*****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 "Over My Head" was written by Christine McVie, performed by Fleetwood Mac, and "You Have to Hurt" was written by Frank Musker and Dominic King, performed by Carly Simon, and I don't own them, either.******
Between Yuna's announcement, and Rikku's whining, no one wanted to camp on the Thunder Plains, so they pushed on to reach the edge of the Macalania Woods, camping for the night just inside. The transition areas made good campgrounds, the fiends were less numerous, and it was possible to camp with only one guard per shift in the night. As usual the guard shifts are arranged so that Auron and Kimahri had the second and third shifts, as they were less affected by the broken night's sleep than the others. After two nights without sleep, even Auron was weary. He rested against a tree, not even intending to close his eyes, but slept deeply during the first watch of the night. His own watch was uneventful, and he woke Kimahri for the third shift, to report that it had been a quiet night. He laid down in his bedroll after Kimahri took up the watch, but the earlier rest and some hours of guard duty had left him too alert for easy slumber. Lying awake, staring at the canopy of trees, he found that he no longer needed the excuse of the sake to lower the barrier to his memories, and that he was now willing to face the pain at the end, if it meant he could relive the sweetness of the journey.
…Zanarkand…Five years ago…Wednesday
In memory, Auron thought that those might have been some of the longest days he had ever endured, not helped by the fact that he was conscious for most of the time. Sleep eluded him, and when he did catch it, he dreamed of her. Awake, he alternately berated himself for even considering any further involvement, and counting down the time until he saw her again. What could he possibly have to offer this woman? He was no longer even alive. She was so very alive. And beautiful. And desirable. She was like water in the desert to a thirsty man. He wanted that water very, very much. Tuesday night, he finally fell into a deep sleep, and had a very unusual dream. In it, he heard a familiar voice, but one he couldn't quite recognize. The voice spoke out of the darkness, telling him, "Guardian, in five years, her world will be destroyed by Sin, and many of the people in it will die, possibly including your lady. Guardian, will your status matter in the face of so much destruction? Let the lady choose."
Auron awoke with a start. He knew that voice. Who was it? Damn. More awake, he pondered the words instead of the origin. The speaker was right. In five years, Sin would return. Jecht would be back to take the boy to Spira. Take him too, to keep the boy safe a while longer. Jecht's next visit would wreck havoc on this Zanarkand, killing a lot of people. It didn't have to, but he knew it would. Jecht would need to reach Tidus inside the city. And, by then, he would gladly ruin the city and kill many of its citizens to do it. Auron knew the voice was right about Mercy, too. This wasn't about a lifetime; this was about five years, no more, whatever he might wish for, for her. Life as she knew it would end when Sin came, even if she survived the destruction. He could walk away from her, now, and never know if it was a better choice for her, or if she spent the next five years alone, and then didn't survive. Or, if she would meet someone else tomorrow, if he walked away now. But his gut twisted at the thought of either road. He couldn't decide which was worse. Regret walked down either path. Better to continue to see her, be with her. Find a way to tell her everything, and then let her choose. He saw the clock on the wall. Four in the morning. Might as well get a little more sleep. He would see her tonight. To hell with everything else.
Her week wasn't any better, or any faster. She was busy, but it didn't keep her from thinking about Auron, wondering what was happening to her. What was happening between them. Tuesday night, as usual, she went to Daf's place so they could practice their music. He wanted to know what happened on Saturday. She told her brother the abridged, abridged version of events, but he could see that she was keyed up, alive again. He thought that it was good for her, even if she might get hurt in the end. And who knew, it might even work out this time. But he was not happy to discover that Auron left her outside the building Saturday night. If the man was really interested he should take better care of her than that. Her brother would have to make sure of it.
After their usual Wednesday dinner and wrangle about a playlist, she and Daf got to the club and signed up for a slot, one that should have them onstage around 9:30. Mercy had to change in a curtained booth in the Green Room and get a stage-face on. At a little after 8, she came out to look over the audience. Yes! Auron, as seemed usual, had found a second row table. She grinned impishly at him. He lips quirked up slightly in response, as though he were suppressing a smirk. She decided to duck back inside the Green Room before she made a complete ass of herself.
