"Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse, and every conqueror creates a muse."
-- Edmund Waller
-. Possession .-
Chapter 14: …Muse …
She followed him for what felt like centuries. Down one hallway, around the fountain and up another, then back again.
She tried to ask where there were going. Both audibly and inaudibly. Both sternly and softly. The response in all cases was only the quiet buzz of the florescent lights overhead and sometimes, silently, an echoing, indecipherable gust of jumbled phrases having escaped from the confines of his mind, causing her to violently shudder.
After the third run around, she finally realized that he was simply wasting time, watching with angry apprehension as the last straggling students sprinted by them, desperately trying to avoid identification by the notoriously ruthless Commander as they made their way to their dorms a little past curfew. Lucky for them he was in no mood to reprimand. He simply wanted them gone. He wanted to establish a sort of public privacy that satisfied both his and Rinoa's desire to be alone yet was tamed by the looming threat of potential interruption and security recordings.
Word would spread soon enough through the chat networks that the Commander was roaming the halls. No one but the most suicidal and sneaky of students would attempt to break curfew tonight. Lovers' rendezvous would have to wait till free period tomorrow, in-dorm game gatherings would be rescheduled and those few especially devious ones hoping to get out to Balamb for an evening show would have to begrudgingly kick off their formal shoes and curse their bad luck.
SeeD cadets were such predictable creatures. Fortunately.
Many, many minutes and a deep, resonating pang of pain from his leg later, Squall decided that the halls were and would remain clear enough. He took an appreciative seat on the stairs leading to the elevator, his crutch settled beside him, and while staring at his running shoes, waited patiently for Rinoa to station herself next to him.
She never did. From the upper limit of his vision he saw her black boots purposefully and resolutely planted a meter ahead, one of them tapping impatiently. The Commander smirked.
"I don't bite," he teased quietly while patting the space next to him "only emotionally scar."
It was a simple, joking statement that still caused her foot to freeze mid-tap and her mind to audibly (to him at least) cringe. With great difficulty, he forced his eyes upward to stare into her simultaneously angry and confused expression. One that caused him to immediately regret beginning on such a light hearted note. There was nothing funny about his current situation.
"Sorry. That was…inappropriate." He swallowed in response to her silence, trying to gather the will power to get to the point, knowing that her naturally relatively limitless patience had already been pushed to the brink of snapping.
As she had done to him earlier in the dorm hall, he took a moment to scrutinize her then, noting all the physical changes that had occurred over the past few weeks.
She seemed somehow…fuller. An odd but suitable adjective, and the complete opposite of his currently diminished state. Where he has lost weight, she had gained, especially around the hips and chest. Where he had lost color, she had become a slight shade darker, rosier, her lips now closer to red than pink. Her hair - it had grown at least six inches in length, the tendrils that had escaped her clip now brushing her elbows where her arms crossed beneath her chest. While he had become a pathetic shell of a man, she had become more feminine, more beautiful than he could ever imagine.
It wasn't fair.
"You look hot," he said at last after a painfully long silence, causing Rinoa's eyebrows to immediately rise and disappear beneath her long bangs.
"…Excuse me?"
"Your skin, I mean," he clarified, shutting his eyes and mentally cursing his horrid phrasing. It had been too long since he actually talked to someone without attempting to insult or make uncomfortable, he had almost forgot how to have a normal conversation. "Flushed. I meant that you look flushed."
"Yeah well," she flipped her hair out of her eyes with attempted normalcy, hoping that her bangs still hid the droplets of sweat that threatened to streak down her face. "It is the middle of summer, oh brilliant Commander."
Squall shook his head, annoyed that she dare lie to him now. "I'm not buying it. It's less than ten degrees in here and you're sweating like you've just run the marathon."
"You did just make me march three times around the entire Garden circuit. Remember?"
"Stop it Rinoa," he said roughly, his eyes now burning into hers with such ferocity that she was forced to involuntarily lean slightly backward. "It's a symptom. We both know it is. This will only work, we can only fix this, if you get over yourself for two minutes and be honest."
Rinoa sneered, finding it ironic that he was lecturing her on being open and candid of all things.
She wanted to tell him. Everything. Honestly. About the fact since leaving his office, she felt constantly hot, heavy and agitated. She wanted to tell him about how she'd been having random, intense fantasies (she still refused to use the clinical word that Kadowaki suggested) that became more frequent the longer he had been absent. Even though it would embarrass the hell of her. She wanted to tell him that only Nida's presence, of all people, calmed her enough to feel and act normal. Even though it would break his heart…or worse, cause him to, literally, break Nida.
But not here. Not now.
Slowly, she averted her eyes towards the video cameras attached to the central column of the elevator, the motion detectors of each causing two of them to swivel and adjust to her every move.
'They're watching us…' she tried to whisper to him through their connection, but his barriers were so thick and firm that it was like trying to penetrate a wall of bubble gum using only your breath.
Luckily, her reaction was telling enough. And Squall didn't have to even turn around to know that her line of sight was fixed on the security equipment. Such implements that he himself had been vigilant enough to make sure they monitored every inch of public space on campus. All except the secret area, which he still wasn't able to get to thanks to Cid's ban on him being anywhere near the training center.
