A/N: As a lot of you have already guessed, this chapter is the re-vamped version of "A Little Something Like Shakespeare," the oneshot that started it all. You'll probably recognize a lot of the prose and metaphors from the first version but, rest assured that there is a crapload of new material loaded into this chapter. Enjoy!

VII ~ Broken

She must have sat for hours on the sidewalk bench, shaking against the brutal breath of December. It certainly felt like hours.

She sat alone and she sat confused, silently going over the thoughts that had blundered into her mind and driven her out into the cold. It had just hit her, like a crash-landing air-ship splintering against the earth. The sharp, black building edifices had finally enclosed around her, beating her jumbled speculations into a cruel realization. The Pulse she'd known was forever gone, the creatures she'd once faced were extinct, and the people she'd loved and had fought alongside had long since turned to dust.

They were gone. Even if there was still a chance Fang and Vanille had survived the centuries through crystal stasis, they were, all of them, only memories now; hardly even footnotes in the history of Pulse's colonization. The boastful NORA leader; the fretful and fathering air-pilot; the timid little teenager that had left behind a legacy of kings; the two native Pulsians, as different as night and day but, sisters nonetheless; and Serah, her own beloved sibling, whom she'd torn a planet down to save, were gone – erased from existence. She was the last of them.

It felt colder now than it had been earlier in the day. Somewhere behind the thick blanket of clouds, the sun had taken its light away and left behind the night. The cold was numbing, and she couldn't deny how her vulnerability to the elements stemmed from the irrepressible agony of loss. Ordinarily, she wouldn't have been bothered by it, trained to withstand all extremes as she was. She cursed herself for not thinking to dress in more sensible clothes and for keeping her body so exposed to the harshness of winter. She was a fool for running out like that when she was still far from accustomed to this world's unforgiving climate.

It was just another reminder that this wasn't Bodhum, where the sun always shined and the beaches were always hot. This new Pulse was bitter and ruthless, and no matter what strength she had to resist, it was having its way with her. Trying to focus on staying warm instead of the pain of loneliness, Lightning drew her hands to her lips, breathing white steam clouds onto her frozen knuckles. She knew she couldn't survive out there much longer but, where did she have to go? The only door in the entire world that had opened up for her, she had run away from. How could she go back there after that?

She hated this. She hated how frail she'd allowed herself to become and how she'd let weakness cripple her in that moment, alone on the bench. She hated the goddamn cold. The shivering rocked her bones, making her breath come in hoarse shudders that she failed to suppress, despite her best efforts. Everything was colder without them. If she only knew what the Goddess intended of her then, maybe she could envision the final outcome. Maybe she could delude herself into believing that they would all be reunited in the past if she accomplished this mission. That was what Etro had promised, hadn't she? She would be with "the ones she cherished most." Regardless, that vow didn't temper Lightning's doubts but, maybe it was the chill making her delirious that fueled the grudging misgivings roaring in her head.

So cold…

...The envelope of warmth came as a shocking, albeit desperately accepted, surprise. The dark fabric fell onto her shoulders like silent, raven's wings, and the hands that laid it there fell away as soon as she grasped and fell into its warm confines. She wished she'd put up more of a fight against accepting it without argument. It seemed like all she'd been since meeting him was in need of his help. She didn't want to be so in need and the fact that she had been nothing but so, filled her with outrage. The dark prince of this new Pulse was the only one she had come to respect beneath her protective crust. Even learning the full extent of his influence hadn't dampened her regards for him, no matter that her actions countered that. She was sick of always appearing so weak in front of him. He only ever saw her hurt since they'd met and it was infuriating.

No words were spoken as he stalked around the bench and alighted beside her with the soundless grace of a falling shadow. The heat of embarrassment supplied her with even more warmth as she felt his crystalline irises analyze every frantic shudder that passed through her body. She hated him seeing her like this. She hated how he kept on caring for her when she was supposed to be taking care of herself. Why was someone like him going out of his way to help her anyway? What drove someone so regal and powerful to feel obligated to someone so chaotic and reckless as herself? She shouldn't have needed anyone's help. That's why Etro had sent her alone. She was supposed to be stronger than this.

