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Chapter XI: A Garden Party: Secundae Pars
For man knows not his time.
As the fish is snatched in the net,
as the bird is trapped in the snare,
so ambushed are the children of men,
when an evil time falls swiftly upon them.
~Ecclesiastes 9:12

"I think now's the time, Cloud."

His inclined head and raised brow spoke curiosity.

"Yeah," Zack responded, "The perfect time."

"Why not at the beginning?" Cloud asked hesitantly.

Zack shook his head; Cloud didn't get it. That's why he needed to do it now.

"Because then you look desperate. You have to wait until the music has lulled her—she doesn't want to be the first one dancing, y'know?"

Zack adjusted his suit, standing up from where he had spent quite a bit of time with Cloud, trying to covertly observe whatever had so bothered Ven—but no luck. Cloud was just Cloud.

"Plus, it's becoming clearer and clearer to me that you won't ask Tifa to dance on your own—so you need an example."

Cloud's eyes widened, but he didn't respond.

"And lastly," Zack jerked his thumb to point to where the others were gathered, up beside the large circle that had formed in the center of the hall to allow for dancing. "I think Rinoa needs some backup in dragging Squall onto the floor."

Cloud nodded his affirmation at that, noticing too how Rinoa clung to Squall's arm, pulling at it every now and then.

"So wish me luck—" Zack leaned in close, "And make sure I see you and Tifa out there soon, eh?"

Cloud swallowed, and nodded again, his eyes drifting off into the distance.

"Don't worry, Cloud—she wants to dance with you!" Zack told him as he turned away, "It'll be great!"

Clearing his throat, Zack carefully pushed through a few stragglers, until he saw her: turned toward the dancers, hands clasped cutely behind her as the hem of her skirt swayed in the breeze made by the swirling arrangement of people already engaged with the music and each other. Perfect.

Reaching out, he tapped her gently on the shoulder.

As she turned, smile blossoming, Zack bowed deeply, "Beautiful lady, may I have the honor of this dance?"

Aerith's offered delicate hand to him, and with a smile, he took it up.

"It would be my honor, handsome sir!" she replied, pulling him up to stand beside her.

"Then let's boogie!" Zack cried, mutual excitement meeting, matching and inspiring the other.

Taking her other hand, he pulled Aerith out onto the dancefloor, surreptitiously sabotaging Squall's position with a bump of the foot, which allowed Rinoa, with a light squeal, to simultaneously catch and pull him out into the dance as well, to which—her having earned the right—Squall dutifully acquiesced.

The song was moderately paced, so as they laughed together, Zack assumed the position he had practiced: left hands together, right hand on her waist. Aerith, far more professional than he, placed her open hand on his shoulder and together, they began to move in rhythm to the sweep of a song that Zack didn't recognize.

Luckily, he was great at making things up as he went along.

"How long do you think it'll be before all eyes are on those two?" Aerith asked, still smiling, "Thank you for helping Rinoa, by the way."

"At least by the end of the next song, I'd wager." Zack replied with a wink, "And I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm going to guess even sooner." Aerith smirked back at him, "His four years of ballroom dancing can't go to waste, you know."

"What?" Zack laughed, "Squall's trained?"

"No one's supposed to know," Aerith's voice dropped to a conspiratorial low, "Rinoa told me about it once. He's very good."

Zack sighed, "Of course he is. Why am I not surprised?"

"Awww..." Aerith pinched at his cheek, "He's not better at -everything-!"

"Yeah, only most things," Zack snorted, taking her in a slight turn, "But I've been practicing!"

"Oh?"

"Can't you tell?"

Aerith pursed her lips, "Well, I've had to dodge your feet only a few times…"

"See? Improvement!" Zack cheered, sweeping her up into the greater dance around them as the music swelled. Turn, twist, shift, turn, step, step, turn—everything a whirlwind of lights and color, with Aerith the one constant at the center of the universe.

As the music settled again, Zack pulled her closer, and she laid her head on his shoulder, to sway through the slow-paced interim. In such peace, Zack had to forcefully remind himself that he couldn't just close his eyes and drift into blissful rest.

"Any sign from Cloud of Tifa yet?" Aerith murmured contentedly into his shoulder.

Zack shook his head slowly, carefully navigating her around their nearest neighbors. Just beyond them, he heard Rinoa squeal, as Squall did something that was equal parts impressive and romantic.

"No, nothing yet, sadly."

"Those two…" Aerith sighed. "What do you think?"

"He's trying." Zack murmured, trying to eye where Cloud was as he moved, "But he's freaked. I don't know if he knows what he wants."

Aerith nodded. Zack could feel her inward breath tickle his neck, "And she's just waiting. She doesn't want to push him."

"Geeze, these guys…" Zack answered. A brief nod affirmed Aerith's agreement.

"Give it time." She said, "They're not even really themselves yet, you know? For all they've been through…they don't even know who they are."

"Yeah, Cloud definitely doesn't." Zack said, his eyes still examining the crowd as he kept Aerith and himself swaying in motion, "And it just feels like Tifa is lost in that, too."

"Kids, right?" Aerith breathed.

"Hey, I didn't realize I was signing up for parenthood in dating you!" Zack feigned, "I'm not ready to be a dad."

Aerith snorted, "While that's true, I think you became Cloud's father all on your own."

Zack was about to respond, definitely with something smart and witty, but his roving eyes were suddenly caught by someone watching him—or was it Aerith? Some guy with oily hair and white coat—awfully sloppy looking for an event like this. And he was just staring and staring and—

With a trip and stumble, Zack's inattention made collision with the precise moves of another and in a tangle of color, he had to catch Aerith before she stumbled.

"Hey, buddy, sorry about—" Zack looked up to see who he had collided with, only to find the sharp, thin eyes of Rufus Shinra glaring down at him, as he dusted off his slightly-ruffled white coat. Already, his Turks were gathering around like shadows.

"Do continue." Rufus said shortly and sharply.

"Y'know," Zack paused, pulling Aerith up closer as the frustrated animosity of the last two days resurged in him, "I think I'll just apologize to your partner instead—"

Turning to the woman who had quickly separated herself from Shinra, and who was, too, straightening her clothes, Zack was surprised to stare into the ocean-blue eyes of Ven's sister, Aqua.

"You really just went right up to him and asked?" Aqua chided, shaking her head as she took a sip of her drink and listened to Ven's overly-direct story.

