Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Pull over.  Let me drive for awhile.” - - - -

Dawn had not yet broken and the glow of the hoverbike was the only light for miles. Onward they flew, Fran’s lithe form flexed over the controls, arms and legs tense, forcing the bike forward beyond what would be safe capabilities for any normal pilot. She was doing admirably, Balthier thought, considering this had been someone’s custom rigged bike, no passenger seat at all and just a second pair of stirrups, and Balthier was only still perched on the thing at all because of his vice grip around Fran’s waist. With each slight bump he could feel his entire body wobble and could imagine losing his grip, flying off at incredible speed and dashing his beautiful head into the rocks. Not a very alluring image. 

Fran’s piloting was impeccable and she didn’t wobble an inch more than necessary, but Balthier could sense her weariness. They’d been going for an hour, would be going for an hour more until the bike gave out, and hopefully it would get them to the border where they couldn’t be prosecuted for the theft they’d just committed. They just needed to get to the coast, then they were in the clear. 
With a particularly rough bump, making Balthier’s teeth click together with a disturbing amount of force, he could feel her give a dissatisfied huff, inhale fiercely, and then sigh. None of it was audible, as soft as the bike’s engine was it was still not as soft as Fran’s breathing. But Balthier’s arms were grasped around her middle, his own muscles tense as metal with the effort of holding for so long, and his chest and face hugged her back tightly. Her hair whipped behind, dancing across his face and catching him in the eyes enough that he just kept them closed mostly. He could appreciate both her incredibly thin frame and how dense and tough her muscles were, her thin body moving with precision and warmth beneath him, using the lightest touch to keep the bike on course. And he could feel every breath she took, her diaphragm pushing back against his arms. So in this particularly deep exhalation, Balthier could feel the hours creeping in. 

Careful not to let his grip up, he moved one of his arms upward slightly so his hand was over her skin and gave her a few careful pats with his hand. “Fran,” he called, voice raised against the wind rushing past the both of them. “Pull over.” 
Fran’s body raised up almost unnoticeably as she processed his request, then he felt them decelerate. Fran let the gravity pull the bike’s momentum slower and slower until they where just gliding along, engine dying down to almost inaudible levels, until the bike finally rolled to a stop. Fran let the wheel engine die.
Both of them could feel muscles creaking as they dismounted, Fran pushing herself upwards from her inclined position, Balthier prying his arms from around his partner and thinking for a moment he might need a crowbar to get his elbows to unhinge properly. The sudden quiet felt overwhelming after so long in the harsh wind, and both of them savored the calm. Balthier could see the subtle twitch of her ears, the way she rubbed the stiffness from her hands and wrists. 

“We may make it to the coast before dawn arrives,” Fran finally said, a little raspy. “How fare you?”

Balthier patted his hair back, hoping it hadn’t been completely unsettled in their flight. How was it that even messy, Fran’s hair looked stunning, and his, at a fraction of the volume, would make him look like a raving lunatic if even a hair was out of place?

“Fine, fine. Hoping this blasted ruby still feels worth it by the time we get back to the Strahl,” he said, mostly in jest. While the escape had been somewhat botched, and they where forced to flee immediately instead of hunkering down for the night, they still got away with their prize and possibly their identity. Balthier couldn’t help but feel the satisfaction of a successful score. “Fran, why don’t you let me drive the rest of the way? We’ve made good time, I can get us to the coast.”

Instead of replying immediately, Fran glanced at him with surprisingly tired eyes. The moonlight was not especially bright, but Balthier thought he saw her give the smallest of smiles.

“Confidence or hubris?” She mused, but Balthier could feel the gratitude in her voice. “Indeed, we have made excellent time, and they will not expect we took the more precarious route.” She gestured to the pilot seat. 

Balthier straddled the bike, unused to the inclined position the driver had to take (Fran had the better backside for the job, he mused) but his muscles were grateful to be in a different position, and different position, than the one he’d been holding for upwards of an hour, so it felt good. Feet in stirrups, he grabbed the engine gauge and rotated it a tick, lighting the bike up and raising it a few inches off the ground. 
It bobbed lightly as Fran climbed aboard behind him. She adjusted herself into the seat as best she could, then, imitating him, wrapped her arms around his waist. She didn’t fit quite as snugly as he had behind her, and where he could feel her press against him he knew her back had to be more bowed to fit on properly. But then she sighed, quietly, and said into his ear “Let’s be off, pirate,” and he could hear the “thank you” between her words. 
Without another word he took one hand and patted her arm comfortingly, then bent forward again and revved the front engine, and they were off, racing the sun to the coast.

