OKAY. First of all, I am so sorry this took so long. After getting back from Thailand (check chapter 25 of Children of Light for info), my computer caught a virus and I was unable to use it for about two and a half weeks or so. And THEN I was struck by the dreaded writer's block. Again. The process of writing this chapter was excruciatingly long and drawn out. But anyway, thank you for the reviews! Hopefully this chapter will make up for the long wait. Enjoy more contemplative Tidus scenes.

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TIDUS

I had a dream about my mother last night.

In my dream, Mom was sitting in a garden with her feet dipped in a fishpond, smiling up at me as I approached her. I get my blond hair and blue eyes from her. Yevon, she was beautiful. We didn't talk or anything. I just sat on the grass next to her and dipped my feet in the water like her, and she leaned her head on my shoulder. She whispered something in my ear, but I don't remember what she said. I smiled though. It must have been something nice.

Strange that I haven't really thought of it after all these years. You'd think that something like the traumatic loss of my mother would leave some kind of lasting impression on me, but . . . well, I did what any other nine year old would do. I adjusted. I mourned in my own, small way and then I moved on.

She was gang raped and beaten outside the diner where she worked as a waitress. Doctors said it took her about two hours to die after they left her. She couldn't move (they'd broken both her legs and one of her elbows), and she couldn't even use her voice to call for help.

I don't even know the names of the fuckers who did all that to her. To be honest, I don't even remember the details of the trial all that much. All I know is that three people were blamed, the supposed ringleaders, and I have no idea what happened to the other guys. Or if there even were other guys.

I remember that's when Jecht started drinking more. He always did like his booze to a certain degree, but it was different all of a sudden. He would get completely hammered every night for a long time. I've lost track of how many trips to the hospitals he's taken, or how many times I've had to pull him out the tank at the police station.

Jecht used to be a famous blitzball player, known all over the city and even beyond for his talents in the arena. Things were always kind of shaky between him and my mom. He would shout and scream at her a lot, and she would cry herself to sleep more nights than I can count. But, in spite of everything, some sixth sense inside told me that they did love each other very deeply.

One year before Mom was murdered, Jecht left us. He just packed up and left without a single word or letter explaining why, or where he was going. Sixth months later he came back, looking worse and more haggard than I'd ever seen. He told us he just needed to get away and clear his mind, although it looked to me like he'd been killing it with alcohol to an even more excessive degree than he does now.

Things were okay for a while. Dad seemed more sober than usual upon returning, and he and Mom were a lot better. I have this memory of sitting at the kitchen table before going off to school. Mom was standing at the kitchen sink, just staring out the window and humming to herself. Then Jecht came in, moving behind her so quickly that even I didn't see it coming. He slipped his arms around her waist and said, "It is insane how much I love you, Kalia."

She smiled up at him over her shoulder and kissed him. It wasn't like an innocent husband-and-wife-kiss-in-front-of-the-kids sort of thing. I mean, it was like a move-scene kiss between the two hopelessly in love main characters. I stared at them in shock, my nine-year-old brain ready to pop with astonishment. I'd never seen such a display of affection between them before.

When Jecht pulled away, he turned around and ruffled my hair and then practically skipped out of the room.

Sick, isn't it?

Still, it's one of the few happy memories I have of that time. Hell, it's one of the few happy memories I have period.

I lie awake in bed, staring at the ceiling for a long time before tilting my head back to examine the red neon numbers of my clock radio. Five o'clock in the morning. Fuck.

After unsuccessfully trying to go back to sleep, I roll out off the mattress and get up to take a shower.

It is only when I am standing in the shower stall that I remember also having a dream about Yuna last night. I frown and struggle to recollect the details, and slowly they start coming back to me piece by piece.

I dreamed she was standing alone in the dark somewhere. I could hear traffic rushing all around her, but I couldn't see it. She was crying softly, not sobbing hysterically or anything. I'd never seen anyone look so helpless and desperate before. I tried calling her, tried reaching out to her, but the dream faded before she saw or heard me.

I shudder and turn off the water after rinsing my hair out. I really don't want to have that dream ever again.

With nothing else to do for another hour (after discovering that the fridge is empty yet again), I go back to my room to draw. Strangely, I notice as I sit down that my sketchbook is already open to a recent drawing. My eyes take in a picture of my mother. I frown and peer closely at it. I don't remember drawing this recently. In fact, I don't think I've ever drawn my mother before.

