The beginning… sucks. But I'm pleased with the ending, and the beginning is necessary in order to have the ending, so…

I hope I haven't made too many technical errors in relation to the game. It's been a long time since I last played. This especially applies to some of the dialogue; I couldn't find a script online and didn't have time to play the game through again, so I had to go with memory and cross-reference with a few other fics out there. Unfortunately, I can't remember which they were… but theoretically, it's dialogue from the game. You'll know it when you see it.

There's no quotation marks around the dialogue in this. I did that on purpose, as a sort of experiment, since I've seen it in a few books and it's very powerful when done correctly. The theory is that it adds a surrealistic or detached sort of effect to the story, but we'll just have to see, won't we?

Thanks to both Saranomy and Riona for betaing, especially since they've never played Golden Sun before and were willing to help me out anyway.

Disclaimer: I don't own Golden Sun or GS: TLA or any of its characters. I just own this fic and its plot, that's all.

Warnings: Contains spoilers for the scenes during/just after the Jupiter Lighthouse in TLA. And shounen-ai, but in all honestly, that's hardly something you need to be warned about.

Have you forgotten all I know,
And all we had?
You saw me mourning my love for you
And touched my hand
I knew you loved me then

- 'Taking Over Me' by Evanescence

=====================

leave me broken

He always loved the rain.

I did, too – I think all Venus Adepts have an affinity for the rain – but Felix reveled in it. There was something about it that piqued his interest, how it was cleansing, purifying, but wild and cold. He loved to stand out in the rain at night, sopping wet and hair plastered to his skull, eyes shut and serene smile on his lips. I never saw him smile anywhere else the way he did in the rain (beautiful like October roses or the tender kisses of angels).

And… that was how I met him, sort of. We'd always known each other, grew up together, I was best friends with his sister, et cetera. But he was always somewhat of an enigma to me, a puzzle waiting to be solved, always watching from the sidelines with a little knowing smile on his face.

One night, during one of the thunderless rainstorms that frequent our town, something woke me. What, I don't know; but sleep eluded me then, so I went to the window to watch the rain. In the shadows that danced distorted among the rain (drops splatter on the panes and reveal to me reality), a figure was moving, and somehow I knew it was him. I don't know what possessed me to follow him, but I did. And when he reached the upper levels of the town, standing by one of the waterfalls, he turned, eyes closed (oh unattainable dream).

I just stood there, watching him, marveling. And then he opened his eyes, and I realized that he had known I was there all along. Then he smiled at me, and, hesitantly, I came to stand beside him, and we simply stood together in the rain.

It became something of a game between us. Any night it rained, he would slip out into the dark, and I would follow. Sometimes it was difficult to keep up, but if I ever fell behind he would wait for me, inconspicuously, so it would look as though I had caught up myself. We never went to the same place twice, but there was one consistency between the places Felix chose to stand: they all overlooked the river. So we would stand there in the rain, watching the river swell and burst like a caged monster, and I would drink in the power of his presence.

But we never talked. It was one of the unspoken rules of the game.

I'm not sure when I fell in love with him. There was always a sense of respect, almost awe or worship for this boy I believed so perfect. I think it started with one of those admiring crushes, when you emulate someone so highly, but you don't yet understand the emotions that fuel the word "romance." And gradually it developed into something more, as I suppose these things do. I grew older and matured and learned things about him that redefined my understanding of "perfect," but what imperfections he had merely strengthened my feelings. And no matter how much I learned about him, he remained a mystery, a locked box whispering of secrets contained within, privy to the one with the key to open it. It drew me in (sweet nectar like bees to honey).

Ironic how the waters he loved so dearly were what took him in the end. And more ironic still how I mourned for him when he was not truly lost (how many tears did I shed for you? And do you even care?). When he finally reappears, three years later and presumed dead, he is with those… who took the life of my father, of his parents, and, I had thought, him.

