Title: Again
Chapter: Twelve
Rating: PG-13
Final Fantasy XII, Balthier/Penelo

            “What ails you, that I find you in such a sorry state?”

            Balthier turned his head slightly towards Fran’s voice, and the room spun crazily. He was glad to see that the copious amount of Bhujerban madhu was having its desired effect. With all that had happened so recently – the discovery of Penelo’s daughter, the discovery of his daughter, and Penelo’s abrupt and unanticipated declaration – Balthier felt as though he’d been dropped into some bizarre alternate reality that, below the surface, bore little resemblance to the one from which he’d arrived. It had all felt very much like a dream.

            He snorted. A dream? More like a nightmare, and a wretched one indeed.

            “Balthier.”

            “What? Oh. Fran. Right.” He set down his mug, and the liquid sloshed over the rim of his cup, coating his fingers. Damn Penelo, she’d driven him to drink twice in as many days!

            With a baleful glance, Fran lifted the mug from the counter, thrusting it back over at the bartender. “He’ll have no more this eve,” she said stonily. The bartender, several inches shorter than the Viera, took the mug meekly, shoving a plate of biscuits and a mug of what looked suspiciously like coffee at Balthier in lieu of liquor.

            Scowling down at his new beverage, Balthier tore into a biscuit, stuffing half of it in his mouth. It seemed with the ingestion of alcohol both his impeccable manners and his predilection for using them had floated right out the window. 

            “I can’t believe you had me cut off,” he groused, insulted at Fran’s temerity.

            “You have had quite enough to remain in a state of inebriation for several hours, I suspect,” she retorted indelicately, “and you reek of liquor. You sent for me, yet you have yet to tell me why you did so.”

            “I needed someone to…” He came to the unfortunate realization that his tongue wouldn’t quite perform the way he wished it to. Slurring was a new and troublesome thing, as he had seldom imbibed enough alcohol to become even mildly drunk – yet another thing whose blame he could lay at Penelo’s door. “I needed someone to help me make sense of this.”

            “Of what?” Clearly exasperated, Fran took a seat next to him.

            He hesitated – where to begin? Should he begin his explanation at the real beginning, some years ago? Or should he simply jump right into the meat of his problems?

            “Well…you see, as it turns out…I seem to have a daughter.” He sounded baffled, even to himself.

            Her head inclined gracefully as she nodded her understanding. “Elionora,” she said.

            “Yes, Ellie, she’s…you knew?” Balthier jerked around so quickly he nearly lost his seat.

Fran averted her eyes. “In Archades a few days past, I came across Penelo in a corridor of the palace whilst searching for you. She held in her arms a small child, who carried your scent. That is when I discovered her existence,” she said.

He remembered how troubled Fran had seemed at the time – in retrospect, she must have been wondering whether or not she ought to inform him that he had fathered a child, but she had ultimately decided not to, and that rankled. He had never imagined Fran would keep such a thing from him.

“Why did you not tell me?”

“It was not my place to interfere,” she said. “Aside from that, Penelo requested that I keep my silence. I saw no reason not to do as she asked.”

He wished he had another mug of madhu, already he was feeling like he wasn’t quite drunk enough for this. “Suddenly, I have a child – who hates me, by the way, though she adores Larsa. Whom little Penelo has decided to marry, it seems.”

Fran’s eyebrows rose. “Surprising, indeed. She has rejected him on more than one occasion.”

“Well,” he said bitterly, “this time she has accepted – and Larsa is under the impression that he will be raising my daughter as his own. Penelo has absolved me of all obligations. She, too, is of the opinion that Larsa should take the roll of father to my daughter.”

“Generous of him, to be willing raise another man’s child,” Fran said. “It is fortunate for you that Penelo makes no demands of you. Let someone else have the raising of the girl. You do not care for children, anyway.”

“True, but…shouldn’t it be different, if the child is your own?” He glanced over expectantly.

“Balthier,” Fran said patiently. “You do not know this child. She may be biologically your issue, but she does not know you. She knows no father and would likely resist any overture you might make. Do not compel yourself to play father to a child you do not know simply because you want to prove yourself a better man than your father. Inevitably you will hurt the child, who is an innocent in all this. The child requires that which you cannot give her – love. Leave her to the loving arms of her mother and forget about her.”

