A/N: Wow, it's really been more than a year since I've updated this, and it's probably half a miracle that I'm posting this at all. I won't go into all the details, because I'm sure no one is that interested, but I'll give you the short version. This story was almost done in its rough form when I posted the previous chapter - then my computer decided to commit (not so)honorable suicide, taking all of my writing with it. The story was not backed up, and was gone forever. My soul left my body, and my motivation vanished. It took a lot to get me to start writing it again, because nothing I write is ever as good the second time around no matter how I try to replicate it. Then the computer required reformatting again, and stupid me-who-had-not-learned-her-lesson had yet again not backed up any files. So, writing for the third time now, I've finally dredged up the effort to complete a whole chronologically-sound chapter. And I hate it, but it's getting posted anyway. I don't know how often I'll be working on this, but remembering the fondness with which I worked on this story in its beginning stages makes me want to finish it eventually. Big thank yous to anyone who is reading and has the patience to put up with me. You rock.

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"Locke, is this right? Locke? You aren't even watching!"

It was Terra's voice that called to him, pulling him from a self-induced reverie. Blinking a couple of times, his vision returned to the scene at hand on the roof of the north tower. Terra was watching him expectantly, the slim knife still poised in her hand. He gave her an apologetic smile, straightening from the wall where he had been leaning.

"Sorry, Terra, the wind must have thrown a little sand in my eyes," he made an excuse, realizing belatedly that it was among the lamest he could have chosen. Terra seemed not to notice; she just nodded and repeated the movement of her arm, focusing totally on the blade she clutched.

"No," Locke said as soon as she had finished, walking toward her and reaching out, adjusting the position of her wrist. "If you do it like that, you're liable to break your wrist when using a lot of force. Holding it like so will prevent that."

"Oh," Terra nodded, smiling gratefully. "Let me try once more, okay?"

"Mm-hmm," Locke nodded, stepping back again and watching as she executed the move. "Much better. Once you get the hang of that, I can show you a few defense techniques." Terra grinned at him, lifting one hand to wipe the tendrils of stubborn hair that were clinging to her forehead out of her eyes.

"Thanks, Locke," she said, her gaze moving to focus on the third member of their group. "Celes? Are you sure you don't want to learn some of this with me?" Locke turned his face, looking over at blonde figure that sat on the wide stone ledge of the rampart, leaning against the junction of the makeshift bench and the wall behind it. Her knees were pulled up against her chest, her arms wrapped around her shins as she rested her chin on her knees. She gave a small dismissive wave of one hand, watching Terra through partially-lidded eyes.

"I'll stick to my swordplay, Terra."

"Suit yourself," the petite woman shrugged at her friend before returning to practicing the moves she had cajoled Locke into teaching her. Locke sighed quietly, squinting as he approached the edge of the tower to survey the shimmering sands beyond.

It was hotter than Locke found comfortable, but hiding out on the isolated tower definitely beat the chaos that was Figaro castle below them. It hadn't taken him long to discover that preparing a wedding ranked up at the top of his least-favorite-things-to-do list, right along with doubleshift duty in Figaro's chocobo stables or facing off against the entire imperial army blinded and missing one arm. At least with the imperial army he'd get a quick death; the wedding was on its third week of planning and counting.

He found himself sinking down next to Celes, smiling hesitantly as he leaned forward on his knees and tried to catch her eyes.

"Tired?"

"Try exhausted. Exhausted and annoyed out of my mind," Celes grumbled, her eyes remaining stubbornly closed. Locke snickered sympathetically.

"I can't say that I know how you feel…"

"Then don't."

"I wasn't going to."

"Good."

Locke smiled at the exchange, leaning back slightly and propping himself up with his palms. It hadn't been easy, but Locke had finally found a sort of medium when dealing with Celes. Having Terra around made things less awkward, and frankly he enjoyed Celes' company too much to give much of a fight. As long as he was able to keep thoughts of the wedding out of his mind, it was easy enough to ignore the future and enjoy the present.

"You know, it wouldn't hurt for you to train a little with Terra," Locke spoke again. "You never know when you might find yourself in a tight spot with no sword in sight."

"Locke."

"Yes?"

"No. Give it up."

"Fine, fine, I give," Locke sighed, scuffing his heel against the worn stone floor and looking back in Terra's direction. Persuading Celes into anything, it seemed, was like pulling teeth.

When Celes' head fell against his shoulder Locke started, but to his credit he did not jump or pull away. He looked down at the blonde hair falling across his arm and gave into a surprised but pleased smile. He wasn't sure how awake Celes was, but he didn't want to disturb her if she found a way to sleep out in the sun and blistering heat.

