*****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 "Seven Wonders" was written by Sandy Stewart and Stevie Nicks, performed by Fleetwood Mac, and I don't own it, either. The title of the chapter is from a song originally performed by Joni Mitchell.******
If Auron was sharper with his fellow guardians the next day on the Thunder Plains, no one noticed. Or, no one dared to comment. But then, no one would. It certainly may have contributed to his attitude toward Rikku's endless whining. He could not admit, even to himself, that he was secretly relieved when she begged to be allowed to rest in the Travel Agency.
In the privacy of his room, he let the contents of the tokkuri lull him into letting his guard down, again. It allowed him to lower the barrier between his waking mind, and the memories of Zanarkand he held deep in his heart.
…Zanarkand…five years ago…Saturday…
He remembered sleeping little that night in Zanarkand, and practically cutting his own throat shaving that morning, mostly from distraction. He had immediately resolved that his own workout that day would be conducted unarmed, as distraction and sharp edged weapons did not mix well.
He would have been gratified to know that Mercy had not fared much better. She slept "like the dead", a full day's work on Friday capped by an evening's performance guaranteed it, but her normal Saturday routine had been conducted through a haze of distraction as well.
In the late afternoon she found herself standing in front of the closet in the spare room where she kept her stage clothes, searching for the right outfit for the evening's performance. She had perfected a certain look over the years. The costume consisted first of a pair of black spandex tights, that varied from a flat, matte black to a very sparkly black, depending on the night of the week and her mood. Since it was the weekend, she chose a relatively sparkly pair. Her shoes were a real treat. They were low-heeled for comfort, but were a sandal-type affair that consisted mostly of a set of black leather strings that laced around her calves and tied behind her knees. She had seen Auron look her over last night. He'd been fascinated. But then, that was the intent. The column of solid black to her waist made her legs look longer, which was the general idea. Anything that made her look taller than her actual 5'4" height, short of uncomfortable spike heels, was all to the good. She had a selection of tunics in the closet that she had had a friend design for her. They were simple but attention getting. They were actually based on the gi she wore for her workouts, a garment with a v-neck that crossed over under her breasts and tied at the side. But there the resemblance ended. Her stage shirts were designed to be form-fitting, v-necked still but cut low or lower in front, waist-length, and tied in back with a bow, which was all that held them together. Some were long-sleeved, others sleeveless. She had had them made with varying amounts of beads and spangles, and exactly which she wore depended, again, on the night, and her mood. She had them in the colors that favored her, so, since she was dark, the shirts were in bright, clear colors, diamond white, onyx black, crimson, wine, cobalt blue.
This afternoon she pulled one from the closet that matched the weekend evening to come and her mood. Crimson, sleeveless, beaded, low-cut, but not the lowest, perfect. After she dressed she looked in the mirror and realized why she'd chosen this shirt—it matched Auron's coat--Damn—too late now—rang in her head as she heard the alarm sound which meant that she needed to leave to meet Dafydd for dinner. She grabbed a light jacket, closed it over her top, picked up her bag, her case with her stage makeup, and left.
She saw Dafydd walking toward her on the street just outside their usual Saturday dinner place. He looked as he always did. Small, slim and wiry, light brown hair, blue-gray eyes, sweet, open face. His clear tenor blended well with her smoky alto. They were sibs, but by adoption, so there was no family resemblance, but they had been looking out for each other for a very long time. Tonight, at dinner, she was even less hungry than normal, but he decided not to comment on it. She would not appreciate him noticing, he knew.
She and Dafydd arrived at the club at 7 and signed up for one of their usual slots. They would be on around 10. This was an "open mic" so the exact time they went on stage would depend on how many acts signed up, and how many songs the manager allowed each performer. Auron arrived at 8:15, and saw "Mercy" listed on the board next to the stage. He found a table in the second row that afforded him an excellent view, and settled down to wait. During a break between acts, the wait staff gave him a hand-written menu. Praise Yevon, this place served beer. He ordered one, and nursed it. He had no need to seek oblivion from a bottle. At the break one before Mercy came out he finally ordered another beer, and a bottle of water for her. He had seen her check the audience before 9; she knew he was there. He smiled slightly to himself. He had also removed his collar, and his glove. Well, he couldn't drink with the collar on. He couldn't admit to himself that he'd taken off the glove solely on the change of touching her hand again.