“It reminded me of you.”- - - -

Years ago, when they were still new to each other, Fran had presented Balthier with a small offering. "I saw a woman selling them in the market," Fran explained, handing over the littlest parcel Balthier had ever seen. It was a tiny gossamer bag, pink, partially sheer, and inside was a little object he could not quite make out. 

"For me?" Balthier asked with more than a little curiosity. Had she... bought him a gift?

Fran gave a simple nod, her large eyes wide and interested. She paid attention to his reactions, his opinions, like she was taking note of everything he said. She'd ask what he thought of the people they saw and the things they stole, and would often order whatever food he ordered and inquire what he enjoyed about it. Not exactly eager, or enthusiastic, but when one was used to her stony facade of uninterest, it was notable. He held his tongue bringing it up, not wanting to scare her away from the habit. 

"I was curious what it tasted like," Fran said, tilting her head and looking at the little package. 

"Tasted like, eh?" Balthier pulled open the little drawstring (he had to admit the presentation was impressively quaint) and plucked the object out of the bag. It was a little white sculpture, with some pink swirled in, in the shape of a bird. A songbird if he had to guess, its outstretched wings much too small for its fat little body.
He stared at it for a moment, then said "Tasted like?" again, this time looking over at Fran with some confusion. "You jest?" 

Fran's ears twitched, confused at this reaction. Had she missed something? "I thought it looked exquisitely carved, for a candy. Might it be good to eat? Or is it merely decorative?"

Balthier gave a laugh, unable to contain himself. "Aha! Candy! Yes, I see now. And here I thought you were saying I was too foul-mouthed, or possibly just that my breath smelled."

Fran was taken back. "I insult you? It was unintended..." 

Balthier shook his head, still smiling to himself. "No, no, my dear. I am not offended. In fact, this little trinket is bringing me a good amount of joy. You are not the first to mistake it for sweets or confections, but this is actually soap."

"Soap?" Fran blinked with surprise, an expression Balthier was not very familiar with but found quite charming on her.

"For bathing," he said, wondering if viera had anything like fancy soap in the wood or if Fran was familiar with the concept by now.

 She reached out a hand and took the little bird back, lifting it to her face. For a moment Balthier thought she was going to eat it, but instead she held it close to her and sniffed delicately. 
"But, it smells quite sweet...?"

"Yes, they make them full of delicious aromas. That one smells like strawberries. It's quite lovely, I haven't seen one so well crafted since... well, it's been a while." 

Fran did not miss the dark shadow that passed over Balthier's brow. "I have displeased you? I apologize. I saw the woman selling them, and saw they were all little birds, and they reminded me of you." She clasped the soapy bird closer to her, covering it in her hands so he couldn't see it.

"No, no, my lady." He reached out, in an act of gentleness she had seen him perform on others; he was often uncomfortable with being sincere, but if he could be theatric, could perform a role, he could express gentleness in a way he didn't feel ashamed of. Fran liked this about him, she liked that he had a clear tell and wished more humes had such obvious body language. He took her hand that clasped the bird into his own, making sure she didn't squeeze the poor thing, uncurling her fingers delicately and plucking the gift from her palm. "It is a fine gift, an item of sweetness and luxury we sky pirates often forget. You say it reminded you of me?" He added the last bit in a falsely casual tone; truly, he burned with curiosity any time anyone revealed they'd been thinking of him. 

Fran nodded, feeling a little foolish that she'd thought it was a treat. "You are quite like a bird. Many people pilot airships, but you fly like you belong in the sky. If you could cartwheel the Strahl through the air like a songbird I am certain you would." 

Balthier simply could not help but grin with immense pleasure. "What a high compliment, from the stoic viera!" He said with obvious mirth. "Like a bird! That is quite the feather in my cap, pun intended." He held the little soap up to his own face, taking in the scent. "Now after I come in from a long hard day of schemes I will be able to wash my face with the smell of strawberries and think of these kind words Fran bestowed upon me. How I will cherish it."

