[Author's Quickie: I finally got another chapter out! God, this is killing me… In any case, how is everyone doing? Project Trinity will be updated by the end of this week, so there's something to look forward to. Eh, anyway, I did something bad: I made a flashback! Horrors! You'll see what I mean as you read on.]

Disclaimer: Junk it, move on.

Astray

Chapter Four: Replay

"You know, for a man who seems a cold bastard, he can be rather pleasant when he isn't here," Aerith said aloud to herself, popping open a bag of potato chips as she sat down on the stones. After Leon had taken his leave, she had retreated upstairs to take a bath, finding the small hut that he had mentioned. After a quick rummaging through of the bag of necessities he had left for her, she was pleased to discover that he considered potato chips a necessity. Low-fat, too, she noted as she surveyed the chart on the back. It was the thought that counted, after all.

She had plopped herself down on the cobblestones in front of the mural, finding the painting fascinating to stare at and contemplate. The rusty, dank smell of the sewer no longer bothered her, not with the blue ribbon from the satchel tied in her hair. By mistake, she had clumsily dropped her original pink one into the water she had been draining from the bath, and she had been hard pressed to find a temporary substitute. Aerith quickly made a mental note to take it off before Leon surfaced again, in case he turned psychopathic on her. Again.

But, truth to tell, she mused silently, flicking a chip into her mouth, it isn't his anger that frustrates me. It was the sorrow. It was the burden of guilt and shame that he carried along with him, the self-deprecation that followed him like a ghost.

Somehow, Leon had failed once. His love, perhaps?

That would explain the pained look on his face when she mentioned the flower, touched the sachet. That would explain why his face seemed like it was twisted in a permanent scowl, explained why he didn't believe in fairy tales.

But, she thought, crunching on a handful of chips, her appetite growing as she wondered more and more about the enigma that was Leon--no last name, either--all the while staring off at that strange mural, But how could such a man--a man who doesn't believe in fairy tales--paint such a beautiful picture? The painting seemed like it was born out of a storybook: a vibrant yellow sun, surrounded by splashes of a rainbow behind. It had to be someone else. But who?

No, Aerith decided, Leon had definitely painted it. The thought only made her want to know more about him. Vaguely--very vaguely, because it had been more than a year ago, and so many things had happened since then--she recalled seeing Leon at a party once, a few years back. Yes, that was right. One of Ansem's annual banquets for affluent members of society.

Naturally, she hadn't been included (being only a mere librarian and hardly one of use to the mighty Ansem). Of course, that fact didn't prevent her from peeking in through the door that led to the hall. As a bookworm--and a highly introverted one, too, wanting to do nothing more than stay away from masses of people--she was nonetheless fascinated by the fancy dress and highly formal manners. And, of course, she reminisced, that didn't prevent her from getting into trouble--the very best kind of trouble.

-----

"Oh..." Aerith had breathed, a hand to her mouth, dazzled by the lavish display of wealth, "how beautiful..." Couples were waltzing to a three-step beat, twirling in their delicate ballroom dresses, the diamonds that glittered like twinkling stars on slender necks and wrists. Everyone was so beautiful, so happy.

She, in return, felt uncomfortably inferior. Aerith touched her own pale cheek, flinching as her skin rubbed against the nasty papercut she had gotten earlier that day. Quickly she dropped her hand and clenched the rough white dress she had on. Who was she kidding? She was a nobody.

The end of the music drew her attention away from her own meager attributes and she turned back to the dance. Interestedly, she watched as a couple retreated from the dance floor towards the refreshment tables, the young man dressed in a uniform silent but smiling as the raven-haired girl chatted animatedly. Awkwardly, Aerith tried to mimic the girl's actions, but gave up as she realized how ridiculous she was becoming. Don't put on airs if you don't have any, she told herself harshly. She doubted the other girl had papercuts on her fingers daily.

As they passed the door, Aerith caught a shred of their conversation:

"Lighten up, Squall," the girl teased, her hand on his arm, "You're such an old lady sometimes. I wonder."

The man frowned, then reached over and tugged on her hair. "Don't say that. I'm trying to get better, I really am." The girl laughed and swatted his hand away, then leant her head on his shoulder. "Rinoa, you're such a child sometimes," the man sighed, and they disappeared from view to the other side of the room.

Shifting slightly in the doorway to get a better view of the ballroom, Aerith winced as the glass door creaked indignantly in response. Immediately she cringed and ducked around the corner as a guard came up to inspect the noise, breathing a little sigh of relief when he left. It wouldn't do to be caught poking and prying into matters, since she was only a simple librarian, not as important as any of the prominent people who were currently occupying the floor. But if only...

A sudden tap on her shoulder sent her nerves shrieking in fear. She froze. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to--!" she uttered, already anticipating the punishment of having to wash the lower floors a dozen times. Whirling around, a hand clamped to her mouth, Aerith raised her eyes and stared into the most intense blue gaze she had ever seen.

The man raised an eyebrow at her abrupt confession, but said as if he hadn't heard, "Excuse me. Can you direct me to the Grand Hall, please?" His voice was low and his gaze impassable, but his words were polite enough. Another one of Ansem's soldiers, perhaps? she wondered fleetingly, catching a quick look at the enormous sword strapped to his back.

