Interlude

Final Fantasy XIII

A Father's Wisdom

'… therefore, assuming the space-time connection of a certain area is not under paradox influence, a timeless space would not require the logarithm to determine the ages overlapping in that paradox.'

The fingers of the hand holding the pencil spun it idly.

'The lack of a timelinear logarithm means the timeless space would require an equation in order to manipulate the timeflow by energy manipulation and twisting the time strings in a loop constantly repeated over time.'

The pencil began to write the numbers of that equation on the paper, but it soon stopped. He reviewed what he had already written and tried to resume the equation he had started, but something didn't add up. If he continued to develop the equation that way, he was sure it wouldn't come to fruition.

'The timelinear logarithm allows us to find which eras overlap in a paradox', he thought with his hands clutching his head and his elbows sinking on the table, trying to focus. 'In the hypothetical case there's no paradox, it's useless to include it in the equation, but, then, which element could create a time loop without incurring in-?'

"Hope?"

The voice, deep and masculine, startled the young man, who dropped the pen in his hand. Turning, he saw a middle-aged man with short brown hair, beard and glasses in a housecoat at the door of his room.

He breathed a sigh of annoyance once he had composed himself again from the shock.

"Such a great timing, Dad", Hope grumbled picking the dropped pencil. "I was about to solve the equation I need!"

"Are you still working on that?", Bartholomew Estheim glanced at the paper in which his son had been writing, both proud and exasperated, and then he looked at the clock hanging in a wall. "It's past three in the morning. Don't you have to work tomorrow?"

"I asked for a day off. I have to finish this before the deadline runs out, remember? I've not spent almost nine months working on my thesis for nothing", Hope said, and gave his father an inquisitive look. "How's that you're still awake? The Director of the Academy shouldn't spend sleepless nights and get exhausted to work the next day. That's not a good role model for your son, you know."

Bartholomew laughed. He approached to the table where Hope was working on his thesis.

"I know you're working tirelessly to get that PhD, but if you don't rest a bit, you won't be able to make that brilliant mind you have do its best", he observed smiling. "And this isn't the first PhD you've rightfully earned. I wouldn't be a surprise if in a very short time we saw you as the new Director."

"That's nonsense, Dad", Hope chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm only eighteen and your leadership is way better than mine. If I was in charge of the Academy, I'd blow up all that you and Captain Rygdea built."

"Yes, you're eighteen, and I can tell that neither I nor anyone in the Academy have all the degrees and knowledge you have", Bartholomew said, laying his hand on his son's shoulder. "And we're not used to save and keep safe the world against overwhelming odds, unlike you. Not to mention you're capable of use magic. About the leadership matter, I'm sure you'd overcome it in no time."

Hope sighed again.

"Please, Dad, I'm done with all these talks about to be the Director. Sorry, but I can't picture myself that way. I've been in the Academy for just two years, and if you're talking about this just because of your illness, I don't think it's that worrying to force you to leave your job."

Bartholomew looked away. It certainly was, but he didn't want to tell Hope. At least, for now. He knew he didn't feel properly prepared to relieve him, but his fears were nothing more than a consequence of his insecurity.

Hope had changed a lot in a really short time, so much that sometimes Bartholomew hardly recognized his son. He had gone from a dependent and weak kid to a young man with strong convictions and ideals. They lived in the thriving city of Academia since its construction began in early 1 AF, where Hope resumed his studies.

And he surprised everyone with his brilliance. He had skipped several grades in just one year, so he accessed to university study at the age of sixteen. Since then, his meteoric rise had advanced steadily, specially since the Academy's foundation, getting a PhD degree in several careers in no more than two years.

Although Hope always said his motivation was to contribute to a society independent of the fal'Cie, Bartholomew was sure there was something more encouraging his son. Even as a kid he was smart and studious and enjoyed his time indoors, but since Cocoon's fall he almost had locked himself in his room all the time he wasn't in school, studying endlessly and hardly ever putting one step outdoors. He spent so many hours between books and notes that he usually forgot to eat and sleep.

Hope hadn't given him many hints about his thesis, but judging from the subjects he had been studying lately –time loops and timeless spaces–, he had few doubts. Let alone having read his previous thesis, as most of them were about time regressions.

"Alright, you win for now. We'll see who was right when you show that thesis to the world", Bartholomew replied, pulling a smile from Hope. "You could tell me what its purpose is. Maybe I could try to help you."

His son sighed and ran a hand through his disheveled silver hair, straighter than in his teenager time.

"It's supposed to be a theory of artificial timeless spaces. The worst thing is I have to make the estimates on my own and I'm quite sure I've made some mistakes. But, to be honest, I'd like to carry it out someday."

Yes, Bartholomew wasn't wrong. Hope spent whole years getting his elbows raw from all that studying both time regression and time travel. Specially since the paradox effect appeared two years ago, shortly after the Academy's formation.

He observed his son's room. Hope usually forgot of returning his books to their shelves because he was used to contrast data quite often, so, as expected in the personal space of a genius like him, books were scattered everywhere. The only thing carefully arranged were his files, full of handwritten notes by him, and several machines' designs riveted on the walls.

The room was filled by Hope's books and work, the symbol of the things to that he had devoted himself. His studies were the focus of his life. There wasn't any decorative item to distract his attention…

… except for a pinkish glass jar with water on his desk, in which Hope had put a beautiful rose with stunning and bright petals.

Bartholomew smiled when he noticed the flower. He had known of the story for years, but he never saw it that clear. Hope didn't talk too much, and when he opened his mouth was only to consult Academy affairs with his father or ask him his doubts for his works.

"Don't worry; I'm sure you'll resolve it. After all your work, I've no doubt that someday you'll meet her again."