"Well, yeah, I mean—he's my friend. I thought I could…" he shrugged, "Look, it made sense at a time when you weren't staring into my soul."

Aqua snickered, "Maybe you should keep me in mind more often then—but seriously, Ven, you can't just bring up something like that."

"Yeah, yeah…just don't tell dad, okay?" he tried to reach for his own drink, but Aqua swatted his hand away, "I mean, you just did his job—and a whole lot nicer, too. Consider me scolded!"

"Whatever you say." Aqua replied warmly, as she looked over the colorful head-ware and the haze of movement, "Have you seen Terra?"

"You'd think he'd kinda stick out." Ven replied.

Aqua snorted another brief laugh, "He just hasn't come back yet, and with Father still off…"

"Look, the evening's only half-over!" Ven encouraged, brushing back his hair, "We'll have plenty of time to do what needs to be done."

"Now you're the professional, Mr. Obvious?" Aqua raised an eyebrow.

"It was an effective scolding!" Ven chirped.

Aqua moved to take another sip of wine, considering what their next step should be, when an unfamiliar voice broke into their conversation.

"Pardon me, miss, but I feel compelled to inform you that your music was exquisite."

Turning, Aqua had to restrain shock as she found herself eye-to-eye with President Rufus Shinra. His ice-blue eyes were outrageously intense, staring directly and forcefully into her own, interrupted only by the slight flutter of his blonde bangs which fell between them.

"Why…thank you." Aqua finally got out, trying to plan on the fly. She had not expected that one of their targets would seek her out.

"I was hoping that you might do me the pleasure of a dance?" Shinra continued, causing Aqua to almost drop her glass. Nevermind—she definitely had not expected this. Now what to do?

She certainly didn't want to dance with him. Yet, there he was, thin hand outstretched, offered in the direction of the wide circle of dancers that had formed. Behind him, his Turks seemed to prowl and shift like hyenas around a pack leader.

Aqua glanced back over her shoulder at Ven, looking for some kind of…something! Say he was already dancing with her, say that he heard Father call them, or that Terra needed something or, really, anything!

But Ven only shrugged nervously, as close to just mouthing "I dunno!" as he could possibly be.

Great help.

Turning back, Aqua decided to take it as an opportunity. Get close, get information, get out. Maybe even the best of both worlds—she could tell Father of her success, while also being able to "have a good time". Perfect.

Curtsying slightly, Aqua took Shinra's outstretched hand, "It would be my honor."

With the practiced professionalism of the elite, Shinra led her to the floor and, together, they entered a well-worn pseudo-waltz; matching the music's tempo immediately. Both of them had been raised around these sorts of events.

"So how long have you played the violin?" Rufus asked, keeping a gentlemanly distance as he turned her about on the floor.

"Long enough." She answered, but checked herself before it sounded too harsh, "Since I was a child."

"Impressive. It shows." Shinra responded. "You are also quite the graceful dancer, I see. Your feet barely touch the ground."

Aqua inclined her head, deciding to drop some more bait. "It comes with years of training with the Keyblade."

"Ah, yes, the Keyblade—a marvelous weapon." Shinra sighed, "Promise you won't share, but I've had my research and development working on creating our own version of it—" he frowned, "and so far, every prototype has been…lackluster."

"It's more than a weapon, you should know." Aqua replied, moving herself in such a way as to almost lead Shinra herself, "Perhaps that is where you went wrong."

"Perhaps," Shinra replied, a thin smile on his lips, "But I like to think that the Shinra Corporation produces more than just pragmatic weaponry—we create. I dare call it art, at times."

Maintaining their careful dance of feet and eyes, Aqua turned with him again—still in disbelief at what she was doing, "Does anyone else?"

Shinra nodded, "Our clientele. It is our art which elevates us above the rest."

"Even the government?"

Shinra chuckled, "Especially the government! Look where we are—all this ludicrous finery; all for a seven-year old child!" he shook his head, "Do you think Shinra would be the Garden's premiere contractor if we did not make exquisite work?"

"It would certainly be out of character. The Bastion does love appearances."

"That they do…" Shinra trailed off, content to simply move with her for the moment as the music slowed. To his credit, Aqua noted, he did not attempt to narrow the distance between them.

"Do you know them well?" Aqua asked, trying not to appear pressing, "The royalty, I mean."

"Only as much as anyone does." Shinra noted offhandedly, "A few state dinners, a moment or two in a reception line. Most of my engagement is on the level of the Lord Protector and his apprentices."

"As is mine—what do you think of them?" Aqua inquired, offering her own take, "I find Aeleus and Xehanort to be quite pleasant."

"Ah, Xehanort's brilliance is renowned. I believe the man could have talked my father out of the business, and had him enjoy it, too." Shinra smirked, "And Aeleus' defense of the Garden is unparalleled. Unfortunately, my associates and I deal mostly with the arrogance of Even and antics of Braig—though they are worthy successors to the Lord Protector, in their own ways."

Aqua nodded, "I believe that Xehanort will take up the mantle when Lord Ansem retires. He's clearly favored by both Ansem and the royalty."

"Indeed." Shinra nodded, "And if not him, then young Ienzo. Too many underestimate him."

"Oh?"

"He is a genius boy—quiet, hidden, even, but ever-engaged." Shinra smirked slightly at Aqua, "He reminds me of myself a bit. When my father died, the Board was—shall we say—shocked to discover whom they had need to deal with."

"And that is how the great Rufus Shinra came to power, hm?" Aqua flattered, prodding the conversation forward. She knew Shinra was too clever to say anything explicitly important, but perhaps she could analyze any implicit.

"Well, the short answer is that there is no longer a board—"

Suddenly, another twirling form collided with Shinra's shoulder, causing him to stumble back, nearly tugging Aqua with him. She was happy—perhaps overeager, even—to release his hand, and so kept her balance perfectly—gliding out of the way of whoever had stumbled into their dance.

"Hey, buddy, sorry about—" the interlocutor muttered, brushing back his jet-black hair. Aqua's eyes widened slightly to see that it was Zachary Fair. Evidently, he was as shocked to have bumped into Shinra, for his words immediately cut themselves off and his face took on an obvious suspicion.

As Shinra dusted himself off and stood back to his full height, Aqua could sense the Turks skulking up through the other dancers, who continued to whirl around them to the uninterrupted music—now, she noted absently, the final cords of the romantic Carissimi in D Major.

