Author's Note: This story is also dedicated to Wight Mamba and Vieraheart15, authors of "Vaan and Penelo's Excellent Adventure." I haven't read it, but every time I see the title, I laugh and smile and roll because it's so awesome. "Vaan and Penelo's Excellent Adventure." Come on! That's gold!

And it's dedicated to my beta of at least three years, kotoni!

I love writing Penelo's point. The narrative is so much more casual than when you're writing for Basch or Ashe. One of my favorite things about the characters is their different speech habits. Yes, I'm going to write a fic about it. Yes, it's going to be Basch/Penelo.

Moderately Important: I'm not entirely happy with the end of this story, but I wrote it so long ago and I'm just so tired of looking at it that I don't have the drive to drag it out any longer. (: It's not bad. It just doesn't meet my personal standards. So I ask that you please not remark on that, because, trust me, I already know.

Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it!

Taking Tea and Taking Time
Chapter Three: One O'Clock

If the flight had seemed long coming to Rabanastre, it was even longer leaving. Though Vaan and Penelo had secured a smaller ship than Larsa's, and thus far faster, Penelo was too absorbed in anticipation and dread to bother with patience.

"How much longer?" she asked for the thirteenth time.

"At least two hours," Vaan ground through gritted teeth. "Though five minutes less than when you last asked, five minutes ago."

Recognizing it as a bad sign that she was annoying Vaan for once and not the other way around, Penelo nodded and closed her eyes. Sleep did not come, despite the flight being smooth and Vaan being surprisingly silent. But she kept her eyes shut and tried to distract herself by listening to the clicks of buttons and shuddering of engines, hoping to hear a pattern in them. When one did not emerge, she opened her eyes, stretched, and groaned irritably.

She sat worrying her lip for another five minutes before asking, "How much longer?"

"Until I throw you off the ship?" asked Vaan. "I'm guessing five minutes."

Penelo blinked, mildly amused. "You've been around Balthier too much."

"Not really," Vaan said and smiled. "I still don't understand half the things he says."

"Why don't I find that surprising?"

The trip passed by slowly for Penelo and slower for Vaan, who had to shoulder her repetitive question, though it grew less frequent as they flew on. When she wasn't asking how long until their arrival, they exchanged stories of their lives apart, and Penelo finally conceded to telling him about the harem. Vaan was equal parts scandalized that she'd been in one at all and scandalized that she'd kept such an excellent story from him all this time, then went on to say how Balthier would get such a laugh out of it, which ended in Penelo threatening to throw Vaan off the ship, and finally their roles were right again.

When they arrived at the aerodome, Penelo was off the ship in a flash of blonde hair. Vaan barely had time to pay the moogles before chasing after her as she strode confidently into the streets of Archades.

"How do you find your way around here?" he asked, panting to keep up with her, eyes wandering up the winding streets and alleys.

"It's actually no less complicated than Rabanastre, just on a bigger scale," she told him, waving to a shopkeeper who called her name blithely. "Try to keep up, will you?"

Vaan muttered something foul about the days when he had to drag her on his crazy adventures.

"Yes, but that's slaughtering rats and this is marriage."

"Same thing," said Vaan. Penelo promptly nudged him in the ribs – hard.

When they reached the castle, both short of breath, Vaan was surprised that Penelo did not march right through the colossal looming doors. Instead, she wound around the side, nodding to guards, until they found the servants' entrance.

"What are we doing?"

"What time is it?"

Vaan, who enjoyed asking questions but not answering them, and enjoyed even less receiving a question in reply to another question, looked at the sky and supposed, "Close to noon. Why?"

"Good," Penelo said simply, slipping a key into a small, unnoticeable lock. The door was the same color as the castle wall, almost invisible. Both slunk inside. They were in a narrow hallway, cold air bouncing off the dark stone walls, lit by sconces. Penelo marched down it as if she had lived there all her life, with nothing to fear and a purposeful stride that dared anyone to get in her way.

