Journey's End
Chapter 21: Truth

"I'm so sick of them watching my every move, you have no idea." I ran my hands through my hair in frustration, tossing a lone pebble at the opposite wall.

"When I first… y'know… arose from the dead or whatever, they watched me all the time, too. So I do have a little bit of an idea, actually." Always trying to make me laugh. Except I could tell from the annoyance in his expression that he was telling the truth.

"Okay, so maybe you do. What are you gonna do about it? More importantly, what am I going to do about it? I mean I can't just tell them to shove their heads up th-" I stopped as a familiar skittering noise echoed around the corner. Tidus immediately positioned himself in front of me, facing the hall the sound came from. Instinctually, I pressed my back against his, looking toward the faint light of the main hall.

"I told you we should not have come in here," he whispered heatedly, grabbing a stick from the ground. It wasn't even a good stick, but we didn't see the need to carry around means of self-defense anymore, so it was our best bet.

I ignored him, tugging on his arm to pull him toward the entrance. "See anything?"

"No, but it's back there, all right. Hurry up and get us out of here."

We quietly tip-toed down the halls of the old temple, listening carefully to the sound of claws on concrete and expertly avoiding drawing attention to ourselves.

As soon as we hit a lit hallway, he turned and grabbed my arm, running as fast as possible for the entrance hall. Both of us laughed because we weren't the sort to run away from a fight. We flew out of the main door and into the strange mixture of earth and sand that made up most of Besaid's terrain, pausing and leaning against a nearby palm tree to catch our breath.

And after only a few minutes, I smiled and sat down. "As I was saying, I can't just be rude. But how else will they stop watching me constantly?"

Tidus gestured in disbelief from me to the door of the temple for a little while before shaking his head. "I'll get around to that damn guest room in my hut, and you can stay there. Problem solved." He raised his arms over his head and waved. "Yo Wakka… fiend in the temple!"

It was really strange to be in Djose by myself. Really strange to be in the house without Rikku there, surrounded by tools and wooden sidebars to a third crib. Floor plans to the house were spread out all over the kitchen, because like it or not, I was going to have to expand our house or find a new one. And I didn't want to find a new one, not when there were pictures on the walls, people to fill the halls, and we finally felt comfortable and settled.

It was nice to be able to hammer all of my pent-up feelings into the sides of the new crib. I was so damned tired of feelings. Ever since Telan was born, I'd been feeling two steps away from tearing my hair out. I couldn't even count how many times I'd cried since then. Some were understandable. Others were pathetic. I was tired of being pathetic. It was time for me to grow up.

A few days after Tidus had pulled me aside, Rikku had finally told me about her condition and about the fact that we'd been advised to refrain from expanding our family. She looked heartbroken when I told her that I was glad. Glad because I couldn't make endless alterations to the house to accommodate more kids. Glad because we were still so young and there was no way that I wanted to be a father of four or five by the time I was twenty-two. I'd never even thought I'd have one by now, let alone three. While it felt good to be honest with her, her expression made me feel pathetic and definitely not manly. It made me feel slimy and horrible, actually.

Quite honestly… I was still pissed at her. Pissed because even though she hadn't run away from me this time, she'd run away from the situation. I was the father of her children, and I was supposed to be her husband at some undecided point in time, and yet she didn't think I deserved to know how ill she really was. Didn't want me to know, actually, because she'd hidden it well. I watched for signs of anything being off. I looked at Adena, who looked all glowy and perfect and round – the picture of a typical expectant mother. Then, I looked at Rikku, who looked squeamish and uncomfortable and swollen all the time (which is not to say that she wasn't a happy expectant mother). I knew there was something different. They were two different people, they carried babies in two totally different ways, and yet… I had a feeling that Adena's way was the normal one. The healthy one. Save for her attitude, anyway.

Brother came around the corner with a package of nails in one hand and a plate full of sandwiches in the other. "I can put this stuff together, you know. You didn't have to come all the way back from Bevelle just for this."

"I… I want to do it. I put the other two together and this is my kid, too, so I should do it." He shrugged and tossed me a sandwich.

"I suppose. Rikku thinks you just wanted to get away from her." He raised his eyebrows and leaned back against the oversized teddy bear behind him, which would have been comical if I weren't too busy frowning at the too-true words that had come from his mouth.

