Notes: This story was originally posted in its entirety, but I was unhappy with the technical writing. I planned to only post revisions on ao3 and quietly update chapters here once revisions were complete. Unfortunately, due to the addition of new content and continuity issues that caused some confusion between the ao3 revised version and this one, I chose to take down the remaining unrevised chapters here and will be updating both at the same time.

New readers, please note, this story does follow a m/m pairing as well as Squall and Rinoa. They are integral to the story, and I understand not everyone is interested in slash pairings. I have taken pains to treat them as I would any het couple in their interactions with one another - there is physical affection and references to sexual acts, but nothing explicit. In the original posting, it was either something readers really enjoyed about the story, or they really hated and there didn't seem to be any in between. So, read at your own risk, and please don't complain to management if it isn't your thing. ;)

Also note, this story contains references to suicide, violence, character death, child abuse, kidnapping, mild torture, mild sexual references, domestic violence, and a lot of foul language. Read at your own risk.

Cover photo is an oil painting by my bestie Emma G. and is used with permission.

That said, hope you enjoy!


Prologue


He sat in darkness and listened to the drip of the faucet in the bathroom sink.

Three days since he dared to venture outside the quiet, safe space of his apartment and even longer since he'd showered. He hadn't slept in too many days to count and now he saw and heard things that weren't there.

Her shadow on the wall, the echo of her laughter, bouncing around the room. He focused on the cadence of that steady drip against porcelain to drown her out, but it drove him mad.

-tick-

-tick-

-tick-

If he closed his eyes, the nightmares would come. Night after night, he walked through an abyss, a wasteland, in search of something that wasn't there.

Everyone believed him on vacation, gone away to some Estharian resort to relax.

No one came by his apartment. The phone didn't ring.

It was a blessed, welcome silence after so many months and years of constant yet unwanted contact with people.

Smiling. Pretending. Faking it. Every single day lived in a joyless, soul sucking vacuum, every lost second, another drop of water down the drain.

I'm okay.

-tick-

Really.

-tick-

I'm fine.

Ten years since that long ago day he woke up in a field of flowers to a brilliant cerulean sky and expected to find her there.

Ten years of waiting. Ten years of pretending, lying to himself, to everyone around him.

I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay.

Ten years of waiting to start his life. Ten years of waiting to die.

He survived somehow, but it was a life lived on repeat. Day in, day out, the same endless cycle. Work. Train. Sleep. Wake from nightmare. Work. Train. Sleep. Wake from nightmare. Over and over again, until a stark numbness settled over him and he lost sight of why anything mattered.

He learned to fake it, to be the solid, reliable leader they could count in not to freak out or lose his cool in a tough situation.

But hairline cracks ran all through him, cracks that widened day by day and soon he would bust apart and disintegrate. He couldn't keep sleepwalking through his days and and he couldn't keep lying awake staring at the ceiling every night.

If he closed his eyes, he could hear her. The sound of her laughter. Her voice...

-tick-

I can't...

-tick-

I won't think of her.

-tick-

She's not coming back.

Ten years was a long time. Long enough to move past it, but the dreams and memories wouldn't let him. The darkness of that long ago void called out to him. Her voice echoed through a dream-scape, a plea to come and find her.

And everywhere he looked, memories surfaced. Her ghost, in every hallway. Every city, a veritable tour down memory lane. Every night sky, a promise of what could have been and never was.

How long was too long to wait?

He waited for days that turned into weeks, then weeks that turned into years. He kept his promise, but she never came. Ten long years of waiting as he clung to hope through some miracle she would come back. Ten years of living in black and white and watching the second hand sweep around the clock face. Every single second lost to the past, and every coming second one he would never get to spend with her.

Even now, ten years later there was no reprieve, no solace or acceptance. She was lost to time, gone forever. The only casualty of a war no one was supposed to survive.

What did that mean, gone? If she was gone, why did he still feel her pull on him from somewhere, every single second of every single day?

He couldn't live like this.

He picked up a bottle of sleeping pills and dumped them on the coffee table. They spilled across the surface, gel caps shining in the darkness like little glittering stars. A handful at a time, he swallowed them down, each mouthful chased with a pull of of cheap vodka. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, thirty, until they were all gone.