"Penelo," Vaan said, short of breath again. As they trekked on, he grew more and more perplexed, and as he generally did not like being perplexed (because he so often was, and not knowing was going on got old after a while), he grew more and more impatient for an answer. "What are we doing? Why do you want to know what time it is?"

"You'll see," Penelo told him, earning her a groan and a curse, as they emerged in the kitchen. The cook was ambling back and forth from the cupboard to the oven, where a kettle steamed.

Penelo squared her shoulders and cleared her throat. "Excuse me?"

The cook, pudgy and rosy-cheeked with a sheen of sweat coating her face, turned and gave Penelo a wondering look. "And you are?" she asked shortly.

I guess not all Archadians are polite after all. Penelo didn't miss a beat. "Astram, chef's assistant in the Rabanastran palace. Lord Larsa never had time to introduce us. I'll be making his tea today."

The cook gave her a steady once-over, then cast a glance at Vaan, who said nothing. "Him?"

"Dishwasher," said Penelo, surprised by how convincing her lie sounded – maybe she had been around Balthier too much as well. "Lord Larsa let him come with me. An apprenticeship, you might say. Wants to be a cook someday, studying world food, all that."

The woman seemed to think about Penelo's statement for a moment, rubbing her hands on her apron. Vaan worried she would see through Penelo's lies, but that only suited his role of awkward tagalong better, while Penelo stood straight and tall. Her face did not betray the fear she shared with Vaan.

"Okay, then," sighed the cook. "Sweets are by the knife-block, you should know where everything else is." Then, looking relieved that she didn't have to spend her noon-hour shuffling through a hot kitchen, she hung up her apron and left.

The moment the door swung shut behind her, Penelo twirled around in glee, then hugged Vaan fiercely. "I did it!"

Vaan smiled. "Try not to make a habit of it, or Balthier might whisk you off as his leading lady."

At that, Penelo snorted in a rather unladylike fashion and set about the kitchen.

"I should thank you, dishwasher," she said playfully.

"Why's that?"

"Never knew my way around a kitchen before yesterday."

Vaan shrugged, wincing as the kettle began to shriek. "You know me, always happy to help."

When two sharply dressed men came to fetch the tea and treats, Penelo managed to slyly coerce them into conversation, however reluctant they might have been. Luckily, the servants of the palace mostly stayed out of sight and weren't familiar with her face, so she went unrecognized. Vaan became increasingly impressed and frightened by her new personage as Astram, chef of Rabanastre, and had to admit she was quite the actress. Then again, Penelo was always very good at getting what she wanted.

When the servants ventured a glance at him, he cleared his throat and hurried off to look busy. He knelt to open a cupboard and began noisily banging pots and pans, unsure of what else to do. This either satisfied or frightened the strangers, because they quickly looked away, going to retrieve the china.

"Oh, don't bother yourselves," Penelo said warmly. Her charm was undeniable, no matter what name she assumed, so even the grumpy man smiled a bit. "I'll get the teacups. Two?"

Clever, thought Vaan, certainly something he couldn't have devised. She wanted to know if Larsa was having tea alone (or was it "taking tea?" What in Ivalice was the difference? Upper-class talk had a habit of vexing him, but then again, Vaan was normally vexed by the unnecessary).

"One," corrected the servant, placing a tray of biscuits on his aquiline fingers. It really was admirable, the grace waiters possessed.

"Astram" withdrew two cups and saucers, hiding the brief moment in which relief overcame her. She covered her blunder quickly, the lie sliding easily off her tongue: "Oh? I suppose the cook didn't tell you. Larsa's having a guest. Rabanastran delegations or some such. She came on the same airship as I did." The men exchanged glances; Penelo continued, "Haven't seen her? Probably not. Something happened with her luggage – I think a valise got left behind or lost in the aerodome. She'll probably be late, but at least she'll have a hot cup of tea waiting for her."

