III

Love Without Scars

--

"You are just an image; you are not for real

You've turned into a picture of somebody

Someone I don't know; someone I don't feel…"

--

Squall wondered for a heartbreaking moment if he hadn't truly died and gone to hell in this accursed cloud.

Willing himself out of despair, his soul still trembling from the blow it had suffered, he fought to retain a semblance of composure as he stared vacantly at his sorceress. He succeeded only in scowling at her. This was just as well; at least his expression reflected his feelings.

"I don't know about a scar," Rinoa was saying, her taut voice balancing a shaky tightrope between compassion and concrete. "But…since it happened, I'm the only person who can see you."

His mind rummaged through a heap of dusty memories, trying to recall any part of his fight with Ultimecia that might explain what was happening. He remembered numerous times, the terrible sorceress had entrapped his soul and tried to seduce him into giving up and becoming her unwilling knight. Obviously, since he had died in that battle, but was still bound to Rinoa as he was in the "real" world he remembered, he had become Rinoa's knight instead somewhere along the way. It couldn't have happened after his death. Which means…in this dream, it happened either before or during our fight with Ultimecia. And he could think of a hundred different ways it could have been the latter. Finally able to raise himself to a kneeling position, he nodded in reserved acknowledgement. "…Because you're a sorceress," he appended Rinoa's account, carefully dressing the statement with a plaintive inflection that begged her to explain further.

He felt her mind dance around a painful memory. Squall sighed as he waited and watched Rinoa attempt to simplify a story that obviously hurt her to recollect in full detail. "Before you…" She hesitated, and frowned at him, sensing his impatience, and seeming rather annoyed by it. She challenged his glare with one of her own—which, while not as practiced, was no less fierce. "Before you died, you came to me, and—"

He could guess what came next. "Asked to be your knight."

Rinoa stepped back a pace, closing her mouth. She actually looked relieved. "You do remember…"

"No." Leaning his unscarred forehead into his hand, Squall used his free hand to push himself over and sit against the wall—how odd that he wasn't passing through it, like he was passing through everything else. "I…I do remember. But not like this." He dug his fingers under his hair, at a loss to explain. "It's not supposed to be like this!"

 "Calm down," commanded the Rinoa who wasn't. "What is it supposed to be like?"

Squall swallowed a caustic retort. Why was she telling him to calm down? She wasn't the one stuck in an unfamiliar illusion. Forcing himself to curb his annoyance for now, he did his best to try and answer Un-Rinoa. "I don't know. I just know that this is wrong!' His fist came away from his head, slamming down on an imaginary object in front of him. He put every ounce of confidence he possessed into his answer—no matter how skeptical this Rinoa was, he would at least make her understand that he believed every word he was saying. "I should be alive, and…and this sorceress and knight thing shouldn't have happened until a year after Ultimecia was gone!"

UnRinoa had meanwhile risen to her feet and had taken to pacing a straight line down the center of the room. She stopped midway to the other wall and half turned, aiming a very dubious look at the 'ghost' sitting below the window. "'Gone?'" She appeared to keep herself from nervous laughter. "Squall, what are you talking about?"

In spite of his allegedly lifeless status, Squall felt his mouth go dry. Cautiously, he stood up, using the wall to support his quasi-existent body. "…You mean she's still around?" His frustration had abruptly taken a back seat; all he cared about now was learning everything he could about this dream—another nightmare, to be certain.

Making a visible attempt to subdue her own frustration, Rinoa clasped her hands behind her, dipping her chin until it almost touched her chest. Her sleep-crimped hair painted her brow with uneven shadows, eyes growing dim as she spoke. The tone was easily recognizable to Squall as one of practiced, insincere calm. "You really are stuck out there in the Twilight Zone, aren't you?"

No kidding. Squall was silent for a long time, thinking, but he let his thoughts be easily heard, if Rinoa chose to listen. But which 'out there' is the dream? Was it really here, in this reality, or was he still sleeping in the Garden? The one I remember? Dazed and speechless, having been startled too many times in a row to even begin to get his bearings in this place, he resorted to hiding his eyes behind the palm of his hand again. Ultimecia? Here? He remembered Edea mentioning her possible involvement in the creation of this temporal cloud—if that's what it was. But if it wasn't a "time cloud," then what was it? A dimensional rift? What if it wasn't so much time they were dealing with, but possibilities? Was this world of the present just one possibility out of millions? Could the sorceress have found a way to alter reality, switch dimensions until she found one that was in her favor?

He dismissed the idea quickly. If Ultimecia had ever possessed that power, she would never have bothered with time travel in the first place. Not to mention, the last dream they'd been stuck in had obviously been set in some past time. There was no proof of that, but Squall knew it in his soul, as did everyone else who had experienced dreams that night. This dream was different. It did not have the flavor of a memory. It felt like the present. But if Ultimecia was still alive in this dream…

This isn't real, he reminded himself. Whatever I see here…it's all a dream. I'm not really dead and Ultimecia is gone. Just focus on finding out what's going on…I'll find out as much as I can about this. Maybe there's a way to wake myself up, and Rinoa, too.

When he finally spoke, he had calmed down enough to keep his voice low. "You remember the other dream…?"

Rinoa nodded slowly, jaded. "Yes."

"Then," he continued, "would you believe me if I told you that this is also a dream?"

She rolled her eyes. "I believe you're dreaming. I'm completely awake and aware, thank you."

This brought about another long silence. Squall hadn't considered this possibility—quite likely because he hadn't wanted to. But that would mean that everything I remember…might not exist at all. He stared at Rinoa, wishing she would open up to his emotions, that he could show her how terrified he was that everything he knew, everything he loved and cared for, was gone. If she had lost the Squall she knew, he had lost everything with the exception of himself—and, perhaps, her. But the door remained closed. She did not want to know what he was feeling. The Rinoa he knew would have embraced his soul. Not this cold war they were currently engaged in.

But which memory was real? How do I know who's dreaming, and who's still awake? How do I know what's real anymore?

Resigning himself to the fact he couldn't answer those questions immediately, Squall did his best to reign in his panic. "Fine," he consented, albeit irritably and with a slight tremble in his voice. "Maybe I am. So…tell me about all this. If I'm a…ghost, how do I walk on the floor? Why don't I fall through it? I go through everything else. Why did I hit the window when you pushed me?"

"You're still bound to me," the closed sorceress murmured, sounding as though she'd recited this litany a thousand times already, "and so to the living world. You don't pass through everything…" She shrugged. "I don't know why. We've never been able to figure that out."

It was a start. "You were surprised when I tried to touch you." He held his hand out toward her—for what reason, he wasn't sure, and it didn't matter if she interpreted the motion as entreaty, truce, surrender, or simply him beseeching her understanding; either way, she would have been right. "You got angry," he went on, his voice softening. "Why?"

Thunder rumbled, not outside, or anywhere near the forbidding cloud, but inside Rinoa's mind as she fought to retain a vacant image of self-control. She made no move to take his offered hand but sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, leaning forward and bowing her head until Squall could no longer see her eyes. She curled her fingers into claws, pressing the palms of her hands hard into her knees. Her back stiffened and she shivered as if by a sharp pain. Then, slowly, she began to relax again, but when she finally inclined her head enough for Squall to see her face, unwilling tears had breached even her well-guarded walls.

"…I can't stand it," she whispered. The pain in her voice and eyes further choked his silent heart. "You're…you're half-there, Squall. I can see you, I can hear you…but I can't touch you."

Squall wanted desperately to hold her in that moment. He wanted to go to her, gather her in his arms and clutch her tight. Whenever something hurt her so terribly, in the past he had been there to warm her in his arms and let her listen to the strength of his heartbeat. Physical love was a means of reminding each other what they had together; now he could not touch her. He had no warmth to lend her, no heart for her to listen to. The only comfort he had the ability to give was his presence, and Rinoa seemed armored to it.

