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Like Death Warmed Over

Chapter 3

Home was about a three or four day walk from where we'd been dumped, by my estimations, and I'd be wasting your time if I went into detail about those next few days. It was a very bland affair, overall, in which almost nothing of consequence occurred. Auron, after about ten minutes, realized that, like it or not, the fayth were obviously set on tying his afterlife to mine, and followed after me with a sulky attitude in tow. Okay, so it wasn't as much sulky as it was irritated, but IMO, irritated is Auron's sulky; he simply can't pull off the emo enough to make the latter believable. I did not share this enlightened thought with him; I found it unlikely he would appreciate the wisdom. So we did even less talking than I could have anticipated – that was a feat – and since we were dead, not even the fiends gave us the time of day.

I did, however, find lots of time to consider what I was actually doing. It struck me that I didn't know what year it was – that was, if we were even in the Spira I'd known – and I didn't know whether I'd actually find Home on the other end of the journey. For all I knew, we could have been transported to before it ever existed, or worse, right after the Guado arrived here. That thought made me shiver, and I did my best to suppress the idea. Witnessing the attack once was bad enough; twice would have been unbearable. I still had no insight as to why I looked the way I did, though I suppose that could have been expected in light of how helpful the fayth had been thus far.

To his credit, Auron was very good about not asking any questions as to why we were headed in this particular direction (this was a blessing, as there was no solid reason), and did not do anything insensitive like asking how I had died. Upon further speculation, I'm not sure why I assumed he would as he'd never been Mr. Personal in all the time I'd known him, but my death had been a very sudden and traumatic event and I knew that if it had been me in his position I'd have been wanting to know all the gory details. I passed it off as apathy; in retrospect, I realize it was consideration. It was something I'd never given much thought to, but Auron had never discussed his death with us on the pilgrimage. Now that we had that particular event in common, I understood why. Death is probably the most personal thing we ever experience, as much of a paradox it may seem. I mean, coming face-to-face with your own mortality… no wonder Auron never brought it up.

Then again, his death was also a lot grander than mine. Auron's was full of symbolism and passion and anger, whereas mine consisted of a lot of stupidity and slow reaction time. He probably figured there was no way my death could compare and just didn't want to make me feel bad about it. At least that was what I told myself.

Well, anyway, I'd passed the last couple of days contemplating these philosophical thoughts, and I finally caught sight of an Al Bhed sign for Home and was quite jittery with anticipation. I knew now that the place existed; what condition it would be in was another story entirely. I must have looked as nervous as I felt because Auron kept eyeballing me warily like he expected me to light a firecracker under his seat or something.

"You don't know when… this is, do ya?" I asked, my voice betraying more fear than I'd intended.

He almost looked apologetic as he answered, "I don't."

I knew he knew what I was worrying over, and it made me feel slightly sick so I didn't say any more. My thoughts didn't stop running in violent and dangerous circles until we approached the dune from which we'd all watched in horror on the pilgrimage as my city burned.

This Home was fine; it was perfect, but it was strange. The thing about the Al Bhed is that we don't keep things as they are for long, and what I was looking at gave me a sense of déjà vu like nothing I'd ever experienced before. It wasn't that I felt I'd been there before – I had been there before. I was struck by a rush of mixed emotions; nostalgia, something of a surreal sensation, joy and fear. Auron was staring at me, and I did what I do best to cover up my nerves: started talking. "I haven't seen machina like this in ages, Auron," I commented. "I think we've gone back in time."

He nodded in agreement. "I'm not an expert on the Al Bhed, but these look older than the ones we saw on the pilgrimage."

"They are," I marveled, kneeling to examining a disabled Scouter unit. "Yevon, I haven't seen one of these since I was about eleven or twelve." My head snapped up as I looked at Auron with wide eyes. "How old do I look, Auron?" I asked tentatively, and there was understanding in his expression as he nodded.

"No more than twelve," he confirmed, and my lips parted as I stared at the machine pieces with newfound meaning.

"This is my past… but why...?" I mused. "Auron, do you think I exist… in there, too?" I asked, gesturing at the entrance to the place I'd called Home back then.

"I honestly do not know, Rikku," he said, and I was impressed at the cool way he was dealing with this. After all, delving firsthand into my childhood probably wasn't his idea of a happily-ever-after.

"Well, we're gonna have to find out, I guess," I decided, since about all we could do in our current situation was curse the fayth and build one epic sand castle. "How to explain you, though… Bahamut, a little help here would be greatly appreciated!"

He ignored me, of course, and I swore rather violently and crossed my arms. "Well, that's just peachy. Damn fayth are sick, I swear to Yevon. Probably do stuff like this for a laugh – after a thousand years I guess even they get sick of staring at Shiva... damnit!"

A voice that did not belong to Auron stopped my tyrade in its tracks. "Rikku? What the ramm are you doing out here?"

It was Pops, I knew it was, and I winced, turning around with a big fake grin plastered on my face. "Hiya, Pops."

He gave me a scrutinizing glare, and I knew from experience that I was in trouble. I did not seem to be in any immediate danger, however; Pops had shifted his attention to Auron and looked positively livid. "You!" he hollered, and I stared, unsure of how to diffuse my father's rage. It was worse perhaps because I realized how bad the situation looked, not actually being the roughly twelve years I appeared. Hell, who was I kidding – Cid would have thrown a fit if I'd been sneaking around with anyone within the realms of 20-something up until the day I'd died – which was either less than a week ago or five years in the future, I wasn't sure which. Had to admit though, despite the tomato-red face and vein that was threatening to pop out of his forehead in his angry-protective-father mode, Pops was looking pretty damn good. I'd forgotten how young he looked before-

Oh, Yevon, it couldn't be.

I knew I should have been intervening, trying to convince Pops that this was anything but what he was thinking, and I was vaguely aware of a lot of yelling on his part and defensive-sounding answers coming from Auron that weren't likely to do anything but further enrage Cid, but my head was spinning. The only thing I could reasonably comprehend was that my mother had to be alive.

"POPS!" I screamed it so loudly that even he heard it over his hollering.

"Rikku, get your ass in there. You're in serious trouble," he growled at me in Al Bhed. "Just wait 'til I tell your mother…"

It was.

"Mom…" I couldn't breathe, suddenly, and it shouldn't have mattered because I was dead, for Yevon's sake, but I was lightheaded, choking. I gasped for air, and it came, too fast and shallow as my vision swam. I saw my father's outline somewhere in my line of sight – up or down, I couldn't tell – and I heard millions of voices in my head, calling my name before I was weightless, and my mind went empty as death.