He looked up when something moved in his peripheral vision, and he found himself staring up at a grinning Terra. She gestured to Celes, obviously amused.

"How do I get her off of me?" Locke wanted to know, embarrassed by Terra's expression. Terra shook her head, her smile never wavering.

"You don't," she said, her tone pleased as she sheathed the knife she had been using and set it on the ledge next to Locke. She sank down to the floor, sitting comfortably to rest in the midmorning heat. "Looks like you're stuck for now, Locke."

"If she's so tired, she should just go back to bed," Locke muttered, feeling a little self-conscious now that Terra was watching them.

"That wouldn't work," she informed Locke. "She'd have to get past all the maids and stuff first, and you know every time she gets within five feet of any of them they feel the need to mob her with questions."

"She should lock her bedroom door then," Locke suggested.

"Wouldn't work. They've got keys," Terra pointed out, smiling when Celes let out a disgruntled snort.

"Don't you think I would have tried that by now, Locke?" she demanded, her voice still the only indication she was awake at all. "I can't even get a decent night's sleep, you know, because people constantly seem to have the need to ask me any sort of ridiculous question they can come up with. As if I really care one way or another about hairstyles, and napkins, and … and banister sashes!"

"Banister sashes?" Locke repeated with a snort of amusement that he tried to cover up with a cough. Celes was suddenly upright, her face alight with the fire of an impending tirade as she looked at him.

"That's what I said! This morning, at the crack of dawn, what do you think they wanted to ask me? 'Why, what color of fabric would you like for the banister sashes, Miss Celes? The periwinkle or the cornflower blue?' I mean, come on, banister sashes?! And aren't those two colors practically the same anyway? And they all just stood there, staring like I was the crazy one when I didn't answer right away …!" Locke couldn't contain his amusement any longer; he was practically doubled over with mirth, laughing uncontrollably as he hunched over his knees. He barely had the breath to yelp as Celes promptly swatted at his arm, glaring at him with an expression that clearly conveyed he'd better shut up if he knew what was good for him.

"S-sorry," he gasped out, trying to suppress his laughter. "But it's just … banister sashes? Edgar actually wants to have … banister sashes? That's …" he collapsed into giggles again, rubbing the heel of one hand against his eyes in attempt to clear his vision. Terra was chuckling along with him, more amused by his behavior then the actual topic of conversation, and Celes' indignant expression slowly caved to a hesitant but amused smile.

"Locke, it's not funny. Honestly. I have to put up with that sort of thing all the time."

"But … can you imagine Edgar? Telling some planner or another that … that the banisters need draping?" Locke said, snickering between words. Celes' suppressed smile finally gave way to a full-blown grin, and she sighed in defeat of the argument.

"Yes, Locke, I know it's ridiculous. But I doubt it was Edgar's idea in the first place. Some of the planners have been getting … a bit overzealous," she explained.

"Doesn't really matter. It's still funny," Locke insisted. "Oh, Sabin is going to die when I tell him this …" He trailed off into laughter once more, only to be interrupted by a voice from the stairwell door.

"When you tell Sabin what?"

The three of them turned to find Setzer leaning casually against the frame, a slightly bemused expression on his pale face. Locke sobered at the sight of him, though he couldn't rid himself of his amused grin.

"Setzer! Did you know they're getting banister sashes?" Locke asked him, amusement coloring his voice as Setzer stared at him blankly. The pilot slowly straightened, walking toward the trio with languid steps.

"Locke. What are you going on about?"

"Just ignore him, Setzer," Celes sighed, a bit impatient with Locke's strange fixation on the subject. Setzer seemed to accept that, nodding as he looked over the three of them.

"What are you doing up here anyway? Hiding?"

"Basically," Locke nodded.

"And why, might I ask?" Setzer asked. Locke rolled his eyes.

"Have you even been down there? It's insane! If you don't make yourself scarce, you just get sucked in."

"Well, it's a good thing I've been busy with repairs for the Blackjack then, hmm?" Setzer smiled thinly. "Anyway. Ladies, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to borrow Locke for a while."

"Oh?" Terra asked, interested. Locke's amusement drained from him nearly immediately; the moment of sheer forgetfulness was gone, slamming reality back around him harshly. He didn't like that look on Setzer's face.

"Yes. You seem to have forgotten your fitting, Locke. You were to be there twenty minutes ago."

"Fitting?" Locke repeated hesitantly.