If only he had fallen asleep tonight, or kept Rinoa awake with him. Perhaps then they would be in this together, instead of fighting each other. Or had he fallen asleep, and simply not remembered it? Regardless, there was no way around what was happening, and Squall had to live with Rinoa as she appeared to him now. Even if this was a dream, her feelings were real. And so are mine.  "It's all right," he said quietly, and shuffled his posture nervously. "I understand." He decided to change the subject. "What about Ultimecia? What happened when we fought her?"

Wrong question. Rinoa snapped, spitting one of her own. It was more a demand than a query: "Why are you doing this! Why are you making me relive this? Do you think it's funny? You big jerk!" The wetness in her eyes suddenly began to smolder.

Squall shook his head, stepping back, stung. His lips parted, but he had no words to answer her; he watched her cry, at a total loss for what to do or say. "Rinoa…"

She turned her back on him. Why was he doing this? Couldn't he see it was hurting her? What was this ridiculous game he was playing? She hadn't the strength or the wisdom to handle it at a time like this. Rinoa pulled her feet up onto the bed, scooting closer to the pillows. Laying down, she wrapped her arms around one and let her silent tears slide into its cotton folds.

She wished he would go away. This was too much. Why was he bringing this up now? He'd said he was not the Squall she knew. What did that mean? Had the dream changed his outlook on his own sorry existence? Surely he didn't believe any of it to be true! Even if the dream had been real at one point in history, she didn't have time to waste contemplating or discussing a past gone wrong.

Squall was dead. He was gone. He could not help her anymore. She was alone.

Alone, in an empty room.

Please leave.

A ghostly chill brushed Rinoa's shoulder. Crying out in surprise and fright, she rolled away, sitting up and glaring into what should have been lifeless air. Her angry, tearful frown hardened to razor steel. Squall stood frozen in mid-motion, obviously startled, a childishly dumb expression on his face. His fingertips hovered over where she had lain. She scolded him like a boy who had just gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Squall! I told you not to do that! Now please, just do as I say! Stop this. Leave me alone. This isn't getting us anywhere."

Squall stood straighter, regaining his composure. He retracted his hand and regarded her darkly. "I can't let you lie there and try to convince yourself that I'm not real."

She forced back a sob, torn between laughing and breaking down in tears. "What else can I do? You wake me up and start telling me all these things. Telling me that my life is a dream—what is that going to do? Is it supposed to make me feel better? Then you…you can't just get that close. We talked about this years ago."

"No," Squall dissented quietly, firmly. "Rinoa, we didn't."

"And now you're talking like this," she carried on as though he hadn't spoken, "trying to carry on a conversation like we're old friends sitting in a coffee shop."

"That's strange to you?" Squall's stolid expression did not change.

Rinoa looked as though it was the last question she had ever expected him to ask. "Of course it's strange, Squall. What do you expect? You haven't said a single word to me in five months!"

Squall sighed, looking off to the side. Her behavior was starting to make a little more sense, now. If, in this reality, or dream—whatever it was—his death had torn them apart even as their bond had kept them together, he could understand why she was so furious. Seeing the person you loved, but not being able to touch them? He was beginning to realize just how heart-numbing that concept was. He closed his eyes for a minute, imagined how Rinoa would react to such a situation. He knew she could deal with losing a loved one better than he could. But having one as an intangible familiar? Being haunted day and night by the someone you could never touch, no matter how badly you wanted to? That was part of Rinoa's vision of Hell on Earth. Still…it wasn't like her to try and break all contact with someone she cared so deeply for. She was a loyal friend to begin with. She would not simply abandon a person who needed her.

Not unless they had abandoned her, first.

Squall was instantly reminded of Rinoa's unenviable relationship with her father. His eyelids parted slightly as he stared into space. He's the only person she's completely given up on. And he gave her good reason to. Damn… He looked at her again, his eyes smoky with anxious guilt. What have I done to make her want me to stay away? "A long time ago," he mused aloud, doing his best to hide the fact that what he was about to recollect added up to nothing more than educated guesswork, "I agreed I would never try to touch you. It…bothers you. It reminds you of what I can't give you. I haven't said anything to you in five months. …Is that right?" When she said nothing to refute his hypothesis, he chanced a question. "Even after we had The Dream?"

"…What's left to say?"

Folding his arms, Squall tried to fathom what was going on here. What could possibly have happened to form a rift like this between them? Questions, questions, so many questions he had to ask in order to understand, but because of the person he was supposed to be, he couldn't pose any of them.

Letting his arms by his sides again, he took a deep, if unnecessary breath, deciding to try statements instead of questions. "…Sorry." He shook his head at the lameness of the apology. "I never meant any harm. I'm… I'm not feeling like myself, right now." It wasn't a lie. "If it hurts too much to tell me, I'll stop asking. I just wish I had the answers."

She watched his apparition for a moment, smacking her tears with the sleeve of her red nightgown. "You really want to talk to me…?"

He inclined his head slightly to one side. "If that's all right with you."

Rinoa motioned for him to sit down.

Testing the bed to make sure it wasn't just another object he'd fall right through (what a cruel joke that would have been—!), Squall carefully sat down, not too close to her. The fabric felt real enough to him, but he noticed that his weight did not disturb the shape of the mattress at all. He made not so much as an indentation in the pliant cushioning. Doing his best to ignore it, he leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, and stared at Rinoa sideways. "So I'm dead," he rumbled, one side of his face twitching slightly in what might have been a smirk.

Rinoa saw no humor in his redundancy. "As opposed to…?"

"Not dead." Disappointed in the poor direction this conversation was once again taking, Squall stared malevolently at the floor. This is really screwed up, he caught himself thinking. "It isn't supposed to be this way. Not for me…"

"…Not even Simone?"

Rinoa spoke in a dark but gentle voice, as though to a child who had yet to understand a very complex subject. It seemed his behavior was unsurprising to her, yet it hurt her deeply. Squall felt instantly that he was being tested, and he fixed his "teacher" with an incredulous stare. "Who's Simone?" he asked warily, uncertain he wanted to know the answer. His mind came up with several terrible possibilities. A girlfriend of his? A casualty? Someone he allowed to die? Or live? Someone they had failed? He couldn't think of anyone he knew (in "real" life) by that name. But Rinoa derailed his runaway train of thought before he could fathom the true answer for himself.

"Your daughter."

Squall forgot to breathe. Not that he needed to, anyway.

Thunderstruck for the fourth or fifth time—he'd lost count at this point—he stayed unnaturally still, gazing dumbly at some sort of nothing that existed in Rinoa's general direction. My… Stuck on a broken mental record, he spent the next minute struggling to vocalize some sort of response."…What?" Was the best he came up with.

"Your daughter," Rinoa repeated quietly. "Our daughter. Her name is Simone. She's almost two years old."

Squall's mind chose that instant to reboot. A million questions clamored at the front of his thoughts, all screaming to be heard, pushing and shoving. He and Rinoa had a child? What did she look like? When did it happen? Who did she resemble most closely? What was her favorite color—

Squall cut off the stampede of emotions and questions thundering in his head, resolving to sort through them and choose the most logical one before he said anything. What surprised him the most was how pointless some of the most pressing thoughts were; what was her favorite color? It seemed like such a meaningless detail. But he wanted to know. His feelings about this dream had been grossly contorted once again. Finding out more about the history of this reality suddenly seemed far less important.

He finally made a decision on his question. "I thought you just said I was dead. How can—"

Rinoa cut him off sharply, clearly losing her patience with his ignorance. "A long time ago, Squall. The night before we fought Ultimecia in her castle…you don't even remember that?"

