Flowers on the Sill (Final Fantasy VIII fanfiction)

[deemoyza]

Title: Flowers on the Sill (8,311 words)
Chapters: 1
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Rating/Warnings: General Audiences / No warnings apply
Character(s): Rinoa Heartilly, Fury Caraway
Relationships: Rinoa & Caraway
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.

From the street, the Caraway mansion resembled more of a fortress than a home, with its pair of towers and heavy front door.  By day, its somber gray façade stood stark against the sky and the lake behind it, and at night, the floodlights in the garden gave it an eerie green glow.  It was designed to intimidate, to impose upon visitors a sense of authority and of unwavering strength.  It did not exude any sense of warmth or welcome.

It also smelled of roses.

Julia adored roses and, upon moving into the mansion, had made it her mission to fill the mansion with as many vases of the fragrant blooms as possible, in a veritable rainbow of varieties.  She never allowed them to wilt, ordering them replaced as soon as the edges of the petals began to furl, and should the florist be unable to provide fresh ones, she would cut some from the garden herself, carefully trimming the thorns from the stems.  Having spent years honing her craft in a dark, smoky bar, she wished to be surrounded by beauty and light, so that even on the dreariest winter day, inside her home, it would always be summer.

It was the single irrational request of the woman for whom Fury Caraway would have walked to the ends of the world, and he gladly honored it.  He continued to honor it after her death, after the sunlit hallways of the mansion had plunged into shadow and the music that once filled it had stilled.  He honored it not only in Julia’s memory, but also for Rinoa’s future, wherever she might be now.

Had it only been four years since the day she renounced his name, calling him a coward for simply doing his job?  It felt like an eternity, and oddly, longer still since the day he ordered her confined to her room while he dealt with scrappy group of SeeDs he and Martine had contracted to overthrow the sorceress.  He had hoped that day, in some small way, that Rinoa would see that he had finally taken her words to heart, that he was no longer content to stand idly by while the country he’d loved and served descended toward totalitarianism.  He hoped he could show her that since he was willing to fight now, she had no more need to.

It was a vain and desperate hope, he knew.  Rinoa was every bit as ambitious and stubborn as her mother had been.  Would that she had only learned to direct those tendencies toward something more… peaceful.  He could not deny, however, that beneath his paternal concern, he was proud of her, as well.  Whether her initial motivation had been personal or political, she did not hide behind her privilege, and worked to better the lives of those less fortunate than she was.  That her work was in direct opposition to his own was but an unfortunate detail.  Politics were always messy.

He wished he could tell her all of this.  He wished she would give him the chance.  But she was safely ensconced in Balamb Garden now, with her friends, and the likelihood that she would ever set foot in her childhood home again grew dimmer by the day.  All Caraway could do was refresh the roses in the pot on her bedroom windowsill and hope that, someday, somehow, she might glimpse them and understand.

---

“Geez, Rinnie, for someone who grew up here, you sure get lost easily!”  Selphie turned her pop-up map of Deling City this way and that, frowning and comparing the street names to the address written on the margin.  “I don’t think we’re even on the map, anymore.”

“It’s been years since I was here,” Rinoa answered, taking advantage of the break to sit on the curb and massage her calves.  “And I wasn’t exactly given the freedom to roam.”

“Still, I thought something would look familiar to you.”

“Not in this area.”  Rinoa looked at the row of industrial warehouses lining the street, then longingly back at the bustle of civilization they’d left behind almost an hour ago. 

Quistis followed her line of sight, then turned to Selphie.  “Let’s just head back.  There are a few good record stores in the city center.”

“But this one’s supposed to have super obscure albums,” Selphie said.  “I’ve been looking for Steel Moomba’s live recording forever.  I can’t even find it online.  This might be my only chance!”

“Are you sure it exists?”

“Absolutely!  It was a big televised event about twenty-five years ago, and they released the album not long after.  Nobody remembers the classics these days.”

“How did you hear about them, then?”  Rinoa stood up and stretched.

“They were big at Trabia Garden.  I guess one of the professors had seen them live and played a bit of their music, and it just took off from there.”  Selphie turned the map and pointed her finger at an intersection.  “All right, let’s get going!  We’ve got to be pretty close by now.”

Indeed, they were.   A few more turns, and they arrived at a darkened record store, its sign sun-faded, its doors and windows boarded up, a weathered note nailed into the boards.

“Out of business?” Selphie screeched.  “How?  Their website is still up and running!”

“Did you check when it was last updated?” Rinoa asked.

“Who does that?  Aww, this is such a bummer!  All this way, for nothing.”

“I’ll say.  Wasn’t this supposed to be a relaxing weekend?”

