Author's note: sorry again for the delay! The last two months (especially the crazy weather) have done a number on my injury and I had to slow down. I promise I still have all those ideas to write!
Anyway, here we are now! This part will cover disc 2.
VII. THE WRONG IDEA
It is only because she wants to help him. There's nothing strange about that.
As Zell keeps an eye on the rails, Rinoa retreats into the train car where Squall has gone to rest. He looks sickly pale, and her heart gives another little squeeze. It's all so unfair, thinking he has fought so valiantly for her, with her, managed to come out of that battle alive, only to be tortured. Selphie and Quistis were not as reticent as Zell is, and they told her the state they found him in. She still cannot believe that Seifer could do something like that; she could swear the Seifer she knows wouldn't do something like that. The look in Quistis' eyes, though, has made her realize there was probably another Seifer she doesn't know anything about, and there are already a lot of things she is reconsidering.
Moving silently so as not to disturb Squall's rest, she sits next to him, daring to move a lock of hair from his sweat-dampened forehead. He sighs, but he doesn't open his eyes. Those eyes that were so gorgeous and fascinating, before Deling City, cool and distant, and that were so haunted, when she and Zell pulled him up, letting him escape certain death in Galbadia's desert. Against better judgment, she gingerly moves his head into her lap. He is so out he doesn't even protest: and for the first time ever, she lets her fingers linger on his scar, moving his damp hair aside, letting some more curative magic heal him. She wishes she could do more. She wishes she could know more, to understand how a guy so tough-looking, with a philosophy so blunt, bordering on cruel, could mutter to her to stay close to him. She has heard the words he hadn't said; she does realize he basically promised to protect her. He is not the first who helped her when she was scared, and yet, none of those promises have hit so hard.
She keeps stroking his hair, regularly pouring some curative magic through her fingers. She knows enough about him to realize he won't talk about it; his torture will be his burden, and his burden only, and she thinks he could even be proud because he didn't spill the beans and he endured everything without a lament.
But not even Squall Leonhart can be this tough, and she realizes it now, as he looks vulnerable, wounded, and traumatized. In sleep, his features are softer; his shoulders are more relaxed; and her fingers can comb his hair, trying to ease his pain. He was sick as soon as they boarded the train, unable to stomach even just a potion, as adrenaline crashed hard on him. She gently glides her finger on his scar, something he got from Seifer, according to his comrades; and the wound looks still angry red, probably throbbing. She wonders how much magic she would need to heal it completely.
Zell's head pokes through the car's door. Is he still out?
She simply nods, unwilling to disturb him. Zell probably notices the cool, green energy flowing from her fingers, because he whispers, Be careful with that magic. You can't use too much of it. His body needs to heal itself too.
She pulls away her fingers, and the spell drizzles out of her fingertips, shattering into tiny stardust. She feels awkward, now, because his head is still in her lap, hot and damp against her thighs, and she can't keep touching him under the disguise of healing magic. Zell snorts out a laugh, and she raises her eyes, glancing at him with a questioning look.
Nothing, he says, and she doesn't believe him, and yet she is painfully, embarrassingly aware of what they must look like; yet, she decides to keep silent, even raising a finger to her lips to signal Squall needs to rest, and they shouldn't disturb him with chatter.
Zell gives her another look she can't figure out, and goes back to check the rails. She looks at Squall again, her fingers finding their way through his hair once again. She can't reconcile the image of the young man sleeping with his head in her lap with the young man reprimanding her outside of Timber's TV station, or the young man who kept an eye on her as Quistis and Selphie taught her magic, or the young man who begrudgingly told her to stay close to him, or even the young man who thought she had a right to know Seifer was alive, after all. His entire reaction to Seifer's alleged death and the subsequent discovery of the truth has been off, and she can't pinpoint why. There are so many facets to his personality, and she has come to understand, during the past weeks, that he is always wearing a mask. But now, as he sleeps somehow peacefully, she thinks that, underneath that mask, there's something precious, something that needs to be protected with a special ferocity. He is so guarded he probably wouldn't appreciate the way she's taking care of him, and she thinks she knows him enough, now, to realize he wouldn't want to be taken care of. She just hopes Zell didn't get the wrong idea - she is just intrigued, after all, and she just wanted to help him, nothing strange about that - and she especially hopes the martial artist won't tease him about it. So, before Squall wakes up, she gingerly moves his head out of her lap, letting it rest against his folded jacket, and joins Zell.
