Christmas request fic for effervesance; Squall/Quistis… time, and unrequited love.
Timeless
She is living in between.
She knows life and death; she's delivered both, and she knows that they are not as different as most would have you believe. Her hands are holy and lethal; callused from the whip she wields, but turn them over and they are smooth, complimented by perfectly manicured, short nails. On cold days, they shake a little. The doctors say it is normal, that it is nerves and the after-effects of carrying sinuous, sparkling myths within her mind, throwing them at other ghouls to save her thin, peach-hued skin. She feels otherwise, but she is a child; barely twenty on the outside, and what does she know?
Her skin is flawless; she doesn't have a scar to show off to others, not that she would. But she has one nonetheless which slips quietly under her skin and constricts around her heart.
She is tired…
Life is bright, she thinks; too vivid to embrace without blinding herself. And she's seen enough of death in the last two years to know that she isn't ready to embrace its coldly seductive shadows. So she lives as she always has… somewhere in between. There is paperwork to fill out, and always a class to teach – she wonders if she ever was as young as the children who fall under her care, and shakes her head in dismissal.
Even if she had been, she can't remember it now. Only flashes and glimpses in the moments before sleep claims her; salt air and sandcastles; warm cookies and torn knees. And him. Always him. Like the clams they'd dig for in what seems a lifetime ago, always burrowing deeper into the sand and away from her desperate grasp, he whispers out of her reach.
Perhaps, she muses, he never was within it.
And he is not helping. He's almost – he is sparkling. Warm. She thinks she's the only one who can see it; he's not that different if you don't know how to look. Still stoic, still calm as the morning before the storm, but she sees the lightning behind his eyes and prays that it will not destroy him as it did her.
Two abrupt raps on her door and she walks to it; she knows it is him, as he is the only one who knocks like that. Little things like that… it always is the little things that get her.
Her expression changes for a moment. She knows, even as he walks purposefully into her office what he has to say; they're too alike, some might whisper… and while she doesn't agree, fixing the idle giggles with a cold glare and a crisp dismissal, she notes that he hates trivialities as much as she does.
They're getting married.
Oh, she isn't. She's not the Heroine. He is the Hero, as much as they both know he hates it, and as such, his marriage is inevitable. Power and glory was thrust upon him, and while he faced it bravely, she can feel his envy for her quiet aftermath even now. Her shades of grey.
He loves her in his way, but she knows now that that there is more than one kind of love, and they don't share the same variety. It twists some invisible part of her soul to admit it, but she's reluctantly glad that he's at least very fond of his little blue angel who she's tried to hate. She salutes casually and offers him a seat which he takes.
They speak for a while… halting words, and as memory – time – swirls quietly around them, she remembers that both of them were always more eloquent on the battlefield anyways.
"…do come," he urges, the first words that pierce through her haphazard thoughts, and she can hear her influence on him. He'd never ask this nicely if it was just him talking, but she knows the angel is afraid of her; intimidated for some preposterous reason or another. So she nods and agrees to pull out the one formal dress that she owns, just for him.
His smile is a silent reply, and she can tell he doesn't miss the subtext in her words. For half a second, his eyes are warm and they look right at her. He sees her… the girl who dug for clams with him on a sun-warmed beach, who shared a quiet smile over the antics of their livelier friends, who asked him to dance, and saved his life even after he rejected her. For half a second, he loves her as she loves him.
Her eyes close, and though a part of her is breaking, she lifts her chin and smiles; it is enough, this realized moment of what never could have been.
He is… still himself, but he has changed, and in that half-second she lets go.
"Congratulations," she murmurs as he gets up to leave, searching her eyes as he does for the cynicism he expects, his own widening ever so slightly as he sees honesty instead.
"Thank you…" he replies awkwardly. Four paces and he is gone, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click.
Her legs fall from under her as the crisp sound of his footsteps fade down the hallway, and she collapses into her chair. She may be biting her lip to hold back a sob, but she can feel her eyes smiling…
.o.
...finis...
.o.
Disclaimer: The events and characters of Final Fantasy VIII do not belong to me; they're Square's.
Sabriel's Scribbles: Hmm. Bittersweet, again, but with these two, I don't see any other way… Comments and concrit are always welcomed; in the meanwhile, Starry Nights and Happy Holidays.