This story is still a work in progress. However, I have gotten far enough in it that I feel somewhat comfortable in posting the first chapter, for your perusal. The basic idea has been set, and I admit, I'm excited for this story. It came to me unexpectedly, and while I'm still cultivating some of the small sub-plots, the main idea is firm in my head.

Updates are not as firm though. I want to do this right-which means careful editing to make the ideas I want to present come out right. With school, this may hinder the process, but I will work on it. I hope you, the readers, are all right with this.

With XIII-2's impending release, this will obviously be AU. I am not sure when Hope's birthday is, but for the sake of the story, I had him age to fifteen here (this is about two months or so after the fall of Cocoon).

Read and enjoy!

I don't know… anymore. I don't know what I want to do, what I'm looking for. I thought things would be better and when I found out-out that dad was alive…

...really alive...

I was happy. I wasn't as alone in the world as I thought. But before I knew it, the others were gone and it was just me and him as the soldiers escorted us to a shelter. A small one, crowded with people who were all screaming and crying. Each one asking what they were going to do now, even though no one knew. No one had answers.

It had been dank too. Hot from the bodies, and something had smelled like vomit. But dad was next to me, his hand was on my shoulder, and things were all right. I wasn't alone.

I figured it would take a while, but things would eventually start to settle down and dad and I would be able to start over.

I thought it'd be okay.

But…but it just-it's not getting better. The shelters are being put up and people are starting construction. The Guardian Corps is trying to put things back together-PSICOM is working with them. People are still-still trying to get over what happened but-

-it shouldn't be this bad.

Three shelters. Three whole shelters, and none of them are safe. Are the others having as much trouble as I am? Are Snow and Serah okay? What about Sazh and Dajh?

What about Lightning?

And it's not just that. I wish it was-maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe I wouldn't feel so-so-

I don't know how I feel anymore. Dad just…he looks at me, but I don't think he sees me. He doesn't see me anymore. He looks and his eyes get all droopy and sad looking. He sighs a little bit and he gets this faraway look in his eyes.

He isn't seeing me.

He isn't…even looking at me.

Do I look like mom that much? I mean…I know I look like her, but is that all he can see? A ghost?

I don't want to be a ghost-I don't want to… I love mom. I love her and I miss her, and I know that if she were here none of this would be happening. But she's not here-she's not here and dad needs to see that.

He needs to see me.

I want him to see me.

Look at me.

Look at me.

I want you to look at me.

Please…

Please look at me.

I am not a ghost dad. I'm not. Don't see mom…

See me.

...when did I get so helpless?

"Hope…"

Green eyes blinked once, slowly drifting from the breath-fogged window of the vehicle. Hope's body bounced in his seat, the vehicle unable to drive smoothly with the terrain. A hand reached up and brushed away the silver bangs that hung around his face, and when those bright green eyes stared at him, Bartholomew was struck at how very, very much they reminded him of Nora.

Nora…

But she's gone now. I need to be here-for her son. For our son.

I need to make this right again.

"Yeah?" Bartholomew jumped at Hope's voice, peering into his pale face and swallowing hard. He looked away, scratching the shirt bristles of his brown hair before fidgeting with his glasses.

"We-we'll be at the shelter soon. You should get your coat out, and then we can talk to that soldier from before."

Hope nodded, reached down to the bottom of the van and pulled up a small, dark green jacket. He pulled it over himself and Bartholomew looked away, glad for the break of eye contact.

So much like his mother though. I just-I keep seeing him, but then she pops in my mind. Over and over again. I need to just-just push past it. Focus on what's at hand.

And this will be the fourth shelter…the fourth. I need to help him, make him see that I'm here for him, and not her. A way to make him feel safe.

But how?

I worked for the Sanctum…that should help us. Really...it should have helped us already. But I cannot reach out and find the things I need to keep him safe. I never-before I knew it would be like this, with him being a l'Cie and all, but we'd be in hiding then. We would not be trying to live among everyone because he'd be branded-there wouldn't be much contact with the public. But now I don't know. Now there's uncertainty. Some of the public-some of these people are my allies, and others enemies. How many of them will look at Hope and see him as one of their saviors? As one of their most feared and hated enemies?

As a fifteen year old boy?

"Dad!" Bartholomew jumped, eyes snapping to his son while Hope shook his arm. Hope's eyes were clouded and he was searching his father's face, biting his lip. Bartholomew opened his mouth-tried to say something, but Hope's eyes flashed and his arm dropped to his side. Bartholomew shook his head and tried to reach for him, but Hope was already pulling away, picking at the sleeves of his coat and nodding out the window.