"Do continue." Rufus said shortly and sharply.

"Y'know," Zack paused, pulling a young woman up closer to stand beside him, "I think I'll just apologize to your partner instead—"

As he turned to Aqua, she smiled in amusement as he recognized her, and his face became even more twisted up in surprise.

"Hey—it's…you. With…him?" Zack raised an eyebrow.

"Good to see you again, Investigator Fair." Aqua inclined her head.

"We're so sorry to bump into you like this!" the young woman beside him said quickly, "Let's go, Zack—we'd hate to interrupt."

"Wait, hold on a second—" Zack, breaking from Aqua to turn back to Shinra, "Where's Vincent? Shouldn't he be with you? I've been looking for him."

Aqua didn't betray a response, as Shinra fixed his cuffs, "I haven't the foggiest. My employee's business is their own."

"Yeah, right—like you're that generous!" Zack answered, concerning Aqua (and obviously his partner) with his growing agitation, "Now that I've got you here, I think I should be asking you a few more questions—"

In the flash of an eye, the Turks Aqua recognized as Tseng and Elena were between Zack and Shinra.

"I think it's time you back off." Elena said firmly, "Please."

"I'm sorry, your boss and I were having a conversation—" Zack replied testily, just as another man—taller, a lieutenant in the PKF, if Aqua identified his dress correctly—appeared seemingly from nowhere, behind him.

"Is there a problem here?" he asked, directed clearly to the Turks; face as impassable as the stony walls of the Garden.

Beside him, a shorter woman—black hair with caramel highlight, and even darker-brown eyes—tugged at the arm of the taller man, whispering a little too loudly, "You rescue Zack, I'll get Aerith!"

Tseng, himself the same height as the new arrival, addressed him rather than the pouty Zack, "Step away from the President."

As this happened, Aqua—trying to sink back as far as possible, while still remaining relevant—noted the black-haired woman wrap her arms around Zack's partner and whisk her away. Distracted, Zack turned to see empty space.

"Hey—hey!" he cried, turning to run after them.

"Done." The tall man replied to Tseng, without intonation—but with a clear warning in his eyes—and marched away into the crowd. What a strange bunch.

"Sir," Tseng turned to address Shinra, "I think we should move."

"I suppose so," Shinra, who had ceased to speak or even engage the situation, finally sighed. Reaching out, he took up Aqua's hand and brought it to his lips, "It was a pleasure, Miss."

And with that he, too, melted away into the crowd by the shadows of the Turks. Aqua, with a mild revulsion that forced her to wipe her hand on the hem of her cloak, felt torn between contentment at escaping Shinra and disappointment at not having fished out more information. Sighing, she simply shook her head at the bizarreness of it all and slipped from the dancefloor to find Terra, her father, or both.

Tifa sighed as she watched Squall and Rinoa sail by again, almost as if they were a single boat being carried in perfect unison with the current of the music. The lights, the music, the colors, the food—it was all so beautiful and lovely; just like a dream (though some of the people could be nicer).

She had never even seen the Royals in person before today! Or heard such beautiful sounds, or enjoyed such luscious treats! Yet, here she was, feeling alone on the shore of it and unable to truly let go and enjoy.

Using her Cloud-sixth-sense, Tifa glanced briefly over to see where he still leaned against a far wall, pressing out and away from everything as if he hoped to sink into the very castle itself. Wait—did he just move? Was he about to-? No. No, he was just brushing back some hair.

Tifa sighed again. Would he ever just come up and ask? She had worn this dress, put her hair just so—n w she wondered if she was just pathetic. She knew Cloud well enough to know this wouldn't be his thing. Why would she have ever dreamt otherwise? Maybe she should just forget it and go out on her own-yeah, forget Cloud! She could enjoy this party all on her own!

But, then again, that just felt like leaving Cloud alone and she knew, after all this time, she couldn't do that.

But maybe just for the evening…?

Tifa fidgeted, straightening her dress as the dance slowed. Why did an insensitive, adorable, shy, deep, socially-inept lunatic like him have to take up so much space in her head!

Absently twisting her hair, Tifa peeked back over her shoulder at him. He still wasn't moving; just leaning quietly. His gaze alternated between watching various people pass and his other expertise: staring off into distant nothing. Tifa sighed again. Maybe she should approach him…

Suddenly, she noticed that something else hadn't changed between her two glances—another figure, a tall man with odd brown hair and dressed in a swarthy robe, stood a few yards away from Cloud, watching him intently. The man was large, so he stood out; a broad-shouldered boulder around which flowed all the other partygoers.

Already bothered, Tifa—now troubled by this suspicious onlooker—decided to take action. If Cloud wasn't having a good time, she certainly wasn't going to let anyone bother him!

"Hey, hey you!" she directed, as she moved away from the dancefloor at the center of the hall and toward the tall man, "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Excuse me?" the man answered, looking down at her with a mixture of confusion and amusement in his eye. This only bothered Tifa more.

"I said, can I help you with something? You seem real interested in my friend over there." Tifa responded, trying not to stomp her foot for emphasis.

The man's brow furrowed, "I don't know what you're talking about, I—"

"Tifaaaa!" came a sudden cry from behind and, before she could turn, Tifa had to spread her stance to receive the onslaught of Rinoa's leaping form, who spun herself around her neck and hugged her close. Behind her, dragged it seemed, came Aerith, who fell upon Tifa's other side.

"Come dance with us!" Rinoa cried, hugging her close.

Aerith nodded, "Zack almost got into a fight and Squall's rescuing him—so we thought we'd come gather you and have our own great time. No more men!"

"Well, I mean, men eventually…" Rinoa added, with thoughtful distance.

"She's been drinking a bit." Aerith whispered into Tifa's ear, "Just ignore anything embarrassing she says about Squall."

In spite of herself, Tifa had to burst out in laughter. This was exactly what she needed—these two beautiful women to enjoy the party with. They wanted her, and their love was palpable.

"Let's go!" Rinoa cried, taking Tifa's hand in her free one and dragging both her and Aerith back toward the center of the hall. Laughing as she was pulled, Tifa gave a little wave to Cloud, who had noticed the whole interaction with semi-surprise eyes.

It only briefly registered, as a fading distraction in her mind, that the tall stranger had vanished into the crowd.

