Standard Disclaimer. I do not own FFX or the characters in it. They are owned by Square-Enix. I do own this story, and my original characters. The song "Desperado" was written by Glenn Frey and Don Henley, performed by the Eagles.

It was after midnight, according to the clock beside the bed. Now that the fire was going again, Auron sat back down, and reached for the jug on the bedside table. The lamplight caught the heavy gold ring, and he closed his eye for a moment, then he took a long drink. He still found it necessary to deceive himself; that he required the alcohol in order to make this journey into his memories…

…Zanarkand…Beginning ten years ago until five years ago…

Just seeing the city lights in the night, he could tell that it was larger than either Bevelle or Luca, perhaps larger than both combined. He had no way to judge what time of night it was, there were so many people walking the streets, it might as well have been midday for all that he knew. He looked up into the sky, to see if he could tell anything from the stars, but the lights of the city were so bright, that most of the constellations were lost in the glow. He could barely make out Ramuth, even though the star at the tip of his staff was normally the brightest light in the northern sky.

Jecht said I was going to have to think of something to tell his wife and son. Where should I go while I'm thinking? Auron looked around, completely bewildered by the noise coming from all the buildings around him and the number of people rushing by him. He remembered something Jecht used to talk about, when the man was either nostalgic, or drunk. I know, I'll go around to the eastern side of the city, and wait for the sunrise.

Auron sat up all night, scanning the eastern horizon, and watched for the dawn. He had expected to make plans, but in the end, he just sat, raw with grief, and numb from shock. He didn't plan, he didn't think, he didn't even feel. For that one night, he just watched, and waited for the sun's rays to appear in the distance. He saluted the dawn with his empty tokkuri, whispering, "See you in ten years, Jecht." Then he began to take stock of himself.

The tokkuri was empty because he had emptied it on his way down Gagazet and never refilled it. He realized that he was thirsty, and slightly hungry as well. Not nearly as hungry or thirsty as he should have been…after…what…more than an entire day without either food or drink, but he now perceived that there were some physical limitations to his unsent status. He had also not slept in that same span of time. He was not yet tired, but he could already tell that he would reach that state at some point, that he could not go indefinitely without sleep. He expended energy, and needed to recover it through rest, but it seemed that he could easily go without sleep for one night and suffer no ill effects. Next, he slipped a dagger from his boot and used the blade to pierce the pad of his thumb. The cut bled, so he placed the knife back in its sheath and sucked the cut clean of blood while he thought for a moment. His heart pumped blood, his lungs drew breath, everything still seemed to work. It was as though the…life force, whatever that was, that had died outside Bevelle, had been replaced by the pyreflies. They were just more efficient. I am unsent, but it seems I am not immortal. I must be as careful, as vigilant, as I ever was. I cannot neglect my training. I know I can be wounded, so I must assume I can be poisoned, or otherwise afflicted, as well. And I must remember my purpose… or I will become a fiend.

Then he stood, and reached inside his coat for the pouch of gil that he always carried, and fingered the few coins he had left. I wonder what these are worth, here? he mused as he started walking into the city. He halted in his tracks. What am I going to do with myself for ten years? Eventually, he shook himself out of his hesitation, and continued on.

Jecht had always described his Zanarkand as 'the city that never slept'. Last night, Auron had seen so many people on the streets that he thought he had finally understood what Jecht had meant. This morning, the streets were positively jammed with people. It seemed immeasurably more crowded than Luca at tournament time, and Auron felt…uncomfortable. At first, he put it down to his own awkwardness. He kept staring up, at all the tall buildings, at the machina everywhere, trying to take in everything all at once. It reminded him of the first time his parents had brought him to Luca, when he was five years old. He had been born outside the city; he had not seen any place larger than a farming settlement until then. The first time he had seen Luca; he had felt just like this. He seemed to be expending a great deal too much energy just in keeping his expression neutral, when what he really wanted to do was point out every fascinating thing he saw. Except that he had no one to point the interesting things out to. He was completely alone in this crowd, in this world. He stopped looking up, and began noticing the other people around him. That was when he realized that too many people were staring at him, rudely, and then turning away. One woman, with a young child, nearly shrieked when she saw him, then picked up her little girl and hurried her away, keeping the child's face turned away from him.

