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, constantly believing that more time must have passed than actually had.

…Zanarkand…five years ago

Mercy had realized early that evening that there was a flaw in her plan to have Auron meet her at work that night. By tomorrow morning, every single member of the staff will know that a man came to pick me up at work tonight. Nothing in Zanarkand travels faster than the speed of gossip. So much for my reputation as the 'ice lady'. Even if there isn't all that much to tell…yet. She grinned to herself.

Mercy was working on the desk with another Archivist, a young, blonde woman named Trezza. At an hour before closing, Mercy tried to sound casual when she informed Trezza, in rather wry tones that, "Someone is going to meet me here around quarter 'til nine. If I'm with a patron, please 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 her, 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' instantly, she just didn't believe it. Gorgeous, here, is picking up the ice queen? Who would ever have guessed? Just wait until this gets around... Addressing herself to the handsome stranger, she asked, "Excuse me, sir, can I help you?"
"I am looking for Mercy. Is she here?"
"Yes sir, but she's helping someone right now. Is there anything I can do for you?" Trezza leaned way over the desk. She just couldn't seem to stop 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 continued to watch him as he scanned the room, searching for Mercy.
The blonde was getting on his nerves. Finally, he queried, "May I help you?" in an annoyed tone.
She sighed. "Yes, but Mercy wouldn't leave enough of me to bury." Finally, she returned to her work and stopped staring at him.

Just then, Mercy walked up to Auron, 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."
In response, the younger woman mumbled, "'Night," in a rather miffed tone.

They rode the lift to Mercy's office, which was several floors above 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 quite 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 unfortunately observed 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 Fourthnights so I don't have to get up early the morning after a mid-sennight 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 know 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 Fourthday mornings. Ugh!" she said with a grimace. I don't want to talk about my work anymore. I want to get him to talk.

"Auron, tell me about your journey, the one you and your friends took, please?"
Inwardly, his mind reeled. I want to tell her, but how? What to omit, so she doesn't think me mad? Braska is safe, but not Jecht, and not Zanarkand, or Yevon, or Sin, or the Aeons, or the fayth, or the Summoning, or Yunalesca, or who knows what else. He told her as much as he could. He didn't lie, he just edited. He did a great deal of editing.

She could tell that a lot was unsaid, but 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 speak. 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 also 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's later than I 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 were his 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 exactly what she had said, but decided that he could take it however he wanted to, she was just 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. They 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 where we met."
"What time?"
"We usually try for a slot between ten and eleven, but the place gets pretty packed by nine. You should come before that if you want a decent table. You were lucky last time to get such a good spot." Up to you, she thought to herself.

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.

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. And, wait until there was more time. He could see how tired she was. It would be so easy to come inside with her, now. Stay the night, just to sleep. She slept in my arms last night, on the couch. Why not tonight? Two seconds' thought gave him the answer. She would sleep, due to sheer exhaustion. I would lie awake in absolute frustration. The moment she woke in the morning, I would do anything I could think of, hell, everything I could think of, to get her to make love with me, right then. But I don't think tomorrow morning before she has to go to work is exactly what she has in mind, either. It would be so easy to get her to change her mind, right now. I think she's just tired enough. All of her barriers are down. I don't know if I can resist the temptation to try if I so much as touch her, not with her apartment so close. He tried to keep temptation a safe distance away, uncertain of the right thing to do.

Mercy's thoughts were running in a completely different direction. This is insane. One misplaced word, and he's practically put up all the barriers again. 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.

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 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. Then he turned on his heel. It only took him two long strides 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 arms, to mold the length of her body against his taller frame. 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 heights, 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, holding her hips tightly against his. She ground her pelvis 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. She knew it was dangerous to keep pushing him, but he was making her crazy. It just seemed so unfair. Her arms were wound around his neck as she kissed him deeply, her tongue dueling with his. Her fingers untied the leather cord that bound his hair, and she ran her fingers through the dark, thick mass. It felt like heavy, raw silk. 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," she said shakily.
"A bed would solve this problem," he growled in reply. Her whole body throbbed in response to his voice. Without thinking of the consequences, she wound one arm around his neck and drew his head down to hers for one last mind-drugging kiss. She was so tired of his damn armor; she reached under his coat and kneaded her fingers into the flesh of his buttocks. He groaned into her mouth, as his hips rocked, thrusting his erection against her belly. Her back slammed into the door. Reluctantly, he dragged himself out of the kiss and pressed her head tightly against his chest, fighting for self-control. Both of them were breathing raggedly.

"Soon," she purred in reply to his statement, it seemed like half a lifetime ago. It's time to call it a night, she thought, before that soon becomes now. Even tomorrow night would normally be too soon, but it feels like this, this whatever it is, isn't really normal anyway.

He thought he'd probably just said, and done, more than 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. But 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 a big part of it. I'm no shy virgin; I've had lovers before. It hadn't been like this. This is like standing on the edge of a volcano. No, wrong metaphor. This is 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 jolt. 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 did I tell her so much about the pilgrimage? She will realize that half of it doesn't match this Zanarkand, and she will think I am out of my mind. Does it really matter what she thinks, as long as you get her into 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 her into 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? I cannot love her and not tell her the truth, about myself, about this Zanarkand, about everything. She will probably think I am a lunatic and show me the door. He smiled uncertainly. I will just have to love her so well that she will be willing to keep me around, even if she does think I am crazy. It is worth trying. She will believe me eventually, he realized. Her life has already been touched by Sin. Sadly, he thought, we will have five years, and then I will have to take the boy, and return to Spira, to fulfill my promises to Braska, and to Jecht. And when Jecht comes for us, the destruction…his gloved fist broke through the wooden bench, raining splinters on the ground below.

…Spira…Macalania Woods

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, or 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 Eight