They went on at about 10:15. A good time for a Saturday night, Mercy thought. She continued as she walked towards the stage, trying not to look at the audience, we've got five songs, which is pretty good for a Saturday, considering the number of acts tonight.
When she went on stage, he was not sure if he was even breathing, or maybe he was just breathing too fast. When she sang he was certain he could hear her heart in her voice, or maybe her soul. She does this because she loves it. Amazing. He watched her through each change of mood, pace, emotion as she sang. The first song was a song of love, and pain, so much so it hurt his heart to hear it. The second had a darker beat, primal, sexual. The rhythm of it beat through his own body in a way that he thought he had forgotten. As she strut across the stage in time with the music, she looked back over her shoulder at the audience, straight at him, he realized that he desired her more than any woman he had ever met, more than any woman he had ever seen in his life. It had been a long time, he realized. The tightness in his groin reminded him, a very long time.
The air between them was suddenly on fire. She felt something burning, low in her belly. Too much, too fast, too soon. The next two songs were different, bright, happy songs. Nothing to trouble the emotions, or the senses. But then, the last one changed everything. It was a song she had written a while back. A friend had told her a story, about trying to capture one perfect moment in time, something that was so beautiful that she was sure she would never experience anything like it again in her life. Mercy had tried to put the essence of it into a song, and now she sang it:
So long ago
Certain time
Certain place
You touched my hand
All the way
All the way up and down the line
But if our paths never cross
Well you know I'm sorry but
If I live to see the seven wonders
I'll make a path to the rainbow's end
I'll never live to match the beauty again
The rainbow's end
So it's hard to find
Someone with that kind of intensity
You touched my hand I played it cool
And you reached out your hand for me
But if our paths never cross
Well you know I'm sorry but
If I live to see the seven wonders
I'll make a path to the rainbow's end
I'll never live to match the beauty again
The rainbow's end
So long ago
It's a certain time
It's a certain place
You touched my hand and you smiled
All the way back you held out your hand
If I hope and I pray
Ooh it might work out someday
If I live to see the seven wonders
I'll make a path to the rainbow's end
I'll never live to match the beauty again
The rainbow's end
If I live to see the seven wonders
I'll make a path to the rainbow's end
I'll never live to match the beauty again
If I live to see the seven wonders
I'll make a path to the rainbow's end
I'll never live to match the beauty again
Auron heard the words, and felt his system go into a kind of shock. She watched him from the stage. She could see she had touched him, but she didn't know why, or how. She sang to him, now, for him, alone. How did she know? We saw the seven wonders, in Spira. We made the path to the rainbow's end, or near enough. I never thought to find anything like it again. Why here, why now? How did she know? All his senses went into overdrive as he watched her, listened to her sing something that he would never have been able to put into words.
On stage, the song ended, they said good night to the audience. Mercy looked at Dafydd and slid her eyes to Auron. Dafydd just nodded, he already knew she was going to go talk to the man again.
Auron recovered himself enough to push the chair out from the table slightly with his boot as she walked toward him, and set the water where she could easily reach it once she sat down. As she approached, he had that same illusion again, that he saw he with both eyes, but he just shook it off. She took the chair, and the water, as an invitation to sit, and did so. "Hello again, Auron." "My lady." She hoped to keep him talking a little longer this time; she really wanted to know more about him, to find out why he affected her so much. "Why do you do this?" he asked somewhat abruptly, as he gestured toward the stage. "Because I love it," she replied, confirming his earlier guess. "Because my soul needs it," she expanded. "I need the music, and the audience, in order to be truly whole."
"My turn. What made you come in last night? I've never seen you before, and I've been doing this a long time. You new around here?"
"I've been in Zanarkand five years. I came in because I heard your voice." He paused for several seconds, uncertain how to proceed. She looked into his face, knowing he was struggling to say something further, waiting patiently, for her, for the rest of it. "I've never heard anything so beautiful," he finally finished.