“Well, now you can relax all you want, ‘cause there’s nothing left to look for.”  Selphie dramatically crumpled to the sidewalk in front of the building. 

Quistis, meanwhile, investigated a sign not far from where they stood.  “The good news is,” she said, “that we won’t have to walk back.  This is a bus stop.”

“Oh, so now Rinnie can get us lost on the bus system, too?”  Selphie muttered.

Rinoa make a face at her, then looked at Quistis.  “Which route number?”

“Eight,” Quistis answered.

“Eight?  You mean we could have gotten here directly from the train station?”

“Apparently.”

“Hey, my map said nothing about the bus routes,” Selphie said, pulling herself up to a seated position and dodging the others’ glares.  “Besides, this was kind of an adventure, wasn’t it?”

“An adventure for nothing,” Rinoa said.  “You said as much yourself.”

“It wasn’t a particularly scenic one, either,” Quistis added, “though I suppose we did get a glimpse at the logistics of distribution in Deling City.”

Selphie chuckled.  “Point taken, ladies.  I wasted our afternoon.  How about I make it up to you with some sweets, on me?”

“I’ve heard good things about the new ice cream parlor across from the hotel,” Rinoa said.  “Big servings, unlimited toppings.”

“Sounds good to me!  Quisty, you in?”

Quistis gave a small grin.  “Only if they have fudge ripple.”

“How can I know that?  C’mon, Quisty, be a sport!”

“Of course I’m in!”  She reached down and pulled Selphie up.  “Now come on, yourself, or the bus will pass us by.”

Once the bus arrived, Rinoa collapsed into a window seat across the aisle from her friends, her feet throbbing.  She should have known better than to try to break in new shoes on a trip with Selphie.  If there were any nooks and crannies of a city to explore, Selphie would be the first there, somehow convincing her and Quistis to follow.  Though it could be frustrating at times, Selphie’s enthusiasm and curiosity were endearing, and Rinoa smiled to herself as the bus rumbled away from the stop.

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.

---

As a general, it was not easy for Caraway to watch the Galbadian troops withdraw from Timber.  As a citizen, however, he was relieved, though he could never quite be proud.  Timber had been taken decades ago for its resources, which Galbadia promptly stripped, leaving the soldiers posted there aimless and prone to abusing their power.  It was high time they left, to be put to use where they were needed—right now, in maintaining the order of Galbadia as it adjusted to an entirely new government—and high time, he conceded, that Timber regained the right to self-govern. 

Didn’t everyone deserve that?

He could not help but hear that thought in Rinoa’s voice, and if he closed his eyes he could see her standing in front of him, hands on her hips, advocating for the downtrodden.  That was her mother’s compassion at work, a heart soft and large enough to encompass all who needed love, often at her own expense.  It was this tendency, in addition to the dangers of venturing into an occupied city, that drove Caraway to try to stop her.  Rinoa had high ideals, but the real world was no place for an idealist; it would break her down and harden her, warp her into something she was not, and that was assuming it did not kill her outright.  Caraway had already lost one of his loves far too early; he was not going to sacrifice the other.

Instead, he drove her away. 

He sighed and took a sip of his drink, focusing his attention on the television again, watching the mixture of celebration and shame play out in front of him.  And that’s when he saw her.

Rinoa was in the crowd of revelers, surrounded by a trio of sharply-dressed SeeDs, cheering and waving Timber’s flag above her head.  She looked so happy, so at peace with herself, and so much like Julia.  That bright smile, the sparkle in her eyes, the flush of emotion in her cheeks took him back in time to when they were all a family, safe and secure in their love for one another, no matter what was going on in the outside world. 

Rinoa had her victory now, and Caraway felt his heart swell with pride.  Their objectives may have differed, but she’d had the courage to see hers through.  He raised his glass toward the television screen in a silent salute, though his smile disappeared when he noticed the strange bracelet Rinoa wore.  Squinting, he could make out a silver bangle set with a large blue stone.  An Odine Bangle.  He’d pored over the one he’d been sent years ago, wondering whether it would work to suppress Edea’s powers, and he recognized it instantly. 

Why was Rinoa wearing one?  He had heard rumors circulating out of Esthar shortly after Edea’s defeat about a new sorceress, and heard that this sorceress was closely allied with SeeD.  He’d even heard rumors that specifically identified Rinoa as the new sorceress.  He paid those little mind, convinced that they were conspiracy theories meant to further stoke the flames of unrest and paranoia in a rapidly changing world.  His daughter couldn’t be a sorceress; there was nothing supernatural about her at all, save for her ability to hold a grudge.  But sorceress succession was still a poorly-understood phenomenon, and somewhere in the back of his mind the worry persisted.

