Title: Efflorescence

Genre: Romance/Drama/Slice-of-life

Rating: T

Warnings: Adult themes, occasional coarse language. Explores elements of PTSD. Contains spoilers from FFXIII trilogy and FFXIII: Reminiscence ~ Tracer of Memories. And bucketloads of angst, but that's to be expected from me.

Plot Summary: Prequel to Coalescence. Born anew, Lightning wants nothing more than a normal life – with a little companionship. Her partner is all too happy to offer himself, but what she hadn't accounted for were the aftereffects of their past traumas – and the fact that he'd carried a millennium-long torch for her. Older Hope/Lightning. Post-LR. Multi-chapter, ongoing.

A/N: After I finished Coalescence, I realised that there was a substantial amount of backstory material. Enough to flesh out into a full-blown story of its own. Here's the result. Enjoy!

xxx

Stage Zero – Germination

xxx

Hope was taller than her.

That was the third and most jarring thing Lightning registered upon seeing him in the new world.

The first was that he'd been reincarnated in his true adult form. That didn't come as a surprise; the Hope she'd interacted with during those fated thirteen days carried the disposition of someone far older than his youthful appearance suggested. After everything he'd built and accomplished and endured throughout the years, having his efforts undone – by virtue of rewinding his journey to maturity – would be a terrible insult. While it would make sense to restart with their original ages, she was glad he'd been spared that.

The second was that he was so achingly familiar despite his adult face. His fair features were no less delicate than they'd been as a teenager, only now they made him handsome (devastatingly so, she thought with a catch of breath) rather than effeminate. While the plumpness of his cheeks had given way to an angular, defined jaw, his eyes remained the same. An vibrant shade of wintergreen, they shone with the same intelligence and openness she remembered from their l'Cie days. His silver hair had even retained its trademark fluffiness, smoothed down only at the back. Grown-up or otherwise, he was still Hope.

And he now towered over her.

Well, 'towered' was a bit of an exaggeration (only Snow deserved that moniker), but their height reversal threw her off. The last time they'd been in each other's physical presence, he'd barely come up to her chin. It seemed that not only had he reached her eye level, he'd surpassed it by at least three inches. Having watched him grow up from Valhalla, she'd known he would be above average height – which was to say, taller than her. However, the face-to-face acknowledgement of this fact – of him – made her imagination pale in comparison.

As though his thoughts ran down similar lines, Hope himself was staring at her, undisguised awe and disbelief in his expression.

"Light," he breathed her name, breaking the silence. "Is that… really you?"

"Who else?" She felt her lips tug upwards in a radiant smile. "You said we'd be together. So here I am, upholding your promise." She couldn't resist the little gibe.

His right hand drifted towards her, seemingly of its own volition. "It's hard to believe you're really here." There was a distinct waver to his voice, which was deeper than she recalled. Older. "Three months have already gone by since I—since we've appeared. That's not very long in the scheme of things, but…" he faltered, letting his hand droop back to his side.

"I've looked for you the whole time," she reassured him gently.

A smile broke out on his face, small but genuine, and moisture glimmered in the corners of his eyes. "I know you have."

He took a halting step towards her, the action speaking of enormous restraint. When she made no move to back away – silently giving him her assent – he closed the distance between them in a rush, arms fastening shut around her.

"Goddess, Light. I've missed you. So much."

His voice was raw, almost bestial with grief, and he clutched her for dear life, as though afraid she would slip through his fingers if he were to let go. One of his hands entwined itself in her hair, while the other dug into her opposite bicep, its grip so tight that it was almost painful. Caged within his arms like this, she could feel his whole body shake with the force of his emotion. He was rasping her name against her nape in a broken mantra, breath hitching every few seconds.

Under normal circumstances, she'd feel great discomfort at such a sentimental display. Her typical response would be to offer a consoling pat and attempt to disengage with as much grace and swiftness as possible. (Or in Mog's case, a decidedly ungracious flick to the forehead.)

But this was Hope. The one who'd somehow wriggled past her thorny defenses and found a place in her heart. The one she'd sworn to protect. The same person verging on breakdown because she'd finally returned to him after long, torturous eons apart.

This was her partner.

So against all natural inclination, she let her arms encircle his waist and hugged him back.

The effect was immediate: he relaxed against her. This caused her to relax in turn, and she felt his mood shift, losing the jagged edge of desperation to become something softer, warmer. He nuzzled her temple, unknotting his fingers to comb through her hair instead. The sensation was unexpectedly pleasant, and she tightened her arms around him, succumbing to his touch. Thus enraptured, they held each other, letting the world dissolve around them until there was nothing left but him and her.

Amid their tender, wordless exchange, Lightning realised something.

Hope was no longer a boy.

It'd come without warning, this awareness of him. His scent surrounded her, a mix of freshly laundered clothes and cologne and spicy musk. It was a crisp, masculine scent, one that bore only a vague resemblance to that of his younger self, but she inhaled deeply, breathing him in. Pressed up against him, she couldn't help but notice how very grown-up and male he was. His shoulders had a pleasing breadth to them, his frame was lean but solid, and his arms bespoke a quiet strength where they'd wrapped around her. While he was by no means burly, he'd grown large enough that his embrace encompassed her fully.

Here in his arms, she felt safe.