"We're here now," Hope said, standing up and heading for the large metal doors of the van. "We're slowing down."

Bartholomew nodded, standing as well and pulling his large blue overcoat with him. He pulled it over his shoulders and sighed while the van pulled and screeched to a stop, the brakes whining before stuttering to a halt. The van lurched and Bartholomew had to slam his hand to the wall to keep his balance. He winced at the loud, metallic echo that followed, but Hope hadn't even glanced at him.

He even managed to keep his balance… Bartholomew shook his head again and clapped Hope's shoulder, making Hope look up at him. His green eyes -so much like you Nora, so much like you- were once more searching his, but they looked away just as quickly.

Bartholomew held back a sigh and waited for the van's doors to open, squinting when the sunlight hit his eyes. He gave Hope a gentle push, watching as he jumped down from the truck. He bit his lip though, worried Hope would wander into the open without him, and the thought made his heart race. But Hope stopped when his feet touched grass, taking a few steps away so that Bartholomew could exit uninhibited. Hope nodded, looking from his father to the area around him and Bartholomew joined him, and his eyes narrowed as several people passed him by.

Like many of the shelters that were being placed on Pulse, construction was visible everywhere and noise was constant, ripping through the air. Drills and shouts, loud thumps and singing metal, tore through the air. There was the distinct smell of oil nearby that made Bartholomew wrinkle his nose, even though he'd been by the stuff for two months now.

Numerous airships were spread across the field, the doors open and ramps sent down on the ground while soldiers collected boxes and metal crates filled with supplies. The closest thing to a dirt road was the dying patches of grass left by sitting airships and military vans. There were several small, makeshift buildings made from salvaged metal or stone from Cocoon. The very same metals that were being carried on airships-anything from steel to iron, were with the soldiers and piled on airships. Boxes of food supplies caught his eye as well. Water, bread, meat, blankets, first-aid kits, and anything the civilians had managed to carry with them.

Soldiers were everywhere, guns toted, some with their rank blaring in yellow on the arms, their elbows, or small medals on their chests. Others had their helmets firmly in place, the metal covered heads whipping around at the smallest noises. Each of them surveyed the area with hard eyes, waiting for the growl or screech of one of Pulse's many wildlife creatures.

When Hope had told Bartholomew about the monsters of Gran Pulse, he had decided that he was very, very glad that he had been kept safe on an airship, and prayed to whatever gods there were that he would not have to see any such beasts up close and personal. Being on Pulse, it almost seemed inevitable that they would face attack. After seeing a Behemoth goring a battalion of ill-prepared soldiers did little to soothe his hopes that it would not happen here.

"This doesn't seem so bad." Bartholomew looked down at Hope as the words came floating to him, and he smiled at his son, giving him a slight nod. But Bartholomew looked back at the scene just as quickly. He no longer looked at the soldiers around him, but zeroed in on the civilians. Watched as many pairs of eyes looked away from him and turn to his son.

He found himself pulling Hope closer to him, his jaw tightening. Hope swallowed, not fighting his father's grip. Hope's own hand went to his stomach and Bartholomew found his own eyes mimicking the action. Promised himself that once they were safe inside their new home, he would change the bandages. Check the bruises.

"Excuse me." Bartholomew jumped and turned around, eyes landing on the soldier that had driven him and Hope there. He had a round face and his eyes were gray, and a small scar crossed his lips on the right corner. He smiled at him, bowing his head slightly. "I got your things out for you. I'll escort you to your unit, and you can unload from there." The solider smiled again and handed Bartholomew a small card, a purple line etched near the top, as well as a set of keys.

"The key is to get you into your new home. This card will allow you to get the supplies you need," he explained, his voice thin. "Each color represents something different, as you know by now. This shelter system works like this: yellow lines are for the general population, and they receive all the basic necessities. Green lines are for soldiers, but you don't need to worry about that. You have a purple line." The soldiers pointed to the same purple line from before and Bartholomew blinked when he saw Hope's silver head peering over at the card, his eyes dark.

"This shows that you had a high-ranking position with the Sanctum, and allows you a few more privileges. When you show this card to the soldiers handing out supplies, you'll be given not only the civilian packages, but allowed an extra ration of bread and water, as well as blankets. You will also be able to carry a small hand gun for protection, and mana drive, once those supplies arrive."

Bartholomew nodded, his chest swelling at the last bit. At least this place is more organized, if they have a system like this. The last one was more along the lines of, if you're not a soldier, you're on your own.