Suddenly and breathlessly, the three of them broke through the circle of guests and were dancing together, spinning and twirling and laughing—the music had sped up just in time.

Rinoa, of course, was the source of the energy—she directed, purposed, and led. Tifa knew, ruefully, that Zack fancied himself the "leader" of their little family, but it was really Rinoa who pushed everyone along. Without calling attention to herself, Rinoa—a true leader—kept everyone energized and pressing forward; always excited, always moving, always flowing.

Not to say that Zack wasn't important—he was a center of energy himself, spontaneous and fun—and brought overflowing zest to everything; but he wasn't Rinoa.

And no one knew that better that Aerith, who now spun with her in such a way, with such a look inher eye, that Tifa thought she was the only person in the world to her. Aerith was a medium—she transferred and focused the energy of their dance, making it alive and engaging in a sort of exciting serenity that only Aerith could capture.

Sighing happily, mixed with a giggle, Tifa allowed herself to be ever-more caught up in the flow, as she spun under the lights of the party to the melody of Aerith and Rinoa's laughter.

"Ah, Merlin, my friend—I do believe now is about the time?" Ansem stooped over the balcony to speak with the old wizard, "Princess Kairi is quite excited to see your handiwork!"

Xehanort observed Ansem's moves carefully, as he passed time with his charming smile and idle small talk with some noble who had taken his turn to climb the staircase and mingle with the Royals.

The old wizard chuckled, with a deep pride Xehanort could sense, "It's my pleasure to please, Lord Ansem! Give me but a few more moments!"

Nodding, Ansem bid farewell to the wizard and turned back to the royal party, now intermixed with numerous others. Seeing the proud satisfaction on the face of the Lord Protector, Xehanort decided that now was the time; now would be the point of petition.

Disengaging himself from the current conversation (some nonsense concern a pompous and small-minded man had regarding the Wutaians) in such a way that it felt rightfully closed to all involved, Xehanort moved to meet Ansem on his way back up the staircase.

The whole evening had gone off just as imagined—now would certainly be the time that Ansem would be most receptive. Xehanort's heart pounded in his chest; his whole body felt on edge, invigorated by the expectation of this moment. Every step felt compelled, every thought for the last hour had been laser-focused on this necessary attempt.

"Ah, Xehanort!" Ansem smiled at his descent, "Hasn't this just been lovely?"

"Yes, sir. An evening befitting the Princess." Xehanort responded, with a nod. "You have done great work."

"Ah, it is the work of many hundreds of hands—not my two alone!" Ansem's eyes twinkled, discomforting Xehanort for some reason, "But thank you, my son, nonetheless."

"And there is much work yet for those hands to do, sir." Xehanort began carefully, "The work we accomplish here at the Bastion—it can do such good, for all your people. I wish, like yourself, to sacrifice for their sake."

Ansem appeared confused, but Xehanort pressed on. Now must be his chance—Ansem had to be made to understand the depth, the need, the absolute necessity of bringing all the Bastion's resources to bear on the experiments. He needed it.

"Please, sir, allow the experiments to continue, with I as their subject." A sense of panic erupted in Xehanort, heart pounding and hands sweaty and shaking, as he saw the minute change in Ansem's eyes; had he brought it up too suddenly?

It was too late now, anyway—so he pushed forward, "That which lays locked away in the heart could certainly better the whole world—and I am willing to suffer for it." Xehanort pled his case, even as he watched Ansem's face return to that oft-seen refusal, "Sir, for the sake of these people, for the sake of the Princess and her future Kingdom—" Xehanort paused, "For my sake, Lord Ansem…please, allow my experiment to go forward."

Ansem paused, and around Xehanort the whole world seemed to slow. Was it too presumptuous of him to think that Ansem may truly be considering it? That this might be the moment in which he sees the truth; that he fully comprehends the depth of his own plight? The answers must be had. The way forward—himself—was clear. The evening's party could only underscore it.

Could it be that his father was finally comprehending the depths to which his soul had sunk?

"Xehanort…" Ansem finally sighed, stepping up beside him to place a hand on his shoulder, "Is now truly the time for such a discussion? But my answer is still no. My son, no truth is worth that cost."

Xehanort swallowed, feeling the warmth of rejection rise to his cheeks while the chill of realization sunk deep into his stomach. So Ansem still knew nothing; understood nothing. Everything remained, in the mind of Ansem, in this tiny place; this castle—and Xehanort remained alone, locked away in himself.

No, clearly Ansem did not know the sleepless nights, the constant anxiety, the eternal dread. He could not imagine the haunting, acute awareness of knowing lack, but not knowing what was lacked.

Ansem knew nothing of those unnatural dark architecture; those blackened pillars and endless, serenely dark sea, remnants drawn up in his night walks from the deepest and most unknown wells of his mind. And the eyes—those yellow eyes watching him, following him, even alone-Ansem knew none of it!

Of course, how could he? Ansem knew who he was. He had everything. Ansem was full and complete; he related, loved, recognized, remembered, knew, understood, and possessed himself. Ansem was a person.

And Xehanot was a lack.

Yet he, this full person, couldn't spare even an apology, a sympathy, for the painful personless-ness of his supposed son. Not a morsel for his insatiable gnawing, not a word to soothe the endless ruminations, not a hand raised to remove even the smallest parasite that leeched on his mind.

How could one such as that, on a night at his fullest and most complete, even begin to understand Xehanort's pitted lack? How could Ansem, in his freedom, understand Xehanort in his prison?

Indeed, in that moment, Xehanort realized how backwards he had perceived it.

"I…understand, sir."

"Xehanort. Father."

Xehanort turned to see Even, standing at the top step, looking down at them both.

"Yes, my son?" Ansem gripped Xehanort's shoulder again, moving up and past him. Xehanort felt nothing.

"A minor problem: Braig has tottered his way onto a balcony and is threatening to jump." Even stated clinically, with slight disgust.

"I hadn't realized Braig had suicidal tendencies?" Ansem questioned, Xehanort now effectively forgotten.

"He doesn't." Even answered, "He is rather intoxicated and insists it is for 'sh*ts and giggles.'" a pause, "His words, not mine." Another pause, "We could always leave him."

"Ah, Braig—as exciting as always. Dilan!" Ansem called, "Could you please retrieve your brother before he ruins himself or this lovely evening?"

