Believe in Me, O Dancer Girl

by Aina Song

It was a secret he had protected for as long as he could remember. And, without even realizing it, she was a part of it.

2. Her Daughter

Title: Believe in Me, O Dancer Girl

By: Aina Song

Fandom(s): Star Ocean 3: Till the End of Time

Genre: Yaoi

Rating: NC-17

Warning(s): Language; Direct & Altered Quotes; Spoiler Alert; Slight OOC; Much Angst; Mention of past-NCS (Hell, where'd I put that Fluff? This one's gonna need some Fluff…)

Pairing(s): Albel(Peppita) x Fayt (Not the way it sounds, I swear!)

Reviews: Yes, please.

Author's Note: Standard Disclaimer. This story was not written for money.

Another Note: Hate me for this all you want, but in my own little world, Adray does not exist. Useless old coot in battle, and socially inadequate everywhere else. And, even after he joins the party, he's never included in any of the major movie scenes - you don't even see him hanging around in the background! *blows raspberry* Italics = dreams, sword telepathy, and flashbacks. Do tell.

Teaser: It was a secret he had protected for as long as he could remember. And, without even realizing it, she was a part of it.

Chapter Two - Her Daughter

"Albel."

Jarred from the last remnants of peace that had fled more slowly than had the dancer, the warrior swung his garnet glare to the left, where Fayt extricated himself from the shadows of a dark corner. All hints of mockery had fled from the younger swordsman's deep green eyes, replaced by something that had Albel questioning its existence.

"What," he growled.

But the other seemed suddenly reluctant to voice what had been on his mind; his gaze lowered, his head turned a bit to the side, and even his posture lost some of its confidence. "I…"

"What," Albel insisted a second time, his fiery red eyes narrowing. "Isn't this why you brought me here? For the opportunity to take my dignity down a peg by pointing out that I'd just indulged the whims of a child?"

That got a reaction. Jerking his head up, Fayt glared at him. And Albel could this time identify the hurt in those impossibly green eyes. "I hoped you knew me better than that by now. I've never insulted you, even when we were enemies. And as for Peppita…" Here, he broke off, and that first something that Albel still could not recognize had returned those eyes. "Peppita denounced what was left of her childhood the day she asked to join us…"

~o~

The hem of her gown flew about her lower calves as she spun, her smile and eyes sparkling under the moonlight, her laughter ringing amongst the stars.

But then the skies darkened. And she was running, running as fast as her delicate feet could carry her, the blood-stained skirt of her gown whipping about her legs as she faded into the stormy night.

"I'm sorry…"

He came awake with a start, the sheets sliding down his bare chest as he sat quickly up with a gasp for new air. His head was pounding, and his throat and chest were tingling beneath a sheen of cooling sweat. His left arm pulsed with remembered pain, and he held his good hand to it with an irritated grimace, knowing the return of his least favorite nightmare the cause of his hurt.

The door to his room slammed open.

Swiftly he turned his head. It was Fayt, barefoot in simple night pants, his mop of blue hair tousled as though he himself had been jarred from sleep. Narrowing his fiery eyes at the uninvited guest, he demanded, "What the hell are you doing here, fool?"

The younger swordsman panted for a handful of seconds; apparently he had run down the long corridor separating Albel's door from his own. "Peppita," he finally got out. "Bad dream… Asking for you."

Were it anyone else, he would have shown them his back and gone straight back to sleep. But it was the dancer girl. And so he threw the sheets aside and stood, quickly tossing on his small tank top and tying his heavy skirt about his waist before following the other youth out the door.

It seemed the youngest of their party was currently sharing a room with their worthless mage, as Sophia was sitting on the end of Peppita's bed when they came in. Albel immediately snapped at her to get lost; she was not needed or wanted there. It seemed she still harbored some small amount of fear of him, for she did not hesitate to leave the room in a hurry. Fayt quietly closed the door behind her, but stayed where he was and did not venture further into the room. Which left Albel to cross the room alone and sit upon the space that Sophia had just vacated. With more patience and gentleness than he would let the others of their party witness of him, he called out her name.

There was a single window between the two beds in the room, with a lit candle sitting upon the center of its ledge. By this meager light he watched as she peeked out from beneath the edge of her blanket, her silvery blue eyes large and wet with tears. His heart twisted unexpectedly within his chest when he realized she was wearing as her nightdress the simple white gown he had stolen for her from Arias' chapel. Her gaze searched the room until at last it fell upon the dark warrior sitting on the foot of her bed. Without bothering to move the covers out of her way, Peppita threw herself into Albel's lap, the bell from her necklace tinkling with the movement as she wrapped her arms around his sides and buried her face into the front of his tank top, her tears beginning anew.