Some of his surprise must have shown on his face because the soldier beamed at him. "Yup, you sure are lucky to have come here, sir. A few of the shelters are struggling to get off their feet, and we're still trying to figure out how to get us all in a collective group, to really kick ourselves off. Pulse is so big…and it's made things a little difficult for us on the front, but I think we'll be able to get it together soon. And, lucky for you, we're close enough to Cocoon that even some of the plumbing facilities have been re-routed, to provide us with running water."

"That is good," Bartholomew found himself saying. "I'll be sure to count our blessings." The solider smiled, not noticing the distant look on Bartholomew's face. Instead he gently placed his hand on his shoulder and started to lead him down the pathways to the shelters, a hand reaching out to absently grab their small cart filled with belongings. Bartholomew let him, calling to Hope as he went while eying his card, but when Hope trotted up to them he was surprised to see the anger flashing in his eyes.

Hope was staring at the soldier before his eyes traveled to the people around him, his hand going to his stomach again. Bartholomew bit his lip and was about to ask if the bruises were hurting, but Hope spoke before he could, "So…what about the civilians? Why do we get treated special, especially when they need help too?"

Bartholomew found his heart stuttering before it kick-started into overdrive. The soldier turned around, his eyebrows raised, and Bartholomew found himself screaming in his head, Please no. Please-no, no, no. Don't get mad, don't get mad. He didn't mean it that way, he didn't-

"I'm sorry you feel that way, boy", the soldier said, looking at Bartholomew and giving him a knowing smile. Hope sneered at the word boy, but the soldier missed it. "It's just one of those things you'll understand when you're older."

Bartholomew breathed out a silent thanks, watching the soldier's back when he turned back around. He did not, though, miss the dark look that had passed over Hope's face, and he knew he'd have to talk to him about it soon, whether Hope wanted to or not.

"And this is your unit," the solider said, pulling Bartholomew out of his thoughts. "It's not much, but I think you'll be happy. We managed to get a bathroom installed here as well, but you will have to share a room. And I trust you know where to show that card." Bartholomew nodded, but the soldier was already turning around and heading back to the van.

Bartholomew scanned the small building in front of him. The home, like many of the civilian houses around him, was made of water washed stone. Some of the building was chipped near the edges, but it had all its walls, a small roof, and a door. It was more than enough for them, and Bartholomew turned to Hope, eyes scrunching in concern when he saw he was leaning on the building and breathing heavily out of his nose.

"Is your stomach hurting you again?" Hope nodded, closing his eyes. Bartholomew knelt next to him and brushed his bangs away from his eyes. "All right then. You head inside and lie down. Take your shirt off if you think it will help. I'll go down and pick our supplies, but I think we still have some pain meds in the bag.

Bartholomew bit his lip when he realized he didn't have the keys anymore, but Hope jangled them in front of his face, offering him a small smile. Bartholomew nodded, smiling in relief, and patted Hope's back. "Go ahead inside then, and I'll wheel in our things before I go. Lock the door and don't let anyone but me in, all right?"

"No dad, I'm going to open it when the axe murderer knocks, saying he wants to cut out my liver," Hope snorted, shaking his head, but Bartholomew rolled his eyes.

"I want you to be careful, Hope. We don't need a repeat of what happened-"

"I know," Hope said, his voice tight. "I know you don't want that. I don't either. I'll just-" Hope stopped and Bartholomew found himself backpedaling, trying to find his mistake and correct it, but Hope had already jammed the key into the door and was pushing it open. He turned back to Bartholomew and took the cart by both hands, wheeling it inside. "You go ahead, dad. I can handle this."

Bartholomew shook his head but Hope had already pulled the cart inside and was waving at him, shutting the door behind him. Bartholomew stared at the door for a moment, his hand outstretched before he let it fall to his side. He ran a hand over his face, his glasses lifting before dropping back to the bridge of his nose.

"I just don't know what I'm going to do with you, Hope." Bartholomew shook his head and turned away, bringing the card to his eyes. He looked at the purple line near the top of the card, recalling Hope's words and dark look. But as unfair as it was, Bartholomew couldn't help but feel grateful for the small edge he had been given. Anything to help him protect his son and to provide for him again.

He started down the pathway again, but Hope's eyes kept flashing in his mind. The startling green scrunched slightly in fear and disappointment. Eyes swirling with emotion and trying to hide it at the same time. A soft face. Silver hair.

For a moment, Bartholomew had seen Nora.