Chapter Text
XI
Chiaroscuro (One Week Later)
“To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.”
― Federico García Lorca, Blood Wedding and Yerma
Day 9, Location: Unknown, 0700
“You haven’t found her yet? What good are you?” The general yells at the man in black. He goes by Luc these days, though that is not his name. The truth is, he hasn’t had a name since the General plucked him from the orphanage fifteen years ago.
Twelve days ago, Luc learned that he isn’t as special as he’d always believed himself to be. Luc doesn’t remember much before the orphanage. He remembers meeting an older boy, though it’s been many years since he knew his name. Within weeks of meeting him, Luc started calling the older boy Boss, and that’s what Luc has called him ever since.
Or at least, that’s what he called him until the Boss died. Luc’s still not sure exactly how that happened. He knows that his sweet little Honey Pot stabbed the Boss in the gut, then shot him as he drove out of the camp, but those injuries didn’t kill him. At least, not outright. Considering all the damage Loverboy sustained that the G-Serum repaired, it makes no sense that it couldn’t save the Boss.
(Luc suspects that it was the General, though he can never say so aloud.)
Anyway, twelve days ago, Luc learned that he and the Boss are not as special as the General has always led him to believe. Sure, they may have been his proteges, but he wanted Lightning Farron for something else altogether. (Part of Luc wonders if the General’s daughter isn’t just another stolen child, but it’s not really his business.)
That Lightning Farron – or should he call her Lightning Villiers now? Luc isn’t certain – owes a debt to the General came as a big surprise to Luc. It makes sense now why the General contacted him the night he abducted Lightning, demanding she be brought to him unharmed. Or relatively unharmed, at least.
Luc was so angry that the General was denying him the prize and revenge that he spent months planning. Sure, the General released him from Helios and passed him the location of the two lovebirds, but he’s the one who infiltrated their apartment, placing all the cameras and listening devices, and he’s the one who the bitch cut during the abduction. He’s the one who spent day and night watching her fuck that behemoth boyfriend of hers.
Listening to her moan, crying out for more as the idiot blond babbled about how amazing her body felt around him piqued his curiosity. Could he make her moan like that for him? It almost made him regret leaving her there to kill Jace.
He never had a chance to find out. Luc knows that he never will get that opportunity now as long as the General is still alive, because he believes Luc’s Honey Pot belongs to him. He curses himself sometimes for not taking either one or both opportunities he had with her, but he knows that wouldn’t satisfy him.
Luc wants her to surrender herself to him, but Luc’s not delusional. He knows full well that she would never give herself to him willingly, and forcing her wouldn’t do it for him.
Luc has never had much interest in the disgusting activities that the Boss enjoyed in that camp. Even before that, Luc knows that Boss was a sexual sadist, and Luc was always repulsed by the man’s activities. Luc tried to talk sense to his friend, but the Boss wouldn’t hear him. The Boss insisted that if they wanted to keep the men loyal, they had to provide incentive, but Luc knows that was just an excuse for the Boss to indulge his own base carnal desires. The men were loyal because they’d rescued them from imminent death. They would have been just as happy – happier, probably – if they’d been allowed to set up a settlement to trade with the growing settlements on Gran Pulse. Hell, strong men were a great resource, which is why the Boss was so obsessed with bringing Snow Villiers to heel right up until the Boss died.
Luc must admit that Snow and Lightning are both exquisite.
Luc had been up in his sniper’s nest when Snow Villiers barreled into the camp like a force of nature. Luc watched through his scope as the big man tore through multiple waves of defenders, taking all comers two and three at a time. Snow’s dance of destruction was beautiful. Every movement Snow made was precise and devastating; Luc had never seen anything like it, and while he knew that he was obligated to end Snow’s rampage, he chose not to.
It was only when the Boss’s voice came over his radio asking him what the fuck he was waiting for, that Luc shot Snow. But instead of the headshot that he lined up, he winged him, spinning him around and disorienting him long enough for the men Snow hadn’t killed or injured to get the drop on the big blond. Snow went down under a pile of bodies, and the next time Luc saw him, he looked like a carcass that had been used for weapons training.
But he was still alive and still resisting. Who the hell was this guy?
Luc understood exactly why the Boss wanted to add Snow to their numbers. Luc knew it would never happen – Snow’s will is as strong, if not stronger than, his body – but that didn’t stop him from trying to get the man to give up the name of the woman he loved.
Luc couldn’t imagine any woman being worth the agony Snow endured. Then, he met Lightning.
When Luc stumbled on Jace mauling and manhandling a woman, he was ready to eliminate him. Jace was a pig and a liability and always had been, but one look at the woman seeking ‘help,’ and all the pieces fell into place.
He recognized her immediately. Then he remembered him.
Luc tried to be nice to Lightning, allowing her to infiltrate the camp without any questions. But did she appreciate his civility? No! When he looked in her eyes, there was no gratitude for his gentle treatment, or his shepherding her safely through the throngs of drunken louts who all wanted nothing more than to defile and debase her. All he saw when she looked at him was contempt.
He'll admit that he let his temper get the best of him when he hit her. He still hasn’t figured out how the hell she managed to give him that massive shock, but he knows very little about l’Cie magic after all.
(Is she a l’Cie? Luc doesn’t think so since there’s no visible brand in sight, and thanks to his surveillance, he has seen a lot of Lightning’s body. So much so that Luc knows that Snow would disembowel him if he had any idea how much Luc has seen. The General as well.)
After she burned him, Luc was angry; so angry that he considered chaining her to that repulsive cot and leaving her there as a favor to Jace. He didn’t do it, though. Jace had no business putting his hands on Lightning, never mind any other part of his unwashed, greasy body. Luc was hoping that Lightning would eliminate Jace for him. Luc wanted her to destroy the whole camp for him once she saw what they’d done to her lover.
In truth, Luc was sick of that disgusting camp. The smells, the sounds, the constant distractions. Luc remembered watching the live broadcast from Palumpolum, where three or four l’Cie managed to defeat the entire First Division of PSICOM.
If nothing else, Luc figured it would make for an entertaining evening. And it had. Oh boy, had it been a hell of a night.
Luc remembers watching two of the Boss’s more obsequious little wretches drag Snow off to the crematorium with disappointment. The big man deserved better than to be dumped into that pit and left to burn, but there was nothing left to be done about it. Snow had been tortured well past the point of death, and the only thing that allowed him to endure was that experimental garbage which Luc wouldn’t touch with the Boss’s hands. He’d seen what that shit did to people, and while it didn’t always do it to everyone, it did it to enough people that Luc had no interest in taking any chances.