He never ceased to watch her, that precise gaze making certain that his coat was performing as he wanted and providing her with the heat her body desperately required. She was too numb to reject the gesture and her fingers had already instinctively wound into the fabric so tightly, that she doubted if she'd ever be able to pry them off again.

"How did you f-find me?" she asked, failing to steady her voice.

"You're not hard to find," he answered in that quiet, methodical voice she'd already grown so familiar with.

She sent him a side-long glare, far from in the mood to be interpreting his vague replies. He was instantly apologetic, letting his gaze drop down to the snow, indicating the true clue that had lead him to her.

"I followed the footprints."

She gave the ground an unfocused glance, her brain too hectic to really acknowledge it. Just as he said – and just as she would have known if she weren't so freezing – a trail of boot prints lined up to the bench. It would come as no surprise to her if she hadn't stepped off the snow all the way between there and the estate.

She wished she could stop shivering, both for her own sake and for his. He continued to give her that worried stare, completely disregarding his own exposure to the biting air. She noticed that he had changed out of the formal attire he'd come to greet Stella in and was currently garbed in the slick black leather of battle she'd first met him in. If her forethought wasn't the cold, she would have asked why he was expecting a fight but, for now, all she could think of was the bareness of his arms and how he hadn't brought a second coat for himself.

"T-Take it back," she said past her chattering teeth, leaning towards him to insist that he take the coat for himself.

"You need it," he said in a firm voice, ordering rather than suggesting that she keep it. "I've lived here long enough to be used to it."

She'd expected that he wouldn't take it back. That noble sense of chivalry was something she never would have tolerated from any man but, her body was too intent on keeping her warm to allow her to argue much further. Silence resumed as she greedily nestled into the large trench-coat, wrapping it around her like a blanket and surrounding herself with his scent. While she'd caught a faint trace of it when they'd been in the gym, she hadn't really been close enough than when she was in his coat to notice the subtle fragrance. It was musky, under-toned with faint traces of sandalwood mingled with pine. It was a comfort to breathe it in, enough to make her pull her knees to her chest, further ensconcing herself in the herbal perfume. She made it her cocoon, managing to block out the arctic temperature enough to speak coherently.

"Why did you come find me?"

"We're at war. There's no telling what could happen if you're out here on your own. Besides that, you're not fully healed."

There was that worry she didn't want him to have for her again. She was to be no one's burden and yet, that was exactly how she felt, like she was interfering with his time and whatever "royal obligations" came with the title of "prince." She had already put the bullet-wound far out of mind but, he continued to fuss about it when it wasn't even his problem to deal with.

"It's just a cut," she stated.

"You were shot."

"I've had worse."

He was wise to drop the subject. No matter what trust she had gained for the benevolent prince between now and the time he'd saved her, it still came with limitations. She wasn't about to spill her war stories to him just yet – not that he was asking or ever would. So, he moved onto the next matter.

"What scared you?"

Lightning thought that was an odd question. She glanced at him, corral brows narrowed. A stab of guilt pinched through her at seeing his arms still bare. However, the feeling faded when she realized he wasn't trembling and his breath continued to come in small, even wisps. As he said he would be, he was perfectly unbothered by the wintry breeze, gazing forward at nothing in the empty street as he awaited her reply. She didn't know how she was supposed to be replying though.

"You ran away," he started when he noticed her confusion, his own eyes narrowing in thought. "When people run away from my house, it's usually because something inside scared them. So, was it something you read? Did…Stella say something?"

It was Lightning's turn to analyze him now that she was able to think clearer. She noticed that he was tense asking her this. He held his breath in anticipation of her answer. Just as she wasn't ready to tell him much more about herself, there were secrets in his house that he wasn't quite prepared for her to know either. Her mind wandered back to the mysterious door underneath the house that had knocked her into unconsciousness. And her thoughts also skirted the memory of that morning when he'd returned to the house in a fury. Stella's innocent revelation of his title might have been the trigger that had shot her legs forward into running but, it was all the information that had piled up before which had finally made her snap.

"I'm not scared," she insisted, following his stare. "Not of anything."

There was a stretch of silence where he collected and weighed her words before declaring, "You're lying."

