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Chapter Seven:
So the Story Goes…

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5:47 pm, October 10th

It appeared that Quistis and Seifer were about to find themselves on the other side of the door and certainly not by their own accord.

Rinoa tried not to let this new development get to her, but feeling abandoned was destined to take you back, no matter how different the circumstances were. It hadn't been much, but maybe she needed the false comfort of someone at least pretending to champion for her well-being.

Still, even as she sat here contemplating everything, she had no idea what Leonhart could want to speak to her about. Nothing had changed since the crime scene, and she still wasn't privy to any military-grade secrets, a list of undercover agents, or even information about aliens who abducted cows – nothing she knew even came close.

Oh, and the fact that Mr. Protocol Guy was asking to speak to her alone? Weird. She'd assumed their conversation in the jail cell had been a onetime deal. And when she added in his newfound fascination with her bloody arm?

She didn't believe it possible, but it made even less sense.

It were times like these she had to remind herself that she was doing the right thing, but doing the right thing was often the harder of two options. Back at the crime scene, she'd told Agent Leonhart that she couldn't give answers. That held true more now than ever; a man used his dying words to protect her and that wasn't a gift to be taken lightly.

In all probability, the warning wasn't about Leonhart, Trepe, and Almasy specifically, but she also couldn't say that it wasn't. It might sound callous but, in the face of everything, Watts' last words now felt completely generic. That's where her problem lain; she was reading into things that possibly weren't even there – seeing things that weren't possibly there.

It was like going for a walk under the light of full moon and crossing through the cemetery just after midnight. Alone. And, as she passed each tombstone, she'd see the darkened shadows and, no matter how brief, she could see the haunting outline of a ghost in each one. But every time she looked again, it was just a tree branch moving in the wind.

That's how Rinoa felt - cold, alone and the only living person walking among the dead. Yes, most were only tree branches, but she'd been warned that there were also ghosts. No matter who believed her, it was up to her to decide which were which. Before the day was out, she had to make a final decision – who, if any, of this group could she truly trust.

As for Seifer and Quistis, they appeared to have their own agendas going on, especially the detective who's looked could only be defined as 'less than pleased.'

And Seifer was not pleased. Not at all.

Leaning against the doorframe, he stared at Leonhart in utter disgust. He didn't even try to cover his words as he grumbled to himself, something about 'not following plan' along with several crude expletives.

Originally, after Leonhart had the audacity to tell him to 'get the hell out of his own station' — paraphrased a tad with Seifer's artistic license — he was done playing nice. In fact, detective Almasy pictured himself standing dramatically from the table, saying his peace to Leonhart, and then storming off - becoming the hero for all the little grunts by standing up to the man. In Seifer's mind, it would rival some of his most impressive exits, which were only spoken of as legend among the more daring seasoned officers.

…However, somewhere in the midst of the standing and the telling off Leonhart phase – his plan took a sudden nosedive. It was difficult to admit that he cared this much. In fact, when Seifer finally returned to his desk, he planned to make an emergency call to the doctor's office and make an appointment; Seifer Almasy suddenly become extremely fearful that carnivorous earwigs had burrowed deep into his brain and messed around with its insides, re-wiring him so that he actually cared about Rinoa enough to allow his pride to take a backseat.

Then again, there were a few other positives. For example, messing around with Leonhart was entertaining enough to be considered a sport in many countries and then there was Leggy-Fed, speaking of which…

As Seifer waited for Quistis - his fellow exiled brother-in-arms - to gather her belongings, he wouldn't waste this opportunity to give Leonhart the evil eye. So the detective rested against the doorframe, making sure he openly seethed. Yes, this may have been anticlimactic, but if he wasn't going to tell him off and leave him in shock and awe, he'd at least make sure that Fed-Boy felt very, very uncomfortable. To emphasize his hatred of Leonhart and his latest asinine idea, he took an aggressive stance, folded his arms, clenched his jaw, and glared at him because nothing said 'hate' more than a malicious glare.

Well, that's how he believed any sensible person would interpret it, but knowing that 'Leonhard' only had one thing on his mind earlier, he'd probably construed this as some sort of come-on.

It was just his luck to be assigned to some suit who just reached puberty. Well, it was either that or the guy was a perv by nature – just another reason why leaving Rinoa alone with this ass-clown was very unsettling. The detective didn't think it was humanly possible, but with the agent's next statement, he became even more infuriated.