Xehanort imagined that Dilan nodded and left, but he did not look up to see. His gaze remained firmly over the balustrade, observing his broken reflection in the misty spray of the fountain's waterfall. There he remained, considering and reconsidering, even as Ansem announced to the party the commencement of the wizard's fireworks.

Zack was still pouting, even as the evening wore later and later. Squall was oddly impressed—he could never imagine himself capable of as many fruitless words as Zack had been mumbling at him for quite awhile now.

"It's just that I'm an Investigator now, and to run into walls everywhere—it's just frustrating, Squall."

"I can imagine." Squall responded; his default response for the last few minutes of conversation.

He certainly felt for Zack, but he was only capable of so much sympathy—and at least fifty percent of his attention was currently, and always, directed toward where Rinoa presently was—at this moment, still dancing out in the hall with Aerith and Tifa. They were a ridiculous bunch together, jumping all over and spinning and hugging, but in Squall's estimation, they were having fun—and that was good enough for him.

"So how bothered are you that Rinoa's been this far away for this long?" Zack suddenly inquired, evidently having worked out his issues on his own.

"Enough. So far, she's survived." Squall nodded, "Only three men have approached her, and a fourth who was too shy. Aerith and Tifa have been defense enough."

"That's…comprehensive." Zack answered.

Squall didn't mention aloud that the Lord Protector's apprentice, Even, had been watching the three from the sidelines of the dancefloor. That was a peripheral, though ongoing, concern he kept to himself, filed under "notable".

More important, though, was that as the evening waxed long, the party guests were finding themselves entertained in other ways, and the dancefloor was emptying—leaving Rinoa and the others ever-more obvious merry-makers on an increasingly-empty circle. Squall didn't like that additional attention.

"She's had a little too much to drink." Squall noted aloud.

"Yeah, she's just a bit tipsy." Zack confirmed.

Suddenly, the Lord Protector's booming voice called out above the party once again, from the Royal's balcony. The little Princess sat upon his shoulders, yawning slightly, as he spoke:

"The highlight of the evening is prepared! If you will all head for the outer balconies, I promise that you will be treated by the great Merlin to a show unlike any other!"

Squall nodded to himself. Perfect timing.

"Agreed." Zack added, reading his mind, "Why don't we retrieve our better halves and take them to see what Merlin's been cooking up?"

Pushing through the slowly dispersing crowd—each headed to one of the broad balconies that the Bastion had in overabundance—Squall could only shake his head as it became clear that Tifa and Aerith were utterly exhausted, moved now only by the sheer force of Rinoa's endless enthusiasm.

With surgical precision, Squall cut his way between them and, giving Rinoa one, final, elaborate twirl—as the other two stumbled back, all breathy laughter—Squall dipped her once, to her cheering smile, and placed her firmly upon her feet.

With a satisfied, heavy-lidded nod, Rinoa sighed, "Perfect."

Zack hooked his arm with Aerith's, "I think it's about time we check out the fireworks, eh?"

"Tifa—Tifa—" Rinoa began excitedly, "This is perfect! You can do it! Go over there and just tell Cloud to come watch with you, he…" she nodded, seeming to be in the process of convincing herself, "he just loves…watching stuff!"

"You can do it!" Zack and Aerith cheered together, as the latter leaned heavily on the former, her breath still a little shaky.

Her smile still full, Tifa nodded excitedly, "Yeah—yeah! It's just like back in Nibelheim! Wish me luck!"

Offering his most encouraging of nods, Squall held a nearly weeping Rinoa by the shoulders as Tifa dashed off to find wherever Cloud was loitering.

"Who'd have thought Nibelheim even had fireworks?" Zack wondered aloud, as they watched her.

"Oh, hush!" Aerith rightfully quieted him, and Squall affirmed her choice with another profound nod.

With no shock to Tifa whatsoever, Cloud had been precisely where she had seen him last trying to sink into a wall—but, at least, he hadn't yet succeeded.

What was shocking to Tifa, though, was the forcefulness with which she had put the question to him ("Cloud Strife, will you come watch the fireworks with me?") and the forthrightness with which he had answered ("Absolutely.").

Now, here they stood, side by side, leaning over the terrace with the whole city plotted out before them. The leftovers of parades still lit the streets below, creating intricate patterns of light and wafting sounds. It hadn't only been the Bastion celebrating this evening.

The night air was cool and crisp, as it blew by even these low floors of the Bastion. Below them, its great walls dropped hundreds of yards into the sloping hills and gardens upon which the citadel was built. Ancient beyond measure, it's stone still appeared as sharp as the day it was carved—or, at least, Tifa imagined that it did.

She had managed to find a relatively quiet corner of the Castle; the murmur of the partygoers was low, and the sky clear in the glowing moonlight. She swallowed briefly, shifting ever-so-slightly closer to Cloud, who leaned with both arms over the balcony, examining the city as if to perfectly identify where Merlin's first strike would commence. It was so good to see him interested; engaged, even.

In short, everything was almost perfect in the world of Tifa Lockhart.

Suddenly, there was a small puff of smoke from the center of the Second District, and a stream of light raced into the sky. With a great burst of purple and blue, that first explosion broke the calm air with a heart-racing crack and sent flickering sparkles to glide gracefully out of sight.

And with that, it was as perfect as she could imagine.

"Thanks for joining me, Cloud." Tifa offered, watching as another, twisting in red, launched from the Fifth District.

Cloud's eyes were still rapt, out over the Garden, "I like the open air better."

Tifa sighed inwardly. Mostly perfectly. Mostly.

"You don't have to—"

"No, I want to." Cloud interrupted, "I didn't mean to hide tonight."

"It's alright." Tifa replied, as their faces were illuminated again in an array of colors, "I had a good time."

Looking to her for the first time, Cloud nodded, blonde spikes drifting slightly in the breeze, "That's good."

"And…I'm still having a good time now." Tifa continued, shifting slightly closer to him (oh, god, what was she doing?)

"I…I think I am, too." Cloud replied, not retreating.

Closer now, Tifa could see the marvelous ways the reflected colors danced against his bright-blue eyes, "I just…didn't want you to have to hide."

"I just didn't want to ruin your night," Cloud spoke slowly, "You were just so—"

Cloud paused, before seeming to realize how close she had come to him. All of the sudden, almost as if startled, he stumbled back, nearly tripping himself, leaving Tifa to sit alone, level with where his face had just been.