He sighed loudly and ran hand across his face, thinking. Gently, he could feel her trying to prod his mind with her thoughts and ideas, some of which managed to come through in fractured, nonsensical word fragments. But that option, regrettably, also wasn't a viable one. He was too tired, too stressed and, despite his earlier assertion of sobriety, the alcohol had made him still woozy enough that it would be all too easy to let those forbidden, inappropriate images wander off into her.
No. This conversation had to be vocal. But also private, while at the same time without temptation.
He met her eyes, one hand resting on his cheek supported by an elbow on his good thigh. A quick analysis of her stance proved her to be the usual combination of annoyed, impatient and enticed. Her restraint had never been an issue to question before, neither had his. But these past few weeks had changed things, maybe more so in him than her, he fathomed. And the last three days especially…it was currently taking all his concentration and will power to not, at the very least, bring her into his arms and keep her there, restrained. As if he were still a child and she his favorite stuffed toy that he refused to part with, despite any inconveniences to everyday events such as walking, working and eating.
But no. That analogy implied that she was his possession. When in fact, quite the opposite were true. Where he had lost strength, she had gained. Where his will was beginning to crumble hers was, perhaps, becoming more determined. It was her trust, her faith in him, which would keep him in check. It was what had been keeping him sane all this past year. He needed it back. But he also needed differently. And he had a plan to get it.
"I'm…tired…" Squall muttered softly while rubbing at the space between his eyebrows. "And I…trust you. Please."
His eyes begged for comprehension, but the message was so cryptic that for a few moments Rinoa could do nothing but stare with parted lips as he held out his hand to her for assistance off the stairs.
Everything about the action contradicted itself in a multitude of ways. He said he was tired, implying that he wanted to return to the dorms, even though he had spent so long creating a panicked frenzy among the cadets for privacy, even though he didn't have the confidence to be alone with her. He said he trusted her, even though he currently wouldn't let her into his mind, despite the assertion that they be completely honest with one another. And the please, along with the hand for assistance that he obviously didn't need and usually didn't want. What did he want? What was he trying to say?
Despite the uncertainty, Rinoa choose to lean forward and accept his hand anyway, daintily wrapping her soft fingers around his thick, calloused ones.
As usual the delicious coolness washed over her, resonating from the point of contact up her arm and into her chest. However, unlike when she and Nida touched, the sensation wasn't so much relieving as it was intoxicating. Like comparing a gentle summer breeze on a hot day to a shot of adrenaline after an injury: satisfying the shock of the act by numbing everything else, bringing only them, the catalysts, into intense and immediate focus.
Slowly, perhaps too slowly, she lifted him up from his seat; an easy feat considering her new strength paired with his recently diminished state. As his face came closer she felt time begin to slow, everything around them becoming black and white and out of focus. It was the magnet effect again, she could feel the buzz of electricity as the two polar opposites, Squall and Rinoa, negative and positive, dark and light, couldn't help but move closer.
The mental barriers folded under the pressure of their proximity and Rinoa had to let out a gasp at the sudden rush of images that assaulted her brain, streaming from Squall's conscious.
Images of everything he wanted to do with her.
The expected, mirrored ones were there. The happy memories of what would never be. Images of tangled sheets and limbs and lips. Pushed further to include ceremonies with white dresses and gold rings. Picket white fences encasing a field of flowers.
But those were not the alarming ones. There were other, darker fantasies mixed in between these mutual dreams of placid bliss. None one hundred percent lucid, but all followed by flashes of what was without a doubt her smile, her eyes or her hair.
Some of them were of fame. Of screaming crowds both frantic and elated. Of dark red, always red, rose petals being flung at what were, unquestionably, her feet.
Others were of fighting. The unmistakable glint of the gunblade cutting down everything in his path, always followed by her face, her hands, her praise. A job well done.
Many of them, an unprecedented amount, were of blood. Deep, scarlet liquid that seeped brightly over and around every monochromatic apparition. Over towns, over forests, over Garden, over his hands, over her hands. The scent of it was overpowering, forcing Rinoa to throw away his hand and jump backward, her palm covering her mouth to suppress a gag.
"I trust you…" he repeated in a now shaking tenor. "Please…"
With a deep breath to expel the remaining molecules of odor, Rinoa began to understand the message.
'This cannot happen…'
'The bad outweighs the good by far…'
'I trust you not to let me.'
'I trust you not to push me.'
'I trust you to help me…please…'
"Okay," Rinoa was nodding emphatically without little more than a millisecond's consideration. The montage had been so simultaneously horrifying and euphoric that it was hard to believe that their source was not already in a padded room and straitjacket mumbling to himself. "Of course. It…won't. Yes. Sure."
She turned to leave, needing desperately to digest what she saw and where it could fit, if it fit at all, in her plans for the future.
There was no doubt that the visions terrified her. Mainly because she actually wouldn't mind that majority of them coming to pass. But the context, she knew, would be severely skewed in practice.
There would be fame, that type of devoted fame, only through power and not through music.
There would be success, success he would be proud of, only through the slaughter of those who dared to question her.