She and Daf were onstage at 9:35. The opening song was "Over my head". As she sang "I'm over my head, but it sure feels nice." He thought, well, that's only fair. I don't have much experience at this, whatever this was turning out to be. Casual encounters, yes. This, no. They were both in over their heads, it seemed.
A later number was about an older woman resisting the impulse to give advice about love to a younger one, but the chorus meant something more when he heard her sing it:
You have to hurt - to understand
You have to get by the best you can
Until you hurt - until you cry
You won't know about love
And the reason why
You have to hurt
She'd been hurt, he could see it on her face, hear it in her voice as she sang the words, and it was clear that she understood just how much life could hurt, not just love. But she seemed to be opening herself be hurt again. He felt again that sense of connection, that here was a woman who might understand some of what he had experienced, the loss, the pain. Maybe it was time.
She was trying to tell him something, in the music. It was why she had chosen those particular songs for tonight. She was in over her head, and she knew it. It would be safer to back away now. But safe didn't set your heart on fire, did it? There were two more songs to go now. She saw Auron write something on a napkin, then he walked up and handed it to her. She held it between her fingers and waited for a Dafydd's guitar solo to read it. "Please sing Seven Wonders, Auron," was written on the scrap. I'd better get an explanation later. She picked up the end of the song, showed Daf the paper while he adjusted the tuning on his guitar for the last number. He shrugged, looked over at the machine that did the back up instrumentals and nodded. They could do the song if she wanted. She nodded back, and moved to center stage and announced, "We'll close with Seven Wonders." Auron mouthed the words "Thank you" to her silently, as she stuck the paper into a tiny pocket in her waistband. She was going to keep the damn thing, she just knew it.
After they finished the song, they said goodnight to the audience and left the stage. She went straight to Auron's table. The extra chair was out and the water was waiting. As soon as she had taken some of the water, he asked her "Do you want to leave?"
"Yes, please. Just, let me get my stuff." She was as eager to get out of there as he was.
This time, while she scrubbed her face, Dafydd stepped out into the hall to confront the larger man. He started in on Auron with no preamble. "Don't you dare leave her outside the building this time, do you hear? Take her to her own door." Properly chastised by the man's obvious care for his sister, Auron replied, "It won't happen again."
Mercy stepped out into something that looked like it was about to get ugly. "Excuse me, do you two even know each other?" she started, standing braced, with her hands on her hips, intending to either start, or stop a fight. Dafydd, now somewhat sheepish, responded, "I don't believe we've been introduced, now that you mention it," which allowed the air to clear.
Mercy made the introductions, and the two men shook hands with something more like respect than challenge. At least it's progress, she thought. "Daf," she started to say. "I know, I know, take your stuff home with me and bring it to dinner Friday. Sure, Sis, no problem." "Thanks, bro." To Auron, Dafydd made one last shot, "Remember what you said." "Yes," Auron responded.
Mercy naturally fell in on Auron's right as they walked away. Just as naturally, he laced his fingers with hers. "What was that all about?" she queried. "Your brother was reminding me that I was remiss in not seeing you to your own door the other night. He was correct. I apologize." She smiled up at him. "Then see to it that it doesn't happen again." His grin back had a wicked gleam that sent her heart racing. " I assure you, my lady, it will never happen again." He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, causing flickers of heat to shoot up her arm.
They went to a neighborhood place she knew, on a direct line from the stadium club to her apartment. She needed the liquid on her parched throat, but the place was a little too crowded for any serious conversation. She did not want to ask any of the questions that were troubling her mind in this very public place. There were just too many potential listeners.
Auron was in a quandary; he wanted to tell her more about himself, but how? His Spira didn't quite match her Zanarkand, and she would catch that, quicker than most, and sooner rather than later if he said too much. He was not a good liar in any case. The best he could do was lie by omission, or misdirection. Going too far down either path would cause trouble later.
Until they finished their drinks, they settled for discussing their current lives, a safe topic for this place. It made them blend in with the crowd, in fact. On a weekday night, most people were talking about their jobs. "You implied that teaching was a lot different from what you thought it would be, or did I misunderstand?"
