Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Love and Duty ❯ Lost and Found ( Chapter 16 )

Notes and Warnings: Minor spoilers for FFX-2, as it is post FFX-2.
A Gippal/Baralai [eventual] slash, and romancing.


'The Just In Case' Warning: I am ignorant thereof and don't own anything in the legal sector of ownership of: FFX, FFX-2, and all other things. It's ©2003 SQUARE ENIX CO, of course. And if it's not, then I don't have a clue.

Personal Note: So maybe I am a little cruel... just making more angst. And trying to make a plot. Though, as a couple of people have reminded me, smut=plot, so after this we'll have to get to some more hot and sweaty 'plot', eh?

NAPtune: Sorry you're bit lost. This is what happened. Gippal knew Tidus was making the whole 'Auron' bit up, and didn't say anything. Baralai figured that out, and exacted revenge by making Gips blush. Then Gips pinned 'Lai to crates and gave into a little sensual make-out session, and 'Lai stopped them right before they would have been caught. Then for some reason 'Lai gets panicked, and then they're both unmoving on the ground. In the meantime, Isaaru finally, permanently, reunites with his brothers, because the currently unmoving praetor of new yevon called him in. Okay, that's about it.

Kotonaru: Yes, artistic. No worries. And now an Isaaru his here to rant. And trust me, I could improve a lot.

Princess of Mirrors: Don't worry, recently everyone's been confused. Must be me. And I love Isaaru too. Ha. Isaaru plushie anyone?

Big-Purple-Lizard: Ah! It came from the swamp! So, nice handle you got there. Anyways, I did update 'sooner', and I wish you could go to Japan too. And Bishie Queen is quite amusing, isn't she?

Nanashi2: I have to say, you made me the happiest. I love the stupid lines I write in the stories, and it's good to know someone's picked up on them. Now for my broken Japanglish: Saaaaankyuuuu!

Samurai Bishie Queen: I owe you a lot for making me laugh. It's good to hear what Hisoka thinks of this story. *puzzles* What if...there was a 1xHisoka fic? *laughs* I am nuts.

Unknown Yuna: Officially your favorite? Aww, thanks! And we welcome all sorts of new reviewers..so welcome to the 'review to a review' section of the fanfic.

Fantasy Kitten Mistress: I think this is officially my favorite handle I have seen yet. FKM is just too...cute, funny, and odd all at once for my brain to process. Congrats. And thank you for mentioning Gips monologues; I pride myself on my weird ways of getting into other character's minds, and my weird sense of humor. So much thanks there. And yes, there is nothing else like talking to yourself while you wrestling tongues with the Praetor.

SakuraBubbles the Muffin Child: Wait.. I think you forgot 'wtf' in that review... but yes, everything should become as clear as mud in this chapter, so don't worry. Here's a blueberry muffin. Here's a Gippal. Do as you please, and remember, have fun!



Additional Comment: Isaaru and his pov.

<<Enjoy Chapter 16: Lost and Found>>


Isaaru politely asked for him to be left alone. And here we as, all alone with the one who summoned him. He looked down at the dark olive skin turned a sallow tan, and the beautiful, beautiful, white hair. He tentatively reached out to the still man, hand hesitating, hovering over the skin, held back as if he felt guilty. As if the man before would suddenly awake and accuse him. But he wouldn't. So Isaaru let his pale fingers ghost over the familiar almost child-like curve of the cheeks, and sharp, more masculine chin.

He mulled over the interesting circumstances that only happened the day before. He came at the Praetor's request; he only assumed he was being offered a position much like his brother was. Part of him even dared to speculate it was a high position; perhaps a sort of second-in-command. That question was being thoroughly searched for answer as he stayed by his side.

It was found that Baralai's suspicions and worries were well founded. One day with even the rumor at not having the Praetor nearby and in control left the city in rolling panic that swept out even to nearby colonizations. Isaaru could only sigh in frustration as people were trying to enter Bevelle, and temples everywhere were being poured into for religious prayers. What does it take for someone to get noticed around here? Apparently a gunshot in the chest and the threat of death.

Already sympathizes milled around the Praetor's private rooms within the temple. But thankfully it was quiet in this room, and Isaaru could sort things out. Everything Bevelle related, that is. The unconscious man before him; that was a whole different story. A long one.

Isaaru had no clue where Baralai disappeared to. On both occasions. He last remembered seeing him as the young, noble, wise healer of Bevelle who frequented the temple. Isaaru in his own endeavors often found this young marvel lost wandering the archives late at night, or studying away an afternoon. Despite the remotely different attire, he first mistakenly attributed the young man to be an aspiring summoner or guardian.

He was quiet, well-mannered, and kept to himself; the three things the elderly priests admired the most. A child who was obedient, expedient, and could keep their mouths shut.

You learned many things with your mouth shut and ears open. When Isaaru learned the art of observation he picked up little bits of information about the strange boy. After easily dismissing him to being a trainee for a summoner or guardian, he placed the boy into the next obvious category. A monk. It made sense; the boy was always alone, and often orphans were given to the priests to take care of. But that definition did not define the usual, and at the same time, unusual hours the boy kept. Mid-afternoon was for prayer and training, and late at night... meditation and sleep in separate rooms. An enigma, to be sure.