Seeing that Odine Bangle on her wrist just brought it front and center.

If Rinoa really was a sorceress, why was she still friendly with the SeeDs?  Why was she living in Balamb Garden?  Wasn’t SeeD created specifically to hunt sorceresses?  Was she happy at Balamb Garden, or was she a prisoner?  He remembered her smiling on the television and thought that hers was not the face of a prisoner, but the situation was so charged with emotion, he could not be sure whether her happiness was momentary or not. 

The television moved on to different news stories, filling the darkened room with flickering blue light, but Caraway’s thoughts stayed with his daughter.  If only she would talk to him, just once more, just so he could be sure that she was safe, that she was happy, that she knew his door was always open to her, sorceress or not.  If only…

With a deep sigh, he set down his glass and turned off the television.  He hadn’t watered the roses yet today, and now was a good a time as any to do so.

---

Rinoa pulled her sleeve over the Odine Bangle as she disembarked the train in Deling City.  No use risking anyone seeing it and turning her in, especially since she was not accompanied by any SeeDs.  Squall had insisted on coming along when she told him of her plan to visit Caraway, and when she demurred, explaining that she didn’t want to add any tension to her relationship between him and her father, he suggested Selphie or Zell go with her.  She pretended to agree to that, but slipped out of Balamb Garden just after curfew the night before, creeping through the shadows of the parking garage and making it to the Balamb train station before sunrise.  She hoped Selphie would find the note she left her and not tell Squall about her disappearance right away.  Selphie was good at creating diversions, and Rinoa only needed her to cover her absence for a couple of days.

If Selphie did tell, well… Rinoa would have her choice between two prisons, then.

Now, under the warmth of the mid-morning Galbadian sun, Rinoa stepped off of the bus and crossed the street.  The guard at the gate to the mansion stopped her.  He was new, and for the first time in years, Rinoa was disappointed to not be recognized.  She gave her name to the guard, who radioed the mansion, and soon, Rinoa was escorted across the bridge and into the mansion’s reception room by another staff member she did not recognize.

She did recognize the room, however; it hadn’t changed a bit in the last four years.  The same dark red velvet couches with ridiculously gilded frames, the polished mahogany coffee table between them, set with a silver pitcher and two glasses, the ostentatious chandelier hanging in the center of the room.  The room was designed to impress visitors with opulence and sophistication, but to Rinoa it all looked laughably desperate.  She sat on one of the couches and poured herself a glass of water, not looking up when she heard the door open and Caraway walk in.

“You’re here,” he said quietly, as if trying to convince himself she was really sitting in front of him.

A master of observation, as always, Rinoa thought, but bit her tongue and nodded.  “I am.”

“How was your trip?  Would you like something else to drink?  Some tea, perhaps?”

“This is fine.”  She squinted up at the chandelier, blurring the tiny rainbows in the faceted crystals.  “This place hasn’t changed at all.”

“Of course not.  You should know that nothing changes around here.”

“Even the people?”

“Well, maybe the people.”  He sat down heavily.  “Rinoa, I’m glad you came.  I want to talk to you.”

“I imagine so.”

“I saw you on television, during Timber’s independence rally.  Congratulations.”

Rinoa blinked and stared at him.  She had expected Timber’s independence to cement the animosity between them.  Let it not be said that he is not a gracious loser.  “Thank you.”

“It’s well deserved.”  Caraway cleared his throat.  “I couldn’t help but notice something else during that rally.  Your bracelet.  Is it…”

“An Odine Bangle.”  Rinoa pushed her sleeve up to show him.  “The same design as the one you had, but a stronger version.”

“So, the rumors are true.”

“Yes.”

“How did it happen?”

“I wish I knew.  One second I was fighting Edea alongside SeeD, and the next, everything was blindingly bright.  My body wasn’t my own… and then, darkness.  I came to—” she laughed, bitter and hard.  “I came to in space.”

“Space?”

“It’s a long story.  Yes, I’m a sorceress.  I was possessed by Ultimecia, a sorceress from the future, for a while, and I did some terrible things under her control.  Things I can’t even begin to ask forgiveness for.  And when Ultimecia let me go, the power remained.” 

“Then you know.”

“What?”

“You know what it’s like to carry the burden of actions you never intended to commit.”

Anger flared in Rinoa’s chest.  “You are not comparing what I went through to your own experiences, are you?”

“I am.”

“They are not the same!  I was literally under someone else’s control.  I had no choice in what I did; I wasn’t even conscious of it.  But you, you willingly followed orders, you willingly gave orders, even when you knew they were wrong.  Those aren’t the same thing!  We’re not the same.  We are not the same.”