Three years… it changes many things. Even he is not impervious to the passage of time. As we stand here, I watch him: three years older, three years handsomer, three years… colder.

=======

All right, Felix! I step forward, demanding. This lighthouse is making me edgy, and I bet Iris it's making him edgy, too. We want to know what's going on!

Kraden is speaking, but I don't listen. I'm too busy trying to make eye-contact with him, but he's avoiding my gaze (look at me, damnit, why won't you look at me?). There's more angered voices, then Ivan's reasoning: Look, I don't think any of us are in any shape for another fight right now.

What do you mean, Ivan? I don't want logic right now. I want answers, I want to understand, I want him to look at me and make everything right again like it was before. Felix owes us an explanation! (you hurt me… you hurt me so much…)

More talking, an agreement to return to Contigo; What do you say, Felix? Can we talk there?

He inclines his head, affirmation, but still he does not speak. And I might wonder, were it raining, but it's not (you may have forgotten). He is still sullen and avoids my eyes.

He's changed, he's changed so much. It hurts. I understood him. He slips through my fingers now, like grains of sand, his actions cold and his speech indifferent. Have I changed, too? (It would be your fault, if I have.) I know he may not remember… but I can't forget what he was. Yet at the same time, I'll never stop loving what he is.

But he has changed.

As we're leaving, headed for the elevator that will return us to the bottom (ironic, after that long trek up, is it not?), I cannot help but throw some parting over my shoulder. I'm annoyed; annoyed that he won't speak to me, annoyed that he can act, so easily, like this is nothing. Like I am nothing (am I nothing to you?).

We'll be waiting for you, so don't think you can sneak off again! (because… I'd follow you to the ends of the earth… I already have. I don't think you can deny that, can you?)

=======

This empty house we're in – Ivan's house, surprisingly; it's a small world, is it not? – can barely contain the nine of us who are now crammed inside, elbow to elbow (too close for comfort? Never too close to you). The tension is thick in the air, as though I could cut right through it with my sword. But as the facts begin to fly, shock becomes overbearing, and I cannot discern what disturbs me most.

He betrayed Vale (you betrayed me)…

But… your parents died three years ago, in that storm…

No… they survived… then… so did my father?

The Proxians…. they used him. His parents' safety in return for his services (I'd kill them all over again, if I could).

… and… Weyard will be… destroyed?

… the beacons… must be lit?

The others are loud, debating: how can this be true? I ignore them all, turning this new wealth of information over and over in my head. It makes sense. I believe him (love is blind, they say); of course I want to believe him, because it means that…

Maybe he hasn't changed so much after all.

And I can only wish that were true (but do I really? What would he be like, what would I be like today, if this had never happened? And would we be happy?). Times change, people change… life moves on without you, if you let it. I had almost moved on without him… before. Almost accepted, and then… he came crashing back into my life (like a fallen angel from the heavens? It's funny… you were never one to make an entrance, like that), without warning and without mercy (you stole my heart again that day).

And now they're looking at me, wanting answer from the undeclared leader on the unspoken question (why is it my decision? Must I lead them all like blind puppies? How can they trust... so easily?). I meet their gazes: Garet, Ivan, Mia. Their eyes are asking: Do we help them?

How could I not? (I can deny you nothing.) My answer was decided long ago.

Yes.

There is more banter and discussion on serious subjects (they decide the fate of the world, and yet I do not listen; am I so self-centered?) but soon the talk turns from heavy topics and there is the hesitant, nervous reunion of old friends and the polite, inquisitive introduction of new allies, once enemies. I wonder: should I talk to him? Should I make him meet my gaze and search his eyes for answers until I am satisfied or have drowned in their heavenly depths?

He is lurking, for lack of a better word, in the corner. But he still won't look my way.

Red obstructs my vision for a moment as Jenna seats herself across from me. She regards me silently, analyzing, weighting. I do not think this is a very Jenna-like thing to do. But people change.