Squall said nothing. He didn't remember.

"What's wrong with you? Why are you so silent all of a sudden?"

"I'm thinking!" Having been loaded down with a thousand different surprises, more shocked and wounded with every new presented fact, Squall raised his voice in self-defense. "I can't answer everything right away!"

Momentarily stunned, Rinoa then pretended apathy, folding her arms and waiting with impatient patience as Squall thought about what he would say.

Oh, man…this can't be real. A kid? What was I thinking in this reality! Squall stood up and turned toward the window, staring out into the churning darkness. He forced himself not to cringe at the mere thought of having to deal with a wild 2-year old running amok, making messes, screaming at the top of her lungs. He doubted he would make a good parent. He didn't like kids. He didn't know how to talk to them, couldn't identify with them. He never had. Even when he was one, himself. He'd explained this to Rinoa before. What good was he as a father? Or, for that matter, a dead one?

Could this child have been the eye of this stormy relationship?

He turned on his heel, again assaulting the air with his arm. "Rinoa, please, you have to tell me what's going on. I'm serious. I don't know what you're talking about. I'll go crazy if I can't understand what's happening to me." He lowered his voice and eased his tone when she began to frown angrily at him. "Please," he repeated, staring at the dresser drawers to avoid being pinned by her scowl. "I'm asking you because…I don't remember."  He paused, waiting for her to say something. No answer. She was closed to him, so he couldn't tell what was going through her mind. He suspected it wasn't anything overly pleasant. "You know what I'm thinking," he offered resignedly after a long silence. "…Am I lying to you?"

Rinoa did not answer right away. She stood up and walked quietly to the hallway door. Stopping in front of it, she looked over her shoulder at him. Her dark eyes had lost all hint of skepticism; they had lost all hint of anything at all. "Take a walk with me." The words were gentle. It was the first thing she had told him to do that was not a direct command.

Squall remembered the first time she asked him to go on a walk, and wondered if that had even happened in this world. In this case, he put up no resistance. "…Alright." Cautiously, he walked to stand by her side.

The door slid open. Together, they stepped into the dark corridors of an unknown universe.


*

Throughout their 'walk,' Squall remained tactfully close to Rinoa without actually touching her. They strode slowly through the long, straight dormitory hallways with nothing but memory to light their way. Rinoa made no indication that her knight's proximity bothered her as long as there was no physical contact with his image.

But Squall's condition was starting to get to him; no matter how close he got to her, he could not feel her body heat, and the smells he normally associated with her—something as simple as the conditioner she used on her hair—were undetectable. He could not smell anything, in fact, not even the cozy scent of the autumnal dorms. Nor could he feel anything in the way of temperature; he was neither cold nor hot, nor anything in between. These senses were dead to him. He could only see and hear, and according to what Rinoa had told him, only because his soul was bound to her in death as well as in life. The invisible barrier between them was torturous. He felt like he was trapped inside a glass display case.

He had the key, but the lock was on the other side.

Maybe over time, he thought, he might be able to work that key through to her, if he could make a crack in the door. "How did we get here?" he asked quietly once they had cleared the dorms and passed into the breezeway that led to the adjoining main floor.

Rinoa's response was even quieter. She did not look at him. "Here, as in what?"

"The cloud," Squall clarified. "The way it happened is probably different from what I remember."

"It just showed up. We were on our way to Galbadia to defend it from an Estharian invasion."

Squall nodded sagely. If he was dead, Ultimecia was alive, and Rinoa had a child, anything was possible. Nothing, he resolved, would surprise him at this point. "So we're allies with Galbadia," he postulated. "And Esthar is our enemy. Ultimecia's doing?"

"Right…" Rinoa winced at the sound of the woman's name.

"Tell me more."

"What do you want to know?"

"Anything." Squall checked his frustration at her evasiveness, somehow managing to turn what would have been an angry growl into a gentle rumble in the back of his throat. "If I haven't talked to you in five months, I wanna make that up to you now. If you have anything to say, I'll listen."

Rinoa snorted disdainfully. "Big change of heart. When did that happen?"

"About three years ago," he answered honestly. "Not long after I met you."

Rinoa rolled her eyes as they entered the main dome, veering off to the side and following the left banister along the path. "How pretty," she muttered, her tone thick with sarcasm. She continued in a mocking voice, "'My whole life changed the day I met you.' Great line, very original." She scowled at the floor in front of her and walked a little faster. "The way you say it, you'd think you invented it."

Squall's irritation got the better of him just then. Snarling, he overtook her in a few strides, made as if to block her path. "Just a damn minute—" Anything else he'd been about to say failed on the edge of his tongue; she walked right through him. For a moment, staring after her, he was too stunned to speak. But the shock didn't last long. Squaring his jaw, he moved after her again. This 'dead' thing is starting to piss me off.

He caught up with her and paced along by her side, defying her silent attempts to discourage further conversation. "I'm very serious," he said to the side of her face. He kept at it while she pretended to ignore him, "and I think you know it, but you don't wanna talk to the person who ruined your life." He kept pace with her as she slowed down, but did not stop. "That's fine. You don't have to answer. Just listen." He walked easily alongside her now, kept his eyes on her even as she refused to look at him. "To me, this is a dream, just like the one we had last night. Maybe this reality is the one that's real, and the one I remember is a dream, but I don't think so. You can believe whatever you want. But since you won't tell me what happened here, I'm gonna tell you what I remember." He hesitated, waiting from a reaction from her—anything—but Rinoa just kept walking, past the parking lot, past the training center.

Once near its entrance, she made a beeline for the library.

"In the world I know," Squall began, trying his best to adequately sum up the past three years of his life in a few sentences, "I met you when you came here to request assistance from SeeD for a guerrilla mission against Galbadia's occupation of Timber. I was assigned to help you carry out that mission. It failed, but you and I and a group of others got caught up in a fight to save our world from Ultimecia. We went through a lot together…I never wanted a relationship, but you understood me and talked to me in a way no one else has ever been able to. When we went to fight Ultimecia in Time Compression, we kept each other going, and we defeated her. You, Zell, Irvine, Quistis, Selphie…all of you kept me going. I survived. We've been together ever since. A year after Ultimecia's defeat, after a lot of talking and thinking about it, we became sorceress and knight of our own choice. We've been through some hard times together, even after the war with Ultimecia, but the one thing that's never changed is that we never gave up on each other."

He stopped talking, stopped walking, as Rinoa came to a halt in the dead center of the unlit library. The tall, shadow-veiled bookshelves towered darkly overhead, menacing sentinels of silent knowledge standing at attention. To his recollection, Squall had been to the library after curfew only once before, and he had the same eerie feeling now as he had then—that the shelves had eyes, observing him from the cracked book spines and the crannies that separated the geology tomes from the history section. Under the scrutiny of so much wizened literature, he couldn't help but think the brief synopsis of his relationship with Rinoa had been trite and grossly inadequate; how did one explain the unexplainable? What had happened between himself and Rinoa was far greater than a simple relationship, and the victory against Ultimecia had involved far more than just friendship and perseverance. The more he thought about it, the more cheezy and idealistic his own anecdote sounded to him. He sighed at himself and the sheer ridiculousness of the whole situation. He could only hope that Rinoa was paying attention to his thoughts and knew that he wasn't just pulling it all out of his ass.

Rinoa had said nothing contrary to his claims. She stood with her back to him. Squall wished he could hear her thoughts and feel what was happening in her heart. But, save for himself, his mind was silent; his heart was empty.

            He closed his eyes, trying to weather the internal ache which, having been strong before, was growing more acute with each passing moment. He tried to lean against a bookshelf, but could not find purchase on the solid wood for his insubstantial shoulder. So instead he stood behind the woman he loved, powerless. Please say something, he begged her silently. I'll do anything you ask…if you'll only talk to me, Rinoa! He waited in agony, unsure if his message had even reached her. He received no answer.

