AN:

I promised myself I wouldn't do this. I said to myself, "Laura, you will NOT write a fanfiction with Clive in it!" Yep. I said it over and over again. There's a good, thick line between characters and respectable characters, and I'm dancing all over it.

Sigh.

Well, it's been a while since there's been a Clive story. (with the exception of Black Waltz 0's Lust Jaw) and I'm tired of reading Skylark's fanfictions over and over again (COUGH. UPDATE. COUGH) so here I am, completely disbanding my promise that not only would I refrain from starting a new fanfiction with Turbulence in the process, but I swore off writing about Clive, too.

I would like to take a moment to mention Skylark again. Why? Because it was her countless Clive fanfictions that inspired me to even consider this kid of thing. Well, anyway. Will it work? Will my aspirations come true? What will become of it all? Will Era Yachi ever shut up? Well, I suppose to answer all these questions, I should start writing! Well! Fine!

………

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Summary….

As we all know, Virginia and the gang decided to 'check on things' at the end of the game. They also decide to 'check on' Humphrey's Peak first, and off they go. They summary? Things aren't good at Humphrey's Peak. In fact, nothing's okay. At least, not for Clive…

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Chapter One: Outlaws

The four drifters rode, their backs to East and the sun blazing a clear storm high above their heads. Everything was hot. The saddles were hot, their heads and necks were hot, the horses' flanks were hot; even their dwindling supply of water was warmer than it was bearable to drink.

For three days it had been this way, the scorching temperatures rising to an all-time high until it felt as if a kiln had been hung above their heads and a fire lit inside each one. Sweat trickling from their brows, ridding their poor bodies of the precious moisture they were trying to preserve. At the moment, however, it was too much effort to lift a sleeve to brush away the perspiration. They rode in mutually irksome silence.

Their tired steeds plodded forward, snorting occasionally to dispatch the flies that favoured their nostrils and ears. These soft whickers and complaints made of one of two characters in the traveling symphony. The other melodies were the jingles and clatters of their waterskins and other assortments lashed to their saddle straps.

Virginia hunched forward in her seat, her eyes trained drowsily on the smudge of dirt just at the tip of the saddle horn. A pace or so to her left, Jet sat with a smug, yet irritated expression plastered on his face, discreetly glancing at her every so often, as if to make sure she hadn't fallen off. Gallows was not arguing with Jet, either. His face, so normally bright and sarcastic, was stone-cold and worn out. He hadn't spoken since they made their departure from the station.

Clive was faring better, for the most part. Although the heat had convinced him to remove his heavy coat (it lay draped across his lap for the time being) his ability to tolerate the weather was admirable. He felt grim, however, and slightly responsible for his friends' ailing status.

Jet made a sudden movement, which drew the green-haired drifter's half-hearted attention. Slowly, almost carefully, Jet removed his flattened waterskin from its bag and brought the warm remedy to his lips. Clearly unhappy with its uninviting temperature, he crumpled the empty skin in his hand and stuffed it back into his bag. He then wiped his mouth and narrowed his eyes. "So, we're lost," he said loudly, not without contempt.

"Jet, that's just silly," said Virginia, her voice slightly cracked from disuse and dryness. She thought for a moment. "We're all just as tired as you are. Oh, my…" She released a sigh and lifted a gloved hand to her face. "Look how burned you are! Jet, did you even touch the lotion I gave you?"

He gave her a skeptical look. "The horse puke? Not likely."

"It was not horse puke!" she chided angrily. Her face flushed to a tone that nearly matched his sunburn. "My aunt taught me that recipe!"

"Whatever," he said, with a definite note of finality. "Obviously, it doesn't work that well. Your face is worse than mine."

She crossed her arms stubbornly. "For your information, Mr. Sourpuss, I didn't have any to put on!"

Jet snorted. "That's your fault, not mine. 'Sides, Gallows thought it was puke, too."

Virginia turned her eyes on the Baskar and immediately frowned. Sure enough, Gallows' face was even worse than Jets'. He looked sullenly at quarreling duo, but said nothing.