While Luc knows he owes the General, he has never liked him. Now that he has made himself an obstacle between Luc and the object of his desire, Luc hates him. Still, the General is a dangerous man, made even more dangerous through the G-serum injections.
“I’ve been following her lover and her sister everywhere and neither one of them have led me to her.”
“Well, maybe she’s in the house. Have you checked there?”
What does the General think he is? An idiot? An amateur? “Of course I checked the house. I checked her friends’ houses. She’s not in any of them.”
What Luc doesn’t tell the General is that they managed to find all his little bugs that he planted. He’s not sure how, though he suspects that Katzroy and maybe the Kid helped.
The General has no idea how much Luc covets Lightning. Last year, Luc couldn’t fathom why Snow refused to give up the name of his lover. No one was worth suffering through the damage Snow endured. Luc admired Snow’s skill, brutality and tenacity, but found his attachment to some broad pathetic. Now, Luc is pretty sure that he wants Lightning as much as Snow does, and he knows that the General probably wants her even more.
What is it about her? Luc isn’t sure why he wants her. He just knows he does.
“Maybe you need to think outside the box,” the General says. “Flush her out. Use the sister if you must!” the line goes dead.
Use the sister, as if she’s not constantly under guard. Well, if that’s what the General wants, Luc will snatch her up the first chance he gets.
Day 9, Safehouse, 0700
It’s been almost a week since Squall and Fang snuck Lightning out of the hospital in the middle of the night. Almost a week since Squall carried her out of the truck and into the safehouse, carrying her to the master bedroom and placing her in the bed. A week stuck in this remote house in the middle of nowhere. Fang and Vanille alternate days with her, and both women spend nights here. And as much as Lightning loves her friends and appreciates that they want to protect her, she can’t help but feel smothered and trapped.
“Ow, fuck.” Lightning still cannot believe how much everything hurts her. Between the fractured sternum and ribs, the abdominal incision, and internal and external sutures required to repair her lacerated liver, breathing is far more painful than it has any right to be, never mind lifting herself up and moving herself back and forth.
Then there’s the broken femur and pelvis. Regardless of her exceptional level of fitness, Lightning’s injuries are incapacitating. Because of the damage to her sternum and ribs, using crutches is impossible, and because of the damage to her femur and pelvis, her left leg cannot support her body weight. She isn’t even lucky enough for all the damage to be contained to one side of her body, with the rib fractures on the right, and the femur and pelvic damage on the left.
In all reality, Lightning should not have left the hospital as early as she did. Lightning understands why her friends insisted on sneaking her out when they did – a stranger showing up to inject something into her cannula is alarming as hell – but Lightning really would have preferred going back to wherever she lived, over being stashed away like some princess in a tower. Staying in this unfamiliar safehouse hinders any chance she has of regaining her memories. Instead of being at her own home, where familiarity has the greatest chance of triggering her memories, her need for assistance and oversight means that she is stuck recovering in some safehouse that none of them have ever seen before.
Of course, Snow invited her to come stay with him. Apparently, his home is very large and ‘of course he wouldn’t mind her staying there.’ Obviously, Lightning could not impose on Snow’s kindness or take advantage of his good nature. Especially when no one would tell her what happened between him and her sister.
Something inside Lightning tells her that whatever happened is her fault.
Besides, rejecting his offer made the most sense since she hasn’t seen Snow since that day. Either he was relieved, offended, or some combination of the two, but whatever feelings she stirred in him by turning down his offer of aid led to the same outcome: Snow avoiding her for a week. The thought of it makes her very sad.
/ She misses him /
Today is going to be a very bad day for pain, it seems, so Lightning forgoes the foldable knee walker and shifts herself into the wheelchair. Getting herself situated in the chair without help is difficult, but Lightning is determined to prove that she is capable of moving back home – wherever home may be – to live on her own again, and the only way she can manage that is by demonstrating that she can be mobile and self-sufficient. She loves her friends too much to impose on them, and every time she brings up wanting to go home to work on her memory loss, Fang tells her, “I’m more than happy to drop you at Snow’s anytime you’re ready, cupcake, but it’s here or there. There’s nowhere else to go.”
And so, she’s still here, though each time Fang makes the offer, Lightning finds herself more and more tempted to accept Snow's offer.
/ She longs for him /
Aggravated, Lightning wheels herself into the kitchen to make herself coffee. All she wants are some goddamn answers, and no one seems willing to give them to her. It’s pissing her off and making her cranky. Why are they all lying to her?
Oh, they all say they’re not lying, but they’re all withholding information about Lightning’s life from Lightning ‘for her own good.’ Well, Lightning is an adult and doesn’t like having decisions made for her. It’s her life, and if she wants to risk it, then that should be her choice.
Shaking her head, Lightning turns on the coffee pot and rolls herself over to the empty space at the end of the table.
A sharp pain blossoms behind her eye, accompanied by the familiar warmth dripping from her nose. She licks her lips and tastes the familiar salty metallic flavor of her blood.
She remembers this shit; does she ever! Nosebleed after nosebleed, coring her brain like an apple. Pieces of her disappearing with every bloodletting, and she cannot believe that she’s lived this long considering how far gone she thought she was all the way back when Mah’Habara caved in on top of them. The magic killing them even as it saved their lives.
With her fingertips, Lightning traces the pattern of the marble tabletop, wonders if she forgot the quarry along with everything else that happened in the past two and a half damn years.
Fang places a mug of tea and her pills in front of her before sliding into the seat across from Lightning. “I want coffee.”
“This tea is better for you. It’ll help settle your stomach.”
Grunting, Lightning concedes, popping the pills into her mouth and swallowing them down with a sip of the hot tea.
Ginger. Lightning has no idea how Fang knows that Lightning is always so fucking queasy. It’s like her friend has developed a sixth sense.
"What's bothering you, Sunshine?" Fang asks. Lightning shakes her head, though she's not sure why. "I can tell there's something wrong."
There is. "No, there's nothing wrong." The fact is that Lightning has no idea what's wrong with her, and that's at least half the problem.
"Are you in a lot of pain today?"
"No," she lies. She is in pain – quite a lot of it if she’s being honest – but that's not the problem. The problem is…she doesn't know what the problem is.
