*****
I never wanted to be a simple man
I'd rather live all my days as a lion
Than a thousand as a lamb
I only wanted to see
What would happen to me
If I followed the road
That leads to the palace we all seek
*****

It had taken him some time, but he had finally come to admit that there truly was nothing quite as likely to make one feel alive as the sheer strength of sunlight. He had been basking in its heat for hours now, relentlessly exposing his pale skin to its harsh rays, and he had realized that the inferno of midday in Madain Sari was the first thing that had succeeded in breaking the bubble of pleasant emptiness that had settled over him. His apathy had burned away like paper at the touch of a match, and if he was numb now, it was only from the searing sensation of sunburn.

“Mm,” he murmured softly in displeasure as he once again caught his thumb under the head of the hammer. He pulled back, frowning disdainfully as he brought the injured digit up to his mouth. His frown only deepened when he realized that his companion was watching him with obvious amusement.

He sighed, a long-suffering noise that made the other man chuckle quietly. Determined to ignore his amused friend, he picked up the hammer again.

A week. It had been nearly a week since his life had radically changed…since he had faced death within the roots of Iifa, and lived because of the tenacious will of the young man who even now squatted a few feet from him, humming softly as he hammered another plank into place.

They had come to Madain Sari in the hope of finding shelter there…a place to sort through everything that had happened. Despite the suspicion of the neighborhood moogles, they had set themselves up in Eiko Carol’s old house, and it had taken them a week---until the first dust storm had shattered their illusions of security---before they had realized how much of the roof was missing, not to mention bits of the outside wall, ripped off in one of the many storms that had torn through the region during the Mist crisis.

Another dust storm was on the way now, and they had spent the last four hours working at a steady but feverish pace on the repairs to the house, hoping to have them finished before the storm damaged the inside further. They were still trying to clean up the debris from the last one.

He made the same dissatisfied noise, this time shaking his hand in irritation, as he again banged his thumb under the hammer.

“You’re too impatient,” he heard an entirely too cheerful voice say, and he spun, glaring.

“I’m not impatient,” he said firmly, but his frown faded when he saw the sheer brightness of the smile on the younger man’s face.

“Sure, Kuja,” Zidane murmured, brushing his hair out of his eyes and shaking his head as he turned back to his task. He sounded on the verge of laughter, and Kuja scowled at him for a moment before returning to his own work. His tail twitched with annoyance, stirring the dust at his feet, and he glared at the hammer in his hand, trying to figure out how to tame it.

Gritting his teeth, he tried again, and this time hit his thumb on the first try.

“Ow!” he protested loudly, settling back on his heels and bringing his thumb to his mouth again.

Zidane started to laugh.

“It’s not funny,” Kuja said sourly, voice muffled slightly as he continued to lightly suck his thumb, trying to ease the sting.

Zidane coughed, rubbing a hand over his face as he tried to stop laughing. His eyes were sparkling with mirth when he glanced over.

“You need any help over there?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow when Kuja turned to glare at him again.

“No,” Kuja said belligerently, turning back to glare at the nail and hammer. He firmly placed the nail back into place and hefted the hammer, the expression on his face determined. “Let me do this, Zidane.”

“All right,” Zidane said, snorting softly. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Kuja huffed out an impatient breath, stirring the silvery strands that had fallen into his face, and focused his attention on the task at hand. He took a deep breath, as though drawing his strength, and then lifted the hammer and struck.

“AGH!” he shouted as he again hit his thumb, and this time Zidane rocked back, unable to contain his mirth. Kuja tossed the hammer in the dirt and dropped to the ground with an audible thump, another quick breath stirring his hair back into his face as he stared morosely at the unfinished repairs.

“Let me see,” Zidane said, trying to control his laughter as he scooted over and crouched in front of the older man.

“No,” Kuja groused, sharply pulling his hand away from Zidane’s questing fingers.

“You’re such a baby!” Zidane said with a chuckle, reaching out again. “C’mon, let me see.”

“No. Focus on your own work,” Kuja said almost petulantly, pointedly picking up his own hammer again.

Zidane watched him for a moment, still smiling, and then shook his head, again brushing his hair away from where it stuck to the sweaty skin of his forehead. He moved a little closer to the wall, picking up a nail.

“Here, look,” he said gently, holding up the nail and then demonstrating how to position it against the wood. “Look, if you hold it like this, you’re less likely to hit your own hand when you hammer it in. That’s the first thing. The second is that you should be focusing on hitting the head of the nail. Stop worrying so much about where the nail is going, and just focus on hitting the nail on the head. It’ll come together from there.”

Kuja eyed him suspiciously, which only made Zidane laugh again.

