A/N: I know, it's been forever. I can give you the usual array of excuses – life happened, I got distracted by other things and lost interest etc. – but I think you'd rather just read. Nevertheless, I want to make it clear that I still have every intention of finishing this story. Even if it ends up being dragged out over a much longer timeframe than it has any right to be.
This chapter is especially dialogue-heavy; our favourite couple need to discuss some plot mechanics, rediscover each other and examine their motivations and goals. Other than that, no warnings apply.
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Chapter 3 – Safe Subversion
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The sun had nearly completed its journey to the opposite horizon when Hope rouses. His breathing loses its rhythmic pattern as he stirs, making a faint rustling noise against the sand.
Lightning cannot be gladder to break the silence. "Ah, you're finally up."
He shifts in the direction of her voice, swiping a wrist across his eyes. Wintergreen irises peer up at her blearily. "L-Light?"
"You've been out for a few hours. How are you feeling?"
He deliberates over her question for a moment, rubbing his eyes a few more times for good measure. "Not bad, actually."
"Are you in any pain?" she persists.
His hand drifts across his chest and abdomen, fingertips tracing the smooth, unblemished skin that was disfigured by bullet wounds mere hours ago. "There's a little soreness here and there, but nothing major."
She gives a satisfied nod. "That's good to hear. Your clothes are over there," she adds, gesturing over to his left. "I washed them and left them out to dry. They're a bit torn up, but they'll do."
"My clothes? All of them?" He looks between the assortment of spread-out garments and himself, noticing the feather skirt draped over his midsection for the first time. "Did you see… everything?" he asks with a grimace, pink blossoming on his cheeks.
His embarrassment triggers her own, and she feels warmth creep up her face as well. "Yes." Then, with as much nonchalance as she can muster – dismissive wave of the hand included – she continues, "Couldn't be helped, sorry."
Hope flushes redder at the remark, and a multitude of emotions break out on his face, each warring for dominance. After several seconds of opening and closing his mouth as though struggling for words, he finally mutters, "I hope the sight didn't disturb you too much."
His strange statement makes her halt in her mental tracks. What did he mean by that? Surely he cannot be seeking appeasement of his vanity. (With looks like his, there is no doubt he would've received his fair share of favourable attention. Not to mention that she – the critical, oft-callous ex-soldier – is the farthest thing from a compliment dispensary.) No, a clinical assessment seems more likely. She decides to go with the latter – it's the safer, more literal route.
"You were pretty beat up. But you should look as good as new, now. I made sure not to leave any scars."
"Thank you," he replies, running his fingers across his torso again before fixing sincere green eyes upon her. "You did a wonderful job."
Disarmed by his praise, she manages a grunt in response. "I'll leave you to get changed." She rises to her feet and walks a few paces away, granting him some semblance of privacy.
"Will do," she hears him call out.
Several minutes later, he is done. She turns around at the sound of approaching footfalls, and sees Hope fully dressed in his less-than-immaculate outfit. Try as she might, she cannot tear her eyes away from the numerous punctures scored into his clothes (even though she's already seen them before, knows that they're there). Unable to be mended, the ugly tears in the fabric only serve as a reminder of her near-failure.
He follows her sombre gaze. "They've seen better days, that's for sure," he remarks wryly, tugging on the mangled breast of his jacket with one hand. The other thrusts her feather skirt back at her. "Here you are."
She reclaims the garment with a nod, reattaching it to her hip. "Not your fault. And there're no wardrobes here," she returns in an attempt to mirror his wryness, "otherwise I'd offer you a change of clothes."
"That's fine," Hope shrugs. Then he flicks his gaze up and down her figure, taking in her armoured appearance. "Though it begs the question of where you acquired that shiny metal getup."
"A gift from Etro, for becoming her knight."
"Etro's knight, huh? That would explain a few things."