Sure, she's still recovering from the physical damage that she sustained in the explosion and subsequent building collapse, but that is not her issue. Lightning's doctors continue to marvel at her rapid recovery, often referring to her as a 'miracle.' Lightning overheard one nurse telling Snow and Serah that no one had expected Lightning to survive, never mind wake up with 'minor' damage.
Lightning takes umbrage at the notion that losing over two years of her life is only minor damage.
And that's the thing: it's not just the memory loss that's driving Lightning crazy, though she assumes that lay at the root of the problem. No, Lightning's problem is that she feels as though she's lost something (someone) vital. She finds herself constantly moving around the safehouse, haunting it like some sort of ghost. She lingers in doorways, stares into empty spaces, turns around constantly seeking… something.
/ someone /
Even though she’s never alone, she’s so fucking lonely.
"Are you sleeping okay?"
Not remotely, is what she doesn't say. Instead, Lightning shrugs and whispers, "I guess."
The simple truth is that nighttime is the worst. The painkillers make Lightning drowsy enough that she constantly lingers on the cusp of sleep and usually slips into a deep sleep within minutes of laying down. Her body's desperate need for rest allows her about thirty minutes of deep sleep.
Then the dreams start.
Oh, the dreams!
The last time Lightning had dreams this vivid, she was a l'Cie! While she couldn't remember the specifics of her dreams after waking – at least, not most of them – she always woke with a feeling of deep unease, fear, and sometimes a desperate, violent urge to destroy everything.
These dreams are like those in that they're incredibly vivid. In every other way, they are the opposite of those dreams.
Where those dreams were filled with agony, these are filled with hot, sticky pleasure. Whenever she can't breathe, it's because she's gasping with pure ecstasy. Every dream is filled with acres of smooth golden skin pressed against her, long, talented fingers tracing the lines of her body; callused palms cupping the curve of her hip, her ass, her cheek; a hot mouth pressing open mouthed kisses everywhere. Lips, teeth, tongue, sucking, flicking, fucking. Scattering bruises across the landscape of her flesh: her throat, her breasts, her belly, her thighs.
Grunting, and swearing and whispering filth and devotion to her. Slipping into her body one, two, three, four fingers. A fist. A tongue. A cock.
All. All inside her, all at once, and she wakes up wet, and slippery and desperate.
God, just thinking about last night’s dream makes her wet all over again.
Lightning has never been embarrassed by sex, but sex has never been a major part of her life. She hasn't had a relationship in four or five years now, and even then, it barely qualified. She can count the number of times she and Balthier were intimate on both hands, and maybe a foot if she's being generous. If she's being honest and counting only the times she achieved orgasm, well, then she probably wouldn't need more than one hand.
To be fair to Balthier, it wasn’t his fault that Lightning rarely climaxed; it was not from lack of trying. Lightning has just never been able to orgasm from penetration, and she doesn’t feel comfortable with oral.
(Something about these thoughts feels untrue, but Lightning doesn’t know why that would be.)
There have only been three encounters since she and Balthier ended their sorry excuse for a relationship, and the last one was a woman. (Happily, Lightning came twice with her. Go figure.) Plus, the near miss with Raines that Snow interrupted back on the Lindblum, and part of Lightning has always wondered if Snow interrupted her on purpose.
Ridiculous, she knows.
But still. Is it?
Day -927, Lindblum, 1700
Raines has been staring at Lightning like she’s a three-course meal since she boarded the Lindblum, and Lightning can’t say she hasn’t looked right back at him.
“Would you like a private tour, Lightning?” Raines asks her, and Lightning hears the real question. (Would you like to come to my quarters?)
Lightning opens her mouth to accept when Snow answers for her. “Can anyone join? Hey kid, you wanna see the ship?”
Never one to be left out, Hope agrees to join the not-so-private tour. Raines looks miffed that Snow has crashed his private party, but he smiles and nods. “Very good,” Raines says with a tight smile.
Awkward as it is, Lightning enjoys the tour of the Lindblum, with one small exception.
Snow.
She has no idea what the hell has gotten into him, but he’s acting like a jealous ex-lover. When Raines rests his hand at the small of Lightning’s back to guide her, Snow shoves his way between them like he’s trying to safeguard Lightning’s virtue. Lightning rolls her eyes and gives Snow the filthiest look she can muster, but the blond is impervious to her drop-dead looks, it seems.
When they finish the tour, Raines catches Lightning’s arm and motions to his office. “Come. Share a drink with me,” he murmurs, trying to speak quietly enough to avoid catching anyone’s (Snow’s) attention.
Lightning nods, following him into his office.
The moment he locks the door, Lightning shoves him against the bulkhead and pries his lips apart with her tongue. He groans into her open mouth, lifts her off the ground and spins, pressing her against the bulkhead. He slots himself between her spread thighs and Lightning can feel how hard he is through their clothes.
God, she needs this; has needed it since that near miss on her birthday. After Lightning chased Serah off, and threw Snow out, she'd found herself desperate to alleviate the built-up tension. The man she picked up hadn't been able to chase away her traitorous longing for Snow. When she met him, she thought him attractive enough to distract her, but once he put his hands on her, she found that he wasn't doing it for her. The similarities were too similar and the differences too different, and he just…wasn't who she wanted.
Now, Raines? Raines is doing it for her with that slow grind of hips against her; Lightning is looking forward to climbing aboard and riding him until she is satisfied.
Maybe that'll be enough to shut down this inappropriate longing.
"You're irresistible," he whispers as he unhooks her vest and unzips her shirt. She's not interested in stripping, but Raines insists on exposing and handling her breasts. Lightning won’t argue with him about it, but honestly, she’s never been all that turned on by nipple play.
"Magnificent."
Lightning has no use for compliments. This isn't a love affair; it's a fuck, and she just wants him to shut up and put his mouth to better use.
He does just that once her breasts are exposed. He licks, nibbles, and sucks, flicking at the peak of one breast as his fingers pinch and roll the other. She won’t lie and say that it doesn’t feel good, but honestly, she’d prefer he stop with the unnecessary foreplay and just get to it already.
Her deft fingers work his belt open. In seconds, she reaches into his pants and takes him in a firm grip. His grip on her loosens the second she wraps her hand around him, and for a moment it's only her legs around him and the wall behind her keeping her in place. He groans, spitting profanity into her ear as she strokes him.
That’s better.
He drags his palms up the sides of her thighs, raising her skirt up, up. He paws at her ass, bracing her up for the quick trip to his desk. Between one moment and the next, Lightning is spread out on the desk like a sacrifice upon an altar. He makes quick work of her underwear, and then his tongue is in her mouth as he circles and rubs her clit with his fingers.
