Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy XIII or Kingdom Hearts, they belong to Square Enix.

Rating: T

Author's note: It won't make much sense now, but if I do decided to continue this, it'll make much more sense. I have a few other Kingdom Hearts related oneshots that I've written, rotting away on my hard drive, so I may consider posting them at some point. Still, this is a oneshot until stated otherwise. Also, I credit the title to the song of the same name by City Sleeps. Side note: this is largely unedited, so mistakes have been made.

Not an Angel

© Darkened Rhapsody

Flowers bob and petals flutter in the wind, accompanied by the gently rustling noise of a leaf laden tree overhead. There's a woman curled helplessly amongst the delicate flowerbed, whimpering and crying out, but still caught in the throngs of an unknown nightmare. Her hair is of the lightest pink, her eyes are clenched defiantly shut, and her thin fingers are twisted into fists and buried in fistfuls of grass. Such a serene environment upset by the woman's fitfully sleeping presence.

Chaos in a place of peace.

There's a young boy with silver hair peering curiously at the goings on; his eyes are bright and slightly nervous, their green depths still wide in childhood innocence. He's perched atop a mildly large boulder and overlooking the clearing. He'd only wanted to come spend some time in the little meadow a ways away from his house—it's been his secret spot since he was six; a place for him and him alone to come and think. Absently tugging on the sleeve of his oversized yellow jacket, the kid frowns.

Riku is his name.

"Uh, Miss?" he calls out timidly.

Riku's voice is naturally quiet and of a high pitch, still years away from deepening. She doesn't even stir.

Maybe its his childlike impulsiveness, or maybe he's just curious as to what a pretty lady like her is doing in his spot—whatever it is, it persuades him to edge cautiously closer. He's barely a few feet from her now, quietly padding across the field of flowers with his soft soled black sandals ("Good for your feet," his mother had said).

This time his voice is louder, as he stands awkwardly beside her writhing body. "Miss?" he ventures a lightly shake of her shoulder, mindful of the way she moves restlessly. Like a wounded animal, trapped in a cage. "Miss?"

Then she screams.

He propels himself backwards, face alight in panic, as the woman snaps upright. In his haste he trips over an invisible hurdle, goes crashing heavily down to the ground before he knows it, and finds the air knocked right out of his lungs.

"Ow," he groans breathlessly, clutching at a now bloodied elbow.

He doesn't know when he closed his eyes, all he knows it that when he opens them there's twin pools of unnerving, unending blue staring back at him in concern. Maybe there's a little irritation and confusion in the mix, but he's too upset to care. He doesn't even notice the small switchblade pressed instinctively against his stomach. Then it's retracted, gone in an instant.

The pink haired woman is frowning at him.

"You okay, kid?"

There's unbidden tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, wetting them with moisture, as he tightly grasps the newly earned graze. The blue pools have drawn back now, revealing the woman's face to him again. Her features aren't contorted anymore, just drawn into a mask of painful indifference.

The only emotion on her face is in the form of a grimace. She doesn't do tears, she never has.

Those of children especially.

"My arm hurts," he sniffles, unknowing of her thoughts.

Before he knows what's happening, the woman's holding his arm lightly in her hands, surveying the relatively small scrape. "It'll be fine," she assures him with a nod, turning his arm towards the light for a better look. "It's only small, nothing to worry about."

"But," he stutters out, "it hurts!"

Such a kid.

She sighs, glancing up to the sky as if to seek counsel. She has yet to let go of his arm. "Children," the lady mutters in what he assumed was supposed to be a an annoyed tone. She just sounded all too familiar with it. "I'll try and fix it. I hope, for your sake, I still know how to do this."

Riku is confused, a feeling he's become well acquainted with during the small time he's been in the clearing, an even smaller amount of which she was actually awake for.

Her hand hovers over his arm, and he notices she wears strange gloves.

Then she frowns.

It's all very quick. Riku feels a small tingle that starts in his bones, slowly sinking into his every pore and making the fine platinum hairs of his arm stand on end. It's a surprise. Then the feeling is gone as soon as it came, taking the pain along with it.

"Huh?"

Peering at his elbow, he lets out an exclamation of childish surprise. "Wow, Miss! It's gone!"

"It's just a simple healing spell," she mutters.

Almost absently, the lady releases his arm to tuck a strand of pink hair behind her ear. The move is practiced, a habitual thing. Riku wonders how she can make such a simple reflex look so graceful.

He jumps to his feet, excited.

"That was cool, though!" he assures her, happy once again. "I've never actually seen someone do magic before, but my Mom told me my Dad was a master. I'm not so sure, though."

The woman looks uncomfortable at the praise. "Whatever. So, where am I?"

"You're on Destiny Islands, Miss." he stops abruptly, remembering his slightly angry thoughts from earlier. "But what are you doing here? This is my spot. See, the tree even has my name on it!"

The woman's eyes follow his arm and find that the tree does, in fact, have an unreadable work scrawled across the bottom in chickenscratch handwriting. Only a child could have such terrible writing, she muses.

"Destiny Islands, huh?" she sits back, peering thoughtfully at him.

"That's right!"

"Well, I'll take your word for it."

She doesn't mention that she has no idea where that is, she'd leave that until much later.

Whatever fear he felt earlier is gone now, replaced by the childish need to know everything. A curiosity that could be thought reminiscent of a puppy. He wants to know who this woman is, why she was in his spot, and how she got here. First thing's first thought; her name.

Nodding to himself, Riku plops down beside her. His green eyes are narrowed and he's tilted his head.

Another puppy-ish act.

He reminded her of another platinum haired boy, older of course, but still alike.

"Soo," he smiles, flashing white teeth. "What's your name, Miss?"

She glances at him, rolling her eyes.

"It's always polite to say your own name before asking for someone elses, kid. Didn't your parents teach you anything about manners?" the pink haired woman smirks in a mysterious way, not angry but quietly reprimanding.

Riku thinks she's more than a little weird.

"My name is Riku!" he replies proudly. "So, what's yours?"

There's a pregnant pause. The weird lady's blue blue eyes darken, as if she's fighting with herself over something, and her previous smirk is wiped away. She's frowning now. He doesn't like the way it makes her face look. Sadness was unbecoming of her.

"Miss?" his voice is gentle, prompting, expectant.

She sighs. "Sorry, kid, I was just thinking. You wanted to know my name, correct?"

"Yeah," Riku confirms, nodding enthusiastically. Her abrupt change in mood confuses him, but he's happy to be acknowledged nonetheless.

"My name. It's—" blue blue eyes look up at the sky thoughtfully. "My name is Lightning."

She's deadly serious.

And Riku laughs, because Lightning isn't a name, it's an element. It's the think that snakes across the sky during a storm—the kind where he huddles up to his mother and buries his head in the crook of her arm, because he hates loud noises. It's not because he's scared, not at all. This woman has been nothing but nice to him. She's nothing like her apparent namesake.

"That's not a real name," he tells her with a shake of his head.

Lightning is quiet. "No. It's not," she agrees with him, for reasons he cannot yet comprehend. "But it'll do."

"You're strange, Miss Lightning."

"So I've been told."