It was dark, but a starry sky at the edge of Nillan. Bordering the great expanse of red-rock canyons: deep recessions into Cocoon's shell, and plains the comparatively tiny airship had flown over.
In the shadow of his cockpit, Sazh was taking a minute or two to just breathe, and appreciate the view, the stars of Cocoon. He had switched his lights off to save energy; who would tell him off?
He was a freelance deliverer of sorts, delivering a multitude of goods, to all corners of the ether. With all his experience piled up, he'd say he's shipped it all. And he owned it—his occupation, although it did rely on the plenitude of aviation offices he knew of just to get him work, of which there was enough of to pick for hours. Still, it was an elating feeling, owning it.
His own ship. His own limited-edition Cheerio! air fresheners. Enough of that vanity.
He had a job to do, though more importantly, a new episode of Chocobo Run to watch at the end of this milk run. He had been extra-than-ordinarily busy this entire week, which was good on his paycheck, but not a lot of other things.
Dajh had been staying up late for him, wanting to watch some T.V. with his old man. Which wasn't good since he had school the next day. If his mother were still around, of course she'd do something—make some rule about this. But, with him—he'd guessed he'd always been too easy on him. Too lax.
Soon he entered the terminal, left the ship in his parking space at the hangar, and exited the terminal for his land vehicle, the legal way for him to get home.
It's a clear night, no wind or planned weather, the sparse woods and road was illuminated by the full-cycled moon of Cocoon, a pair of eyes in the sky. He is in-route towards the distant lights of the suburbia ahead of him, which he could see on top of the hills. It'd still take quite a bit of time to get there from where he's driving, and too; it was that same clear day at these very woods.
Like ever the question would be conceived, or asked even, but the woods always reminded him of his wife, and the accident. Of which he then, could only have blamed himself for. It wasn't his fault, he knew now, but it'd still always hurt him just as much at the thought—might as well have been. He chuckles an "oh boy". It were his sentiments before.
Now, as he drives through here, mainly driving from work during these quiet nights, they would come. He'd be encompassed by the thoughts, memories, regrets, all that sort of stuff that made him seem old, to his younger colleagues. Frustration, sadness. Gladness, love... No, he could never part with this route. It made him think too much; that's how he would put it in third person. But never was it enough to detract from his life anew with Dajh.
Too much at stake to give in to it. As minutes pass by, he once again clarifies, that they were his sentiments before. It was an uphill battle, to clarify.
As time went by; him looking after Dajh, taking him to kindergarten, a year later to school, working shifts in the ether, cooking for him, cleaning the house over and over, watching Dajh's TV with him, entertaining him, shopping with him, shopping for him... and working even more, he started to feel it—realize what was happening. He was falling behind in the world—was missing marks, things around him he felt were slowly falling apart. Whether or not he could do anything about it he didn't know. Was it the fact of it being his age, or possibly his saddened mind?
He had cried again, then, when, suddenly, out of nowhere—like he did those months after she'd passed. Visions of her, and her voice in his ears, not literally of course—he knew that it was his own, telling him of his one true regret or something, as he was pushing through life; getting things right for he and Dajh.
He guessed that that was his reaction back then, in those moments at the Nillan ICU, hovering around the hospital. He pushed it back to the back of his mind, because a death like hers—shouldn't sound like the rain that night in which she did. How could he accept it, when she had left him then—so tragically, in the heat of some petty argument about the damn TV! Darn it—his last words so callous, he didn't think of how to speak to her again the following morning. He didn't try to, he took their relationship for granted.
And then, faking closure through gritted teeth.
Though all the bad stuff aside, and his mind trying to distract him with the problems of today and the next, he knows—at any moment still could feel just how much she had meant to him, how lucky he was to have her in his life, how lucky it was for someone like her to share her life with him—and Dajh. Their boy.
Dajh, whom is waiting for him again, he bets, at the end of his route home. A sudden change to trained eyes on the darkened road ahead, via the rear view; his face now holds a dimpled smile.
Wanting to watch that damn, shamelessly silly TV program again with his old man...
Even with his sadness still there, like rain which had fallen onto his back windscreen, of which to rub at it is an insult to Misha's name, and Sazh's own heart... It's still dampening, cold, like the harsh steel of his vehicle he sometimes feels just to stay awake, keep his mind focused. But, but...
He drives around the corner, pulling his vehicle up towards the small neighbourhood at the edge of the new district, a three minute run from the multitude of stores of this suburb of Nillan. There's a long, hanging corner, hard to trace in the darkness, and then an uphill drive. At the roundabout, he aligns to the road and keeps on rightly. On the fourth, or fifth, house to the left, there's a mushroom-looking tree, and a tiny, upsettingly so, driveway leading up to the garage. The light, of the upper floor is turned on, so Sazh opens the garage door with the button of his device, and drives in, suddenly remembering he forgot to buy food to cook for the next few days, but more importantly, a little something for Dajh—for simply him being so busy this whole week. Of course he forgets.
The door closes behind him, and he exits the vehicle. Instead of going inside, he opens the garage door and steps outside. Closing it, there he looks up again at the stars with seemingly frivolous and impatient eyes, but inside he doesn't feel that way. Of course he is getting old, but it was no excuse to negate the life settled deeply inside him. Lodged in and not willing to get out, like something stuck as grout in the grooves of an eaten take-away container. He had heard her voice again tonight, and he guesses tonight he'll answer it. He—
"Dad." Dajh calls from the balcony. His small hands were holding the barricade wires, his head barely able to see above the third protective railing. "What are you doing?" he asks curiously, inside the night.
Good question. His smile returns to his face seeing him though, as Dajh is eagerly making his way towards him, down the steps. After crawling a couple, he finally is hopping towards him, giggling, before pulling Sazh's legs in into an all-too-adorable hug. Sazh ruffles the boy's hair, with a warming smile.
"...just thinking Dajh."
"About what?"
"The past...
...you know, your mother... was a great player of Word Roulette. How 'bout it?" He lowers his head to his level as he says this, with a bright, enthused expression. "We play one of my games for a change—and I'll definitely go easy on you on this one." he says as he ruffles Dajh's hair again, and pushes him forward.
"Okay, but what about Chocobo Run?" he asks somewhat concerned.
"After it. Couldn't sleep until I learnt about what happened to that, nefarious Ultimecia, and the fates of all those stolen chocobo chicks."
"Hehe, okay." Dajh grins again, looking forward.
Maybe this would be okay.
Author's Notes: Thanks for reading. :-) This story I based loosely off my grief over when I lost my father, but also, about my memory of when he used to drive home from the airport late at night, and I would stay up for him, excitedly. It has a happy ending. Hope you enjoyed!