No longer mourn

Possible spoilers for Sen IV - if you want to know why they're just possible, skip to the AN.

He didn't know when things had started to change, to be honest.

"Hello," Machias greeted the twin markers in front of him, as he knelt and carefully laid down both sets of flowers he was holding, every movement both reverent and precise; this would forever be sacred ground for him, and he would forever conduct himself as such.

"Mom. Sis. I apologize for the delay; it's been… quite hectic lately, as you can imagine."

The gunman still remembered the days when he simply stood in front of them in silence, frozen with grief and unable to speak; he supposed that having conversations with no one wasn't a particularly massive improvement, but it was what it was.

He would talk, and he'd like to think they were listening. Whether or not he heard answers was irrelevant, really.

"Dad's doing well, though I don't think I've ever had to tell you that he wasn't. I admit that he's almost certainly a lot more stressed – given the nature of his posting, I can't conceive how he wouldn't be – but he's the same as always, taking things as they come and dealing with them as effectively as he can."

He paused, the sunlight glinting off his glasses.

"I didn't envy him in the slightest, being in the position that he was. Wanting to change the world and then having to work under a man who looked as though he might have been trying to end it must have been…"

Machias trailed off, shaking his head. Biased as his point of view was, Carl Regnitz was truly one of the finest men he knew, and if he one day lived up to be half the person his father was, Machias would have done well for himself indeed.

"Dad did the only thing he could have done, and that was the best he could. You'd both be proud of him. I know that I am."

(Had he been paying attention, he might have caught a braided figure standing close by behind a tree, observing).

"To be honest, things haven't shifted as much as we would both like. Even after everything that's happened, there's still plenty of room for improvement in the disparity between nobles and commoners," he continued, and it didn't sound nearly as bitter and caustic as it once might have.

"That said… the Empire won't change overnight. It might take years, decades even, but with nobles like Rean, Laura, and Jusis around – " he felt himself smirk at that last one, old habits, " – eventually Erebonia will be a place where…"

He swallowed, his fists clenching at his sides momentarily as his throat closed up.

Again, old habits.

"Eventually, Erebonia will be a place where you could have lived happily, Sis," he somehow managed, his measured exhale banishing his once ever-present anger. "I swear it. If I managed to survive everything that's happened since my first day at Thors, then I can manage to keep that promise too."

The breeze swirled around him, tousling his already messy hair, and he imagined that Gaius would have liked the scene quite a bit – minus the tombstones hopefully, though maybe there was some kind of morbid appeal with them present he simply couldn't see. His eye for aesthetics was never particularly developed.

He took a deep breath.

"… It's starting to hurt less."

It was a confession that had been a long time coming, something that he never thought he would ever say, adrift in a sea of grief and anger as he had once been. The loss had been part of him for what seemed like forever, had driven so much of what he had done before and after Thors that it felt like it would stay with him until the very end…

… And yet here he was, standing in front of his mother and cousin (sister) and feeling like he was finally able to breathe.

Some might have called it healing, called it a positive step forward. Machias, even now, wasn't so sure.

"I-I'm not forgetting," he hastily stammered out, looking at his cousin's gravestone and unable to stop shame from welling up at the idea. "I'm not. What happened to you was a cosmic injustice, one that can be never made up for, but…"

But he had found precious friends that had helped heal those once raw and painful wounds, who had taught him that not all aristocrats represented what he hated and loathed with every fiber of his being, and now when he thought of her, he thought of the good things only; a musical laugh and hair of spun gold, the still flashes when there had only been a happy family, when there was laughter and smiling and so, so much love.

Before long, the dark found itself fading to the background more and more with each passing day, and there were moments when that scared him witless even though he knew that should have been a good thing.

Moving on wasn't supposed to be the end of the world, but once upon a time for an angry, confused and lost boy, it very well might have been the end of his.

Facing down fear, however, had been one of many things that being part of Class VII had taught him how to deal with. He had stared opponents just as tough as this in the face before, and no matter how much it hurt, he would do so again.

He had grieved. He had grieved for so hard and for so long that after a while he wasn't sure where the grief ended and he began, and that in itself was both a testament to his own weakness and a disservice to the image of the remarkable woman that he carried in his heart.

Sis deserved better than to be the anchor that kept him from moving on, or to be an excuse for choosing to see unhappiness and discontent everywhere he looked, because being driven solely by one's past was no way to live one's life. He would remember the past and honor the past, but no more would he allow himself to be held prisoner by the past. He owed it to himself and his cousin both, and Machias Regnitz always paid his debts.

