Disclaimer: Final Fantasy XIII does not belong to me.

Author's Note: No, this is definitely not the last chapter, so don't get worried once you're through with it.


The One With Cid Raines

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The first (and only, she bitterly reflects) time that Claire receives motherly advice about boys is when she is nineteen and trying to get piss drunk at a local bar.

Cocoon is exceptionally good at keeping up with the laws and so when Claire turns nineteen, by advice of her friends, she takes her sorrows to the bar and tries to drink them away. The locale she's decided to visit is more than enough blocks away that no one from her neighbourhood will recognize her, and by the clock hung on the far wall, she's already been sitting here well over an hour. The bartender keeps shooting her looks, but her ID came back valid and she's not slumping over the counter as of yet, and so he leaves her alone.

Claire pushes the neon umbrella inside her equally neon drink and slouches down further. It's been over a year, the thought passes and her fingers clench around the paper and whittled wood; two years and it's like nothing has changed.

She wonders if being in love is supposed to be so heart wrenchingly painful, so dark without the promise of the light at the end of the tunnel. She wonders if her heart will ever fix itself and recover all the splintered pieces that bury themselves in her organs and kill her from the inside out.

(He didn't kiss her back and he looked so sad - the memory stark in her mind, from the color of his eyes to the wobbling turn of his mouth and the twitch in his hands, as if to embrace her - but he didn't kiss her back. And then he left to the other side of the city and the house is not a home without him.)

She sighs.

"Oh, honestly," the patron sitting a respectable distance from her says, and Claire jumps.

"Don't look so scared, darling," humour colors the woman's tone as Claire glances over, ready to jump to her defense over who is this stranger telling me shit

"I know the look of a heartbroken girl," the woman continues, pushing a strand of silver hair behind one ear (his hair in the dim light of the evening sun as he doesn't kiss her) as her smile turns less humorous, and more comforting. "I've been there more than enough times. Believe me, staring into your drink won't result in any answers, either." The smile twitches at the corners. "Been there and done that, too."

Claire doesn't answer as she stares at the woman, from her conservative short hair and the evening outfit she has on to the dark green of her eyes, examining her back. "What is it to you?" She finally says, wary of this stranger looking at her with sympathy on her face.

The woman laughs. "I'm a mother," she replies, as if that answers everything in the world that rests behind Claire's question. "Maybe it's biological, but I can't stand to see you sitting here so heart broken. So what's this girl or boy done, to leave you like this?"

It sits on the tip of her tongue - it's not any of your business, but Claire holds it back. She remembers her own mother with more fondness and less sorrow now, the woman who kept her hair from getting in her face and soothed her with a matronly hand on her shoulder. "I did a stupid thing," she admits after a moment, gauging the reaction she receives to the confession. The stranger's smile only turns softer, her eyes kinder. "It was over a year ago now and it hasn't been any easier. All I can think of is going back in time and stopping myself from doing it so that things could at least be normal, or maybe I would be different, and then he would have..."

Kissed me, she finishes inside her head.

"Loved you?" The woman says and Claire's throat closes.

"Yes." That too.

The woman props her chin on one slender hand and smiles at her in such a way that all of a sudden Claire aches not for the man, but for her mother. She thinks of Serah, who comes to her for comfort and advice more often than not and draws solace from this fact of sisterly bond. But Serah is still young and does not see Claire as needing of reassurance, her cool and beautiful sister who cuts down Serah's fears with a warm look and honest words—

"It might not seem like it now, but time does make things better." The woman glances down at her drink, a rich amber rum; a drink full of sophistication that Claire only hopes to reach some day. "One morning you wake up and go through out your day, only to realize midway through that the thing that has been making you sad has been the tail end of your thoughts at the back of your mind this entire time. And it gets easier."

"And what if it's meant to be?" Claire voices the thing that is both her most secret desire and fear, this fairytale idea of romance and fate. The woman looks up again and her eyes are just like Hope's whenever he looked at her, two years before this, warm and liquid and sincere.

"Then it will be," she says easily, as if there is more out there than the fal'Cie governing their floating haven, a being of power or an entity of existence which concerns itself with the lives of the humans. Claire wants to believe, deep inside of her in the part that still trusts in the stories of Moogles and sleeping gods and goddesses.

A lull settles in the conversation. "I take it you have a daughter, then?" Claire breaks it after a moment, uncomfortable with the simple words that somehow border on personal that the woman has offered her. "I can't imagine a son really believing in that sort of advice."

(Hope would, the aching part of her soul whispers. He believes in the stories just as much as you do - he would have told you that you were his soul mate.

If only he loved you.)

The woman laughs and takes a sip from her glass; Claire watches and twirls the umbrella in hers, the promise of sugar an unwelcome thought. "You're still young," she says. "Girls mature faster than boys, you know. The ones your age haven't quite hit that point in their lives yet."