"You men," growled Virginia through her teeth. "You're all the same! I went through all that trouble to mix up Aunt Shalte's special sunblock!" She chose that moment to look towards Clive, who bore a lost, thoughtful expression. Her wrath lessened considerably when she realized that the oldest drifter's face was just as pale as it had always been, with a slight touch of pink. "Clive, you used it! Thank you, at least my efforts weren't all gone to the dust!"

Seemingly startled from his train of thought, he jerked his head towards their female leader and paused for a speechless moment before responding. "Actually," he said with some guilt. "I find that I do not burn as easily as others. My share of the ointment is still in my pack…"

Virginia's face flushed wildly. "Th-that's....!" Her voice wavered in an attempt to reason her fury. "Ugh! I won't bother!"

For another half hour they traveled in silence. Virginia had quieted down considerably, and sulked with an air to suit the mood of Gallows. Jet smirked the entire time, apparently triumphant over their sunblock battle. The only rider thinking about something other than sunblock or the ruins of Baskar was Clive. His thoughts drifted elsewhere, as if scouring the distance they still had to travel before they reached the door to their blue-roofed destination.

For a long week following their decision to return to Humphrey's Peak, he'd been anticipating the moment he would see the unharmed structure tucked in the corner of the cozy little town. His fears would not be suppressed until he opened the door and found nothing changed at all. There would be Kaitlyn, sitting in the chair near the door, reading her Adventure novels. Catherine would be cleaning, or more likely cooking a meal to host her approaching guests. Nothing would be changed at all.

His fear was unchecked, however, for the time being. Certainly, he'd been away from them for even longer periods of time before, but without even knowing the end results of Beatrice's effect on the world, he could not help but accept the twisting anxiety in the pit of his stomach. He had written, and sent his highest hopes with its delivery, but what was there to do but worry? There could be no reply for him; he was traveling and no letter could possibly trace him on horseback. There was nothing, nothing he could do, not until he arrived.

Monsters...

No, to think that way would only worsen his situation. Of course, the grotesquely large hordes of creatures Beatrice had released before her demise had been overwhelming. Even after they had vacated the tower when they left, the flow of the evil minions was not definitely halted. There could be worse things...

His mind drifted towards the sound of Virginia's voice. She sighed before making her comment.

"I still can't understand why Lombardia would just...disappear."

Clive looked up again, brushing away the remains of his former thoughts. The perspiration on his face was making it difficult to keep his glasses in place, and he found himself once again pushing them up the bridge of his nose. "It is logical to assume that she fled when the Ark rose from the ground. Given her position, I am surprised she did not destroy the Ark while we were still on board."

Virginia nodded sombrely. "I wonder if she's looking for us now...You don't think she would just...forget about us?"

"Maybe," said Gallows. It being the first thing he'd said since the train ride, everyone's attention was immediately drawn to him. "She probably flew the coop when she saw trouble headed her way."

"What does it matter?" Jet spoke up irritably. "Do you think the Ark is gonna miss something as big as a dragon cruising the sky?"

Virginia looked downcast, but she did not reprimend him. "I suppose Jet's right," she said, dismissively. "We can't ask her to endanger herself any more than she already has. I just hope she's okay."

"I am sure she is reasonably safe," said Clive. "Even for a dragon, she is remarkably self-absorbed."

They rode on in foreboding silence. While none was angry with the other, the very stress they had suffered as a whole over the past few days hung over their head like a stagnant cloud. The mood seemed to drag on with every passing hour, while the heat continued to rise and the sun rained down mercilessly on their (unfortunately) unprotected skin.

No one had to ask Clive about his problems. His reason for being so secretively restless was more than obvious, even more so than Gallow's undying grief over the ruins of Baskar.

They all had reason to be worried. All except for Jet, who had taken the recent events in stride, not to mention certain scorn. Why were these things happening? What exactly had Beatrice done to the world?

After their brief skirmish with Dario and Romero, everything had begun to click in place. All of the puzzle pieces felt neatly into place.