His voice cracked when he next spoke. He paid it no heed.

"I love you, Sis. I'll always love you, I'll never forget you, and I'll always keep fighting to make sure that what happened to you can never happen to anyone else. So…"

(What was left unsaid when his words dried up:)

"I'm going to stop holding onto your memory like grains of sand slipping through my fingers. I'm going to keep walking forward with my head held high, just like you always taught me. I'll do my best to become a man that you and Mom and Dad can all be proud of."

Machias closed his eyes, and for a moment or two he swore he saw Sis beaming at him, her warm smile brighter than the sun just like as it had always been -

And in an instant, all his doubts faded away, the hazy mist fleeing before the cleansing light of morning.

Life went on, and so would he.

"I'm letting go, now," he told the ghost with a ragged breath, a single tear making its way down his cheek in spite of his best efforts. "I-I'm sorry it took so long."

It didn't hurt; at least, not like it did before, all-consuming and enough to swallow him whole. It was instead the bearable pain of catharsis, of necessity, and he would accept it, welcome it, and continue carrying on, because he knew that one day the pain would be mostly gone, replaced with something warm and wonderful instead; proof that he had kept his promise, that he had lived and loved and never once forgotten.

He was nothing if not a man of his word.

The gunner heard quiet footsteps before he felt slim arms encircling him from behind in an embrace, and he relaxed immediately because he knew who this was.

Machias loved her too, you see. It was a very different sort of love, one that dwelled in another part of his heart and made him think of books and tea and eyes the color of sapphire.

He could feel her breathing against him, warm, whole and real; not a specter from his past nor an undying memory.

"… Emma," he uttered; her name a lifeline, her presence a sanctuary.

"Hush," came her whispered reply, the timbre of her voice telling Machias that she had witnessed everything. "Hush, dearest."

He swallowed at the affectation because normally neither was so bold, and when he turned around to face her, one hand came up to tenderly brush the glistening trail away.

"I-I thought you were going to be a few more days…?"

"I ended finishing up my tasks early. I was surprised when I arrived and heard that you'd taken the day off work, but then I ran into your father, and…"

Machias couldn't help but give a weak smile at that. "And I'm sure he told you where I was while making non-subtle suggestions about joining me."

She didn't smile back. "Something like that. I'm truly sorry for eavesdropping; I wanted to find a way to let you know we were here beforehand, but then…"

He shrugged, not particularly bothered. "That's all right. This… this was long overdue anyway, and if anyone else had to hear it - my dad aside - then I'm happy it was you."

It could have only been her, he knew.

Emma nodded once before gingerly tiptoeing up to kiss his cheek, her lips brushing the side of his face before she looked at him closely, her delicate features lined with worry.

"Are you…?"

A slow nod. "It already hurt less before this, and I suppose it might hurt less the day after tomorrow. Then the day after that, and the day after that. One step at a time."

No longer did he feel disloyal or like he was betraying her memory anymore by moving forward, and while it was still bittersweet he supposed that was the best he could have asked for. It wouldn't do to be greedy.

Her next words came in a rush. "Your father told me a little about her. She… she loved you so much."

He blinked hard, trying to fight the familiar sting.

"I know. Dad and I loved her too."

"She would have wanted you to be happy, I think," she whispered, her guileless eyes holding nothing but the truth.

"She would have; she was that kind of person. So was my mother." He grasped her warm hand, her fingers winding perfectly around his. "T-They would have liked you. The both of them."

The brunette smiled and ran her thumb along his wrist before she made a hesitant gesture toward the twin markers. "May I?"

Goddess, how he loved her.

"If you want," he answered, and the quiet warmth in his words betrayed the measured restraint in his reply.

He watched as Emma gracefully brushed by him and knelt down, walking away when he heard "Hello. My name is Emma Millstein, and it's a pleasure to finally meet you…"

Machias waited for a few moments, committing the sight to memory (he'd never forget this, either), before he remembered that Emma most likely wasn't alone -

"You can come out now," and he was wholly unsurprised to see a black cat with a bow on its tail slink out from behind a tree; if there was any creature on the continent that could pull off 'coolly embarrassed', it'd certainly be this one.

"Sorry," Celine mumbled as a greeting, and the gunner wasn't used to seeing legitimate contrition on the feline's normally self-assured features. "W-We really didn't mean to hear all that, honest."

"It's all right. I meant what I said to Emma, and it's not as if you did it on purpose."

"… Still." Celine idly scuffed one paw on the ground before she turned back to Machias, her amber gaze heavy with concern. "You're sure you're okay?"

