Gippal didn't know what to do. Rikku slept peacefully in his arms, completely unaware of his state of wakefulness and confusion. He wanted to keep her. He wanted their relationship to be what it had been once. He wanted her love, her passion, all the things he knew her to be and all the tenderness and devotion that she'd given him in the early days of their relationship. He'd never meant to hurt her. He'd just wanted her to be safe and happy. She was all he'd ever wanted, and he didn't have her, not anymore.

She sighed in her sleep, but thankfully didn't wake. Maybe she subconsciously sensed his discomfiture. Maybe he'd just been holding her a little too tightly. She snuggled closer, her warm breath fanning his shoulder. His right hand cradled her head, sliding through cool, silky strands of hair. He could smell the faint aroma of her shampoo – a blend of citrus and honey, he thought, sweet and spicy, like her. His left hand covered hers, splayed across his chest, stroking the injured knuckles gently. Delicately he lifted it, bringing her hand to his face to kiss her palm. Then he curled her fingers around his kiss; a gift she'd never know he'd given her.

But he'd know.

It was a torturous thing, lying awake while she slept, knowing that every second that passed brought nearer the time she would leave him again. Even as she lay cradled in his embrace, she slipped through his fingers. His wife, but not his. He couldn't keep her. He could offer her nothing that would erase the wrong he'd done her, ease the hurt that gripped her still. She didn't want him in any permanent capacity.

And he couldn't force her to stay with him; she would resist any such attempt. No amount of cajoling or coaxing would sway her – if she came to him, she'd come of her own free will or not at all. She had been self-sufficient for so long, she would not bend to the will of anyone else. She had grown accustomed to getting her way, to fighting for the things she wanted, to demanding the things she deserved, to rejecting the things she did not want.

And she didn't want him. He knew it. Even if he was her lover for tonight, she didn't want him.

---

When she awoke, it was to the busy thrum of a Kilika morning – she could hear the raucous calls of the vendors on the streets below, the bell of the ferry as it made its last call for boarding passengers. The space beside her in the bed was cold. Slowly she sat up, putting her hand to her head as she struggled to identify her surroundings. The events of the previous evening came back to her slowly. She remembered Gippal, the touchy-feely man at the bar, and their sudden, unexpected exit. He'd taken her back to his hotel, and they'd slept together. It had been a mistake.

Vaguely, she registered the medicinal scent of some sort of liniment. Her hand was bandaged, the knuckles wrapped tightly in white gauze. It hadn't been last night, she remembered that much.

"I went to the market earlier," Gippal said. She turned towards his voice. He was seated in a chair by the window, fully dressed, elbows resting on his knees. Even his eye-patch was firmly situated.

"Oh."

"I didn't want your hand to get infected. You'll have to clean it and keep it wrapped for a few days." He didn't rise. His voice was deceptively soft and calm. She didn't know what he was thinking, and it made her uneasy.

"Okay." She clutched the covers a little tighter. It didn't matter that she'd slept with him last night, that she'd slept with him before. She didn't know him; not anymore. She hadn't known him for years. For all that they'd been so intimate in years past, for all that they were husband and wife, he might as well have been a stranger. "I should probably get going."

"No rush," he said slowly. "I've got this room for the next week."

"The Faction'll let you get away that long?"

"I run it as I see fit. It's about time I took a vacation." He clasped his hands together, leaning forward. "Rikku, we need to talk."

Her teeth clenched. "I don't think we do."

He made a soft, frustrated sound. "I didn't use anything. What if I made you pregnant?" He splayed his hands out appealingly. "What then, Rikku?"

It hadn't occurred to her. She didn't know why, but the consequences of their night together had been the furthest thing from her mind. And he was right – she wasn't protected. She'd had no reason to be, not until last night. She sighed, dragging a suddenly-shaky hand through her tangled hair. A baby. A baby with Gippal. It would only be one more tie to him she didn't want or need. A baby would be a complication neither of them needed.

"Come back to Djose with me," he said suddenly, impulsively. "We can wait it out and make decisions if it comes to that."

"No." She frowned at him. "I'm staying here. I don't want to go to Djose." It would be maybe a month or more before they'd know for sure. She didn't think she could live with him for that length of time and not go crazy. She knew better than to trust him, but she was still weak where he was concerned. It would be stupid to go along with him.

"Then I'll stay, too." He folded his hands. "Until we know for sure." He stole a glance at her, debating whether or not he should pose the question lurking in his mind. "What would you do?"

"What do you mean?" She didn't understand.

"I'm sure you don't want to be pregnant, especially not by me. What are you going to do if you're pregnant?" He shifted uncomfortably.