"Quistis, you can go ahead and take the recorder with you."

It was the smug flippant attitude that got under Seifer's skin the most; the jackass even removed his jacket as if this was some casual request of Sunday brunch.

Taking a step forward, Seifer made a slashing motion with his hand. "That's the line. It's not happening."

Quistis had just finished putting her files back into order and although history had taught her it was best to stay out of the male peacocking, even she couldn't let this one go. "Squall, as much as it pains me to agree with Detective Almasy, he's right here. Don't be foolish."

Sauntering up to the female agent, Seifer smirked as he placed an arm around her shoulder. "See, Squall, girlfriend over here agrees."

Quistis shrugged him off, rather brazenly at that. "Please, just stop that. He's not-"

"-going to listen? Yes, I will. You're right, it would be best to have the evidence." Squall cut her off, simultaneously derailing the other subject. He wished his old friend understood that sometimes it was easier to let an assumption rest rather than to make a production out of it. He'd just proven that twice within one sentence – and there was a fairly good chance neither of them had caught on.

…Or maybe not.

"Detective Almasy, can you please let me speak to Squall alone?"

"Fine, but he'd better not try anything in my house," he grumbled bitterly, "I'm serious."

Quistis continued to reassure him, all the while trying to usher him out the door. "He won't do anything. It's fine."

"Yeah, that's what all the girlfriends on the news say about their yutz boyfriend as he's being dragged away in cuffs… You know, right before the camera pans over to the yellow tape, blocking the scene of a triple homicide. But yeah, yeah cling to those delusions, sobbing to the camera, 'But he was so quiet and kept to himself and wouldn't hurt a Bite Bug!' But not me 'cause I see the truth."

Before walking out, Seifer thought it best to issue one last warning. "Behave Leonhart or I'll kick your ass and you can keep that promise on the record."

Smiling politely, Quistis closed the door behind him. "Thank you for your concern, Detective Almasy."

After that, she turned back to Squall and her entire demeanor changed. She was no longer playing herself off as the polite and meek house cat, who timidly asked to speak to him. No, within pivoting 180 degrees, she'd transformed into an angry lioness, verbally ready to pounce on her prey. Her body language mirrored this change – from the overly-ridged posture, the folding of her arms, and the insistent tapping of her foot – they all worked as giveaways. If those weren't enough of a clue, the clenched jaw, knitted brow, and piercing look of angry-skepticism were easy tells. "Nice try, Leonhart."

However, Squall was not impressed. He walked back to sink area, grabbing some towels and began searching through the cupboards.

He didn't even bother turning to look at her, "I don't need the lecture Quistis. I said I'd keep the recorder on, I'll keep it on. What else do want from me?"

"How about actually keeping it turned on?" she shot back, calling his bluff again.

For a moment, Rinoa had to wonder if they'd forgotten if she was in the room. It was like being in the center of a very uncomfortable marital spat. Holding the towel in place, she nonchalantly acted as if she was so focused on her arm, she couldn't bother paying attention to them. Of course, she was as it was hard not to, plus all her earlier curiosity was really getting the best of her right now.

Quistis had now joined Agent Leonhart in the kitchenette area so Rinoa was able to take casual glances the couple. She'd always loved people-watching and discovering others' idiosyncrasies and, on that front, the way these two interacted was fascinating. Even now, it seemed they didn't use a lot of verbal communication, which just proved how perfectly they jelled together. She hated to admit, but Rinoa found herself jealous - to have someone know your actions and movements like that, to speak so soundly without words.

But it wasn't about that – about what she had or didn't have - and just having that thought felt entirely selfish. She had to remind herself that this was an outlet - no more, no less. So as she sat there, she continued to make a game of it and see what she could learn about the two agents.

The most obvious thing was their physical appearances. To state it bluntly, they were both gorgeous, an observation that she'd made much to her chagrin; it made her self-conscious, especially when she looked like walking hell. Here she was wearing a gigantic Moomba t-shirt, torn jeans, bandaged and scrapped - not to mention the dried blood in her hair - and they looked like they walked off of the pages of some high-profile magazine.

In her adolescent life, without question today had been her lowest low. She wasn't normally like this; she knew better than to compare herself but, when it rained, it flooded – maybe it was born of guilt, maybe it was a way to punish herself for simply surviving.

