Grazing The Sky

"Why... You're helping me?" Lance repeated. "This..." A disbelieving smile hitched onto his face. "This is the reason why?"

Those dark eyes grew even darker, and Lance felt like hurting himself. He... He didn't mean to...

Lance opened his mouth, wanting to apologize, but Zidane spoke again. Still broken. Still so defeated.

"I just want to give her something back. This is the only thing she's ever asked for..."

I see. Lance kept the thought in, kept it hidden, secret. He didn't want to mess up again.

"Does she know?" he asked, raising his eyes to the crossbreed.

Zidane shook his head, leaning back in his chair to look at the ceiling. Those eyes blinked; their color didn't change. "God no," he said, and a self-depreciating smile came to his face. "If there's one thing I don't want her to know, it's this."

Lance remained silent, thinking of something else to say. But he only felt that embarrassment rise up to his stomach, his face. What could he do...?

"I'm sorry." The apology slipped out before he could stop it. And even then, he felt like kicking himself. Too hollow, too insincere.

He gently cleared his throat, looking back to Zidane again. Seeing the crossbreed stare absently at the edge of the table, not seeing much in particular. Or maybe just too pre-occupied with what his brain was forcing him to watch.

Lance cut off a piece of the omelet, quickly taking a bite. "Omelet's good," he said through the side of his mouth.

Zidane didn't smile like Lance expected him to. He simply stayed put, and looked away.

A blink, a few seconds longer than a standard one. And when those eyes opened again, they were a neutral, medium blue.

A smile.

"I'm glad." He stood, putting both hands in deep pockets. "Lemme know when you're done, okay? I'll be outside."

Lance trapped another bite of the omelet against his inner-cheek, wanting to ask why.

Zidane's voice came to his head: "More testing."

Oh.

Lance nodded. "Yeah, sure. Meet you out there."

Zidane returned his nod with a small smile, walking around the table as Lance thought. He felt his tongue thicken, keeping him from speaking. Keeping him from saying how, during so much of Zidane's past, he had been desperately hoping. He'd been clawing after the thought that maybe Kyrene was still alive, but as the memories drew closer to Zidane's current age, that hope was pried from his fingertips.

And here I am, making everything about me.

He took another bite of the omelet, feeling guilt touch his stomach.