Virginia's sudden change in physique, the strange reactions the villagers had given them upon discovering their names, the news of devastations all over the world that did not even begin to seem in any way possible…they were all clues to the obvious.

When they met Shane, scarcely three days ago, everything became clear.

Filgaia did not change. Filgaia had aged. And everything with it.

According to Gallows' brother, five years had passed since the Maxwell Gang had gone missing from the face of the planet. After two years of searching, Shane had given up looking for his long-lost brother and returned to Baskar when the news of pending danger reached him. However, the young priest had arrived much too late to do anything. Baskar had been reduced to smoldering embers and ashes by an unknown device.

An unknown device also commonly known as the Ark of Destiny.

This was by far the hardest news for Gallows to take. His 'Granny', one much loved by him (although he would never had admitted it before) was apparently gone. His entire home had been turned into dust and memories. His very spirit broke with it.

Ten years before the victory over Beatrice, Filgaia's memories had been destroyed. This time, for a reason that would forever remain a mystery, time had changed in the bare instant it took for their four minds to return to reality.

Now they traveled on, each with their own predictions in tow. With Baskar gone, most likely destroyed out of sheer spite and hatred for one of Lepante's murderers, there was no telling what state the other towns were in. People were older, some former acquaintances now deceased, their lives altered in ways they'd never dreamed of. What was worse, it was very clear that the group of four had not been spared the five years. Virginia was no longer eighteen, but twenty-three. Gallows was no longer twenty-three, but twenty-eight. Clive had gone from thirty to thirty-five, and every one of them had undergone such changed within a small period of time.

Clive's mind was shrouded with negativity. Catherine -- what if she had…moved on? What if some harm had befallen her while he had been suspended, helpless, in the rings of time? And Kaitlyn…

She would no longer be the little girl he'd spent so many enjoyable hours reading to, or brushing her hair or telling her to eat her celery. She would be a young teenager, very grown up, matured and full of ambition. All those years, gone, forever, and he would never get to see them.

All this while, Virginia sat poised in her saddle, watching the oldest Drifter muse in melancholy silence. When she could take no more of the bitter feelings, she spoke up. "Clive, I know how you feel about them. I don't think you're going to help yourself by worrying about it so much! Think of how happy everyone will be when you return! Besides, Catherine is a very strong woman. No matter what happened while we were…gone…I don't think she'd let all that stand in her way."

Clive looked at his mildly, hardly able to contain his surprise. At times like these, it was very much like her to be lost in her own thoughts and fears. After all, Boot Hill was in just as much danger of being attacked by the Ark as his own hometown. If anything, he'd expected her to be contemplating the fate of her relatives.

The green-haired Drifter was unable to respond, however, for a stern outspoken word dispatched his chance.

"Hey," came Jet's slightly relieved, but controlled voice. "Look at that."

Clive swore that his heart was almost too weak to take in the sight. Irreplaceable joy and respite overwhelmed him when the unmistakably intact figure of Humphrey's Peak came into view just over the ridge they had crossed. The town was closer than anyone had been expecting. So close in fact that the faded sounds of yelling, laughing and unhappy children reached his ears. However isolated the sounds were, they were nothing less than music to his ears.

"There's the nest," said Gallows with limited restrain. "But the eggs are what count."

Clive nodded slowly. That was true. Humphrey's Peak may be alive and thriving, but what would it matter if his own nest had been deserted?

One miracle at a time, he reminded himself.

Under the pulsing sun, they neared the town with very little anticipation concerning their dwindled supplies or untidy bearing. Even Jet, it seemed, harboured a certain veiled interest in the well-being of Clive's family. There was no telling what they could expect, especially after 'five' years had passed. They were all hoping as well, that some random stroke of luck would right their day. Or at least, Clive's day.

...Perhaps his entire life as he knew it.

He had been living through these vivid dreams for a while. Of course there had been the ones where his little hometown had gone up in flames, and he'd returned to the devastation of his house and the bodies of those he'd loved. They weren't at all common until three nights ago, when that nightmared breathed itself into another peaceful village. The sight of a bloodied and ravaged Baskar Colony had only the green-haired Drifter's sleepless nights.