He looked her in the eye, his voice calm and level.  “But to those we hurt, what difference does it make?”

“It makes a difference!  It isn’t—” Tears welled in Rinoa’s eyes.  He was right.  Damn it all, he was right.  To the space station crew, to the people of Esthar, what difference did it make if she didn’t choose to initiate the Lunar Cry and free Adel?  People got hurt, lives were lost, because of her.  Whether or not someone else was in control, she was the one they saw, her body was the one that carried out Ultimecia’s plans.  Things I can’t even begin to ask forgiveness for.  “I didn’t mean to,” she cried, her tears spilling over.  “I was just trying to do good, I was trying to help out, and then everything went sideways.  I didn’t mean to!  You think I wanted this?”

“Of course not.” 

“You wanted your power.  You wanted to use it, and you did, but I didn’t—but I still—”  She buried her face in her hands with a sob.  These feelings had welled in her ever since things quieted down, and she had managed them just fine until now.  Why did she have to break down in front of Caraway, of all people?  Why did she have to break down at all?  I should be stronger.  I should handle this.  I have to handle this.

She wasn’t aware she’d spoken her thoughts aloud until she felt Caraway’s fingertips lightly brush her knee.  She peered over her fingers to see him leaning toward her, his face contorted in pain.  “Yes,” he said, “you have to handle this.  But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

“We’re not the same,” she said again, but her voice lacked conviction.  She had never seen him like this… except for that time.  He was usually so composed; the only emotion he ever lost to was anger, and that was during the arguments she’d had with him with increasing frequency in the months before she left home.  The only time she had seen him grimace like this, the only time she had seen his eyes glisten with tears was that afternoon, fifteen years ago.

She remembered it well, every little detail.  She’d been in her room, reading books and trying to drown out the commotion outside the mansion.  She thought maybe they were protesters come back to air their grievances about another Galbadian military endeavor.  When Caraway went to talk to her, she tried to read her books to him, instead, only recognizing the pain in his face moments before he told her.

Mama isn’t coming home.

Was that the first time she’d been angry with him?  Angry for telling her such an awful lie; angry when she found out it was true.  He was so wounded that day, and all she could do was lash out at him, but she was only a child then.  What excuse did she have now?  There was genuine pain in his eyes, a genuine understanding that she never expected.  How long had she craved this from him?  If only the subject were different!  If only they could understand each other outside of the context of pain.

If only…

“And you can handle this, I have no doubt,” Caraway went on.  “You’re strong, stronger than I ever gave you credit for.  When I saw you on television, smiling, I was relieved that you were okay.  And I was also proud.  So, so proud.  My little girl, standing up for what is right.  Standing up and winning.  It doesn’t matter that we were on opposite sides; you did the right thing, and you succeeded.  That’s how I know you’ll handle this.”

“Proud?” Rinoa sniffled.  “You were proud of me?”

“I am proud of you.”

“But… I thought you would hate me.  I helped defeat your army, after all.  I’m one of the reasons you lost your job.”

“A job I no longer believed in.  And I could never hate you.  You’re my little girl.”

“Then why?  Why did you keep me shut up in here all the time?  Why didn’t you let me live my life?  Why didn’t you listen to me when I told you the government was wrong?”

“In regard to the government, it was stubbornness and pride and a sense of duty.  A man doesn’t want to see when the country he gave his whole life to is using him for less-than-noble purposes.  But for the rest, it was foolishness.  Foolishness and fear… and love.”

“That’s a strange way to show it.”

“I agree.  And I see now that it wasn’t right.  But put yourself in my place, just for a moment.  One day, your mother went out and never came home.  It was a routine day, a routine trip.  How did it turn tragic so quickly?”  He leaned back and ran a hand over his face with a shuddering sigh.  “Suddenly, the city seemed no safer to me than a war zone.  I became obsessed with the myriad ways death could snatch away someone I loved, and I swore to myself that that would not happen to you.  I didn’t want to lose you, too, and I… I held on too tight.  And I ended up losing you, anyway.”

“I’m not dead.”

One corner of Caraway’s mouth lifted.  “I can see that.”

Rinoa huffed.  “What I mean, is, it’s not over.  There’s still time.”

“Oh?  Time for what?”

“You know,” Rinoa groaned.  “Maybe you didn’t lose me forever.”  Before he could say anything else, she raised a finger.  “But!  You have to put yourself in my place, too.  You have to understand how scary it is to lose a mother so young, how scary it is to see your father change in front of your eyes.  How helpless it feels when you’re trapped in one place and nobody seems to listen!  I wanted to help people, but I couldn’t get out of here… what choice did I have but to run away?”

