by Mason Wheeler
They always called me a thief, Zidane thought, as he picked the lock on a little-used side entrance to the airship. The idea amused him. I pick a few pockets, and therefore I'm a thief. If only they knew what I really am. He let himself in, closed and re-locked the door, thankful that there was little lighting in this practically-unused wing of the airship. Very well then, this shall be my final and greatest caper, before I put all that behind me. Thieves, he thought to himself as he prowled down the walkway, searching for the proper door—it had been such a long time since he was here last—they lie, cheat and steal. Everyone knows that that's what a thief does. Well, I've already cheated death; there's not a person on Gaia who believes I'm still alive. I wouldn't believe it myself if it hadn't happened to me. He finally found the room he was looking for, and let himself in just as easily as he had entered the ship. He found the costume waiting—he's so predictable, always bringing things to his room and leaving them here, instead of in the prop room where they belong,—and quickly put it on.
Zidane felt the ship tremble as the airship took off. Perfect. Now for the lie. I'll make everyone believe I'm Marcus. He heard footsteps approaching, and hid behind the door as it opened. The light came on, and Marcus turned, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw the intruder in his room, wearing his cloak. "Hey, who are–" he didn't have a chance to even finish as Zidane sprang forward and struck him on the back of the head with the hilt of his dagger. Not lethal, barely even harmful, but it would keep him unconscious for long enough. He didn't have to do that, strictly speaking; it wouldn't really hurt anything to let Marcus in on it, but it would ruin the drama of the situation. The people were coming to see one of the greatest dramas of all time, and he had to get in character. Nobody could know until the moment came. Now all he had to do was wait until they landed.
He passed the time rummaging around in Marcus's cabin, looking for food. It had been so long since he had eaten real food, instead of just living on whatever he could hunt or forage up. But he found nothing, so he simply slipped into Marcus's bed and slept until it was time. He awoke as the whine of the engines changed pitch. He swallowed hard to pop his ears as they began to descend. Marcus was still unconscious there on the ground, beginning to grow a nasty goose egg. I might have hit him harder than I thought. But he'll be fine. He walked out the door and almost ran into Baku, come to fetch Marcus, no doubt.
"How many times have I told you not to bring props and costumes to your room?"
"Sorry, Mr. Baku. Is it almost time for the show?" Zidane asked in his best imitation of Marcus's voice, his head hidden deep within the hood.
"It is. You ready?"
"Yeah." Am I ever ready, thought Zidane. It was time for his greatest and final theft. He would not only steal Dagger's heart, he was going to completely steal the show.
I got this idea while going over the ending of FF9 for the second time. How did Zidane get onto that stage? What was going through his mind? Square didn't tell us, so I decided to invent the response. I hope you like it. Send any feedback to me at masonwheeler [at] yahoo [dot] com. ( — to avoid spam spiders.) If you'd like to post a copy of this at your own site, you're welcome to, but please email me and let me know.