Felix awoke from a troubled sleep into a world of pain. The dried gauze on his hand and leg irritated his skin, the cuts on his shoulders stung, his eyes burned, and goddamn, he wanted to sleep. Light streaming through the wide-open window rendered that impossible. He staggered to the bathroom. Shaving with cold water hauled him headfirst into the morning, an experience he never enjoyed. Felix grabbed his now-clean tactical pants from the floor and pulled them on.

After re-wrapping his injuries and stuffing his pistol into his waistband, Felix made his way down the stairs into the galley. He smelled the same kind of meat from breakfast a few days earlier frying on a stove. He sat at the table with a cigarette, which he lit off the lamp on the table. Lulu and Wakka were eating, but nobody said a thing. Silence hung like a black cloud over the table.

Wakka shattered the silence. "We owe you, Brudda."

"You're all over the news," Lulu said with a nod toward the inert sphere on the table.

Felix groaned. Shit. "They know who I am yet?"

Lulu shook her head. "No. But you aren't exactly unobtrusive. Sooner or later, someone will recognize you."

Felix withdrew the pistol from his pants and dropped into a chair. "Nah. I'll let 'em give the credit to the Crusaders, or to the stadium security, or to Joe Schmo from down the lane." He looked down the gun's sights at a painting on the opposite wall. The pistol had a nice balance to it, with most of the weight centered just above the trigger.

"Brudda, do you really need that?" Wakka asked, gesturing at the pistol. "I mean, we aren't in danger anymore, you know?"

"I had one when I showed up here." Felix blew smoke at the ceiling and set the pistol next to his bare plate. "But I think it fell out on the way."

"'On the way'?"

"Yeah." Felix curled and uncurled his burned hand. "Big ass bird," he said, fumbling for a proper way to describe the thing that dropped him into Spira. "Mmph… does somebody have an antiseptic?"

Lulu raised an eyebrow. "Quite a subject change. What's an antiseptic?"

"Something to prevent infections. Stings like a bitch, but it helps."

"Infection?"

"Screw it, Felix groaned. "How 'bout a potion?"

Wakka pulled a vial from a pocket of his pants and rolled it across the table. "Here you go, Brudda."

"Thanks." Felix drained the bitter liquid, and the pain and wounds dissipated. "Goddamn, I wish we had these back home."

"You don't have potions?"

"Unh-uh. If you got a huge ass cut back home," Felix said, making an imaginary incision down his forearm with his index finger, "they just stitch it back up."

Wakka choked on his eggs. "Brudda, why'd you need to say that? I'm eating!"

Lulu cringed. "That sounds… painful. And primitive."

"Painful… yeah, that just about describes it." He pointed at a short, stubby scar on his bicep. "Medic didn't have anything to numb me up with that time." Felix felt his jaw tighten at the memory of how a hooked surgical needle felt piercing through his flesh, and how bad he wanted to strangle the medic."So what's the plan for today?" He asked, switching subjects yet again.

"Dunno, Brudda. No Blitzball today, they closed the stadium down. Maybe we could go see some sights in town, ya?"

"That sounds like fun," Lulu said, adjusting the fit of her gray blouse.

"Want me to go get Yuna?"

Lulu stood up. "I'll go get her. You two go ahead and find something to do until we're all ready to go."

"Ready, Brudda?"

"I'll grab my vest." Felix stepped back toward the staircase. "Meet ya outside."

Felix picked his vest up, and bits of broken glass fell to the floor. It smelled like an unholy fusion of alcohol, sweat, melted plastic, and cigarette smoke. He tossed it into the bathroom. There's no fucking way I'll go unnoticed in that! I'll wash the cover when we get back. "Damn," he muttered. If he couldn't wear his vest, he needed to find something else to cover the large, grinning, beret-sporting skull on his back. "Hey, Yuna!" He yelled. "Someone got an extra shirt?"

"Unh-uh!"

Shit. "Okay." Felix clipped his belt around his waist and dropped his new handgun into the thigh holster. He gave it a wiggle. A tight fit, but it'll do.

He stepped outside and locked the door and realized he didn't have a key. Ah, shit! "Goddammit, does someone have my room key?"

"I do," Lulu called back. "I forgot to give it to you last night."

