SirLadyScripts

The morning came too early, too loud, and far, far too bright when Roxas finally managed to peel his eyes open. He was on his side, an unfamiliar and uncomfortable position for sleeping, and the sun had a direct shot through the slits in his blinds into his sore, puffy eyes.

He could dimly hear noise coming from the kitchen, so apparently at least one other person had made it home. That, or he'd woken up in the middle of a robbery. If it was robbers, he hoped they would keep it down. His mouth was dry, and oh god, his head. Movement was beyond him at the moment, so he concentrated on making the rest of his room swim into focus as he tried to remember how he’d made it home last night.

Oh god, last night. So much music. So many shots. So many balloons. He tried remembering more about what he did and who he talked to, but he kept coming back to the damn balloons. How had Demyx managed to get that many into the room? One of life’s little mysteries.

As he puzzled that through, the small table by his beside swam into focus. A glass of water materialized from the dark smudges of the room, and two little white blurs that resembled aspirin sat beside it. When he had enough clarity to move his arm, he would reach out and grab them and figure out how to sit up enough without making himself sick so he could get them down. Maybe if he just moved really, really slowly, he wouldn’t fall out of bed.

After some very slow, very deliberate shifts later, he’d managed to sit up, grab the drink and the pills, and got them down with remarkable ease. Now that he was waking up and his head wasn’t swimming quite as much, he could focus on more strenuous tasks, like putting the glass back on the table.

As he did so, his hand bumped into a box that had been set behind the glass. He couldn’t remember putting anything there, but then, it looked like there was a bow or something on top, so maybe it was a gift someone had given him last night and he’d just dumped it there to deal with when he woke up? He groped forward and grabbed it, bringing it closer so he could read the label.

Disheartening because it’s been years since I’ve gotten that comment and I think I’ve grown as a writer. I’m actually proud of some of the things I’ve written in the last two years. Proud that I can go back and reread my stories and enjoy them with fresh eyes. But now I get so few comments, so few interactions with my readers, such little response to works that take me days, weeks, months to write that when I sit down to work on my own stuff, I think “why bother?”

The marketplace is inundated with the type of original stuff I write, and while I like my little universes, I don’t see myself committing to writing out the stories in full. Those worlds and characters will die with me, never really getting shared with anyone else because I genuinely believe that no one else cares.

Because when it all comes down to it, I’m left wondering: If people don’t like my stories with an established fanbase and well-loved characters, why the hell would they care about seeing my original characters?

I know that writing is hard work. That people say you should write for yourself first, and don’t bother with what other people think. That you should write that book and try to publish it anyway, because you never know until you try.

But time is limited, and I have many different interests, and with no one else reading my works, I think I’ll keep my stories as amusements to get me through my commutes, as idle character sketches as I sit in on meetings or I’m stuck on the phone, and as Nano projects that keep me going through November and April, only to go dormant once those writing sprees are over.

Am I being an overly moody and needy writer? Probably. And I’m as guilty as the next person for not writing as many comments as I should, or for reaching out to writers whose works have gotten me through the end of long work days. When I write stuff now, it’s usually because I know that I have at least one person who is going to read it-- I don’t bother posting  everything anymore, basically because I don’t think anyone will bother reading it if I don’t specifically ask them to. I might get a kudos or two, but that’s about it.

---

Reports were coming in left and right, and it was quickly becoming more and more apparent that once again, he’d made a grave error of judgement, and he would have to readjust his plans. That he would have to admit that he’d been in the wrong about this world once again—fatally so.

Felassan had been right.

Solas had met Briala in person while attending the ball with the Inquisitor, and watched as the slip of a woman held her own in the human court—coming out on top, even, although much of that was Remli deciding to underplay that bit of blackmail when the time came to hold up the cards. And it was true, the elven woman had terrible taste in romantic partners… but her ability to plan for the night, to set up so many perimeter guards with such meager resource. She had great potential.

