Chapter 20: Welcome Home
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"The future is the past returning through another gate."
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Help...help me. My lips could easily mouth the words, but the voice to carry them was nowhere to be found. I knew I was breathing, albeit strained. I also knew that whatever was straining my breathing did not have a very pleasant odor. So I could feel and smell...but why couldn't I hear anything but a dull ringing? My eyelids tried to pry themselves open, but failed for some reason. A hand tried to lift to see what was causing my eye problem, but that too was hindered by something.
The soldier in me wanted to get up as soon as possible and the human in me told me that I was already dead. In most situations, the soldier's opinion ruled over me, but this time, I found my mind drifting in and out in an anxious attempt at deciding what to do. I kept trying to thrash around and then stopped, my chin quivering with pent up tears staining the outer sides of my eye sockets. The skin covering my body was slowly starting to realize that I was somewhat conscious, and was sending needle-like prickling sensations to all of my limbs. I suppose it was trying to tell me to move, but my mind's state only allowed me the courage to try to shift. Even that was a struggle, and I soon found my confidence and paranoia dueling for supremacy. But even that was recognized as something else by some mediating part of my conscious brain, and in a few minutes, I knew exactly why I was being so flaky.
Shell shock wasn't a proper medical term when I was in the service. It represented an outdated concept left to wither and die after World War I. Shell shock, to me at least, was not a prolonged stress disorder. To me, it was the body's reaction to something horrific, namely an "in-your-face" explosion. But I could not remember an explosion...which was yet another symptom of my version of "shell shock." The memory of whatever caused my condition would probably come flooding back to me as my brain relieved some of its tension. But that would require some sense of awareness. Without my sense of sound or sight, awareness was a lost commodity. My flaky frame of mind soon asked the inevitable "will you ever see or hear again?" paranoia- induced questions. My confidence and whatever that mediator was had no answer, so my paranoia was left to deduce on its own...something I could not afford if indeed I was still in a war zone.
After letting my confidence attack the paranoia a bit more, I found that my other arm, the one I hadn't tried to move yet, could indeed move. With this newfound discovery, I raised the arm and its hand to eye level, prying open what I now could feel were very swollen eyelids. The moment my eye felt cool air, tears started to form in the corners of my eyes. And then there was the pain. It did not take me long to deduce that I had something in my eye. What it was I didn't really care, and I knew if I kept it open long enough, the tears would do their job and wash out the foreign object.
Sure enough, the pain in my eye subsided, and I let my eyelid close once more, eyeball rolling around madly, as if glad to be free from its painful prison. Although devoid of any object, my eyelid still would not open on its own accord, so I felt around with my free hand for a moment. What I discovered was rather shocking.
What did I feel? Concrete? No. Metal? No. What I felt was cold, sunken-in flesh. The hand jerked back and pried my eye open. On top of me lay one of the men that had been with me when clearing the stadium. Apparently, he had jumped in front of me in an effort to shield me from the blast. Why? I've no clue. He was certainly dead, at least from what my nose was telling me. Asking him would've been pointless. Instead, I arched my back and felt my knees rise up. Ah, my knees. In my moment of inner-conflict, I had forgotten to check to see if my legs were still usable. They were, and my savior's body soon rolled off my on. My strained breathing soon turned into gasps of air. Unfortunately, the gasps let in a mouthful of chalk, the remnants of the stadium's rooftop, I presumed. I choked a while, eyes tearing up and nostrils flaring. My now completely free hands searched my pockets for something to cover my mouth with. Finding nothing, I took a grip on a sleeve and ripped. I hastily wrapped the sleeve over my nose and mouth and tried to stand.
Standing was more of a chore than I expected it to be. The dormant blood that had decided to pool in certain parts of my body rushed to my head all at once and I had to reach out for something blindly for balance. Of course, I couldn't find something in time and landed on top of the poor soldier that had given his life for mine. I imagined that if my hearing had been normal, I would've heard a rather nasty sound when I hit him. Good thing I still only heard the dull ringing. I decided to try standing again, slower this time. My sense of balance was off, but I managed a few steps before I realized that I wouldn't get anywhere without some sense of direction. The remedy for this? My fingers became temporary eyelids.
I didn't have the mental capacity at the time to care how odd I must've looked. Walking around with your fingers holding your eyes open was probably a funny sight. Too bad Gary wasn't there to see it...or was he lucky that he couldn't see it? Anyway, with my foggy vision, I could at least make out where I was.
Where was I, exactly? Some people would've called it hell. Being the objective type, I called it "a pile of rubble." Amongst the shattered stone and concrete slabs were bodies and shiny bits of metal, but recognizing anyone or anything specifically was impossible with the vision I had.
I stopped for a moment and rested on a large block of the white stone that used to make up the stadium, rubbing at my eyes profusely with the knuckles of my hands. While it didn't really help the pain or swelling, it did help my vision clear a bit. I really didn't know how to fix the hearing problem, but I guess that'd come back in time...if it was coming back.
Satisfied that I could somewhat identify objects now, I headed towards what I could see was an opening filled with light. I called it an opening because it was not a doorway. Whatever had caused the large hole in the solid stone wall was something I didn't want to meet, but I didn't have much of a choice. That was my only source of light, and light meant clarity, even if it also meant death. And the light did give me clarity...clarity that the battle had probably been long over with. I saw no soldiers fighting, no bodies littering the ground, no heavy machinery in the road. All I could make out were the dark patches of blood spills, billowing smoke, and destroyed buildings. The scene resembled nothing close to what the bustling city of Luca had been when I was last there. Everything seemed eerily calm, and I was reminded of all the post- apocalyptic scenes in movies. A shiver ran down my spine and I could feel my teeth chattering, even if I couldn't hear them.
Walking along the bloodstained yet calm streets only heightened my sense of dread. I felt as if I was the lone survivor...the last man left in a battle to end all battles. And, despite what some movies or books tell you, being the lone survivor in a battle of courage and honor is something that's disheartening, and not at all comforting. I had cheated death so much that I was beginning to think I was cursed. Or at least that's what my paranoia was telling me to think. I believed that my confidence had left the building for the moment...but that'd be the case for anyone after seeing the tragedy that the town of Luca had become.
War had left its destructive touch on Luca and I didn't believe it'd ever return to what it had been. More or less, the brown and crimson stains on the road I was walking didn't need to be washed away. Each dried patch represented a life extinguished in the fight for a cause, and no matter what side they were fighting on, they had the right to be remembered. It took the after-battle scenery to actually jar emotions. The fight itself is nothing more than push, shove, charge, retreat. No man looks to the ground when his life is on the line. But after all is said and done, when a man has to clean up the bodies of his comrades and enemies, he gets a new appreciation for his life and the courage of the men he's burying. At least, that was my idealized version of it. In truth, some men never felt remorse or reverie for their enemy. I certainly did...but I always tried my damnedest to not show it.
War was conflicting to me. In the heat of battle, it was kill or be killed...but afterwards it was something along the lines of "why kill or be killed?" Peace is always the remaining shine of hope in a soldier's eyes, even as he's firing a bullet into the brain of his opponent. Or something like that...
With my gloomy mood, I had not even noticed that my hearing was slowly returning to me. At least, I thought it was. I heard, faintly, the voice of someone yelling my name.
"Weston!"
"What?" I tried to yell, not hearing my own words that well.
"Over here! It's me! I didn't know you were still-"
"Huh?" I said, turning my head in every possible direction, not able to trace the source of the sound. Was I imagining it?
"Over here damnit!"
"Where?" I asked, still turning my head.
"HERE. IN FRONT OF YOU."
I blinked and stopped the erratic motions of my head. Sure enough, a few feet in front of me was Gatta, staring at me as if I had lost my marbles. Maybe I had.
"Hey," I said, nodding to him.
"Why do you have your fingers on your eyelids?" he asked.
I returned my hands to my sides, my eyes immediately closing.
"Ah," he said, nodding. At that, I heard him fiddling around with something. "This'll help."
Whatever he did, it did help. A cooling sensation washed over my face and I felt the tight, puffy flesh that were my eyelids loosen. Soon, I was blinking like a madman.
"All better," I heard him say.
I nodded and rubbed at my eyes for a few moments. I then lifted my head and rather enjoyed seeing with a clear twenty-twenty vision.
"That was my last potion. You've got a few cuts on you...we'll fix those when we get back. Just glad your alive." I was glad he wasn't taking my..."return" to the point of hugging me. That wouldn't have helped my mental state in the least.
"Get back?" I asked, delirium still lingering.
"Yeah," he responded. "I suppose you'd like to know what's happened."
"That might just help," I replied.
He cleared his throat and looked towards the ground. "Luca's now free...at a high cost. The citizens were successfully evacuated and are getting used to living on boats near the Kilika docks. Not the best place...but it works- "
"How long?" I interrupted, feeling a wave of nausea passing through my stomach.
