A/N: I'm not really sure what the inspiration for this was. It just sort of came out. It's fluff, pure fluff, I tell you. R&R appreciated!

Ten Fingers, Ten Toes

"Let me see your hands," Rinoa demanded more than requested. She and Squall were hunkered down side by side, their backs against a relatively smooth slab of boulder strewn before the gateway of the sorceress' castle, where the team had decided to camp for the night. No one knew if it was night for certain as there was no way to mark the passage of time in this suffocating place, and the sky roiled with the same greasy, grey oil-slick pattern as it had since they had entered, but stomachs had begun to growl and feet had started to drag, so it seemed as good a time as any to rest. The six shared a tense meal, and now the pair sat together several feet away from the others, their backs to the fortress, whose edifice loomed large and foreboding.

Squall raised his hands slightly from his lap and flexed his gloved fingers. Then he turned them palms up and gave Rinoa a sidelong glance as if to say "What's so special about these?"

"I meant without the gloves."

Squall looked at her for another measured moment before peeling off his right glove and then his left and discarding them on the ground. Slowly, Rinoa reached over and sandwiched his right hand between both of hers. With her fingertips, she tracing the lines of his fingers and the cup of his palm. "Hyne, your fingers are strong," she observed. "But the skin isn't as tough as I thought it would be."

Squall nodded slightly. "That's why I wear the gloves," he said. "Also to avoid getting gun powder all over them."

"Makes sense."

"My turn," he announced, clasping her left hand and drawing it towards him. He drew his thumb slowly across the base of her fingers, where they met her hand. The studious look on his face made Rinoa smile, which Squall didn't seem to notice. "Your hands have changed," he said quietly.

"How so?"

"Calluses here," he said, indicating to the same spot.

Rinoa remembered clinging to the side of the cliff-like foundation of Balamb Garden for what seemed like an eternity but was probably only ten minutes, her grip the only thing saving her from a plunge to certain death. She recalled pulling herself hand over hand at times across the steep forested terrain of Trabia and Galbadia, and more recently up barren rock faces in Esthar as the group tracked quarry that would yield materials deemed necessary to the success of their final mission.

"I've been working hard," Rinoa said at length.

"I know," Squall replied, gently placing her hand back in her lap.

"Besides, if you think these are bad, you should see my feet!"

Squall abruptly turned to face her. "Take off your boots."

"What? No! No way am I letting you see my feet!" she protested.

"Why not?"

Rinoa's first instinct was to retort with a quip implying impropriety and perhaps even foot fetishism, but knowing Squall now as she did, she was certain such a comment would put an abrupt end to their conversation. It would embarrass and fluster him, and his walls would go up thicker and more impenetrable than ever. So instead she settled for girlishness.

"Because, they're gross! I haven't had a pedicure in like half a year!"

Squall rolled his eyes and leaned forward, starting to untie the laces of her boots, apparently undeterred.

"Really?!" Rinoa exclaimed. She leaned back further against the wall, closing her eyes and letting her shoulders drop. "You're lucky I'm too tired to fight you off." She jerked one of her legs as if to kick out, and felt Squall's grip tighten around her ankle, causing her to grin inwardly.

Squall lifted Rinoa's right foot from its boot and drew off the somewhat grubby sock. Opportunities to wash laundry had been in short supply of late. She didn't resist as he bent her leg so that the knee stuck out to her right and her lower leg crossed over, the foot resting in Squall's lap. The pale skin atop her foot presented a stark contrast to the black leather of his pants. He examined the foot critically. Some of the toenails were too long, and a couple of them were chipped or broken. There was a red area on the outer edge, where her boot was probably causing friction, and a patch of bright pink skin near the ball, indicating a recently healed blister.

"All in all, it's not too bad," Squall said, reaching into an interior pocket of his jacket and withdrawing a small bottle of something green that Rinoa surmised to be potion. She watched quietly as he poured a teaspoon or so of the viscous liquid into his hand and then started rubbing it into her foot with strong fingers.

"I, uh, never knew you could apply potion to the skin," Rinoa murmured, enraptured both by the pressure of his hands and the warm tingle of the medicine.

"You can. It's an important trick. The feet are a SeeD's second most important piece of physiology."

"What's first then?"

"The brain," Squall stated with a half-smirk. "The brain always comes first. But if the brain fails, there's a good chance you're gonna have to fight, run, jump, and move yourself out of danger. A broken toe at just the wrong moment can mean disaster."

Rinoa sat quietly as Squall moved to her other side removed her left boot. This foot was in slightly worse shape. The nails of her fourth and second toes had gone black, indicating they were ready to fall off, and there was some bruising and swelling around the heel. Once the potion was rubbed in, Squall sat back with Rinoa's foot still resting in his lap, his hand idly tracing the outline of her ankle joint.

"What made you do that?" she asked abruptly, turning to look him in the eye.

Squall was silent for a few moments and then tipped his head far back as if to look at the castle behind them. "There's a lot of problems right now that I don't know how to solve. There's stuff that's broken that I don't know how to fix. This," he said, giving Rinoa's foot a gentle squeeze, "I knew how to fix."

"That makes a certain amount of sense," Rinoa said softly, putting her hand atop his, but no longer able to resist teasing. "Or maybe you just wanted an excuse to touch my feet." She raised her eyebrows and grinned at him.

"No way. They're gross – you said it yourself."

Rinoa laughed in delight at his uncharacteristic humor and turned into him. She wrapped both her arms around his left one and rested her head against the fur collar of his jacket.

"I love you, Squall."

She could feel his sharp inhale and the instantaneous tension that built in his muscles, making him go rigid against her. She gave his arm a tight squeeze.

"You don't have to say it back. You can, of course, if or when you want to, but I didn't say it to get you to say it. I said it because I meant it. Okay?"

He pulled her closer and pressed his face against the top of her head. "Okay."

They held onto each other for a few more moments, an island of solace in the sideways world of time compression. Invariably, it was Rinoa who broke the silence.

"Hey, Squall? Is it my turn to do your feet?"

"Not in a million years."