She had to stop this; it wasn't her – well, wasn't exactly her. So she decided to channel her energy into something that seemed a tad less… shallow. She didn't want to think about how deceivingly-perfect they seemed. She didn't want to think about her friends (she couldn't). So she decided to keep her mind occupied with something a little more quantifiable and mentally calculating their heights seemed like a pretty harmless exercise.

With her heels on, Agent Trepe was easily his height. It gave them a sense of equality, which continued to play into the concept of being the perfect couple. Of course, as she heard her own thoughts, Rinoa knew there was no way she could avoid making that sound pathetic. Still, they were by far the most interesting thing in the room… that and she'd already memorized the fire-escape plan earlier.

So, going back to the subject at hand – Rinoa had stood around Quistis more, so she could use that as some sort of base. She then took in the height Quistis' heels, factoring in that Agent Leonhart's shoes had a little height too, and then, using outside factors as references, she believed that barefoot, he was maybe two, maybe three, inches taller than Quistis… Using those factors, she believed that Squall was about five or six inches taller than her, which for Rinoa seemed like the perfect difference in height… and what in Diablo's name was she doing?

It was official — she'd hit rock bottom.

And if rock bottom had a rock bottom, then she'd be the plankton on the underbelly of the ocean. She was doing math - on purpose… for fun. God help her, this truly was the beginning of her decent into madness. In the last few minutes, she was basically creating and working on her own mathematical story problem based entirely on two strangers. What was next – calculating the different speeds of trains arriving in Timber? Maybe long division? Or maybe even dividing by zero?

Not once in twenty-three years did Rinoa ever think about someone's height in comparison to her own. It had never been a big deal before because she'd never minded having to look up at others. However being looked down at – and not in physical sense – was another story.

She had that feeling minutes ago; when all three of them had judged her simply by the company she had kept.

Over the years, Rinoa had grown used to the feeling - always smiling, laughing, and then shrugging it off. Today, she couldn't and being judged actually bothered her, and maybe it was because she no longer had an outlet. There was no laughing with Zone, no watching bad movies with her friend or having popcorn fights.

Shaking her head, again she knew she couldn't.

By now, they had stopped searching and had been whispering – or at least she had as he seemed to be listening, although not too intently. It appeared that Quistis became distracted and turned to look outside. Leonhart actually seemed to watch the other agent more when she wasn't looking at him. Once more, Rinoa found herself wondering what that would be like, to have someone steal glances and watch your every move.

Then again, that's what she was doing… okay, maybe technically it wasn't the same – same. The semantics didn't matter. If it was humanly possible, she felt even more pathetic with that realization and all she wanted to do was crawl in the nearest hole, curl up, and sleep until anything remotely made sense again.

With a deep breath, she shifted in her seat so they were out of view and looked down at the table. She couldn't watch them any longer – her hobby had become bittersweet. The truth was that daydreaming or people-watching wasn't going to get her anywhere; she needed to think about what really mattered. Right now, she wasn't even sure if she had a future outside of jail and, if she did, would she find a new place to live? She couldn't go back to Deling, not that Caraway would take her back anyhow. The truth was she'd spent so much time trying to help Zone that it had masked the fact that she had nothing.

But these two, they appeared to have everything. No matter how clichéd or hackneyed it was to say – they had the world in their hands…and all Rinoa had would be handcuffs around hers.

"I'm serious, Squall. Please." Quistis finally spoke in a normal voice.

Rinoa could tell she was walking by the table but, as if it had been a secondary thought, she stopped. She was almost afraid to glance upward, only to discover that the female agent's attention was solely focused on her once she had. There was no way to put into words the awkwardness she felt as that whole 'do-this-or-you're-headed-directly-to-detention' instructor look hit her with full force.

"Miss Heartilly, make sure the cassette recorder stays on at all times. It's simply a precautionary measure to protect you."

Rinoa was extremely confused and didn't even bother restating that she'd rather go by Caraway now. It wasn't the first time they called her that since she'd made the request, but she was smart enough to wait for a more opportune time to remind them. So, she nodded, apparently agreeing to something. Honestly, Rinoa had never expected the recorder to be turned off but, then again, she hadn't expected Agent Leonhart to ask to speak with her privately either.

After the door closed, Squall waited, watching it like a hawk.

As for Squall, he knew that Quistis wouldn't walk back in, but he definitely couldn't say the same for the unleashed Chihuahua.