She grinds against the hand between her legs wanting more pressure, but he refuses to comply. Instead, he slips one then two fingers inside her and flicks her clit with the tip of his thumb.
None of it is enough, nor is it necessary. Lightning has been aching for release since her birthday and has been wet since she was forced to strip an unconscious Snow at Hope’s house.
If Lightning thought Snow was attractive before, seeing him shirtless was a revelation.
Stop thinking, Lightning. Especially about him!
Still, when she closes her eyes, it is Snow’s long fingers she pictures working her body. It’s Snow’s obnoxious mouth sucking and nibbling at her nipples. It’s Snow’s blond hair brushing against the naked flesh of her torso as the mouth moves lower and lower. It’s Snow’s wet mouth sucking a bruise onto the underside of one breast as two fingers ease deeper and deeper inside her cunt, circling and crooking, seeking but not quite finding her G-Spot.
So, while Lightning appreciates Raines's efforts, they're an unnecessary waste of time. She just wants to come, and considering how keyed up she is, she doesn't expect that Raines will have to do much to get her off. Especially if he allows her to close her eyes and imagine it’s someone else buried inside her.
Mm. That works. Please—
Lightning wraps her legs around him and pulls him towards her to clue him in, and he chuckles, reaches down to guide himself to her dripping cunt. The head of his cock nudges her clit, and he strokes and rubs it over and over.
“Does that feel good? Don’t be shy.”
It takes every bit of restraint Lightning has not to roll her eyes at him. If he wants her to beg him, this whole rendezvous is going to be over before it begins.
“Quit fucking around and fuck me, already,” Lightning tells him.
Raines bites her nipple in response. The sharp pain sends a flood of moisture between her legs. Lightning spreads her legs and arches her back, drawing Raines closer to her with her long, toned legs. Raines laughs against her breast, positions the head of his cock at her entrance—
"Sis?” Three knocks on the door and a cursory jiggle of the door handle herald Snow’s arrival. “Are you in here?"
"You've gotta be fucking kidding me!" Lightning gripes. It's like being hit with a bucket of ice water. Lightning shoves Raines off her, desperate not to be caught with him buried balls deep inside her by Snow, or – God forbid – Hope!
Why she cares if Snow knows about her fucking Raines is a mystery. She tries to tell herself that she doesn’t care, but the truth is that it feels like betrayal somehow. Like he’s caught her cheating on him.
She’s ridiculous. Snow is not hers, nor is she his, but telling herself these things changes nothing. Her body still longs to feel him slide deep inside. She knows she can never have him, but there’s a yawning chasm inside her that only he can fill.
God, she wants him.
“Sis?”
God, she hates him!
"Just ignore him," Raines says, but he too is fixing his clothing. Neither one of them is interested in being caught fraternizing, even though it's completely absurd to care about such things while they're being hunted by the Sanctum.
"Yeah, Snow. I’m here," Lightning responds. "Give me a second." Raines opens the door before Lightning manages to find her underwear and she scowls at him. It's obvious that he wants Snow to know what he interrupted.
"Hope I didn't interrupt anything," Snow says, though his tone says the opposite.
He did that on purpose, and she can't call him out on it without outing their little liaison. Which is none of his fucking business.
Sans panties, Lightning stalks out into the hallway and closes Raines's office door behind her.
“What is it?” she demands, and he gives her a knowing smirk. She wants to plant her fist in his face, but she won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that he managed to get under her skin.
"You okay, sis? You're all flushed." She fucking knew that he knew what he was interrupting. The fucker.
"I'm fine. What's the problem?"
"Hope was looking for you. I told him I'd find you so he wouldn't see something he maybe shouldn't see."
She knew it! “I can’t believe you!” Lightning balls up her fist, eager to knock Snow unconscious. "Whatever I do is none of your business!"
She shoves her way past him, aggravated that not only has she not taken the edge off, but it’s now worse. Snow looks about as contrite as a cat that ate the fucking canary. "I’m just looking out for you, sis."
Lightning freezes. Did the fucker just have the audacity to admit that he interrupted her liaison with Raines on purpose? She stalks back over to him, staring him down, daring him to confirm her suspicions.
His lips quirk, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, and for a second, Lightning considers planting her fist right in his obnoxious mouth.
She takes three deep breaths, unclenches her fist, opting instead to place both hands on Snow’s chest and shove him away from her. “I neither need nor want you to look out for me, Snow. Stay out of my business."
Lightning storms past him, needing to get as far away from him as possible before she hits him.
“Wait, Sis—”
“I’m not your sister!”
Snow recoils, like she hurt him, and it makes Lightning feel sick. She hates him! How dare he make her feel guilty for being angry at his audacity!
Day 9, Snow’s house, 1100
Serah knocks on the nursery door. “Snow?”
“What’s up, Serah?” Snow asks.
“What are you doing?”
“Keeping busy so I don’t go insane,” Snow answers before looking at her. “What do you need?”
“The room looks great.” Serah knew that Snow was talented, but she had no idea how artistic he was. For a moment, Serah wonders what it would’ve been like to be the one carrying Snow’s child. To have him create a nursery like this for their child. But it’s only a passing fancy. “Claire will love it.”
Snow flinches. Serah’s not sure what to say to him that won’t make him fold in on himself.
“Thanks.” Snow says. “You know, I have a question that’s going to seem like it’s coming from nowhere, but it’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while.”
“Really?” Snow hasn’t initiated any conversations since they moved Lightning to a safehouse nearly a week ago. Serah’s curiosity is piqued. What could he possibly want to discuss? “What’s that?”
“Why didn’t you ever tell Lightning that you wanted to wait?”
The question blindsides her. “Wait?”
“Yeah, you know. Wait. For marriage.”
Wait for marriage? What—
“Oh,” she says. Then she understands. “OH! I don’t know. I guess it’s because Claire was avoiding me. Well, us, really. Well, you.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t you she was avoiding.”
“No, that’s not true. She was definitely avoiding me.” Serah shakes her head and then says, “I guess that explains some things doesn’t it?”
The laugh that escapes Snow contains no humor at all. “Yeah, it sure did.”
“I suppose you told her by now.”
“That you and I didn’t sleep together? Yeah. But I practically had to tie her down to get her to explain what her problem was. I just assumed she knew, since you guys are sisters and everything. I mean, Lebreau knew. Which basically means that everyone knew.”
Except Claire, apparently.
