A/N: Sorry about the delay in posting this chapter! It's been a rough week, full of life's little challenges. Enjoy!

Sitting upright he gasped a deep, desperate breath; breaking the dead silence in the air. His mouth felt like an eroded desert; throat dry and cracked. The lungs in his chest burned painfully as they reinflated; breaking into coughing fits as the room spun unstably around him. His warm exhales clouded the freezing air surrounding his body and after the first breath subsequent ones came easier and automatically, but his stiff chest still protested the abandoned habit. His whole body felt heavy and sluggish. Rubbing his forehead, he shuddered against the icy darkness in the room as his eyes started to focus on nearby points of light. Overhead lamps provided stark illumination and his gaze turned to a sheeted form a few feet away from him. He noticed another, and another, laid out in a calculated clinical pattern. His eyes were still fuzzy as he rubbed them with numb fists trying to focus on what he was actually seeing. Squinting, he could make out curves under the sheet closest to him. The hair on his neck stood up while looking at what was lying only feet from his own self and panic rose in his chest. What the -? The sheet tented slightly near the top and at the bottom.

Adrenaline pumped in his chest as he spun on the table, dropping his bare feet to the cold floor and standing unsteadily. Weakened knees carried him the short distance to the adjacent table and he reached out a hand to the cool cloth, ripping it off with one fluid motion. Just as he suspected, under the cloth was a blue-tinted slab of human flesh. Ugh! Snow turned his head away as quickly as he'd uncovered the cadaver before him, clamping his hand over his mouth. Regaining some composure, he looked back at the form, morbid curiosity getting the better of him. It's mouth was fixed in a disinterested line; the lips bloodless and flat. He stared at the face, something about it jogging a particularly vivid memory about him running his fingers possessively over the heated flesh of a woman. The corpse that lay before him completely naked on the glinting metal table had blush coloured hair like the woman from his memory, but the flickering recollection remained unfocused and hazy. Staring between the mounds of the woman's ample breasts, he saw the black brand of the l'Cie. Casting an eye upward he stared at her face. The once relaxed eyelids opened and twinkled with recognition as he gazed upon them, the familiar mouth forming his name silently. He knew the taste of this woman's lips; now smiling at him. He felt himself return the smile as he reached out to touch her; the skin clammy and pale, the woman's eyes rolling back in her head as his fingers met flesh, life resending. The warmth he felt was cruelly fictitious and he yanked his hand back in disbelief. "Lightning?" he asked the uninhabited shell. He shook his head, backing away from the cold metal table, bumping into his; stumbling, knees bending as he seated himself before he crumpled to the ground. He squeezed his eyes shut and clutched his head; his breathing ragged and shallow. "No no no..." He was positive the last time he saw her she was very much alive. What must have happened while he was meandering lost between this world and the next? He forced himself to look upon the body once again, his face twisted in desperation, but it no longer held the visage of the cherished woman from his memories.

"Oh, man." Shaking his head he ran his quivering hands down his face. When he looked down at himself for the first time he realized he was without a stitch of clothing; not unlike the woman across from him. "What... what is going on here?" Hastily grabbing the white sheet he assumed used to cover his lifeless body, he wrapped it around himself, tying the ends in a knot at his hip. Once covered, he scanned the large room, seeing countless other unoccupied human remains. Spying a bright red sign that said 'exit' posted over a set of double doors, he headed that way, weaving carefully around the metal tables. His distressed pulse throbbed in his ear. Peeking through the windows, he figured he must have been in a hospital; the exceptionally drab decor and white walls gave it away, not to mention the smell of disinfectant and the sickly scent of death. The corridors seemed to be empty, so he put his hands on the chilly door handle and pulled. It didn't open. He tried again; the twisting and pulling more urgent as he began to panic again. "Damn!"