Color rose in her cheeks. He could see it even through the face paint she wore. Her "thank you" was barely audible. Even after all these years, she found direct praise for her singing difficult to hear.
Just then the manager came on stage to start introducing the next act. Auron started to ask her another question, and someone at the next table began shushing him. He glared and they glared back. Just great, Mercy thought, a friend of the next act. Nothing ventured and all that. She leaned forward so she could speak very softly. Auron leaned in, trying to look at her face and not her breasts, now even more tantalizingly displayed than they had been a few seconds ago. She took a deep breath, gathering her courage. This is getting painful, he thought. "Do you want to go someplace else, where we can talk?" she asked. Her eyes met his. She wasn't suggesting anything more than talk, but she wanted it very much. He did also. "Sure," he answered. They both stood. He tucked his collar and glove into his belt, and they walked into the hall.
"Please wait here" she said at the door of the 'Green Room', "I need to take off the face-paint, and get my stuff, five minutes, okay?" Auron leaned his shoulder against the wall, with little patience, wondering how long five minutes really meant.
Inside Mercy was talking fast to Dafydd, while she stood at the tiny mirror/sink combo and deftly removed her stage makeup. "He might as well see me as I really am," she was saying.
"You still look plenty good, quit putting yourself down, girl. He came back, didn't he?"
"Yeah, he did," she replied, but, a little uncertainly.
"Take my makeup case back to your place, huh?"
"Sure, no problem."
"I'll pick it up Tuesday night."
"Where you taking him, sis?" He was just looking out for her, even if she was five years older than he was.
"Heaven's Gate," she answered.
"Good choice, nice little tables for talking, but still plenty public if it needs to be. Make sure he walks you home." He was insistent now, all brotherly concern.
"Yes, little brother." She hugged him quickly, then strode from the room crossing her fingers that Auron was still waiting for her. He was.
Five minutes really meant five minutes, Auron discovered. He also learned instantly that he liked her face much better without the paint. Her skin was still a little pink from the scrubbing, but he preferred the way she really looked. Her lips looked fuller, rosier, even more kissable without the stage makeup. "Well, do I pass inspection?" she asked nervously. "Sorry, I hadn't realized I was staring."
"Just answer the question." She shot back, impatiently now.
"Yes."
Their eyes met for a moment that went on much too long. The eye contact was suddenly too intimate, and the world began to narrow to just the two of them. A loud noise from the next room brought them to their senses. "Where are we going?" he managed to ask. "Heaven's Gate, a club I know, not too far from here. We can talk there, and get something decent to drink." He nodded in agreement. He had no idea where the place was, either in the abstract or relative to where they were now, and he didn't care. "Lead the way."
She tried to lead. He clearly wasn't used to following, or walking next to someone more than half a foot shorter than he was. She needed almost two strides to his one, Damn the man. She tried to talk to him to keep him beside her.
"Where are you from, originally?"
"I grew up in Luca, but then I lived in Bevelle for several years." Stick as close to the truth as possible, easier to keep the story straight, marched through his head. Unfortunately, when he was thinking to himself, he forgot to think about how fast he walked. The first time, the street wasn't crowded, so when he got ahead of her, instead of running after him—too undignified, and she didn't like the image—she called "Auron, wait up." He stopped, and waited for her to walk up to him at her normal pace. They began strolling toward Heaven's Gate again.
"Why did you come to Zanarkand?"
"I promised a friend I would look out for his son. The boy is here."
"You friend is dead?"
"I lost him five years ago." Again, the truth, letting her assumptions fill in the missing pieces with untruth, so he did not have to actually lie to this woman. He couldn't tell her all of it, at least not yet, but could not make himself lie to her either. He remembered Jecht extracting that damned promise, and wondering at the time how in the hell he was going to keep it. As he tried to distance himself from the memory, he strode too rapidly, and lost her again. Suddenly, he was alone, and there was a sea of people behind him, on the cross way going in a different direction. Mercy's shorter form was lost in the crowd. He stood completely still, frozen in sudden panic.
