A/N - Reviews are greatly appreciated, even if it is only a theme suggestion. Thank-you to everyone who has supported me so far:)
Morning Ritual
Fran prefers the subtle flavour of steeped tea over Balthier's precious Arcadian coffee. In a way, it reminds her of the Wood, as if she can scent the long-boughed trees and chilled winds through the leaves in the bottom of her cup. It is her morning ritual, and calms her like no other meditation.
Pouring more tea from the pot, Fran hears the early stirrings of her sky pirate partner. From long experience, she knows he will do nothing before drinking his bitter brown coffee. She would have it ready for him, for efficiency's sake, had he not been so particular about the way it was brewed.
"Morning Fran," Balthier says, making a brave show of alertness with sleep-heavy eyes.
"Good morning Balthier," Fran replies.
She watches him as he makes his way over to the silver contraption that she could most likely figure out, were she allowed to touch it. He trusts her with flying his precious Strahl, but not this! He is fully dressed, with rolled up sleeves and combed hair, but he is obviously quite tired. Perhaps beneath his teasing candor, something is bothering him. Perhaps, like her, he is disturbed by the recent influx of guests on his airship.
The corner of Fran's mouth tilts up, amused, as Balthier begins to whistle absentmindedly. This is a habit that only appears in the morning, before he is awake enough to judge the silly from the suave. She finds that she rather enjoys seeing this side of him, and hopes that no one else wakes up to intrude on their morning ritual.
"Aaah," he sighs, plonking his mug on the kitchenette table. An earthy aroma rises from the rim and takes away the scent of the Wood.
Fran sips her tea and waits.
Judging himself to be ready to hold a decent conversation, Balthier sets down his drink. "Ready for another day like yesterday?" he asks. They had fought a particularly hard battle in the desert the previous day, made all the more difficult by Vaan's brooding over an argument he had with Penelo.
Fran scowls. "Not all days should be the same as that." The boy's wild swings had nearly taken out the whole party.
"Still, it is important to be tolerant where young love is concerned," Balthier nods sagely.
Fran smiles. "You speak as though you are of a father's age."
Too late, she sees him wince at the reference. What a fool she is, too taken up with hume banter to watch her words! But Balthier sees her turmoil and recovers himself.
"Ah, nothing to worry about Fran," he says simply, and she is reassured.
Her ears twitch. "Company," she informs him. Can she see annoyance in his expression, mirrored by her own?
Ashe slides back the hatch and enters the little room. She greets them both, but Fran sees her eyes linger on Balthier. Her gaze follows him as he takes his mug to the sink and turns on the faucet. She traces the nape of his neck and the line of his broad shoulders, for surely she must, else why would the princess be staring at him for so long?
She still isn't sure about Ashe, this intruder into their lives. Balthier's banter with the prickly princess confuses Fran, just as it seems to give him enjoyment. She misses the days when it was just the two of them, going wherever they willed. No, she has made up her mind, she does not want the princess near Balthier. In this, she is as selfish as a hume, but she wants it.
Intruder aside, it's time to complete the morning ritual. Fran takes Balthier's arm, still damp from the sink, and buttons up his cuff. His hands are still warm from grasping the coffee mug.
"Thank you Fran. Can never get the damned things myself."
She feels eyes stabbing into the back of her head, which are ignored with all due dignity. When she finishes her task, she does not step back. Her hands linger, one step closer than Ashe's searching gaze will ever come. To her surprise, Balthier does not make some smart comment and pull away. For a moment, this moment, she has him, and her hands run over his rings as if to say, 'This hume is mine.'