{A}uxiliary
Title: Auxiliary
Author:arora_kayd
Beta: point_earedpain
Fandom/Pairing: Final Fantasy XII
Disclaimer: Owned by Square Enix
Summary: This has been sitting on my computer for so long, I don't even know anymore. All I can say is apparently I was channeling George Lucas.
Why is it always the simple missions that go wrong? Reports had come in about a drop in the number of fiends in the Cape Tialan area of the Phon Coast. Most took it as a sign of less Mist in the area, but a few in the Hunter’s Club had claimed to see large, deep impressions that they considered footprints.
Though not part of his normal duties, Basch had requested the job, feeling the onset of cabin fever. He brought a small detail with him, agreeing with the majority theory.
Trudging through sand in full armor was not a joyful experience, and there was grumbling throughout the group. Bash was grateful, however, for the full plate of Gabranth’s uniform when they stumbled across the cause of the fiend decline.
A mantis, probably from the Salikawood, had wandered onto the beaches and been cannibalizing anything and everything it could find. It had grown huge and unrecognizable. Basch ordered a hasty retreat, but the beast had noticed them and attacked. Taking the front line, Basch again ordered the men back to the Hunter’s Camp.
Most of the soldiers had escaped and Basch was preparing Flame Purge when he felt an intense, sharp pain in his left arm and distantly heard the screech of tearing metal.
Distracted, Basch hadn’t noticed the mantis charge and close it’s jaws around his arm. While the jaws didn’t penetrate, the force was enough to split and drive the armor into his arm. The mantis let go, moving back for another strike, but Basch finished his quickening, crippling the creature and driving it off.
He was losing blood quickly, the shards of armor piercing above and below his elbow. A couple of the remaining soldiers grabbed him as he stumbled and began leading him to the gate crystal; Basch passed out before he made it there.
***
Waking, he saw white all around and noted a sterile smell to the air. A hospital. There was a shuffling to his left and he turned to his visitor.
“Hmm. You seem to have an affinity for getting yourself in trouble, Captain. And collecting scars.” Balthier stood from his seat at the small table in the corner of the room and came to Basch’s bedside, arms crossed. “Though you seem to have gone a bit too far this time.” There was an unusual furrow to his brow.
Basch was still too groggy to catch the odd look and asked the first question he could formulate. “What are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood and heard you got yourself in a bit of a scrape.” In fact, he had been in Rabanastre when Larsa had called him.
“Ah. Is Fran wi-?“ Basch had attempted to sit up, but found it unusually awkward...and then Balthier’s expression clicked. He looked down at his arm and saw it was heavily bandaged, the wraps ending just above where his elbow should have been. Basch could only stare, feeling detached from the situation.
Balthier cut in on the silence, pulling on his sleeves in nervous habit. “They did what they could, but the armor had nearly severed it. Your poisoned status didn’t help, either.” Affection crept into his voice. “You were always terrible at noticing the kind of thing.” Balthier sat on the bed between Basch’s legs and picked up his right hand, running his thumbs in circles across the palm. “I’ll be in Arcades for a while, so once you’re released you’re staying with me.
Basch finally looked up, beginning a protest. “Balthier…”
"I won’t hear it. What kind of leading man would I be if I didn’t help you in your hour of distress?” Balthier’s lips quirked and Basch frowned at the subtle comparison of himself to a damsel. The pirate’s eyes darted to Basch’s bad arm. There was a pause before he leaned in and briefly kissed the Captain.
“Besides,” he continued, gaining some of his usual cockiness back, “I’ll need you close if I’m to make you a replacement.”
Basch was unable to hide is incredulity. “You mean to make me a new arm.”
“Of course.” All of his usual bravado was back. “I’m the son of the great Dr. Cid. And, if you’ll recall,” Balthier leaned in close to Basch’s ear, dropping his voice ever so slightly, “I’m quite good with my hands.”
***
Three weeks later, including two days in the hospital, Basch was ensconced in the sitting room of the Bunansa Manse. The large windows provided ample light for reading and finishing reports. It had only taken four days of subtle complaints and looking pitiful for both Balthier and Zargabaath to agree to let Basch continue his Judge Magister duties.
He had begun to adjust to his situation, never having been one for drawn out self-pity. Fran and Balthier had been immense helps, keeping his mind on other things, plus the latter’s insistence that he wouldn’t have to get used to it for long.
