Balthier's smug expression was so grating that Penelo frequently found her fists curling as she imagined hauling back and smacking it right off his face. Masculine satisfaction oozed from his very pores; he strutted around looking so godsdamned proud that it was infuriating. And, in the rare moments when he wasn't strutting, every so often she would catch him silently observing her. Whenever he thought she wasn't paying attention, he would take the opportunity to study her as if he were trying to work out a particularly difficult problem in his head. It was…disconcerting.

By tacit agreement, there had been no mention of the night at the Paramina Rift. The morning after had been awkward enough – for her, at least. He had been in a jovial mood, having risen some time before her and squared away the majority of their supplies. By contrast, she had risen in a foul mood sometime later, jarred into alertness by the merry tune he whistled as he strode away from the campsite to return their things to the Strahl. He had left her only a blanket and pillow, the tarps, and her clothes folded in neat pile and stacked beside her pillow.

He hadn't touched her. Not once. Not the tiniest brush in passing, nor even a gentle nudge to redirect her if he wished her to turn. It was both confusing and distressing, and she didn't know what she was supposed to think of it. But it was probably better that he hadn't, because his very nearness disturbed her in ways with which she had been ill-equipped to cope.

He had seemed to instinctively understand that she had no desire to discuss what had passed between them, which would have suited her just perfectly had he managed not to swagger about like he'd pulled off some epic coup.

She was well aware that he was responsible only for a small fraction of her anger. She'd managed to sift through the bulk of her confused emotions, portioning them out where they were due: outrage at Raen for his deceit, for the years she'd spent wallowing in her own insecurities, for her shattered heart and battered self-esteem. Relief for herself, that she wasn't the frigid, wrecked, travesty of a person that she had thought.

Only a sliver of irritation remained for Balthier, who had had to go and prove himself right. Again. And that was worrisome – because it meant that there really was nothing wrong with her. It had been so much easier, so much safer, to assume the worst and react accordingly, eschewing anything approaching intimacy.

She didn't know how not to be broken.

On the one hand, it was a relief to know that she was not, and on the other, it was a strange new situation through which she had no idea how to navigate. Her version of normal had been a lie, one that she had lived for too many years to feel capable of moving past it. And the only brush that she had had with love had been disastrous – she didn't know what a healthy relationship ought to be like anymore, didn't know if she would ever be comfortable enough in her own skin, in her own emotions, to risk it.

That was the problem: she still couldn't trust herself. She had made so many mistakes before. She had never had the clarity to reason out the path ahead, had been taken for a fool too often for her inability to discern the nebulous motivations of others.

She might as well be perched at the razor edge of a precipice, where any move could spell disaster. But her own doubts were a heavy fog, blinding her eyes – and so she was stuck, unable to find her own direction. Trapped in the certainty that any move she made would be her undoing.

The Strahl was making its descent into Balfonheim Port's Aerodrome, and Penelo flexed her shoulders to relieve the tension that had gathered at the back of her neck. The communications system had been buzzing off the hook for three straight days, and she was reasonably certain that it would soon drive her completely mad.

"Why don't you ever answer it?" she asked irritably, resisting the urge to stick her fingers in her ears like a child just to blot out the racket.

Balthier slanted her a speaking glance, arching a brow as if to say, Really? But he sighed, leaned forward, and punched a button to connect the call.

"Yes?" he asked.

Vaan's voice roared over the speakers, "You bastard!"

Click. Balthier dropped the call, folded his arms behind his head, and propped his boots up on the dash. "That would be why."

Immediately, the system started buzzing again, and the sound pulsed through Penelo's head, setting off a minor headache. She rubbed at her temples, but failed to stifle the growl of fury that rose in her throat.

"Can't you turn that off, then?" she asked.

"Of course. However, it serves a purpose – Vaan is single-minded. He'll call until he's found us. It's when the calls stop that we ought to worry." As the Aerodrome came into view on the horizon, he shifted the Strahl's controls to manual, straightening to take hold of the yoke and guide her down. "We'd do well to keep on the move as much as possible. The Galbana isn't as fast as the Strahl, but she can still cover a lot of ground."

Penelo shifted in her seat, guilt settling upon her. "I've caused a lot of trouble for you."

"Not especially," he said, in a vague sort of voice, as if he were only half-listening.

"Surely you've got better things to be doing." At once a stray thought gathered in her mind, coalescing into a roar that drowned out even the incessant buzzing of the communications system. "Oh, gods – I pulled you and Fran away from something, didn't I? You had to pass up a job to rescue me."

"Of course not." But his brows drew together, as if she'd prodded too close to a subject he did not wish to discuss in depth.