"Yes. For your suit?" Setzer said, rolling his eyes. "Honestly. Do you ever remember anything?"

"I don't want to go to a stupid fitting!" Locke protested. He squawked in surprise when Celes suddenly grabbed his wrist, the sound twisting into a cry of protest as Celes thrust his arm out toward the pilot.

"Here. Take him."

"Celes! You traitor!" Locke cried, frowning as he was passed off to Setzer and yanked to his feet.

"We could use the peace and quiet," Celes said, shrugging as though it made perfect sense. Locke glowered, and Terra laughed a little.

"It'll be fine, Locke! Don't you want a suit that fits you well?" she pointed out. Locke made a face at her, and Setzer jostled his elbow gently.

"She's right, Locke. Don't be such a child. Let's go," he urged, giving Locke a little shove toward the stairs before nodding at Celes and Terra. "Ladies." They watched the two go, Locke protesting loudly as Setzer had to repeatedly shove him along until they disappeared down the stairwell. The two looked at each other, dissolving into laughter only when the two men were out of sight.

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"I hate it," Locke said, trying to keep any petulance from his voice as he scowled at his reflection in the tall mirror. In actuality the suit was very nice; the material was dark and expensive, and even without tailoring it made him look very dashing. For any other occasion, Locke would likely have been thrilled to have it.

For this occasion, however, Locke was determined to protest everything.

"It suits you, Locke," Setzer said, glancing over at him from where he stood pulling at the cuffs of his own suit. "You look surprisingly respectable."

"I don't care, I still hate it," Locke insisted, tearing the jacket off and tossing it on a nearby chair. His fingers struggled with the complex array of buttons keeping him inside the pressed linen shirt and cummerbund. Setzer had assumed that 'it' referred to the garment he was currently strewing about the room, but Locke meant it in a broader sense. He hated the whole ordeal, the very idea of what they were planning to dress up for. The sour look on his face was enough to make Setzer snicker.

"It won't kill you to dress up for once in your life, Cole," he reprimanded lightly. Locke glowered at him.

"How would you know?" he shot back, and Setzer shook his head.

"You're hopeless. You know that, right?"

"Is something wrong?" Sabin's voice cut into their conversation from behind the partition separating them from the next room where the tailors had been working on him; a moment later the blond prince appeared, dressed in a regal looking outfit that was placed crookedly on his frame. Sabin wasn't much accustomed to dressing up either, it seemed, despite his heritage.

"Locke refuses to look decent," Setzer informed Sabin, gesturing one graceful hand toward Locke's shirtless figure.

"I don't like the suit!" Locke announced loudly, going a bit red-faced from all the attention. Sabin laughed outright, crossing the room to slap Locke encouragingly on the back. The blow temporarily winded Locke, though Sabin didn't seem to notice.

"I don't much care for mine either, little brother!" Sabin said cheerfully. "Feels like I can hardly move in this thing. But we must endure for the good of the cause, right?"

"Whatever," Locke said sullenly, stomping over to the nearest chair and throwing himself into it carelessly. Setzer shook his head as he surveyed Sabin.

"Don't you even know how to dress yourself?" he asked, moving to yank Sabin's collar into its proper place. Sabin gave a whine of protest, pulling away once Setzer had adjusted the garment.

"Lay off, Setzer! Some of us don't like getting frilled up on a daily basis, right Locke?" He looked in Locke's direction, his eyes pleading for backup, and Locke sighed.

"Well, Setzer does seem to be enjoying this a bit too much," he admitted, and Sabin grinned triumphantly.

"See?"

"See what?" Setzer frowned. "I happen to have the good sense to appreciate a little bit of class when I can. These outfits are expensive. Edgar really went for the best for everything."

"Why shouldn't he? He likes this formal junk as much as you, Setzer," Sabin said, turning to see himself in the mirror. "This looks good enough, right?"

"Sure," Setzer said coolly. "Providing you have someone to help you straighten it on the wedding day." Sabin mock-scowled at the pilot, but then he grinned and nodded, recognizing the words for the teasing that they were.

"Then I'm just going to go with this one. I'm tired of trying on clothes," he said, then looked to his younger friend. "Locke? Didn't your suit work for you?"

"He hates it," Setzer interjected. "If you didn't hear him the first hundred times."

"Well I do!" Locke huffed, crossing his arms over his bare chest defensively. Sabin looked to Setzer.

"But it looked all right on him?" he asked.

"It was fine. Hardly even needs tailoring," Setzer nodded.