“Trust me,” he said, holding out the nail. Kuja continued to stare at him with narrowed eyes for a moment, and then he reached out, snatched the nail, and shuffled forward, on his knees, to the wall. Zidane settled back on his heels to watch, rubbing his sweaty palms on his thighs.

Kuja puffed out another quick breath, this time unsettling the feather that had been drooping down towards his eyes. He focused on the nail, brow furrowed slightly as he concentrated on positioning the nail as he had been shown. Then, bringing up the hammer, he gripped it carefully and tried to do as Zidane said, thinking only of hitting the nail’s head.

He almost winced as the hammer came down, and then blinked in surprise when he hit the nail perfectly on the head, driving it into the wood a bit. It was the first time he had truly managed to do it with any neatness. He had spent most of the morning doing other odd jobs while Zidane had worked on repairing the roof, but when Zidane had moved on to the walls, Kuja had stubbornly insisted that he would help whether Zidane wanted him to or not, much to Zidane’s amusement. Since then, he had been futilely trying to hammer in a single plank.

“See?” Zidane said, smirking slightly and running a hand back through his hair. “Not bad.”

Kuja couldn’t help the slight smile that came to his face, and his tail twitched in pleasure. Then his eyes were drawn again to the pile of nails at his feet, the number of planks that had yet to be nailed on, and the length that remained of the nail he had partially hammered in. His face fell, and he sighed quietly, dropping to the ground again and curling his legs up campfire style, resting his elbows on his thighs.

“Hey, come on, you’re doing great,” Zidane said, seeing his change in demeanor. “Come on, Kuja.”

“Useless,” Kuja murmured, closing his eyes and bringing up a hand to rub his forehead. He cringed and hissed out a noise of pain as he brushed his sensitive thumb over his skin.

“Oh, come on, don’t start that again,” Zidane said, sounding exasperated. He shifted a little closer, though he didn’t reach out. “You’re not useless. Come on, you were doing so well, if you would just…”

“I don’t know why I bother,” Kuja said quietly, opening his eyes and meeting Zidane’s concerned gaze. His eyes had gone soft and dead again, his expression solemn and somewhat pained. Zidane’s face pinched with disappointment on seeing this. “What’s the point?”

“Don’t do this to me,” Zidane said softly. “We’ve been over this. You…”

“I can’t help it,” Kuja interrupted him, eyes flaring briefly with annoyance.

“You *can* help it. Jeez!” Zidane said sharply, and then he forced himself to calm down when he saw the belligerent look in Kuja’s eyes. “Look…come on, come inside. We need a break.”

“But the storm…” Kuja protested, lifting a hand to gesture to the volatile sky.

“We need a break,” Zidane gritted, getting to his feet. His tail was moving swiftly from side to side in his agitation. “Come on, come with me.”

Kuja gave him another stubborn frown, but got to his feet, helplessly trying to brush some of the sand off his pants before he followed Zidane inside the house.

“Hey Zidane,” Morrison said with subdued cheerfulness as the two of them entered the kitchen. The moogle smiled at Zidane, pointedly avoiding looking at Kuja. “I made you some lemonade.”

“That’s great, Morrison,” Zidane said, forcing himself to smile as he walked over to the counter, reaching out to lightly tousle the soft fur on the moogle’s head. “Just what we need, thanks.”

Morrison sputtered silently for a moment, quickly trying to rearrange his fur, which only made Zidane smirk.

“Hey Chimomo,” Zidane called as he poured out two glasses of lemonade. “How’s the fishing tonight?”

“Pretty darned rotten,” Chimomo called back cheerfully, through the open window. “Kupo…I can’t say I hold out much hope for a nice supper tonight.”

“Roots again?” Morrison said with a sigh. “I hate roots.”

“Damn, that’s good lemonade, Morrison,” Zidane said with a grin as he took a long swig, then passed the second glass to Kuja, who accepted it wordlessly and retreated to a corner, attempting to be unobtrusive. “Hey, where’s Momatose?”

“Comatose in the living room,” Morrison said sarcastically, and they heard the sound of Chimomo’s delighted laughter in response to the rhyme.

“Could you wake him up and take over for us outside for a while? I’m sure you guys could get some of those planks hammered in, right?” Zidane suggested, lifting both eyebrows in gentle challenge.

“What are you talking about?” Morrison answered, puffing up his chest, wings fluttering in agitation. “Of course we can! Kupo! We’ve survived here for a long time without you…”

“Hey Morrison,” Chimomo said, floating in through the window and setting his fishing pole in its usual corner. “Before you stick your foot any further into your mouth, I think the idea was that we get out of here and leave Zidane and Kuja alone for a while…?”

“Oh,” Morrison said, cheeks turning pink and the bob on top of his head drooping slightly. “Sorry about that, Zidane.”