But Hope is not a boy, he's twenty six and she's nineteen and that's only seven years, but she also thinks she almost finally understands why he stills treats her like a child—

"I was meant to have a boy," the woman is still talking through Claire's derailing train of thought, fuelled by the sugary alcohol at last kicking in. "But it didn't quite work out and so I ended up with a girl instead. Not quite your age yet, thankfully." She chuckles to herself, a soothing sound all of a sudden in the low din of the bar. "Almost into her teens though, which will certainly be an adventure for the both of us."

"Oh." Now Claire just feels socially awkward, unsure of herself as if she is almost back at the dawn of her teens again, too. "How do you like raising a family in Eden?"

"Oh, no, we're not from here. My daughter is back in Palumpolum while my husband and I celebrate our anniversary here." Her conversation partner cranes her neck past Claire to where the front entrance is, her face lightning up with a smile as she finds whoever she is looking for. "Speaking of which, looks like he is finally here." She downs the remainder of her rum and turns again to Claire, a concerned crease between her brows as she gathers her coat. "Do you know the number for the cab? No matter how well monitored Eden may be, it's never a good idea to walk home alone late."

Claire's throat tightens and she shakes her head. "I hadn't thought that far ahead..." Embarrassed, she averts her eyes. The colors of her drink are nearly blinding, pulsing hues of pink and blue against the dark varnish of the tabletop.

"Here, then." A rustle of paper and the scratch of a pen, and Claire looks up to a number being slid her way. "Put that into the station down the street and a car will be by to pick you up."

"Thank you," Claire manages past the sudden onslaught of feelings at this stranger's kindness, her cheeks flushed red and her ears burning.

"Don't worry about it," the woman sends her one last motherly smile, fixes the strap of her purse and sweeps out of the bar. Claire returns to staring at the bottom of her glass as it slowly gets closer with every sip she takes, mulling the encounter over in her head.

She misses her mother, and her insides still feel as if they are being clawed apart by the angry rage of her broken heart. The cheery umbrella bumping against her lips suddenly feels as if it is mocking her.

Claire grimaces and crushes its papery existence in one fist. If there really was a goddess Etro in charge of the rebirth of souls, then Claire really hoped her next lot in life was a good one.

(And if the remainder of her life would involve this rocky relationship with Hope due to her own stupidity, then Etro might as well just take her now.)


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She stumbles out of the establishment several hours later, woozy on her feet and a small slip of paper clenched tightly in one hand. It's been folded over so many times that when she un-crinkles it she has to squint in the dim light by the front entrance to make out the numbers.

Her heart lurches. It's no luck - her vision just swims away and leaves her staring at slanted blurs. She tilts both her head and her hands, trying to find an angle that will work.

"Miss Farron?"

It takes her a moment to respond to the sound of her name and she lurches when she does turn around, unsteady on her feet and her stomach rolling with sickness.

A hand reaches out to steady her shoulders, bringing her upright with its firm grip until she can make out the figure standing in front of her. Tall and male, with dark hair and a face that looks vaguely familiar, as if she's seen it come and go in passing before.

"Cid Raines," it finally introduces itself after the silence from her stretches as she tries to place him, unblinking. "We've met several times before. I work with Snow in the Calvary... I was over at your house for dinner two weeks ago."

Right. Snow's work buddy who he likes to lock himself in the study with and probably discuss some secret plans to over throw the government. As if that would ever happen, Claire snorts at the thought. Cid eyes her strangely, a fact she can tell even in her current state.

"Are you alright?" He reaches out to steady her again when she nearly topples over while trying to nod. "I suppose that answers my question, then. Are you waiting for Snow or Hope to pick you up?"

"I'm done waiting," Claire answers because being asked if she's waiting for Hope is all of a sudden so annoying, and she's so angry – she doesn't need to wait for a man. She's Claire Farron, confident and strong. She's done with Hope Villiers. That's the way it's going to be now. If only her heart picked up on that and stopped hurting, then she could finally move on. That nice woman earlier in the night was right – if things were meant to be, they were going to work themselves out. She was done waiting for Hope Villiers.

She can see the edges of Cid's mouth curl up in the darkness and the faint light, amused at her words. She flushes. "I can take you home, if you'd like," he offers her and she stares back at him. She weighs this versus calling for a cab and waiting alone in the night for it to come get her.

"Are you going to kidnap me? Snow would kill you if you did," she blurts out instead and leers at him. Though it feels more like squinting, and her eyes hurt, and so she stops. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

She can tell he's trying hard not to laugh. "Some friends of mine and I like to go out here for their food." His mouth keeps twitching until he gives up and grins at her. He looks surprisingly handsome, now that Claire thinks on it. Especially when he's smiling. "I have no plans to kidnap you, Miss Farron, and I am more than positive that Snow would kill me if I were to even think of trying to do so. And I haven't been drinking so no, no need to ask your next question about my sobriety behind the wheel."