She did not sob uncontrollably like Sophia, or loudly blame others for her misery like Maria. She but clung tightly to him, her small frame trembling as she wept silently for whatever pain her nightmare had set upon her. Albel lowered his gaze, studying her in a long moment's quiet surprise before carefully wrapping his good arm around her shoulders and offering her the embrace she would not ask for.

Several long minutes passed before her trembling ceased, and longer still before he was convinced she would not start up again. But then he felt one of her arms slowly move away from his side, and fingertips traced lightly down the length of his left forearm. The touch was gentle, minding the countless burn scars that marred his skin, yet he flinched and hissed through his teeth as though her curiosity had set fire to his entire arm.

She quickly drew her fingers back, and after another moment her arm returned to his side. And she whispered, "Does it hurt?"

"Yes," was his low reply. Then he found himself softly adding, "But not because of you. It's an old hurt, that likes to torment me sometimes with its memory."

"Oh…" She shifted slightly, settling more comfortably against his other side with an almost inaudible yawn. "I hope it leaves you alone someday. You deserve better."

Her whispered sentiment took him by great surprise. She seemed to be doing that a lot, lately. In less than a minute, her breathing had evened out, and he was stunned that she had trusted him enough to fall asleep again in his arms. Looking up, he caught Fayt watching them from across the room with that same unreadable look from before. But the blue-haired youth quickly turned his gaze away, masking his expression in the shadows of the room that the single candle could not reach.

His fiery red eyes narrowing, Albel ignored the younger swordsman for the moment and returned his attention to the small-framed dancer in his arms. With more care than he could remember practicing on anything else, he slowly shifted so that he could return her to her pillow. She immediately curled to her side with a tiny sigh, and he gently tugged the covers free of her legs to let them fall again over her shoulder. Delicate fingers caught his unmarred wrist as he turned away, and he looked down to find she had startled herself awake, traces of fear already flooding her silvery blue eyes.

"You're not the only female sharing the room," he softly answered that look, before he could give in to it. "I'd as soon not give those fools another reason to question my honor."

"They won't," Fayt suddenly assured from across the floor. "I'll lie for you, say we saw someone try to break in through the window or something, and it unnerved her. You can let her have the second bed in your room, that way, so you won't have to leave her."

Albel was justifiably suspicious of the unbidden generosity. "They'll see through that in a heartbeat if your girlfriend spends the rest of the night in this room."

Something flickered in those expressional green eyes, before it was swiftly hidden behind a show of anger. Then the younger swordsman spoke, remembering to keep his voice down: "Sophia is not my girlfriend, Albel. Never was. We grew up together; she's like family. And for your information, I wouldn't consider her if she was the last woman in the galaxy." With that he spun on his heel, threw the door open, and left to do as he had promised.

The room nearly drowned in the stunned silence that followed, before Peppita's whisper finally reached the dark warrior's ears. "He thinks you insulted him."

With a dismissive shake of his head, Albel turned and waited for her to push back her covers. Then he bent low, slipping his good arm under her knees while the other circled around her shoulder, and he lifted her up against his chest and turned toward the waiting doorway.

She was immediately concerned, "But your burns…"

"Little more than scars," he reminded her. "I'm used to their sting."

But she shifted her shoulders, carefully lifting her arms around his neck so as to pull herself more securely against his chest and thereby easing most of her upper body weight from his left arm. Clenching his jaw to still any protests, knowing her efforts were only to help, he nodded his grudging gratitude. They entered the corridor without trouble, though behind another closed door they could hear Fayt's voice as he quickly tried to explain the change of sleeping arrangements. Albel ignored them all, walking passed and heeling the door to his own room closed behind him just as the door to Cliff's room was thrown open.

Lowering the very young girl in his arms to his extra bed, he straightened with a scowl directed toward his door just as the first pounding knocks were delivered against its reinforced plank of wood. It was with no surprise at all that he heard Cliff's voice shouting at him from the other side. "Albel! Let her out of there! Albel, open the door and let her out of there, now!"

Without missing a beat, he swept forth and jammed the deadbolt in place, effectively locking their brash comrade out. Behind him, the dark warrior could hear Peppita try to stifle a sudden outburst of giggles, and it filled him with a strange sense of triumph that she was in agreement.

