Chapter 12 Living Room
"Is there something on your mind?" Bartholomew said to me.
He and I were seated in the living room of my childhood home, a building I hadn't seen in almost half a decade. Mine was now abandoned, and probably overrun by whichever fauna could withstand the eternal night that covered most of Cocoon. The living room had been remodeled where PSICOM had blasted through the wall. Photographs of the director at various stages of his ascent through the Academy now hung from it.
"Actually something has. And I suppose you would be the easiest person to ask, as questioning my actual father might be embarrassing."
His eyebrows shifted making themselves visible above the frames of his glasses. "Now what could you ever find yourself embarrassed about?"
Rubbing my index finger along the rim of my coffee mug, I contemplated whether I should actually bring up my question.
"Is the Director seeing anyone…or rather has he ever?"
Bartholomew's eyes widened. "Oh," he said softly. "Are you, perhaps…interested?"
"Oh gods, no. This isn't…wow, I should have prefaced that differently. No, I'm not interested in your son romantically. I am very involved with someone." I gulped at my coffee, burning my tongue. "And one time, I heard my father say something specific to her. And I was just kind of wondering, if you would have thought the same thing."
"Forgive me, Son, but I have no idea what you are talking about. Could you be a bit clearer?"
"When she was basically asking my dad permission to propose marriage to me," I began.
"You're married, at your age?" Bartholomew interrupted.
"Not yet, just engaged. Not the point. Anyway. Before she asked, my father said something like this 'He'd say yes whether you asked yesterday, today, or ten years from now. Since the day I met you, I knew that it was a foregone conclusion.' So, I was wondering. Do you think the same is the case for the Director? Has he been waiting for someone…specific, instead of I dunno, making the best of the situation?" Maybe asking this was a bad idea.
"From what I've been told, Mr. Villiers and the younger Ms. Farron never disappeared and Ms. Yun, Ms. Dia, and Ms. Lightning Farron reawaken in your timeline."
"Yes," I said, nodding.
"Hope," he said, looking directly at me, "when you were younger, any number of things would make you excited. You felt pure joy from the simplest of things. A new boomerang, flowers finally blooming on the terrace, wearing my glasses to walk around drunkenly. But eventually you were only angry and irritated around me." He blew over his mug, causing the steam to curl. "When you came to tell me the news about your mother, you were not the child I knew. Everything about you had transformed; you were no longer the son I had kissed goodbye the week before. But it wasn't just sorrow, pain, and anger that radiated off of you. That way that you looked at her. Starstuck with adoration, appreciation, and awe. It was clear that something was budding. Given the chance, given the timing, given the grace of courage. If those circumstances existed, and she by some miracle accepted it… then I was witness to someone falling deeply in love for the first time." He smiled painfully, before putting down his mug and leaning back into the couch. "So no. As far as I know, my son has not become seriously involved with anyone. Despite my constant pestering." He rubbed the tension from his eyebrows. "Promise me you won't tell him about your engagement. I can't watch him hope for a dream that will never come to fruition any longer.
"And now that we've gotten that out of the way," Bartholomew said, turning his attention toward the entrance, "I'd quite like for you to invite her in." He gave a winsome smile. "My son isn't scheduled to return from his expedition for another month, which you surely know." Without turning around, he pointed over his shoulder. "You've been keeping tabs on the far window. Regardless of what I've been told about her existing in some netherworld, I'd stake good money that she's right outside."
I tried to pull an innocent face, but I couldn't help grinning. "How did you guess?"
Bartholomew blew the steam above his mug again. "From what I've heard, she's very hands on. A woman like that wouldn't send her own sister into battle without a contingency plan." After taking a sip, he stood. "Would she prefer tea, coffee, or something chilled?"
"Wait here, and you can ask her yourself."
When I was younger, the neighborhood had been ideal for upper class families that only needed one income. Only Bartholomew and an elderly couple lived in the barren complex now. The courtyard used to be full of mothers tending their gardens while children played. I'd accidentally broken several gnomes and given a girl a black eye with my boomerang in those days. It was that girl's house where I spotted Lightning. All of the windows were open in the abandoned residence. The airflow wasn't enough, because Lightning fanned herself with a paperback novel. Dust motes swirled off the filthy surfaces, riled even further when she shifted around on the couch.
"Are you serious? All that for ten minutes." She looked up to see me leaning in through the window.
"He wants to know if you'd like something 'respectable' such as afternoon tea, or if you'd rather throw back a cold one." I made air quotes when reciting 'respectable.' The man was a present reminder of the perpetually absent father of my childhood. He was nothing like the person I'd finally grown close to in the past years. It was no wonder that the Director fled to Pulse and then to the future. Not only abandoned by his friends, he'd also been alone in his own home.
