*****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 title of the chapter is from the song "She Works Hard for the Money", originally performed by Donna Summer********
The twisting paths of the Macalania Woods were shrouded in endless twilight. There seemed to be no difference between day and night under the enchanted trees. In Zanarkand, those first days had seemed endless. He remembered searching every room for clocks, believing that more time must have passed than it actually had.
…Zanarkand…five years ago…Thursday
Mercy had realized early in the evening that there was a flaw in her plan to have Auron meet her at work that night. By the next morning, every single member of the staff will know that a man came to pick her up at work that night. Nothing in Zanarkand traveled faster than the speed of gossip. It would be the end of her reputation as the "ice lady". Even if there wasn't all that much to tell. Yet. She grinned.
Mercy was working on the desk with another Archivist, a young, blonde woman named Trezza. At an hour before closing, she tried to sound casual when she told her, somewhat wryly, "Someone is going to meet me here around 8:45. If I'm with a patron, try not to let him get away."
"But how will I know it's him?"
"Don't worry, you'll know," came Mercy's rather cryptic response.
Mercy got involved with a complicated research request a few minutes later, and was still working with the budding scholar in a far corner when Auron arrived, more than half an hour later. He saw the sign over the desk, so he knew he was in the right place, but he didn't see Mercy. By this time, whenever he was meeting Mercy, he left his collar at home, so Trezza was able to get a good look at him. She understood Mercy's mysterious "you'll know" immediately, she just didn't believe it. Gorgeous, here, is picking up the ice queen? Who would have guessed? Just wait till this gets around. Addressing the mystery guest, she said, "Excuse me, sir, can I help you?"
"I'm looking for Mercy. Is she here?"
"Yes, she's helping someone right now, is there anything I can do for you?" Trezza leaned way over the desk. She couldn't help herself.
"I'll wait." He stood on the other side of the desk, near the vacant chair surrounded by paperwork. Mercy's, he assumed. Trezza resumed her seat, but she continued to watch him as he scanned the room, searching for Mercy. The blonde was getting on his nerves. Finally, he said, "Can I help you?" in an annoyed tone. She sighed. "Yes, but Mercy wouldn't leave enough of me to bury." At last, she turned back to her work and stopped staring at him.
Mercy walked up to Auron, just then, and felt a sudden, female need to mark her territory. As soon as she was close enough, she placed both hands on his arm and put some downward pressure into the gesture. He smiled indulgently as he got the point. He leaned over, just enough for her to kiss him on the cheek. Trezza also got the point, especially since it would make the rounds of gossip that much juicier. The unmistakable message was 'Mine. Look, don't touch.'
Mercy told Auron, "I need to go to my office, get my stuff and wait by the exit until the public is out of the building. Let's go." To Trezza, "Good night." The younger woman mumbled, "'Night," in response.
They rode the lift to her office, which was several floors higher than the public service area, meaning it had a much nicer view of the central city. She brought the lights up while she retrieved her belongings. She was absurdly pleased to see that although he could clearly see the size of her office, he was neither unduly impressed nor bothered by it, both reactions she had seen before. He was more interested in the artwork. She had a collection of illustrated maps on the walls, of the city, and of the world as it was reported to be outside Zanarkand. She ushered him out so she could lock up, and they rode down to the main entrance. He watched her as the public and staff filed out of the building, then they exited as the security staff locked up behind them. Automatically, he clasped her hand as she steered them someplace they could get a drink and conversation. She was too tired for anything else tonight.
"Why do you do that?" he asked, once they were settled.
"You mean work at night, or the closing thing?"
"Both, either?" he queried.
"I work Thursday nights so I don't have to get up early Thursday mornings after a Wednesday night performance. I get such a rush, onstage; it's pretty hard to go to sleep afterwards. And I'm not a morning person. The closing thing, well, sometimes people don't want to leave at closing time, the public, I mean. Sometimes, they just get mean, and security handles them. Other times, they want to talk to someone in charge about how their taxes pay for the Archives and they knew Lord so-and-so and they basically want to be shown some respect, or they want someone to prove that there's a written rule why they can't stay late, and they won't accept it from anyone except the person in charge, and, if I'm there, then it's my job."
"Do you have to work at night?" he was still puzzled.
"Not anymore, but then I'd have to make some other arrangements for Thursday mornings. Ugh!" she said with a grimace.
"Auron, tell me about your journey, the one you and your friends took, please?"
