disclaimer: I own nothing

teaser: sometimes dreaming is the closest thing we have to living

author's notes: sometimes, inspiration comes at the strangest time. Like during a Humanities course where "wow, I wanna write some Yuri/Alice angst" is much more interesting than Gothic vs. Romanesque buildings. Go figure, huh? Well, than here it is. I noticed that not a lot of people seem to folow the possible "bad ending" of Convenant which I think, if they ever make a sequel to SHI/II, will be canon. Not that I like this ending better, because I don't, it just leaves for more wacky adventures with Yuri and Co. than "lol, let's do SHI again and kill those goddamn masks this time for pete's sake!"

Also: Timeline. This is, techniqually, canon to Shadow Hearts: From the New World. If one considers Covenant's bad ending as canon it does seem a little odd that Roger wouldn't bring Yuri along to America, but it's possible that Roger left Yuri behind or Yuri went off on his own (if you go by the end of the game a-la "bad ending", Roger meets Yuri in Wales again sometime in 1918 and FtNW takes place in 1929), which makes a little more sense. Anyway, not that FtNW is important as it really has nothing to do with the story. Just thought I'd ramble. XD

Oh, yeah, at the end of the bad ending, it says that Yuri and Roger met up during the year WWI ending, which was 1918. So this takes place about six/seven months after Yuri reappears sans the memory as I always place their meeting around March/April. Just FYI.

/and to all a goodnight/

(the girl looks at him sadly, and he can't make out her eyes or her face in the fog, but he hears her soft voice as she says, "Yuri."

He stares at her across the wide expanse of darkness and asks, "Who are you?")

Yuri's half sure that it's the newspaper's fault.

Roger has one and is hopping mad about it. "Can you believe it? Can you believe it?"

Honestly, Yuri couldn't give two damns, as he's tired from the farming and tending the livestock (how else are they supposed to make a damn living around here if not by farming; what else can you do this far from decent civilization?).

"Jeez, knock it off," he says and wipes sweat from his brow. "What?"

"The Romanovs! They've killed the Romanovs!"

Vaguely, he thinks he remembers who those people are. Bunch of rich, hoity-toity types over in friggin' frozen Russia. Or something.

"Yeah so?" He dumps himself into a chair, his muscles relaxing. "Russia's a long way away, old man. Who gives a damn about what happens up there?"

Roger looks horrified, like he's going to chuck something at Yuri's hand, which isn't all too surprising. Yuri doesn't think they can get through one day where he doesn't incur Roger's wrath, and therefore attempted harm.

"How can you say that, Yuri?" Roger dances back and forth and Yuri watches absently. What a funny little thing he is. No wonder he's so messed up. "After all that she…"


The wrinkled, haggard face falls. "Oh. Never mind. I keep forgetting that you don't care about anyone but yourself."

"I care!" Yuri jumps to his feet and points an accusing finger. "But what in the hell am I supposed to do about some royal family up in friggin' Russia?"

Roger just stares.

"Ah, forget it." Yuri turns on his heel and stomps away. "I'm going to bed."

("Took you long enough."

"What the hell are you talking about? And just who the hell are you, anyway?"

"You're so stupid, Yuri. How could you forget about me? How many other princesses have you saved, huh? We've been waiting all this time for you to show up, lumphead."

"God, what are you going on about? What's your problem?"

"I'm dead."

"…alright, I can see how that's a problem."

"You honestly forgot about all of us?"


Yuri wakes up and reminds himself no to eat so much before bed.

He knows that Roger Bacon isn't his father, not really. After all, Yuri doesn't think there's a woman alive with that little self-respect to even touch Roger.

Yuri's always figured that he was some war orphan that no one wanted, and Roger was just old enough to need someone to take care of, and there Yuri was. It's fine, though. Roger's a good enough dad for the most part, when he isn't screaming about how idiotic Yuri is or trying to lob one utensil or another at his head.

And he doesn't even mind so much that they hardly ever leave Wales. From what Yuri's heard there doesn't seem to be a whole lot to see of the world anyway. Most of it's all rubble from the war.