Zidane just snorted softly and nodded.

“That’s okay, Morrison. See ya, guys.”

With that, the moogles fluttered out of the kitchen into the living room, chatting quietly to each other. A moment later, Zidane and Kuja heard a sharp yell.

“Eh, now what the hell!?”

“Wake up, idiot! We’re on repair duty.”

“Wha…? Oh, all right.”

Zidane chuckled into his glass and waited for the sound of the door slamming before he finally lifted his eyes. Kuja was still standing in the corner, staring into his glass of lemonade, his thoughts obviously far away.

“Hey,” Zidane said gently, and when he received no response he lifted a hand and waved. “Hey, Gaia to Kuja!”

Kuja started slightly, almost spilling his lemonade, and hesitantly met Zidane’s eyes.

“You with me?” Zidane asked softly, quirking one eyebrow.

Kuja nodded slowly and then turned away, sighing quietly.

“Will you let me see now?” Zidane asked, putting aside his lemonade and stepping closer. Kuja glanced back, brow furrowed in mild consternation, but he finally nodded and held out his hand. Zidane took it gently and examined the swollen thumb. “Damn, that looks painful.”

“It is,” Kuja said a bit crossly as Zidane’s thumb brushed over his, making him wince.

“Sorry,” Zidane said with a quick flash of a smile. “I have something for that…”

He turned away, moving over to the corner where he kept his pack. He bent to rummage through it, coming up a moment later with a small jar.

“Here, rub some of that on there,” he said, holding it out. Kuja took it with some measure of hesitance, eyeing it uneasily.

“Is this different from what you’ve been giving me for my other wounds?” he asked quietly. For days Zidane had been inundating him with ointments and creams to help the various aches and pains he had developed during his ordeals in the Crystal World and the Iifa Tree.

“Yeah, it’ll just take the sting away,” Zidane said, and then he shrugged and smiled. “If I’d thought of it, I’d’ve asked Morrison for a potion. Cheap bastard always demands I pay him, though. I’m running up one hell of a tab, I’m telling you.”

Kuja didn’t even crack a smile; as usual, he was focused with disturbing single-mindedness on the task he’d been given: rubbing some of the ointment into the swollen pad of his thumb. He hissed with pain, gritting his teeth as he finished and handed the jar back to Zidane. Their fingers brushed in the exchange, and Kuja quickly snatched back his hand, turning away.

“Hey,” Zidane said quietly, stepping closer again. He stopped his approach when he saw Kuja flinch. “Come on, Kuja…”

“Why are you doing this?” Kuja said, and Zidane was just close enough to see him close his eyes, trying to hide the strength of his emotion. “Why are you helping me?”

“I’ve told you that a million times,” Zidane said, scratching his head and frowning. Kuja opened his eyes and turned to regard Zidane with startling solemnity, his eyes filled with a deep pain that made Zidane’s heart cry out. Zidane’s expression softened. “But I guess I can say it a million more, if that’s what it’ll take.”

He sighed softly and dropped to sit in the nearest chair, shoving his tail out of the way.

“I’m doing this ‘cause I figure you deserve a second chance. And I’m willing to give that to you,” Zidane said with a slight shrug, and then he grinned gently. “Guess that’s the brotherly thing to do.”

“After all that I’ve done?” Kuja said quietly, both eyebrows raised. His arms were crossed almost defensively over his chest, the slight twitch of the end of his tail revealing his nervousness.

“Yeah, after everything you’ve done,” Zidane said, smirking a bit and lifting an eyebrow. “That’s why it’s called a second chance, Kuja.”

Kuja sighed quietly and dropped his chin to rest against his chest, and Zidane frowned again, then let out a sigh of his own as he got wearily to his feet.

“I’ll go see how the moogles are doing,” he said somewhat morosely, feet shuffling against the floor as he started towards the door.

“Zidane,” Kuja said softly, and Zidane stopped in his tracks, turning, surprised at the tone of Kuja’s voice. His surprise only grew when he saw the way Kuja’s eyes shimmered as he looked at him. “Thank you.”

For a moment they just stared at each other, but then Zidane let out a quick breath and walked up to Kuja, ignoring the confusion that crossed over the older man’s face as he lifted a trembling hand and lightly brushed his knuckles along Kuja’s jaw. Kuja gasped, startled, his own hand coming up to grip Zidane’s.

“What are you doing?” Kuja whispered a bit harshly, and for a moment Zidane was at a loss, blinking as he tried to come up with some answer.

What *was* he doing?

*****
Did you come here lamenting what you missed
Overcome and seduced by this
The beautiful abyss
What did you come here to see
What are you trying to be
You're like a shadow that swallows life
Now you're crawling over me
*****