Recognising the mounting curiosity in her partner's eyes, Lightning braces herself for the upcoming onslaught of questions. To her surprise, he doesn't immediately press her for answers. Instead, he turns his attention onto their surroundings.
"So, this is Valhalla." His gaze sweeps across the cityscape before them, lingering on the most prominent and elaborately decorated landmark: the Temple of the Goddess.
"Yes."
"I'm still trying to convince myself that this isn't a dream," he says, giving himself a surreptitious pinch for effect. "Everything seems so surreal."
"I can understand that," she replies. "Being here, in a place you've probably only heard of in folklore…"
"The Unseen Realm. While I figured it'd have to exist in some form or manner, I never imagined that I'd see it with my own eyes."
"There's not much beyond what you can see, really," she admits, having long since exhausted the novelty of discovering the mythical underworld. "It's quite barren. There's no plant life aside turf and wall creepers, but a small population of Eidolons and monsters do reside here. Mostly, there's the chaos. Souls moving back and forth in a never-ending cycle of death and rebirth."
Hope turns back to her, his brows knitted in confusion. "What about the goddess Etro? Isn't this her domain?"
"Yes. The goddess does reside here, but only in spirit," she explains. "Due to the events surrounding my arrival, she has been weakened so much that she can no longer take corporeal form. So it falls to me to protect her and the order of things."
Comprehension clicks, instilling Hope with new vigour. "That's why we weren't able to find you," he reasons aloud, wearing a trail into the sand before her as he paces back and forth. "You've been in Valhalla the whole time! Outside time and space, in a dimension mere mortals could never reach. I really was a fool, thinking that I could—" he cuts himself off and stops abruptly, shaking his head. "Never mind. If I may ask, how did you come to be here in the first place?"
It seems that his curiosity can no longer be denied. "It's a bit of a story," she tells him, "and it begins with our final battle in Orphan's Cradle. When we faced off Barthandelus, we lost and became Cie'th. It was only for a brief moment; somehow, we were restored to our l'Cie selves so that we could continue the fight. Then we defeated Orphan, completing our Focus and turning into crystal. But later we woke, and our l'Cie brands had disappeared.
Letting her hand drift over the centre of her breastplate, above where the thrice-damned mark had used to be, Lightning continues:
"Neither of these were the work of some random miracle, you realise? In our desperation, we marched right into destiny's hands, praying that we could somehow transcend our doomed fate through sheer force of will. We sure as hell had no backup plan." She cannot help but give an ironic scoff at that. "And we succeeded, but only because Etro intervened on our behalf. She recognised our prayer and delivered us from eternal damnation – both as Cie'th and as crystal statues.
"But her actions came at a price. In doing what she did, the balance of Chaos was upset, which created distortions in the timeline and opened the gates of Valhalla wide. I was sucked in. Then, as though some invisible force was guiding me, I found myself before the goddess' throne." Her gaze drifts to the spectacular building that had caught Hope's attention earlier, before settling back on him. "She whispered into my mind, and I learned the truth about what had happened."
Her former charge's eyes had grown wider throughout the course of her explanation; she can see the mental cogs behind them turning furiously. "I had wondered about all of that," he says, tapping a gloved finger against his chin. "Our stint as Cie'th was so brief that I ended up doubting my own experience. I do remember being swallowed up by darkness and losing my sense of self, but I'd ultimately chalked that up to a hallucination. After all, the transformation into Cie'th is supposedly irreversible, right? So I came to the conclusion that it hadn't happened in the first place."
He starts pacing again, gesticulating as he speaks. "The fact that we returned to our human selves after turning into crystal made even less sense. When Vanille and Fang emerged from crystal stasis prior to the Purge, it was because they'd been given a new Focus. They were still l'Cie. Being l'Cie was an inescapable fate – or so we assumed. I guess only divine intervention is capable of liberating us.
