AN: This is disturbingly close to being non-canon in my universe, so I apologize for that.

"I thought Wakka told you not to get any ideas?"

--Rikku, FFX, highly out of context

The worst part about being held captive by Guado, Rikku decided, was the chains. Yevonites were stupid and used rope, usually, assuming that an Al Bhed who could dismantle a patrol machina in ten seconds would encounter the technological juggernaut that was a simple knot and be baffled.

But the Guado, Rikku knew, weren't really Yevonites. Not deep down. Their long fingers still reached for earth and water; their dusty scalps and dry tongues wanted for blood and salt and ash. They were enigmas, and Rikku thought that if she stared at one long enough, she might be able to make out their secrets in the dark twisting of veins beneath their pale skin. The Guado were smart. The Guado kept secrets like they kept prisoners, hidden deep and dark beneath the earth, bound with metal.

Chains. Why did they have to use chains? She couldn't manipulate them, couldn't clamp her fingers around a link and suddenly have them become a blowtorch or something.

"Any ideas?" came the gruff voice of her companion through the darkness, startling her. She'd almost forgotten he was in here, despite the fact that the room was so small his boots rested on the floor at her elbow, even though he was sitting against the opposite wall. .

For a moment, Rikku considered telling Auron about the blowtorch fingers, but decided against it. She'd only known the man about twelve hours, but she could already tell he was a major stick in the mud. Most of the more compelling applications of fiery fingertips were probably beyond him.

"Well, several." she said, and left it at that.

After a few seconds, his annoyance was almost palpable. She knew he was frustrated with her already; after all, it was technically her fault they were here. He had warned them all not to leave the inn in Guadosalam. With Seymour's marriage offer still unanswered, it was unclear to what lengths the Guado would go to ensure Yuna's agreement. Better for them all to stay inside.

But then Tidus had asked her to synth about a zillion things; even Lulu's dolls had been in the huge pile he dropped in her doorway, and all she had been able to think of was to sew on tiny spheres for the eyes, cut them open and bury the old rusty bits of treasure inside deep where they couldn't come out. And when she'd run out of the tiny vials of Eye Drops (Wakka's blitzball had soaked up around thirty of them before the dark shadow she desired appeared) she hadn't thought twice before stepping out to the local shop to pick up more.

Unknown to her, Auron had followed, and when Seymour's goons grabbed her, he tried to step in. Ineffectively, she might add, but only in her head, never out loud.

So, with all that on her conscience, she probably shouldn't have been antagonizing him further. But he needed it, and if there was one thing Rikku tried to do, it was help others when she could. It certainly wasn't her place to deny Auron his daily dose of provocation. The guy needed to get his knickers twisted sometimes.

She heard him drawing in breath through his clenched teeth for some kind of speech, probably of the lecture variety (this was a version of Auron's speech that Rikku, new to the party, had only begun to become acquainted with). She decided to cut him off before he began.

"I have a lockpick." She said, and the air came back out in a whoosh. Rikku thought it sounded surprised. At least, she hoped it sounded surprised. She liked being surprising, especially to people who thought they couldn't be surprised.

"Why haven't you used it yet?" he said, the words snapping out of him like blows, so harsh they almost struck sparks against the air between them. She flinched.

"It's more complicated than that, okay?" she said, her own words panicked. "I can't get to it with my hands chained behind my back."

The darkness hung between them for a few seconds, and then he sighed. Rikku took this as a signal to continue speaking.

"You know that utility pouch I wear strapped to my leg? It's in there. I can use it to pick your lock, and then you can get us out of here."

A sound that was too resigned to be a chuckle grated from his throat.

"I suppose it will fall to me to somehow get you this lockpick, then," he said, his voice carefully tamed to neutrality. "Does your …plan… extend so far as how I am to do this?"

Rikku felt her cheeks flare up, the heat of her embarrassment burning all the moisture from her throat. She swallowed, pulled all her courage to her, and spoke.

"You have teeth, and it's an easy buckle."

A few more beats of silence fell into the darkness between them. She wondered if he still had on his sunglasses in this darkness, or if he'd somehow managed to remove them.

"Fine," he said eventually, and she felt his boots disappear from her elbow, heard the soft scrape of his clothing against the wall and floor as he straightened himself to a sitting position. "It will be easier if you stand, I think."

Rikku rose to her feet, trying to calm the thousand or so butterflies that had just popped up in her stomach. She closed her eyes as she heard him shift forward. She wasn't sure what she was trying to block out—this guy was a total stiff, a real downer-- but there it was anyway, her eyes squinched shut tight as anything, and she suddenly found herself trying to think of anything else

(dismantling the machina on the highroad today, the familiar one-two-three of the bolts at the leg joints)

anything but the rasp of his beard against the inside of her thigh, the cold gust of his breath as he gave one last, angry sigh

(sometimes she could get items out of the ancient inner labyrinth of the machina, a sphere or a few crusty gil; she always got oil, thin and golden on her fingertips, darker sludge under the ruins of her nails)

and tugged, hard, on the strap around her thigh. His teeth caught a little skin, which he released upon opening his mouth to curl his tongue under the buckle, a brief moment of wetness that burned against her skin

(don't think of oil don't think of oil think of sand sand sand dry sand)

and then the strap had slid free; he was muttering something around it even as he kept it clenched in his teeth.

Rikku sat down hard with her back to him, her palms curling to catch the pouch he dropped into them.

He didn't say anything; the only sound in the room was the jingling of the buckles as she fumbled to retrieve the lockpick, puzzled as to why her hands were shaking quite so much; wondering if he could hear just how loud the thunder of her heart had become.