Authors Note: I'm so sorry to all you guys who have been waiting, my schedule has been hell. I am so grateful for all the comments. My writing style is quite an anomaly and I am fortuitous to have people recognize it. I have to admit that my writing is kind of contradictory. I write like I think and I take interest in anything someone might say for I am still a young writer. Let it be known your comments are always a pleasure to read. My story is going AU from here though there are some similarities that follow that games story.

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III. Uncomfortable

Flying those precious machines were terribly difficult and somewhat awkward unless it had a superb pilot. Someone who flew the skies with the grace of the young and the strength of thee old. Someone who glided with virtuoso and finesse. Someone who engaged in battle while piloting with their toes without fear of a crash and this someone was not Fran. Though her airship skills were better then his own, it seemed the hover bike was not her forte. The only reason he had even suggested the idea was because he took a sleeping potion instead of a sleeping antidote to wake him up. For it was hard to fly even on an incandescent night when one is drugged with sleep and such. He should of just had a cup of black, it seemed to soothe Fran often. Never a big fan of coffee, its flavor like sweetened mud to his palette and the after taste was rather unbearable. She rode with reckless and expeditious speed, a very bad girl indeed but he himself too tired from the sedating potion to scold her or even care. And why should he? Resting his head on her shoulder, his arms around her waist resting on brass thighs. Such a helpless foul he was, overcome a by a puissant want to slumber.

He never really touched her like he did now. Not that it wasn't innocent even brotherly but it wasn't something they did. Touch. They way a hand gropes for a hand and a mouth for a mouth. They way that need needs touch. For to cling just to cling and to feel something beneath youthful fingertips. They didn't touch for they didn't need to. But that seemed to simple for even if they didn't need to they didn't want to touch. Partners are partners. And eyes can speak what hands cannot. And mouths can smile and frown when lips can't speak. And touch was juvenile, a weakness, and rancorous emotions so out of place where they were. A pat on the shoulder to sooth and a squeeze of a hand when one is scared is all the touch that they needed. And once or twice there was more but more was not necessarily better just more and not important often. Perhaps they were too comfortable being comfortable hardly speaking to one another some days, others spoken without so much as a glance. And this was the way it was, they way man doesn't question because it does not perturb him as iniquitous or infinitesimal but because he' satisfied. Perhaps they only find it matters more when it is absent and then present or maybe not. So they didn't touch and it didn't seem to matter.

The exhaustion troubled him, they were on a mission and here he was completely drowsy on her back, unresistent. The motor lulling him, the skies deep purple caress. He felt utterly indolent and a spate of heaviness befell him now. Any minute now he'd be dead weight on her spine and leave a pool of drool on her baby shoulder. His eyes twitched rapidly to stay open, his head bobbed slightly. About to fall into dreamland, damn that sleeping potion. Stars, Thousands of unforgiving eyes, safety for a child's sleep. A sheet of wind, familiar measures in the night. Soft smells for the prince and his duchess as they fly away.

Baby's breath upon a cheek

To sooth a peasants lingering sleep

Love for me the things I do

A lover's song I sing to you

Of lips that kiss

Thee eyes that cry

Never shall I die, what is goodbye?

A lullaby for one so pure your sleepless nights my tune will cure

"Now can my child sleep?"

His mother had come back, strange to think of her now. Strange to reminisce and remember words of songs thought to be lost. A largess woman she was. Sweet peach hair and his nose. Eyes closing goodnight mom.

And then change. A knowing of consciousness.

"Can you tell me a story?" Slurred words on sagging lips.

"Balthier if you are tired you can sleep."

Knew him to well. A thousand little thankyous from his limp body but no.

"Fran darling who am I?" It wasn't a question and they both knew it but she new he'd be delighted if she answered it.

And here she thought she'd have a peaceful evening just her and the stars. Nature still rung in her ears. The mother loves you child of the wood. Come to my arms, be lost no longer. Love us as we love you, forgive us as we forgive you. The voices never stopped. Leave me alone but love me still she pleaded. To get lost in the earths beauty was to indulge and that was a crime. To drink up wine like a glass of water. Such a thirst for something so pure and fragile. So rich it was but the sacrifice meant something, something important like the way thunder must clap and the deaf can know it's there, heavy to know, it was something wasn't it? So hard to try to understand what was o.k. even harder to want it inside when it's better out. One coming from such abstinence lovely cages with fresh fruit and no atrocities. A safe place and so heinous it was. Oh be in the presence of my love but do not scold me for my secrets. To keep them is most unbearable, harder then you know. Such speech sententious but awfully useless and unkind. To see such secrets stroll through ones head like a place where rain does never cease. So tiring. When will the moon come? It must come.

That chocolate voice. Simple. "Fran you cannot daydream for you shall crash and you know how my hair gets." Such prudish seriousness.

Always a remark like that. She pretended to belittle his humor but in such a tiny corner lay her passionate love for his jestings and his unrivaled cockiness. Could she almost envy his ways wishing somewhere in the lacking of mind she could have something likeable or was it just an amusement. No need to be utterly complex, she a Viera knew it was purely dry amusement. The truth or untruth of the matter was ever since she met him on the rather ugly day she couldn't be sure.

