theleadingman | avalon: inbox

It's fine.

[It's not fine. She knows that. She's just saying it as a means of placating. If he loses his temper, she isn't sure what he'll be like. She doesn't know if she'll be able to stop him from doing something stupid.]

If I feel like I'm in danger, I can get someone to guard me, but I don't think that'll be necessary.

[She looses a sigh, easily able to picture exactly what he looks like when he makes his little scoff.]

Sephiroth and I are both in the same situation. He wouldn't gain anything here by doing anything to me. And we're both powerless here.

It is not fine.

[Placation seems to do little, though perhaps she can take some comfort in the fact that Balthier doesn't seem to be loading his gun while they speak. Though certainly upset, he's yet to do anything reckless.]

There's more to be concerned about than physical danger, worrying as that may be.

[The rest of it— it isn't nothing, like she seems to want to convince him, or perhaps convince herself.]

People like him don't need to have something to gain. They think the laws of nature don't apply to them, have no care for consequences. I know.

[He knows the mark of madness when he sees it, however subdued.]

[Aerith says nothing for many long moments. Probably long enough to make one wonder if she is simply of a mind to hang up on him. All she's doing is listening. Giving him the opportunity to get out whatever he feels he needs to over this situation. Where she stands with it remains firmly in place. And it is important that he understands she's taking his concerns seriously.

It wouldn't matter what their relationship was like. He would be protective regardless, she assumes. Although there is quite likely a certain level of that protectiveness fueled by their circumstances. And by her own, of course.]

I didn't call you to argue about this or to cause you more concern than necessary. All I want is for you to keep yourself out of it.

[Because I can't guarantee that I'll protect you.]

I need you to be able to agree to that for me. I wouldn't ask anything of you unless I felt it was necessary. This is necessary.

[It is, on the very surface, a great deal to ask.

Realistically, what would he do? This isn't Ivalice. When something is over and done with, he can't climb aboard the Strahl and leave, forgoing all consequences. The situation is clearly more complex than he knows— he knows next to nothing beyond the end result— and while that certainly doesn't offer any excuse, it means his actions will have consequences that affect more than just him.

It's what he imagines she meant when she'd said 'powerless.' What could possibly be done that wouldn't make the situation worse?

He, too, is quiet for several long moments. When he speaks again, his voice has softened considerably, though it remains heavy.]

I've never heard you sound the way you did when he spoke to you. I just don't want to see you hurt.

[He can't sound like that with her. She knows she can't handle that. That ridiculous softness to his voice. The voice he uses with her every time he expresses concern. Every time he's ever reassured her. Just hearing him makes her heart hurt. She's almost certain it hurts more because he's worried about her. Afraid for her. She's never asked for that.]

...You weren't supposed to hear that.

[It's there. In those moments. A subtle falter in her voice. A waver. Not out of fear. At least, not because of Sephiroth. She would weather a plethora of him antagonising her before she could properly endure causing Balthier concern.]

I did.

[Whether or not he was supposed to, he can't unhear it now. It was so unlike her, he's not certain he ever will.]

You can tell me it's 'fine' all you like. It won't change anything.

[Someone can't just stop being concerned about such a thing, regardless of how many times Balthier has insisted that he could brush any and all cares away without consequence. He'd never managed to convince much of anyone with that bit, least of all himself.]

[What is she supposed to say? That she'll go to him if something happens? She can't do that. She can't go to anyone because that would mean endangering someone else. It always seems to come down to the same thing. It's not that it's fine for her to be in a position of danger. It's that she would always rather weather the hardships than those around her. Than those she cares for. If she can't be around as long as she'd like to be, doesn't she owe it to everyone else to give every part of herself? Isn't it her responsibility to take all of that on? Isn't that the right thing to do?

She swallows, not for the first time in recent days and weeks, feeling the crushing weight of reality, threatening her strength to carry it.]

I know that.

[Aerith finally replies quietly.]

I can't stop you from worrying and I'm not going to try. None of this was about that. Your feelings are your own and no one else can change them. No one else should be allowed to change them. I'm not exempt from that. But I can't have you involved with him. I couldn't bear it if something happened to you. If you end up doing something careless, the only place I can stand is between you and him.

Edited (DON'T LOOK AT ME I MISSED A LETTER) 2021-11-13 07:54 (UTC)

Then it would seem we're at an impasse.

[He would love to be able to make her that promise. Aerith conducts herself by her own personal code, insisting that she'll always do what she believes to be right. Whether or not others agree seems to have little to do with it. Similarly, he has a code of his own. Sometimes, reckless is the right thing— but even he can admit that this is not the right moment.]

I'm hardly about to go charging after him, but if I feel you're in danger— you cannot expect me to stand aside and offer the benefit of the doubt. I won't.

[How could he?]

