049 Faithless Observer: Eh? When'd Isara shoot Celes? That'd be something.

Cloner4000: The quality is really shaky – I'll probably need to spend a few days doing nothing except fixing what I've already written.

And here I pull further strings to progress the story further. You'll see just why this happened next blurb…

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"So neither of you died?" Isara asked, after Celes had finished his own side of the story. The question was more ironic than serious, given the person sitting across from her right now.

He offered a tired smile. "Yeah. Nero had a full recovery with a little more ragnaid and a few days off the field. As for me… well, maybe I just have a hard head." He adopted a snarky expression. "Valkyrur knows you've already smashed it twice already, and I'm still here."

She ducked her head – blue-black hair swept forward over her face, hiding her obviously embarrassed expression from view. For a moment, Celes thought it endearing, almost cute – then he reminded himself of his position and gave himself a hard mental slap.

"Hey, don't mind that," he began as he began to stack the finished breakfast dishes together. "I'm no worse for the wear – I think," he quickly jibed, "and you're recovering nicely. We'll have the post-operation examination tonight. Hopefully, you'll be good to return to active duty."

"Why the wait?" she asked, looking up just a bit. The hair parted enough to reveal a single curious eye.

"That's just how long it is," he offered. As she came back up, indignant, he added,"Yeah, I know, that's a lame answer, but time is really all that your wound needs now."

Cleaned up, he pulled his gauntlets back onto his hands, but left his helmet on the table. The remains of the food were slid to the side, and he leaned back in his chair, staring up into the dark lightbulb. A thought occurred to him.

"You wanted to fix that lamp?"

"Well… it is broken."

"Come here."

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Silently, Celes offered up a pair of wire cutters to Isara. "You ever consider that maybe the lightbulb is just broken?" he asked.

She said nothing, but only applied the tool to something up in the ceiling – click. "If it was broken, the filament wouldn't be intact, as you can obviously see," she said, rapping the unlit bulb with a gloved finger.

"You've already worked an entire hour."

"Be quiet. I found the problem. Faulty wiring short-circuited and fused together." Her voice was flat as she concentrated, unwilling to be overly distracted by anything else.

"Look, you're in an extremely awkward position right now. You ever consider asking for help?" It was true – Celes was resolutely forcing her to keep her left arm by her side. Personally, he would have had her resting in bed, asleep, but she wasn't going to have any of that.

Suggesting as much would probably end with a third wrench print in his skull.

Once again, the Darcsen girl was perched on top of a tower of tables and boxes, but this time, with the added help of an extra pair of unwounded arms, the construction was actually stable. Celes sat halfway up the arrangement, acting as a makeshift left-hand for her by moving tools to and from her active hand.

"Would you let someone else less qualified to cut someone open in front of you?" she asked.

He grunted. "I would prefer you use a less brutal term, but I guess not…" he ceded.

"Hand me a bit of A7 copper wire."

"… do I need to remind you that you don't have raw materials on you?" He let his eyes glance across her skirt. There were wrenches, clippers, clamps, and more, but certainly nothing that looked like wire.

"Check the bag." Indeed, there was a small bag hanging off her belt, a bag that Celes had mentally marked down as holding personal effects.

Sighing, he lifted himself up just a little higher, worming his gauntleted fingers – she hadn't even given him a chance to take them off, he had been kept so busy – into the pouch. Metal scraped against metal, and his digits closed around a coil of some kind. Upon lifting it out, he flicked the paper tag that was wrapped around the length of copper. "A7. Might I ask why you have this with you?"

"The same reason you have bandages and ragnaid. It's a core component of many devices – no engineer would be caught dead without any."

"I didn't know that," he said appreciatively.

"I wouldn't have expected you to." The wire cutters came back down. Wordlessly, he replaced them with the coil.

"Idiot." Celes said nothing – she'd said as much at least a dozen times already. "Take those cutters and cut me about ten centimeters, and give me that."

"That's a bit? Because you never did define that."

She paused – he imagined she was smiling to herself. "Sorry," but then her voice flattened again. "Now get this down, my arm's getting tired."

"I think you should be getting some rest," he daringly offered.

Surprisingly, her hand didn't go for a wrench. "Maybe," she ceded, "but this is a fire hazard. It really needs to be fixed. After all, you said I had to stay down here?"

"Yes…" He gave up, applying himself to her orders again. He could already see the path the conversation was going to take, that she'd bring up how being burnt was hardly healthy, and force him to keep working with her. It was definitely best to just let her have her way.

Besides, he was sitting lower that her. And she was wearing a skirt. He knew better than to gently suggest that she move slightly – she'd resolutely planted herself in the "best" spot – and bringing the matter up would only result in tears –

He cut his train of thought off immediately, feeling the brevity of his seventeen years. There was a rumor that once Lieutenant Karst had been assailed by a group of scantily clad women in his private residence in an attempt to create a scandal and discredit him – he was a married man, after all – but he had somehow floated through the entire situation without compromising anything. Celes wouldn't be surprised if it was true, but regardless, he was not his lieutenant.

Absently, he heard a slight high-pitched noise. "What are you doing?" he offered in an attempt to make conversation.

The fumbling overhead ceased. Carefully, she said, "I was about to ask you that."

"Well, I'm not doing anything, is it something up –"

BOOM.

The world shook – the stack of boxes collapsed, the table tipped to one side, and Isara followed, a loud exclamation on her lips. In flight himself, Celes was barely able to grab the nearest part of her and pull her away from the falling weights.

They landed in a heap, on the other side of the destroyed construction. He decided it was best to let go of her rear before she noticed – and start asking questions.

"Just what was tha –"

He was cut off by a second shudder through the ground. A few more boxes toppled, but nothing major fell that hadn't already. The entire room was a mess.

She shakily rose to her feet, planting herself in a wide stance – Celes scrambled up himself. He had a sinking feeling what was going on.

A third tremor later, he flung himself at his helmet, understanding. That was the rhythm of artillery.

"We're being shelled!" he screamed at her, as his masked helm came over his head – the webbing caught for a moment at his eyeband, but fortunately it came free. He wasn't sure if he was incredulous, angry, or stunned – perhaps a combination of all three.

So they'd trusted Welkin to keep them safe. And here they were with explosives dropping all around them.

Just to get a dozen Imperials in an entire village full of civilians. The thought made him sick.

His armored fingers scrambled for a weapon, anything, but he had nothing. He decided that his metal fists that were the best he had, but when he launched himself at the traitorous Darcsen, his foot stuck to the ground on the first step. Why was she still here, then?

Her own face was just as shocked as his must have been. If they were being shelled, she was going to die too.

For a moment, they stood across from each other. The silence broke when Isara looked up, an expression of relief on her face. "They've stopped, that was fast –" she began.

Celes still heard the falling shells. And if his timing was right, one was about to hit –

You never heard the shell that hit you.

Only one of them was wearing armor.

That one slammed into the other in a flying tackle, covering her screaming form with his armored body.

And the entire world disappeared in a wave of pressure and fire.

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It's too bad that we already know that these people are going to live due to the fact they're main characters. Plot armor for the win.

Leave me some encouragement. Tell me what needs improvement! I'm slaving away for you guys, so the least you can do is say thanks. :p