Fran could not help but find his smile infectious, though she tried not to, but the corners of her mouth tipped up. Imitating him, she turned her head away with a flourish. "You mock me, she who thought soap for bathing was a confection. You're partners with a fool, who knows not up from down." She started to walk away toward her own quarters, having a few supplies to unload herself.

Balthier followed her down the corridor, continuing his shenanigans. "Nay, I am partners with the finest viera, indeed the finest being in the land, for nobody else has ever bought me a soap to taste, and called me a songbird. Be still, my racing heart!"

- 

The next week Fran had volunteered to run errands again, enjoying going out into the markets of Rabanaster and seeing the many different types of people. When she came back at the end of the day, Balthier was not to be seen, and she did not expect him back until possibly the next morning, so she went straight to her quarters to unload her things.

Sitting on an otherwise empty shelf was a small figure, perched on a scrap of paper. Upon further inspection she found it to be another little, intricately crafted soap figurine. This one had specks of yellow and smelled of sugar and lemons. It was shaped like a rabbit, with little lines for whiskers and dots for eyes hand-carved into its gentle round head, and one of its little ears ended abruptly with teeth marks. The man had bitten the soap. 
She picked up the scrap of paper. In Balthier's stately cursive the note just said 'It made me think of you. It tastes quite awful.'

“Come here.  Let me fix it.” - - - -

Sweaty and somewhat beat, they both fled down the dusty corridors. Two seeq bandits dispatched, though the third one with a cudgel had taken them both by surprise. Balthier could see a hundred different scenarios where one or both of them got a cudgel smack in the head, that heavy sickening thud that was almost as painful to hear as it was to feel. Fortunately, despite the thin corridors, they'd managed to only get bonked with the thing in a few less lethal places. The seeq had almost entirely missed Balthier, pinning his shirtsleeve to the wall for a second in a lucky hit as Balthier used his momentum to bounce off the wall and change direction smoothly. The seeq had hit Fran square in the side as she turned to block a blow from landing on her partner's fleeing shoulder, though she'd rolled with it and hadn't seemed to take the full force. She dodged past another swing, letting the cudgel explode into the fragile rock behind her before darting away, and they both fled the scene. They ran through abandoned corridors and then ran some more, completely and utterly lost at this point, though neither of them minded terribly as long as they weren't pinned down by bloodthirsty bandits anymore.

In what felt like a quiet corridor they came to a halt, both out of breath. They tried to be as quiet as possible, listening for any sound, and Balthier looked to Fran inquiringly. Picking up anything on that antenna? He asked with an expression. Fran took another few moments to listen, then shook her head. 
"We have lost them, for now," she said softly, still hesitant to draw unneeded attention. Still breathing deeply from their extended sprint, she started to fiddle with her armor on the side where she'd taken the cudgel blow. "The beast has dented my armor," Fran said ruefully, with more verbal bite than he'd heard from her in a while. It made Balthier smile, enjoying the rare moments when Fran let her frustration shine through. He watched her delicate fingers try to uncurl some of the metal that had been bent and had poking uncomfortably into her, though it was hard for her to see the exact issue from her angle. She was simply too tall to fix it herself without removing it, at least with any haste.

"Come here, let me fix it." Balthier said. She tilted her head curiously, but acquiesced, taking a few steps over to him and turning her hip toward the light so he could see the damage. The dent was just above the little metal frill part that looked to Balthier somewhat like a tutu. Thanks to her height, or his lack of, it was easy for him to access, and he went to work, pulling a little tool out of his belt to bend what he could away from her so it wouldn't be prodding. With his free hand he pulled her armor towards him to lift it from her skin, and it pulled her closer, so that she had to lean slightly and provide a counterweight for him to have room to use the little tool. His face was so close to her side she could feel his breath, still huffing. They both were trying to catch their breath quick, a mix of wanting to be stealthy and being too prideful to breathe noisily. Neither would admit to such a thing as being a little winded, if they could help it. 