"Miss Farron was my mother," Claire mumbles and tilts her head at him. "It's Claire. Don't call me that. And if you try to kidnap me, I won't hesitate to kill you."

And this time he does laugh, quietly into the night, and offers her another smile when he's done. "Have you ever thought about joining the military, Claire? Maybe it would fit you."

"Snow wouldn't let me," she replies and makes to follow him as he motions to the parking lot. He opens the car door for her and makes sure she's strapped in before getting in himself, the low hum of the engine starting up moments later. He makes idle conversation as they drive the short distance to her house, letting her lead the conversation as she wishes; for which Claire is thankful for, because now that she's no longer angry, she's just sad and tired. Again.

He walks her up to the front door and rings the doorbell, even. They stand on her porch as they wait for someone to answer, because in his words, he doesn't want her "hurting herself on the way in". It is said with a small smile though and she can tell he's subtly poking fun at her – her eyes narrow and she looks away.

The door opens and she meets Hope's eyes. They stare at each other, surprised – she, at his being at the house; him, well – she has no way of knowing.

"Claire, we've been wondering where you were—" His gaze cuts to her companion and she's so in tune to his motions that she can notice the way he tenses as he recognizes the man. "Cid. What brings you here?"

"He was kind enough to offer me a ride home," Claire slurs – no, says, because she does not slur – and make sure to meet the eyes of Cid as she nods. "Thank you. Goodnight." Hope remains confused at the front door as she pushes herself past him with as much grace as she can and makes her way to her bedroom. Behind her she can hear Hope's bid of goodnight and the shutting of the door, and then his long stride as he catches up to her.

"Are you… drunk, Claire?" There is incredulity coloring his tone as he reaches for her shoulder and spins her around. The world around Claire lurches and she nearly pukes on him right then and there.

"No. Good night."

She's done waiting for Hope Villiers. She's done waiting for him as she turns back around, shuts the bedroom door behind her, and leaves him standing on the other side of the door staring after her.

Claire Farron will be fine without him.


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She asks Snow where Cid Raines lives the next morning as she nurses her first ever hangover, a cup of coffee clutched tightly in her hands and shoulders slumped over.

"What do you need that for?" Her guardian peers at her from where he's standing flipping pancakes, and Serah snorts from beside the coffee maker as she waits for her own cup.

"Claire got drunk last night and he brought her home." Claire levels a glare at her and her little sister just grins like the evil imp she never grew out of being. "I'm surprised Hope didn't mention it. You were in bed already by the time she got home, but he stood staring at the front door for a straight five minutes afterwards with the most confused look on his face."

Claire's fingers twitch around the ceramic surface of her cup and she hides her grimace behind it as she takes a sip. She can feel Snow's stare on her and she purposefully avoids meeting it.

"I bet," the man says, almost as if to himself, before turning back around to the stove. "Cid's house is about two blocks away, towards the station. I'll write down the address for you after I'm done. Are you going to pay him a visit?"

"She's going to make him cookies as a thank-you," Serah chimes in during Claire's resounding silence and Claire lets her forehead bang against the table. She really needed to stop sharing so many things with her sister.

Snow laughs loudly in response at this, booming in the morning light coming through their kitchen window and Claire winces as it makes her head throb. "Alright, but only if you can take a photo of his face for me when you give them to him."

A second of silence passes, and then Claire groans and slouches further against the table she's still resting against. "I hate all of you," she mutters, and covers her head with her arms as Snow keeps laughing her headache into further misery.


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She does end up making him a platter of double chocolate-chip cookies (the only ones she knows how to, what with her failed track record as a chef) later on in the week and shows up at his front door with the container in her hands, fidgeting with nerves as she waits for him to open it. Barely a minute passes before she hears a lock click and it swings inward, Cid's grey eyes widening slightly at surprise at seeing her.

"Uh," she starts off, and clears her throat. "Hello."

"Claire," he greets her back. "What can I do for you?"

"I made you these." Her fingers tense around the plastic she's holding before she thrusts it at him, which he takes after a moment of hesitation. "They're cookies. As a thank you for driving me home from the bar a few nights ago. So, um, thank you."

Cid's face does that handsome thing where he smiles at her, the same as it was back at the bar, and Claire's ears begin to burn under the cover of her hair. "Thank you, they smell good." He tilts his head at her, still smiling, and opens the door further. "Would you like to come in? I'd feel a bit guilty eating them all alone."

Claire mulls this over in her head for a moment, uncertain, and awkward, before a smile settles on her lips. "Sure."

And Claire follows Cid Raines into his house.