Basch had been skeptical at first, but Balthier’s determination had begun to sway him. He dutifully sat as his right arm was carefully measured and studied. He knew more than one design had been scrapped; Balthier spent most of his time in his workroom, emerging only for food, conversation, and to steal half of Basch’s borrowed bed.
Basch was looking over the latest intelligence report when the door to his right opened and both of his hosts entered.
Bringing something out from behind his back, Balthier triumphantly announced: “It is finished. My apologies for the delay, but there were improvements needed to the initial design.”
“He began tinkering, he means,” Fran said with a smile and sat on the couch opposite Basch.
“Men of my talent do not tinker.” Balthier took a spot next to Basch, pushing papers aside on the low table between the couches and setting his work down on the cleared area. Basch looked at it with awful surprise. It…looked like an arm, except for the top where it was dotted with small symbols and had straps that would secure it to his shoulder.
“A fine molding of magic and machinery.” Picking at his cuff, Balthier hesitated. “It’s not perfect, but your Magister armor will cover it most of the time anyway…” Basch cradled Balthier’s head and kissed the side of his mouth before reaching for the appendage. Balthier beat him to it, moving with a faint nervous excitement.
“Here. It’ll take you some practice.” He stood and slipped it on Basch’s arm, describing how to fit the straps one-handed. Once it was on, Balthier sat once more.
“As Balthier said, there is magic in it. The symbols at the top connect you to it. Think as you would to use a spell.” Basch did as instructed and felt a rush of magic up his arm. The symbols took on a faint glow. Fran said no more and Basch took that as his cue to continue. He willed his new hand to close and smile as it instantly complied. Balthier let out the breath he had been holding and Basch’s grin widened.
“Congratulations.” Fran stood, nodding at Basch’s acknowledgement and left the room.
Basch moved his arm a bit more, testing its reactions and the small amount of feeling he could register before turning back to Balthier. He reached out with both hands and pulled the other in for a deep kiss.
“Thank you.” Basch could see that there was a touch of relief and pride in Balthier’s grin.
“The leading man always delivers,” he retorted and settled himself in Basch’s lap.
Author:arora_kayd
Beta: point_earedpain
Fandom/Pairing: Final Fantasy XII
Disclaimer: Owned by Square Enix
Summary: This has been sitting on my computer for so long, I don't even know anymore. All I can say is apparently I was channeling George Lucas.
Why is it always the simple missions that go wrong? Reports had come in about a drop in the number of fiends in the Cape Tialan area of the Phon Coast. Most took it as a sign of less Mist in the area, but a few in the Hunter’s Club had claimed to see large, deep impressions that they considered footprints.
Though not part of his normal duties, Basch had requested the job, feeling the onset of cabin fever. He brought a small detail with him, agreeing with the majority theory.
Trudging through sand in full armor was not a joyful experience, and there was grumbling throughout the group. Bash was grateful, however, for the full plate of Gabranth’s uniform when they stumbled across the cause of the fiend decline.
A mantis, probably from the Salikawood, had wandered onto the beaches and been cannibalizing anything and everything it could find. It had grown huge and unrecognizable. Basch ordered a hasty retreat, but the beast had noticed them and attacked. Taking the front line, Basch again ordered the men back to the Hunter’s Camp.
Most of the soldiers had escaped and Basch was preparing Flame Purge when he felt an intense, sharp pain in his left arm and distantly heard the screech of tearing metal.
Distracted, Basch hadn’t noticed the mantis charge and close it’s jaws around his arm. While the jaws didn’t penetrate, the force was enough to split and drive the armor into his arm. The mantis let go, moving back for another strike, but Basch finished his quickening, crippling the creature and driving it off.
He was losing blood quickly, the shards of armor piercing above and below his elbow. A couple of the remaining soldiers grabbed him as he stumbled and began leading him to the gate crystal; Basch passed out before he made it there.
***
Waking, he saw white all around and noted a sterile smell to the air. A hospital. There was a shuffling to his left and he turned to his visitor.
“Hmm. You seem to have an affinity for getting yourself in trouble, Captain. And collecting scars.” Balthier stood from his seat at the small table in the corner of the room and came to Basch’s bedside, arms crossed. “Though you seem to have gone a bit too far this time.” There was an unusual furrow to his brow.