Caraway hung his head.  “I understand.  I was wrong to think that I was the only one who was scared, and I was wrong in the way I handled it.  It kills me to know you thought you had no other choice.  I’m sorry I put you in that position.”

“Thank you.  That’s a start.”

“A start?”

Rinoa grinned.  “It’s better than where we were when I got here.”

“Agreed.”

They lapsed into silence.  Rinoa traced the pattern of the carpet with the toe of her boot, uncertain of how to end the conversation, or whether she wanted it to end at all.  Caraway shifted on the couch and cleared his throat.  Rinoa looked up at him, then followed his gaze to the Odine Bangle.  

"You have questions," she said.

"Yes," he replied, "but I'm unsure how to phrase them.  Forgive me, but my experience with sorceresses is limited."

"Just go ahead and ask.  I'm not Edea—or, more accurately, Ultimecia—I won't lose my mind if you don't use the right words."

"To begin, who is this Ultimecia you speak of?  You mentioned she was a sorceress from the future; how could she possibly have any effect on our time?  On you?"

"It's complicated.  From what I understand, there is a mechanism in her time that allows her to use other sorceresses as conduits to the past.  That's what she did to Edea, and to me."

"Why?"

"She was searching for the person on whom the mechanism was modeled, a woman named Ellone.  Ultimecia's ultimate goal was something she called Time Compression: past, present, and future combined, a world in which only she would be able to exist."

Caraway frowned.  "Again, why?"

Rinoa shrugged.  "Your guess is as good as mine.  Power, control, loneliness?  She was beyond reason."

Caraway leaned back and exhaled slowly.  "I hope you understand, Rinoa, that you're beginning to sound beyond reason yourself."

"I know it sounds crazy, but you can ask anyone I worked with.  You can even ask the president of Esthar; he orchestrated the plan to defeat her."

"His is not the most trustworthy name to invoke.  But for the sake of this argument, and for your sake, I believe you.  I may not comprehend it at all, but I believe what you've told me.  Still, how did this result in your becoming a sorceress?"

"I was predisposed to, I suppose.  When we defeated Edea, Ultimecia abandoned her body for mine.  Quistis and Selphie were there, but she didn't target them.  Whatever it was about me, I was her preferred host.  Whether I had powers that I never knew about to begin with, or whether Ultimecia left some behind when she left me, I don't know.  All I know is that I have abilities I can't explain, and that the world would fear me if they found out."

"Should they?"  Caraway studied her, his expression unreadable. "Should I?"

Rinoa dropped her eyes, concentrating on the carpet pattern.  "I don't know," she said softly.  "As long as I'm myself, as long as I have my wits about me, I would never purposely hurt anyone with my magic.  But I... I can't guarantee that will always be the case.  I practice using and controlling my powers, in places far from other people, and sometimes, I scare myself.  Sometimes I can light a single match with my flames, other times I turn the whole beach into glass.  I'm trying, but it's not easy.  It's scary."  She hugged her knees to her chest and tapped the Odine Bangle.  "That's what this is for.  When I'm not feeling confident, when I know I'm going to be around people, this lets me know that I won't hurt anyone, even accidentally."

Caraway was quiet for a moment.  "Does it work?"

"Not one hundred percent.  It stops the brunt of the magic, though.  And it keeps me grounded."

"Grounded?"

"You didn't see Edea the way I did.  You only saw the power-hungry tyrant.  You didn't see the woman who raised some of the first Garden cadets, the woman they all loved as a mother.  Ultimecia warped her, that's for sure, but how much did her own powers help that along?  I mean, just look at other sorceresses.  Look at Adel.  Ultimecia never got to her; she went mad with her own power.  I don't want that to happen to me.  I can't let that happen.  I won't."

"It's true that, in the legends, magic and madness often go hand in hand.  Perhaps it is an allusion to the old adage about how power can corrupt a person."

"So we've finally found common ground," Rinoa muttered.  Ignoring Caraway’s glare, she went on.  “All I know for sure is that this power inside of me is unlike any sensation I’ve ever felt.  I can feel it opening up my mind and, if I’m honest, I don’t want to shut it out.  I just want to learn to control it, and not let it control me.”  She sighed.  “It feels good to say that.  There aren’t many people I can talk to about this.”

“Speaking of those you can,” Caraway said, an icy edge slipping into his voice, “are you still at Balamb Garden?  With SeeD?”

Rinoa nodded.

“How does that work?  I thought their mission was to eradicate sorceresses.”

“It was… it is.  But that’s only for the sorceresses who pose a danger to others.  That’s why I’m trying so hard to prove that we’re not all the same.  I’m trying to be a good ambassador for sorceresses, and show that we’re not all to be feared.”