"How long what?"
"How long have I been..."
"Missing?"
"Uh...yeah..."
"Two days."
"Wow..."
"Yeah...anyway." Gatta continued. "Someone has informed Yuna of Yevonite troop movements concentrating near the Calm Lands. Most of the soldiers stationed at Besaid have been sent to Mount Gagazet. Yuna believes that Nyka's last effort for a power bid lies in destroying the resurging Ronso and then taking the under-construction Zanarkand."
"Smart plan...how many guys does he have?" I said, my mind drifting in and out of consciousness.
"We don't know. I just got off the communicator with Yuna. She wants to send a few soldiers on a fact-finding expedition."
"A recon mission?" I said, eyes blinking rapidly.
"What...? Are you ok?"
"Yeah, just...give me a moment." And with that, I plopped onto the ground and looked up at Gatta. "What are you doing here?"
"A small group of Yevonites killed the crew of our last transport airship at the coast."
"Not cool," I said, feeling a tick of anger begin to develop in the back of my mind.
"Yeah. With the rest of the ships taking the soldiers to Mount Gagazet, we're pretty much stranded here."
"We're?"
"The few survivors of the missile attack lucky enough to be blasted into the water along with me. Seems someone's looking out for us."
"Guess so..." I said, standing back up. "Well, I'm suffering from battle fatigue and a bit of shell shock and I want to go home. Have a gun?"
"Yeah...it's a standard Al Bhed pistol, though."
"Ooo, lead bullets?"
"Yeah."
"Good. I want to go home, and not one Yevonite is going to stop me. Hand over the gun."
"I don't know if you should be..."
"Give me the damned gun!" I said, certainly harsher than meant.
Gatta obliged and led me towards the south gate, where, near the coastline, there was indeed an airship landed. I patted Gatta on the shoulder and headed towards the airship.
I don't really know what I planned to accomplish, but I do know one thing. My anger level was shooting through the roof by the time I found the small ship's side door. On the smaller ships, there was only one level with two areas: cockpit and cargo hold. The side door, apparently, opened to the cargo hold. When I did get the door open, it opened to the cargo hold...and two Yevonites. Of course, with my mental facilities limited, I just went with the reflex of pointing and shooting. I hit my mark, not caring that I hadn't bothered to actually look at the new weapon and figure out how it worked. But, I was glad it did work when I needed it. With those two out of the way, I turned my attention to the cockpit. Inside were three Yevon soldiers. I offed the first two easily, not even giving them the chance to raise their weapons. The third, I shot in the kneecaps. Why? He was needed to fly the ship...at least I thought so.
I yelled as loud as I could, "Hey, Gatta!"
I heard his faint reply, "Yeah?"
"Do we need a pilot, or is there one among the men?"
"We've got a guy that can fly it."
"Alright."
I won't refer to myself as a hero, ever. A hero doesn't let his anger or vengeance get the best of him. I did, and in doing so, snuffed out the remaining life on board the formally hijacked airship.
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"Did you see that woman walking into Weston's house the other night?"
"I couldn't see much from my position, ya?" Wakka said, winking.
Lulu frowned and batted him on the top of his head. "Honestly, Wakka. Try to control yourself."
Wakka stuck out his tongue. "Yeah, yeah. Ya know you like it."
To this, Lulu grinned and then nodded towards the front flap of the hut. "I wonder what she's doing there."
Wakka shrugged, "Suppose I should find out."
Lulu tilted her head. "Well, I'm sure she has a good reason for being there..."
With a grunt, Wakka shook his head. "Gone soft on me, Lu? I'll go over there and find out what's going on, ya? Find out who she is and what she's doin' there. Better safe than sorry."
Lulu rolled her eyes but couldn't help but admit she didn't mind Wakka being so cautious. She still didn't realize why she wasn't that worried about the woman. Something within her told her that the woman had a perfectly good reason for being in Weston's cabin. Lulu's instincts told her that this woman belonged in some odd way, much like Weston had belonged nearly a year before, when she witnessed his fall from the sky. Things fall into place for many reasons, and Lulu wasn't one to question those reasons.
Wakka got up from the table the two were sitting at and leaned over it, kissing Lulu on the forehead. He slipped on a thin, white button down shirt, the only semi-formal piece of clothing the former Blitzer owned. Wakka then walked over to the front of the hut, brushed some locks from his eyes and headed across the main path to Weston's cabin.
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Eimour sighed as she looked out of cabin's western window, which offered a nice view of the ocean. In her right hand were the crumpled remains of a thin, black shirt. She had picked it out of Weston's pocket after taking him to her apartment. The shirt itself really had no significance, and Weston had never offered an explanation for the shirt in the days he spent with her, but Eimour could not find herself to leave it anywhere but on her person.
She didn't honestly expect to see Weston again. And she didn't know why she felt that way either. Instinct? Possibly. It was more her dominant pessimism. In front of Gary, she was always positive and strong. But inside, only the opposite was true, and it hurt Eimour that she could be so negative without even trying. Admittedly, her confidence was never great, and it took a major dent after Gary was conceived.
Eimour opened her eyes and found her nose buried in Weston's shirt. Quickly, she placed the tattered piece of clothing back into her pocket and sighed, shaking her head. In all honesty, she had felt a form of comfort from the garment. Comfort that had always emanated from Weston...a comfort that came in the man's resolve and confident aura. She knew that admitting anything would result in broken barriers, so she closed her eyes once more and emptied her thoughts. Before calmer thoughts could enter, though, a knock came to the door, and Eimour rushed to open it, her heart beating a mile a minute.
"Westo-" she started, but stopped herself when her eyes came upon a tall, broad-chested and redheaded man. Eimour cleared her throat and tried to hold back her disappointment. "Can I help you?"
"Ya, you can. I'm Wakka, you may recognize me as one of Lady Yuna's guardians."
"No, I'm sorry, I don't."
"Oh...well...you've seen me leading the Aurochs then?"
"I've...never seen you before...can I help you with something?"
Wakka gritted his teeth a bit, but then calmed down. "Well, I'm both of those...so I have a bit of say so 'round here."
"Ok...I get the point that you're somewhat important, well as far as your claims go...but do you have a name, sir?"
"Oh...yeah, it's Wakka."
"Wakka...ok, Wakka, can I help you with something?"
"I was kinda wonderin' what you were doing in this cabin here."
"Have I done something wrong?"
"Not...that..." Wakka growled under his breath and balled his hands into fists. "What I wanna know is what you're doin here."
"Oh, why didn't you just ask?" Eimour said with a hidden grin.
"Why don't you just answer, ya?"
"Weston told me to come here. I take it you've heard of Weston...right?"
"Heard of him? Lady, I'm the one who found him."
"Is that so," Eimour said with a soft giggle.
"Yeah, it is. That doesn't mean much, though. Words only go so far, ya? I'll need a bit of proof."
"Proof," Eimour asked brazenly. "What type of proof? All I have is my word and..."
"And what?"
"Just my word. Take it or leave it."
At that, Wakka gave her a sideways glance, crossing his arms as his lips pursed in thought. "I'mma have to leave that and ask for more proof. Maybe like, I dunno, why Weston would tell some strange woman to live in his cabin."
"Well, if I answer, it'll still be my word, so leaving my word behind leaves you with...hearsay, is it?"
Wakka rolled his eyes and scratched at the back of his head angrily. "Just tell me, ya?!"
Eimour smiled. "Ask politely and I'll think about it."
Eyes closing in fury, Wakka growled so deep, Eimour thought she could feel the reverberations in the wooden floorboards beneath her feet. Startled, if not frightened, she put away her playful attitude for a moment and responded, rather curtly, "He saved my young son, and got hurt in the process, so I took him in, cared for him, and then, after Luca turned into a war zone, told me to come here and wait for him. Satisfied?"
Wakka blinked. "So you took care of him, eh? That means you came into contact with him...I'm sure you've got proof, lady."
Eimour sighed and closed her eyes, stepping out of the cabin and closing the door behind her. She hesitantly pulled the tattered black shirt from her pocket it and held it in front of Wakka's face. It took only a moment for him to snatch it from her hands.
"Hey!" she yelled a bit louder than intended.
"Is he okay?!" Wakka asked, eyeing her suspiciously. "Where did you get this?"
Eimour growled and reached for the shirt. Wakka reacted by lifting the shirt out of her reach. He asked again, "Where did you get this?"
"I told you, I got it from Weston! Now return it to me!"
"Why? My wife made this for him."
"What, like you can use it?"
Wakka shrugged. "May need to patch a sweater or something."
Eimour shouted, "So do you believe me or not?"
With a grin, Wakka shrugged. "Dunno what to believe. Now I have one more question for you."
"What?!" Eimour asked breathlessly, eyes narrowing and face slowly crumpling in anger.
