Notes: My old laptop started having issues with the cooling fan a couple months ago, and while doing a file transfer to the new one, I discovered this completed fic I don't really remember writing (in my defense, it was a rough point in my life and I wrote a lot of things I don't remember writing to cope with the stress) and I was probably too shy at the time to post something this weird. It pre-dates Shooting Star by about two years and I'm amazed at how far I've come as a writer since then, and a lot of that has to do with the people that encouraged me to keep writing and be a better writer and story teller.
So, anyway, I dusted it off, cleaned it up and decided to post the first chapter on Ao3 last month. Considering the cold-ish reception Squinoa tends to get on Ao3, it did fairly well, though some of that is due to readers that follow me here giving me a boost there. (thank you guys!)
Special Note: The characterizations in this are way, way off on purpose, and there's a slight cracky element later on, so please read it with the understanding that I wrote things the way I did with a reason behind it. Please no crit on that account - the mischaracterization was intentional.
That said, I hope you guys enjoy it!
1
Squall surveyed the stone bridge and the boiling sky above. Beyond the door, Ultimecia waited.
This was it.
No going back now.
The others exchanged magic and checked their junctions, but Squall turned away to face the young woman who changed his life for the better. However short that life may be.
She was a pain. Stubborn. Hard-headed. Impulsive. A little naive. Reckless. She wore her heart on her sleeve and said exactly what was on her mind.
She was the sort of person Squall steered clear of.
He loved her anyway.
If he died today, at least he could say he knew what that felt like.
It was awful.
And good, and wonderful, and nothing short of miraculous.
He offered his hand and she accepted. They stood apart from the rest, but the team noticed. Squall pretended he didn't notice them noticing.
"Ready?" he asked.
She nodded. "I feel like I'm about to jump into a pool of sharks."
"Expect this to be a lot worse," he said.
"Boy, I bet you're fun at parties."
"I don't -" he began and then sighed. "Sorry. You were looking for a different answer."
"Yeah," she said. "Something more like... No sweat. We'll kick her ass!"
"Hmm. Try Zell," he said. "Pep-talks more his area of expertise."
She stepped closer and squeezed his hand.
"You've done pretty well so far," she said. "Considering."
Now or never. This might be his last chance.
He took her face between his palms, brushed his gloved thumbs over her cheeks and willed himself to be brave.
"Rin, I..."
The last two words died on his tongue. He could not make himself say it, no matter how much he wanted to.
She put a finger to his lips.
"You don't have to say it," she whispered. "It's okay. I love you, too."
~x~X~x~
The grainy image flickered on the researcher's screen. It was tough to tell when or where this was through all the static, but the architecture suggested a fantasy landscape, a place that only existed in the mind of the subject.
"Shall we proceed?"
"Let it play out. I want to see how he resolves this."
"Zat iz not important! Ve must get ze system back online before it iz too late. Ve hesitate, ve vill have to start from scratch vis a new subject and ve do not have time or money for zat."
On a nearby table, said subject twitched in his sleep. His eyes rolled behind closed lids and long, dark lashes fluttered against his cheeks.
"Calm your tits, old man. He'll come around."
"Some day, you and me vill fisticuffs."
"You say that, but you never actually do it. I think you're all talk."
"Vould you like to meet me outside?"
"Sure, if you don't give a crap if the subject croaks while I ass kick your ass."
The image on the screen grew fuzzy and then dissolved into static. The researcher moved to the subject's bedside and adjusted the electrode attached to the nanocomputer implanted in his scalp. The screen cleared and the researcher watched a teenage version of the subject clasp a pretty, dark-haired girl to his chest while his companions readied themselves for the final fight. He laid his cheek against her hair. The researcher mimed vomiting and rolled his eyes.
..I love you...
The words were inaudible, but plain enough.
"Why am I not surprised? At least he made her pretty."
"He's developed a bond with the system through the microchip," the lead researcher said from the back of the room where she watched on a screen of her own. "From a psychological standpoint, it's quite fascinating. I'd be interested in studying the phenomenon once he bring him back."
"It's pathetic. What kind of idiot falls in love with a computer?"
A red light at the subject's bedside began to pulse and a low alarm sounded. The lead researcher dashed to the monitor and looked up in alarm.
"Blood pressure at 45 over 22. He's crashing, Almasy! We need to bring him out of it, now!"
He checked his own console.
Upload 74%.
"Can't. Not until the new code finishes loading."
"I said now!"
"...beep...beep...beeeeep...beepbeep...beeeeeeeeeeeeeeee..."
~x~X~x~
….99...98...97...96...
"Pulse 49 BPM. He's coming around."
That voice. He knew that voice.
….95...94...93...92...
"Not too fast. He's been under a long time."
….91...90...89...88...
