Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy IX, nor do I own the song "Gravity" by A Perfect Circle.

Lost again, broken and weary
unable to find my way
tail in hand, dizzy and clearly
unable to just let this go

Somewhere in the bowels of a great tree of evil lay the one man who had once enslaved it. Beside him on the leaves, hidden no longer, flicked a silver tail; moving with energy all its own. His head spun, and his body ached, but most importantly his heart cried out. His usually cunning mind was already slowing down as the cold fingers of death began to slide along him, and the only thoughts left were those of his hard master, or his determined young brother. He knew that the time Garland had described was at last approaching, and Kuja knew that upon the other side of Fate lay his Judgment…but what of his soul? That one unique feature that had made him so special from the start…

'Unable to just let this go…' his body was too weak to allow him to say the words aloud, but his mind utterly rang with the thought.

His reflexes were slow and his sight was dim, but with all that was left of either he could sense his brother still at his side; moving to save the fading life.

I am surrendering to gravity and the unknown
catch me, heal me,
lift me back up to the sun

Kuja was giving up. Despite his feminine frame, he was still a load of dead weight. He was older and taller than Zidane, and he already knew that neither he nor his brother would be able to haul his now near useless body up to the surface. They were miles below, it would be impossible. They were trapped.

To his surprise, Kuja was being lifted - hoisted - up to be able to stand. Zidane had gotten up already, and was attempting to force Kuja to stand. The vines around them were still twisting and knotting over their heads, and as soon as Kuja successfully was placed on his own feet, Zidane pulled out his small dagger from where he had tucked it away in his belt. He smiled a tired smile as he realized that, in one way or another - Dagger was always with him. With his small thieves' blade he hacked cut away at the thick vines of the dying tree. He was upset and nearly spent, but he would not go down without a fight.

lift me back up to the sun

Kuja had steadied himself against the side of their entrapment, leaning on the very vines that were caging the two of them. Standing up alone had taken much more out of him than he should have had left, let alone much more of him than he had wanted to give. He didn't want to die, but apparently that was what was supposed to happen, so why work so hard to live when in the end he was consigned to die anyway? Watching his brother cut, hack and saw at the vines around them put Kuja in awe. Sure, had he the strength left to cast magic, Kuja could cut some vines too, but with only his hands? With a knife? Such power was beyond him - dying or not.

Suddenly - too suddenly for his dulled senses to catch - there was an arm around his waist and a cleared pathway that Zidane was dragging his brother towards. Kuja must have dozed off while Zidane had cut away at the wiry vines. And yet, Kuja felt as if he was ever closer to death now, not refreshed. He was putting nearly all his weight on Zidane as they stumbled tiredly and weakly forward. He couldn't help it; he could barely move his legs as it was.

The silence was getting a little unbearable, and Kuja finally found the strength to ask the question that was burning within him.

"Why..?" He asked breathlessly, and so quietly that it was almost inaudible. Had in not been that Kuja had been leaning so heavily and closely on Zidane, the younger boy probably wouldn't have heard the question.

"Why what?" Zidane asked back though gritted teeth. Kuja could tell that the task of carrying the weight of both people was wearing the already weary boy down.

"Why…would you come back? I…I am going…" Kuja slowly lapsed into silence as he was struck by a spell of dizziness and fatigue. He only realized that he had closed his eyes when Zidane shook him and yelled at him to open them.

"What were you saying? Where are you going?"

It took Kuja a minute to understand the question through the fog of his daze, and when at last he understood, he realized that he couldn't remember ever saying anything at all.

His body was tired, his brain was shutting down, and his memory was lapsing. Somewhere in the back of his mind, something had the sense to say quite clearly, "You're dying." Such a truth was realized and accepted quite easily in Kuja's dazed state.

Zidane, all the while Kuja had been silent and lost within himself, had gotten even more worried, if not weary of his tough trek. The younger boy could see that, even though they were currently walking in a flat, level area, just ahead of them was a steep slope, followed a few yards down the road by a sheer climb up the side of a cliff of vines and leaves.

"I am going to die."

The words were an unwelcome intrusion in the heavy silence, and the slow, weak voice that Kuja had said them in stopped Zidane in his tracks. Kuja really had no hope. Zidane could hear the emptiness in his voice, and the boy knew that his brother had accepted what he believed to be his 'fate.' Zidane knew now what Kuja had asked 'why.' His question had been 'why live?'.

The thought nearly froze Zidane's blood in his veins. He knew that he would try at any cost to get them both out of that beastly tree alive, but how in the world could he get this dying man to even attempt to climb that cliff if that man didn't even want to live? Zidane wasn't about to give up. Zidane was determined. What Kuja lacked in strength of body, his brother made up for, carrying both himself and Kuja towards the exit. And what Kuja lacked in strength of mind, Zidane more than made up for, resolving not to leave that tree until both he and Kuja were safely to the surface again. Kuja was not going to die without seeing the light of day. They would not die in that pit. Zidane wouldn't allow it.