"What's your name?"
"Eimour. Why?"
"Thanks. Here." He extended his hand and Eimour immediately snatched the garment from the man's large hand. Wakka grinned. "I'll be sure to check with Weston when he gets back. Can't be too safe, with this war going on, ya?"
"'Ya,'" Eimour mimicked with a growling rasp. She turned on her heel and stormed back into the cabin. Wakka shrugged and headed back to his hut.
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The water rushed past the windows at an alarming speed. Whoever Gatta had gotten to pilot the airship wasn't reserved at all. This speed demon's airborne antics were not helping my condition any. My stomach was churning and my head aching along with the fatigue and the still open and stinging wounds covering my body.
I looked inside the hull of the rather small transport airship at the last soldiers to leave Luca. Why no soldiers were left in the now abandoned city was beyond me at the moment, but some connection in my brain formed a hypothesis that Yuna and Gatta felt defending Mount Gagazet was more important than keeping Luca in their hands. Or what was left of it.
Yeah, so back to the soldiers...most of them looked fresh, meaning that they were either men who hadn't seen much combat, or they were lucky enough to have showers. I'm pretty sure it was the latter, mainly because most of the men had distant gazes, which was a soldierly trait if there ever was one. I, too, probably had that problem. That, and they didn't smell that bad. But I could smell myself...and it wasn't a pleasant aroma. If I could smell my own body odor, I'm sure the men weren't pleased to have me in such close quarters with them. As a matter of fact, I could sense a growing collective idea of throwing me out of the ship and into the rushing ocean under it. A good salt-water swim would probably cure my smelly condition...of course, it'd sting the hell out of my wounds...but what do they care about that?
I turned my gaze to the window and out onto the horizon. The sun was high in the sky, marking the time to be about twelve or one o'clock. Either way, I'd make it back to Besaid just in time for a nice lunchtime nap. I saw Gatta out of the corner of my eye. He was looking a bit angry and when he passed me, I asked him, without turning my gaze to him, "What's wrong?"
"We'll have to make a rough landing. Landing gear isn't responding. One of your bullets hit the main console and damaged the system."
"Oopsie," I said.
He grunted. "Oopsie indeed. Ok, guys. Make sure you hold on to something tight when I say so. It's going to be a bumpy landing and I don't want any of you hurt. You've been through enough already."
I heard a few hummed affirmations and Gatta turned back to face me. "You, too."
"I can handle it. I've been in many turbulent aircraft."
"Suit yourself," responded Gatta, and with that, he headed back to the cockpit.
I mumbled something that even I couldn't understand and continued to watch the sun.
After what felt like only an instant, Gatta yelled out to us to get down. I didn't bother. I wish I had though...because when the airship hit the ground, I was thrown to the ceiling and after I landed rather roughly, I felt warm and sticky liquid flowing down the left side of my face. Yeah, it was blood. Go figure. Gatta didn't seem to mind it as he checked on the men in the back and then forced them out of the door. After they had left, Gatta helped me up and shoved me out of the door.
"Thanks," I mumbled.
"That's what you get for not following my instructions. I hope it feels good. I'll let you keep that head wound."
"Not even one potion?"
"Deal with it, Weston."
"Ouch."
He grunted and jogged off in the direction of the barracks. Apparently, the pilot was fast, but good. He had landed the ship right in the middle of the Crusaders' compound. The place was kinda deserted. Ok, no kinda to it. Guess most of the soldiers were already at Gagazet, and if I had an ounce of energy left in me, I would've left straight for it. But, I just wanted a damn nap, and it had already taken too damn long to get to Besaid...now I just needed to get to my damn house, which wasn't too damn far away. More than likely, though, it'd take me entirely too damn long to get there. And sure enough, it did take too damn long...
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Eimour sighed and stood, idly pacing about the small cabin room, watching herself in the small mirror on the equally small dresser near the front door. She found her eyes darting from her own reflected image to the front door, not really questioning why. Eimour knew why. Wakka had said something about when Weston returned. But it'd already been two days and she had gathered an idea that the longer he was away, the more chance of him being...
Eimour's thoughts were interrupted by the front door bursting open, its knob hitting the wooden wall next to it. Before her stood the man that had just previously been on her mind. An acrid odor filled her nose, and she knew where it was coming from...but couldn't find the energy to care. She started towards him, arms outstretched, but then stopped, not sure of how he'd react to her throwing herself at him. Still, she wanted to make some contact with him and instead, walked forward and grabbed his hand. Leading Weston inside, she tried to keep the smile on her face from becoming too garish.
"What are..." he started.
"You made it back, just like you said."
"Huh?" he asked drowsily.
His words didn't really connect with her for she started to look him over, smile going to a frown as she found scratch after scratch, bruise after bruise, and finally, his gaping head wound. The excitement faded, and she pointed to the small bed in the corner of the room.
"Lay down," she said a bit too sternly.
"Gladly," he retorted, with a half-hearted smile. Weston walked towards the bed and upon reaching it, flopped down with an audible "oof."
Eimour growled. "On your back."
Weston grumbled and turned over, looking up at her questioningly. "Just let me sleep, damnit..."
"You're wounded! No complaining. Now hold on a minute. I'll get something to clean that wound."
With a few mumbled words of displeasure, Weston rolled his eyes and turned on his side, quickly falling asleep. Eimour found him like this a few moments later, sighing at the sight. She crumpled the cloth in her hand, the moisture trapped in it flowing over her knuckles.
"Weston!"
"Huh...wha?" he mumbled.
"Turn over!"
"Maybe later..."
At that, Eimour grabbed his shoulders and physically rolled him onto his back, one arm holding him in place as she used the other to clean his wound. Weston's eyes fluttered a bit and disapproving grunts and groans escaped him, his actions reminding Eimour of an overgrown toddler more than a hardened soldier.
After she had the wound clean, Eimour reached into her pocket and brought out the black shirt and a dry cloth. She pressed the cloth to the wound and wrapped the shirt around his head, holding the cloth in place. Weston growled and turned over on his side again, grumbling for just a moment before the rhythm of sleep caught him once more. Another sigh escaped Eimour's chest and she shook her head, not sure why Weston was so stubborn about someone tending to his wounds. He'd been the same way when she took him in after the pub incident.
Eimour's thoughts circled back to those few days before Luca turned into a hostile battlefield. All in all, they had been fun days, chatting with Weston and watching her son annoy the hell out of the wounded soldier. But, Weston never minded Gary's attention, at least outwardly, and always made time for whatever her young son wanted with him. She found it hard to believe such a man as Weston, a trained life-taker, to be so warming to a young child, but she couldn't dismiss it as an act on his part. Weston, from what she had seen, genuinely enjoyed Gary's company, and to some extent, even her own. However, she felt that she'd been a little too harsh on him after the fact, and in a sense, regretted being so cold. Her harshness may have been unprovoked, but it didn't seen to faze Weston in the least.
Weston rolled over in his sleep, his motion jarring Eimour from her thoughts. She looked upon the face of the sleeping soldier and smiled. She prayed that he'd never have to leave that peaceful bed for she felt that Weston had had enough trials in his life to last a million lifetimes. She also prayed that he'd never have to kill another soul again. There was a warm, kind, and gentle man inside of him waiting to burst out. Eimour just wondered when and exactly how that'd actually occur.
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Tidus growled, his legs and hips aching beyond tolerance. On his back was a young boy who was about as fussy as he was hyperactive.
"Gary, are we done playing Chocobo yet?"
"Not yet, Mr. Birdie! Keep hoppin'!"
And Tidus followed the young boy's order. Yuna stood off to the side, half listening to what Gatta was telling her while giggling at her beau's ordeal with Eimour's child. While she knew that whatever Gatta was saying, it had to be important, but seeing how Tidus reacted to small children was much more important than war matters to her. Yuna knew that her priorities were selfishly aligned, but it didn't matter to her. The war was distant in her eyes, even if she was somewhat in charge of it. Ruling over an army just wasn't in her blood; hence why she left military strategy up to those that knew it well, Gatta and his Crusaders especially.
When Eimour had come to Yuna the day before, asking if there was anything she could do to help matters around the island, Yuna just shrugged and asked the young woman about the shy child hanging onto her leg. After the introductions were over, Gary had instantly attached himself to Tidus, who he saw as a Chocobo with his blonde hair and predominately yellow leisure clothing. To Yuna, the boy was a perfect opportunity to "preview" how the man she loved would handle a child. Remarkably, Tidus took up with the boy, despite the fact that Gary could be a bit annoying at times. Still, they both needed Gary with them at the temple, if just for distraction.