Basch was still too groggy to catch the odd look and asked the first question he could formulate. “What are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood and heard you got yourself in a bit of a scrape.” In fact, he had been in Rabanastre when Larsa had called him.
“Ah. Is Fran wi-?“ Basch had attempted to sit up, but found it unusually awkward...and then Balthier’s expression clicked. He looked down at his arm and saw it was heavily bandaged, the wraps ending just above where his elbow should have been. Basch could only stare, feeling detached from the situation.
Balthier cut in on the silence, pulling on his sleeves in nervous habit. “They did what they could, but the armor had nearly severed it. Your poisoned status didn’t help, either.” Affection crept into his voice. “You were always terrible at noticing the kind of thing.” Balthier sat on the bed between Basch’s legs and picked up his right hand, running his thumbs in circles across the palm. “I’ll be in Arcades for a while, so once you’re released you’re staying with me.
Basch finally looked up, beginning a protest. “Balthier…”
"I won’t hear it. What kind of leading man would I be if I didn’t help you in your hour of distress?” Balthier’s lips quirked and Basch frowned at the subtle comparison of himself to a damsel. The pirate’s eyes darted to Basch’s bad arm. There was a pause before he leaned in and briefly kissed the Captain.
“Besides,” he continued, gaining some of his usual cockiness back, “I’ll need you close if I’m to make you a replacement.”
Basch was unable to hide is incredulity. “You mean to make me a new arm.”
“Of course.” All of his usual bravado was back. “I’m the son of the great Dr. Cid. And, if you’ll recall,” Balthier leaned in close to Basch’s ear, dropping his voice ever so slightly, “I’m quite good with my hands.”
***
Three weeks later, including two days in the hospital, Basch was ensconced in the sitting room of the Bunansa Manse. The large windows provided ample light for reading and finishing reports. It had only taken four days of subtle complaints and looking pitiful for both Balthier and Zargabaath to agree to let Basch continue his Judge Magister duties.
He had begun to adjust to his situation, never having been one for drawn out self-pity. Fran and Balthier had been immense helps, keeping his mind on other things, plus the latter’s insistence that he wouldn’t have to get used to it for long.
Basch had been skeptical at first, but Balthier’s determination had begun to sway him. He dutifully sat as his right arm was carefully measured and studied. He knew more than one design had been scrapped; Balthier spent most of his time in his workroom, emerging only for food, conversation, and to steal half of Basch’s borrowed bed.
Basch was looking over the latest intelligence report when the door to his right opened and both of his hosts entered.
Bringing something out from behind his back, Balthier triumphantly announced: “It is finished. My apologies for the delay, but there were improvements needed to the initial design.”
“He began tinkering, he means,” Fran said with a smile and sat on the couch opposite Basch.
“Men of my talent do not tinker.” Balthier took a spot next to Basch, pushing papers aside on the low table between the couches and setting his work down on the cleared area. Basch looked at it with awful surprise. It…looked like an arm, except for the top where it was dotted with small symbols and had straps that would secure it to his shoulder.
“A fine molding of magic and machinery.” Picking at his cuff, Balthier hesitated. “It’s not perfect, but your Magister armor will cover it most of the time anyway…” Basch cradled Balthier’s head and kissed the side of his mouth before reaching for the appendage. Balthier beat him to it, moving with a faint nervous excitement.
“Here. It’ll take you some practice.” He stood and slipped it on Basch’s arm, describing how to fit the straps one-handed. Once it was on, Balthier sat once more.
“As Balthier said, there is magic in it. The symbols at the top connect you to it. Think as you would to use a spell.” Basch did as instructed and felt a rush of magic up his arm. The symbols took on a faint glow. Fran said no more and Basch took that as his cue to continue. He willed his new hand to close and smile as it instantly complied. Balthier let out the breath he had been holding and Basch’s grin widened.
“Congratulations.” Fran stood, nodding at Basch’s acknowledgement and left the room.
Basch moved his arm a bit more, testing its reactions and the small amount of feeling he could register before turning back to Balthier. He reached out with both hands and pulled the other in for a deep kiss.
“Thank you.” Basch could see that there was a touch of relief and pride in Balthier’s grin.
“The leading man always delivers,” he retorted and settled himself in Basch’s lap.