"Damn, damn, damn, damn, DAMN!" Cursing to herself wasn't going to help the situation any. She turned in a circle, trying to find his taller figure. "The damn fool idiot doesn't even know where we're going." Talking to herself wouldn't help either. She spotted him, standing still, with a very worried frown marring his handsome features. Well, at least he has enough sense to realize when he's made a mistake. That's a point in his favor. I hate it when a man can't admit when he's wrong.
Auron saw the 'dip' in the moving current of humanity that was still, then saw it heading in his direction. His knees went slightly weak at he realized that he had found her again. As the fear receded, there was a small cracking sound, but he paid it no heed. It was the sound of the armor around his heart, crumbling.
Mercy forced her way out of the edge of the moving crowd, and made her way over to the still motionless Auron. She stood somewhat to his right, so that the angle of their bodies formed a v-wedge, and where she could reach his free right hand. She had an idea that scared her, but she wanted to make a point first. She stood very close, well within what should have been his personal space. He should have stepped away. He wanted to draw closer, but dared not, so he stood his ground. He saw a fear to match his own in her eyes, but also read a challenge. What was she going to do? He had nearly lost her in that crowd. How would he find her again? Ever? He knew already, in his much battered heart, that that didn't bear thinking about.
"Damn you. You don't even know how to get where we're going, do you?" She wasn't waiting for an answer. She was scared, and she was using anger to cover the fear. She was standing very close on purpose, partly to see clearly into his face, and, partly, for this. She bumped her left arm and head into Auron's right arm and shoulder. Not hard, just to make a point. She smelled faintly of spring rain, and wildflowers. The smells of spring on Spira. Home. He felt a sense of connection that rocked his world, but he had no idea what caused it. It was just, her. He wanted to pull her into his arms, and never let her go. He wanted to find out everything there was to know about her. He wanted to tell her everything about himself, to finally let someone in. He also wanted to make love with her, preferably right now. The location was just a bit too public. Hell.
After she bumped him like that, it took Mercy more time than she expected to recover. Although she had initiated the contact, she discovered that she should have been braced, internally as much as externally, before she had done it. That sense of connection had caught her, warmed her, surprised her, but it made her even more angry at him, in a way. This was all happening much too fast. It had been such a nice, comfortable rut, she thought. She wasn't sure she was ready to climb out of it quite yet. But she seemed to be getting pitched out head first, or maybe heart first, will she, or nil she. Ramming into Auron was rather like ramming into a very warm rock…but one with very nice muscles…what's the rest like, I wonder.
"Look, you're too tall, or I'm too short. I am not running after you because you've forgotten that." She was looking into his face, which seemed surprisingly open for him. He had been frightened too, she thought. How would I find him if I lost him tonight, short of searching the Hall of Records for every man named Auron born about the right time who might be in Zanarkand? – Damnation – I'd probably do it if I had to. – Better try to hold onto him now and get some more specific information. Let's see if he's still worried enough…
She wrapped her left hand around his much larger right hand. It was the reason she'd picked this place to stand to begin this 'discussion'. His palm against hers was causing signal fires to flare over her entire body. Things woke up that had been asleep for far too long. A small voice in her head weakly opined, you're too old for this, but one of the flares shot that voice down, fast. Every other part of her came screaming to life. A more reasonable little voice said again, this is too fast, but another part of her replied, no need to do anything yet, just think about it. Meantime, ain't it good to be alive again?
Aloud, she said, "I can keep you from wandering off this way," raising their linked hands slightly.
He had been too worried about losing her, when he'd just found her. His rational thought was that it was a bad idea to do anything further about any of this, but rational thought was not winning this battle. He had been completely alone for too long. Maybe that was part of it. He was completely separate from everyone and everything he knew, and he wanted someone to be close to. There he was, trying to rationalize again. He knew he should not get involved with this, or any other, woman, but every time he thought that, he found himself getting in a little deeper, like now. The simple act of placing her hand in his aroused more of his emotions than he thought he still possessed. He felt that he should push her away. He wanted to draw her closer. Her skin against his made all his nerve endings snap into complete life. Whatever his mind said, his body clearly had decided he wasn't dead, not in any way that mattered. He wanted to hold her, but he felt he shouldn't, so he compromised. He switched the angle of their linked hands, so that instead of simply crossing palms to hold hands, now their fingers were interlaced. The feeling was doubly intimate. He had to swallow hard, twice, before he trusted himself to make any verbal response. His voice was still huskier than normal. "Better this way," was all he managed to say. Whether in response to his voice, his words, or his touch, she felt her whole body respond by turning into liquid.
