Just something I wrote..ages ago. I really liked the idea of Squall and Fuujin communicating without talking. Anyway. On with the story!
It was all about the silence, really.
Squall sat, elbows on knees, chin resting on laced fingers. He didn't do 'worried', but if he did, it would look something like this.
The infirmary was too white. It set Squall's teeth on edge, the bright paleness stinging his eyes and prompting the urge to squint. He didn't, of course, but the edges of his eyes crinkled a little anyway. He hated the infirmary, so stark and clinical, it was so..alien. It was an irrational thought, he was fully aware, but it was something that went gut-deep. Quistis had said, once, that it was because so much white left him no place to hide, left him open under everyone's scrutiny... Whatever.
A door creaked open, breaking him out of his musing. Looking up, he saw silver and blue, an oasis of cool, soothing colours in all this blankness. Then a single crimson eye was narrowed at him, cold for all its warmth. Fuujin never said a word, but her meaning was clear. What are you doing here? You don't belong.
He shrugged, glanced to the side, at the curtain that hung a foot from his seat, his eyes warming, for all their coldness. For him. Why else?
She followed his gaze, satisfied with that. After all, why would she be here, if not for the same reason?
Fuujin paced. Back and forth across white tile floor, steps so precise they could have been military. She didn't do 'on edge', but if she did, it would look something like this.
She looked up when the door creaked, something in the line of her shoulders untensing when she saw Squall, a coffee in each hand. He held one out to her and she took it, something close to gratitude in her gaze. In turn, his was searching.
Anything?
She returned the faintest of headshakes. Nothing yet.
His shoulders, in turn, untensed, and he sank into the chair. He didn't offer it to her, if she'd wanted it, she would have taken it when he'd left to get coffee. Neither of them were the type to stand on ceremony.
He drank his coffee, halting little sips, small enough that he couldn't feel the burn of the scalding liquid on his tongue. Just something to keep his hands and mouth and mind occupied, to stop the roar of the silence in his ears, the deafening tick of the clock only serving to make it heavier.
Another clicking began, this one the sound of shoes against tile, and the quiet was somehow less oppressive. Fuujin would pace, ten steps away from the curtain, ten steps back. Glare at it for a moment, as though it was deliberately thwarting her, then turn and begin again. It was subtle, but it was a reminder. You're not alone in this.
It could have been minutes or hours later, time narrowing down to ten paces forward, ten paces back, Squall's eyes following Fuujin's feet, both of them unified in silence, in mutual... concern.
The curtain was pulled back, and the silence was shattered. Dr. Kadowaki stood there, her expression almost uniformly efficient, but for a satisfied softening in her eyes.
"He'll be fine," she told them, the same slight warming to her voice. "A couple of broken ribs and a perforated lung, but he'll be up and wreaking havoc in no time."
They both nodded, still not speaking but for the brunet's murmured thanks, the tension in them seeming to melt and dissipate as though it had never been. The doctor left, and they regarded each other, Fuujin's single eye speaking volumes of respect, Squall's steady blue-grey gaze holding vibrant undertones of the same. She nodded and left, most likely to tell Raijin the good news, and he moved to the bed, left with the obscure idea that he'd earned himself an ally.