Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts, Final Fantasy, and all characters affiliated therewith are not mine, and shan't ever be, most likely. Doesn't stop me from playing with them, though.

Warnings: I'm fond of commas, I haven't proofread this, it's largely introspective and I don't really like puppies all that terribly much. Additionally, I'm really more of an editor than a writer, but even a food critic makes himself a sandwich now and then, I imagine.

Of Puppies and Parents

He opens the door to the large, mostly empty house, a routine stop on his patrols. He knows what he will find, but cannot help the frown that comes as his eyes light on the devastated pair within. Holding back a weary sigh, he checks the rest of the house and makes sure there's food and water available for the occupants.

Pongo and Perdita are the type of parents he once thought occurred only in fairytales. A protective, caring father and a gentle, nurturing mother, who both loved and wanted their children. He hasn't known any parents like them- 'Garden' was not known for children with happy home lives. Loving parents do not send their children to become mercenaries. Most of the children were either unwanted or orphans or both (like himself). Others, like Zell, came from single-parent families who couldn't afford a brighter future for their offspring and didn't know what else to do with them.

Leon guesses Aerith and Yuffie must have had parents once. Real families. They seem to have been loved- they're both so open and…secure. The way they're able to open themselves to others, welcome people into their lives, share their hopes and dreams and warmth. They must have, when they were very young, been able to wake up in the dark of the night, afraid, and know that someone would come and make it better if they called out. He wonders vaguely what it must have been like, to know that there was someone out there who cared, who gave a damn about you beyond how skillfully you could use a weapon, how fast you could run a course, who you could kill for how much money.

He can read the worry and grief in every line of the dalmations' bodies. Here is a family that was once, truly whole. That had somehow survived the destruction of their world together, against all odds. It's wrong, somehow, and a part of him aches to set it right, to see a real family the way it should be: together. So he could believe that it could happen. That a 'happy ending' could be possible.

For a moment he is tempted to look for the puppies himself. But that would mean leaving this town, and leaving his 'family', his responsibilities behind. It's something Laguna would have done. It's what Laguna had done, repeatedly; impulsively tearing off on a whim, abandoning friends and family in order to chase rainbows and dreams. It's something Squall would never even have contemplated without direct orders (before Rinoa entered the picture, anyway). But Laguna was a moron and he wasn't Squall anymore, and Leon has his own broken little family and a broken little town to protect. Squall has always understood the meaning of responsibility, and Leon has come to understand what it means to have something to protect.

So he will not leave Traverse Town, and he will stay and protect his own. He will patrol the town, receive the refugees, keep his family and the town safe and running as smoothly as he is able. He cannot leave this town to search the worlds…and yet…

It occurs to him as he turns to leave, that he knows someone who can. Someone who travels the worlds constantly, in search of many things. Someone who understands the value of family and friends, and works to reunite them.

The shadow of a smile crosses his face as he closes the door behind him. He resumes his patrol, fingers tightening around the hilt of his gunblade in satisfaction. Squall is responsible, Leon protects… and Commander Leonhart knows how to delegate.

Thank-you kindly for reading, I rather hope you gained some enjoyment from it. No obligations to review incurred by viewing this drivel. Side note: Squall and Seifer were sent to Balamb Garden to become mercenaries when they were 5 and 6, respectively. No wonder they were psych-jobs (putting it delicately). On that note- au revior, fare thee well.