His next move wasn't his choice; in fact, it went against everything he'd preached since joining the bureau - as did much of what was coming next. Sometimes circumventing the rules was an unfortunate but necessary move – sometimes the people that made the rules had their own agenda. Again, he looked at the woman sitting at the table, sometimes this job came down to far more than what was written in any book.

He just hoped his superiors would agree…

Rinoa found herself staring at him. There was no more hiding behind a mask of indifference; she'd given up that ruse the moment Quistis left. Honestly, she would've looked guiltier if she tried to ignore him. There was a part of her that was strangely nervous about being alone with him. When he had been angry or yelling, she knew what to expect, but it was the times in between, the times like these… when she saw something different, even if he tried to hide it. It was also these times when she was most caught off guard.

So she watched - watched him as he watched the door before walking over to it. He seemed to be contemplating something before ultimately reaching out and locking it.

As the click echoed throughout the room, for that brief second, her body shuttered at her childhood memories. Her reaction had been involuntary, something that she doubted would ever fade completely. Truthfully, she thought it had gotten better, but the fact that all the hair on her skin was currently standing on end proved that theory false.

By now, Agent Leonhart had returned, moving a few things to the corner of the table. She couldn't even look at him - funny how that changed with one simple sound. Not to mention, he'd seen her reaction and most likely read it as something else entirely – like maybe she was intimated by being in a room alone with him? Or perhaps he'd see fear? Guilt?

But intimidation wasn't it… Well, it wasn't all of it.

Even Rinoa had to admit that the sound made her jump a little more than normal – a fact that could be corroborated by her increased anxiety and heartbeat. Worse yet, she that increased after hearing the sound of the chair slide across the floor as he it moved closer. She still couldn't make eye contact and 'conveniently' decided to examine her arm, going so far as readjusting the towel. And while yes, the wound was painful, it was currently serving as a hopefully-convincing diversionary tactic.

As he finally decided to take a seat, she became even more vastly aware of how close he really was. How much longer she could stare at one brown kitchen towel suddenly turned into the question of the day. Her only consolation was that the towel was dark enough so the blood wasn't as noticeable, if it had been white, she would've been sick by now.

There was also another troublesome realization, one that hit her much harder than expected. Be it her proximity or nerves, it seemed that her senses were placed on high-alert or maybe it came down to the simple fact she was overly aware – acutely aware even. They'd never been this close for this period of time. She vaguely recalled throwing her arms around him on the back of the ambulance but, maybe he wouldn't remember that or maybe it was something that was a daily occurrence in his line of duty.

…Yeah, right.

Sitting here, she could smell the musky scent of his cologne. Bar none, the woodsy smell of warm spice and cedar had been the most amazing thing she smelled the entire day, maybe even her entire life. Ignoring that thought, or at least desperately trying to, she saw him shift his position from her peripheral vision. From there, he reached across the table and grabbed the tape recorder. And after all the fuss Trepe and Almasy had made over it, curiosity got the better of her and she had to look up.

With two clicks of the buttons, she saw that not only had he stopped it, but he'd also ejected the tape. Then there was that awkward moment where she realized that she'd watched too many television shows because this was usually the point in the story where the rogue police officer usually threatened the suspect or beat them to a bloody pulp for a confession. Maybe if she tried polite conversation, he'd forgo either of those two options.

"You turned it off." Okay, even she knew it was a rather obvious statement, but it was better than, 'please don't hurt me, I have dog to take care of.'

"Playing well with others was something I never quite got." He shrugged, not hiding the fact he'd placed the tape in his pocket. "Just be happy that the government is about three decades behind and hasn't gone digital yet. Unfortunately, this means that misplacing evidence sometimes… happens."

"I don't-" She bit her lip, looking at him nervously. This really is where it goes bad on television. "Um, I mean, why did it happen?"

He continued to stare at her, reading into her obvious confusion. Not only did he read it, he could actually understand it and, for once, he wished he could stand behind his actions with a hundred percent confidence. He couldn't. But he had to believe – no harm, no foul - because just like 'shit happens,' in this rare case, it could still 'un-happen' if needed. For now, he needed to clarify a few things before he could decide his next move.

He also didn't bother offering an explanation to her question; his reasons were his own – at least for now. First things first, he reached up and loosened his tie before slipping it off completely. As he added it to the growing collection in his jacket pocket, he looked back over to her and issued a single command.