Auron made his way to the edge of the crowd, and saw himself reflected in the glass of the building he stood beside. As he had seen in the vision, the right side of his face was indeed a ruin. A long scar ran from his hairline, through his right eye to the middle of his cheek. A second scar ran so close beside it that it almost seemed like part of the same wound, unless one was looking extremely closely, starting at his eyebrow, ending almost at his jaw. His right eye was sealed behind the scar. The fact that his hair had suddenly gone gray at the temples was not the issue; those scars were enough to frighten small children. These would be badges of honor on Spira. Here, I must find a way to make them less… obvious…or I will not even be able to deliver a message to Jecht's wife and son, let alone watch over the boy.

He found a shop selling dark glasses; they seemed much like the goggles the Al Bhed used on Spira. The opaque lenses concealed the worst of the damage. He surrendered some of his meager store of gil in return for the 'sunglasses' the shopkeeper called them, and returned to the street. Strangers now seemed to look through him, but after observing their behavior with each other, Auron decided this was normal. Further observation showed him the truth of something Jecht had said, but had seemed so impossible that he hadn't believed it could be true. No one had a weapon; therefore, no one needed a weapon, so there really are no fiends here. How am I supposed to earn my keep for ten years?

Jecht had described the way to his place so many times, Auron thought he could find it easily, but the size and complexity of the maze of streets and passages was more confusing than anything he had ever anticipated. He needed to request directions several times, and in the end, was forced to use a machina that one person referred to as a 'wayfinder', in order to finally reach his destination. His experience with the machina left him shaken. Making the leap between knowing that the 'teachings' regarding machina being the cause of Sin must be lies, and requesting assistance from a machina in the space of a few days…his brain was still stumbling over this when he knocked on Jecht's door.

The door was opened by a small, towheaded boy with bright blue eyes, who challenged, "What do you want?" as a woman stepped into the doorframe behind the child, who was obviously her son.

This must be Linnya, and the boy…must be Tidus.

The woman's light brown hair was mussed, as if she had just been woken, but she looked at him expectantly, almost eagerly. "Can I help you?" she asked Auron, searching his face.

"My name is Auron. And you must be Linnya. Jecht talked a lot about you," he said, very gravely.

Something in his tone, or his expression, confirmed her worst fears, without his having to say a single word. She began to weep, silently, as she grabbed his arm and pulled him inside.

Linnya did not sob, or scream, or yell. She simply wept, silently, while Auron told her the simplest version of their journey that he could think of, while he prayed to whatever force was left to pray to that she would accept his half-truth and not ask him too many questions. All the time that Auron talked, the boy alternated between staring at the stranger and watching his mother, wishing that this guy would leave them alone so that he could just take care of his mom, now that his old man was finally dead.

The story Auron told was that Jecht had washed up on the shore of Bevelle, many miles south of Zanarkand, more than three months ago. How he had traveled so far, Jecht had said he didn't remember, and Auron did not elaborate. Jecht, Auron and another man had set out from Bevelle, to try to get Jecht back to Zanarkand. The trip had proven to be extremely hazardous, and both Jecht's and the other man's lives had been lost along the way. Since he had promised Jecht that he would watch over his family, Auron would make a place for himself here in Zanarkand. Somewhere, somehow, doing something.

Auron waited for Linnya to condemn him for his lies, as he was condemning himself. Lies of omission are still lies. But she just sat there, holding herself and rocking in place. The boy walked over and put his arms as far around his mother as they could reach.

Auron felt suffocated in this place, he wanted to leave. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked hesitantly.

It was the boy who answered. "Please…leave us alone."

"I'll return in a few days, if I may?"

Linnya looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "Please come back, Auron. I want to hear more about your trip with my husband. Please come back soon."

"I promise."

…

He walked through the city, uncertain of what he should do next. He needed to find something he knew, something he understood. He had spent all his life training to be a warrior monk. He was uncertain what good those skills would do him in this machina city.

His wanderings had brought him to a warehouse district, and he found himself staring in the windows at a sight that was, after all, familiar. Ten students, working through the kata. This is a dojo! He watched, avidly, and saw that the teacher, the sensei, was an elderly man. He observed the entire lesson, and the next, as well. The sensei was very elderly, indeed. Auron could tell from watching the students that the master knew how to teach, but it was clear that he was no longer able to demonstrate what needed to be taught. Perhaps there is a place for me here, after all.

