EDIT: I decided to fix a couple of things with the punctuation and such, since it was actually a bit confusing the first time round ^^'
Anyway, italics = memories; the rest are Hope's thoughts in the present.
Also, now this story has got a smutty spin-off, "Spark", set before Hope's third memory of Vanille ^^
o o o o Anamníseis
I knew love when I was 14. When my mother died. When a universally-feared entity marked me and a bunch of people I'd never seen before. When my World, my life, my innocence, my everything was turned upside down.
I knew love when I met her.
When the minty scent of her skin crashed against mine.
I was a kid. God, I wish I was still a kid, if that meant being hugged by her again, even just once.
I was afraid. Torn, alone. I wished I was empty, heartless.
How those few days of fights, tears and rage changed me, I'll never be able to explain. It just happened, like the flow of life, its events and its mysteries. How you can merely hear your mum say 'Hope, let's go see the fireworks in Bodhum!' and that simple line can wreck what you used to call 'normality'?
It just happens.
Since I met her, since I met that jumpy, frilly girl…I was never the same since then. I wasn't able to keep my heart away from the thought of her.
I might say that her figure was that of a young mother, to me; an older sister, perhaps, like Fang was to her. I wonder why I never told her that I didn't need her protection, her hugs, her strength to push me forward. I mean, I learnt to stand my ground, in the end.
But maybe the point is that…I did need her close. That I wanted her to look at me, to nod and to tell me that we were going to make it. That we'd go all through this. To the very end, together.
Every single memory I have about her is still there, lingering around in some corner of my mind. They come out like dragonflies, spontaneously, glimmering, unstoppable.
Her giggling.
The colour of her hair. The colour of raspberries, of candies, of darkened corals.
Her high-pitched voice. So annoying, so hyper, so childish. Yet so captivating.
The way the lines of her body formed so many harmonious arcs. Smooth, fair, unblemished.
Just memories. Scattered images of situations I've lived with her.
"Hey, Hope…were you actually joking?" Oh, her random questions.
She rolls on her stomach, turning towards me. Blades of grass stuck to the delicate flesh of her thighs, her pigtails semi-undone. Her hand covering those light-brown lashes, protecting her bright eyes from the burning sunlight of Pulse; her bracelets dangling only a few centimetres away from her nose.
I can't help but smirk at her curiosity. Does she really need confirmations from me?
"What if my answer was 'yes'? You would stop smiling?"
I stay silent, while she considers me for a while, biting her lower lip. I'm just waiting for her to crack a joke, to laugh it off. Or just to get all flustered like whenever my sentences focus on her feelings.
To my surprise, her eyes are invaded by a gloomy shadow, and her words are suddenly serious:
"Maybe. It's not always…you know…" she pauses, playing with the pearls on her top, trying to find a convincing word that will, at the same time, save her from betraying herself "…easy."
More silent instants pass by, during which I wish I could tell her that her smile has become an essential part of my days. I wish I was mature enough to grab her and kiss her without worrying about the age difference and the way she probably sees me. Just a child.
I wish I wasn't feeling like this, because falling for someone like Vanille is like falling for the unknown source of survival.
I don't even know her surname. I don't know if she's actually only five years older than me. I only know her smile, her eyes, her voice, her fragrance. Her name.
Falling for Vanille is like falling for the softer, more delightful side of the unknown. A spice. So pleasant in a striking way the first time you get a taste of it, so addictive on the long run.
"Vanille…I don't want you to smile if it's a lie."
She nods slowly: "I know…it's just that…"
For a second, it feels like she's going to pour it all out. It seems like I'm going to find out about her secrets, her past. Or the reason why sometimes it seems that she's been frozen through a great part of what we call 'history'. Like she's from another world, not simply Gran Pulse, but a whole different era. Or maybe she's going to spill what it is that turns her cheerful attitude into a guilty expression towards Lightning and Sazh, sometimes.
Instead, she just shakes her head and stands up in a quick movement. Looking down at me, she smiles from ear to ear, holding out her hand to me: "We better head back."
She's pretty damn good at pretending.
I forgot how many times I've replayed that scene in my head, trying to guess what she might have wanted to tell me. But did she really want to tell me?
Every time that I had the impression that she was going to open up to me, she just changed the subject. Maybe I wasn't fit to grasp her secrets in the right way; maybe she assumed I was too young, too desperate, too clung on her to give her past an objective consideration. Maybe she thought that I would judge her, consider her a shame for humanity, for whatever she did.
But there were exceptions. Moments in which I actually felt like I could be her support.
We're in Oerba, rain pouring crazily and thunders cutting the sky like rifts. I can tell that there's something off with her. Not in general, but since we've entered her original village, everything she says or does leaves a faint feeling of fear and secrecy; as if she's bottling up some mystery.