"Let me see your arm."

Rinoa looked between him and the blood-stained towel. Honestly, she had no idea why she was so hesitant. Still, there was something, well, she couldn't put into words. She found herself nervously sucking on her bottom lip as she stretched her arm out. To make the situation even more unbearable, he moved his chair a tad closer. She went to being uncomfortably close to him to being excruciatingly close to him. Not that he even noticed, or cared, or even gave one iota about her – this was just her arm.

"It would make it easier for me to treat the wound if you'd actually let go of the towel wrapped around it."

"Heh." A high-pitched nervous laugh slipped out, to which she immediately changed from sucking to biting her lip at an attempt at silence. True to form, she'd applied too much pressure and emitted a very faint yelp.

She casually tried to play it off in a vain attempt to salvage some dignity. Letting go of the towel, she allowed him to take over. Agent Leonhart seemed to be one of those types who seemed to be quite knowledgeable about everything. For now, this cosmically balanced things out, because she currently felt utterly clueless about everything.

She also had to remind herself that, in her world, over thinking often translated into trouble. Attempting to clear her thoughts, she took a cleansing breath. Not smart. Instead of her mind becoming a blank slate, her mind was bombarded with the smell of his cologne. Sitting up, she nonchalantly tried pressing her luck by stealing another whiff, but it never went quite that easy. After breathing too hard, she had to cover her mouth before turning her head and going into a small coughing fit.

"All right?"

"Yeah, sorry… just forgot how to breathe."

Forgot how to breathe? It was official – right before his eyes, she'd magically transformed into the world's largest, first-class dork.

"Hm." He never looked up as he continued to study her arm. "You need to relax."

Any trace of malice in his voice had disappeared, which made the situation even more awkward. Before, she could write his actions off or remarks as cynicism, but it was a little harder to dismiss it when he was taking care of her. Although what he was doing seemed odd, namely the fact he had only been studying her arm rather than actually touching it.

She would definitely say this man was… interesting.

And although she knew she was staring, it didn't hit her fully until he looked up and caught her red-handed. She started to open her mouth to utter some pathetic excuse for an apology, but he apparently he couldn't care less. Instead, he reached for her arm.

To his surprise, she visibly winced as he touched it. "Did that hurt?"

"…No." she mumbled. That part didn't, but she couldn't admit that her reaction was from his touching her. "Just startled. That's all."

Rinoa believed that he'd have to be world's worst special agent if he actually bought that excuse. Even Angelo could've sniffed that one out miles away.

Thankfully, he seemed to be buying it, or it was more likely that he had bigger things on his mind rather than her obvious fascination. She found herself too intimidated to ask, not that he'd answer her even if she did. Still, Rinoa remained at a loss as to why he cleared the room over her bloody arm. Yes, it was bad, but he'd obviously had to have seen much worse during his tenure. Also the fact that he stared at for a few minutes was rather… peculiar.

"This needed to be stitched."

"This day gets better and better." She finally gave up the perfect posture bit, slumping back into her chair. "I was told it didn't."

"Yeah."

"It's not a big of deal, really. I'm not scared of needles. Okay… I'm not fond of needles, but I'm not scared."

"It's a hunch." Again, his reaction didn't seem to fit the situation; she'd actually began to wonder if there were two separate conversations going on here.

"….A hunch that involves needles?"

He looked at her for a moment, blinking in confusion. He'd let go of her arm as he reached over to the items he'd piled at the edge of the table. She watched as he started rooting through a first aid kit.

She tensed. "Wait, wait, wait... no, no, no, you're not going to? I mean, not here?" she barely could choke out the words, "That's just wrong to do this like in the middle of the break room or something, right? Because… if so, I think I just became a lot less fond of needles."

"No. I said it needed to be stitched."

He then proceeded to clean the wound; she tried not to look, feeling extremely queasy at the sight. As she turned away, he continued to take care of the arm and at this point she didn't care what he did, as long as she wasn't forced to look. There was no doubt that it was painful, but it was still tolerable. She did her best not to let it show, clenching her teeth and acting as if this was as simple as a walk in the park.

"See this? This laceration is extremely deep, down to the subcutaneous tissue. The dressing you had was put on before it was adequately cleaned. That's most likely why it's been bothering you."