He was thoughtful, trying to put his feelings into words. "It is…different. I have been training since I was…very young. It came easily to me. I had sometimes trained others, but, always others like myself. I had never taught classes before, especially large classes of 10 or 20 students, nor have I ever taught reluctant students, or…children. It requires a great deal of…patience…something I sadly lack."
"Which are the easiest to teach?"
"The adult students, like yourself. The ones who are there because they are truly interested, who really want to learn what I have to give them. Also, the classes where the parents attend and learn with their children, where the parent provides a great deal of the discipline, and I need only teach the skills, if the child, and the parent are both willing to learn. And if the child turns out to be ill suited to the training, the parent is already aware. Few explanations are required. If the child is suited, it can be a pleasure to train them, or at least not a burden.
"Which are the most difficult?"
He smiled ruefully. "The little ones are the hardest. And, unfortunately, they are the largest classes as well. They are sent by their parents, whether the child wishes to be there or not. Some are interested, or become interested, but most are not, and do not. And many of them are too immature for even the most basic of the lessons, or are discipline problems for other reasons." He stopped talking for several minutes. Mercy put her hand over his, encouraging him to continue. "I find the little ones hard to discipline." He removed his dark glasses, laid them on the table. "They find me frightening…But I must always have some of these classes to provide students for the more advanced classes, and because they are the most popular, and…I need to pay the rent. At least, when the 18 year olds need to be disciplined, I do not feel guilty if I intimidate them…With those, sometimes, it is the only weapon I have." He looked down at the table, a sad expression on his face. She brought her hand up, smoothed a stray hair away, touched his cheek. He turned his face towards hers, as she brushed her thumb against the corner of his mouth. He smiled at her now, unable to resist the warmth of her caress.
Enough of this, he thought. "What about your 'day job'?" he asked.
"Ick," was her first response, basically a rude noise. "One of life's little ironies. Now that I have the position I always wanted, or close to it, I don't actually get to do any of the things that caused me to go into the Archives in the first place. I wanted to do historic research, and I wanted to help other people with their research. I really enjoy working with the documents people give us, you know, when somebody finds their family papers locked away and they give us the diary or we make a copy so that anyone who wants can read it and see what life was really like 200 years ago or find out that their great-great-grandfather knew Lord So-and-So or led the first expedition to such and such because there's this old sphere we have in the archives that I or someone like me cataloged. I love all of that. It's what I was trained to do. Or to research in those old diaries and journals and spheres and pictures and trace patterns of how things used to be and how that influences how things are now. But I don't get to do any of that any more unless it's on my own time, pretty much. Now I spend my time in meetings, talking about how other people do those things, or don't do those things. Or how we can make it easier for other people to do those things. Sometimes I wonder where I went wrong." She stopped, embarrassed at having said too much. It was her turn to look at the table. "Sorry. Not your problem." He tilted her face up to meet his eye. "It is if you want to share it," he said quietly.
Her eyes looked into his for a frozen moment, seeming to assess the sincerity of his offer. Then, her eyes closed briefly, and her face softened. She opened her eyes again to look back into his. "Let's get out of here, please?" She took them to one of the towers that rose high above the city, one not much out of the way. Midweek, they would be alone at this hour. As they walked, hands linked, she asked, "Why did you leave Luca?"
"My older brother inherited everything. It was my duty to leave and…seek my fortune elsewhere."
"Do you always do your duty?"
"Yes." She looked up into his face; saw the seriousness of his answer written there. She had caught the slight hesitation, but sensed it didn't conceal anything important. She was sure that she had found the central core of the man with the impromptu question. It would make what she wanted to ask a little easier, she hoped.
They had to climb the stairs the last two stories to the top balcony of the tower. People clearly weren't supposed to be up here at night. She took the stairs in front of him, so he could catch her if she stumbled. He was delighted to watch the sway of her hips as she climbed, delighted, and aroused.
At the top, he asked, "Why are we up here?"
"I like the view," she replied, as she leaned on the safety rail on her forearms, with her hands clasped together in front of her. He leaned on the rail next to her, clasping his own hands together in the same manner. He made sure to take a position close to hers, so close that his right shoulder is pressed into her left. He could feel the coiled tension in her, just from that one point of contact.