The agent in the field seemed equally impressed—no small feat, given this particular agent was a wandering Dalish apostate with no little love for city elves. Solas picked up the man’s most recent missive, delivered in the night and tucked into a text on Orlesian poetry:

“Papillon continues to flutter from flower to flower, looking for an open bud. She has asked the bees for help, and although they have been unable to peel away the petals, they supply her with other sources of sustenance. It may be more efficient to simply allow a few flowers to open, and watch what happens, if only to see where she will alight next. A predator may wish to take note; Papillon may be akin to the reigning monarch—if eaten, found poisonous. ~L”

He sighed, rubbing his temple and debating the folly of it. She was resourceful, the Red Jennies would certainly be a valuable network of supplies and information, even if they lacked access to the eluvians. That she was still attempting to regain entry was intriguing—she’d had them for months, but had done nothing of significance when she walked those ancient halls. What was it she hoped to gain in reentering the crossroads? Did she actually have a plan of action, or was she simply trying to regain control of them out of spite?

Perhaps it was not Fen’Harel, but Felassan whom she resembled.

If that was true… he would need to think of what he was to do with her, one way or another, and soon. The agent was in a good position to make contact, but until he knew exactly what to do with her, the agent was simply watching and reporting. A waste of a good mage and healer, but there were no better roles for him at the moment.

Pushing thoughts of the agent aside, Solas shuffled through his papers to another report, this one investigating naval activities out on the Waking Sea and rumors of strange excursions. There was a sketch within the letter, a rough etching of strange tracks found along the beach. He vaguely recalled seeing something like that in a previous report from the north, and had just opened a book on Tevinter Tales of Mystery and Magic when a soft voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Solas, do you have a moment?”

“Of course,” he replied, smoothly tucking his notes into the book and setting it aside. He stepped back from the desk and turned to meet the Spymistress as she emerged from the shadows—a rare feat, given how brightly the torches in the chamber glowed. A slight frown creased her brow, and she studiously ignored the papers he covered, no doubt having read through copies of the correspondences before they were released to their intended readers.

“I wondered if I might call upon your aid,” she said, mirroring his pose by clasping her hands behind her back. “I have a puzzle that could use your unique perspective.”

“My assistance?” he asked, wondering what sort of materials her agents might have uncovered, and why it would take precedence over her other lines of inquiry. “Have you come across another elven text you wish for me to translate?”

His question tugged a smile to the corner of her mouth. “Of a sort,” she replied.

- - - - -

He managed to spot the Inquisitor leaving the stables with Smudge in tow, her lips set in a firm line and pace clipped as she stepped into the courtyard. The soldiers and refuges milling about quickly moved out of her way, stepping back with cries of alarm as the Inquisitor leapt onto the back of the hart once they were clear of the doorway. Smudge picked up a quick trot towards the main gates, squealing as Remli encouraged him to dash across the bridge. Solas could only imagine Dennet’s dismay if he’d seen one of his charges taken out without proper tack and saddle—given the Inquisitor’s appearance, however, it was probably just as well that the old man had returned home for a brief visit.

The barn was not unoccupied, however. Blackwall watched from the doorway, his impressive eyebrows drawn together in a mixture of concern and confusion. His face lightened a little when he saw Solas approach, and the man shrugged and sighed, sagging against the door.

“Before you ask, no, I don’t know what that was about,” he said, holding up his hands. “She wasn’t in here very long, so I am fairly certain I had nothing to do with it. Probably.” Blackwall pushed off the doorframe and followed Solas inside after taking one last look at the dust trail left by the Inquisitor’s rapid exit.

“Did she say anything?” Solas asked as they walked down the row of stalls. Solas stopped in front of his own hart, holding out his hand and sending a gentle wave of magic to the creature. Pride snuffed his hand, then pressed a velvety nose against his palm, following Solas’ hand as the stall door opened.

Blackwall stood aside, watching as Solas deftly mounted the beast without harness or tack, and sighed again. “I didn’t catch what she said, but the elven I do know and the tone in which she said it suggests it was unflattering. I did manage to catch a ‘shem’ in there,” he replied. He turned to go back to his workbench to pick up the abandoned chisel and hammer, then paused. “Like I said, I don’t know what it was about but I’m fairly certain it wasn’t directed at me specifically. Still, she’s in a mood. Might want to give her a bit of space.”