"But this same intervention is also what took you away. The general consensus was that you had crystallised together with Fang and Vanille in the pillar. Despite this, Serah maintained that she saw your smile on the day we awoke on Pulse. But no one else had any recollection of that event, so we dismissed her claim. Maybe she'd wanted to see you so badly that she dreamed you up? Still, I had my doubts. Something about the whole thing struck me as odd."
He comes to a stop, his back facing her. "Now it's clear. Only Serah remembered the truth. If you were indeed erased from time from that point forward, it would follow that our memories were accordingly altered. Just like how Serah and Noel resolved the paradox in the timeline and returned to a different version of myself."
Glad that he had cottoned on so quickly, Lightning lets out a soft sigh. "You got that right."
Hope tilts his head, glancing at her over his shoulder. His eyes are downcast, hidden under the veil of his thick, dark eyelashes. "I know it's pointless to ask since the answer's obvious, but… Have you absolutely no way of returning?"
The tentative, forlorn way in which he spoke elicits a painful lurch in her chest – so visceral is the urge to reassure him. "I would've gone back in a heartbeat if I could," she says in a rush, shaking her head apologetically. "But I'm stuck here, quite possibly for good. Even if there's a way to step into any era or place from here, I can't do so on a whim. My duty is to serve Etro, now and forever."
Her explanation makes him stiffen, his arms snapping straight at his sides. "Becoming Etro's servant… Was that a choice the goddess forced upon you?" His voice is low, taut with restrained emotion. "Or one you made yourself?"
She swallows, hesitating. While she doubts her answer is one he would want to hear, she refuses to withhold the truth. "I made the choice."
At this, Hope whirls around to face her, and his expression takes her aback. Anguish peels his lips back from his teeth, ignites the fire behind the all-too-transparent windows of his eyes. "Why?"
"Because I saw them all, the sins we made as l'Cie," Lightning proclaims, consumed with a sudden need to justify herself. Seemingly of their own accord, her feet shift to assume a wide-legged, defensive stance. "The countless lives we destroyed, the society we upheaved, the timeline we threw into chaos. It's all because we tried to defy fate. We got our wish, but at what price? We brought the world down to its knees, and we need to answer for it. So this is our atonement."
The more she reveals, the more distasteful Hope seems to find her answer. "You mean your atonement?" he grits out, brows drawn low and chin jutting forward in unmistakeable anger. "So it falls upon you and you alone to bear all our burdens? To indenture yourself to a crippled goddess, out of time and reach, while we pass the rest of our lives never knowing what happened to you?"
Something inside her snaps. "Is this what it is, Hope? You're angry that I've chosen to be here?"
"Yes!" The confirmation escapes him in a sharp hiss, and his hands ball into fists. "All this time I'd believed you were a victim of circumstance, trapped here against your will! To learn instead that this was your choice – a noble attempt to acquit our many sins in lonely, everlasting exile—"
"How dare you judge me?" she interjects, her own temper flaring up in the face of his reproach. "You're no different! All those nights you've spent slaving away in the labs, overdosing on caffeine, shouldering far too many responsibilities in order to rebuild the world… Am I to believe you did all that for purely altruistic reasons? No, you're just as deep in penance as I am!"
Hope's response is to draw himself up to his full height and fold his arms, meeting Lightning's gaze in challenge. She tries and fails to superimpose the memory of his younger self's childish fury; from his higher, adult vantage point, his glare is far more imposing.
"I'm not questioning your entitlement to penance." Having regained a veneer of control, his voice is more even now, though the undercurrent of tension remains very much present. "Etro knows I'm an awful offender in that regard. However, I didn't make the conscious choice to lock myself away, knowing that there are loved ones waiting for my return."
She flinches; that soul-crushing truth is no easier to stomach however many times she confronts it. While she can ascribe a higher, divine purpose to the rationale behind her decision, the reality of the matter is that she had abandoned her family and friends to fend for themselves.
"It was necessary! I had no better options!"