The taller of the two men seemed skeptical of her at first, but she smiled apologetically and that was that. Vaan supposed they didn't get to interact with pretty girls very often, something that clearly made them stupid. (If he said this to Penelo, she'd thank him for thinking her pretty, then call him incorrigible; if he said this to Balthier, while finding himself awfully observant, Balthier would sneer and say, "At least they have an excuse.")

While Vaan was musing over his own wit or lack thereof, the servants, with their trays stacked and aligned on steepled fingers, had long since left. Penelo was in a busy rush to tidy things up and tear her apron off over her head.

"Why go to all this trouble?" asked Vaan. "You could've just shown up and drank the other cook's tea."

Penelo smiled sadly, something that made his heart clench. "It's the last tea we'll be taking together. I guess I just wanted it to be perfect."

Vaan, in a display of empathy and tact, didn't say anything – just mirrored her smile and wiped a smear of flour off her nose. (How it got there, he wasn't sure.)

"Thanks," she said, her voice watery, to his wordless prayer of good luck. He nodded and she was out the door, nothing but the memory of a momentary wisp of her blonde braids to keep him company as he excused himself from the kitchen to wander the grounds, while Penelo said her final goodbye to her heart's home.

Penelo snuck by the servants (carrying empty trays back to the kitchen) unnoticed, sticking to the shadows common in the palace at this time of day, when the sun was too high and the drapes were drawn. One was in a tizzy about two teacups and not a single guest; the other seemed to be listening with detached interest, eyes fixed on his nails, bobbing his head as they passed.

Her feet moved of their own accord, her mind elsewhere. She was astonishingly composed down there in the kitchen, but out of its stuffy humidity and floury air, she felt naked, exposed, uncoordinated. Maybe she shouldn't have come at all, but she knew her heart wouldn't have let her stay in Rabanastre and do nothing. She needed closure, a proper goodbye, a reason. She certainly didn't want to know the name of Larsa's bride, especially since he seemed to think her undeserving of it. All she wanted to know was how he felt about her.

His fiancée was probably wealthy, beautiful, kind, aristocratic, and could wax poetic at a whim. They could talk about everything, like fancy food and fabric and all the things Penelo never cared about. (To his credit, Larsa didn't seem to either, but she wasn't particularly paying attention to reason with her heart a leaden lump in her throat.)

Penelo hated feeling this way. Guilty, like she'd deviated from her own fate by asking to go to Rabanastre. It would have been easier for him to tell her and take her back and wish her well as she climbed off the airship, but she gave him the perfect opportunity for the easy way out. Uncharacteristic of Larsa, but that only made her angrier, sadder, guiltier. She was looking for anything to hate but found nothing, not even herself. Why couldn't she be one of the people who hated easily? But such cruel emotions were not for her. Not hatred, only anger.

The sunlight poured onto her face, brilliant after the time spent holed up in the steam saturated kitchen. She flattened her hair and stepped onto the familiar cobbles that wound between rows of roses, twirling until it came to their place. Their little sanctuary away from the world, where there was no scent of war or death, only pollen and chamomile tea.

He looked calm, as he always did, but she could tell the difference from a mile's distance. His tea was cupped in both hands, as if the warmth would stave off the chill so obvious in his eyes. She could read him like tea leaves, she thought with morbid cleverness. He seemed to stare at the teacup opposite him, empty and virginal white. Her anger melted and there was only sorrow, sorrow for him and the pain she knew he endured keeping such a secret, knowing it would in turn hurt her.

Larsa lifted his eyes when she sat down. There was only the slightest hint of shock in them because as he grew older, he hid himself well, but never enough from her. She did not reach for a biscuit or tip tea into the pristine porcelain cup. It was not hers, after all, not anymore.

"Penelo, what are you doing here?" His voice was full of emotion. The fact that he no longer spoke to her as a stranger both brought a smile to her face and a strike, swift and sharp as lightning, of grief to her heart.

"I just wanted," she stopped and took a deep breath. Her voice was cracking, though she had planned a strong front, a clean break, not to be all blubbery and tearful and childish. She was a woman now, after all, and he knew as much. "I just wanted to say some things before I go."

"Back to Rabanastre?"

