Author's Note: Some of you may recall that in the eighth chapter of "From Want to Need," I said the following: "…with will and time permitting, I hope to rewrite it and lengthen the chapters to 3,000 to 5,000 words each." Yes, dear readers. The time is now.

That being said, this won't just be a cheap make-over. I'm not just slappin' some fancy new adjectives in here and calling it a show. "I can't believe it's not real Genetix!" I'm gonna try to add some new plot points, etcetera in here. Hopefully, that'll include a saucy little love triangle, or at least some side pairings. The opening chapters will be much the same, though.

Updating on this will be sketchy. Rewriting this story is going to be a side project, for the most part. Right now I'm extremely strung out from exam stress and the like, and I can't formulate new ideas to save my life. I actually find myself in this rut surprisingly often, and when I do I will try my best to write for this story. It's just a lot easier, and I'm getting tired of writing porn (for the moment anyway).

So, all that out of the way, I really hope you enjoy the second version of "From Want to Need." Some chapters will be combined, some will be split, and I guess you'll just have to read and find out about the rest! Thank you for reading it the first time, and thank you for reading it a second!

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy XII nor any of its corresponding characters, settings, etc. This applies to all current and upcoming chapters.

"Rat's Lair"

The soles of Ashe's shoes slapped along the cobblestones of the Garamsythe Waterway. The like noises of Basch's boots behind her announced his presence, wary and protecting. The clicking of their heels echoed through the sewer, one with the sounds of rats scuttling and water flowing down the walls. Steel hissed as Ashe withdrew her sword, weaving through the labyrinthine mess of walkways as if she'd been there a hundred times prior.

"How do you think the others are faring?" Ashe ventured to ask. They had left the party exactly an hour ago, surety in the eyes of her companions. She had every ounce of faith in the; weeks spent together proved their capability. But, like any queen would worry about her people, she fretted nonetheless.

"I'm sure they're doing very well," Basch assured her, knuckles flexing around the hilt of his axe. The Rabanastran underground had a way of making people edgy, even if the Waterway was full of nothing but bats and toads. "I've been told Vaan has done this before."

Ashe nodded. Vaan was often alight with tales of his delinquency, especially around the campfire. He'd recounted numerous iterations of the night they'd met, growing only more fanciful as time went on. "The night of the fete. I was foolish to think they wouldn't be expecting an attack by the resistance."

Basch said nothing in return, instead clearing his throat and changing the subject. He had never been very good at assuring people, women most of all. He was a warrior, not a confidante. "How did you acquire a contact in the consul's palace?"

"After Archadia claimed Rabanastre, the servants of the palace were permitted to continue working there. Plenty of them accepted and became spies for the resistance. We've had an ear on the goings-on ever since. However, the tradeoff is that they're not allowed to leave the palace. In order to get the map, we have to go to them." Vayne had expected the servants' betrayal, of course, but he wasn't a callous man. Dalmascans would feel uneasy if suddenly everyone in the palace wound up missing or dead.

Basch understood, remembering the purpose of their endeavor: to sneak into the servants' quarters and acquire a map for the insurgence. It was a simple plan, he knew, but he felt his muscles clench with unease. Vayne had expected their attack the night of the fete, so what would stop him from expecting it now? He was a clever man, cunning as well. For every spy in the palace there had to be ten in any other part of Rabanastre. Lowtown was probably teeming with them, which was where they'd orchestrated this mission. They had been careful to keep their presence concealed, to speak in hushed tones. But every cautionary action might still not be enough to trick a Solidor…

Ashe's voice interrupted his redundant train of thought. "Usually, we'd be able to communicate and transport scripts by carrier birds, but the consul's placed a strict order on that recently." She smirked. "I believe he's becoming uneasy."

"I can hardly blame him," Basch muttered. To be facing the resistance was to be facing Ashe herself, and that was no small feat. At the thought, there was an echo of a sting on his cheek, where she had slapped him. No small feat, indeed.

They rounded a corner, stepping into the darkness for a moment. They were alone, only the sound of their boots and the occasional screech of a bat to accompany them. Suddenly, a sound graced Basch's ear. It was empty, echoing along the moist walls with mechanical grace.

"Your majesty…"

Stepping back into the dim firelight, they stopped cold. Before them stood a company of imperial guards. Water dripped from the roof, splashing onto steel armor. The metallic resonance struck a familiar chord in Basch, and he wanted to hit himself for not realizing sooner.

"Ah, Princess Ashe," a voice cooed from behind the formation, smooth as black marble. It seemed to permeate the stifled din, dipping between the sound of rats' claws on stone and water droplets. "You never cease, do you?"

Ashe gritted her teeth and held her sword out, planting her feet squarely and preparing for a confrontation. There was no way their meeting was a coincidence; the Garamsythe Waterway had a leak in more ways than one. Still, his appearance unnerved her. Even after the fete's little rebellion, he hadn't come to her in person.

"To think, you honor me again with your presence, Vayne."

He stepped through the assembly of armored men, demeanor coolly relaxed. His gaze sparkled with menace, flooding from his eyes and stretching his lips into a grin. "Come to pay your respects to your consul?"

To Basch's surprise, Ashe spat at his feet. Vayne glanced distastefully at the toe of his shoe, saliva splattering steel.

"Hardly," she said. Her eyes narrowed, matching his for wicked intent.

The consul chuckled, laughter bubbling through the thick air. "I see." He loftily waved a hand; the handful of guards on either side of him kneeled, revealing yet more behind them with drawn bows and steady firearms. Whirling around, Ashe and her companion were faced with another small company of guards, each wielding glaives, crossbows and guns. Apparently Vayne had learned from their last encounter, and was taking no chances (or prisoners) this time around.

