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Retribution Nor Redemption	By : wickedorin Category: Final Fantasy VIII > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 623 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VIII, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
"Retribution Nor Redemption" and the general overall
concept of "Retribution Nor Redemption" is completely copyright Orin Drake
2002-2005, as are the characters Kyrie Leonhart and Rodger Kinneas.
The characters Seifer Almasy, Squall Leonhart, Quistis Trepe, Ellone (Leonhart?),
Laguna Loire and Rinoa "The Great Big Bitch" Heartily (biased? me?) are
copyright Squaresoft, as are the terms SeeD, gunblade, Trabia Garden, Griever,
and probably a lot of other stuff I forgot to mention. Hell, if you
played the game, you know. Enough said.

        Background:
Well. Here is the "anticipated" sequel to The Sins of Two Fathers.
This won't be as much action as it will be psychological warfare, I think.
Don't know what else to tell you. Beware bad language, sexuality
and social outcasts having fun regardless of their status at the expense
of others.

Retribution Nor Redemption

Chapter 9

by Orin Drake
WARNING! Plenty of disturbing
stuff

ahead. Yaoi, shounen ai, nonconsensual

activity, violence and some general

lovely squick. Enjoy.
        It was like floating, kind
of. Well, high speed floating, anyway. Zig-zagging to memories,
back and forth from pictures and thoughts and experiences that passed by
so fast they made no sense. It was like passing through a tunnel
without physical substance, feeling nonexistent wind rage past you as you
flew at speeds so great you became more than light.

        And then... a picture.
No, more than that; an experience. Familiar, of course, but different
as well. It felt like there may have been some sort of barrier before,
preventing her from the full ability to live these memories. Now
she was these memories--or, rather, she was Sephiroth while he was
remembering. She felt the tightness of the leather against his/her
body, the steady thrum of machines and the stink of the entire compound.

        Something shifted--an area
of memory that had been forgotten before suddenly intercepted their combined
nothingness, bringing instead a well recalled event. A teen aged
Cloud Strife was standing before the commanding officer he so adored, shaking
like a leaf. It was quiet, deserted all around, and cool. There
was that smell of machinery and old oil wafting through the air; and something
else altogether. Through Sephiroth's eyes, she saw the younger boy
stand suddenly on his tip-toes and press his lips against hers/his.

        "So that's it..."
she pressed further, trying to get a look inside the man's thoughts at
that time. They were jumbled, though. Not on purpose, not to
keep her away; maybe it was just shock. Had the boy surprised him
with his affections? He seemed willing enough to return them, running
his/her hands slowly over the boy's shoulders, not pulling away an inch.

        It broke, then. The
memory shattered like a mirror, only the shards rushed her like fragments
of stars--too bright to look into, too amazing to pull away from.
If she could somehow just reach out, reach out and touch one of those fragments
flying by, threatening to slice her open--

        Another memory collided
into her, causing her to forget herself for a moment. In just that
short glitch of time, she had merged with Sephiroth's emotions--burning
fear and hatred.

        Coming back to herself,
she realized where he/she was with a startling clarity. Hojo's lab...
it was exactly as she had dreamed it. She wanted to cringe
back, close her eyes, run away from this godawful place. Of course,
she couldn't. She was living this memory and Sephiroth was holding
onto her mind as if she were the one that could save him from it.
But of course, it all began unfolding anyway.

        He was a slender boy of
no more than twelve, once again strapped down to a cold metal table to
begin another Mako treatment. How he hated these things--they weakened
him for hours, made him sick and could sometimes make things hurt that
shouldn't. There were times when he'd lost his vision temporarily
after a particularly lengthy treatment, and it never failed to scare him.
There were no assurances of what would happen or when, but he'd learned
a long time ago not to talk back. He still struggled, but it was
always useless. It only brought his strength down more, in the end;
but it let him live with himself. There had been a million ways he'd
tried to escape Hojo and ShinRa, but nothing worked. A young boy
was simply no match against dozens of SOLDIERS. There were always
hundreds more where they came from.

        Another disorienting blur
of details that were either forgotten or so repressed that they may as
well have been. Left in their wake was only pain, brilliant and agonizing,
struggling, straining, chafing, cutting, desperation of the worst possible
nature. It was awful. It was not a thing one wanted to see,
let alone experience. As the sickness came, that draining nausea
from the treatments, the scene shattered again. This time it was
not she that reached for a shard--

        If she was so curious to
see his past, he'd show her some of it. Suddenly he/she was immersed
in the cold of winter, walking along an empty alleyway. Of school
age, he had been walking back to his dorm from a particularly annoying
class. That much was clearly of little importance; especially when
he turned the corner into his normal shortcut.

        A small group of boys--most
at least a class or two higher than himself--had been waiting for him.
Some held heavy ropes with knots, and others had been able to find things
like chains and large machine pieces. He turned and ran for it as
instinct dictated, but he was certainly not fast enough after suffering
a Mako treatment the day before. Indeed it had started as
a bunch of boys having tried to merely beat up on him. But as they
caught up to him, having pinned him against the snow littered concrete
so easily, they began to have other ideas. There were about a hundred
boys to every girl in the entire area, not to mention how little they saw
something resembling a real and genuine female. But this kid, this
silver haired freak who thought he was better than everyone else... his
beauty went fucking
beyond gender. He was just gorgeous.
And the bullies were not about to let him get away with being so pretty,
so high and mighty. Not without a damn good fight for it. Or
a right of passage.