He's lonely, I think, she says, following my gaze. Then she leans in close and whispers, Sexual tension and all that, you know. Her eyes are sparkling with suppressed mirth. This is the Jenna I know.

Oh? I raise an eyebrow. Need I inform Mia to watch her delicate step, lest she find herself being wooed into uncompromising positions?

Nah, Jenna says nonchalantly, leaning back, Felix likes blonds.

I can't help it: my eyes flick over to where Sheba is chatting animatedly with Ivan, presumably about some bizarre Jupiter Psynergy or how many ways you can use Mind Read to blackmail your traveling companions. The glance is not lost on Jenna. She laughs.

What do you think he is; some kind of child molester? She's only joking, but I understand her message: he's not interested in Sheba. I laugh along with her and move on.

Have you talked to Garet yet? He hasn't shut up about you the entire trip.

She waggles a finger at me. Nice try, she says. I blink incomprehensively.

You Venus Adepts, she laughs again, You're born conversationalists! She stands to leave and pats me on the head in an annoyingly condescending manner (she got it from you, didn't she? But you always did it to her, never to me). As she does, she leans down and brushes my ear (hot sweet breath so like your own… but not): I wouldn't fret too much about him if I were you. He's closer than you think.

Then she leaves my bewildered self and saunters off to speak with Garet.

=======

I wake to the tapping of raindrops on the stone roof of the inn. The noise is loud, incessant; it occurs to me that rain falls little here, and the houses were built without it in mind.

But it was not the rain that woke me. It was something else, something like instinct, something that pulled me from a deep sleep so suddenly that my eyes snapped open in the dark and I was left gasping for breath, like the aftermath of those too-vivid nightmares that I – and all my companions – am no stranger to. But I was not having one tonight.

I strain my ears for any indication of disturbance, but all that permeates the silence is the steady patter of the raindrops and the regulated snores from Garet. No shadows move, no curtains rustle… but I know what woke me. Smiling softly, I rise and reach for my cloak and scabbard, strapping them on swiftly and silently. It's become second nature after living this way for so long.

I hesitate by the door. There's only one thing left to check, but I'm not really sure I want to know. (Do you remember?) Yet… somehow I don't doubt him, and it fuels my confidence as I scan the room for his bed. Empty. I can't help it: another smile, and I close the door softly on my way out.

I don't know where I'm going. I don't need to. My feet lead me southeast, weaving between empty street vendors and abandoned market. It always marvels me how different things seem at night, without the hustle and bustle of the people, devoid of sound and color. It is another world, a solitary one, keeping its mysteries from all but the few who dare venture into the world of silence and shadow and wonder. The few like me, and like him.

As I move through the deserted streets, I catch a glimpse of shadow and swirl of cape disappearing around a corner ahead of me. The game is on.

He is not easy to track (you never were, always moving like the wind, a whisper long past but not forgotten, hovering in the corner of my eye but when I turn to catch you, you're gone) but I am no stranger to this game, and I follow him, learning all I need from one shadow, one breath, one footstep in the dark.

He leads me (do you know I'm following? It's so hard to tell, but I think you do. This is our game, you know) to the outskirts of town, then through the crumbling archway that marks their gate. Once outside he is much easier to follow, having to stick to the main trail, and his silhouette against the meager light casts shadows upon shadows, dancing on the darkened path. I know, and I know he knows, that we shouldn't be here, alone, on these roads where monsters roam, in the middle of the night. But I am here to watch his back, and somehow I know that he'll have mine (you will, won't you?).

It's a half hour trek to Atteka Inlet, but it's an uneventful one. I'm not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that nothing came out of the dark to get him, or me, and there were no heroics to be performed like in the depths of my crazy fantasies. I followed at a distance, and he never once looked back (but did I want you to? I don't think I truly did).