"I also wanted to ask you something, or a couple of somethings, and where we were was way too crowded," she continued.
"Go on."
"Why Seven Wonders?"
He stared down at his clasped hands, either trying to find the words, or the courage to say them. Finally he looked at her, and began. "On my journey, with my friends, we did see the seven wonders, and we did make the path to the rainbow's end, or something close enough, I think." He paused. "I thought that journey was my perfect moment, and that it would never come again for me. Then I heard you, saw you, heard that song, and I didn't know anymore. You captured it so perfectly. How did you know what I felt?" The sudden anguish in his voice, on his face, was too much for her to bear, and yet she wanted to share it. What is it he doesn't know? She turned and buried her face in his shoulder, overwhelmed by the depth of the emotion in him. Auron unclasped his hands, and cupped the back of her head to press it against his shoulder, anchoring her against him. I don't know anymore if that perfect moment was then, or now, he thought.
She felt raw, exposed. She had gotten more than she bargained on. Way more. She shook her head a little, so Auron released her. She looked up. "Let's step back a bit. We're not supposed to be up here, after all." As they drew back into the shadows of the support column, she shivered with cold. Her jacket was too light to be up this high. Auron stood behind her, blocking the wind, and wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her back against his chest. She immediately settled in to the warmth of his body, her right hand clasped over his. She was enveloped by his scent, slightly spicy, exotic. Her head was resting on something this was not natural. I could learn to hate that leather breastplate pretty quick. It had been a long time since she'd been this close to a man. She'd forgotten how good it felt. No, on second thought, it never felt this good. Her eyes closed, dinking in the sensations of warmth, heat, fire. "Mmmm," escaped her lips. She was aware of every inch where their bodies touched, and of her own reactions, especially the damp heat between her legs. Hell, she felt as though her entire body was turning to liquid in his arms. It was having the opposite effect on him.
His lips were near her ear. "What else did you want to ask me?" His warm breath on her skin made her wonder what it would be like to feel that mouth on hers. Mentally shaking herself out of her reverie, she remembered her other question. She wasn't sure she wanted to see his face; she knew that sometimes it was easier to bare your soul if you could forget someone was listening.
"This is an important question, or, at least, I think it is. Give me a minute to explain. The other night you asked why I sing, and I told you that it's what my soul needs to make me whole. I enjoy my day job, well, I used to, anyway, and it certainly provides the creature comforts, but music feeds my soul. Auron, have you ever asked yourself what you need?"
Her grip on his arms had tightened. He knew this was important to her, but he didn't know why, or he only saw it dimly, at best. "I have always done my duty," and only he knew what it had, and would, cost him. "I have never had the luxury of worrying overmuch about what I wanted."
There was a chill in his voice she didn't care for, but she pressed on. If she couldn't make him understand, well, she didn't think it would matter after that. "Auron, I didn't say want, I said need. We're both adults, only children think they can have whatever they want. Grown ups know you can't have everything you want. Hell, some days, you can't have anything you want. I need my music. I'd be less of a person without it. The fact that I don't make money performing doesn't matter. I believe that if an adult doesn't know what they truly need to make themselves complete, something festers inside and turns sour. That's what regrets are made of. Sometimes, you can't have what you need because you find out too late, or you try your best and fail, or you have a duty that takes precedence, but if you don't do so knowingly, it means nothing but grief. But if you can figure out what you truly need, usually, if you try hard enough, you can find a way. Now do you understand?"