        The pain was godawful.
He/she was bleeding in gushing streams from time to time; as soon as one
wound healed, another was torn open. Biting laughter, and worse--moans
of sex and a flourish of pure sadism. Still he would not cry out.
He wouldn't make a sound; he only fought desperately to control his breathing.

        So this is my initiation
into adolescence. He thought calmly, even as he struggled not
to be sick at the obvious feeling of the first one's completion inside
of him. It didn't stop, however, until all of them had had a turn
in trying to make him cry. Or at the very least gasp. They
might well succeed later, when he was alone and away from them; but not
now. He would never let them have the satisfaction. If he hadn't
considered himself "better" than them before, it was surely being proven
right then and there. He'd never have done this to any of them, for
any reason--the simple idea of a human being actually doing this to another
was sickening. Sickening and painful.

        The scene faded out just
as his consciousness had, in the end. So awful... it had been so
awful... She grasped onto something, anything, trying to escape that
pain and that situation completely. She could still feel the burning,
the desecration when another shift broke her thoughts and set her into
another memory entirely.

        There he was. Vincent.
Young and beautiful as ever, just after Hojo had finished having his way
with his body. His skin was gorgeously white, his darker than pitch
hair only to his shoulders, and his clawed hand was bound together with
the flesh one to the headboard. His naked body was outstretched before
her/him, shivering in frustration, anger, fear... and anticipation.
It was in his eyes. His gorgeous, sharp, crimson eyes.

        Time seemed to stop with
that picture, as though the memory could be paused like a movie.
It wasn't as if they were within time anymore anyway, were they?

        "So you like him like
that, too." Sephiroth commented offhand, separating for a moment.

        At first, she kept her thoughts
blank. But it was useless. He knew already. "He's
beautiful like that."

        He laughed bitterly, his
consciousness sliding back to wherever it had been before. "I'm
sure he'd love to know that." He left her only with a little
tease as he slipped his glove off, slowly reaching toward Vincent's thigh--

        Shards erupted in front
of his/her consciousness again, but this time she could feel the
memory behind them. She could taste it, smell it like a hunting dog,
just in front of her. Curiosity, an absolute need to know--she grasped
desperately onto that one shard in particular, unprepared for what it showed
her.

        She felt herself cringe
mentally as his/her hand struck a teen aged Seifer. It was a brutal
blow, possibly having broken his jaw. "You're not too old for punishment."
Sephiroth growled, grasping the boy's collar. The look on his face
certainly wasn't one of a young adult; it seemed to understand all of the
horrors of the universe.

        She was utterly helpless
to stop him, forced to sit back and watch what was to come next.
She could feel his satisfaction in the back of her own thoughts, watching
her squirm. As she bore witness to the clothes being torn to shreds,
she wondered distantly just how many times this had happened; how many
countless times Sephiroth had raped them, tortured them. It was no
wonder. None of it was any wonder. All of who her parents were,
together and alone, always... she understood. It hurt bitterly to
understand, but... she did. She wouldn't give that part of this whole
shredded experience up for the world--or the end of it.

        It was about to happen.
Again. She felt it, the surge of lust and adrenaline right before
the moment--pain. Searing, frightening pain interrupted
his/her satisfaction. Instead of finishing, he/she pulled away and
looked back to see something that stopped the entire event dead.

        It was Squall, gory gunblade
in his hands. He couldn't have been more than sixteen. He didn't
look even that old, save the glassy shimmer in his hateful eyes and the
defiance in his relatively defined body's language. He was simply
elegant. Beautiful with this... internal power. Kyrie had never
seen her father like that; he was clearly strong enough to save the world.
His voice held a passionate echo all its own, and bravery she hadn't heard
in it at any time in her life. "No more, Sephiroth."

        Enraged, he/she rose up
and fully turned to the boy with vicious sneer. Blood poured down
his/her shoulder blades, but the wound was already healing itself.
"What did you say?!"

        Young Squall neither backed
away nor dropped the blade an inch. He was fed up and perfectly ready
to take a stand. "Don't you ever touch him again. Don't
touch either of us, ever, again."

        But why didn't you kill
him? she was just enough within herself to wonder. Maybe it was
quite simple--perhaps he'd known that Sephiroth just plain didn't die.
He'd be gone for a while, but sooner or later he'd resurrect with a burning
hunger for revenge.

        "I will kill you."
Squall warned. "I
can kill you."

        "You can do no such--" the
man began to thunder, advancing.

        Blood. Gunpowder.
Pain. There was no vision, no sound.

        He blew his head off.
She realized in the space between the shards, lightly falling away like
snowflakes. Way to go, Dad.