There would only be a love, passion, marriage as a result of demanding magic.
All these things came in a non-refundable package. None would exist without the other coming to be.
Yes it was terrifying. In fact, it was damn near immobilizing. She had to get away him. She had to let him forget about the horror of his involuntary desires.
"I know what you're thinking," Squall said in a harsh whisper, reaching out with a tight grip on her bicep after she had taken no more than two steps. "But it won't go away. It will never go away."
Rinoa laughed quietly to herself, amused by the fact that she was so easy to read by him even while their connection remained closed. Being away from him, leaving Garden and going somewhere far, far away was the only thing they hadn't tried yet. "What do you propose I do then, huh?"
"We've had this conversation before Rinoa," he growled, pulling her back slightly as a signal to keep their voices low. "It wouldn't work. Besides, those were just twisted wishes, not prophecies. They only started recently, after you left. We just…we just need to find a medium."
"Then come with me on the Gardens tour! Become Captain!" she suddenly sputtered, turning to him with wide and bright eyes, desperately grasping his hand in hers. He winced at the gesture, visibly frightened at having her so close, but she ignored it. "It's the perfect solution, don't you see?"
Slowly, his head began to shake, as if resisting its natural will.
"I-I can't," his throat seemed drier than it had a few seconds ago. Like saying no to her was actually causing physical pain somehow. "We have to stay here. We've been fine. You've been safe. And what's the point in just jumping between Gardens as a glorified party planner? Just…just come back as my assistant."
"No!" Rinoa violently threw his hands away and moved to increase the distance between them, feeling the resistance like pulling two magnets apart. As hellish as the idea of leaving Balamb, her home, had been, going back to the other hell of copying papers and fetching him coffee as she watched him become more and more miserable was even worse punishment."I can't go back to that…charade of a life Squall."
"You were good at the job," he insisted feebly, knowing that it in no way a fitting incentive. "Just tell me it's an option?"
"It's not an option. I already gave you my options. I've sacrificed enough to stay close to you and all I'm asking in return is for you to take a freakin' promotion and stop being paranoid about the world beyond these walls. I have a new job now. I'm not giving up my music."
"What music? You haven't even written anything."
Rinoa's jaw dropped before her eyes turned into a narrow, menacing squint. "Have you been spying on me?"
He didn't look embarrassed, or nervous or even guilty. Only annoyed, as if she dare be surprised by the fact.
"You have, haven't you? What the hell Squall?"
"I hardly call reading Selphie's blog as spying," he explained at last, mirroring her annoyed arms across chest gesture. "She's been complaining about your lack of production all week."
With an exasperated groan, Rinoa rolled her eyes to the ceiling and cursed the petite girl's obsession with publicizing every aspect about not only her own life, but also everyone else's that she came into contact with.
"So I-I'm having a bit of a…creative dry spell," she stuttered while casually moving her hands to her hips and lifting her chin, trying to maintain some semblance of confidence. "The festival is still weeks away anyway."
"But you need to have the sheet music ready for the band practices before that. And then, knowing you, you'll want to refine everything. And you'll be busy enough trying to perfect the cultural songs. And…"
"I know I'm screwed Squall. No need to rub it in." She continued to give him the evil eye while taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. If this was his method of trying to whip up a panic which would lead her into quitting, then he didn't know her half as well as he thought he did. For his assertion of her inevitable failure only made her more determined to succeed. Even if she had to kill herself while doing it.
"I don't blame you for having trouble," he insisted gently after a pause. "You're working only with an ancient keyboard after all."
"An ancient keyboard was all my mother had in the beginning. And she did fine."
"You, Rinoa, are not your mother."
This time he succeeded in making her speechless, the sharp stab of his words causing her throat to burn in that familiar way that would surely cause any exiting words to be laced with palpable dejection.
The daughter of Julia Heartily. A near child prodigy in piano playing, after years of rigorous yet enjoyable lessons. A passion that had near disappeared after her mother's death. Everyone expected her to be great, to have the same if not superior ability in producing magical compositions that would bring tears to eyes and lightness to hearts.
But, the sad truth was, that when she sat at that piano, in that cramped room, willing the music to come…most of the time…
…she felt nothing.
"I know I'm not as good as her," Rinoa admitted quietly, but with determination. "But that doesn't mean that I can't try to be. And thanks for your support by the way."
Squall shook his head, annoyed. "You misinterpreted me. As usual. I said you weren't your mother. You're different. You're better."
Rinoa scoffed. "How would you know? As you so bluntly pointed out, I have yet to write anything. And I know Selphie's already assembling a backup set list in preparation for my failure."
"Then she'll be missing out. Cause I hear it. In here," he pointed to his hair line, keeping his hands in front to avoid gestures being picked up by the cameras. "You probably don't notice. But I do. It's how I can tell when you're still around, that you haven't abandoned me. In your head, when you're not nit-picking and worrying for once, when it's quiet harmony, I can always hear your music. And it's…" he let out a long, loose breath "beautiful."
The first thing Rinoa did upon hearing this, was nit-pick and worry. Was Squall actually losing his mind, or did she truly have masterpieces buried somewhere in her subconscious? Each option was unsettling, a creative dead end. But Squall had described it as beautiful. A word she had never heard escape his lips. It made the disturbing revelation somewhat impossible to ignore.