I don't wish to put you in a position where you feel you have no choice but to stand between us, but I won't see you bear this on your own, either.

[Even if she doesn't want to see him. Even if this is the first time she's spoken to him in weeks.

Once someone makes their way in and gets you to care, it's difficult to stop, he's found.]

It doesn't matter if—

[—something happens to me.

The words lock right in her throat, because she knows no matter how she earnestly believes that, Balthier would be outraged to hear it. Maybe not outraged, but he certainly wouldn't be shy about telling her what he really thinks. He has something he needs to go back home to. If she has to start calculating the weight of her life versus his, it's not comparable. She will always choose him first.

She can't get him to say what she really wants out of him. His is a stubbornness that easily rivals her own and they have reached a point where they can't agree with one another. Where they understand and even perhaps marginally respect, but it's merely disagreement. Aerith seems to get that ultimately, he'll do whatever he thinks is necessary.

Because of his heart and the way she's touched it.]

I don't know what you want me to say, Balthier.

Nothing in particular.

[Because what is there to say? They won't agree on this; doing so would require one or both of them to act against their very nature, and in stubbornness they are equally matched.]

You've told me more than once that you will always do what you think is right. An admirable trait. One might not expect it from a pirate, but so will I.

[Even if he doesn't always state it so openly. He will never act against his conscience, especially not now.]

I can't make you that promise. For that, I'm sorry.

[She could try to sway him. If she were more foolish, or younger, perhaps. But she doesn't do anything like that. She doesn't even consider it as a remote possibility. She doesn't have to agree with him. That was never a requirement either.

Aerith settles on his words, simply turns them over in her head. She wonders who or what decided she was worthy of that. In the end, it may have nothing to do with her worth. Balthier does as he does, she suspects, that he can face himself free from guilt. It can't be all about her. She can't think that it is either.]

This situation, this circumstance, this predicament, is mine. Not yours. It isn't something you can fix. It isn't something you can change. It is what it is. It's my burden. It's my responsibility. As such, I'll do everything I can do to otherwise prevent any need for your intervention. Whatever that may entail.

[After a pause, she continues.]

I guess what I mean is that I'm going to become very, very good at defending myself. So that you won't have to again.

[Were the situation different, he might laugh— the approach is wholly her own, what he should have come to expect from her, but it only makes his heart feel that much heavier.

Determined, as always, to do things all on her own, and it's so like what he's seen in himself over the years that it's disheartening. It's difficult to sway someone from thinking like that. He's never really given it up, himself.]

You should know by now that I don't do anything because I feel I have to.

[It's not the part of her statement she would have wanted him to focus on, he knows.]

Nor is this your responsibility— this situation isn't a consequence of your actions.

[No. The blame for that lies squarely with another party entirely.]

[She knows. She's very well aware of it. She understands that essentially, she has been the catalyst for all of this. Aerith never imagined she would take root in his life, in his heart, the way it seems she has. His true feelings? She wouldn't know. She can't know.

It's another cowardly act on her part, still meant to serve long-term benefit to both of them, even if these day to day adventures are painful.

She has to act like he hasn't said any part of that. And she does, though it's evident it weighs on her with that extended pause.]

I'm here. Cloud is here. That's reason enough.

[He won't understand any of that and she doesn't seem inclined to explain.]

It doesn't matter. I've taken up enough of your time. Thank you for at least hearing me out.

Aerith.

[No, he doesn't understand how her presence here could possibly be enough to make anything her responsibility, but he supposes it doesn't matter. What does matter is that he recognizes her response for what it is. She's withdrawing, knowing they won't see eye-to-eye on this matter.]

It's not—

[He sighs, frustrated, and pinches the bridge of his nose unseen.]

I have no desire to make things more difficult for you, but please. You cannot take these things onto your shoulders, all on your own. [A brief pause, before adding:] Does Tifa know?

[He doesn't expect Aerith to feel like she can turn to him, to confide in him— the time for that was gone almost as soon as it had begun— but he knows she can turn to Tifa. Tifa would want to know.]

[He doesn't know it, but every time he says her name like so, she can't help but actually listen. There's just some kind of edge in it. She can't call it parental. She isn't sure what it is.

But it's something. Whatever it may be, it manages to make her pause, to come to a full stop.]

She knows that he's here.

[There's a pause. A break in her voice. Whatever Balthier might be asking her there, she skirts around.]

I don't know the details, but she has her own hangups with him. I promised her that I would keep her safe and we both agreed that we would stay away from him.

[Loosing a long sigh, Aerith continues. He's broken her down just enough that she doesn't bother to soften or tiptoe around the rest that she says. If she's resigned, and a part of her is, then she simply takes it in stride.]