We've found shelter in an abandoned house, after a fight; I'm upstairs with Vanille, sitting on a windowsill; I stare at her, while she's busy bandaging my bruised wrist.
Normally, I would just ask Lightning or Fang what's wrong with her. But even they seem oblivious to what's tormenting her mind. I could ask her, directly, as I've planned to do for all this time. But the right words are stalling somewhere in my childish, deceived soul…somewhere where I can hardly dig up anything.
She and Lightning have a thing in common: they barely ask for help. Naturally, it's because of two completely different reasons; for Lightning, it's a legacy of her proud attitude, an 'I've made myself into who I am' line of thought.
Vanille is more the 'I don't want others' pain to subside to mine' type. More subtle and concealment-seeking than purely altruistic (even though altruism was a consequence of that, and one of her most outstanding features).
Her jolly exclamation takes me back to reality: "Done!"
She pats on my freshly medicated wrist and smiles at me, yet she doesn't show any sign of standing up or leaving the windowsill.
"Oh. Yeah…thanks, Vanille."
I should learn how to sound more resolute, when she's so close. Definitely, since the next thing I see is her 'Something on your mind?' look studying my eyes.
Before I can act in any way, her expression changes again, the corners of her mouth turning into a sly smile. Good lord, not that she's a pearl of innocence or anything, but this is the first time that I see her lips shaping into a smirk. Must be Fang's influence.
She bends forward, until she's more or less a couple of inches away from my nose, and, as her index strokes gently across the bandage on my wrist, her voice comes out as an hoarser whisper: "Do you want me to…kiss it better?"
"What?"
Instinctively, I jerk away, backing off until I lean against the window's frame.
That strange grin is rapidly wiped away from her face, as she starts chuckling, her hands covering her mouth and her cheeks flushed with satisfaction: "You should have seen your face!"
"Vanille!" I complain, helplessly trying to sound pissed. "Why…are you…oh, scratch that. Just…don't do it again!"
I watch as her expression changes again; she's back to a serious look, despite her cheeks being still reddened. She leans again into me, even closer this time. Close to my right ear. Her hands crawl up my shirt, coming to rest on my shoulders.
I can distinctly feel her warm scent of Oerban flowers, closer than I've ever smelled it during any of her hugs. I don't think I've ever heard my heart pounding so hard, so painfully…I never thought I liked her so much.
"'Don't do it again'? What do you mean…attempting to kiss you…or…" now she's so close to me that her lower lip brushes against my earlobe. "…or just kissing you straight away?"
Oh shit.
My breath must be blocked somewhere in my throat; my hands clench on my knees, as she shifts to come and sit between my legs.
I've never been this close to a woman. Never.
This is way different from any other dream I've had about kissing her. For example, in my fantasies, I was the one making the first move.
Instead, now I'm simply sitting still, startled, not daring to lay a finger on her, just staring out of the window.
"V…Van…"
"Sssh".
It's the last things that leaves her mouth before she tilts her head forward, reducing to powder the hardly existent distance that was still between us; her lips come to rest on mine, slightly parted. Her entire body leans against mine, her pulsing heat irradiates through her exposed skin, melting away any kind of restraint I could feel.
The lump in my throat comes loose, freeing a boiling sensation that spreads all across my body…to my head, my limbs, my stomach, my heart, my brain…
I close my eyes as I feel something coming to me with that kiss: it's not only sweet or sensual. It's sincere.
I can feel the fear running through her; shivers in her hands, her heart aching, her eyelids firmly closed in an attempt to block the past out of this moment.
I'm not just kissing an older, Pulsian l'Cie girl, who, on a practical side, I barely know. I'm kissing thoughts and fears out of her heart.
It only takes me a minute to taste a salty drop on my lips, to see her eyelids forcefully pressed together to try and keep the tears behind them, and her breaths becoming more irregular and similar to sobs.
Eventually, my right arm leaves my knee to come and curl around her shoulders, while, like she's suddenly lost all her vital strength, Vanille loosens the grip on my shirt, her arms falling softly on my hips. Her face is now pressed lightly against my chest, tears streaming quietly down her cheeks and the only sound coming from her mouth is a muffled, repeated begging:
"Forgive me…Hope…"
I know it's not about the kiss, or the teasing. It's about something for which she doesn't expect any mercy or forgiveness.
I know time will let her tell me what's tormenting her so much, why she feels so guilty…and if I can actually make something to make everything better. No matter what.
"It's okay, Vanille."
As the days passed, every hour felt like air; blowing away so fast, so unstoppable.
Did I fear that I could lose her? I don't know.
Was I in love with her? Not yet, I suppose.
Everything went by so quickly that I barely had time to savour it, to feel every second on my own skin; I was used to have her by my side, to hear her, to grab her hand whenever I wanted…so used to her presence and the path we were walking that, when I realised that everything could be over in a matter of minutes, everything came crashing down.