They didn't talk much the rest of the way to Heaven's Gate. The silences were surprisingly comfortable. He liked it that she didn't need to chatter to fill the quiet. When they reached the club, they were lucky enough to find a quiet table in one of the sphere-less rooms, somewhere they could talk with few interruptions. The tiny tables were made for intimate conversations, necessitating that they sit as much next to as across from each other. She sat to Auron's right. His right hand was easier to reach if she needed to make a point. She kept wondering if there was something wrong with his left arm, because of the way he carried it, using his coat as though it were a sling. She might find out eventually. The table was so tiny; their knees kept hitting each other's.
The wait staff took their orders, brought their drinks, left. By some unspoken agreement, she and Auron waited until after the drinks were delivered to begin any serious conversation.
"What happened to your friend? The one whose son you're watching out for?" One thing was clear. Neither of them was much good at making small talk. Something they had in common.
"Three of us went on a journey from Bevelle. It's a long story, too complicated to explain now. I'm sorry. Neither of them made it. I barely did." He found himself blinking rapidly. Five years had passed. His grief was as fresh as though it were yesterday.
His pain was impossible to ignore, or resist. "No, I'm sorry," she soothed, as she laid her hand over his. The touch eased his wounds, more the he thought possible. He felt warmth spreading from her hand to his.
He asked her a question that had been puzzling him since the evening before. "Where do the songs come from? How do you decide what to sing?"
"That's not fair. That's two questions." She was laughing, just a little, but she sobered up when she saw he was really serious. "People write the songs. I've written some. I wrote Seven Wonders, the last song we did tonight. Some are based on my own experience, some are based on things people tell me, or that I've heard or read about that I'm able to translate into music. Seven Wonders is like that. Sometimes, in life, you experience something, just for a minute maybe, that is so uniquely beautiful, or wonderful, or both, that you just know, no matter what else you do, no matter how miraculous it might be, it will never match that one perfect moment." Auron just nodded. She did understand.
"As for how we choose, Dafydd and I meet for dinner on the nights we perform, and discuss what we're going to play. We always pick six songs, because that's the most we ever get to do."
"How long have you and your 'friend' been performing together?" She was surprised to see, and hear, jealousy in the question. My, my, my, isn't that interesting.
"Dafydd and I have been performing together since we were in our teens. He's my brother. Adopted, but still my brother." Auron tried to hide it, but he had been tense when he asked the question, and the tension just flowed away as soon as she said the word 'brother'. None came back at the word 'adopted', either. "I lost my parents just before I turned 18. Dafydd's parents are still living, but he and they, are…estranged from one another. For a long time, we were all alone in the world. In a lot of ways, we raised each other, I guess."
There was pain there, more than she was ready to tell him at the moment. Now it was his turn to offer her comfort. He slid his hand from under hers and placed his on top, hooking his thumb under her cupped palm. She stared out into the middle distance, seeing only the past. He rubbed his thumb against her palm, bringing her back to the present, back to him. She returned to look at their hands, clasped on the table. It had been a long time since anyone comforted her. The ice around her heart was melting, whether she was ready for it, or no.
After a minute or two of silence, Auron started to ask another question, but Mercy held up a hand to stop him. "Wait, I get a turn now," smiling at him to take any sting from her words. "Besides watching over your friend's boy, I assume he still is a boy, what do you do with yourself?"
"Tidus is twelve now, and I run a dojo over at the edge of Soho. I live above it. That reminds me. Let me see your hands." It was not exactly a request. More like something between a request and an order. This will be interesting, she thought. Most men are bothered by my 'hobby' as some have called it.