Serah laughs at the look he gives her. That must’ve been an interesting conversation!
“Yeah. My sister and I really never talked about sex. And you were a contentious topic before the war, and after the war she was so weird. I don’t know. It just never came up.”
“Have you told Noel?” Snow asks.
“No.”
“Don’t you think you should? I mean, maybe he wouldn’t look at me like he wants to kill me if he knew that I didn’t hop directly from one sister’s bed into the other’s.”
“Didn’t you?” Serah asks.
“Only in the most literal sense, I suppose.”
Serah’s not sure why she’s arguing with him. Snow’s right. It would probably go a long way toward smoothing things over with Noel if he knew that she didn’t sleep with Snow either. She’s not sure why she hasn’t told Noel that she decided that she wanted to wait for marriage after she woke from crystal stasis, which is why she hasn’t slept with him yet. But still, it’s not like she and Snow did nothing, though she doubts that’ll make Noel feel better since she did more with Snow than she’s done with him.
“Yeah, maybe,” she waffles.
“It’s up to you. I’m just giving you fair warning that if I ever hear him call my wife any names, insult her at all, or even imply that she is a bad sister, I’ll break his fucking neck.”
Serah gasps. “What brought this on?”
“I heard him that night, Serah. And Gadot has told me plenty.”
“Fucking Gadot,” Serah mumbles.
“He can insult me all he wants. I don’t care. But if he says anything about you or my wife ever again, I’m not letting it go.”
Serah nods. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”
“Good. Now what can I do for you?”
“You know why I’m here, and I assume that’s what the distraction was about.”
The minute Serah sought him out, Snow knew what he was in for. Serah is relentless, refusing to accept Snow's decision to keep his distance from Lightning in order to keep her safe. Every day she tries new arguments, desperate to wear him down so he'll let her have her way.
And she is wearing him down. Snow has always had a hard time saying no to Serah, and she knows it.
“I suppose I do,” Snow shakes his head. “Nothing has changed, Serah.”
“I want us to go see my sister. She needs us,” Serah says, and Snow feels like Serah is gutting him with a butter knife. “We need her. You need her.”
He does need her. Serah has no idea how much Snow needs Lightning, but it’s not safe. Snow heaves a sigh and shakes his head. Ever since they moved Lightning, Serah has nagged him on daily basis to go and spend time with Lightning.
“It’s not safe! How many times do I need to say it?”
“Oh, bullshit! Since when do you care about safe when it comes to love?”
“Since my pregnant wife got blown up at our wedding, and someone snuck into her hospital room to poison her. That’s when! Do you think I’m enjoying being away from Lightning while she’s injured?” Snow gets up and walks into the nursery, sitting down in the glider that he built for Lightning.
Memories of Lightning on her knees before him float to the surface, and Snow shakes them off. Now is not the time to indulge in fantasies. He hasn’t made love to Lightning in ten days, and his body craves her like an addict craves drugs. He dreams about her every night, wakes up hard and desperate and lonely.
The one time he tried to bring himself some relief, all he ended up doing was making it worse. So now, he just does what he can to distract himself from his body’s desperate need for her.
(Does she dream of him? Maybe he should go see her. Just go there, kiss her and take her to bed. Maybe her body remembers what her mind doesn’t.)
Basically, he’s been working on the house nonstop for the past week. There’s a mobile hanging over the crib now. Each piece has been hand-carved and painted. The stars on the mobile all have crystals embedded in them to make them twinkle. There’s a soft light in the center that makes all the pieces moving and hanging sparkle. It’s a masterpiece if he does say so himself, and Snow wants nothing more than to show it to Lightning and watch her eyes fill with emotion and tears that he can then kiss away.
God, he misses her. It’s so unfair!
“I want to see my sister,” Serah tells him. “As lonely as you are, Snow, she has to be lonelier.”
Serah sure knows exactly how to hit him where it hurts.
“Don’t you understand, Serah? Caraway went to ground the second we moved her. Until I find him and that stalking piece of shit, I will stay away from Lightning to keep her safe.”
“Don’t you think she’d be safer with you?”
Snow asks himself that question a million times a day, every day. Snow tries and fails to keep the tears at bay when he begs, “Serah, please stop making this harder for me.”
Serah looks as wounded as Snow feels, and she throws her arms around him. “I’m sorry, Snow. I’m so sorry.”
Snow rests his cheek on the top of her head, running his hand up and down her back. “It’s okay.”
“No. It’s not. I’m so angry at the people who did this to her, and I’m taking it out on you.”
“It’s okay, Serah. I understand. Believe me, I understand why you’re angry.”
“Can’t we go see her, please? Or if you won’t, can’t I go with Fang and Vanille? Why do they get to see her, and I don’t?”
How is Snow supposed to tell Serah that Fang and Vanille are Oerban hunters and warriors and that they know how to move without being seen? While Snow has no doubt that the General would be trying to follow Fang and Vanille, Snow also knows that Fang can detect and lose a tail without a problem. And Vanille…well, Vanille’s fucking terrifying. The best part is that no one realizes how dangerous she is until it’s too late.
Still, Snow will never be able to deny Serah anything. He promised her everything, and then reneged, so anything she asks for from him, he’ll always give her.
Defeated, Snow says, “If you want, I’ll call Squall. I’ll ask him to take you.”
“Squall?” Serah pulls a face that reminds him so much of Lightning that he has to look away. “I can’t believe you’re even dealing with him.”
Serah makes it sound like Snow is dealing with Barthandelus and not the man who watched her sister’s back for three years. “Can you explain what the hell happened between the two of you?”
Serah huffs and crosses her arms. “I mean, nothing really.”
“He’s been nothing but helpful, Serah. So, if you know a reason that I shouldn’t trust him with Lightning’s safety, it’d be nice if you’d just spit it out.”
Serah deflates. “No, I know you can trust him to protect Lightning. I just don’t like him.”
“Fair enough. You don’t have to like him. It’s not like he and I are friends. I mean, the first time I met him, I thought he and Lightning were on a date.”
The look on Serah’s face is priceless. “A date? Oh my God! What in the world! Why would you ever think that?” Serah laughs.
“It doesn’t matter. My point is that until a week ago, I had no idea who the hell he was. But since he offered that safehouse, all the bullshit has calmed down. Lightning has had a chance to just heal without people creeping on her or trying to inject shit into her.”
“How is she doing?”
Isn’t that the question? How is she doing? When Fang called last night for their daily check-in, Fang told him, ‘She misses you, Hero. She’s not sure exactly who you are, but she knows that someone is missing. And she says your name when she’s sleeping.’