It is just a simple portrait, nothing special and certainly not my best, but I can't help but stare at it for a moment. Do I really look that much like her? People used to tell me I inherited a lot of features from my mother, blond hair and blue eyes being the most obvious traits. I have my dad's skin and bone structure, but I have her smile and the same frown.

I don't remember who told me that. Maybe it was a relative or an old family friend I've lost touch with.

What a fucking weird morning.

Shaking my head, I turn to a fresh page, pencil at the ready. Automatically I begin to outline Yuna's face. I've become quite good at ignoring the fact that I have drawn nothing but Yuna for the last couple of weeks.

It is almost eight o'clock when I bolt out of my chair and realize that I have to go to school.

"Shit," I curse, grabbing my jacket and darting towards the window. I charge down the fire escape at break-neck speed and land with a loud thud on the street below. The gang will have already left without me, assuming I'm sick, skipping, or dead. Okay, I made that last one up, but I honestly wouldn't put it past them to come up with something like that.

Surprise, surprise, I'm late for my first class, Art. I skid to a rather ungraceful stop outside the door just as the bell rings. Pausing to collect myself, I peer through the window of the door and see Yuna taking a seat in her usual place at the back of the room next to my empty chair.

I enter with the same attitude that I've always had when walking into a class. Miss Faradi, who is in the middle of a sentence, pauses long enough to give me 'the look' before nodding curtly towards the back of the room and continuing on.

Yuna smiles cheerfully at me as I sit down next to her. "The gang told me you were either sick, skipping, or dead," she informs me with a mock serious look. I chuckle and roll my eyes.

"Why am I not surprised," I reply with a grin. "I just woke up late."

She smiles understandingly, not picking up on my little white lie. "Well, I'm just glad you aren't dead. Who else would entertain me throughout Art?"

"What is this, 'Not Appreciate Tidus Day'?" I cry, pretending to be outraged as she giggles behind her hand.

"Mr. Lorac . . ."

"Sorry, Professor."

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I come home right after school at the end of the day for the first time in a while. Yuna went to see a movie with Dona and her friends (why she's still friends with that skank I'll never know), Rikku and Gippal are hanging out at 8-Ball's with Rin, and Wakka and the twins are crashing the mall. Since I'm not particularly in the mood to do any of those things, and I have a giant math exam coming up, I decide to just head home and stay in for the night.

Jecht is in the living room watching TV when I get home. Without even glancing at him, I walk by to go to my room when suddenly he speaks.

"How the bloody hell do you know Auron and Braska?"

I freeze in my tracks and slowly turn around, wondering if I heard him correctly. He is staring fixedly at me and I wish to Yevon I could read the look on his face. He looks sober.

"What are you talking about?" I ask in turn, still not totally grasping the situation. He did just say Auron and Braska . . . right?

Jecht stands up slowly from the couch, still watching me with that damnably closed expression.

"Don't play dumb with me, boy. Auron Salvers called here twenty minutes ago, asking for you. How the fuck do you know him?"

The scary thing is, I know he's angry. But he's not yelling or spitting at me. He's not hitting me or throwing shit around. Is this what sober Jecht is like? I don't like it. I do not like this quiet calm pissed off Jecht.

I lick my lips and try to figure out why all this is making me nervous. So what if I kind of know Auron? Why is that such a big deal?

"He works for a friend of mine," I begin in as cool a voice as I can pull together.

"You're friends with Yuna Ressan?"

"Uh, yeah, but how did you-"

"Everybody knows he works for her and only her. My question is, why is he calling for you? How long have you been friends with Yuna, and when the fuck were you going to tell me?" He begins advancing towards me.

"Look, Jecht, why are you freaking out about this?" I snap, wishing I had some kind of weapon with me. For the first time I think I am feeling actual fear of him. Jecht and I are about evenly matched for size and weight, and I am probably a lot faster than he is, but there is no doubt that he is the most intimidating human being I've ever known. Not to mention he can still pack a pretty decent punch.

He hesitates for a second at my question and his expression seems to give way to some kind of dawning realization before he quickly masks it with anger. "Shut up," he snarls. "If I want to know why the daughter of the fucking High Summoner is hanging out with my good-for-nothing son, it's my business."

"So how the fuck do you know Auron?" I shoot back, clenching my fists.

"I'm asking the goddamn questions here!" he growls, backhanding me across the face. I flinch, but stand my ground, resisting the temptation to rub at my mouth where his knuckle hit. "Now answer me. How long have you known Yuna?"

"A few weeks."

"Have you ever been to her place?"

"Once."

"Has she ever been here?"

"One time only."