The news out of the communications hub was not good, and Rikku had yet to report in. Both Rikku and Weston had not made it out of Luca in the initial twelve hours after Luca gained its freedom once again, and it had everyone in Yuna's camp very worried. Weston was one of the pivotal men involved in the success of Rikku's impromptu operation, and without him, Gatta and his Crusaders would've still been pinned down. With Weston's reappearance earlier in the day, hope for Rikku's emergence had grown, but then quickly died after Cid called in to report that her vehicle had been found abandoned on the Highroad.
Yuna didn't hear Gatta call her name the first three times, but on the louder fourth, she snapped out of her thoughts and responded, "Sorry. Is that all?"
"Pretty much. Weston's back at his cabin and he needs to stay there. Major battle fatigue. See that he's taken care of and gets plenty of rest. Don't let him come to Gagazet, ok?"
"Ok," Yuna said. "Rest and no Gagazet."
Gatta nodded. "I'm heading out on the last airship. I'll call on communicator when I've established a hub. I don't know if we can get the Ronso to help or not."
"I'm sure they'll help us, in some form."
"We'll see. Well, I'm off. Give my regards to Weston. Remember, don't let him do anything stressful."
Yuna laughed. "I'll try."
Gatta grinned and ducked out of the room.
Yuna then turned her attention to the mass of wires and boxes sitting in the middle of the small room. Intermittent crackling noises could be heard from the mound of electronics, coupled with the occasionally chatter between Al Bhed or Crusader soldiers. She kept hoping she'd hear word from her cousin, but after two days, that was looking to be a slim possibility.
Ashamed of her negative thoughts, she turned her gaze to where Tidus and Gary had been. Standing in their place was the pale form of Fagan. His arms were crossed and his face was crumpled into a displeasing frown, which was no big surprise. After the initial shock of Fagan's arrival left Yuna, she had set up a room for him in the temple not too far from her own, and that's where he had stayed the majority of the past two days. She'd see him walking out around the temple or in the small village, but other than that, the man kept to himself. In a way, Yuna was glad that he was so reclusive, mainly because she couldn't admit to having much trust to give him. Fagan's almost magical appearance didn't sit too well with Tidus, and if Tidus didn't trust him, Yuna felt she couldn't trust Fagan any more than Tidus could. Then again, something in her heart, her instincts if you will, told her that Fagan was not a threat. Of course, that was yet to be seen.
Fagan closed the distance between them with a few steps, and nodded towards the communications hub.
"Any word from the straggling Al Bhed?"
Yuna shook her head with a sincere frown. "None yet."
"I figured. Any idea what might've happened? Are we ready to proclaim her gone?"
"She's not gone," Yuna said, frown turning in a look of honest determination. "She'll contact us, and soon."
The irony of what happened next would wipe the tired and angry look right off of Fagan's face. The random crackles on the communication hub started to turn into a very garbled but easily recognizable voice.
"Th-------ku----Permiss------and?------Anyone---ello?--ver."
Yuna jumped to the microphone amongst the heap of equipment and yelled into it. "Rikku? Is that you? Rikku? Come in!"
"I'm----ying----ome in!----forget it.---anding in field-----ext---to------ ader's barracks."
"Ok, Rikku? Rikku?! I can't understand you. Repeat, please!"
From behind her, Yuna heard Fagan sigh. "Yuna," he said sternly.
"Yes?" she replied, turning to face him.
"If you couldn't hear that..." he began, shaking his head. "She's landing in the field next to the Crusader Barracks."
"Are you sure?"
"Most definitely," he said, nodding.
"Well, let's go!"
Fagan nodded and the two quickly left the Temple. On their way towards the path leading to the barracks, they saw Tidus and Gary stepping out of the Crusader's Lodge. Tidus waved and Yuna yelled for him to follow. Tidus picked up Gary and fell in step behind them.
In no time, they made it to the field, all but Fagan bending over to catch their breath. He remarked dryly, "She's not here yet."
"Nice observation," Tidus cracked.
Yuna replied to the crack with a shushing noise. "Maybe you were mistaken," she offered afterwards.
"I know what I heard," Fagan retorted sharply.
"Then you might had heard wrong," added Tidus.
"Wait...I see a ship." Yuna cried, finger pointing towards the western sky.
Indeed, there was a ship in the sky, and it was heading towards the field at a not-so-safe speed.
"Maybe we should...move outta the way..." Tidus offered.
Both Fagan and Yuna seemed to agree and the trio fled into the nearby forest. A few moments later, the ship made a rough landing only a few feet from where the three had ran to. The side hatch on the airship popped open and out plopped a moderately grimy Rikku. The entire front side of her coveralls was caked in mud and dust. Even her face had a bit of mud on it.
Yuna was the first to come out from under the safety of the forest. "Rikku!" And with that, she ran up and wrapped her arms snugly around the young Al Bhed, not minding the smell or feel of the dried mud. Rikku was only happy to oblige with an even tighter embrace.
"I'm so glad to see you, Yunie! Haven't missed me too much, have you?"
"Like I could miss you too much!" Yuna replied, letting go of her cousin.
Tidus was next, all smiles, Gary atop his shoulders. "Hey there, Rikku. You look..."
Rikku nodded, eyes narrowed. "I know. Boy, have I got a story to tell you guys."
Before she could begin, Fagan stepped forward. Rikku blinked at him a few times, trying to recognize him, until finally it clicked.
"You're one of Nyka's men!"
Fagan huffed and said, voice raspy and thick with pending anger, "Used to be. I'll kill that bastard if it's the last thing I do."
Rikku looked towards Yuna and Tidus for an explanation, not even noticing the other stranger sitting atop Tidus' shoulders.
And Yuna told Rikku the very short version of Fagan's story. Rikku seemed to understand it, but Yuna noticed that her cousin wasn't going to readily accept that a former Yevonite had sincerely switched sides.
Rikku then began her tale. In a nutshell, she had met two men that just insisted that she follow the remaining Yevonites. When she did, she found that they had an airship and were planning to strike Besaid Island with its missiles. A day or so long standoff occurred, but with the two men by her side, Rikku was able to defeat the Yevonites and come back in the airship to Besaid.
After she had finished, Tidus asked, "Who are the two men that helped you? Crusaders?"
"Not exactly," Rikku answered, just noticing the young boy plopped on Tidus' shoulders. "And who's that?"
Tidus laughed. "This is Gary, he's a quiet kid around strangers, but once he gets to know you, look out. He's clingy."
Gary laughed at the clingy remark and bopped Tidus on top of his head. He then muttered a "Hello."
Rikku smiled. "Hi there. Nice to meet ya!"
"On to who those two men are." Fagan interjected.
"Oh, yes. Who might they be?" Yuna asked, leaning forward curiously.
Rikku bit at her bottom lip and then leaned into the airship. "Ok guys, come on out."
Two men, one relatively old, the other about Tidus' age, walked out of the hatch. Yuna and Tidus both nearly fainted at the sight of their former guide, Auron, standing there in the flesh, donning his usual red and black outfit. Yuna also recognized the other man, but didn't want to believe what she saw. He was tall, had very short red hair, was built much like Wakka was, and kept a sly grin on his face. Yuna's memory matched those features to a person she thought was long gone. She still couldn't believe it, and only stood in unadulterated awe.
Rikku grinned weakly and nodded towards Auron. "This is Auron, for those that didn't know."
Auron's gruff voice filled the air. "Hi there."
Rikku then nodded towards the other man. "And this is...this is..."
Yuna finished Rikku's sentence for her. "Chappu..."
The red-haired young man smiled and gave a thumbs-up. "Got that right, Yuna. Chappu's back and ready to rumble."
-----------------
A/N: Yeah, so finally, it's here. A 7000 diddy that took way too long to get here. Oh well, I never set a date for it anyway. Besides, I started college, had to take care of a very injured uncle (he was in a bad wreck) and I've been so uninspired...that's about to change though. This chapter reveals some major stuffs, as you now know, and the next Chapter will reveal absolutely nothing. It's just going to be one sweet, heartfelt chapter that'll only progress character relationships/interactions. Some for the negative, some for the positive.
Also missing from this chapter is a "log/diary/journal" entry thing. I decided that this chapter didn't need one, even though I was originally going to have one every five chapters. I'm going to combine the other entries into their respective chapters so that the chapter count on FF.net will actually match the actual number of chapters in the fic. I'll do that later though. I'm really inspired with Chapter 21 and I'm starting on that ASAP.
And, now, the thank yous.
Shad: Thanks for betaing, helping me with Chappu characterization issues, and for just being absolutely wonderful in every way ^__^
Artemis: Without you, there would be no Eimour. Thanks again for all of your help with this chappy and the fic in general. You've truly helped me shape the last few chapters into decent tries at fic writing ^^
Readers: Thanks for sticking with this for this long. It was rough in the beginning, I know, but I honestly think it's blossomed into something much more than just a small experiment. Not much longer to go, actually, so don't hesitate to stick it out for the end of this epic ficcy.