Felix shrugged and climbed down the stairs. Lulu shook her head. "Once again, not what I'd call unobtrusive."

"Suits me. 'Sides, not like anyone's going to raise any hell about it," Felix added, tapping the pistol at his hip. "You have my key?"

She flipped him a small brass key. "Here."

"Thanks," Felix said, dropping it into his back pocket. "So where we goin', exactly?"

Yuna bustled down the stairs, tying sleeve-like garments to her forearms. "Somewhere that isn't locked up," she panted. "Sorry I took so long."

"It's okay, Yuna." Lulu assisted Yuna in tying her sleeves. "It's important to look good in the public eye."

"Speaking of 'in the public eye'," Yuna laughed, pointing at Felix, "you might want to wear something besides just pants!"

"I asked you if you knew where I could get a shirt!" He protested.

"I don't," she said, "but you need one!"

Wakka handed Felix a gray bundle. "Here, Brudda. Just a plain ol' shirt; I hope it fits."

Felix pulled it on over his head, and Yuna giggled again. It fit like one of those dry-wicks he used to wear under his body armor – tight as fuck. "Thanks," he said, pressing his lips together.

"That still leaves your machina."

"I'm taking it; end of discussion." Felix tapped his pistol again. "I've been in more shit than I care to remember because I didn't have a piece on me."

"Piece?" Yuna asked.

"It's another word for a gun - er, machina."

"Some places won't let you in with one," Lulu warned him.

Felix shrugged. "Some people are dickheads. Ain't nothin' we can do about it, and I'm not carrying this goddamn thing in my pants the whole day."

"So just don't carry it."

"Yuna, would you go anywhere ass naked?"

"What kind of-"

"Would you?"

Yuna sighed. "No."

"Exactly," Felix said, latching and unlatching the holster's thumb break. "I'm naked without one."

"That's not the-"

"Yes, it is."

"It's your choice," Lulu interjected, "but I do need to warn you again. Spirans do not take kindly to people carrying machina."

Felix grunted his irritation as he grabbed a 'soft' pack of cigarettes from a low shelf. Normally he enjoyed the badass factor that went along with carrying a piece in public, but in Spira his pistol seemed like a billboard with "give me shit" written on it in six-foot-high, day-glow orange letters. He finished giving the visual finger to the rest of the store's patrons before turning to Yuna. "You could've warned me about the attention before we left the hotel," he sighed.

"If I'm not mistaken," Yuna said, "Lulu did."

"Yeah, in a way." Felix selected a pair of sunglasses from a rotating display and placed them on his face. They blocked out the blazing Spiran sun, and hid his eyes. Ain't as good as my Oakleys, but they'll do. "Hey, how much for these?"

The storeowner shook his head. "We don't serve-"

"Listen. This is the third fucking time someone's refused to serve me," Felix said as he leaned over the counter. "I'm not a goddamn Al-Bhed. I need a pair of sunglasses and a pack of smokes. You sell 'em both. Ain't a huge leap to make."

Yuna placed a hand on his shoulder. "Felix, relax. Sir, he's with me. You can be assured of that."

"Oh! My Lady, I didn't realize-"

"Please just let him buy what he needs, sir." Yuna sounded exasperated.

Who wouldn't be?

"Six Gil for the glasses, ten Gil for the cigarettes. A discount for friends of Lady Yuna!"

Felix slid a coin across the counter. "Keep the change." Asshole.

Yuna sighed as they walked off. "Must you wear that?"

He adjusted the position of his sunglasses. "This shirt, or the gun?"

"The gun," she said, crossing her arms. "It hasn't exactly made life easy."

"Yuna, living hasn't exactly made life easy." Felix sliced the pack of cigarettes open with his knife. Unfiltered. "Got a light?"

"No. I can only cast white magic, not black."

Felix shot her a protected glance. "Explain."

"White magic is the art of-"

"Remember the 'nutshell' version I asked for before? Let's hear it again."

Yuna sighed. "White magic heals. Black magic does damage."

"And Lulu…"

"She's the most experienced black mage left in Spira."

"And the only one who can light cigarettes," Felix chuckled.

"There aren't a lot of smokers in Spira, as you might have noticed."

Come to think of it… those shelves in the store looked pretty full. "Thought's crossed my mind."

