Our Love to Admire – Amber

Balthier/Ashe, PG-13

Inspired by: A Time to Be So Small, from Antics

We saw you in distraction:
a sleeping slow despair
Rehearsing interaction, he wasn't even there

-A Time to Be So Small, Antics

The inn is dark when he returns. It will take days to reach Jahara. They'll have to slog through the rains in Giza, and they'll all be sniffling and ill when they reach Ozmone. It won't exactly be a pleasant journey, but as he pats his pocket and feels the ring safely held within, he knows it's all worth it.

A few weeks ago, if anyone had suggested that he'd be following a deposed Princess and her ragtag crew around, he would have laughed. But now he holds the only item of value to said Princess, and he knows he did it for the right reasons. If she's going to take on Archadia, she's going to need to cut all her ties to her past. She acted strangely in the tomb that day when they'd gotten the shard and her lieutenant turned traitor.

Her dead husband's name had been on her lips, and that was when he knew she'd never be able to keep going unless the ring was his. Sure, it wasn't the kindest thing he's ever done, but he's not a kind man. He'd expected hatred in her eyes – he'd counted on it. But he'd almost handed the ring right back when he'd seen the sorrow in her eyes as she dropped it into his palm, the hesitation in her shaking hand as she withdrew it. But all it had taken was a little quip about finding something more valuable for her to storm off, the sadness replaced with the fury he's far more accustomed to in her.

Fran had been displeased with his decision, suggesting that he give the Princess some time to process what the assistance of sky pirates can cost. Basch had eyed him warily for the rest of that afternoon, and the Sandsea had been a good hideout for the evening. A good meal, the last he was like to have for several days and a few pints. He supposes that stumbling around tipsy wasn't the best idea, and he'll surely regret it in the morning. But there's an itch in his mind he can't scratch, and he thought the Sandsea's best ale would be able to help him get over it.

It's only led him to dwell on it more. He nearly tumbles through the inn door, trying not to laugh at his lack of balance. The nagging in his mind? It's her. He thinks he's taken her ring to help her move on, but doesn't that make him a hypocrite? He can't ignore his own past. Ever since that damned Ghis had mentioned Draklor on board the Leviathan, he hasn't been able to shake it. What exactly is Cid up to? Why does he feel cruel for stealing Ashe's only remaining keepsake when it would amuse him in any other circumstance?

His head is swimming, but in a pleasant way. He'll be leaning over his basin in a few hours' time, but for now he feels pretty good. The banister keeps him upright as he trudges up the stairs in the dark, only a pathetic excuse for a candle indicating that there are rooms waiting above. Realization strikes when he reaches the top of the steps – no key. And it sure is late. Vaan won't wake up, but Basch will be annoyed with him – more for drinking than for waking him. He's learned that Basch is honorable to an annoying degree and will find some way to punish him for his behavior. No doubt he'll be carrying the heaviest pack in the morning.

Sighing, he leans an arm on the doorframe to steady himself and knocks quietly on the door. He presses his forehead against his hand, mentally begging Basch to hurry up so he can lay down already. But when the door opens, he realizes his mistake.

Where he expected a man his own height, he looks down to see a rather irritated looking Princess staring at him. Ever the prissy thing, she has a room to herself and as far as he can see, it looks a bit nicer than the rest. Basch's doing, no doubt – spoiling her even though she is only Princess by sheer force of will now.

"Ashe, hello," he mutters, his words slurring more than he should really allow them to. He should have stopped after six…or seven probably. "Good evening."

The woman could make eye rolling a science. "I don't believe this." She points. "Two doors down on your left."

Looking past her, he sees an extra bed in the room. It's a lot closer than two doors down on his left. "Need a roommate?"

"No."

Logic tells him the smart thing to do would be to say good night and leave her alone, but she's been on his mind all night and the alcohol hasn't helped. He barely knows this girl, but somehow, he can see her mucking everything up for him. His carefully constructed little life, gallivanting about Ivalice with Fran, a reputation that is largely artifice just like everything else about him. But Ashe started unraveling it all when she'd demanded he steal her away and now he worries that he and Fran won't be able to get out. Especially now with this nethicite business.

"Captain won't like it if I wake him," he explains, wagging a finger at her blurry image. She's got on some rather nice nightgown, something he never got to see during their trek to the tomb. "Nice pajamas."

"Balthier, go to bed. We leave with or without you at dawn," she replies, gripping the open door tightly enough for him to see her knuckles turning white.

He smiles the smile that usually works. "Come now, you can't leave without me." He pulls the wedding band from his pocket and holds it up. "You've already paid for my help."

She moves to slam the door in his face but stops it before it closes on his fingers. Her eyes are dark, and her jaw is set. "Are you here to rub salt in a fresh wound?" she asks, and he watches her gaze settle on the ring.

Why is he doing this? He's being cruel, and even men without consciences like himself should know better. Slipping it back into his pocket, he steps forward and is surprised when she yields. He sits down on the extra bed heavily while she closes the door.

"Basch will not be happy that you're drunk," she says quietly, moving to her satchel of clothing. "You need to mask the smell."

Why is she even helping him? He'll never understand females. Even Fran remains a mystery to him after these many years traveling together. Ashe digs through the satchel. He sees a wry grin emerge on her face, and his drink-addled mind blurts out what he'd normally keep in check or word more flirtatiously. Instead it almost sounds sincere, very unlike him. "You should smile more. You're very lovely when you smile."

Her hand closes around something in the bag, and even though she's clearly still upset with him, he sees her blush. She walks back to him and holds out two small vials. "What do they normally smell like? I've got lilies or amber."

"They?"

Ashe scowls. "Your lady friends. Better a brothel than a tavern. I think Basch will be more lenient."

He moves his hands and wraps them around each of her wrists. "My dear, I think you've misjudged me."

She hasn't. Although, he reminds himself in irritation, it's been some time.

Ashe jolts at his touch, and he notices that without her armor she's very small. Her wrists are tiny, and his hands nearly engulf them. The mattress is very soft beneath him, and he can smell the amber perfume on her skin. He's had enough to drink. With any other woman he'd probably have already pulled her atop him. Again, he barely knows her – he barely knows anyone he takes to bed, but somehow he feels terrible for touching her. Like he's breached a barrier forbidden to him, though she is deposed and for all intents and purposes, no less common than Penelo or Fran. Normally, he likes challenges. Why is he hesitating with her?

He can feel her pulse and it's been increasing since he's grabbed hold of her. Isn't she supposed to be furious with him? Her face is flushed, and he realizes that it's dark enough in the room. He could be anyone. She keeps seeing a dead man, and no one's probably come so close to her since her husband was alive. The man's ring is burning a hole in his pocket, and he realizes why he shouldn't be doing this.

He releases her and rises from the mattress. Inhaling her scent, he nods and points to her right hand. "Amber."

She steps back, clearing her throat as she does so. Something's changed. He's not sure what, and he hopes that sleeping it off will help him to forget. "Close your eyes," she whispers. He does so and hears her spray him with the perfume a few times, the misted liquid hopefully masking the scent of the Sandsea. The richness of the perfume doesn't help with the alcohol he's had, and he'll probably throw up as soon as Basch lets him in. Her fingers are cold against his throat then as she rubs a bit of the perfume against his skin. He bites his lip to avoid making any noise of encouragement, and she takes her fingers away soon enough. "There."

Opening his eyes, she's already disappeared from sight, and she's behind him putting the bottles back in her satchel. "Thank you."

She moves to the door and doesn't look at him when she opens it. "Good night, Balthier."

"Good night, Princess," he mutters as he departs, the smell of her now enveloping his senses even when she closes the door behind him.