Author's Notes: I can't believe this has happened. I'm doing an honest to god cross over. Yeah, yeah, I did Tears, but that was not SPECIFICALLY FF8's Irvine and Nida. Who knows. But this one is an honest to god cross over. The idea struck me when I went to sleep, and hopefully it fits the needs of the one who asked me for a Cid Highwind/Nida piece. It's just a snippet of a greater whole, a prologue of sorts, because I love the idea SO much. Besides, now that my other Nida piece is done and I'm not quite ready for the sequel to that, I think I enjoy the idea of this as a longer piece.


Pilot Wings

Home, they say, is where the heart is. They also said that when you were homesick you missed people more than places, or little gestures you were used to. I never really believed them when they said that. I was, after all, an orphan and a mercenary. There was no real 'home' to return to, just Garden. There were no people that really cared that I was there, probably because they had never noticed me. There were no gestures I got on a normal basis except for a small nod from Squall or Xu to tell me that it was time to get Garden moving. And it wasn't like I could miss the home cooked meals, because honestly, the smell of hotdogs had always made me sick.

But, the longer I spent away from Garden and my life, the more I came to realize that even I was vulnerable when it came to homesickness. I grew to miss the little things, like the odd comfort that came with a uniform that was just a bit snug around the neck. Or the invisibility resulting from being one of many students, and then the most lackluster member of SeeD. I missed Seifer's taunts, and Squall's indifference. Selphie's optimism and Zell's obsession with food and fighting. I even grew to miss Irvine's lady's man routine, and the Instructor's aloofness.

More than anything, I missed Garden itself. Not the cafeteria, or library, or quad, but the whole thing. The power of a shelter, the strength of mercenaries, the freedom of going wherever I was told, and wherever he really wanted. What I missed was the Rag, and flight. What I missed was looking up at the stars I had known all of my life and wishing I could be among them.

Yet, the longer I stayed here, the more my life was changed by this place. The loneliness that had been eating at me for so long was slowly fading, and the anonymousness that I had cloaked myself in was pulled away. Suddenly everyone wanted to know me, everyone wanted to be like me. I had friends, I had family, and, more importantly, I had a dream within reach. Sure, space was still out there waiting, still is really, but I finally had something that made me want to stay on the ground, something to come back to.

"Where the GODDAMN hell have you gotten to, you fuckin' flyboy?!" a rather gruff voice called out, cutting easily through the chilled night that was common of Rocket Town in the fall.

A pen that had previously been scratching thoughts into words on the blank pages of an old, battered, black leather diary paused as the one holding it chuckled.

"I'm over here," the writer chuckled, waving a hand towards the blonde pilot. Here he was, not three feet away, resting under the oak he always rested by, and the man had still chosen to bellow out his summons so that the rest of the town could hear it. As if they didn't have enough to talk about already.

He had to chuckle as the rough looking man turned to glance at him. He could almost imagine the frown forming around the ever present cigarette, a direct contradiction to the happy twinkle that would be in those bright blue eyes.

"Hurry your lazy ass up," came the order of a man used to being obeyed, "Or I'll tell Shera to give your food to the dog."

The youth nodded and watched the older man retreat. That was as close to affectionate as the man got in public, so he couldn't really be upset. Instead he turned back to the book, scribbling a few more lines by the light of a strong hunter's moon. When he was done the book was closed and rose. It was time for dinner and a bad excuse for tea. The book and pen were left behind below the tree, open to the last words he had put down. It would be safe, because it wasn't like it was going to rain before dinner was over.

Now that I've found my reason to come back to the ground, I'm not sure if I want to leave, and I can't quite find it in me to miss home. Can I really be held to blame for that? Well, maybe, in some eyes, I can. I'll leave that choice to you. After all, this isn't written for my sake, but for yours.

My name is Nida Nomura, and in these pages is my life, my hopes, my fears. Not all of them, there would never be room, and not final, as I hope to have more years yet. But they are the important parts to date, and I want to share them with you, if you'd have the patience to sit back, and bear with me.