Fanfiction: "Flowers on the Sill" (Final Fantasy VIII)

[deemoyza]

Title: Flowers on the Sill (8,311 words)
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Rating/Warnings: General Audiences / No Warnings Apply
Character(s): Fury Caraway, Rinoa Heartilly
Relationships: Fury & Rinoa
Summary: Caraway has never been good with words, but if his life has taught him anything, it's that it is a man's actions that determine his character. He can only hope that he was able to teach Rinoa that, as well.
Notes: Written as part of the ficinabox exchange

The scenery gradually became familiar, and Rinoa’s stomach clenched. She avoided the Caraway mansion as much as possible on her trips to Deling City, and when she did pass by it, in a bus or a car, she looked away. A bit childish, she conceded to herself, but there was nothing left there to see. An old fortress, her childhood prison—best not to stir up the memories. But today, she forced herself to look, if only to take her mind off her aching feet for a moment.

It was the same as always, gray and impervious, its reflection rippling on the surface of the lake. It looked every bit like a government building and nothing like a home, and she could not fault tourists for believing no one lived there. And, in a way, that was true. Nobody actually lived in the Caraway mansion, not since Rinoa’s mother died. Julia had taken everything good in the house with her: all of the laughter and the music, the warmth and compassion, all of the light, including that in Caraway’s eyes. The years following were unbearable, heavy with paranoia and overprotectiveness, sour with increasing tensions, suffocating with the parade of uniforms through the foyer and the deafening mix of war talk and cold silence.

Rinoa was far from there, now; she was free. What was left inside its walls but an aging hawk, a man cast aside by the very people to whom he’d devoted so much of his life, for whom he’d let his relationship with his daughter dissolve? She might have stayed if he had trusted her a little bit more, if he had shown he understood her. She might have stayed if he would have shown one sliver of compassion for those his army oppressed, a single mote of regret for what they had done under the banner of their country. But he’d stood firm and so had she, and in that sprawling, fortified mansion there was no longer enough room for the both of them.

So she left. And she had no regrets about doing so.

As the bus passed, Rinoa could not help but glance at the window to her old room. She didn’t know what she expected to find there other than memories, but something caught her eye. On the windowsill, the same old terracotta pot, the one in which her mother had helped her grow her first flowers, sat full once again, with bright yellow petals standing out starkly against dark green leaves. Surely, they couldn’t be real flowers; her father would never bother with the upkeep of real flowers when silk ones looked just as convincing. But even if they were silk, why were they there? Caraway mansion had no shortage of vases and shelves and tables and niches for those vases. Why place them in the window, and why hers? Unless…

She shook her head and turned away. If he thought that little ploy was going to get her to come back he was mistaken. Some wounds ran too deep to plaster over with flowers. Some memories were just too foul to be sweetened with perfume.

Selphie’s giggle caught her attention, and Rinoa looked up to see Selphie and Quistis laughing over something written on Selphie’s map. A strange street name, perhaps. Rinoa wondered what either one of them would do in her situation. Neither of them had known their parents, neither had had the time—the privilege—to have spats and hold grudges. Neither of them had sweet memories, however deeply buried, of being loved and cared for and wanted simply for who they were, helpless as they were as children. Neither of them had someone who wanted to protect them so badly that they ended up hurting them, instead.

Rinoa twisted in her seat to look back at Caraway mansion, falling into the distance now, and reconsidered. She had always been conscious of her privilege around others who might not have had the same, but she never considered it in this particular context until now. She had the chance to resolve her issue with Caraway, one way or the other, and she should take it. Not for him. For herself. For her friends.

For all those who would never have the chance.