Despite herself, Ashe winced. Even if Fran, Balthier, Vaan and Penelo were all here, they'd have trouble escaping with their lives. At least a dozen imperials barricaded each side, faces hidden behind placid helmets. It would take a miracle to do away with half of them, and then there was the matter of Vayne himself.

Ashe said nothing, but considered her options. If she lunged for Vayne, she would be riddled with bulletholes before her blade grazed him. If she and Basch went directly for the row of firearms, a spear would be lodged in her throat before she slew three men. A direct attack to the swordsmen was out of the question, unless she wanted to be a pin cushion for arrows.

For a moment, the only sounds filling the air were the metallic clank of armor against armor, and the click of pistols' safeties flicking off. Again, Vayne's deep snicker broke through the silence.

"Now, this is familiar."

Out of blind rage, Ashe prepared to lunge at him, but Vayne was quickly guarded by another faceless man in heavy armor. The hulking metal behemoth dared her to come forward, broadsword held firmly in its gloved hand. Basch placed a calming hand on her shoulder, stopping her from making a mistake.

"Coward!" she cursed, words twisting around the shielding soldier. "Fight me yourself!"

"I think, considering your position, your wisest move would be to put down your weapons," Vayne drawled, ignoring her. His voice seemed to emanate from the imperial, but no one could mistake it. A tone like that came only from a snake like Vayne – which seemed appropriate, considering how the words slithered off his tongue.

Ashe's eyes narrowed to slits, and Basch's grip on her shoulder tightened. "He's right," the captain told her. "We've no other choice."

Knuckles white with fury, Ashe slowly knelt and placed her sword on the ground at her feet, watching Basch do the same from the corner of her eye. Her fingers itched to tear out the consul's throat, begging to draw his blood. She curled her hands into fists, hoping that would be enough to stifle the murderous urge.

Vayne laughed again; Ashe felt that if she was forced to endure that vile noise one more time, she would snap. The rope binding her fury was unraveling quickly, her mind fraying. "Remind me to never overestimate you, princess."

Ashe glared but said nothing. Her nails bit into the palm of her hands, drawing her blood. With every fiber of her body, she wished it were his.

Giving a curt nod, Vayne motioned for the guards to overtake them. Both Ashe's and Basch's arms were immediately seized by imperials, and a knee to her back forced her to kneel. Vayne approached, looming over her with dulcet arrogance.

"As I recall, the last time we had you on an imperial ship, it exploded."

Ashe wondered if prattling on pointlessly was Vayne's selected torture device. If that were true, she'd rather be whipped. "What of it?"

He sniggered again, a noise like nails grating granite. It echoed in the shell of her ear, driving her further into madness.

"Twice we've tried to capture you, and twice you've eluded us. I see no point in delaying your punishment for Nalbina any longer."

Ashe was about to reply when a fist impacted squarely in her abdomen, expelling her breath. She coughed for a moment, completely surprised. Behind her, she could hear Basch struggling and cursing Vayne's name. Ignoring him, Vayne brought another punch to Ashe's stomach, and another, and another. Pain spidered along her nerves, veins like rivers of fire. Warmth curdled where he'd hit, the last sensation she wanted. He hit her again and she felt a rib snap, a sickening crack bouncing off the waterway walls.

After a short while, Vayne paused, observing his fingers. "You know, I don't normally like to sully my hands with such degrading work." He looked at her, eyes dancing wickedly. "But for the queen of Dalmasca, I would gladly make an exception."

"Imperialist swine!" she yelled. She felt his knee lodge itself between her ribs. Another splitting pop resounded, and she bit her tongue until it bled – simply to spare him the satisfaction of hearing her scream. Blinking and biting back painful tears, she only allowed herself to wince as he continued, laying blows to stomach and face. Her cheeks swelled, littered with bruises and gashes. Blood flowed freely down her face, cascading down her neck in thin red rivulets. Speckles of scarlet seeped into her clothing, a disgusting game of connect-the-dots.

The beating seemed to go on for an eternity before Vayne nodded to the guards and they released her. She landed in a crumpled heap, a messy pile of limbs. She tried to flex her fingers but they lay immobile, slick with blood and water.

"Bastard!" she heard Basch in the distance. She supposed that he had been subjected to the whole thing, and absentmindedly wondered exactly how long it had gone on. She could bear to be beaten, but having him watch was a humiliation she'd hoped never to suffer.

"Really," Vayne droned. "It is almost dirty for a traitor to call me such a thing."

Ashe couldn't see, but she recognized the sound of a sword being unsheathed. She could only stare blankly at the far wall, damp and moldy, as she heard Basch curse him again, before he was interrupted by the sickening sound of metal slicing into flesh. Droplets of blood flew across her field of vision, a few hot dollops splashing onto her face. A streak of red seemed to split the wall, vibrant against the dull stone. The sound of a heavy man collapsing echoed through the passageway.

Ashe observed as Vayne turned to leave, eyes only open enough to stare at his feet. They shone in the sparse light of the sewer, but she was satisfied to see her spit gleaming on the toe of one.

An imperial halted him, asking, "Sir, are we to just leave them here?"

Vayne shrugged. "They'll never be found." The finality of the statement was hollowing. He swiveled gracefully and began wandering off. Obediently, the company of twenty-something guards marched after him in two uniform rows, metal suits chiming in the darkness. Their footsteps echoed for yards, the consul leaving the princess and her captain to die among the rats.