Another one-shot. I edited late at night, on little sleep, so I might have missed a few things. But I hope it turned out okay. For those who are curious about the title, "How I Go" is a song by Yellowcard that I really enjoyed. It shared some reflections of this story, so maybe give it a listen? I, of course, own neither the song or FF13.

Please enjoy!

"Dad…" Bartholomew Estheim looked over at his son, adjusting his glasses as they slipped on his nose for what had to be the millionth time. Hope sat on the passenger side of the small, dark car, looking at his hands. Hope had grown over the years, was now taller though still of a slim build. His eyes were still the same starling green as his mother's, although they had grown less childish. Hope was more mature, his jaw stronger, but his skin was still pale. His silver hair still stuck at an angle that refused to go down no matter what Hope did to it. He still had this air about him that made him seem older, even older than nineteen. His eyes spoke of Hope's experience, of his knowing of things that many didn't know. Would never know.

But he was still Bartholomew's son, and Bartholomew could see some of the same boy Hope had been when he was fourteen. Hope's face was scrunched in worry, forming lines on his forehead. Hope bit his lip, leaving his sentence in the air, and he clenched his hands before looking out the window at the pale blue sky.

Bartholomew was a man who didn't age much, if at all, save for a few gray hairs appearing at the top of his brown hair. His face was a bit more lined and his eyes a bit more weary. But otherwise he held firm in his growing age.

Bartholomew, thinking of all the other gray hairs his son had caused him over the years, decided to let him add a few more. "What is it Hope?"

Hope jumped at his father's voice and looked around at him, pink lighting up his cheeks. Hope mumbled something Bartholomew couldn't quite catch before looking out the window again, but Bartholomew wasn't about to give up.

"Come on Hope." he urged, "Tell me. It's important, I can tell."

Hope looked down at his hands again, speaking to them rather than Bartholomew.

"I don't know if I'm ready."

Bartholomew had first met Nora while they were in college. It had been a time when neither was sure of where they wanted to go, although he was glad to say he at least had a direction to decide on. Indeed, he always had the Sanctum to rely on, just as his father had done before him. And he had drive, if that. So with that vague direction in mind, he studied himself to the bone.

Nora though was a bit more free spirited.

The first time they met, Bartholomew already knew what he thought of her. She had to be one of the most annoying, infuriating, carefree people he had ever met. She was insistent on doing things her own way, even in college when they were growing up. They were supposed to be making the transition from teenager to adult, and he felt safe saying she was doing anything but.

She irritated him to no end, and somehow he always wound up getting dragged into her little parties where they would wind up arguing. He started to blame his friends, all of who accused him of being a stick in the mud and dragged him to such gatherings. Even if it was true, at least he knew better than to let loose completely and slack on studies.

Truly, Nora had no direction.

Yet somehow, he had fallen in love with her. Thinking back on it, Bartholomew thought he could recall the very first moment that would snowball into that burning, all encompassing, and eventually painful love.

It had been a cold night. Bitterly cold. Bartholomew had been walking down the paved paths that would lead to his dorm, bathed in only the light provided by a few signs displaying colorful ads and a light post here and there. He rubbed his hands together, wishing he had brought his gloves as he pushed his glasses back in place. They were always sliding off his nose, and he had to wonder if he should start purchasing them from a new eye doctor. His brown hair was played with by the wind, the strands blowing slightly as he walked.

That's when he spotted her under one of the yellow lights.

She was standing there, leaning against the sleek, dark metal post. Her hands were in her pockets, and she was hunched against the cold, but her head was strangely bowed as well. She wore a scarf, green like her eyes, and Bartholomew wondered for a moment why he was able to remember that. He walked up to her, determined to ignore her, until he heard the faintest sniffle as he passed. He wanted to attribute it to the cold, but it sounded different. It was a much more final sniff, the kind where a person was holding something back with all of their might. Still, Bartholomew wanted to move on and forget it. It wasn't as if he liked her.