He was afraid that Fran was correct – that his desire to see his daughter had more to do with proving he was not a man like his father than actually having an interest in the girl. Or worse, that he was motivated by his desire to take something from Larsa, who it seemed had come out the victor after all in their petty competition that was now no longer quite so petty.

But didn’t he owe it to the child to show some interest in her life? After all, he’d missed a good portion of it already, no thanks to Penelo. What had she been thinking, keeping such a thing from him?

He took a sip of his coffee, and it hit him: she’d thought he wouldn’t care. Obviously he hadn’t cared enough to check in on her at all, and he’d walked away from her so easily. Why should she think he would care about the child she’d conceived?

He took another sip, somehow managing to disguise his disgust with the awful – if sobering – liquid. She must’ve been so afraid. Children were expensive…and to a girl with dreams she’d wanted to fulfill, it must’ve seemed like the end of the world. She must’ve had to put her dreams on hold for the sake of her child. How awful it must have been for her, being alone and frightened. And young. So very young – too young to be forced to manage such a thing by herself…not that she had had another alternative.

Although, now that he thought about it, she probably hadn’t been so very alone – she’d had Vaan, Ashe, Basch, and Larsa at least for company. He couldn’t imagine that any of them would have let Penelo come to any harm.

Still, he rationalized, it was cruel of him to find fault with her for failing to inform him that he’d fathered a child when he had gone to no great lengths to avoid the creation of one. She had been the innocent – she had trusted him to take care of her, and he had failed her. He had never considered the possibility of a child, had never bothered even to ask after her on the rare occasions he had come across a mutual acquaintance.

He owed her something. He had been careless, and as a result he had a child who did not know him and whose mother no longer wanted him around. He winced, recalling his earlier attack on Penelo – he’d been jealous of his own child, irritated that Penelo was a good, responsible parent. Perhaps he did not have it in him to be a good father, after all. Perhaps Fran was correct – he might very well be incapable of the selfless love a parent ought to have for a child, the love he was certain Penelo had for Ellie.

“Have you heard nothing I have said?” Fran asked.

“Every word,” he replied. “However, the fact remains that I owe Penelo something. An apology, if nothing else. I seem to have become a master of shirking my obligations.” He pushed back his chair, somewhat steadier on his feet, thanks to Fran’s interference. “My thanks, Fran, for your assistance.”

He handed some gil over to the bartender, and headed for the door.

---

At Penelo’s apartment, Balthier did something he’d never felt compelled to do before…he knocked. Somehow, in light of the circumstances, it seemed prudent to be more respectful of her boundaries. He imagined she’d felt backed into a corner earlier in the marketplace – likely that was what had prompted her abrupt declaration. She’d fought back the only way she’d known how at the time, the only way she could be sure of striking at him. And with all the havoc he’d wrought already, he felt it more appropriate to go in peacefully and hopefully arrive at some sort of agreeable solution to their dilemma.

He pasted on what he hoped would pass for an apologetic smile, wondering if she would even admit him. Like as not she would take one look at him and slam the door shut in his face.

The door opened. Penelo’s face fell when she saw him – she made to close the door just as he’d predicted, but he pressed his palm against it, stopping her.

“Don’t. Please.”

She sighed – a heavy, impatient sound. “What do you want, Balthier?”

“Just a few moments of your time. Perhaps to ask a few questions.” He eased forward as she wavered uncertainly, slipping past her into the house. A stack of boxes sat against one wall. Several articles of furniture had been removed from the room. He frowned. “What is going on, here?”

“We’re packing,” she said, shutting the door behind him.

“Clearly. Why?”

“Larsa thought it would be best if Ellie and I relocated to Archades immediately. It would allow several months’ transition time before we marry. It will be good for Ellie.” She folded her arms. “I’m busy, as you can see. What did you want ask?”

So, already Larsa was removing her from Rabanastre, effectively limiting his ability to reach her. He certainly had wasted no time.

“Ellie. Does she know anything about me?”

“No. I’ve never told her, and she’s never asked. She’s never suffered for want of a father. I don’t intend to tell her about you, either,” she said. “She has plenty of father-figures in her life already. She doesn’t need you.”