Shaking his head, backing away slowly as if from a horrifying monster, Squall stood weak-kneed, wishing for something to collapse into and knowing that every chair in the room would treat him the same as Rinoa had: as if he didn't exist at all. He had to settle for standing, shaking uncontrollably as his fear finally overcame his composure. He ran his hand across his unmarked forehead, teeth clenched. What had he done to make Rinoa despise him like this? He couldn't talk to her, couldn't think to her. He couldn't touch her, and only she could see him. She wasn't listening, or if she was, he could not tell. There was no love in this cold connection. Only anger and contempt over an unspoken crime.

Squall was trapped between screaming his rage and breaking down in tears, but his heart was so constricted he could do neither. He could only cry out to the uncaring silence that he faced. I know I've hurt you, but I don't know how. If I don't know what it is, how do I undo whatever I did in the first place! He stared at her back, his gaze begging her absent eyes for forgiveness he knew she could not offer. He remembered a time that seemed distant to him now, when a young sorceress who had no knowledge of her own powers lay on an infirmary bed before him, cold and unresponsive to his voice or his touch. He felt the same now as he had then. But, as it had in the past, something urged him to stand taller and avoid falling to despair, even as everything else inside him warned he was on the verge of giving out. The soft whisper in his heart spoke louder than his screaming emotions; he obeyed love's ruthless command and steadied his shaking muscles. He could not afford to break now. If this world was the true reality, he had an unspeakable sin to atone for. If his memories were just a dream, he would never let go of that dream. It had taught him what real love could do. He trusted it now, as he had in the past he could not prove had ever existed. Faith was all he had left to hold onto.

He closed his eyes. For all the world he believed in no gods, but he might as well have prayed his plea.

Rinoa…I miss you.

When he opened his eyes, Rinoa had turned around and was staring at him. Her eyes glistened, but she did not cry. Her palms were clasped in front of her lips. She had been waiting for him to come out of his trance. Once he did, she placed a few tentative steps in his direction. Her eyes came into the intermittent green glow of the hallway path light; so unremarkable in the daytime, it continued its never-ending trek to and fro along the hall, and now it was the only source of illumination in the library. Her expression flickering in and out of shadow, the first real hint of the Rinoa Squall knew stared back at her knight through the wall that separated them.

            She leaned forward a little, as if to get a better look at him. She folded her hands behind her back. "In this life you remember," she said softly, "is Ultimecia gone? For sure?"

            Swallowing his heart, Squall nodded. "Completely gone. She'll never bother anyone again…not until the future she lived in comes to pass, anyway."

            The sorceress straightened. She stared at the floor. "How is that possible?"

            "We fought her, together…" Squall trailed off, finding it difficult to make himself recall the terrible ordeal in great detail. He hoped she would not drill him about the long, painful battle. Certain experiences, as far as he was concerned, were best left buried—remembering them could bring nothing but renewed suffering—but if particular facts were what Rinoa wanted, he was willing to supply them. Now was not a time to hold back anything. He finished strongly, the rumble returning to his voice. "She couldn't beat us because she couldn't break us." Remembering the nightmarish fight stirred a strong defiance in his eyes. His right hand balled into a fist at his side. "It's a long story." If you want, I can tell you…but you might not like everything I have to say.

            Rinoa nodded for him to continue.

"…Are you gonna listen?"

Slowly, sagely, she nodded again.

For the first time since their conversation began, Squall was able to meet Rinoa's gaze and hold it for long enough to look deeply into her eyes. He could not hear her thoughts or feel her emotions, but he recognized the solemn expression she adopted when she realized she had been wrong. It did not happen often, but the look in her eyes—reluctantly accepting, but wide with apprehension as she waited for an amendment to her disproved opinion—was unmistakable. She was not looking for an argument this time. She was ready to hear him out.

"You're right," he started, nodding once. "She did torture me. She even killed me, in a way. All of us…it wasn't just me. It didn't end like that, though. Just because you're dead in Time Compression doesn't mean you're gone, you're just…it's…very confusing." He snarled and looked away, studying one of the spying bookcases, frustrated with himself for not having the words to describe what had happened. I can't explain it… He mused silently, casting a thoughtful sideways scowl at Rinoa. She was still watching him, waiting patiently. But maybe I don't have to.

"Well?" She urged him gently after a long wait. "You're thinking about something…what is it?"

After debating with himself a moment longer, Squall faced her again. "I can't say it in words. There are no words that can describe what happened. But I can show you…if you'll let me." His heart sank as he watched Rinoa's face harden into a cold frown. He closed his eyes, speaking softly. "I know it hurts you to feel what I feel. If you say no, I'll understand…but you'll never know what I know unless you say yes. I can't explain to you what happened. But I can tell you that it didn't turn out this way…I didn't die. You don't hate me. We're friends…and we talk to each other."

He opened his eyes again to find Rinoa thoughtfully pawing the floor with her left foot. As he watched, she wove a silent design with her toes, following a pattern only she could see. "I didn't say I hated you," she whispered finally. "I'm not sure I could do that. I've tried. It…it doesn't work. Even if I wanted to, I can't hate you."

Sighing, Squall counted his blessings and stepped a little closer, remaining just out of arms reach of Rinoa. He saw her shift her weight uncomfortably, and knew without having to know that she was fighting not to move. She hated to be just out of reach of something. He stood where he was and mentally pleaded with her. She would either back away or come closer.

Eventually, after much apparent turmoil, she made the choice to step closer to him. Her hands remained folded behind her. "It's just that, everything you're saying…it's so unreal. I want to believe you, but how is it possible?"

Squall had a sudden vision of himself embracing her, whispering, "like this," ever so softly into her ear; a vision in which he was flesh and blood again and not this hollow image with no substance. But it was nothing more than that—a vision—and he shivered as it faded, a wish carried away on a breath of icy reality. "It's what I remember," he muttered weakly, having nothing better to say. "It's real to me."

"And this isn't?"

"This is, too." Squall rethought his words, deciding that trying to convince Rinoa her whole life was a falsehood would be just as impossible as trying to convince himself of the same thing. "But it's not what I remember."

Rinoa tilted her head slightly sideways, offering him the first smile he had seen on her face since the dream had begun. "Even memories are fickle here, remember?" She almost laughed at her own joke, but settled for a bitterly amused sigh. "We could be a couple of bats hanging from a cave ceiling, dreaming all of this."

            The dream…Squall's expression brightened suddenly. "What about…the dream? The Pride, the alleys…do you remember that?"

Her smile bent backward, Rinoa lowered her eyes to the floor as if ashamed. "…How could I forget?"

"Remember…what I said to you at the very end?"

"The end…" Rinoa said the words as if she had just closed the book on a long, tragic bedtime story. She said nothing else. After some time passed, she started walking, passing her silent knight with little more than a glance to indicate he should follow her.

They left the contingent of bookshelves to its lightless vigil, trudging toward the great circular path of the main hall. The same dark words echoed in both their minds, a haunting plea and vow from the vivid ghost of a dying man.

Wait for me! I'll be with you again, soon…

For the moment, it seemed that was a promise yet to be upheld.


*

"Why haven't we talked for so long?" Squall paced slowly alongside Rinoa, watching her eyes pass through phases of dim light and utter darkness. The two of them walked along the inner edge of the main dome's artificial stream. The underwater lights, placed at intervals between each silent fish statue, cast forlorn wisps of yellow and pale green as Squall and Rinoa rounded the huge circular walkway for the fifth time. The fish fountains were pillars of darkness, throwing walls of shadow across the path every few meters. The lapping of the water against the sides of the river's manmade prison and the deep, distant rumble of the Garden's propulsion system was just enough to mask a whispered word. Perhaps that was why Rinoa had chosen to come here, Squall thought. They could not mumble to each other in this place. Whatever needed to be said, each of them must have the courage to say it loudly enough to be heard over the ambiance.