“Mm,” Solas responded, turning the beast with a knee and guiding him out of the barn. He held the hart’s ruff and urged it to a faster trot with a gentle kick. Pride flicked his ears back, briefly, but obediently picked up the pace, and they were running by the time they came to the massive stone bridge leading out of Skyhold.

Solas could feel the anchor call to him as it always did, a low and persistent pull on his magic. He turned Pride towards the Inquisitor, letting the hart set the pace and only adjusting with minor squeezes to ensure they took the easiest path. She wasn’t moving very quickly now—apparently she simply needed to get away from the keep, but she had enough sense to stay close. It seemed as though she’d stopped, actually, as the pulse of magic continued to grow as they made their way down the mountain path.

Her object was distance, then, rather than disappearance. But how far was enough? And when would she stop running?

Apparently, far enough was at the bottom of the waterfall that fed the massive lake beyond the forest. Remli sat upon a fallen log, skidding stones across the lake’s surface with sharp, precise flicks of the wrist. Magic flared from the anchor as she threw, engulfing the stones with green fire as they sped along the water’s surface before slipping beneath the rippled surface.

It was Smudge who gave them away as they approached. The hart lifted his head from the patch of moss he’d been chewing and bugled to them, stamping the ground and calling a challenge to the equally impressive Pride, who snorted and ignored the other beast. Remli stopped mid-throw, hand clenching around the rock as she lowered her arm, but she didn’t turn around, no doubt already knowing it was him.

Solas dismounted, patting Pride on the rump before walking towards the log. “Vhenan?” he called, getting a response at last.

“I just needed some time away from them,” she explained, not turning around. She raised the stone again. “Sometimes they’re just so… so… AUGH!” The pebble hurtled across the lake.

“Shall I find more stones?” he asked, half in jest. She sighed but gave him a weary smile as he sat beside her. She leaned into his embrace when he raised his arm to pull her closer, and they linked fingers, the collection of pebbles abandoned.

“I forget, sometimes, that they’re human,” she said, settling against him so she could listen to the steady rhythm of his heart. “And I know that they don’t mean to be offensive or insensitive, they don’t know any better, but… Augh.” She shifted again to tuck both his hands under hers, hugging them close to her chest. “They just have no tact, and they don’t even realize how much they insult me, my people, and our customs.”

“I do not profess much knowledge in the way of Dalish customs,” he said, which earned him a snort of muffled laughter, “But would speaking to a fellow non-Andrastian elf provide some comfort?” She didn’t reply immediately, and he gently squeezed her hands. “I know the feeling of isolation within a crowd.”

“It’s not isolation, per se,” she replied, frowning as she tried to gather her thoughts. “I just… wish they’d asked for some input from me before deciding the ‘best’ way to handle the situation.”

“A war table operation, then?” he asked, and she nodded.

“They all came up with suggestions of how to complete the mission with so little cultural sensitivity that I was immediately reminded that I was a knife ear from the wilds in a room of humans who believe that anything not closely-humanoid is automatically an inferior creature.” She sighed, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against him. “I suppose Cullen sort-of understands, the way he goes on about marbari, maybe that’s why his ‘solution’ was the least insulting.”

Solas couldn’t stop the disbelieving laugh. “The commander rarely employs tact when brevity will suffice,” he said, and pulled her into his lap so he could better see her face. He smiled down at her, placing a gentle kiss against her forehead. “Tell me about it?”

And so he learned of Hawen’s desire to gift the humans of Red Crossing with a mourning halla, and the less than satisfactory suggestions of her advisers. Remli clenched her fists as she recalled Josie’s quip about dissolved marriages and a duel.

“…And none of them stopped to ask the elf, an actual, living, breathing Dalish representative what might be the best way to honor such a gift. What the significance of such an offering has, and how it should be handled!” she seethed, shaking her head.

“And it bothers you, that they did not ask?”

“It bothers me that they didn’t even consider asking, and that they laughed it off as though it was the simple exchange of livestock from the elves to humans.” She hugged his hand to her chest, and he could feel the rapid beating of her heart, and the crackle of magic that shifted with her anger.

