Revisions updated 3/4/11
Irvine raised exhausted and distraught eyes as he heard a low moan. He stared uncomprehendingly for a moment before realizing the commander was stirring, the sedative drugs having faded from his bloodstream. The sharpshooter jumped from his chair, sending it crashing to the floor behind him and leaned anxiously over the man on the bed. "Squall?" he asked hesitantly as the man opened his eyes. Grey orbs stared up at him for a moment then closed and opened again. He seemed confused and then annoyed. Irvine swallowed and told himself not to look away. He started to form a question but his friend didn't wait and raised a hand to his face groping for something that wasn't there.
Panicking, Irvine caught the hand quickly. "Take it easy. Do you re–"
"Take the spell off me," the man demanded in a horse voice, scowling.
"Squall," Irvine said brokenly. "…there's no spell."
The Commander didn't seem to understand at first and Irvine prayed that he wouldn't have to explain. He got his wish a second later as the blood drained from the brunette's face. With a jerk, the man came upright on the bed his hands clawing at the sheets. Irvine attempted to lay a hand on Squall's shoulder, but he pushed Irvine away and ground the heel of his hands over his eyes before taking them away and blinking around the room. His mouth opened but no words came out.
Irvine could see panic starting to swirl and quickly pushed at Squall's shoulders, trying to get him to lie back down. "Squall, stop it!" he ordered, trying to keep his voice steady. Squall didn't need him to go to pieces too. "Breathe. Calm down and breathe deeply."
Squall resisted his push. The panic twisted through him and, shivering, he pushed Irvine away hard enough to send him stumbling back a couple of steps, almost tripping on the abandoned chair. Irvine saw hands reaching for eyes and rushing back, snagged the commander's wrists at the last second, pulling them away from their owner's face. Squall's breath shuddered in the back of his throat, strangled emotions choking on the rush of fear.
"Squall leave your eyes alone. Please… don't."
"Let go," the Commander all but snarled, and yanked his hands away with a violent pull that had to have hurt. Fingers touched his open eyes and he cringed backward where he sat. Then he was struggling with the sheets, tearing them aside and scrambling away from the bed as if it had burned him. He made it a few feet away before he faltered and froze where he was.
Small shoulders hunched forward and a strangled sound slid out between Squall's teeth, rank with denial and horror.
Irvine felt a fist around his chest squeezing. There was nothing he could possibly say so he stood still and watched as his Commander came undone before him.
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Quistis stared blankly at the coffee in her hands.
Dollet coffee was more solid than liquid, but perhaps it was just her throat locking up every time she took a gulp. Was this her fifth that night … sixth?
The phone in her pocket rang again, vibrating against her leg. She ignored it like she had ignored all the other calls. She couldn't bring herself to answer and explain what had happened; she didn't think she would be able too. The night was hazy blur, pushed away under copious amounts of coffee and defiant denial.
Quistis closed her eyes…
…and watched a cloud of fire flying towards her; heard the sound of glass shattering.
She snapped her eyes open and gulped down some more coffee.
Desperate to think of something else, she decided she'd answer the call after all and pulled the phone out of her pocket. The words 'missed call' flashed at her mockingly. Fighting the urge to glare at the screen, she opened the device and started scrolling down the list of missed calls.
Cid, Balamb, Orphanage, Selphie, Laguna, Laguna, Laguna, Esthar, Rinoa…
Quistis paused at that last name. It didn't surprise her that Rinoa had called, only that it had taken so long. It was likely all over the news by now. And besides wouldn't Rinoa have felt some hint of Squall's pain? They were connected; sorceress and knight.
Right?
Quistis' brow furrowed in thought. They'd shared a room for two years and had never really had any fights, but she didn't remember them ever kissing or holding hands with the exception of that night everyone had drowned themselves in alcohol in celebration for defeating Ultimecia. Even Squall had gotten roaring drunk and had kissed Rinoa on the balcony. But in the two years between then and now, she couldn't recall any public displays. She had figured a connection between a sorceress and her knight would be more physical, but maybe it didn't have to be. She and Rinoa had never really bonded so they'd never talked about any of the technicalities before.
