Chapter 16: Projection

During an afternoon I'd been allowed to roam the hospital grounds for exercise, the Director had run into me. He'd probably been tracking me, because he immediately asked that we take the bridge that connected the Academy hospital with the administrative building. It was clear from the get-go that we were heading to his office. He didn't resume conversation until we reached our destination and he locked the door.

The Director pulled up a screen on his personal computer. "I copied your phone."

"What?" I asked rather stupidly. The folders of mine filling his screen gave credence to his statement.

"I thought something within might be of use to Lightning in her coma, or to humanity in our effort to combat the paradoxes. You come from a completely unaffected timeline. I needed to know as many details as I could."

"You should've just asked. I would have shown you." I prayed that he hadn't gone through all of them.

"And do you know what I found? Out of all the inane little things you documented, I found this." He used his finger to click a video labeled 'Winner.' "And I can't stop watching it, like a train wreck of my own life."

A projector hummed and soon an image was thrown onto the wall opposite his desk. The frame was of me from my head to my navel. I'd been lying on my bed, my hair mussed, and wearing a black shirt. A pair of legs had been pinning me in place, the hem of a Guardian Corps uniform came in and out of frame. I'd had my hands rested on the knees of whoever had been holding me down. I'd been laughing.

"So." Claire's voice played over the speaker. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Are you really making me do this?" I'd asked with incredulity.

"Absolutely, you promised."

"Fine," I'd said with a half-hearted sigh.

"Now repeat after me. I, Hope Estheim."

"I, Hope Estheim."

"Hereby acknowledge."

"Hereby acknowledge."

"That I am second in everything, because Lightning Farron is and always will be the winner."

"You're so petty."

"You should have known better," she'd said, poking me firmly in the chest. "Never sneak up on a Farron, we will always win at tickling. It's common knowledge."

"I doubt anyone else would try." I'd rubbed at her knee. "You're such a dork."

"No, I'm competitive." She'd ruffled my hair.

"One of the million and a half reasons I love you." I'd brought her hand to my mouth and kissed her fingertips.

"I love you too," she'd said, causing me to grin like a fool.

"So, are you ready to claim your actual prize?" I'd asked, raising my eyebrows.

"What might that be?"

"You'll have to turn off the camera to find out."

My hands had slid up the sides of her legs and slipped beneath the hem of her skirt. The image shook as Claire had struggled to turn off the camera. The image went black and the projector turned off.

I watched as the Director dropped into his chair.

"Out of all the videos, you picked that one? I have tons of Vanille and Fang doing parlor tricks. Gods know how many there are of Elyse, who wasn't even conceived here. Why that one?"

He sipped at his steaming coffee. "Your datalog shows you look at this one the most. Especially now. Your date is still set to whenever it was you left your timeline. I was able to form a reference point. Still, you watch this video almost daily."

"Is there something you're getting at? Just jump straight to the point."

"You are romantically involved with your Lightning. I'd made an educated guess based on the way you'd spoken about her. But I finally have evidence. Lightning was your lover."

"First off, yuck. Never say lover. She's my fiancé. Secondly, what of it?"

He looked mildly stunned by my correction, but then carried on. "Don't mess up my timeline. Our Lightning is growing attached to you. Obvious in hindsight, since you are the only one who could be so comfortable around her, even in her form as a goddess's personal guard. Even I'm slightly hesitant of her, but you just barrel through like a brainless slug." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "My point is, don't hurt her. She's not your Claire, and if anything happens to her again, we'll all be in danger. Especially Serah and Noel. They can't handle Caius without her."

"I would never hurt Lightning," I shouted, slapping my palms to his desk as I leaned over it to glare at him.

"I'm not speaking literally. Let me clarify. Don't break her heart. If any of her will, pride, or confidence is damaged, we're all screwed. The only reason humanity has lasted this long is because she's too stubborn to quit."

"Are you sure all of this isn't just your way of saying, 'back off, she's mine'?"