Maybe now he could sleep without waking in a panic, covered in sweat and screaming out her name. Maybe now, he would know peace.

As he closed his eyes, he listened to the steady drip of the faucet, each soft tap another lost second of his life. He drifted, the pull of unconsciousness like gravity.

-tick-

Where are you?

-tick-

Hyne, I miss you.

-tick-

I'll see you soon.


One


Seifer Almasy stood at the edge of a cliff behind the old orphanage and watched the tide roll in. The surf below was rough, the blue-gray water capped in foamy white as it churned ahead of the coming storm. Heavy waves broke all along the shoreline and smashed into the rocks below with enough force that the salty spray misted his skin some 30 feet above the sea. The smell of coming rain was strong and Seifer breathed it in - a scent he'd only recently come to appreciate.

He turned toward the crumbling orphanage and surveyed the work completed over the last few months. There was still a long way to go, but he'd repaired all the exterior doors, rebuilt the rotten roof and the crumbled front wall was a work in progress.

After that, he'd take care of the water-damaged floors, rip out and replace the electrical work, and fix the broken windows in the back. It was a labor of love, one he hoped to finish before winter came.

Edea willed him the house when she passed away, offering him a much needed refuge from the rest of the world upon his release from prison. He never expected a thing from her, not even an apology. He certainly didn't deserve it - not after everything that happened. Yet she willed him, and him alone, the entire property, including the beach and the lighthouse, and a letter absolving him of any lingering blame for what happened.

Not that her absolution did Seifer much good. He still served nine years in prison for his crimes. Nine long years to reflect on what his crimes, as if he ever had any say in how things went down, but at least he came out ahead and far better off than he expected.

Inheriting the house was a blessing. Far from civilization, Seifer was on his own out here. The nearest town ten miles away, his nearest neighbor almost the same distance - it was a perfect location for a man who just wanted to be left alone.

He headed back toward the house and made a mental note to get rid of the crumbled bird bath he forgot about and almost tripped over every morning.

Inside, in the small kitchen, he opened a can of soup and dumped it in a pot. The lights flickered the instant he turned on the stove, and he scowled up at them with a silent plea to stay on.

Maybe he should put off the exterior work in favor of installing an electrical system that didn't make him fear he would burn the place down every time he turned on a light. The wiring in the place was ancient and in dire need of an update. Years of exposure to the elements corroded the wires, rendering some useless and others a barbecue waiting to happen.

As he passed by the front window on his way to the bathroom, he caught sight of a figure turning in confused circles in the field beyond the gate. There was always the threat of someone who meant him harm, someone he wronged during the war, or a teenage thrill seeker or two. There was little reason for anyone to come this far without invitation, not even the pestilential devout Church of Hyne bent on saving every soul on the planet, though they tried in the beginning. The house was just too far away, and Seifer Almasy was beyond redemption.

The figure moved without purpose. Lost, she wandered one direction, then another.

Let her be lost. Mind your own business, Almasy.

The soup on the stove began to boil and the room filled with the scent of something unidentifiable but vaguely edible. He left the window, reduced the heat on the stove and grabbed a bowl from the cabinet.

Thunder rumbled, the lights flickered, sputtered, then went out.

"Shit."

He switched off the stove and dug through the drawer for a lighter and a flashlight. With the lighter, he lit the candle on the table and then two on the mantle over the fireplace. Soft amber light filled the dark room and the individual flames danced on a draft, but it took the edge off the relative shabbiness of the place. He didn't switch on the flashlight, pocketing it instead for future use.

He was about to fill his bowl when rain began to fall heavy against the roof and he thought of the lost woman outside. He assumed she drove herself here and was smart enough to leave when the sky opened up but he went to the window to check on her anyway.

She was still there, back pressed against the nearest pillar in the front courtyard, her face in her hands. Now that she was closer, Seifer's curiosity was piqued. There was something familiar about this girl, but he couldn't put his finger on what. The downpour plastered her dark hair to her neck and shoulders, streamed down her bare arms and legs and over a pair of battered combat boots.

Sky blue and black.

She reminded him of someone. Someone he knew well once.

But it couldn't be the same girl. Rinoa Heartilly died in the war, ten years ago.

