FFVIII: Origins (Prologue)

[edenbound]

Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Pairing: None
Warnings: Angst
Chapter: Prologue
Rating: G
Summary: This is where part of the story began.

“It’s a boy,” the nurse says, and the woman sits up, her face pale, to take the carefully wrapped bundle. A young man hovers by the bedside, looking somewhere between disgusted, overwhelmed and intensely happy. He leans down over the bed to get a look at the tiny face, somewhat bemused at the silence.

“I thought newborns always cried a lot?”

The nurse smiles comfortably, bustling around the room doing a lot of obscure but no doubt useful things. “He had himself a little cry while I was cleaning him up, but other than that, he’s a good boy. Since you were so tired, ma’am, we’ve given him some milk already, but you might like to feed him a little later. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other people to tend to.”

The father sits down carefully on the edge of the bed, still peering in at the tiny face – reaching to push back the edges of the blankets a little to get a better look. Neither of the new parents look up as the nurse hurries out, closing the door quietly behind her. Instead, they exchange a look: part anxiety, part that loving, solemn joy that comes in moments like that.

“I was expecting a girl,” the father says, softly.

“You’d better like this one, because I’m not giving you another,” the mother says, just the hint of teasing in her voice. He laughs and leans in to kiss her, reaching up to smooth her hair back from her still sweaty forehead.

“Oh, I do like this one. I wasn’t expecting a boy, though. What shall we call him?”

For a moment there was silence as the little baby stirred in his blankets. The mother adjusted them a little and held the baby closer, letting his fingers curl around one of hers when he reached for her. He had them both caught in the spell that so many newborns weave, a kind of quiet, awed reverence for what has been created, the new life on earth.

“He’ll have your last name,” the mother says, finally. “Even if we never did get chance to get married.”

“I’ll marry you when I come back, I promise.”

She smiles at him. “I know.”

“So… what shall we call him?”

She hesitates for a moment, looking down at the baby and his tiny drowsy face. She rocks him a little, prompting his eyes to fall gently closed, and she smiles at the sight of him at peace. Somehow, that quiets the trouble stirring in her, too, somehow makes the idea of what’s to come more bearable. The separation to come has never seemed easy, but somehow the baby makes it all the more likely that he’ll come back – not that she’s ever doubted that, but…

“Seifer,” she says, softly, “Seifer Almasy.”

“It’s perfect,” he says, kissing her cheek lightly again. She reaches up and draws him closer, kisses him on the lips lightly, lingeringly. He pulls away, then, reluctantly, straightening up and tugging at the uniform that looks new and fits badly. “I should go. I need to be there –”

“I know,” she says, sadly.

He leans in and kisses her one more time. “I’ll be back before you know it. With medals for bravery and all of that.”

“Serving in Adel’s army, it doesn’t seem likely,” she whispers. He kisses her again, kisses away the protest, and straightens up.

“You know I have to. To keep you and Seifer safe. I’ll write. Every day, if I can.”

“I know.”

He takes one last look at her, at her and at the baby lying in her arms, and then he turns to go. He doesn’t look back, and she doesn’t look up, but focuses on the features of the child in her arms, the fingers that grasp hers gently. She whispers to him softly, telling him how brave his father is, how brave they have to be because of that. She rocks him and tries to hold back her tears, trying to be as tearless as the baby in her arms.

The nurse looks in, after a while, and sees her sitting there silently, frozen. Wisely, she leaves again, closing the door quietly after her.

“You have to be brave, Seifer,” the new mother whispers, one more time, brushing her fingers over his cheek.

Comments

[lassarina]

I like the father's discomfort and awkwardness, his lack of understanding of the nurse's actions.

"but focuses on the features of the kid in her arms" - I'm being nitpicky here, but the word "kid" seems kind of jarring in this sentence. I think it would work better as "baby" or "child."

I do wonder why they haven't married.