"It'd be your kid, too," she reminded him bitterly. Already she was regretting going to bed with him. A simple night spent in his arms could cost her so much.

"It's your body. It's not my decision to make." His gaze drifted to her helplessly. "What would you do, Rikku? Would you…get rid of it?"

"No," she gasped, horrified that he thought she would do something like that. "No, god, no. How could think that? It's a baby, not a…a piece of garbage."

He blew out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding, thrilled with her vehement denial. He'd been tormenting himself with the possibility all morning, and it was a weight lifted from his shoulders to have that fear dismissed.

"Would you…want it?"

"Even if it wasn't planned, it would still be my responsibility. Of course I'd want my own kid." She sounded offended that he thought she might not.

"It's not that I thought you wouldn't want your own kid, Rikku." He splayed his hands out entreatingly, willing her to understand that he'd run the gamut of emotional turmoil in a few short hours, and he needed reassurance. "It's more that I thought…maybe you wouldn't want mine."

She understood something of what he might be thinking. It would be the ultimate rejection. She sighed. It seemed hindsight really was twenty-twenty. If she had foreseen this happening yesterday, she would never have gone with him. Or, she amended, she would've brought protection. But…she loved kids. She couldn't imagine aborting her child simply because she didn't want a permanent tie to Gippal.

"I wouldn't do something like that," she said slowly. "Not for anything."

He nodded. "I'm sorry. For insulting you, I mean. I should have known better." He leaned back in his chair. "I guess it doesn't make much sense to borrow troubles, does it? We're worrying about something that might never come to pass."

"Right." She brushed her disheveled hair over her shoulder. "D'you think I could use your shower?"

"Yeah, sure," he said absently.

She didn't move. When he realized why, he couldn't help but smile.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"You're still sitting there," she responded tightly. "You could, oh, I don't know, get me a towel or my clothes or something?"

"Now, why would I want to do that? I'd miss the show." His lips twitched as he suppressed laughter. She threw a pillow at him.

"Come on, honey. I've seen everything you've got already," he protested.

She threw the other pillow.

"Need I remind you that we're married? It's perfectly acceptable for me to see you naked."

Huffing irritably, she tugged the sheet tighter around her, and gingerly swung her legs over the side of them bed. He watched her arrange it until she could comfortably walk while wrapped in it. She glared at him as she trudged towards the bathroom. The door closed behind her, and he heard the click of the lock. He could hear her grumbling to herself as she twisted the shower knobs, adjusting the temperature.

He knew it would take her a while – she'd always used to take forever in the shower, and he was pretty sure it'd take a while for her to fix up her hair as she liked to do, so he called for room service. He figured the least he could do was buy her breakfast.

When she emerged sometime later, he was seated cross-legged on the abandoned bed, watching television, a plate of food on his lap. He waved his fork at the cart.

"I ordered breakfast. Help yourself." He chomped down on a piece of potato.

Tentatively she peeked under one of the silver coverings at the food he'd ordered. He'd devoured most of the hash browns already and she didn't really have much of a fondness for pancakes. She settled on an apple.

"Well, thanks for letting me spend the night," she said awkwardly. "I'd better get going."

"I'll be around," he said. "You'll find me here if you need me. I'll stick close by until we're sure, one way or the other. Can't have the mother of my child getting into bar fights."

"Yeah, well, that guy deserved what he got." She tossed the apple up and caught it. "I'll…I'll let you know when I find out. Sorry about all the worry."

He shook his head, swallowing a mouthful of blueberry pancake. "It's my fault, I should've known better. I should've protected you. Besides," he waved vaguely with his fork. "I wouldn't really say I'm all that worried. A baby might be…kind of nice. At any rate, it'd change things, but it wouldn't be the end of the world, you know?"

She sighed. "It'd…complicate things."

He snorted. "When have things ever not been complicated where you were concerned? Complication is nothing new. But think about it. You like kids. I like kids. It wouldn't be so bad to have one of our own, would it, Rikku?"

God, he'd make pretty babies. She bit into her apple. With the sweet, tart juice came a rush of sanity. If she let him, he'd talk her into getting pregnant on purpose. He could convince her of damn near anything if he tried hard enough. And that scared the hell out of her.

"I'm going," she said. "You'll know when I know."

She turned and headed for the door, too late to see him grin. He'd seen the uncertainty cross her features – for a space of seconds she'd wanted a baby. Not just because she felt an obligation to an unplanned child, but she had actually wanted one. As if it weren't a consequence, but a blessing fate had deemed fit to bestow upon her.

Now if he could only convince her to want his children, and him to go along with them, they might actually be getting somewhere.