"Really?" He cocks a skeptical silver brow at her. "Was refusing not an option?" The corner of his mouth twists, and his words take on a mocking quality. "Did the opportunity to atone fall so conveniently into your lap that you just couldn't resist? You'd think that after everything we'd experienced as l'Cie, you'd be – oh, I don't know, less willing perhaps? – to jump straight into eternal servitude."
Her first instinct is to close the two-metre gap between them and backhand him across the face. The sheer audacity of him, vilifying her for a decision that was made under extreme duress—! To be fair, she had only presented the ugly, self-incriminating side of her argument. It is this knowledge that stays her shaking hand, redirecting her frustration to her vocal chords instead.
"It would've been selfish – beyond selfish – to refuse! Do you understand what is at stake? If I weren't here to protect the goddess, Caius will kill her. Without the goddess's stabilising presence, the threads of space and time will unravel completely. The world as we know it will end! Between that and my freedom, I'd say my freedom is a small sacrifice to make." She lets out a forceful sigh. Having suddenly spent all of her angry momentum, she now feels bone-tired. "I will not be responsible for destroying the world, not again."
Hope's expression undergoes a radical transformation as her words sink in, mouth slackening and wintergreen eyes going wide. "Forfeit your own future, otherwise the world will have no future," he breathes. Unfurling his arms, he exposes his wrists to her in an conciliatory gesture. "It was unfair for the goddess to give you that ultimatum. Why insist on personal culpability when she as good as forced your hand?"
The look he gives her – ablaze with sympathy and horror and fierce, enthralling consternation on her behalf – soothes her ruffled feathers. "In the end, I still volunteered myself," Lightning concedes. "Maybe I was just the right person at the right place at the right time. There was no one else to take up the role, and I was perfectly positioned to receive it. Like you said, I could've refused. But I didn't."
"You couldn't have refused," her partner counters with a vehement shake of his head. "Not with the threat of doomsday riding upon your decision. Were I in your shoes, I would've done the same. Oh Light, I take it all back. I'm so, so sorry."
He looks so aghast that she feels compelled to placate him, to let him know she bears no grudge against accusations slung in ignorance. "You didn't have the whole picture," she says fairly. "Believe me, Hope, I didn't come to that decision easily. Even knowing the alternative was unacceptable, I didn't want to give you up. Not you. Not Serah or Sazh. Not even that overgrown lug…"
Hope squeezes his eyes shut. "We—we suffered without you."
"I know. I watched you all."
"We couldn't even mourn you properly." The words spill from him as though a dam had been broken. "There was always that seed of doubt, that niggling hope that things weren't what they seemed. Fang and Vanille were locked inside the pillar – that much was indisputable fact. But we weren't so sure about you. We had no closure. It wasn't until a long time later that answers began to manifest. In the meantime, I couldn't bring myself to accept that you were gone for good."
His wintergreen eyes snap open, and in that moment they are the very picture of fractured glass, remembered pain showing through the cracks.
"It was so hard in the beginning. When we were together – when I had you by my side – I believed I could do anything. But you disappeared. And since I no longer had my l'Cie magic, I was a frail, helpless child again. After the fal'Cie deactivated, our world fell into crisis. We had no light, and food and energy were in short supply for a while. Who better to blame than the l'Cie who caused it all? So they targeted me.
"Location-wise, I made for easy pickings. My father and I had returned to Palumpolum, so I remained in the public eye. Keeping my head down forestalled the brunt of the attacks, and I eventually learned to defend myself. But early on, I would just give in, let them take out their anger and misery on me."
Unable to speak past the sudden, painful lump in her throat, Lightning nods.
She had tracked Hope's early years with avid, maternal interest, clenching her fists in impotent rage while various schoolyard thugs and opportunists accosted him. It had wreaked havoc upon her heart to watch as he shrank away from his approaching assailants, fear and resignation filling his young, too-weary eyes. Then the blows fell, impressing upon his small body the punishment meant for all of them, and she had choked on furious, bitter tears.
