In honor of Squall's birthday (August 23) and the 10th anniversary of FFVIII's English release (September 9).

Dear Matron,

How have you been? Everything is fine over here in the Garden. Currently, Nida is charting a course over FH, and soon we will

"Hey Squall!"

The young Commander groaned and rubbed his face in his palm. The words he had written were quickly scrunched up and sent flying toward the growing pile of similarly ill-fated letters. Without awaiting an answer – probably not expecting one to begin with – Zell had entered the large room and dropped himself onto the chair on the opposite side of the desk; said chair started to spin slowly on its axis.

"… What is it?"

Remembering the purpose of his literally entering the lion's den, Zell turned to look his friend in the eye. "Is the camera guy here yet?"

"He said to give him a minute. Our Garden is not exactly the easiest place to find," Squall answered methodically. "If there's nothing else-"

"But he's taking forever!" the martial artist protested, literally bouncing in the seat and making it squeak annoying at the one who actually listened. "I've got stuff to do!"

"You're a recognized hero on the global level, Zell. There will be hot dogs waiting for you whether you ask for them or not."

"Can I get them now?"

"No. Now get out so I can finish my work."

"But…!"

"Dincht: Out."

Zell did not need to be told a third time and disappeared as quickly as he had first shown up. Squall allowed himself a tired sigh as he once again tried to find a way to start. His pen tapped irritably on the table's polished surface as he racked his brains for something appropriate. Finally, he uncapped it and brought it down to the clean sheet of paper…

Dear Matron,

I hope you are doing alright. I hear the orphanage has finally been restored from your last letter, and I am glad to hear it. I know the children there will do well with you, just as we ha

"Hey big guy: Got a minute?"

The pen nearly snapped in the black gloved grip, but Squall maintained his poker face as he looked up at his second visitor. Again, the chair opposing was put to use as Irvine plopped down with the casual air of one who belonged. Under the brim of his black hat, he smirked lazily at the irked man before him.

"Is this important?"

"I just saw Zell, so I know you're busy," the cowboy explained, "but see, I gotta know: whenever it is this guy comes, how long is the photo shoot taking?"

Again, Squall gave an answer; he owed the other that much. "We just need him to capture some good images for the press. Just a couple with us – considering who we are – and then Xu will show him around to get the rest of the Garden. If things go as planned, it will only take a few hours tops."

"You're sure."

"I'm confident."

"Okay…" the other drawled, still smirking as he straightened a little. "Cos' y'know: Zone sent me one of his magazines, and I really wanna give a few new moves I just learned a try-"

"Please leave now."

Irvine proved more obliging than Zell as he made his escape – though he was still laughing all the way – and left Squall in momentary peace once more. Again, he looked down at what he wrote; with a scoff of disgust, he added it to the pile of rejected attempts. This was not working at all in his favor, and with time against him, he was just not getting anything out.

Emotions were always hard with him… what was it Dr. Kadowaki said? "Like pulling teeth", was it?

Muttering, he strove to focus on the task and tried one more time…

Dear Matron,

There are so many things I want to tell you – so much has happened in the time past since we were home with you and Cid. I wish it were e

"Ruff!"

Eyes widened in blatant shock as the usually stoic young man doubled back at the sight of a dog's head poking between his legs.

"How in Shiva's abused name did you get in here?!"

Ignoring the harsh demand, Angelo stuck her tongue out and panted at her mistress' favorite person. In a second, she had cleared the space between the ground and Squall's lap, and proceeded to use him as leverage to get onto the desk.

"What are you-do not touch that! I need that! Get your nose away from there before- Leave that alone!"

His saving grace came in a sharp whistle, and Angelo perked up, leapt back to the ground and bounded to the door in perfect obedience. Staring at the messy state that his desk was in, Squall decided to instead take relief that it was at least over. "Thanks, Rinoa."

"You'd wish that, wouldn't you?" And the deep, condescending voice sure enough revealed who it was at the door. "Too bad your girlfriend's out front and waiting for that photographer to finally get here. If the sorceress herself doesn't make him hurry, nothing else will."

The man entered, Angelo wagging her rear end at him in a friendly manner, and it was only then that Squall took in his appearance; he promptly balked.

"Seifer, what are you wearing?"

"Oh, you mean the beanie?" And the blond man prodded at the offending object's white lettering as though in agreement. "It was Quisty's idea. You'd think people would forget that I was attacking them and screaming in the name of a time-traveling banshee by now, but no…!"

"… 'I', huh?" Squall read on his once rival's forehead. "It's almost appropriate."

"Gimme a break, Commander," he retorted, and Squall let him get away with it because he knew he could not make him stop. As the taller man hefted the dog onto his back – much to Angelo's delight – he crossed the room to sneak a glance at the writing that the brunet never got his chance to finish. "You're still not done?!"

"… Whatever." The unspoken demand to be left alone went absolutely ignored by the one who just did not care at all.

"Shelf the damned diplomacy already! You're talking to Matron, for Hyne's sake, not some President –" Seconds after he said it, the two of them had the same mental image of Laguna drinking tea and wearing a monocle to read a perfectly handwritten letter from the Garden. "– … Yeah, shitty example."

"You were making a point?" Squall brought up, his tone dripping with his annoyance. Enjoying his moment of power, Seifer paused to shift the heavy weight that was still comfortably riding atop him.

"If the words don't come easy, that's because they don't come from the heart," he answered. "So for once in your sorry life, stop the flapping and just be honest with yourself."

And suddenly, any rebuttal Squall might have had died on his lips, and he stared at the other man with renewed respect. That quickly died as he remembered something, and it was his turn to comment wryly: "I forgot you were the one who informed a dozen Galbadian soldiers you had a romantic dream in Dollet."

"Don't you frickin' judge me. We'll holler when the overpaid asshole with a camera finally gets here."

And before the brunet could ask for it, Seifer took the dog and left the man alone once more. No words of appreciation or gratefulness were uttered, as Squall crushed yet another piece of paper into a tight ball for disposal. Again, his pen hit a fresh piece…

Dear Ma

"He's here!"

Hyne-damn it.

Giving up once and for all, Squall rose from his seat and left his office. He soon arrived at the Quad, where the others were ready and waiting. Quistis was trading words with the photographer, and it was Rinoa who came up and dragged him the rest of the way toward their little circle.

"Any luck with that letter you were writing?" she asked.

"… I'll finish it later."

At the quiet admittance, Seifer leered at Zell, despite the effect being partially ruined by Angelo still draped upon his shoulders. "That's twenty gil you owe me, Chicken-Wuss."

In the resulting scuffle, the photographer watched the small crowd as they momentarily forgot he was there. From the world's view, they were the strength of the world, the toughest of the tough, and the beacon of light that vanquished the shadow of darkness and paved the way toward a better future. In the window that was his viewfinder, they were just human, just young men and women, who laughed and bantered, who loved one another that much to know what to say.

And before they could remember they were in front of a camera, he twirled the lens, fixed the aperture, and pushed the fateful button.

A week later, outside the reconstructed orphanage located on the Cape of Good Hope, Edea Kramer found an envelope delivered to her mailbox. When she opened it, she found two things: one was a photograph of those whom she loved – from the looks of it a candid shot. The other was a letter, written in handwriting she could recognize anywhere…

Dear Matron,

We're okay. We're thinking of you. We'll be home as soon as we can.

Then we'll talk so much and so long that your ears will hurt, and we won't stop until there is nothing left to say.

We love you.

Your children