Lightning shot him a glare that could skin the shell off of an adamantoise for daring to accuse her. It was met with an intuitive, sideways glance, one she refused to concede to.

"There's something that terrifies you but, it has nothing to do with me, or my house, or this world. You fear something far above everything in the present."

She held his inquisitive stare with one that demanded he leave it alone. Of all the things he didn't ask her, the one thing she wanted to keep to herself, he wouldn't back down from. Deep inside, she believed that she had convinced herself that he was only trying to help. She knew that he saw how torn up she was, and that he was offering to be her confessional went way beyond common generosity. She knew without needing assurances that whatever insecurities she confided in him would not leave the air around that bench. Still, it was bad enough that she kept collapsing in front of him. Telling him her true fears would only degrade her pride even further.

He was just as stubborn as she was though. Additionally, being flustered with cold was blunting her concentration, and the will to deny him access to her feelings was slowly slipping away. She jerked her gaze away from his, curling against the walls of his coat. The unwanted remorse she felt for her long gone home came seeping back, and she could feel the confession wavering upon her lips. Her eyes fell shut, trying to ignore his presence. Speaking to silence was easier than speaking to another person. He seemed to understand this because she felt his eyes leave her, and without any part of him fixed upon her, he was almost like silence itself. So much so, it was enough to make Lightning voice what he had coaxed out of her.

"Everyone I knew," she whispered, seeing their faces in the darkness of her closed eyes. "My friends and my family…have been dead for centuries. It's not like I'll find them here if I look. And I don't know if I'll get to see them again at the end of whatever road I've been put on. I don't even know why I'm on it. I just want answers that don't lead to more questions so I can go home and see them again."

Though the words themselves were few, they were a lot to trust into a man she only half knew. It was draining to have unloaded like that. She could hardly remember the last time she'd entrusted that much into a single person. She only ever confided in Serah like that, and the last time she might have ever done so was long before the beginning of their journey as l'Cie. Thinking of Serah suddenly reminded her that the pocket of silence beside her had a face. Panic flushed through her in knowing that she couldn't take back her confession and lock it safely away again now that it had been said.

She opened her eyes a sliver to look over at Noctis, a mild resentment growing in regards to how he had cracked her shield. That resentment quickly simmered down to nothing when he made no comment. She saw no judgment or intent of any kind cross his features. She didn't know why she thought there would be. He was indifferent to her doubts – completely neutral. He had no cause to use them into manipulating her. His face remained in its thoughtful cast. If there was one thing she had learned with certainty about him, it was that he was always thinking, turning things over in his head and calculating their significance. He had to know things but, not in the selfish sense that he would use that knowledge to further his own gain. She believed it was his desire to use it to help others, just as he'd been trying to help her. The more time she spent with him, the clearer that belief became.

"The book you were reading," he spoke up, speaking slowly as his thoughts continued to churn with the puzzle pieces her arrival presented, "was about the Clan Estheim. Were they one of the friends you miss - an ancestor of Estheim?"

Lightning's lips curved into a proud smile as she answered him, "Not just an ancestor; the ancestor, apparently. Although when I knew him, you never could have predicted he'd come that far."

The stare Noctis set upon her was not one she expected. She met it with a confused crease of her brow, surprised by the amount of awe and reverence that brightened his gaze as he comprehended what she'd said.

"The ancestor, Hope Estheim?"

"Yeah… Why?"

Noctis caught himself then, quickly looking elsewhere and smothering the excited shine in his eyes. She blinked in bewilderment, unfolding from her bundled up ball to place her feet on the ground and lean forward to get a better look at the face he was trying to hide from her.

"Why?" she repeated emphatically, needing to know why her knowing Hope when she did was so important.

The apprehension that had risen because of his reaction dissolved when she caught the amazed smile that brushed across his face. She hadn't seen him smile much, other than out of courtesy, and the last time she'd seen his smile so exhilarated as the one at present was that morning when he'd been ambushed by his trio of friends. The one he wore now softened his pale features with an almost boyish wonder. The blue of his eyes was dream-struck as he looked at the snow. It stunned Lightning to see such a guardless expression in comparison to the cultured facade he'd shown her previously. Something in her chest warmed against the chill as she took in this strange smile. The inspired glitter in his far away stare almost made her want to smile too.

