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 this chapter is from a song written and performed by Joan Baez.

Auron didn't bother to relight the fire. He didn't reach for the jug. He wasn't even deceiving himself anymore. He just lay back in the narrow bed, watched the lightning flash across the sky through the window, and remembered Mercy's face as she began to tell him her story that night in Zanarkand.

…Zanarkand…five years ago

They didn't talk much the rest of the way to Heaven's Gate. The silence was…comfortable. He liked it that she didn't need to chatter to fill the quiet. So many women seemed to find it necessary to fill every moment with unnecessary babble. And it was such a relief from the boy's incessant verbal prattle.

When they reached the club, they were lucky enough to find a quiet table in one of the sphere-less rooms, somewhere they could talk with few interruptions. The miniscule tables were made for intimate conversations, necessitating that they sit as much next to as across from each other. Mercy sat to Auron's right. She wanted his free hand to be within easy reach if she needed to make a point. She kept wondering if there was something wrong with his left arm, because of the way he carried it, using his coat as though it were a sling. She assumed she would find out eventually. The table was so small; she had to be careful not to step on his boots when they sat down.

The waitress took their orders, brought their drinks, and left. By some unspoken agreement, she and Auron waited until after the drinks were delivered to begin any serious conversation.
"What happened to your friend? The one whose son you're watching out for?" One thing was immediately clear. Neither of them seemed to be much good at making small talk. It was something they had in common.
"Three of us went on a journey from Bevelle. It's a long story, too complicated to explain now…I'm sorry. Neither of them made it. I…barely did." Auron found himself blinking rapidly, as a phantom pain stabbed through his right eye. Braska…my lord…I wish…you had listened to me. Jecht…you arrogant bastard…I even miss you. Five years had passed. His grief was as fresh as though it were yesterday.
His pain was impossible to ignore, or resist. "No, I'm sorry," she soothed, as she laid her hand over his. The touch eased his wounds, more than he thought possible. He felt warmth spreading from her hand to his.
He asked her the questions that had been puzzling him since the evening before. "Where do the songs come from? How do you decide what to sing?"
"That's not fair. That's two questions." She was laughing, just a little, but stopped when she saw he was truly serious. "People write the songs. I've written some. I wrote 'Seven Wonders', the last song we did tonight. Some are based on my own experience, some, I get from things people tell me, or that I've heard or read about that I'm able to translate into music. 'Seven Wonders' is like that. Sometimes, in life, you experience something, just for a minute maybe, that is so uniquely beautiful, or wonderful, or both, that you just know, no matter what else you do, no matter how miraculous it might be, it will never match that one perfect moment. I wanted to capture that feeling, so, I tried to put it into that song."
Auron just nodded. It seemed that she did understand.
"As for how we choose, Dafydd and I meet for dinner on the nights we perform, and discuss what we're going to play. We always pick six songs, because that's the most we ever get to do."
"How long have you and your 'friend' been performing together?"
Mercy was surprised to see, and hear, jealousy in the question. Well, isn't that interesting.

"Dafydd and I have been performing together since we were in our teens. He's my brother. Adopted, but still my brother." Auron tried to hide it, but he had been on edge when he asked that question, and the tension just flowed away as soon as she said the word 'brother'. None came back at the word 'adopted', either. "I lost my parents just before I turned eighteen. Dafydd's parents are still living, but he and they, are…well…estranged from one another. For a long time, we were all alone in the world. In a lot of ways, we raised each other, I guess."

There was pain there, more than she was ready to tell him at the moment. Now it was his turn to offer her comfort. He slid his hand from under hers and placed his on top, hooking his thumb under her palm. She stared out into the middle distance, seeing only the past. He rubbed his thumb against her palm, bringing her back to the present, back to him. She returned to look at their hands, clasped on the table. It had been a long time since anyone comforted her.

