Grounded, chapter 6
Dec. 25th, 2020 01:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shinonFandom: Final Fantasy VI
Characters: Edgar, Locke, Sabin
Word count: ~900
Warnings: Content notes for the fic as a whole on Pastebin.
Notes: Chapter 6 of 8 of a gift for![[archiveofourown.org profile]](https://p.dreamwidth.org/b164c54b26e4/-/archiveofourown.org/favicon.ico)
ovely for Yuletide 2020!
It was about a twelve-hour flight from the Phoenix Cave back to Kohlingen. Locke stayed up on deck for the duration, and whenever his attention wasn't engaged elsewhere he stared fixedly into the northwest. For the first time in a long acquaintance, Edgar was... well, not afraid to approach him, not precisely that, but something in that neighborhood.
He'd either get Rachel back, and vanish with her into a mystical world neither Edgar nor anyone else had any part in – or his life's great mission would end in failure.
“Come on,” Sabin said, after they landed, and Locke went into town alone. “We're playing cards.” When Edgar didn't immediately respond, Sabin grabbed him by the arm. “I said” - raising his eyebrows and jerking his head meaningfully toward the captain's cabin - “we are playing cards.”
“All right, I get it. I'm coming.” Of course, whatever its other features, this was also the town nearest Daryl's tomb, and the town in which Setzer had by all appearances stayed drunk for a solid nine or ten months; trust Sabin to think of keeping him distracted.
Edgar played badly, but told himself he was doing this as a favor to the others.
After a few hours Locke came back. Alone. “Deal me in,” he said, pulling up a chair. Edgar looked at him closely, but didn't dare ask. Locke kept his eyes on his cards, and only shrugged ruefully and said, “Well. Can't win 'em all.”
*
The Falcon had never been intended as a passenger vessel; they'd had to start doubling up on sleeping accommodations some time since. To spare Locke any awkwardness, from the moment he stated his intent to rejoin the fight – the morning after Rachel was buried – Edgar said, “Congratulations, you're with me,” and tossed him a duplicate key.
Locke caught it, but feigned offense. “What am I, twelve? When's the last time I needed a key to get in anywhere?”
“Oh, don't worry. Once you've opened the lock, you have twenty seconds to disarm a series of crossbow traps -” From across the deck Setzer shot him an unamused stare. He put up his hands. “It's a joke, Gabbiani, I haven't installed anything.” In an undertone he told Locke, “I'm swearing you to secrecy about the hot plate.”
Locke had no possessions to bring aboard except what he was already carrying. He took up no space in the cabin. He expressed an intent to sleep in a hammock, until Edgar set him straight. “This is a much bumpier ride than the Blackjack, and you know how you get about turbulence. You may be my best friend, but I draw the line at listening to you retch all night.”
Being a bit of a dick was more persuasive than would be a show of real concern. The concern was there, of course, but Edgar had never known how to say these things without coming off patronizing. There was so little need for sincerity in daily life.
A bench on each side of the cabin folded down out of the wall – which sufficed for two beds, though when both were open it took up most of the space in the cabin. There'd been a scant supply of bedding material in the hold, but after a period of neglect inside a tomb it had all predictably started to molder. (Setzer had looked wistful at getting rid of one of the quilts; Edgar had not pried.) Edgar had to ask around to appropriate spare blankets and pillows from the others. He tried to make every unobtrusive provision for Locke's comfort, and then as often as not found that Locke was ignoring them and sleeping on a bare board with a single coverlet.
This worried him, but he didn't know if it should, or how to frame it as a joke if so, or if enough of their former intimacy remained for him to presume upon.
Neither of them slept much, but it seemed safest not to acknowledge this. On the fourth night after Rachel's resurrection – after three days of Locke forcibly acting as normal as any human ever had – Edgar was wakened by muffled sobbing, which, trying to be a good friend, he did his best not to notice. Absent a clear invitation, he was most comfortable not making these things his business, and mere proximity was not an invitation. Surely the best he could do was allow Locke some illusion of privacy.
In the morning Locke was once again scrupulously cheerful. “I had a thought,” he said.
“Wonders never cease.”
“Hey, fuck you, too, pal,” Locke said, without venom. “Anyway, there's something I wanna check out. I think the airship's gonna be a big help, if I can talk the others into it. Mind backing me up?”
Edgar's first rash thought was that he would sign his name to any project that might keep Locke moving forward in this post-Rachel universe, but he had enough sense not to say so. “Where are we headed?”