Staring hopelessly out the tiny window in the door, goosebumps popped up on the flesh of his arms. He'd been aware of the cold, but only now it dawned on him how dire his situation might be. He could think of only a few things worse than being locked in a sub-zero meat locker. He was sure that he'd been dead before this new consciousness came upon him; but he'd be damned if he woke up only to die this way. He crossed his arms in front of his chest to rub numb hands over his upper arms, trying to gain some warmth through friction. Someone would have to come in here sooner or later, and then he'd make his escape. It would be awkward to explain that he'd just come back to life while laying on the table, better to incapacitate the next unlucky soul that came along. He'd easily be able to knock someone out if he needed to, but he hoped it wouldn't come to that. Of more immediate concern, he needed to stay alive until that someone came along. He blew warm breath into his hands and repeated the friction inducing motions. His hands were warming, but the rest of him was not. He shuddered, his feet feeling like blocks of ice. Nothing in this room was warm and there was no where he could stand or sit that might provide some relief. He walked back to his abandoned steel bed and, not looking at the body he had uncovered, bent to pick up the sheet to recloak the woman. It felt wrong to leave her uncovered, even though the shell was void of anything, least of all potential embarrassment.

Trying to stay active, he started to walk the perimeter of the room, bones aching. Noticing a cupboard on the far side, he quickly closed the distance. Cold fingers manipulated the latch, and it creaked open. Inside was a stack of stark white sheets like he had around his waist. It was something at least. The sheets were quite long, and he drew one out of the cupboard, ripping it in half with a grunt. Doubling up the one side, he stepped on it and tied the ends around his foot, creating makeshift socks. He grinned his patented boyish grin at his cleverness and did the same to the other foot. At least he didn't have to walk on the cold tile anymore. He took another sheet to wrap around his shoulders, and an extra to rip into restraints for later use. These will do nicely. Crouching beside the locked set of doors, he ripped the sheet into long strips meant for binding; losing track of time as he lay in wait for his unsuspecting victim. His breath puffed out of him slower and slower as time drug on, and his brain stopped plotting his escape and drifted to other things.

There wasn't anyone on Gran Pulse, as far he as his fellow l'Cie had seen in their exploration of it's various regions. He figured since there was no one on Gran Pulse there couldn't be any working hospitals, although, he had no idea how long he'd laid in this chilly room as a corpse. Not to mention he was dead and now he wasn't, so anything was possible.

His teeth chattered almost constantly, and he could feel his core temperature continually dropping. He'd never had problems with being cold; in fact, he thought his temperature must have run a little higher than a normal person's. So much so that people used him as a portable heater. Serah loved to cuddle up to him on cool nights as they sat outside on the beach and watched the stars. She'd sit between his legs and he'd wrap his arms and coat around her. He shared an apartment with Gadot in Bodhum, but the redhead was usually there playing video games when they weren't out on a mission, so he rarely made her endure his uncouth best friend. They couldn't go to Serah's because even though Lightning was gone a lot, she kept odd hours, and in the beginning Lightning wasn't very tolerant of the new man in her sister's life. He didn't want the older Farron to give his fiancee trouble, so he avoided going there as well. In the end they had a couple places they would visit to be alone, but Serah preferred the company of others anyway. They often ended up at the Shack where Lebreau tended the bar. Maqui and Yuj hung out there as well and Maqui was very fond of Serah; the two were actually quite close.

They'd only been alone a handful of times, but the scene usually ended up being a bit awkward; Snow leaning a little too close, or maintaining a kiss a little too long. Oft times their encounters seemed a bit platonic, and Snow had wondered if Serah liked him in that way. He'd gone so far as to ask her why she seemed cool towards him when he wanted to show her how much he cared for her in a more physical manner. They'd been seeing each other a little while, but they'd not progressed farther than a french kiss, and even then, those were few and far between. She sheepishly admitted to him that she had little experience with boys, not because she hadn't had the opportunity, but rather that she wanted her first time to be special. She was waiting to share herself with her husband. He thought that was amazing; when most guys would laugh or consider her virginity a matter of conquest. There were other things they could do, but she seemed to be unresponsive to most of it. She knew what she wanted, and that was commendable. Honestly he had been waiting for her to reciprocate any of the various moves he made on her, and during that time he kind of gave up. She was a pretty little thing, but that was part of the problem. She was like a bird in the palm of his hand and he was unable to play rough with her. He almost preferred the non-sexual relationship they had formed; there was no pressure, no expectations, and it made things blissfully simple. Until, of course, the l'Cie thing.