"That's just…incredible," he said, voice distant. "The original Estheim…"

There was a moment where she thought she'd lost him to whatever astonished thoughts now steeped his mind. When he pulled himself back to reality, he looked just as stupefied by his own reaction as she. An embarrassed pink dusted his cheeks and for a second, his mortification was laid bare before he could pool his mask over it. His attempt to remain in his cool persona finally drew that smile out of Lightning.

"Sorry," he began, halfway between unexpectedly starstruck and completely under control. "The Estheims are regarded very highly in this time. I'm a great admirer of how much they've achieved – maybe even a little obsessed, I've been told."

This was perhaps the quickest thing Lightning could pick up on and it tendered her smile with a growing fondness. So, he was a bit of a history-nut then. It explained the enviable collection of books in his study and the uncanny ease in which he could recite to her the little he had about the countries' military programs. That wizened touch to his youthful countenance was a direct result of his love for study. Her theory about his desire for knowledge hadn't been far off at all.

An unwelcome shadow suddenly clouded the mood though, one she knew needed addressing no matter how pleased she was to have uncovered this personal passion of his.

"You have a bad way of showing it," she murmured.

His gaze darkened in an instant, not pausing for a second to question the meaning of her words. It made her heart sink a little that he already knew what she was implying without having to ask her to clarify. She hadn't doubted the integrity of the facts she'd read but, she'd been holding out hope that he could somehow – with his keen intellect and smooth tongue – refute that evidence. She knew she shouldn't have hoped so foolishly. The softness of his smile flipped down into a hard frown, like the drawing of a curtain between two scenes of a play. There was a certain menace to that scowl which she hadn't yet seen although, it didn't seem to be directed at her and her accusation. His sights were set far away yet, deep within himself – a difficult expression to read.

"If you're referring to Jeremiah Estheim," he started, a suppressed darkness touching the tone of his voice, "then I don't take responsibility for his fate. I was only a child at the time of that scandal. As far as the blame being tagged to my family name, it's only one in a very long list of our wrongs."

He could hardly restrain the hatred in his voice. The rage she picked up from his speech was deeply seated in years raised on guilt. His was a name stained by the countless sins of the generations before him, a burden that it was plain to see his conscience could hardly bear. But, there was something about it that Lightning couldn't understand, especially in light of the title Stella addressed him with.

"You're a prince," she said, trying to drag the hefty pieces together within her own mind. "What you're describing… It's like a…"

"Crime syndicate."

Lightning tried not to look too taken aback. She wasn't sure if it changed over time but, when she was from, one wasn't so ready to admit that they were a mafia son. The way he said it was oddly casual, as if it were just something to shrug off in passing. She guessed he was too used to it to understand why it might come as a shock to someone outside. He turned to her as she sat in her bewildered silence, his smile now mirthless and strained.

"Caelum does mean royalty. I am the next descendent for the throne of the country. But, royalty has two faces. Ours is a bit more corrupted than others."

Lightning weighed the solemnity of his smile. Things slowly came together and into better focus. It wasn't hard to fit him into that role. The haunted look to his considerate eyes matched the guilt that came with such an occupation. The cunning undertone to his persuasion tactics could have been threatening enough to be interpreted into something more perilous. And the ruthlessness in which he went into battle was hardly the character of a prince, raised on principles and pompousness, and taught to wield tact as his weapons over bloodlust. Yet, he had all the trappings of a pampered dignitary just as well as the harshness of a mob son. It worked both ways.

"Do you not trust me anymore?"

The question hung despairingly in the space between them, laden with dread on both sides. On his, weighed the fear of rejection; she could see in the shadows of his eyes that he had met with this impasse countless times before, and that the outcome had rarely rewarded him without spitting condemnations. On her side, Lightning's ever-present anchor of self-preservation sunk deeper and deeper into the sands. She sat back against the bench, turning her eyes heavenward. There was a whisper in her whirling thoughts that wondered if this was one of the challenges Etro had forewarned her she might face. How she chose to answer this question could be a massive turning point in her quest for answers.

