Disclaimer: Anything that is not mine, is not mine. The game, the characters, they are not mine. The concept of the story is mine, but the elements added that were not originally mine, are definitely not mine. I hope that's enough disclaimer!

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He felt the pinching sensation in his chest when he inhaled his first air after waking at his last memories of a glowing sorceress and a tree that was about to crash his head.

Despite all that, he was alive.

Squall winced as he slowly turned his head against a soft surface beneath him. He gradually opened his eyes and saw blurry visions of his gunblade resting against a wall just a few feet away from him, a pair of chairs, a table, dark wooden walls, a candlelight, and what seemed like a female figure with long black hair in a blue dress filling a basin with water from the faucet.

He gasped and widened his eyes when he realized that he was at the presence of a sorceress. He jolted up, grabbed his gunblade and aimed for her, but she proved to be just as quick as he was and pointed her arms back at him, her palms facing forward and her fiery brown eyes glaring at his. Squall glowered at her, his grip on his weapon tightening by the second. He warily treaded forward, and she responded by taking one step toward him, her arms were still up and ready for attack.

He stretched his index finger to the trigger of his gunblade— if she tried anything, he would not hesitate to pull it. He almost did just that when her eyes suddenly travelled down to his lower extremities and widened. Shock seemed to have petrified his reflexes when she abruptly sprinted closer and knelt on the floor by his legs.

"Get away!" he growled at her while stepping backward, but he seemed to have forgotten the wooden bed behind him and his popliteals hit its edge, causing him to fall on his back.

She said something worriedly as she reached her hands to one of his thighs. He violently shuffled himself away from her while she continued to shout at him as if pleading for something, but he wouldn't have it— whatever it was, he would never trust his chances to a sorceress.

Then, in his struggle, he felt an excruciating ripping pain on his right thigh. A long, loud groan escaped his throat while both his hands closed in tight fists to withstand the agony.

Her unfamiliar words flowed with a mix of annoyance and apprehension, as if she was scolding him. Panting heavily as the pain subsided, he looked at her as she gently unwrapped the bloodstained makeshift bandage on his thigh, revealing a deep, bloody gash. She stood up again to retrieve the basin she was filling with water earlier and placed it on the table beside her. She dipped a clean cloth and carefully patted it on his wound. Squall inhaled sharply through his gritted teeth, his eyes closing tightly at the pricking sting when the wet cloth brushed against his tender skin. He looked at it again when he felt the contact stop and was replaced by a warm tingle.

She was now holding her hand above the wound, a bluish light emitting from her palm. The bleeding had stopped as the laceration slowly closed, the reddish-purple from the swelling began fading away. The throbbing pain gradually became just a slight sore, and Squall's rapid breaths were slowing down at her healing.

When she removed her hand and the light from her spell went out, she took out another long clean cloth and wrapped it around his thigh to, he assumed, stop the cut from opening again. He held himself up against the bed with his elbows as he watched her tie the tourniquet before gathering the basin with the bloodstained pieces of fabrics she used on him. With the basin still in her hands, she gave him an exasperated look and nagged at him once more, as if he actually cared what she wanted from him. He carefully sat up, watching her as she turned around and placed the basin on the sink.

Groaning, he pushed himself up once more and leaned his back against an adjacent wall as he caught on his breath. He inspected himself, wondering what else the sorceress had done on him and noticed that he was no longer in his uniform— he was only wearing his white undershirt and his black boxers.

The sorceress must've undressed me to see my wound, he told himself, annoyed at his admission that he was under her care.

He ran his hand against his head and felt another shot of pain on his forehead. Cautiously, his fingers brushed against another bandage just across the area between his eyebrows. It was where the last sorceress he fought in Timber cut him with a slicing aero magic, which also possibly gave him that damned lesion on his thigh.

His nurse and only companion turned around with a plate of overcooked steak and what seemed to be mixed vegetables on a tray with a glass of water. She approached him and sat on a nearby chair, placing the tray on the table and looked at him with a kind smile. She stated something in her own language and gestured at the food, possibly asking him to eat.