After a minute or two of silence, Auron started to ask another question, but Mercy held up a hand to stop him. "Wait, I get a turn now," smiling at him to take any sting from her words. "Besides watching over your friend's boy, I assume he still is a boy, what do you do with yourself?"
"Tidus is twelve now, and I run a dojo at the edge of the warehouse district. I live above it. That reminds me. Let me see your hands." It was not exactly a request. Something in his voice made it more like something between a request and an order.
This will be interesting, she thought, with some trepidation. Most men are bothered by my 'hobby'. That's what they usually call it. Or damned hobby. Or damned stupid hobby.
He released her left hand, and she placed both hands, palms up, on the table. He shrugged his left arm out of the sling of his coat, so he could use both hands to examine hers. She got the answer to her question about whether or not anything was the matter with his left arm. The answer was a definite 'no'. She just stared. Her pupils dilated, her breathing quickened, and her pulse started going double time, if that was possible. She was suddenly grateful for the beads on her shirt, which hopefully concealed the fact that her nipples must be standing at attention. If the rest of him matched the left arm and shoulder he'd just revealed…her throat had gone dry, but other parts certainly hadn't. Oh my goodness.
He saw her eyes change, the rise and fall of her breasts. His hands covered both of hers, his heart started to pound, and he found himself suddenly grateful for the concealment the table offered. Her knee pressed into his thigh. Their hands clasped on the table. The world began to drop away, as it had earlier, and reduce itself to just the two of them.

The bright chirp of the waitress broke the spell. "Anything else I can get for either of you?"
Auron's bark of "No!" sent her running, but the damage was done. The world was back, for the present.
He removed his dark glasses, in theory to look at her hands more closely. She might as well see what there is to see, he decided.
His glasses slid down his nose so often, she had already seen the scar, just not exactly all of it at once. He must have been pretty before he got that, but then, I never did like pretty men. All she said aloud was "I bet that hurt something awful when you got it."
"It did. I almost didn't make it." She gripped one of his hands, in silent sympathy.
"Back to the matter at hand," he smiled slightly at his own pun. "Your hands."
"Yes."
"There's a pattern of calluses, here, here, and here." He rubbed each spot lightly with an index finger, while cupping the hand in question with one of his own. "I have a similar pattern myself, but yours are not as deep, or as hard." He used one hand to help her feel his hands, but it was clear that she already knew where to look. The intimate contact became more charged by the second. "Mine are from daily sword practice. Yours?"
"Three times a week." She waited for his reaction. This is usually where they cut and run, no pun intended.
"Why?"

Some instinct led her to trust him, so she decided to tell him the whole story. She closed her eyes for a second, to organize her thoughts, and then began, "My parents didn't adopt Dafydd…I did. After I turned eighteen, just before I graduated from Preparatory School, I went to a program set up by the Musicians' Guild for aspiring members to meet each other, and I met Dafydd there. He was thirteen. I was looking for a partner, and a friend, and he was looking for someone to hide behind. We hit it off, applied for our Guild memberships, and started street busking at the summerfaires." She paused, and took a sip from her drink.

"We got to be close. Close enough that he confided in me. Dafydd is homosexual. It's not a secret, and, well, it's just not a big deal anymore. But, at thirteen, it was still something he was coming to terms with. It made our friendship easier, since he was too young for me, and I was of absolutely no interest to him. But his sexual orientation became the last and worst of a long list of reasons why his dad abused him, and the beatings were getting worse. It took me a while to notice the bruises, since Daf always wore long sleeves and long pants, but as the summer got hotter, I saw the marks, and he finally told me." Her eyes flicked up to Auron's face for a moment, then back down to the tabletop. She took a deep breath, then let it out, slowly. The next parts were always the hardest to remember.

Auron watched her struggle to find the words to go on. This is her story. I want to hear her tell it. He let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding when she finally continued.

"One night, his dad went too far, so far that his mom finally stepped in long enough for Daf to run to his room and lock the door. He climbed out the window with his guitar and a backpack, and came to my place in the middle of the night. I had to fight his dad in court, but I adopted Daf. I suppose, legally, he's my son, but that's just too weird, so we say we're brother and sister. It's simpler." She allowed herself a tiny smile at the thought of trying to introduce Dafydd as her son, even once.

"After we started the whole court thing, I decided that we had to learn to defend ourselves. I mean, you've seen Dafydd. Imagine him at thirteen. His dad had abused him for years. The man was not quite as tall as you are, but heavier, easily able to beat up two kids, especially back then. He made lots of threats, and I was plenty scared. I thought we needed to have enough of a chance for one of us to be able to hold on while the other ran for help. So, we both took self-defense and martial arts classes. In the end, Dafydd's father attacked him, alone, in our apartment, when Daf was fifteen. Daf actually beat him up, tied him up with the curtains, and called the police to come and get him. His dad went to prison. We've never seen him since." She sighed. She was relieved at how it had turned out, and was grateful that the bastard had never tried to get back into Daf's life.