Still sleeping? he asks, and she nods, her eyes fixed on the rails.
How much longer? she replies, and he nods toward the vast expanse of Monterosa Plateau.
We're getting closer to Obel Lake. I think we should reach Dollet, take a boat and reach Balamb by water. It'll be faster.
Dollet it is, says Squall's voice. He is still fatigued, leaning against the door of the train's driving coach, but he doesn't squint against the light anymore, he doesn't shudder, even though he winces when a noise sounds too similar to a thunder cracking.
Yes sir! says Zell nodding energetically, and Rinoa thinks he looks so eager to prove he can be an asset, too, and not just someone with a big mouth who hasn't learned when to shut up yet, as he lamented when the others were sleeping that strange sleep and nothing she said would cheer him up. She has to wonder if Squall chose him for this team for that reason - to give him a chance to redeem himself - she has to wonder if she has completely misjudged him as a leader.
He catches her sideways glance and narrows his eyes, slightly tilting his head. Blushing under his stare, she turns away, looking at the vast expanse of Galbadia Plains in front of them, at the Obel lake fast approaching.
She hopes he didn't get the wrong idea.
It is only because she wants to cheer him up. There's nothing strange about that.
Selphie's giggling and Irvine's low wolf whistle, when she comes out of the room Balamb Garden has granted her, make her falter. Did she overdo it? Is she overdressed? She has the disturbing feeling those two got the wrong idea and Irvine has such an influence over Selphie that she won't be able to convince them they are wrong, there's nothing strange about dressing up for a concert, and she's wearing perfume just because it's calming, for her. She has to admit she can't even convince herself, though, but her feelings are still so jumbled, so confused, so inexplicable, that she's not sure about anything anymore.
She only knows she has seen so many facets of Squall already that sometimes she feels like she's getting closer to knowing the real him, and sometimes she feels like she will never be able to understand him. Quistis said that afternoon that he told her he is more complex than she thinks, and Rinoa thinks that may be true about her, too; she still hasn't figured out how complex he truly is. She doesn't know him. She doesn't understand him. She sees these masks and wonders where's the real him: the one who told her cruelly that Seifer was already dead? The one who cried out that he wouldn't let anyone talk about him in the past tense? The serious and collected SeeD who saved her, or the kind of gentle one who told her to stay close to him? The traumatized young man with haunted eyes of D-District who fought his way out anyway, or the one who felt like a helpless puppet, so desperately lost that he let her comfort him, and with Zell watching them, nonetheless? The one who claims that you shouldn't get your hopes up, or the one who felt a huge weight being lifted off his shoulder when Selphie, Irvine, and Quistis emerged from that destroyed machine, three days ago?
She follows Zell and Quistis to the dorms, perfectly aware everyone's thinking she is trying to seduce Squall, with the dress and the perfume and all that. But she just wants to cheer him up, and even though she does understand why everyone is getting the wrong idea and teasing her a little about it - minus Zell, who seems particularly oblivious to this kind of thing - she just wishes they would let it go. She just wants to remind Squall of his graduation ball, a couple of months ago. He looked at peace, at the end of their dance, almost smiling at the fireworks exploding over their heads. He looked almost ready to ask her something, and she wants that moment back: the fireworks, the stars, the dim lights, and the slow dance, and something unspoken sitting on the tip of his tongue.