He immediately became cross, and I wondered if this was the face I was always making at people. The one I referred to as 'I almost killed Snow; I could kill you too' face.

Lightning was finally being discharged from the hospital. I'd long since been released. No one would've known by the rate I spent the nights curled up in a chair at her bedside. Serah, who'd finally returned from the Sunleth Waterscape, had to regularly force me out to shower and change clothes.

I walked in, as I always did, with no regard for the closed door. There was rarely anything weird going on. Since I spent all my time there, basically I was shooed whenever a nurse or doctor needed privacy with her. So, I hadn't expected to waltz in on her changing.

She gingerly tugged her shirt down after popping her head through the neck hole. A sliver of skin was visible above her waistband.

"Your scar is back." I lurched forward to touch the round patch of discolored skin above her hip.

"Excuse me?" She lunged out of the way before I could make contact.

"Your old scars. You didn't have them...that day."

We both blushed at the memory of our nakedness.

Claire had been covered in scars. Most of them were from her time before we became l'Cie. Some had been accidents in childhood, others she'd earned while serving. Either way, the ones I'd found most interesting were the newer ones.

Unlike Vanille who'd been experienced at least slightly longer, my magic had been imperfect. During those first days on the run, any healing spells I'd used had been weak. I'd magically sutured my comrades with all the talent of a child apprenticing a seamstress. Essentially, I'd done a shitty job. Of course, over time, I'd been able to make adjustments. Nearly fatal wounds were different.

Every time someone had almost died, a bit of the original wound remained as a scar. They'd been barely visible, and anyone without a magical affinity would've probably overlooked them. Now that our magic had come back, I'd begun to notice all of the stray marks. I'd felt the residue of my and Vanille's magic embedded in the area.

Right above Claire's hip had been a coin of lightened skin that never tanned. Vanille had saved her after a Svarog had gored her with his barb. Claire had almost bled out while Snow and Fang had dragged her back to camp. Sazh and I had been off on a separate task.

This had been the only part that truly felt like someone else. Most of the damage had felt like me. It had been an odd sensation, to run my hands across her body and feel parts of myself reflecting back.

It had taken me a long time to notice, as the feeling of her sparks had tended to overshadow anything else. Now that we'd been in control of it, we could actually touch each other without lighting up.

The first time I'd felt my magic inside her, I'd become sick to my stomach. So sick, that I'd thrown up. I'd had to fix her so many times because I'd been unable to protect her. I'd been a child, so I hadn't expected much. That magic had been dim, faded away. But her ribs, those repairs had been new. Those wounds had been entirely my fault.

Sometimes I'd lazily trace her scars and question her. Some she knew the origin of, but most of them she had no idea. 'As long as they'd been patched up and she was in fighting condition' she hadn't cared.

I'd found myself most drawn to one on her back. It cheated just to the right of her spinal column. Any further, and it would've been an injury she'd never come back from.

The mark had been so faint I'd been surprised I'd even found it. The blinding light that followed daybreak had blazed in through our window. Her bare back had been facing me. She'd been sleeping late, which she never did. With each breath she'd taken, the muscles in her chest would gently flex to accommodate the air. Time had ticked on and the beam of light cast in the room had worked its way slowly onto her body.

That's when I'd seen it. The line had been faint, but it'd shined in comparison to the rest of her skin. I'd reached out to touch it. The scar had been neither raised nor concave. There'd been a near imperceptible hint of magic. Whoever had cast it had been precise. They'd had a level of proficiency that I'd never met in another person. Doctors who worked by hand left no magic, and the scars were never clean. Manadrive users generally left hack jobs, most of Claire's wounds from serving had been some of her roughest looking. Magic sutures had been limited to me and my fellow l'Cie, but I hadn't recognized any of them in it. It had been almost like it were a mixture, which didn't make any sense. This person had been so strong that they'd healed her so completely that nothing had remained.