“Rinoa, this is SeeD we’re talking about.  They don’t act on their own judgment.  All it takes is someone with enough money to denounce you—”

“That won’t happen.”

“How can you be so sure?  You just told me that you can’t guarantee that your powers won’t drive you mad.”

“They wouldn’t do it!  They’re my friends.  I trust them.”

Caraway leaned forward, one arm stretched across his knees.  “Trust is dangerous.”

“That’s your problem,” Rinoa cried, leaping to her feet.  “You don’t trust anybody!”

“Trust must be earned, and that takes a lot more time than however long you’ve been with these SeeDs.”

“You don’t know anything about what we went through!  We went to the end of time and back, and we were only able to because we trusted each other.  Maybe the politicians and soldiers you’re used to would turn on you in a heartbeat, but not Squall.  Not Selphie or Quistis or Zell or Irvine, either.”

“They aren’t the only SeeDs.  I seem to recall that Headmaster Kramer ordered his own wife’s assassination.”

Rinoa clenched her fists.  “That’s different!  Edea was a danger to others.  I won’t be.  I can’t be.”

“But there are no guarantees, right?”

There are no guarantees in the future.  Rinoa heard herself, a self that seemed much younger and farther from who she was now, blithely quote that line to Squall while her friends played a lively tune in the background.  Hadn’t she been trying to teach him the same thing that Caraway didn’t seem to understand?  That solid trust is more important than the vulnerability it takes to accept it?  She took a deep breath and drew herself up.

“I trust them with my life,” she said, looking Caraway in the eye.  “They took me in when I had nowhere else to go, and they didn’t cast me out because of what I’ve become.  I love them, each and every one, and if that’s going to be my downfall, then…”  She shook her head.  “I’m not Ultimecia, I can’t tinker with time.  I don’t know what the future holds, but right now, my friends are there for me when I’m scared, they’re there to celebrate birthdays and accomplishments and the simple joy of being alive with me.  I’m not going to turn my back on them.”

“Rinoa…”

“May I be excused, please?”  She walked to the door.  “I’d like to walk around a bit.  It’s been a long time since I saw my old room.”

Caraway nodded, and Rinoa suddenly realized how the past few years had aged him.  She felt a sharp twinge in her chest and was almost moved to place her hand on his shoulder, to close the rift between them that had opened over the past fifteen years, to assure him that, despite everything that happened, she was still his little girl.  Instead, she swallowed hard and exited the reception room, letting the door slam shut behind her.

---

Rinoa might not have had the power to manipulate time, but upon entering her old room, she swore that Caraway might.  Crossing the threshold was like stepping back in time four years; everything was exactly was she remembered.  It was a pastel symphony, a teenage girl’s paradise, from the pink wallpaper to the gauzy white canopy over the bed, colorful paper butterflies pinned to it.  One wall was dedicated to posters of celebrities Rinoa liked, while the wall above her desk was plastered with pamphlets and news stories and even a Timber flag she printed out.  Her closet still held a mixture of formal dresses and casual outfits, and she couldn’t help but laugh at her apparent fascination with distressed denim at the time.  The knick-knacks on her dresser remained where she’d left them, only having been moved to be dusted.  And then there was the window with its terracotta pot filled with yellow roses.

Her mother had given her this pot when she could barely walk, and showed her how to fill it with soil, how to plant seeds and water them.  Rinoa kept a constant vigilance over the pot for weeks on end, and when she saw the first green sprouts poke through the soil, she ran down the hallway screeching in excitement.  On the blurry edges of her memory, she remembers Julia’s alarmed face as she scooped Rinoa into her arms, and the laughter that followed, relief and amusement intermingled, when Rinoa told her what the fuss was about.  She had kept that plant for years, and it was perhaps the only thing in the entire Caraway mansion that she had regretted saying goodbye to.

This was not the same plant; in fact, it was not an entire plant, but instead roses in a vase set into the pot.  She should have known that Caraway would not tend to the plant after she left, but she recognized these blooms as an attempt to salvage what was lost.  A disappointing attempt, but an attempt, regardless.

She bent forward and inhaled the perfume, watching the city bustle about outside of the mansion’s walls.  How often had she longed to join them when she was younger, to simply walk out and onto the sidewalk, to mingle with strangers and go where she pleased?  The girl who yearned for freedom could never have imagined the places she would see in just a few years.  From the gritty commotion of Timber to the peaceful shores of Balamb, from the ruins of Centra to the sleek metropolis of Esthar, from her lonely childhood to a future she would not live to experience naturally and back to the present with friends who loved her more than she ever thought it was possible to be loved. 