Seifer opened the front door and stepped out into the rain, aware that it was only his conscience projecting past sins upon the lost woman. He didn't often dwell in the past, but it occasionally came back to haunt him in the strangest of ways and at the strangest of times.

Whatever the case, he couldn't very well leave her out there.

"Hey!" he called. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

She turned toward him and his jaw dropped.

Not possible.

It couldn't be.


Zell Dincht dozed in a chair next to a hospital bed in Balamb Memorial, and he dreamed of dancing hot dogs.

A sound cut through the semi-lucid dream and Zell sat up and wiped away bit of drool from his chin, glad to see Quistis and not Selphie. The hospital staff banned Selphie from the room for crying so loudly it disturbed the other patients. The petite little ball of drama attempted to sneak in anyway, which was why Zell was posted at the bedside.

"Any change?" Quistis asked.

"No," Zell said. "The doctor says his vitals are looking good, and he should wake up some time in the next day or so."

"What about brain function?" she asked. "Any improvement?"

Zell shrugged. "Doc says we won't know until he wakes up. He might be fine. He might not."

Quistis, elegant and trim in a pair of dress slacks and a cream sweater, sat and folded her slender hands in her lap.

"I don't understand why he'd do this to himself."

Zell didn't understand it any better than Quistis, and it upset him to think that this was no accident.

Earlier in the day, Zell stopped by Squall's place to water the plants and pick up the mail. He hadn't been asked to, but Zell still had Squall's key from his last trip out of town and figured he'd pop in and check on things.

Inside, he found Squall on the couch, unconscious, unresponsive and barely breathing. Squall's face was a sickly gray, his lips slightly blue and a puddle of vomit spilled across the couch cushion to the floor.

The moment Zell spied the empty medicine bottle on the table and the nearly empty bottle of vodka on the floor, Zell knew Squall overdosed on something.

Zell just didn't understand why. Nothing in his recent behavior indicated Squall lost his will to live, nothing at all to telegraph his apparent pain or desperation. Maybe, it was an accident, but Zell's gut said it wasn't.

The only time Zell remembered signs of depression in his friend was after their return from Time Compression. Everyone made it back safe except Rinoa. Squall took the loss much harder than everyone else, but he eventually got over it. He moved on the best he could, just like the rest of them. Or so they'd all believed.

Whatever drove Squall to this, Zell was grateful he'd stopped by when he did. If he waited until later in the day, Squall would not be alive now. As it was, Squall barely pulled through.

"Did he say anything to you the past few weeks?" Quistis asked. "Anything weird?"

Quistis already asked this question at least three other times, and Zell didn't have any new information for her. He hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary in Squall's behavior. None of them noticed a thing.

"Dr. Kadowaki told me the sleeping pills were prescription," Quistis said.

"I guess we'll have to wait for him to wake up to find out what happened," Zell said.

On the bed, Squall stirred. His hands curled into fists and he let out a long, heavy sigh. Both Zell and Quistis moved to the edge of their respective chairs and glanced at each other as they leaned forward to peer at their friend. Squall's eyes didn't open, but his lips moved, and silently formed a word. Quistis clasped Zell's hand and her face filled with wild hope.

Squall's lips moved again, but no sound came out. He was talking in his sleep, something Zell had become familiar with during those long months during the war. Back then, Squall called out for Sis more often than not but he occasionally muttered to himself about fighting and strategy, too.

"What's he trying to say?" Zell wondered aloud.

"I don't know."

Squall moaned and his whole body jerked violently beneath the sheet. Alarmed, Zell hit the call button to summon the doctor. Squall's mouth formed the word again, and this time, they both heard it.

"Rinoa."


Rinoa Heartilly had the worst luck in the world. She returned from Time Compression in one piece, only to find herself facing a fast moving and violent storm. Overhead, the clouds swelled, heavy and pregnant with moisture and the wind carried with it the scent of rain. She needed to find shelter before the sky broke open, but she wanted to find Squall first.

He said he would wait for her here, but as she looked around, there was no sign of him. The only thing here was the orphanage and a beat up pick-up truck that wasn't there before.

"Squall?" she called "Are you here?"

A gale-force wind whipped her hair around her face and sent flower petals dancing in its wake, but no one living answered her call.