"Good! We're all set, then!" Sabin grinned, shrugging out of his own jacket and walking back across the room to hang it properly. Locke resisted the growling sound building in his throat.

"I still hate it," he muttered under his breath. The other two didn't hear him, but it made him feel a little better all the same. He quickly pulled on his own clothes, ignoring the light conversation of the others as he finished dressing and headed for the door.

He left the room feeling angry and restless. Shoving his hands as deeply into his pockets as he could, he stomped down the corridor with his head tilted toward the floor as he walked outside into the glaring midday heat. As much as he wanted to get away from all of this wedding stuff, he knew he couldn't. He'd be letting down his family if he refused to participate, and the thought of that made him feel even worse than he already did. So he would wear the suit, go through the motions, and try to ignore the sickening feeling building in the pit of his stomach.

As much as this was turning out to look like the wedding of the century, Locke couldn't help but feel like he was preparing for a funeral.

The sun beat down, as hot as ever, offering Locke no solace.

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Days melded together, blurring in Locke's memory as everything else whirled around him in a flurry of bustle and action. Fleeting hours spent with Celes and Terra were often the only spots of normalcy he felt anymore. Edgar and Sabin were always busy with something, and he didn't feel much like talking to them anyway.

He was on constant edge, sometimes feeling like a stranger in his own life. He didn't eat often, slept too much, and had all but ceased leaving Figaro's gates. Edgar had often reprimanded him for being flighty in the past, but now he didn't feel like giving the effort to go anywhere. Wandering didn't hold the same appeal it once did.

Now he sat, curled in his open window, staring out at the bright field of stars in the sky above Figaro. He felt oddly calm and detached, despite knowing what day it was.

The wedding was tomorrow.

It had crept up on him despite his knowing that it was an affair that had been as rushed as possible. Dignitaries and Empire officials would be arriving throughout the night, to witness the wedding without the displeasure of having to be a guest in enemy territory for too long. Locke didn't know who was coming. He didn't much care, if he really thought about it.

He hadn't ever felt this alone and unsure, even as a child orphaned at too young an age. He sighed, leaning his forehead against his knees and taking in a long breath.

Tomorrow was going to hurt. Badly. And he was ashamed to admit it to himself.

A knock startled him from his brooding, echoing loudly in his otherwise silent chamber. Locke sent the door a baleful look, wishing for a moment that whoever it was would just go away. He didn't want to talk to anyone right now.

The knock came again, louder and more persistent. Locke gave a growling sigh, relenting without much fight.

"Come in," he called, turning his face back to the view the window provided. He heard the door open quietly, the faint grinding of the hinges the only hint that it had been moved. He listened to it close again; the visitor had yet to announce their presence.

"Locke," a soft voice finally said, and Locke looked up, startled. Of all the people it could have been, Celes stood a few paces in from his door, arms crossed nervously as she watched him calmly.

"Hi," he said softly, unwilling to move from his position in the window seat, unsure of what to say. She smiled a little in what might have been relief, her face losing its initial edginess.

"Hi," she replied.

"Something wrong?" Locke asked, wondering what could have brought her here at a time like this. He'd already wished her luck for tomorrow, fighting back his emotions as best he could as she had smiled sadly at him and gave his hand a squeeze in reply. That had been hard enough. What could she want now?
"No," she replied quietly. "Nothing wrong. Can I come in?"

"You already did," Locke pointed out, but he motioned for her to come closer anyway. The other half of the window seat was empty; he gestured at it in offering. Smiling her thanks, she quietly climbed up across from Locke to take a seat on the sill. She clasped her hands across one knee, looking unsure and a little bit uncomfortable. She looked out at the sky for a while, chewing on her bottom lip absently. Locke watched her, then gave up with a sigh and turned his attention back to the stars.

"Nice night," he commented, feeling the need to say something but unable to come up with anything less lame. Without the constant presence of Terra as a sort of buffer between them, Locke felt awkwardness come creeping back. He didn't know what to do.

"Yeah," Celes agreed softly, her gaze faraway and surprisingly sad. Locke was reminded with startling clarity of the expression he had seen on her face the first day they had met, as she had watched her home grow distant and disappear on the horizon from the Blackjack's deck. Coming to Figaro had been hard for her, but the hardest part hadn't really happened yet. Tomorrow wasn't going to be hard for only him, it seemed.

"See anything good?" he asked, turning his attention back to her face. She glanced over at him, noticing his staring, and flushed a bit. Turning her face away again to hide it, she gave a small shrug.