"Yeah, well, she's being stupid. And she can't have extra stress, says the doctor, so I figured I'd get away from her to avoid screaming at her." I took the nails from him and began delicately hammering the next bar into place, carefully so I wouldn't damage the soft wood.

"Yeah… don't get me wrong, my brother, I agree with you. But isn't it just a little bit mean to leave her all alone with an overprotective cousin on her birthday?"

I hit the nail too hard and made a huge circle in the wood anyway, my face flushing with guilt. I'd known it was her birthday when I took the early ferry that morning.

"It is a little bit mean, yeah. But I figured it would be even worse to yell at her, so…"

The knock on the door was entirely welcome. Yuna had insisted on teaching me to knit, and my hands was over it. We'd been knitting for days. I'd already made a few pairs of misshapen socks and hats. Practice may make perfect, but I was not interested in more practice. If I was being truthful, I was very interested in joining Telan for her afternoon nap.

I had barely closed my eyes and leaned back against the mass of pillows in Yuna's guest room when I heard another knock, this time on the bedroom door. Yuna was standing there, looking confused and apprehensive.

"No more knitting, Yunie," I muttered, pushing myself to a seated position. "It's my birthday, I don't want to see any more yarn today."

She ignored me. "Adena's here. In the sitting room downstairs. She wants to talk to you."

I frowned. "To me?"

Yuna nodded. "Want me to bring her up?"

I shook my head no. At least it was an excuse to get out of bed for a bit, though I couldn't imagine what she wanted. She'd been practically ignoring Gippal for weeks, ever since she'd had the scare when the baby had stopped kicking. Surely there wasn't something wrong…

As I approached the staircase, Yuna stopped me. "Do you want me to come with you?" There was kindness and understanding in her eyes, and I loved her fiercely. Yunie the peacemaker. It was second nature to her.

But I needed to handle this on my own. "It'll be fine," I promised, squeezing her hand before descending to the ground floor.

I passed through the kitchen and poured two glasses of lemon water from the pitcher Yuna always kept on the sideboard, then continued along the hall to the sitting room near the front door. It was a pretty room, one that Yuna and Tidus only ever used when hosting old priests or people like Nooj and Baralai. The windows overlooked the street and the flower-lined walkways outside, and all of the natural light made the room inviting, cozy.

Adena looked entirely out of place in it.

She was sitting cross-legged on the bench in the bay window at the far side of the room. Her hands rested lightly on her knees as she stared out at the people walking by. Her hair was thick and the same molten gold it had always been, but today it looked as if she'd run her fingers through it too many times, and taken all of the bounce out of it. She looked healthy, far better than I did – at least until you looked at her eyes. She'd made an effort to hide the dark circles beneath them, but in the bright light, they were pretty apparent. She glanced up at me as I set her glass of water on a nearby table, and I recalled what Gippal had said about her looking hollow.

I knew that look. The feeling behind it. She was lost as I'd been when I'd been each time I left.

I perched on the bench across from her, quietly sipping from my water until it became very clear that she wasn't going to break the silence on her own. "Yuna said you wanted to talk?"

She nodded, keeping her eyes down. "I do."

"Is something wrong with the baby?" I asked gently.

Adena's hand involuntary reached up to cradle her swollen belly. "No. The baby's fine." She shrugged. "It's me. There's something wrong with me."

Was she feeling the same way I had after Telan was born? The depression that was bone deep, irrational, and overwhelming?

"There's nothing wrong with you," I said automatically, an assurance I was sure she wanted to hear.

She scoffed at me. "Don't try to make me feel better before you even know what I'm going to say."

"Well, stop stalling, then," I pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

Her attitude deflated at once. I sat back and watched her gather her courage, watched her reaching into the empty coffers of strength inside her for whatever she had left at the bottom.

She lifted a hand to her mouth, the sleeves of her overlarge sweater covering all but her fingertips as she bit at her nails. Then, she spoke - quiet, defeated. "I don't want to be a mother."

The room was quiet enough to allow us to hear the voices of the people walking on the street outside. She continued to stare out the window, refusing to meet my eyes.

I leaned forward, resisting the urge to place a hand on my belly for comfort. "But you already are."