It would be easiest to lie, to just say it didn't matter and continue where they left off. It would have worked on anyone…except for him. She knew, based on his character, that false-truths wouldn't work on him. The way he'd seen through her laughable attempt at posing as a modern soldier was proof enough of that. He might not have called her out on this one but, she knew he wouldn't accept it. He certainly wouldn't have kicked her to the curb but, the strain that would pull between them just might make her walk out herself. And he wouldn't stop her.

Lightning closed her eyes to think, a scarce snowflake brushing against her lids. It was an instinct born from her training as a security officer to look scathingly upon criminals. Granted, it wasn't the most prestigious title in law enforcement and didn't see the most action but, it didn't diminish the importance of the oath she'd taken to defend civilians from acts of crime. Maybe if she was less than a soldier, the conflict wouldn't have mattered. But, she was who she was, and the threat of compromising her own morals loomed above her whether she wanted it to or not.

Then, she remembered everything else, and with a mental cringe, she realized her status didn't matter. In hindsight, she wasn't a soldier anymore – not on paper, at least. And if there was someone she was risking disappointing with this betrayal against her solemn vows, it was only herself. Her greatest enemy was her own pride - she'd learned that as a l'Cie. Apparently, she hadn't learned that lesson well enough. Her own words came back to punch her in the face like she had to Snow the first time she'd used them: "Now you want to forget it all and die right here?"

She couldn't deny that death was indeed her first result if she gave up on Noctis now and ran. She was stubborn but, not stupid. Chances of surviving on her own were practically non-existent. However, would staying with Noctis, now that she knew who he was, also lessen those chances? How deep did his corruption lay? There was still much his identity didn't answer, like his magical prowess and be-deviled, garnet gaze. Could she continue to trust what she didn't understand?

A piercing sharp memory quickly gave her the answer, and she was furious with herself that she'd ever let herself doubt it. She opened her eyes then, and leaned forward once more. Noctis's frame was rigid with pensiveness, trained by experience to expect the worst outcome. That anxiety quickly melted in light of her next words, read from the haunting memory as it played across the untouched snow before her feet.

"My sister, Serah, was branded by a Pulse fal'Cie. On Cocoon, you were raised to loathe Pulse, told it was a living hell, and any relics of Pulse found on Cocoon were to be expelled from the planet on sight. Serah was chosen by one of those relics, and she hid it from me. She was afraid that I wouldn't accept her if I knew she'd been branded…and she was right. I turned my back on my only family because of my blind hatred for Pulse. By the time I realized my mistake, I was too late to save her. I watched her succumb to crystal stasis as she completed her Focus, and it was only through an act of the gods that I ever got to see her human again.

"If I had trusted my own faith in her instead of my preconceptions about Pulse, maybe everything could have been different… My point is that I learned a label doesn't define a person. Serah didn't change because of that brand; I changed her in my own mind. I don't have the luxury of picking and choosing my allies. Seeing as that I would have died my first day here if I hadn't trusted you, and that I'm still alive today then, yes, I trust you. Don't make me regret it."

His mouth crooked up into a smirk by the end of her speech. She had no qualms about acting bold towards royalty – she had back-talked the damn Primarch of Cocoon, for Etro's sake! This came to him not as an appalling act of defiance but, rather as a refreshing change of pace. She guessed that few strangers had the gall to talk above a whisper in his presence. Her self-confidence, accompanied with the raw emotion of her story, which she entrusted with him to prove her tentative faith in him still stood, seemed to be the most reassuring thing he'd experienced in a long time. Like a great, black panther unfolding from sleep, he rose from beside her.

"I'll make certain to live up to your standards," he said as he turned to her, a trickle of gratefulness in his lapis gaze before it resumed its stillness. "I'll take you back to the estate. You'll get sick if you stay out here any longer."

Suddenly, he presented his hand to her. The relief of warmth was a temptation she was hardly about to reject. The thought of returning to the cozy study tantalized her frosted skin. However, Lightning delayed herself that comfort. His extended hand hovered like an obstacle in front of her, one she wasn't sure she wanted to avoid. It gave her the impression of a man offering a dance to some sophisticated, ballroom lady. It shouldn't have been a big deal; it was just a hand. Still, there had been little to no physical interaction between them – she hadn't even taken his hand when it meant saving her life that first night.