"Even if that's true," she began, all her effort going into simultaneously trying to keep her voice steady and her words comprehensible while trying to unearth this apparently "beautiful" melody. "It's lost somewhere in the dusty confines of my mind. In a corner I can't see. I can't get it out. It's useless to me."
Squall only smiled. This simple expression, so rare and precious, instantly expelled all thoughts and worries from her mind. For it was proof that he was still human, still himself, despite the ghastly images that she knew were stalking his psyche. And just then, in a brief window of comforting clairvoyance…she heard it too.
There was no other word for it: Beautiful. Indeed.
"Ahhha…"
It was right there, floating eagerly just beneath her skin. A pulse begging to be released, rich and thick, like her very blood. She experimentally held her hands in front of her, flexing and un-flexing her fingers, wondering with elation of what would happen if at this very moment she had the keys of her piano beneath her fingers.
Squall, of course, could read her mind through her actions. So there was no need for words to be exchanged before he grabbed his crutch and headed back down the hall toward the dorms. Both of them feeling a strange yet insatiable need to see what she could produce with this new lucidity.
They walked in relative silence, except for the melody shared between them. It played in time to the sound of their mutual heartbeats, their breathing, their footsteps and the gentle gush of flowing water beneath their feet along with the pulsation of the bright lights. Like the Garden was alive with her life force, her music, creating a new original and exotic rhythm.
She was so entranced by it that she hardly noticed when they took a different turn in the hallway. Nor when they passed through a second set of security doors, ones that did not exist in the open access student dorms where she resided. It was only when the hallway got darker, warmer, that Rinoa began to realize where they were going…where they already were.
As quickly as it began, the music stopped.
They were in the administrator dorm wing.
"Squall…"
"Relax," he interrupted while pulling a keycard from his pocket. "My suite is that one." He gestured with his head to a door only a few steps down the hall, its shiny gold name plate boldly stating "LEONHART". The door they were currently standing in front of had no such title. It was in fact the only door down the long corridor that remained blank.
"Where the hell are you taking me then?" she asked bluntly, believing there to be no point in being coy at this time. Especially since his detour had made her fumble and drop the melody she had been so excited to make corporeal.
"I figured you'd want to keep with the music writing. But I still don't want us to leave Balamb. There's a way we can both get what we want." Without any more ado, he inserted the key in the lock and pushed open the door, stepping back so that she could enter first.
Inside was pitch black darkness that threatened to swallow her up with false promises. She eyed him curiously, keeping her feet firmly planted in the hall as she searched for hints of deception in his eyes and what little she could access of his mind. Squall clearly wasn't at his best mental stability. What if this compromise ended up with her being tied to a chair for the expected near-decade it would take for the world to accept her?
"Invalids' first," she insisted while gesturing inside with an open palm.
He breathed loudly and moved his pupils to the right, which she knew to be his personal version of rolling his eyes. "You're paranoid."
"Shouldn't I be?"
It had been less than ten minutes since he had dared to let her into his mind and witness the atrocities inside. The purpose had been to serve as a warning for her to be careful around him. And though in this case, in her calming presence, he was far from feeling the need to do anything rash, he forced himself to swallow his irritation anyway and quickly hobbled inside toward where he knew the lights were installed.
It took her a few moments to adjust to the sudden brightness. But as her pupils dilated and her brain slowly began to process the various blurry yet obvious shapes, she couldn't help but release an audible gasp.
"How…how did you…"
"Cid gave me this suite to expand into, but I have more than enough space." Squall explained hastily as he made his way back to her side so that they could face the room together. "I know you said you didn't want or need better rooms like Odin's sorceress. I know you said you didn't want a Knight to entertain you. That's not the point of this, I swear. And…you don't have to use it. If you don't want to. It was just a project to occupy me during sick leave. Really. But…I figured…you could use some better tools at least. And you can record here, you won't need the orchestra to practice your originals. You can take as long as you want with them. It was just an idea. I'm serious when I say that you don't need to…"
He was interrupted by an insistent hand on his mouth, pushing so forcefully that his head hit the open door behind him. Upon averting his eyes, he noticed that hers were still glued ahead, digesting the sight of the studio with wide, somewhat incredulous eyes.
After a minute or so, she let her hand fall, her fingers trailing across his lips as she did so, yet her stare remained fixed. He watched with mounting concern as she took her first steps across the threshold and into the space. There he remained, petrified, as she explored every piece of equipment, every instrument, with both her eyes and her fingertips. Across the bookshelves filled to capacity with sheet music and instruction manuals, flicking the strings of an old acoustic guitar he had found in storage, caressing the largest of his purchases, a complete multi-screen keyboard, switch board and computer terminal, making smudges against the glass of the miniscule recording booth that was still missing a door, which lay on its side on the floor along with piles of wires and microphones.
"I'm not finished," he felt the sudden need to clarify as he saw her regarding the dismantled pieces. In an apprehensive gesture of attempted confidence, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him. "The package was missing some bolts. I ordered them. Should be here by tomorrow I hope. I think I threatened something like letter bombing their relatives if they didn't…heh. Not that I would!"
