A/N: I really want to say thank you to ReadingChick (Distant Glory) who without her extensive editing, pointers,patience and perseverance, this fic may not have ever been published. I feel this story is more hers than mine. Thank you so much. For all the other readers enjoy and let me know what you think :)
Coldness. That was what she felt as involuntary shivers overtook her body. It didn't matter that she was encased in a protective shield. Swallowing hard and licking her lips, Shelke wondered if it would be foolish of her to hope again. It was an imprudent thought, but in hindsight, perhaps it was the darkness bringing out her primitive survival instincts. Nonetheless, she couldn't banish the idea from her mind.
During her ten years in Deepground, she had abandoned all hope. Researchers, commanders, trainers and sometimes even colleagues-they had hammered it out of her. They had been right to do so; the very notion of freedom was delusional. None of her superiors, perhaps assuming the exception of her colleagues in some cases, didn't want such thoughts prevalent in their soldiers. Only mindless obedience and servitude was accepted. However, it seemed that hope hadn't been completely obliterated. It strayed in the back of her mind like an itch, growing in intensity. She didn't understand why the thought didn't go away. Hope had failed her all those years ago.
Shelke tried to push it out of her mind. I will die here, she told herself. Protecting herself with the shield materia had been a pointless act; even hope was too flimsy a rationale, but despite her best efforts, the feeling lingered. Was there a way out of this? All odds were against it, yet she clung to the belief that there might be.
Wrapping her arms around herself, Shelke felt something uncharacteristic. Something contrary to her usual muted emotions: the urge to laugh. Hysterically, perhaps, but still laugh.
Foolish, to believe that there was some way out. She had known Nero for ten years. He was cold and ruthless, both in power and in demeanour; she knew this too well to believe that there would be some chance of escaping. The idea that he might actually let her out was even more laughable. And the chances of someone discovering her plight in time to save her - assuming that rescue was possible - were so low as to be non-existent.
Protecting herself had been a truly nonsensical action. Why wasn't she following the most logical course and letting the darkness consume her?
Hah, she thought, without humour. That was more like the effects of Oblivion. She tried to turn her thoughts to another topic - this might be time to consider Shalua - but instead they turned to Nero again. A dull ache crept up her throat. Had he waited impatiently for the chance to be rid of her, as Azul had?
No, she concluded. That didn't seem right - not for Nero. Azul had stated his reasons quite clearly: he viewed her as inferior, insignificant without her skills…although he had not given any notion of it before. Nero, on the other hand, had never indicated that he thought of her as something unworthy. She had thought he valued her skills, as his brother had. But, she reminded herself, Weiss had decided she had outlived her usefulness.
The ache in her throat got bigger.
Shelke buried her head in her knees and sighed. To think that the very people she had grown up with, suffered with and fought with had decided to betray her. The thought opened a bottomless pit in her stomach. She had lived with them for so long –it was hard for her to believe that they would cast her aside. What was she supposed to do, now that the only people who gave her a sense of belonging had turned on her?
The Tsviets were never friends or anything more than allies of convenience (except for Weiss and Nero who had blood to tie them together), but after all the suffering inflicted on them by the Researchers, they had found common ground: hate for those who had tortured them, unrelenting anger for those who had imprisoned them, and above all, the need for freedom. It was the glue that held them together, the understanding that they needed to work together in order to take control of their lives.
They had all looked out for each other one way or the other to be safe from the Restrictors. As the double agent, her mission had been twofold: to deceive the Restrictors, and to control the mind of the candidate. Shelke frowned as she remembered the uncoloured coded Tsviet. The mission had been a success and a moment of triumph for all of them, but not for that nameless soldier she had manipulated using SND. However, that particular Tsviet, despite being the trump card in their plans, had lost all importance once she died. The same could not be said for her. Even after the rebellion, Weiss had required her skills and Nero himself had delegated the task to her.
Sighing, Shelke wrapped her arms around her knees and scrunched herself up into a ball as memories filled her mind. The last of them was her confrontation with Nero on the airship.