And that was it. Tifa quivered in place for a moment, eyes meeting Cloud's tense—fearful?—look. She wasn't mad, she wasn't angry, she didn't know what she was. Embarrassed? Ashamed? As freaked out as him? What had she been thinking, expecting anything different? What had she ever been expecting?

This was stupid, she was stupid, Cloud was stupid—but all that came together in only a few words, before Tifa turned and rushed off the balcony and back into the castle:

"Oh, Cloud Strife!"

"I gotta say, Aerith, your old man's a real whiz with the fireworks!" Zack cheered, as another bright explosion lit the sky, punctuating a particularly magnificent eruption in which, it seemed, several streets launched rows of fireworks in a pattern that resembled a tumbling waterfall coming down upon the Garden.

"Isn't he?!" Aerith cried, leaning over the balcony to cheer to the wind for her adopted father.

Zack, extraordinarily content, smiled, as he leaned back a little to capture the whole picture—Aerith, wide-eyes illuminated in the flashing lights, cheering as her voice was drowned out by the percussive explosions. Her long ponytail fluttered in the breeze around her, even as it sent her skirts rustling. Her attention was rapt, her joy unmixed, her love full-throated—and Zack knew he wanted to live in that moment forever.

Unfortunately, a quenched yelp—only heard by Zack through the din because he had trained himself to recognize it over the last year—came from the terrace nearest their own; for Zack, in his self-proclaimed infinite wisdom, had chosen this one for just such a moment as this:

Cloud had messed something up with Tifa.

Damnit!

"Aw, Aerith," Zack leaned forward, tickling her ear, "Cloud just screwed things up big-time. I think I heard her run off."

"Oh?" Aerith turned with a frown, as another round of explosions illuminated behind, "Well, go tell him to go after her!"

"Eh?" Zack raised an eyebrow, "You sure?"

"Definitely." Aerith nodded forcefully, before softening her look with a touch to his face, "Just come back quickly, okay? There's still time before the finale."

"Ab-so-lutely!" Zack saluted, leaning in for a kiss, "I love you."

"I love you, too." Aerith replied, curling up tighter against the balustrade and back to the show. Zack could only drink in so much of the sight of her, peering up with pure joy at the sky, under those beautiful lights, before dashing out and around the corner for a few moments.

There, Cloud sat on the floor of the balcony, looking with wide-eyes at where he now stood; where he imagined Tifa had just taken off.

"Alright, kid—up you go!" Zack rushed forward, pulling the young man to his feet, "Whatever you did, you gotta go make it right, now."

Cloud, looking as petrified as anytime Zack had seen him, nodded, "Yeah, okay...?"

"Seriously." Zack prodded, pushing him into the Castle, "She's just a person, Cloud, and she cares about you—give her some courtesy, alright?"

Nodding again, Cloud stood still, frozen, until Zack took him by the shoulders and forced their eyes to meet firmly.

"Look, do you want to reject her?"

Cloud furiously shook his head no.

"Do you want to tell the truth?"

Cloud's response became decidedly less sure.

"Either way, then, you gotta go!" Zack exclaimed, turning the spikey-haired youth about. "Go on!"

"Aqua! We're missing the fireworks!" Ven cried, stepping from side to side in clear agitation.

Aqua nodded, as she searched through the thinning attendees, "More importantly, though, we're still missing Terra."

"I'm sure he's already out there with dad or something, right?" Ven answered, trailing to keep up with her.

Aqua snorted, "You think Terra just wandered off to watch the fireworks without us convincing him?"

Ven sighed, "Well, I mean, when you put it like that, no! But maybe dad ordered him to or something!"

"Come on, Ven, we haven't seen him all night. Something's wrong."

Suddenly, an energy caught Aqua's attention; something the force of the Keyblade dragged her to. Turning, she watched as the young spikey-haired kid, Cloud, still sloshing darkness, dashed by. He looked equal parts confused, lost, and dedicated, as his gaze flew everywhere and he nearly stumbled into several other guests.

In a moment, he had passed and Aqua was left pondering what had happened—was this something Father would warn about?

"We need to go after him." came the sudden, serious voice of Terra, seemingly materialized from thin air as the boy passed.

"What—Terra, where have you been?" Ven exclaimed, only having just briefly noticed Cloud pass. His ability to sense the present-darkness was not yet fully trained.

"Now, we need to go now." Terra repeated, pushing both Aqua and Ven before him with his broad reach.

"Shouldn't we tell Father?" Aqua suggested, "I mean, that he's acting suspicious? Something important might be happening."

"We don't have time." Terra answered, gently but firmly, "I've been following him all night. This is absolutely out of character."

"But what about Shinra? And the royalty?" Ven questioned, allowing himself to be swept along far easier than Aqua.

"Shinra's long gone." Aqua answered, "And we've got nothing to go on elsewhere."

"Exactly—this is the first interesting thing to happen tonight." Terra affirmed, now moving briskly past them, "I mean, except for your dance, of course—that was…interesting."

Aqua sighed, "Oh, shush. Let's go."

And, together, the three moved as one after the boy.

Regulating her breathing, just as she was taught, Tifa slowed her run to a quiet walk. What was she doing? This was foolish. Just running off like that; like a child? She knew better than that. She was more adult than that. How could she let a little thing like Cloud's shockingly stupid ineptitude get to her?

Taking another calming breath, Tifa looked about to see where she had ended up—she'd only just run down some halls, after all (even more foolish now if she was lost—her Nibelheim heritage would be ashamed!).

But, of course, she didn't recognize any of what she was seeing—Hollow Bastion, apart from those beautiful, large halls, seemed to her now to be nothing but a maze of equally vaulting corridors, filled with art and statues and flickering Fira lamps.

Sh*t, was she really lost? For real? How had everything gone from perfect to frustrating this fast? (the loud explosions in the distance confirmed that she was, indeed, missing even more of Merlin's greater extravagances).

And now here she was—wandering the Bastion alone. Who knows—she could be two corridors away from where she came or twenty-two, the ways things turned around in here. How could they expect to hold a party here without losing people, anyway?

"Tifa! Tifa!"

Tifa's heart simultaneously lift and fall to hear Cloud call her name—he had actually comeafter her!

On the other hand, he had actually come after her.

Turning around, she slowed to watch him run up, panting. How had he known where she was?

