Sorry for the delay, my mom had to borrow my laptop for a few days, with all my chapters stored away on it. Anyway, this is kind of an uneventful chapter – just establishing more of a bond between Yuna and Tidus, which we all love. Enjoy!

000

Chapter 6

For the most part, they were silent. Yuna had made a few attempts to make light conversation, not because she was chatty by nature, but because the tension was almost stifling in the car.

Every now and then she would sneak quick glances at him from the corner of her eye, appraising him. She had the sense to realize he was good-looking. France had its share of beautiful people, and she was accustomed to it, but there was a peculiar charm to him that could only be described as innately 'American'. Californian came to mind. Yet in spite of his looks, he carried himself as though he were completely oblivious to it – which was insane. Surely he's had enough women to give him some kind of idea.

But to have no memory of your past beyond today . . .

If she thought about it too much, it would distract her to no end. She had to think of something else.

The passing scenery did little to divert her attention as evening descended. The countryside was quickly vanishing in the dark.

"So," she began, realizing he was not going to be the one to start talking. "Do you think there is a family waiting for you out there, somewhere?"

"I don't know," he confessed. "It doesn't seem likely, though, given my profession."

She did not miss the grimness in his tone. "Maybe there is a girl out there doesn't care what you do so long as she's with you."

He shrugged. "Maybe."

More silence. Yuna stole another glance at him, and an idea struck her.

"You need a name," she said suddenly. "Until we find your real one, that is."

He smirked lightly. "What did you have in mind?"

"Blondie."

She was only behaving so foolishly because she felt a severe need to counter all this tension with a bit of fun, strange as the circumstances were. With friends like Lulu and her husband Wakka, who together provided more than enough entertainment, Yuna was not accustomed to such an edgy, serious atmosphere. Father issues and the loss of her mother aside, she was a happy person who liked to keep things light. She was not well equipped for handling awkward silences with strangers (handsome ones), particularly in such a bizarre situation.

He rolled his eyes. "Surprise, surprise. Can't think of anything more original?"

"I use only what you give me. Blondie."

"You are not calling me that."

She grinned and reached out to tug on a spike of shiny gold hair. "Change your colour and we'll see what else I can come up with."

He tensed slightly at her touch, and she wondered briefly if it was just a reflex of his or if he was simply uncomfortable with her. But given his quickness to joke with her, she doubted the latter.

"I'm not dyeing my hair," he said in a mockingly vain tone of voice.

Barely listening anymore, she let her finger trail near his jaw, marveling at its shape as it descended into a perfect neck and into a strong, beautifully structured collarbone. He fell silent and kept his eyes straight ahead, but she had the sneaking suspicion he was watching her as she had been, through the corner of his vision. He was gripping the steering wheel very tightly.

"Well, nothing else fits," she said, quietly now. "Perhaps we will just have to wait."

"Guess so."

She pulled her hand back, suddenly very self-conscious. The touch had only lasted a second or two, but it was enough to make her feel like an idiot. It was not like her to be so bold.

If he could read her thoughts, Yuna knew that he would become very uncomfortable right now. She was being silly and reckless. The day had exhausted her, confused her emotions. She just needed a good night's sleep and a decent meal, and everything would be fine. It helped to tell herself that a few times.

"But we should probably start thinking of disguises," he mentioned, almost like an afterthought. "If we get attacked again, I mean. We might be safe in Zurich."

She nodded, trying to think of something else to say before her mind had a chance to focus on how absolutely flawless his profile seemed all of a sudden. But he saved her the trouble.

"So, how did your mother die? If it's all right to ask."

He gave her a quick searching look to make sure he had not offended her. She blinked and then lowered her gaze. "She died in a fire. I was twelve, and it was summer. My family was spending time at our cabin in Switzerland. There was a gas leak while my father and I were out fishing, and we heard the explosion. My mother had been taking a nap in the bedroom when it happened."

"I'm sorry," he said, appropriately, but also with a note of sincerity. She nodded.

"It was a long time ago."

He gave her a neutral sort of glance, merely to acknowledge her response, and when their eyes met for the briefest of moments, the strangeness of it all hit her.

You're in a car with the assassin who tried to kill your father, heading to Zurich –Switzerland, for God's sake – to investigate a mysterious bank vault that may or may not answer any of your questions.

She rubbed her eyes.

C'est ridicule.

But you know why you're doing this, don't you? You think it has something to do with her.

She immediately banished that last thought and stared down at her hands, trying to concentrate on how she needed to trim her fingernails. Female doctors didn't necessarily have the right to keep their nails long and ridiculously groomed.

"We should be in Aix-en-Provence in another hour," she said, groaning inwardly at the prospect. Another hour and she would probably drive herself mad.

000

Part of him felt a little sorry for Yuna; he doubted he was a fun car companion. But he couldn't stop his mind from wandering. Her questions about him having a family or a girlfriend only confused him more. It was unlikely that he had either waiting for him, and he suddenly felt very lonely. Yuna had fallen silent again, clearly put off by his monosyllabic responses. He wished he could strike up some kind of conversation, but about what? Music? He had no idea what bands or even what kind of music he liked. Movies? Which ones had he seen? He recognized a few iconic images in his head, like the T-Rex rearing its head in Jurassic Park, or Rhett walking out on Scarlet at the end of Gone With the Wind, but little else came to mind.

He could talk about guns, that much he knew. And how to mix household chemicals into an explosive compound. But he doubted he could really talk to Yuna about that sort of thing.

It was late by the time they reached Aix-en-Provence, too late to catch a train. Even if they had made it in time, he could see Yuna stifling more and more yawns, fighting to keep her eyes open.