Auron thought, not of himself, but of his older brother, Aidan. All his life, Auron had always known that Aidan would inherit the family lands outside Luca, and that he was just the 'spare'. He hadn't minded, much. He didn't want the land, or the responsibilities that went with it. Second sons in their family, those that remained second sons into adulthood, either went into the priesthood or the warrior-monks. It was tradition. His early aptitude at martial arts training made his path clear, and he welcomed it. But Aidan showed both the talent, and the desire to pursue the training of the Black Mages, and their parents would have none of it. Learning basic spellcasting was one thing, but Aidan felt the calling to become a true disciple of the craft, and their parents forbid it. He began practicing in secret, often hiding in obscure places to study his spellbooks. When their parents discovered Aidan's cache of spellbooks, he was severely punished, and all the local mages were contacted and forbidden to teach the boy any further. His older brother had always believed that Auron had betrayed him, and Auron had never been able to convince him otherwise. Aidan had been repeatedly punished by their father, until he had finally given up his black magic. The denial of his dream had made him a bitter young man. Sin had killed both their parents when Aidan was 19, and Auron 15. There had been nothing more for him at home after that, so Auron had left for Bevelle and the warrior-monks. Aidan had been 14 years old when he had been compelled to deny the needs of his soul. And he had festered and turned sour. Mercy was right. The irony of it all was that the entire settlement had been wiped out by Sin five years ago, including his brother Aidan.
Auron nodded, then realized Mercy couldn't see it. "I understand. But I have never thought about it before." I have an answer for my brother, but not for myself, he thought. Then he looked down at the woman in his arms and was suddenly afraid that he did have answer.
She leaned back into him, where she had been tense a moment before. Briefly, she let his strength support her. Not an indulgence she often allowed herself. She hadn't had anyone to lean on in a long time, physically or any other way, except her brother, of course, but it wasn't the same. After a few peaceful minutes she said, "Auron, it's late. Walk me home, please."
As they walked toward her apartment, he asked if she had to work in the morning. "No, I work tomorrow night until 9, why?"
"How do you get home?"
"I walk."
"Alone?"
"Of course. It's perfectly safe."
"Then why did your brother insist…?
"He worries about me. We've looked out for each other for a long time. He still doesn't like me walking home alone on Thursday nights, but I've been doing it for years."
"Let me walk you home tomorrow night. I insist. To make up for my neglect the other night."
She smiled up at him. "Well, if you insist." He smiled back. "I do."
"Then meet me at the City Archives, 4th floor East Service Desk, no later than 8:45. They won't let anyone in after that."
"I'll be there."
The walk home refreshed her. This was the bad news. Getting up in the morning in time to get everything done and still get to work by 1 was going to be a real pain. She hated mornings.
When they reached her building, Auron came in with her. He had promised, after all. Her apartment was at the end of the hall, on the 20th floor. High enough to have an okay, but not great, view. The price went up as the floors did, and she had been more interested in space than view when she bought the place five years previously.
Upon arriving at her own door, she blurted out, "Look, you've come this far, you might as well come in." Not the most gracious invitation, but, at past midnight, graciousness was in short supply. He raised a brow quizzically, but then inclined his head in assent. She unlocked the door and ushered him inside.
The room in front of him was spacious, and clearly served as a living room. The windows opposite held a view of the city, filled with starlight. There were doors to the left, clearly leading to the rest of the apartment, although one open doorway was next to the entryway, the kitchen, it seemed. Mercy hung her jacket on a rack beside the front door. "I'm going to make tea. Want some?" He didn't want to put her to any trouble, so he agreed. He stood and looked out the windows, fascinated by the sparkling view of the city. He realized that he was much warmer here than he had been outside, so he unbuckled the belt at his waist and removed his coat. He laid it over the end of the couch. He hesitated for a few seconds, and then he unbuckled the bracer on his left arm, and placed it on a chair, along with his glove. He carefully set his glasses on the table. He'd left the collar at home. It had become a nuisance. He went to the kitchen to see if he could 'help'.
When he came through the doorway into the kitchen, Mercy thought he looked good enough to eat. Literally. The more of him she saw, the better he looked. The water boiled. Why had she suggested tea? She was too hot all ready. The smirk on his face suggested that he was aware of it, too, damn him. She poured the water into the teapot. "Please carry the tray into the living room. Just put it down on the table in front of the sofa." She watched him walk toward the living room ahead of her. The back view was well worth watching. Mmm, delicious.
Auron put the tray on the table, and went to examine the decorations on the walls behind the couch while Mercy finished with the tea. He was astonished to see the paintings, one a fine picture of two coeurls, one realistically detailed and one fantastic coeurl, black with crimson whiskers and tail, and a beautifully drawn but unlabelled map of Spira, in addition to the display of the blades she had inherited from her grandmother. Where had that map come from? He turned to examine the blades more closely. "May I?" He would never touch them without her permission.