"Tifa…Tifa…I'm…I'm sorry…" he breathed, leaning on his knees for a moment.

"Cloud, it's…it's alright." Tifa replied, feeling the embarrassed need to explain herself, "I just felt like maybe it was time to go, then, I mean—"

"I'dliketowatchtherestofthefireworkswithyou." He suddenly exclaimed, all in one breath that came out far too fast and slurred all the words into one.

"You…do?" Tifa replied with slow consideration. What could this mean?

Cloud, for his part, only nodded furiously.

With a slight, tired smile, Tifa nodded, "I hope you kept track of the way back to the hall, because it becomes kind of like a maze out here, I guess."

Cloud, mostly catching his breath, finally stood straight, "We'll find it."

Just then, Tifa's blood ran ice cold, for around the corner, just ahead of them, a nearly inaudible sound seemed to limp. A low, long moan—one which Cloud clearly heard, too, based on how he seemed almost to turn to stone.

"Cloud…what was that?" Tifa whispered, as she listened hard again, making sure it wasn't just a particularly long-winded firework, or the whistling wind.

Another groan, long and raspy, seemed to leak from the darkness ahead of them, following the clear sound of a foot on the stone floor.

Now Tifa was feeling a fear she hadn't felt since those terrible nights her and Cloud were forced to camp in the woods between Nibelheim and the Garden, when wolves would gather around the clearing's edge and every shadow seemed a threat and neither of them would sleep.

"Get ready," Cloud urged quietly, stepping back with Tifa as she raised her fists and readied her stance. Cloud, meanwhile, imitated her as best he could (without his sword, Tifa didn't quite know what Cloud was capable of).

Another low drone; an almost constant rasp. It was getting closer.

Breathe, breathe, breathe, Tifa reminded herself of Master Zangan's words, everything is in the breathing.

A light scraping, perhaps a dragging; another exhaled groan.

Then suddenly, a dark-form staggered into sight, viciously colliding with the opposite wall like a desperate animal rounding a corner. Tifa and Cloud shrieked together and leaped back.

The thing seemed almost to melt into the shadows of the wall; heaving and shifting against them. Then suddenly, the dark form launched forward, stumbled, and fell again, crashing against the opposite wall. Muttered murmurs, like the sound of a dying animal, echoed in the quiet hall.

Cloud suddenly stood up straight, his arms dropping to his side, skin completely white and eyes wide. Tifa followed up behind him, looking closer at the form that now seemed to twist and roll on the ground.

A long hand, bruised and bloodied nearly to black, reached out hopelessly for the nearest grip; the other lay wrapped around the figure's midsection, soaked in a reflective, yet dark, red. The legs beneath it were a twisted mess, angled in ways that seemed impossible, and anything near a face was swollen and bloodied beyond anything Tifa had ever had the misfortune of seeing. With a creeping shock; an even worse fear—Tifa realized this was a human person.

At the very same moment, Cloud spoke in an unbelieving whisper,

"Vincent?"

Aerith sighed, sad that Zack had to steal away for even a moment, but hopeful that he might do some good for poor Tifa and Cloud. It was such a shame that they were missing Merlin's fireworks—she was so proud of all the work he had put into this, and could vicariously feel his thrill as all the guests—the entire city, in fact!—oo-ed and ahh-ed at his magic.

Breathing in deep of the night air, mixed with the smell and smoke of the show, Aerith felt quite content. All-in-all, she thought, the evening had gone well. Far better than she had expected it to go among all these "somebodies." She had a lovely time with Zack, and a brilliant time with her friends, within a beautiful scene ripped from an artbook—and now she enjoyed the fruits of a long labor of love by the man she respected most: what more could she ask for?

"Miss Gainsborough?"

Aerith turned to the unfamiliar voice, wondering idly why it wasn't Zack calling her.

Instead, framed in the archway of the balcony, a man in a white coat, with oily, slick skin and black hair tied far back, stood watching her with tiny eyes, obscured behind thin glasses.

"Excuse me…do I know you?" Aerith questioned, confused and somewhat nervous without Zack. This man didn't strike her well.

"No, but I know you." The man responded in reedy voice, "I only wanted to pass along a message: your mother sends her love."

In that moment, the fireworks fell silent and the lights turned greyscale. Aerith blinked once, then twice, then tried to speak and found that nothing came out. Her brow furrowed, her lips worked up and down, she tried to raise a hand—but nothing came. No sounds, no words—barely even a thought.

The man, who simply studied her unflinchingly, reached inside his coat and pulled out a small, thin, stem, topped with withered and pressed petals—but not so much so that Aerith couldn't recognize the sunflower that he proceeded to lay on the bench across from her.

In that moment, all her contentment came crashing down and the world titanically shifted. Behind her, the fireworks reached their climax—she had mistook the time, after all—as the entire wall of the Garden erupted in lights; fireworks erupting every dozen yards around the entire perimeter of the city in a magnificent show of color and shine.

But Aerith saw none of it. Her breathing had become labored; the world felt cold. Every ambiguous and vague thought of her whole life, every ethereal whisper of a question thought up late at night, became fully embodied; a parasite whose fangs she felt as they pierced her satisfaction and began to leech; a knife fashioned that cut deep into her gut.

The entire past, an entire future, became a question mark to her as the man, with a single nod, seemed to melt away into the crowd, leaving only a hunger, an insatiable gnawing, which began its devouring work.

It was only a few moments later that Zack reappeared. She tried to speak again, yet nothing came but gasps and the breathlessness preceding tears. Stumbling forward, nearly tripping himself, Zack rushed to her and gathered her up in his arms.

"Aerith, what's wrong?!"

The fireworks seemed to be reaching their climax in some distant, faraway place, but neither Tifa nor Cloud were noticing them now.

"We've gotta get him out of here now!" Tifa whispered harshly, as both she and Cloud bent over the mangled form of Vincent Valentine—or so Cloud insisted. Tifa couldn't see through the broken bones and bruised skin—bleeding lacerations covered him, almost seeming to meld with what scraps of dark clothing remained on his body.

"I—I'll go find Zack!" Cloud replied, but didn't actually move. His eyes kept darting up to the check down both hallways.

"No—no!" Tifa replied, "If someone did this to him—if we bring him out there—"

"What else can we do?" Cloud whispered harshly again, tearing his eyes away from another check, "We're not Aerith!"

Tifa nodded, anxiety flowing freely, "I know, I know—I just don't know what to do!"