And enigma was the name that Isaaru started calling him, in his head, mind you. In the temple you don't disturb someone, and definitely don't question their actions. And as physical training to be a summoner called him away from his favorite pastimes, he found himself visiting the archives later and later at night. And every night, he, the enigma, would be there too; whether it was staring outside on a balcony, or curled up in a chair reading by city-light through the window. It was then the enigma started recognizing his presence.

It wasn't a friendly hello, or a wave of the hand; he merely would look up, doleful brown eyes flickering to meet his briefly, and then turn back to whatever task was at hand. Isaaru didn't even realize he'd become so attached to the nameless boy until one night he wasn't there, and even the glowing fire couldn't add the warmth that he just missed. He even fruitlessly spent the night there, hoping the boy would show, and secretly vowing he'd finally ask his name. But the next night, when the boy returned, young Isaaru found himself breaking that rash promise, merely smiling at the boy, and continuing their usual silence.

This tradition went on for what seemed like an eternity. The enigma became a stable, reliable point in his life. He even began to look forward to the end of the day just so he could rest in his presence. No-one ever offered quiet companionship like that boy had. Everyone was always talking, moving, or thinking about themselves. The nights became his blissful escape from the pressing world around him.

Over the weeks Isaaru picked up random whispered conversations, all revolving around the enigma of a boy. Some were about his strong skill in white magic, some were about his unusual warrior techniques, and most were about his parents. After threading strings of rumors together, Isaaru had found that the strange boy was an orphan, and belonged to an ailing temple priest who adopted the silent charge. Isaaru himself took a few lessons from that man, from the very home the boy lived in, but never saw him; not even once. The other rumors were of his parent/s death, and from the absurdity of it all, he mused it was merely wild speculation. But his interest was piqued.

And so it was even more, while searching for his lost brother, he came upon the lad once again. He found the restless young Pacce perched on strong shoulders, chatting aimlessly as he pointed to the view of the city. Isaaru had found them in the archives, the nameless boy resting his arms against the balcony railing as the Pacce on his shoulders had one hand securely around the tan head, while the other pointed towards horizon in an urgent manner. The stranger shifted, briefly making eye contact with Isaaru, then dropped his gaze, only to return to the spot Pacce fervently wiggled and pointed to.

Isaaru could remember the conversation as if were yesterday.

"Yes Pacce, it's a ship from Kilika. Now, why don't I let you down; you're brother's here." Isaaru had been surprised by the rich tenor of the voice.

"Aww...okay." Pacce carefully had slipped down the boy's back, wandering over to his brother.

"See? I told you your brother would find you." A charming smile beamed for Isaaru's youngest sibling, almost provoking jealousy.

The young lad stood from his crouch, extending his head, speaking softly. "Hello, Isaaru."

Isaaru took his hand, still unsure of the man's name, and was still recovering from the shock of seeing his scared young brother so open and free with the stoic man.

"Hello...?" Isaaru found himself waiting, baited-breath for a reply.

"Baralai. A pleasure to have your acquaintance again. And of course, Pacce's." Baralai smiled warmly, the smile matching the collected warmth of his gaze.


Isaaru broke out of his long nostalgic moment as a sound broke through his consciousness. He looked down, his hand resting on the exposed sternum, following the change in the rise and fall of the chest. Baralai seemed to be fighting the magic; or experience his life before his eyes. A very slight movement came to those lips as words were soundlessly formed. Isaaru watched in morbid fascination as the tense brows furrowed in renewed pain. Soon the episode passed, and his regular breathing returned, his brush with consciousness ceasing.

This was the second day he was like this in his own estate. He was found unconscious and terribly dead, next to the leader of the Machine Faction, who was unconscious but decidedly better off.

The bullet was found precariously on top of an artery in the Al Bhed's shoulder, most of the potent magic gone. Not only it was a bullet, it was endowed with a potent death spell. Although the bullet went clear through Baralai's right chest, thankfully not the left side, the brunt force of the spell resided in Baralai's weakened body.

But that was the peculiar part of his ailment. He wasn't dead, or the Phoenix potion would have restored him. And he wasn't alive, because at the time he wasn't breathing. No-one or thing has ever been attacked with a partial spell. It just didn't happen. The Al Bhed was left with a side effect of a comma-like unconsciousness; but soon he would wake, the healers were sure. But Baralai was a different issue.

After Full-Life and Full-Cure, Baralai breathed and his body moved once again, but still he didn't cure. The wound had to heal the old fashioned way, despite the healer's desperate magic that worked on the Praetor's body. In a way, he was an enigma. He managed again to do something no-one else had. Not in a good way, mind you.



Like the way he managed to disappear off the face of Spira.

After the young Baralai had a new family in Pacce, Maroda, and Isaaru, another tragedy hit him. Life was full of them, and apparently intended to use every last one on this weary soul.