        There was a constriction
before she was able to reach out again. Less and less she could feel
herself, understand that she was separate. It was like falling in
reverse, but it was not flying. It was without control, without space,
without time. Suddenly there were just images, passing pictures of
things repressed and left behind. Whirring, spinning pictures of
Cloud, striking the would-be god dead with the Buster Sword--or so they'd
thought. None of the memories were clear, the picture seemed as blurred
as the memory was fuzzy. All he/she knew was death, end, completeness.
In that last second of herself, Kyrie knew fear like an old friend.

        Nothingness. Emptiness.
Darkness.

        No, that wasn't quite true.
Darkness, indeed; she couldn't see anything. She couldn't feel her
body, if it was still attached. It felt like she was floating beyond
stars, beyond light. Empty and alone. Except, she wasn't.
How she knew that, why she knew that... it didn't matter. Not here.
There wasn't even any "here" to speak of. This, where--or what or
when or how--she was, seemed beyond space-time, beyond reality or dimension.
Even beyond what she knew of Time Compression. And it was scary.

        "Where are we?" she
whispered without the need for a mouth.

        His voice came in like a
wave of sensation--but she knew it to be Sephiroth's without a doubt.
She couldn't physically hear him, but it was his voice just the same. "Outside
of the Lifestream. I've been here before."

        So many questions... but
she sensed he may have no answer for any of them. Even he, the man
who would be god, had no answers to this place. She let one pressing
question escape: "How did you get out of this?"

        "I caught the edge of
the Lifestream when it came by."

        Not the most thorough answer,
certainly. But it was enough for the moment. Hell, they could
have been here a million millennia already. She began to wonder what
was happening to her body. If there was still one to speak of.

        "Time passes here more
slowly than it does... in the physical realm." He responded to
her thoughts bitterly. "Just nothing... only nothing..."

        "I suppose it gets maddening."
She let herself make small talk.

        "It's awful."
He whispered. "There are never any others. Never anything."

        Were she capable, she'd
have shivered. There was no cold or heat--no anything. It was
endlessly frightening to try to understand, to grasp such things.
They could drift apart or float together in virtual eternity... and neither
thought was all that appealing.

        "The madness stays..."
he continued cryptically. While it wasn't his voice, it felt
like a voice; felt like it ought to be a voice in the dark.
And if it were a voice, it was breaking. A whisper and a scream all
at once, an echo of confusion and burden. Pain, agony, almost...
almost remorse.

        And Kyrie, or what was left
of her, was scared. There was no heart to beat out of her chest,
no breath to move faster, no fever heat or adrenaline to guide her reaction.
But she damn well knew she was scared. How long had it already been?
And what was to happen?

        "Jenova, you cunt..."
she heard a strangled plea; a sane plea. But it melted back,
back into whatever it had been before. "So much. But it's
not enough."

        The ravings of a madman,
it seemed. She'd be there sooner or later, she was growing certain.
And why not start now? There was nothing to hide, no mouth to keep
shut. "You're no longer a martyr when this is over, you know."

        "I never wanted to be
a martyr." He paused, his mood shifting to something else entirely;
a sad kind of fondness. "I didn't even want to be a god.
Not until... not until circumstances... dictated it."

        That comment was almost
laughable. But she couldn't find herself amused. Something
about his tone, his thought process, was stronger than it had been before.
It was frightening, really. There was an exceptional strength in
it that she hadn't felt before, or maybe she'd just been unable.
"Then what did you want?"

        "To be rid of her..."
he growled, the voice growing stronger. "To reap revenge from
my... from Hojo. To.... t-to destroy everything I could never have
again. Even when she let go of my mind from time to time... I still
killed... I still... destroyed..."

        She felt sick. Layers
were beginning to separate, one by one, and peel back from their source.
Was
there a "real Sephiroth"? Was he still alive in that fucked up consciousness?
A massive feeling of heartache overcame her surroundings.

        "None of this..."
he rambled steadily, his tone rising and falling like a true madman, "None
of this should have happened."

        "No shit."
She released bitterly.

        There were no eyes to gaze
upon her, but she felt whatever he now was focus on her. It was as
if all things stopped, rushed upon themselves in one moment of clarity,
and she was the center of it all. "You don't belong here."

        The fear caught her once
again; not for the words, but for the tone. It was... different.
Unweighted. Fucking sane, dare such a word be used on him.
She couldn't answer, feeling shut off all of a sudden.

        "No..." what was
and yet seemed impossible to be Sephiroth's voice continued. The
tone changed into one of agony, of longing and sadness that burned deeply.
"She
used me.... She still uses me...." As suddenly as it had
come, the weight of pain and regret simply vanished. That which remained,
that voice... was sane. "She will not use another. Catch
the Lifestream, Kyrie."

        Catch it? The fear
only intensified. If she missed, would she ever get another chance?
How could she catch anything without a freakin' body? "How?"

        "It will find you."
He assured, that stronger voice beginning to fall away. It was fading
out, almost. Leaving, floating, disappearing. "Go home before
she comes."

        She wanted to ask so much,
but she couldn't. It was too late and too far away. She wanted
to know, wanted to figure this thing out, but--the chance had come, and
it was not going to be ignored. Her very consciousness felt
like it took shape, colliding with something both ice cold and burning
hot. It occurred to her that perhaps this was what light felt
like--

        Colors, sensations, sounds,
pain, the smell of breakfast in the morning. Colliding, over and
over, rushing through, into, between, creating, destroying, caramelizing--body.
Form. Substance. Words. Emotions. Slipping; she
was slipping through, licked by the fire of life itself and left alone.