"Hey, you kids really shouldn't be out this late."

Both of them nearly jumped out of their bones, as they turned from Vincent (who they had at least gotten leaned back up against the stone wall, even as he continued to groan and quiver), to see a tall man in a suit, with long red-hair pulled back, who seemed to have just wandered out of nowhere.

But Tifa was enough of a Gardenite to know a Turk when she saw one.

"We need help!" Cloud replied, slipping into the tone of a reporting soldier, "This man is—"

But as he caught on to what Tifa had already noticed, his voice trailed off. The Turk hadn't even responded to the sight of Vincent; he only stared with the barest of disinterest before turning his green eyes—almost glowing in the flickering shadows of the hall—back to Tifa and Cloud.

"Howsabout you let us…" the man slurred, as another bald man in a suit appeared out from the darkness behind him, "Take care of this guy, eh? Seems a bit outta your league, y'know."

Channeling as much of Aerith as she could, Tifa positioned Vincent against the back wall and leaned his lolling head, which whispered words she couldn't decipher, into a more comfortable position before she joined Cloud, fists ready, between the Turks and Vincent. Damn, it'd be easier if she wasn't in this dress!

"I don't think you comprehend the full gravitas of what you have entered into" another voice replied, as the tallest and sternest looking Turk appeared. Behind him, a blonde woman also followed.

It was then that Tifa noticed for the first time the wicked-looking nightsticks, emitting a slight glow, that the each one held.

"C'mon, kid." The second, bald Turk asked, "Just go. This doesn't need to get nasty."

"You're the ones making it nasty!" Tifa spit back, not even sure what she was doing.

"'gonna have to go with the girl on this one," came a sudden, surprisingly light-hearted voice from the end of the hall from which they had originally emerged.

Turning, Tifa's eye's fell with a mix of relief and confusion upon three figures—the speaker, short, blonde upsweep (didn't she recognize him?); one tall woman with short, dark-blue hair, and, finally, the brown-haired giant of a man who had earlier been watching Cloud.

All three was covered nearly head-to-toe in identical, off-white robes—but it only took Tifa another moment to know who they were, for with a flash, each suddenly held an intricate weapon, each with an ornate hilt, long blade, and curved teeth at the end: Keyblades. These were the apprentices of Master Eraqus.

"Aw, crap." The blonde Turk exclaimed, "The President isn't going to be happy."

"The boss won't need to hear shi*t about it." The red head swore and charged, extending his nightstick into almost the length of a bo staff.

With a speed that seemed superhuman to Tifa's eyes, the three were suddenly gone, leaving the Turk to swing through nothing. Instead, the youngest was rebounding off the wall, Keyblade flipped behind him, to descend upon their attack from above.

The giant wielder reappeared between the tall and blonde Turks, swinging his Keyblade in a circle with the power of bat—forcing their retreat further down the hall. As the last Turk, the red-head, turned to extend his own stick and support his fellows, the blue-haired wielder had already taken his wrist and—here, Tifa couldn't believe she saw right—flipped over behind him, locking out his shoulder and kicking out his knee beneath him.

Staggering back to some semblance of order, the shock having worn off, the Turks charged against Keyblade wielders again. Nightsticks crashed against Keyblades with ferocious force, as each Wielder responded to the blunt force with a natural grace and creativity that Tifa had dreamt of in her own training.

Every time a strike was blocked, the blue-haired Wielder would yield back and twist, redirecting their energy as if the whole were some immense choreographed dance.

The blonde Wielder—she remembered, the one who came to the Seventh Heaven every day for lunch; Zack's friend-seemed barely to keep his feet on the ground, trading blow for blow almost as if the force of every clash kept him aloft.

The giant Wielder, with an enormous Keyblade nearly two-thirds Tifa's own height, rained down blows that she believed should have shattered the bones of even those as well-trained as the Turks.

In short, Tifa was entranced.

"Tifa!" Cloud's harsh whisper suddenly broke her reverie, "We should get out of here."

Shaking her head clear and ducking low from the fight, Tifa turned back to Cloud, who had already taken Vincent gently under the arms. Quickly, Tifa hooked her hands under his ankles (ignoring the sickening swelling that doubled their size) and, with a deep groan from Vincent, lifted him in the air.

"Imsorry, imsorry, imsorry…" Tifa murmured to herself over and over, wincing vicariously with every step. But suddenly, she could move no more—in the blink of an eye, the blue-haired Wielder had taken her arm. Her speed was unreal!

"I can't let you and your dark friend leave." She said, both firm and gentle, her large eyes deadly serious.

"Please—he's our friend!" Tifa explained, looking back down the hall at where her two partners fought off the four Turks alone, "We have to get him away from here!"

The woman stared at her, eyes unbending—though her gaze, too, flashed to the fighting of her partners. A yelp by one of the Turks was heard, as a small Thunder spell was conjured about him.

As the milli-seconds ticked away, and the clash of weapons intensified, the woman's eyes turned long to Cloud, too long, who only returned a wide-eyed stare.

Finally, "Run, before they know you're gone." she turned and brandished her weapon, "Also—carry him on your back."

With that, she was gone again, leaping back into the fray with spinning twists that nearly removed several feet from legs. Not hesitating to see what happened next, Tifa helped load Vincent as comfortably as possible onto Cloud's back who, upon hoisting him up, took off at a painful jog down the hall, with Tifa—having had to remove her shoes—close behind, pulse pumping. Why had she let them go?

"Cl—Cloud," Tifa panted, as they turned a corner and Cloud followed one corridor, rather than another, with unwavering confidence, "How—how do you know how to get out?"

"I—don't." he murmured in response, voice shaking with every step as Vincent groaned from his back.

"But—" Tifa started, though Cloud was not finished. His voice was a horrible whisper; his eyes immovably straight.

"I'm just avoiding it."

The chill that snaked its way around her heart was enough exposition for Tifa about whatever it was that Cloud could see, that thing that haunted him from a distance. And so she only reached out to take his free hand with a reassuring squeeze—not even confident she was assured herself. Every shadow seemed suspicious now; every darkness a grasping claw.

Yet, they ran.

And so, they left behind the seventh birthday party of Princess Kairi Hartwell, heir of Aeron and Gwendolyn, and soon Hollow Bastion itself, and made their way out into the night, through the back alleys of Radiant Garden.