"Albel," they could hear from the other side of the door. "I'm only warning you once. Let her out of there, before I come in and-"

"Stop it, Cliff," Fayt's voice suddenly interrupted with a rare steely calmness in his tone that even Albel the Wicked had come to respect of their young leader. "It was Peppita's choice, and she chose to be with Albel tonight."

"But why him? If she knew-"

"She trusts him," the blue-haired youth answered in that same steely tone that allowed no room for argument. "So do I. So do you, when you stop ranting long enough to think about it. And right now, that trust is all that matters to a fourteen-year-old who just woke up from what might have been one hell of a nightmare, only to find another one waiting outside her window."

Albel tuned them out and turned away from the door, shaking his head in bewilderment. "I do nothing but piss the kid off," he muttered, "and still he defends me…"

"He's your friend," was Peppita's soft reply. "That's what friends do."

"I have no need for friends," Albel hissed without thinking.

"Of course not," she calmly agreed. Tugging the covers over her legs, she pulled her knees up under her chin and curled her slim arms around her shins. "Because friends manipulate. They twist your needs to better fit their own. If they're conniving enough, they do it so seamlessly that you never question them until long after they have no further use for you."

Somehow, watching and hearing such a young mouth form around that perverse spill of words made him feel suddenly wretched. So much so that it forced him to pause and think. Slowly, he ventured, "Do I really sound like that?"

"Not to me," she shook her head with a kind smile. "But that seems to be the message you try to send to them."

He hesitated a moment longer, then carefully approached her, sitting upon the side of his mattress so that he could continue to study the wisdom hidden behind such innocence. "And… How do I sound to you?"

She was quiet for a minute or two seeming, not to decide, but how best to phrase an already concrete decision. Finally, she tucked a strand of white behind her ear and looked at him with those silvery blue eyes. "I think… You're complicated. Maybe not as much as Cliff or Maria make you out to be, but… more than enough, in your own right."

Albel shook his head, "And that's enough for you? Those other fools can't seem to leave me alone with their questions. But you seem to…"

"Accept you for who you are?" She nodded, "Because I do. Sure, someday I hope to learn more about you. I like you; of course I'll feel that way. But it's not hard to see you have your reasons. Velbaysians believe personal reasoning, wherever it leads us, must not be ignored."

He fell quiet for a long moment, hearing a rare sincerity behind her speech. Finally, he sighed and nodded his acceptance.

She offered a small smile. "I'm curious. How do I strike you?"

"A dark angel," he confessed on a whisper, looking up in time to watch her silvery blue eyes widen in surprise. He tried to explain, "It's in the way you dance. With those other fools, you seem to have all this energy pent up inside, with nowhere to go. Battling can only release so much. But when you dance, it… pours out of you. Like the waters of the Sacred Orb, but in a tide of melancholic grief. It looks… cleansing. As though with each calculated step, you're washing your soul of the troubles of daily life…"

An almost comforting silence fell in the wake of his words, as a new level of understanding was now forged between them. Albel wondered what had spurred him to say all that, though after seeing her expression clear into one of quiet fondness he knew he could never take it back. But before he could explore this revelation, his left arm throbbed insistently. He grabbed at it with his good hand, doubling over himself as its pain grew so that it was swiftly making him sick to his stomach.

Vaguely, he could hear Peppita leap from her borrowed bed. She did not shout. She did not call for help. Through the blur of dizziness that now had his mind swimming, he glimpsed her crouching before his knees one moment, and then she was beside him on the mattress the next. With hands that may never know the touch of cruelty, she was gently nudging his shoulder back so that the rest of his upper body could only follow to the mattress. Somehow, Albel's mind was just aware enough to discover that at some point she had moved his pillow so that it would catch the back of his head when he lay down.

He turned his glazed eyes to the side, his mind and body already succumbing to the familiar black of unconsciousness even as he weakly fought it back to watch her. She tucked strands of white behind her ears, then folded her legs beneath her and lifted up on her knees. She moved her hands forth to hover over his stomach. Her palms slowly ignited with a soft blue light, and his unfocused mind recognized the power of symbology. His body was swiftly drowning in fever, even as her meager magic fought against it. Several endless seconds passed, until at last he could feel the countless knots in his stomach unwillingly loosen their hold.

Peppita's brow was beaded with perspiration as she breathed out the fatigue her efforts were bringing upon her. Then her hands moved back, and her palms ignited again.