She felt her shoulders gauzy wetness. She did have a remedy in her pocket but their was something mesmerizing about his mindless exhaustion. Except possibly his baby drooling. That left a lot to be desired.

The vehicle sped up and woke Balthier who then became rather occupied with choking on his spit, rather unattractive it was.

"Woman" He spluttered his lips rather puffy yet thin. "I…I, I, wait I minute lost the thought…hmm…oh yes, I told you to keep me up and here you are in La La Land, though a very cute and hospitable place not currently when where you should be residing in, honestly Fran can't Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah, I mean really Blah Blah Blah……………………………………………………….".

Sometimes that was all she heard. Continuous syllables drowned out by anything. Fran had always been very good at not listening. On could say it was her forte maybe not necessarily not listening but tuning Humes out. The remedy burned like a little devil in her pouch like when things hurt. Her lips felt teased, the wind was not forgiving. Listen to my words love thee for who thy is must be without you. The wind did talk back but its song was rough and unpleasing.

Not long before they reached the palace, both decided it best to take the hover bike lees noticeable which she preferred whether he respected it or not. Such a lovely friend though, always for trust and comfort even still a child but he was a brave one, he had tried to help her. And from the moment she looked into his lovely ostentatious eyes she knew she would die for him .It would be a good death to die. For birds know how to fly they way fingers can find fingers and they way she knew an accepted she would die for him and how proud and worthy it made her feel. And so unafraid and so human. A hint of bliss crossed her eyes, heavenly and content. And her body relaxed. Such warmth now.

"Fran are you listening to me at all?"

If only it matter she thought feeling annoyed fro no apparent reason.

"I do not ignore your words." Slightly cold, can such heat disappear like ghosts? She handed him the remedy without turning to face him.

He drank it with greed, a sybarite with great savoir faire. No need to use speech to rectify their own pleasures.

His sniffled it was freezing now and he wasn't a big fan of coats, apparently neither was Fran. To distract him self from the rather miserable temperature he thought he'd whistle but then thought better of it. Though Fran's scowl was adorably cross he wasn't in such a playful mood.

"I keep forgetting to tell you your shampoo smells divine. Rather intoxicating, I think it must have contributed to my lush sleep. Roses and rain. I jest. Rather cuddly isn't it Fran, right out of a fairytale we are."

He derided. His accent seemed rather strong and it made slightly bothered. Fran's hair whipped him harsh like a child as they but she didn't seem to notice. He might have said a word but they never talked much and it seemed he'd feel more comfortable talking within himself.

Her waist seemed rather small tonight. When was the last time he saw her eat? Strange they never liked to eat in front of each other but then not so strange. He looked forward to a nice punch in the side when he pinched it like a schoolboy, lecherous and silly. But not now, it was always so much better to play these little games when she was totally distracted. You never know the power of sky pirate telepathy. There bottom was, hard not to loom out. So richly round and plump, so kissable and soft. As if it was made of the same creamy velvet as those ears. He had only touched them twice but remembered how they felt soft tender and sweet beneath his fingertips. Yet bottom was such a fine color. It looked like eggplant at night, chocolate covered berries and that little golden leaf. Rather precious she was. Yet he was suddenly filled with solicitous defeat. She was so unreasonable in her outfitting. It bothered him so sometimes so that he shock with rage, she was such a beauty to look and with those long thin legs and girlish mouth, an absolute kalon but she didn't need her keister to be hanging out for lords sake. I mean Viera were old fashioned but certainly not indigenous people running around the Giza with dart guns. It bothered him a hell of a lot. He could smack something really. It made him feel hostile. She didn't like to be regarded as a hetaera yet her lovelies were hanging out. He knew the feeling to look at an angel with an unconscious leer and hidden amatory. A man cannot help but deify a drop dead gorgeous stag; he knew this for if the circumstances for their first encounter were different he may have done the same to her. Now in his despotic mood he felt such strong emotions for her and couldn't live to see her hurt or deeply disturbed. He couldn't help it. She was the careful one and him the grandiloquent leading man. He took a large itchy breath. His must relax and not get to wound up and stimulated by this, he'd make himself sick with worry. He had a queasy vulnerable look on his face now and one might have thought him a sickly beauty. His head began to quiver slightly from concentration. It became clear she may have caused him a wrinkle.

They didn't often talk serious. It felt awfully uncomfortable and unnecessary even for partner so tenderly attached. It worried him horribly. Did she have the slightest idea she was his only one? Did she know that he felt she was his? His family. The only woman with a refined taste for tea, a woman who never smiled at his jokes or wore make-up. Who didn't mind his height? And while all women detested his promiscuous tendencies she seemed to find a charming foolishness in it. Someone with a remarkable excellence for air mechanics without ever flying an airship. He couldn't believe his eyes when she slid under the engine, her svelte body working with ease. Her glossy muscles so tough and guarded, he couldn't believe his young eyes. He wanted to squeeze her arm childishly to congratulate her or something. When he first met her he was well…he'd rather not say, it made him slightly shy and hot around his neck. To think of it made him sweat so he began to muse with his former ramblings.