She pocketed the book in her hip pack and then scrubbed her hand down her face. "Can't keep your mouth shut, can you?"
"Can't he offer his son's savior a drink? At least let him have that."
When she crossed the room, she smirked a little. "I'm on the job. Protection detail." Gently, she touched her finger to my forehead, tilting me out of the threshold. "But I could do with a little caffeine."
Successfully pushing me out of the way, she climbed over the sill and dropped into a patch of weeds.
"What were you reading?" I asked, leading the way back.
"Some teenage love story that was all the rage back then. It was Serah's favorite series and they'd just made a movie adaptation. She really wanted me to take her, but was insistent that I read it first. So that I could 'appreciate it more.' But I never took the time. I," she let out a sigh, "rarely took the time for the things that she wanted. I was too focused on the things that we needed."
"I'm sure she understood." I tapped her shoulder. "But I was never a teenage girl. So I'm gonna need more intel than that. It any good?"
She sighed even more deeply. "It's about this girl who falls tragically in love with this boy. But she can't figure out what makes him so irresistible." She groaned. "Turns out he and his family are actually ancient fal'Cie living in secret among us. And for some reason she's the first human immune to his powers. So he decides to give her a focus, even though he's never done it before. But surprise, surprise, that doesn't work. And I don't know. The entire thing is really convoluted."
We paused in front of the door. "You totally liked it, didn't you? You were completely engrossed."
"If only magic were that easy." She straightened herself. "I missed out on so much when it was just me and Serah. And now she's an adult that I hardly recognize." With a laugh, she tapped the pouch with the book. "But I can see why she latched on to Snow. When you're young, you think everything is eternal or fated. Especially first love."
"But you don't?" I questioned, placing my hand on the scanner to unlock the entrance.
"I don't know what I believe anymore. What about you?" There was a pensive look in her eyes, like she were reading lettering just out of focus enough to be illegible.
"If first love were fated, I'd be stuck with a girl from kindergarten. I gave her my highest compliment at the time, 'You're eyes are the same color as my stuffed chocobo. Mr. Chocobo.' I was a creative child, obviously. And so was she. Because she decided that instead of putting alphabet tiles in order, she'd give me a makeover. She snipped a sizable chunk of hair right off the top of my head before I or the teacher noticed. I cried when my mom shaved the rest to even it out. So, I'm pretty damn thankful that I dodged that bullet."
Bartholomew opened the door to find Lightning carding her fingers through my hair and laughing.
"Maybe she had a point. It was significantly fluffier when we first met. I can't imagine how wild it would have been when you were a little kid."
It was strange to me, the way tastes developed. I was still surprised that the Director and I wore almost identical haircuts. Maybe it was less about taste, and more about what suited us.
"Hello Sergeant Farron," Bartholomew said, interrupting us.
After getting the conversation started, I left with an excuse to use the restroom. The familiar hallways of my childhood house unnerved me. When we'd first arrived, I'd thought it would feel like home. That the second I'd entered, I'd be overwhelmed with nostalgia for my old life.
I hadn't.
The repairs to the living room shouldn't have been enough to make it feel different. Only when I was walking past my old bedroom, did I finally understand why. This was not my house; this was not my life. The door to the Director's old room had been left ajar. Every single one of his possessions had a place. All of the items on his desks were tidied and served a purpose. One pencil, one pen, one marker, and one pair of scissors in a container. All of the posters on his walls were evenly spaced and perfectly level.
There was no random key or scrap of paper that had fallen out of Claire's pocket and rolled under the bed. There was no giant chip in the wall from trying to prove he knew how her Blazefire worked but underestimated the force with which it transformed.
No one had been in this room aside from him and his father. No one had stayed in the guest room at the far end of the hallway. No child had run throughout the house shrieking with laughter as her uncle chased her.
A family had never lived here. I'd seen enough of the future to know they never would.
My home, now that was something I'd give anything to see. Even just hearing baby Elyse cry every time Claire picked her up would be enough for me. I thought of the last time both the Villiers and Claire had been home.
I'd handed off Elyse to Lightning in an effort to start dinner. The moment I'd stepped away from her and towards the stove, the baby had begun crying. Lightning had hopelessly bounced the baby against her chest, but it was no use.
"She won't stop," she'd leant her forehead to my shoulder while Elyse had tugged at my sleeve.
