Hey guys, sorry that waits are getting longer, but never fear, I will finish it.

Bit of a reversal here, FFX fans will find... I think it worked quite well, but let me know how you feel.

- Tony

Chapter 6: Doubts and Nightmares

He stumbled into the saloon with his eyes wild and staring, out of breath and exhausted. Sweat had made his clothes cling to him and the front of his shirt was torn open and his blond hair hung down so far over his eyes it was odd he could even see.

"Reverend!"

There was no answerer. A few heads turned momentarily from their drinks.

The man cocked his head and sucked back air and tried again, louder. "REVEREND!"

"I'm over here, Charlie."

"Where!?"

"By the piano, damn it. Enough of your hooting."

The second speaker dipped his head back and let his long white hair seep down his back like crawling tentacles and drank handsomely as the former walked to him hurriedly and planted his feet when he was right next to him. He just stood there for a few moments, the look of madness not yet vacated and the sick smell of sweat and snot and dried blood causing some of the surrounding drinkers to wrinkle their noses in disgust. The old man turned his head finally, bringing his glass gently to the table as he did so.

"Can I help you?"

"I think I found her, Reverend."

"What?"

"The family up in Bevelle yonder. You said there was a girl but we couldn't find her. I'm sayin' I think I just did."

There was a pause and the saloon grew silent.

"Where?"

"Close. I reckon they're comin' here."

"Did you kill her?"

Heads turned. Eyes grew.

"Well, she was with this young sumbitch, got the jump on-"

"Did. You. Kill. Her."

Silence.

"Answer my damn question, boy."

"No, Reverend."

The Reverend's lips curved into a thin smile and he kicked away the table and drinks flew and the liquids wobbled in midair before plummeting to the ground and the Reverend drew back the hammer on a large pistol and shot the boy right through the left eye, spinning him round and landing him in a heap on the floor. No one moved as blood pooled slowly and spread to tease the tips of boots and table legs and bar-stools, and the Reverend replaced the pistol under his poncho and walked right through the miniature sea until he reached the door.

"Boys, we are leaving now."

He replaced his hat and stepped out the door, and as he did men rose from all four corners of the room; some white, some black, some Mexican, some Apache, all toting guns and torn clothes, some adorned with scalps and some with spattered blood. They all left the silent saloon and the other customers watched them do so, and it wasn't until they had all mounted their horses and rode out of town that any man spoke.

"Sweet Jesus. That was about the goddamn scariest pile of maggot shit I've seen my whole life."

There was a murmur of agreement throughout the room.

He dreamed that he was naked in some great arena, strung up to a great steaming bag of shit that was at least four times as big as he was. A tall, grim man he didn't know stood behind him, cracking a bullwhip across his blood-smeared back and laughing in a dim chuckle as Tidus tried without success to heave the great turd. Atop a thick stone pillar to the north of the arena was Yuna, who stood naked and blank faced, and even as he called out to her in desperation to run and to get away her face remained empty, and rough greasy men would mount the pillar and take turns violating her without struggle, laughing as they did so. Sometimes he would vomit and as that cackling bastard whipped his back he would have to trudge through his own waste and he could feel it squishing between his toes. He eventually stopped trying to call out to the girl, but he never stopped crying, and the men that filled the seats in the arena would laugh at him and spit on him and piss on him, and he marveled at their black hearts and mean faces, at the preposterously cruel and wretched world they inhabited. Eventually he stopped walking and pulling and let the whip hit his back, choosing to cast one last look at the girl he'd failed to save. The beast's trophy. A dark figure by the sunrise. Then he collapsed in the dirt.

He shot awake with a bit of a cry and he could hear her shift beside him. He wiped his face calmly and breathed, watching his chest rise and fall as drops of sweat stained the blankets. She was turned over on her side when he looked at her and he knew she needed her sleep, so he stood up and exited the tent as quietly as he possibly could.

He sat in the dirt in the quiet darkness with his eyes closed, his legs crossed beneath him.

I am alone.

I am safe.

She is safe.

He breathed. His promise to her repeated endlessly in his head.

As it should, asshole. As it damn well should.

He opened his eyes, and they were met with the large white animal that was one of his oldest friends, currently looking into the eyes of his rider with something that felt like concern.

"Oh, what are you on about?"

The animal turned his head and looked over at the black outline of the trees just ahead of them, tiny glints against the great orange body of the rising sun.

I'm tired.

Well shit, that makes sense, don't it?

I'm worried.

That's because you're a damn coward.

I love her.

That ain't worth a goddamn half-dollar, 'cause she sure as shit don't love you.

He closed his eyes again and clenched his fists. His fists were angry, weapons ready for violence, but his face remained calm. His eyes remained closed.

I am alone.

I am safe.

She is safe.

Footsteps. Crunching on rock, dirt, dead grass. Soft crunching. Tiny crunching. Beautiful crunching. Silence.

"Is that you Yuna?"

"...Yes. Am I interrupting you?"

"No, no."

She came closer, and he turned his head and saw her little feet come to a halt right beside him.

She's so small. She's so fragile. She's so damn pretty.

He looked up at her and forced a smile and she smiled back and sat down beside him.

"Why can't you sleep?"

"Some bad dreams I reckon."

"Really?"

"Yes mamn."

I love the way she says really. It's so pretty.

"What are your dreams about?"

He looked at the rising sun.

"...I don't know if I should tell ye."

She took his rough, great hand from his lap and folded it in her smaller ones gently and as she did so his face went red.

"You can tell me, its okay. I wanna help you."

He sighed and turned his head to the orange giant. He didn't have the strength to look into her eyes as he spoke.

God, her eyes. I forgot all about her eyes.

"They're all about you, see," he said, stuttering lightly. "I like you a helluva lot, more'n I've liked anyone, I think, ever. I've never been with someone like you, talked with someone like you, and I reckon if I traveled this whole goddamn world I'd still never find someone as pretty to me as you are. But I know you couldn't feel the same ever."

Tears were coming.

Hold them in, you weak little goddamn bastard. You call yourself a man?

"I done and seen some bad things, in my life. Those things have always haunted me'n they always will. But I couldn't take anything bad happening to you. That's why these dreams hurt."

There was silence for a minute or two, and then he felt one of her hands let go of his, and fingertips sequentially brushed against his face, turning it to hers.

"It's okay. I'll be fine with you around."

She drew close to him and he shut his eyes and as he did so the first tear fell and the most beautiful pair of lips he'd ever seen gently came to rest upon his own, slowing down the whole world and lifting his stomach. He brought a hand to her neck and kissed her again and again and she slowly drew his head down into her lap and he looked up at her as she stroked his hair.

We are alone.

She is safe.

I am safe. Because she is protecting me.