"So there isn't much call for a way to light them."

"Here's a little tip," Felix sighed. "I'm not somebody you want to spend much time around when I don't have a smoke. So I'm finding a way to light up."

"I see," Yuna said, stroking her chin.

"Can't quit." He dropped the pack into his pocket and placed the unlit cigarette in his mouth. "Tried to enough, failed enough. You learn to live with it."

"Hmm."

"I had a lighter in my gear, but that shit's all gone."

"How desperately do you need one right now?"

"Scale of one to ten?"

Yuna nodded.

"Six." A young couple crossed the street to avoid Felix, transfixing him with angry glares and Yuna with looks of suspicion. "Screw that. Eight."

Yuna laughed. "I hope that it doesn't get too bad too fast."

"Keep the circus out of my face, and we've got a deal." Felix rubbed at his whiskers. "Where'd Lulu say she was goin', anyway?"

"Her and Wakka took Riko to his first game," Yuna said, brushing her hair from her eyes. "But I figured you wouldn't be too interested in that."

"You should've gone. Y'guys are close."

"And leave you wandering around alone? You'd probably kill someone," she quipped, before something wiped the smile from her lips.

"I might kill someone anyway if I don't get my – hey, what is it?"

"Here come the reporters," Yuna groaned, staring at the ground. "Fayth. I hoped this would be a quiet day."

"Lady Yuna! Lady Yuna, what are your thoughts on yesterday's events?" The reporter elbowed her way past Felix to thrust a triangular microphone into Yuna's face. "Did you see the men responsible? Do you know who stopped the attack?"

Yuna's amicable response surprised Felix. "I did not see the person responsible for stopping the attack, but they have my eternal gratitude." She turned and began walking towards a large, ornate building nestled in a recessed alleyway. "Please excuse me."

Felix shook his head and shoved the microphone wielder aside as he followed Yuna. Fuckin' media. "Handled that pretty well," he said.

"Perhaps." Yuna took a seat at a table near the door. "I'm sure Shaami is disappointed, though. I always hate to refuse interviews."

"Ain't your job to give 'em a good story," Felix chuckled. "'Sides, that little official statement probably made her day."

"Perhaps."

Felix tapped his unlit cigarette on the table. "Thanks."

"For?"

He grunted as he leaned against the stone wall. "For not fingering me as the guy."

"I thought you wouldn't want the attention," Yuna said, lacing her fingers together. "I did good?"

"Yeah. So what's the plan for the rest of the day?"

"Riko's game should be just about over, so I asked Lulu and Wakka to meet us here. Think you can hold out?"

"A smoke would help," Felix laughed, "but I should be fine. So what exactly do you do again?"

"I used to be High Summoner. After the defeat of Sin, it became pretty much just a figurehead position, you know?" Yuna smiled. "They did carve a statue of me on Mount Gagazet, though. The Ronso gave me a big horn."

Felix choked. "A what?"

"A horn," she explained, gesturing to show how far the horn extended from the statue's forehead. "The bigger the horn, the tougher the Ronso."

"Ronso?"

Yuna laughed. "Kimahri Ronso is coming for a visit in a few weeks. You'll see what I mean when you meet him."

"Fair enough. So the horn is kind of an homage, right?"

"Most of the Ronso died two years ago defending me. Kimahri and the four other survivors are helping to restore their people."

Whoa. A whole race being repopulated by five people? 'Dueling Banjos' began to play in Felix's head.

"After my pilgrimage, the Ronso decided to build the statue in my honor. The horn was their idea."

"Say, Yuna?"

"Yes?"

"What's with all the orb things around here?"

Yuna raised an eyebrow. "They don't have spheres where you come from?"

"Well," Felix said, "kind of. We have spheres, as in balls, but not the glowing… floating… you get the idea."

"Hmm. Well, we don't know exactly how they work," Yuna admitted, "but some of them provide light, some record images and sounds, and some play back your memories."

"Play back your memories."

"Yes."

Felix shook his head. After some of the shit he'd seen so far, magical orbs that could access your memories and play them back in a visible form didn't seem all that improbable. "Crazy shit."

"We can go to the Sphere Theater later, if you'd like."

