkand?"

Auron allowed the gentle kisses after that.

He dozed restlessly when Jecht finally let him, still cradled to Jecht's chest and still shivering a little. At several points, he was jostled awake by Jecht shifting under him. The door opening to the Chamber of the Fayth was hardly a thump in the dim daze of his half-waking state, and Braska's worried voice was a distant buzz.

He stumbled down the stairs at Jecht's prompting, and was fully awakened only when he was fully submerged in the cold salt water that hemmed the temple in.

It seemed to take an insane amount of time to swim back to the boat. Jecht picked Auron up as soon as they hit the deck, and Auron complained only a little, pushing fruitlessly against Jecht's broad shoulders. The deep-fishermen watched them in stunned silence; Braska followed them silently, a hurried and harried wraith in Jecht's shadow.

Auron slept the entire way back to Luca, buried in too-warm sheets that slowly lost their warmth to his frigid body, and were in turn rewarmed by Jecht's complacent, ever-present heat. He lulled in a half daze, and could hear Jecht and Braska talking over his head.

"Was it worth it?"

"I don't know. We'll see."

"If he dies—."

"He won't."

"But if he does, Braska. You'll never let yourself hear the end of it."

"You'd never let me hear the end of it either, Jecht." There was a chuckle in his voice, and a more hearty one over his head; thicker. That second one was Jecht's, so close to his ear. They were both blurry silhouettes in the darkness of the cabin.

"At least when he wakes up, I'll have somethin' to hold over his head."

"Don't you have enough of that already, Jecht? Or is it all things he can hold over yours?"

"We're kinda tied, I suppose." There was a smile in those words, a quiet joy Auron couldn't understand in his delirium.

Their voices were quiet and subdued, a gentle buzz of white noise. He couldn't hear them for a while. Then, their voices were back.

"Do you love him, Jecht?"

"Do you?"

"He's a good friend."

"That he is." Neither had answered the question. Auron grumbled in his half-sleep. Braska left, and Auron opened his eyes to see Jecht sitting on the side of the bed, his back to him. He jabbed him in the back.

"Why did you ask him that?" he croaked. Jecht smiled slightly, and grabbed his hand gently.

"How're ya feelin'?"

"Like a shoopuf sat on me."

"We're almost to Luca."

Jecht sat by the headboard, his rough fingers laced through with Auron's own sword-calloused ones, and Auron wondered what the answer to Braska's question was.

The journey back north was not nearly as interesting or eventful as the journey south. The tension was high in the air—there had been many attacks by Sin around Spira in the months they'd been traveling. Everybody seemed to be waiting for something, anything, to happen.

Guadosalam was in a quiet state of mourning, their young Lord Seymour back from his failed pilgrimage and his father having holed themselves away in their underground manor. Braska didn't speak to the Guado, simply led his quiet, short procession up to the Farplane and entered without a word.

The place always gave Auron an oddly sticky feeling, like walking through spiderwebs, not simply because of the thought of all the dead souls residing there, but looking at the surrounding scenery. He wondered if any of it was real, or whether it was just a pale reflection of what was remembered from times long passed.

Jecht had looked for his wife among the dead, and had been unsurprised to not see her. He had shrugged, and loitered with Auron a respectful distance from Braska and his dead wife.

She was a pretty thing, all smiles and ever-silent understanding as Braska told her everything that had happened. It seemed like a stupid thing to do.

Jecht crossed his arms over his chest, and asked quietly, "Why would you do this to yourself? I'm glad she's not here; I wouldn't know what to say to her."

"Sometimes," Auron supplied quietly, "you just have to say goodbye more than once."

The Thunder Plains were even more dreadfully dull than the rest of the journey north. Jecht joked idly of what a grand reception they'd get in Bevelle when they got there, and more so when they got back from Zanarkand. Braska's smiles became a bit more pressed, and Auron became a little more short-tempered.

Macalania was quiet and peaceful, as always. The fiends did not seem quite as deadly as they had when they'd come through last, though there was the ever-present danger of the Chimeras and general petrification.

They loitered in the middle of the afternoon in a clearing off Lake Macalania. Jecht wandered off at some time or another, and while Braska dozed silently in the clearing, Auron went in search of the other Guardian.

It was unsurprising to see him sitting at the edge of Lake Macalania, the sphere recorder set out just in front of him.

Jecht's voice was quiet, but Auron could just make it out. He stood at the edge of the path, and watched the man intently, his arms crossed over his chest. The scene unfolded flawlessly in the near silence of the woods, and Auron felt his chest constrict at the sight of the older man.

He could not relate to them. Of course, he had known that since Jecht had first spoken of his son and wife, but watching the Blitzer now, the idea was driven firmly home. Unlike Braska and Jecht, if he died, there was no one waiting for him back in Bevelle. The Temple had shunned him, and his family was dead. What was he fighting for? These men, older than him, were stronger and better fighters because they knew what they had to go home to.

They fought because they knew they were making something better for their children. They fought because their deaths would mean something.

"Hey."

He looked up at Jecht, and straightened a little, unfolding his arms and ducking his head. Jecht watched him from the middle of the path, and turned back to look at the lake.

"It's . . . a nice day?" The awkwardness of the statement made Auron calm a little, made him push aside his thoughts. He looked up at the slowly more-golden light against the dark branches of thick trees, and watched the pyreflies that fluttered about the lake absently.

"Yes, it is," he replied with a quiet nod.

"Are we camping here tonight? Or in the Inn?"

"The Inn. Braska is resting now." Jecht nodded a little. He was watching Auron curiously, making the younger man shift a little under his intense red gaze.