My niece had finally relented from her howling session to mouth my clothes. Spittle had dribbled down my arm as I'd dropped chopped vegetables into a pot of water. Turning around, I'd hugged both my girls, squishing them against my chest. Elyse had begun to giggle and then stretched her arms upward in a wish to be rescued. I'd lifted her by the armpits and slipped her out of Lightning's hold.
"She hates me. Children hate me."
She'd scowled and practically stomped to the table. Perching on the corner, she'd crossed her legs and grumpily kicked at the air. I'd shifted the baby onto my hip so that I could hold her with one arm.
"She's just not used to you. Once you're around more she'll be more comfortable." As always, I'd been full of all the wrong things to say.
"Do all of you just expect me to quit? You know I couldn't bail on Fang. I wanted to be here with you guys, but I had responsibilities. And now, even now…" she'd accidentally kicked me in the shin from her wild, repetitive motion, "I'm not even going to be around her as is. I'm not in New Bodhum with them. I'm here with you."
I'd stepped back and flexed my leg, since she completely hadn't realized she'd hurt me. "I thought that we decided this together, Light. If you're second guessing this Capital thing, you should have told me before we spent all that time packing up your house." I'd shaken my head trying to calm myself. "Whatever you want is fine with me. But for the love of the gods, please make up your damn mind before we tie the knot. I can't stand all of this back and forth crap."
She'd made a guttural sound that became a hiss as she closed her mouth and it had escaped her teeth. "This isn't a moving thing. I said I wanted to live with you and Bartholomew, and that's still the plan."
"It sure doesn't sound like that. This isn't a cold feet thing is it? Because I mean, come on, we haven't even picked a date yet. Is it? Oh gods, that's why, isn't it?"
"No!" She'd sounded shocked and stood up. "Never think that." Calmly she'd stroked at my ear. "This is… something else completely." Her voice had been quiet now.
"Then tell me."
"This is," she'd started before covering Elyse's ears. The baby had looked up at her mildly confused before she'd resumed sucking her own fist. "This is a baby thing, Hope."
My eyes had opened wide, and I'd stood frozen.
"Don't panic, I'm not pregnant. But, sometimes, we're not exactly careful."
Which had been the understatement of the year. It had boldly covered our general reckless behaviors both with life decisions and contraceptives. Even that very morning, neither of us had taken any precautions when we'd used the couch for something other than its intended purpose. The Villiers had proven to be late sleepers. We'd been correct in thinking we'd be alone for at least a short while. From that moment on, I'd decided I would stash condoms all over the damn place.
"And after I came home last time…I ended up being late. So I had a lot to think about as I was sitting there, taking a pregnancy test alone.
"One of these days, you are going to knock me up. Intentionally, and not for a long while from now." She'd laughed softly and let go of Elyse. "But I don't know the first thing about babies. When I took over Serah's guardianship, in retrospect I can tell I was horrible. I was playing at parenthood and adulthood while failing at both. I have little to show for those years. If things had continued in that direction, I can't even imagine her and me on speaking terms at this point. Then I made all these big plans about trying to stay actively involved in her life after the Fall. But we both know how that went; I got completely sidetracked." She'd blushed and then rubbed her nose to mine.
"Which I'm grateful for." I'd slung my free arm around her waist before I kissed her. "But I'd say you were less 'sidetracked' than you were 'waylaid.'"
"Yeah, yeah, sure. I wouldn't do anything differently, either." She'd wrapped her arms around me and relaxed into a hug. "But sometimes I'm worried I'm not cut out for this family thing. And what if our kids hate me just as much as Elyse does? And there will definitely be times when I'm away and they'll be with you. Then I'll come back and they'll hate me, or they won't recognize me, or any number of things."
"Kids? So we're having more than one?" I'd asked, trying to distract her from whatever hole she'd been spiraling down into.
"I suppose. When I was younger, honestly, I didn't picture myself with kids. Hell, I didn't even think I'd ever get married. I was going to take care of Serah and that was as far as I could see into my future. But here I am, panicking about the multiple children we haven't conceived yet." She'd let out an exasperated sigh.
"In all fairness, according to you we almost conceived one."
She pinched my nose. "Not funny. Do you have any idea what it was like for me?"
"That's what I'm here for. As your partner, this is the shit we do together. Call me next time." I'd kissed her on the forehead. "And let me let you in on a secret. I love Elyse, I really do. But she's our niece. That's all. Things will be different with our own kids. And even when Rygdea drags you off to the ends of Pulse and they're stuck behind with me, know this. You'll have had a nine month head start with each of them. There's no possible way for me to catch up."
Elyse had grabbed a fistful of Lightning's pink hair and gleefully yanked it up and down.
No memories of this sort would ever be made in the Director's house. No one would ever ask Bartholomew for his son's hand.