Hope's reaction was quite a show. The pencil slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground for a second time. The young man, blushing to the ears and with his light blue-greenish eyes wide open, looked up at his father, who couldn't help but laughing.

"Wha-what're you saying?!", Hope asked, almost stammered. "Why… why'd you say that, Dad?"

"I've seen many things throughout my life, but never a flower so well cared and attended amid the chaotic room of a study devotee", Bartholomew said casually and waved to the rose. When he finally understood, Hope frowned even more blushed than before, if that was possible.

"It's just a rose. I… I thought my room was… empty without it."

"I see. This explains everything", his father reflected with a smile. "You miss her so much, don't you?"

"It's just a flower, Dad."

"No, son, it's not. This is your personal space, to what you've devoted your life and your time. Here are the things you most love…", Bartholomew made a gesture encompassing the entire room. "This is your life. Your studies, your work… and your goal. Your life, as you say, seems empty and colorless to you without that beautiful flower. Isn't it?"

Hope stared at him open-mouthed.

"Since when are you that deep?"

"Your mother must've rubbed off on me", Bartholomew laughed shrugging. "Nora was pretty sharp-eyed. She always said it was easy to guess how that extraordinary brain you keep under that stubborn skull of yours works", he patted on Hope's head with his finger. "You know, I think she was right. I'm getting better on this."

After the initial shock, Hope let out an annoyed sigh and stooped to pick up his pencil from the floor. He didn't look eager to talk about that; Bartholomew knew he still missed his mother, even though nearly five years had already passed since her death.

"It's her, isn't she?", Bartholomew asked after a silent minute. Hope looked up from his work and saw his father pointed to the window from which they could see the crystallized Cocoon in all its glory, illuminated by the moonlight. "One of the girls trapped in the crystal pillar."

Hope's silence was quite eloquent. Mainly because he blushed once more.

"Which one?"

"… Lightning", the young man muttered after a long pause. He had a hard time before letting out the word; his father didn't fail to notice his inner struggle. "You know, the woman who looked after me all the way to Palumpolum. It was she who taught me to fight and survive."

"Ah, yes. The young soldier from the Guardian Corps, right? Yes, she spoke to me so highly of you. She was really fond of you. And I remember perfectly how your eyes sparkled every time you looked at her", Bartholomew smiled, and so Hope's blush turned a darker shade of red. "You admired her so much. It is clear that the first love is never forgotten."

"I don't care about it", his son muttered, feeling so awkward. "I was a kid back then. The only thing I regret is that I wasn't able to thank her for all she did for me. She disappeared before I had the chance…"

"And you wanted to meet her again to tell her."

"It's not I wanted. I still do. Besides… there are a lot of things I wanted to tell her and I couldn't. I've been thinking of it for years."

"Well, in your case, it's better you had to wait all these years", Bartholomew noted, amused. "Crystallized l'Cie don't age, as far as I know. When you meet her again, you're going to have many things to discuss. You know there are certain matters you can't talk about when you're a kid."

"Dad!", Hope protested, embarrassed. "That's not what I meant!"

The Director of the Academy couldn't help laughing, which made Hope sulk and enclose himself in an awkward silence. His gaze stopped in the rose on his desk and his annoyed grin softened instantly. If Bartholomew had any doubts, they were completely solved then.

"Come on, Hope. Is that hard to you to recognize it? You're a smart kid, son. The reason you spend so many hours studying is that you expect to find something that could take you to Lightning. To a past in which she's still alive… or to a future where she wakes up from her crystal stasis", he pointed at Hope's thesis. "Since you deny it to all of us, at least you should admit it to yourself."

"That'd be a betrayal to the Academy's ideals", he muttered, frowning. "Motivated by a woman and not for the common good. That's unbearably selfish, Dad."

"Of course not. Everyone in the Academy work for their love, you know? We all want to see a future flourish in which our loved ones can be happy, and we take care of that ideal wholeheartedly", Bartholomew said, and fondly ruffled his son's silver hair. "Never feel ashamed of your feelings, Hope. What would Lightning say if she knew it?"

"She'd scold me so bad", Hope smiled wistfully.

Bartholomew laid a hand on his shoulder, covered by the loose white shirt the young man was wearing, and looked at his eyes solemnly.

"You know what to do, then. Make your girl feel proud of you the day you may meet again, either in the past or in the future. And keep taking care of that flower for that day you can give it to her."

Hope looked away, embarrassed and with his cheeks still blushing, but after several seconds he looked up and smiled shyly at his father.

"Thanks, Dad."

Bartholomew smiled back. Since his wife's death he had felt overwhelmed at the thought of raising his son by himself. Fortunately, Hope had proved to be able to fend for himself. As a father, he felt indebted to Lightning, too. She kept alive little Hope and made him honor his name, something Bartholomew would've never imagined years ago.

The Director of the Academy felt more proud than ever that the brilliant young man who locked in his room for whole days, searching for a way to reunite the woman he loved since he was a kid while doing everything in his hand to contribute to the happiness of mankind in a society without fal'Cie, was called Hope Estheim.

That genius was his son. Of course he was proud of him!

"I'd better go to sleep. You're right, the doctor told me to rest as much as I could, and if I keep acting this way I definitely won't be a role model", Bartholomew laughed. "Good night, Hope. You know that, if you need any help, I don't mind you wake me up and ask me."

"I'll be fine, don't worry. Good night, Dad."

Bartholomew nodded and started walking in order to leave his son's room. He already had put a hand on the doorknob when Hope, who had been staring at the rose thoughtfully, raised his head to his father.

"Dad… How could you know I'm doing all this for Lightning?"

The question surprised Bartholomew, but he realized a warm smile slowly surfaced on his face.

"Remember, Hope, that although we have our differences and you've changed a lot in a very short time, you're still my son. And, if you're, it's thanks to Lightning."