A/N: Hey fellow FF fans! Hope you weren't too upset by the sort-of cliff-hanger. Just look at it this way: you didn't have to wait too long. Anyway, thanks for your reviews. Ooh! Have you got a surprise waiting for you in this chapter. Several, in fact. But I must warn you, there are Jack-related spoilers ahead. But it isn't anything huge; I mean, it's not like he was ever a big character in the game. Somehow I doubt you'll mind any spoilers about him. So go nuts!
Disclaimer: I do not own any element of Final Fantasy IX whatsoever. The only characters I own are Claire and Felina, and frankly, they're not as cool as Kuja and Jack. Am I right?
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Requiem for an Angel
a Final Fantasy IX fanfiction
by Wakizashi
Chapter Twelve: Moonlight Confessions
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As Claire sat down at the long dinner table, she scanned the banquet hall's other occupants. There were Queen Garnet and Zidane at one end of the table, looking all lovey-dovey. Near them were Captain Steiner and a young woman with an eye patch introduced as General Beatrix, and they seemed like they had something between them. Jack and Felina sat on either side of Claire, and Eiko Carol, a little girl with purple hair and a horn on her forehead, sat next to a kid named Vivi Ornitier, whose giant floppy hat covered most of his face. There was also a rat-like person named Freya Crescent, who said she was from some place called Burmecia, a rough-looking guy with red hair named Amarant, and a strange entity with broken speech known as Quina. Finally there was the acting troupe Tantalus, consisting of Baku, Blank, Marcus, Cinna, Ruby, and three bovine guys who looked exactly the same.
The only person who was not present was Kuja. Queen Garnet had explained that word had gotten around quickly that Kuja was alive, and if he showed himself at dinner, his life would be less than secure.
And that was for the best, Claire told herself; even if the rest of the dinner party didn't kill him on sight, she didn't think she could look him in the eye without screaming, "Why didn't you tell me?" and throwing breadsticks at him. And screaming and throwing things at dinner would be bad manners.
Yes, she thought, her throat tight, it's better this way.
Little waiters in white chef hats began issuing into the room, depositing platter after platter of mouthwatering dishes. Felina rubbed her hands together, and Jack nearly fainted at the sight, but all the food tasted like styrofoam to Claire. Conversations broke out in various corners of the table about all sorts of fascinating experiences, of journeys, battles, and strange places and people. But Claire only listened with half an ear.
Looking down at her plate, she was surprised to see a single teardrop fall onto her wrist. Quickly excusing herself, she pushed back her chair and stood up.
"Claire?" Jack said worriedly, his mouth full of bread. "You okay?"
Not bothering to answer, Claire hurried out of the banquet hall and retreated to her guest room. After securely locking the door behind her, she sat down on the canopy bed. Then, quite calmly, she lowered her head into her hands, sobbing quietly to herself. She didn't know why she was crying. It made no sense. But she kept crying anyway, watching the tears fall into her lap and seep into the fabric of her trousers.
Suddenly a noise like a gunshot startled her, and she wiped her eyes and sat up straight, listening. It couldn't have been a gunshot; they didn't have guns on Gaia. What was it then?
She heard the sound again, and instantly she knew what it was. It was a cough. It was a harsh, rattling, damned infernal cough.
Clenching her fists angrily, Claire stalked over to the window and looked out over the darkening city and the two rising moons. But she couldn't ignore it. She could feel the pain from every one of those agonizing tubercular coughs through the walls. Muttering a curse to herself, she turned irritably away from the window and tiptoed out of the guest room and into the hall.
Judging from the direction of the coughs, it sounded like they were coming from the room two doors to the right. She stood outside the door, debating whether or not to knock. Then, giving the knob an experimental twist, she pushed the door silently open.
In the dark guest room, Kuja sat by the open window, his thin shoulders shaking with each painful cough. The light from the twin moons shone down on his pale face and silver hair, making him appear almost luminous. For a moment, the anger and resentment Claire felt toward him was overpowered by concern, and she steeled herself and stepped inside.