She ignored him, now in the midst of dragging her nails along the red leather couch stationed in front of the kitchenette's island counter.
"But the computer is set up. You can start recording with any of the electronic instruments. I'm told it's the best in industry."
Along the wall mounts now, the length of the flute's body, the brass trumpet valves, the viola's bow.
"These all came from Garden storage," he explained while daring to take a few steps closer. "We all had musical training for espionage purposes. Its why I can do abnormal things such as dance and why Selphie, Irvine, Quistis and Zell can play almost any instrument, as you saw during the FH concert they put on…remember?"
She ignored him still. He cleared his throat loudly, feeling his heart gradually sink further into his stomach. "But with the world army, there's little to no need for subterfuge. Music is an option now for cadets. One which not many people take. So…I figured…"
The words hung there in the air, begging for a response of any kind. For he had run out of small talk options. It had never been his forte. Rinoa was obviously in no mood to indulge, nor to even acknowledge his presence.
The old Squall would have long ago gotten frustrated and left. The Squall who used to see Rinoa almost every day, all day, would have perhaps made some biting comment about her head being in the clouds and wasting his time. But too much was riding on her reaction, so far empty, to allow him the pleasure of indifference this time around.
"Please…" he whispered quietly at last, eyes on the floor and his crutch held tightly to his body for both physical and emotional support. "Say something."
"Where did you get this?" his head whipped up in surprise at her quick response, riveted by the way the muscles of her back and shoulders flexed as her hands wandered over the central element: a polished grand piano that had by far been the most difficult piece to get a hold of and into Garden.
All the trouble had been worth it though. For it was also the one piece that made the studio as a whole, impossible to deny.
"I made some calls," he stated simply, his confidence spurred by her awe-struck tone. "Carraway was reluctant to part with it, but delighted by the idea that you would be using it. That it would be making music once again, a generation later."
"Hmmm…" slowly, her fingers never leaving the instrument's surface, Rinoa moved around its circumference until she hit the bench, a deep exhale passing her lips as she prodded the all too familiar red velvet cushion. She half expected it to disappear the moment she let it go, as if it were a ghost, a phantom of her past. In many ways, it actually was.
Her fingers wandered up toward the ivory keys by their own will, exploring them with feather-light pressure, not yet stable enough to dare make a sound. That is until she brushed upon one particular spot. A single key, the A closest to the right. The only place in a low, smooth row of perfectly carved white keys with a little dent. Only noticeable by feel, not sight.
"Ha!" she couldn't help but exclaim, her trepidation instantly melting at the confirmation that this piano was not in fact a spirit. This flaw made it "human", it made it real.
"When I was seven years old," she began, more to herself than to anyone else in the room. "It was the middle of the night and I had a recital the next day. The piece I had selected was the most difficult one I had ever attempted and up until then I still hadn't been able to play it perfectly. See, my mother wouldn't let me practice more than two hours a day, insisting I go outside and play like a normal kid."
Gently, she lowered herself onto the bench, sighing in pleasure at the familiar comfort of the seat. "I couldn't sleep. So, naturally, I snuck out of bed to practice. I had to get it perfect. I wanted my mother to be proud.
"Our house may have been big, but it wasn't a fortress. It was silly of me to not realize that my midnight playing would wake up my parents and piss off my dad, who cherished the little sleep he got. When he came downstairs and switched on the light, I was so startled that as I tried to get up I tripped and broke my tooth on this here key…I spent the time I was meant to be at the recital waiting for emergency dental surgery."
Unconsciously, she felt her tongue run itself along her front teeth, chuckling slightly at her past childish idiocy. "Music isn't meant to be perfect, my mother told me afterwards. It's the little changes, the personal flair you give to it, that makes a great musician." As an adult she felt herself nod in agreement, knowing that as a youngster she had considered the statement to be ridiculous, simply a mother's humoring. "I…forgot…"
"She's right you know." Rinoa whipped her head sideways, watching with wide, watery eyes as Squall lowered himself next to her on the bench, his crutch discarded on the floor. "It's why Selphie denied your first two songs. They were too…expected. Generic melodies with generic words that so obviously didn't express anything about you. Just what you thought she wanted to hear."
"Hmm…" her fingers still lingered above the keys, afraid to touch. Both because of the ghosts of her past and the uncertainty of her future.
"Why did you do this?" she asked quietly a minute later, still transfixed by the keyboard.
"As I said, I hear the music in your head. It's there. Just waiting to be released. All you have to do…" he reached forward with his left hand, barely brushing against her right, and played a few notes "is find your muse."
A B, a C sharp, a G, an F, a D sharp: a simple trill played with faultless pacing, reminding her that he too must have had some musical training during his time as a cadet. And as he had done with every challenge presented back in those dull days, Squall hadn't been satisfied until he mastered the art of melody.
The room was engulfed with a sudden chill as he continued with faster, more complex note combinations, the fervor of which caused her to inexplicably tremble. If Squall noticed, he didn't say anything. Just kept playing slowly and softly; a gentle lullaby that seemed hauntingly familiar while still refreshing. Almost seductive.