He winced – either she feared being displaced by him in her daughter’s affections or she was still bitter about his lack of tact earlier in the day. Either way, he felt that she was entitled to her temper tantrum and in her volatile state of mind, he would rather not attempt to coax her out of her temper.

“Can I see her?”

“She’s sleeping.” She shifted uncomfortably. “I’d rather you didn’t, anyway. I don’t want her to have a father who’s never around. You can’t just walk in and out of her life whenever you please. She’s a child, not a toy or some other minor amusement. She needs stability, and you can’t give her that. It’s better that she never know you at all.”

“Better for you, perhaps.” He shoved a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. “Imagine for a moment, Penelo, that you had just discovered the existence of your child – and that such a thing had been willfully kept from you for years. Perhaps you had your reasons for doing so, and I can hardly fault you for them, but likewise am I entitled to my shock and surprise. I realize I handled the situation poorly, and for that I do apologize –”

“Poorly? You cursed at her and walked off!”

“I did not curse at her, I damned the situation and spent the next few hours getting exceedingly drunk at the local tavern. Forgive me for not being particularly thrilled over the fact that Larsa intends to raise my child as his own and I have little say in the matter. After spending the night in your bed, yes, perhaps your happy news was just a little more shock than I was equipped to handle at that point in time. I had not expected to be forced to compete for your affections quite so quickly as that.” He was aware that anger colored his tone, but he could not seem to help but enlighten her as to the depths of his displeasure over her desertion.

“My affections?” she scoffed. “You’ve never competed for my affections, Balthier. You just wanted me in your bed. Call a spade a spade.”

The last thread of his control snapped, having been plucked at too many times by her sharp tongue. He whipped around, backing her up against the nearest wall. She gave a tiny, startled cry at finding herself so quickly and neatly blocked in. Her hands came up, an automatic self-defense movement designed to break his nose. She’d learned a few things over the years, not the least of which was how to protect herself – but he effortlessly blocked the movement, capturing her wrists in one hand.

“Fool,” he mocked. “You’re years too young and inexperienced to try that silly trick on me. I’ve forgotten more about combat than you’re ever likely to learn.”

“H-how…”

“Did you truly think I’d grown that useless over the years?” he jeered. “In Nalbina, I was exhausted and half-starved. You may have learned a few new techniques, but you’re still worlds away from taking me on. Your overconfidence could get you killed someday.”

“Let go,” she said between gritted teeth.

“When I’ve impressed upon you the seriousness of your folly,” he retorted, bending his head. His lips crushed hers in a bruising kiss. She knew he meant it as a punishment, and it infuriated her to be so treated by him, so she took her revenge in the only way she could – she bit him. He jerked back, a tiny droplet of blood clinging to his lower lip, his eyes narrowed. He wiped at it, staring incredulously at the blood on his fingertips. She glared at him mutinously.

“Bloodthirsty wench,” he muttered, and bent towards her again. She turned her face aside, but he didn’t try to kiss her lips again. Instead he nuzzled her cheek for a moment, then nipped her earlobe – not hard enough to draw blood or even hurt her, but enough so that she couldn’t help the gasp that leapt from her throat.

“I am a firm believer in reciprocation,” he said, “you’ll get back what you give – fair warning, dearest.” His lips caressed her cheek, then moved up her jaw towards her lips. “Will you bite me again, I wonder?” There was a hint of amusement in his voice, and she felt one of his warm hands cover hers.

She hadn’t even realized that he’d released her wrists until he’d laid his hand over the one she’d placed over his chest. Her nails had curled into the fabric of his shirt – instead of pushing him away as she ought to be doing, she was keeping him close. The protest that sprung to her lips was silenced before it was even spoken as his lips touched hers again, as gentle as his previous kiss had been aggressive.

She was confused by his kiss – even though she sensed he was angry or at the very least frustrated with her, he was almost tender now in his handling of her. It seemed almost apologetic in nature, but definitely it was soft and warm and affectionate. She wondered if he was trying to tell her that he really did care for her at least a little.

The coppery taste of his blood lingered on her tongue even after he’d broken the kiss. His expression was inscrutable as he slowly moved away, allowing her to gain a little distance from him.

No longer caught in the heat of the moment, Penelo was ashamed of what she’d let him do. “Don’t…don’t do that again,” she said.