Rinoa took her time answering. Squall watched her eyes move from left to right and back again as she pondered his question. He doubted it was an easy one to answer, nor that the answer was simple. There was nothing—nothing—he could imagine that would ever prompt him to stop talking to Rinoa. Sometimes he spent long hours in silence with her, just thinking, but in the end if he had something to say, he would tell her.

He'd ruled out the idea that she might have asked him to stop speaking to her. Firstly, Rinoa simply wouldn't do such a thing, interpersonal creature that she was, and secondly, she had seemed ultimately pleased that he had 'decided' to talk to her 'again.' Whatever had happened here, it had been his fault. No question of that. But damned if he could get her to talk about it.

"You know," Rinoa started, and from her tone of voice alone, Squall knew she wasn't going to answer his question, "they say that if you're dreaming, you can control the dream once you realize it's a dream."

Squall nodded. He'd heard of this. "Yeah. It's called lucid dreaming." He paused, considering the concept for a moment, trying to understand what it had to do with their current dilemma. "So?" he asked finally.

"So…if this is a dream, why can't you control it?"

He faltered a little in his step, but managed to keep walking with her. He did not say anything. It was a question he hadn't been expecting, nor did he have an answer for it. True enough, he knew that this was a dream—so why couldn't he control it? Unless…unless it isn't a dream!

But it had to be! After all, he hadn't been able to control his "real" life, either—but then again, he had never given serious thought to the idea that his life could be a dream in the first place—or had he known, and been making up the whole thing without realizing it all along—

Squall stopped in mid-stride, snarling caustically as he mentally commanded his brain to just shut up. Brooding for so long, second-guessing his conclusions and then doubling back on each newfound theory, he felt a kind of cognitive giddiness coming over him. Searching for a definitive point to such a cornerless subject would only drive him mad. He resolved to stop thinking himself in circles before he got any dizzier.

Rinoa had stopped also, and was watching him curiously. "What is it?" she asked.

Squall resisted the urge to say, 'nothing.' Instead he kept his mouth shut until he was able to collect himself enough to coherently speak his mind. "I'm not sure this is a dream."

"But it's not what you remember."

"…That's right." He folded his arms; he was afraid Rinoa had some dire point to make, as she had so many times in the past hour.

She surprised him by smiling. "You used to get that look when you thought I was angry with you."

"What look?"

"You know, that look." Rinoa mimicked his stance, arms crossed and feet planted, though she evidently couldn't find it in her to scowl as Squall was doing. She settled for a melodramatic imitation of his vexed expression. "The 'you're right, but I won't admit it' look."

Squall blinked, looking down at himself. "Yeah, you always like to make fun of me."

"At least the Me that you know and the Me that's here have something in common." Her smile softened. "And I think I believe you now. At least…I think you believe what you're saying."

Squall hadn't expected how relieved he would feel, just to hear her speak those words. He thought about doing many things in answer. He thought about apologizing for being the person he had been; but what apology could he make for a person he wasn't sure he even knew? He thought about telling her that from now on, things would be different between them, better than they had been; but that sounded like a lie any drunken wife-beater could conjure. He thought about telling her, yet again, that if only she would let him show her his memories, she would see that all he had been saying was indeed true; but if she could not come to trust him without proof, then she would never let him in.

This last, cold fact hit him the hardest of all. When he and Rinoa had joined as Sorceress and Knight, bound their souls in a marriage so deep, so eternal, that no death could ever separate them, trust had been love's twin key; it had unlocked their spirits to each other, and then love had shackled them together, forever. Even in this reality, it had happened. But here, they had somehow lost the key of trust to a dark crevice. Finding it again was a feat Squall wasn't sure he knew how to accomplish.

I guess, he mourned silently, that's all part of the risk we took…that we might not be right. He retreated a few steps into the shadow of one of the fountain fish, staring into his Sorceress' eyes even as he felt tears stinging his own. We could be giving our souls forever to the wrong person…and if we're wrong, we'll suffer for it forever. We went into it, knowing that it could happen. We bet all or nothing, and what we got was everything and nothing at the same time. Everything we ever wanted…but no more second chances. Shivering, he backed further into the shadow, bowing his head to stare at the floor. I know what it's like to have someone love me, who I can trust, who will never leave no matter what. I know it's possible. Rinoa, there's nothing you could ever do that would change the way I feel. I could even forgive you if you betrayed me. It's like you said. There are no guarantees. I had to trust you even though I had no proof of anything I believed in. I accepted that, and I still do. We don't always see things the same, but we never question what we mean to each other, because in the end that's all that matters. I trust you, and in the world I knew, you trusted me, too… Blinking a lonely tear from his eye, he dared to look back to where Rinoa had stood moments ago, half-expecting her to have left. She had not. She was still staring at him, waiting. This place…is this just the other face of the coin? Is this my dream, turned into my worst nightmare? What if neither of them is the truth? What if they both are?

What if they can be changed?

            "Rinoa," he rasped from the shadows, the steady power of his voice masking the sorrow he felt in his soul, "I believe in what I've got. And right now…all I've got is you."

            Rinoa seemed a statue, lifeless as the fish that shaded her knight's forgotten tears. Staring straight ahead, her eyes were unfocused as though she was blind. "Don't you understand," she breathed, "I don't even have that anymore. Who I used to be doesn't exist anymore."

            Slowly, Squall nodded, though he knew she was not looking at him any longer. "I guess we do have something in common." …We're both lost. Squall shuddered, terrified of his own thoughts. It didn't matter. Just because Rinoa had given up hope did not mean he had to do the same. Maybe we are lost…but that doesn't mean we can't find each other again. Rinoa, I wish you knew what I knew! In the thick of the hopelessness Rinoa was radiating, Squall remembered his dream, his life. Wandering for days in the landscape of his heart; desolate and without recollection of any joy. Alone, he had fallen. He had lost his love, and so lost himself. But she had found him again. And she had saved him, because she believed.

            Perhaps this time, it would be his place to save her.        

            "I have another life, now," the sorceress chanted softly as though weaving a dark spell. "A life without you. I've learned to accept it. I…I'm all right on my own. I have to be. Simone doesn't have a father. She needs a mother."

            Squall resisted the urge to clutch his own head in frustration. '…all right on my own.' No, no, Rinoa! You don't know what you're saying! "You lost something you loved," he rumbled from the shadows. "When you finally realized you were abandoned and he was never coming back, you turned your back on it so you could keep going, because you had to. If you face the pain, it's too much to take and you can't be strong when everyone else is depending on your strength…especially Simone." He watched the distance clear from Rinoa's eyes, and stepped toward her, out of the darkness, so she could see he was looking at her as she focused on him. "In a world with Ultimecia, the kid needs someone to tell her everything's gonna be alright."

            It was the point on which Squall knew he differed from his sorceress. He probably would have tried to raise such a child on hard logic, to steel her against the difficult truths of the world; he didn't know any other way. Whereas Rinoa's only thought would be for the girl's comfort and safety. Still, it baffled him how she could have come to the same self-defeating impasse he had faced in his childhood. She believed the only way she could go on after such a terrible loss was to block him out completely. What on earth had he done to her? She was still the person he knew, unrestricted by the stiff statistical logic that Squall had always been prone to. She reacted first, asked questions later. She wasn't the brooding type. She wasn't about to run away from her fears…except...