Yet he was rooted to the spot, watching her with wide eyes, his glasses sliding just a bit.

Long seconds ticked by where Bartholomew only watched her, feeling something uncomfortable swirl in his stomach as she continued to sniff and bury herself in her coat as if she could escape from her problems in such a way.

After one final sniff and cough, Nora looked up at him, her eyes red and puffy and full of anger.

Yet all he could notice was how green her eyes were. How very bright and how very green they were.

"What do you want Estheim? Can't you see I'm busy here!" she shouted at him, baring her teeth. Bartholomew jumped, taking a step back as she yelled at him. He felt scared, more scared than he ever had before. Sure, he and Nora had yelled at each other before but this…there was something about this that had him scared-for lack of a better word-shitless.

"What? What Estheim? See something on my face? Or are you just happy to see me like this!" She continued to shout at him and Bartholomew's fear grew tenfold when he saw a few tears slide down her face. His guilt grew and ate at him and he found himself stepping closer, even as she continued to rage at him.

"What happened?" The words were out of his mouth before he could register them, but he found he didn't much care. This seemed more important than how he felt about Nora at the moment.

How did he feel about her?

"What do you care?" Her voice was harsh, but Bartholomew felt another stab of guilt as her voice wavered. He took another step toward her, forgetting that he was cold and that curfew was fast approaching. That his dorm mates would rip into him when he showed up, and that it would only be worse once they found out why.

He even forgot that he hated Nora.

"What are you doing!" she demanded, taking a step back as he approached. She bumped into the pole and glared at him, "Come any closer and I'll scream."

"I'm sorry." Again he didn't think about the words. He was sort of glad, but at the same time, he wished he knew what to say.

He wasn't really a man of words.

"Sorry? What do you have to be sorry about? It's not like you could have done anything." Bartholomew had no idea what she was talking about, but she was looking at the ground again, tears in her eyes. "It's not like anyone could have."

He was closer to her now, both of them standing under the light that barely lit up the night around them. It was still cold enough to see each and every breath they took, and Nora was still crying even though she tried to stop it. Her eyes were still that beautiful green and they only seemed brighter when she cried. Another gust of wind came, blowing away her scarf and sending her silver hair in all directions.

"I wish I could help."

The words kept coming, and Bartholomew wondered if any if them helped. He had not chosen them carefully, had not handpicked them to help this usually strong person. This normally strong person who was crying and needed someone to help her be strong again.

"Well you can't help." Her answer was short, snappish, but he could see her relax ever so slightly.

"But I wish I could."

They were so close now. Bartholomew's heart pounded wildly in his chest. He had never been so close to anyone before, and he never expected to be this close to Nora of all people.

"I heard you."

But she had a ghost of a smile on her face and Bartholomew felt his breath leave his chest. She looked…beautiful when she smiled. Her eyes were even brighter, and her face was just a tiny bit softer.

He was reaching for her before he could think, and he was glad when she didn't pull away from him. She just looked up at him, her eyes uncertain, before he hugged her and she buried her face into his coat and cried.

And that was when Bartholomew began to love Nora.

Bartholomew smiled as he looked at his son, feeling the familiar ghost of nostalgia take him over. He shook his head and patted Hope's shoulder, "You've been preparing for over a year. Trust me Hope, you're ready." Bartholomew wanted to laugh at his choice of words. All these years and he still felt like his answers were less that great. But then again, he knew he wasn't a man of words.

Hope glanced at him, eyes still worried, "I don't know. I mean, sure, I've prepared and all, but that doesn't mean it will work-" Hope shook his head, tapping his finger by the window as he started to panic.

"Aren't you the one who says that worrying about the future is pointless." Bartholomew tried, eyes twinkling as he looked at his worried son. Even at nineteen he could manage to worry himself into a real tizzy. The man could be a walking panic attack if someone should mention the wrong, or even right thing.

Hope puffed out his cheeks, looking more childish than ever, "No! That's Lightning."

"Yeah, and you practically worship her." Bartholomew said, smirking.