"Pulse up to 55. Blood pressure rising."
Rinoa. She was here, with him. The battle was over. The fighting was done and he could breathe again.
….87...86...85...84...
A hand ghosted over his forehead and he smiled.
"Rin? Are you there?"
….83...82...81...80...
"What just happened?"
"I don't know. He's crashing! Blood pressure 52 over 40 and falling."
...beep...beep...beep...beeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...
~x~X~x~
Squall Leonhart opened his eyes and immediately shut them against the glare of too-bright fluorescent lights. His head hurt, his body was leaden, and his muscles were stiff as if he'd been asleep for a long time.
Where was he, and how long had he been here?
Not the infirmary at Garden. He was somewhere else. It didn't smell right. The walls were the wrong color. The light at the window too harsh to be Balamb.
He pushed up on his elbows and squinted at the tubes in his arms. He followed them down to a machine next to the bed, then discovered more tubes crammed into his nostrils.
These, he removed with an easy tug, but the tubes in his arms were connected by catheter and Squall knew better than to rip these out on his own.
Wires sprouted from his head and he explored them with light fingers, his scalp too tender for a more intensive inspection. The wires attached to electrodes, placed strategically along the dome of his head. Two inserted on his forehead and he found a stitched wound on his right temple. His hair was clipped short.
What was this?
"H-hel-lo?"
His voice was hoarse, scratchy, and his throat and mouth were dry as a desert. The sound barely carried beyond the bed. No one would hear him outside the door.
He tried again. Louder this time.
"Hel-lo?"
"Push the button beside the bed, Loire."
Loire?
Squall looked around for the source of the voice. To his left was a two-way window, mirrored on his side so he could not see what lay beyond He would bet whoever was behind it could see him perfectly well.
"It's on your right. Push the red button to talk."
He found the device and pressed his thumb against the square button with the shape of lips etched in white.
"Where am I?"
"Esthar. Where the hell else would you be?"
Esthar? How did he get back here? The last thing he remembered was Rinoa's smiling face above him, the scent of brine and flowers on the breeze. They were nowhere near Esthar.
Something must have happened. He'd been wounded and brought here for treatment. That was the most likely explanation.
"Seifer?" he wondered. "That you?"
"I'm your superior. Since when are we on a first-name basis?"
Squall blinked at the mirror, dumbfounded.
"What?"
"Hang on, I'm coming in."
Squall dropped back against the pillow and tried to puzzle out what the hell was going on.
There was a beep as the lock disengaged and the door slid open. Seifer Almasy stood in the doorway in a lab coat, a file in his hand, and a pair of glasses perched on his nose.
He was older. Much older. Thirty-five or so.
What the hell?
The flesh between his eyes was perfectly smooth, no sign of the scar Squall gave him not so long ago. He reached up and touched his own forehead and found it unmarred beneath his fingertips.
No scar?
"How are you feeling?"
"...whatever."
Seifer snorted and flopped into the chair next to the bed. He opened the file and peered at the pages within.
"Your link-up with Rinoa went haywire 72 hours ago. Do you remember anything?"
"I remember you trying to kill me."
"Kill you? I saved your life," Seifer said. "The nano overheated, caused a massive system failure within Rinoa's servers and nearly fried your brains inside that thick skull of yours. You died on the table. Twice."
Squall blinked and shook his head.
"What are you talking about?"
Seifer retrieved a small tape recorder from his pocket.
"Note, the patient seems disoriented," he said into the microphone. "Not unexpected under the circumstances."
"What the hell is going on?" Squall asked. "Why am I not at Garden? And why the fuck are you playing doctor?"
"Note, the patient is also fairly agitated," Seifer said. "Seems to believe elements of the hallucinations were real."
"I don't understand," Squall said. "Where is Rinoa? Where are the others?"
"Rinoa's where she's always been. Adorable how you fell in love with her," Seifer said with a soft chuckle. "Seems rather fitting, doesn't it."
This had to be a dream. Or some lingering effect of Time Compression. There was no way in hell Seifer, of all people, was a doctor. He had the bedside manner of a belhelmel. He lacked the focus for the study involved.
No, this was a hallucination, insanity, a nightmare, whatever. It would pass, and Squall would wake up in the infirmary at Garden, or better, in his dorm room with Rinoa curled up in his arms.
Screw it.
Squall reached up and plucked one of the wires off his forehead. The substance used to attach it peeled away and ripped fine hairs from his skin, but he ignored the pain and yanked a second one free. Whatever the hell was happening here, he wanted out of this bed.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
"...whatever. I'm out of here."
"I don't think so."
Seifer reached over to the machine by the bed, pushed a button, and Squall's eyelids grew heavy and his arms flopped onto the mattress at his side.
"Sweet dreams, Loire. Don't worry. It'll come all back to you."