Then he saw his face reflected in the glass. He looked entirely disreputable. In addition to the scar, he now had a heavy beard, and he seriously needed a bath. I must get a room tonight, clean myself up, and come back tomorrow.

He found somewhere close, and used up some of his remaining money for a room and a meal. He thought he could have gone another night without sleep, but cleaning himself up was crucial to his plans. In the morning, he thought he looked considerably less like a bandit after a bath and a shave, but then he thought there was still something wrong. I must get some kind of collar to cover more of this scar, was his first thought, but that really wasn't the answer. He continued to stare at himself in confusion. Then he pulled the left side of his coat over his left shoulder, but did not put his left arm through the sleeve. My lord is dead. This is how it must be done, now.

He left the room, taking his few belongings with him, and returned to the dojo he had found the day before. He waited outside until the sensei arrived, later in the morning.

"May I help you, young man?" the sensei asked Auron.

"Sensei, I believe that we may be of assistance to each other."

"Perhaps. What is your name?"

"I am called Auron, Sensei."

"Well, Auron, I am Hikaru. How do you think you may assist me?" the old man asked, in a quelling tone.

Auron wanted the floor to swallow him. He had been overconfident, too eager. I said the wrong thing, I took the wrong approach.

"Sensei, I…"

"I saw you watching, yesterday, two classes. What is it you seek from me?" Hikaru said, more kindly. He read the signs. This young man had just lost his position, that much he understood from the way he wore his coat. He also seemed…lost…somehow, more than could easily be accounted for.

"I seek…a place. I believe I could serve as your assistant," Auron added hesitantly.

"I cannot pay much, but there is an apartment above the studio, at the top of the stairs over there, where you could live. If this works out," Hikaru stated firmly. "First, you must show me what you can do. Let me see if you have any skills worth paying for," the old man said, trying to sound stern, but there was a slight twinkle in his eye.

As Auron started to work through the kata, the old sensei began to nod in satisfaction. This young man would make a fine assistant. It seemed that Auron had found his place.

In the corner of the dojo, there was a flash of silver. Hikaru thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye, but it was gone.

…

Auron returned to Jecht's house the following day. Linnya was eager to see him again; she wanted to hear every detail of his journey with her husband. As he began to tell her the version that he had determined would be 'safe', the boy closed himself behind the door of his room, and did not emerge until his mother called him for dinner, well after Auron had finished talking and had begun listening to Linnya speak about her life with Jecht. He was concerned to note that she did not seem to consider many other topics worth discussing, including her son. I hope this is only her grief talking.

As the weeks passed, Auron discovered that it was not. The dojo was closed the last day of each sennight, and he made it a habit to spend part of each of his days off with Linnya and Tidus. From week to week, he could see that the woman was fading, it seemed that she had lost her will to live. Auron and the boy watched each other warily whenever he came to call; Tidus just wasn't sure what to think of anyone who presented himself as a friend of his old man's. But as the weeks turned into months, and Linnya's condition continued to deteriorate, the man and the boy formed an unspoken pact; neither would speak of the fear that gripped them both, if she dies, I wouldn't know what to do.

Linnya gave up her hold on life less than a year after she learned that Jecht would not be returning. Later, the doctors wrote something official sounding on her death certificate, but Auron and Tidus both knew that she really died of a broken heart. It was something else that they shared, but never spoke of. Now that Tidus' mother was dead, Auron truly didn't know what to do.

Auron stayed up all night, in an attempt to carefully weigh his options. Linnya's older sister and her husband had arrived immediately after Linnya had died, and had tried to throw him out of the house without even allowing him to explain his presence or let Tidus say farewell. The scene had been appalling. Tidus had completely broken down at that point, and had clung to him, sobbing uncontrollably, refusing to let him go. His initial resentment I understood. I said I was Jecht's friend, I knew that would not serve me as a way to the boy's good graces. But when Linnya died, I must have been the only familiar presence in a sea of strangers. That is the only possible explanation for his behavior. At least, I was older when I faced this loss…and on Spira, it was…expected.