"Kuja?" she said softly, closing the door behind her. His head whipped around in surprise and embarrassment. "I heard you coughing. Are you all right?"
He stood up indignantly. "Claire, what are you doing?" he demanded. "You should be at dinner." Another bout of coughing cut him short, and he turned away, covering his mouth with his hand. Claire walked quickly to him and put her hand on his shoulder, but he pushed her roughly away. "Stop it!" he choked, turning his back to her. "Just leave me alone!"
"No," she said firmly.
Kuja glared at her over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed. "I beg your pardon?" he asked in a low, menacing voice.
In response, Claire came to his side and grabbed his hand forcefully in hers. "I know what's wrong with you, Kuja," she said quietly. "I know why you're always up all night coughing. I know all about your 'condition'." Willing her voice to remain steady, she looked up at him. "You're dying, aren't you?"
Prying his hand out of hers, Kuja took an involuntary step back, staring at her in shocked dismay. He opened his mouth, but he couldn't seem to get a full sentence out. "I... H-How did...?" Finally giving up on speaking coherently, he dropped his gaze and nodded almost imperceptibly.
Claire nodded in reply, outwardly calm, but inside her heart plummeted into her stomach. She had known his answer before he had given it, but somehow this confirmation made it real; too real.
She sat down silently in one of the chairs by the window, watching as a dark, heavy cloud scudded across the sky, blotting out the moons. After a while she spoke. "How long do you have left?"
Kuja was quickly recovering his pride. He folded his arms in front of his chest and took a deep breath, though his tail was still twitching back and forth. "Several months, perhaps; a year at the most," he said in a deliberate monotone. "I feel it... getting worse, day by day." He cleared his throat. "I think Garland, the man who... created me, knew I was defective. So he put a... a kind of time limit in me. I don't have much longer."
Claire felt her eyes well with tears, and quickly blinked them back. It was no use lamenting the inevitable, she told herself; if it was going to happen, there was no stopping it. Still, she couldn't keep the tremor out of her voice as she murmured, "I'm so sorry."
He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets as he stared blankly out the window. "I'm not," he said woodenly after a moment. "I deserve to die after everything I've done."
Claire swallowed. "I know what you did," she blurted before she could stop herself.
At this Kuja's entire body stiffened, but he merely nodded, his gaze still fixed out the window. He tried to speak, faltered, then tried again. "How did you find out?" he asked in a tight voice.
She looked down at her hands. "Captain Steiner told me."
Kuja nodded again, his set features and rigid frame contrasting with his lashing tail. "Well, then," he said, his tone deceptively light, "I suppose... that this is goodbye."
Claire's head shot up in surprise. "What?"
"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about, Claire," Kuja said bitterly. He refused to meet her gaze. "Don't pretend that you don't hate me. I can see through pretense, and believe me, I really don't think I could bear it. So just go."
Her throat tightened, and her fists clenched in her lap. "Is that what you think?" she asked quietly. "You really think I hate you?"
"Oh, why wouldn't you?" he suddenly snarled, turning to face her. "After all, I am a monster, aren't I? I did kill thousands of innocent people, didn't I? Why wouldn't you hate me, Claire? You have every reason to!"
She stared up into his eyes, which were filled with shame and self-hatred. At that moment she received a glimpse of the agony he went through constantly, living from day to day with the knowledge of what he had done. She had to wonder if she would have killed herself if she was in his shoes. But he carried on, trying his best to lead a moral life, despite the fact that everyone despised him. To her surprise, what she felt for him wasn't hatred. It was admiration.
She shook her head. "Of course I don't hate you, Kuja," she said softly. "Give me a little credit."
He snorted and turned away from her.
Claire stood up and faced him, heedless of his growing anger. "Aren't you forgetting your own words?" she asked, craning her neck to meet his eyes. "Didn't you say you weren't that person anymore? That you were trying to be someone better?"