Back then, he was at his most vulnerable, in most dire need of her protection. But where was she? Rooted here in Valhalla, unable to go to his aid. For all that she vowed to keep him safe, she couldn't have failed more thoroughly, indeed.
Intent on making the rest of his story known to her, Hope goes on. "Things became easier after my father founded the Academy," he exposits. "It was a safe haven, a place where people would set aside their differences for a common purpose: rebuilding humanity without gods. This was where I sought to redeem myself. I took part in the humanitarian effort, joined the research team to help resolve the energy shortage. People could see for themselves that I was sincere, that I was taking steps to right the wrongs I've committed.
"Of course, it helped that I was hardworking and had a natural gift for engineering. Others came to respect me in a surprisingly short space of time. Before I knew it, I was taking on ever larger projects and responsibilities."
Lightning nods again. Hope's meteoric rise through the Academy ranks was awe-inspiring, a welcome respite from what little remained of his bleak childhood. He was a true prodigy, earning the title of Academy Director at the tender age of nineteen. But ambition had never been his driving force. Through it all, she'd seen the desperation in his actions, not unlike a drowning man reaching out towards the nearest handhold to keep his head above water, and this becomes manifest with his next words:
"Ultimately, my work at the Academy was – still is – a source of distraction, a coping mechanism. I was hopelessly mired in the past, in the unattainable wish that we could all be together again. By immersing myself in my work, I was doing something good and meaningful, instead of wallowing in what-if's and what-could-be's. I had to move forward. I had to forget. Because if I couldn't forget, I'd have to face the horrible truth: that I was alone."
He blinks, a furtive attempt to relieve the sudden moisture that had gathered at the corners of his eyes. When he speaks again, his voice is hollow and unsteady with grief.
"Everyone I had ever loved was taken away from me. First my mother, then Fang and Vanille, then you. Sazh and his son never returned from a recon trip; even their aircraft vanished with them. Snow got tired of waiting around for you, then Serah disappeared too.
"The only one who made your absences bearable was my father. We'd become really close throughout the years. Then I lost him too. What with the reconstruction, economic unrest and temporal phenomena going on, it never occurred to me that we would be separated by something as mundane as illness."
Ostensibly distressed, Hope raises his hand to his face, as though he can hide behind it the agony that contorts his features.
"It was terminal bone cancer. Like me, he worked to the point of distraction, and it crept up on him – on both of us – until it was too late. The best medical facility couldn't do more than offer palliative care. He passed away two years ago.
"In the end, I was only one left behind."
There is a minute's pause in which Hope fights to recompose himself, swiping at his eyes and taking great gulps to calm his ragged breath. In the meantime, Lightning finds herself adrift in reminiscence.
She had borne witness to Hope's growing despair, watched him shatter and try to piece the broken fragments back together. Each time one of them disappeared, he would shut himself away for weeks, pouring over his research papers with unnatural fervour. Bags formed under his eyes and clothes hung looser on his already slim frame, testament to the meals that he kept returning untouched.
She had also been there – the silent, invisible intruder – when father and son shared their final moments together. Against the sterile, whitewashed backdrop of the hospital room, they had made for stark contrasts: Hope in his too-bright Academy uniform and Bartholomew with the grey pallor of encroaching death. Hope had wept openly, tears trickling down his cheeks as he clutched his father's almost-translucent hand in his own. Meanwhile, Bartholomew had gazed upon his son with fond pride, whispering words of encouragement until his breath eventually stuttered to nothing.
"I know the fault lies with my own reticence," Hope resumes in a less shaky voice, dispelling that heartbreaking image, "but I couldn't bring myself to build any deep, lasting relationships with the new people I've met. Perhaps I was too detached, isolated by experiences normal people could hardly begin to imagine. Perhaps the fear of losing yet another loved one held me back.
"There was no lack of opportunity; I was always surrounded by peers. Many of them would've leapt to be my friend, my confidante, and – if I may be so immodest to say so – even my lover. But I always turned them down."