Albel shook his head, struggling just once more to push back the darkness edging his vision. "No, angel," he warned, his voice an apologetic growl. "It's… too much a part of me, now…"

Tears were freed from her silvery blue eyes as she nodded. "I know," she whispered, though the symbology igniting her palms grew steadily stronger. Her sweet voice had thickened with much sadness and regret; she was crying. "I know…"

And it were her voice and her tears that followed him into the blackness.

~o~

She tugged them into her arms, radiating excitement.

"Look, children. A meteor shower! Quick, make as many wishes as you can."

But then a cold wind blew against his back, and he wrapped his arms about himself to ward away the chill. Another arm fell across his shoulders, and eyes as red as his own offered a small smile in shared sorrow. Together they searched the skies, hoping, praying for a shooting star to grant the miracle of their strongest wish…

Albel awoke with a start, gasping for new air. Blinking his eyes open, feeling a small weight across his torso, he glanced down to find Peppita had fallen asleep with her head atop his chest. He lay still a moment, staring at her slumbering form in mild surprise, wondering at the sudden tightness that fisted around his heart at the sight. Determining that his nightmare had not jarred her awake as well, he very carefully extricated himself from beneath her and sat up. Grabbing a blanket from the extra bed, he spread it over her to keep her warm. And that was when he caught sight of his left arm.

He stared. The burn scars were still there but, where once they were red and brown and almost ugly to behold, they were now so white they nearly blended in with the pale color of his skin. Their welts still marred his arm; they could never be smoothed out to match the rest of him. But what had been accomplished already went far beyond his expectations.

He turned his gaze back to the girl sleeping so deeply in his bed, now realizing the root of her exhaustion. Use of symbology always drew upon the caster's strength. And she, so young but so unpredictable, had attempted and nearly succeeded in the impossible. He suspected she would not awaken for some time.

Standing, he crossed the room and looked out his window. It was still dark, and a glance at the skies outside assured him sunrise would be long in coming. If he hurried, he could make it back before the others could come knocking at his door. Glancing once more toward his bed as he tugged his boots on, he dug out a pen and a scrap of paper, scribbling a brief note and leaving it on the opposite bed for her to find:

"Do not fear. I shall return."

With a practiced ease he secured his clawed gauntlet around his left arm, took up his sheathed katana, and slipped out through the window. At the last second, he remembered to close the window to prevent the night chills from entering, and then he disappeared into the shadows.

The trek to the next city was not easily accomplished in the few hours he had to do so. But Albel Nox had a reputation of being, not only the best swordsman under his king's command, but also the swiftest, impossibly light on his feet if need be. Leaving the town of Peterny, he kept his eyes sharp for the Owner's minions as he began the long hike across the great wide span of unclaimed land leading north. He ignored the paved road that wove a safe path from one town to the next, knowing his presence would better go unnoticed if he stayed on the grass. Much as he itched to drive the claws of his gauntlet across those "divine" throats, he knew better than to confront one of them alone.

The moon was just kissing the horizon when at last he entered the city of Aquios. Though it was not yet twilight, some few people were walking the streets presumably to open shops. He paid them no mind as he passed, though his quick mind was diligently memorizing every face at a glance, a well-earned habit from a war which ended without his involvement.

He approached the two soldiers guarding the castle entrance. They eyed him warily, perhaps recalling his reputation, but let him pass. Even had they not recognized him as a member of "Master" Fayt's party, it was a law of their queen to allow all who wished it their time to pray in the castle's chapel. But Albel was not there for the chapel. His steps echoed softly as he strode purposefully along the corridor until he found the door he was looking for. Effortlessly picking its lock, he slipped into the room, quietly closing and relocking the door behind him.

With his back resting against the thick slab of wood, he set his katana aside in a corner and waited patiently for his eyes to adjust to the complete darkness of the windowless room. Almost immediately, his gaze fell upon the room's only bed, and the slumbering form thereon, and he studied that face. Its lines had strengthened, though the angles of cheeks and chin and brow were still softer than his own. The pale dust-grey hair was handsomely unruly and, though he could not see them, he knew some of that hair had been allowed to grow out and was separated in two knee-length rattails. Exactly like his own.

After a long minute or two, he stretched his good hand out and muttered a simple rune, igniting the handful of candles spread throughout the room. He then approached the bed, crouched low, and gently nudged the room's only occupant by the shoulder.

The other's eyes blinked open, and he swiftly clapped a hand over the other's mouth even as those eyes widened in recognition. He waited for a count of twenty, giving the other time to get over any surprise or alarm in finding him there, and then slowly he moved his hand away. The other calmly sat up, blankets gathering on his lap; a tongue flicked out to wet dry lips.