"D-Dad! I do not!" Hope cried, although his face was turning red. Hope looked away again, forcing the blush down. Hope grabbed his wrist and began to rub it, leaving he skin red, "I mean, I just-I don't want to let you down, you know?"

When Nora had first told him that she was pregnant, all Bartholomew could really remember was a few fumbled words before he left the house. He came back later with two cups of coffee from their favorite little coffee shop down the block and handed one to her, feeling guilty when he saw how red her eyes were.

"I'm sorry." he mumbled, taking a sip of his own coffee, "I just wasn't expecting that."

Nora was silent for a few moments, taking only a few small drinks from her own coffee before turning to him. "Do you want to keep the baby?" she asked, her face impassive.

Bartholomew blinked and then opened his mouth to protest, but Nora beat him to it, "Forget about me for a second. I just want to hear what you want to do. Nothing is set yet."

Bartholomew slowly looked down at his own hands, mulling his wife's words over in his head. Did he want to keep the baby? Was he even ready to have one? Sure, he had gotten that job with the Sanctum, but that didn't mean he could provide everything the child would need. Besides, the job would keep him busy. How would it affect his relationship with the baby? With Nora?

He looked toward his wife again and pressed a hand on her stomach, feeling her shiver under his touch. He felt around, having some idea of where the baby was, and had to admit he was a little astounded that a tiny life could grow in there.

Could he handle that?

He would have a child with this beautiful woman that he loved with all his heart. Who was strong and quick witted and knew things a person just shouldn't know. They would raise a baby together, watch it grow. Scold her when she took cookies before dinner, ground him when he took the car.

"I want to try."

Nora smiled and hugged her husband, tightly, almost desperately and they sat together in comfortable silence. Between them was another life, and Bartholomew's hand traveled down to touch his wife's stomach again.

His child was there.

Bartholomew blinked as he stared at his son, believing his ears were lying to him. Hope seemed to take his silence as a negative and looked away, a blush making its home on his cheeks once again. Bartholomew shook his head before clapping his son's shoulder again, making Hope look at him. Bartholomew smiled and was glad when Hope relaxed.

"You know I'll be proud of you no matter what you do." The words sounded corny even to Bartholomew's ears, yet the sincerity was there.

Hope rolled his eyes and smirked, "Generic response much. You're supposed to say that."

Bartholomew laughed and shook his head again, "No Hope. You'll understand why I'm proud of you when you're older and have your own kids." He laughed again at Hope's puzzled look and Hope's blush deepened, but Hope looked away from him again. Hope's eyes looked out the window where a tall building stood proudly, even as the sounds of construction disturbed its peace. There were others there as well, all Hope's age or older. Maybe even a few younger. Some stood alone, others with one parent or both. Some stood closer to their father or their mother, while some teenagers took a few steps away from their parents. They were eager to start off on their own, make their own name.

The parents stayed behind, offering quiet support, silently promising there for their children when the world became too great or too scary and they needed a quick refuge. Some of this soon to be adults would use that support. Others wouldn't. And some of them would never get the chance to.

Hope watched the teens who knew how lucky they were, and the ones that didn't. He watched the ones who stood alone with hard eyes, or lonely young adults with softer eyes that still reflected great loss. He watched eyes that held fear, who knew of loss and were terrified of losing another parent. He could understand their pain the most. He knew they feared they would crumble the moment their parent did. As if the teens couldn't stand on their own yet. He watched the eagerness of others who did not know their luck as they stepped away from their parents, a true shelter from the world that sought to show them harsh reality.

Hope watched these many faces and felt a great surge of gratitude toward his father and a great pang for his mother. His mother who he so resembled. That he saw when he looked into mirrors, her green eyes his own, her face soft like his. It was haunting to see his mother and know she wasn't really there. Like a ghost of the past, one he could never escape.

Hope spoke quietly, unsure if he wanted his father to hear, "I want her to be proud of me too."