She swallowed a bitter laugh. "I'm grateful, I really am. And I'm so sorry to have upset your plans –"

"Penelo." He said it firmly, talking right over her. "We were doing nothing. Absolutely nothing, not for almost a month. Fran was growing rather cross with me." He sounded somewhat vexed, as if he'd confessed to a mortal sin, but the words rang true.

Somewhat mollified, she sank back in her chair. "I can't imagine you doing nothing," she said. She truly couldn't picture it at all – though he was given to playing the apathetic, indolent gentleman pirate, she had rarely encountered anyone who matched him for determination. "When you say 'nothing'…"

"I mean nothing." He tightened his grip on the yoke. "I docked the Strahl in Archades, and there we stayed."

"But there must have been jobs? Even in Archades?"

"Of course. It's a town filled with noblemen and wealthy merchants. Shipments arrived and departed every day, any one of which would've been worth our inspection." The Strahl dipped below the scattered cloud-cover, threading through stray beams of sunlight that struggled toward the earth.

"So what kept you from it?" She didn't know why she had to push at it, only that she had the suspicion that he was intentionally holding something back – and she had been lied to enough.

"Lack of interest. And then, Fran –" But his voice died abruptly, a sudden, unnatural dip into silence.

She could tell by the set of his jaw that he was annoyed, but she couldn't help it. She asked, "Fran what?"

He hesitated for a few seconds too long, and she knew that he was sorting through his thoughts, twisting the truth into something less than. "Fran insisted we take a job," he said at last. "And I chose you."

Penelo mulled that over in her head as she browsed the wares for sale at the waterfront market. Balthier had taken himself off to stock up on supplies, leaving her to her own devices for a while, and she enjoyed the leisurely walk and the sleepy pace of the city dwellers. The salty tang of the sea air was soothing, and she was secretly thrilled with how little Balfonheim had changed in the last three years. Rather than experiencing the confusing disorientation that she might've when confronted with surroundings both familiar and not, she felt reassured and comfortable.

It was a nice change of pace, because lately she had felt perpetually off-balance and out of step. The rest of the world had marched on, and only she lagged behind, struggling to stay afloat in the relentless tides of change.

Balthier was decidedly not helping. She didn't know what he was supposed to make of his cryptic remark – what in the world was it supposed to have meant? He had cooled his heels in Archades to the point that Fran had tired of it, and then, instead of actually engaging in his chosen profession, he had chosen to track her down? Why?

It made no logical sense. How had he even known she was missing to begin with? He had told her that he, Vaan, and Fran had all been searching for her, and that was clearly true – but if he'd come to the decision to go search for her whilst he and Fran had been holed up in Archades, it had been of his own accord, and not at Vaan's behest. So how had he even known to look for her?

They hadn't spoken in person in years – nor had they corresponded at all aside from the letter he'd left in place of the Strahl when he'd stolen it back. And even during their previous travels, she had always thought he was rather put out by her company. Well, hers and Vaan's. He had made no particular secret of the fact that he had thought the both of them too young and flighty for such a mission, and if he had not quite been overtly hostile, he had been dismissive and patronizing.

She had been completely honest when she had told him that he was the very last person she would have expected to come to her rescue. And yet…he had, and more. He had kept her safe, calmed her in moments of panic, humored her request to keep Vaan out of her hair. He had done far more for her than could ever have been expected of him…for no discernible reason.

He was confusing. And every time she felt she was getting close to understanding him or his motives, he shifted somehow and she was left reeling once again. She could almost imagine he was doing it on purpose, deliberately letting her misunderstand him for some reason.

What she couldn'tascertain was why.

A loud burst of laughter jerked her from her thoughts. A few feet away, a group of men – most of them sky pirates, if their garb was any indication – spilled out onto the street from a nearby tavern. Balfonheim was a haven to all sorts, but especially to pirates, so it wasn't a particularly unusual sight to see. But one of them at the rear of the group brought her up short, and she stopped in her tracks, surprised to see a familiar face in Balfonheim. Tomaj – what was he doing here?

The street was narrow, bordered by a low seawall, and the group had to pass by her to continue on toward the Aerodrome, but as they did, Tomaj looked up and caught sight of her, his face shifting through a number of expressions in a matter of moments. At last he settled on delight; he let the crowd before him move on ahead and called out that he'd catch up with them later.

"Penelo," he said, "What's it been, now? A couple of years, at least, huh?"

"Something like that," she said noncommittally, tucking one ankle behind the other, rubbing the cuffs of her boots together. "What are you doing in Balfonheim? I thought nothing could pull you away from the Sandsea."

"Business trip," he said, in a somewhat sheepish tone, scratching at the back of his neck. His dark eyes looked her up and down in silent assessment. "You got some time?" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the tavern. "I'll buy you a drink and we can catch up."