"Please do."
Respectfully, he lifted the long dagger from the wall and inspected it carefully. It was well cared for, but he could also judge that it was not just decorative. Mercy did practice with it regularly. "They are beautiful weapons."
"Thank you. The tea is ready."
She had only turned the lights on partway, so the room was lit more by the moonlight and starlight from the windows than from within. Thanks to his coat, part of the sofa was not available, so she sat in the middle of the cushions. When the tea had finished steeping, he sat near her, close enough to touch, if either of them wanted. She busied herself with the tea, calm on the surface, confused within. She turned on the cushions to face him, while holding the mug of tea in front of her with both hands, like a shield. They could talk until she decided what to do. We could just go to bed, her eyes swept over him. I want him enough. Hell, who wouldn't? But it's just so empty in the morning. It's not worth it anymore. And there might be something more here, if we wait for it. Maybe. I think he might accept me as I am. Maybe. Big maybe.
He turned to face her, rested his arm along the back of the couch, picked up his mug to drink, turned so he could face her. "What happened to your parents?"
Why is it we never seem to ask each other easy questions? "One day, my parents went out into the harbor for a pleasure cruise. It was supposed to be an afternoon excursion. The pilot decided to leave the harbor, to go out into the open ocean, he wanted to show his passengers the view of the city from farther out. It is beautiful from a distance, but more dangerous. It was supposed to be only slightly more dangerous. Several of the surviving passengers had distance viewers, to use for looking at the cityscape, but, unfortunately, no one had a sphere, so there are no pictures, just reports. Most of the passengers were looking at the city, but at least one of the crew was looking out to sea, and reported an unusually large sea creature, or monster, fairly close to the ship. It didn't attack, but it was swimming near by, and when it dove under the water, the wake swamped the small craft, not just capsizing it, but also causing it to break apart. My mother was struck in the head by a piece of flotsam, and lost consciousness. She sank. My father tried to save her. They both drowned." Sin, he thought to himself.
Mercy, focused on the past, didn't realize that her hands were white as she gripped the mug, or that her eyes were huge, lost, and that tears were streaming down her face. Auron put his own cup down, and gently removed hers from her hands. Then he pulled her, unresisting, into his arms. He stroked her head and back soothingly as she continued to speak.
"I was so alone. I was an only child, and I was a little weird, I guess." She sniffled, rubbing her eyes with her hands. She became aware of her position, and tried to get a little more comfortable, stealing one of her arms around his waist, settling her head against his chest. "Actually, I was a lot weird. Too sharp, too smart, too much of a smart-ass. Too much of a loner. Into my music, the studies I enjoyed, skating by on the ones I didn't. Then, it was like I was some kind of bad luck or something. Kids think they're immortal. And they don't like change, not really. I was a constant reminder that, well, maybe they weren't immortal, and that things could change in ways they weren't expecting." She stopped to catch her breath. Then she went on. "I wasn't supposed to be serious about the music, not really. My parents paid for the lessons, but they always considered it a hobby, I guess. After my folks died, it was a solace, and an escape." Her gaze turned inward, and filled with fear. "But if my parents hadn't died, if I hadn't been so alone, I might not have gone to that musicians' meet, and I wouldn't have met Daf that day. I don't know if he would have found anyone else there he could have turned to. I don't know what would have happened to him." With each sentence, her fist drummed on his breastplate. She couldn't hurt him this way, but he was worried about her. Her eyes were black pools. She was speaking from the depths of a nightmare, and old one that she had carried alone, a long, long time. He let her go on. It was better for her to get it out of her system. "Sooner or later, I think his dad would have killed him, maybe not on purpose, but Daf would have been just as dead. Auron, what if I hadn't been there that day?" She was shaking now, shivering in shock and reaction. She threw her arms around him, but she couldn't get close enough to get warm. He held her as close as he could, but he could tell that it wasn't working, even her teeth were chattering, no matter how much he stroked her back, murmured in her ear. The emotional storm had become a physical reaction, and he couldn't seem to warm her enough to ease the chill in her heart.