Me. I left her…alone…

Again Squall's thoughts strayed to Rinoa's father. He remembered how spitefully she talked to General Caraway, how she turned her back on him and refused to speak whenever he brought up an old, long-decayed argument. She distanced herself from Caraway because she could not look at him without being assaulted by the disgust, the pity, rage and heartache. He had been no father to her, even when—in Rinoa's mind, at least—she had given him every chance to be. As a child, she had asked him to hold her, and he had not. She wanted to see the world, but he wanted her to stay home. She wanted friends, and he had told her she shouldn't fraternize with the likes of street kids. She'd wanted hugs for her birthday, and got pretty clothes instead. Clothes she never wore. She wanted to be herself. Her father wanted her to be a carbon copy of her mother. She'd wanted support, and found none. Her father had become an alien to her. So she left, and taught herself to hate him so the pain of his apathy would not wound her so terribly. In a fashion, she had done the same to a single person, what Squall had done to the world: shut them out forever.

Caraway's voice whispered to Squall's mind like a phantom breathing nightmares in his ear. 'Please…she is all I have.'

And I sound just like him.

Squall and Rinoa were wearing the same shocked expression by the time these thoughts had finished rushing through his head, and neither found the power to speak. Both looked dead standing up, eyes fixed on each other as if each was the monstrous cause of the other's demise. But for both of them, the horror was directed inward; for Squall, at the beast he had somehow become; for Rinoa, at the terrible things she had said to the ghost of a lost love who was turning out not to be so lost, after all. When the horror passed, the guilt sank in. Though they could not feel each other's emotions, for a time, they lived the same agony, each abandoned and alone, so close but never to touch.

            Squall hadn't noticed himself moving. He was standing in front of Rinoa, his hand outstretched as if to touch her face. He stopped himself only inches away; coming to his senses and remembering her request that he not touch her, and further realizing she had not moved away from him when he'd reached for her. In fact, judging from her position, she had moved in to meet him. But he had told her he would not touch her, and he would not break his word. He pulled away just in time, grasping his fist in his hand. Shaking, he backed away a painful step. "I'm…sorry," was all he could say, looking away at the shadows. "I'm sorry…Rinoa, I'm so sorry…"

He shook harder, his words gone from his lips. For a moment, he froze in place, a chill colder than death spreading through him like ice in his silent blood. When he regained the capacity for motion, he raised his eyes to see Rinoa directly in front of him, tears in her eyes. Her arm was outstretched, the tips of her fingers "resting" on what would be his shoulder, but to her was nothing more than thin air. Squall had the urge to look at her hand, but did not. He could not drag his eyes away from her face. Illuminated in the ethereal light of the stream, her tears hanging delicately from her eyelashes, she was at once the image of beauty and misery. Squall "felt" her hand move from his shoulder to his face, and wanted to lean into her, but he was riveted by her eyes. The chill in him grew stronger—such a terrible, dead chill, an internal cold unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was almost too powerful to stand. This is…what she feels when I touch her. He blinked gingerly in the glow of Her eyes, soaking up as much of the intense cold as he could, as though he could draw it away from her so she would feel it no more. He knew what he was experiencing was only a reflection of what she felt, but he could also feel her soul was nearby, hovering just on the fringes of his senses, circling him suspiciously as one would inspect a strange mechanism before daring to touch it. Her eyes blinked away the tears, watched his reaction. He stood still, just staring back, glancing every now and then at her hand, which had gone to his shoulder again.

Do you want to see her?

Her gentle voice in his mind was so welcome, Squall had to swallow his heart just to answer without choking. "I would." He silently thanked her, thanked heaven, thanked everything in existence for this chance. He felt like falling over and crying like a child, but stayed motionless, reveling in this simple allowance—this gift—of allowing him to share her senses, hear her voice in his mind. She was looking into his eyes; he thought he saw her smile. Whether or not his vision deceived him, he smiled back. It would take time, but if there was just the smallest chance that he could begin to right what had gone wrong between them, he would not throw it away. If you even believe me when I say I don't know what I've done to you…then tell me what I'm supposed to do to make up for it.

She blinked slowly. Sometimes the only antidote comes from the poison itself.

As Squall watched, baffled by her cryptic answer, Rinoa smiled a genuine, beautiful smile. It made his soul leap with a giddiness he had not felt in what seemed like so long; the chance to make things better again, the possibility he could make up for all the times he had screwed up in the past, all the mistakes he had made that had led up to this terrible circumstance. Life had offered him his ticket to the stars, and his ship was waiting, if only he could find the courage to go the distance. But that had been in life. In death?

            Given the hopelessness of the universe around him, Squall could only just find it in his heart to believe.

            "Show me," he whispered. "I want to know what I've missed."


*

            The room adjacent to Rinoa's quarters was half the size, but markedly brighter. The walls were the more generic, lightly tinted grey of the Garden, and there was a certain airy feel to the place; Squall had the mental impression of a kind of flowery scent, the room a few degrees cooler than the rest of the dorms. He could neither confirm nor disprove these muses, but the mere notion of their presence was enough for him; after all, recent events had seemed to dictate that reality was, at least to some degree, a matter of perspective. In a sense, Squall thought darkly, Jorge had been right. The line between dream and reality was almost too blurred to make out anymore. Who was to say that there was a difference, anyway? When it came down to it, wasn't the world as everyone perceived it, just that—a perception?

            As he knelt at the foot of the tiny bed in the center of the room, he wondered at how his perception of his own world was changing so drastically with every passing moment.

Simone… His eyes narrowed a little, as if it would help him focus better on the little person covered by the comforter. Never would have thought so, but I kind of like that name. He rested one hand on the edge of the mattress as he stared dumbly at something that, to him, had never been more than a passing dream. He did not dare to move any closer than he'd already come. He could not place why, exactly, other than it felt right that he should keep this distance. From that distance, he could not see much, but what he could see made him feel stuck somewhere between quaking in his boots and laughing himself silly. The chaos of sensations roiled so thick inside him, they tangled with his ability to move, paralyzing him. So, he stared blankly, not knowing what to say nor having any ability to say it. What he was seeing was almost beyond his comprehension.

Sleeping silently in the small bed, the covers pulled up over her shoulders, was a little girl. Her short-ish hair was jet black and looked feather-soft. Each of the onyx tresses fell about her small ears in uneven folds, and Squall could not help thinking with a knowing smile the frustration she would have keeping her hair in order as she got older, if he was any indication. It was a trait she would probably curse him for. Her face was haunting; he could not see the color of her closed eyes, but still marveled at them, such perfect, smaller replicas of Rinoa's, vaguely slanted, but with his stark, sharp eyebrows. He was silently thankful that facial detail was apparently the only thing she had inherited from him. I bet she gets one hell of a 'look' when she's mad.

He spent a small eternity kneeling where he was, hardly blinking, trying to describe to himself exactly what he was feeling. He could not stop staring. In his reverie, he forgot about the concept of dream and reality, dismissed the notion that this was nothing more than a figment of his imagination. For a time, all thoughts of returning to the life he knew were dashed from his conscience; not for anything would he wish this moment away.

I haven't seen a look like that on your face in a long time…

Startled, Squall looked up over his shoulder. Rinoa stood silently behind him. He had not even noticed her. Relaxing again, he returned to staring at Simone, letting the mattress take more of his non-existent weight as he leaned into it. "I'm trying to understand," he whispered softly, half-afraid, half-hoping that Simone might hear him, "how it's possible, that I… She's…" Words failed him. Again he was frozen by the mess of questions in his heart.

Rinoa looked down on him from behind. A hint of a smile graced her lips. Gently, silently, she prompted him to finish. What are you thinking?

He did not answer for minutes, but Rinoa did not prod him any further. She stood behind him, waiting patiently for him to filter the proper response from his mind. Finally, Squall moved, a visible shudder. His arm reached out just a few inches toward the sleeping girl, not quite grasping for her, but longing to, if only he could. But she was living. Her heart was beating. His was cold.