        "Sephiroth..." It was
as much a cry as it was a whisper. But no sound came from her lips,
save breath.

        "These are my secrets.
You'll have to keep them for me." And then he, all of him, was
gone.

        She swallowed as if she
were savoring those words. Those final, complete words. The
weight of the universe crashed down on her, and for a moment she gasped,
drowning in it; emotion, memory, searing emptiness where she never thought
she'd feel such a thing, light and substance where there had been none.

        That last thought caused
her eyes to shoot open. Ceiling--not the ceiling of the universe
that she'd anticipated, but the white ceiling of her parents' house.
She was still in Trabia. In the house she grew up in. There was a
click off to the side, and for a moment she felt as though she really ought
to be closing her eyes again. Instead, she used all of the strength
and effort she could muster, and turned her head.

        Vincent's finger had been
on the trigger of his pistol; not just on it, but squeezing it. She
knew that as fact, without question, without actually having to see it.
The moment he'd seen her eyes--saw they were Kyrie's eyes without
a doubt--he dropped the muzzle. Even with his lightning speed, she
caught him placing the gun back at his side.

        Was she back? Was
this... over? Another rush of tingling pain at the back of her head
caused her to close her eyes tightly, erasing the moment's thoughts completely.
It wasn't quite like the ones before it, however. It was like...
the aftershock of an earthquake. Something that had come so suddenly,
stayed, then gone so quickly had to have left something in
that brain of hers. The distant thought of migraines did not appeal,
but that didn't matter at the moment. She actually felt...
whole. More whole than in the rest of her life, in fact.

        "Kyrie?" It was Rodger's
voice to her other side.

        She took a deep breath,
trying to still herself. After that flood of Sephiroth's,
things were just... weird. She had been... released. "Yeah."
She murmured, the pain slowly fading into what she used to consider normal.
Fading away like the emotions, but not the memories. "Yeah, it's...
it's okay." Or so she hoped with driving desperation.

        But she was actually becoming
pretty damn confident of that. It wasn't a feeling that she could
have explained. Perhaps it was akin to an awe the likes of which
people that communed with Hyne had; just a pure, brutal knowledge.
She didn't know, and it didn't matter. She forced her eyes open again,
seeing Vincent's knees at first. Well, that explained the ceiling;
she was laying on the floor, apparently. It was a bit difficult to
move again, like her neurological pathways were somehow reformatting.
Why she got that picture, she wasn't quite sure. But she was aware
that it mattered less and less with the passing seconds.

        With a deep breath, she
rolled her head back so that she was staring up. Weak though it was,
she started to laugh. Somehow at this point in time, the vastly worried
eyes of Rodger, Cloud and Vincent were actually amusing to her, staring
down at her as though she were already dead.

        The three gentlemen above
her gave one another stunned looks as the laughter intensified. Only
a moment later, Rodger's face changed to one of relief. That was
the Kyrie he knew, alright. "I think she'll recover."

        After the much appreciated
laughing fit, the next step was obvious enough. They'd insisted she
see a medical doctor to make certain everything was physically alright.
Mentally, well... that would probably just take time. She herself
knew that there might be... issues, into the future. Nothing too
serious. But there would probably be some nightmares, alright.
It was the actual physical make-up of her brain that she was concerned
about. The thought of migraines, again, were not appealing.

        The doctors in the Esthar
Medical Center were told nothing of what went on. That made it a
little hard to find out why she'd been brought to them in the first place,
but Vincent did a good job being secretive, demanding and the like.
Hey, he was good at it. As far as anyone knew, it was simply an extensive
check-up.

        Everything came back fine.
Well, apparently her blood pressure was pretty high, but was that much
any wonder? It wasn't as if she could have explained that, though.
The doctors said the best thing she could do was get some sleep.
And she rather liked that advice. Unfortunately, it was revealed
that she was to sleep there.

        Well, that much seemed utterly
ridiculous. And annoying. But the "better safe than sorry"
adage was brighter in this circumstance than in any other. As a just
in case sort of thing, Vincent had gotten her a private room for the night
at least. No one would bother her, and she could get as much sleep
as she wanted. If she needed anything (or just felt like being a
pest), there were plenty of doctors around to page. He assured her
that the next day they'd work on... fixing the kitchen.

        "I'm betting it needs a
complete overhaul after the small disaster that hit it." She teased,
testing the hospital mattress with a bounce--only, it didn't exactly bounce
back. That was rather odd. It was like a freaking Garden bed.

        "Cloud will pay for it."
Vincent quipped quietly.

        "I didn't do anything!"
the blonde protested.

        "Sure looked like you were
doing something. Melting plastic over an open flame, I'm guessing."
She continued relentlessly.

        As Cloud looked just on
the verge of pouting like a little girl, Vincent interrupted. "We'll
see you tomorrow, alright?" The almost nonexistent look he gave Rodger
made it clear that he was trying to pave the way for the two of them to
say goodnight, alone.