And she does realize she could come across as a little flirting - ok, scratch a little - but he looks so different when it's just the two of them. When he feels like he can tease her about being his girlfriend with Dr. Kadowaki, or when he feels at ease enough to ask her to train together, or when he shakes his head and grants her the honor to keep him company to get his mind off things. And when he looks like he's thinking hard - as usual - about her words, she guesses it's alright to push him a little over the edge of whatever's holding him back. Both physically and not. What a night, she sighs, walking in circles, certain that the sound of her heels against the solar panels will draw his attention to her. Great music... good looking guy... Not only is he good-looking. He's the sweetest guy... a great listener. She has to admit that this is not entirely false; through the mask of the antisocial, loner guy, he listens and remembers much more than others do. Right now, he's seriously thinking about what I said. He's shy and doesn't say anything, but I know. And she has to admit that this is probably a little false. She's not sure she knows, but maybe, just maybe, if he thinks she may understand, even though he doesn't say anything, he could open up to her, and then she could understand him a little more, and then she could help him more, and he wouldn't have the entire weight of this leadership he doesn't want on his shoulders. So, what do you think? she asks, and then, with a little smirk, she adds, none of our business?
I appreciate your concerns, he says, and she prepares for some variation of the none-of-your-business talk he uses so often.
No buts! she interrupts before he can end the sentence in his usual, predictable, simple-hiding-complexity way. Just think about this. This might be the only time we'll all be together. He says nothing, looking at her with narrowed eyes, as if he's trying to see through her, to understand if there's something behind her words that he didn't get. So, as long as we're together, she continues, gathering courage when he just looks at her and doesn't interrupt her with some sardonic remark, we might as well enjoy each other's company and... just talk, right?
Just for now, huh...? he says, and she waits for the blunt remark that usually comes when he uses this tone of voice. His mask is predictable. Simple. Forget it, he spats a little later, with a wave of his hand, as if he's trying to dismiss the entire thing. I don't want friends who won't be around tomorrow.
She laughs, despite herself, and shakes her head. Gosh, you're such a pessimist! she replies, watching him as his cheeks become a little red. There are no guarantees in the future, she adds, with a softer voice, as she slowly realizes that he probably just confessed one of his hidden fears. The tender core of his complexity, the hurt center of his entire philosophy. That's why today, the time we have now, is important.
He doesn't look convinced, and she smiles. He may be stubborn, but she's stubborn enough to match his intensity. Squall, we wanna help you, as much as we can, for as long as we can. We all love you, she blurts, a warm tendril of affection creeping into her voice, as it dawns on her that she has come to care about this guy, much more than she thought possible when she deemed him a cruel, mean jerk, back in Timber. There, I said it. Please don't freak out! she jokes, trying to mask the fact that she is the one freaking out a little at her own realization and admission. We just wanna live, y'know, live through this time with you, together.
There's a moment of silence, and then, ever so softly, he whispers, ...together...?
Keep it in the back of your mind, she insists, noticing he doesn't sound fully convinced. Call on us whenever you need to. We'll be waiting. Then, she smiles at him, fighting against the instinct to touch his cheek, to let her fingers once again through his hair. Like I said, who knows what's gonna happen in the future... but I have a feeling we'll be together for a while. Letting it sink, she starts walking in circles again, and dares to ask him something purely for herself. Because she wants to help him, and she needs to know him.
Because she cares about him, and the realization frees a million butterflies in her stomach, and an unusual, pleasant warmth spreads into her, settling on her cheeks.
So, what's on your mind? Do you have any dreams, Squall? Anything you want to do with your life?
He is silent for a short moment, and then: That's something I'd rather not talk about.
Fair enough, she thinks. He doesn't sound harsh, cutting, like his famous whatever, or none-of-your-business. He sounds more embarrassed, more uncertain than annoyed, and for now, it's enough.
What about you? he asks.
And she'd like to tell him how she dreams of a free Timber, of Sant'Angelo di Roma smiling under the fireworks and sparkles, and the Bell ringing and the Owl's Tears in jugs of water and the intricate symbols to interpret in the morning, and Justice, and Freedom, and Truth. She'd like to tell him about her mother's city, and how it hurts to see it like that, and how she wants to fight for it. For her.