Penelo nodded. Breath was hard to keep, flying in and out of her faster than a bellows. Her hands were shaking too, chiming against the saucer, but a glance down at it only reminded her of how brief she had to be. "I wanted to say that I wish you the b-best…" Damn it. Stuttering was not an option. Just as she had days before, she couldn't seem to repeat her speech properly. In fact, she blanked on most parts of it, the bits that included yelling, so resolved to improvise and speak only what she felt. "The best with your wife, and that I'm sorry I've been a burden to you, and that I've really enjoyed the time we spent together, and though it seemed long now I see it was too short, and…"

"My wife?" The words were breathless: he was truly surprised. Penelo convinced herself that as a politician, he was exceptionally good at lying.

"It's okay," but it's not, "Basch told me about it. Your… your wedding. What you've been planning for all those months. Probably why you couldn't see me as much. You could have told me, you know. I'm…" She wanted to punctuate that with "happy for you," but the words caught in her throat. She squeezed out, "I'll be fine."

Silence clung between them, broken by songbirds chirping and leaves rustling in the breeze. It was too lovely a day for something like this, too nice out for her eyes to sting with tears like they did. Penelo blinked rapidly, watching on her trembling hands with concentration. Well… Perhaps that was that. "I should –"

"Penelo." His voice sounded strained and forced at the same time. Metal creaked against stone as he stood up brusquely, pushing his chair away. She watched wide-eyed, unable to move, as he rounded the table. Bemusement was what she felt as he lowered himself onto his knees and looked up at her. His eyes were so… honest. Honest and sad and amused, and she had no idea what to do or say because he looked as if he might cry and laugh at the same time. "Penelo, you've gotten it all wrong."

Anger rushed through her, but to her dismay calmed when he took both her hands in his. She loved the way they felt, how they enveloped hers entirely, how warm and soft and… They're someone else's now. They're not mine. "You're getting married," she told him squarely.

The corner of his lips quirked upward; her heart gave a leap, and she wished he didn't have this effect on her. "Am I? Do you see a ring on these fingers?"

She flushed to notice there wasn't one, none aside from the silver band emblazoned with the Solidor crest. "Well, no, but I…" Now he was playing games with her. His family ring reminded her how good the Solidors were at that sort of thing, and she stood up, ripping her hands away. "Look, you're getting married. I know you are. You may not have a ring, but you've been planning it this whole time, and you told Basch and Ashe but you didn't tell me, which I don't understand because I thought we were friends, and I thought… Well, you didn't tell me! And you've had people running around planning this big wedding behind my back!"

She was pacing by now, then spun to face him, long braids whipping around. "And that's not fair! I don't even get to meet this mystery woman you're so infatuated with! Am I even invited to your big fancy wedding?" Penelo didn't even know what she was saying anymore, but it felt like a damn had ruptured in her brain and now words were just tumbling out her mouth.

Larsa stood and made a noise she couldn't discern from a sigh or a chuckle. Her fists clenched and she seethed, but he said calmly, "Oh, I think you know her."

"Do I?" She threw her hands in the air and began to walk in circles again. "Who is she? The princess of a Rozarrian province? A family friend and the heir to a big fortune?" Penelo glared at him. "Don't you dare tell me it's Ashe. I'll be sick right here and now, I swear."

His gaze softened, and the amusement fell from his face. "Have you really spent so much time with Vaan?"

"Don't insult me!" she blurted out, then privately prayed Vaan wasn't listening. If she ever saw Larsa again, she'd have to give him a good chewing out for that remark – even if, in another situation, she would have found it slightly funny. "You've done that enough! Don't stand there and pretend you don't… That we didn't… You're such a liar!" She wiped her balled fists across her face, fighting the hiccups that burst out of her in bubbles. She'd only had one goal – Don't Cry – and she'd gone and blundered it up. Why were goodbyes so frustrating?