"Sounds like a-"

Someone bumped into him from behind. "Please pardon," the man said, a heavy accent of unknown origin interrupting his speech. He edged his way past Felix and into the center of the crowded café.

Felix tensed.

The man had blonde hair, shaved close to his head.

His green irises swirled.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. "Yuna," he said as calmly as he could, "why don't we go see something at that theater now?"

"When Lulu and Wakka-"

"No, I mean now." Felix slipped his pistol from the thigh holster, making sure that his actions weren't visible to anyone. He didn't need some rubbernecking patron to go apeshit at the sight of a gun. "Now would be an excellent time to leave." The man swaggered back to Felix and Yuna's table. Shit. Turn the fuck around, asshole. Turn around. Turn ar-

"Felix, what are you-"

The man grabbed Felix by the shoulder. "No leave," he ordered. "You sit. Yuna sit." He pulled a pistol from inside his blue jacket. "EVERYONE SIT!"

Fuck!

The man turned, probably to make sure nobody tried to sneak out the back of the store. Felix saw his chance. The top of his head disappeared in a cloud of pink and red mist. Felix grabbed Yuna by her sash and hauled her to her feet.

And then the proverbial shit hit the proverbial fan.

Two more men rushed in through the front door, each carrying a handgun. Felix flipped the table to the ground as cover. Three shots ricocheted off the marble tabletop. One fucking magazine. Felix pushed Yuna behind a thick stone partition. "You stay the fuck down!" He ordered, pinning her to the ground with his knee.

More screaming.

A man in a green jacket clenched his neck and slid down the wall to the floor. Arterial spurts emanated from between his fingers.

Shit! Felix crumpled another gunman with a pair of poorly aimed shots. The wound on his hand had reopened. One shot went low and hit the gut. The other went into the throat.

Four more gunmen rushed in the front door.

Felix dragged Yuna behind a different partition. If he could get to a corner of the store without getting iced, he'd be able to hold-

A high-pitched whistle blew outside.

Three men in armor sailed through the door wielding hooked swords. The blades hissed through the air in tight arcs. Clean, professional looking cuts severed heads and limbs. Felix flashed his eyes from gunmen to swordsmen. He'd have to drop the fuckers if they-

"Hey! DROP IT!" The man ordered, brandishing his sword.

"Like hell I'll drop it," Felix snarled, glaring down the sights. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Crusaders!"

Good. Felix gestured with his pistol at the floor. "Who the fuck are these bastards?"

The Crusader tightened his grip on the sword. "I'm not at liberty to discuss that."

"Bullshit," Felix growled. "I've dealt with these assholes before. Who are they?"

"You're the one who stopped the massacre?"

"Yes," Yuna whimpered from the ground. "He… he is."

The Crusader shifted his weight toward Felix. "Lady Yuna is here?"

"No shit," Felix snapped. He slipped his finger out of the trigger guard. "We're on the same side."

"It appears so." The man stepped over a bleeding, headless body and extended his hand. "Wedge."

"Diesel."

The two men shared a firm handshake. "So, Diesel, what the Fayth happened here?"

Felix stuck his pistol back into his holster. "Prick in the blue jacket," he said, pointing at the semi-headless corpse at his feet, "pulls out a piece and starts waving it around. I drop him, and then two of his buddies come through the door. I nail one, then another four come through the door. That's when you boys showed up."

One of the attackers sat against a wall, holding his stump of an arm and whimpering in his native language. Felix walked over and jabbed his thumb into the back of the man's jaw. The green irises of the eyes that flashed open swirled in a strange pattern. "Yeah," Felix said, "these are the same motherfuckers as before."

Wedge crouched next to Felix. "Huh," he grunted. "Interesting."

"What?"

"I can't discuss-"

"Don't pull that thin blue line shit on me. I saved your Summoner's life twice."

"Thanks, but sorry."

Whatever, asshole. Felix picked up one of the pistols from the blood-spattered tile. Like his own, the handgun was jet black, with white stippled grips. He ejected the magazine and compared the gold cartridge to the silver one from his own. Same size, different color. "Hey, you need these?"

"What, the machina?"

"Yeah."

"We usually just destroy 'em when we find one."

"I'm hangin' on to this," Felix said, waving the magazine.