"And what does that matter?" he retorted in frustration. "Even if I am a different person, nobody sees it! All they see is the mass-murderer, the maniac who tried to destroy their world!" He took a deep, shuddery breath and turned back to the window. "No matter what I do, no one will ever know how I've tried. And when I'm gone... no one will miss me."
This outburst apparently weakened him, and he began coughing again. Claire came to his side and drew her arm around his shoulders as they waited for the fit to pass, and this time he didn't shrug her off. More clouds had appeared to block out the night sky, and a light rain began to fall. Finally Kuja's attack seemed to subside.
"I'll miss you," Claire said softly.
"Shut up," he replied, without malice.
"It's true," she insisted, refusing to let him provoke her. "And don't tell me to shut up." Kuja sighed in annoyance, but didn't say anything. "You say that no one sees how you've changed. But I see it. I know you've changed. Okay, so maybe I didn't know you until after everything you did. But so what? As long as I've known you, you've been nothing but kind to me. You've saved my life about a hundred times. You even agreed to help save my planet, for God's sake! How can anyone say you haven't changed?"
Kuja gave another sigh and lowered his gaze, his long lashes veiling the intense blue of his eyes. "I... I thought if I could stop your world from being destroyed," he said in a low voice, "that it would make up for all the violence and misery I've caused. That by helping you, I'd be somehow... redeemed, but... I know that's impossible. I know that... no matter what... it will be on my conscience until I die." He laughed bitterly. "At least I won't have long to wait."
She found herself perturbed at the detached way he spoke of his impending death. If she knew she only had a few months to live, she would be completely prostrated with grief. But then, she had family and friends that would miss her.
Suddenly Claire's vision blurred, and she found herself wiping hot tears from her face. "I don't want you to die, Kuja," she said unsteadily.
"Claire," said Kuja, putting his hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off roughly. "Claire, it's all right."
"How is it all right?" she shot back, angry at herself for being cross with him, but unable to help it. "Why do you have to die? Why shouldn't you be given a second chance?" She sniffed hard. "It's not fair."
"I understand why you must think so," Kuja told her, his voice quiet and his eyes calm. "Why you think I shouldn't have to die. But I don't feel that way. Do you know why?"
Not trusting herself to speak, Claire simply shook her head.
"Because I feel that if I can, in some small way, atone for what I've done by helping you, then at least someone will know I tried. That's all I ask. And not only that..." He reached out for her hand, and she took it mechanically. "I have been given a second chance, Claire. You're the one who gave it to me."
Claire felt her cheeks grow warm. "What do you mean?" she asked shakily.
Suddenly he released her hand and turned away from her, looking uncharacteristically embarrassed. "I... I know it may sound foolish to you," he said slowly, his gaze directed toward the gleaming marble floor. "After all, with your... charm, and your friendly nature, you naturally must have led a happy life, surrounded by people who care for you. But I haven't."
Claire was silent. She was reliving a memory of when she was nine years old, and her family was behind on their rent. Her parents had just bought her a new red bicycle for her birthday, and they had been forced to pawn it, along with her brother Richie's crib, to pay the rent. Kuja was mistaken; she may have had people who loved her, but her life had not always been a happy one.
"Before I met you," he was saying, his tail whipping about restlessly, "I had no purpose, no reason for living. My life was... meaningless, empty. But now..." He turned to her again and stepped toward her, looking at her earnestly. "Don't you see, Claire? You've given me a purpose. I finally have meaning in my life, and... and I owe it all to you."
His expression was so unexpectedly sincere that Claire had to look away.
"I'm glad you think so," she said quietly, her voice trembling. "But I haven't done anything. All I did was drop out of the sky and complicate everyone's lives. If anything, I'm the one who owes you. I mean, if you hadn't found me, I'd still be in Conde Petie trying to talk to those crazy dwarves. I wouldn't even know Earth was in danger if it weren't for you. And I could never have got this far on my own." Her vision suddenly blurred with tears, and she stubbornly blinked them back. "I don't know how I'll ever repay you," she said with an embarrassed laugh.