"So," he finally sighed, beginning to sport a playful leer that unsettled Auron just a little. "What can I do for ya?"

Auron sighed a laugh, and punched Jecht in the shoulder, but allowed himself to be pulled close to the older man's chest, wrapped in his arms and held tightly. Jecht sighed against his ear, looking out over the lake.

"I think, when this is done, you and me should come back here first. Spend some time in the woods together."

Auron's chest tightened, and he nodded stiffly.

"Of course, Jecht. We'll come here first."

When they returned to the clearing, their fingers laced recklessly together, Braska was just waking from his doze. He smiled sleepily at them, yawned, and straightened himself quickly.

"Are we ready?" They both nodded a little, and he did as well.

They took the northern path out of the forest, and looked around the white pass and the Inn. Braska turned to Jecht, and smiled a little.

"May I borrow the sphere-recorder? I've a memory I'd like to make." Jecht blinked, and shrugged, digging the recorder out and handing it over to the Summoner. "Jecht, you and Auron stand in front of the Inn."

Jecht smiled, and dragged Auron over. Auron tugged his hand away, sulking a few feet off from Jecht, who looked a little hurt when Auron didn't stand right beside him. Braska looked over the recorder, and frowned a little.

"Auron, could you stand closer to him?" He nodded, but didn't move for several moments. Braska smiled thankfully at him. "Good, that should do it."

Jecht looked down at him. "What's the matter? Afraid I might bite?"

"Jecht . . ." He wasn't sure what he wanted to say, looking up at those red eyes. Jecht smiled and laughed, looking back over at Braska.

"Braska! You should take one too. It'd be a great gift for little Yuna."

"I suppose," he said with a laugh. Auron felt his temper crest, and started towards Braska.

"Lord Braska," he grumbled. His temper finally broke completely; he roared, "We shouldn't be wasting time like this!"

"What's the hurry man?" Jecht demanded jokingly. Auron snarled over his shoulder at him; the joyful expression left Jecht's face. He kept up his advance towards Braska

"Let me tell you what the hurry is!"

"Auron," Braska warned. But Auron grabbed the sphere-recorder, pulling it from his hands and turning it off, pitching it at the snow at Jecht's feet.

"You keep joking around like everything is going to be alright!" he shouted at the older man. "You keep going on about what we're going to do 'after it's all over'! But nothing is going to happen when this is over! There isn't going to be any parade for Braska to see, or any going around Spira!"

He gestured wildly behind him at Braska, and finally roared, "When this is all over, Braska is going to be dead, you idiot! We're taking him to his death—!"

"Auron, that's enough!"

He flinched violently; he'd never heard Braska shout before. Braska was shaking a little, staring at him intently. With a shuddering breath, he ducked his chin to his chest and apologized swiftly; there were tears pricking the corners of his eyes, threatening to freeze his cheeks if they began to fall.

"Let's just . . . go inside."

He felt Braska brush past him, but didn't move. His fists were tight at his side. The door to the inn opened and closed twice, and Auron knew he was alone.

With a pained noise, he fell to his knees in the snow, and sobbed over his hands.

"Daddy!"

Braska laughed, and caught Yuna's running leap, spinning her around high above his head. She laughed and screamed, and hugged him tight around the neck when he held her close. Auron spared a little smile to her when she looked over at him and Jecht, and waved at her a bit.

She was at their feet almost as soon as Braska had put her down, performing the prayer of Yevon swiftly, directed more at their knees than at them. After bowing for a few seconds, she launched herself at Auron's knees, and hugged them tightly, making him stumble a little. Jecht's soft chuckle was a welcome sound.

"Sheesh, all the ladies love you, Auron. How do you do it?" Auron only blushed a bit and shook his head, shooting Jecht a little glare. Jecht smiled, and knelt beside Auron, turning that smile on Yuna, who was watching him carefully. "Hey, little Lady. How're you t'day?"

"I'm quite well!" she squeaked, removing herself from Auron's legs. "How are you . . ." She looked up imploringly at Auron, blushing cutely.

"Jecht," he supplied offhandedly. She smiled brilliantly.

"—Sir Jecht?" Jecht gaped at her a little, and then up at Braska. She blinked cutely at his profile, loudly wondering if she had done something wrong.

"Braska, can I take her home with me?" Auron groaned and rolled his eyes; Braska laughed a little. Jecht grabbed Yuna under the arms, and slung her over his shoulder, turning on heel and striding down the Highbridge. Yuna squealed and smacked his back with little fists. Braska pulled out his staff as though ready to summon, and Jecht dropped her, smiling and laughing brightly.

It was good to see them both in such high spirits after his outburst at Macalania, and it soothed Auron's soul a little to see Yuna smiling up at her father.

It did not stop the little voice in his thoughts from reminding him that this would be the last time Yuna would see her father alive. He sighed heavily, and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to feel happy for father and daughter.

"You're thinking too hard again." Jecht flicked the back of his ear, and draped an arm over his shoulders. He shrugged a little, not to dislodge the arm, but simply for the movement. "He's a good dad, and he's right: she'll be alright, even after he's gone."

"She'll never get over that loss."

"I don't think anybody does." Auron looked at Jecht out of the corner of his eye, and caught a smile shot his way. "Wanna go freak some tight-asses out?"

"Not particularly. Most of the 'tight-asses' around here are old friends of mine." Jecht's hand was warm in his, his fingers a tight vice of gentle reassurance. He smiled breathtakingly, or as much as he could; it got a soft laugh out of Auron.

"All the more fun."