Disclaimer: I do not own FF8 or any of its characters.  They are all the property of SQUARESOFT.

Chapter One

Murderer.  Assassin.  One who kills or tries to kill, secretly or treacherously.  No… He is not one who tries to kill.  He is one who kills, simply.  Murderer.  Assassin.  These terms don't mean anything to him.  Murderer, assassin, or killer: these terms- when used- mean something disgusting, untrustworthy or revolting.  He is none of those.  He is a trained professional, comparable to a lawyer or a pediatrician. 

He is a trained assassin, a murderer, and a killer.  She was too.  The terms don't mean anything to him and they didn't used to mean anything to her.  However, they do now.  And perhaps that is what bothers him. 

Lying down on a bed he glares up at the dirty stucco ceiling above him.  Maybe that ceiling used to be clean and white however the smokers that had inhibited this economy hotel in Dollet had made it a dirty yellow color.  Maybe that ceiling had been clean, once upon a time.  Not much unlike his own hands, they had been free of blood until his sixteenth year.  Now they were comparable to the stucco ceiling.

And once again, perhaps that is what bothers him.  Or maybe it is a little bit of both.  The fact that she closes herself to him, or maybe that he is going through what she did.  So many lives… So many people.  Is that it?  Is this what remorse feels like?

In any case, he has half an hour left until he must execute the orders of his mission.  So he lies there, thinking back… To his last mission with her and her last mission altogether.

~*~

"It's all about timing." He had repeated, over and over again until she was sick of hearing it.  Every little detail in his memory was sharp and accurate.

She had nodded her head in annoyance, "Ok, now I suppose you want to go over the time table a couple more hundred times?" Her face was young, so innocent.  She was no older than seventeen.  His present self realizes how her features have not changed at all. 

He had grimaced, "You know what I hate about working with you?  You have no sense of organization." He had reproached her and he was right.  And even now, chaos still reigned in her work place.  "If it were up to you, you'd just go in there, slice off his head and leave."

She had smiled slightly, her features bathing in sunlight of the café terrace, "It's part of the art." She had replied.  Maybe she remembers this statement today and wishes she could just slice her own head off.  But she would not.  For his and the children's sake.

"In any case, this isn't going to be a museum exposition and we only get one shot." His voice became lower as a young couple installed themselves at a nearby table. "The mansion doors are heavily guarded by Galbadian soldiers and-"

"The soldiers are pointless.  Stop reminding me because at the end of this job I probably won't even remember that I killed them.  Why?  Because I couldn't give less of a crap."  So cold… Heartless even.  Once again, his present self wonders if she remembers the words that she spoke.

The interruption had annoyed him, "Listen, every detail must be taken into account.  This is all about-"

"Timing." She said dully, "Yes, I know.  Mr. Charles' schedule revolves around timing.  I know.  If we spend more than a minute and a half on those two guards then the course of the mission will be off balance.  Thank you, Squall.  Now that that's been said for the hundredth time, give me the actual mission briefing."

"That's right, Rinoa." He gave her an annoyed grimace, "Because if we lose thirty seconds more on those guards, we'll be thirty seconds behind the whole mission.  Since I know how much you love schedules I've prepared one for you." He slipped her a timetable that included the mission's events.

11:30:00 – Dispose of guards.

11:31:30 – The maids in the kitchen, preparing Charles' midnight tea.  Time to move up through the mansion to the study.

11:37:15: Arrive at staircase, 3rd stair creaks … avoid.

11:40:00 – Charles in study, maids preparing tea, Rinoa and Squall in study.  Interview with Mr. Charles (Squall's job), flipping cautiously through files (Rinoa's job).

11:55:00 – All file flipping should be completed, call police (untraced & voice coded) and announce that Mr. Charles is dead.  Tea is ready.

11:57:45 – Maid knocks on door.  Signal to clean up the area, gag Charles.

12:00:00 – Kill Joseph Charles, escape, avoid sirens.  Run back to hotel.

"You know, I don't like this." She had said as she scanned the timetable, "We won't be able to do it like this.  It's going to be too hard."

"No, not hard.  Hard is for the CIA.  This mission is pretty much… Impossible." He had replied, drinking his Bloody Caesar leisurely. "That's why they sent us."

"No, I'm not kidding." She had repeated, "The schedule is too precise.  How do we know that everything will be right on schedule?"

"Because it always is with Mr. Charles.  Always." He had grinned at her then.  And she knew he was right. 

"Who gave you this schedule?"  She persisted to know.

"The company.  Specifically, Mr. Ackroyde."  He had responded, now fairly curious to know why she was so uneasy with the schedule. 

"Something isn't right." She said, "Something isn't right in the schedule.  Don't you get it?  The times… Something is wrong."  Her face wore a panicked expression that worried him even more; "There is something wrong with the times."