"Have you met Auron and Braska?"

"Sort of."

"Boy . . ." he begins threateningly, raising his hand again.

"Both of them on separate occasions, only one time each, okay?"

He takes a deep breath and then steps back from me.

"All right," he whispers, dropping his hand. "All right."

The silence is so oppressive I can almost choke on it.

"So . . . what did Auron want?" I venture cautiously. Jecht glares sharply at me.

"He wants you to meet him at the mansion," he spits, practically hissing out the last word. "Says Lord Braska has something to discuss with you. Any clues?"

"News to me," I confess with a shrug. "I don't know what he wants. I was under the impression he didn't like me."

To my surprise, Jecht actually laughs a little at that. "You and me both, boy."

"Huh?"

"Forget it. Just call him back and get this whole thing over with. He left his cell phone number for you."

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A middle-aged woman appears in the doorway after I ring the bell, standing nervously on the front steps of Yuna's mansion. Rather than causing a scene by having Auron pick me up in that monster limo outside my apartment building, I opted to take a cab on my own.

"You must be Tidus," she says in a soft voice. She has dark brown hair and matching eyes that instantly make me feel like I'm sinking into a sea of liquid chocolate. "My name is Belgemine. Please, come in."

I nod wordlessly and step inside, shuddering at the strange cold of the house. I hadn't noticed it when I was last here.

"Are you hungry? Thirsty?" Belgemine asks me, adjusting her apron busily. "I just made brownies."

"Uh, no thanks. Maybe later."

"Very well. I'll take you to Lord Ressan's library. He is waiting for you there."

Part of me wants to smirk at that name. It's almost hard to believe that the father of one of my best friends goes by the name Lord Ressan.

Belgemine leads me on a marathon tour across the house (I'm to understand that we've only traveled through the west wing) until we reach a set of enormous double doors at the end of a long hallway.

The maid nods at me and gestures to the door, which is open a crack.

Taking a deep breath, I take a hesitant step into the library. My eyes take in a massive room with floor-to-ceiling shelves stuffed to the max with books and volumes. There are more books here than I've ever seen in my entire life. At the far end of the room, a single figure is standing by the window. There is a bottle of brandy and one glass on a small table next to a large plush chair by the fireplace.

Braska turns around and stares at me from across the gap between us. Even from where I stand, I can see the cold blue of his eyes taking in every dingy detail of my clothes. I am almost tempted to try and tame my hair for once, just to wipe that scowl off his stupid face. But I stand still, matching his stare contempt for contempt. I won't be made to feel small in this asshole's presence.

"So," he begins, taking a few leisurely steps in my direction. "You decided to take up my invitation. I must admit I am a little surprised."

"Yeah, well, I'm full of surprises."

He smirks slightly, a weird somehow ironic smile that makes me want to grit my teeth.

"You are an interesting character, Mr. Lorac," Braska continues, taking a seat in the large chair. He sips his brandy thoughtfully, still watching me. "I can usually come to an immediate and usually correct conclusion about somebody upon first introductions. I sense much stubbornness and pride in you, and yet also a level head on your shoulders. Very little escapes you, does it?"

I fidget uncomfortably. "Sir, it's a school night. If you don't mind, could we just . . .?"

"Of course." He squints his eyes a bit at me and purses his lips. "But allow me another question."

"All right, shoot."

"How is your father doing these days?"

I stare at him and then straighten my back. "Drunker than most sailors tend to get, and about as angry. May I ask how you know my dad?"

He snorts at my answer and puts his glass of liquor down. "Your answer is not unexpected," he says bitterly, steepling his fingers. "Please have a seat."

I move across the room and sit on the chair in front of his, sensing inwardly that this little get together is going to last longer than I first anticipated.

"Jecht was one of my guardians ten years ago. He helped me defeat Sin," Braska says abruptly, his words soft but sudden.

I feel my grip tighten on the armrest and my breath catches in my throat.

"P-pardon?"

Knowing somehow that I heard him perfectly well and that I am just scrambling for words to say in response, he turns his head to stare into the fire. "He and Auron accompanied me all over Spira, visiting the temples and gathering aeons as we went. We were best friends in high school, the three of us. Although Auron and Jecht never went to university like I did, we kept in touch as best as we could. But, after the pilgrimage ended, things just . . . fell apart between us."

For the first time I catch a glimpse of something close to vulnerability in this man. I lean forward eagerly. "How?"

