How many times has it been? If anything could be taken for truth out of the mouths of Chaos' gits, then this wasn't the first time he stepped on this battlefield. He knew that, but it always felt like a first time. Despite familiarity, there was still that 'fresh' feeling of entering a new, mysterious battle. He had no prior information other than what his Goddess bestowed upon him, and what little memory he had of the previous battles. But how many battles has it been? A few, a dozen, a hundred? Maybe he went through a thousand of them, always fighting, always dying, and somehow here he was… never remembering.

The only thing he remembered with any clarity was the people around him. He remembered the warrior who took the lead effortlessly and without argument. He remembered the conflicted man and the girl with confidence issues; the boy who thought he knew it all and the teen with a father complex; he remembered the kid whose mimic abilities was only amazing in combat and the guy who could use any basic weapon with no effort. He even remembered the guy whose scrawny arms managed to lift a sword bigger than he and was just like him, in terms of personality… and who could forget the monkey-boy with a fickle desire to snatch anything within a twenty foot range? Sometimes he remembered names… most of the times, not really. All he knew for sure was that these were the same unfortunate souls that shared the same unfortunate circumstance of being a powerless puppet in a game of war between two deities that couldn't do their own damn dirty work.

Squall wouldn't say that to Cosmos herself, though. As a mercenary, he took the job, did it, got his reward and went home. If he looked at it like that, then existence in this twisted world was bearable, because it almost felt like home. Defeat Chaos; get his memories and the ticket back to Balamb. It was simple, straight forward, and he could focus without thinking too hard of what the implications were… especially since he kept coming back to this. This place, these people, this conflict, this part of his life that wasn't normal but somehow still felt 'right' just as much as it was, truly, so very wrong. Was this his only future, to fight conflict after conflict? To be killed, to kill, and return to repeat the process indefinitely?

Was that all there was to this world his soul was irrevocably tied to? Endless war, endless despair, endless doubt… always clinging to such a faint hope to the point of near insanity? Squall hated the unknown, hated the mystery. He wanted solid information, solid foundation of which to fight his battles, on his terms. A real mercenary did whatever he or she could to turn to the tables to their favor, whatever earned the best reward, and if the tables couldn't turn, then they smashed the damn thing and wrote the rules themselves. Garden raised strong soldiers. But it didn't raise them off hopes and promises.

The only reward Squall found in this hellhole was the friendships he forged with the other Cosmos soldiers, even if he forgot them later on. And even that 'reward' was a fleeting one.

"You're brooding! Again!"

Friendship was a strained word, though, and Zidane sure knew how to further strain it out of him.

"I'm thinking," Squall looked down from the starry sky, annoyed someone came to interrupt him.

Zidane was standing over him, and yet, Squall noted with amusement that even sitting down he came to Zidane's neck. He had to be one of the shortest being on the universe, although he figured maybe all the growth hormones went to that crazy tail of his.

The aforementioned tail was twitching crazily, as if impatient, and Zidane didn't seem to really be controlling it at all. The man wore his heart on his sleeve, and Squall made a living analyzing people: he was bored, yes, but not impatient. Maybe he really didn't have control over that thing outside of using it to hang off stuff.

"If it's something depressive, than you're brooding," Zidane hopped up, tail grabbed onto a branch so he hung face to face with Squall. "Why don't you sit with us? Even Cloud sits with us."

"Cloud has the talent of tuning you out; he's yet to teach me it." Squall replied sarcastically, his tone borderline scathing. He had nothing personal against Zidane… but he hated interruptions.

"Tuning me or everyone?" Zidane sounded a little hurt, but he was grinning. Squall batted at him, and Zidane swung out of the way. "Don't be like that, Squall! I thought we bonded over the whole Bartz rescue?"

"Having you attached to my hip in desperation because you felt bad over his capture was bonding?"

"Ouch, that hurt." But the thief was still grinning. "But seriously, Squall, I hate seein' ya over here all alone."

"I'm fine," he didn't want to get started on this particular topic.

Zidane swung slightly from the branch, arms crossed. "I know you are, but you look so… lonely!"

Squally swatted him again and Zidane swung away. However, he couldn't stop himself from swinging back right into Squall's open palm. His nose was squashed unpleasantly and he whined, bringing his hands up to cover his poor nose and, although Squall didn't smile, his eyes held amusement, and Zidane didn't like being the butt of someone's joke.

With some acrobatics he vaguely remembering he practiced at some point, Zidane flipped over the branch, released it, and landed into Squall's lap. The mercenary winced as Zidane's bottom landed right on his thigh, but luckily the thief didn't weigh much. Something familiar, of someone just plopping themselves in his lap like this, arose in him. Especially when one of Zidane's hands grabbed his shoulder, and that playful grin was on his face.

"That hurt," Zidane whined. "You shouldn't be so cruel, Squall."

Squall rolled his eyes. "You need to be smacked once in a while." He jerked his head to the side. "Now, if you don't mind…"

"I'm comfy now!" if the lazy, happy way his tail glided was any indication of that truth, "What, aren't you? I didn't land on anything bad… but you need to eat more! Your thigh is so bony…"

Did he not realize their given position? "Zidane. Maybe where you come from it isn't odd, but for me, two men like this is awkward. I'm not comfortable."

Zidane seemed to think that over before his usual grin returned. "You know what they say, you gotta step out of your comfort zone!" as if that made all the difference, he actually curled up closer.

"This isn't a step…" Squall muttered. More like a jump off the highest cliff. "Zidane. I don't want to throw you…"

"You mean, throw me over your shoulder and kidnap me deeper into the woods to have your demented, twisted way with me?" and yet, he said all that while grinning cheerfully.

Squall stared at him, at the grin, and felt like smacking him again. "You're something else."

"I know. So, I'm gonna keep you company, like this, til you agree to come sit with the rest of us for the rest of the time we're here!"

Squall arched an eyebrow. "I'll just hide somewhere less obvious."

Zidane had a look that made Squall believe his next statement. "But I'll find you."

Something in that made Squall pause, because it was familiar. Was it a memory for his world? Or did he and Zidane have this conversation, this prospect, before?

What if he and Zidane…? They always ended up together somehow. Maybe…

That's preposterous.

Oh, but it makes seeeense.

Squall suddenly snagged Zidane's lazily moving tail, and the thief went rigid in his lap. "You can move, or I'll do something to this you may not like."

Zidane wasn't one to lose, so he actually leered at Squall. "What if I like it?"

He expected Squall to let the tail go, but instead, the man slowly ran his hand down it til almost do the base, where it connected to Zidane's backside. He shivered as the fur was rubbed in the wrong direction, but although it was somewhat unpleasant, there was a sort of familiarity to it. Someone was fond to doing that to him often… was it Squall? He seemed to enjoy himself.

Zidane wrapped his tail around Squall's arm, the tip of it thumping against his bicep. "You're stuck now," the thief said with a strange triumph in his tone.

"Am I?"

Zidane settled himself further in Squall's lap. "Yep."

And that was that. Squall said nothing else, just rested his arm against Zidane's back and gazed at the sky. The blond expected to feel the itch to move, to be free, but he found a sort of calming quiet sitting with Squall. Something seemed okay about sitting with the brunette under a starry sky, like a feeling of closeness he'd be missing finally being appeased. Maybe Squall felt the same.

"And if I never go sit with the others?" Squall suddenly asked.

Zidane shrugged. "Then you're stuck."

Squall went back to thinking, but Zidane had a feeling it wasn't whatever it was earlier. And in that, he was victorious, so he grinned.