Final Fantasy VIII: Long Held Back
Rinoa knew how to handle Squall when he was depressed or annoyed, the right words to say (something whimsical, to make him smile), the best place to touch him (his hands, because he automatically curled their fingers together).
His anger is different, and it took her months to figure out how to deal with a lifetime of rage that was bottled up and hidden from even himself.
"I don't want to talk about it." He didn't look at her, but she shut the office door behind her, anyway.
"You shouldn't be so mad at them, you know." He wasn't going to listen, so her words were wasted, but it felt better to talk. She stepped around the wreckage on the floor, causalities of the war that was always raging just under Squall's surface. "They did their best."
"You define best in strange ways, Rinoa." The pencil Squall was using snapped. "Your team was sloppy. You caused more damage than any SeeD team in history. You barely caught the poachers. They almost—" He dropped the pieces and picked up a pen, instead. "This was your first mission as a squad leader, and you—"
"We can't plan for everything." Knowledge of her lessons with Quistis, the uselessness of battle plans, the need for SeeDs to be creative, made her feel confident. Squall knew it as well as she did—it wasn't why he was upset. "You shouldn't punish them because you—"
The desk quaked when Squall shot up, his hands tight on the edge. "I swear, Rinoa, if you keep pushing me, I'll—"
She crossed her arms. "What? Demote me? Cut my salary? You can't be unfair to other people just because you're scar—"
Squall's desk wasn't that heavy, anyway, and he threw it, arms straining up, sent it sliding away and paper flying around them like a color-coded snowstorm. He came for her next, face dark, but she stood her ground even as he picked her up and shoved her against the wall. "Strip you of your license," he said, breath hot on her face. "Kick you out of Garden. Put you somewhere safe." His voice was eerie and calm even as his fingers dug into her arms.
She touched his cheek, flushed red and hot with anger and fear. "I'm strong," she said, and tilted her head. "Didn't you help make me that way?"
She wasn't surprised when he kissed her, shaky and slow. "Rinoa—" he said, desperate, against her mouth, and Rinoa wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back.
"I know," she said, and squeezed him tight as he buried his face in her hair. "I know."