"It doesn't look the same, somehow," she sighed, leaning forward to clutch her knees to her chest as she rested her cheek against one kneecap. "I mean, I know those are the same stars up there, but … they look different here. Than at Vector, I mean."

"Oh," Locke said plainly, unable to think of a better reply. His hand shifted restlessly on the sill next to him; he clasped his hands together to still them. They were silent for a moment, and then Celes made a noise of frustration.

"I'm sorry. I know I'm not making sense," she said, giving him a slightly contrite smile. Locke shrugged, waving it off.

"I think I get it," he assured her.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean … you can't go backward. Nothing's ever the same, even if you try to go back later … right?" Locke said.

"Right," Celes agreed, smiling more sincerely. Locke found himself returning the expression, despite himself.

"So … it's late, Celes. What can I do for you?" he asked, still curious about her presence. Celes sighed, her expression fading.

"I just … needed to talk to you. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just tell me what I can do?" he urged, sitting up a bit more to prove he was listening. Celes looked nervous, but determined.

"I don't want things to change, Locke. After tomorrow, I mean," she explained. "I just feel like we've reached some sort of friendship, at least, and I'd like for it to grow. I don't want to lose it, just because tomorrow is …" She trailed off, knowing she didn't have to finish. Locke nodded; he understood.

"Yeah."

"So, is that okay? I mean, can we stay like this? As friends?" Celes continued. At some point one of her hands had reached out to meet his. One of his hands had untangled itself without his knowing, twining with hers between them. He stared at their hands, and found himself nodding.

"Of course, Celes," he said, and then she was smiling again even as she let out a tiny strangled sob. Locke's eyes widened. She wasn't crying, was she …?

"Celes?" he asked, unsure. He made a small noise of surprise when she suddenly threw herself at him, her arms coming up around his shoulders as he automatically opened his arms to her. "Celes, what's wrong?" She just shook her head, her frame shaking slightly as she bit her lip to keep herself silent. Locke allowed himself to hug her, worry prevailing over anything else he might have normally been concerned about. It was a long moment before she spoke.

"I know I have to do this," she said, her voice thick with suppressed emotion. "But Locke, I don't want to! Why should I have to do this? What did I do?"

"Celes," Locke said helplessly. "You didn't do anything. Come on, don't talk like that." Her behavior was a bit frightening, actually. She had always seems so sure of herself, so resigned to the task she had been given. She understood these things better than Locke, but now … she was acting as Locke probably would have in her place. Resentful, anguished, almost afraid. He tightened his arms around her without thinking.

She didn't say anything more, just sagged against him more heavily and continued to cry, trying in vain to stifle her tears for what seemed like a long time to Locke. She finally quieted on her own but didn't make a move, seeming content to stay close to him. Locke wasn't about to protest either; he let his chin rest on top of her head, absently running his hand down her hair in a repetitive motion as he turned his eyes once again toward the night sky.

They sat together in silence on the sill, and Locke found that he actually felt almost at peace regardless of the situation. He felt himself relaxing despite himself, and his eyes grew heavier as exhaustion finally caught up with him. Celes seemed to be in a similar state, so he decided to let go. Sleep was upon him almost instantly.

He awoke to an aching, nagging pain in his neck, and very carefully straightened up as he winced and mumbled irritated words under his breath. He was still in the window sill, sagged down and twisted up all uncomfortably in the hard perch. It was colder than he remembered, and as he turned his eyes to the sky he saw the dark blue-grey of a cloudy pre-dawn. Had he really slept all night in the window? Had Celes …?

He bolted upright, his back protesting the movement as pain laced up his spine and into his shoulders. He ignored it, looking around the room. He was alone. Well, he should have expected that. Celes had no business staying around in his room; she'd likely removed herself sometime after he'd fallen asleep, had probably not wanted to disturb his sleep. He knew she had known he wasn't sleeping well, somehow. Maybe she'd been able to see it on his face; any sleep he did get was fitful and unrestful, leaving him waking even more miserable than when he went to sleep.

Standing cautiously on slightly wobbly legs, Locke rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes for a moment as he fought away the last vestiges of sleepiness from his mind. It was too close to day to think about going back to sleep, and he would not likely have been able to sleep again anyway. Lethargy was melting away into a higher alertness, and Locke was reminded what day it was. He gave a heavy sigh, casting one last listless glance out the window before turning to stagger back into his room. It was the day of the wedding; for all of his careful aversion, there was no way he could ignore it any longer.

There was no way he was ready. No way at all.

Continued