On the horizon, clouds bruised purple boiled to a vicious crescendo. The storm, moving fast, would be here in a matter of minutes.

She didn't understand. Where was everyone? Squall promised to meet her here. Was she in wrong place? Was she mistaken about where they were supposed to meet?

Rinoa bit her lip as she took one more look around, hoping against hope that she wasn't alone. She couldn't be the only one who made it back. They were all supposed to come back together, but there wasn't a soul around. She didn't know what she would do if she was the only survivor. That thought was too painful to even contemplate.

Maybe she was the first one back and they were right behind her. That must be it. They were on their way and she would see them soon.

A heavy roll of thunder startled her, and she moved closer to the orphanage, prepared to take cover. She stepped inside the rusted gate, remembering Squall's promise.

I'll be waiting here...

A cold deluge washed over her as the rain began to fall, her clothing soaked to through in seconds. She gasped at the unexpected chill, wiped her bangs from her eyes and continued her search for her friends.

Where the heck were they?

"Squall? Are you here?"

I'll be waiting for you, so if you come here, you'll find me.

Exhausted, Rinoa leaned against one of the pillars along the front walkway. Maybe she would just wait for him here.

That final battle was a long, hard fight to the end, followed by what seemed days and days of wandering through a nightmarish nothing, like being lost in a maze with no walls, but no exit. Nothing to see but miles and miles of cracked earth and boiling sky and an endless plain of nowhere that siphoned all the hope from her heart.

She'd seen Squall erased from existence, the pillar in the ballroom where he stood the night they met, vacant. His face distorted and twisted and the shape of him flickered in and out like a bad florescent bulb. She almost convinced herself he was just a figment of her imagination.

"No," she said. "It was real. He's real."

She was here, in the place they'd agreed upon, and he had to be real. He would be here soon. She was sure of it.

I promise.

"Hey!" a voice called. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

A tall man peered at her from the doorway of the orphanage, a face she recognized, and cold fear raced through her limbs at the sight of him. She knew who he was, and he was the absolute last person she wanted or expected to see here.

"Seifer? What are you doing here?"

He stepped into the downpour, full of disbelief as he approached her with cautious steps and a wary posture. Rinoa didn't move in his direction, nor did she retreat. She would fight him alone if necessary and she readied her weapon just in case.

"Holy shit," he breathed. "It is you."

Awe-struck, his eyes traveled her face and he took in every single feature like he hadn't seen her in years and could not believe she was real. She backed up against the pillar and lifted her weapon, aiming for his heart.

He had no right to be here, of all places. No right at all. This was their place, so why was he the one standing here and not Squall?

"Back up," she ordered.

Seifer lifted his hands and took a step back, still in shock.

Seifer was older than she remembered. A lot older - closer to thirty than twenty. The last time she saw him wasn't that long ago - only days and not years. How could he have aged this much in such a short amount of time?

"I'm unarmed, Rin," he said.

"What are you doing here?"

"I live here."

As far as Rinoa knew, no one lived here but Edea and Cid. He must be lying, using the place as a hideout.

"So, you're on the run and thought you'd crash here for a while?" she asked. "You've got some nerve."

"On the run?" he asked. "No, I served my time. Nine delightful years in the hell that is D-district. I'm sure you remember it."

"Right," she said with a humorless laugh. "I'm supposed to buy that?"

"Why don't you put down your weapon and come inside," he said. "I think we need to talk."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," she said. "They'll be back soon, so I'm going to wait right here until they show up."

There was a bright flash of lightning and Rinoa flinched. The storm was getting nastier by the minute, but she was determined to wait it out. It would end soon enough and a little rain wouldn't kill her.

"Rinoa, they're not coming," Seifer said. "They're already back."

"Then where are they?" she demanded.

He wiped a hand over his face and gave a weary sigh.

"Come inside."

"Tell me where they are."

"Rinoa..." he began but faltered.

Her patience was growing thin and she wished Seifer would stop staring at her like she was a ghost.

"Seifer, where are they?"

"They came back ten years ago," he said. "Without you."

That wasn't what she expected him to say. Ten years? It couldn't be that long - only a day or two at the most.

"Whatever game you're playing, just stop," she warned.

"Rin, the war ended ten years ago," he said. "Everyone thinks you're dead."