Squall rubs his eyes and stares at his computer, reading the same two lines in the same email for the third time since it arrived. Selphie's emails are hard to read when he hasn't been up most of the night, and he gives up trying to figure out what she means and pushes his chair back from his desk and stands, stretching his arms over his head. His shoulders are tense and he's been fighting off a headache most of the day, and he needs another cup of coffee.
Quistis is already standing by the coffee maker in the staff lounge, reading a report while she waits for it to brew. She doesn't look up when he walks in, and jumps a little when she lowers her papers to reach for the carafe.
"You're going to give someone a heart attack one day," she says, and after she has finished filling a cup she hands it to him and then reaches for another. "You look like hell, you know. Worried about the contract review next week?"
"Yeah," he lies. He hasn't thought about the review in two days save for the mandatory conference calls he's been on in preparation for it, even though they're looking at more time with Garden mobile. Which means more time away from home.
"Yeah," Quistis echoes.
They avoid eye contact, and Squall stares at the ripples in his coffee, at the contrast between the black liquid and the white edge of the styrofoam cup. He sees Quistis pick up her report again in his peripheral vision, and draws in a few deep breaths, aware that he came here to hide and more than a little irritated that he can't, and he turns, because he can hide in his office just as easily.
"You're still hosting for Solstice this weekend, right?"
Squall stops, feet from the doorway, and closes his eyes. "Yeah," he says. He hopes.
"I'll be there."
"Just you?"
"Xu is…" she pauses for so long that Squall turns to her, and he recognizes the look on her face.
"—on assignment," he finishes for her. He doesn't remember Xu being out this weekend, but if that's the lie Quistis needs to tell to protect her secrets, he won't call her bluff.
"Thanks," she says, and then, "I hope Rinoa's doing well. It will be good to see her this weekend, I haven't heard much from her recently."
"She's good. Busy with the bookstore, and getting ready for this weekend. I've gotta get back upstairs, see you soon?"
She nods, and he walks away, the same even pace as he always has despite the knot forming in his gut.
Sometimes, he knows all too well, lies are all you have.
.
He walks up the steps to their front door slowly. The light through the living room window glows warmly against the frigid air, and Squall stands watching it, and counts to ten before he turns the knob and pushes the door inside.
It's quiet, and the knot in his stomach tightens. He sets down his keys and walks towards the bedroom, too many fears of what he might find heavy in his mind, and he sweeps his eyes around the house as he walks. The dishes are done, and there is the faint scent of smoke in the air, and he walks into their bedroom, ready to embrace the night—
And his breath catches.
Rinoa is laying on top of the covers, a glass of wine still half full on the night stand, and the light of several candles dances on the walls. She is breathing deeply, her mouth partly open, her arms by her sides with a book folded over one of her hands. He stares at her for a few moments, trying to fit this new scenario into the many possibilities he can expect when he comes home to her, and admires how beautiful, how peaceful she looks for a change.
He leans in and kisses her forehead, and he goes about locking the doors, turning out the lights, smiling that the coffee pot is already set for the next day. When he is finished he climbs into bed beside her and reaches for her book, and she stirs just so.
"Wellmm'ome," she murmurs, and stretches the arm that held the book out to him and takes his hand. In the candlelight he can see the faint lines starting to form along her fingers, the lines that have caused her so much stress, have caused them so many sleepless nights as she stayed up crying, screaming, desperate to maintain control.
"Sorry I'm late."
She responds by tightening her grip on his hand and sliding closer towards him, and he pulls her close, and breathes in the smell of her hair.
Sometimes the lies are all you have.
He's losing her, and nobody knows except the two of them. But he will keep her secret until she is ready to share, until she has no choice but to share.
And he will hold her as tightly as he can on the nights she will let him, and will find comfort in her warmth, because for all that he is the only one who knows her secret, she is the only one who knows how much it hurts him.
And neither of them will ever tell.
For siobhane, because of recent conversations, and Victor, because I'm sorry.
(I'm not very happy with this and may write something later based on the same concept. This is too similar to 'Or From That Sea of Time,' only not as well executed and nowhere close to what I wanted to do since I was hoping for something a little more visual, but it'll do for now.)