Trying to remember how she'd diverged onto that path of thinking, she glanced at the screen again and realized Rinoa had left a voice message.
By passing the other messages she opened Rinoa's'.
"Quistis, it's Rinoa" The soft voice began hesitantly. "…I'm not sure I should be saying this on a message but … I told Squall I'd call him when I got to Deling and he's not answering his phone. I know he's on a mission right now but wanted him to know that … well, never mind. I guess you should know that I'm not coming back. I don't know if Squall told you yet. I'm sorry I didn't do it myself, but the decisions all happened pretty fast. If you're with Squall… well I just wanted to make sure he's doing alright. I really shouldn't have bothered you. I'll just call him back later… I'll maybe talk to you later? Okay, bye."
Quistis pulled the phone away from her ear, at a loss on how to react. Rinoa was gone, just like that. She'd always been on the outside, not having been part of the original gang when they were children. She'd tried to fit in and they'd welcomed her as best as they could, but years wouldn't have changed the dynamics of the group. Squall was her only link.
Had she cracked and decided she didn't want to fit in?
Whatever the reason, only two things really mattered right now. First, Rinoa hadn't seen the news yet and, second, the connection between sorceress and knight obviously wasn't there anymore.
Was that why Squall had lived in his office for the past week? He'd gone through paperwork twice as fast and had snapped at anyone who'd looked at him wrong, but she had dismissed the darker mood as stress induced antagonism.
He hadn't wanted to go on the mission, Quistis remembered suddenly, but she'd pushed him into it.
"Truck!" Irvine shouted and she threw herself behind the car with him, Squall a step behind her. The boy in his arms was screaming at the top of his lungs and trying to scramble out of the fighter's arms. With an oath he dropped the kid onto Quistis' lap ungraciously and glanced up just as the tank exploded. It all happened too fast. The kid's weight had barely touched her when all sound was washed away in an angry roar. Glass shattered over her head and Squall was thrown backwards.
All her fault
Feeling the warm sting of tears, she clenched her teeth and swallowed them down.
She was contemplating getting up to get more coffee when the door of the cafeteria opened and Irvine walked in. He glanced around the empty room until he spotted her in the corner. His steps were heavy as he made his way over to her and the expression on his face made dread slide down Quistis' spine. He looked like he'd just had his heart offered to him on a platter.
He slid into the booth next to her. "He's awake."
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
Irvine slumped in a plastic chair with his hands thrust into his jacket pockets. Quistis was pacing before him as she talked to the headmaster on the phone. She was keeping it quiet but the nurse behind the desk periodically sent dark looks towards them. Irvine glared back and resisted the urge to snap at her.
He had the brunette's gunblade secure in its case at his feet. The Commander had been using his old gunblade, the Revolver; Lionheart had disappeared not long after the war. Squall had never mentioned the blue blade and Irvine had never asked. He nudged the case at his feet with a boot gently, and wondered what would happen to it now. Squall owned the blade, unlike some of the blades he borrowed from the Garden. Would he want to keep it if he couldn't use it? It was painfully obvious that Squall wouldn't be able to wield the weapon ever again.
Quistis shut her phone and stopped in front of him. She had a few scrapes along her face and arms from the mission, and the red marks stood out brightly on her pale skin. He wondered if he was that ghostly pale as well. "How'd it go?"
"How do you think?" she replied and passed a hand over her face wearily. "We should take him back home. Cid wants Dr. Kadowaki to look at him."
"And do what?" the question came out sharper then Irvine planned.
Quistis didn't answer and put her phone into her jean's pocket even though Irvine could see it was ringing again. "I'll go talk with the doctor here and have the bill sent to Balamb."
Irvine didn't reply and Quistis walked away, towards the doctor's desk on the other side of the room.
That left it to him to inform Squall that somehow he had to get out of the hospital and through the crowd of reporters outside to the ship. Knowing it wouldn't be an easy task, he hesitated. When Quistis glanced back at him in question, he grimaced and stood up. Before he could hesitate Irvine strode towards the room Squall had been given and rapping his knuckles on the door opened it.