He released her left hand, and she placed both hands, palms up, on the table. He shrugged his left arm out of the sling of his coat, so he could use both hands to examine hers. She got the answer to her question about whether or not anything was the matter with his left arm. The answer was a definite "no". She just stared. Her pupils dilated, her breathing quickened, and her pulse started going double time, if that was possible. She was suddenly grateful for the beads on her shirt, which hopefully concealed the fact that her nipples must be standing at attention. If the rest of him matched the left arm and shoulder he'd just revealed…her throat had gone dry, but other parts certainly hadn't. Oh my goodness.
He saw her eyes change, the rise and fall of her breasts. His hands covered both of hers, as the rest of his body's responses fell into line with hers. Her knee pressed into his thigh. Their hands were clasped on the table. The world began to drop away, as it had earlier, and reduce itself to just the two of them.
The spell was broken by the bright chirp of the waitperson. "Anything else I can get for either of you?" Auron's bark of "No!" sent her running, but the damage was done. The world was back, for the present.
He removed his dark glasses, in theory to look at her hands more closely. She might as well see what there is to see, he mused. His glasses slid down his nose so often, she had already seen the scar, just not exactly all of it at once. He must have been pretty before he got that, but I never did like pretty men. All she said aloud was "I bet that hurt something awful when you got it."
"It did. I almost didn't make it." She gripped one of his hands, in silent sympathy.
"Back to the matter at hand," he smiled slightly at his own pun. "Your hands."
"Yes."
"There's a pattern of calluses, here, here, and here." He rubbed each spot lightly with an index finger, while cupping the hand in question with one of his own. "I have a similar pattern myself, but yours are not as deep, or as hard." He used one hand to help her feel his hands, but she already knew where to look. The intimate contact was more charged by the second. "Mine are from daily sword practice. Yours?"
"Three times a week." She waited for his reaction. This is usually where they cut and run, no pun intended.
"Why?"
Some instinct led her to trust him. She decided to tell him the whole story. She closed her eyes for a second, to organize her thoughts, and then began, "My parents didn't adopt Dafydd. I adopted him. After I turned 18, just before I graduated from Preparatory School, I went to a program set up by the Musicians' Guild for aspiring members to meet each other and I met Dafydd there. He was 13. I was looking for a partner, and a friend, and he was looking for someone to hide behind. We hit it off, applied for our Guild memberships, and started street busking at the summerfaires. I guess I needed someone to care about, as much as I needed someone to perform with. It was hard, after I lost my parents. I always was somewhat of a loner, and with my parents gone; I discovered how truly alone I was. I was supposed to be strong, to carry on. They had plans for me. The music was just supposed to be a hobby, to make me a well-rounded person, I guess. I began songwriting in earnest after they died, and I started performing with Dafydd as a way of getting outside myself. We got to be close. Close enough that he confided in me. Dafydd is homosexual. It's not a secret, and it's not a big deal. But, at 13, it was still something he was coming to terms with. It made our friendship easier, since he was too young for me, and I was of absolutely no interest to him. But his sexual orientation became the last and worst of a long list of reasons why his dad beat him, and the beatings were getting worse. It took me a while to notice the bruises, since Daf always wore long sleeves and long pants, but as the summer got hotter, I saw the marks, and he finally told me. One night, his dad went too far, so far that his mom finally stepped in long enough for Daf to run to his room and lock the door. He climbed out the window with his guitar and a backpack, and came to my place in the middle of the night. I had to fight his dad in court, but I adopted Daf. I suppose, legally, he's my son, but that's just too weird, so we say we're brother and sister. It's simpler."
"After we started the whole court thing, I decided that we had to learn to defend ourselves. I mean, you've seen Dafydd. Imagine him at 13. His dad had abused him for years. The man was about 5'10, 220 pounds, overweight, but easily able to beat up two kids, especially back then. He made lots of threats, and I was plenty scared. I thought we needed to have enough of a chance for one of us to be able to hold on while the other ran for help. So, we both took martial arts classes, learned unarmed combat, especially how to use the force and momentum of a stronger opponent against them. In the end, Dafydd's father attacked him, alone, in our apartment, when Daf was 15. Daf defeated him, tied him up, and called the police to come and get him. His dad went to prison. We've never seen him again."