For the most part, Yuri's happy where he is, farming his little plot of land because sure as hell Roger can't and most times he doesn't even mind the fact that he hardly ever sees anyone his age and that a cranky, who-knows-how-old man is his only companion.


"Yuri, wake up."


"Yuri!" There is silence and Yuri happily goes back to sleep. "Lazy oaf!"

And the covers are thrown back and it is cold and Yuri jumps no less than two feet in the air before landing butt-first on the cold wood floor of his room with Roger looming over him and looking ticked.

"Fuck," he snaps and gets rapped on the head for his trouble.

"Don't use that language with me! Get up! It's half-past noon and I need you to run the machine again," Roger tells him and shakes his ankle roughly. "What's wrong with you, anyway? You never sleep this late."

"Bad dreams," he mutters and clasps his hands over his ears, vainly trying to drown out Roger's voice.

(he sees her and she smiles and reaches out for him, and he sees pale skin and pale hair and glittering eyes, and he thinks, "I should know her. I should."

But then he thinks that he shouldn't. That so what she's this gorgeous girl with sad eyes? Like there aren't tons of them out there in the world.

She holds out her hand.

He looks in her face, laughs, and runs the other way.)

"I was thinking," Yuri says over the dinner that he has harvested and Roger has cooked, "maybe it's time for a vacation."

"Vacation?" Roger snorts into his vegetables. "And where would you like to go, o' world savvy traveler?"

"I dunno… France?"

Roger's hand stills on his fork. "And why… would you want to go to France?"

"I was thinking, actually, something like Paris, you know? I heard they didn't do so bad in the war, and most of the sights are still intact." There's that funny look Roger gets sometimes and Yuri makes a face at him. "Plus, I heard French girls put out."


"You may be too old to get laid, Rog, but I sure as hell ain't." He picks up a small carrot and chucks it at Roger's face. "Starin' at your old mug all day is just killing my libido."

"Why you—!" The fight's out of Roger, though, which is strange, since the old coot loves fighting with him nearly as much as he likes tinkering with those crazy inventions. "Alright, Yuri. If you want to go, we'll go."

"Really?" Somehow, it doesn't seem logical that Roger would give in so easily. There has to be a catch and Yuri looks at his father suspiciously. "You sure?"

"Yeah. Yeah." Roger crackles and stabs at his meat. "Looking at you day in and day out isn't doing wonders for me, either."

Then again, why look a gift horse in the mouth?

Paris isn't all Yuri thought it would be. He expects to find pretty girls with sad eyes, and instead all he gets is sour women who look at him scornfully. He wonders why the hell he wanted to come here in the first place.

He says as much to Roger who just tells him he complains too much and he should go to a museum or something.

"But I don't want go to see a stupid museum!" Yuri scoffs and kicks a rock as far as his long legs will allow. "I came here to see pretty girls! Isn't France supposed to have them?"

"Yuri, you're an idiot," Roger tells him but it sounds more like he feels sorry for Yuri, which just makes it worse. "Hey! Where are you going?"

Yuri keeps walking, wondering why he's so angry and why it is so damn important he meet a girl in Paris in the first place. He can't think of the reason now, though he is sure he had a good one two days ago.

He's in one of the older districts of Paris, deciding how to best deface some historical sight and not get caught, when he hears the sound of shattering glass just behind him and the tell-tale gasp of surprise.

When he turns he sees a woman before him with pale hair and wide eyes, her fingers trembling as she stares at him. At her feet is some vase or another, and Yuri hopes that it's not priceless because wouldn't that just figure?

"Hey, lady," he says and takes a cautionary step to her. She keeps looking at him like he's a ghost. "Are you alright?"

"Yuri?" she says.

Now he steps back. "Whoa. How did you know my name?"

"Yuri, how can you not remember me?" she asks and steps toward him, her shoes crunching over broken vase pieces and Yuri suddenly wants to run. "I'm Alice's—"

"There you are!" Roger steps quickly between them, waving his hands wildly in front of his face. "Sorry, ma'am, did my klutz of a son make you drop this?"