The darkness encircled her, and its effects were immediate and overpowering. Memories of things she had wanted to forget-things she had blocked out long ago-flooded her mind like a tidal wave. Blood, pain, suffering, mako….she remembered it all. The beatings, the experiments, the torture… She fell to the ground, blurry-eyed and disorientated.
When the darkness dissipated, the feelings of despair from Oblivion's mind probing post-mortem did not. Her body felt weak, but that was more useful to focus on than the near-breaking of her mind. She managed to push some of those unwanted thoughts away, but not soon enough. She could hear his footsteps approaching. Now that she was all but powerless against him, he could do whatever he wanted to her.
Unexpectedly, she felt his cold hand on her cheek, gentle enough to be called a caress. It scrambled the sense she had left and she wasn't able to prevent him from grabbing her wrist and hauling her to her feet. Even then, Shelke could barely focus. She was painfully aware of how tall he was compared to her, how much stronger. She swallowed hard.
'I'm counting on you'
Cid's words echoed in her mind regardless of the dark Tsviet appraising her likely deciding on the most painful way to end her life.
It was one of the most meaningful things anyone had ever said to her. Cid had expressed complete trust in her and no hostility. Of course, neither of them could have suspected a Tsviet's involvement in the engine failure. Not helping Cid was her last regret, as small and insignificant as the task was.
Reluctantly, Shelke brought herself out of such reminiscences and steadily met Nero's gaze.
"Are you scared, Shelke?" he asked without inflection. Shelke was unprepared for such a direct question. Nero was a man who spoke in riddles…when it suited him of course. Judging by the narrowing of his eyes, he was clearly expecting her to answer and was waiting impatiently.
"Yes," she answered. Her voice was nothing more than feeble whisper, but she didn't want to die without some form of defiance. "But it was worth it," she finished.
As much as Shelke wanted to meet his gaze assertively, she felt incapable of doing so. The words were defiance enough. She was well aware of what Nero was capable of. Anyone who faced Nero the Sable was doomed to a painful end and she was no exception.
But instead of moving to punish her, she saw his free hand remove the muzzle that covered his face. She could barely contain her surprise. Too weak and confused to fight, all she could do was wait. "Worth it, you say?" The muzzle fell to the floor and Shelke was able to get a proper look at his features. His thin face looked paler than usual, accented by hollow cheekbones and dark circles around his eyes. He looked...ill. How much strain was he putting himself under?
Shelke felt a familiar pang of pity for him. It had so rarely manifested itself in Deepground, but it came when she saw what he suffered. She had, after all, been present on various occasions while he underwent experimentation by the Researchers. His whaling screams, the scalpels cutting him open without the use of aesthetic, the foreign substances they injected into his body…it was just as fresh in her mind as she was sure was as fresh in his.
The hand clamped down on her wrist made its way to the collar of her uniform and he held her up by it. And held her close.
Her breathing quickened. He smiled at her, but it wasn't malicious. He looked rather amused. "Why so silent, Shelke? You were full of fire only a few moments ago." She stared at him. He stared back, but there was something in his eyes that she couldn't quite place. They almost appeared...sad.
"No answer? A pity. But you were always one to guard your tongue. Where did that sudden rush of confidence spring from only moments ago?" When she remained silent still, Nero let out a quiet sigh.
"Goodbye, Shelke," he said softly. Before she could decide whether she really had detected a tinge of reluctance in his voice, the howls of Oblivion filled her ears and she was floating in its endless mist. Her reaction was immediate and with the last ounces of her strength, she reached for her materia. The screams and howls within were almost enough to disengage her completely as they brought back the memories of her time in the labs and her training to be a Tsviet. However her flow of magic circled her just in time and there she was floating in his darkness in a little blue shield.
Shelke clenched her fists. Of all the times for him to act so bewildering, it had to be then. What did he mean by guarding her tongue? What was the reason for the strange looks he had given her? Why did he take his muzzle off? Why, in the last few moments of her supposed forthcoming death did he have to be so mysteriously infuriating? With all these questions churning in her mind, Shelke did the only thing she could do and locked them away with everything else. Questions like those meant nothing. Instead, she decided to focus on the problem at hand. She was a lonely soul with the clock ticking, the shield cracking and her impending death only minutes away. Wryly, she smiled to herself.
It wouldn't be long now.