"I had inherited a pair of swords from my grandmother, my father's mother, Rose. They have been passed down through several generations. Technically, I know they are not both swords. I don't have the katana. I have the short sword, the wakizashi, and the long dagger, the tanto. Some other relative, long ago, must have inherited the katana, but these suit me well enough. The katana proportioned to match these two blades must have been about as long as I am tall, including the hilt. I could never wield such a weapon. Dafydd thought if his father came, I could just use the swords. I told him that unless I knew how to use the swords, it would be foolish to hand an enemy an even more deadly weapon. So I decided that if I was going to keep Grandma Rose's swords, I needed to learn to use them. It took me years to learn, but eventually I did. I continue to train, both unarmed and with the swords. If I ever stop training, I will give the swords to someone who knows how to use them. It wouldn't be right to keep them under those circumstances."
Auron held her hand through the whole story. His thumb traced patterns in her palm, over and over, reminding her that he was there, that he was listening, trying to take away a little of the pain, if she would let him. He was more amazed by her courage with every second. She has been a guardian, too, in her way. She returned to the present. It had been a long time since she had told anyone this story, a very long time. He was still there. Still holding her hand. Still trying to comfort her. It was her turn to be amazed. He was most definitely not running.
He continued to hold her hand, while taking a drink with the other. His throat was dry again. He thought it might be a good idea to change the topic, before this became even more serious. He wanted to give her a chance to recover, if she needed it. "May I ask you another question?" He paused "Different subject."
"Yes. Might be a good thing, about now." She thought it would be good to move on to something less painful.
"Is singing what you do with yourself, as you asked me earlier?" a slight smile on his face.
"No, unfortunately not. I make some money songwriting, not enough to live comfortably. You don't get paid to sing at open mics, either. We do it for the love of it. It is possible to get paid to perform, but we're not quite that good, or maybe we've never been brave enough to try. I have, what is politely referred to in the music business, as a day job". She smiled ruefully, because it was a very old joke, even if he didn't get it. "I am a senior administrator in the City Archives and Hall of Records. I've worked there a rather long time."
Something in her expression made him suddenly wary, as though he stepped into the middle of a horde of invisible fiends. He knew something was wrong, but he didn't know what. Whatever it was, it was bothering the hell out of her. He could feel her hand tense, and her eyes had turned away from his face. What the hell was the matter?
He took a small sip of the beer. He was parched again, and some instinct was telling him to go carefully, or he would lose this battle right here, whatever the battle was. "How long is a long time?" he queried softly. A shot in the dark, at the last thing she had said.
She took a swallow of her drink. Her throat was a desert. She stared at the tabletop, at their linked hands. Maybe it would be better if we got this one over with, now, too. She spoke quickly, almost too fast for him to follow. "I started working at the Archives the summer after I graduated prep school. I was 18. I worked there four years while I earned my Archivist's Degree, part-time during the school year, full-time in the summer. I took a year off school and worked full time to save some money and decide what to specialize in. I worked four more years part and full time while I earned my Master's Degree. I finished that thirteen years ago. I've worked there ever since, rising through the ranks to my present position." Now she looked up to meet his gaze. "And, in case you haven't done the math yet, I'm 40 years old, Auron. I know I'm older than you are, I just don't know how much."
So that's what's bothering her. What does it matter? Aloud, "How can you be so certain? Her free hand came up, and her index finger traced the firm line of his jaw.
"That," she said, is what makes me certain." His eye was closed, savoring the touch of her fingertip on his face. Bliss. What the hell was she saying?
"What do you mean?"
She smiled sadly. "Just the march of time. Your skin is very tight over your jaw, here." Again, the fingertip against his face. Men lose that in their early 30's at the latest. So I know that you're younger than I am, possibly enough to matter." Patience was not one of her virtues. "Does it matter?" she asked outright.