"Your son?" The woman turns her head and looks at him, her lips curving down. "But, I thought…"

Yuri is thinking: Alice because there is a hollow ring to it. It's a nice name, he supposes, and imagines the girl with it is probably very pretty and his mind drifts… Alice, I think I'm—

Roger's words register and he barks at the insult. "Hey! I didn't do nothing! I was minding my own business when crash! I was just seeing if I could help, for Christ's sake!"

The woman shouts, "But you're Yuri! Alice's Yuri! I remember. You came… you came when she—I know you're him!"

Something tightens in Yuri's chest, like he's going to throw up. He thinks it must be this woman's face, so pinched together and unhappy. He wants to punch something, hard, or break something. Maybe another vase.

"Look, lady, I don't know no Alice."

She looks like the words psychically cut into her and she whimpers softly, "She loved you."

"I think you're confused," Roger says, but his voice is weak in Yuri's ears as he walks away, as far away as his legs will take him.

It doesn't even register that he's running until he trips over an uneven cobble in the road and falls onto his face, scrapping his cheek, and he just lays there, breathing hard like he's escaped some kind of monster, like the kind that lurk at the edges of their home in Wales. Yuri wishes he was there now, so he could take them all down and unwind this tension in his chest.

Roger finds him a little later, sitting on a bench in one of Paris's fine parks, looking into the sky as it opens up and rains. Roger hobbles over.

"What was that biddy going on about?" Yuri mutters, not moving as his hair gets slick and his clothes stick to him.

"She was just confused. Her daughter died just before the start of the war, and then she lost her daughter's fiancé during the Great War, and she just misses them, I suppose." Roger doesn't sit down, and his face has that weird look again.

"Oh. I guess that's pretty sad."

"Yes. It is."

Silence stretches and finally Yuri lowers his head to look at Roger looking at him. "I don't think we should have come to Paris," he says for no real reason at all. He's not even sure where the words come from, they're just there, almost as if from some unknown place inside him.

"Probably not, Yuri." Roger looks around the city.

"You wanna go back to the… hey, Rog, are you crying?"

Roger glares at him. "Don't be stupid, kid, it's just the rain."

("If you're happy then I'm happy," the girl tells him, holding his hand tightly as the train rocks them back and forth, looking into his eyes like she never wants to look away.

This is why he went to Paris. To find this girl with pale hair and sad eyes, but she's not in Paris. She's right here. He should've been looking right here.

He looks into her sad, sad blue eyes and runs his finger down her pale cheek and all he wants to do is hold her and he cannot guess why, but there is this sensation in his chest, like he will die if he doesn't. Die.

"Who are you?"

Tears roll down her cheeks as she curls her fingers against his neck. "If you're happy than I'm happy. That's all that matters."

And then—

He remembers. All at once he remembers and his eyes widen and he gasps and he cannot believe that he forgot. How could he forget? Not her. Never her. The only person in the whole world that matters. His soul mate, his only love, and if he was not so overwhelmed with the remembering of her he would hate himself for forgetting.

His arms come up and around and he crushes her against him, trying to imprint her scent on his skin, trying to absorb her into his very soul, and he feels her shake against him—she's crying, and he doesn't want her to ever cry again, and he's so sorry. So sorry. So sorry. And he's never, ever going to let her go.

And he says, "Alice." And she nods. "Alice." And he remembers.)

"Trouble sleeping last night, Yuri?" Roger asks when Yuri manages to pull himself out of bed. "I heard you tossing up a storm."

"Yeah." Yuri stifles his yawn behind his hand, already dressed and ready to work. "Some weird dream, I think. Can't really recall. What's for breakfast?"


"Again? Jesus, old man, is it that hard to ask for a little diversity?"

"What does this look like, a five star restaurant? You want something new, cook your own damn meals then!" Roger finishes off his eggs in a huff, slaps his plate into the sink, and heads off into his lab on the bottom floor. "Ungrateful, lazy, useless…"

Yuri polishes off his eggs, famished, cleans up both his and Roger's plates, and spends a few minutes listening to Roger mutter down at his workstation. He's always such an easy mark, the old man.

Laughing, Yuri rubs the stubborn sleep from his eyes, and heads out into the sun.

notes: oh, holy Mistlotoe Curse, how you be so mean?