Rinoa/Caraway: Pins
Title: Pins
Claim: Rinoa/Caraway
Rating: G
Prompt: Left alone, nature (#41, #12)
Note: This is a little soppy, but in a good way, I hope? This is set in the aftermath of Julia's death.
---
He had tried so hard to learn how to plait her hair, but his fingers seemed deft enough for a pistol but not for the softness of her young hair. Sighing, he let her hair fall out again, removing bobby pins and holding them in his mouth as he tried again. And again.
Get three strands of hair and knot them together, simple. He had mastered complex battle patterns better than anyone else in the entire Galbadian army, but threading together three even strands of hair now seemed impossible. It reminded him that, for all his virtues as a tactician and a leader, some things were just-- well, hard to express, hard to complete.
He wished Julia could be here to do this. But he should be able to do this. Then the truth crept up on him, an icy whisper in his ear:
'the truth is, General sir, she did so much where you did so little'
She had missed how her Mother used to plait her hair before she went to bed each night and begged her Dad to try . He nervously tried to fix her hair into place again. Her hair was so soft, so dark and beautiful.
It felt a little sad to touch it. It felt like Julia's.
But then everything about her to him was Julia; the upturned smile, the dreamy little sighs, the wistful expression in their eyes. Even the way they would look at you; that calm, considered gaze, so steady and mature; like they knew you better than anyone else.
She burnt with her mother's soul.
His hands shook as he tried to smooth her hair into the palm of his hands.
“You know, Rinoa.” He said, pulling all of the bobby pins out of her hair, feeling sick and shaken. “Maybe you should try doing this yourself.”
He paused in the hallway, catching his breath. Ghosts surrounded this place, pouring into his skin and into the very air itself. Everywhere smelt of her, everywhere a half forgotten note she had written, or a barrette for her hair. As many times as he scanned the house for a trace of her, she would always leave herself somewhere.
Rinoa tip toed out of her room.
“Dad, what's wrong?”
“Fury, what's wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing.”
“You look scared.”
“You look drunk.”
“I'm not.”
“I'm not.”
“Yes you are.”
“Liar.”
“Go back to your room.”
“Go away.”
“I don't wanna, I'm scared.”
“I can't. I'm married to you, remember?”
“Rinoa, go.”
“Go then.”
“No.”
“Fine.”
She burst into tears, ripping out the bobby pins and throwing them on the floor.
She ripped her wedding ring off. Just before she left, just before---
He picked up the bobby pin. Quietly and gently, he pulled Rinoa's hair back and pulled it into a ponytail. She was crying so hard she barely noticed. The noise filled the house.
“I'm no good at this.” He said quietly, close to tears. “And I'm so sorry.”