Bartholomew Estheim had never been more frightened in his entire life. Nora had gone into labor several hours ago and was now in the operating room, the doctors having shoved him out as they began to prepare his wife for the delivery. The baby was early by about two weeks, and it only added to Bartholomew's growing list of worries. Even with the best doctors he could afford working on the delicate procedure, Bartholomew felt that something could and would go wrong.

His heart burst at the very thought.

He knew well enough that Nora was in pain; his still numb fingers were all the proof he needed. He could hear his wife, carrying their child, wail as another contraction must of rocked her. Bartholomew shivered at the sound and wondered why the doctors had yet to do anything for the pain. His stomach churned as he pondered the possibility of his wife and child dying, leaving him alone in the world, and he questioned what his friends had said.

They had always described having a child, bringing a new life into the world, as a wonderful thing. A miracle even. Something to be celebrated and loved; that could only be described as beautiful.

But as his wife cried out again, it reminded him of only one thing.

Dying.

So he paced in anticipation, unaware of the time that was passing and only listening for his wife's screams. Soon even they ceased and he felt his stomach drop. Had it happened? Had his wife died? Was his child gone? Was he left alone in this world?

"Mr. Estheim-" Bartholomew wasted no time at the voice and nearly ran into the room, ignoring the nurse that had come to greet him in favor of seeing his wife. Nora laid on the bed, sweating and tired and so obviously ready for sleep. Her face was flushed and shiny, but her eyes met his and his breath hitched again as it had so many times before. And when she smiled at him, filled with that love and adoration that they shared, he felt whole. Everything else just disappeared.

Then the baby's cry pierced the air.

"He's well." A doctor had walked up to Bartholomew, but he was still dazed by the baby's crying. "That's good considering he was born early, but we will still keep him for tests to be sure he's healthy." The doctor continued to ramble on about procedure, but Bartholomew allowed the relief to wash over him. His son and his wife were all right. They would have to do tests to be sure, but his son and wife were all right.

His son.

Son.

"I have a son…" he mumbled, looking around at Nora again, still listening to the cries of his son. His son. His son.

Nora nodded to him and he walked up to her just as the nurse came with his son, Nora's son, freshly cleaned. The baby still cried softly, blinking eyes that were the brightest green that Bartholomew had ever seen. They were so much like his wife's. But they were a deeper, darker green. His son's eyes seemed to know something they shouldn't. Bartholomew wanted to laugh when he realized it was quite impossible for his son to know much of anything. He had only been in the world for a few moments after all.

Then again, the whole moment seemed impossible.

The nurse handed the baby to Nora and he watched his son and wife with disbelieving eyes. He couldn't take his eyes of the baby, could see only him and his wife. What did I do to deserve this? What makes me so special? Nora smiled and wiggled her finger in front of the baby's face as the he finally quieted and watched his mother's finger awe. Whatever fears and uncertainties Bartholomew had felt vanished as he watched this display of innocent affection.

In that one moment, he understood. He watched his son and felt new warmth spread from his heart all the way down to his toes and up to his head. It was an amazing feeling, one that threatened to drown him. A strange settling came to his heart, one of pride and love so strange and unimaginable that he did not even try to put it into words. He was bad at them anyway, and something like this was simply beyond them.

Nora looked up at her husband and smiled, handing their son to him, and Bartholomew acted as if he were holding glass in his hands. The sight made her giggle and she felt wide awake and bone tired at the same time. Her eyes softened as she watched Bartholomew's eyes light up. Her husband, the oh-so-serious man, had the goofiest grin on his face, and she doubted he was aware of it.

"What should we name him?" Nora asked, eyes drooping but they remained on her husband and her son. She would be awake for this.

Bartholomew paused for a moment, staring into his son's eyes and feeling that great emotion that he understood without knowing how. He felt that great tug on his heart, one that made him want to laugh and cry from the sheer force of it. He felt the world open up before him and silently asked his son how he managed that.

Once more his lips moved without him knowing, but he knew it was right once he heard it.

"Hope."