I choose to live...

Kuja tried once more to voice his thoughts, this time getting the words out before he could pass out. "Why…are you taking me? Why…go?"

Zidane noticed that Kuja was strong enough to speak in full sentences, but he could only give half a smile, as his face was twisted and tense from all the weight leaning on him.

"I'm…taking you, because you're gonna live. That's why. Because I won't let you die."

"…No…no, I'm not going to l…live. I'm…die." Kuja was loosing his control. Was he talking? He didn't hear it. Was he moving? Or was that Zidane moving him? Kuja couldn't tell. He wanted to say more; he had more to say, but he was too tired. Too gone. Kuja's head drooped, and a few minutes later he opened his eyes and lifted his head again as he realized something had changed.

When his eyes opened, Kuja could see nothing but leaves. In front of him was nothing but green leaves. He was beginning to wonder if the Tree of Iifa had somehow swallowed him perhaps, but then he realized that Zidane was no longer latched onto him.

As soon as the thought came to him, however, Kuja could feel a slight tugging on his arm, and he shifted his eyes to look up at his brother, who was standing over him with a frantic look on his face.

'What happened?' It took a moment for the thought to register, but as soon as it did, Kuja got a strange sensation, as if he was speaking. It was only when Zidane started to reply that he realized that he had been.

I fell again, like a baby
Unable to stand on my own
Tail in hand, dizzy and clearly
Unable to just let this go

Zidane had made it to the rock face, and had propped his brother nearby against the wall to inspect the conditions for which he would have to carry Kuja up through. Apparently though, the lethargy was worse than he had thought. And Kuja couldn't stand.

He had hit the floor only moments after he had been propped to rest against the wall. How would they scale the cliffs like this? Zidane asked himself the question, but then immediately swept it away. He didn't want to think about how they would do it, he didn't need to. They just would. But first Kuja had to be picked up off the ground…

Catch me, heal me
Lift me back up to the sun
Help me survive the bottom

"Please…Kuja…please, try…" the attempts were fruitless, and if Kuja was trying to get up, it wasn't showing. His body really was pushing its limits. Zidane was wondering if what Garland had said about Kuja having an 'expiration date' was turning out to be true. No, he couldn't think about those things. He had to concentrate on getting Kuja up to the surface. Kuja may not want to get there, but Zidane wasn't going without him, and if anything, Zidane did not plan to die down in the poisoned leftovers of the dying tree.

I choose to live...

Halfway point. Zidane was tired. Zidane was bleeding. Zidane was bruised, bloody, and beat down. Even his never-ending determination seemed to be finding its limits. As he sat on the outcropping, with the limp form of Kuja next to him, he looked down again at the small metal dagger in his hand. In the dim, green light, the blade didn't shine as fiercely as when it was hit by the unadulterated sunshine, but the dull, hazy shimmer was enough to keep boosting his morale, each step of the way.

The cliff, which he had known from the beginning would always look easier than it really was, was still harder than he had ever imagined. He was covered in sweat, and it made carrying the semi-conscious form of his brother even harder. Not only was he carrying Kuja, but somewhere along the way, his belt had been cut - as had his hands - on a good many rocks, and as a result, his belt - unlike his hands - had finally snapped, sending all of its contents and usefulness plummeting back to the bottom. The fact that his belt was gone wasn't so bad, other than the fact that, had the dagger gone with it, he most likely would have abandoned ship right then and there. The dagger though, was all that Zidane could save, as it turned out.

He hadn't given up yet. And he didn't intend to. He was going to keep moving. He was going to save a life. He was going to keep his own, as well. And he had only half a mile left separating him from all of his goals. As soon as he saw the sun, Zidane knew that his confidence would be renewed. He knew that he would be able to accomplish this journey, just so long as he got out of the depressing and dying dungeon of the Iifa Tree. He would accomplish his mission, for he had separated himself from his love for a reason, and he intended to fulfill that reason before he could return to her. He wasn't about to waste the time he could have spent with her by failing.

I choose to live...

To a man that had worked his whole life with magic and thinking, physical pain of such extremes was wholly new to him. There was no way to respond to it, it just took over everything; all senses all sensations. It scared him. It was a sick, cold pain, eating away at everything inside of him. It was as if he could feel the pieces inside of him slowly stop working, only to harden and blacken and die.