"I will be," and the slow realization that he actually meant it was comforting in its own way; cold comfort, perhaps, but comfort nonetheless.

"Good," she said, sending a glance at her still kneeling partner. "Good."

"I am curious, though; what exactly did my father say to Emma?"

"Not a whole lot besides telling us where you were and some stuff about your cousin. I think he wanted to save the juicy bits for when she's actually his daughter in-law," Celine replied with forced glibness, her attempt at lightening the mood painfully obvious but still appreciated.

He shook his head in exasperation, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks in spite of himself. "You know, I was under the impression cats were supposed to be subtle."

She sniffed indignantly, and he could easily tell that this reaction was completely genuine. "Were you also under the impression that I was an ordinary cat?"

"You're ordinary enough, at times. You certainly blow hot and cold enough to pass for one."

"Please. That's just called having standards."

Machias dropped his head, his shoulders shaking with thinly suppressed laughter. "Hmph. Goddess, it pains me to admit this but ordinary or not – she'd have liked you too. She was too much of a cat person to do otherwise."

"Sounds like a woman of taste. I can always appreciate that," Celine declared grandly, and when she strolled over and nudged his pant cuff with her head, he bent down and obliged her unspoken demand, giving her ears a good scratch. "Guessing she played with them a lot?" she half asked and half purred.

He started to answer when he saw Emma heading back over to them with a warm smile and an upraised palm.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," she greeted, joining Machias in giving the cat some attention, much to her satisfaction.

"Not in the slightest. I was just about to tell Celine just how much Sis enjoyed playing with the Ost District's feline population, actually. My mother too, according to what Dad says, though apparently she was initially a much tougher sell."

"Oh! Go on then, please," the witch said, taking a seat on the ground next to him and letting her familiar bound into her lap in one fluid leap. "I think I'd like to hear this too."

Machias silently took in the sight of them under the warmth of the midday sun, the light playing with Emma's bound tresses and shifting them from a deep chestnut to a light brown to something that looked almost amethyst at the right angle; shades that mixed seamlessly with the cloudless sky of her eyes and the spun gold from halcyon days gone by to form an ever-shifting galaxy in his soul, a vivid, dazzling kaleidoscope that encompassed his past, present, and future.

They were colors that he would never forget, because all they were was love.

He smiled, his heart feeling light, and when he briefly turned his gaze on the ever-distant horizon there was neither longing nor regret, because he finally understood moving forward didn't mean leaving Sis behind.

The images of her would never be lost or discarded, not as long as he drew breath. They would be treasured forever, and he would make as many happy memories as he possibly could in the days (months, years) to come, so that when they eventually met again... he would have proof of a life well lived.

He reached out an arm to pull Emma close, the witch sliding over and resting her head against his shoulder with a content sigh, and he hoped that Sis and his mother could see them now, that they could see that he had found something more precious to him than anything else in the world.

There was no need for them to worry, because he was going to be okay.

"I'm going to be okay, Sis."

Out loud, as the breeze once again swept through the trees and made Emma's hair dance, all the colors brilliantly shimmering in his mind's eye, "Well, I happen to remember when…"

"No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell;
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it; for I love you so,
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O, if (I say) you look upon this verse,
When I (perhaps) compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse,
But let your love even with my life decay,
Lest the wise world should look into your moan,
And mock you with me after I am gone."

– William Shakespeare, Sonnet 71

AN: First off; I said possible spoilers because I have my own idea on what happens with Carl and Osborne, and though I've been spoiled for some things that hasn't been one of them. No idea if I'm right or not, and I guess I'll find out pretty soon!

I actually wrote this for two reasons, one more Trails related and the second purely personal; feel free to skip the second if you want.

The first is that I touched on Machias and his cousin in some previous stories and I'm not sure if Sen III and IV provide any kind of concrete closure, something that I felt Machias deserved in regards to that plot point. Her story was such a key part of how he turned out, and I can only imagine that kind of influence doesn't let go easily; after all, he's self-aware in his CSII dorm event to the point where he recognizes there's still that same anger in himself from CSI, he's just gotten better at dealing with it.

The second… well, without going into too much detail, I recently found myself trying to wrap my head around grief and the concept of moving forward when you don't necessarily want to after a particularly hard loss. Turns out writing really is a good coping mechanism. Who knew?

Also; for those of you who want a reading order for my M/E fics (because there are quite a few of them at this point), head to AO3; they're organized that way there.

In any event, thanks for taking the time to read. It's always appreciated, and I hope everyone enjoys Sen IV!