Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Emerald Tears ❯ one ( Chapter 1 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Emerald Tears

By Nix Winter

Disclaimers: I do not own FF8.

Notes: More or less canon. It's done for fun.

Emerald Tears



"Why did you buy those things?" Rinoa asked. It was a casual question.

Squall pulled the small black leather box from his pocket, caressed it with his thumb, and tried to come up with an answer. Inside, nestled in black satin were two emerald earrings, one tear drop shaped post and one topaz oval with another emerald tear drop hanging from it. He imagined a man wearing them on one ear.

Right there in the bazaar, he opened the box, and Rinoa moved closer, blocking off some of the happy holiday morning traffic in the Esthar bazaar, giving Squall a little privacy. Together they looked at his prize. He'd paid five months SeeD Pay for them. Reverently he ran a calloused thumb over the dangle one. "They remind me of green eyes."

She slipped her arm through the crook of his. "Want to wear them? We can go get your ear done with another hole. I'll pay." She gave his arm a little squeeze.

He shut the box with a snap, and put it in his pocket. "Not now. I heard the café here has the pastries you said you liked."

"Squall!" Rinoa smiled, and for just a moment there was flirt in her smile. She didn't even notice it. He forgave her. It was her nature, that was all. They'd grown up, in the last six months, both of them. She wasn't looking for her daddy. He wasn't looking for his Sis. She had found her path, a school and an orphanage. He was still looking for where he'd left his heart. Unconsciously, he patted the box in his jacket pocket. "That's so sweet of you!"

He ground his teeth, and she turned away from him, giving him his space, and her attention to one of the stalls set up make shift bazaar in the park. He let her give her attention to the crafts in that booth, crossing to one on the other side. The booth had nothing he was interested in, but it was nice, none the less, to know he could turn his back on Rinoa, have an illusion of solitude. It was an agreement between them, the foundation of their friendship.

"Squall!" She called, loud, jarring and he spun, internally calling for a GF that he wasn't junctioned to. War left various bruises. This was just one of them. Palms sweating, he strode to her side, and then he saw what she saw. The paper was good, fine cream drawing paper, and on it knelt a Squall, maybe nine, maybe ten, in perfect unmistakable detail, no scar, little hands patting sand into a sand castle. Just beyond the sand castle sat a little blond boy, knees drawn up to his chest, arms around them, chin on his knees. Squall adjusted the age of the boy in the drawing. He had been just a little past six, and Seifer had just come to the orphanage. Heart swelling painfully, he touched the little blond boy with the tips of his rough fingers.

"It's you and Seifer, isn't it," Rinoa asked, leaning to look, but knowing she shouldn't touch him just now. To the booth keeper, she asked, "Where did you get this?"

"You gonna buy it or just smudge the pencil?" The man said, eyes narrow, irritation a jagged edge to his words.

Squall had spent more than he'd expected on the emeralds and swallowed. "How much?"

"Never mind." Rinoa had her pocket book out. "Do you have any other drawings by this artist? Where did you get them? Can you get a message to the artist?'

The man pulled a couple of sketch books from under his table. One was worn and covered in brown leather. The other a nice sketch book, hard bound, and the source of the nicer paper the other drawing had come from. It was on top, so Squall picked it up, thumbed through it. All the drawings were beautiful. Some more skilled, experienced than the earlier ones. One could almost see the transition from the beginning to the end, as the artist learned to draw in under five hundred sheets. Brilliantly talented, but it was completely and utterly eerie to see scenes of his childhood, most often with him as the central figure. Selphie and Zell were there as well, and Matron, and the stuffed duck he fought with Seifer over.

Numb, he reached for the other one. Then he really wanted to just sit down right there on the grass. These were all of him, aspects of him. An eye, his lips, his scar when it was only a cut, studies of his hair, and not one single one of them was signed, but he knew who had done these. He knew it had to be Seifer. "Where is he," he demanded from the man behind the table. "Where did you get these?"

"Oh you're the one he was drawing! Nellie said he was looking for this guy he was drawing. He'd come out in the park she said, showing some of the drawings to people, asking if they'd seen you. He was a bit of a nutter though. I see Nellie's daughter, and I'm right glad that nutter's not there anymore."

Squall's face had gone cold pale, his scar a vivid red. Rinoa shoved the sketch books into his arms. "Go. Sit down over there. I'll pay for these and get information."

As he walked away, he could hear her going off on the man. Did he know who he'd just been rude to? Did he knew who the president was? Did he have any idea whatsoever who saved his slanderous mouth from the wrath of the sorceress?

The man had lost himself the moment he called Seifer a nutter. Rinoa had loved him too. If Rinoa wasn't a sorceress, her tongue alone would make her one, Squall thought. A damn effective one too he thought, surprised as she trudged towards him, hauling, Squall narrowed his eyes to make sure, but he thought she was hauling a gunblade. She stopped, stood there, panting for a moment and gave him a glare that translated to 'pick this up before I throw it at you.' The guy had gotten under her skin too, Squall thought.

He had to see this blade though, he had to. Kneeling in the full sun, feeling it burn the back of his neck, he took the blade and laid it down to unwrap the oil cloth around it. Hyperion. Seifer's gunblade.

Squall looked up and set off a torrent. "He was going to sell it for scrap today! Vile scavenger! I also got this back from him. He's such a sorry excuse for humanity! Really I don't now how some of these people reproduce! Here." She fished something out of her own jacket pocket and let it slide into Squall's hand. Seifer's chain. "I also have an address for an inn that this beetle claims he bought this lot of stuff from. I also sent a runner to get us a taxi."

She held Squall's eyes, refusing to let him look away as she knelt too and touched her fingers to his cheek. He held Seifer's chain so tightly it might embed into his palm. There were no words in him for what he felt, no way to express it.

"Have faith, Squall. He was looking for you. He was here in Esthar, not more than two weeks ago. Squall. Whatever happened in the war, he did not abandon you."

The right thing, or the wrong thing to say, Squall couldn't tell. He didn't feel anything. His heart had encased the chain in his hand and there was no room for thoughts outside of it. He gave Rinoa a small nod, which she accepted with a patient smile. He picked up Hyperion, dropped the chain into his pocket with the emeralds. Rinoa lifted the sketch books out of his arms, and held the taxi door for him.

She gave the driver the address of the inn the man had given her and settled back into the seat, both hands on the sketch books. There wasn't a single drawing of her in there. She wasn't so grown up that that didn't hurt.