Chapter Eight

When the sun rose early – as it always did on Besaid, Auron woke with it. It was an old habit leftover from Pilgrimages. The earlier you were up, the further to Zanarkand you could get. Those mornings were never welcome even then, but now they were more than annoying. There was nothing worth getting up for now. Auron sat up and sighed. Things had been so easy on the Farplane. No time, no weather, no fiends, no night, no day. Nothing but an endless, drifting sense of serenity. He glanced upward. "Fucking fayth," he muttered again. Did they know how long he'd gone without knowing peace? Or had that bit not been included in the dream?

He'd spent the night in Wakka's hut – which had lain empty since Wakka and Lulu's marriage. The Blitzer had told him he could have it, and Auron had accepted; it wasn't like he had anywhere else to go. Splashing his face with cold water, he put on his shirt, forgetting the thick red coat in the heat, and moved out of the hut. He wanted to check on Rikku. It was unlikely she'd be awake yet, but still. During the last weeks of Yuna's journey, moving on early hadn't mattered. What had mattered was watching the sun rise on Rikku's face, watching it turn her skin golden and highlighting the slender shadows of long eyelashes, fluttering on her cheek. The tiny drops of dew pearling on her hair. The way she'd shift and moan a little in her sleep as she slowly woke up, moving closer to his warmth. The corner of his mouth curled upward. He'd missed that.

The village was still deserted – the time and hangovers had taken care of that – so Auron went unnoticed as he crossed the main square toward Rikku's tent. The smouldering remains of the bonfire were still smoking in the centre, ashes coating the ground, pale grey clinging to his boots as if trying to stop him taking another step. When he got to the tent, he lifted the flap of heavy canvas up. This tent faced west, so it remained fairly dark inside; the sleeping people inside not woken.

He stopped.

People.

Plural.

He spent no more than half a second staring before he let the flap drop back again.

He took one deep breath and then moved away. Then walked. Not aware of destination or direction. Not thinking. Just walk. Sit down. Back against the stone. Blink at a familiar view. Been here before. When? He and Braska praying. Jecht laughing at them for bothering. His Summoner casting a longing, wistful glance at the village. The words. "Bring Yuna here."

The promontory.

He let his head drop back against the stone altar. Rikku.

Damn it. He should have expected this. Hadn't Giia warned him last night? Quite the couple. A scornful voice flickered up in the back of his mind. What did you think, old man? She's young. She's beautiful. Did you really expect her to hold on to a ghost? Of course she wouldn't. He wouldn't have wanted her to. Except now…he was drifting. And not in the carefree-pyrefly way. What was there now?

Standing up with a growl, he shook himself mentally and paced a couple of times. Self-pity did not sit well with him. It wasn't something he liked or was used to. Something he'd felt only once before, crawling through snow. "Tired, so tired…I just want to rest…"

Very well. Self-pity was out of the question. But that image remained seared mockingly into his memory. The two of them, curled up together. It was quite obvious – there was no other possible explanation. Rikku, dressed in Gippal's shirt, her golden head resting on his (unscarred) chest. Gippal, arms possessively and protectively wrapped around Rikku's slender body. That had been his job once. He was the one she came to for comfort, he was the one who felt her heartbeat against him. Now someone else had taken over. It was like having a treasured possession stolen that you didn't even realise how much you cherished it until it was gone. It wasn't even that – it was… At the heart of it, it was Gippal. Not of who he was, but of who he was to Rikku. Who exactly had given him permission to love her? Who had told him that he was good enough, that he knew enough, that he had wisdom enough to protect her? She'd never been Auron's property, and he'd never thought of her as such, but she was his responsibility, as much as Yuna had been. Then…

She'd changed. Or he had, or both. Being with Rikku had become his pleasure in a world where any good feeling was utterly transient. He stopped and chuckled at that. It was transient after all. Damn him for a fool. Damn Gippal for being so fucking young, and whole, and loving Rikku. Damn Rikku- No. That was impossible.

Well one thing was clear. While Rikku was on Besaid, he couldn't be. He couldn't be anywhere near where she was. At least until he managed to convert love to friendship. It had started that way. He could revert back. It would take time – but thanks to the fayth, he had that in boatloads.

Thankfully force of habit had meant that Auron had brought his katana with him. He had anger that needed an outlet. The fiend population of Besaid was going to suffer today.

A/N: I'm horrible, I know. But in fairness, the fic is under the 'angst' genre too! But still, at least things can't get much worse. Right?