Disclaimer: You all know they aren't mine.

A/N: Please enjoy all. Be pre-warned it is angsty, but good angsty. As this first chapter gives away, it is a deathfic, a family drama deathfic, so please stick with reading it even if deathfics aren't your usual thing, I'm hoping to do the story justice.

(Seifer's pov)

Broken

I didn't look as the door slammed; neither did she.

She was still staring at his chair as it spun slowly, the force with which he'd left it lasting yet. Tears rolled down her cheeks, silent sorrow, and she made no effort to wipe them away, no effort to break the quiet in the motionless room...

I wasn't good with being quiet though, staying still, sitting here in his office while he was outside hurting.

With a sharp indrawn breath, I rose, running a hand through short honey blonde hair as I strode determinedly toward the door, following him as he had once followed me.

"That went well..." Her voice was barely a whisper, but it stopped me in my tracks. My fist tightened about the door handle with barely suppressed anger, leather gloves creaking under the pressure. My fury seemed tangible; she'd hurt him so much and now she sought to make a joke...

"What the fuck did you expect?" I bit out. I didn't want to be there, I wanted to be with him, there for him... I wanted to arrive in time before he hid back inside that shell and I lost him... maybe forever. Yet it was the rational part of my mind that held me back, the realistic part that demanded I ask the questions he couldn't.

"Seifer... I..." She started.

"Shut up."

I leant forward, pressing my forehead to the cool panelling of the door, taking a deep breath and exhaling, letting all the rage flow out like they taught me in the anger management class… Stupid techniques had to come in handy one day I guess. I just wish it hadn't been for this... Like this.

My voice quieter now, "Just answer two questions for me?"

I could hear the rustle of her clothing as she turned to look at me, brushing her hair back from her eyes no doubt, straightening the emerald shawl that Laguna had given her when she was younger. She, it seemed, was overcome by the need to talk in whispers too.

"Go on." She murmured.

I didn't look up at her, I wasn't sure I could face the answer, and when I opened my mouth to speak I found I couldn't even ask the question. Making a noise of frustration I hit the door hard. Behind me, her startled gasp was clearly audible.

Clenching my fists I finally managed to get the sentence out, haltingly, "Is… Is it... hereditary...?"

There was silence... I suppose she shook her head before she remembered I couldn't see her and said aloud, "Squall has a greater chance of getting it than you or I, but it's still very unlikely."

Her voice wavered, betraying the fact she still cried. I couldn't comfort her though; it wasn't my place. Uncurling my fingers I pressed my hands flat against the door and pushed away. Rubbing my eyes I finally turned to look at her, "How long?"

Tears filled her eyes again and I almost wished I hadn't asked, her voice cracked as she spoke, "They say usually around ten years..."

I bit my lip, ten years wasn't long, not when about half of it probably wouldn't count. Eventually I stated, "Squall will want to move to Esthar to be with him..."

She nodded. I could see she was trying not to sob, trying to hold her composure just until I was out the door.

Turning I grabbed the handle, wrenching the door open and heading out into the Garden; he was here somewhere and he needed me. I wouldn't stop searching until I found him.

In the end it was Irvine who told me where to find him, Irvine who'd seen him stalk into the training centre and known better than to follow…

I guess I'd known where he'd been all along too, but something held me back from going to him, as much as I wanted to. Perhaps it was partly because I knew he needed a little time to work off some of the rage at the world… and perhaps more truthfully I was scared I couldn't comfort him now, when he needed me most.

He was easy enough to follow. As soon as I entered the training centre I could see the swathe of destruction he'd left in his wake.

I could also feel how palpable his rage was, the turmoil he'd been thrown into, even at this distance... because when you love him like I do, you learn to look for his emotions not only in his face, but also in the things around him.

Right now the surroundings sang his feelings to me, like a song, beautiful and deadly, angry and yet melancholy… because underneath it all was a heart-rending sadness I could only hope to vanquish for a short while.

It was in the broken stem of the bush beside the bridge where he'd brushed past in haste, uncaring of his surroundings as he sought to run from everyone, to hide the tears that coursed down his cheeks.

It was in the leaves crushed into the mud as he'd fought, his feet sliding as the blood from the monsters stirred the dirt below him into a thick paste, yet he remained oblivious as he screamed his frustration and hurt at the world.

It was in the quiet in the air, a silence out of respect for his pain and the mourning of a truly great man that was to be lost.

And it was in the carcasses strewn throughout the centre, a trail leading me to him, none left to die slowly, all finished humanely; because as much pain as he was in, he couldn't stand to watch anything in the throes of death because of the images it provoked.

All this I could tell, but when I found him eventually, having almost circled the facility, sitting on a mossy log, a tree trunk that had succumbed to rot and fallen long before… When I found him, his eyes glistening, the tracks of tears shining on his pale cheeks, my breath still caught.

Many people draw attention to their pain through their heavy sobs, through the loud shouts and pleas for Hyne to hear them and justify her actions… Not Squall though. He drew attention because of how heartbreakingly beautiful he looks sat in silence as he gives in to the misery and pain the world's thrown at him for years.

Everyone has a breaking point; he didn't give in without a fight though, I can see who knows how many scratches and fresh scars with only a glance. His shirt soaked in blood that's not all his own, and more glinting slightly under the heated glare of the Garden lights on the leather of his pants. Even his jacket has suffered, a large gash where the lining makes a bid for freedom testifying to his recklessness, his desperate fight for control before he gave up.

I never thought I'd see Squall cry. Neither now nor then… And it scares me to see it, because last time I underestimated how much it meant. Last time was the overture before the performance… A spattering of tears before the faucet dried up, before everything froze, encasing anything still fluid and feeling in an icy, impenetrable shell.

Wordlessly I gathered him into my arms, holding his slight form against my chest and mouthing comforts silently against his silken hair, comforts that I could remember no longer than it took for me to say them.

It was with a sad sort of relief I noted him curling closer to me, recognised how he sought warmth before I even realised he was cold and shaking, felt the material of my top pull tight as he gripped it in clenched fists.

My voice gone, I couldn't say anything aloud; I simply carried him mutely back to our room. Stripped him without any audible communication and placed him in a hot bath, bringing the faintest hint of colour back to alabaster limbs.

He didn't speak either, he simply watched me with his penetrating gaze. I could feel him measuring how well I was handling it, how much he could rely on my support throughout the hellish time to come.

I didn't promise him anything, because right then words were meaningless… All I could do was be strong for him until he adjusted, until he resolved the emotional imbalance the day's revelations had left him at and restored his mask, modified to the newest demands.

So, somehow, I kept my control. I dried him after his bath and took him to bed, managing not to let the tears fall until I heard his breathing deepen and level out, felt his body go still and saw the flickering of his eyelids.

Then, in the quiet of the night, with only the distant calls of the nocturnal wildlife to keep my sobs company, I cried for him, and for the father he was to lose.

To be continued…