She joined him then, almost involuntarily, as her fingers finally lowered with enough pressure to produce booming notes. Their individual trills clashed terribly at first, the fingers of her right hand rushing along her side of the board with speed and passion while his slow, patient tones lingered above and beyond her plane.
Despite the fact that this had begun as just fiddling with the instrument, she was shocked to discover after a few moments of listening, actually listening, that what they were playing was in fact…working. Squall's gentle key strokes were forming a perfect complementary melody to her loud and frantically paced sub-beat.
She couldn't help but close her eyes then, trusting her instincts to hit the appropriate keys in response to changes he made in his rhythm, her free hand tightly grasping at the bench beneath them.
As he sped up, she went slower and vice versa. It didn't take long for the feeling to resurface; the strange euphoria of the music taking over, a pulse beneath her entire skin that was finally getting released through her finger tips, a modest buzz of energy shocking her system with the pressure of every key she hit. A sensation she was sure they were both sharing in inexplicable sync.
'There's nothing to see here now
Turning the sign around
We're closed to the earth til further notice'
Both their minds cleared of the respective cobwebs and demons as the song's melody increased in mutual speed, the metronome of their heart beats rising in exhilaration. She knew this studio was meant to be a bribe; an un-ignorable incentive, using this very piano as a flamboyant center piece to convince her to remain in Balamb Garden and give up the publicity consulting job and all the travelling that came with it. It was a low blow on his part but still, as much as she hated to admit it…the option was starting to become very tempting indeed.
'Pain on pain on play repeating
With the backup, makeshift life still calling…'
The song continued, faster and faster, nearly reaching its climax, both of them furiously travelling along the ivory stream. The music, the lyrics, the accompanying instruments were all too easily filling her mind, unable to determine which fragments were hers and which were coming from him. As if their consciousnesses had become one harmonious being. So many plans, ideas, desires that she feared her head would explode with all the new material. And it would all be possible. She had the time and equipment and resources and inspiration to do it all now. Thanks to him.
Her muse, she discovered, had been obvious all along.
'Time heals everything, they say
A lullaby for those found wanting
Praying, any second now, for the breakthrough, the light
Am I to waste away in waiting?'
Squall's hand brushed hers. An expected accident when two adults shared a small area. But something about its timing, along with the disturbing lyrics her mind had automatically conjured, caused her to react as if being burnt. Violently, she flung her hand from his, forcing him to press down on too many keys at once, its brash noise causing the once beautiful melody to come to a harsh and wince-provoking end.
"Rinoa?" he asked quietly after a solid minute of stunned silence, his voice curiously breathless. "Wha-"
"I don't know okay!" she interrupted hotly, still holding her hand to her chest as if it had indeed been injured. Her sight remained on the piano, refusing to look him in the eye less the now familiar rush of stimulus force her into choosing. "This is all…it's amazing what you've done here. I thank you. But…I don't know if this will make being trapped in this building any less difficult for me. Nine years Squall. Its…it's too much."
She heard Squall sigh from beside her and knew that he was leaning his forehead into his hand, as he often did when bothered.
After a minute with no response she decided to attempt to clarify. "You said it would be that long before we can…try. Because that's how it worked out with Odin's sorceress, you think. But you can't hide me. And they won't just forget about me like they did her. Not only were her powers a secret but there were many other sorceresses wrecking worse havoc at the time. We can't just sit here and wait it out. We have to get out there. They have to see us to trust us. At the very least we have to give it a try."
She chanced a glance at Squall out of the corner of her eye. As expected, his head was in his hands, his expression unreadable and, as always, silent. A bright red light just beyond his unruly hair drew her attention; a giant digital clock which read a little over twelve am.
"Its midnight. A little over twenty four hours till the council meeting," she whispered to him nervously. "I want to go on the tour. I want to bring this piano and some of the equipment with me. And, more than anything, I really, really, want you to come with me…"
Nothing. Not even a shrug. Not even a muddled thought fragment since his barriers were fully up once more.
He must have been so sure that this would work; that a nicer room, closer proximity, convenient toys and a family heirloom were all it would take to convince her that she belonged here.
'My dear ,' she thought teasingly, knowing that nothing was getting through anyway. 'You really have a lot to learn about wome-'
Her mental verdict was interrupted in the most unexpected of ways. It was by a strong pair of hands weaving their way into the hair on either side of her face, forcing the clip that held it in place to disengage and let the long strands fall to her shoulders. The arms attached to those hands swiftly retracted to pull her closer, the elbow of one hitting a few piano keys as it did so, the melody it created adding to the surrealism of the moment.
Even as his lips covered hers, she didn't close her eyes. She couldn't. Not until something, anything, confirmed that this just wasn't one of her fantasies. Not that it felt like one. In the fantasies she usually felt in control, she was usually the instigator and, not to mention, Squall's face had never felt this rough, nor had the stench of whiskey and sweat been so potent. He also tasted different. Not of the spiced cinnamon toothpaste but of the remnants of sweet liquor and ash. It wasn't exactly a good taste, but it was far from a bad one.