~No 0ne
-----------------
"The future is the past returning through another gate."
-----------------
Help...help me. My lips could easily mouth the words, but the voice to carry them was nowhere to be found. I knew I was breathing, albeit strained. I also knew that whatever was straining my breathing did not have a very pleasant odor. So I could feel and smell...but why couldn't I hear anything but a dull ringing? My eyelids tried to pry themselves open, but failed for some reason. A hand tried to lift to see what was causing my eye problem, but that too was hindered by something.
The soldier in me wanted to get up as soon as possible and the human in me told me that I was already dead. In most situations, the soldier's opinion ruled over me, but this time, I found my mind drifting in and out in an anxious attempt at deciding what to do. I kept trying to thrash around and then stopped, my chin quivering with pent up tears staining the outer sides of my eye sockets. The skin covering my body was slowly starting to realize that I was somewhat conscious, and was sending needle-like prickling sensations to all of my limbs. I suppose it was trying to tell me to move, but my mind's state only allowed me the courage to try to shift. Even that was a struggle, and I soon found my confidence and paranoia dueling for supremacy. But even that was recognized as something else by some mediating part of my conscious brain, and in a few minutes, I knew exactly why I was being so flaky.
Shell shock wasn't a proper medical term when I was in the service. It represented an outdated concept left to wither and die after World War I. Shell shock, to me at least, was not a prolonged stress disorder. To me, it was the body's reaction to something horrific, namely an "in-your-face" explosion. But I could not remember an explosion...which was yet another symptom of my version of "shell shock." The memory of whatever caused my condition would probably come flooding back to me as my brain relieved some of its tension. But that would require some sense of awareness. Without my sense of sound or sight, awareness was a lost commodity. My flaky frame of mind soon asked the inevitable "will you ever see or hear again?" paranoia- induced questions. My confidence and whatever that mediator was had no answer, so my paranoia was left to deduce on its own...something I could not afford if indeed I was still in a war zone.
After letting my confidence attack the paranoia a bit more, I found that my other arm, the one I hadn't tried to move yet, could indeed move. With this newfound discovery, I raised the arm and its hand to eye level, prying open what I now could feel were very swollen eyelids. The moment my eye felt cool air, tears started to form in the corners of my eyes. And then there was the pain. It did not take me long to deduce that I had something in my eye. What it was I didn't really care, and I knew if I kept it open long enough, the tears would do their job and wash out the foreign object.
Sure enough, the pain in my eye subsided, and I let my eyelid close once more, eyeball rolling around madly, as if glad to be free from its painful prison. Although devoid of any object, my eyelid still would not open on its own accord, so I felt around with my free hand for a moment. What I discovered was rather shocking.
What did I feel? Concrete? No. Metal? No. What I felt was cold, sunken-in flesh. The hand jerked back and pried my eye open. On top of me lay one of the men that had been with me when clearing the stadium. Apparently, he had jumped in front of me in an effort to shield me from the blast. Why? I've no clue. He was certainly dead, at least from what my nose was telling me. Asking him would've been pointless. Instead, I arched my back and felt my knees rise up. Ah, my knees. In my moment of inner-conflict, I had forgotten to check to see if my legs were still usable. They were, and my savior's body soon rolled off my on. My strained breathing soon turned into gasps of air. Unfortunately, the gasps let in a mouthful of chalk, the remnants of the stadium's rooftop, I presumed. I choked a while, eyes tearing up and nostrils flaring. My now completely free hands searched my pockets for something to cover my mouth with. Finding nothing, I took a grip on a sleeve and ripped. I hastily wrapped the sleeve over my nose and mouth and tried to stand.
Standing was more of a chore than I expected it to be. The dormant blood that had decided to pool in certain parts of my body rushed to my head all at once and I had to reach out for something blindly for balance. Of course, I couldn't find something in time and landed on top of the poor soldier that had given his life for mine. I imagined that if my hearing had been normal, I would've heard a rather nasty sound when I hit him. Good thing I still only heard the dull ringing. I decided to try standing again, slower this time. My sense of balance was off, but I managed a few steps before I realized that I wouldn't get anywhere without some sense of direction. The remedy for this? My fingers became temporary eyelids.
I didn't have the mental capacity at the time to care how odd I must've looked. Walking around with your fingers holding your eyes open was probably a funny sight. Too bad Gary wasn't there to see it...or was he lucky that he couldn't see it? Anyway, with my foggy vision, I could at least make out where I was.
Where was I, exactly? Some people would've called it hell. Being the objective type, I called it "a pile of rubble." Amongst the shattered stone and concrete slabs were bodies and shiny bits of metal, but recognizing anyone or anything specifically was impossible with the vision I had.
I stopped for a moment and rested on a large block of the white stone that used to make up the stadium, rubbing at my eyes profusely with the knuckles of my hands. While it didn't really help the pain or swelling, it did help my vision clear a bit. I really didn't know how to fix the hearing problem, but I guess that'd come back in time...if it was coming back.
Satisfied that I could somewhat identify objects now, I headed towards what I could see was an opening filled with light. I called it an opening because it was not a doorway. Whatever had caused the large hole in the solid stone wall was something I didn't want to meet, but I didn't have much of a choice. That was my only source of light, and light meant clarity, even if it also meant death. And the light did give me clarity...clarity that the battle had probably been long over with. I saw no soldiers fighting, no bodies littering the ground, no heavy machinery in the road. All I could make out were the dark patches of blood spills, billowing smoke, and destroyed buildings. The scene resembled nothing close to what the bustling city of Luca had been when I was last there. Everything seemed eerily calm, and I was reminded of all the post- apocalyptic scenes in movies. A shiver ran down my spine and I could feel my teeth chattering, even if I couldn't hear them.
Walking along the bloodstained yet calm streets only heightened my sense of dread. I felt as if I was the lone survivor...the last man left in a battle to end all battles. And, despite what some movies or books tell you, being the lone survivor in a battle of courage and honor is something that's disheartening, and not at all comforting. I had cheated death so much that I was beginning to think I was cursed. Or at least that's what my paranoia was telling me to think. I believed that my confidence had left the building for the moment...but that'd be the case for anyone after seeing the tragedy that the town of Luca had become.
War had left its destructive touch on Luca and I didn't believe it'd ever return to what it had been. More or less, the brown and crimson stains on the road I was walking didn't need to be washed away. Each dried patch represented a life extinguished in the fight for a cause, and no matter what side they were fighting on, they had the right to be remembered. It took the after-battle scenery to actually jar emotions. The fight itself is nothing more than push, shove, charge, retreat. No man looks to the ground when his life is on the line. But after all is said and done, when a man has to clean up the bodies of his comrades and enemies, he gets a new appreciation for his life and the courage of the men he's burying. At least, that was my idealized version of it. In truth, some men never felt remorse or reverie for their enemy. I certainly did...but I always tried my damnedest to not show it.
War was conflicting to me. In the heat of battle, it was kill or be killed...but afterwards it was something along the lines of "why kill or be killed?" Peace is always the remaining shine of hope in a soldier's eyes, even as he's firing a bullet into the brain of his opponent. Or something like that...
With my gloomy mood, I had not even noticed that my hearing was slowly returning to me. At least, I thought it was. I heard, faintly, the voice of someone yelling my name.
"Weston!"
"What?" I tried to yell, not hearing my own words that well.
"Over here! It's me! I didn't know you were still-"
"Huh?" I said, turning my head in every possible direction, not able to trace the source of the sound. Was I imagining it?
"Over here damnit!"
"Where?" I asked, still turning my head.
"HERE. IN FRONT OF YOU."
I blinked and stopped the erratic motions of my head. Sure enough, a few feet in front of me was Gatta, staring at me as if I had lost my marbles. Maybe I had.
"Hey," I said, nodding to him.
"Why do you have your fingers on your eyelids?" he asked.
I returned my hands to my sides, my eyes immediately closing.
"Ah," he said, nodding. At that, I heard him fiddling around with something. "This'll help."
Whatever he did, it did help. A cooling sensation washed over my face and I felt the tight, puffy flesh that were my eyelids loosen. Soon, I was blinking like a madman.
"All better," I heard him say.
I nodded and rubbed at my eyes for a few moments. I then lifted my head and rather enjoyed seeing with a clear twenty-twenty vision.
"That was my last potion. You've got a few cuts on you...we'll fix those when we get back. Just glad your alive." I was glad he wasn't taking my..."return" to the point of hugging me. That wouldn't have helped my mental state in the least.
"Get back?" I asked, delirium still lingering.
"Yeah," he responded. "I suppose you'd like to know what's happened."
"That might just help," I replied.
He cleared his throat and looked towards the ground. "Luca's now free...at a high cost. The citizens were successfully evacuated and are getting used to living on boats near the Kilika docks. Not the best place...but it works- "
"How long?" I interrupted, feeling a wave of nausea passing through my stomach.
