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28 August 2013 @ 10:47 pm
Firsts and Lasts [Cid/Fang]  
Title: Firsts and Lasts
Pairing: Cid/Fang
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIII
Genre: Retrospection, Introspection, Angst, Tragedy
Rating: PG
Word Count: 491

Written for 1drabble


Firsts and Lasts


He was the first person she saw when she woke up.

Around them, the roars of engines and screeching of gears slithered into her ear, planting deep inside her brain. She felt the stirrings of a formidable headache.

Disoriented and annoyed, Fang growled in his direction. She isn’t a short woman (is actually quite tall, thank you) but next to him, she seemed diminutive. And that—she quickly realizes—is not a pleasant observation.

He extended a hand toward her and cordially introduced himself as Brigadier General Cid Raines: you may address me as Raines. Fang scoffed but followed him (stuffy prick needed to know she won’t be intimidated).

Lightning was livid at his betrayal. Vanille gasped in disbelief (not sure who he actually was). And the others gawk open-mouthed, wide-eyed, thinking this must be bullshit. And as Lightning charged forward—was instantly slammed back—Fang stood her ground.

She had every right to be pissed (more so than anyone else). And she’d make him pay hell if he hadn’t done it already.

Sighing sadly, Fang turns her head. It was useless ruing over what-might-have-beens. Nonetheless, she will allow him a noble demise. She will grant him the privacy needed in suffering the infamy of such a death, from being cut from his puppet strings and divested of humanness.

The others continue ahead, completely oblivious.

He had been an honorable man albeit misguided. And even though she never understood his ideologies and political jargon (his pomposity, his devotion to a futile cause) she can understand why he did what he did.

Like her, he had fought for what he desired at any cost.


She unleashed a murderous scream. Startled, Cid jumped back, dropping his hand from her shoulder lest she severed his arm.

“Who the hell are you?” she snarled.

Politely, he answered with his name—and the million other questions she soon bombarded him with. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tried not to think of the days ahead and silently cursed Barthandelus for branding him.

It was Barthandelus he thought of again when he fell to his knees, defeated and freed at last. But it was her he looked straight into as he faded away, from crystal to ashes to dust to end.

She gazed back with remorse and pity pooling in her eyes. Then, hanging her head, she tore away. And for a second, he thought he saw tears on her face.

As Rygdea cocks the gun, itching to pull the trigger, he inhales one final breath. He wouldn’t want it any other way but this: duty-bound and self-sacrificial. He knows his former captain will live on well (and always burdened by this guilt). And he would console him if he still had that ability (right).

Closing his eyes for the last time, he sees her below, swept up in the pandemonium. He smirks and thinks back to how they first met.