Yes such a bond they had, completely one, glued puzzle pieces, the snap of the fit. So tight and so loose, roots twisted in the dirt deep and dirty and strong as bonds should be. Low, to the essential. Where everything begins and ends for these two. Sutured by fate, conjoined by destiny. One, coalesced, hands holding hearts and eyes. His best friend. Best friends. Did she think the same? She must. The best of friends. Ones who call themselves partners but are companions surreptitiously. The way tales tell of friends. The kind who may grow distant with time but not with heart. He didn't have to tell her now or ask her what she thought. His insecurities thought juvenile. She will not and cannot say but knows and feels the same way. Sky pirate telepathy.

No more talk it couldn't be right. The old silence of veneration filled with understanding. The night felt awkward. Uncomfortable and inquisitive its eyes locked upon two who wrote their own stories with open minds, so afraid of living without reckless peril and teetering escapades. The night searched for the moon, jealous and unsure, wanting to be like the two who belonged.

"You know you have a lump of mush on your shoulder." Some jovial ashen blond, dirty cheeks and an overused mouth. Such an incorrigible boy he was. What a waste of space.

Fran didn't seem bothered to busy with the vehicle. It was crowded on that motorbike and Balthier's bottom began to itch. He wiped Fran's shoulder with the back of his sleeve. A long journey. He felt his man underlings get caught in a twist which made him feel quite contempt for a long ride with a "wedgie" never seemed wise or appetizing.

The way he looked at her was peculiarly familiar to him. The loquacious mouth silenced by wonder and ignorant surprise, as if he were observing her to determine what secrets lied behind her stolid glance and plain lips and maybe he was wrong. Maybe all the boy wanted to descry was if this magical being was real. The looks of interest and confusion did not bother him, invidiousness never came easy. Many a person would look with lasciviousness and thick consternation and it would be as if they were merely dull house flies and he was the cat who would rather yawn at their naked eagerness of uncertainty then be affected by mere buzzes. In all honesty he didn't worry about her, well maybe that wasn't totally honest but usually he kept himself aplomb repeating to himself that she could take care of him self which she most certainly could, sometimes so well it was frightening. It had been decided unless asked help was never needed, unless one is unconscious and in the middle of a dessert, which literally happened more then one could possibly imagine.

The water was fast now wanted kithe its existence Balthier tried to remember the last time he was here but it had ran to fast for him to catch. Like the shooting stars. And their was the little thief still gawking on at the goddess with his very large eyes filled with doubting respect. So fixated he was and Fran's innocuous boredom clear the way her mouth peaked lazily. He could really deride at this sight or paint a picture. How funny! And there was the cadence of the water, his mother's poems gauzy and heavy in his head. Pliant evil honey clouded his mind. He might fall. It wouldn't the first time. The waters rolling ossified him, clear and hard the slapping of it. His nose turned up oddly now with a proponent air. As if to scowl at the water. To make himself seem strong and unrivaled. It continued to poor. Wish it would stop. Why did he feel this execration and incalculable belligerence at the water? The noise was not kind. Was it his weak head that made the disturbance so futile?

Flashes of him on the ground in his bedroom.

In the mourning they didn't talk of the nights going ons. Just thee accepted silence and the spouting of nothing of dire importance. But now that he thinks of it maybe they should have. The mist or something made her loose, completely loose. Her ugly mouth and red eyes! Yes it had enthralled him but it was not her, yet it irritated him that he was imprudent about this. And though he had an alacrity to know if she was hiding something he felt rather calm. Almost as if it was rather obvious that eventually she'd tell him all that was hidden. Or maybe she knew less then he for she did look awfully shocked and pensive. Perhaps it did not matter. No perhaps it didn't.

And there was the rascal his eyes lacking shyness and his mouth roughhewn. Balthier wondered how long it would take for her to get uncomfortable.

A long time, best to intervene old friend.

"Now hear me out child, I know Rabanastre isn't the classiest place, and believe me, I recognize your blind as bat but the fairy tale is true my boy, Vieras walk among us."

Fran smirked wickedly now as she led the way through the maze of sewage. Balthier was glad; he always liked his woman in the front, even if he was the leading man.

Vaan followed them suspiciously. Eyes squinting slightly, almost tripping on the cobbles. He tried not to stare at Fran's denuded behind but it was hard. Really hard. He huffed loudly, Sky Pirates. He made a list of questions he would ask when the two were…what's that word more friendly with him.

Where do Vieras come from? (Probably the dessert he thought ingeniously, for their skimpy clothing).

What does it mean to be "partners"?

"Boy stop muttering to yourself, I fear you will combust"

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Authors Follow Up: Next I will make much longer chapters delving into Balthiers new fascination with a certain princess, the partners annoyance of traveling with a pack, and next to come the meeting of the two and trust me it is not one of those lets have a drink at the bar together. This is a Balthier and Fran fiction (whatever that may mean) yet there will be more obstacles then they could imagine.