"How long what?"
"How long have I been..."
"Missing?"
"Uh...yeah..."
"Two days."
"Wow..."
"Yeah...anyway." Gatta continued. "Someone has informed Yuna of Yevonite troop movements concentrating near the Calm Lands. Most of the soldiers stationed at Besaid have been sent to Mount Gagazet. Yuna believes that Nyka's last effort for a power bid lies in destroying the resurging Ronso and then taking the under-construction Zanarkand."
"Smart plan...how many guys does he have?" I said, my mind drifting in and out of consciousness.
"We don't know. I just got off the communicator with Yuna. She wants to send a few soldiers on a fact-finding expedition."
"A recon mission?" I said, eyes blinking rapidly.
"What...? Are you ok?"
"Yeah, just...give me a moment." And with that, I plopped onto the ground and looked up at Gatta. "What are you doing here?"
"A small group of Yevonites killed the crew of our last transport airship at the coast."
"Not cool," I said, feeling a tick of anger begin to develop in the back of my mind.
"Yeah. With the rest of the ships taking the soldiers to Mount Gagazet, we're pretty much stranded here."
"We're?"
"The few survivors of the missile attack lucky enough to be blasted into the water along with me. Seems someone's looking out for us."
"Guess so..." I said, standing back up. "Well, I'm suffering from battle fatigue and a bit of shell shock and I want to go home. Have a gun?"
"Yeah...it's a standard Al Bhed pistol, though."
"Ooo, lead bullets?"
"Yeah."
"Good. I want to go home, and not one Yevonite is going to stop me. Hand over the gun."
"I don't know if you should be..."
"Give me the damned gun!" I said, certainly harsher than meant.
Gatta obliged and led me towards the south gate, where, near the coastline, there was indeed an airship landed. I patted Gatta on the shoulder and headed towards the airship.
I don't really know what I planned to accomplish, but I do know one thing. My anger level was shooting through the roof by the time I found the small ship's side door. On the smaller ships, there was only one level with two areas: cockpit and cargo hold. The side door, apparently, opened to the cargo hold. When I did get the door open, it opened to the cargo hold...and two Yevonites. Of course, with my mental facilities limited, I just went with the reflex of pointing and shooting. I hit my mark, not caring that I hadn't bothered to actually look at the new weapon and figure out how it worked. But, I was glad it did work when I needed it. With those two out of the way, I turned my attention to the cockpit. Inside were three Yevon soldiers. I offed the first two easily, not even giving them the chance to raise their weapons. The third, I shot in the kneecaps. Why? He was needed to fly the ship...at least I thought so.
I yelled as loud as I could, "Hey, Gatta!"
I heard his faint reply, "Yeah?"
"Do we need a pilot, or is there one among the men?"
"We've got a guy that can fly it."
"Alright."
I won't refer to myself as a hero, ever. A hero doesn't let his anger or vengeance get the best of him. I did, and in doing so, snuffed out the remaining life on board the formally hijacked airship.
--------------------
"Did you see that woman walking into Weston's house the other night?"
"I couldn't see much from my position, ya?" Wakka said, winking.
Lulu frowned and batted him on the top of his head. "Honestly, Wakka. Try to control yourself."
Wakka stuck out his tongue. "Yeah, yeah. Ya know you like it."
To this, Lulu grinned and then nodded towards the front flap of the hut. "I wonder what she's doing there."
Wakka shrugged, "Suppose I should find out."
Lulu tilted her head. "Well, I'm sure she has a good reason for being there..."
With a grunt, Wakka shook his head. "Gone soft on me, Lu? I'll go over there and find out what's going on, ya? Find out who she is and what she's doin' there. Better safe than sorry."
Lulu rolled her eyes but couldn't help but admit she didn't mind Wakka being so cautious. She still didn't realize why she wasn't that worried about the woman. Something within her told her that the woman had a perfectly good reason for being in Weston's cabin. Lulu's instincts told her that this woman belonged in some odd way, much like Weston had belonged nearly a year before, when she witnessed his fall from the sky. Things fall into place for many reasons, and Lulu wasn't one to question those reasons.
Wakka got up from the table the two were sitting at and leaned over it, kissing Lulu on the forehead. He slipped on a thin, white button down shirt, the only semi-formal piece of clothing the former Blitzer owned. Wakka then walked over to the front of the hut, brushed some locks from his eyes and headed across the main path to Weston's cabin.
--------------------
Eimour sighed as she looked out of cabin's western window, which offered a nice view of the ocean. In her right hand were the crumpled remains of a thin, black shirt. She had picked it out of Weston's pocket after taking him to her apartment. The shirt itself really had no significance, and Weston had never offered an explanation for the shirt in the days he spent with her, but Eimour could not find herself to leave it anywhere but on her person.
She didn't honestly expect to see Weston again. And she didn't know why she felt that way either. Instinct? Possibly. It was more her dominant pessimism. In front of Gary, she was always positive and strong. But inside, only the opposite was true, and it hurt Eimour that she could be so negative without even trying. Admittedly, her confidence was never great, and it took a major dent after Gary was conceived.
Eimour opened her eyes and found her nose buried in Weston's shirt. Quickly, she placed the tattered piece of clothing back into her pocket and sighed, shaking her head. In all honesty, she had felt a form of comfort from the garment. Comfort that had always emanated from Weston...a comfort that came in the man's resolve and confident aura. She knew that admitting anything would result in broken barriers, so she closed her eyes once more and emptied her thoughts. Before calmer thoughts could enter, though, a knock came to the door, and Eimour rushed to open it, her heart beating a mile a minute.
"Westo-" she started, but stopped herself when her eyes came upon a tall, broad-chested and redheaded man. Eimour cleared her throat and tried to hold back her disappointment. "Can I help you?"
"Ya, you can. I'm Wakka, you may recognize me as one of Lady Yuna's guardians."
"No, I'm sorry, I don't."
"Oh...well...you've seen me leading the Aurochs then?"
"I've...never seen you before...can I help you with something?"
Wakka gritted his teeth a bit, but then calmed down. "Well, I'm both of those...so I have a bit of say so 'round here."
"Ok...I get the point that you're somewhat important, well as far as your claims go...but do you have a name, sir?"
"Oh...yeah, it's Wakka."
"Wakka...ok, Wakka, can I help you with something?"
"I was kinda wonderin' what you were doing in this cabin here."
"Have I done something wrong?"
"Not...that..." Wakka growled under his breath and balled his hands into fists. "What I wanna know is what you're doin here."
"Oh, why didn't you just ask?" Eimour said with a hidden grin.
"Why don't you just answer, ya?"
"Weston told me to come here. I take it you've heard of Weston...right?"
"Heard of him? Lady, I'm the one who found him."
"Is that so," Eimour said with a soft giggle.
"Yeah, it is. That doesn't mean much, though. Words only go so far, ya? I'll need a bit of proof."
"Proof," Eimour asked brazenly. "What type of proof? All I have is my word and..."
"And what?"
"Just my word. Take it or leave it."
At that, Wakka gave her a sideways glance, crossing his arms as his lips pursed in thought. "I'mma have to leave that and ask for more proof. Maybe like, I dunno, why Weston would tell some strange woman to live in his cabin."
"Well, if I answer, it'll still be my word, so leaving my word behind leaves you with...hearsay, is it?"
Wakka rolled his eyes and scratched at the back of his head angrily. "Just tell me, ya?!"
Eimour smiled. "Ask politely and I'll think about it."
Eyes closing in fury, Wakka growled so deep, Eimour thought she could feel the reverberations in the wooden floorboards beneath her feet. Startled, if not frightened, she put away her playful attitude for a moment and responded, rather curtly, "He saved my young son, and got hurt in the process, so I took him in, cared for him, and then, after Luca turned into a war zone, told me to come here and wait for him. Satisfied?"
Wakka blinked. "So you took care of him, eh? That means you came into contact with him...I'm sure you've got proof, lady."
Eimour sighed and closed her eyes, stepping out of the cabin and closing the door behind her. She hesitantly pulled the tattered black shirt from her pocket it and held it in front of Wakka's face. It took only a moment for him to snatch it from her hands.
"Hey!" she yelled a bit louder than intended.
"Is he okay?!" Wakka asked, eyeing her suspiciously. "Where did you get this?"
Eimour growled and reached for the shirt. Wakka reacted by lifting the shirt out of her reach. He asked again, "Where did you get this?"
"I told you, I got it from Weston! Now return it to me!"
"Why? My wife made this for him."
"What, like you can use it?"
Wakka shrugged. "May need to patch a sweater or something."
Eimour shouted, "So do you believe me or not?"
With a grin, Wakka shrugged. "Dunno what to believe. Now I have one more question for you."
"What?!" Eimour asked breathlessly, eyes narrowing and face slowly crumpling in anger.