"Help yourself," Wedge replied. "You seem pretty handy with one," he added, his eyes narrowed.

Felix ignored the remark and busied himself removing the magazines from the other two pistols. "Yuna!" He called out.

Yuna stepped out from cover. She walked toward Felix. "Y… yes?" She asked, wiping a smear of blood from a scrape on her cheek.

"Where the fuck are Lulu and Wakka?"

As if on cue, Lulu, Wakka, and Riko walked through the front door. At the sight of the blood, Lulu clamped a hand over Riko's eyes and led the protesting child away. Wakka stood and gaped at the disfigured, bleeding corpses and the alive, sputtering man in the corner. "Holy Fayth! Brudda, what the hell happened here?"

Felix pointed to Yuna. "The same guys from the stadium came back to finish what they started."

Wakka rushed to Yuna's side and began examining her for injuries. "Yuna, you okay? Anything hurt?" He frowned as he saw her face closer. "Did you-"

"I'm fine." She gagged at the bodies on the floor and looked back at Felix. "Are… are we leaving now?"

Two more Crusaders walked through the door and began giving Felix the eye. Wedge stood and waved them off. "We got it," he said. "Secure the street. Lady Yuna, Diesel, you're all free to go. Just get ready to be all over the news."

"—And so, the identity of those responsible for the attack on the café and on Luca Stadium has still not been confirmed by the Crusaders. Lady Yuna is reported to be safe once again, thanks to the efforts of a man who chose to be identified only as 'Diesel'. Diesel has also been reported as the man whose actions allegedly saved the lives of countless Blitzball fans only yesterday. This has been Shaami, with-"

Yuna shut the sphere off. Twice now, Felix had saved her life. Twice now, he refused to accept any credit or thanks for it. Twice now, she watched him put someone to death. She wrapped the blanket around herself tighter, rolled onto her back, and stared at the ceiling of her cabin. Wakka lay sprawled in a chair in one corner, snoring lightly, one hand wrapped around his bladed Blitzball. Lulu sat near him, curled into a ball, her head nestled against Wakka's leg. Yuna sighed. The wetness in her eyes distorted the emotionless '3:12' displayed by the small sphere on the nightstand. She got out of bed and shambled to the door.

She closed it gently behind her so as not to wake the sleeping couple in the room, and sighed again. Small, winking lights twinkled under the pincushion sky as an offering to the soon-to-rise sun. The spotlights on the Blitzball stadium shone brightest of all, their columns of light reflected off thin, high-flying, gray clouds. Small moths flitted through the warm night air, alighting on illuminated patches of the boathouse's wall. She leaned over the banister and looked out at the water, its glassy surface undisturbed by the bustle of Luca.

Yuna placed two fingers in her mouth and whistled.

"Where are you?" She whispered.

Yuna wiped her eyes and whistled again.

Felix pointed the pistol at the sphere on the far wall and pulled the trigger. The soft click reassured him that he reassembled it in the proper manner. He sighed and tossed the weapon onto his bed. He still couldn't get any sleep. The split lip hurt like a bitch, and he punished himself for his stupidity by not reaching for the potion resting on the nightstand. It'll heal, he reassured himself. Just don't bitch about it.

Far behind the ship, the city of Luca continued to go about its business, blissfully unaware that a beat-to-shit mercenary with a busted lip had saved the life of Spira's High Summoner not once, but twice. He could see the reporters inventing story after story about 'Diesel'. He chuckled and popped open another bottle of sake. It stung when it touched his lip and made Felix wince, but he knocked it back anyway. Pain meant he survived. He cracked his knuckles. The boat left Luca en-route to Besaid shortly after the incident at the café, and Yuna said she planned to stay home for a while. The same whistling noise as a few nights earlier echoed through the cabins, and Felix sighed. I oughta go see what's eatin' her. He stepped out of his cabin and shut the door.

Yuna leaned over the banister on one side of the deck, whistling at the empty ocean.

"Hey," Felix whispered. "You okay?"

She turned. Her white bedclothes stood out on the otherwise dim night. "I'm… I'm fine."

Felix stood next to her and crossed his arms. "Why do you do that?"

Yuna wiped her eyes. "Do what?"

"Whistle at the water."

