Title: If I could protect you...
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII: Crisis Core
Characters: Lazard, President Shinra, Lazard's mother
Status: One-shot
A/N: A weird little fic that popped up while All That Never Was. It spawned from me wondering why Lazard wore gloves.
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Her son came home with blood on his hands.
Her little boy—only twelve—clutching his mutilated limbs tightly to his chest.
She knew the Slums were a dangerous place. She knew she should be glad he came home at all. She knew she couldn't always protect him.
But… But…
To see him look up at her with those pale blue eyes of his…
To hear him saying "Mum" over and over again as if she can somehow make it right…
She just… She can't… She…
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She does her best. She tears up sheets for bandages. She begs for coins on the streets and saves every bit she can, barely eating at all. All of it is used to purchase potions which are dutifully poured over her son's hands.
It barely helps.
Months later, she watches as her son tries and fails to pick up a simple piece of paper.
He tries and tries and tries again. Each time a bit more desperately.
He'd had such beautiful hands. Now they're marred by thick white lines. They'd been skilful hands that could fix anything except themselves.
She makes the call that afternoon.
---
He arrives that evening, not even bothering to knock. Always the sort to take. Never to ask.
He is round. She is frail. He is clean. She is dirty. He is sleek. She is ragged. He has everything, whereas there is only one thing she can claim.
"All I want…" the man says to her son.
All she can think is please.
"…is for you to work for me."
And she watches silently as her son looks at him with a hunger that has nothing to do with food.
So foolish to hope. So silly of her to think he might allow to her son to stay himself.
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Her son leaves the next day.
She wonders who will come back.