Again he blew lukewarm air into his numbing hands, entirely unaware of how long he'd been crouched beside the door in his make-shift booties, waiting for someone to come into the room so he could make his escape. He had to make it out of this room; had to get back to her; them. Ugh, things could get very complicated.

Whenever he thought about the older Farron, a tingling sense of excitement crackled around him. 'Fulla spit and vinegar' Fang had once said about her. They had things in common, they were both leaders and strong willed; stubborn as mules most certainly. Snow had been a little more yielding when it came to Lightning to try and win her over, but it seemed he was always getting himself in trouble. No less trouble could have come to him than that one night when he went wandering off looking for Lightning and found her. He could have named her trouble, in fact, she had been the cause of his, and apparently still was as he felt the surge of heat in his gut. A heat that was absent no matter how much he thought of his fiancee. He remembered the way Lightning had trembled in his arms as emotion overtook her; they'd not talked about anything that had happened, he felt unable to bridge the subject with her and she'd kept her distance from him. He recognized her attempts to distance herself from him, but he also saw the questions on her face. The tension was thick, but they'd been forced into another intimate situation where he was sure Lightning saved his life. She was exhausted but she never gave up on him and brought him back from what could have been a very permanent unconsciousness. All he could do in return was to administer whatever healing his untrained hands could muster. In spite of the unrelenting evidence to the contrary, he couldn't shake the feeling that she still hated him. He had attempted to provoke her into spilling her guts, but it hadn't worked. Not verbally at least. Her frenzied kisses and impatient caresses weakened his resolve once again, and he found himself giving into the villain walled within him; except he didn't care this time. She was a woman possessed as the words she kept from him flowed from her in another form of communication; if only he were able to receive the entire message... Excellent timing on Fang's part had shown them the end of that very private and very intimate moment. If he had another chance with her ever again he made a vow that he would make her say all the things she hadn't said. He would have her say all those things she held back in the past, present and future because he wanted to know her as much as he possibly could. With just a look she could throw him into an ardent mess of unrestrained want and desire, and he wanted so badly to return the favour. He felt himself shiver, but it wasn't due to the relentless cold; in fact, he felt his chest warm as wanton thoughts of her trampled through his lethargic brain. He wasn't planning on dying in here, but just in case he did, he wanted her to, once again, be the last thing he was thinking about.

Lightning was perfect; her body lithe with long, lean muscles under milky skin. The gentle curves of her neck and shoulders begged to be kissed, long tendrils of rosy hair spilled around those shoulders. Unwavering blue eyes stared resolutely framed by long dark lashes as she stood facing him; stripped, the water pooling low around the swell of her hips. Back then he hadn't wanted to take advantage of her vulnerability, and so he took a page from her playbook; the unreadable face. He regarded her nudity in a respectful manner; and that in itself had been difficult. She was so delicious under his palms, and when he dared journey down the valley between her pale pink tinted bosom a sound he'd never forget escaped her. That inspired hum toppled what was left of his own resolve and there was nothing else in the world he wanted more in that moment than to taste her. He wanted to keep tasting until his tongue knew every single inch of her quivering flesh. He wanted to take what he wanted; what the man wanted from the woman, but she was so emotionally impoverished that he felt he needed to give and not take from her. As their mouths met, her hands were in his locks of hair clutching desperately at the blond mane. Every urgent tug only served to fan the flames that threatened to burn out of control in him.

He considered what he might have done had he been less than a gentleman. She appeared rushed and unsure, not hesitant, but inexperienced as she latched onto him, seemingly wanting to devour him as much as he did her. He wondered what the skin on the inside of her thigh felt like if the outside was that unbelievably smooth and satiny. Maybe it was similar to the unblemished, supple skin of her freshly blushed breasts. He'd noticed their gentle darkened peaks when she let his eyes roam over her, imaging himself kneeling, hands splayed on her back, unable to resist capturing a taut nipple between his lips. Her hands would have most certainly been buried in his hair; she seemed to enjoy playing with it as he cupped and kissed each weighty mound in succession, showing equal favour.

