A/N: Little notes about last chapter, as per usual, for starters. Nooj's eyes aren't blue blue, really, but they're a dark sort of blue-gray color. I was going to go off on a big ramble about them being the color of a stormy sea and all that melodramatic crap, but I just decided to leave it at that. I'm sure you're all glad for that. ::grin:: This chapter's soundtrack includes "The Farplane Abyss", "Disquiet", and "The Crimson Squad." Quite a change from recent chapters, ain't it? .;

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Myrmidons

Night fell on Guadosalam when she arrived. At the dip down into the Thunder Plains, rain barraged the hard earth and ricocheted into the air, sending a fine spray of moisture flying through the city on an electric breeze. It condensed on everything at this time of year, independent of logic or reason, and the goons at the Chateau's entrance noted the deathly squelch-crunch of her feet as they trod on muddy rocks like viscera over bone or something of equal unpleasantness.

The Leblanc Syndicate's three figureheads were warm and dry inside, ensconced in the safety of the living room and picking idly at that ever-present table of food once in a while. The manor stayed theirs after all, even after the Guado's return. Because of course, what tiny flicker of the conscience would allow three of the world's eight saviors to be ousted into the cold? The Guado people had jumped to make the compromise. A few of them stood outside their homes in the dim light tonight, had watched her pass with a kind of blissful, detached interest.

"Go on through," a goon told her. She did. After she was gone he slumped against the wall again, shivering against the cold.

Leblanc lounged with a glass of wine in her right hand, sprawled across two chairs as her subordinates bantered back and forth about something she wasn't really listening to— home was enough— and when the doors burst unceremoniously open she jumped and glared for a second, her feathers ruffled.

"Oh, it's you. What brings you here, love? I'm busy, you know."

"You don't look busy."

"Be a good girl, love," Leblanc warned. "Who says I have to play the host?"

Paine just frowned a little and shook her head, like she wasn't fully aware of what was going on. Clutched in her left hand was a bright red sphere. "I didn't come here to see you. I came to see them."

When Logos saw the girl's eyes bore into his own, he found himself overcome with a creeping sense of dread. He spared a glance to Ormi. Recognition dawned slowly, but he wasn't quite there yet. It would come.

Confused and affronted, Leblanc stood and strode to the door. "Well, whatever. It's none of my business. What do I care?"

Paine didn't even watch her go. Her gaze persisted on Logos's, and she stood in silence until long after Leblanc's footsteps retreated into the distance.

"You know why I'm here?"

It wasn't really a question.

"I assume so, yes," Logos began, quietly sensing Ormi piece the situation into something he identified. One hand strayed behind his back, preparing to defend himself if that was what this came down to in the end.

"I was… waiting. To talk to you about this."

Something clicked in Ormi's mind.

"You was a Crimson Squad candidate."

"Not quite. But close enough."

Logos watched her, words coming slow and wary. Her voice was hardening with every word and every word was tainted with an accusation of some kind. Level though she always was, there remained the dangerous possibility that she might lose control, what with her lips thin and sickly pale with the tension of barely-restrained fury. "And what does it have to do with us?"

"You were there."

"Hey, it ain't like that."

"You were hunting us."

"We never found you."

"You were there."

She didn't falter, even when the crack in her voice exposed the truth that lay underneath her armor. It was a crippled thing, like innocence abused, rage rising and sinking in intermittent bursts like a convention current. She was here either to listen or to kill, and Logos sensed that the line between the two was thinner than the eyes alone might have one believe. Ormi felt it too, because he slowly removed his shield, tense and vigilant as ever. He saw Paine's hand twitch for her sword once, twice, and then fall limp at her side.

"I'm… not here to fight," she breathed. "I want you to tell me why."

Logos was suddenly very glad that he hadn't put his gun to her head.

He sat with a sigh, Ormi following suit, and together they watched her until she did the same. That in itself seemed like a stroke of good fortune. If it had come down to a staring contest, he wasn't altogether certain he would have held out.

"We didn't have nothin' against yous," Ormi began, setting the shield down on the floor beside him, "…We was older than yous guys are now, but I dunno. I guess we wasn't a whole lot wiser."

Logos cocked his head at Ormi's sudden appeal. He continued.

"How old're you again?"

"Eighteen."

"Yeah, you was just sixteen when Yuna killed Sin. When I was that age I was already in Yevon, ya know? That was… kinda all we had back then. We was raised on all of that. I know yous kids were too, but it still wasn't like us."

He peered over at Logos, who was chuckling softly. "What? I'm just sayin'."

"Forgive him for being so maudlin. But I believe he has a point. Do understand, there was no personal vendetta at all between our two sides. We did it because it was our job, but you have my deepest sympathies for your ordeal nonetheless. I—" Logos hesitated, "don't know what else to tell you, other than that."

She searched their faces again for an answer that wasn't there to find, then stood and strode to the door, barely turning her head to address them. Her voice was low and hoarse and tired.

"…That's not good enough yet."

And then she was gone.

Their eyes met for a second before Ormi looked away, slumping back in his chair with a deep sigh.

"It ain't ever gonna be good enough, is it?"

fin