Snow hates even letting himself hope that, even without her memories, Lightning might still love him. Knowing that she dreams of him breaks his heart at the same time it gives him hope.
Maybe Serah’s right and he should go see her. Maybe he should give Fang and Vanille a night off and go and spend the night with her. Snow knows exactly how powerful their attraction is to one another. Maybe it’s enough to override the magic that stole her from him.
The picture that Fang sent of Lightning was too much to bear. Light was staring out a window, left hand (still wearing his ring) pressed against her abdomen right above their baby, wearing that sad, pensive look that Snow came to know so well during the war.
Day -880, Vallis Media, Gran Pulse, 0100
“Penny for your thoughts,” Snow says to Lightning, startling her from whatever dark pathways her thoughts traveled. Lightning turns towards him and offers a sad, wan little smile that breaks Snow’s heart.
He’s a goner. God, how the hell did he manage to fall in love with two sisters?
“Wow. Big spender,” Lightning says, surprising a laugh out of Snow. “Even if you had a penny, what the hell would I even do with one?”
“How about I just keep you company. Is that okay?”
“Not like I could stop you,” Lightning tells him.
“If you don’t want me to—”
“Just sit down, Snow,” Lightning says, and scoots over on the rock to make room for him. Snow sits down, closer than she probably would prefer seeing as how he’s pressed against her from her knees to her shoulder. Instead of pulling away from him, she leans into him, and Snow has a near overwhelming urge to put his arm across her shoulders to hold her against him.
“So, what’s bothering you, Sis?”
“What makes you think something’s bothering me?”
“Come on. Give me some credit.” Instead of insulting him like he expects Lightning sighs and nods.
“I was thinking about Serah and how I fucked everything up.”
“If you’re talking about your birthday—”
“I’m not. Or at least, I’m not just talking about my birthday. I mean, everything. I fucked everything up, and I ended up getting my sister killed.”
Snow shudders. How can she say that? Hasn’t she heard anything he’s said? “Serah isn’t dead, Lightning. She’s going to wake up. We’re going to save her.”
Lightning sniffles, and nods. “Yeah, I know.” But Snow can hear the lie in her voice. She doesn’t believe that Serah is going to come back, and Snow has no idea what to say.
“Light—”
“Snow, you don’t have to try to make me feel better,” she says. “I don’t deserve to feel better.”
This woman is killing him right now. “Why would you believe that?” Snow gives into the urge to touch her. He places his hand on her back and feels her tense up for a few seconds, before relaxing against him. Triumphant, Snow traces up and down her spine before wrapping his big hand around the back of her neck and kneading the muscles.
Lightning sighs, closing her eyes, licking her lips and letting out a quiet moan.
God, he needs to stop. He’s playing with fire right now, putting his hands on her.
Instead of backing off, Snow goes full steam ahead. “God, Sis, you’re all tense,” he says, giving himself an excuse to get both hands on her at once. Light is dressed in one of Fang’s shirts, her skirt, boots and nothing else. As Snow massages her, Lightning relaxes into his hold. She shifts around, and if Snow didn’t know better, he’d swear she’s squirming from arousal.
He wants to drop to his knees, slide her skirt up, and see if she tastes as good as he imagines.
Stop it, Snow.
He slides his hands down to the uncovered small of her back and works his hands under the back of the crop top. He zeroes in on a spasm beside her right shoulder blade and she huffs out a quiet, “oh fuck, yes.”
He wants to let his mouth follow the same path as his fingers. He wants to lick the sweat from her throat, slip his hands under her skirt and make her come on his fingers, his tongue, his cock.
Lust-drunk, Snow leans forward, prepared to throw all caution to the wind and press an open-mouth kiss to her neck. A hairsbreadth from her skin Snow freezes. Sense reasserts itself and Snow backs away.
What the fuck is he doing? He shakes his head, clears his throat and asks, “Does that feel better, Sis?”
“Mm. Your hands are magic,” she looks at him over her shoulder. Snow’s glad that it’s too dark for her to see the signs of arousal on him, but at the same time, is disappointed that he can’t see if there’s anything to indicate that she might reciprocate his feelings.
Probably better he never knows. It’s already hard enough – he’s already hard enough – as it is.
Snow gets up to walk away but Lightning stops him. “Thank you, Snow.”
Snow smiles. “Anytime.”
What he means is anything.
Day 9, Safehouse, 1400
Her lover hovers over her, cloaked in shadow, outlined in light; she's stretched out beneath him, pinned immobile, muscles stretched and quivering as unseen fingers trace the lines of her body.
"Relax," he whispers as fingertips trace out an oval surrounding her belly button; a decaying orbital path, the circle's radius shrinking, shrinking, striking her piercing with a gentle flick of a finger, then a tongue. Abdominal muscles clench in anticipation. A chuckle sends a gush of warm, moist air across the sweat damp plain of her belly, and the echoing vibration it stirs in his chest whispers against the apex of her thighs.
She’s drowning in him.
Lips and tongue trace a winding path from her navel to her clit, lapping and nibbling along the way, until finally the tip of his tongue flicks the tip of her clit; a feather light tease that dumps molten heat into her. Another flick spreads that heat through her whole body. She looks at the top of his head, highlighted white gold against the shadow black background. Fingertips skim the surface of her skin, tracing the outline of her parted, swollen lips then slipping down over her chin. A cool palm cradles her overheated face, then the fingers circle her throat, big thumb teasing up and down the center of her throat and the fingers all tighten just a little, before the hand resumes its downward journey.
Callused fingertips circle, circle one nipple, before pinching the erect tip just as his lips capture her clit in a filthy kiss.
She tugs at her arms again, but they remain fixed in place, wrists fastened above her. She rubs her heated face against her arm, gasps out a “please," and he open-mouth chuckles against and into her aching cunt.
Then she tastes herself on his tongue and lips, before his mouth disappears to nibble and worry her untouched breast.
"I have a question," he whispers, one thumb stroking, flicking and circling her nipple before he sucks it into his sinful mouth, lavishing it with the same attention he paid to her clit. Her whole body is a raw nerve ending, and then his fingers are between her legs, tracing circles around her clit, then one-two-three slide deep inside her, undulating and wiggling and tapping her G-spot.
He kisses her cheek before fucking his tongue into her open, dry, panting mouth. He still tastes like her, but now there's a hint of salt from her sweat and tears. His fingers never let up their relentless rhythm inside her, pleasure coalescing, muscles tightening, overtightening, and soon the line holding back her pleasure will snap like an overdrawn bowstring, and her whole body will unravel.