And how much she came to care about him.
But it's too soon, and she just discovered this tenderness herself, and she doesn't want him to get the wrong idea about it.
She doesn't want him to be scared of it.
...I don't know, she sighs, in the end. I guess I'd rather not talk about the future, either. And then she smiles, turning to look at him. For all the talking about the importance of now, mentioning the future seems rather silly. But right now... I wanna stay right here... like this.
And she hopes he gets the right idea.
It is only because, for the first time, he truly answered her. There's nothing surprising about it.
Even though he looked like he didn't get what she was hinting at, back in Trabia, she had the feeling he was trying to understand her, trying to ease her fears. Even though Irvine's big revelation has stirred the conversation toward an entirely different path, Squall was different, and when she waited for him as everyone else filed out of the basket court, he was almost apologetic. The way he told her I guess that's it... we're fighting was softer than usual, and when he confessed he wished they didn't have to fight, either, she felt like they could be on the same wavelength.
Therefore, deciding to overcome her fear was only natural. And whenever he looks at her, and his eyes look a softer shade of blue, and she smiles, she feels tranquil. Content. Like everything will be ok, because he'll be by her side, fighting for a future they don't want to talk about.
She thinks a lot about him. About his masks, and about the things she senses underneath them, and about the true essence of his being. She stares a lot, and she slowly stops averting her eyes, when he looks at her, blushing as a schoolgirl in love; instead, she smiles, admiring the softer shade of blue of his stunning aquamarine eyes, realizing his entire essence is hidden in their clear color. Sometimes, she blushes still, because his eyes are not always clear - sometimes they look stormy, like the skies over Timber during a squall, and it's so easy to think there's some passion murking their tranquility.
The realization that she is in love with him hits her one night, as she brushes her hair before bed. The group has been reminiscing about their childhood in the orphanage while sharing a table in the deepest corner of the Cafeteria. She was looking at him, not really realizing how much she was staring, and when he turned and looked at her, his eyes seemed even softer, almost apologetic. Then, half an hour later, when they all parted for the night, she realized he was kind of waiting for her, and they went back to the dorms together, and when she said goodnight, then. See you in the morning, he shook his head and replied: sorry about that. I guess it was boring, for you. She didn't have time to reply, because he nodded and turned, leaving the guest area of the dorms to go back to his room, and she realized he had escorted her to her room when he didn't need to, just to privately tell her something.
So as she brushes her hair, with Angelo softly snoring at her feet, she thinks about Squall coming with her, telling her he is sorry, and understanding dawns on her, as clear as his apologetic eyes: he was sorry because he knew she probably felt out of place. Because he remembered what she said in Trabia, and he didn't want her to feel like that.
The realization frees another million butterflies in her belly, and she presses her cool hands against her flaming cheeks, laughing, a little disbelieving, a lot happy. The way he cares, even though he probably doesn't realize it, even though he definitely won't admit it, is so tender that she can't help feeling both elated and humbled.
And he isn't just a crush. She loves him. She loves the subtle way he checks on his comrades, after a battle, and their eyes meet in relief. She loves the way he listens, even though he feigns indifference. She loves the way he shoulders responsibility, even though it's probably scary as hell for someone so adamant about not relying on anyone. She loves the way he jokes when the mood strikes him. She loves how considerate he is of people's wellbeing. She loves how he's always ready to intervene and protect. She loves how guarded he is, and how understanding him is both daunting and intriguing. She loves how he makes her feel part of the group, and not the annoying sidekick he probably considered her to be, back in Timber. She loves the way he is sometimes transparent. She loves his hands in leather gloves, long fingers flexing around the hilts of his gunblade when he's nervous, his monster ring glinting in the sunlight when he does, almost menacing. She loves how his naked hand looks, with his monster ring looking gentler under the artificial lights of Garden, almost like a creature of the dreams. She loves how that monster seems to be his symbol, and the idea that Squall-cold-and-aloof-Leonhart somehow relies on it it's endearing, to her. She loves that he, too, has something he takes strength from.
