Disclaimer: Final Fantasy XIII does not belong to me.

Author's Note: Good news! My last class is today, and with Fan Expo over (I had a great first-con experience), updates should hopefully appear more frequently again. I don't see myself hitting my mid-April deadline anymore, so I'll be trying to shoot for end of the month. I had some difficulty writing everything I wanted to get across in this chapter, which also affected the update time; I apologize for any abruptness in it.

As always, I appreciate all your reviews!

The One With The Pulsian Threat

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The first time Claire misses the annual fireworks at Bodhum (a tradition they kept up with, if only to remember their roots) is only days before she turns twenty one. Serah had planned for a small birthday dinner at some local, popular beach side cafe, but the timing just hadn't worked out - Claire got swamped with work, and both Cid and Snow were away on some abrupt Cavalry business, and Hope - well, Claire doesn't know where Hope has gone off to.

(In the three years after she runs out on him, humiliated and heart broken, he's tried his hardest to avoid home. Which is fine by Claire.

She's planning on moving out soon, anyway. Maybe then the guilt at her stupidity will finally abate.)

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In the evening some days leading up to her birthday, the news flash an emergency statement: "Cocoon is under attack by Pulse l'Cie." Blurry surveillance videos of two faceless women in a fal'Cie plant become a staple every hour as all military personnel in Cocoon are sent out on a hunt. The Purging of Bodhum is shortly announced as the media becomes a duet of frenzied warnings of the dangerous l'Cie roaming Cocoon unrestrained, and the call for its citizens to remain calm and vigilant for any suspicious persons or behaviour.

Serah and Claire watch one such in report in subdued silence, as the woman on the screen before them assures that the citizens of Bodhum will be taken care of and the remnants of the Pulse fal'Cie that has been found present by the water side is being safely removed this very moment.

"I guess it's a good thing we didn't go, after all," Serah comments as the news come to an end, fiddling with the pen she's using to write her history report.

"Yeah," Claire echoes, her stomach rolling with nerves and turns away from the TV. She startles when she notices Snow standing in the doorway of their living room, his face a mask of calm that she's able to decipher after years of living together.

"When did you get home?" She questions and then, as the thought strikes her, "is this what your work trip was about?"

He turns his eyes to her and for a moment it's as if she doesn't know him after all – as if a different man stands before her, silent and grave and furious. She runs out of words as some instinctual part of her brain urges her to run, tells her: this man is dangerous.

"Sorry, that's confidential," Snow says after that frightening moment and tries to smile, and it looks like a grimace instead. "I'll be in my office. Let Hope know I want to talk to him when he stops by for dinner, alright?"

Claire nods, still mute and just slightly afraid, and watches him disappear down the hallway.

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When Hope arrives at their door and politely rings the doorbell as if it is no longer his house, she relays Snow's words to him with the frosty detachment she's developed well over the past three years. He doesn't even stick around to hear what they're having for dinner before heading off to Snow's office.

"Well, that was rude," Claire comments to Serah as she sulks in the kitchen. Her sister just shrugs and sends her a comforting look.

"You know how busy those two are. They're probably just having a difficult day with everything that's happening right now. I'm sure either Cid or Snow will tell you when they can."

Claire purses her lips. "They're being secretive and I don't like it," she announces and follows after Hope. The hallway floor is plush with a thick carpet that masks her footsteps as she creeps along, until her ear is pressed to the wood of the shut door; she knows she's being immature about this, but she hates secrets. And she's worried. About both her guardian and Cid, who works with Snow and employs her guardian as his right hand man, and has not stopped by to greet her as he usually does after missions.

Snippets of whatever conversation that is so important float through the barrier and she focuses harder, until—

"They knew what they were giving up! This was the only way, and you know this. Damn it, we've had this conversation before - you think this isn't killing me, either?"

Claire almost jumps back at the absolute venom and agony she can pick up from Hope's voice, her heart shuddering to a brief stop in empathy.

"But evidently nothing has changed!" A thump, so heavy that she can imagine Snow's fist hitting his desk. "What is the point of all this if nothing we do actually does anything?"

""Nothing we do actually does anything?"" Hope's response is full of disbelief and Claire shifts in discomfort - this is the most hysterical she has ever heard him. "Take a look around you, Snow! I'd say this counts as something! Have the past years meant absolutely nothing to you? Your work with the Cavalry and Cid Raines, of all people? The very basic fact that the world hasn't been consumed by darkness because of what we've done?" There is a pause in his tirade and Claire presses harder, baffled beyond belief at his words. When Hope speaks next, his voice is thick with an emotion Claire can't decipher – she thinks it sounds like grief, or regret, or even hope. "Lightning didn't know what she was doing when she did this. For a plan born out of desperation in the last few moments before our world ended, this is working out better than expected, don't you think?"

Claire's body feels slightly numb, her brain unable to process the meaning behind the words. The world's end? Lightning? Who was Lightning, and what exactly did she do?

She begins to wonder, with the doubt creeping up on her, if her friends were going insane.

So consumed by her shock that she didn't notice Snow's lack of a response, until Hope is speaking again. "We have Serah with us, and Claire. We have Claire." He places an emphasis on her name and his voice trembles. "At least it's not them again, Snow. At least it's not Serah and Lightning—"

"Dinner's ready!" Serah's yell spooks Claire and she jumps, jerking back from the door as Hope's statement goes unfinished. She tenses, ready to bolt at any sign of their approach from the other side.