His armor was in the way. One-handed, he released the clips at his sides, and held her away just long enough to raise the molded leather piece over his head. He drew her back against him as it fell to the floor behind the sofa. He held her close, and her shuddering began to ease as she settled against his body, her arms around his waist, her head against his shoulder, finally able to drink in enough of his body's heat. She felt so good in his arms. As he ran his hands down her back, feeling the lithe muscles from her shoulders to her waist, he had to remind himself that what she needed now was comfort. He was too aware of the fullness of her breasts pressed against his chest, the tightness in his groin. It had been a long time since he had held a woman close this way, or even wanted to. He looked down at her face. He continued to hold her, as she cried herself out. It took him a long time to realize that she had fallen asleep. He thought he ought to be insulted, but he was oddly pleased. She must feel safe. He reached out with his fingertips, and snagged his coat from the other end of the couch. He leaned back, settling her into a more comfortable position against his chest. Then, he pulled the coat over them both, propped his feet on the table, and closed his eyes.
She woke a couple of hours later, because her pillow wasn't as soft as usual, and in sleep, she couldn't quite figure out why. Waking, she tried to press her face even more deeply into Auron's shoulder, but she also tried uncurling her legs and a few other changes of position, and the mix of successes and failures caused her to wake up completely. The starlight from the windows was sufficient to allow her to study his face. In sleep, he looked less severe, the frown lines that were starting to form smoothed away in repose. He barely looked the 30 years he claimed. The planes of his face were beautifully sculpted, the scar merely giving him a roguish air. She wanted to taste his mouth. He was asleep, he would never know. The longer she stared, the more she was tempted. She didn't notice the glitter of his barely open eye. He was awake, and watching her. She licked her lips, and placed her hands on his shoulders. At last, she leaned in, whispered, "Wake up, sweetheart", and gently pressed her lips to his. Her voice, and touch, were so soft, it was clear she did not intend to wake him yet, but she had not bargained on his already being awake. She hadn't noticed that every time she had shifted position, his arms had stayed clasped around her, not likely if he'd still been asleep.
When her lips touched his, fire lanced through them both, so fast, it was almost like pain. It burned through the normal, tentative first steps, and they were in the midst of a firestorm. Their mouths were fused together, tongues trying to taste everything, all at once. He turned her so that she sprawled across his lap; it was easier for him to hold her, her breasts against his chest. The sensation burned through them both. She was glad of the impulse that had made him shed the last of his armor. The thin shirt that he wore under it was no barrier to her fingers. She could feel taut muscles of his back shift under her hands as he moved. She explored his back, and then the sculpted planes of his chest and they continued to kiss and caress. His fingers traced the long curve of her spine, down her back, then his palms grazed along her sides. Part of her was trying to think this is too fast while the rest was purring that feels so good about kisses that licked down her neck and along her shoulder, or about the fingertips that traced the low neck of her shirt, and left a trail of fire over the edge of her breasts. She wanted more. His mouth came back to hers, and she sucked on his lower lip when he kissed her. He groaned. He wanted to carry her to bed. Now. Hell, this couch was big enough for what he had in mind. That half-familiar voice whispered again, "It will be sweeter if you wait." Auron was in no mood to listen to it. It would be very painful to listen. He was losing himself in her, and he didn't want to stop now. She brought her hands up to his face, and then she kissed him, long and deep. She was losing control, fast. It was all too fast, too soon, she thought again. Slow down, take a deep breath. She felt light-headed. Slowly, reluctantly, she started to slow the pace. He let her lead him out of the fire, gently, gradually. Why, he wasn't sure. Maybe he was listening to that voice, after all. Maybe he was also out of his mind, he thought to himself.
A long time later, they were just holding each other again, but her whole body still thrummed with desire, and he was hard as stone. It would take next to nothing to start the fire again. Her body was ready, eager, but her heart was much less certain. If they waited until they knew each other better, they might have something real. One-night stands just left her feeling even lonelier in the morning. They weren't worth it any more. She hoped she could make him understand, or at least stall the man a little. She had a feeling they didn't need much time, just a little bit.
"Auron?"