So you get it. I need to protect her. I need to protect you. And I need to protect the others. The worst thing that can happen is going to happen anyway eventually. So I have to do everything that I can do for all of you. For as long as I can, anyway.

[That, then, is a 'no'— at least as certain specifics are concerned, but knowing that Tifa has her own 'hangups' is telling. He's willing to bet that's a gentler word than is actually appropriate, given the context, but Aerith likely doesn't want to alarm him any further. No matter; he's doing that on his own well enough.]

I understand what you feel you need to do.

[Which is not precisely the same thing as accepting it, but he does understand her meaning in full, though the talk of eventuality leave a bitter taste in his mouth. He's kept her secret, thought of it time and time again since her sharing it— because how could he possibly do otherwise?— but he has a rather complicated relationship with concepts like fate and inevitability.

His voice remains soft and even.]

The people who care about you want to protect you, too. Your safety matters. Your time here matters.

[He doesn't want to see her spending it all on denying herself for the sake of others, because she thinks it will keep them safe.]

Is he why you won't see me?

[She wishes she had the strength to argue with him. She doesn't.

Aerith neither agrees nor disagreeswhen it comes down to her safety. He's right that those she wants to look out for want to look out for her in turn. At some point, understanding what her future held, it became significantly easier to focus her time and energy into others.

An escape or noble effort...?

She's thinking on that when he asks his next question. She never told him why. At the time he hadn't asked.]

Balthier.

[It's a warning, though soft and subtle, because nothing about her is ever particularly hard. She does as she does best and simply neglects to answer him at all.]

I'm still thinking about you. Every day. Every moment. Every laugh. Every sigh. Every touch. That should be good enough for you.

[That he understands a lack of feeling for him has nothing to do with her decisions.]

[Even if she did have the strength to argue, even if he were able to summon up the strength within himself to argue in turn, what would constitute as winning? They're too opposed right from the start, and neither of them is willing to move towards compromise. They can't. He understands why she feels she cannot, just as he hopes she understands his own point of view.

They're both the sort of people that are used to getting what they want through persuasive means. Right now, that doesn't seem to be working out for either one of them.

She doesn't answer his question, and he's not certain he'd expected that she would— nor does he expect the response she does offer.

He's silent for another few moments. It's meant to be reassuring, he thinks; he had known that her insistence wasn't for a lack of feeling, but he still feels something stick in his throat for a moment before he responds.]

It isn't.

[Blunt, perhaps, but it's exactly how he feels.]

Don't you think I'm doing the very same? This makes no sense.

[She isn't really surprised that it isn't enough for him. Sounds just like something he would say. And in a way, it's almost complimentary.

She isn't sure what to call it, but hearing it and knowing it, warms her right down to the core.

The rest of what he has to say only heightens that. So he thinks of her. And it isn't all just simply anger. She is undeniably stirred and pained, a perplexing combination of her feelings. She's thankful he's can't see her, to see the way she worries at her bottom lip or the furrow of her brow.

It's one thing to hear one's effect on another. It's quite another to see it.]

I can't possibly know what you're thinking. I'm not you. I would never make that assumption and I've not exactly asked.

[And she hasn't asked because she's far too afraid of what she'd hear.]

[Nice as it is to have his strong suspicions regarding their situation confirmed, he cannot resign himself to allowing that to be enough. He knows better than anyone that once a person manages to get past his exterior, gets beneath his skin just a little, they're there for good— he has never been able to bring himself to stop caring, despite his best efforts, despite his insistence that there was no room for such attachment in a pirate's heart. Knowing that, it had just been easier to avoid such things altogether.

Even so, frustrated as he's been these last weeks, he cannot quite bring himself to regret his choices.]

I thought it was plain.

[He thought it had been obvious, that he felt something for her that, while he had not yet put a name to it, was very real and not easily dismissed. Admittedly, perhaps he'd thought wrong. It's not as though she's seen his behavior with others in such detail that she has much basis for comparison— but he has never been as open as he's been with her, let alone affectionate, and all because she let him feel as though he could be.]

I'll remind you that I didn't want this, but yes. That's exactly what I've been thinking.

I—

[She starts, but realises she doesn't have something clever to follow it up with. Of course he has some kind of feeling for her. She knows that much. Yes, that part is obvious. The extent isn't. The extent is the part that concerns her. And it's not even his feelings she's particularly worried over. It's her own.

And she can't say that.]

I'm aware. [That he didn't want this. He made that obvious when he almost pleaded with her not to just do things without his input. At least, she assumes that what he means when he says 'this.' What else could 'this' be? Maybe feelings for her in general. She could believe and respect that.]

I didn't call you for any of that to be up for discussion.

[She reminds him. Gently. Softly.]

That's exactly it, isn't it?