It was only when the neighbors began arriving and asking questions that Tilla and Harro had been willing to stop and listen to a few explanations of the events of Linnya's and Tidus' life for the past year. If this Tilla is Linnya's sister, where has she been the last few months? Her sister's behavior…if that is what her family is like, it is no wonder she did not have much contact with them. Tidus would not calm down, or let him go, until his aunt and uncle had agreed to let Auron come and see him the following week, and had given Auron the directions to their house.

He had to go there, he had no choice. He had given Jecht his word he would keep an eye on the boy. Should I do more? Should I try to raise the boy myself? At that thought, his courage failed him. I do not know what to do. I do not know what he needs. Neither do they, his conscience answered back. These courts of theirs, he is not my blood, I would lose. You could still try, said his conscience. I am not ready for this; I will do what I can. His conscience did not answer, but the silence echoed back like disappointment, or failure.

The following week, he arrived, as promised, at Tidus' new residence, to take the boy out for the afternoon. He established the habit of taking the child out regularly, usually on his day off. They normally didn't do much, just walked around the city, and Tidus talked a lot, the boy always talked too much, but a bond slowly developed between them, built on the foundation of that shared experience of watching Linnya in silence. His aunt and uncle provided Tidus with a kind of a home, but had no idea of how to meet his emotional needs. Auron didn't either, but he made no pretense of it, which Tidus found…comforting…in a strange way. His aunt and uncle were just going through the motions of caring for him, because it was expected of them, and Tidus could tell they were faking it. He knew that he could count on Auron, because with Auron, he thought he always knew exactly where he stood.

…

Five years passed. Sensei Hikaru retired, and Auron became the owner of the dojo. Tidus began playing blitz, but not as seriously as he could have, or should have. He clearly had talent, talent his father's sarcasm only stifled. Auron wasn't sure how to accomplish that part of what he had promised Jecht. The boy seemed to talk about practicing more than he actually practiced. It was as though Tidus were afraid that, if he really tried, he would discover that Jecht's critical remarks were a true measure of his potential. At twelve, the boy needed to get serious about the sport soon, if he was going to see that "view from the top" Jecht wanted him to have.

…

The disadvantage to not requiring much sleep was that Auron often had a lot of time on his hands at night. There was only so much training, so much practice, any man could do. The walls seemed to close in, and he longed for the endless open spaces of Spira. He often spent long hours walking the streets of the city, trying to outpace his demons. Willing the time to pass until he could return, and fulfill his promises. And rest.

It was on one such night, after he had been in Zanarkand for five years, that Auron was walking the streets of the city. It was the end of the regular workweek, in the late spring, at about ten in the evening. He still didn't completely understand the city's artificial concept of a workweek and regular days off every sennight. He had finally accepted that they had such a concept; but he still didn't understand it for himself, as it was so foreign to the way that things were in Spira, where work followed the seasons, the fishing, the markets, or the temples. But here, it was the beginning of their 'sennight's end'. People were happy that they had a couple of days off before they had to start work again at the beginning of the next sennight. He was not particularly happy as he took a drink from the jug at his side. He was angry on this particular night. Angry at the universe, at Jecht, and, mostly, at himself. On nights like this, he often found himself wondering if time on Spira was really running parallel to time in Zanarkand, it if had truly been five years since he left or five decades or five centuries. Maybe Spira has been completely wiped out by Sin. Aloud, he said to himself, " I am a fool to even be here."

A half-familiar voice, not his own, whispered in his ear, "Guardian, you are a very stubborn man. We have been waiting a long time for you to say those words."

Very near, a door opened and the most captivating voice Auron had ever heard spilled out from the lighted doorway singing:

Desperado
Why don't you come to your senses…

It proved to be a potent combination of whiskey and honey over his soul and spirit, intoxication and balm at the same time. He followed the voice through the doorway, as the song continued. He was momentarily distracted by the little man selling tickets at the door, "Ten gil and you're entitled to one cup of coffee with your ticket, sir."