At this, Lightning is unable to prevent the disapproving purse of her lips. During the interim years, she had hoped he would find a companion with whom to share his burdens, perhaps find some measure of happiness. But Hope remained stubbornly single, deflecting with polite words advances from women and men alike. He was the consummate workaholic, casting aside the usual human trappings with the single-mindedness of one hell bent on escaping his own reality.
Ignoring her frown, Hope continues with his tale. "If it weren't for the the Oracle Drive," he reveals, an odd light coming into his eyes, "I would've sunk further and further into depression. While you and the others were snatched away to fulfill some greater cosmic destiny, I had to crawl through time like any other ordinary person.
"The Oracle Drive bridged that otherwise impassable gulf between us. Being able to see you again, even in a faraway, untouchable vision, it made me feel like I was one minuscule step closer to you. It renewed my determination to go on. It gave me hope."
Again, Lightning disassociates for a moment to revisit the past, when the Oracle Drive had been discovered. It was a momentous breakthrough, breathing life into Hope's ennui. With zeal bordering on obsession, he'd subjected the device to various analyses, and replayed the recordings over and over, dissecting every frame and nuance. The inordinate amount of time he had spent in this pursuit did not go unnoticed. However, his colleagues had tactfully refrained from comment. They had known it was his lifeline to sanity.
All in all, Hope's recountal solidifies what she already knows, puts into painfully clear perspective the extent of his suffering. Divorced from his immediate vicinity, she'd had a glancing, if not unsympathetic appreciation of the troubles he'd undergone. But now that she is confronted with the tangible proof of his discontent, it has only made her transgression – of leaving him to go it alone – greater, all the more awful.
Heart heavy with regret, Lightning finally speaks. "Out of us all, you suffered the most, endured the worst of hardships. Hope, I can't describe how sorry I am that you had to go through all that."
To her bewilderment, Hope shakes his silver head, waving off her apology. "Well, it's made me a stronger person—" he begins, downplaying his situation with the humility for which he is renowned, but Lightning overrides him.
"Don't give me that. I don't want your platitudes." She fixes him with a beady stare, commanding his attention. "Tell me the truth, Hope. Do you blame me for what happened?"
Taken aback by the abruptness of her question, her partner looks down and shuffles his feet. "I would be lying if I said no," he admits with a sigh, clearly hesitant to voice his answer. "I acknowledge that you've had just as little control over the situation as I did. But there's no denying you're the catalyst for Snow's and Serah's disappearance. With you so far removed from the picture, it's made you an easy target on which to pin the blame. Some of it, at least."
The entirety of his confession was rife with self-recrimination. For some reason unfathomable to her, he is apologetic for placing fault upon her, a perfectly justifiable response under his circumstances. It serves to balloon her already expansive guilt further, until she is bursting with the need to make amends and the sheer, abject futility of it.
"I guess 'sorry' doesn't even come close to cutting it, huh?" she sighs.
A knot forms between silver brows, and his lips flatten into a line. "What are you trying to say, Light? I'm not asking for recompense—"
"You may as well be," she interrupts him. "But even if I want to make it up to you—" here, she lays her hand over her breast, conveying to him the wholeheartedness of her sincerity, "—and believe me, I do – I don't know if I ever can."
He is silent for several long, pregnant seconds. "You can," he says at last, capturing her gaze with his own. Green as emerald fire, his eyes blaze with concentrated longing – for me, she acknowledges, awestruck – making her breath catch in her chest. "Come back with me. Come home."
Taking a slow, measured step towards her, Hope extends his right hand in invitation. For a fleeting second, Lightning allows herself the fantasy of accepting his offer. Her vision grows misty as the grey shores of Valhalla dissolve, then coalesce into a sunlit beachfront. Weathered wooden planks form the pier beneath her feet, and gulls circle in the vibrant blue sky overhead. The salty fragrance of the ocean tickles her nostrils, and the lively sounds of people bustling about fill the air together with Serah's delighted laughter. Through it all, Hope's presence remains constant, the look he gives her warm and steady and welcoming.