        "Sounds relatively good."
Kyrie agreed with a pleasant sigh. "I've got a lot of catching up
to do in the annoying everyone department."

        "We'll be waiting."
Vincent grinned slightly, nodding before walking out. Cloud followed,
still insisting (under his breath) that it wasn't entirely his fault that
the kitchen was a mess.

        "Well." Kyrie invited.
She and Rodger hadn't been in the same room, completely alone together,
in way too damn long. Were she feeling up to it, she'd have celebrated
their reoccurring togetherness with something more than conversation.
Being poked and prodded all day by doctors, however, did not exactly set
the mood.

        He took a deep breath, just
cleansing the terrifying worry that clung to the edges of his thoughts.
He'd still worry. He would for a long time to come. But he
wasn't as worried anymore. Before any words, he kissed her.
He had to, dammit. "Are you going to be alright?"

        "Yeah, I'm... almost fine."
She answered, pulling him down to sit on the bed next to her. Just
like the old days. "I'll be fine when I get sleep, I think."

        He freely, gratefully snaked
an arm around her waist. "What happened? I mean... I don't
really know what I mean."

        She smiled, resting her
head on his shoulder. There was a moment of contemplative silence
as she tried to figure out exactly how to answer that. "I really
don't know." She admitted. "It's all still... kind of dream-like
and disconnected." Blurs of so much--it's not that she was forgetting
it, though. She made certain of that much. It was just... taking
time to come through in the right order, maybe. "I wish I could remember
it clearly... and then, I really don't."

        He took a single breath
again, slowly. "I'm glad you're alright." What an understatement.

        "Me too." She added,
closing her eyes. For just a moment in time, she felt a little nervous
about that action... but safe in it, too. She felt... safe.
She hesitated to admit such a thing, as that was always the moment in the
horror movies when monsters struck, but...

        "And we can have sex soon,
right?" he grinned.

        "Very soon." She assured
him, poking his side softly. "Vincent is on to you, by the way."

        He just stared at her for
a number of seconds, getting the joke right away from the very tone of
her voice. "Are we one fucked up clique or what?"

        "But it feels like home."
She countered with a chuckle.

        "Thank Hyne for that."
He sighed happily, hugging her.

        "Did you guys get to bond?"
Her breath stopped short when he squeezed quite a bit tighter. Not
like that was enough to shut her up, though. "Oh, come on.
Details!"

        "Sick." He joked.

        "Yes." She agreed.
"And?"

        "Afraid you'll have to wait
for me to make up something steamy."

        "Oh dammit."

        Why was he with this girl,
again? He laughed quietly at his own question, glad to have her back
completely.

        "Did you break the
chair?" she dared, accusing with humor.

        "I'll get you another one."
He promised.

        The comfort she found in
his arms was starting to make her feel quite lethargic, actually.
Not in a bad way at all; more like the way you feel in the winter, in your
pajamas, in front of a warm fire. She really was quite exhausted.
Though she damn well wished he could stay with her. She finally had
to surrender to a yawn.

        "Guess I should let you
sleep." Rodger sighed, pulling away just a little.

        "It better just be one night."
She tried to assure the both of them. "Because I already hate this
bed."

        He grinned with a slight
nod. "Oh, I bet they'll be pushing you out the door by morning."

        She grasped hold of him
again, hugging tightly. "I will see you tomorrow. So be ready."

        "Of course. I'll pick
you up as soon as they shove you out the front door." He took a moment
to look into her eyes. They were hers, alright. They were even
a little... well, deeper, maybe. He couldn't explain that part, and
it was getting too late to try. As long as she was still there, still
with him. "You know I love you, right?"

        She smiled at that one.
"Of course I do. And you ought to know I love you too."

        "I do." He promised.
That's all he'd needed, really. There was another quick kiss before
he somewhat forced himself to get off the bed and walk to the door.
It had been automatically programmed to lock right after he left for security
purposes (and so no one could annoy her after she was left alone).
That kind of put him at ease for some reason. Strangely normal and
slightly rude waves were exchanged, and he left with the assurance that
he would see her again soon.

        Kyrie heard the small chime
of the door lock, then the quiet beep as the security system set in.
Well, at least no one would be getting in. She started to wonder
if she'd be able to get out, picturing an ensemble of strange movies she'd
seen in the past having to do with tying sheets together and escaping out
a window. It was amusing, anyway.

        She glanced at the hospital
clothes that had been left for her, and decided not. She'd rather
sleep in her own clothes, thanks. And in her own bed... but that
part couldn't be helped. It was kind of weird being alone, though.
Welcome, in a sense--alone meant no bitch from the furthest reaches of
the universe playing with her head. And no psycho son of a bitch
doing the same thing, either.

        She sighed distastefully
with that thought. Maybe he really hadn't been quite the cruel creature
they'd all thought they knew he was; not underneath. Or maybe it
was all just a lie. She wanted to ask, "Is it over?"
But she certainly couldn't bring herself to. Part of her didn't really
think it was. She wanted so badly to understand what had happened...
but it was too late, now. Too late to do anything but go over the
events in her mind until they were raw, trying to figure it out.
Had the Lifestream found her? Had she really caught it? Had
he
shoved her in that direction? Was there direction in which
to shove?