Penelo looked to the sky, judging the position of the sun peeking through the clouds. Balthier was due back soon, but the tavern had wide glass windows stretching along its storefront – she'd see him when he returned.

"Sure," she said. "That sounds…nice."

Tomaj held the door for her, and she took up a seat in front of the window to keep watch over the street. It was strange to see Tomaj so solicitous; in the past he had always suffered her presence and Vaan's only at Migelo's request. They had performed various odd-jobs that kept Tomaj's tavern running smoothly – fetching supplies, carrying notes, and the like – but Tomaj liked money, and they could rarely afford to pay for the privilege of patronizing his establishment.

Tomaj was two years her senior, and as long as she could remember he had always been running the Sandsea – first as a boy alongside his father, and then as a young man when his father's passing had left it in his care. Finding him in Balfonheim was baffling; she didn't think she had ever seen him outside the Sandsea, much less out of the city.

"You look…different," he said at last, as he flagged down a waiter, who promptly brought them a couple of mugs of ale.

"Time does tend to do that to a person," she said absently, positioning her chair for the best possible vantage point of the street outside. "What are you doing in Balfonheim?"

"Oh," he said, with an abashed laugh. "Well, the queen's cracked down on piracy lately, and my suppliers won't risk bringing the goods straight into the Rabanastre anymore. So I've got to pick up them myself, now." He heaved a sigh. "I can't really spare the time, but it is what it is."

Penelo smothered a snicker; he really was just the same as always, concerned with little more than the management of his tavern. "It'll do you good to get out of the city every now and then," she said. "I can't imagine spending all my life in one place."

"I can't help it; I've got a business to run," he returned. "And it's getting harder every day. Can you believe this – those pirates tried to pawn off some shoddy maps on me. Said there's been developments in Rozarria, and the cartographers were printing up new ones as fast as they could."

She choked on her ale and covered her mouth. "Did they?"

"Yeah." He scoffed. "I bought one of 'em just for kicks. Thought Migelo would get a good laugh out of it. Take a look at this." He pulled a map out of his back pocket, unfolded it, and laid it out on the bar. Penelo leaned her, her eyes going unerringly to the northeast corner of the map, where the city of Galina lay on its inlet, and then across to the ominously-rendered jungle. It was segmented on the map, cleaved in two by the thick chasm that slashed through it all the way into the plains to the south – and running alongside it were the words Queen Anora's Scar emblazoned in proud gold ink.

"Oh," she murmured to herself. "That's wonderful."

"What do they take me for?" Tomaj groused. "The world doesn't just change."

"Tomaj, you really need to get out more," she said. "And Migelo'll kill you if you don't take the maps back to him. You know he tries to keep his stock current."

He slanted her a dubious glance. "You're not saying you think they're accurate."

"I am, and they are." She eased back in her seat. "As it happens, I've recently come from Rozarria. I've been there," she said, drawing her finger down the jagged line of the chasm. Queen Anora's Scar. It was a fitting name, she thought. "In fact, I was there when it happened. It might have been a little bit my fault."

Tomaj's brows rose in surprise. "You lead an interesting life, don't you?"

"That might not be exactly the word I would have chosen," she said. "But, yeah, I guess so. Not bad for an orphan from Lowtown, huh?"

He laughed. "Not bad for anyone, really. Is Vaan around?" His hand settled on the back of her chair, and he craned his neck around as if searching for Vaan's face amidst the crowd.

She shook her head. "We parted ways a couple of years back. He's still got the Galbana, though. I imagine he stops by Rabanastre from time to time?"

"So I've heard, but if he does, he hasn't stopped by the Sandsea." His hand moved from the back of her chair to her shoulder. "You've really changed," he said. "I almost didn't recognize you. I mean, I did, but…it's strange, you know? I didn't expect to see you like this."

"Like what?" She canted her head to the side, perplexed.

He coughed into his fist, gestured vaguely to her. "Like…this." He ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling the dark strands into a disordered fluff. "I guess I always thought of you as Vaan's tag-along – you two were as thick as thieves. You were still just a kid the last time I saw you, and I think I just…didn't expect you to grow up." His mouth flattened into a flat line as examined her quizzical face, frustrated. "What I'm getting at is, maybe you could stop by Rabanastre one of these days and pay me a visit."

His palm cupped her shoulder as if he could instill the words into her through it, and she fell silent and still, her mind swirling with the oddest suspicion that he was attempting, in an awkward, roundabout way, to flirt with her. He wanted her to pay him a visit – and not just to patronize the Sandsea?

A week ago, she would have rejected him out of hand, would have found the very prospect distasteful in the extreme.