Of course he wanted more, oh so much more, but it was a callous blessing that they were interrupted when they were. If they had kept the pace up they might have done something they couldn't pretend didn't happen. But he still wondered if she wanted him the same way he wanted her. He hoped that he wasn't a passing whim; comfort when she felt the most alone and didn't know how to deal. She demanded that he forget her, but that would be like asking him to forget how to breathe. They were part of each other now; that fact sweetly irrefutable.

Now here he was; someone or something had given him a second chance. She needs you. The voice had told him. But which she did they mean?

A faint sound made him perk up his ears and snap back to the present, rather bizarre situation. Footsteps! Breathing one last long breath into his hands, he rubbed his crouched thighs in preparation to spring on whoever came through those doors. Gripping the strips of sheet he'd torn, he lay in wait. Moments passed as the clicking heels grew louder and finally the double doors unlocked and opened, admitting a small lady dressed in a white lab coat stained red by the light of the glowing exit sign. A lazy whistled tune filled the room as she entered, looking at a clipboard.

Snow sprung up silently behind her, putting a hand over her mouth, the clipboard clattering to the floor as her tiny hands clutched in vain against his. Feeling her tense under him, he spoke in a low voice next to her ear. "Don't be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you. But I don't want to put a gag in your mouth, so don't scream, ok?" She mumbled against his hand, but nodded in compliance when he didn't free her mouth. He gripped her small wrists, tying her hands out in front of her. Once secure he took another long strip and covered her eyes with it, tying it loosely in the back. Her small stature reminded him of Serah; she felt breakable beneath him.

"What do you want?" she asked quietly. His eyes flickered over the contents of the clipboard; he wasn't sure why he'd even bother to glance at it. Request for Cremation was the title of the form attached under the clip. Taking his hands off the woman he picked up the board and scanned it a little more thoroughly. Apparently the request was for his own cremation later on in the afternoon. He shuddered. Whoever chose to wake him up today had an interesting sense of humour and, apparently, perfect timing.

"I just need to get out of here. I got... locked in." he replied awkwardly taking the single paper from the board, ripping it up and tossing the shreds in a small trash can nearby. Shuffling his captive outside the cold room, the notably warmer air in the hallway enveloped his frigid skin and he sighed, instantly more comfortable. "I'm really sorry..." he apologized, looking at her name badge. Dr. R. Farrell "...Doctor Farrell. I'll send someone down to help you, so please be quiet for a little while longer." She remained quiet as he asked, sitting her under the plaque on the wall beside the doors.

Morgue

Guess I can add 'died' to the list of things I've done. He thought lightly. Releasing the tied sheets from his feet, the marble flooring felt blissfully warm under his weight as he turned to start down the hallway. He also left the sheet that shielded his shoulders and chest from the cold behind, favouring the warm blanket of air. He did entertain the idea that he was dreaming; and if he was he might as well play it out. Either way, he had to find some sort of clothing to cover himself in if he was to escape this place unnoticed. Peeking once again through another set of double doors into an abandoned room, he made out another plaque at the far side.