After watching the slow mental ailing of his adopted father, and the physical ailment and death of his adopted mother, Baralai didn't have a dazzling smile he always had for his surrogate brothers. Instead his eyes were glazed, always staring at something that wasn't there. His past was haunting him right before his very eyes.

Isaaru had become quite close to this young mystery, and frankly, all three of them had become very attached to the calm storm of a boy. After a very short, but memorable two years, they parted ways. Baralai had quietly broken the news to each brother in his own way. Isaaru was the last to know, and Baralai spent all his last days with him.

It was a logical reason, to join the enlisting Crimson Squad. With any family support gone, and his meager income as a healer not nearly enough to live in Bevelle, it only seemed to make sense. Despite his many offers to become a guardian. To stay with his new family. But Baralai needed to find his way; and perhaps break off ties before they became too strong. Everyone knows the ultimate outcome of a summoner.

But Lady Yuna had proved everybody wrong; she defeated Isaaru, the forced summoner, Sin, and Yevon. And she lived. And without aeons, and sin, why would anyone need a summoner, an ex-summoner at that? So Isaaru, after defeated, had searched for any news of Baralai. And he found none.

There wasn't even a record of him being enlisted in the Crimson Squad; which in itself was odd. But then the hushed secret leaked. Every Crimson Squad member went mysteriously missing. Save for an escaping four. Isaaru had prayed reverently that one of them was Baralai...but any trace of that man disappeared.

And one day, a new wind was passing through Yevon...a young leader... a new Praetor... And to Isaaru's surprise he found his young companion to be a man, and leader of the New Yevon. And then he disappeared again; this event was vaguely explained by Lady Yuna, but many questions were still to be asked.

And then as if by magic, he reappeared again. And just as soon as Isaaru arrived, Baralai had got himself into another mess. And Isaaru was once again stuck with obligations he never wanted. First to be a summoner, defeat Lady Yuna, sacrifice yourselves for Sin...he failed all those. Ashamed, and torn apart from the only family he had by the dividing nations, he gave up all pretense of the accursed Yevon teachings, and managed a job with an Al Bhed. But of course, who would have to wind up taking his only job away? Lady Yuna. It was for the better... but...depression just didn't cover what he felt. And then his best friend, for all he knew disappeared off the face of Spira, shows up, and doesn't even inquire about him.

Well, it wasn't until recently he did. The reason? Isaaru and plenty others were still mulling that over. But that's all the in back of their minds, really. They had more pressing matters at hand.

Two leaders, of the three main factions of Spira, were shot. An assassination attempt was made of the Praetor of New Yevon and the Leader of the Machine Faction, also representing the Al Bhed Nation. A soon as possible after these events, the Meyvn of the Youth League was alerted of the events. He was concerned, and was heading over to visit the two leaders himself, despite Maroda's personal pleas for him to stay away; the assassin was still out there; it wouldn't do if all the leaders of Spira were out of commission again. Lady Yuna wouldn't be able to rescue us again; she's going to be busy enough taking care of the wedding that happens in three days. Though, incidentally, many private guests she wanted to attend will most likely be... unable to attend.

Isaaru sighed. The critical condition of both leaders not only lead to upsetting important events of Spira, but also to a headache in Bevelle. Not only were people flocking in renewed interest of tourism of Bevelle, and the media pressing for answers they didn't know; Al Bhed were coming to Bevelle.

Some temple monks even called it sacrilege that the Al Bhed were even let into the city. But never-the-less, They couldn't not let them in. Until their leader was healthy enough to move, he would be stuck here. Hence the drove of Al Bhed.

Of course, bigotry aside, other people have found this the golden opportunity. People are opening shops right and left in this peaceful city, making it a sort of roaring market place Maroda has a hard time controlling. And Isaaru had the hard time controlling all the aristocrats complaining about this new boom in the relatively smooth economy. But that wasn't the headache. The headache was this man right here, in front of him.

Isaaru sighed angrily, shedding his own ceremonial robes, and letting loose his hair. Much cooler in just long pants and a linen shirt, he ran his hands through his hair, sighing at the still figure before him. Who knew how late it was already tonight, and how early he would have to rise tomorrow.

He sighed again, letting all the weary tension show on his body. Doing what seemed only normal, despite the lack of tradition, he made his way to the large bed Baralai laid on. He stretched out, hearing the satisfying pops and cracks of his realigning vertebrae and joints. He laid out on the spacious bed, leaving plenty of room between himself and his friend. He only wished that Baralai would do something, make a noise, or cough... just to something to indicate he was still there. Though maybe it was a blessing he was in such a deep state of unconsciousness. The Al Bhed was frequented with horrific scenes of crying, harsh yells, and soft mumbled words, as the young face twisted in pain.

Isaaru turned on his stomach, hands under the pillow he rested on. He gave one last glance over the peaceful praetor. He smiled wistfully, and let himself drift off into his much deserved sleep.

At least Baralai didn't have any horrific memories to keep him tortured in his sleepless rest.

But at that thought Isaaru's eyes snapped open, and he took another gaze upon his companion.

He didn't.... did he?