~2 years before (Larsa visit cont.)~

I leave quickly, feeling tears of frustration prick at my eyes, and hurry for the cockpit. The Castean's whirring purr starts up easily. I trust that Dern's shut the door upon hearing heavy footsteps in the open doorframe of the control center.

"Are you alright?"

"Just dandy," I breathe, feeling my ship's power build up in her powerful engine. Slowly, we rise from the ground, gaining height before rushing forward smoothly, surging into the unknown. Even though it's soon smooth sailing, I don't switch the controls to autopilot, keeping my exhausted eyes locked on the glass of the windshield. Dern hums, finally catching on and entering the cockpit. He picks up my sketchbook, settling in the seat beside me.

"Button blends in, huh? Maybe you just need your eyes checked, Sweetheart," he teases, his tone light. I make no response, watching his reflection sigh and sit in the seat beside me, his eyes locked on the book. "You have a good eye for detail." Nothing. I can't bring myself to speak, merely shutting my eyes. Silence fills the pit, save for the hum of the engine, and Dern keeps studying, thinking. Suddenly, I hear a chuckle as the page turns. "Well, this isn't an airship."

Frowning, I turn to see what he's talking about only to feel the blood rush to my face. It's a rough drawing of Dern's face, broken out in that infamous laugh that leaves crinkles at his eyes, dimples in his cheeks, and laugh lines creased around his pointed nose. I started solidifying the light lines days ago before giving up when I couldn't quite capture the swoop of his constantly lightening hair. The best part, however, is the perfect gleam in his eyes, those glittering green eyes that retain their life no matter what happens. Dern will smile on his death bed, cracking jokes about tomorrows that won't ever come. The drawing fades at the end of the broad muscles stretched across his shoulders, fading into a sharp collarbone.

"Give that back," I grumble, reaching for the leather sketchbook. He holds it just out of my reach. "Dern—"

"I didn't know you drew outside layouts." He eyes the rough portrait curiously. "This is excellent, Shae. Why didn't you ever share it?" He chuckles, shaking his head. "What was the inspiration for this? Some ridiculous action on your part, no doubt."

"Dern."

"Honestly, Shae," he sighs, raising a single finger to silence me before he turns the page again. Another rough sketch, this time of Dern diving through the air, spear poised as his body twists to drive the lance into its target. His legs are drawn toward his chest, ready to absorb the impact of the approaching ground. Dern loves to fly, inside and outside of the airship. "What are you so ashamed about? These are good. Not much else for you to draw anyway."

"Dern, please just give it back," I plead.

He raises an eyebrow and I can see it in his eyes—he's considering. Then the cheeky bastard grins and turns the page. The next is a self-portrait of sorts. Half of the picture, to the left, is my face now. Lightly freckled, darkened brows, long, loose hair hanging all out of the extraordinarily long braid that I sport currently. Something in my brown eyes is different—left me knows. My face is far more angular now. The comparison is stark; the right side is innocent. Wide eyes, ready to absorb all the world has to offer. My hair brushes over my shoulders, dark. Smooth skin pulls over round cheeks and beneath half-grown eyebrows. There's fresh pain in that face, but also youthful resilience.

"Gods..." he breathes.

My heart skips a beat and I hold my breath without realizing it as his finger traces over the edge of the drawing. Gray lead smudges the slightest bit beneath his touch, tracing a shadow across the cheekbone of the left side. Something changes in his demeanor. His lips part, his visible muscles tense, his eyes search the page for something he can't find.

"Dern?"

"Huh?" He looks up at me sharply, though his eyes fall back to the page abruptly. "Sorry, Shae. It's just... I was remembering how much we really have changed since we met in that dirty old tent."

"How long's it been?" I ask more to myself than to him. "Around four years ago?"

"Only four years," he mutters, laughing. "It feels as though I've known you for centuries."

"I can assure you I feel the same," I sigh, watching nervously as he continues to look through the products of my occasional bored spell.

Plans, layouts, portraits, landscapes, and even a still-life or two. After looking over a finished drawing of me and Larsa curled up on a loveseat under a blanket that's far too small (a younger, less deceptive Vayne reads us to sleep in the left corner), Dern flips back through the pages. The gust of wind it creates blows loose strands of hair out of my face, nearly making me regret leaning across the space between us to get a better look at what he sees, what he thinks.

His praises are aplenty, obviously sincere, but I can't accept them. No, he doesn't know the bitter intentions behind each memory I copied down. He thinks he saved me, but I'm unsalvageable. I'm broken beyond repair until my bravado for grudges and destruction wears thin. It's going strong these days.

Dern pauses on the same page that shocked him so the first time he laid eyes on the image. The two halves of my face are roughly shaded, a work that makes me cringe and leaves me itching for an eraser, a redo, but he doesn't seem to mind. I don't understand what has him so captured. He knew both versions he sees here. Maybe it's just odd seeing the young, fourteen-year-old me again. I clear my throat, raising an eyebrow. He shakes his head.

