Author's Note: I wasn't planning on adding anything more to this little one-shot, but then this idea popped into my head and wouldn't leave me alone... so now you have this.

I love Hope's Theme (in XIII and XIII-2), and how they stay consistent in that they're mainly guitar solos. This fact strongly (as you will soon see) influenced my idea.

Oh, and the little song is original; I made it up last night.

Enjoy.

Remember Me

Chapter Two: Memory

Hope Estheim couldn't sleep.

He stared at the digital clock on his bedside table. It was three in the morning and far too early to be so completely sleepless.

But he had been, ever since Lightning stepped into his hotel room.

He had tried to go to sleep after she left, but it was impossible; every nerve in his body was alert. His mind couldn't settle and thoughts flew through his brain at a thousand miles an hour, keeping him awake.

She was here. She was really here.

She looked at him. Smiled at him. Talked to him.

She said she had watched him, from Valhalla.

She cared for him. Maybe she even... loved him.

And she had wanted to sleep with him.

His mind returned to this point, over and over again. He was stunned and, strangely, fascinated by this. Lightning, the strong, independent woman who had steered his life when he was fourteen; who had occupied his dreams and was his motivation for moving forward; who was now the reason why his heart beat fast, whose memory stayed with him, even with his eyes open—she had wanted him.

And he had turned her down.

Hope groaned and rolled onto his back. "I am such an idiot," he told himself ruefully.

He wondered if Lightning was watching him now. If she is, he thought, she's probably smiling.

He stared up at the ceiling for a few more minutes and, resigned to accept insomnia, he sat up.

There were two things Hope had requested for his hotel room when he arrived in 500 AF: one was the pink rose, which now sat on his desk, and an acoustic guitar. Neither had earned him the odd looks he had been half-expecting; he supposed that everyone thought he was far too important of a person to be ridiculed for peculiar preferences.

Hope stood and retrieved the guitar from its place in the corner and sat, cradling it on the edge of the bed. When he was a young boy, his father, Bartholomew, would sometimes play guitar for him. He had short, fragmented memories of Nora, his mother, teaching him how to sing, and his father strumming in accompaniment to the side. Over the years, Bartholomew gave up the guitar, saying it was for a different time—a happier time. Then Nora died and when Hope returned to his father, now as an ex-l'Cie, Bartholomew slowly began to play guitar again. He began, Hope thought, in an effort to distract his son, whose silences and distant glances toward the pillar unnerved Bartholomew and made him worry. Then Bartholomew began to teach Hope to play and together, the father and son began to heal.

Now, after ten years, Hope found it was almost easier to think with the guitar in his hands than without it. Playing helped him to relax. He fished around his pocket for a pick and gently played the open strings. The B string was slightly out of tune. He tightened it until the pitch was perfect. Smiling a little, Hope played a few chords. A, D, G. It was amazing how the press of the strings against his fingertips immediately began to slow down his erratic heart.

He remembered the nights on Pulse, when everyone was gathered around the campfire to keep off the evening chill. Vanille sang sometimes, the old songs from Oerba taking on new life in her high, strong voice. Fang refused to sing, as did Snow—though his excuse was mostly that the songs he did know weren't meant for 'innocent ears,' and then he would glance suggestively at Hope. Hope never passed the chance to give him a dirty look in return, and sang a few things himself. Everyone seemed to like his soft baritone; even Sazh came in on harmonica sometimes to back him up.

But Lightning never sang. Not even when Vanille pleaded and Sazh cajoled, her answer was always the same: "I don't sing." And she never did except for one night, when all the others were asleep. Lightning was on watch, and Hope woke to her low voice, audible above the crackle and snap of the fire. Her voice was smooth with undertones of attitude and defiance, like some of the Jazz singers his father enjoyed. As she sang, Hope tried to memorize the way she sounded then, knowing it might be his only chance.

"You sound beautiful," he told her quietly when she was finished.

She spoke without turning. "You couldn't sleep?"

"Not for long," he admitted sheepishly.

He waited for her to glare at him, but she didn't. She only said, "well, I know how that goes."

"I'm sorry," he said, staring at her profile in the flickering light.

Lightning didn't reply.

They were silent for a long while. Then she said slowly, "one of us should get a good night's rest. If I sing a little, will you go to sleep?"

Hope could hardly believe his ears. He cleared his throat and said, as casually as he could manage, "sure."

He feigned sleep that night as he listened to her, the woman he was beginning to realize he couldn't live without.

Sometimes he almost thought he could remember her voice, if he focused hard enough.

Hope shifted the round body of the guitar, moving his fingers up a few frets. He tried out a few chord changes and turned to look thoughtfully across the room. His brain registered a few seconds later what he was seeing: the pink rose.

Roses. Lightning always smelled of roses, back then. The cascade of petals that spilled out whenever she struck her Eidolon's crystal seemed constant, near the end. It was only after Lightning had vanished that Hope realized how much the scent of the flower was associated, to his mind, with comfort.

She still smelled of roses when she was here just an hour ago.

Hope turned back to the guitar in his arms. Checking his finger positions, he said softly, "this is for you, Light."

He began to sing.

I think of you
when I'm here alone at night
when I just can't stand the fight,
I'm dreaming of you.

I wish you knew
I want you here by my side
I want you to be my light,
darling, it's true.

What I would do
is take you to the highest height
and cut my heart loose to fly
home to you.

I think of you
when I'm not close to you.
When you're not close to me
promise that you'll think of me,
and I'll be fine.

At least I'll try.

When the last note filled the air, Hope could almost feel Lightning's presence, like she was there in the room with him. He knew she was watching him from the timeline. Hope smiled, feeling closer to her now than he ever had during the ten long years before tonight.

"I'll try," he repeated softly. "For you, Light, I will."