"Ah, uh huh," she mumbled with her head still turned. He could've been speaking a dialect from ancient Centra and it wouldn't have made a damn bit of difference.

"Um… okay? So, I'm headed to a doctor or something?"

He continued to mess around until she felt cold liquid being poured on the wound. It felt odd more than burned, but she still wasn't comfortable enough to look.

"What happened earlier? I need you to tell me everything; I didn't want the others to hear."

"You believe me?"

It really wasn't directed at her, more of a partial nod towards her arm. "I believe Watts. He told you for a reason."

She took in a deep breath, unsure of what parallel universe she'd just landed in. "I'm so lost."

"I know." He realized how that could be taken negatively, but didn't have the time or the will to explain. "Listen, I need to know what happened specifically with your arm. Who bandaged it?"

"A paramedic?" she answered cautiously, still waiting for reality to return.

He was doing his best not to lose his patience. "Close your eyes. Go back to the scene. Think of the sights and sounds. Remember the words."

God, she didn't want to… but this was her chance to be heard; the chance for Watts and Zone to be heard - maybe their only chance. Rinoa couldn't be selfish, she had to take it. Closing her eyes, she bowed her head and the fact that he was still touching her arm became even more apparent. In this moment, Squall Leonhart had become her saving grace. She wouldn't ever tell him that but, for some reason, having him close made her feel like she could fight - even if she was only fighting memories.

"…It's all very fuzzy. I remember bits and pieces… After I'd talked to Watts…and he was, well, you know. I don't – don't remember. Maybe I laid down or passed out or something, but the paramedic was there when I came to… Oh and there was another guy in a red shirt. He'd been walking by or something, but was helping. I remember telling them to ignore me and worry about the others because maybe, I hoped that… well, I just hoped for Watts. Zone was… everywhere. He couldn't be saved, he couldn't be-"

"Don't. That won't help them. Focus on the men. What did they do?" Squall continued holding the clean cloth to her arm. There was no doubt this woman was telling the truth, but there was clearly a struggle going on within herself.

"The guys, they were… Wait, I remember the man in the red shirt listened and went to check on Watts, but the paramedic insisted on helping me. He kept talking to me to calm me down, telling me it was going to be all right. He grabbed something from his bag… it was a bandage. He bandaged it and asked I could walk back to the ambulance… I remember saying okay. I just wanted to get away. Then the other guy came back and had me stay. They were arguing about if I should walk… Then I remember being tired and felt like I was going to throw up, but then… nothing."

"Nothing?" he continued to softly prod. She shook her head, but it didn't matter, he had enough. "It's all right, go ahead and open your eyes."

"Wow, I hadn't even thought about any of that before. Anyway…the next time I woke up, I was at the back of the ambulance. The one you found me at."

He looked at discarded pile of bandages on the table. "You refused further medical treatment at the scene. Not smart."

"Yes, I… never mind. No excuses, I was stupid." There was no use in denying it; the truth was impossible to miss. "I can even hear Zone mentally lecturing me for being so stubborn, but I couldn't go… I had to stay."

"Couldn't? Just like you couldn't answer my questions back at the scene?"

Bowing her head, she looked down at the table. A few minutes ago, he seemed so caring, but she was reading too much into things that weren't there again. His concern was solely about information; she would always be a means to the end. "You wouldn't understand."

"Miss Heartilly, you haven't given me a chance."

"I thought I said to call me Caraway."

"You did, but turns out you're not the only one that can be stubborn - tends to happen when someone uses my words against me."

She looked back up and for a brief second, she could've sworn she saw the thinnest flash of amusement.

"Agent Leonhart, I… I don't understand what you're saying."

"I've given you no reason to trust me so far. But this isn't about us; it's about getting justice for your friends. I need you to tell me exactly what Watts said. Anything you say remains off the record, no tapes, no witnesses – I promise it'll be just us."

Squall didn't make promises.

In fact, until today, he'd never made one to a witness. Then again, the only ones he'd ever made to suspects usually involved how many broken bones they'd have or how long they'd end up behind bars. He'd always follow the rules the FBI set for him.

But sometimes the rules were meant to be broken – and sometimes the people that made the rules had their own agenda.

99.99% of the time, the claims of corruption in law enforcement were false, but Squall had a gut feeling that he'd just found that .01% and that Rinoa Heartilly was never meant to make it out of the blast alive.