In a quiet voice so breathless it was difficult to distinguish the words, he answered. "…She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

His whisper drifted about the room for several long minutes; it seemed the longer the room remained silent, the louder the memory and the purer the truth of the words became. He was content to let it stay that way, having nothing more to say. In some obscure, convoluted way, everything he was feeling, or had felt all night was encompassed in that simple statement. Now, in the darkness of his daughter's bedroom, it was the only statement that had any meaning.

Over time, his eyes drifted, his mind wandered. The cool peace being in this room brought to him allowed him to think with some semblance of clarity. He began to turn over one question at a time, something that he had not been able to do since this insanity had begun. Still, all the answers he came up with fell into an area as grey as the mist outside. He wondered how he had come to be here, thought that there were many possible responses to that question. He was here because he walked here. He was in this position because of the way he had behaved in this reality. He was in this reality because he was in the cloud. He was in the cloud because Garden had flown into it. There were no clear-cut reasons as to why. One could think back and back, finding each and every little reason that had led up to him sitting here, a ghost in the room of his own child that he'd never had. There was not any one thing that he could pinpoint that would have definitively changed his fate. More and more, he was losing his hold on a good reason for him to want to change it in the first place. Heart-wrenching as this existence was, he was beginning to realize it was every bit as valid as the life he remembered before. Given the choice, would he go back? He wasn't sure. If it meant this reality would cease to exist, he might even answer, 'no.' Yet, he wondered if he could stand this existence—if it ended up to not be a dream—without going mad.

He blinked, his eyes refocusing on Simone. The next question in line was not for himself to answer. "Rinoa…"

Yes? Her tone in his mind was quick after a pause, as though she had not expected him to speak.

Squall glanced over his shoulder at her. "Is she a…" Not sure how to pose his question without sounding judgmental, he let the words hang, trusting Rinoa would be intuitive enough to fill in the blank.

A sorceress?

Squall did not answer, just looked away, setting his gaze on Simone again, as though laying sight on his future, feeling so privileged to be allowed the honor of seeing it with his own eyes.

He heard Rinoa sigh behind him. We can't know unless and until she shows signs that she is… So this, too, was a question weighing on her heart.

I hope she isn't… Squall knew better than any man the consequences of having sorceress abilities. Rinoa—at least the Rinoa he remembered—had suffered both the persecution and great responsibilities that came with possession of Hyne's power. There was no telling if this Rinoa had the same monopoly over the sorceress magic, and he did not feel particularly compelled to ask. Whether or not Edea or Adel had relinquished their share to her or not was irrelevant as far as he was concerned. The simple ability to receive sorceress powers was dangerous enough in his opinion. If Simone had inherited it—small chance though it was—she was in danger. For Ultimecia, still at large, a child sorceress would be easy to take over and manipulate. And the perfect hostage to use against the only person on the planet who had the power to oppose her.

Squall's grim thoughts were interrupted when Simone stirred in her sleep. He stayed absolutely still and watched as she rolled from her side onto her back, her head turning in the direction of the window, though she did not open her eyes. Then she was still again. Squall tilted his head a little in gentle curiosity. "I wonder what she's dreaming about." She tosses just like I do…

Apparently having no answer to give him, Rinoa walked silently to the side of the little bed and sat on her knees, a smile that nearly mirrored Squall's expression of wonder fading in and out of existence on her face as she watched her child sleep.

Some buried part of Squall's memories surfaced as he watched Rinoa painstakingly rearrange the comforter about Simone's shoulders. He remembered Ellone sitting by his bed the same way, pulling the covers over him and whispering reassurances that his nightmares would leave him if he simply refused to believe in them. 'They like it when you're afraid of them,' she'd often told him in the darkest overcast nights of their stormy seaside home. 'If you're not afraid, they'll go away.'

He'd once thought this was a nightmare, that maybe if he just denied it power over him, it would end and he'd be free of it. Guiltily, he was glad he hadn't been able to.

The corner of his lips twitching another smile, he whispered a little tune, to himself, to Simone. "If a song were the wind, I would fly through the night to you…" He knew logically that she could not hear him, at the same time remembering more of Ellone's wisdom. 'Talk to her…your words may not reach her…but your heart will.'

Rinoa eyed him, her brow shooting up in surprise. Are you singing? Her thoughts blurted in a mixture of shock and amusement.

Squall shook his head slowly. "Just a song Ellone used to sing to me when I was scared…"

A lullaby?

He smirked. "I guess so. Not one of those stupid ones about babies falling out of trees or anything." He watched Rinoa smile at him, found himself smiling back. It was nice to share a smile again.

How does it go again?

Silent for a time, Squall tried to recall the entire song, but could only manage to conjure the first stanza. Some part of him found the whole idea of himself singing anything amusing; normally he would not have been caught dead singing a lullaby, or anything else for that matter. On that note, considering his circumstances, he had no compunctions. He kept his voice low, not quite sure he could hit all the notes right, but not particularly caring whether he did or not.

If a song were the wind,

I would fly through the night to you

Like the light of the stars

Or the voice of a dream come true…

He shook his head slowly. "Can't remember the rest…Ellone would sing it to me to get me to sleep again after I…had a bad dream." The cruel irony of the fact passed between them in the form of a mutual smirk.

Shaking her head in mild amusement, Rinoa's gaze rested again on Simone. You wanted to name her Ellone, but I didn't want to name her after a dead person.

"Ellone is dead?" Squall's tone was almost casual. If he hadn't already been subjected to so many shocks, this grim revelation might have jarred him. But he was slowly letting go of the inclination to assume that anything was the same in this reality as in the one he remembered.

Rinoa's stare fell nervously to the abstract patterns of the comforter. A lot of people died in Ultimecia's first wave…no one was ready for it…

Sensing she did not want to talk any further on the subject, Squall went on to his next question. "…So, why Simone? It kind of rhymes with Ellone."

She brightened immediately. Smiling and making a show of looking embarrassed. You promise you won't laugh?

He waved one hand dismissively. "I promise."

…I named her after my dog, Simon.

"Your dog? What happened to Angelo?"

Oh… Sighing, her brief moment of lightheartedness broken, she stared at the blackened window. …I guess you don't remember. He died in Timber, not long after I first met you…fell onto the train tracks...you felt so bad about it, you got Simon for me.

Squall frowned. Angelo wasn't the kind of foolish dog to blunder into the path of an oncoming train. He got the impression that wasn't all there was to the story, but thought better of pressing for details. Smiling again, just slightly, he nodded in understanding, adding,  "I think Simone's a perfect name."

His reassurance brought a little light back into Rinoa's heart; she nodded back appreciatively, inexplicably happy that he approved. She watched him for a while as his eyes grew distant. Oddly curious, she could not help prodding him. …What is it?

He responded at first by looking away from her, out into the smoky black beyond the window. "Sometimes…" He trailed off, rethought his words, then tried again. "In a way, I wish I didn't remember what I remember. I wish…I knew the life you do, right now. Then I wouldn't feel bad that I'd wanted it any other way..."

Rinoa looked suddenly pained, and Squall was about to ask her what he'd said to hurt her when she spoke aloud, deadening anything he had been about to articulate. "I'm not sure if this is the existence you'd want."

He closed his mouth, deciding not to talk, and just watched her, letting his silence indicate he was waiting for her to explain.

"Squall," she said the name as if  calling upon a god, "it's been a long time. I haven't seen this kind of life in you since…the day before you died." She shivered, looking like she had been about to say more, but had stopped herself.