The silence stretches in response for another terse second, the atmosphere inside so heavy that she can feel it from her side of the door. "Things will be different this time," Hope finally says with his voice full of resolve, and Snow's response is the resounding silence - then Hope's footsteps, and she dodges behind the corner and makes for the kitchen.

Serah sends her an amused look as she all but bolts in. "Good, now that you're done, you can help put this out." A serving bowl is dumped in Claire's hands and her little sister shoots her out with an amused, carefree smile. In the dining room, Claire sets the salad down on the table and astutely avoids Hope's eyes when he walks in.

"Where's Snow?" She asks instead, and the man only shrugs in response.

"He got caught up with some work stuff," Hope lies straight through his teeth with a smile, and Claire wants to punch him. "He'll be out in a bit."

At least it's not Serah and me, what? The question begs at the tip of her tongue, but all that comes out is, "Sure."

Serah and Claire? And Lightning? Who is Lightning?

Snow finally emerges as they settle in around the table and Serah keeps conversation going, the buzz of the TV a low hum in the background. The news bulletins continue flashing, full of terror and reassurance all in one.

Serah and Lightning? The world's end? Who is Lightning? What's so special about me?

Claire's mind whirls and she stabs a piece of meat with her fork. The taste of it is dim and faint in her mouth, as all Cocoon food is, slathered in sauce to make it more bearable on their taste buds. For the briefest of seconds, her mind flashes to the two women dominating the news reports, clad in their wild furs with strange, rough looking weapons and she thinks - what do they eat on Pulse? Does their food taste any better? Do the fal'Cie care for them on the land below, as they do in the floating haven above?

Blocky letters on the TV stream scream PULSIAN THREAT at her, and TERRORISTS AT LARGE, and Claire looks at her little sister; at Serah, who is safe and happy here in Eden and despite the comfort Snow and Hope have provided them after their mother's death, has remained Claire's focus in keeping her just the way she is—

Claire turns her eyes to Snow and Hope, who listen to Serah with plastic smiles and tired eyes. Disgust and fear roll together inside her stomach at all the implications that could come from bringing up the conversation she had eavesdropped on, and that moment of Snow looming in their doorway, feeling as if he could choke someone to death with the anger she could see building up inside of him.

She did not fear them, but she feared what the world after could mean for Serah, were she to get any answers. And the world for her. And a feeling inside of her told her – don't ask. Not today. You don't want to know.

Hope looks away from her sister then, and meets her eyes from across the table – Claire stares at him, feeling the frown on her face pulling her brow down. Hope raises an eyebrow at her in a question, no doubt surprised at her blatant staring and Claire almost says it: At least it's not us, what? Who is Lightning and what did she do and what did you mean by the world ending?

But she doesn't. She looks away, and she pushes it all away for the sake of her sanity. For her sister's sanity. For the safe, little world that they have managed to build up around them.

Serah, and Claire, and Lightning, nothing.

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A week later she sits on the couch with Cid's arm around her when the show they are both watching comes to an abrupt interruption – a frequent thing as of late, and the bubbly face of the news anchor is a more than familiar one at this point. "The Cocoon government is more than happy to announce that the Pulse l'Cie threat has been contained as of this morning, in no small part due to the assistance of our own Cocoon l'Cie…"

Cid's body against her tenses as the woman keeps talking, her smile blinding in its relief. Claire shifts next to him as the stream switches to a striking, long haired woman being interviewed about the involvement of PSICOM in the capture of the l'Cie.

"It's just a child," Claire observes, surprised, when the crystallized form of their l'Cie is revealed.

"The fal'Cie care little for who they make their servants," Cid replies. Claire remains silent in response to his statement, uncomfortable as the truth about their fal'Cie in this regard sets in.

"Cid is right." She sits up at Hope's voice and turns around to see him leaning against the living room entrance, his arms crossed over his chest and a dark look on his face as he stares at the news report. "Pulsians, Cocoon – we're all just pawns in their warfare. We're nothing but their pets."

Cid's laughter vibrates against her body. "Be careful who you're saying that around, Hope. Wouldn't want you getting carted off by our esteemed Primarch."

Hope's lips twist into a grin. "As if you, of all people, would report me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Claire interrupts as the mood around them shifts, becoming more tense by the moment. Her eyes switch between the two men in the room with her, who are suddenly refusing to look at her. "Cid?"

"It's nothing, Claire," her boyfriend says at last. "Just a joke between Hope and I that's stemmed from past discussions."

Do you take me for an idiot? She almost snaps back, anger bubbling up inside of her. You don't joke about stuff like that. You, of all people, as an officer should know that.

"Fine," she says, standing up and shaking Cid's arm off of her. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me." They both remain silent as she walks out, Hope reaching out to touch her arm as she passes.

"Everything we do is for your own safety, Claire," he says quietly with his eyes meeting hers, serious and sincere. She lingers next to him for a brief moment, torn between her anger and her fear of actually asking for elaboration. "For yours and Serah's."

The silence stretches for what feels longer than a second, Claire's world suddenly different from what she is used to. I'm only 21, she thinks to herself and the thought brings an exhaustion like no other. This is not my fight – whatever this is.

"I know," she tells Hope. I know.

The uneasiness inside her body churns, bringing bile into her stomach, and Claire forces it away.