"Mmm?" he murmured. He was nibbling on her neck again. She curled into his embrace, giving herself to the sensation. He kissed her again, taking a long time about it, letting the fire build up slowly this time. Unthinking, she started to pull his t-shirt up. When her hand found the bare skin at his waist, she thought again, too soon, too fast, not now, not yet, damn! and set her arms around his neck, where they would hopefully cause less trouble. She opened her eyes, looked into his with, she hoped, a serious expression on her face. He got enough of his brain working to focus on her face and hold his hands still, but it was, well, difficult. Be straight about this, she thought to herself, you've only got about one chance. Out loud, "Auron, if we're ever going to be lovers, I want to know you a little better than I do now, and I sure as hell want more time than is left of this night. A lot more," she said with a grin. Then her eyes roamed over his face, seriously now, trying to gauge his reaction. In spite of the momentary grin, this was no game she was playing, but many men would have taken it as one. Auron saw she was serious, and again he heard that voice in the recesses of his mind, "It will be sweeter if you wait." Mercy's small store of patience reached its limit. "Is this okay?" she questioned. His hand cupped her cheek. "Difficult, but bearable." Then he grinned at her in return. "Once more before I leave?" He had promised, but something in his eye…She nodded, then swallowed hard past a sudden lump in her throat. What was he thinking?
Just because he had promised to wait, didn't mean he couldn't try to convince her to change her mind, he thought, as kissed her deeply, over and over again. His lips licked their way from her mouth down her neck to her collarbone, and back up again. She was on fire, her arms around him, rubbing herself against him. Her breasts felt swollen, her nipples ached for him to touch them. His hand traced the deep v of her shirt, dipped inside to cup the swell of one breast. Her back arched as she pressed herself into his palm, the generous globe overflowing his hand. He teased the peak with his thumb and forefinger, and she moaned into his mouth as he kissed her. This wasn't enough for either of them, they both wanted more. He kept hearing that voice, "It will be sweeter if you wait." Damn!
He had promised, and he always kept his promises. She had a very wicked idea, but she didn't want to go too far, tonight. She got up on her knees, and put her hands on his shoulders, then shifted position so that her knees were on either side of his thighs, straddling him, flagrantly rubbing herself the full length of him. His head fell back against the couch. This was torture. He had promised to wait—did she have to punish him like this? He wanted, no needed to punish her the same way, and make sure she continued as long as possible. He brought her head down for a slow, lingering kiss, then turned his attention to her breasts. The more attention he gave, the more her hips bucked in response. He kept his other hand low on her backside, pressing her hips into his groin. If she was going to torture him, he was going to enjoy every inch of it. Their kisses anticipated an act their bodies yearned for, but rational thought was weakly delaying.
She had let go of nearly all restraint, temporarily. In the sweet haze of sensation, some rational thought was trying to break through. If we're not going any further tonight, we need to stop soon, or we'll both die or something. But there are worse ways…
His roaming hand found the bow at the back of her shirt. And stilled. If he pulled it, he didn't think he would be able to stop. And he had promised. "It will be sweeter if you wait," the voice said. "Damn you," Auron growled back, but in the dark of his mind. More to the point, he would not break his break his word to her, so they needed to slow down again, and he must go, soon. If this were to start another time tonight…
Luckily, they were of the same mind, as it was more difficult to step back than before. Eventually they ended as they began, with Mercy across Auron's lap, her head pillowed on his shoulder. With the adrenaline fading, she yawned sleepily, he realized that it was time for him to leave.
They ended the evening, now nearly morning, almost where it should have begun. She unlocked the door for him to go and they held each other, gently this time. She looked up into his face. He leaned down to kiss her, a soft, lingering kiss, trying not to kindle the fire between them. Auron smiled down at her. "I will see you later this evening. Good night, my lady." A small grin crossed her face. "Good morning, Auron. See you later." She closed the door, undressed and fell into bed, and sleep.
Auron strode through the city, attempted to understand what was happening to him, and failed. His mind returned to the story she told him, about her parents. Her life, even in Zanarkand, had also been touched by Sin.
Her other question kept him awake. What did he need?
…Spira…
Alone in Spira, in the strange light that filtered through the trees of the Macalania Woods, he was all too aware of the answer. Not that it mattered anymore.
End Chapter Four