"Carrying a baby doesn't make a person a mother, Rikku." She pulled her hand away from her mouth in frustration. "Not everyone's like you. Not everyone wants a family."

Her words were true. Completely. But if she didn't want a family, why…? I thought back to that day outside of Djose, when she admitted she'd hoped she'd lost the baby. When she'd admitted that she'd thought it would fix everything. Thought back to that day when I'd visited her at the outpost, when she'd said she wanted the baby to have someone who wanted it.

"I was happy, before this. Back in Bikanel. I liked being on my own out there. I liked being responsible for myself. Just myself." She shook her head and finally looked me in the eye. I saw rage there, and guilt. Fear. That hollow feeling of unhappiness permeated the air around her. "I never wanted this," she spit out, gesturing toward her swollen belly. "I mentioned it to Gippal, you know. That I wasn't sure how much I wanted it. I told him that when he was in Bevelle with me. Right before you found out about it. He wouldn't accept that the baby was his without a paternity test. Apparently, I get around enough that I couldn't be trusted to know who the father was," she said, bitterly.

"I've been completely transparent with the two of you about the fact that I didn't know if I wanted this baby. It's taken a long time, but the closer it gets the more I realize that this isn't the life I want." Adena took a deep breath and pointed out at the ocean. "I want to go back out there. I want to go back to working on the research boats, or get back onto Nhadala's dig teams. I want to keep finding old technologies from the time before Sin. I want to see Spira." There was a tiny bit of hope in her eyes, in her voice. "I don't want this baby to grow up like my brother and I did, moving around all the time with no home base. My mother was always gone. I raised my little brother on my own, from the time that he turned three, and I hated it. When she died, we got sent to Home, and we were stuck there, and I hated that, too. I don't want to give my life up, anymore. My brother got himself killed during Operation Mi'ihen. Sin's gone and the world is really starting to accept us. I finally had a chance to go anywhere, see everything… and then this happened."

She wasn't looking at me anymore. "I told Gippal I was pregnant because I remembered how excited he was about Telan. I knew how much growing up without his family hurt him. He was so angry at me when I told him – but it never crossed his mind to ask me to abort. He just started taking care of everything because he's a good man and a good dad. And I knew keeping it was the right decision, for him at least. But it's not the right decision for me."

Adena was right. The information wasn't new to me. It had been plain for some time that she didn't want to be in this situation. I'd always thought it was just the circumstances making her unhappy – making all of us unhappy. I'd assumed that it was the thought of co-parenting in this tense environment that caused her to be I'd never connected the dots and realized that she was miserable at the thought of raising a baby she'd never planned on making. At the thought of losing her freedom because of a single mistake – because she cared so much about the people in her life that she'd sacrifice herself for their happiness.

She was like Yuna, in that way. I'd known that, once. And I'd let my anger shove that knowledge into a forgotten corner of my mind.

She finally touched her belly, and her eyes welled with tears. "That's not my only reason. I don't want to mess this kid's head up by bouncing it back and forth every other week. I don't want it to wonder why Telan and your new baby get to stay at their dad's house full time, and why it doesn't get to stay, too. I don't want this child to feel like it's not worth the same as they are." She looked up at me, her eyes plaintive. "Gippal, me, you… we all messed up, you know? And this baby doesn't deserve to bear the burden of our mistakes. It's just a baby. It's innocent in all of this." Adena was pleading with me now.

She didn't realize that she didn't have to.

I got up and walked over to her, wrapping my arms around her before she could protest. We'd been friends once, and although my anger was justified, it was time to put it aside. It was time for me to hold her up in her time of need, just like she'd done for me in a cold stone bathroom all those months ago.

She gripped me tightly, sobbing into my neck. "I'm not meant for this, Rikku. I resented my little brother so much. I took care of him because I had to, but I was so angry at him for it. I don't want to do that to my baby. I don't want to resent it for existing, and I will. I know I will. It was different with Giladh. He didn't have anyone else. But this baby has Gippal, and I hope it will have you." She paused, pulling back to gaze at me. "That's what I came to ask of you, Rikku. You're a wonderful mother. I know that it's a lot for me to ask, after what happened. I know all of this has torn things apart over and over again, but… I'm hoping you can forgive me, and that you'll be a mother to this baby. A real one."