Kuja touched her lightly on the shoulder, and she was forced to look up at him. "Consider your debt repaid," he said to her quietly.
Feeling an overwhelming rush of affection, Claire stepped forward and hugged him fiercely, tears pricking her eyes. "Oh, Kuja," she whispered miserably, "it's going to be so hard to let you go."
"Claire..." Kuja was given little choice but to hold her, so he held her tightly. As Claire pressed her cheek to his chest, feeling the heat of his skin through his shirt, she heard him start to purr. It soothed her nerves, and she closed her eyes and listened, while he wrapped his tail protectively around her.
And then she spoke the words that had been in her mind from the moment she entered the room. She couldn't help it. "Kuja, why didn't you tell me about what you did?"
Abruptly, Kuja extricated himself from her and turned away in shame. "I know I should have," he said in a low voice. "And I'm sorry I kept it from you." He took a deep, unsteady breath. "But I just couldn't tell you, Claire. You were the only person who was unaware of all the horrible things I've done, and..." There was a pause, as if he didn't trust himself to speak. "I had come to think of you as a friend, and I'd never had any friends before. And I knew that if I told you, you would leave me."
She raised her hand and turned his face toward her, and his china blue eyes lifted to meet her gaze. "You must not think very much of me," she said softly.
At this he stared at her, an unreadable expression on his face. "If you only knew," he whispered.
Then he suddenly broke into another fit of coughing. Claire slid her arm around his back and put her head on his shoulder, waiting for him to recover. Soon the coughs abated, and he sighed heavily. "Damn," he said eloquently.
She looked up at his tired face and felt a stab of pity. "You look exhausted," she told him. "When was the last time you had a decent night's sleep?"
He shook his head wearily. "Years. I don't sleep much anymore."
"Then it's time to start." Taking him by the hand, Claire pulled him, unresisting, over to the giant canopy bed and made him lie down. Then she drew the bedclothes over him and smoothed down his hair. "Good night, Kuja," she said as she turned to leave.
"Wait." She felt him grab her hand to detain her, and she stopped. Kuja stared up at her for a long moment, then spoke. "Why don't you hate me?"
Claire blinked at this unexpected question. "What?"
"You said you didn't hate me," he said flatly. "Even now, after all you've learned about me - everything I've done - you still don't hate me. Why?"
She sighed and knelt beside the bed, resting her elbows on the springy mattress. "Why do you want to know?" she asked him.
Kuja propped himself on one arm, so that they were face-to-face. "Because I don't understand you," he told her frankly. "Your actions are... unfathomable to me. Everyone else hates me, and you seem absolutely oblivious to what they think. I demand to know why."
"Oh, you demand? Well, then, I guess I have to tell you." Claire leaned forward and looked into his eyes. "Because I don't care what they think. I'm not oblivious to what other people say about you, Kuja. But it doesn't matter to me, because they don't know the real you." Kuja was silent, his face unreadable. "Somewhere, under that proud, scornful shell of yours is the real Kuja, and I've seen him. And that's why I don't hate you." Shrugging casually, she added off-hand, "And because you're so darn pretty."
At this his pale eyebrows shot up, and Claire laughed at his bemused expression. "I totally got you," she said with a smirk.
Suddenly the smirk was wiped off her face as Kuja leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers. Her lips went slack in shock, and her eyes involuntarily slid shut for a moment as he kissed her passionately, urgently, his fingers reaching out and tracing a line down her neck. Then reason returned to her, and she pulled away with a gasp. She stood up on shaky legs and cleared her throat. "I-- I should go back to my room," she stammered.
"Claire, don't go," Kuja said in a low voice, his eyes darkened with desire.
"No, I really should. I have to." She turned and walked to the door, her face flaming. "See you in the morning, Kuja."