One of his arms moved from her face to her waist and pulled her even closer, till her elbow as well began hitting random notes as she was rather ungracefully pulled partially onto his lap. His mouth moved on hers, more insistent than she had ever been able to imagine, the hand behind her head weaved into her hair and pressed her more eagerly against him.
She knew then, without a doubt, that this was not a fantasy. And with that simple yet distressing realization, her eyelids began to flutter closed as she enthusiastically returned the pressure, her mind instantly besieged by the fast-paced melody that she had so rudely broken. Her boots hit more awkward notes in her clumsy attempt to position herself more comfortably and directly upon him with the relatively limited amount of space the bench offered for such activities.
This was just a desperate attempt to get her to stay, that she knew. But that was far from the worst reason for why this was a bad idea. Already she could feel the familiar fire begin to consumer her, one that had been burning just below the surface of her skin during this entire evening in his presence, the music being a greater aphrodisiac than chocolate.
She wanted to pull away, to warn him, knowing that in instances such as these, anything she touched would turn to ash. But for the life of her she couldn't. It was just too good, too relieving after YEARS of waiting, wanting and, most recently, imagining. Besides, any second now he would yelp in pain and it would be over. She felt it coming; the hands now twisted in his soft, short hair would any second now be engulfed in flames and he would shove her violently away, never to attempt anything remotely like this again.
This awareness made her more desperate, more hungry as she pushed closer against him, chest to chest and mouths cemented. And, to her surprise and delight, he reciprocated eagerly, also probably expecting it to end just as suddenly and brutally.
But it didn't.
She didn't know how long they stayed like that, but her lips had long since become raw, his sweatshirt had been unzipped and was falling off his shoulders and her duster lay somewhere discarded beneath the piano. Maybe their luck would hold out. Maybe it was just the temptation, the fantasy of Squall that caused the fire while the real thing released actual disappointments into him and therefore didn't need a magically destructive, alternate outlet.
As a test, she dared to take it a step further, her hands sliding themselves from his hair, to his neck, to his chest, to the front of his hips. She heard felt him tense and heard him gasp between kisses, but nothing to imply that he was in any actual pain. Quite the opposite in fact.
Rinoa felt herself grin against his soft lips before they were besieged once more.
Maybe this was what they needed, not to avoid each other but to actually be. To go with the flow of their natural desires and trust their morals, their conscience, to keep them honest. To—
Again, her thoughts were interrupted. This time rather viciously. First by a slight groan from the furniture, at first ignored, then a loud crack as the right leg of the bench snapped under the pressure of their combined weight on one spot, dumping them unceremoniously onto the floor.
The music stopped.
Their landing was as ungraceful as the beginning. Her knee got him squarely in the chest as she fell, knocking the breath of him as her head hit ground, the carpet doing little to cushion the blow of the solid cement flooring beneath.
"Son of a…" hissed Rinoa through gritted teeth, cursing both the pain and, primarily, the interruption.
She heard his anxious, rapid breath from somewhere beside her and hoped against all hope that the fall did little to upset the mood she had worked so hard to invoke. But it was silly wishful thinking to expect Squall to press against her and continue where they left off. Still, just in case, she kept her eyes closed and didn't bother adjusting the straps of her tank top that had slipped down her shoulders.
They had been so damn close…
"Rinoa…" she heard him breathe at last, his voice one of shock and awe, followed by the tell-tale zip of his sweatshirt being closed. It was over then, she realized with an irritated sigh.
"Urgggg…" she ran her hands through her hair and up her face to remain covering her eyes, whimpering in the most extreme frustration she had ever felt in her life. It was partially her fault for letting it get so far, but it was in majority his fault for starting it. She phrased her next sentence very carefully, releasing each word one at a time, palms pushed deep into her eye sockets to avoid seeing him and therefore losing it.
"Don't. Do that. Unless. You plan. To finish. It. Okay?"
She heard him scramble up onto his hands and knees.
"Rinoa…open your eyes."
She shook her head. "I can't look at you right now."
"Rinoa!" something in his voice, more distressed that she had ever heard, made her consider doing as he asked. But before she had a chance to decide, her hands were ripped from her face and pulled to bring her into a sitting position.
As she struggled to focus while composing a proper insult for him treating her so roughly, her heart skipped a beat as the un-mistakable flicker of flames took over her vision. She began to panic, frantically pulling the straps of her shirt back onto her shoulders and trying to concentrate on taming it.
The weird thing was; she didn't feel hot like she usually did. She wasn't fevered, her vision wasn't kaleidoscope colored and the pace of her breathing had lowered to a normal rate during her time lying down. Not only that, but the flames…they…were blue?
She brought her hands to her face, hoping the light of them would help her find focus in the dim room. And that was when she realized.
They weren't coming from her.
"Squall…" her hand flew to her lips in shock, wondering what strange type of poison these powers had infused them with.
All of him, almost every inch of visible skin was pulsing with a thin, translucent layer of dancing blue glow, a shade that reflected perfectly in his matching, bright eyes.
Her original impulse was to panic, to throw a large bucket of water on his head in hopes that it would go away. But something in his face, somehow calm and serene, told her that everything was under control. Or, at the very least, it didn't seem to be hurting him.
