She is broken when he finds her again, and they almost do not recognize each other.

The beach is always deserted this time of night, this time of year. The winter tourists of Dollet are all back in their rooms, miles north where the rocky beach breaks into small strips of sand. They do not bother the abandoned factory at the foot of the cliffs, with its broken glass and stories of ghosts, but if they did, they would know the ghosts are only a witch, trying to make sense of a world where she doesn't belong. They don't see her, floating towards the ocean at dusk, or the trail of shadows she leaves behind. The water is cold and numbs her legs, but she bathes herself in it, cleansing the illusions so she can have a few moments of clarity before the madness sets in again.

She doesn't see him watching her. She wonders, that she did not feel his approach, but then it has been a very long time, and she has done everything she could to sever the bond.

How long have you been there? she thinks, when she looks up and sees a man standing at the edge of the shore. He is holding a pair of shoes, and letting the water crash over dark fabric and doesn't seem to notice.

His hair is shorter now, and she thinks it doesn't suit him.

She lets a wave carry her back to shore, and stands up in the crashing tide. She is completely naked, but even in the cover of twilight she never sees his eyes leave her face. He is uncertain, but she knows him better than he knows himself. If he thought he was wrong, he would not be standing next to a naked woman on an isolated stretch of beach.

If he thought he was wrong, he wouldn't be here at all.

For a moment, she feels more than his eyes on her. Too many years ago to count, he held her, loved her. Even as the madness settled in, he drew her close to him, a grounding force. He couldn't feel her fading in his arms, couldn't tell that one day she would slip through them entirely, too convinced that whatever happened, they would figure it out together.

To his credit, he never tried to fix her. And in the darkest moments in the years that passed, she wondered if he wouldn't have fixed her anyway. Healed her, found a way to keep her tethered when she was trying so hard to float away.

She couldn't look at him, the day she left. She couldn't look back and see the hurt.

The hurt is still there.

He is not okay. And neither is she.

"I looked for you," he finally says, his voice almost lost to the crashing waves. "Everywhere."

"I'm sorry—I think you're mistaking me for someone else."

Her voice is cracked from lack of use, and she has to turn away before he can react. She walks towards the factory, surrounded by shadows of her own conjuring, and considers sending him away.

.

It's her. Squall knew it before he left his hotel room, and he wonders how long she's been living here. He's been to Dollet once every few months every year since she left, but tonight is the first night he got the feeling she might be near by.

It's the first time in a decade he's thought she might be nearby.

He almost misses his chance. He is at the foot of the cliffs, near the old satellite dish factory, just past where it stops being safe to go on foot. The locals have talked about the end of the beach before, and the haunted ruins. Talked about the stories teenagers come back with, about shadows that move around of their own volition. He feels foolish; how could he have missed it before?

And on cue, he sees the shadow moving towards the sea, and that is all she is. If he didn't know what he was looking for it would seem like a trick of the mind; his eyes seeing darkness and movement when there is only the figure of a woman. Until, she casts the darkness aside and steps, naked, into the ocean. Her hair is long and wild, and her skin glows in the starlight. So much of her is missing, but Squall is overwhelmed nonetheless.

She lets the waves crash over her knees for what feels like an eternity, before she walks further out, to where only her head is visible over the black water, and she lets that slide into the next wave. The water rolls forward and appears still where he saw her slip beneath it, and Squall starts to wonder if he didn't imagine her. It's been so long, and he had long given up hope. He thinks again of her shadow trick, and wonders if he isn't really imaging the whole thing, trying to bring her back, when she made it clear she was leaving for good.

And then she emerges, and when she does, she looks right at him, and he is liquified inside.

Rinoa.

She stares, and he stares back. She slips into another wave and lets it carry her towards the shore, and he continues watching.

Are you real?

She has to be real.

"I looked for you," he says. He is angry, he is hurt, he is so fucking happy to see her he's not sure he can even remember his own name. "Everywhere."

"I'm sorry—I think you're mistaking me for someone else."

Her voice is raspy and her words are flat and they slice down to the bone. She turns and starts to walk towards the factory, and he can see the occasional edge of shadow around her while she walks.

She is not as hidden as she was before, and he wonders if it is because her glamour lost its power when he addressed her, or if she is simply not trying as hard.

He doesn't think about it too long. Instead, he takes a step and follows her.

I'm marking this as part of The Successor challenge, with the complete understanding that I may not finish it by the end of the month, and it may take a different thematic direction than I planned regardless. I don't think it will end up being very long (maybe even only one more part?). But I didn't write anything Squall/Rinoa for the challenge at all last year, and it was looking like that might be the case again this year, and I started writing this out a week or so ago and figured I may as well see where it goes. :)

On a weirder note, I realized today it's been over two years since I finished writing The Successor-my fic, not to be confused with the name of the challenge. Shouldn't have I have more to show for myself, now that I know I can write something through to completion? Apparently not. So uh, have more angst. :D