"I had inherited a pair of swords from my grandmother, my father's mother, Rose. They have been passed down through several generations. Technically, I know they are not both swords. I don't have the katana. I have the short sword, the wakizashi, and the long dagger, the tanto. Some other relative, long ago, must have inherited the katana, but these suit me well enough. The katana proportioned to match these two blades must have been about as long as I am tall, including the hilt. I could never properly handle such a weapon." She shook her head at the memory.

Auron picked up her hand, and laced her fingers with his. Now that he knew for certain to search he could find traces of the marks that the swords had left, as his thumb traveled around the edge of her hand, and his long fingers held her palm against his. He could feel the small nicks that she must have received before she learned how to handle the blades properly, the long thin lines that had healed cleanly where she must have warded off a cut with the edge of her hand, or where she had been sliced by a sharp edge until she learned better care.

"Dafydd thought if his father came, I could just use the swords. I told him that unless I knew how to use the swords, it would be foolish to hand an enemy an even more deadly weapon. So I decided that if I was going to keep Grandma Rose's swords, I needed to learn to use them. It took me years to learn, but eventually I did. I continue to train, both unarmed and with the swords. If I ever stop training, I will give the swords to someone who knows how to use them. It wouldn't be right to keep them under those circumstances."

Auron held her hand through the whole story. His thumb traced patterns in her palm, over and over, reminding her that he was there, that he was listening, trying to take away a little of the pain, if she would let him. He was more amazed by her courage with every second. She has been a guardian, too, in her way.

She returned to the present. It had been a very long time since she had told anyone this story. He was still there, and, he was still holding her hand. He was even still trying to comfort her. It was her turn to be amazed. This one was most definitely not running.

He continued to hold her hand, while taking a drink with the other. His throat was dry again. It might be a good idea to change the subject, before this becomes even more serious. She might want a chance to recover. "May I ask you another question?" He paused "Different topic."
"Yes. Might be a good thing, about now." Maybe we can find a less sensitive subject this time?
"Is singing what you do with yourself, as you asked me earlier?" a slight smile on his face.

"No, unfortunately not. I make some money songwriting, not enough to live comfortably. You don't get paid to sing at open mics, either. We do it for the love of it. It is possible to get paid to perform, but we're not quite that good, or maybe we've never been brave enough to try. I have, what is politely referred to in the music business, as a day job". She smiled ruefully, because it was a very old joke, even if he didn't get it. "I am a senior administrator in the City Archives and Hall of Records. I've worked there a rather long time." No, we found a more sensitive subject. It figures.

Something in her expression made him suddenly wary, as though he stepped into the middle of a horde of invisible fiends. He knew something was wrong, but he didn't know what. Whatever it was, it was bothering the hell out of her. He could feel her hand tense, and her eyes had turned away from his face. What the hell was the matter with this topic?

He took a small sip of the beer. He was parched again, and some instinct was telling him to go carefully, or he would lose this battle right here, whatever the battle was. "How long is a long time?" he queried softly. A shot in the dark, at the last thing she had said.

She took a swallow of her drink. Her throat was a desert. She stared at the tabletop, at their linked hands. Maybe it would be better if we got this one over with now, too. She spoke quickly, almost too fast for him to follow. "I started working at the Archives the summer after I graduated prep school. I was eighteen. I worked there four years while I earned my Archivist's Degree, part-time during the school year, full-time in the summer. I took a year off school and worked full time to save some money and decide what to specialize in. I worked four more years part and full time while I earned my Master's Degree. I finished that thirteen years ago. I've worked there ever since, rising through the ranks to my present position." She finished in a rush, then she looked up to meet his gaze. "And, in case you haven't done the math yet, I'm forty years old, Auron. I know I'm older than you are, I just don't know how much."

So that's what's bothering her. What does it matter? Aloud, "How can you be so certain?" Her free hand came up, and her index finger traced the firm line of his jaw.
"That," she breathed, "is what makes me certain." His eye closed, savoring the touch of her fingertip on his face. Bliss…What the hell is she saying?
He attempted to gather his thoughts. "What do you mean?" he asked, his eye still half-lidded. She is so close…

She smiled sadly. "Just the march of time. Your skin is very tight over your jaw, here." Again, he felt her fingertip on his skin. "Men lose that in their early thirties at the latest. So I know that you're younger than I am, possibly enough to matter." Patience was not one of her virtues. "Does it matter?" she asked outright.