"Claire, please wait--"
Ignoring him, she slipped out the door and pulled it shut, striding quickly toward her own room. She stood there, her hand on the doorknob, staring at the grain of the wood. Her hand began to shake, and then suddenly she slid to the floor and began sobbing silently, her shoulders shaking as she leaned against the door.
At that moment Jack came strolling down the hall, dressed in loose tan trousers and a long white nightshirt, which had been hastily altered to accomodate his unusual physique. He was holding an apple and singing softly to himself.
"Hey Jude, don't let me down," he sang in his pleasantly raspy voice, "you have found her, now go and get her..." Suddenly he saw Claire, slumped against her door, her hands covering her face, and he dropped his apple and skidded over to her, kneeling down at her side. "Claire, what is it? What's wrong?"
He put a hand on her shoulder, and she pushed him away. "Go away, Jack," she choked out between sobs.
"No, not until you tell me what's wrong," he persisted.
Claire looked up at him, and through her blurred vision she could see that his own golden eyes were filled with genuine concern. "Jack," she said brokenly, grabbing the closest of his hands, "it's Kuja..."
"Kuja? What about him?" His head turned toward Kuja's room, and his eyes narrowed. "What did he do to you?" he asked angrily, starting to stand up. "Did he hurt you? I swear, I'll kill him--"
She yanked him back down, shaking her head in frustration. "No, Jack, you moron!" she cried, clutching his sleeve. "He didn't do anything to me. He's..." Her lip began to shake. "He's dying."
Jack stared at her, his lips slightly parted, too stunned to speak. Fresh tears escaped her eyes, and she lowered her head into her hands again. Jack drew all four of his arms around her, pulling her into an embrace. Her head sank to his shoulder, and he held her, still too shocked to say a word.
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With two of his hands in his pockets, Jack walked down the wide, echoing corridor, his face grim. Conflicting emotions pulled him in a thousand different directions. He had no idea what to think of this new development. On the one hand, he had mixed feelings about Kuja, especially after learning that he was responsible for the death of Felina's fiancé. But on the other hand, he was good to Claire. If he had been told before he had met Kuja that he was dying, he would have thought it a fit punishment. But now he wasn't so sure.
He supposed in the end, it didn't really matter. Soon they would be leaving the Mist Continent, on their way to Vile Island, and then they'd get killed anyway. It was kind of a shame; he was going to miss Claire.
Turning a corner, Jack kept walking aimlessly until he found himself in a library. He frowned and shook his head. Where did he think he was going, anyway? He turned around and was about to leave when he heard a familiar voice.
"Yo! What are you doing up this late?" Jack's head whipped around to see Zidane Tribal sitting cross-legged on the polished floor, an open book in his lap.
Jack tensed. This guy and the queen were an item, and if she had recognized Jack and told him he had robbed her, he was screwed. But he couldn't just walk off. "Uh, couldn't sleep," he replied, running a hand through his unruly red hair. He crossed a pair of arms and strode over to the tailed young man. "What about you?"
"Same." Zidane sighed and nodded toward the book in his lap. "I'm trying to read up on this Vile Island, and the more I learn, the less I like it. I went there once, two years ago." He chuckled wryly. "Didn't think I'd be going back." He closed the book and stood up, holding out his hand. "Jack, right?"
"Yeah, and you're Zidane. Obviously." He shook his hand. "I think I met you in Daguerreo."
"Oh, yeah, yeah! You're the guy who kept asking me what my treasure hunter rank was." Zidane put his fists on his hips and puffed out his chest. "So, what rank am I now?"
"Uh..." Jack blinked, caught off guard. Then his eyes widened, and he pinwheeled backward. "No way, you're Rank S?" He cleared his throat. "Sheesh, sorry I kept buggin' you."
Zidane laughed, and suddenly Jack began to understand why the guy was so well-liked by everyone. "So," the blond prompted, "how the heck did you get mixed up with my brother?"
