Author's Note: It seems as the opinions are swaying towards a no Quistis/Seifer pairing. This should make things interesting =), and I'll focus more on the Rinoa/Squall aspect in this story.
To Exhile87: Rinoa a summoner . . . heh, not quite =)
To FFgal: Thanks for the compliments and the imput, which I have taken into consideration in shaping this fic.
To Light_of_the_Moon: Beautiful name =)
To Sandra Leonhart: Within the next couple of chapters, I hope to explain Rinoa's past, I'm just postponing because I think the last chapter (of Squall's past) bored readers a bit. So, I'm back to the Squall/Rinoa scenes and developing the plot.
Black raven hair flew in the wind as a frantic girl ran into the forest, in the opposite direction of the village. She thought of the irony as she remembered running last night from Squall. Now she ran to him. Necessity drove her light steps as she tried to find where he would be. She dared not call his name as she felt as if she could twirl in circles from the fierce and pushing winds.
Midway into the cover of trees that edged out most of the light seeping through, Rinoa stopped. I shouldn't . . . but I need to. Arguing with herself, Rinoa finally decided necessity prevailed over caution and personal fears. For you, Squall. Drawing upon the terrifying powers within her small frame, Rinoa sensed for the auras around her. Closing her eyes, she clasped the ring that bound themselves to her on a strong, simple silver chain – the last reminder of her parents. Bring me strength.
In just mere seconds, time stopped, seasons paused for the siren-beautiful girl as she delved within herself for the answer. Sensing her surroundings she felt the aura of nature, of the people within her town – who had gathered into a mob, and then she sensed him. Snapping out of the self-induced trance, Rinoa ran in the direction her soul seemed to drive her. "At least my powers aren't all destructive," Rinoa thought bitterly and ignored her self-hatred for the moment. She continued to run for many minutes, thinking only of the need and not of the cost.
Her light black boots were not meant for the water and snow that found its way in between the spaces of the shoes. Numbing cold began to fill her frame as she continued to run. Come on Rinoa . . . you can do this . . . it's only a little jog. Breathing was difficult as every time she reached for air, flurries of snowflakes and snow filled her mouth as well. A storm was coming.
Branches and twigs bent out of the way as the girl crashed through their weak clutches, scratching her hand. One particularly tall branch scraped a thin red line on her face. Ignoring the pain, she tripped and fell to the ground in front of black military boots. Trailing her eyes upwards, she made out the outline of Lionheart and a black cloaked figure.
Exhausted, Rinoa struggled for breath, and attempted to get up. "Squall!" she whispered fiercely. "You're in danger." Finally pushing the snow off herself, Rinoa stood up, attempting to catch her breath, which was coming in short huffs. She spit out the unwanted acquired water from the snow.
Squall had heard the commotion through the trees, as Rinoa was untrained in the art of stealth. How she had found him was beyond him though. He lifted an eyebrow. "I've heard of stalking . . . but this is becoming an obsession of yours," he said with amusement in his voice.
A blush crept across her normally pale complexion and brown eyes bore into the snow as if to escape accusations. She used the time to catch her breath and propped herself up against a conveniently close barren tree. "The people . . . civilians," she panted.
Squall saw the cuts, her tiredness and raised a hand up for her to stop, as well as dropping his playful tone – as playful as he could manage anyways. "Take your time," he ordered with the husky voice that caused Rinoa's heart to beat faster.
"No!" she argued with urgency. "There isn't any time. They're coming," she coughed and ancient memories surfaced to Squall's consciousness with Rinoa's struggle for breath. Blue-gray eyes glazed over in the haze of haunted memories but interrupted his persistent, perturbing thoughts.
He narrowed his eyes and followed her suggested gaze with her eyes.
"Quistis! She didn't return last night. There was this note. Seifer." Rinoa could barely make out the words. She had overused her stamina and the effects were showing as she became faint. She took a deep breath. "Some guy named Seifer kidnapped Quistis. He's holding her hostage until they turn YOU in. They think you're still a dangerous mercenary. They're coming for us, please take me with you," she rushed while whispering the last words, finally getting the important part of her message across to Squall. Her hand stumbled upon Squall's chest as she fell forwards. "Sorry, too . . . tired," she said and fainted.
Squall caught her gently and gracefully as per his training in speed and agility. He rolled his eyes at his predicament and sighed. It was as if she planned this. Squall, without any real strain or effort swept Rinoa off her feet, literally and carried her away from the town. He had spied the gathering of the troops in his usual early morning patrol as the sun peeked over the mountains. He hadn't realized it was for him.