He blindly handed over the money, and received the ticket in exchange. Blindly, because his dark glasses had fallen down his nose, so his eye needed to adjust to the lights inside, and as he did he found that his gaze had met the singer's, and then both were caught. She had seen him enter; he was hard to miss, since he mostly blocked the door. Once her eyes locked with his, she could have sworn her heart started to beat faster. Hello, handsome, where did you come from? she asked him, but only inside her mind. She blinked and turned back to the audience, trying to regain her composure as she watched him search for a seat.

He found a table in the second row, sat down without noticing anything of his surroundings. Then she could look him over, and he, her. It took them both a surprisingly long time, almost the rest of the song. Thank goodness I can sing this one on autopilot, she sighed. His coffee and a glass of water arrived without him even being aware of it.

She had seen him standing and moving. He moves like a…hunter…no, a fighter. She guessed he was roughly six feet tall, and suspected he was all muscle under the somewhat unusual garments, uniform, armor, or whatever it was he had on. She was very interested to see that he couldn't drink with the collar he had on, and he must have been very thirsty, because he was forced to remove it.

She liked this much better, because she could see more of his face this way. And it was a very compelling face, indeed. Dark hair, brown, no, black, but gray at the temples. What's with the dark glasses, what's he hiding, it's dark enough in here already. He must be a good fighter, he's never broken that nose, it's too straight. Let's see, a mouth a girl would gladly go on kissing for…oh, say… a few hours, if she was willing to put up with a little chafing, since I bet that dark beard comes back pretty fast. The line of his jaw is about sharp enough to cut yourself, girl. In spite of the gray hair, he looks a lot nearer thirty than forty.

That hurts, she thought, he must be about ten years younger than I am. Oh well, a girl can still dream, can't she? Her eyes returned to his. He has the most intense stare...like he is trying to see into me, or through me. I want to meet him.

As she looked him over, he did her the same 'courtesy'. She was beautiful. Her hair was a dark, rich brown, although the stage lights showed it shot with strands of silver here and there, it was cut into a soft cap that covered her head. Her eyes were large, deep-set, and the same brown he saw in his mirror when he shaved. Her lips looked utterly kissable, full and soft. But her face showed strength of will, and determination. She was petite, but what there was of her was packed into all the right places. Her short tunic and form fitting tights hugged her every curve. His body was responding to the sight as though he were a living man, something he was suddenly, and uncomfortably, aware of.

As his eyes came back up to meet hers she hit the last verse of the song:

Desperado
Why don't you come to your senses
Come down from your fences
Open the gate
It may be rainin'
But there's a rainbow above you
You'd better let somebody love you
You'd better let somebody love you
Before it's too late.

He felt the words sear his battered soul. She bowed as the crowd applauded. He saw then that her shirt was held together by one tie in the back...not something he needed to know in his current condition. He found himself shifting in the chair.

She sang four more songs that night. Her eyes, as always, roamed the audience, making eye contact with as many as possible, especially the 'regulars' that had watched the performances often over the years. But her gaze kept returning to the red-coated stranger, she found herself drawn to him. And each time she looked at him, she found it more difficult to look away.

At the end of the short set, her partner came forward from the shadows and introduced himself; she introduced herself, and then said, "Together, we are 'Mercy'. Goodnight, Lords, Ladies and Gentlefolk of all kinds. Thank you," as Dafydd packed his guitar and the instrumentation machine. She whispered to him that she was going to talk to someone. Dafydd knew her well, so he pointed a thumb in the direction of the stranger. She inclined her head in agreement. "Thought so," he replied.

As she walked towards the stranger's table, she noticed that he had also taken off the glove he had been wearing. Good, she thought, the more of that 'armor' he loses the better, he has too many defenses to hide behind. I'd like to see what he looks like without any of it. Whoa! That's too far just yet! Two tables away from the stranger's, she was finally able to see what he was concealing behind the dark glasses. They had slipped down his face enough for her to meet his eyes, or rather, eye. His left was a deep brown; his right was sealed behind one of the nastiest scars she had ever seen. Her step faltered.

He met her eyes, and waited for her to turn away. She kept her eyes locked on his. What the hell happened to you? Sword? Knife? I sure hope you gave as good as you got. Quit stalling girl. Does it matter? Decide quick, don't keep the man waiting. She smiled, and to Auron it felt as though the sun had come out from behind a cloud, as she kept walking toward his table.