She loves so many things about him.
She says nothing about it, but people have already realized that her being in love is not a wrong idea.
Selphie teases her about it, when she catches her staring at him, singing a silly song about couples in love and giggling madly when Rinoa blushes and tries to hush her.
Quistis says nothing about it, but she understands from the way she smiles at her that she agrees with Selphie, and sometimes she feels like her friend is subtly encouraging her.
Irvine looks at her knowingly, sometimes arching his eyebrows, and joins in Selphie's silly song just because it's Selphie singing it.
Zell seems oblivious, sometimes drawing her attention away from Squall in an utterly embarrassing way, and thank Hyne, Squall seems a little oblivious too.
So when for some reason her interest zeroes in on Squall's ring, on his pendant, on the symbol engraved on his gunblade, Zell looks like the safer way to know something more about it, because she wonders: what could that symbol do for her, if someone like Squall can take strength from it? So she stops Zell in the Cafeteria, one day, and asks him if he knows something about Squall's ring.
Squall's ring!? he repeats, looking deep in thought. I dunno where he bought it.
I want the same one, she admits, leaning forward to hide the slight blush on her cheeks. It looks really cool, doesn't it?
Zell doesn't look convinced, and then his face lits up, like understanding finally dawned on him. You mean the one with the monster carved on it?
This sparks her curiosity because it means Squall has other rings, but she only noticed the monster one on him. YEAH! she says, hoping Zell finally has something interesting to say.
Alright, he nods. How 'bout I make you one? I'm pretty good at that kinda stuff! he declares, hitting his chest in a proud, a little too boisterous way.
Really? Sure, OK! she says, widening her eyes as a pleasant feeling spreads into her chest. She's going to have a ring similar to Squall's, and this... this...
Let's have Squall show us the real thing! continues Zell, and Rinoa's elation turns suddenly into worry.
...We can't do that, she says, staring down as she nervously brushes the floor with one foot.
Why not? says Zell, still obliviously pressing on.
...It's embarrassing, she admits, still looking down, and she doesn't notice how Zell makes a step back as if he has been finally hit with the truth.
Say what? he says, and then his oh... encompasses everything, and she feels suddenly defensive of her own feelings, of Squall's feelings, she dares to think.
No! it's not what you think! she blurts out, turning around to hide her deep blush, the flutter of her heart so loud she thinks he may hear it. It was a bad idea. The worst idea of her entire life. Her secret tenderness, her precious love, is out in the open now, and she can't protect it from the world anymore and oh Hyne, what will she do if Squall ever hears of it? It can't be. It's too soon. This is not-
It's ok, says Zell, finally, with a huge sigh. She gathers the courage to turn around and look at him, still blushing fiercely, and he nods, raising his fist in his usual way. He wants to reassure her, and somehow, he does. Secret's safe with me, by the way. I know I'm a loudmouth and-
Don't say that, she interrupts him. She doesn't want him to berate himself even more about that mistake. He has somehow matured, after that, and she knows she can trust him. I know you won't tell anyone.
He nods, grinning. I'll start working on your ring right away! And he sprints off, forgetting his disappointment because the cafeteria was out of hotdogs, once again, and his attempts of lobbying Squall into ordering them to make more have been unsuccessful.
Her cheeks slowly stop burning, and she turns to sit at her table, grabs her water bottle, and drinks it to calm her racing heart.
And then she notices Squall entering the Cafeteria, and she smiles, raising her arm to catch his attention, and when he starts walking towards her she forgets her embarrassment, the possibility of her secret being spilled, after all, and just concentrates on his hands as they slowly unwrap his turkey sandwich, his monster ring glinting into the sunlight pouring in from the glass ceiling.
And suddenly, the fact that everyone will get the wrong idea doesn't feel so scary anymore.
Author's note: as usual, checked with Grammarly to spot mistakes.
Next week, Rinoa will fight a possession, while someone will be fighting for her safety.