"What's your name?"
"Eimour. Why?"
"Thanks. Here." He extended his hand and Eimour immediately snatched the garment from the man's large hand. Wakka grinned. "I'll be sure to check with Weston when he gets back. Can't be too safe, with this war going on, ya?"
"'Ya,'" Eimour mimicked with a growling rasp. She turned on her heel and stormed back into the cabin. Wakka shrugged and headed back to his hut.
--------------------
The water rushed past the windows at an alarming speed. Whoever Gatta had gotten to pilot the airship wasn't reserved at all. This speed demon's airborne antics were not helping my condition any. My stomach was churning and my head aching along with the fatigue and the still open and stinging wounds covering my body.
I looked inside the hull of the rather small transport airship at the last soldiers to leave Luca. Why no soldiers were left in the now abandoned city was beyond me at the moment, but some connection in my brain formed a hypothesis that Yuna and Gatta felt defending Mount Gagazet was more important than keeping Luca in their hands. Or what was left of it.
Yeah, so back to the soldiers...most of them looked fresh, meaning that they were either men who hadn't seen much combat, or they were lucky enough to have showers. I'm pretty sure it was the latter, mainly because most of the men had distant gazes, which was a soldierly trait if there ever was one. I, too, probably had that problem. That, and they didn't smell that bad. But I could smell myself...and it wasn't a pleasant aroma. If I could smell my own body odor, I'm sure the men weren't pleased to have me in such close quarters with them. As a matter of fact, I could sense a growing collective idea of throwing me out of the ship and into the rushing ocean under it. A good salt-water swim would probably cure my smelly condition...of course, it'd sting the hell out of my wounds...but what do they care about that?
I turned my gaze to the window and out onto the horizon. The sun was high in the sky, marking the time to be about twelve or one o'clock. Either way, I'd make it back to Besaid just in time for a nice lunchtime nap. I saw Gatta out of the corner of my eye. He was looking a bit angry and when he passed me, I asked him, without turning my gaze to him, "What's wrong?"
"We'll have to make a rough landing. Landing gear isn't responding. One of your bullets hit the main console and damaged the system."
"Oopsie," I said.
He grunted. "Oopsie indeed. Ok, guys. Make sure you hold on to something tight when I say so. It's going to be a bumpy landing and I don't want any of you hurt. You've been through enough already."
I heard a few hummed affirmations and Gatta turned back to face me. "You, too."
"I can handle it. I've been in many turbulent aircraft."
"Suit yourself," responded Gatta, and with that, he headed back to the cockpit.
I mumbled something that even I couldn't understand and continued to watch the sun.
After what felt like only an instant, Gatta yelled out to us to get down. I didn't bother. I wish I had though...because when the airship hit the ground, I was thrown to the ceiling and after I landed rather roughly, I felt warm and sticky liquid flowing down the left side of my face. Yeah, it was blood. Go figure. Gatta didn't seem to mind it as he checked on the men in the back and then forced them out of the door. After they had left, Gatta helped me up and shoved me out of the door.
"Thanks," I mumbled.
"That's what you get for not following my instructions. I hope it feels good. I'll let you keep that head wound."
"Not even one potion?"
"Deal with it, Weston."
"Ouch."
He grunted and jogged off in the direction of the barracks. Apparently, the pilot was fast, but good. He had landed the ship right in the middle of the Crusaders' compound. The place was kinda deserted. Ok, no kinda to it. Guess most of the soldiers were already at Gagazet, and if I had an ounce of energy left in me, I would've left straight for it. But, I just wanted a damn nap, and it had already taken too damn long to get to Besaid...now I just needed to get to my damn house, which wasn't too damn far away. More than likely, though, it'd take me entirely too damn long to get there. And sure enough, it did take too damn long...
--------------------
Eimour sighed and stood, idly pacing about the small cabin room, watching herself in the small mirror on the equally small dresser near the front door. She found her eyes darting from her own reflected image to the front door, not really questioning why. Eimour knew why. Wakka had said something about when Weston returned. But it'd already been two days and she had gathered an idea that the longer he was away, the more chance of him being...
Eimour's thoughts were interrupted by the front door bursting open, its knob hitting the wooden wall next to it. Before her stood the man that had just previously been on her mind. An acrid odor filled her nose, and she knew where it was coming from...but couldn't find the energy to care. She started towards him, arms outstretched, but then stopped, not sure of how he'd react to her throwing herself at him. Still, she wanted to make some contact with him and instead, walked forward and grabbed his hand. Leading Weston inside, she tried to keep the smile on her face from becoming too garish.
"What are..." he started.
"You made it back, just like you said."
"Huh?" he asked drowsily.
His words didn't really connect with her for she started to look him over, smile going to a frown as she found scratch after scratch, bruise after bruise, and finally, his gaping head wound. The excitement faded, and she pointed to the small bed in the corner of the room.
"Lay down," she said a bit too sternly.
"Gladly," he retorted, with a half-hearted smile. Weston walked towards the bed and upon reaching it, flopped down with an audible "oof."
Eimour growled. "On your back."
Weston grumbled and turned over, looking up at her questioningly. "Just let me sleep, damnit..."
"You're wounded! No complaining. Now hold on a minute. I'll get something to clean that wound."
With a few mumbled words of displeasure, Weston rolled his eyes and turned on his side, quickly falling asleep. Eimour found him like this a few moments later, sighing at the sight. She crumpled the cloth in her hand, the moisture trapped in it flowing over her knuckles.
"Weston!"
"Huh...wha?" he mumbled.
"Turn over!"
"Maybe later..."
At that, Eimour grabbed his shoulders and physically rolled him onto his back, one arm holding him in place as she used the other to clean his wound. Weston's eyes fluttered a bit and disapproving grunts and groans escaped him, his actions reminding Eimour of an overgrown toddler more than a hardened soldier.
After she had the wound clean, Eimour reached into her pocket and brought out the black shirt and a dry cloth. She pressed the cloth to the wound and wrapped the shirt around his head, holding the cloth in place. Weston growled and turned over on his side again, grumbling for just a moment before the rhythm of sleep caught him once more. Another sigh escaped Eimour's chest and she shook her head, not sure why Weston was so stubborn about someone tending to his wounds. He'd been the same way when she took him in after the pub incident.
Eimour's thoughts circled back to those few days before Luca turned into a hostile battlefield. All in all, they had been fun days, chatting with Weston and watching her son annoy the hell out of the wounded soldier. But, Weston never minded Gary's attention, at least outwardly, and always made time for whatever her young son wanted with him. She found it hard to believe such a man as Weston, a trained life-taker, to be so warming to a young child, but she couldn't dismiss it as an act on his part. Weston, from what she had seen, genuinely enjoyed Gary's company, and to some extent, even her own. However, she felt that she'd been a little too harsh on him after the fact, and in a sense, regretted being so cold. Her harshness may have been unprovoked, but it didn't seen to faze Weston in the least.
Weston rolled over in his sleep, his motion jarring Eimour from her thoughts. She looked upon the face of the sleeping soldier and smiled. She prayed that he'd never have to leave that peaceful bed for she felt that Weston had had enough trials in his life to last a million lifetimes. She also prayed that he'd never have to kill another soul again. There was a warm, kind, and gentle man inside of him waiting to burst out. Eimour just wondered when and exactly how that'd actually occur.
--------------------
Tidus growled, his legs and hips aching beyond tolerance. On his back was a young boy who was about as fussy as he was hyperactive.
"Gary, are we done playing Chocobo yet?"
"Not yet, Mr. Birdie! Keep hoppin'!"
And Tidus followed the young boy's order. Yuna stood off to the side, half listening to what Gatta was telling her while giggling at her beau's ordeal with Eimour's child. While she knew that whatever Gatta was saying, it had to be important, but seeing how Tidus reacted to small children was much more important than war matters to her. Yuna knew that her priorities were selfishly aligned, but it didn't matter to her. The war was distant in her eyes, even if she was somewhat in charge of it. Ruling over an army just wasn't in her blood; hence why she left military strategy up to those that knew it well, Gatta and his Crusaders especially.
When Eimour had come to Yuna the day before, asking if there was anything she could do to help matters around the island, Yuna just shrugged and asked the young woman about the shy child hanging onto her leg. After the introductions were over, Gary had instantly attached himself to Tidus, who he saw as a Chocobo with his blonde hair and predominately yellow leisure clothing. To Yuna, the boy was a perfect opportunity to "preview" how the man she loved would handle a child. Remarkably, Tidus took up with the boy, despite the fact that Gary could be a bit annoying at times. Still, they both needed Gary with them at the temple, if just for distraction.