When she reached the back of the chair opposite his at the tiny table she was close enough to decide that yes, scar or no scar, she still wanted to see him without all the armor, and everything else. Eventually. But, the only word that she let escape from her lips was, "Hello."

Her speaking voice was almost as deep as her singing voice, and easy to listen to. He had watched her as she walked towards his table. She moved confidently, sure of herself in her own body. He also had the strangest feeling, as she walked towards him, it must be an illusion, that, unlike everything else, this woman, he saw stereoscopically, with both eyes.

"Hello," was about the only thing he trusted himself to reply, so that was all he said in response.

I like his voice. He's got a nice, bass-baritone with a slightly husky note to it. She couldn't bear to be more than friends with a man whose voice was pitched higher than her own. I can definitely bear his. She sat in the vacant chair.

She held out her right hand to him. "My name is Mercy. And you are…"

"Auron." But instead of pressing her hand briefly, the socially accepted thing, he took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. It should still have been just a momentary contact. Instead, it was an electric shock, stunning them both. His grip tightened on her hand for a moment, surprising them both again, the skin against skin touch more pleasurable than either of them had imagined. It seemed to take an eternity to let go, or even to break eye contact. She felt her cheeks burning.

He's been drinking the coffee, poor man; I know it's terrible. She found the untouched water glass, not that she would have cared as long as it still held some liquid, and swallowed half the glass. I think this moment could stand to be lightened up just a bit. Why do I think I'm the one that's going to be doing it? Somehow, I get the feeling lightness isn't exactly one of his strengths.

"Thank you," she said, smiling.

"You're welcome," he replied, "but, I confess, it just arrived with the coffee, I didn't know you would be here, or that you would want it."

"After I sing, I will drink anything, cold, wet, and non-alcoholic, and, in a pinch, I'll compromise on two out of three. It's a little difficult to compromise on the wet part." She laughed a little. He chuckled slightly in response. Good, he either has a sense of humor, or at least the ability to get over himself. Better and better.

Auron thought it was time for him to go. She was too tempting, on too many levels. She was more beautiful, more alluring, up close than on stage. He could see that she was no child, and he found that even more appealing. He thought that this was a woman who might understand. When he'd taken her hand, he'd felt calluses, somewhat like his own. Not as hard, or as deep, but enough to tell him that she knew how to use a sword, a complete surprise in this supposedly safe city. I do not understand this. I am…drawn to this woman. It would be best if I left this place, now. I want to see her again. For once in his life, wanting won out over everything else.

He asked, "When do you perform again?"

"Tomorrow night, probably sometime between half eight and eleven, we don't know exactly when, at the coffeehouse on Eighteenth and Embarcadero."

"Then I will see you tomorrow night. Farewell, my lady." And with that last remark, he got up and left the club, his coat trailing behind him.

"Damn," she muttered to his now empty chair. Then she headed for the Green Room.

Dafydd was waiting for her. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"What happened, girl?"

"Not much, but I expect he'll be in the audience tomorrow night"

"Is that good, or bad?

"Good, I think," she said, with some hesitation.

"Did you at least manage to find out the man's name?" he finally said in exasperation.

"Oh yeah. His name is…Auron." What happened back there? Why did he leave so fast? Did I get to him the way he got to me?

A blue shimmer flickered in the corner of the Green Room, then disappeared.

Dafydd walked her home before heading home himself. Mercy was quiet, thinking about the evening, and her companion didn't press her. Daf thought it had been too long since she had been interested in someone, way too long even considering that last disaster. But he knew her way too well to say anything. It's about time you came back to life, sis. But I think I'll keep that thought to myself for a bit. I like living too much to even think of saying anything right now.

…Spira…Guadosalam

Auron remembered that he had dreamed about her that night. At first, when he had dreamed, he hadn't been certain of what he had been dreaming, looking for an act of mercy, compassion, or the woman Mercy, he had just met. But when he woke in the middle of the night, alone and achingly erect, he was sure he dreamt of the woman. He had thought he was done with all of that when he died. No such luck apparently, he remembered thinking to himself in the night. He had been alone, that night in Zanarkand. And he was alone, now, in Guadosalam, but he looked at the clock and saw that it must be nearly dawn outside the underground city. Time to go.

End Chapter Three.