Flushing instantly at having blurted out an unintended apology to a stranger, Aerith nevertheless recovered and murmured in a small voice, "It's...it's right behind this door, sir." Quickly she moved aside, allowing the strange man to pass through.

Before he went in, though, he glanced at her with those arcane blue eyes and said, "Thanks." As he retreated into the grand room and the heavy door swung shut behind him, Aerith sagged against the wall. Shakily she placed a hand to her cheek, which felt as if she had lit it on fire. Oh, oh…

Somehow, in that one look, something had…opened. A door had been opened. If someone asked her describe it, she would have found it impossible; yet there was no denying that from the moment she saw that stranger, something in her life had infinitely changed.

Shaking her head, Aerith went back to the library, pausing to wipe the bookshelves aimlessly as she passed.

A door had been opened.

***

"Ah….almost…got it…" Aerith grumbled as she reached up, standing precariously on tippy-toes to grab the heavy book. Dang herself for being so short, she thought, sweating as she extended her arm as far as it could go. Oh…no! Too late, she felt the sudden shift in her balance as the ladder swung underneath her. This is going to hurt-- "Ouch!"

She toppled onto the floor, her legs splayed beneath her in a crooked angle. To add insult to injury, the book she had been reaching for fell onto the ground beside her, its binding breaking with a loud crack. "Oh, great," she groaned, trying to stand up and finding her ankle twisted.

Well, that would explain the way it's bending right now, Aerith surveyed, gingerly touching her foot. Taking a deep breath, she looked around for any other people in the library. Strangely enough, the room was empty. Exhaling the breath she had been holding, Aerith touched her ankle gently and focused on the light.

Sure enough, the white magic coursed through her fingers, the cure spell winding its way around her flesh and bone, erasing the pain. "Ah," she sighed in relief, straightening up. Her leg no longer wobbled as she applied pressure to it, and it felt just as good as new. Thank god for my magic, she thought, bending down to pick up the broken volume of Emerson's Walden. "Long-winded old bat," Aerith said aloud, heaving the dusty book onto a nearby table. "Serves you right."

It was a temptation to leave the book as it was, without bothering to fix it, but she knew that Ansem would visit the library every Friday and he wanted his books in perfect condition. It was a shame, really. "Alright," she said, poking the molding pages, "but it's for my skin, not yours." Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the magic building up inside of her and took a tiny part of it, willing it to recover the book. When she opened her eyes, the binding was fixed; in fact, the manuscript looked brand-new. "I am good," she said appreciatively, marveling at her own power.

"Indeed," a voice said from the doorway. Aerith jumped and spun around, and, to her eternal mortification, saw Lord Ansem watching her intently. Oh, no. Today's Friday?! she thought in a panic. That would explain why there were no one else to found in the library. Ansem stepped out of the shadows and bowed as he approached her. "My dear lady, I had no idea you were so well taught in the use of magic."

She flushed. "I'm not," she denied modestly, "I only know a few spells…that's all."

"But you seem to control the power very well. I don't recollect you having had any tutoring…perhaps you have a natural affinity for magic, then?" Ansem correctly surmised, rubbing his chin. He bent over to examine the now-repaired book, nodding at her handiwork. "Why didn't you tell me? I've been looking for some white mages…The soldiers recently have had a lot of trouble subduing the monster attacks on the outskirt villages." Silently Aerith took this in, wondering if this was leading to where she thought it was leading to. He continued musing, "You wouldn't mind, Aerith, if I transferred you over to the Healers? It would be a benefit to both parties, wouldn't it?"

She tried, very conscientiously, not to gape at him. The Healers were an elite group of skilled white mages, who used their magic only for good purposes. They were very well known in affluent social circles, since their prestige was immense. Was Ansem really suggesting…? "Thank you sir, but I am a mere librarian. I have no skill beyond my paltry abilities, and to join the Healers…" she quivered, not knowing quite what to say. But this was what she wanted, right? She had wanted to be a part of the inner crowd, wanted to help others since she was a little girl. Why was she refusing, now? She ran her hand over the paper cut on her finger helplessly.

Ansem's brow creased. "You do not want to join the Healers?"

Aerith flushed and said quickly, "No, of course not! I'd be honored to join the Healers, yet I don't think I'm quite cut out for that job…"

He waved her depreciating remark away with his hand and said almost impatiently, "Nonsense. If you're worried about it so much, then I can arrange for you to be an apprentice to one of the Healers and you can work your way up. In any case, why don't you give it a try? I'm sure everything will work out alright in the end."

"…Yes, sir. Thank you." There was nothing else to say. Aerith bowed, partly in gratitude, partly in misgiving, and retreated out the door.

It closed softly behind her.

+++

A day later, she found herself way over her head.

Not only had she been ushered out of the library, Aerith found herself tramping up the higher corridors of the castle to find the Healers' tower, the ones that were strictly forbidden. A thrill rushed down her back; this was what she had hoped for, wasn't it? To feel important? It had seemed a whole lot easier to dream about it, really…

She stopped at the end of the hall, and reflexively her hand went up to knock at the solid oak door. Is this really such a good idea? she asked herself, her hand curling up into a fist. She was dealing with elite white mages, practiced in the art of magic. She was only a librarian, for crying aloud! Roadkill.

But before she could break down entirely and run away from there, the door swung open and Aerith found herself facing the future.