“Halla are not dumb animals to be bought, traded, or sold. They’re intelligent beings who live with the Dalish out of a mutual understanding and respect. A halla keeper does not ‘keep’ so much as interpret and care for them—if you want them to do something, you have to ask and gain their permission. They’re not pets or livestock, they’re friends, they’re family. Hawen is gifting one of his family members—a family member who most definitely volunteered to go— to the humans of Red Crossing in the hopes to bridge the cultural divide between elves and humans, but…” she trailed off, and he picked up her train of thought with ease.

“But the humans do not understand the subtleties of such a sacrifice, and the levity they used for such a powerful gesture lessened the symbolism to an offensive degree,” he finished. A beat. “And you do not believe that they are open-minded enough to understand the sensitivity of the situation.”

“If I take any of their suggestions, I’m no better than a slave trader, giving the humans a member of Hawen’s clan to use or abuse as they will,” she said, and scrubbed tears of frustration from her eyes. “I like them, I really do, but sometimes they make me so angry, I begin to understand our dear Genetivi’s insistence that all Dalish eventually snap and go on killing sprees.” She sighed, slumping against him.

“I suppose I’m mostly just disappointed in them, because I’ve worked so hard to understand their strange customs and culture, and the moment I need them to return the favor they just… ugh.”

“Mm,” he said, thinking back to reports now hidden in his chambers, and his star agent awaiting orders on whether or not to engage with Briala’s people. He leaned his cheek against the top of her head. “Sometimes the best way to handle a situation is to deal with the problem indirectly,” he said at last.

“Take the halla into protective custody of the Inquisition? Go deliver the halla in person and threaten them with violence if the beast is harmed?” she asked, only half in jest. He laughed.

“Have Cullen’s men escort the creature without any false pretenses of surrender or politics,” he replied. “Let the creature go to the town as what it is—a gesture of goodwill to bring together two opposing families. Send the creature—but choose the men and women assigned to the duty.”

“You mean send some of our Dalish scouts along with the soldiers?” she asked, sounding intrigued.

“Dalish, or elves or even humans who are more…. flexible in understanding the deeper meanings of the exchange. Perhaps someone who can stay for a time, to freely communicate between the clan and the town to allay any fears—on both sides,” he thought aloud, and she nodded, considering it.

“And place an agent in the area as a scout for the region,” she finished, a smile beginning to form. She looked up at him, raising a hand to his cheek. “Mm, I am grateful that I have one advisor whom I can trust to act in the best interest of the elves.”

He responded by leaning down to kiss her, moving his hands to draw her up out of his lap and shift her leg so that she straddled him. She let out a quiet moan and ground against him, her lips seeking out her favorite nibbling spot on his neck. He responded by moving a hand to her breast, and his lips sought the tip of her ear. She pulled back and reached up to bring him back down for a kiss, tightening her legs around his waist, and he deepened the kiss once again, running fingers through her hair.

When she leaned away to catch her breath, Remli looked far more relaxed. She might be upset about her advisors and their lack of tact or sensitivity, but they were no longer first and foremost on her mind. She grinned down at him.

“On a scale of one to ten, how painful do you think the log would be?”

“I am sure that Leliana sent agents to follow at a distance. She was concerned for you,” he replied.

“… We could give them a show…” she said, although she sounded less pleased by the idea. He gave her a quick peck, then whistled. Pride chirped in response, then ambled over to them, Smudge in tow. Solas stood in one swift movement, scooping her up in his arms and supporting her legs to hold her against him a little longer.

“Best not to press our luck,” he said, starting to pull down Smudge’s lead. “Humans tend to be sensitive about such things.” She didn’t let him go, though. As she slid down to stand in front of him, she lifted a knee to brush against his thigh.

“Orrrrr we could take the harts a go a little further into the woods, and make use of the outpost cabin,” she suggested, “Scandalize the scouts and temporarily evict them in the name of elven glory and all that.”

“Slander. I do not say that,” he insisted, but she laughed, pulling away with a final kiss and climbing up onto Smudge.

“You might not, but given how today’s been going, I might.” She grinned. “If you’re not interested in the log and the outpost is also out of the question, how about a quick stop to the war room before retiring to my chambers? Want to shout things in elvish while we have some fun?”

Well… I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just a little disappointed in how things played out in the end.