His left hand came up to cup her cheek, to make sure she continued to meet his gaze when he spoke. Her skin was so soft. His thumb stroked her chin for a minute, just to touch a little more of it. "I am 30. And no, it doesn't matter a damn." She couldn't speak, her throat was too dry, and suddenly, her heart was too full. Her right hand rose, and spread itself over his unmarred cheek. They were beginning to lose themselves in each other. Unconsciously, they were leaning towards each other across the table.
The waitperson spotted them and decided that she needed to stop this 'Right Now'. If they were headed the way it looked like they were headed, they should have rented a privacy booth! "Is there anything else I can get you?"
"Yes," Auron said menacingly, "some privacy." Mercy squeezed his hand. The waitperson had just switched from perky to frightened.
"Just the check." Mercy thought it best if they left, quickly, before the little fluff-head called the manager and had them thrown out. Auron paid the bill, and they went out into the night.
"In case you're wondering, yes, they are trained to interrupt at the worst possible moment." Mercy laughed at the consternation on Auron's face, then he started laughing, too. They were standing outside the club, uncertain what to do next. Across the plaza, the clock showed it was after 2 in the morning.
"I should probably see you home," he said reluctantly.
"Yes, you probably should," she agreed, equally reluctant. "This way." She pointed at one of the streets fanning out from the intersection. He immediately laced the fingers of his right hand with her left. "So we don't lose each other on the way," he explained. She squeezed his hand by way of consent.
They walked slowly, unwilling to hasten the parting at the end. "Why does the singing group have your name?" He was just curious. And it was curious.
"Actually, it's the other way around, sort of. My legal name is Mercianne. I didn't have a nickname growing up. When we started performing together, we needed a name to perform under. We were arguing somewhere, a sandwich shop, I think, and some grandmother at the next table finally said, 'Mercy, mercy, can't you two children make up your minds?' and that, as they say, is that. Over time, people started calling me 'Mercy' and I got used to it, or I got tired of correcting them, so it stuck."
"Why a dojo?" she asked curiously
"It's what I know how to do, more or less," he replied, sounding slightly uncertain.
"What do you mean, more or less?" she responded, picking up on his hesitation.
"I've never been the teacher before, it's a different perspective."
"I'll just bet it is."
"We're here," she announced, in front of one of Zanarkand's many tall buildings. He tightened his grip on her hand for a moment. "When do you perform again? Where?"
"The Blitz Ace Club, near the Stadium, Wednesday night between 8 and 11."
Her mind raced. Think girl, think. You need to do something to send this man off properly. He's too damn tall to kiss on the cheek. What? What? In the club, when you touched his face, he looked blissed out, do that again, it's less obvious and easy to reach. Okay, here goes…
She raised her right hand to his cheek. This time, she gently tucked some stray hair away before her hand settled against his skin. Even the stubble of his beard felt good under her palm. Her thumb stroked his face. His eyes closed, the dark lashes long and thick against his cheeks. He savored the moment, attempted to gather the threads of self-control that were slipping away. He knew he already felt too much. Physically, and emotionally. He should leave before he did something seriously stupid. But he did not want to go. He finally managed to take a deep breath, and opened his eye. Once he was looking back at her, she spoke. "Good night, Auron." Her voice was a throaty purr.
He didn't move a step, but still, he felt himself being pulled closer. His left hand rose from his side to gently hold her wrist and hand in place against his face. He turned his head and moved his arm so he could press his lips into her palm and watch her expression as he did. He intended it to be a chaste kiss, but the flame between them had other ideas. There was a promise in the kiss instead. She felt the tip of his tongue against her palm, not just his mouth. Her eyes went wide, dark. Maybe, she thought, but too soon. He was not sure he would be able to walk away if he stayed much longer, it would be difficult enough at this moment.
Reluctantly, Auron let go of her hands, said, "Good night, my lady," and strode alone into the night. Mercy entered her building, and her apartment, equally alone.
…Spira…
Alone with his memories, dawn; such as it was on the Thunder Plains, found Auron awake, and bitter. She was supposed to reach the Farplane. What went wrong? Now, all I have left are memories. And regrets.
End Chapter Three