"Shae, I..." he huffs, shaking his head again as if he's erasing his words and crafting new ones haphazardly. "I remember knowing this side," he touches the right side gingerly, "and enjoying every moment. More than enjoying—relishing." He pauses, enamored with a false image of who I was and who I am. Who I'm supposed to be. "I remember, back then, finding you so beautiful and finding it odd. When you're that young, three years makes a large difference." There's a pause so he can draw a trembling breath. "But now, when I truly let myself think instead of brushing my thoughts away, you're so..." Bland? Childish? Obnoxious? Dern, you're all too good for this world. "So gorgeous."

I swallow hard upon meeting his gaze, realizing we're much closer than I originally thought. My chest is tight, undecided. Should I be upset or excited? Dropping my gaze, I dig my fingernails into my palm.

"You can tear it out and keep it if it's really that great." My voice is supposed to be light, as if I'm only joking. After all, he seems to be completely infatuated with a sloppy outline of a weak attempt at symbolism. He shakes his head. Horrified, I find him turning fully in his seat to face me. I'm left draping halfway over his armrest, perched on my elbows with my nose nearly pressed to his.

"I don't give a damn about the picture," he admits, his voice low, sincere. His dark lashes brush his skin as he looks down at me, studying with dim green eyes. Studying because I'm the one thing he has yet to figure out, that cocky genius. "I wasn't talking about the drawing, Shae. It only made me realize I've been pretending you're just a friend for so long."

"Dern..." is all I can muster, heart pounding in my chest. Pretending.

"Is that all you can say?" he teases, chuckling gently as he looks over my face. "Your art is fantastic, but you missed such small details. Yes, you have freckles, but they're perfectly arranged in a line across your nose. Your hair is wispier, floating as freely as you do. Your eyes aren't quite so troubled. You're still so full of life; I have to take Phoenix Downs as vitamins just to keep up." He laughs gently, setting my sketchbook to the side and reaching a shaking (much to my surprise) hand up to carefully brush my hair out of my face before speaking again.

"I remember watching you and praying to the Fates that you found the same energy in me as I did in you. When I escaped Archades, I had no hope, only lackluster dreams of some airship at some point. You vivified them, vivified me. I made myself stop, put up that wall between 'friend' and whatever could be beyond. You never batted an eye. You never ceased to amaze me."

"Quite the monologue," I tease gently, suddenly realizing the warmth under my fingertips is the hand I've wrapped around his wrist. He sighs, rolling his eyes more at himself than at me.

"I apologize. There's so much I could say that I forget it's incredibly late. How do I..." He groans, frustrated before shaking his head in sharp, reprimanding movements. "Oh, bloody hell. Shae, I love you. Far too much than I should. Should you walk away from this uncomfortable and never wishing to speak to me again, I suppose that's quite alright. Just remember, it was your drawing that pushed me over the edge."

"Dern," I laugh quietly. There's that name again. It's mostly soundless air, all sound trapped at the base of my throat. His eyes fall to the armrest I lean on. I release his hand and reach up to touch the side of his face. Smooth, save for the slight stubble from the long day and the beginnings of creased laugh lines. "I could never do such a thing to you."

"You can be a tad sadistic," he murmurs, looking up to give me that stellar smile.

The carefully shaped goatee tracing his chin stretches with his grin, broadening with his lips. His smile falls moments later and we're trapped in silence. He hisses a curse and tangles his hand in the hair on the back of my head, drawing my face upward. His kiss is slow, cherishing, as if every explanation of his affection is mixed in. My heart pounds and my fingers are trapped in his thick hair and in the rough material of his shirt.

The Castean dings some warning; Dern clumsily releases my head to smack his palm on the board. The ship silences and he laughs into the kiss, pulling me closer. I'm drowning, spinning, screaming, burning, flying... all at the same time. Some forbidden treasure held just out of my grasp for so long only for it to place itself in my hands and beg me to keep it. How could I possibly refuse?

The morning air is just as crisp as I remember it. The skies are clear and the wind is gentle, cool. I take a deep breath, shudder from the chill of the shadows, and tear my back away from Vaan's. Lazily, I open my eyes, only to see Balthier standing nearby with his arms crossed and his green eyes locked on the expansive view. I stretch my arms over my head and force myself to sit up, my loosely braided hair slowly falling from my shoulder to the ground behind me.

"See what made me leave?" I ask quietly, hugging my knees to my chest. Vaan turns in his sleep and Balthier raises an eyebrow.

"Aside from the rather off-putting nu mou at the temple, I see nothing all that unbearable."

"It wasn't because of Malachaius," I reply, laughing gently under my breath. "The view—it's a sky filled to the brim with freedom and adventure that's practically unheard of."

"The adventure we've taken to, perchance?" he points out, his face smoothed and gentle, a little something more than passive. I shrug and turn away, my fingers itching to create an image such as this anywhere sothat I might keep it and remember it forever.

"Sometimes I can't believe I left this."

"Would your partner—Dern, wasn't it? —be safe then?" he asks. I suddenly feel like I'm suffocating. The question is innocent enough, but the words are spit from his tongue like venom that scalds my skin and fights to get underneath. I squeeze my eyes shut to fight the intrusive thoughts, but even then, all I see are pools of blood and a makeshift grave wet with fresh tears.