        It really just made her
head pound at that point. But, strangely, that wasn't the only thing
being affected. The more she thought of it, the more she felt this...
thing in her chest. It felt almost like Materia--but she knew there
was no way it could have been. Still... it reacted to her thoughts,
feeling like that second heartbeat that she'd been so used to before all
of this shit happened. Curious, she tried to block out the impending
headache and clear her thoughts entirely. She pictured a dark, hollow
place within her chest as she did when she was using Materia. Nothing.
But... but, something. Something as dark as the place outside
of the Lifestream had been. It reflected no light, no thought--yet
it held energy.

        A momento.
She commented in her own head. Instead of being eerily revolting...
it was actually a little bit of a comfort. It wasn't a materia--not
entirely. It was more like... a piece. A chip. A heavy
reminder.

        She wrapped her arms around
herself--not out of being cold, but out of the need to find a little solace
in herself. Had she really survived all of that stuff? Momento
in tact... her mind still in tact... as was memory, experience, and her
reality. Sure it had changed a bit, but... she smiled slightly with
the thought of it. There had once been something human in
the man that was Sephiroth, that much was for sure. She really, honestly
believed that it was that part of him that'd left this fragment behind.
Even if it was a lie... she'd prefer to believe it.

        She sighed quietly, knowing
that it was near impossible to get any sleep. Sure she was tired,
but... it was a little hard to just let unconsciousness wash over one so
quickly after they've lived through something like that. So much
to reflect on, so much to try and understand--

        A sharp swishing sound in
the dimly lit room caused her to shift her attention to the previously
locked door, having been suddenly opened. Vincent had easily decoded
the lock, breaking all of his own rules to come down and see her.
How sweet. She held back a number of brutal comments, just for that.

        He was frankly not very
surprised to see that she was still awake. And less surprised to
see that she hadn't changed into the other clothes. Locking the door
behind him, he invited himself over. What the hell.

        "Hey, Vinnie." She
greeted quietly, knowing he was here to ask questions. It was an
invitation, anyway.

        He smirked at that, taking
a seat beside her. "How are you feeling?"

        She pondered that question,
trying to get an accurate response for him. "Tired. A little
dizzy. Somewhat buzzed."

        He seemed quite glad to
hear it. "What do you remember?"

        Ah, the million Gil question.
She closed her eyes as she answered, making a desperate attempt to focus
on the memories of what almost seemed like a million years ago. "Fragments...
memories and thoughts... and then something like the end of the universe."
She felt extremely emotional all of a sudden. A strange thing for
her. She was hit with the pictures of what Sephiroth went through
while he was still "human", then the pain inflicted upon others--including
her parents. It was overwhelming for a split second in time, rushing
in as a tide and sweeping out almost as cleanly. "Just... insanity.
Death... the end... of life, of Sephiroth, of everything... darkness and
nothing..." She opened her eyes, the tide coming back with a vengeance
once she chose to remember. His memories, his deaths, what he'd seen,
the pain, the fear, the satisfaction of seeing that in the eyes of others...
how very strange a thing it was to be left the holder of these pieces that
weren't even hers.

        "You're not crying
for Sephiroth..?" he looked oddly disturbed.

        She wiped her eyes with
the back of her hand, feeling far too weird to be tearing up in front of
Vincent. "No. No, not for Sephiroth." That wasn't really
a lie. She wasn't crying just for Sephiroth. It was
for Squall. For Seifer. For what they'd done, and what they'd
been forgotten for. What they'd been remembered for. The shattered
memories Sephiroth had left her the sole holder of. The fact she
really hadn't said good-bye to either of her parents. Not that it
mattered, now.

        It felt weird, though.
Very strange to be so... serious with Vincent. She knew him well
enough to know that she shouldn't feel weird. And, obviously, she
could say anything in front of him. So she sucked up the sorrow for
just a moment to announce, "It's not what I expected, though."

        "What isn't?" he folded
his arms, curious.

        "You. Naked."
A large grin replaced any remnants of mourning.

        He stared at her, quite
taken aback. After a moment the shock seemed to fade to normality
as he responded, "Well, I'm not going to call or leave messages for you
anymore."

        "Unfair." She protested.
"I didn't mean it in a bad way..."

        "Too late." He interrupted,
feigning hurt. "I'm crushed." He didn't acknowledge what had
obviously happened; it became clear she'd been so linked to Sephiroth that
she'd seen his memories. In truth, he remembered every detail from
where her comment had come. Even though he really didn't want to.

        A long, comfortable silence
acted as an interlude. They both cast their gazes downward, merely
running over recent events. It had been one hell of a scare.
And who knew? Who knew this sort of thing could happen? Or
that anyone would care, really. She'd almost been lost to the madness
of the universe, to that place where the Lifestream--or whatever other
of the millions of names that force must have--didn't often reach.
Maybe there was a reason for that--maybe it acted as a Purgatory.
Or maybe it was just all in her mind, or all in Sephiroth's.

