Disclaimer: Reflectively not mine.

A/N: I started a challenge on LiveJournal for people to provide me with pieces of fanart that I would attempt to write fic for. This was supposed to be a drabble. Evidently I can't shut up when it comes to Squall/Leon.

Based on seifer-sama. deviantart. com/art/Mirror-Me-6144840

Mirror Me

Fic © Scribbler, April 2009.

Image © Seifer-sama, March 2004.

In one world he was a mercenary: swift, in control, deadly. He grew up fast and he grew up mean. His index finger twitched when it wasn't pressed against a trigger, and if he looked at the stars he was using them to calculate where he was in relation to his target.

In one world he was a freedom fighter: hurried, stressed out, protective. He grew up in a garden that withered around him, and watched as his friends drop off their tree, one by one, like brittle leaves. Whenever he looked at the stars he was watching to see how many were left.

In one world there was a best friend with blond hair and a tattoo on his face, who was always there to pull him back from being an interminable asshole. That friend spoke loud, moved loud, did everything loud except the killing, which was done in silence and never talked about afterwards. There were other friends too, but no matter how they acted outside missions, how proud they were of their weapons, their aim, their cunning or bravado, they were always quiet about the dead they left.

In one world there was a best friend with blond hair and a tattoo on his heart, who was always there to remind him of the garden, until one day the tattoo burned too hot and suddenly he wasn't. That friend spoke softly, moved nervously, always doubted himself until he ran into a demon with silver hair, who cupped his heart in both hands and changed him. Then he started doubting the universe instead. There were other friends too, but they weren't so quiet, as if by talking, giggling, laughing, they could drive off the memories and convince the rest of the world they didn't mind about the empty places at dinner, or the nightmares about the dead they'd left behind.

In one world there was a girl with dark hair and eyes that smiled before her mouth did. She was irritating and jarring and utterly wonderful, even if she did force him to dance in public when he had all the talent of a gazelle with broken hind legs. She turned his world on its head and he found he liked the rush of blood. She made him laugh. She made him forget he was a killer. She made him feel alive.

In one world there was a girl with dark hair and eyes that smiled before her mouth did. She was exasperating and whimsical and utterly distracting. When he was a cadet in training to be a Royal Guard she'd pull faces during parades, trying to make him trip up or forget himself. She taught him how to laugh with just his eyes too. She made him remember what he was fighting for when the garden fell. She reminded him he was alive.

In one world the girl gained magic and looked to him to help her deal with her new responsibilities. She was stronger than she looked, though, and he found he only had to support her when she stumbled or doubted herself. Together with his friends they saved the world, and when they were alone in a wasteland that didn't really exist they thought of each other, and their desire to see each other again brought them home.

In one world the girl already had magic, and looked to help him deal with his new responsibilities. She was stronger than she appeared, and marshalled the survivors into Traverse Town with a gentle hand that belied how it could cast spells and shoot energy blasts that sapped her energy but also razed mountains. They were teenagers, hardly more than kids themselves, but they were the ones in uniforms and suddenly everyone was relying on them. She saw how that weighed on him. She tried to help shoulder the burden by fighting when she shouldn't. When the witch pointed one green hand and sent her minions against them, she went out and fought, but his desire to see her again didn't bring her home.

In one world he fell in love, nearly died, came to a better understanding of his place in the grand scheme of things, and decided there were worse things than being a mercenary. He had friends, he had a future, and he had the hope that someone like him was allowed to be happy.

In one world he fell in love, lost everything, shut himself off from who he'd been and became someone else – or tried to. His body was the same, his voice and his mannerisms identical, but he didn't answer to his old name, he no longer laughed with his eyes, and he refused to join in the deflective chatter at dinner. He had friends who worried about him, he had an uncertain future, and he had only the hope that the darkness wouldn't steal anyone else precious if he pretended he didn't care about them.

Fin.