Bring Me Home

by tir-synni

 

Chapter II: Be Mine

 

      Zidane wraps up the first part of his story with a tired yawn.  I guess all the talk about sleeping reminded him about how tired he was.  So far, while a couple of my questions were answered, Zidane had mainly just made new ones.  I'll worry about those later, though.

      "Kuja kissed you?" I ask aloud, dazed.  "Kuja...your own brother...kissed you?"

      Zidane shrugs and yawns again.  "Yep.  Right on the lips.  That was his idea of thanks, you know.  And I'm still not sure if we're actually 'brothers.'  If that was true, then all the genomes would be related.  Be kinda hard to continue the race in that case, don't ya think?"

      I only nod, trying not to clench my fists.  Kuja...kissed...Zidane.  Jealousy floods me.  I hate to imagine anyone else touching Zidane.  I hate how this sounds, but I think of him as only mine.  I have been thinking of him like that for so long, it infuriates me when I hear that someone else touched him.  How dare they!?

      Zidane smiles sleepily at me, and I shake myself back to awareness.  "Maybe you should stop talking for now," I suggest.  "You're still running a fever."

      Zidane gestures vaguely.  "Nah.  I'm all right.  Just kinda tired."  Zidane cocks his head to one side, studying my face.  "Are you upset that Kuja kissed me?"

      I blink.  "Well, um...He didn't have the right.  You were almost asleep, and he stole a kiss.  He didn't even ask or anything."  I nod to myself mentally in triumph at my reasoning.  Surely Zidane wouldn't question that.

      Zidane's soft laugh interrupts me.  "A thief, upset that someone stole a kiss?  Ha ha ha."

      I blush.  Well, yeah, when you say it like that....

      Zidane smiles at me, and there's a twinkle in his eyes that wasn't there before.  "I didn't mind," he assures me.  "He had really soft lips.  Firm, too.  Great kisser."

      I swallow.  Well, at least he won't mind that I'm a guy, I think to myself.  Then I think about what he just said.

      " 'Great kisser,' " I repeat.  "You could tell that by one kiss?"

      I could tell by Zidane's mischievous grin that I wouldn't like the answer.  "You'll find that out when I finish telling the story.  But about Kuja kissing me...let's keep that between us, all right?  I don't want the others to know."

      I nod numbly.  Was that the reason he didn't want to tell the others his story?  But why me?

      Zidane's soft purr pulls me out of my thoughts, and I feel his tail tighten around my thigh.  I'm starting to lose feeling to my leg.  I'm not going to tell him that, though, so I just pet his tail.  The fur was soft, I can feel that even through my glove.  A warm rush goes up my arm.

      How does Zidane feel when someone does this? I wonder.  Then my eyes darken.  Does Kuja's feel the same?

      The tail around my thigh squeezes hard, and I can't help but yelp.  I frown down at Zidane's pouting face.

      "You're doing it again," he accuses, leaning back on the pillows.  "You're thinking.  Don't you know how bad that is?  I leave you alone for a little while, and when I come back--"

      "Speaking of which," I interrupt, refusing to get into that argument again, "you'd better get some sleep so you can tell me the rest of the story.  I want to know what else happened during the 'little while.' "

      Again, Zidane cocks his shaggy blond head to one side, and my breath catches.  Even pale and sick, he looks beautiful doing that.  "Will I wake up to some food?" he asks hopefully.  Then his nose wrinkles.  "Something besides pickles.  I'm going to have to brush my teeth for hours to get that damn taste out of my mouth."

      I blink.  Did he eat a lot of pickles on the trip here? I wonder.  "Sure.  I'm sure Tantalus will have a big feast to celebrate your return.  It's not everyday one of our own comes back from the dead."

      Zidane's tiny smile fades.  "We didn't have a feast when you came back from the dead."

      There's something in his eyes...I can't really identify it.  "We really couldn't, at the time," I reply practically, "with everyone out to destroy the world and all."

      The small frown's still there.  "Well, since we couldn't then, we should now.  Celebrate Tantalus, and how everyone's still breathing.  Now there's a reason to party.  We'll invite a bunch of rich guests and rob them blind.  Whatcha think?"

      I chuckle softly at the idea.  If given the opportunity, Zidane probably would do that.  "Sounds good to me.  Now get some sleep.  You look wiped."

      With one last brilliant smile, Zidane snuggles into his pillow and closes his eyes.  His tail never loosens its grip on me, so I just make myself comfortable.  Might as well.  I've been through this situation before when Zidane was young.  He would have nightmares, and I was always the one who would sit with him to calm him down.  He would wrap his tail around me, and nothing short of amputation would make him release me.  Zidane would never remember the nightmares the next day, and as he got older, the nightmares faded.  Without them, I no longer had an excuse to sit by Zidane's bed each night and stroke his hair until he fell asleep.

      Did Kuja do that, too? I find myself wondering.  When you were still with Garland, did Kuja stay up with you if you had a bad dream?  Did he pet your hair and stay with you all night to make sure your nightmares didn't return?

      I give my head a good shake.  No point wondering about that.  It would just drive me nuts.

      My eyes find their way to Zidane's lips.  Even in sleep, they were smiling, probably imagining some wild scheme.  How many people has kissed those lips?  Kuja, certainly.  How many times?  Did Queen Garnet?  How many others?

      I clench my fists, tempted to lean down and claim those soft lips.  Zidane was sleeping, he would never know.  But I would.  I would always know my first kiss from Zidane was claimed while Zidane was unconscious, while Zidane wasn't willing.  No.  When I kiss Zidane, he would know it, and he'd be kissing me back.

      Raising my chin proudly, I resume stroking Zidane's golden hair.  With a contented purr, he nestles against my hand.  Looking at his beautiful features, I make one silent plea:

      "Be mine."