I lose him momentarily when I enter the glade (a glade? A clearing between cliffs, and a beach on an inlet, undisturbed by the vast truths of the ocean beyond), standing beneath the stone archway that again marks human territory. No monsters enter here. I close my eyes to listen, unperturbed, and through the palpable silence I feel another's eyes on me, watching. And when I look, a shadow flits across the arch above my head, and I follow: pass underneath, climb the ladder (like creatures of stealth we make no sound, an assassin in the night), cross the stone bridge.

There is no one standing on the ledge above the beach, overlooking the Lemurian ship with its strange new wings (mystical wings of Anemos, grant me the power to fly). But the cliff goes higher, so he will, too (closer to the rain, the wind, taste the danger on your lips and the thrill on your tongue). And where he goes, I follow. A cliff is not too high, for him.

I grasp the trees and climb (I am in my Element, and you are, too; we are so alike, that way), climb higher with each one to a new ledge and a new tree, until there are no more to climb. Just a grassy plain above the roaring sea, and a figure, desolate, in the storm.

He's standing at the edge, letting the wind rip through his hair and the rain savage his face, looking for all the world like the perfect, tormented hero. But that's what he is, isn't he? That's what we are.

I think for one wild moment that he is going to jump (test the wings of Anemos, leave me broken), but then the moment passes and he is just Felix standing there, regal and soaking in the storm.

I stop several feet behind him and to his left, uncertain. He doesn't turn, but I think, maybe, he's watching me out of the corner of his eye. And I can only stare. (You're so beautiful and I don't know what I'd do if I lost you…)

Why are you just standing there? he asks, and I can tell he is grinning. He's happiest in the rain. I wonder, would he be as happy… if I wasn't here? (…but I already have, lost you to the rain and the wind and the turbulent waters you loved, you reveled in, lost you in the dark and the cold can't stand it come back so much pain so cold– )

I don't answer him; I can't answer him. My throat is suddenly constricted, my voice hitched and I can't breathe, I'm suffocating but I don't care. (Have you forgotten? Talking is not part of the game.) But I think my silence pains him, for he looks down, then. (and then you came back to me, just like that)

I never meant to hurt you, Isaac.

There's something in his voice, but I can't place it because the wind is howling loud and I don't particularly care besides. (I don't want to lose you again)

And there's nothing to say. What can I say to that? It's okay? No. It's not. He did hurt me. I never gave up on you? I always believed in you? More lies. All lies. But I know… it hurt him, too.

I know, I say.

I walk up beside him, on the edge of the cliff there, and feel the wind rip through my hair and the rain savage my face, and I wonder if I look like him, a perfect, tormented hero. (Is that what I am? Isn't it? …or… is it?)

Suddenly a warm hand slips into mine, and the dripping fingers tangle with my own, gently, carefully. I look up at his face in surprise and he's watching me, searching, and then he smiles. And I smile, too, and we both look out over the raging ocean with our fingers twined together and smiles on our faces.

We don't talk. That's one of the rules of the game.

=========================

Length w/o author rants and song lyrics: 3,022 words.

Yeah. So, that was Isaac/Felix, if you couldn't tell (I guess that'd be Venusshipping?). Sorta one-sided, but then maybe that's just Isaac being dense. ;) Anyway, though I've never posted any of my GS fics before, I tend to write Mudshipping (Isaac/Mia), and if I were to pair Felix with anyone it would probably be Picard or Sheba. Since there's virtually no pairings I dislike, I had to brainstorm for some, and came up with Isaac/Felix and Isaac/Alex. Although now that I've written this, I'd actually like to see some more I/F fics if there are any. Show me a good one and I might become a shipper; I'm very easily swayed. XD Isaac/Alex would probably be pretty interesting, too… although I really can't see it myself.

Note on Venus Adepts liking rain: water = plants grow, ya? Makes sense to me…

Note on Jenna's "child molester" comment: no offense was meant to Lighthouseshippers. I've got no problem with the Felix/Sheba pairing. That was just Jenna being Jenna, and, as Isaac pointed out, she was only joking anyways.

Constructive criticism greatly appreciated! Review, please!