Humphrey's Peak bustled. It did not only swell with a massive population entirely foreign to him, but Clive was utterly astounded to find that the scenery had warped dramatically as well. No longer was this the quiet Humphrey's Peak he'd known his entire life but a loud, squalling mess of commercial calls, aristocrats and beggars. This was a town expanded and littered with garbage, with new buildings lining the streets, windows broken, doors bashed in, cobwebs spreading. It was dusty, busy, hot, insane and controlled by a thread of social grace.

This was not his hometown.

The main square (that was still there, but what had it become?) was lined with shops of all degrees. Fish, rotten by the sun and strung with bits of twine with lying signs, fruits, novelites, cooking wear, meats and livestock...every imaginable shop stood open to the hordes of buyers and sellers that crawled in all directions. It was literally impossible to train your eyes on one person and track them successfully through the crowd.

Clive's horse sombred forward, obviously as frightened as a the poor animal could be without spooking or bolting. While his mount quivered, Clive rode forth across the bridge, stone-faced and quite pale compared to his formerly reddened complexion. There was no end to this...atrocity.

"What in blue hound's heaven..." came Virginia's unarguably startled voice. She jerked her head towards Clive, her eyes wide and woundrous. "Clive, is there some sort of festival this time of year?"

He would have like to say that there was. But he could not, sadly, for many reasons. What time of year was it? He certainly did not know, and simply pulling someone aside seemed like a bad idea at the moment. Besides, what kind of festival looked like this? No, this was sheer commercial business. The air itself smelled thick and musty, as if the past five years had trapped the same atmosphere in one place.

Gallows was the one to voice his opinion. "This ain't no fancy celebration. Looks like a shady market or some kind of barely legal operation. Ugh! Something smells like dead fish..."

"Maybe its the dead fish," snorted Jet irritably. "Well, it's still here, ain't it? What's with the long face?"

This comment was, of course, directed towards Clive. The older Drifter glanced sullenly towards the silver-haired man and did nothing to show a response. Instead, he nudge his timid mount even further along the street. His eyes were searching, it seemed, through the misty smoke and swirling colours as people swarmed around his horse's flanks.

"Clive, there!" cried Virginia above the noise. She gestured eagerly towards the glimpse of light blue through the gaps in the crowd. Clive recognized the roof of his house.

No chance. There was no chance at all. With so much change confronting him all at once, he was finding it increasingly difficult to believe that Catherine would live in such a painfully altered world. There wasn't even a reason to dismount and face that cold, hard truth.

He looked up in time to see Virginia's mount brush past him. After a few strides, she gathered up her reins and dismounted. Clive was barely able to catch her voice above the flowing commotion.

"Clive, come on! Don't just sit there, let's go inside!"

Yes, inside. Where he would confront the truth, even if he didn't like it. Quietly, Clive slid from his mount's back and landed softly on the cobblestone. Virginia was by his side and urging him forward before he even knew she'd doubled back through the crowd. Always compliant to her cause, he allowed himself to be drawn to the familiar door with the unfamiliar shadows that lay behind it.

Clive almost reached for the handle, before the first wave of 'truth' hit him. If this was indeed no longer his house, it would seem very inplolite to simply intrude on the residents. He lifted his gloved hand and, rather awkwardly, rapped on the wooden surface a few times.

He waited. He waited some more. To his left, Virginia began to chew her lip nervously. A long minute passed and still nothing happened.

Finally, after the suspenseful hesitation, the faint clicking of disarming locks was heard from the opposite side. The door jerked open an inch, and the swung open the rest of the way.

Clive's heart surged.

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Muahaha. I am evil. Well, I hope you like it enough to review! It's a cliffhanger! So, is Cathering really there? Who will answer the door? Is all LOST for Clive? Tune in (er...read....in...) next time for the next install-

Ah, just come back later. wanders off aimlessly