Title: Keeping Hope
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIII
Subject: Hope Estheim
Summary: From the young age of fourteen, Hope had always been searching for something.
Additional Notes: Post-game fic, ignores FFXIII-2 to some extent. Contains light homosexual themes. First time writing for any Final Fantasy game.

Keeping Hope

From the young age of fourteen, when he'd been so cruelly torn away from his mother, Hope had always been searching for something. Left alone to fend for himself, his mind sought conclusions, answers, closure. He was still young, naïve, clean from the world's impurities. The one person he'd loved dearly, gone, nowhere near home. And he knew one face, one identity, one man responsible for it all.

Hope knew, then, he sought vengeance, because it was all he knew. That man, whom he loathed, for taking the only person dear to him, then, having never really sided with his father, even if he was the only family he had left: Hope sought to kill him, or have him dead in any other way, for what he'd done to his mother. It was the only thing he knew how to do. He hadn't suffered enough of life to understand people could leave in a moment's notice, especially those close to him. He'd lived happily in Palumpolum, to some respect; there hadn't been a reason to grow up so quickly, so soon.

Snow's personality only gave Hope more of a reason to despise him. He hated it, the man's heroic complex, how he always wanted to act so righteously yet seemed to endanger those around him. He was so cocky, carefree – at the cost of others' lives. Hope would not have it.

It didn't help that Snow, and maybe even the others', probably saw him just as lowly. He was so young, so frail. His emotions took the best of him. He had a boomerang as a weapon, for crying out loud. Lightning had even called him a burden, once. His mind was free to sink into devilish thoughts, especially when Vanille's annoying but appreciated words of optimism had left him. Yet still, he sought to prove himself, beginning with Lightning.

And somehow irony thrust him into the care of Snow, the last man he wanted looking after him. Hope's mind consumed, the pieces began to fit. He only half-listened to Snow; his mind was preoccupied in preparing himself for the moment he'd carry out his own justice, the one that would have Snow Villers seeing the error of his ways, before his grave. Being with that man only showed Hope more of Snow's rashness, fueling his hatred.

At the top of Palumpolum he struck at last. Anger, hatred, anything and everything he knew since his mother's loss, in a pure, aura form – Hope was consumed in himself. Irony wouldn't let him have his way, ruining his only moment of glory yet. He fell, hell, he should have died – but Snow had caught him.

Upon consciousness, a split second granted him the thought of mockery, that the man he tried to kill would save him. Perhaps in that moment of rage, something had left Hope, but he knew what he had to do. Between an injured Snow and a intimidating aerial monster stood Hope Estheim: Young, frail, perhaps weak, but strong-willed.

It wasn't until much later when Hope allowed himself to listen to Snow's motives, his drive. And it was then when Hope realized he was very much the same. His search for vengeance, for approval, for something to make sense … muting pains by losing oneself on other ideals. It was a means to keep pushing forward, lest be victimized by self-consumption and defeat.

Without the drive to kill Snow and seek vengeance on behalf of his mother, whom he still held close to his thoughts, Hope allowed his father to be his motivation, that they could one day be reunited in a peaceful world. But what was left unresolved was the indescribable amount of hatred he could no longer direct. He'd hated Snow before, loathed, and he'd let it fuel him; though he was fueled by other sources, he couldn't possibly loathe something as much as he once had loathed Snow.

But hatred was only another outlet of passion, a reciprocal sibling of love, only another thing Hope had yet to understand, another concept the world had yet to reveal to him. His heart was still healing from the shock of everything. Adrenaline and the necessity of survival pumped through his veins, numbing him of all else. He loved his companions, sure, but at most in the way he loved his mother. Hope didn't know love, he couldn't, not in the circumstances. He knew how to hold people dear to his heart; his heart was too fragile to hold to another.

His heart only opened up long after his journey with Snow, Lightning, Sazh, Fang, and Vanille had ended. Having been reunited with his father, Hope took on a new motivation, to seek for ways to release Fang and Vanille from their fate. In some way, Hope longed for a way to bring back his mother, but even that, he knew, was a tall order.

With his companions having split, he settled back into a somewhat normal life with his father. He returned to school, though he felt out of place. He'd been forced to mature too quickly, and he no longer longed for the same things his peers did. He often found solace in his own thoughts and aspirations, instead of in the company of others.

When his heart did open up, Hope dated a girl, and even a boy, both a year his senior. The former had approached him, and he'd been too shocked to reject her. She'd been pretty, admittedly, and she aroused him in ways Hope figured was normal for sixteen-year-old boys. But he couldn't handle her personality, and they split quickly.

