Title: Fond Farewell
Rating: PG for mild yaoi.
Characters: Zidane and Kuja
Warning: Character death (nothing gory)
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The sun was shining so brightly through the window that anyone would have thought it obnoxious even for Alexandrian suburbs. It also happened to be Zidane's favourite wake-up call, narrowly beating a good morning kiss into second place. He stirred, smiled, stretched and turned over, brushed Kuja's hair back from his face and froze when he realised how cool the other genome's skin was. "Hey."
No response, so Zidane sat up and shook him by the shoulders. "Hey, Kuja?"
Zidane bit his tongue and picked Kuja up into his arms, pressed his face into soft hair and softer feathers. He'd known it was going to happen someday, that it was just a matter of time, and he's shown Kuja everything he knew and a few things he hadn't. They'd spent weeks dancing and bidding and playing cards in Treno, marvelled at the beauty of Chocobo Lagoon when they weren't laughing at Zidane falling off said animal, and had even returned to Madain Sari a second time to thank the moogles for giving them shelter until Kuja's wounds had healed and his image faded from memory. Alexandria was meant to be the last leg of their world tour, the place everything had started for them, and he'd hoped to show Kuja to Garnet, show her how he had changed. Garland had not been a generous enough man.
Zidane was reluctant to let go, uncertain what to do first. He couldn't just sit there and feel sorry for not being awake to see it happen, though Kuja apparently had not been awake either judging by the peaceful expression he bore. He seemed to have just... stopped. Zidane had to be thankful for that at least, that there had been no undue pain, given how hard he'd fought to stop Kuja just bleeding to death all those years ago.
They'd talked and talked into the early hours, same as they always did, talked until their throats were sore, and when they tired of talking they kissed, curled up together and slept. It was how things went between them unless they sat in companiable silence, a rarity after leaving Madain Sari given Zidane's nature and the simple fact the world was so damn huge that keeping up to date with it seemed impossible. Once, just once, too much wine and reminiscence of his youth with Blank had led to more than kissing, but they both woke feeling strangely unrepentant yet not wanting a repeat performance. Kissing was enough. Kissing had been enough.
He'd cried himself ill into Kuja's hair but his mind seemed to have wandered off, leaving his body to deal with his real feelings while he tried to make sense of everything. A doctor, a priest and a fake name would be needed to sort out the funeral. Probably have to wash him too so he wasn't buried with uncharacteristically bad hair, given the state he'd worked it into with his hands and tears.
And there was the letter. Zidane lowered Kuja and managed to reach under the bed, pulling out their bags and opening his own in between wondering why his arms felt so weak and heavy. Beautiful envelope, beautiful handwriting as was Kuja's style, and he'd been given a new one every six months since they began travelling but sworn against opening any unless it was time'. Now seemed the only time Kuja could ever mean so Zidane rubbed his face with his hands and his hands with his shirt until everything seemed dry enough, held the envelope up away from any possible further tears, and opened it. The paper inside was as immaculate and elegant as anything else of Kuja's, and Zidane read.
I've always talked about you, Zidane... Thanks for giving me time to think. To keep doing what you set your heart on is a very hard thing to do... I'm so happy I met everyone.
My memories will be part of the sky...
Only fragments of the letter really sank in, Kuja's message strange in how... worldly it seemed. Rambling, as if it floated from thought to thought without trying to hold onto anything. If not for that last sentence with its poetic flourish, the writing would have lacked identity, lacked eloquence enough to fit the perfect handwriting.
He folded the letter carefully, slipped it back into the envelope before placing it carefully down on the bedside table. Kuja's skin had warmed slightly in the sun while Zidane read the message, but only in the same way metal would. It was time to move him, to bury him while he was still beautiful. Zidane knew from his own accidents that genomes bled, so it stood to reason that death would have the same effect on them as it did on humans.
Zidane wiped his face and packed their bags, numb, before slinging them across his bag and scooping Kuja up into his arms. They hadn't had long enough. Every moment had been stolen, they knew that, but it had not been long enough.
He did not have to ask the innkeeper to send a message out. Apparently he had cried louder than he thought.
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The grave was neat and perfect as its occupant deserved, even if all the details on the marker were wrong. No genome knew their true age, and the name had to be a fake to prevent desecration, but at least Zidane had been able to afford something special for his companion. The tree shadowing it added to the same fairy tale effect the name on the grave did. They'd signed the innkeeper's book as Aeros and Ethrys, Kuja's idea of a joke, but at least their monikers for each other suited them, and burying Aeros did not seem quite as painful as burying Kuja would have been.
I wish we could have gone on more adventures.
It had been too brief, even Kuja's letter knew that, but for all their running they had always known what would happen. They had tried not to acknowledge it, but knew nonetheless. Genomes were not built to linger.
But I guess we all have to say goodbye someday.
Zidane looked up at the sky, birds flying overhead to come and enjoy Alexandria's glorious summer, and he waved up at them. Kuja loved to fly, had often spoken of how he wished to be with the doves.
"They'd better look after you," Zidane said to himself, quieter than he had meant to, before looking off at the palace. Garnet would still be there, waiting. Wondering what had happened to him.
The weight of Kuja's bag sat heavily alongside his own, and he shook his head, returning his gaze to the grave in front of him.
Not yet.
Treno's bidders had taken everything of Kuja they could find, mementos of the genome's reign going for appalling prices, and they would eat up everything Zidane had to offer. That was not what mattered. They had their portraits, trinkets; what mattered was getting access to the royal gardens there.
The Treno gardens were filled with all manner of bizarre wonders, for what could be stranger than flowers that bloomed without help from spring or daylight? And one had been bred specifically for Kuja, as a gift from Queen Brahne. It seemed fitting to bring a cutting back to the grave for him a last present, and a chance to finally understand loneliness. He owed that much to Kuja and to Garnet.
Farewell.
Zidane nodded at the grave before adjusting the bags on his back in preparation to leave.
"Goodbye."
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The End