Squall was curled on his side on the bed, hands loosely placed before him. His jacket and shirt had been bloody, so the doctors had put one of Irvine's shirts on him after the operation. The black material formed around his muscles and betrayed his tenseness. Not sleeping then.
"It's me, Irvine," he said and walking over, sank down on the side of the mattress. It depressed a little under his weight but Squall didn't acknowledge him, didn't even move. His eyes stared at the wall, blind.
It had been a shock when they had first opened. The pupils had disappeared, covered by a cloud of milky grey, like his irises had expanded inwards and enveloped them. They didn't look human, and Irvine shivered looking at them. The doctors said it was because of how the glass had entered the eyes and been extracted. Irvine didn't really understand all the terms they had used, but he knew it would be a while before he would be able to look at those eyes and not feel a twinge of unease.
His eyes weren't the only thing that had taken the impact of the flying glass. A multitude of tiny cuts freckled his face, some large gashes and others simple cuts. Dollet didn't have a military hospital and thus they didn't use magic, so the cuts had been cleaned and left alone to heal naturally. His hair had been cut as well during operation. Apparently doctors didn't have any qualms about cutting hair if it got in the way of their operation. It had been hacked away quickly, and then afterwards someone had fixed it up. The result was a simple cut above the ears.
Irvine studied it now and secretly liked it. The strong bones in the fighter's face were more pronounced now, harder, making him look older than his nineteen years. The scar between his eyes had faded to a light brown but it was also more noticeable without hair framing the face.
Squall still hadn't moved or spoken. He must have sensed Irvine's eyes, but if he had he ignored the examination.
"Squall?" Irvine asked. The doctors had also mentioned something about some effects Squall might suffer immediately after waking up, but Irvine didn't remember what they were.
Squall was naturally a silent man, but this silence was grating on the nerves.
"Squall, we're gonna leave." Still no response. "Nod your head if you're even hearing me. Anything. Just do something, for the love of Hyne."
"How?"
Irvine almost didn't catch the question. "What?" he asked, not understanding.
"How are we going to leave, Irvine?" Squall spat and pushed himself up into a sitting position. "I can't even find my way out of the fucking room."
His friend's tone was harsh and low, the vulgarity giving an edge to the hard sounds.
Irvine rubbed the back of his neck in agitation. He wanted to pull Squall to his chest and crush him in hug, but that was out of the question. "Let me get a wheelchair," he suggested.
Squall's cloudy eyes had found their way to him as he spoke, and now they stared at him. A twitch of a muscle was all the warning Irvine got before Squall lost it. It was the flight or fight instinct. Squall had always been one to fight, but this time it seemed a mix of the too; the urge to fight warring with the need to flee.
Irvine snagged Squall's arm before he made it off the bed, ducked the side hook aimed towards him, and pushed his weight into the smaller man, bearing him back down on the bed. Squall thrashed underneath him, snarling. Irvine grunted as an elbow jabbed him savagely in the abdomen, and struggled to hold the arms down.
"Squall! Calm down!"
When no immediate effect was forthcoming, Irvine eyed the emergency button at the head of the bed, wondering how in the hell he was going to reach it. He didn't think Squall had even heard him, too far gone in panic. He didn't know what had triggered it, maybe the word 'wheelchair'. It could have been anything at this point.
With a twist of his shoulders and hips, Squall heaved him off, and Irvine hit the floor with a curse. Squall rolled the other direction off the bed and ran. Leaping to his feet, his tailbone smarting, the sharpshooter punched the emergency button and took off after the brunette, tackling him from behind.
Wrapping his arms around Squall's chest and locking arms to body, he gripped his own wrist with one hand and heaved Squall away from the door he'd miraculously found. Squall was strong, but Irvine was taller and he used the height and weight to his advantage. He felt fingers clawing against his thighs while the chest under his arms heaved. He could hear Squall's throat working to hold down shattered sobs and wanted to cry himself.