Bartholomew felt that familiar wave of pain and loss, although it had lessened considerably over the years. Still it was there, that empty feeling that came to replace his wife. The hole Nora left when she died, leaving her two boys alone in the world. She knew they could handle it if they stuck together. Bartholomew recognized this.

That did not stop the deep and aching longing.

He looked toward his son, this miracle of a boy, and wondered what he had done to deserve him. He was always asking himself that question. He also wondered what he had done to deserve Nora, and other times he felt it was best to keep such wonders hidden. Locked away in a safe that no one, not even he, would stumble across. There were so many things that they weren't supposed to know, that Bartholomew was never meant to know. He knew, although he didn't remember learning that some of the world's secrets would be kept hidden from him. Perhaps he knew this since Hope was named, since even Hope was formed, a tiny living thing that was made from Nora and his love.

He had to remind Hope of that.

"Nora is already proud of you Hope. You know this." Bartholomew blew out the smallest of sighs, staring deep into green eyes that would always haunt him. "She never had a reason not to be."

Bartholomew cheered when he saw the brief flash of light on Hope's face, the small upturn of his lips and the way Hope closed his eyes, a small victory celebration. Words Hope needed to hear, even if they meant little coming from a father who should have made it so Hope would never had to question such truths in the first place. Lately, since this day had been approaching, and before it, Bartholomew had been reflecting these things.

His failures as a father and a husband. And how they haunted him.

"I-I'll take your word for it." Bartholomew was frightened that Hope's voice sounded strained, but was relieved to see Hope's eyes dry when his son poked him in the side. "Come on, we need to get my crap outta here."

Bartholomew snorted, watching Hope reach for a small, red duffel bag in the backseat of the car. "Just can't wait to be rid of me huh?" he teased, shaking his head as he opened the car door. Hope stuck his tongue out and kicked his own door open, joining his father on the other side of the car. Students and fathers and mothers walked along curved pathways that led to a great, towering building. A clock was set at the top tower, marking the approaching afternoon, and Hope smiled.

Apollo University.

"It's not that at all." Hope said, still staring toward the school as his father stood beside him. Hope swung the bag over his shoulder, the bag bouncing against his side before settling against his hip. "I just…I want to start out…"

Bartholomew raised his hand, "I know son. No need to explain."

They stood in silence, listening to the chatter of campus life. Of families speaking with one another, saying goodbyes and making promises that wouldn't all be kept. The laughter that soared above everything, loud and almost rude, but still infectious. Of cars as they too rolled up and prepared to drop off precious cargo as it embarked on new and long journeys, filled with their own twists and turns.

Hope shifted his bag, still looking toward the University, "She's proud of you too you know."

Bartholomew blinked and stared at his son's back, listening to the echoing finality in his voice. A swell of warmth and love filled him, so much so that he almost couldn't speak. Hope gave him no chance too and Bartholomew found himself glad as his eyes began to sting.

"Should we get going?" Hope asked, looking back at his father.

Bartholomew nodded but motioned for Hope to go on without him, "I'll grab your things, just find your dorm." Hope gave him a puzzled look, tilting his head to the side just a bit before he nodded and took a few hesitant steps forward.

Bartholomew watched him, eyes distant and wistful, and a dazed smile made formed on his face. Flashes of the past flipped and swam before his eyes, and for one brief moment, he saw Nora walking down the pathways. The swish of her silver hair, the melodic laugh as she mocked him for something silly he had done. He shook his head and smiled, reminding himself that Hope was more than Nora. Hope had made it pointedly clear that he was different from both his parents. Bartholomew knew Hope was about to see all kinds of things, all types of situations, and be shaped by them. Just as before, when Hope had been a l'Cie, with other family, with other friends. Always growing. Always changing.

"He's starting Nora. On his own." Bartholomew whispered the briefest sting in his eyes, "He'll make it, don't you think? After all he's been through, after all we've done. He'll be fine."

He smiled as the wind whispered back to him, his wife's gentle tone ringing in his ears,

"Of course."