"Rinoa, nothing is wrong with the times." He had reassured her, "Because it's the company who mapped them out.  Why would the company want us dead?"

Her face calmed a little.  "But … Something is definitely wrong with those times."  She just kept staring at the paper until he finally snapped his fingers and her face looked up.

"Nothing is wrong with the times.  What could be wrong with the times?" She hadn't answered him.

They had then gone back to their hotel, a fairly luxurious one, under the name of Mr. and Mrs. Andrews.  A newly married couple, Mr. Andrews was a stockbroker visiting Timber  to meet with a client.  They were settled in Deling city.  They had passports; they had valid credit cards… A typical Galbadian couple. 

No one really had to know that they were actually unmarried, that they even slept in different beds, that all the credit card funds were fake, that all passports were forged and that Mr. Andrews was far from a stockbroker and Mrs. Andrews far from the model wife.

No one really had to know that at exactly 10:15 PM, Mr. and Mrs. Andrews were fully clothed in black and were up and about, to be more precise, creeping out of their room, taking the staircase and avoiding the elevator at all costs.  At 10:20 PM, they had avoided the streetlights, the cars.  They crept out into the allies and finally they spotted Mr. Joseph Charles' Mansion. 

The front lawn was extensive however, lushly decorated with bushes and hedges.  This had played both to their advantage and disadvantage.  They were free to hide however they had to make sure not to rustle a single leaf.  It was at 11:00:00 PM exactly that Squall Leonheart brought down his elbow on the first guard's cranium. 

There was a sickening cracking sound as he fell to his front.  However, the second guard had no time to react or press any emergency buttons.  Rinoa delivered a swift blow to his stomach, temporarily knocking all air supply out.  He gasped, reached for his gun but … didn't have time to.  Grabbing his wrist and turning it a counter clock-wise direction she waited for the faithful crack before finally snapping his neck in two with a roundhouse kick.

"Ok, let's go." Squall Leonheart opened the door quietly.     

Mindless chattering and giggles could be heard from the kitchen… The maids, undoubtedly.  They passed through the coatroom without making a sound and sneaked down the warm, varnished, wooden hallways.  It took exactly 6 minutes and fifteen seconds for them to arrive at the staircase… Right on time. 

The climbed up, knowingly avoiding the third creaking stair and arrived to the second floor.  They were still going by unnoticed.  They had reached Mr. Charles' study door at exactly 11:40:00 PM.  No less was expected from them either. 

Squall had entered the study with ease and pointed a cold gun barrel on Joseph Charles right temple. "I wouldn't scream; that would be very stupid.  Wouldn't you agree?"

The aged man had froze and dropped his fountain pen on the papers he was attending to.  Mr. Joseph Charles was a wealthy man.  He was dressed in a black pinstripe suit, his shoes polished, his tie straight, his hair combed. 

"You wouldn't mind if we talked a little, would you?  Wait, what am I saying … I'm holding a gun … you wouldn't mind talking at all." Squall had drawled, enjoying his status of invincibility.

The old gentleman had replied in a sneering way, "You assassins … always dressed in black.  Curse you all back to the place you came from."

Squall had grinded the gun's barrel harder on the old man's skull, "There's an old housewife saying that blood washed out of black fabric easily."

Rinoa closed the study door cautiously and strode over to the desk.  She began to rummage through the files and the papers.  The gentleman had been surprised that a woman could be involved with murder.

"Why are you doing this?" He had asked Squall.

Squall shrugged, "Well, I don't know … maybe it had something with plotting the president of Galbadia's demise … gee, that sounds plausible." He replied sarcastically, "And that's exactly what we're here to talk about."

The old man smiled warily, "A man of high power never runs out of resources."

Presuming that he was speaking of the president, Squall had continued with the interrogation, "Right, so … your plan was really amazing, we've got to hand it to you.  Using abandoned ruins to receive your mail … very nice.  However, soldiers raided the Tomb of the Unknown King … and all your men are dead."

The old man's eyes went slightly larger and Squall lit himself a cigarette, "Yeah, including you son … what was his name?  Phillip?  Yeah, that's him.  There was a bullet infraction in two places of his skull … here, we got a picture, want to see?" Squall dug into his back jean pocket and pulled out the picture of the old man's son.

"You'll pay … bastard." The old chap had winced and Rinoa could see from the corner of her eyes, the blinking back of tears.  Was that when she had felt remorse?

"Yeah, as soon as this shit's over, you bet I'm getting paid." Squall had pretended to misunderstand.  "So … any more of your shitkickers out there?  Maybe hiding underground?  Maybe at the Esthar Memorial?  No?  Tears Point, maybe?"

Rinoa glanced at the clock, 11:54:49 … "Squall, times up … let's go."