I stepped back, gently squeezing her forearms to comfort her as I thought about what she was asking. Her request reminded me of what I'd said to Tidus a week ago, that maybe we all get our wishes even if they don't come as we'd imagined. I'd already known I'd be in this baby's life. I knew I would have a hand in raising it, regardless. Adena was asking for something bigger, though. I'd need to forgive the circumstances which had brought this child into existence, and I'd need to love the baby as my own. She was right – the baby was innocent, and if I agreed to take her place as the baby's mother, there would be no room for resentment.

Could I do it? I didn't know. But I did know one thing.

"You are a real mother," I said, hoping she could hear my sincerity. "Real mothers put their children's needs before their own. Even if it means making hard decisions." The tears started streaming down her face again at that, and I let her hold onto me. I knew what it felt like to need a life raft in the middle of a raging ocean.

When her tears finally began to slow, I pulled back to sit next to her on the window bench. "When are you planning to talk to Gippal about this?"

She shrugged. "Does it really matter? He's not going to care. I'll be out of way. I know it'll complicate things a little bit, having two newborns at once all by yourselves, but… won't it make things easier, in a way?"

I started to deny it, but reconsidered. In truth, it would make things easier – for me and for Adena. "Not for him," I whispered. He'd been trying so hard to make up for his initial cold attitude and to make her feel welcome. He'd been doing his best to treat her like a partner in parenting, if not in life, and I already knew he'd be overwhelmed by her decision to walk away. He wouldn't understand it, not right away.

She wasn't just asking me to raise her son or daughter, I knew. She was asking me to be like the sun, bright and unfailing, the way I'd been on Yuna's pilgrimage. She was asking me to pick up the pieces she'd leave behind – not just now, with Gippal, but later, too. The baby would grow up, and eventually it would have to know the truth. I'd have to pick up those pieces, too, when they inevitably came. And through it all, I'd have to find a way to stay strong for my family. For me.

There was a knock at door leading to the kitchen, and the two of us looked up. Yuna was standing there, standing like a summoner instead of like herself, and I wondered just how much she'd overheard. "Gippal just called. He's just leaving the airship dock." She glanced in concern between the two of us before nodding to Adena and retreating from the room.

We sat in silence for a few moments before Adena spoke again. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for everything."

I nodded. "Me, too."

"I should go before he gets here," she murmured. "The airship dock isn't far from here, right?"

"Stay." I motioned toward the kitchen. "We'll have dinner, and the two of you can talk." I tugged at her sleeve. "You need to talk."

She shook her head. "He'll try to talk me out of it. And I don't want to intrude on Yuna's hospitality that way. Besides, it's your birthday, right?"

I didn't deny what she'd said about Gippal, because it was true. "My birthday doesn't matter. Not compared to this. And Yuna won't care. Actually, she'd probably be the best person to play the mediator, to be honest." I gave her a small smile, but she didn't return it.

"No… no, I should go. I can't do this again tonight." She gestured at the tear stains on her cheek, then hesitated before meeting my eyes. "Rikku… will you do it?" She reached for my hand, squeezed it tightly.

I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths as she waited for my answer. I could tell her no – tell her that she needed to live with the consequences and be there for her son or daughter. I could tell her any number of things to get her to stay. To get her to do the "right thing".

But who was I to decide what the right thing was?

When I exhaled, it was shaky. "I think that when you see your baby, and when you hold him or her, you might change your mind," I told her honestly. "You might feel differently, after that." Then, though my own was shaking, I squeezed her hand in return, tight enough to leave white marks on her skin. "But if you don't – yes. I'll be there. For you. For them. I'll do it."

Author's Note: It's been a decade. Thanks to reviewer ryry001, who adamantly PM'd and sent messages asking me to complete this story. There are only two or three chapters left in this story, so I'm going to get around to finishing what I started back in high school, just to say that I finished it. If anyone is still reading, many thanks to you. I don't have a timeline on this, but I'll do my best to bust out the ending you've all deserved for many, many years. Also – please note that I am primarily posting on Archive of Our Own these days under the penname tofadeawayagain. I'll be reposting these fics over there at some point – again, no timeline. If you, like me, have migrated away from FFNet over the years, I'll see you on the other side.