That wasn't to say she hadn't felt safe with him before. Even as l'Cie, she'd drawn – not quite comfort, assurance more like — from his presence at her back. He was unpractised but vigilant, determined to honour his side of their pact to protect each other. When they'd paired up again at the world's end, his constant chatter had been a balm upon her soul. The intel he provided had grounded her in battle and foreign places alike, but there were also moments where he'd broken through their emotionless barrier with real concern for her. It had coalesced what remained of her fading humanity, soothing her even as she resigned herself to Etro's lonely fate.

But this was different.

Although Lightning wouldn't admit it, the countless years spent alone in Valhalla had left her starved for physical contact (only from desired company, mind you). With her emotions in full functioning order once more, she'd savoured Serah's warmth and closeness whenever they held each other in the new world. Yet there was something in Hope's touch that her sister's had lacked. Perhaps it had to do with his taller, larger form, or the fierce protectiveness – even possessiveness – in which he cradled her, but she felt her worries melting away. Ensconced in his arms, she felt at peace, sheltered against the harshness of the world.

Never had she known that a man's embrace could be so comforting.

They remained like this for several minutes, revelling in their proximity to one another. Then Hope's soft, earnest tenor broke through her trance, delivered as an exhalation into her ear:

"I'm so glad to have you back, Light."

She burrowed her head into hollow of his neck, unwilling to disturb the feeling of contentment that had stolen over her. "Me too, Hope," she murmured against his shirt collar, no less earnest herself.

Her reply must have satisfied him, for he stepped back from her, unravelling their embrace. Disappointment, acute and unanticipated, welled up inside her at the loss of contact, held at bay only by the fact that he'd let his hands linger on her forearms. His fingers were warm against her skin (he'd forgone his ever-present gloves, another difference about him), contrasting with the cool autumn air. She peered up into his face, all too conscious of the fact that she had to tilt her neck back in order to do so.

Had she ever noticed how expressive his wintergreen eyes were? Right now, they overflowed with happiness and affection – all of it directed at her. She found herself entranced by them, her heart fluttering inside her ribcage like a trapped bird. It fluttered still harder when he blinked, causing tears to spill over and trickle down the already-damp paths across his cheeks.

Hope had been crying for her.

This realisation hit her like a palpable force, making it hard to breathe all of a sudden. Overcome by a powerful, inexplicable urge, Lightning reached up with tremulous fingers to touch his face, brushing away the glistening evidence of his anguish. He responded by covering her hand with his own, leaning unabashedly into her palm. His eyes drifted shut in evident rapture, as though he were drinking up her very presence itself.

Then his fingertips made contact with her cheek, startling her even as she became aware of the hot, moist prickle behind her own eyelids. Looking rather moved himself, Hope had reciprocated her gesture with equal, if not more tenderness. But that wasn't what caught her attention.

No, what had caught her attention was the fact that his touch burned her.

It snapped her out of the reverie they'd somehow fallen into, thrusting her back into reality. Even now, she could feel the trail of heated skin his caress had left behind. Was still leaving behind; he hadn't stopped stroking her cheek. Unthinking, she'd taken liberties with his person and permitted him to do the same, which had escalated their moment to something far too intimate for her comfort. In short, they'd overstepped her boundaries.

Which meant one thing: she had to diffuse the situation now.

She'd go insane otherwise.

Pushing aside the maddening distraction that was his hand, Lightning tried for her usual snark. "Since when did you get taller than me? I have to look up at you now," she added, not quite managing a grumble.

Hope laughed at that, a pure, uninhibited expression of joy. The sound was beautiful as it was rich, warming her heart even as it stirred an odd, tingling sensation in her belly.

"Light, I grew up a long time ago."

She nodded. "It'd be nearly a thousand years since then, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah." Melancholy seeped into his eyes, manifesting in the quiet timbre of his voice. "I know it's foolish, but sometimes I still wish you were with me."

Upon hearing those words, Lightning felt a cold, familiar wash of guilt, drowning out whatever new, foreign feelings their closeness had evoked only moments ago. Through the timeless lens of Valhalla, she'd borne witness to his lonely struggle to adulthood, watching how he'd fought despair when their friends left him one by one. When she'd left him.

"I'm sorry," she lamented. "I wish I could've shared those years with you, too."

He shook his head. "Don't be." Reaching forward, he took her hands, prompting her to look down at them. His larger hands engulfed her own, his long, elegant fingers interweaving with her battle-roughened ones in a mesmerising tapestry. "We all had our parts to play back then. But the future is ours now. And we'll share it together."

"Yes, together." Gripped by newfound determination, she cast her eyes upwards, meeting his gaze. She would never leave him again, not if she could help it.

Her declaration made him start, as though she'd snapped him out of his reverie. "Ah, I seem to have forgotten my manners." He withdrew from her – again, she felt a odd, disconcerting pang of loss – and retreated to the opened door behind him, gesturing inside. "Why don't you come in?"

"I was wondering when you'd offer," she huffed, keen to reestablish some sense of equilibrium.

"Can't keep a lady waiting forever, can I?" her protégé-turned-man returned smoothly. He jerked his head in the direction of the awaiting entrance. "After you."

Smiling despite herself, Lightning picked up her briefcase and strode towards him. Ever observant of household etiquette, she scraped the soles of her sandals on the doormat before stepping over the threshold into his home. He followed suit, shutting the door behind them.

She'd found Hope. They were together again, she and her partner.

A/N: Ah, it's the infamous reunion scene – with more than a dash of delicious sexual tension. Remember, reviews are love!