He stops. "Uh, uh. Not just yet," he whispers. "I have a question."
"What?"
"How long had it been, baby? How long did you want me for?"
"W-What?"
"I mean, I know about Raines. Was he the last?"
Raines? He wants to talk about a near miss that she’d all but forgotten about while she’s tied up, spread open and begging him to fuck her?
“Tell me. Was it that pretty boy that kissed you last summer? Did he make you feel as good as I make you feel?”
She hears it now. The jealousy that he rarely ever expresses. Jealousy is pointless, because he has no reason to be jealous of anyone else.
"I didn't—” She starts, and he resumes his rhythm inside her.
"Didn't?" he prompts, stopping again. He sucks on her overly sensitive nipple before biting just a little. It’s enough to make her wetter, and her back arches at how good it all feels. “Didn’t what?”
"Raines and I didn't--"
He resumes his steady stroking inside her. "Really?"
"Interrupted. You interrupted. Thought you, nnnn, did it on purpose."
He growls and whispers, "Oh, I did. I wanted to rip his head off. I was so jealous, I couldn't see straight."
"No right," she whispers, but what she means is 'no reason.' He never had any reason to be jealous. She wanted him even while she was screaming at him. Even when she was punching him, she wanted him.
"I know that. I knew that then, that I had no right to interfere. I didn’t care. I wanted you so badly.” He eases the tip of a fourth finger inside her. “Did you want me?”
God, he knows she did. How can he not know she’s wanted him, even when he drove her mad? That she can’t imagine wanting anyone the way she wants him.
“So, who since?" He asks with a twirl of his fingers. "Come on, baby."
"Nnn. No." She swallows, cracks her eyes open to stare into the darkness. "One. No one."
A white toothy grin appears in the shadows, highlighted in light. "Rrr-reeeallyyy?" he growls, and then his fingers are gone. His cock slides up and down, pressing hard against her clit before he slips deep into her body. His hipbones are sharp where they nestle against her inner thighs. One hand gropes at her ass, and the other reaches over her head to free her arms from their bindings.
The second she's free, she digs her hands into his hair and drags his lips to hers. Between soul deep, wet kisses, she whispers, "Mine."
He growls, then surrenders himself to her as she rolls him beneath her, presses his hands into the pillow beside his head and rides him until he whispers, “yours.”
The words ‘always, girl’ follow her into the waking world. She lays there and pants, feeling sweaty, soaked, and more turned on than any actual sexual experience has ever left her. She slips her fingers between her thighs and shudders at how sensitive she is, how slippery, sopping wet; aching and empty and desperate.
"What the actual fuck is wrong with you?" she asks herself, because no matter how hot and horny she feels right now, it can't compare to the boiling shame ravaging her. As much as she wants to make herself come, she can’t bring herself to do it.
Lightning can admit that she came to appreciate Snow's overall aesthetics. She would've had to be blind to not recognize his conventional good looks – his blue eyes, blond hair, chiseled jaw, perfectly sculpted body, and disarming, heart-melting smiles – but acknowledging Snow as an attractive man was not the same thing as allowing herself to be sexually attracted to Snow. Lightning had always done her best to stay as far away from that line as possible, never mind considering crossing it.
She knows that any attraction Snow may have felt for her was an amalgam of grief, loneliness, and familial resemblance, which is why she ignored the lingering looks and overly familiar touches. Snow missed Serah, and Lightning looked enough like her that, in the dark of Pulsian nights, she sometimes caught him staring at her with naked longing, eyes dark with lust that definitely didn't help keep her far back from the line that she has now crossed.
It's her own fault for dredging up the memory of the near-miss on the Lindblum that her subconscious mind conjured such a perverse and pornographic sexual fantasy about Snow.
There's something wrong with her; between the pervasive feeling of loss and emptiness, and this near constant undercurrent of want and arousal, Lightning is convinced that the injuries she suffered – especially the head injury – have fucked up her biochemistry somehow.
Unless.
She looks at the ring.
Is it possible? Last week, when she arrived here, she had a dream that felt so real.
Day 3, Safehouse, 0615
The bed in this unfamiliar house is so much more comfortable than the hospital. Lightning falls asleep within moments of arriving, and for the first time since whatever the fuck happened to her, Lightning feels safe. At one point, she dreams Snow is sleeping in the chair beside the bed. His head is thrown back, mouth open, eyes bruised, swollen and shut. He mumbles her name in his sleep, and Lightning’s heart clenches.
She’s missed him so much, and now he’s here, looking so sad. Why won’t anyone tell her what happened? Snow shouldn’t be alone. His heart is so big and full of love to offer. How, why is he alone? Snow shouldn’t be hurting the way he obviously is. She wants to hold him and wants him to hold her; she can allow herself this indulgence in her own dream. Can’t she?
Drugged and half-asleep, Lightning calls his name.
“Snow?” She yawns, turning towards him.
“Yeah, baby,” Snow mumbles. “What is it?”
“Come to bed,” she tells him before shifting herself over. There’s a moment of bright pain before the painkillers force it back. It recedes into the background, and she takes Snow’s hand and tugs. “Come to bed, Snow. Come hold me.”
Snow doesn’t open his eyes; he just comes to her. He crawls onto the bed and wraps himself around her. He puts his left hand on her abdomen, and she covers it with hers.
For the first time since she woke up in the hospital, Lightning’s anxiety dissipates. Snow murmurs something into her hair; she hums back in agreement, sighs against his throat, and falls asleep. Wrapped in Snow’s arms, Lightning sleeps well for the first time in days.
Lightning wakes alone at nine am, astonished that she slept this late. For the first time since she woke up in the hospital, Lightning felt safe, and warm. She knows she dreamed but she doesn’t remember it. All she remembers is waking, feeling safe and secure.
Her pillow smells like Snow but she isn’t sure how she could possibly know that.
Now, she feels abandoned and alone, and she doesn’t know why. Her brain is broken; it must be.
What other explanation can there be?
Day 9, Downtown New Eden, Outside City Hall, 1600
Midafternoon, Noel insists that Serah needs a change of scenery. “We’ve been cooped up here for almost ten days. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“I’d love to, but I’m not sure that it’s safe.”
“What? You trust Snow to protect you but not me?”