"We'll stay in town for the night," he said. It was the first time either had spoken in quite a while. "Zurich can wait another little while."

She opened her mouth to protest, obviously not wanting to slow him down in any way, but another yawn escaped instead.

"Good idea. There's a small place just a few blocks from here. It's not very fancy, but it's inconspicuous and out of the way," she suggested, gesturing up the street.

"I'll pay you back somehow," he promised, suddenly embarrassed. He had completely forgotten that he had no money. She waved her hand dismissively.

"Please, think nothing of it. It is no trouble at all," she said, sounding like someone for whom money is no real issue.

They abandoned the car in an alley a block away from the hotel, covering the last of the distance by foot. The hotel, a brown two-story building snugly tucked between a bookshop and a café, really did not stand out at all. Had Yuna not grabbed his arm to steer him inside, he would have walked by without ever noticing it. Inside it was dark, musty, and dimly lit. A homely old woman sat smoking behind the front desk, reading a beauty magazine.

He stood silently in the little lobby while Yuna got them a room (wisely paying in cash), trying to ignore the old woman asking whether they wanted two beds or one. She glanced incredulously between them when Yuna politely requested two, as though she couldn't believe they weren't planning on sharing.

Once inside their room on the second floor, Yuna promptly slipped into the bathroom to change, leaving him alone for the first time all day. He sat down on the edge of the bed closest to the door, so that he would be between anyone breaking in and Yuna. He took off his shoes and lay back on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. It was a tiny room, with barely any room for two people to move about freely. The kitchenette looked as though it would have trouble holding just one person, and he couldn't even imagine how small the bathroom must be. There were wooden shutters to keep out the light, and a questionable-looking TV set sat in the corner.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Only now did he realize how exhausted he was, how badly he craved sleep. He was crawling under the blankets, coming to terms with the fact that he would have to sleep in his clothes, when Yuna emerged.

Part of him wished he hadn't looked at her, because it suddenly made everything just a little bit more complicated than it already was. She was only wearing a long t-shirt that barely reached her knees, and the collar was so wide and deep that it plunged off her naked, slender shoulder. Her legs were longer than he would have guessed, and with her hair still tied back loosely, he had a perfect view of her long, graceful neck.

She smiled faintly at him and shut off the light in the kitchen, swamping them in darkness. He could hear her move around him to her bed and climb in, and fiercely tried to shut his ears to the sound of her settling in, sighing peacefully.

"Goodnight," she whispered, sounding peaceful.

"Goodnight," he replied, hoping his voice didn't betray him. Thoughts of any potential girlfriend out there seemed suddenly very nerve-racking. He felt more flustered now than when he had thrown that broken bottle into their attacker's throat.

He rolled over and stared into the dark void of the hotel room. Now that he was free to sleep, his mind would not fully allow him to. He could not stop wondering what kind of life he had led before becoming an assassin, unless he had been one his whole life. Where was he born? Where did he grow up? Who were his parents? Any brothers, or sisters?

A while later, Yuna murmured in her sleep, and he tried vainly to push the image of her long dancer's legs from his mind. Why couldn't he have picked a man to help him escape from the hospital? Or at the very least an unattractive girl.

He was fairly certain he had been with a woman before, perhaps even more than one. Somewhere inside his memory there lay an acute knowledge of the female body that one couldn't simply learn from textbooks or adult films. It was a personal recognition, that much he could tell. But who? And when?

How long has it been?

When at last he did fall asleep, he was tormented with images of what may or may not be memories. He could not tell what was real and what was simply a dream. There was a man with blue grey hair and steely eyes that kept hounding him, calling out to him but using a name that simply turned into bizarre sounds that made no sense to him. His brain was trying to get him to remember, but the name remained elusive. Then he saw images of a white sail boat, a pool of what could be either blood or wine spilled on a pale carpet –

A hand on his shoulder startled him awake, and on pure instinct his arm shot out and grabbed at his attacker's throat. He pulled down until a body landed on his and he rolled on top, pinning the intruder under him.

He blinked and suddenly realized what he was doing.

"Yuna," he gasped, releasing Yuna's neck. She gasped and threw herself away from him, landing on the floor. "Jesus, I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. Are you okay?"

She stared at him, massaging her throat for a minute. "I'm fine," she managed.

He ran his hands through his hair, swinging his legs over the mattress to face her. "I'm really sorry. I thought you were – well I wasn't really thinking, it just sort of –"

She stood up and held up her hands disarmingly. "It's okay," she reassured him, trying to smile. He could still see her shaking a little, and felt a wave of shame crash over him. "I probably should have left you alone, but you were talking in your sleep. Sounded like a nightmare."

"What did I say?"

"You just kept saying 'I don't want to' and 'can't do it' over and over again. Do you remember anything about your dream?" she asked, sitting on the mattress a considerate distance away from him. He shook his head after a moment.

"No. Just . . . weird fragments that don't make any sense. I've lost the main part of it," he sighed. "Maybe it will come back to me later."

"Maybe."

He glanced back up at her, his eyes lingering on her throat. His fingers remembered how her skin felt with alarming vividness. "I feel awful – I promised I would never hurt you."

She smiled forgivingly, and his heart twisted strangely. "You didn't know what you were doing. It's okay. Next time I will just throw something at your head to wake you up."

He could tell she was trying to make him laugh, and he suddenly felt a surge of fondness for her. He smiled. "Good idea."

She stood and stretched. "You should shower first," she said, oblivious to the way his gaze traveled down her legs when the t-shirt pulled up. "I probably take longer than you and I don't want to steal all the hot water."

Nodding, he got up and headed into the bathroom, wondering if the water could get cold enough for him to forget the way the sunlight hit her shoulder the way it did.