Was there not some irony, then, to the fact that Caraway had not moved from this mansion in all that time?  His bravery in battle, his leadership prowess, his public charisma—all lay defeated at the hands of fear.  He spent so much energy trying to keep Rinoa safe that he had forgotten how to live for himself.  Rinoa shook away the pang of guilt and reminded herself that that was not her fault.  Caraway made his own choices.

A light rapping at the door was followed by his voice calling her name.  She turned to see him push the door open and stand on the threshold, as if awaiting an invitation to enter.  “I couldn’t bear to change it,” he said, gesturing toward the room.  “I found it brought me comfort.  I could stand here and pretend, if only for a moment, that nothing had changed at all.”

“It certainly feels that way.”  Rinoa motioned him inside with her chin and he entered.  “I hardly remember being the girl who slept here.  I mean, look at those posters, those clothes in the closet!  I really did have questionable taste.”

“I wouldn’t say that.  You always had an independent streak; you were never one to follow trends.”  He glanced at the political propaganda over the desk.  “Or orders.”

“I hope the Timber flag didn’t shock you too badly.”

Caraway laughed.  “I can’t deny that I felt betrayed, especially at the beginning.  It isn’t easy to feel as if your daughter is rejecting everything you stand for.”

“What do you stand for?”

“Back then, I still very much believed in my mission, in this country.  Now, I’m not so certain.”  He took a seat at the vanity, his neatly pressed slacks and white shirt creating an absurd contrast with the pink cushion and heart-shaped frame.  “I would like to stand for a righteous government, one I can be proud of with no reservations or excuses, but I’m not sure I’ll see one like that in my lifetime.  Even Esthar, for all its shiny progress, has plenty of skeletons in its collective closet.”

Rinoa ran a rose petal between her fingertips and stared out the window, over the people, to the Deling City arch.  “I don’t think any government can live up to its own ideals.  That doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t still keep those ideals ourselves.”

“An astute understanding.  Tell me, Rinoa, after everything that has happened, what do you stand for?”

“Love.” The word slipped from her unbidden.  “And truth, and hope, and everything that makes facing the next day worthwhile.  Like you said, the future’s uncertain, and I’ll admit that I’m scared of the changes happening inside me, but if I didn’t have those simple ideals to hold onto, I think I’d crumble under all the stress.”  She ran her fingers down the rose stems.  Thorns trimmed away, just as Julia had done.  “These roses are pretty.”

“They’re from your mother’s garden.  It had quite a bloom this summer.”

“I’m happy to hear that.  She had such a way with plants.  Do you remember the plant that used to be in this pot?”

“Ah, yes, your first flowers.  You were so proud of them.”

“I felt bad about leaving them behind.  I had managed to keep them alive for all those years, it’s a shame they didn’t last.”  Caraway laughed softly and Rinoa turned to face him.  “What’s so funny?”

“Those flowers hadn’t been the same for eleven years before you left.”

“What?”

“Your first ones didn’t last long, I’m afraid.  But you were so fond of them, that neither your mother nor I had the heart to tell you.  So while you were sleeping, she changed them out for fresh ones.”  A shadow passed over his smile.  “Even after she passed, I continued to do so as best as I could.  Bless your heart, you love flowers, but you do not have a green thumb!”

Rinoa looked back at the pot, blinking.  “So you just lied to me about them?”

“I wouldn’t call it a lie, per se.  A benevolent untruth, perhaps.”

Rinoa narrowed her eyes.  “Oh, I see you’re still fond of Galbadian political jargon.”  She could not help but smile, however.  “Why didn’t you tell me?  I could have handled the truth!”

“I suppose we wanted to delay that as much as possible.  Let you dream a bit.  But then, when Julia died… you’d lost so much, already.  I couldn’t bear to see you lose that, too.”

So he replanted them, he cared for them.  How much work, how much time, when into such a small gesture, one that went unnoticed.  Rinoa tried and found it difficult to reconcile the man her father had become before her very eyes with the one that tended to a pot of flowers.  Even as he grew cold and harsh in the years following Julia’s death, even as he grew fearful and paranoid for Rinoa’s safety, even as his ideals clashed with her own, he kept up the charade.  Through it all, the flowers had been there, a constant reminder of how much he cared for her, even if he could never find the words to tell her outright.  Rinoa sank to the floor, cross-legged, and placed her head in her hands, trying to stem another flood of tears.

“What happened to them, eventually?” she asked.  “When did you stop replanting them?”

“When I thought I’d lost you.  When you seemed to vanish off the face of the planet.  When I lost control of everything in my life, and I had no way of knowing whether I’d see you again, I gave up hope.”  The last word caught in his throat.  “Yes, I’ll admit, I gave up hope of seeing you, of finding something in my life worth living for.

