A/N: Before I ramble on, I owe Truth, as always, great thanks for being patient and catching the stuff I glean over, as well as an appreciative shout-out to the readers, subscribers and reviewers still out there or just tuning in.

Compared to previous chapters, this one might seem silly and out of place, but it's meant to be a breather of sorts. I always loved the scenes where the guys were kidding around with one another, like after Hope attains Alexander or following Vanille and Fang's reminiscence at the Massif. Besides, nothing can truly be kicked into high gear until Sazh's perspective is explored. ;3


7

Dinner at the Farron residence had evolved from an occasion of coincidence to a practise that occurred twice a week, or whenever it was possible for the former l'Cie to correspond with the after-school arrangement. While the collecting of ingredients and setting of the table was an unassigned role and thus welcome to all and any volunteers, it was general knowledge that Sazh and Serah were in command of the kitchen once the recipe requirements were met. Clean up was a group effort and, bar the earlier days in which the traffic of plates and leftovers was rather hectic, was seen through with efficiency.

Rinsing out one of several glasses Sazh noticed Lightning relieve Dajh of three out of five plates precariously balanced in his small hands. In the midst of drying off the utensils, Serah nudged the pilot's elbow in silent reference to her tally of instances that proved her older sister was putting more of an effort into caring for Dajh outside of convenience. Though a good sport in going along with the younger Farron's count, Sazh personally and proudly believed the aloof fighter he had met at the Purge station had since expressed compassion to the point in which it was a revived trait of her character.

Granted, she was still as much of a kid as Snow and Hope, yet they had similarly matured in their own way. The self-proclaimed Hero was willing to atone for faults wrought from his well-intentioned actions, whereas the silver-haired youngster had overcome a crushing loss and as a result became a selfless individual.

He had not fought shoulder to shoulder with Serah during the fight for survival, but a proper introduction to one another in the aftermath of Ragnarok swiftly led to two to be on friendly terms. However, for all the kindness and optimism displayed by the young woman, Sazh harboured an odd sense of concern for her. Some time ago she had confided to him that she felt restless, for lack of better description, since awakening from stasis. His immediate response was suggesting that it was merely an after-effect of completing her Focus in such a short period of time. Hitherto the pilot had been considering whether or not said restlessness was more applicable to interference born of a barmagic ailment; all the same, he could not say for certain.

On the note of worry, Sazh was infinitely glad to see Hope was well into recovery in the week following the Mah'habara Misfortune. Between Bartholomew and the former l'Cie, they were triumphant in casting the withering, melancholic mantle from Hope's shoulders; to see the teen smile and laugh once more on a regular basis served to lessen the worst of Sazh's unease, for even the slightest signs of improvement in the shell-shocked demeanour he had left the Subterra with were better than none whatsoever.

Presently Hope was scrutinizing a persistent remnant of pasta sauce adhered to a suds-flecked plate. Surrendering the glass to Serah, the pilot rapped his knuckles against the dish, where it reflected the silver-haired teen's scraped chin. "You've got a long way to go before it comes to stubble, kid," he teased.

Returning the cleaned utensils to their rightful places Snow clapped his hand on Sazh's shoulder, "Says the old timer," he pointed out.

The pilot raised his hands defensively, "What can I say?" he replied defensively, "Some goatees ain't meant to last."

Snow shrugged lamely, "Fair enough."

Enlisted by Lightning to speed up the process of transitioning leftovers to appropriately sized containers, Dajh had caught snatches of conversation and thus was his curiosity fuelled by Snow's faux lamentation regarding the aforementioned facial hair. "What happened to yours?" the boy asked.

"Here's the play-by-play," the burly man began, sauntering to the side of the refrigerator. "Three months ago, I'm walking around -just minding my own business... then Light comes along."

"He's really asking for it this time," Hope murmured to Serah, though gave no indication of making an outright interruption. Both kept any further commentary to themselves as Dajh grew anxious at the dramatic pause, "What did she do?" he inquired. Hina burrowed into his hair, alarmed by the dire tone of the story.

"Well," Snow continued, slinging a dishtowel over his left shoulder, "She gave me this exact look, and said in this exact voice-"

"'Shave that creature off your face before it gets mistaken for a Mark mission.'"

Serah, Hope and Dajh dissolved into laughter at Lightning's recitation. Retrieving the towel, the former soldier took the liberty of whipping the back of Snow's head before he had the chance to duck for cover. Sazh simply grinned at their antics, retiring to the assumption that the 'no headshots after dinner' truce was no longer in effect.

With the last plate ready for rinsing Hope hovered impatiently near Serah. The pilot recalled that the teens had been putting their heads together over a new upgrade for Bhakti, something about capturing images of Gran Pulse-language runes for deciphering. "I'll catch up with you," the young woman told her accomplice as she still had to attend to a handful of yet to be dried dishes, though Sazh motioned for her to go along with Hope.

"I've got it covered," he told her, receiving a smile of thanks before the two youths strode towards the living room where the robot waited. Noting their departure Dajh looked up to Lightning with hopeful eyes, giving her little other choice than to dismiss him.