Staff Lounge

Bound to be something in there I can wear. He looked back quickly to assure himself that the bound woman was still there and pushed the door open carefully. Turning his attention back to his escape, he checked the room to make sure there was no one to see him. He tiptoed hurriedly across the room and into the lounge. Searching this room for any inhabitants, a sigh of relief passed through his lips when his search turned up no one. The windows at the end of the room were dark; shards of moonbeams cut through, casting their light on the short berber carpet. He found some lockers off the main part of the room, a couple of which weren't locked. He rifled through one. Some scrub pants, a couple masks, a pair of stretchy shoe cover things. Nothing he could really use. Another was empty except for a gum wrapper. He opened the next unlocked compartment, and pulled out a masculine looking backpack. Sitting down on the bench he unzipped the bag and stuck his hand in. Feeling around, he grasped a piece of denim and pulled it out. It was a pair of faded dark wash jeans. He shook them out and held them up. Might fit. Glad to be ditching the morbid sheet, he stepped into the leg holes and yanked them up and over his muscled thighs, securing them just below his navel and carefully zipped the fly. They were a bit tight for his liking, and a bit short, but it was hard to find pants that would fit someone his height on an ideal day and in either case, beggars couldn't be choosers. Stuffing his hand back into the bag, he pulled out a tailored black button down shirt and tossed it over his back, sliding his hands into the sleeves. His chest was too broad to be able to button it past a few buttons from the bottom, so he left the rest open. The fabric felt good on his skin and he immediately started to warm up. Deciding it was time to go, he tossed the pillaged backpack back into the locker and made his way to the door.

There was a cork board beside the door with various postings, selling furniture, giving away kittens, a playbill for Loveless staged by the near-by high school and some other goings on in the community of Bodhum. At least he was in Bodhum, although he was curious about how he ended up back here. A newspaper on a side table caught his eye; picking it up he glanced at the date. Almost a month, give or take since he'd last been aware of anything. The simple fact that he was standing there reading the newspaper was a good indicator of the outcome of his teammates focus.

I guess they did it. I wonder what's happened to everyone else.

The first page article talked of the repopulation of Gran Pulse and how there was unrest among the general Cocoon populace. Anti-Pulse organizations sprung up over night; they were dangerous and unpredictable as they fought against the government's plans for reformation. Snow himself was all for rebellion in any way, shape or form, but innocent people were getting hurt during the violent demonstrations staged by these Anti-Pulse revolutionaries. He couldn't condone their actions.

Men fight men; men battle beasts; Cocoon wars with Pulse. There can be no end to such conflict. The old man Bartandelus had said once. Snow shook his head and returned the newspaper to the table. It was going to take a long time to change people's minds about Pulse.

"Oh. The doctor!" he looked around the lounge for a phone. On the other side of the doorway, one hung on the wall. He picked it up, and underneath the receiver there were internal department dialing instructions. Glancing at them he pressed 678 on the keypad and ringing began on the other end.

"Front desk, Maria speaking." The female voice on the other end was richly accented, and exotic sounding.

"Hey, Maria." he said casually, "Can you page someone to come down to the morgue? Dr. Farrell needs a hand."

"Uh, sure. Who is this...?"

Snow hung up the phone without explanation.

The streets were quiet as he made his way, still barefoot, to the Farron household. Things had certainly changed in the days he'd been... away. The signs of civil unrest were obvious; litter in the street, broken windows, strange shouts in the night. He'd been able to escape the hospital without notice due to the busyness of the place, no one looked at him twice. In fact, he'd left through the emergency door when there'd been a convenient commotion.

His footsteps were quick, he wanted to get back to her house as swiftly as possible. If the world was still here, then maybe Serah was too. Not knowing what had happened to everyone was killing him. The last thing he remembered was Lightning swinging that blade of hers after he'd gotten slapped around by the fal'Cie. She'd had a very genuine look of panic and fear on her face and she stared at him. He remembered watching her with admiration before he'd lost the ability to keep conscious, her name on his last breath. What about Hope? Had he been able to save the boy from certain death? Many questions weighed on his mind as he took a shortcut through a darkened park.

Long, unkempt grass tickled the soles of his feet. It was unusual for the park to look so disused and abandoned. Things must have been more dire than he first thought. This park was a hot spot for kids, and although it was natural to be quiet at night, it looked like no kids had played here in some time. There was some graffiti on the sides of the play structures and most of the chains on the swings were broken. It made him a little sad. An air of tension floated around Bodhum, the usually cheerful streets were ominous and eerily quiet. He pressed on towards the Farron's residence.