“Back to Narshe. If anyone's still alive there, I should look after them.” After a pause he said, “We. I meant we should look after them. It's not like –”
“Say no more.” One only hoped Locke wasn't setting himself up for more disappointment.
Characters: Edgar, Locke, Sabin
Word count: ~900
Warnings: Content notes for the fic as a whole on Pastebin.
Notes: Chapter 6 of 8 of a gift for
It was about a twelve-hour flight from the Phoenix Cave back to Kohlingen. Locke stayed up on deck for the duration, and whenever his attention wasn't engaged elsewhere he stared fixedly into the northwest. For the first time in a long acquaintance, Edgar was... well, not afraid to approach him, not precisely that, but something in that neighborhood.
He'd either get Rachel back, and vanish with her into a mystical world neither Edgar nor anyone else had any part in – or his life's great mission would end in failure.
“Come on,” Sabin said, after they landed, and Locke went into town alone. “We're playing cards.” When Edgar didn't immediately respond, Sabin grabbed him by the arm. “I said” - raising his eyebrows and jerking his head meaningfully toward the captain's cabin - “we are playing cards.”
“All right, I get it. I'm coming.” Of course, whatever its other features, this was also the town nearest Daryl's tomb, and the town in which Setzer had by all appearances stayed drunk for a solid nine or ten months; trust Sabin to think of keeping him distracted.
Edgar played badly, but told himself he was doing this as a favor to the others.
After a few hours Locke came back. Alone. “Deal me in,” he said, pulling up a chair. Edgar looked at him closely, but didn't dare ask. Locke kept his eyes on his cards, and only shrugged ruefully and said, “Well. Can't win 'em all.”
*
The Falcon had never been intended as a passenger vessel; they'd had to start doubling up on sleeping accommodations some time since. To spare Locke any awkwardness, from the moment he stated his intent to rejoin the fight – the morning after Rachel was buried – Edgar said, “Congratulations, you're with me,” and tossed him a duplicate key.
Locke caught it, but feigned offense. “What am I, twelve? When's the last time I needed a key to get in anywhere?”
“Oh, don't worry. Once you've opened the lock, you have twenty seconds to disarm a series of crossbow traps -” From across the deck Setzer shot him an unamused stare. He put up his hands. “It's a joke, Gabbiani, I haven't installed anything.” In an undertone he told Locke, “I'm swearing you to secrecy about the hot plate.”
Locke had no possessions to bring aboard except what he was already carrying. He took up no space in the cabin. He expressed an intent to sleep in a hammock, until Edgar set him straight. “This is a much bumpier ride than the Blackjack, and you know how you get about turbulence. You may be my best friend, but I draw the line at listening to you retch all night.”
Being a bit of a dick was more persuasive than would be a show of real concern. The concern was there, of course, but Edgar had never known how to say these things without coming off patronizing. There was so little need for sincerity in daily life.
A bench on each side of the cabin folded down out of the wall – which sufficed for two beds, though when both were open it took up most of the space in the cabin. There'd been a scant supply of bedding material in the hold, but after a period of neglect inside a tomb it had all predictably started to molder. (Setzer had looked wistful at getting rid of one of the quilts; Edgar had not pried.) Edgar had to ask around to appropriate spare blankets and pillows from the others. He tried to make every unobtrusive provision for Locke's comfort, and then as often as not found that Locke was ignoring them and sleeping on a bare board with a single coverlet.
This worried him, but he didn't know if it should, or how to frame it as a joke if so, or if enough of their former intimacy remained for him to presume upon.
Neither of them slept much, but it seemed safest not to acknowledge this. On the fourth night after Rachel's resurrection – after three days of Locke forcibly acting as normal as any human ever had – Edgar was wakened by muffled sobbing, which, trying to be a good friend, he did his best not to notice. Absent a clear invitation, he was most comfortable not making these things his business, and mere proximity was not an invitation. Surely the best he could do was allow Locke some illusion of privacy.
In the morning Locke was once again scrupulously cheerful. “I had a thought,” he said.
“Wonders never cease.”
“Hey, fuck you, too, pal,” Locke said, without venom. “Anyway, there's something I wanna check out. I think the airship's gonna be a big help, if I can talk the others into it. Mind backing me up?”
Edgar's first rash thought was that he would sign his name to any project that might keep Locke moving forward in this post-Rachel universe, but he had enough sense not to say so. “Where are we headed?”
“Back to Narshe. If anyone's still alive there, I should look after them.” After a pause he said, “We. I meant we should look after them. It's not like –”
“Say no more.” One only hoped Locke wasn't setting himself up for more disappointment.