"…what are you thinking about?"
She reaches for her fur skirt, covering her naked chest. Her cheeks are still so flushed, her left leg is still straddling my thigh.
I've been taking in the details. They make her flawless, in her imperfection.
She has a beauty spot on her lower abdomen, usually hidden by the edge of her skirt; a bunch of minuscule freckles between her breasts; a small, white scar on her inner left thigh.
We snuck away from the group with an excuse, and we couldn't light up a fire…unless we wanted to be attacked by some random wood Cie'th.
I doubt I'll ever forget the way her body bent over mine. Or the way her mark glowed weakly, reflecting the moonlight, or how her hair swayed along her sweaty, smooth shoulders. Or the way her fingers pressed on my chest, or how her voice sounded so much more intense and throaty.
"Nothing, Vanille…"
She smirks: "Like you're gonna hide something from me, Hope."
I shrug, my index tracing the border of her parted lips.
She grabs my wrist: "Hope…". Her blissful expression turns into a frown, her eyes searching my paranoid mind, "Do you…regret this?"
I laugh quietly: "I should be the one asking that to you."
Vanille shakes her head, her fingers fiddling with her loose ringlets: "It was a lot better than I'd expected it. And, well…it just felt…right, you know?"
She smiles, her cheeks blushing with a bright tone of pink.
"I know."
But she isn't going to give up on her first question; she just shuts up, patiently waiting for me to take the hint and spill the beans.
"Is this the last time I'm seeing you?", I blurt out, turning my eyes to the stars.
For the first time that night, silence falls on us, heavier than our destiny as l'Cie.
I know she's regretting her own question, and seeking for the right words to divert the conversation to something frivolous or, anyways, distracting.
"Hope…you'll be fine…Everything is going t-"
I turn to her, sharply: "Don't tell me that. Vanille…", I pause, looking at her, trying to keep my voice low, "I may be young, and I know I've always wanted your comfort. But now I don't want your reassuring lies anymore, I want the truth."
She nods evenly, and through her tense, watery eyes, I see that something just clicked inside her; just like on that rainy day, in Oerba.
"Okay…"
She turns to lie on her back and, over the next hour, I listen to her story. I don't know if she's telling me exactly everything, but I know for sure that what she's telling me is not lies. There are times, during her speech, in which I want to hug her; other times I want to slap her. But I never feel hate, or disdain for her actions.
"That's it, more or less.", she finishes, sitting up and starting to get dressed, all the while doing her best to avoid my eyes.
What am I supposed to do?
I don't want to palm off some dull, overused set expression on her; but I don't want her to think that I'm judging or despising her, either.
Oh damn, I don't know. This entire situation is out of my league; I suddenly feel again the weight of my young age, of my insecurities.
Where is all the bravery and alertness that Lightning instilled in me, only weeks ago? Where?
"Vanille…"
As if she forgot I'm here, she keeps on putting clothes on, still turned the other way.
"Vanille, listen…"
I get up.
Hearing my movements, Vanille stops in the midst of tying her hair in her usual pigtails; still not turning towards me.. Her voice comes out broken, as if it didn't belong to her anymore:
"I'm sorry. Hope, I…"
My arms stretch around her waist, pulling her back close against my chest. I feel her exhaling abruptly, her whole body shaking.
"Don't…say a word. I won't let you slip away.". I pull her closer, delicately, "Not now."
She nods faintly, her hands coming to rest on my wrists.
"I won't."
I let her go, taking a couple of steps back and grabbing her hand: "We should get back."
"Alright, and…Hope?"
"Hm?"
Her fingers move in my hand until our little fingers are intertwined.
"Promise me you won't let me go. Even if I won't be more than a memory…promise you won't forget…and that you'll always be yourself.". She's smiling, back to her old self.
I smile too, feeling my fears fade away in the fresh breeze of the Pulsian nights.
"I promise."
It's been two years and one week since that night. Exactly two years since she's gone, along with Fang.
If they were looking for some kind of redemption, I guess they had it. Redemption and honour and being forever remembered as two of the six l'Cie saviours of Cocoon. Not the ones who belonged to Cocoon, but the 'Enemy'.
I've never cried, during these two years. As the months passed by, I've never felt that their sacrifice had been unfair, or something that will scar my life forever, like my mother's death.
Neither Fang nor Vanille would have wanted me to see their actions that way. All I could and can do is accept it.
Everyday, instead of missing her, I simply have the certainty that I'll see her again. No matter when, no matter how, no matter why. We will meet again.
I have my memories, her memories. I have our promise.
I have hope.
o o o o
A/N: Ooookay, so this is my first FF fanfiction, written on my current wave of HopexVanille love; and dedicated to James, as a pre-emptive birthday present :)
So…I hope it wasn't too bad ^^'
"anamníseis" (αναμνήσεις) = "memories".