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A dewy, humid fog had rolled into Il Mheg earlier in the morning, only some time prior to setting out for the hunt. They had been hired on commission from the representatives of Lakeland and the Crystarium guard, warned of encroaching foul beasts sighted travelling from Il Mheg, told of a larger entity which could be corralling such a large number. So they had saddled up and left early to make the most of the daylight, no matter how obscured.
Rucksacks over their shoulders and chocobos in tow, the pair had passed through the pixie village to skirt around the south-western shore of Longmirror Lake for clues. It was here Abarbluom began to drag his feet suddenly, with R’khizu obliviously gaining full yalms over him on the path ahead.
“A moment please, R’k,” his voice came too quietly, breathless as he bent to prop himself over his thigh.
“Can’t hear you from all the way over there!” she japes over her shoulder.
And he can’t even ask for her help as a wave of nausea rolls over his chest, stomach flip-flopping as sweat gathers at his brow. He holds fast and keeps his breakfast down however (for now), opting to drop to a knee for support into the cold grass, breaths coming harsh and fast.
In the seconds Abarbluom had spent unaware, R’k had wisened up to him and was at his side, her arm linking in his, her expression all worry and concern. She says something he can’t hear and lifts him to his feet, and before he knows it he’s propped against a nearby outcrop with a water gourd in hand as she offers him a dry biscuit.
“Bloody ‘ell, speak up sooner next time,” R’k chides, her distress masked with a joke as always; both knowing she’s far more distressed than she lets on.
“It was… abrupt. I’m sorry.” Abarbluom takes the biscuit from her fingers. “My thanks.”
In a single gesture, R’k reaches for purchase against the outcrop with one hand for height and presses the other against his clammy forehead, her palm cool against his skin. It would be an intimate breach to any onlooker, but to care for the other was always a natural gesture between the two of them, and one they adhered to always.
“It seems to be passin’,” she mutters from her perch, disengaging to land flat on her feet. “Eat and drink up, we’ll only get going again once you’re alright. A job is always secondary to your condition.”
Following the cataclysmic encounter against Hades and expending the Lightwarden’s aether, Abarbluom had struggled to return to what he could consider normalcy. His failing eyesight besides, he’d found his grip was weaker, his reflexes slower, his prowess failing him for the first time. Though he had spent some time bedridden in rest, he had lied through his teeth to the Scions, reassuring them his recovery went well and he was fighting fit once more. Something not further from the truth.
R’k had been there, though. Where he’d falter she would be sure; where he stumbled she would help him up. She had been forgiving and patient for his every concession over this journey just like today, not just as of late, and his own perceived weakness had only strengthened their bond; a part of him wouldn’t allow himself to get comfortable though. At least…
Abarbluom brings the water and food to his lips with a trembling hand, feeling the sudden sickness recede with each swallow. As he approaches to return the gourd, R’k is fastening the saddlebags and checking her gear.
“Feelin’ better?” She takes them from him to return them to the pouch.
He thinks on it for a moment. Let’s bite the bullet. “I don’t know, to be honest with you.”
R’k secures a final strap before turning her attention to him fully. “I’m listening.”
“I do not think I… healed right,” Abarbluom admits his deepest anxiety plainly. “I don’t think I’m going to get any better.”
R’k is blurry even with his spectacles, and he finds that tears are bunching in his eyes now, without his permission. Again.
For a moment she struggles to respond to that, brow bunching in consideration, before she reaches a hesitant hand out to grasp his elbow.
“I’m gonna need you to be kinder to yourself right now, Arby.” Gives a squeeze. “You know I’m not a chirurgeon of any sort, but even someone like me knows these things take time.”
“My eyes are poisoned, R’k.”
“Poisons often have cures. You have to trust me.” She flashes her teeth. “When have I ever done you wrong? Stick with me and we always come out the other side.”
Abarbluom sniffs, cringes inwardly. So pathetic. No! No. Won’t think like this right now.
“These things get on top of me, I’m sorry.”
“No need. I’m just happy you’re feeling better.” She pauses. “No need for tears, okay?”
On the inside, Abarbluom is kicking himself for ever refusing to place his trust in R’k, for ever thinking he could never share everything with her. He supposes he can try being a bit more truthful as he runs a steady hand through Enzo’s plumage to calm himself, tears which welled up so easily now gone just as quick.
Unbeknownst to him, R’khizu watches him with a smile.