Epilogue

By silver dolphin

The slam of the front door and the sound of boots clicking down the hallway brought a little blonde hurricane out of the living hall. Quistis barely had time to react before her daughter flung herself at her mother with a delighted cry of "Mama!"

Low chuckling followed the sprite's spirited greeting, and Quistis looked up from where she knelt beside her daughter into the affectionate eyes of her husband. She smiled wearily in return.

"Why's she still up at this hour?" she asked, standing with the three-year-old in her arms.

"She had a bad dream and absolutely refused to sleep on her own. I still had Cid's report to do, so she ended up sitting in my lap while I typed it up."

"Oh." She was dead exhausted, and she wasn't really in the mood to argue with him about the late hours their daughter was keeping. "Fine. I'll put her back to bed now."

"No." The little voice piped up at her ear. Her daughter's blue-gray eyes, the reminiscent of Squall's, held that flatly decisive look she was so accustomed to seeing in her husband's eyes.

"Yes, Regan. You're tired."

"Not tired!" The little sprite declared defiantly.

"Well, I am," Quistis told her daughter. "Like it or not you're going to bed."

"I'll do it." Squall extracted Regan from her arms and kissed her mouth lingeringly. Although his wife still looked fresh from the shower, he could detect the faint droop of her shoulders and the weariness in her eyes. "Why don't you go get ready for bed?"

Quistis smiled her thanks, kissed her daughter good night and ruffled her silver-blonde hair, then continued on to their bedroom. The water felt so good against her bare skin - hot, sharp, and stinging. But she finally managed to summon the strength to step out of the shower and dry herself off, then pulled on her robe and shuffled to the bedroom.

"Have you seen my glasses, honey?" she asked her husband, who sat cross-legged on the bed leafing through his reports.

"Weren't you wearing them today?" Squall was quite used to having his wife lose her glasses all the time. They always turned up in the end, somehow or another, so it wasn't really a big problem. Most of the time, anyway.

"No – I had my lenses in for the meeting. I must have left them in the car again."

She yawned and dropped down next to him, and he caught her limp body in his arms. "You'll get a headache if you sleep with your hair all wet like that."

"I'll have to chance it. I'm too tired to move any more." She leaned back against him and closed her eyes.

"They agreed to our proposal, didn't they? Or you wouldn't be able to go to sleep so peacefully."

"Naturally." His wife was an expert when it came to negotiating. "It took me a long time and some pretty fast-talking to get them to agree, and it was late when I finally left Trabia." She gave him a half-lidded gaze. "I could've stayed the night, but I was lonesome for my nice warm husband."

He caressed her fluted collarbones with a gentle hand, then ran his finger up her neck. "Shall I make the journey home worth your while?"

She giggled, fingers absently tracing designs on his thigh. "Not tonight, honey – I have to report in to Cid early tomorrow."

He absently pulled the towel from around her shoulders and began to wipe her hair with it.

"Mm." A soft purr escaped her throat as the gently pulling sensation on her hair soothed away the tension of the busy day she'd had.

"Feel good?"

"Yes." He reached over to the bedside table for her hairbrush and began pulling it slowly through the damp wealth of hair tumbling three quarters of the way down to her waist. She closed her eyes and let herself be lulled by the slow, gentle rhythm. A faint smirk toyed with the corners of Squall's lips as he listened to the contented sound issuing from his wife's throat. Nobody would ever believe this particular scene – the detached, aloof SeeD commander brushing his wife's hair. But he'd changed ever since their marriage – even if only to the people closest to him – and he'd never regretted marrying his ex- instructor, even if they did have their own little skirmishes now and then. The "kiss and make up" part following soon after more than made up for anything.

"You should take care of yourself," he broke the peaceful silence between them. "You're always tired nowadays."

She laughed furtively. "It's no big deal."

"No? You walk around like a living corpse - "

"It can't be helped, honey."

"Stop being cryptic." He narrowed his eyes slightly. "What's going on?"

She laughed again and took his hand, letting it rest against her abdomen. "I guess now would be as good a time as any." His right hand stopped pulling the brush through her hair – rather abruptly, she thought.

"You're pregnant again?"

"Mm – hmm." She turned around to look at him, eyes searching his carefully. Only then did he see the little telltale signs: The faint hollows under her cheekbones, and the dilated eyes. Her face seemed a little thinner, too. "You're not happy with it?"

"Of course I am." He set the brush aside and pulled her to lie down with him. She automatically cuddled closer, tucking her head in between his neck and shoulder in that unique way of hers. His wife always liked close physical contact with him. Not that he minded, really; she was soft and warm and she always smelled good enough to bottle and sell.

"Maybe it'll be a boy this time." Her soft voice was slightly muffled into the pillow.

"Mm." Then, "I have to leave soon for a mission in Esthar."

"How long?" She knew instinctively she wasn't going to like his answer. Squall never brought anything up unless it was big news.

"Three weeks."

"Solo?"

"Mm."

She kept her face adverted from his. Although she'd been married to him for almost four years now, she still felt that deep reluctance whenever he was leaving. They'd had this discussion many times before – she wasn't going to bring it up again. "In my present condition I won't be much of a help, anyway."

"Nonsense. I always want you with me. But Regan –"

"I know." And she did. But she just wanted to stay with him like this forever. Never have to see the sun rising and dragging herself out of bed to go to work, and never see him leave for missions for weeks at a time.

Squall lay still next to his wife's pliant warmth as he listened to her even breathing. It was very late – or very early to be exact – but he was loath to get up from his warm bed and turn off the bedroom lights.

Finally, though, realism prevailed, and grumbling under his breath he slid out from between the sheets and shut off the lamp. Only then was he aware of the pale, thin silver of moon outside the window, and his mind reached back over the passage of time to another scenario, years ago, when he'd stood by another window seeking some form of guidance, to have Quistis come out of the bedroom and offer her hand to him.

He glanced back at his sleeping wife. The crescent moon was wan in the unforgiving black of the night sky, but it cast a slender moonbeam on her pale, beautiful face and lighted her honey colored hair with a glowing radiance. His guardian angel, he loved her more than life itself – but sometimes he couldn't help staring at her and wondering what life would be like if Rinoa hadn't died. He'd have married her, certainly – what of Quistis then?

It wasn't that he was against her having another baby. It was more of the feeling that he was giving her so many children that he was burdening her, chaining her so that her life was greatly restricted. She'd already given up so much – she was mainly handling diplomacy missions now and she'd gone back to being an instructor. When was the last time he'd seen her using her whip, anyway?

"Honey?" Quistis's voice was husky with sleep. "What are you doing there? Come back to bed."

"Coming." He cast one more look at the moon, whose solitary ray played over his waiting wife, and turned back to her expectant arms.

- End -