dizzyspells | Your ex-lover is dead.

This was probably exactly why people always told him to give it up.

When Rachel had fallen, he'd thought that nothing could have been worse than being forgotten. When she'd died the first time, died remembering that he had left her, he realized just how wrong he'd been. Until it had driven something in him all the way to mad and back, hardened itself into a reckless desire for vengeance and a stubborn, hopeful determination to fix what had gone wrong. A promise.

Years later, hours after Rachel died the second time, and he wasn't all that sure he wasn't going to go mad all over again.

Maybe, once the shock had worn off and the wound was less new, he'd be able to understand and accept her absolution. Stop blaming himself and move forward, just as she asked of him. And he wanted to try, not least because he never had it in him to deny her. But has much as he wanted to honor it, it was easier said than done. And right now, with the dust from the Phoenix Cave still worked into the creases of his gloves, he couldn't see anything past that one, terrible truth.

She was gone. For good, this time, and not even he could deny it. He was probably supposed to feel freer for it. And maybe he would one day. But mostly it left him feeling raw and wrung out and hollow. For the first time in years, he was stripped of both the purpose and the hope that his promises had given him. When he'd found himself alone in a dying world, he'd clung to it with all the strength he'd had left. Because he'd let everything else that was important slip through his fingers until a doomed hope was all he had left. And now...

Now he was left sitting on a cracked and crumbling wall in Kohlingen, watching the sky go from red to redder when he wasn't staring at his hands. Finally acknowledging the grief that had eaten itself deep into him for years. And instead of feeling freed when she'd released him from his past, honestly, he just felt lost.

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In retrospect, she should have left with the others when they quietly excused themselves to the Falcon. Rachel's death left a heavy weight on everyone; some reminded of loved ones lost not so long ago, but also because of a friend's pain. She didn't miss the looks that Setzer or Edgar cast her way, but neither spared a word. Probably couldn't decide if it would be better to advise her to stay or go.

She spent far too long standing out by the inn; she saw where Locke had disappeared to, but she had nothing to say. She never was very good with comforting words and empty reassurances.

Finally, after purchasing a small loaf of bread wrapped in a colorful bundle, she made her way out to the edge of town, where she saw the familiar figure hunched over, staring down at his hands. She still hadn't figured out what to say, but she couldn't just leave.

He'd been sure, when he'd turned and walked away from the rest of the Returners, that someone would try to stop him. Out of a well intentioned want to comfort, or a fear he'd do something foolish if left to his own devices. None of them did. Even those closest to him kept a respectful distance and left him to his grief. Celes was the first person to approach him in hours.

With the world as it was, quiet and broken and dying, there was little noise to disguise it. The sound of her boots on the gravel registered distantly, and he looked up. Fixed her with an unsteady gaze, red-rimmed and tired. He'd cried and cursed himself empty for a time. Wrung himself as dry as the dust under his own boots until there was little left but a deep, gnawing ache. He couldn't seem to summon the energy or the pride to care to hide it. The stone wall he was sitting on had once served as the limits of the town. There were few people who would bother coming all the way out here for him, and any one of them had already seen him at his lowest.

He wasn't sure what she was waiting for him to do. He wasn't sure if he was surprised to find that it was her, either. It felt like a long time before he found his voice again. When he did, it was rough and uncertain.

"Celes?"

The sad, defeated look in his eyes made something twist and hurt inside of her, a sick feeling that gnawed at her since Rachel's death. It echoed back a memory of her time on the solitary island, and distantly, she was grateful there were no tall cliffs nearby. She wouldn't bet Locke to do anything rash like that, but loss makes you do strange things. Maybe that's why she stayed behind, because he had been there with her during her lowest point, even if he didn't know it.

"It's almost time for dinner." She started awkwardly, holding up the small bundle she was carrying, "You should eat something."

When she first spoke, he watched her with a fairly shellshocked air. As if he couldn't understand what she was getting at. The normalcy of it was hard to grasp. Rachel was dead and Celes and the others were alive and they were both here talking about dinner...

"...Right," he answered eventually. And though he'd agreed with her, he didn't move to do anything about it. Just cleared his throat to steady his voice and looked back down at his hands loosely clasped between his knees. "Thanks."

Unfortunately, normal is what Celes was most comfortable with, or at least what passed for their new normal nowadays. It helped her cope anyway, remembering the things that needed to be done, even if it was as simple as finding food for the day.

Though he didn't invite her to stay, she walked over to him, setting the bread in her lap as she diligently unknotted the fabric around it. Carefully she tore off a hunk of the bread, holding it out for him. Finally she cleared her throat, "I'm sorry." And she truly was. No matter what she might feel for Locke, there were things you never would wish upon anyone.

Everything had happened pretty quickly since they'd run into each other again. It was easy to get caught up in it and forget the normal things. He sure as hell wasn't feeling very hungry, but he took the offered bread mechanically, turning it over in his hands. Celes's condolences, as frank and simple as they were, hit him like a punch to the gut. Locke closed his eyes with a grimace that tried, unsuccessfully, to twist its way into a smile.

"Yeah," he said. Eventually, quietly. "Me too."

She winced, wondering if it was a mistake to say anything at all. Maybe the others were right and she should just leave him to mourn in silence, but no matter how many times she turned the idea over in her head, she just couldn't.

"It..." Celes started, before trailing off, and starting again, "General Leo used to say that the only thing worse than death was to pass on without telling your loved ones goodbye," He'd encouraged the soldiers to write home always, to never leave home angry. Celes never really thought much about it, but suddenly now his words came to her.

"I think she was happy, to see you again." In other words, his years of searching and hunting wasn't pointless. Even if it just gave her a few extra minutes, those minutes meant a lot.

Locke wasn't sure what he expected to hear from her when she first brought up the subject at hand. His friends were alive, and he'd up and abandoned them to chase an impossible dream. And now he had to face what everyone kept telling him had come long ago. Celes was never good at suffering fools. He wouldn't blame her if she thought him one.

Instead, she almost surprised him with her sympathy. Passed along the sort of words that were meant to comfort, the kind he'd been too angry and too hurt to accept the first time Rachel died. But now, after everything, from her, they didn't feel forced, or false, or empty. Celes didn't say anything if she didn't believe it was necessary. She still wasn't very good at it, but he found he didn't want her to leave. He'd walked off hours ago at the first opportunity and it took half a minute of company to realize that being alone was the last thing he wanted after months upon months of being tired and lonely and desperate.

"It wasn't enough." Frustrated, helpless. He'd gone over it in his head a thousand times, everything he'd say and do for her once he brought her back. And when the time came all he could do was to call her name over and over like a prayer, as if it would stop what was happening. He was supposed to save her. Instead, she had spent her last moments trying to save him from himself. "I couldn't even tell her-"

He stopped, tongue tied. Locke had always been good at talking, but he'd seemed to have fallen strangely out of practice.

She never was good with comforting those who were grieving. Even after all of the deaths she'd witnessed, comrades who were killed in action back in the Empire, she still never quite knew what to say.

"Tell her what?" She prompted, even though the answer was obvious. Tell her that he was sorry, that he loved her, "I think she already knew." Actions speak louder than words, someone doesn't spend years of their life trying to bring back someone they didn't love deeply.

Your ex-lover is dead.

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