Squall began to feel something in the bottom of his heart, a tension that was not his own. He resisted the urge to get up and move closer to Rinoa, forced himself to settle with staring at her longingly. Quietly, he hazarded what he already knew was a sensitive question with a raw answer. "What happened to me?" He could feel she wanted to explain it all to him, but was being held back by her unwillingness to recollect the memory and the lingering doubt that her knight hadn't finally lost his mind completely.

She did not need much prompting, but her answer came in a broken voice and a collection of equally fractured sentences. "…It's…not your fault. You just weren't…no one could have survived what she did to you. No one knows, how strong, how strong you were. Squall, no one knows…you fought Ultimecia to get back to me. You were able to resist her power long enough to find me…and ask me to take you."

He stiffened, his eyes widening. If he was understanding correctly, Ultimecia had tormented him until he'd come to Rinoa begging for release in the only way he could have gotten it. He did not like the sheer selfishness on his part the scenario implicated. "I asked you…to save myself?" He shook his head incredulously. What kind of idiot…

Seeing his dismay, Rinoa leaned forward, toward him, holding up her hand and attempting to wave away his fears. "No, no," she whispered urgently, gently. "…Not to save yourself…to save me." Seeing him relax a little, she let her hand down into her lap. "It wasn't like that. She had you for days. She tortured you to get you to give into her. You couldn't resist her forever, not alone…and you knew that if she took you, I would be helpless. You found a way to call to me and show me where you were. When I got to you…" She closed her eyes, shaking.

"It's all right," Squall murmured. "You don't have to describe it to me…I can imagine." How often in the world he knew had he held Rinoa in the darkness of his room, for this very reason, the horror of Ultimecia's cruelty plaguing both their minds, even though she had been defeated? The nightmare had continued to hold them both in its ruthless grip in the aftermath, and they had been mutual supports against the weight, keeping each other standing when the memories came haunting. They had helped each other move on with their lives. Here, Ultimecia's threat was still real, and neither Squall nor Rinoa had been able to give each other any kind of physical comfort. Neither, it seemed, had he chosen to offer any other kind of support. How he wished he could touch her now.

Rinoa stammered on, either oblivious to his thoughts or choosing to ignore them. "To keep her from using you, you told…told me that, if, if I wanted to, I could take you as my knight. So I did…Ultimecia kept holding onto you, even after that, and she lost some control over time compression. We found a way back to our time, and dragged her with us. Without the Junction Machine Ellone, she became trapped here. Since then, she's been searching for a way to recreate time compression. Her anger made her destroy almost everything. Half the people in the world were wiped out…so much death…"

"And I died, but you survived. What about the others? Zell, Irvine, Quistis…?"

Rinoa shook her head. "Who are they?"

A tiny moan of protest interrupted the solemn conversation. Both Squall and Rinoa instantly forgot their respective questions and stared at Simone, who, rubbing her eyes with the awkward coordination of a toddler, turned on her side to face Rinoa. The small, airy voice that broke the silence came near to breaking Squall's heart, as well.

"Mo-mmy?"

Rinoa leaned near her daughter, smoothing out the groggy child's mussed hair and whispering to her as Squall looked on in dumbfounded wonder. "It's me…I'm sorry, did I wake you up, sweetie?"

Simone blinked her dark, perfect eyes. "Wake-me-up," she affirmed, sitting up clumsily and looking around the room. "Who you tokkin' to?"

Squall continued to stare in fascination, wondering at Simone's every move, watching her every breath and feeling a bizarre, growing sense of utter joy as he realized, over and over, that this living, breathing, beautiful person before him was of his and Rinoa's creation, part of him, part of her, and yet completely unique and impossible to duplicate. She was a gift that only he and Rinoa had been capable of bestowing upon the world, with her own mind and her own heart, made from Rinoa, and from him, but belonging only to herself.

In answer to Simone's question, Rinoa smiled, rearranging the covers around her daughter so she wouldn't get cold. "I'm talking to your daddy."

All at once, the simple truth finally hit Squall, crashing down on him like a tidal wave. I'm her father…

Simone seemed to wake up a little more at Rinoa's words. "Oh. Hi, daddy!" She waved blindly at thin air, so happening to be facing Squall's exact direction. For an impossible moment, it seemed Simone might be able to see him. Then she turned and waved around at the rest of the room, just in case she'd guessed wrong the first time.

Squall's eyes narrowed in a tight mixture of surprise, elation, and agony. She really believes I'm here… Unable to calm the trembling in his voice, he whispered back to his daughter's deaf ears. "Hello, S-simone…" Meekly, he held up his hand in a weak, brokenhearted wave back.

Rinoa was barely able to stand the scene, briefly biting her lip to keep herself from choking. Stoking Simone's soft hair and trying not to let any tears escape her eyes, she eased the little girl back down. "He says hello…go back to sleep, now. Tomorrow is a big day."

Oblivious to the ghost at the foot of her bed, Simone reluctantly obeyed her mother, snuggling into the pillow and letting Rinoa's gentle hands caress her hair and pull the covers back over her shoulders. "Mommy, you gunna stay eer?" she asked in an inordinately loud tone.

Rinoa put her finger to her lips. "Yes, Simone…I'll stay right here. Quiet now, other people are sleeping."

Simone dramatically lowered her voice to a conspiratory whisper. "Daddy, too?"

"Yes, Daddy, too." Rinoa cast a gentle smile in Squall's direction.

"O-kay. You stay eer. Gu'niiight…"

What followed was one of the longest comfortable silences Squall and Rinoa had ever shared. Rinoa remained by Simone's side, watching until the girl's eyes drifted closed and then watching her some more, Squall doing the same from his vantage. Squall felt half certain that, were he not already dead, his heart would have stopped the moment Simone's eyes had fixed on him, looking at him, not through him as he would have expected. It was an incredible feeling. As much as it hurt, he wanted to keep feeling it.

He stood slowly, moving over to where Rinoa sat, and knelt again, beside her. As always, he did not touch her, and he did not come anywhere close to touching Simone, but he regarded them both with a gentle expression for a few more minutes before daring to speak. "…Do you always talk to her like that?"

Rinoa did not take her eyes off her daughter to answer him. Yes…

Since he could not acquire Rinoa's gaze, he followed her example and rested his eyes on Simone, taking in every detail of her face, feeling breathless with awe even as he spoke. "She can talk…pretty well, for a two-year old."

Making a visible show of not laughing that Squall did not notice, his sorceress smiled wryly at him, finally looking at him. At this rate, by the time she's five she'll have a bigger vocabulary than I will.  

"She…she knows who I am?"

…She knows she has a daddy, and that he's always here. Even…when he isn't.

Squall frowned. "What does that mean?"

You don't really come to see her much, anymore… She fidgeted uncomfortably, rearranging her legs beneath her so she was not putting all her weight on her knees. Come to think of it, you don't do much of anything, anymore. You just haven't been here, period.

Sighing, checking his growing rage at the Squall-who-wasn't, he turned to gaze calmly at her. "…I'm here, now."

Rinoa looked sharply at him, seeming angry at first, but her fury faded quickly in light of earnest conviction shed by his unwavering gaze. Suddenly ashamed, she hunched her shoulders a little, seeming to cower from him. …I know you are. "I'm going to bed," she announced quietly. She stood up and turned toward the door.

Squall watched her, wondering at the pain that must have been arching through her soul, wishing he could do something to stop it, but knowing that unless she was willing to share it with him, there was nothing he could do to help her. "Is it all right with you if I stay here?" he asked instead.

One last glance at him over her shoulder, Rinoa nodded wordlessly and left.

Squall looked on after her until the doors shut behind her. Then he went back to memorizing every detail he could about the sleeping child before him. "I'll stay here…" Sighing, he leaned against the bed, resting his head near Simone's ear, on the vaguest chance that his voice might somehow make it into her dreams.

"I'll stay right here…just like you said."