Hey, I mean, I’d be the first to say “Hurray! The Kid who’s gonna save the world is back from whatever nightmares Xenmas—Xehanort.... whatever—put him through! So glad the Kid is fine and the day was saved and everything will be sunshine and rainbows again, let’s go beat the bad guys and please remember that I am no longer on their side, thanks. No, I honestly had no idea that Isa was one of them, would you please stop asking me what other nefarious plots they’re up to and believe me when I say I don’t know?”  

Well, ok. Maybe I wouldn’t say it quite like that.

But yeah. I’ll admit to feeling a little disappointed when Sora woke up. Sora. And yeah, maybe I was a little angry when the Kid just sort of jumped up and started hugging all of his friends, and when he saw me standing in the corner his first reaction was to aim his keyblade at my heart.

Disappointed. Yeah, we’ll leave it at that.

I mean, it’s not like I’d really gotten my hopes up, or expected anything different. Sure, I gave up my existence as a nobody to save his skin, and yeah, I spent who knows how long trying to manifest a keyblade, and then I was able to swoop in and save the day, but… I dunno. I thought it would…be different when the Kid woke up.

And ok, maybe a little part of me had hoped—believed—that since I’d had a second chance, well, maybe Roxas would too.

 It’s funny. I finally get my heart back, and I can officially start to feel all of these things again, but all I feel is sad.

 I mean, who gets sad when there’s cake?

 It’s… time to go. I didn’t actually tell the others where I was going when I came to see the wizard, and while they probably haven’t noticed my absence, I’d like to at least pretend that they care. I mean, didn’t we bond over losing our hearts and joining an evil organization set on summoning a massive world filled with incomprehensible power? Surely that’s gotta count for something. I have friends, really.

Oh man, if Roxas could hear me now, he’d get on my case for moping and tell me to lighten up. I mean, if Roxas would think I was angsting—

Sora looked up, catches my eye, and I can see some of the happiness fade—I literally see the smile leave his eyes, the tensing of his shoulders, the hasty attempt to pretend he didn’t see anything, anyone. Apparently, he’d forgotten that I was here.

Yeah, definitely time to go.

My arm is halfway up and my hand is outstretched, and I can feel the darkness gathering in the corner of the room when there’s a tug on my sleeve.

“Ax—uh, Lea, wait a sec. I wanna talk before you go.”

I hesitate because I know it’s him and I’m starting to wonder if maybe the Kid knows more than he’s letting on, and I can’t quite crush that flutter of hope that maybe my best friend is still in there somewhere. But I turn and it’s Sora who’s giving me that earnest look. Sora, who’s tugging on my sleeve, pulling me towards the door out of the tower. Sora, who waves aside his friends’ concerned looks when he drags the guy that no one is still quite sure about out of the sight of others (I mean, really, what’s it take to get a little trust with these people? I already did the swooping in to save the day thing, what else do I have to do to get a little friendliness here?)

And even though it’s Sora and not Roxas, I decide to humor him because it’s just as easy to escape outside as it is inside. When he sees that I’m not about to fade back into the shadows, he releases my arm and stretches, clasping his hands behind his head and giving me his signature smile. It’s Sora’s smile, not Roxas’, so it makes it a little easier, but given the fact that the Kid tries to make friends with everyone (even the bad guys—especially the bad guys) it’s no big surprise.

Still, I can play along, see what he wants. I cross my arms and lean against the building, tilting my head so I can still look down at him. Kid’s grown since I saw him last. Of course, he’ll stunt his growth if he keeps eating that much cake in one go.

“I never really got a chance to say thank you,” he says, interrupting my thoughts. “The others told me what you did, back in… that place. You really saved our lives. I don’t even wanna think of what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up. Thanks, Lea.”

The worst part is that we all know what would’ve happened—Another puppet like Isa and Braig to add to the collection. Sora’s awakening comes to my mind unbidden, but he wakes up with golden eyes and there’s nothing of the Kid or Roxas left, or it’s buried so deep there’s no chance of getting either of them back.

I swallow the sudden lump in my throat at the thought of that, and fall back on my usual defense.