He had to get Squall down. On his feet, the Commander's violent lashing out caused more damage than he could bear for more than a few minutes. Step by step, he pulled himself and the brunette away from the door until his back hit a wall. Then, pushing his knees behind Squall's, brought his weight down. The pressure of his knees behind Squall's caused the latter's knees to buckle and they both collapsed. Irvine gritted his teeth as his tailbone took another hit but tightened his arms.
A few seconds after they'd hit the floor, the door slammed open with Quistis framed in the doorway. Irvine watched her take in the scene with something akin to horror before the doctor pushed her aside ungraciously and ran towards him.
"Careful," he hissed as the man knelt next to him and pulled something out of his pocket. Squall was still drowning in his panic and unpredictable. There was a flash of silver and Squall gave a surprised jolt as the needle broke the skin of his upper arm. It didn't take long for the drug to rush through the blood system, and Squall's weight slumped back against Irvine's chest, his muscles sedating into paralysis. The brunette was obviously aware of the effects because he gave a snarl of protest but finally his head lolled back against Irvine's shoulder and his breathing evened out.
Irvine let his own head fall back against the wall behind him and breathed out a sigh.
"Post traumatic effects," the doctor said into the silence. "The sedative with help him sleep."
"Will it happen again?" Quistis asked from the door.
The doctor stood and shrugged. "Every patient is different." He murmured something to Quistis about paperwork and left the room. Slowly Irvine unlocked his wrists, his muscles stiff with exertion. Squall's breath was warm against his neck, and a shiver went down his spine.
"I think a wheelchair is out of the question," he finally said, looking up towards Quistis. She looked at him strangely, not getting the joke. Shaking his head at her questioning look, he shifted until he could get his knees under him and hooking an arm underneath Squall's knees, pushed himself onto his feet, cradling the smaller man against his chest.
Quistis wiped the back of her hand under her eyes and walked over.
"I don't know how to help him, Irvine," she whispered.
"We do what we can," he replied "First we get him home."
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Seifer tapped his finger impatiently on his desk as the phone continued to ring. Rain lashed the window in angry strokes, but he didn't close the blinds against it. The fury of the storm was soothing to the chaos in his mind.
The reporter on the TV disappeared and Seifer's eyes darted to the screen to watch footage taken hours ago. Even from the distance the film had been taken from he recognized Trepe as she stepped out of a building. Kinneas came out after her carrying a body. They were both immediately swamped by microphones and tape recorders. The camera tried to zoom in on the body clutched in Kinneas' arms, but Quistis was stepping in front of him, blocking the view.
More footage, taken later, showed the Ragnarok door opening. The camera was closer this time, jostling around as Balamb security tried to shove the cameraman back. Through the tilting however it was still possible to see Leonhart in the ship's doorway, recognizable even with his hair shorn short, standing this time between his two comrades. The footage showed Squall shaking his head and backing away into shadows before the camera was forcibly taken and turned away.
"Seifer is that you?" a miserable voice said from the phone as the call finally connected. The reporter came back onto the screen with an old picture of Leonhart in a conference set in the top corner.
"Laguna," he greeted belatedly. "I got your message."
"That was a while ago," the president commented.
"I've been busy."
"I haven't seen you for a long time. Are you going to come up and visit?"
The cheerful voice was gone. Seifer wondered if Laguna had had to find out about the accident from the news or if someone had had the decency to call him before it had been broadcasted all over the world. "I've got to wrap up a case here but yes, I'll come."
"Still working as a lawyer? One day I'm going to have to create a scene just to see you dressed up in a suit." Laguna chuckled but the amusement died a minute later. "Has … have you looked into … it?"
Seifer rubbed his face tiredly. The evidence of looking into it was scattered all over his desk. The second he'd heard he'd called in for reports and files. "From all angles it just looks like a freak accident, Laguna." He said, breaking the news bluntly. "There's nothing yet to point to anything other than that." He heard Laguna sigh on the other end. "There's not always someone to blame."
"But why did it have to happen to him?" Laguna complained, giving into his obvious frustration. "He's nineteen years old! He had his whole life ahead of him." There was a muted sound of books falling to the ground, like the president had shoved them off a desk with a vicious swipe. Angry then; that meant he'd found out from the news.