He could do nothing at all. He could not move, he could not scream, he could not even cry. Kuja could barely open his eyes to look at his brother; the foolish brother that thought that their lives could be saved. The foolish brother, who ignores not only the empty glass, but even the cracks that glass has, as well. Kuja only wished that if his life were to end, that it would hurry up and end now. Why did his brother drag this out? Zidane was only sacrificing himself. For the man that had once attempted to kill him, no less.
Kuja couldn't see what was happening, but he could tell that he was moving, and that every now and then something hard and sharp would hit him on the side of his head. Perhaps a rock. Perhaps his brain was dying. Perhaps both.

He had no way to help himself, he wished that he had a way to make Zidane stop helping him, and Kuja was willing and ready to die right where he laid. Or stood. Or sat. Whichever he was currently doing; he was too numb to tell at the moment.

Calm these hands before they
Snare another pill and
Drive another nail down
Another needy hole

"'A man is not defeated when he is beaten, he is defeated when he quits'….haven't you ever heard that saying? Do you know what that even means?" Zidane was getting desperate. His grip was slipping. Kuja was not only dying, but he was letting himself die. The blood from the cuts across his forehead was seeping into his eyes. He was having trouble breathing. The setup was a horrible one. With Kuja draped half over Zidane's shoulder, and half supported by the blonde's tail, and Zidane slowly climbing inch by inch up the wall; arms and legs shaking from the pressure and weight.

Zidane shifted to look at Kuja's face just in time to see him get hit by a vine, again. Zidane wasn't the only one covered in blood.

"…..Please…just let me…go. …Let go…" He was awake. He was alive! But his voice showed that neither of that mattered. He didn't care. He didn't want to have to anymore. His voice was shallow and quiet, nearly desperate, but it didn't seem like he had enough left in him to inflect his voice much.

please release me.

"No!" Where Zidane got the energy to say the word with such force, not even he would ever know.

"Leave me…" Kuja's voice was getting even softer with each word

I am surrendering to the gravity and the unknown.

"Kuja, are you that much of a coward? Are you really going to give up so easily? Are you really going to let that man control you again?" Zidane was the closest he could come to furious with as weary as he was. His eyes watered from the pressure, the heat, and the subject matter. But for the first time, Zidane could feel Kuja's body stiffen slightly. He could feel the muscles that were still responsive vaguely thense at mention of the old man. Zidane could tell that Kuja was listening now, and he wasn't about to let that attention go to waste.

"I thought you said you could beat him! I thought you already had the last laugh on Garland! And yet you're still willing to submit to him?" Zidane stopped to catch his breath. "You're still willing to admit that he is superior; the lie you've been telling yourself your whole life? Your whole life, Kuja, your whole life! Don't end like that! Don't let him control you forever!"

The point was taken. Kuja could feel a reason to keep living waking up inside of him and trying to take control. The one thing he had hated since ever he knew how to hate was that crone and his know-it-all master-of-the-universe attitude. In his dying mind, he had only simple powers left. Spite was one of them. He wouldn't forget his ancient grudge as long as it could be helped. Kuja would attempt to survive this, even if only to prove that he could. The phrase 'meet your maker' had never rung truer in his ears, for he had not only met his maker, but he had destroyed his maker. And now he was going to defy his maker as well.

catch me, heal me,
lift me back up to the sun

With his own hands, feet, and tail he wanted to prove he was strong enough to make a difference. He was weak, drained, dizzy, and clumsy - all things that were most certainly new to him - but he was stable enough to lift himself off of his brother's shoulders and on an outcropping in the rock face. He waved his hand for Zidane to go first. He knew he was nothing compared to the younger boy in speed or agility, most especially under the conditions he was under now.

Zidane kept climbing, but often looked back down to see how Kuja was making out. It seemed as though he was having trouble. They had no more than 50 feet left up that wall, but Kuja looked as though he may not make it an inch. His arms were weak; his legs tired. His best ally was his tail, ensuring he at least wouldn't fall while he climbed.

I choose to live.

Zidane watched as his brother climbed - with his own strength - out onto the grass. The brightness was clearly a shock to him, it being something he hadn't seen since he had entered Memoria. He was a sad sight to be seen. His feathery silver hair lay in mats, swinging limply about his head. His once flawless clothing was covering in dirt, holes, burns and blood. His skin was even worse, with dried blood caked on his face, contrasting the dark smudges with the porcelain white skin.

But that didn't matter. Because Zidane had brought his brother back from the very bowels of Hell, and here he was, lifting himself out of its grasp. The change would have been unimaginable had Zidane not been there to see it happen.

Zidane sat still as he watched Kuja slowly and wearily turn himself so that he was perched, sitting on the edge of the great pit of the roots of the Iifa Tree. He slowly lay back onto the grass, resting his aching body. He angled his face towards the sky to feel the sun, and serenely closed his eyes.

I choose to live.

He never opened them.