“Then, something strange happened.  It only lasted a few moments, but it felt like eternity.  I was in my study one evening, and the world seemed to melt around me.  I saw things that had happened years ago play out in front of my eyes, and even though I knew how they would end, I couldn’t change them.  I saw you, Rinoa, as you were on that day.  That day when I had to tell you the worst thing a child could hear.  And when I couldn’t hold you, when I couldn’t save you from running out and into the mob of reporters, when I couldn’t comfort you, I felt like an absolute failure twice over.  And that’s when I decided that I wouldn’t fail you again.  That’s when I knew I had to let you know that I was still here for you, should you ever decide to come back.”

Rinoa looked up, tears falling onto her cheeks, to see Caraway’s eyes brimming with tears of their own.  “Time Compression,” she whispered.  “You felt it, you saw it.  You do understand, at least a little bit.”  She scrambled over to Caraway’s side, still crying, and grasped his hands.  “I didn’t mean to—you weren’t supposed to—”

“I don’t care what you call it, or whether I was supposed to experience it.  That night changed me.  I know I’ve caused you pain, and I know I haven’t apologized nearly enough.  You know I’m no good with words, Rinoa, not when it comes to sensitive matters.  Every time I’ve tried to explain myself, I’ve only driven you farther away.  So I figured I could at least show you I still cared.”

“It was enough to get me here,” Rinoa admitted.  “I was curious why you kept the flowers here.”

“Isn’t it obvious?”  Caraway’s tears spilled over.  “I love my little girl.  I always have, even when we disagreed.  I loved her so much that I hurt her without realizing it.”

“But how?  How can you love me after what I’ve put you through?  There was a time I hated you, I hated everything you stood for.  How can you look past that?”

“It wasn’t all your fault.  You were hurting; I didn’t help.  I didn’t know how.  Everything in my life up to that point told me to keep pushing forward, to bury my feelings under my work.  I had no idea how to help a child, one who was quickly growing into her own person.”

“And you love me now, knowing what I’ve become?  You asked me earlier whether you should be afraid of me, and I told you that I don’t know!  I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I’m not normal, anymore.  I’m a sorceress.  A sorceress!”

“You’re still Rinoa.  Nothing is going to change that.  Under all of those new powers, you’re still my daughter.  You’ve got your mother’s heart, her stubbornness, her ambition.  Her compassion.”  He grinned through his tears.  “And my temper.”

Rinoa sniffled and squeezed Caraway’s hand.  It was cold and callused, but so familiar.  It was the same hand that she’d held onto during walks in the park.  It was the same hand that stroked her hair and comforted her when she was sick.  It was the same hand she’d turned from during her rebellion, refusing to live the life he’d chosen for her.  She clung to it as if to a buoy in a storm, and she let him squeeze her hand in return. 

“I’ve been a fool,” he said softly.  “Can you forgive me?”

Rinoa nodded.  “It will take time.  But yes, I think I can.”

“Understood.”

“So much has changed,” Rinoa went on, “inside us and between us.  It won’t be easy, but I want to try to get along again.”

“That’s all I can ask for.  Thank you.”  He released her hand and smoothed the hair on top of her head, like he used to do when she was little.  “I know you have your own life now, and I’m not going to tell you how to live it.  Just remember, if you ever need anything, I’m here.”

“I’ll remember.  And Cara—Dad?  I’m sorry, too.”

Rinoa squeaked as Caraway swept her into a tight hug.  To her surprise, her first instinct was not to break free, as she would have done years ago, but instead to return the hug as strongly as she could.  She felt comfortable in his embrace, safe, like when she was little and had woken from a nightmare.  Except that the past few years were real; only time could repair the damage done and reconcile the changes in both of them.  But it was a start, and that really was so much better than where they were that morning.

A commotion outside disrupted the moment between them, and Rinoa rose and walked to the window to investigate.  There, at the gate, was Selphie, arguing with the guard while Angelo barked next to her and Quistis looked as if she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her.

“We came to see Rinoa, on official business,” Selphie said.  Then, spotting Rinoa in the window, she waved and shouted.  “Rinnie, hi!  We just came to see if everything’s all right!  And Angelo ran out of her fancy food!”

“What is going on out there?”  Caraway joined her at the window, peering down at the scene unfolding at the gate.  The guard had stepped aside, probably after speaking with Quistis, and Selphie and Angelo bounded across the bridge toward the door. 

“I wish their timing had been better,” Rinoa said sheepishly, “but I think you’re about to meet some of my friends, again.”

Caraway grinned.  “I think it’s high time I do.”  He placed a hand on her shoulder.  “What do you say we go greet them?”

Rinoa returned the smile.  “Sounds like a plan to me… Dad.”