"I don't know," I finally choke out, forcing my eyes open and swallowing the lump swelling in my throat. "We were close but... he was a free spirit. He would have left me behind at some point."

"It certainly seems as though the dedication was a fair bit off balance."

"Well, from what I heard from him, he had a tendency to leave those who restrained him eventually," I reply quietly. "I can't say I blame him though. I wouldn't want to remain cooped up with an exhausting girl who never shuts her mouth." There's a pause in the conversation and a gentle gust of wind raises goosebumps on my skin.

"You seem to have no trouble shutting your mouth these days, perhaps even when you should act rather than run." I frown, unsure how to take his words. And so, instead of trying to decipher them, I fall onto my back and nudge Vaan's shoulder.

"We've gotta go soon," I murmur, pushing the mess of thick blonde hair out of his tanned face. "Vaan, come on. You know Ashe won't hesitate to leave you behind."

"What, you're my mom now?" he grumbles, swatting my hand away. "Go away, Pen."

"Pen?" I laugh, swatting his arm. "It's a big-bad Shae you're speaking to, boy. Watch your tone."

"Oh sorry," he huffs, giving a breathy snicker and rolling onto his back before peeling his blue-gray eyes open. "Didn't realize it was the mean old hag."

"Bloody hell," I scoff, shoving him as he laughs. "Buzz off, thief, before I shove you off into your death."

"You wouldn't," he yawns, closing his eyes. Rolling mine, I take hold of his wrist and tugging sharply to he sits up. He doesn't make any effort to move on his own, staying limp and lazy. Gritting my teeth, I move to drag him closer to the edge of the platform when his arm suddenly stiffens and his elbow slams into my chest, knocking me back onto the dirty stones holding us up. Vaan grins down at me as I blink to clear my vision; my mind races to collect its thoughts. "I'm already awake, Shae. No one's leaving me behind today."

"That's quite enough, Vaan," Balthier reprimands, though his tone is teasing. "We've a road to walk and we can't go far with you pinning our resident hag down." He cocks his head to the side, his eyes glittering with mischief. "The things I've heard from your dear Malachaius lead me to believe the implications of your position would not be well liked in these parts."

"For the gods' sake, Balthier," I huff, pushing Vaan off of me and onto the pavement. Dusting off my clothes, I drag myself to my feet and plant my hands on my hips. "That mouth of yours may just get you in deep trouble someday."

"Oh? You seem to enjoy it."

"I'm not entirely sure how to take that," I frown, raising an eyebrow. "And so I'll—"

"Oh, don't play modest; you know very well how to take it."

"I'm not even going to ask," Vaan replies, throwing his hands in the air and shaking his head.

"One more thing I wish to add, to help Vaan," Balthier says, playfulness loud and clear in his voice. "I've decided it's quite fun to bathe with the hag."

"For the love of Fate, Balthier, I'm going to kick your ass until you leave my boot print behind every time you sit down," I snap, shoving him roughly. He only chuckles, Vaan laughing as I skulk away, searching for company that won't pester me relentlessly. Basch and Ashe break their conversation apart to greet me, the princess looking purely exhausted.

"How are you this morning?" she asks wearily.

"I'm doing fine," I shrug. "Balthier and Vaan are both in an irritating mood, but something tells me that's quite trivial." I cock my head to the side, my hands coming to rest on my hips. "How are you? You are the most important person here, after all, though I won't sprinkle my words with 'Majesties' and 'Highnesses.'" A small smile spreads across Ashe's lips and I feel the slightest bit of relief.

"I only lost a bit of sleep."

"Thinking of...?"

"The Emperor, the war, nethicite," she lists, sighing and brushing her fair hair out of her eyes. "And now we're on the trail for a weapon to destroy the most powerful force at our fingertips. I'm not entirely sure how to react to it all." She shakes her head, catching Basch's eye before looking back at me. "But... I'd hate to pile my burdens on a sky pirate. You might just sell all my secrets for the extra gil." I grin, shrugging and crossing my arms.

"Yeah, well, that's what you get, Princess. You want to share them, then I'll be sure to share them with the world." I shake my head. "Or, maybe just this once, I'll let you off easy and only mutter it to Vaan in my sleep."

"That would be quite kind of you."

I turn to see Fran and Penelo walking to join us. Vaan and Balthier trail behind, talking and teasing and laughing. I fight a smile, relishing in the warmth that floods my chest. This place is so significant to who I once was and who I am. To see it bathing the others in relief even just this once... it brings me a peace I haven't felt in a long time. Then my blood runs cold.

Vayne. That's why I'm here. For Vayne to know these are people who are steadily gaining favor in my eyes is for Vayne to know my weaknesses. I don't know how many more Derns I can deal with. My palms grow clammy and my stomach churns; I drag my eyes onto the ground. If I were to slip and fall into the trap of smiles and tears and companionship, I would slip and fall into Vayne's trap. No, I can't afford that. I square my shoulders and take a deep breath. I can do this. Stone cold. As long as you're distant, they can't come close.

As long as Balthier doesn't piece me together, I can manage.