Braska shrugs and turns to face me again. "Many reasons, I suppose. Battling a force like Sin changes people, young man. Very few men have come face to face with it and remained the same afterwards. Jecht, just . . . handled it differently than Auron and myself, I suppose."

"Booze," I supply quietly, more to myself than to him.

"Precisely. But, perhaps in the end it was meant to be so. Most friendships never last a lifetime, no matter how strong they may seem at the beginning," he muses, pouring more brandy for himself. He does not see the alarmed look on my face as his words sink in.

Some friendships last forever, I argue quietly. Some never die.

"So, you and Auron just sort of . . . separated from my dad?"

"We all had different priorities to attend to. Jecht and I had families to take care of, and Auron had to put his mind at rest after facing Sin. Since he did not have any children or a woman to go home to, I offered him the job of protecting Yuna should anything ever happen to me," he explains, somehow lacing his words with a bit of superiority. "But I suppose I should just get straight to the point and tell you why I brought you here."

I perk up slightly, after momentarily losing myself in thought. He leans forward in his seat and pulls something out of his coat pocket. I frown. Is that a checkbook?

"I want you to stay away from my daughter, Tidus," he says in a much colder tone, a gold pen appearing in his hand. "I am willing to pay you whatever you want in exchange."

If he had jumped out of his chair, plonked himself in my lap, and kissed me full on the mouth, I could not have been more shocked. Or angry.

I leap to my feet in outrage. "Excuse me?" I demand hoarsely, hardly able to believe the sheer arrogance, the nerve of him to ask this of me. "You're going to bribe me to stay away from Yuna?"

"You and your little gang, if you want to split the money," he confirms with a perfectly innocent expression.

"HOW FUCKING DARE YOU!" I roar, my own voice hurting my ears as it echoes sharply in the library. "HOW DARE YOU EVEN THINK OF-"

"If you cannot control your temper in my house, kindly remove yourself," he interrupts swiftly, his voice infuriatingly calm to spite mine.

"What the hell gives you the right to consider something so low? Yuna is my friend. She's the whole gang's friend, don't you get it? I-we care about her. She cares about us," I stammer, hardly able to control the flow of words from my mouth. I swear to fucking Yevon I am about to rip his egotistical head off any second.

"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffs, waving his hand at me. "Every man has his price. Now tell me: what's it going to take to keep you away from her?"

I stare at him in disbelief. We had been having a fairly decent conversation, at least a civil exchange of words, up until he pulled out that goddamn checkbook. Why this? Why this sudden change in attitude?

"Why?" I ask, my voice suddenly deadpanning. "Why can't you just accept the fact that she's with us?"

"I have worked too long and too hard, and sacrificed too many things in life to ensure that nothing will ever harm my daughter," he states calmly, twirling the pen almost nonchalantly in his fingers. "Her cavorting with you and your friends can damage all that I have worked for. Can you look me in the eye and promise me that you can protect her from the evils of your world?"

"No," I shoot back instantly. "Nobody can promise that, not even you. God, Braska, she is not some fucking infant anymore! She's almost a woman, and a damn smart one too. What good do you think you'd be doing shielding her from everything she needs to know about? And for that matter, why is it your right alone to decide what she can and cannot do?"

"Do not question my role as her father, young man," he cuts in, his voice holding an edge that makes my skin crawl. "Do you think I want trash like this haunting me for the rest of my life?"

He withdraws a roll of newspaper from his jacket and tosses it to me, and I catch it deftly with one hand. I unravel it and see the headline: SUMMONER'S DAUGHTER RELEASED FROM OVER-NIGHT CELL.

Underneath it is a picture of her, me, and the gang all leaving the police station the night I was caught trying to rob the old man. My heart constricts in my chest. I hadn't even seen any paparazzi hounding us that night, nor did I hear anything about this headline all day.

"Braska, it isn't what you think. Yuna was-"

"I know my daughter was not the one freed from jail, Mr. Lorac," Braska hisses, narrowing his eyes at me. "I am no fool; she would never be caught breaking the law for whatever reason. Nevertheless, the public will come to its own conclusions. It does not matter that you and I know the truth. Her reputation will be damaged from your little mistake, mark my words."

I clench and unclench my fists, not sure what to say. How can someone be so damn . . . so . . . are there even words for guys like him?

"Fuck you," I snap, turning to leave. "I'm not taking your money and I'm not going to stop seeing Yuna. You can take that checkbook and shove it up your ass for all I care."

And with that, I storm out of the library before I can register his response.

Part of me never wants to set foot in this place again, but another part of me inexplicably knows that, for whatever reason, I will be coming back some day.