Squall smiled, "Yeah, this is the part where we call the police.  We're good Samaritans and we're doing the right thing."

He picked up Charles' phone and dialed 911.  Hooking up a small metallic device so the police could neither trace nor detect who was calling, "Murder!  Murder at Joseph Charles' mansion … MURDER!" Squall had screamed into the receiver. 

"Sir, calm down …" The receptionist had said, "We'll send police right away!"

He had hung up and grinned, "When I was a kid … I always loved doing prank phone calls.  Only … this time it isn't a prank."

Rinoa had scooped up all the files that she thought would be necessary and was now eyeing the clock nervously.  "Squall … this isn't working."

His gaze snapped up, "What?  What isn't working."  He looked up at the clock and he saw what she meant.  It was now midnight.  The maid had not come.

"Just clean up … now!" He hissed and she did. 

"A powerful man … always has his resources." Joseph Charles had smiled then.  A sinister grin, one that predicted very bad omens. 

A knock was heard but no one needed to answer.  A man in a black cloak entered the room, raising in one hand a revolver.  Joseph had giggled in glee, "Mortimer … good friend, you have come just in time for-"

And the old man didn't have time to finish his sentence for the cloaked man aimed and shot Joseph Charles in the head. "Tea?  No, I'm afraid your maids are in no condition to prepare tea." The voice was deep and scarred.

"Who the hell are you?" Squall had asked, fearing though anticipating the answer.

"One sent to kill you and the old man." The figure had no face, the hood covered all, "You have no idea how hard it is to get hold of two of the corporations best agents.  What name do you go by here, in Dollet?"

Squall's lips tightened and he finally responded, "I'm not quite sure how this fits in anywhere."

"Well, I guess it doesn't matter in the end.  Since you'll all join Mr.Charles anyways." And the gloved had raised the revolver once more. 

Rinoa who had stayed silent during this whole exchange leaped towards the figure, giving him a powerful kick in the abdomen.  He was not fazed.  "Ah … you learnt from the best, Rinoa.  Your father?"

She had been taken by surprise.  The figure threw her back and she collided with the wall.  Squall had picked up for her, kicking the revolver from the cloaked man's hand.  It flew off under the dead man's chair. 

Rinoa took one of her own from her pocket, aimed and shot off one of the man's kneecaps.  He bellowed in frustration as he dropped on the floor, not dead.

"Dammit!  Don't kill me … I only do what I'm assigned!" He had pleaded.

"OH FUCK YOU!" Squall screamed, a trickle of blood oozing from his forehead from a blow the stranger had given.

"Squall don't kill him!" Rinoa had begged, holding his armed hand to the floor, "Please don't."

He had glared at her, demanded her, "Why the hell not?"

"Because look." She pointed to the cloaked man's open wallet that had fallen from one of his opened jacket pocket.  Inside was a picture of what was presumably the man's family.  There were two young boys and a middle-aged lady, sitting on a park bench smiling.  Then Squall's eyes narrowed to the golden band on the man's left ring finger.

Squall breathed in deeply, "Goddammit …" He grinded his forehead and grit his teeth in deep concentration.  "I can't let him go." He looked at Rinoa … her eyes were on the floor at the open wallet picture. 

Squall raised his arm and Rinoa removed her own hand.  He aimed and shot.  The cloaked man's body went rigid and then relaxed.  He was dead. "Let's go …" Squall said softly.  He grabbed Rinoa's arm and led her out of the room.  Then they both heard it … sirens.

They darted back into the study and opened the window.  Their initial escape route.  Both descended cautiously down the Victorian mansion and ended up in the bushes of the courtyard.  And then they had ran.  All the way back to the hotel.  Down and up allies, up the hotel stairway and into room 1184 on the tenth floor where they once again became Mr. and Mrs. Andrews. 

"You didn't have to kill him, you didn't have to kill him!" She was doing a great deal of controlling her emotions.  She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs however it came out as a hoarse whisper.

"I'm sorry."  He said and he repeated this over and over again, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry …"

"You killed him, he had kids, you realized?  What if it had been you?" She was slowly losing her grip on control.  "He had a wife, he had kids … you realized."

"I'm sorry …" He repeated, "Rinoa, I'm sorry."

She approached him slowly and pressed her face against his chest, "Dammit, I hate you." And for the first time in a while she let tears fall.  And for the first time, for simply the first time, he held her and he kissed her.

Sammy: Ok, yeah, 95% of this chapter was ALL Squall's flashback while he's sitting in the hotel.  This is my new fanfiction idea so I hope you liked it.  It's my second attempt at DRAMA!  And a lil bit of romance here and there.  You'll see later on.  This is definitely a Squinoa.  So please review!  I need to know what you think!!  Thank you!!