The boy and his Chocobo scampered after the teenagers, the fading footsteps awakening a scar etched across his heart. It seemed like the perfect scenario of 'kids running off to mess around', yet its incompletion was sorely apparent. There should be three teenagers, another head for Hina to perch upon; an incomparable liveliness that graced the presence of memories.

For many years Sazh was under the impression he was fated to lose those who were dear to him. Nine years past he would have never imagined such a fearful thought to rule the life ahead of him. Back then he had been piloting long-distance routes in Cocoon; he had been energetic and clumsy, the latter trait often leading him to misplace odds and ends from his pockets either when cleaning out the airship aisles or coming to and from the cockpit.

A flight from Eden to Nautilus would have resulted in the loss of his Gil card had a thoughtful young woman not stayed behind and for the ensuing hour and a half aid the ultimately successful search for the card. He repaid Nemri Adleir's assistance with an evening meal, during which she proposed that he be her guide to the 'Nautilus know-how'. The next two years seem to fall into blissful place; by the time it came to the ceremony of rings and vows, they meant the world to one another.

Within months of bringing their son into the world Nemri felt fatigued more often than not. Ever bright-eyed she assured him it was nothing more than the flu, and afterwards all was well.

Within months of Dajh's third birthday his beloved lay in eternal peace. The cause was said to be an arrhythmic blight, yet the medical terminology therein fell, with mourning, to the unspoken rumination of Sazh's self. He needed to be happy for the sake of their child.

When Nabaat spirited the ray of light out of his life, despair awaited him with open arms. Too willingly would he have succumbed to it had the sprightly epitome of persistence not been at his side from the Vile Peaks to the cells of The Palamecia.

Three years gone by, with only one dear to his heart still present and accounted for. Fate sought to snuff out the embodiment of his reason to live -with the trials of l'Cie, he realized it was his to obey or defy. Were Nemri here this day, she would take up arms with him in the fight for the survival of their own; for Dajh and Vanille.

Wrapping up his task Sazh dried off his hands and masked a smile over his turmoil and made way for the living room. Trailing after him, Snow and Lightning continued to trade good-hearted jibes, the latter wielding a triumphant smirk.

The couch closest to the window supported a conspiratorial huddle. Dajh and Hope sat on either side of Serah while Bhakti obediently idled at her feet. A pair of cables linked to the robot's ocular hardware fed images into a thin, hand-held screen in Hope's grasp, from which Serah copied down various lines of Pulsian script down in a notebook on her lap. Sazh took a seat at an armchair, promptly sharing the space with Dajh and Hina. Snow plunked down at Serah's unoccupied side while Lightning stood behind the back of the couch to get an ideal view of the decoding notes.

"Some of the vowels are a bit tricky to figure out," the younger Farron explained to the arrived trio, "Though I wouldn't know where to start if you forgot everything Vanille and Fang said."

Snow took a closer glance at the runes on the screen. "These are all from Oerba, then?" he inquired.

Serah nodded, "They're inscribed in the memory drive, but we're not sure how to replicate the design."

The pilot scratched his chin; as much as he saw the logic in archiving the existing data, he was uncertain as to where the teenagers intended to start looking for runes outside of Oerba. With this in mind, he addressed Hope, "You planning to check out the Archaeopolis?"

"Maybe," he replied, though an encouraging look from Serah brought him to sit up straight and speak in truth, "I want to run a scan of the Subterra."

Exchanging a doubtful glance with Snow, Sazh nonetheless remained silent while Lightning calmly questioned the proposed action, "Are you sure you're up for that?"

"I don't know," Hope admitted, frowning in thought, "But something wasn't right about the landslide. It happened when Atomos was miles away. It didn't seem natural."

Sazh narrowed his eyes. The abrupt death of civilians -of children was never natural, yet it remained an unfortunate reality in situations where time was not allied with those who possessed the power to recover them. However, that the Subterra fal'Cie was supposedly free of fault was a mixed blessing -defeating one of the cursed entities was hardly a jaunt in the park, yet it was comparatively preferred to having next to nothing in deducing what outside force was responsible for the collapse.

Dajh looked to Hope with sudden interest, "You heard the screaming, too?"

"During the quake?" the silver-haired teen said, greeted with further confusion when the boy shook his head.

"Around lunchtime," Dajh clarified, an almost pensive weight in his voice, "It was kinda quiet, but it sounded lots like the noise the ruins in Bodhum would always make. But Mister Snow said that there was a monster living in the ruins, so it coulda been another sort of monster."

The scratching of notes had ceased, giving way to a thunderous hush. Sazh rested his chin heavily on his knuckles, careworn lines drawn tight across his forehead. Perhaps any other family would have waved away the boy's comment, thinking it a flight of fancy. With Nemri's insight living on in their son it was clearly, cruelly evident that Dajh knew the fal'Cie were never spoken of as a laughing matter.

He watched Snow envelop Serah's free hand with his own, anchoring her to the support surrounding her. The young woman longed to speak in assurance to her company, to remind that Anima was a spectre of history and her brethren of Cocoon were frozen away from choosing souls to do their bidding.

Silence endured, for with or without brands, no l'Cie could be mistaken when one of their own heard the call of a fal'Cie preceding the attack upon its quarry.