"Albel…?"

He searched those eyes - so glaringly red like his own - but the malice and suspicion he had feared to find there were missing. Slowly relaxing, he offered a hesitant smile.

"Mackwell."

The other's hands reached up to grasp his shoulders, and then he was being pulled into a tight embrace which he allowed and returned just as freely. The other's brow tipped atop his shoulder, and he could hear the other whisper, "Your letters stopped months ago. I didn't know what to think…"

"I was accused of betraying my king," he answered as softly. "That warmonger Vox had me imprisoned for weeks before I was released."

"He accused you-" Mackwell shook his head against the dark warrior's shoulder, disbelieving. "A lie. No one is more loyal than you. But…" He lifted his head, his gaze wondering. "I heard of Vox's demise. Was it then you were released? Why did you not contact me sooner?"

Sighing, Albel pulled himself from the other's embrace and sat upon the side of the bed. "If you've learned of his demise, then you must also know of the power threatening our world."

The other's eyes widened, "I'd dismissed the rumors as nonsense."

"Your reaction is the same as was mine. But it's become far more complicated." Patiently, he described the truth of the situation, leaving no detail untold. From Crosell's involvement to defending the Kirlsa training facility, to deciding to join the off-worlders on their quest to find answers…

"What?" Mackwell quickly gripped Albel's good arm, "You left our world, without any assurance that you could return?"

The dark warrior glanced aside. "I… apologize, Mackwell. But I stand by my decision. Even if it meant never seeing you again, I knew I would be doing my part to keep our world - and you - protected."

The runological scholar was quiet a moment, but eventually released his arm. "There's more you're not telling me…"

"Yes," he sighed, and went on to finish the tale. He told of the discoveries on a space station called Moonbase; barely escaping an attack as they fled to the planet Styx. The activating and manipulating of the Time Gate; their reckless venture into the 4D realm, only to learn…

Mackwell stared, "A game? Our world was at war. People fought, survived, died… And it was all a game for their amusement?"

Albel nodded.

"And this creator, this… Owner-"

"Luther. He is not a god, but a man like any other. Nothing more."

"Luther, then," the other accepted the correction. "He means to delete our galaxy, because he fears our technology has gone too far?"

"Perhaps not here on Elicoor." The dark warrior shook his head, "But I have seen examples of greater technology than our own. Yet I agree that these 4D beings are in fact inviting our retaliation."

"The people you're traveling with," Mackwell slowly asked, "are they going to stop this Luther, before…?"

"They're going to try," Albel assured. "And I refuse to be left out of that."

"There have been rumors of a mysterious quest, led by the equally mysterious Master Fayt. Is that what this is?"

The dark warrior scoffed, almost to himself. "There is no mystery behind that fool. Put someone he cares for in peril, and it's easy to predict what he'll do."

Hearing something in those words, the young scholar gave him a calculative glance. "He intrigues you."

Albel tossed him a sidelong glare. "You tread in dangerous waters…"

"So it's true, then," he chuckled, seemingly unsurprised at what such a revelation entailed. "Come, now; tell me everything!"

With a roll of his eyes, the dark warrior gave in. Twenty minutes later, Mackwell's bemused look gave way to one of awe and admiration. "And… will you tell him one day?"

The other shook his head, "I doubt it. I've fought this long to keep from having to do just that."

"Albel…"

"Try not to pity me, Mackwell. It's not so bad as you might think."

"I don't believe that," the young alchemist softly proclaimed. "I am not naïve; nor are you. Your quest may fail, and all that we know may end. But this will likely devour you, before all is said and done."

One of the candle stubs sputtered and died, and Mackwell left his bed to replace it. Albel's eyes followed the other across the room, noting that the young scholar had been sleeping in night pants and no shirt. And as the new candle was being lit, he could barely make out the old scars that criss-crossed the other's back, a reminder of days better left forgotten.

"You will be careful, won't you," Mackwell requested, mercifully changing the subject as he turned around again. "Do your utmost to return alive?"

"Yes."

"After all, you're the only family I have left."

Here, he fell silent, unable to meet the other's gaze any longer.

"Albel?" The other came back to the bed and sat again at his side. "Albel, what is it?"

"I-," he tried, then hesitated. "Do you… remember Elayne?"

"Remember her? There are nights I am still haunted by her. We were both so young when she disappeared." There was a moment's pause, before the slightly older man wondered, "Why?"

"The off-worlders I travel with…" Albel sighed, finally looking up to meet the other's gaze, "I believe one of them is her daughter."