Inwardly, his mind reeled. He wanted to tell her, but how? What to omit, so she didn't think him mad? Braska was safe, but not Jecht, and not Zanarkand, or Yevon, or Sin, or the Aeons, or the fayth, or the Summoning, or Yunalesca, or who knew what else. He told her as much as he could. He didn't lie, he just edited. A great deal.
She could tell that a lot was unsaid. It didn't matter right now. What he did say had the ring of truth. She assumed that the omissions were simply too painful to say aloud. It was clear he had lost two people who were very precious to him. She wondered if she was the first person he had told even this much. She wondered if there was any way she could ease his suffering.
Even saying this much had been cathartic, a release of long-pent up grief. He hadn't shared this much of himself with anyone in a long time, maybe too long. There had been no one for him to turn to since he had lost Braska, and Jecht. Why this woman, this time, this place?
Just then, she noticed the time on the clock over the bar. Ouch, it was later than she thought. She tended to lose track of time when she was with Auron. She leaned her head against his shoulder, rubbed her face against his coat, wishing it was bare skin. She looked up at him through half closed lids, and spoke without thinking, "I'm tired, love, take me home." Her face colored as she realized what she had said, but decided that he could take it however he wanted to, she was too tired to worry about her subconscious right now. He was more than a little stunned, but thought she couldn't have meant the word seriously, so he just slapped some coins on the table, and nodded in agreement. The rose and headed for her place.
The moment of shock on his face made her wonder if he would keep away from her as they walked the rest of the way back to her building, but the habit was already too established. He laced his fingers with hers as soon as they were both standing, and didn't let go until they reached her door.
He felt too unsure of his ground to risk saying anything, and she was too tired to trust herself to speak, so they had walked in silence on the trip to her apartment. On the ride in the elevator, he had broken it to ask, "Do you sing tomorrow night?"
"Yes, same place as last Friday."
"What time?"
"We usually try for a slot between 10 and 11, but the place gets packed by 9:00. You should come before that if you want a decent table. You were lucky last week to get such a good spot." Up to you, she thought to herself.
At her door, he released her hand, and stepped back. Now that they had arrived, he was afraid to touch her. He had promised her that they would wait until she was ready. Until there was more time. He could see how tired she was. It would be so easy to come into the apartment with her, now. Stay the night, just to sleep. She slept in his arms last night, on the couch. Why not tonight? Because tomorrow morning before she had to go to work was probably not exactly what she had in mind, either. He wasn't sure he could resist temptation if he touched her again, not when her apartment was just on the other side of the door. He tried to keep temptation a safe distance away, uncertain of the right thing to do.
This is insane. One misplaced word, and he's practically put up all the barriers again, or so it seemed to her. Maybe I'm just tired, and this will all seem ridiculous in the morning. Or I'll seem ridiculous in the morning. They stared at each other, neither certain what to do, what to say.
He wanted to kiss her goodnight, but knew he wouldn't want to stop. Talking with her, tonight, about the pilgrimage, he understood better what she had meant the previous evening. They might have more between them. Comfort, understanding, sharing. Not just sex. Emotions he wasn't ready to put a name to. Pushing her before she was ready, or when she was too tired, wouldn't help.
In complete confusion, he said her name. Just her name, at first. "Mercy." It was almost a plea. Then, with more control of himself, "Good night, my lady." He turned, and plodded slowly down the hall, toward the elevator.
She replied quietly, not even sure he could hear, "Good night, Auron," and turned to unlock the door. He managed three steps down the hallway. That was all. He turned on his heel. It only took him two to return to her. Then his hands were on her arms, spinning her around to face him. He used his weight to pin her to the door as his mouth claimed hers. Only when he felt her hands grip his arms in return did he let go of her, to draw the length of her against his taller body. She twined her arms around his neck, as her back arched. His only coherent thought was that they needed to stay on this side of the door if he was going to keep his promise. She placed her hands on either side of his face, standing on her toes so she could kiss him this time, long and deep. She tried to use her arms around his neck to balance out the difference in their height, as he held her close in his arms, his hands under the light jacket she wore. With a groan, his hand dropped low against her backside, pressed her hips against his. She ground her hips against him, and they kissed deeply. Inspiration struck. He looped an arm under her, and lifted her until her legs could lock around his waist, while her arms draped around his neck. With her back against the door, they could stay like this for a long time.