Seifer leaned forward over the desk, propping his elbows on it and raked a hand through his hair. Laguna was taking it harder than he thought he might; a father's fear for his son.
"He'll get through it" Seifer told the president, not voicing his own worries.
"You think so?"
"He's a fighter. He's never slow about getting back up once he's fallen."
Laguna pulled himself together and cleared his throat. "I'll see what I can do to get him up here. Maybe it'd help to get away." Laguna forced cheer into his voice and added innocently, "Maybe you'll still be here when he comes. It would be like old times, the three of us."
Seifer's hand flinched in his hair, tugging his blonde locks. Wincing, he retracted his hand and sat up suspiciously, going over Laguna's words again carefully. Did he know?
"Perhaps," he replied ambiguously.
"If you're not here in a week, I'm flying down to get you," Laguna said in way of goodbye before hanging up on him.
Cursing softly, Seifer put the phone down. Laguna was a conniving bastard sometimes, teasing but never letting on what exactly he knew.
The footage on the news now showed Balamb's Headmaster, ushering people outside of Balamb's gates, shaking his head and giving no comment to the questions asked of him. Seifer turned the TV off and closed his eyes, but the image of Leonhart's limp form pressed against his lids, giving him no respite.
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
Squall pushed back into the corner, feeling the solid weight press into his shoulder blades. The feeling of it helped keep him grounded, kept him from drifting into the blackness and getting lost. He couldn't help but stare into the emptiness, stretching forever before him. It was Time Compression all over again, miles of nothing all around him. And he couldn't get out.
The door slid open, and he tightened his arms around his knees. There was a pause and then footsteps made their way towards him. The carpet muted the noise, but he followed the sound until he could sense the person standing above him. He didn't want to care about the person's identity but it ate at him, not knowing.
The presence crouched down next to him; too close. He thought about shifting away, but he'd backed himself into a corner already. There was nowhere to go.
"Squall, you should try and rest."
Dr. Kadowaki
He knew what he was going to say, didn't want to, but the words came anyways. "Please…" he breathed, throat clenching. "There must be something you can do."
He heard her swallow. "There's nothing I can do, Squall. I'm sorry."
He dug his nails into his palms and wondered if a blind man could cry. "A cornea transplant?"
"The glass damaged the back of the eyes. A cornea transplant wouldn't give you your sight back."
No way out. The darkness seemed to laugh at him. He didn't realize he had a stranglehold on his wrists until Dr. Kadowaki gently pried his fingers apart. "Rest, please," she pleaded and with a squeeze of her fingers let go and stood up. She walked away and the door hissed open and closed.
Rest. The word was seductively inviting. Asleep, he wouldn't have to stare at the blackness. The black chasm in front of him kept him where he was.
He sat there for another minute or two before he realized he'd have to move, now or later.
He could crawl or he could stand up and try to find his way across the room.
Gathering his suddenly shaky legs under him he braced his hands on the wall and stood up still backed into the corner. Sliding along it, away from the emptiness in front of him, he started moving. It didn't take him long to run into something, causing something rattle. Keeping his left hand against the wall, he reached his other down, fingers hitting wood that was higher up than thought with a painful jab. Cursing, he pulled his fingers back and flexed them.
The damn thing was in his way. He turned until only a shoulder was in contact with the wall and reaching both hands down, carefully this time, he probed until he had grasped two sides of the small table. Then, with a grunt, he heaved it away from himself. There was a loud crash and the sound of something expensive breaking. He breathed out hard as the violence swirled in the air.
He wanted to put his back to the wall again, but he resisted the urge and keeping one hand against it, walked forward three more steps before his knees hit something soft. He was beside the bed.
Before he could think to do anything else, the horror of it all caught up with him and he collapsed, inhaling but getting no air as panic coursed through him.
Was this what it was going to be like?
No! He didn't want it. There had to be some way to fix it. He didn't want it!
Ribs heaving under sobs that wouldn't come and eyes burning, he pulled himself onto the bed and curled into a defensive ball.