He only stole a glance of the dish and glared at her warily, observing her pale skin that almost glowed in the otherwise dim room. Her brown eyes were amiable, her pinkish lips shaped in a kind smile, and the caramel strip of her hair contrasted her ebony locks. There was no doubt in her beauty that she was a sorceress, a wicked creature of the earth.

Her eyes shifted down when he didn't respond to her and she transferred the plate on her lap. She sliced the steak with a knife, struggling and whining as she did. When she successfully took a piece, she handed the fork to him. Squall only looked at the steak before glaring back at her, not moving a bit of his muscle. The food could be laced with a spell or poison for all he knew. He was a SeeD commander, the same person who lead the army that attacked her town. She could be pretending to be the only survivor, concealing the other sorceresses behind the walls of the cabin or house or whatever it was they were staying at. He could be surrounded and she was using her angelic countenance to seduce him and gain his trust before they strike and kill him.

Then again, he thought, at his extremely vulnerable state, if they, or she wanted to kill him, he should have been dead by now.

More importantly, if that was indeed the case, why was she helping him?

The sorceress sighed despondently and put the fork down on the plate, which she placed back on the tray. Finally giving up on him, she stood up and told him something again in her soft voice before turning around and leaving him alone in the room.

For a sorceress who received little to no response from him, she was very talkative.

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Rinoa tied the last knot of the bandage on the unconscious SeeD's thigh for the second time that day. His wound was deep, but nothing a cure spell and careful nursing couldn't fix. She took a deep breath as she studied her work and decided that as long as he didn't move too much for one or two more days, his thigh would be better in no time.

Carrying him was no easy task, and they were lucky to even find a cabin outside of town where they could hide and rest for a while. She was right to bring him with her— none of the other SeeDs went back to look for him as they were driven away by the other sorceresses. Ensuring that no SeeD would follow them as they escaped to the underground tunnel was a top priority, even if it meant killing every SeeD on sight.

If she wanted to save this brown-haired SeeD, she needed to keep him away from the sorceresses. And if she wanted to stay alive, she needed to find a good place to hide from the SeeDs.

Rinoa gathered his uniform and hoped he didn't mind being out of his clothes. Of course, she left his white shirt and black shorts on him— all she needed to do was make sure he had enough room to breathe and his wounds taken care of. She carried his garments to the sink and began to wash the dirt and blood off them. She then flicked a wisp of fire off her fingers to the wooden scraps in the fireplace and hung his garments by it to dry. Taking a smaller basin with her, she headed back to the sink and began filling it with water when she heard a gasp and a scuffle behind her.

The SeeD was awake.

Quickly, she turned around and held her arms up just as he pointed his weird sword at her, his hard blue eyes eager to slice her piece by piece. She instinctively slid her feet slightly forward when he advanced closer, the weapon in his steady hands still pointed at her direction. Perhaps she made the mistake of forgetting to move his sword farther away from him.

Rinoa began to run through the spells she could use inside her head: fire was too harsh, water was too messy, and thunder could kill him. Blizzard, however, would hurt but could also help subside the swelling on his thigh.

Which reminded her– he shouldn't be standing up, should he?

She looked at his thigh and to her horror, the dressing was beginning to soak with his blood. How could he not feel that?

Frantic that his wound had reopened, Rinoa rushed to examine his thigh. He screamed something at her– the first time she had ever heard his deep, low voice. In what seemed to be his panic, he retreated and lost his grip of his weapon which clanked on the floor before falling down on his bed.

"Stop that, you're hurting yourself!" she told him as she attempted to hold his injured thigh steadily, but he simply. Wouldn't. Cooperate. "I'm trying to fix your cut here!"

Then, when he seemed to have finally felt the pain, he groaned loudly and his body tensed.

"Do you feel it now?" she chided. "Good. Because I just fixed your gash and your bandage, and now I have to do it all over again. Clean cloths don't just grow on trees!" She sighed. "I'm not going to hurt you if you don't hurt me, you know?"