The boy, admittedly, reminded Hope much of Snow, though to a much lesser extent. He was cocky, physically fit, and had a sense for protecting those important to him – though standing up for a kid was nowhere near in comparison to catching people who'd fallen off buildings. Still, it gave Hope a sense of security, not that he needed it. Hope liked being held by the boy, not only because of the warm, comforting feeling it gave him, but because it reminded him of the days when one hug made all the difference, be it from his mother after a unkind day, or Snow when trying to keep warm at night.

Hope blossomed in that feeling of safeness, of being wanted, and likewise did his relationship with the boy, Alan. Homosexuality was a touchy subject, but it wasn't taboo. His own father, Bartholomew, took the news begrudgingly at first, but he overcame his own insecurities quickly: Family would always be family, and Hope was all he had left. Anyone else who disliked the idea didn't matter to Hope, anyway.

Except Snow.

They were reunited years later, mere days after Hope's twenty-fourth birthday. Hope had become a professor, though to no one's surprise. Hope had grown into a confident man, well-spoken and intelligent; he chose not to describe himself as handsome, since Alan and his father were likely biased on that opinion. He was still driven on the same motivation since he'd ended his journeys as a wandering l'Cie: He'd become a professor in hopes of researching ways to bring back the friends and mother he'd lost.

Running into Snow, however, had been by complete chance. He'd barely recognized the man at first, especially without the bandana he'd grown so accustomed to seeing Snow wear. The first thought that crossed Hope's mind, comically enough, was that youth had clearly left Snow; perhaps the physical fatigue from their journeys had caught up to him. Similarly, Snow hadn't recognized Hope at all. Hope supposed he looked much different then than he did now, as a fourteen-year-old and a twenty-four-year-old looked quite different from each other.

Their meeting was joyous at first, as all meetings between old friends were. But upon reaching the subject of Alan, things became unexpectedly sour, and for whatever reason, Snow did not approve. Why he didn't approve, Hope had no idea – but it hadn't been Snow's place to approve or disapprove his relationships, anyway, except maybe in the promise he'd made to Nora Estheim to look after his son, but even that was a stretch in itself.

Snow let it go the moment Hope became defensive, but Hope held that grudge. He turned the conversation onto Snow's own relationships, only to discover that he and Serah had (finally) settled down. They'd had a baby –

" – and we named her Nora."

To this point Hope had believed he'd gone through enough of life's trials to not be caught off guard so easily, but in that moment he was proved wrong. He wasn't sure what he was feeling, but it overwhelmed him. Was it gratitude? Admiration? It was as if his mother had truly lived on, brought back in a way Hope hadn't expected: Hope had no words for the feelings it aroused in him.

In that moment, Hope forgot all about Snow's dislike for Alan. Without thinking, Hope embraced Snow tightly and muttered incoherent gratitude into the man's chest. Only then was he reminded of Alan, in the warmth in hugging Snow, but even then, Hope was reminded the feeling originated from nights with Snow in the wilderness. It confused him, but not enough to kill his joyous feelings, and it was in this security that Hope found himself letting go into tears.

He let Snow stay the night, and he tried to ignore the looks of disapproval Snow gave Alan. Perhaps, one day, he'd ask the man why he disapproved of Alan so wholeheartedly, but now was not the time. Now was also not the time to explain to Alan the importance of this man, or who he was for that matter. He ignored the fact that Alan could become jealous of this man (though Hope couldn't see why he would be). He ignored the fact that his initial attraction to Alan was because of his resemblance to Snow (though, since getting to know Alan, his reasons for being with him were independent of Snow). He ignored any remnant, unrecognized feelings he could even have for Snow (though he was certain they were just feelings of appreciation, anyway).

Instead, he relished in the unexpected joy that was Nora Villers. He relished in the newly found inspiration Snow's daughter gave him. He relished in her symbolism that maybe only he would understand. He relished in that which he never really had, that which he'd sought for, that which he never really knew he wanted: Closure.

Before Snow left the following morning, Hope made the promise to visit Nora someday.

"And no promise of seeing me?" Snow joked with a laugh, and Hope merely shrugged, smile creeping upon his face.

"Your place is with Nora and Serah," he replied simply. "As mine's here with Alan. Stay by their side, and I'm sure we'll see each other soon."

"See ya later then, kid."

They shared one last smile before their lives diverged once more. But despite their parting (and despite Snow's hesitance in accepting Alan), Hope had not lost another friend, but rather gained, and with it, a living memory of his mother, a reminder of everything that had driven him through the trials in his life, a reason to continue his research. He'd have to explain everything to Alan first, of course, but that he'd been able to keep a promise he'd made to himself years ago made him feel elated.

He just needed to find a way to release Fang and Vanille, and all would have been justified. Until then, he held hope in the promises he held in himself, and those dear to him.