Time just disappeared. Any neighbor with a security cam pointed toward her door got one hell of a show. Their kisses were long, deep, sometimes fast, sometimes achingly slow. If he leaned over, he could suck her nipples through her shirt, which drove her insane. Her reaction, and his own, almost sent him over the edge. She licked the pulse point in his neck, sucked his ear, nibbled his lower lip, whatever seemed likely to make him lose control. His hands were on the bare skin of her back, under her shirt. His hands were warm, her skin was on fire. They only eased off when her ankles began to unlock of their own accord.
They were both breathless, and he had to hold her up for a while, her knees were weak, her ankles, too. She giggled a little. "What are you thinking?" he asked. His voice was even huskier than usual.
"I was wondering if higher heels would solve this problem."
"A bed would solve this problem," he growled low in response.
"Soon," she purred in response. It was time to call it a night, she thought, before that soon became now. Even tomorrow night would normally be too soon, but she felt that this, this whatever it was, wasn't really normal anyway.
He thought he'd probably just said enough. He also knew enough about Zanarkand after five years to realize that tomorrow night there would be enough time. All he had to do was wait. He had no desire to wait. His desires were all for now. "Then I will see you tomorrow night." Suddenly, the words were filled with a double meaning.
"Yes."
"Farewell, my lady."
She closed the door behind her, got ready for bed, tried to think through a tangle of heated memories, sexual anticipation, emotional overload, fading adrenaline, and exhaustion. She was too tired to sleep. She lay awake, thinking about Auron. Not just the sexual heat, although that was part of it. She was no shy virgin; she'd had lovers before. It hadn't been like this. This was like standing on the edge of a volcano. No, wrong metaphor. This was like being the volcano. It's been dormant a long time, but now it's awake. But it's awake because of everything else. He accepts me as I am. I think. He doesn't seem to flinch at anything I do that's important to me, like my music or my martial arts training. Most of the men I've even thought about seeing want me to give up one or the other, or both. Instead, the music fascinates him, and the martial arts are a shared interest. That's got to be rare for him, too.
It's been a long time since I've told anyone about Daf. Or about my folks. People think I should be over it somehow. It's hard to open up that much. But he really listened. It was good to lean on someone, for a little while, knowing it wouldn't mean he thought I was weak. He leaned on me, too, I think. He probably told me more about himself than he's told anyone in years. But, some of those places aren't on any official map I've ever seen. Besaid, Kilika, José? Still, I swear he was telling the truth as he saw it. There's more to his story. He'll tell me when he's ready.
Why did I call him 'love' earlier? Because I was tired, and it just slipped out, I guess. Slipped out of where? Your heart, you idiot. Don't you know the truth when you hear it? She sat up in bed with a jerk. I'm falling in love with him. Oh bloody hell. That changes everything.
Auron walked home slowly. He still had too much on his mind. Most of it to do with Mercy. Why had he told her so much about the pilgrimage? She would know half of it didn't match this Zanarkand, and she would think he was out of his mind. Does it really matter what she thinks, as long as you get into her bed? That voice was his own, undoubtedly his baser instincts. I'm clearly not getting enough sleep. Maybe I am going out of my mind.
It mattered very much what she thought. He had been alone too long. Yes, he wanted to get into her bed, but it was more than that. He enjoyed their conversations, and their silences. He had missed friendship, and now, he had that back again. The closeness to another person, someone he could share his thoughts and feelings with. And when she had called him 'love' in the café tonight, his heart had stopped beating.
He had to sit down. I'm falling in love with her, he thought. By the fayth, now what? He could not love her and not tell her the truth, about himself, about this Zanarkand, about everything. She would probably think he was a lunatic and show him the door. He smiled to himself, but the smile was sad around the edges. He would just have to love her so well that she would be willing to keep him around, even if she did think he was crazy. It was worth trying. She would believe him eventually, he realized. Her life had already been touched by Sin. More soberly, he thought, they would have five years, and then he would have to take the boy, and return to Spira, to fulfill his promises to Jecht, and Braska. And when Jecht destroyed the city…his gloved fist broke through the wooden bench, raining splinters on the ground below.
…Spira…
On Spira, in a cold camp in the Macalania Woods, Auron had fallen into a fitful sleep. In restless dreams, he called for mercy, mercy. Wakka, on last watch, heard the older guardian, but thought it must be a nightmare, an imagined fight, that someone was begging Auron for mercy. The young blitz captain couldn't imagine that the legendary guardian had ever lost a fight in his life, let alone begged for mercy.
End Chapter five