"Squall," she said again, shuffling closer and daring to take his head in her hands, wanting to quiz him on how the hell this happened, how it felt. But the instant her skin touched his, the areas beneath her fingers, which felt pleasurably cold, instantly lost their light. The sections of unaffected skin gradually grew from beneath her finger, washing over his entire body like a wave. Until, finally, the glow was gone. Leaving in her arms the normal, flesh-tone Squall, with eyes that seemed suddenly bluer and brighter than she had even seen.
'What the…?'
"We gotta get you to Kadowaki," Rinoa insisted, her voice high and slightly frantic. She moved to stand up but a strong hand instantly forced her back to the floor.
"No!" Squall asserted, latching both his hands to her elbows to prevent escape. "She'll tell the Council. Don't you see what this means?"
His eyes were definitely glowing unnaturally, she decided while swallowing the large lump in her throat. "It means that something's wrong with you. And because of me. You have to see the doctor!"
He laughed then, a full joyous laugh that made her seriously debate his sanity. "I think Odine was wrong, Rinoa. I think he was wrong!"
Before she could ask what he meant, before she could even blink, he was on his feet with crutch in hand and making his way toward the door.
"Squall wait! You can't just…"
But he was already gone.
She could have attempted to follow him. She could have ran out the door, kicked at his injured thigh and stolen his crutch, forcing immobility until he explained what the hell he was talking about. The old Rinoa would have done that.
But this Rinoa was tired. This Rinoa could not handle another disappointment tonight, especially as she cradled the splintered remains of both her dignity and her mother's antique piano bench. He seemed fine after all. Unnaturally excited, but still fine.
And so, to distract herself, she began cleaning up the fragments after judging the piece to be a lost cause as the events of tonight kept revolving furiously in her head. The visions of blood, the studio gift, her mother's piano, Squall's kiss, the blue fire, and Dr. Odine's apparent mistake.
She couldn't even fathom what it could possibly all mean. She felt like she was being led closer and closer to the edge of a cliff, waiting non-too-patiently for the committee-made decision as to whether it was better to fight, run or jump.
Personally, if they had bothered to ask, she would have said that she wanted to jump. Hyne she wanted to jump…
Just kissing him, even though she knew there would be repercussions, had felt so horrendously good. The fantasies were nothing in comparison to the genuine article, despite the fact that the real Squall had been much less "perfect" than her imaginary, gentle lover. As a result of their tryst, her lips were currently swollen and tender, her hair tangled, her head aching and no amount of mouthwash would ever be able to get rid of that horrid taste of stale cigarettes from her mouth. And yet, somehow, she didn't want to trade any one of those once considered disgusting and uncomfortable consequences for all the fame and fortunes of the world. They were evidence that it actually happened.
A glance at the clock showed it to be almost one AM. It was impossible to contain the girlish giggle that bubbled past her sensitive lips as she realized that she and Squall must have been kissing for nearly half an hour.
She had never before lasted that long. In high school it simply got boring and they'd stop. In adulthood they'd quickly move on to other things. And yet in this room, with him, she had honestly never wanted it to end.
With a sigh she glanced to the door, her heart feeling almost painfully heavy and yet held high by hope.
He would come back. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. But something had changed. At last. She could hardly wait to see where it led.
'It doesn't get better than this
The many windswept yellow stickies of my mind
Of the molten, emotional front line
I couldn't care less…I'm transfixed
In this absolute bliss…'
Beautiful…
I should probably write this down.
Bench or no bench, Rinoa grabbed a handful of the blank music pages Squall had been kind enough to supply from the writing desk and propped them up on the established place above the keyboard. She played a few notes, changing the order and pace once or twice, and then scribbled them down on the sheet, humming to herself as she did so.
She had found the music.
Finally.
Author's Note: Ridiculously long chapter, sorry. But once I get the Squinoa going, upon every re-read I have to add a sentence, a revelation or two. It's a habit. When I started 'editing', this chapter was 11 pages. Now it's 14. But can you blame me? The kiss was supposed to be a quick one followed by a swift exit and the song writing. But no. After such a long wait, it had to be more epic than that :D.
**Rinoa's Lyrics: I have to officially credit them to the artist, by law and by my wanting to pimp a bit. They're a remix of various snippets off Imogen Heap's new album "Ellipse" (a strong recommendation from me if you like that type of indie electronic) reformatted to suit the character needs. It was just an inspiration to me and her methods of 'collage' music mirror how I thought Rinoa would compose.
Because the album is so new, there's no free youtube vids of it yet. But I found a nice instrumental of the "Wait it Out" song which is the one I imagined them to be playing together, especially at the climax around 2:40. Check it out if bored:
Wait it Out (Piano Instrumental) by Imogen Heap: .com/watch?v=UX-eeMvAWqc.
I was actually so inspired that I used the song to make a little FFX tribute snippet as an HD test. .com/watch?v=DlnBz_s9Uqc&feature=channel_page
Done pimping my favorite artist now.
Till next time everyone. Thanks again for your kind reviews.
**Special Thanks to Warui-Usagi (.net/u/881106/Warui-Usagi), my new Beta-Reader, for cleaning up this chapter!