A/N: Overhauled most of the first chapter-time to do the same to the second chapter! Despite my avid love for Final Fantasy, this fanfiction has turned into a really large writing experiment for me, so chapters are probably going to become scarce, but really, really long (at least, I hope so), with a good heap of quality.

In any case, I razed my explanation by inputting this edited chapter, so I'll dive into it again. This is onesided Hope/Vanille, something I look forward to going through in the next three chapters, nothing too drawn out. HopexLightning is set up to happen after the first arc of building Cocoon's new home is finished, and the end happens some time after that. This is mostly an investigative fiction on the character development that occurs after the protagonists' journey focused on Hope, who's in the process of growing up, and Lightning, the iron rock that seems immovable by love directed her way without seeming out of character-especially in HopexLightning.

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy XIII (its characters, scenarios, or anything associated with the game referenced in this fiction) is not owned by me.

It was watching Vanille turn away from him to Fang that he found with more clarity that she didn't love him, despite the fact that he had already told himself that she hadn't from the beginning. Hope had soared in those days on Gran Pulse, on that cliff, with her smile. He had become stronger through his love; it was not for nothing, because it definitely was not a matter of can or can't—there were things that you had to do. Now he was hurting, but he had no time to think about it.

It was hard to imagine the days before being Purged. Months had passed since their transformations into l'Cie, weeks since their return to humanity. The building of the new civilization on Gran Pulse kept his mind off of thinking for too long. The decision to return and help Cocoon citizens to survive on this planet was a consensus taken by all of them—Hope, Lightning, Sazh, Snow, and Serah. There was nothing else they could do now, after taking away their home's lifelines, the fal'Cie.

For the most part, PSICOM and the Guardian Corps, took up the same roles in the protection of Cocoon's new home. The commanders of the military (of whom had taken temporary control of all governing operations) ordered PSICOM to patrol and defend against any intruding monster that stood in the way of Cocoon's encampment on Pulse. The Guardian Corps, still retaining its mobile shock squads and all of its subdivisions, were in charge of coordinating and shipping citizens down from Cocoon as well as maintaining order within the encampment. Surprisingly, there were only minor outbreaks of tension, small riots and power struggles. Despite having predicted wars, Hope knew that the one thing that had held the society together was the unanimity that they were all Cocoon citizens, regardless of leadership. The insulation that the fal'Cie had given them had at least given them a strong sense of unity, even if it was born out of misconceptions of their superiority to, well, everything.

However, for Hope, Lightning, Snow, and Sazh, there had been a flat rejection of their efforts to help. Their faces had been broadcasted widely, and a lot of people had recognized them as the fearsome l'Cie. Soldiers blocked their path to the leaderless people, consumed by confusion and despair. There were no welcomes, no rewards for their sacrifices. Hope didn't even know whether his father had survived the terrible fall. There were no television broadcasts, after all. Since all power on Cocoon had gone out, leaving a hollow shell unsuitable for any type of life, the millions of lives on Cocoon were being spirited down, ship by ship. And without enough able communication to formulate a working system, they had no leader. Fuel and energy needed to rely on machines were painfully finite now that the fal'Cie were gone, and the meager provisions that some had brought with them, expecting the same treatment on Pulse as they had had on Cocoon, ran out quicker than they thought it would.

Their integration into the society was both slow and rapid, a simultaneous progression of saving people from monsters yet being called monsters themselves. Magic no longer tingled at Hope's fingers. It made him feel… empty. Although he found that he held more strength in his body than a soldier, he found his place was more with diplomacy. Snow was still stronger than him, as was Sazh—and there were hundreds of other soldiers that could take his place. No, he recognized that he definitely gave a different impression as a fourteen year-old boy, almost innocent, instead of Lightning's stoicism or Snow's ultimately unwelcomed goodwill.

So he talked to them. And talked to them. Sometimes he felt as if his name was a curse. To tell the people who had lost all hope that he, Hope Estheim, had a solution that no one else could offer because no one else knew the truth bore a weight that he felt might pull him under. But to give up wasn't an option. To throw away the gift that Vanille and Fang had sacrificed their lives for—that was not an option.

So eventually, after more weeks of starvation, fear, and confusion, and with the only source of comfort being the ex-l'Cie's provisions and protection, and words of hope from a boy that didn't seem threatening at all, no matter how hated they had been, there was a hazy agreement of not shooting them on sight. More weeks passed, and more talking, during which construction began and tents were fast approaching the needed amount to shelter the many people. Soldiers patrolled the outskirts of the camp, while Light and the others scouted around and took care of anything too big for soldiers to handle, figuring the further away they were, the less threatening they seemed.

Determination was the only emotion Hope could possibly have felt during that time. He found his father, thankfully unharmed, already collecting together the citizens of Palumpolum and directing the building of temporary districts named after the cities of Cocoon. He shepherded citizens to their respective districts, reinstating some sort of order before the tension would have broken out. Elected officials were quickly put back into place, and a council made up of all the highest-ranking executives was created. Bartholomew Estheim was included, even though he was not part of that upper-echelon of Cocoon.

Hope lived with him, making the best of living in their assigned tent, an old and dilapidated one brought out from the coffers of extensive military use. Hope didn't have to ask to know that his father had already given away their better ones to other families. Instead, he adopted a purely business-first attitude, putting his mind to formulating a new and working government structure. He ignored the assessing glances his father gave him, the ones of approval, and then, the ones of worry. He hardly slept, usually working until he found himself unable to keep his eyes open. Elementary social studies had never prepared him for this, but he learned quickly from his father and from his own experiences in talking with Cocoon citizens.

He was relentless. The lack of sleep didn't bother him, and he was still able to present persuasive arguments for the people of Cocoon to constructively address their new situation. He knew his father wouldn't comment until he collapsed—this, at least, had not changed. Both knew their priorities were the same.

He rarely made contact with the other ex-l'Cie, and the other ex-l'Cie rarely made contact with him—both sides were busy enough to understand that communication was a luxury. Though Oretoises rarely sought battle, the huge and growing upheaval of their land for humans they hadn't seen in hundreds of years, since Ragnarok's cry, upset their patterns. The same followed for other monsters, especially for Behemoths. These were the ones found most often trampling through perimeters, and the most dangerous. Lightning and the others were rarely seen, each of them usually solo and taking care of calls of distress from PSICOM soldiers, a three-man Wide Area Response Brigade to replace the hundreds turned Cie'th. They usually took care of the breaches in perimeter. However, even though these occurrences were frequent, no monsters ever made it deep enough to reach the Palumpolum district. Weeks would pass and Hope would not be able to remember exchanging even a glance with Lightning, Snow, or Sazh.

He refused to think of himself as lonely. It was a door that he would not touch, a door that would destroy him if he even looked at it. Because surely upon sight, it was a door that would break open and let in a torrential flood that would drown him in thoughts of why, why, why and ultimately—

Vanille.