Jack hesitated, wondering which version of the story he should tell; namely, the true one, or the carefully altered one. "I met him in Treno," he replied at last. "He and Claire were on their way to see Doctor Tot, and he agreed to let me tag along until they got to Alexandria."
"Really?" Zidane asked, sounding surprised. "Kuja let you come with him?"
Jack looked into the young man's face, and he looked so proud of his big brother, so pleased that he had performed a random act of kindness, that Jack just couldn't lie to him. "No, not really," he said in a low voice. "I tried to mug Claire, and then I told Kuja I'd turn him in if he didn't take me with him."
"Oh." Zidane looked away, disappointed. "So are you the one who had him arrested by the royal guards?"
"What? No way!" The blond jumped slightly at his vehement outburst. "I may have said I'd turn him in, but I'd never actually do it! Not in a million years!" He paused, wondering why he'd become so defensive. "Kuja's... not such a bad guy. Not many people would put up with me and Felina bickerin' all the time, but he does. And he's good to Claire."
"Right, Claire," Zidane repeated. He was silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful and far-away. "And the girl with the long blond hair, Felina. How'd she end up with you?"
Jack sighed. He hadn't realized how much had happened since he had threatened Claire with a knife in Treno. "She was cheatin' people at Tetra Master at South Gate, and I exposed her. Now she won't leave me alone until I give her back all the money she won."
He cast a sidelong glance at Zidane and found he was grinning at him. "So why don't you just give it back?" he asked.
Jack grinned back. "'Cause then she'd leave me alone, that's why."
Zidane burst out laughing and punched him in the arm. "Ah, that's classic," he said. "But I don't blame you; she is a cutie. Though Dagger would murder me if she heard me saying it."
"Yeah, that's not all, either," Jack answered. "She's sweet, and funny, and she can hold her own in a battle. She's got... I don't know... spunk, or something." He shrugged, frustrated at his own ineloquence.
"Geez, you sound like me, back when I had first met Dagger," said Zidane with a knowing smile. "Well, anyway, I'm going to bed. You should probably do the same. Everyone's getting up early to load the Red Rose with provisions."
Jack put up his hands. "Whoa," he said quickly, "I'm not goin' to Vile Island."
"Okay. Well, we'll see." He turned to leave, then stopped. "Hey, you should tell Felina how you feel, you know? I know from experience that it's better to tell something like that than to keep it secret." He grinned at Jack over his shoulder. "Who knows, maybe it'll give her another reason to stick around."
Jack watched him as he turned to leave, his tail swinging behind him. "Oh hey, uh, Zidane?"
He stopped again. "Yeah?"
Clearing his throat, he said, "Remember, in Daguerreo, you asked me my real name?" Zidane looked at him expectantly. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "It's... It's Gilgamesh." He winced.
Zidane nodded. "Gilgamesh, huh?" He mulled it over for a few seconds. "Right on. Sounds like a hero's name to me." And without another word, he strolled out of the library, his hands in his pockets.
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A/N: Incidentally, Gilgamesh is a hero's name, at least in Middle Eastern mythology. Apparently Gilgamesh was this Babylonian king, and the gods sent some guy named Enkidu to kill him. But wouldn't you know it, they became friends instead, and they did many heroic deeds, killed many monsters, and had many other wacky adventures. But anyway, yep, that's Alleyway Jack's real name. And all you have to do to find it out in the game is become a Rank S treasure hunter, which I did. Incidentally, this is wicked hard, and takes forever. Or you could find it on the Internet. Or just let some idiot fanfiction writer tell you, like I just did. Whoops, hope you weren't planning on figuring it out for yourself!
Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter. I don't have much experience writing Zidane, so I hope I didn't butcher his personality. I wouldn't want to do that, since he is one of my favorite characters. I'll take a cheery little goof as a protagonist over a sulky brooding loner like Squall any day. But hey, I'm rambling. Do leave a review, will you?
-Waki