"It's… it's a promise I made to somebody." She sniffed hard and stared out at the ocean. "I intend to keep it."

"Sir Tidus, or Sir Auron?"

"Tidus," Yuna said, pressing her lips together. "I'm sorry, I… I just want to be alone right now."

"I'll respect that," he said as he ambled back to the cabins. Felix felt a twinge of guilt as another whistle sounded behind him.

Chicago, Illinois
June 12, 2000
0100 hrs Local Time

The yellow façade on the front of the building was faded with age and beginning to crumble. The plaster fell away from the cinder block and mortar core. The dirty windows climbed up the housing projects in neat little rows that ended at the antenna and billboard studded roof. Small planters full of pink flowers hung from some of the windows, and Felix couldn't help but wonder that anything beautiful could come out of this hellhole. The Bronco's engine sputtered when Felix withdrew the tarnished key from the ignition. He thrust a small bouquet of plastic roses into his pocket, and after making sure the doors were locked, stepped out of the battered gray Ford.

His rubber-soled combat boots made contact with the cracked, chalk-adorned concrete of the sidewalk in front of the boarding house he moved out of eight years ago. Felix could still remember the glares on faces peering at him from windows and shops, whispering to each other about the man barred from Mass. He sighed.

The air smelled like stale cigarette smoke. It permeated every piece of clothing he owned. The street was mostly empty. The building's predominantly Catholic inhabitants were taking Communion somewhere. Small pockets of kids wearing jeans and baggy shirts reminded Felix that 36th Street was, indeed, still alive.

Broken glass snapped under his feet as he walked along the asphalt. 'Danny's Diner' was gone, replaced by a national bookstore chain. A yellow 'under construction' placard hung from the front doorknob. The 'for sale or rent' sign dangling from the smashed front window of The Keg waved to him in a solemn, faded pink salute. Eight years sent 36th Street shambling down the road to urban decay. Nowhere was it as blatant as in the faded neon signs still adorning many of the buildings, advertising gentleman's clubs and other establishments no longer open for business.

Behind a decrepit church lay a small plot of overgrown, grassy land that served as the resting-place for those unfortunate enough to die in downtown Chicago. He walked to the easternmost corner and stood over the graves. Yellow flowering weeds haphazardly adorned the ground around the headstone. He kneeled and sighed. Michelle was supposed to keep the graves trimmed and flowers fresh. Guess she couldn't take a break to take care of Mom and Dad. Felix ran his fingers over the eroding granite and read the fading letters.

ROBERTO FELIX DIMARCO

LOVING FATHER AND HUSBAND

1924-1999

MARIA ANGELO DIMARCO

BELOVED MOTHER AND WIFE

1920-1997

Felix bent over the grassy mound, pulling the faded plastic roses from the tarnished brass vase that held them upright. Inside the hollow of the vase he placed a pair battered dog tags and the new plastic bouquet.

He did what he came for.

Felix ambled back to the Bronco, amazed and disenchanted at the changes wrought on his neighborhood. A knot of tough-looking kids surrounded his truck, leaning against it as though it were a neighborhood fixture. He shook his head. Even the gangs had changed since he left.

"'Sup, homes? This your ride?"

He sighed. "Listen. I'm not in the mood for any bullshit. I'm leaving now."

"Cabron, you seem a little confused about-"

"I grew up here, back when Mrs. Kowalewski owned the place. Room twenty-one, second floor."

One of the boys pointed at the building. "Vente-uno… You know Shells?"

"Her brother."

The boys stepped away from his truck. "Hey, compadre, we don't want no trouble, okay?"

"Right." Felix dropped into his seat and put the key in the ignition. The Ford coughed to life. As he pulled away and set the flowers on the cracked dashboard, he wondered just how much his twin sister told the boys about him.

A/N: There's the sixth installment of Causes. Hope you've enjoyed the story thus far. Review numbers don't bother me, but they have been a little anemic as of late. A big shout-out to all you who've stayed with the story this long; I promised it would get good, and I feel I've delivered. I've gotten a few comments from RL readers about my plot ambiguity, so here's my response to that: go do a Google search for a "Mongasso knot". See you all next update!

Footnotes/Translations:

Vente-uno – Twenty-one

Cabron – Old goat; bastard

Compadre – Friend; companion