Penelo barely heard the click of his heels as he crossed the cobbles and embraced her. She struggled weakly, mumbling obscenities, then settled and wept into his shoulder. "Why are things so hard for us?" she whispered, breathing harshly as if to inhale the warmth and security his body offered. She didn't even complain when he pressed his lips to the crown of her head and kissed her hair.

"Fate is fickle," he told her. "She likes to put you and I in the wrong places at the wrong times."

Penelo sniffed. "You're always in the right place. You were five months ago when you found me. I'm the one who's in the way."

He tensed as he held her tighter, pulled her closer; Penelo's lashes fluttered closed and tried to remember everything for later, tried not to think how some strange woman would be right here someday soon, and there wouldn't even be Penelo's scent lingering to remind Larsa she'd once been there too. "I was in the wrong place two nights ago, in the stables. The fault is all mine, Penelo. I assumed too quickly."

She opened her eyes and wiggled a bit out of his grip. "What do you mean?"

Larsa released her, running a hand over his face. "I am truly sorry for the grief I've caused you. When I saw you and Vaan, I thought… You can understand your position was compromising."

Penelo raised a brow. "We were horsing around, he was trying shove straw in – you know what, that doesn't matter. That's no excuse to go marrying some princess and not tell me about it!"

"I am not getting married," he told her, his voice a bit pleading. "I have yet to even propose."

"But you're going to!" Penelo stomped her foot, feeling heat and indignation rise in her again. "One of these days, and probably soon! And obviously you think she's going to say yes!"

"Well, I had hoped." He looked straight at her. Something in his eyes made her shut her lips. "But after that… display at the stables, the ceremony has been cancelled."

Penelo sighed, exasperated. "Can't you ever just say what you mean?"

"I had assumed I would have a ring when I asked this, and we would be on better terms… But we are in the gardens, so at least one thing has gone according to plan." She eyed him curiously, then with surprise as he lowered himself to one knee.

"You're kidding me." The words tumbled out on surprised breath.

"Penelo, I am truly sorry. For these last few months, I've alienated you when I should have held you closer than ever before. For these last few days, I've assumed the worst in someone who has always assumed the best in me. For the tears on your cheeks now, and any you may have shed before, even if I was not the cause – and for every sad beat of a broken heart, for every breath with which harsh words were spoken that should never have had to mar such a graceful tongue."

He took her hand in both of his, small and tan against his pale skin, and she could only watch. "I love you. If I have not said it enough, let it be every word from my lips for eternity. And then, if I have said it too much, let my lips be sealed so that I can better hear your voice." He kissed her knuckles softly. "I love you. If the greatest torture I have endured is your absence for these many months, then the greatest pleasure would be your presence for all of those to come."

"You…" she breathed. "You're…"

"Penelo." He smiled. "Will you marry me?"

Her entire body was shaking, her knees quivering as if she were balancing on a thin, thin thread. Finally, with the last words he spoke, it snapped and she fell to her knees, lips crushed to his with such force that they both tumbled back onto cobbles. His hand wove through her hair, his other around her waist, pulling her to him until air rushed out of her. She broke their lips apart, tears falling from her cheeks onto his, and laughed against his skin. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!"

Larsa laughed too, a sound so happy it vibrated through her and she laughed harder, smile spread wide enough she thought her face might never be the same. Happiness and relief blossomed, blooming over anger and sadness, until all she could feel was her heart beating, and all she could hear was the elated mixture of their laughter.

And somewhere, just in the shadow of the palace arches as the sun sunk and it became one o'clock, there stood Vaan with two very confused, yet strangely very pleased servants.

the end!

Author's Note (again): Oh my GOD. Jesus. JESUS. What the hell. I… A HAPPY ENDING. YAY! But seriously. I don't even recognize myself anymore. This has got to be the fluffiest thing I've EVER written (decently). My. God. I blame… Who am I kidding? I blame myself! It's so vomit-inducingly sweet.

And yes, it was really tempting for the last line to be: … there stood Vaan, arms crossed and grumbling, "Worst. Breakup. Ever."

That or the waiters in stereo: "Wow. She must be a really good cook."