She was intimidated by him. She'd never admit it in words and she could hardly admit it to herself in her head but, she knew that it was true. It wasn't his name that intimidated her nor was it the danger that came with his birthright. What intimidated her the most was his astounding capacity for understanding.

Compassion had always daunted her. It was why she was so harsh with Snow and impatient with Sazh during the Purge. Under the guise of a stone-hearted strategist, Lightning rebelled against sympathy, evident in her tutoring of Hope. After the war against their Focus, Lightning learned that compassion was not a repellent to her because it was a sign of weakness. She repelled it because she envied it.

She had lacked compassion in herself ever since she abandoned Claire at her parents' funeral. When she saw it in others or when it was given to her, she was only reminded of how her failure to understand resulted in her sister's fate.

She stared at the black leather glove waiting, with more patience than she'd ever been given, for her to take it. How did he do it, she wondered? How was he so cool and calm and kind? How could he annihilate a hundred men with deadly, headstrong strokes yet, still maintain the grace to offer her a delicate touch?

She stared.

He waited.

The silence pressed on her. The fingers engraved into his jacket twitched with yearning. Slowly, an uncertain hand reached out towards his but, stopped just above it. He did not move, standing like a stone sentinel lest he frighten her away with the slightest hint of movement. Finally, she surrendered to her need for the unexpected comfort he brought her, and the tethers keeping her hand from his snapped.

Like a water lily closing to the night, his fingers gently encased hers. It was a tender hold, something she hadn't expected to feel…or to like. She looked to him once more, finding that coveted compassion in his sky-touched eyes. A smile as soft and pure as lamb's wool caressed his lips. As she had before, Lightning discovered that she really did like that smile. It emphasized the kindred spirit she knew he was keeping hidden beneath all his duties and expectations. It suited him much better than his tortured frown.

"I will help you," he murmured, like he was asking permission to do so. "As far as it is in my power to do, I'll help you through this."

With the slightest addition of pressure, he guided her to her feet, she still clutching his coat around her. His kindness continued to overwhelm her. It had from the very start. He contradicted all of her ideas about aristocracy and the underworld. He was probably the most difficult man she'd ever met and yet, the easiest she'd ever been near.

"Ready?" he asked.

She nodded, heels of her boots pressed into the snow. Like a breeze pulling ripples across a lake surface, he tugged her away from the bench. She shuffled forward in the snow and his weightless grip began to lax. As instinctively as she had clutched his coat, she squeezed his hand to stop its release. An unbearable, alien urge for the security of his touch kept her holding on. The return gesture froze him for a second and his dark brows furrowed in confusion.

"Noctis," she said, the darkly alluring name tingling across her tongue.

He nodded for her to go on. Like the smile he'd let flicker across his face as she accepted his hand, Lightning let a rare smile, like the opening of blossom petals, bloom across her own lips.

"Thank you."

He smiled again, that innocent smile that brought out his boyish features and complimented his selfless nature. She thought she might like to see more of that smile.

"Let's get you home."

A/N: I give up with the excuses for why this story takes so long. There's really none, other than that I have frequent bouts of writing crises where I hate everything that comes out of my pen and go months leaving my notebooks under the bed while I silently seethe away and waste my time on the internet above them. However, a long sought-after day in the sun did my brain some good (I think my problem was that I was going stir-crazy from being cooped up by the extended winter). At any rate, I've been feeling better about writing and really want to get some of my projects done... God only knows how long that conviction will last.

As always, the reviews, the faves, the alerts, and the overall support for this story has brought me to guilt-ridden tears because I wish I could be a prompter writer for you guys. Your kind words and patience deserve a much better reward than months between updates. The only assurances I can give you that I do appreciate every last word you guys leave is that I am trying my damnedest to find the eternal cure for writer's block and keep powering on!

If you're still hanging onto this story with me, then thank you! As always, I hope the chapter was satisfying. Leave me your questions, comments, criticisms, or concerns in the review box if you have the time. And thanks again.

PS: I know a lot of you are eager to see perspectives switched from Lightning to Noctis and I think I can safely say your wishes might be granted next chapter. Stay awesome!