When Hope woke up that morning, he immediately knew something was wrong. It was early Sunday morning, and Lightning always woke up late on Sundays. There should have been a warm, sleeping body in his arms, but instead they were cold and empty.

"Light?" he called, looking around in confusion. He got out of bed and hurried out of the bedroom. "Light? Where are you?"

He found her in the kitchen, staring at the calendar on the wall. She had a troubled look on her face, a deep wrinkle between her eyebrows.

Hope walked up to her from behind and put his arms around her waist. "What's wrong?" he murmured, burrowing his nose in her hair.

"It's Mother's Day," she answered, leaning back against him.

Hope glanced at the calendar. "You're right," he affirmed. "What about it?"

Lightning sighed. "Nothing. Please, go back to bed. I… I need to be alone for a while."

"Are you sure?" Hope said, his arms instinctively tightening around her. Since the whole Bhunivelze episode, he really didn't like being apart from her. He'd never enjoyed being apart from her to begin with, but the god's interference had only strengthened his need.

"Yes. I know you were up late working last night. Go back to sleep." She turned around in his arms, pressing a soft kiss against his lips. "I'll be okay. I just need a little me-time."

Hope leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. After taking a deep breath through his nose he managed to let go of her, her scent giving him inner calm. She was right; he'd only slept four hours that night. Getting another hour or two of sleep would do him good.

"If there's something I can do, you'd tell me, right?" he said, still worried by the look on her face.

"Yes. I promise." Lightning gave him a small, unconvincing smile. Hope nodded and reluctantly left the kitchen. If she needed time to be on her own, he would give it to her. He didn't like it, but he would do it. He returned to the bedroom and went back to bed. It took him a while, but in the end he managed to go back to sleep.

Two hours later, Hope woke up again. His sleep had been restless, his worry never leaving his body. He still hadn't figured out the cause of Lightning's distress, but he hoped she was feeling better after her me-time.

Hope searched the apartment. The kitchen was empty, and so was the living room. At first he didn't want to believe Lightning had left home without leaving a note, but then he noticed that her shoes were no longer on the shelf in the hallway. Where the hell is she? he thought, running his fingers through his silver hair. Lightning knew about his separation anxiety and would always leave a note before going anywhere. The fact that she'd been upset enough to forget something like that made Hope's worry even worse.

He returned to the kitchen to take a second look at the calendar Lightning had been staring at. What's so special about Mother's Day? he thought. They were both orphans and had been motherless for centuries. He'd never seen her being upset about it before. What's so different about this year? he wondered – and then, it hit him. Lumina.

Lightning had told him about what had went down in the sea of chaos before he'd pulled her up, that she'd reunited with the feelings she'd repressed for so long. In a way, this was her first motherless Mother's Day where she could allow herself to truly feel the loss. Hope left the apartment, knowing exactly where he'd find her.

"Hey," Hope said, sitting down next to Lightning on the bench in the memorial garden outside the local church. The garden was full of lit candles.

Lightning blinked, looking a bit confused. "I thought you went back to sleep," she said, her voice trembling. Her eyes were rimmed with red. She'd been crying, Hope realized.

"I did. I slept for two hours."

Lightning checked her wristwatch. "Oh," she said. "I'm sorry. I thought I'd be back before you woke up."

"It's okay." He took her hand in his, giving it a comforting squeeze. "I understand."

Lightning nodded, new tears forming in her eyes. "I just came to think about my mother and then my chest started to hurt," she whispered. "I don't even have a grave to put flowers on anymore. I can't… I can't breathe. It's like there's something wrong with my lungs. I don't know what's happening to me. I can't… I can't…" Lightning began to hyperventilate, tears falling freely from her eyes. She pulled her hand free from Hope's grip to hold herself, her nails leaving angry, red crescent moons on her upper arms.

Hope got up from the bench and kneeled in front of her. He cupped her face in his head and tilted it up, coercing her to look at him. "It's a panic attack," he explained calmly. "It will be over in a minute or two. I promise."

"I don't get panic attacks," Lightning snapped, her whole body shivering.

"You do now. You pushed away your emotions when your mother died, and I think it's coming back now." He leaned his forehead against hers, his heart aching with her. "I had countless of panic attacks after my mother died, especially on Mother's Day. This is how you're supposed to react, Light."

"I don't like it," Lightning said. "It sucks." She was beginning to calm down, her breathing slowing down. The panic attack was ending, just like all panic attacks end.

"I know." Hope smiled, wiping the tears off her cheeks. "It's supposed to suck."

Lightning nodded. She was exhausted, Hope noticed, and he wasn't surprised. He always used to be exhausted after panic attacks, too. He got up from the ground and picked up his bag. On the way to the memorial garden he'd stopped to buy two grave candles and a lighter. He lit them both before handing one to Lightning. She took it in both hands, staring at its flame.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I'm sorry for being such a mess."

Hope sat down next to her on the bench again, wrapping an arm around her waist. "I don't mind. I want to know every part of you – even the messy parts."

His words brought a faint smile to Lightning's lips. "That's so cheesy."

Hope shrugged. "It's true."

They sat in silence, watching their candles burn. After a while, Lightning put her head on Hope's shoulder.

"I miss my mom," she whispered, her voice surprisingly childish. Hope suspected it was the first time she ever uttered the words. He kissed the top of her head, pulling her even closer.

"I know," he sighed. "I miss my mom, too."

Happy Mother's Day, mom, he thought, looking up at the sky. Wherever you are. He could feel his own eyes tear up a little. Time might heal many wounds, but it could never erase the internal scar left from the loss of a mother.