Crystalline Tears

Kuja.

It could be said in so many languages, accented, changed completely so it no longer resembled its original name, but it always lead to the same definition. The same meaning. No matter how it was said, how it was interpreted, it was always dripping with power.

Kuja. Angel of Death.

Power is the next step to immortality.

If the above rang true, why was he dying? Why was he cold, alone, afraid, mangled beyond repair, thrown lifelessly atop his 'deathbed', the Lifa Tree's roots closing in for the kill?

He was created to destroy. And so he did as his destiny whispered softly in his ears. Was it the fact that Garland made him that way, or it was that he sensed his own power? Was that what *really* led him to destroying so many lives, wreaking so much havoc upon the innocent? Was it really him, and not Garland? He always knew he was different-- maybe that's what brought him to this moment of truth.

For a fleeting moment in his life, Kuja desperately wished he had been built like the other genomes-- soulless, living a life without meaning. He wished he had been simply but a vessel, awaiting the next soul to infest itself into him, like some sort of parasite.

He reflected on his sad excuse for a life-- all the pain and suffering he had caused, the blood he had shed, the lives he had caused to be lost in the abyss. He had been so selfish.

But was it really his fault? Did all this pain and suffering lead back to him? Had he alone inflicted it upon everyone, sent his wrath to both planets, or was it the fact that that's what Garland made him for?

Although he seriously doubted it, even if he did manage to somehow survive, the mobs of homeless, angry people, the relatives of those he had slain, would tear him apart. Literally. Limb by limb.

He was responsible for so much-- would the world ever forgive him? And, more importantly, did he *deserve* to be forgiven? He seriously doubted.

He had little time to reflect on everything in his life, as he heard the vines of the Lifa Tree winding toward him. His eyes fluttered shut, strands of scarlet hair drifting over his face, almost as though to shield him from what was about to happen.

But the pain did not come-- added pain, anyways. The horrible ache that existed since Zidane defeated him still existed, but that was expected.

Why was he still alive?

There was warmth over him, and he could hear the vines winding overhead, prodding at whatever was above him angrily, poking at it like it was a dead animal. He heard a muffled grunt of pain against his chest, arms wound about him tightly.

...Zidane?

And lo and behold, his savior had arrived, and for what reason was beyond Kuja. He was defeated, broken, and his death was knocking at his door. Why had he come back? To be in all his glory, smiling as the Lifa Tree tore Kuja limb from limb? And if that was his reasoning for returning, Kuja thought grimly, that he did indeed deserve it.

But then again, if that was Zidane's reasoning, it still made little sense. Why risk his life to watch Kuja waste away, whether slowly, or being attacked viciously at by the Lifa Tree? And why had Zidane shielded him against this monster of a tree? It didn't make sense.

And suddenly, the vines overhead had ceased their attacking, and Zidane gently slid backwards, off of Kuja's battered and bloodied body.

"...you... you came back..." There was nothing but a hoarse whisper that escaped his dry lips, his throat parched and scratchy. Everything ached.

"I did," Zidane confirmed, eyes focused on him. Kuja turned his gaze away from the youth, feeling as though he would drown in their sea-blue depths. "I can't leave you here, when you think that no one in the world wants you."

It hurt too badly emotionally to answer truthfully. He avoided the subject: "I trust your friends are safe?"

"Yeah. Had something to do with it?" It wasn't much of a question, but Kuja answered anyways.

"Indeed," He titled his head to the side a bit, to avoid making eye contact with Zidane, but it only made a wash of pain hit him with full force. He winced, and Zidane made a little gasp somewhere in the back of his throat, searching through is pouch.

He brandished a Hi-potion, unscrewing the cap, but Kuja mustered up the strength to wave him off. "The damage is done. You cannot save me."

"Dammit, Kuja," Zidane snapped icily, his voice raising. "With that tone, you wont." He sounded like a mother, scolding a child who had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. "Stop being so damned negative and let me *help* you."

"I'm not being negative. Its only the truth." It pained him to say that it was actually what Zidane first suspected, but he would never admit it. "We all die someday, don't we?"

"Stop talking like that!" Zidane hissed. "You can't die."

"How noble, my brother," his voice was flat, completely devoid of emotion, but hinting that sarcastic dryness that Zidane knew all too well. "What makes you think I can't?"

"Because... because..." for a moment, Zidane looked completely lost. His words hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity, stabbing at Kuja painfully. Zidane had no reason. The world had no reason. No reason to let him live. So why had Zidane even attempted it?

"...You're my brother."

A pause.

"And I love you."

Another pause.

"...As a brother."

It would have been more comical if the situation hadn't been so serious. Kuja found that his own eyes were boring into Zidane's, those blue depths swimming, as a tear slid gently down the blonde's face. And more soon to follow. Wet ribbons, like waterfalls, gently running over his cheek. Was this some sort of joke? Or...

Another thought occurred to him:

Was it a tear of pity? Or a tear out of love?

He could see the Lifa Tree's vines begin churning again, arching overhead of them dangerously. The time had come. It was all going to end.

He was certain Zidane could hear them overhead, but he made no move to escape. Instead, however, he bent his head down, until it was only millimeters above Kuja's, their noses touching, until he gave him a soft kiss, their lips barely brushing.

A kiss for a friend. A kiss for an arch nemesis. A kiss for a brother. And a kiss for possibly something that Zidane had never hinted before.

The next words were breathed so softly Kuja had to strain to hear it:

"If Lifa tears you apart, it's taking me with you."

I'm afraid I cannot allow you to do that.

The Lifa hurtled downwards, and at that same moment, Zidane turned into what seemed to be a simple ball of light. A teleportation portal, summoned by Kuja. The light danced before Kuja's eyes a moment, and then shot up to the heavens, to safety, just before the Lifa struck.

The pain was intense. Unlike anything he had ever endured before. His body was wracked with it, arching high into the air as the Lifa drove itself into his chest.

He bit back down on his lip to keep himself from screaming-- so hard he tasted the copperness of the blood that swam in his mouth. A bitter taste he knew.

He didn't remember how long the Lifa Tree attacked at him before the world faded, but when the world did begin to vanish before his eyes, he saw not the pain and grief and self-pity...

...But those crystalline tears of Zidane's just before he kissed him.

Then, he drifted to the light, and felt no more.