        For no reason he could fathom,
he reached out and held her to him. It was both a comforting gesture
being offered, and somehow served to comfort himself, as well. He
ought to tell her. Now would be the time. "Loire." He
whispered softly. "Lucretia's last name was Loire."

        Her eyes widened as she
computed that last bit of information. He'd never talked about Lucretia
specifically; only a love lost, long ago and far away. Never a name,
and certainly never an indication that they very well could be related.

        He felt her whole body stiffen
with the sudden avalanche of thought. "I don't understand it, myself."
He admitted. "Maybe somewhere along the line she'd hidden a child
or... or something... but I don't know how. She never told me, but..."
He lightly, unconsciously ran his flesh and blood fingers through her hair.
"A thousand years should have destroyed the bloodline entirely. Maybe
the Leonhart lineage had some, and possibly Heartily as well." Something
had to explain where her crimson eyes had come from.

        What a thought.
Trying to feel grateful for Rinoa. She didn't really have any
sort of reaction at first. This was... new. Strange.
But not... not really, entirely, unexpected. Was everything some
sort of... "fated future"? Nah. Just stupid freakin' luck.
Whatever it was, she was glad for it. She had a new connection to
hang onto. It was... so much nicer than having old ones severed.

        Another long silence passed
between them. Kyrie finally broke it in a quiet voice. "So...
does this mean... I'm not supposed to picture you naked anymore?"

        He grinned so widely his
back teeth may well have shone from his lips. "No, no. All's
fair in this game."

        "Thanks." She said
sincerely, changing the entire tone of the conversation. "For everything.
I love you a lot, Vincent."

        That had been a bit shocking;
maybe not the fact that it was true, but the fact that it was ever spoken.
He really couldn't have said he minded, though. He let himself get
just the slightest bit soft and hugged her tightly. "I love you too,
Kyrie." Wonder of wonders. "You just sleep. We have plenty
of time to make up for this moment of lapsed judgment later."

        She grinned at that.

        Rodger was indeed there to
pick her up the moment she signed herself out. Granted it hadn't
been one of the best or most comfortable nights of sleep in her life, but
it had been good enough to have lowered that blood pressure. Finding
nothing else in her blood tests, she was free to go quite early in the
afternoon. And about that, she couldn't have been happier.

        Jumping into the passenger
seat of the car, she ordered in dramatic movie style, "Let's get out of
here."

        "You want me to peel out?"
he joked, taking a good look around to make sure no one was approaching
from any direction.

        "Well, it would make me
feel better." She admitted.

        He grinned, doing as she
wished. It wasn't exactly the most exciting thing to peel out of
a parking lot only to go well below the speed limit behind a parking ambulance,
but hey.

        "So why isn't there anyone
else in the car?" she let her mind wander, rolling down the window.
For some reason she felt like a dog must when it wanted to stick its head
out of a moving vehicle. "Freedom!", they must be thinking...

        He shrugged, turning onto
a side road that would eventually lead to the house. "Just thought
you could use a little time at home before seeing anyone. Freshen
up, get your insults straight, you know."

        "How sweet." Yes,
she could use a shower. She'd be obsessively trying not to writhe
around in her hospital-touched clothes until the moment she shed them in
favor of soap and water.

        "How are you?" he took his
eyes off the road just long enough to make sincere contact. "Really."

        "Much better." She
responded honestly. "I'll be even better when I'm clean, and a thousand
times more when I get to sleep in my own freaking bed again."

        "Sleep?" he mocked
rejection.

        "Well, after a night of
lovin', of course." She added, glad to be a part of this again.

        Traffic being surprisingly
nonexistent at that time of day, they made it to the house rather quickly.
Kyrie couldn't have been happier; the first thing she did was shed her
clothes at the bottom of the stairs and throw them into the laundry room.

        "That was an unfair tease!"
she heard Rodger shout after her.

        "Wait until I'm clean, then
it won't be a tease anymore!" she called playfully from the top of the
stairs. Shower shower shower... She realized most people
would find her need to be clean a bit much, but... it was a hospital,
for Hyne's sake. She slept in a hospital bed. That could not
have been entirely healthy, private room or not.

        She did pause for a moment
upon entering the bathroom. It was a silly thing to do, but... it
just sort of happened that way. Closing her eyes, she took a deep
breath. Nerves steadied, she gazed into the mirror--seeing only her
reflection. Red eyes, as always. Her hair was mused all to
hell, though. She was her. And that's all the fucking mattered.
Well, that and getting clean.

        She was fully aware that
her shower was a bit longer than usual. Not excessive, but... she
had to scrub and condition, of course. That, and... she needed to
reflect for a moment, at home. How the fucking hell had her mind
survived all of that? How was she still... "whole" after those images,
those memories--after Jenova herself had crashed into her mind..?
But then, she knew she was a stubborn bitch. Maybe more so than even
Jenova. That thought really did make her smile.

        Drying off took practically
no time at all, and she rushed from the bathroom to the bedroom in two
antelope-like leaps, grabbing for the first thing in her closet.
Sleeveless red shirt, that worked. Black jeans, yep. Whatever.