[She may not want to discuss this, but he does— things are as they are now because she had simply decided, and yet she still reaches out to him to insist he act against his very nature. It's all quite well-intentioned, however misguided, but the fact that there is no discussion involved irks him to no end.

He knows her situation to be complex, to be delicate, but one person should not be allowed to make decisions like these on their own. It isn't fair— and while most things aren't and he's long ago resigned himself to that being the way of the world, this is something he feels ought to be.]

You never want to discuss much of anything— or in the rare event that you do, you seem to be perfectly comfortable with deciding how things ought to be all on your own not long after regardless of what was said.

[He may be bitter.]

Did you have a plan, then, for what might happen when you called and I wouldn't do what you wanted, or did that never occur to you? Of course I'm not going to turn a blind eye to whatever this man is doing here— and if you think anyone who cares for you is going to stand aside and let you handle him on your own, you're sorely mistaken.

[It's an effective way to quiet her. Aerith can't actually remember anyone saying anything like that to her. But to be fair, Aerith has kept a lot of herself to herself and as a result, has managed to avoid those conversations. This particular situation at present is evidence of precisely why she didn't say anything.

She suspects if she'd said anything like that to Zack, he very much would have reacted the same way and she would have the same difficulty in handling the aftermath. Although Zack and Balthier are two very, very different people, and yet her feelings for each of them differ and hold similarities.]

I can't really argue with that, can I. [It's not even a question. Accusatory or not, Balthier's assessment is correct. She doesn't give anyone else the option of weighing in, which means she's perfectly free to make whatever choices she does without someone else intervening.] Not that it sounds like you were planning to give me an option to.

[But nothing she says is particularly malevolent in turn. But that's just like her, isn't it. Just to accept it where it's necessary. After all, in the end, he has every right to be angry.]

I honestly didn't know what to expect in calling you. I was pretty certain you wouldn't answer when you saw it was me, which I would have understood and I wouldn't have pressed the issue. But to answer you—yes—I had something else in mind if you weren't willing to honour my request. I also feel I need to correct you on something. I didn't say you had to ignore whatever he's doing. I asked that you not get involved with him. And what I really meant by that is I don't want you to give him your name. I don't want you to give him any information that he can use. I don't want you to tell him anything about us—you and me. [Too late for that. Thank you, Balthier.] Because I don't want him to use you against me, or the other way around. I didn't ask that because I plan on playing saviour. I asked it because in the way that you want to protect me, I want to protect you. As for the others... well.

[That's complicated. It's always complicated.]

[Had she truly expected that he wouldn't have answered, or had she simply hoped he wouldn't? That, he supposes, is an unfair question to ask, and he bites it back— irate though he may be, he's not cruel by nature, nor is he interested in letting this escalate to become more heated than the edge that's already in his voice. He has never been the sort to yell, and he doesn't intend to start now, especially not with her.]

I hardly offer up personal details to people I consider friendly acquaintances, so we're in no danger of that.

[Except, of course, the part where the very nature of his anger had made a connection between the two of them quite apparent. Sephiroth clearly has some idea of the nature of it, especially given how much care he'd taken to phrase certain things in a way that he seemed to hope would get under Balthier's skin.]

I apologize for what did slip, but I'm not sorry I said something.

[He wouldn't take back his intervening for anything. He also takes care not to point out that he might not have let anything get out if he'd had some warning, but the situation itself is so unique that he knows making such an accusation would be as unkind as it was unhelpful. Whatever Aerith does or doesn't do, he knows it's because she believes it to be the best course.

He has to wonder, how many people have ever been willing to insist otherwise when they disagree?]

If you're worried about me chasing him down, I won't. You don't make it this long in my line of work by being foolish— but given the opportunity, I will always defend you.

I really wasn't... overly worried concerned about you doing something. Initially.

[Until of course, his... very impassioned address to Sephiroth, which has just spelled out very openly a myriad implications that linger betwixt the two of them. She looses a sigh, wondering how she can concisely put anything for him. He knows of Sephiroth, after all. What else can she really hide.]

I don't know Sephiroth very well. Zack and Cloud knew him better. Know him better. [Knew. Know.] Seeing him in person here was the first time I'd ever spoken to him. There are a lot of stories about him. He's a war hero back home. I really only know him by reputation and by... Well. I had dreams about him. I foresaw what was going to happen. I know that sounds...

[It sounds nuts, is what it sounds. And she isn't fully sure of why she was able to see that. Why she knows it. She can only assume it has to do with what she is.]

I know that he's a sharp man. You don't get where he was in Soldier not being sharp. The concern is more with him, though to my understanding, if what he told me is true, the only reason he— [Took her down? It's past tense for him. It's not for her. She knows more than she's letting on with Sephiroth and that's been as equally complicated.] He said he used me to get to Cloud. His interest is in Cloud. Not in me. That's why I'm not afraid of anything happening here.

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