When Rinoa was sure he was no longer moving, she carefully removed the dressing on his thigh. Needing water to clean the wound (again), she went to take the basin of water with her from the sink, and brought two more clean strips of fabric that she cut from the clothes she found in one of the cabinets. She returned to his side and drenched one of the cloths with water before patting it on his wound. He flinched but thankfully didn't move too much, making it easier for her to finish her task. When she cleared the lesion of blood, she placed her hand above it and cast her cure spell. She could tell he was beginning to calm down at this point.

When she was done, she wrapped the other cloth on the wound, tied it in a knot, then collected the basin with the bandages. She stood up and carried the basin to be cleaned at the sink, but not before giving him a tired look.

"Please stop moving too much, and please stop trying to kill me. Just focus all your energy into getting better so we can both leave this place. You're not the only one here who can't wait to go home."

Rinoa left him again to clean up the bandages and throw away the bloody water from the basin. After washing her hands, she took a slab of meat she found in a blizzard-powered storage and placed it on a metal pan. She flicked another fire spell on it and the flames faded from its edges down to the middle, leaving some of its parts slightly charred. Rinoa sheepishly looked over her shoulder, hoping he didn't see her little mishap. Thankfully, he was busy observing the bandage on his forehead with his hand after seemingly realizing that he had another wound. That one wasn't as bad, it healed quickly on her first try of cure spell. But Rinoa was sure it was going to leave a scar, which was a shame considering that his scary hardened face was almost perfect.

She tossed some blanched vegetables into the plate and placed it on the tray with a glass of water. She delivered it to the SeeD and sat again on her chair. Rinoa smiled at him, nodding at the plate. "You need to eat. Here, I made this for you."

He dubiously looked at the food like he'd rather shoot himself than eat it. He looked up again and gave her a piercing look with his blue eyes beneath his unruly bloodstained hair.

Rinoa sighed. Even Vanille wasn't this stubborn. Were SeeDs really trained to be unresponsive to help even when their lives depended on it?

Then the answer to her question hit her.

Oh.

That was right, she was still an enemy. That explained why he wouldn't take anything she offered him no matter how hard she tried to give him everything he needed. He simply didn't trust her.

Or maybe… maybe he was too weak and shocked to even eat his food? Or to even slice it?

Rinoa took the plate again and placed it on her lap. With the knife in her hand and her fork on the other, she sliced through the leathery meat, realizing that she may have cooked it way too much.

And then, finally, she was able to take a piece. Mission accomplished.

She stabbed the fork into the meat and handed it to the man who remained unflinching on his spot. His eyes travelled briefly on the steak then back to her.

Rinoa could tell he must have many questions for her. She did, too. Too bad they could only speak the language they knew and not the other's, lest everything they were going through would have been easier to deal with.

She sighed at the thought. She barely had enough sleep, and she was getting tired. She placed the fork down and stood up.

"You're not an enemy to me." she told him, but was only met with distrust in his eyes. "I may be an enemy to you, but you are not mine. And I'm going to take care of you, whether you like it or not."

Rinoa turned around and left him with his food, heading to another room that she claimed for herself. It was a small, dark one with nothing more than a single bed covered with dirty white sheets, a window, and a small circular table in the corner. She sat on her bed, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. She risked everything, even her chance to join Vanille and the other sorceresses in the underground tunnel, just for doing what she thought was right. She saved his life, and the most she received for a gratitude was a pinch of hesitation from killing her when he pointed that sword. And that was before he figured out that she was actually taking care of him.

But did he even? Rinoa thought. Did he even know what she was trying to do for him? Was it all even worth it? She wouldn't know. And it seemed like even if they spoke the same language, he would just stare at her and she would keep guessing what he thought or felt by looking into his eyes. His silent expressions weren't very reliable, though she could tell there was something more to him.

For a SeeD who seemed to have a lot to say, he was too quiet.

Author's Note: Update took longer than usual because I went through another busy week. This is a short chapter because I wanted to dedicate it to Squall and Rinoa's beginnings. But let me know what you think! Oh, and word of the day: popliteals!