Serah rolls her eyes. Noel has been so good ever since they had it out that first day. It’s obvious that his ego is bruised, living under the protection of the man whose shadow he can’t escape. “Of course, I trust you. It’s just—”
Noel heaves an irritated sigh. “Never mind.”
Serah has spent the past nine days trying to salvage Snow and Lightning’s relationship. It’s time she nurtured her own relationship for a while.
“You know what? Screw it. Let’s go!”
Noel perks up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah!”
“Yeah!” he says, beaming ear to ear. “You think Snow will let us borrow his truck?”
“Like I’m going to give him a choice,” Serah says, winking at him.
Much to Serah’s surprise, Snow doesn’t argue at all. There’s a part of Serah that’s hurt by Snow’s lack of concern for her, but most of her knows that’s ridiculous. Snow will always care about her, and part of caring about her is knowing that she has chosen Noel. Snow wouldn’t stand in the way, anymore than Serah would get between Snow and Lightning. That’s why Snow and Serah will always have an unbreakable bond. They love each other even though they are no longer in love with one another.
Snow’s eagerness to hand over the keys makes Serah realize how he must be chafing under the constant scrutiny of his friends and family. Snow hasn’t really had a chance to slow down and process everything he’s lost without an audience. This is the first time he’s been alone on his property since before he finished the house and moved in with Lightning.
The truck computer directs them downtown to where City Hall used to be. Noel parks the truck a few blocks away from the disaster area and says, “Here we are. Let’s take a walk.”
“What are we doing here?” Serah asks.
“Don’t you want to see it? I’m curious,” Noel says taking her hand and walking in the direction of the former City Hall.
Not really, but she supposes as long as they’re here. “How far are we from the shopping district?” Serah feels apprehensive about seeing the wreckage of the building that was supposed to be Snow’s and her sister’s tomb, but she reminds herself that both Claire and Snow are alive and healing.
“That’s a few blocks east,” Noel says. “What do you want to buy?”
“I want to get something for my sister. I’m trying to convince Snow to go see her and take me with him.”
Noel looks like he wants to object but doesn’t. Instead, he takes her hand while they walk down the street.
“Look, Serah, I want to talk to you about something.”
Why does Serah feel like she’s about to get ‘the talk?’ Has she pushed him too far, making him stay at Snow’s house for the past week and a half? “Oh. Okay. What is it?”
“Well, I was wondering: have you given any thought to going home?” Noel asks.
Oh, thank goodness. For a minute, she thought Noel was dumping her. Once she realizes that he’s not, in fact, ending their relationship, Serah just feels irritated. “Going home? Now?”
“We came here because Snow and Light were in an explosion,” Noel says. “Your sister is in hiding, and Snow is fine.”
“Fine?” Is Noel blind? Serah thought he was over this petty jealousy nonsense! “He’s miserable. And my sister is in a wheelchair! I just told you I want to go see her! I’m not leaving.”
“There’s nothing we can do that’s going to make him not miserable, Serah. He’s miserable because his wife is injured, doesn’t remember marrying him, and is hiding for her safety. We can’t help with any of that.”
Serah stops walking and looks at Noel. “I’m not leaving here until my sister is safe.”
“Look, I don’t want to sound like an ass, but your sister isn’t my priority. You are. And you’re not safe as long as we’re here. I want to get you as far away from this nightmare as possible.”
“I’m not in any danger,” Serah says, realizing how stupid that sounds. Of course she’s in danger. They’re all in danger. Still, she’s not leaving until her sister is whole and hale, which she realizes means she may be here for a very long time. “Alright, fine. I know there’s danger. But I don’t care!”
“We have lives back in Oerba, Serah! What about your students?”
Way for Noel to hit below the belt. Of course, Serah feels guilty about leaving her students. But she just can’t leave her sister. Claire could’ve died last week after a year of thinking Serah hated her. If it weren’t for Snow forcing Claire to call her, Serah might have lost her sister without ever talking to her.
She can’t leave. Noel can’t ask her to leave. “Noel, I’m sorry, but the only way I’d agree to leave now is if I take Claire with me.”
Noel shakes his head. “That just brings the danger with us, Serah. Also, there’s no chance in hell that Snow is going to let you take his pregnant wife across the Steppe.”
“He will if Claire wants to go.”
“Is that why you want to see her? So you can ask her to come home with you?”
“Well, as you pointed out, I have obligations back home. And I feel like Claire would be safer in Oerba than she is here.”
Noel yells, “But you won’t be! I don’t want her coming with us!”
Serah’s mouth hangs open, astonished that Noel thinks he can dictate whether Serah brings her sister home with her. “Can we just walk, please? I thought we were trying to have a nice day together.”
Noel’s eyes soften. He sighs and nods, and Serah exhales a relieved breath. “Thank you.”
Serah is not sure how she feels about anything that just happened, but she needs time to mull it over. One thing is for sure: this conversation isn’t over.
Hand in hand, they walk down the street until they reach the boundaries of ground zero. They can’t get any closer, but they don’t have to.
Serah’s breath catches in her throat at the sight of the wreckage of City Hall. The only part of the building that remains are the marble steps that once led to the entrance. Serah can see the first four steps. The rest are buried beneath a pile of rubble, splinters, ash and soot.
“Even though I knew the building exploded and collapsed, I wasn’t expecting it to be this bad,” Noel says. “I can’t believe they survived.”
They didn’t, Serah thinks but doesn’t say. Seeing this pile of debris, Serah can’t even imagine how terrified her sister must’ve been. She had to have been conscious to save Snow the way she did. Serah feels herself start panicking just imagining the pain and fear and grief her sister must’ve experienced buried underneath all that rubble.
Noel’s thumb wipes away tears Serah didn’t realize were falling. Noel steps between her and the wreckage, blocking off her view of it. “Serah? Just breathe, baby.”
Serah didn’t even realize that she started hyperventilating until Noel pointed it out. “Come on,” Noel says, leading her away from the remains of the City Hall.
Noel’s grip on her hand goes slack. The hand that was holding hers reaches up to his neck and pulls something out of it. It looks like a dart of some kind, only tinier with black feathers on the end. He touches his fingers to his cheek, then his lips. Open-mouthed, he turns to her and whispers, “Run,” and then collapses onto the sidewalk.
“Noel,” she squeaks, and then there’s something over her face, and arms like bands of steel around her body.
“That’s it, baby girl. Just breathe. You’re okay,” Serah struggles, but consciousness is fading fast. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
No! Oh God, no!
Serah struggles but there’s no point. The world goes black, and Serah is gone.
TBC...