His heart skipped a beat at the thought of seeing Lightning again. It would come as a shock for her to see him again, alive and well. Would she embrace him? He thought not. Maybe Lightning had confessed everything to Serah. He didn't think she would do that either. His stomach took the opportunity to remind him that he was very much alive with a hungry protest. Serah's cooking would hit the spot right about now. He hoped she'd be glad to see him; can't get rid of the hero so easily. Elated at the prospect of seeing familiar faces, he saw their home come into view, and broke into a run as a goofy smile crossed his lips. It's nice to be home at any rate. No one is going to believe what I've been through tonight. The closer he got, he could see the trademark pink Farron hair through the window he approached. The happy blue gingham curtains fluttered in the slight breeze; nothing was ever so beautiful to him as that scene. Excitedly, he hurried to the window to peek through, plotting how he should spring his resurrection on them. Putting his face to the screen, hands on the sill, he opened his mouth to make some obnoxious noise to scare whichever sister was posted in the kitchen. He assumed it was Serah, she had mentioned that Lightning typically stayed out of that room at all costs.

The scene he saw made the sound die in his throat. Past the flapping of the curtains, the pale pink hair he saw was that of his intended, but arms that obviously weren't his were secured rather intimately around her waist. With eyes that were wide and unblinking, realization took a long time to wash over him. Spiky blond hair bobbed as the interloper moved his head to lip wrestle with his fiancee. The tightness in his chest crushed his heart as he watched her enjoying herself with him. He elicited cute noises from her as he kissed her; something Snow rarely was able to do. His young looking fingers caressed her pale skin up and down the length of her spine. Snow's big hands clutched the wooden sill tightly, splintering it along the edge. Something about her tactile companion was all too familiar.

"Eh? Did you hear something?" Serah said, pulling away from his embrace. Snow ducked away from the window before he got a look at the blond's face.

"Nope. Did you?" came the response, a bit breathless.

Snow recognized that voice instantly.

Maqui.

As fast as he could run, his feet took him towards their back yard. He dove into a bush, rolling to a stop on his back to stare blankly into the empty darkened sky. Did he just witness his fiancee kissing one of his most trusted companions? His heart ached with the knowledge as the scene played over in his mind; unable to deny the truth. He'd only been gone for a month and Serah had already moved on. Not just moved on, but moved on to Maqui. He wondered what Serah preferred in his blond protege. He remembered the promise that he made to Lightning about Serah. This tear will be her last. Did that apply now that she had so obviously and enthusiastically moved on? Even though his heart was a little more cramped with memories of his time with Lightning, he stubbornly held onto them, still convinced there was room for both. Maybe he should move on too. He'd done the same thing as Serah did, only his transgression was more unforgivable. He and Serah had only really been together for a short time before he'd proposed to her, so maybe that's why she'd been able to move on so quickly. Afterall, Serah wasn't dead when his heart suddenly shifted towards her sister; but Snow had been dead, no matter how long it had been. How could he judge her? For Snow though, nothing had changed for him in the month he'd been gone. Wherever he was consciousness was altered and time was non-existent. But he'd keep his promise no matter what; Serah would have to get rid of him.

Hearing some shifting in the house through the open windows, it sounded like Maqui was getting ready to leave. He dashed from the bush to the side of the house, hiding in the shadows and watched as Serah saw the young man out. Snow hadn't even noticed the hoverbike in front of the house; he'd been too excited to see a familiar face and got more than he bargained for. The two embraced one last time, Maqui planting a soft kiss on Serah's cheek, then he got on the bike and left; Serah waving lifting a hand to his departing form. As she turned around and headed back for the house he could see her face. It was vacant, her aura absolutely listless. He expected her to be sad, but it almost seemed as though there was something else that weighed on her. Instantly his heart surged with warmth for his betrothed. It was many minutes after she entered the house locking the door behind her before he had enough courage to cross the lawn and walk up the sidewalk. Heart thumping unevenly in his chest, he raised a loose fist to the wooden barrier and knocked.

The door opened slowly to reveal his promised, and their eyes locked.

"Hey." said Snow with a lazy wave, breaking the silence, hoping his trademarked grin didn't seem entirely contrived.

"Oh my..." breathed Serah before she fainted, falling forward; Snow easily catching her in his arms.