“Well, you know it’s all part of the training to become a true Keyblade master. Heroic deeds and saving the day are a big part of it.” I tap my finger against my forehead and give him a grin. “Got it memorized?”

Interesting reaction, though, to the thought of losing both of them. Almost like I still thought there was a “both” of them left to save.

But it’s Sora who shakes his head, Sora who sighs, Sora who crosses his arms and looks at the ground. He’s got Roxas’ frown—or, no, I guess Roxas was the one who used to frown like Sora. But it’s not the cranky or frustrated frown he gets when you’ve taken the teasing too far, it’s the Deep Thought Frown (reserved for when things get really serious), and given that Sora isn’t, well… let’s just say it’s not one I’d expect to see on the Kid. I shift against the wall, trying to get a better look at his face, but he’s hiding his expression under his bangs and I can’t quite see anything beyond the Deep Thought Frown.

 “Lea, when I was sleeping, when I chased the dreams in the World that Never Was, I saw, um,” he shifts from foot to foot, and I think the Kid is actually nervous to talk to me. Or maybe he’s just worried about what I’ll do when he talks. I brace myself—I think I already know where this is going, and it’s not really something I want to talk about right now.

“I mean, when I was in there, I saw all kinds of things, and I dunno what was real and what was fake, there were a lot of people I didn’t really recognize but I felt like I knew them, you know? But one of them stopped to talk to me—I remember that much.” And he looks up, catching me with that familiar expression of worry, those bright blue eyes large and wide.

“Axel, I got to meet Roxas!”

I can’t help it. I flinch, pushing away from the wall and turning towards the bright horizon. I really don’t wanna hear any parting words from someone else. If Roxas has—had— something to say to me, he should’ve said it in the Digital Twilight Town. He should’ve said something before he left the Organization. He should’ve said… something. Sora shouldn’t be the one forced to say goodbye.

 “I’m not gonna give up, and neither should you!”

 That… is not something I expected to hear. I look over my shoulder to see Sora—is he crying?

“I tried telling him that, but he wouldn’t listen,” Sora says, and yes, there are tears in his eyes but I’m not sure if it’s because he’s sad or if it’s because he’s frustrated. “I told him that he deserved to be a person as much as I did, and then he gave me his memories. I remember everything now, the missions together, ice cream on the clock tower, Winner sticks!”

Sora clenches his fists, frown deepening into a scowl. Ok, well, apparently they’re tears of anger. I guess that’s something. “It’s not fair!”

“Who said anything in life was fair?” I ask, and I can’t quite hold the bite back. I guess it’s anger, or risk tears of my own. Why did I want a heart again?

“I still don’t remember everything, and some things are kinda fuzzy, but I know that you kept your promise!” Sora insists, and he grabs my hand, shaking it. “You kept me safe like you said you would. You watched over us and protected us! I remember your promise, and you came through for him. For me, um, for us?” he trails off, and the Deep Thought Frown comes over his face again.

I can’t help it. I laugh, ruffle his hair, and wave off his thanks. “I didn’t have anything else to do, so why not?”

Great coping mechanism, that. But I guess laughing is better than crying, and I’d probably regret setting the wizard’s trees on fire. Probably. Maybe not immediately, but eventually. I guess I could blame it on the Kid, but somehow, I don’t think that would fly. That’s the only downside to having a signature move (and I do mean only, my moves are awesome).

“No, I mean what I said,” he insists, still not letting go of my hand. “Demyx told me once that nobodies can grow hearts—you did, I think you all did. So even if Roxas originally came from my heart, he had his own, right? So, we just have to find it and get it back for him!”

“I… don’t think it’s quite that easy,” I say, but the Kid’s enthusiasm is catching, and I can feel that damn flicker of hope again. If it’s true, if there was a way… I crush that thought before I finish the sentence in my head. “If anything, Roxas might’ve been Ventus’ nobody, so when we find and wake him up, Roxas will go to Ven.”

Sora sags a little at that. I guess he hadn’t considered that, although it’s been nagging me since the first day I met Roxas, remembering someone else I’d met in another life. And what was it Xigbar had said? ‘He used to give me the same look?’