"I don't think I can fix this part," Balthier said, gently tapping the dent in the metal frill. "But this part by the frame can be forced back into place, at least. I can't say it's as good as new, but once I bend this-" he had to stop and use some effort, drawing himself even closer as he fought the metal as carefully as he could to not tip either of them over- "there we go. Now for the next time we're making a mad dash from a club-wielding madpig, you won't have some metal jutting into your ribs." 

Fran ran her hand along the armor, testing its smoothness. Yes, she'd need it repaired once they where back to civilization, but he'd done a good job for the tools they had available. "It is a good repair. I should be having you repair my armor more often, it seems I've been spending too much gil at the blacksmith."

"Oh Fran, you flatter me." Balthier brushed his hands together theatrically as if dusting them off after a hard days work. "You know I'd charge twice as much as that blacksmithess you take it to, and then I'd sell your beautiful armor on the market and make double the profit."

"Always a pirate first," Fran said with mock despair as they both checked their weapons and prepared to move on. Both had a mischievous grin as they pressed forward, determined to find the treasure room.

“I’ll walk you home.” - - - -

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Balthier drawled defensively, standing in the doorframe. He'd just been leaving the tavern, from the exit around back, to sneak away to the Strahl without letting the pockets he'd picked know which direction he'd gone. He had, perhaps, drank a little too much that night, and needed the stealthy exit to make up for his awareness being about a tenth of what it should be. To his surprise, as he'd opened the door for a neat escape, his partner was standing just outside, poised as if she where about to go in. 

"I have finished my errands," Fran said by way of explanation for her abrupt appearance, tilting her head to one side as she assessed him. Drunk, and that shifty look meaning he has stolen something, probably something petty and just big enough to start a fight should he be found out. A fight he would absolutely delight in, even if he couldn't win it. 
Balthier could feel himself being assessed. "Ah, lady, you do me no good with that stare. Let me through! I return home to the Strahl so you need not worry, enjoy your drink."

Fran had indeed been going to get a drink at the tavern, but after a brief pause she said slowly, "Why not instead I walk with you to the Strahl, and you may tell me what you have lifted, and from whose pocket."

"You are not busy, my lady?" Balthier said, his guard easing immediately, and he pushed past her into the evening air. She fell into stride just behind him, feeling content to let him set a meandering pace.

"I was indeed busy today, and yesterday, and the day that was before that one..." Fran was being coy, drawing out her words purposefully to take pleasure in any reactions Balthier had. She could be very good at getting a rise out of him when she wanted to, but was going easy on him tonight.

Balthier gave a very knowing nod. They had unloaded some 'goods' this week and had been carefully selling things, marking what they sold and to whom, and when, and using their funds to subtly invoke repairs on weapons, armor, outfits and the ship. Quite busy they'd both been, recently. 

"Yet," Fran continued, smiling as she watched Balthier pull a flask he most certainly hadn't owned at the start of this day, taking an experimental swig. "Seeing you in the doorway, has warmed me more than a bottle of madhu. I cannot bear to part ways now."

Balthier gave a short bark of laugh, turning back to her abruptly in the dim light. "Madame, maybe your heart tires of madhu, being so long tied down to a Bhujerban port, but may I perhaps interest you in quite an old vintage of Archadian firewhiskey? It is sure to warm even the most intimate corners that madhu cannot reach. Presented in a very fine ornate flask, doubtlessly handed down as a family heirloom, buffoon to buffoon to buffoon, only to be set aside quite carelessly on the bar for anyone to swipe at?" He held out the flask to her with a devilish grin. 

She had decided not to ask about whatever drove him out the rear door of the tavern, but his own bravado and the strong spirits had been too much for him to resist. Fran was quite delighted in his good mood, and to his surprise she took the flask carefully in her hand and took a long swig herself, downing what was surely half its contents in one go, not even flinching.

"My dear woman." He sounded like he wanted to say something else but he just stopped there, a little amazed. Even in the dim light she could see his impressed smile.

"My dear man," she said tauntingly, her face perfectly blank and quite serious,  handing him back his flask. "Shall we?"

He took the flask, shaking it to test the rest of its contents. Finding it mostly gone, he drank the rest, letting the burn seep into him, then hurling the flask over his shoulder once it was empty. 
Comfortably they walked on, roughly back toward the Strahl, Balthier chatting amiably and Fran walking behind, letting the firewhiskey and fine company warm her.