But now…well, she still wasn't looking for that sort of relationship, but – Tomaj was handsome, if in a bland sort of way. Symmetrical features, shaggy hair, brown eyes that tilted just a bit at the corners, giving them a feline sort of slant. Half the girls in Lowtown had held a crush on him at some point or another. But he was a class above theirs, and thus firmly out of reach…except that now here he was, expressing interest in her. Penelo. Of all people.

She wasn't interested in a relationship, carnal or otherwise. But she did wonder if she was truly free of the chains of her past, if Balthier had succeeded in vanquishing her coldness. If she were capable, outside of that one, isolated incident, of feeling passion.

She took a gulp of her ale to bolster her courage, and then asked, "Tomaj, would you…would you kiss me?"

"What?" he asked, his face blanking in surprise. "I mean – yeah." He twisted in his seat, his movements awkward but swift, as if he thought hesitation on his part might cause her to retract the offer.

She waited, poised at the edge of her seat. She didn't know what she was hoping for, precisely, but figured she would know it when it happened. His face blurred before her eyes as he leaned in, and she closed her eyes and tried to concentrate.

His lips were warm and softer than she would've expected. It was…pleasant. But it might as well have been a handshake for all the feeling in it. It didn't sear her lips, didn't make her heart pound or her hands tremble. She wasn't breathless or hot or shivery. She'd had more visceral reactions from eating a halfway decent meal.

Disappointing.

She knew she was frowning and made an effort to relax and try again; she reached out to grab the lapels of his shirt, pulling him closer. "No," she said, "I mean, really kiss me." Maybe he'd done it wrong, or maybe she'd just been overthinking –

"I think not."

Balthier's voice was cutting, dripping with annoyance, and it slammed into her ears with the intensity of a gunshot. Penelo felt a prick of what might've been guilt, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar – she'd been distracted, had failed to watch the window, and Balthier must've seen them from the street. Tomaj's lapels slipped through her fingers like water as he was yanked off his chair and tossed aside. She gaped in shock, in mute outrage, as Balthier shoved a sack of groceries into her arms.

Tomaj recovered from his impromptu flight, righting himself and rounding on Balthier furiously. "Hey, you can't just –"

Balthier turned to face him, and though Penelo could not see his face, whatever Tomaj saw in it made him lapse into silence. In fact, the whole tavern had lapsed into silence, patrons staring in rapt interest at the scene unfolding before them. Penelo flushed under the scrutiny, embarrassed.

Tomaj held up his hands, clearing his throat. "Hey, sorry – I didn't know she was with you."

"I'm not," she said automatically, annoyed. "I mean, I'm with him, but I'm not with him."

"She's with me," Balthier said curtly. "And we're leaving. Now." He made an impatient gesture, indicating that she should rise.

They were going to have words about this, she thought darkly. But for the moment he was her ride, and she'd glimpsed perishables in the bag that would require refrigeration – and that meant that a trip back to the Strahl would be necessary.

She heaved an exasperated sigh and rose to her feet. "Sorry, Tomaj – will you be in Balfonheim long? I could –"

"No, you could not." Balthier snagged her elbow and pulled her inexorably toward the exit.

Her skin sizzled beneath the light pressure of his fingers, and she was…irritated by it. Tomaj hadn't provoked even the slightest flutter of interest. Why did Balthier so effortlessly evoke it? He wasn't even trying; it made no logical sense.

As he directed her out onto the street and toward the Aerodrome, she muttered beneath her breath, "You have terrible timing."

"On the contrary," he said in a clipped tone, "my timing was impeccable."

She risked a glance at him and experienced a sliver of surprise – the tension in his shoulders, the stony set of his jaw, the muscle that ticked in his cheek…he wasn't merely annoyed, he was livid. Though he had masked it fairly well, given the circumstances, the tightly-leashed fury was written in the tense lines of his face, just waiting to spring free.

This was not something she had signed on for, and she most definitely did not want to be around when it broke through.

Her feet brought her to a swift halt, her arms tightening around the bag she carried. She snapped, "You don't have any right to be angry with me!"

"I know that," he said. "And do you know – I think that's what angers me the most." His hand touched the small of her back, urging her onward; the contact seared her flesh like a flame, and she started. "For the gods' sake," he bit off, misreading her jerky movement as fear. "I've never laid a hand on a woman in anger in my life, and I'm not about to start with you."

She believed him. Despite the fact that she could feel the anger in him, that it practically shimmered off of him in waves, his touch had been as gentle as always. Even if one hand was fisted at his side, so tightly the knuckles were white with the strain of it, the hand at her back did little more than linger there with careful pressure. He might be angry, but he had no intention of taking it out on her.

She cast him a puzzled glance, caught between irritation and confusion, and said, "I don't understand you."

He managed a rough facsimile of a laugh and said in an ominous tone, "Oh, but you will."