The grip on my hand tightens again, and Sora shakes his head. Apparently, the Kid only stays down for a few heartbeats before he musters up cheerfulness again. It’d be annoying if it wasn’t so endearing. He’d probably get on Roxas’ nerves after a while, though.

“Even if that’s the case, I think Roxas had a heart of his own. I know he did, I could feel everything he felt, knew everything he knew, remembered… well, most stuff, I think. Like I said, some stuff is fuzzy.” He wrinkles his nose as though he’s trying to remember something, or someone.

“I think there was a girl? She sort’ve looked like Namine. And there were others too, some people I recognized, others I didn’t. But I think they were different hearts that touched mine. I’ve gotta believe that there’s a way to help them all, and you’ve gotta believe, too!”

“Me?” I laugh. I can’t help it, his damn optimism is contagious and he’s grinning through the tears. “Why do I have to believe anything?”

“Because,” he says, “I’m gonna need help! My friends are my strength—I can’t do it alone. Besides, you’re his best friend. Don’t you wanna be there when he wakes up?”

“I—“ I swallow back another lump, deciding that maybe, just maybe, it’s ok to dream a little. The flicker of hope returns a third time, and I know it’s gonna be damn hard to snuff out. “Yeah,” I say at last. “Yeah, of course I’ll be there. I made a promise, didn’t I? Keep it--“

“—Memorized, I’ve got it,” he grins and finally relinquishes my hand. I shake it out, trying to get blood flowing into my fingers again. Kid has a grip, I’ll give him that.

Sora’s beaming at me as though he’s just won the battle of the century, and I look away. I feel like a bit of an idiot, grinning when we really have no basis for our theory or any clue of how to help, but… it’s nice to feel hope again. Hell, it’s nice to feel anything again.

“I really appreciate everything you’ve done, and I know we’re gonna help him. We’re gonna save them all!”

I tsk, ruffling his spikes again. “Yeah, well… just don’t be getting yourself into any more trouble when I’m not around, alright? I’m gonna be busy, training to use the Keyblade and everything. Plus I’ve gotta help the others, since they’re back to doing their Sciencey shit.”

Sora pushes my hand away, laughing. “Lea, we’re gonna figure out a way to help him. I promise.”

 “You know, you already have, Kid. He was really looking forward to meeting you. Sounds like he finally got his wish.” I turn my attention back to the horizon, and I’m already regretting that I will, in fact, have to leave pretty soon. The Organization is gone, but we’re back to the way we were. You don’t just throw away second chances like that, you need to act, make sure that whatever time you have left counts. Maybe I’ll be lucky and go out with a bang again.

But not before I see Roxas at least one more time.

Sora scrubs his hand across his face, drying his tears and wiping away the sleep that still lingers in the corners of his eyes.

“I know you’re gonna have to go soon,” he says, and he actually sounds sad. Imagine that, the Keyblade wielder actually likes me to some extent. Or maybe it’s Roxas, who knows.

“I mean, we’re all gonna be really busy training and preparing for this final attack. But, I can’t help feeling like there was someone else. Someone else who went on missions? I still can’t remember that girl’s name. And some of the Organization members are still missing, right?”

“Demyx--- or Meyd, I guess,” I say, wondering where in the hell he could’ve woken up. With that guy’s luck, he probably ended up as an octopus or a whale or something in that undersea world. “Plus the people from the Castle. Not sure if that’s a bad thing, though.”

“We’re gonna figure it out,” he says. “I just wish I could remember her name.”

“Ask Namine,” I say, pause, then correct myself, “Kairi. She has all of Namine’s memories, so if there was someone else, Nami—Kairi would know, right? She’s the only one who can’t be affected by her own magic.”

“Yeah… yeah! I’ll ask Kairi!”

“Hey, are you two done? Master Yen Sid wants to speak to you.” Riku stands in the doorway, and even though his voice is kinda gruff, he’s smiling at Sora. Even just looking at the damn Kid makes everyone happy. It must be some sort of weird magical aura or something.

“Yeah, we’ll be right there!” he shouts, and Riku shakes his head before going back inside. Sora holds up his hand, pinky extended.

“I promise we’ll find a way to help them all!” he says, and I laugh, linking my own finger with his.