He gave her an inquiring glance. “Do you really intend to wed Larsa?”

“I-I do.” She didn’t feel comfortable talking about it with him – partly because she’d made the declaration out of anger and desperation, not out of any desire for Larsa, and she feared he knew.

He shook his head. “You will be exchanging one set of problems for another,” he cautioned. “Larsa yet has enemies, and many will be discontent that he would choose to wed with a commoner, especially if he intends, as I suspect, to make your daughter his heir. You will be in harm’s way, under constant surveillance. It is not the sort of life for you, Penelo, and you will learn it too late.”

She turned away, afraid he would read her fear in her face. She knew all that he had told her already, and the thought of it all terrified her. “It’s none of your affair,” she said.

“You neither love nor desire Larsa,” he continued ruthlessly. “As long as you love me, the both of you will be cheated of a happy marriage. Is that how you wish to live? Married to one while in love with another? I don’t imagine Larsa would happily admit me into his home. If you marry him, it is very likely we will never meet again.” His hands settled on her shoulders, and she stiffened. “Penelo, this morning, before that mismanaged scene in the marketplace, I had intended to return here to make my apologies. I said things I never should have, and I do regret them.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Her voice was thick with unshed tears. “I’m marrying Larsa.”

His fingers tightened on her shoulders, frustration evident in his voice. “But you love me.”

“It’s not enough.” She swiped angrily at her eyes. “It’s not enough for me to love you. I thought it would be…I thought I could be content with just that. With whatever you would give me. But it’s not enough for me, and Ellie deserves better than a father who waltzes in and out of her life like an inconstant wind. I’ll get over loving you…it’s never gotten me anywhere, anyway.”

He heard the resolution in her voice – and despite it, he knew if he pressed a little further she would give in to him and admit him to her bed once again. But she would likely despise him for doing so, for taking shameless advantage of her weakness.

He didn’t enjoy seeing her so upset – clearly she was uncomfortable and emotional, so he deliberately let the matter drop. It would do him no good to force her to confront her issues at the present time; she had already made up her mind on the matter. She needed time on her own to realize that she would be making a mistake.

“May I see Ellie?” he asked.

“But i-it’s so late…she’s –”

“Penelo.” He caught her shoulder, turning her to face him. “Would you truly deny me the right to see my own child, even just for a moment? I won’t wake her. I just want to see her.”

He saw the indecision in her eyes – she didn’t want to. But she bit her lip, and motioned for him to follow her down the hallway. She turned the handle of a door midway down the hall and opened the door halfway, allowing a bit of light to enter the room. It fell across a small bed in which lay their daughter, her face smooth and relaxed in sleep, long, dark lashes resting on her cheeks, shielding the eyes that were so like Balthier’s.

He looked on the sleeping child and felt – nothing. No overwhelming sense of love, no devotion, nothing remotely fatherly. Bitterly, he realized Fran had been right after all. He did not love the girl. He could not love the girl. He could not claim to Penelo that he would take an active role in the child’s life when it was apparent to him now that he would be as miserable a father as his own father had been. Perhaps it would be better, after all, to let Larsa raise the girl. Certainly it would be kinder.

            But he realized he had lost his one bargaining chip. Without some sort of commitment to her daughter, Penelo would marry Larsa, and be lost to him forever. And Balthier felt no connection to the girl whatsoever. She was just a child – admittedly, she was a pretty child, which would likely get her into a great deal of mischief at a later date – but he could not say he cared anything about her.

            “She looks like you,” he mused.

            “When she’s angry, she looks like you. And when she pouts,” she returned softly. Slowly she closed the door, twisting the handle gently so as not to disturb the sleeping child. She noted his troubled expression with some unease. “Is something wrong?”

            “Nothing,” he said, but his eyes were dark and disturbed. “Nothing at all. I have decided that you were right – I am far too unreliable to be a father, and so I will leave her, undisturbed, in your capable hands. Doubtless you and Larsa shall do a fine job of raising her, just as you have until now. I wish you luck and happiness.” He bent to kiss her cheek fondly. “And so, darling, this is goodbye.”

            And Penelo could only watch as he made his way calmly to the door, stepped through it, closed it softly behind him, and walked out of her life.

            Again.