        Darting out, fully dressed,
hair still a little damp, she regarded the stairs for a moment. Technically
she could have slid down the banister... but she didn't want any
reason to have to go the hospital again for a long time, if ever.
She was a little too likely to break a limb, therefore she went for the
slow descent, making each step creak just a bit to announce herself.
Rodger had seemed so eager, so she made her presence known.

        Halfway down, he stepped
out from around the stairs and looked up at her with a miraculous grin
on his face. "Might as well go right back up."

        "Aww." She stopped,
placing a hand on her hip. "But I'm in the middle of the sexy slow
descent down the stairs thing."

        "Tough." He threw
back, climbing up to her level. "Just trust me on this one, will
you?"

        "Hm." She responded,
sensing something... amiss. Certainly not in a bad way, but... there
was a plan at work, here. Oh, she liked that.

        He led her into the bedroom,
but did not immediately start flinging clothing in all directions as she
had anticipated. Instead, he gave her a come hither gesture with
his hand as she playfully waited just inside the door frame. Having
absolutely no problem with that, she approached. There was... something
in his eyes. Something sweet rather than lustful, really...

        Without a word, he gently
wrapped his arms around her neck as he often did when he wanted to tease
her privately about something. But this time, she felt the tingle
of cold metal against the back of it. And he was lingering without
speaking far too long--

        He let go completely with
a satisfied look all across his face, just waiting. Waiting for her
to speak or glare at him or make any move at all in realization of what
he'd done.

        Seeing him just wait there...
she carefully grasped the small weight that was hanging at the hollow of
her throat. A silver ring. On a silver chain. The image
pressed deeply into the heaviest part of the band was that of Eleison;
the Bloodcross and Griever having become one. On the inside of the
band was the simple inscription, "Bellus Lunctus". "Beautiful
Together."

        She met his eyes for a moment
in pure surrender, tears very nearly flooding her vision. But her
voice returned, as she forced it to. "Little late for promise rings,
isn't it?" she joked.

        That beautiful, cocky grin
lit his face and he moved forward again, capturing her forearms in a soft
grip. He leaned down to kiss her, then passed her lips and spoke
into her ear. He would do this the right way. He would do this
his
way. Their way. After all, in their eyes they'd already
been married for four years "Whaddya say we shut Vincent up and make
this thing legal?"

        They could have made one
hell of a big deal out of this whole marriage thing. But they didn't.
Just a Justice of the Peace in Laguna's office to make it legal before
sending him on his merry way; no bells, no whistles, just the signing of
paper and a party. Besides the president and the couple, no one else
in attendance knew they were getting married at all, and certainly not
there and then. It was a pleasant surprise for all the guests, most
of which had been called "immediately to the Presidential Estate for a
matter of some urgency." If there was one thing Kiros could do well,
it was be utterly serious.

        Vincent had an inkling.
He couldn't have helped but have had an idea; he just happened to know
that Rodger had been to a jeweler the night before thanks to Cloud's desire
to see if there was anywhere else to work in the mall. It was kind
of fun to have a spy again. Even if it was accidental. He leaned
back, crossed his arms, and enjoyed everything to the fullest.

        Quistis, well... she had
an inkling, too. But she wasn't about to have set a date for a pool
or anything. They did what they did on their own time, those kids.
She was thrilled as hell to see it happen in front of her, though.
So much so that she was caught up in tears--until the punch came around.
Then it was simply all smiles.

        Selphie and Irvine had gotten
there in separate cars, separate trains, but stood together as the whole
event was taking place. It was their son, getting married
to their old friends' daughter. They could make an effort
to be friendly, after all.

        Cloud was bordering somewhere
between happy and aghast. He couldn't find the food. He knew
there was food, he could smell the food, but no one was eating the food.
There was no food in sight. It was a party--where was the food?

        Kiros was... as Kiros was.
Fretting over everything silently, pacing back and forth but out of range
of everyone's vision, trying to make things perfect and the mood just right--and
then Laguna put a heavy hand on his shoulder and pulled him back to stand
beside him. Silently, he chastised him for never taking a break and
ordered him to just stay there and let imperfections happen, orders
from the president.

        Ward stood to the side of
his old friends, trying to look big and tough and unaffected. It
was hard, though. He kept tearing up and wishing he'd brought that
straw hat along to hide behind...

        Ellone stood on the other
side of her father, hands clasped over her mouth in pure and utter lunatic
joy. It was all she could do not to shriek happy things. She
was trying to hold it all in, really she was.

        Laguna himself stood there
with a great big, sure grin on his face. He was damn proud.
That Rodger had proven himself, alright. And someone needed to keep
Kyrie in line, after all. Or... well, close enough to count, anyway.

        The dream that night was
unlike any of her other dreams; it had been in black and white. She
never dreamed in black and white. But the images were somewhat more
significant. She smiled, stretching, tasting the effect of
that dream as she snuggled closer into Rodger's arms... All it had
been, all it was, was a glimpse of a white lion and a white peacock off
in the distance. And when she closed her eyes, she thought she could
remember seeing something else. Some other white form. Some
kind of... one winged angel, standing off to the side, watching.

Fin
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Retribution Nor Redemption