The news out of the communications hub was not good, and Rikku had yet to report in. Both Rikku and Weston had not made it out of Luca in the initial twelve hours after Luca gained its freedom once again, and it had everyone in Yuna's camp very worried. Weston was one of the pivotal men involved in the success of Rikku's impromptu operation, and without him, Gatta and his Crusaders would've still been pinned down. With Weston's reappearance earlier in the day, hope for Rikku's emergence had grown, but then quickly died after Cid called in to report that her vehicle had been found abandoned on the Highroad.
Yuna didn't hear Gatta call her name the first three times, but on the louder fourth, she snapped out of her thoughts and responded, "Sorry. Is that all?"
"Pretty much. Weston's back at his cabin and he needs to stay there. Major battle fatigue. See that he's taken care of and gets plenty of rest. Don't let him come to Gagazet, ok?"
"Ok," Yuna said. "Rest and no Gagazet."
Gatta nodded. "I'm heading out on the last airship. I'll call on communicator when I've established a hub. I don't know if we can get the Ronso to help or not."
"I'm sure they'll help us, in some form."
"We'll see. Well, I'm off. Give my regards to Weston. Remember, don't let him do anything stressful."
Yuna laughed. "I'll try."
Gatta grinned and ducked out of the room.
Yuna then turned her attention to the mass of wires and boxes sitting in the middle of the small room. Intermittent crackling noises could be heard from the mound of electronics, coupled with the occasionally chatter between Al Bhed or Crusader soldiers. She kept hoping she'd hear word from her cousin, but after two days, that was looking to be a slim possibility.
Ashamed of her negative thoughts, she turned her gaze to where Tidus and Gary had been. Standing in their place was the pale form of Fagan. His arms were crossed and his face was crumpled into a displeasing frown, which was no big surprise. After the initial shock of Fagan's arrival left Yuna, she had set up a room for him in the temple not too far from her own, and that's where he had stayed the majority of the past two days. She'd see him walking out around the temple or in the small village, but other than that, the man kept to himself. In a way, Yuna was glad that he was so reclusive, mainly because she couldn't admit to having much trust to give him. Fagan's almost magical appearance didn't sit too well with Tidus, and if Tidus didn't trust him, Yuna felt she couldn't trust Fagan any more than Tidus could. Then again, something in her heart, her instincts if you will, told her that Fagan was not a threat. Of course, that was yet to be seen.
Fagan closed the distance between them with a few steps, and nodded towards the communications hub.
"Any word from the straggling Al Bhed?"
Yuna shook her head with a sincere frown. "None yet."
"I figured. Any idea what might've happened? Are we ready to proclaim her gone?"
"She's not gone," Yuna said, frown turning in a look of honest determination. "She'll contact us, and soon."
The irony of what happened next would wipe the tired and angry look right off of Fagan's face. The random crackles on the communication hub started to turn into a very garbled but easily recognizable voice.
"Th-------ku----Permiss------and?------Anyone---ello?--ver."
Yuna jumped to the microphone amongst the heap of equipment and yelled into it. "Rikku? Is that you? Rikku? Come in!"
"I'm----ying----ome in!----forget it.---anding in field-----ext---to------ ader's barracks."
"Ok, Rikku? Rikku?! I can't understand you. Repeat, please!"
From behind her, Yuna heard Fagan sigh. "Yuna," he said sternly.
"Yes?" she replied, turning to face him.
"If you couldn't hear that..." he began, shaking his head. "She's landing in the field next to the Crusader Barracks."
"Are you sure?"
"Most definitely," he said, nodding.
"Well, let's go!"
Fagan nodded and the two quickly left the Temple. On their way towards the path leading to the barracks, they saw Tidus and Gary stepping out of the Crusader's Lodge. Tidus waved and Yuna yelled for him to follow. Tidus picked up Gary and fell in step behind them.
In no time, they made it to the field, all but Fagan bending over to catch their breath. He remarked dryly, "She's not here yet."
"Nice observation," Tidus cracked.
Yuna replied to the crack with a shushing noise. "Maybe you were mistaken," she offered afterwards.
"I know what I heard," Fagan retorted sharply.
"Then you might had heard wrong," added Tidus.
"Wait...I see a ship." Yuna cried, finger pointing towards the western sky.
Indeed, there was a ship in the sky, and it was heading towards the field at a not-so-safe speed.
"Maybe we should...move outta the way..." Tidus offered.
Both Fagan and Yuna seemed to agree and the trio fled into the nearby forest. A few moments later, the ship made a rough landing only a few feet from where the three had ran to. The side hatch on the airship popped open and out plopped a moderately grimy Rikku. The entire front side of her coveralls was caked in mud and dust. Even her face had a bit of mud on it.
Yuna was the first to come out from under the safety of the forest. "Rikku!" And with that, she ran up and wrapped her arms snugly around the young Al Bhed, not minding the smell or feel of the dried mud. Rikku was only happy to oblige with an even tighter embrace.
"I'm so glad to see you, Yunie! Haven't missed me too much, have you?"
"Like I could miss you too much!" Yuna replied, letting go of her cousin.
Tidus was next, all smiles, Gary atop his shoulders. "Hey there, Rikku. You look..."
Rikku nodded, eyes narrowed. "I know. Boy, have I got a story to tell you guys."
Before she could begin, Fagan stepped forward. Rikku blinked at him a few times, trying to recognize him, until finally it clicked.
"You're one of Nyka's men!"
Fagan huffed and said, voice raspy and thick with pending anger, "Used to be. I'll kill that bastard if it's the last thing I do."
Rikku looked towards Yuna and Tidus for an explanation, not even noticing the other stranger sitting atop Tidus' shoulders.
And Yuna told Rikku the very short version of Fagan's story. Rikku seemed to understand it, but Yuna noticed that her cousin wasn't going to readily accept that a former Yevonite had sincerely switched sides.
Rikku then began her tale. In a nutshell, she had met two men that just insisted that she follow the remaining Yevonites. When she did, she found that they had an airship and were planning to strike Besaid Island with its missiles. A day or so long standoff occurred, but with the two men by her side, Rikku was able to defeat the Yevonites and come back in the airship to Besaid.
After she had finished, Tidus asked, "Who are the two men that helped you? Crusaders?"
"Not exactly," Rikku answered, just noticing the young boy plopped on Tidus' shoulders. "And who's that?"
Tidus laughed. "This is Gary, he's a quiet kid around strangers, but once he gets to know you, look out. He's clingy."
Gary laughed at the clingy remark and bopped Tidus on top of his head. He then muttered a "Hello."
Rikku smiled. "Hi there. Nice to meet ya!"
"On to who those two men are." Fagan interjected.
"Oh, yes. Who might they be?" Yuna asked, leaning forward curiously.
Rikku bit at her bottom lip and then leaned into the airship. "Ok guys, come on out."
Two men, one relatively old, the other about Tidus' age, walked out of the hatch. Yuna and Tidus both nearly fainted at the sight of their former guide, Auron, standing there in the flesh, donning his usual red and black outfit. Yuna also recognized the other man, but didn't want to believe what she saw. He was tall, had very short red hair, was built much like Wakka was, and kept a sly grin on his face. Yuna's memory matched those features to a person she thought was long gone. She still couldn't believe it, and only stood in unadulterated awe.
Rikku grinned weakly and nodded towards Auron. "This is Auron, for those that didn't know."
Auron's gruff voice filled the air. "Hi there."
Rikku then nodded towards the other man. "And this is...this is..."
Yuna finished Rikku's sentence for her. "Chappu..."
The red-haired young man smiled and gave a thumbs-up. "Got that right, Yuna. Chappu's back and ready to rumble."
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A/N: Yeah, so finally, it's here. A 7000 diddy that took way too long to get here. Oh well, I never set a date for it anyway. Besides, I started college, had to take care of a very injured uncle (he was in a bad wreck) and I've been so uninspired...that's about to change though. This chapter reveals some major stuffs, as you now know, and the next Chapter will reveal absolutely nothing. It's just going to be one sweet, heartfelt chapter that'll only progress character relationships/interactions. Some for the negative, some for the positive.
Also missing from this chapter is a "log/diary/journal" entry thing. I decided that this chapter didn't need one, even though I was originally going to have one every five chapters. I'm going to combine the other entries into their respective chapters so that the chapter count on FF.net will actually match the actual number of chapters in the fic. I'll do that later though. I'm really inspired with Chapter 21 and I'm starting on that ASAP.
And, now, the thank yous.
Shad: Thanks for betaing, helping me with Chappu characterization issues, and for just being absolutely wonderful in every way ^__^
Artemis: Without you, there would be no Eimour. Thanks again for all of your help with this chappy and the fic in general. You've truly helped me shape the last few chapters into decent tries at fic writing ^^
Readers: Thanks for sticking with this for this long. It was rough in the beginning, I know, but I honestly think it's blossomed into something much more than just a small experiment. Not much longer to go, actually, so don't hesitate to stick it out for the end of this epic ficcy.
~No 0ne