Home. Such a beautiful, distant concept.
Then the second expires, shattering the fantasy and slamming her back into cold, hard reality.
Retreating two steps back for the one Hope had advanced, Lightning turns away. Loath as she is to execute it, handing out rejection is unavoidable. But putting physical distance between herself and her unfortunate recipient can perhaps soften the blow, make the fatal words easier to say.
"You know I cannot."
In her peripheral vision, she watches as Hope reels back as though struck, his hand drooping back to his side. She ignores her heart's reaction to this, the rebellious organ hurling itself against her ribcage in protest.
"Are contracts with deities forever binding?" His voice is quiet, subdued.
"In this case, yes," she replies, still not facing him for fear that her resolve would give out at the sight of his pain. "My soul is inextricably entwined with Etro's. I am the guardian of her legacy, so I must remain by her side for the rest of time."
"You sound like you've already resigned yourself to your fate. The Lightning I knew wouldn't have given up so easily," he challenges her, but it is a half-hearted, fragile attempt, broken by the pleading in his tone.
Perhaps in another hypothetical lifetime, where she remains unencumbered by sin too immense to atone for, Lightning would have risen to this provocation. As things stand, his words only stir a deep sadness within her.
"I don't know if I am still that same person. It's been an awfully long time."
"Longer than thirteen years?" he asks, inflection high. She flicks her gaze back to him, seeing wintergreen eyes gone wide with surprise. "You don't look like you've aged a day since I last saw you."
"Time doesn't flow the same way in Valhalla, if it can be said to flow at all. Honestly, I've lost count of the years since I've been here. Were I to guess, I'd say somewhere in the order of centuries."
"Centuries?" he repeats, flabbergasted.
"Yes, I'm positively ancient," she says with a sardonic twist of her mouth. "I gotta admit it's been a lonely few hundred years. Company's in short supply over here. Eidolons and monsters don't exactly make for the best conversationalists."
The ludicrousness of her statement prompts him to expel a noisy breath and shake his head. "Look at us. Each with our self-imposed, excessive penances."
Satisfied that they had reached an understanding of sorts, she favours him with a faint almost-smile. "Like two peas in a pod, huh?"
Hope lets out a short bark of laughter, but it is devoid of any real mirth. "We are partners; there's gotta be some common ground between us." Then his expression rearranges into solemnness once more. "Light."
With only a split second to register the sudden intent in his eyes, she finds herself caught off-guard as he surges forward and enfolds her into his arms. The sensation of his body against hers, solid and reassuring and so very warm, renders her shock-still. By virtue of divine constitution, she is immune to temperature extremes. But the contrast between him and her cold metal armour is so jarring, it drives away all coherent thought.
Oblivious to her stupefaction, Hope tucks his head against her shoulder. "I will find a way to bring you back," he whispers into her ear, each word laden with steely resolve.
A shudder zips through her, both at his hot breath and the ferocity of his declaration. Wits now thoroughly scattered, she flounders for repossession of her mental faculties.
"Don't go making promises you can't keep, now," she blurts out, trying for nonchalance. However, the admonishment falls short, coming out with more gentleness than she had intended.
Hope pays her remark no heed, simply pulling her closer. The heat between them intensifies and mellows, pouring liquid light into the very foundations of her being. "Light, I've missed you so much."
Upon hearing these impassioned words, something inside her tightens and unravels. For the first time in years untold, Lightning is experiencing the real, living affection of another human being. It forms a balm upon her heart, slowly but surely healing the wound left by too many lifetimes of enforced solitude.
Feeling tears well up in her eyes, she lifts her arms and wraps them around her partner, returning his embrace at long last.
"Me too, Hope. Me too."
A/N: Please let me know if you're still reading this. Comments, of course, are always appreciated.