His left hand caressed her cheek, to make sure she continued to meet his gaze when he spoke. Her skin was so soft. His thumb stroked her chin for a minute, just to touch a little more of it. "I am thirty. And no, it doesn't matter a damn." She couldn't speak, her throat was too dry, and suddenly, her heart was too full. Her right hand rose, and spread itself over his unmarred cheek. They were beginning to lose themselves in each other. And, unconsciously, they were leaning towards each other across the table.

The waitress spotted them and decided that she needed to stop this 'Right Now'. If they were headed the way it looked like they were headed, they should have rented a privacy booth! "Is there anything else I can get you?"
"Yes," Auron intoned menacingly, "some privacy." Mercy squeezed his hand. The waitress had just switched from perky to frightened.
"Just the check." Mercy thought it best if they left, quickly, before the little fluff-head called the manager and had them thrown out. Auron paid the bill, and they went out into the night.

"In case you're wondering, yes, they are trained to interrupt at the worst possible moment." Mercy laughed at the consternation on Auron's face, until he started laughing, too. They were standing outside the club, uncertain what to do next. Across the plaza, the clock showed it was after two in the morning.
"I should probably see you home," he offered reluctantly.
"Yes, you probably should," she agreed, equally reluctant. "This way." She pointed at one of the streets fanning out from the intersection. He immediately laced the fingers of his right hand with her left. "So we don't lose each other on the way," he explained. She squeezed his hand by way of consent.
They walked slowly, unwilling to hasten the parting at the end. "Why does the singing group have your name?" He was just curious. And it was curious.
"Actually, it's the other way around, sort of. My legal name is Mercianne. I didn't have a nickname growing up. When we started performing together, we needed a "stage name'. We were arguing somewhere, a sandwich shop, I think, and some grandmother at the next table finally said, 'Mercy, mercy, can't you two children make up your minds?' and that, as they say, is that. Over time, people started calling me 'Mercy' and I got used to it, or I got tired of correcting them, so it stuck."

"Why a dojo?" she asked in return.
"It's what I know how to do, more or less," he replied, sounding slightly uncertain.
"What do you mean, more or less?" she responded, picking up the hesitation in his voice.
"I've never been the teacher before, it is a different…perspective."
"I'll just bet it is."

"We're here," she announced, in front of one of Zanarkand's many tall buildings. He tightened his grip on her hand for a moment. "When do you perform again? Where?"
"The Blitz Ace Club, near the Stadium, four nights from now, Thirdnight, between eight and eleven."
Her mind raced. Think girl, think. You need to do something to send this man off properly. He's too damn tall to kiss on the cheek. What? What? In the club, when you touched his face, he looked blissed out, do that again, it's less obvious and easy to reach. Okay, here goes…

She raised her right hand to his cheek. This time, she gently tucked some stray hair away before her hand settled against his skin. Even the stubble of his beard felt good under her palm. Her thumb stroked his face. His eye closed, the dark lashes long and thick against his cheeks. He savored the moment, then attempted to gather the threads of self-control that were slipping away. He knew he already felt too much. I should leave before I do something seriously stupid. He finally managed to take a deep breath, and opened his eye.
Once he was looking back at her, she spoke. "Good night, Auron." Her voice was a throaty purr.

He didn't move a step, but somehow, he felt himself being drawn closer. His left hand rose from his side to gently hold her wrist and keep her hand in place against his face. He turned his head and moved so he could press his lips into her palm and watch her expression as he did. He intended it to be a chaste kiss, but the attraction between them was already too strong. There was a promise in the kiss instead. She felt the tip of his tongue against her palm, not just his mouth. Her eyes went wide, dark. Maybe, she thought, but too soon.

He was not sure he would be able to walk away if he stayed much longer, it would be difficult enough at this moment.
Reluctantly, Auron let go of her hands, said, "Good night, my lady," and strode alone into the night. Mercy entered her building, and her apartment, equally alone.

…Spira…Thunder Plains

Alone with his memories, dawn; such as it was on the Thunder Plains, found Auron awake, and bitter. She was supposed to reach the Farplane. What went wrong? Now, all I have left are memories. And regrets.

End Chapter Five