Squall thought to himself as he hurried along, silently. Seifer? Was that the guy who defied authority and the show off? Hm . . . perhaps this is his test for being a worthy knight. Ultimecia certainly needs one especially now since I, her potential knight, is gone. He looked down to the sleeping figure in his arm as he hugged her close – to shield her from the cold he convinced himself. He allowed himself a very small smile. Seems like Fate is being kind to me this once. Years ago I imagined, just yesterday I dreamed, today I live what was once a fantasy – the chance to protect again. Squall denied the thoughts that he had longed to hold this girl in his arms, to feel her warmth, her trust in him. After hours of trudging in the ever increasing storm, Squall found a cave many miles. Seeking the shelter, he gently put the girl down, who awoke.
"Squall?" she asked weakly, searching his eyes for some clue to their location or recent events.
He rolled his eyes. "I'm sure you didn't plan this – me carrying you in my arms and being alone with me."
Rinoa blushed and crept closer to the wall. "I . . ." she began; trying to find some explanation for what was truly an accident. "Wait, did you say I was in your arms?" becoming engrossed in what she had daydreamed about since she had met the mysterious man.
Squall's mouth twitched in what Rinoa could have sworn was the beginning of a smile. He didn't reply to her question, only announced, "I'll be back, getting firewood," he grunted. He left her with a few magic spells and after confirming she could indeed use them against anyone for a short while.
Rinoa hugged her knees in the bitter cold, trying to conserve as much body heat as she could. Brown terrified eyes peeked out every once in a while, checking for Squall. Her life doubts, guilt plagued her with the quiet. Silence was not a blessing, not for those who knew little joy, lived in continual misery – no, silence could lead to insanity. Whoever said it needed to be shot and severely tortured with their demons. Perhaps it was what she deserved, to be trapped within her own mind, delusion being the only escape. Caught up in her thoughts, she closed her eyes. Then she felt the presence – the only aura that continually freed her, at least temporarily, from her mental prison.
"Hi Squall," she whispered without looking up, still tucking her head in a curled position.
"How did you know it was me?" he asked, surprised enough to ask a question.
Rinoa looked up, smiling in an attempt to fool him and perhaps herself into believing nothing was bothering her, and met the familiar wintry ice blue gaze. "Maybe it's because I know you so well. Maybe it's because we're soul mates." She knew that answer would cause a rise out of the normally stoic man, distracting him and causing him to forget his original inquiry.
Squall made a sound in between a cough and a huff. The very slightest hint of a smile was betrayed by the edge of his lips twitching upwards – as if he was trying not to laugh. He knew how to provoke her as well, and raised an eyebrow. "Maybe?" Squall allowed his lips to show a small bit of amusement.
Rinoa merely nodded at Squall's flirting, her thoughts drifting back to those of earlier.
Squall sensed her mood, and judging by a look Rinoa wore, that he knew all too well, he concluded she was troubled, terrified. "What's . . . wrong?" The genuine concern caused both of the two lonely figures in the cave to pause, considering the meaning of the newfound change in Squall.
Rinoa smiled gently at Squall. "You care . . ." It was a statement and not an uncertainty posed by most around the ex-mercenary.
You don't know how much . . . "You goin' to tell me?" He asked, pretending to sound a little impatient with her. He had to keep up his reputation after all. Squall leaned against the side of the stone wall, blending in with the shadows. He dropped the bundle of sticks he had brought for the fire and took off his cloak, tossing it in Rinoa's direction.
"It's too hot in here," Squall said in an attempt to explain his previous actions, despite the blizzard outside with the howling wind.
Rinoa laughed and didn't even bother making a sarcastic remark. The suddenly uncomfortable Squall pretended to find interest in the handle of Lionheart.
He didn't want her knowing the depth of his feelings for her – the figure curled up into a tiny ball in the corner. She looked so delicate, fragile as she tenderly and slowly tried to put on what promised to be warmth. Her hands were shaking too much, preventing any feats of dexterity she might have possessed before. Squall knelt down beside her, placing his cloak around Rinoa, and slowly fastening the front. Both of them looked at Squall's hands that were so close to Rinoa. It was another unfamiliar, yet not unwelcome, awkward position. Unnerved by the contact Squall pulled slightly away, not far enough to suggest his dislike of the closeness, but only enough to suggest his shyness and unfamiliarity of the human touch.
He released his grip after completing the original task. Rinoa met Squall's unwavering stare. Brown eyes met blue ones. In a weak voice that begged for protection, Rinoa replied, "Squall, I'm scared."
Reflexes urged the gunblader to tell her 'whatever,' or 'what do I care.' His developing feelings of trust in this girl interrupted years of instinct. His deep, smooth voice obeyed the final command, "Of what?"
Not breaking the contact of their eyes, Rinoa shifted uncomfortably. In a haunting voice just above a whisper, so full of heartbreaking honesty – there was no opportunity for argument, for denial, for comfort, "of myself . . ."