Author's Note: Sorry this took so long to post! I felt like this chapter warranted some extra research! Song lyrics are "Don't Panic" by Coldplay.

Also, have you checked out my playlist for this story? You should! You can find the link on my bio page.


6. Truth

He couldn't do it. Not yet. It was just too much to bear right now, and the thought of the potential consequences were sending his mind into an anxious oblivion. He was too ashamed, too disgusted with himself, and yet... His eyes went down to the half-eaten sandwich on his plate, and he silently wished he had never asked for her company in the first place.

"I'm sorry," he said, barely above a whisper.

"Squall, what is it? What could possibly bother you this much?" Quistis' voice held the sincerity and concern of a true big sister, and he felt the guilt crawl into him and make a home inside his stomach. Why did she have to care about him so goddamn much? "...Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just forget I said anything, okay? It was nothing, really." He struggled to put his walls back up in spite of everything, rediscover that shell that he had abandoned all those years ago, even if it was for nothing more than temporary comfort.

"I wish you could trust me," she said softly.

He looked up at her then. A small scowl crossed his face, and he felt ashamed of himself. I DO trust you, it's just that... This is something different. You wouldn't understand—

His phone buzzed on the table, bumping into his coffee cup with a light, vibrating chime. He grabbed it quickly, almost eagerly, happy for the excuse to get off topic. "Hello?"

"Commander Leonhart?"

He wondered when he was last called that. "Yes, what is it?"

"Sir, we have word from patrol that they found James Grayson on the corner of 59th Avenue and Howe Boulevard," the officer said. "He has agreed to come to the station for questioning."

"Alright, thank you. Trepe and I will be there shortly." He hung up the phone and looked up at Quistis, whose look had transformed from sister to SeeD in one seamless transition.

"What is it?"

"They found James," Squall informed her. "He was only a couple blocks away from the last crime scene."


They sat in silence in the white-walled interview room. Quistis thumbed through her notes while Squall observed the man sitting across from them. He was smug, almost cocky, and met Squall's gaze with a fox-like stare, like he was expecting this to happen, willing it even, and daring him to try... Squall didn't let anything show through his expression; not the fact that he was worried that he wouldn't get a confession, not the feeling those dead eyes shot into his mind, not a thing.

He thought about how to drive the story out of the man, knowing that it would take equal cunning and tact. If there was any advantage that could be derived from the situation, it was the fact that Squall knew James' kind well. Seifer had carried himself in a similar manner, and Squall had known exactly how to get under his skin. He hoped the same tactics would work with James as well.

Quistis was the first to speak. "I'm Quistis Trepe and this is my partner, Commander Leonhart. We are from SeeD. We have a few questions to ask you regarding a girlfriend of yours: Leigh Ellsway."

Twice in one night with the 'Commander' thing? Hell, that's a new record for the season. Squall sneered inwardly at the notion of being anything like his former self. He imagined that Quistis had to force herself to address him with his formal title, though no cringe could be heard in her even tone. He knew why she had said it, though; she wanted to set a precedent in hopes that James would feel some sort of intimidation from it.

He isn't going to fall for it, Quisty. He's too smart for that.

"Am I under arrest, ma'am?" James' voice was smooth, too smooth, as if he was reading off a script. Squall wondered if the man had been anticipating this moment for quite some time, and if he had been practicing his lines in preparation for his grand performance.

"No, Mr. Grayson, you are not under arrest," Quistis acknowledged. She revelled at the use of his last name, given how he had likened himself to Hyne and had seemed to reject it with his peers. "However, we would like to get a statement from you so that we can get to the bottom of what happened to Miss Ellsway between Sunday night and Monday morning."

Squall pulled out his cigarettes and offered James one. James accepted, flashing him a liar's smile camouflaged in gratitude. Squall silently lit it for him before lighting another for himself. It was a dance of wits; the display of generosity, the easing of tensions, poker faces betraying nothing, all in hopes of finding the answers that they so desperately sought.

James took a drag off his smoke. "Well, ma'am, I'm not quite sure what to tell you. I honestly didn't see Leigh at all last week. She texted me a few times, but really, there was nothing more than that. Sunday night, I was at home with my parents. I didn't leave the house again until Monday evening."

Squall wrote down the words in his notebook, discerning the particular discrepancies between his story, what his mother had said, and Nima York's suspicions. He let the man continue, taking care not to let his hand show; this was his game, now. He knew for a fact that James had not been at his parents' house at the time in question—his own mother had confirmed that earlier that day. Squall took a long, slow pull on his cigarette, fighting off the small smirk that was threatening to pull on the corners of his mouth.

"Are you sure about that, Mr. Grayson?" Quistis gazed into James' grey eyes, searching for the truth that he had buried underneath the fabric of his lies. But there was—

Nothing...

—but a blank stare forcing itself back at her with equal resolve. She looked down at her notebook for a moment, drawing in a deep breath of the stale, nicotine stained air. James was cold, showing no emotion, no remorse for the lost life of a supposed girlfriend.

"I have nothing to hide, ma'am." James' face contorted into a partly sympathetic, mostly shrewd expression, the look of unwarranted satisfaction creeping up underneath his facade. "I'm sorry about Leigh. I really am. I wish I could be of more help."

Squall cocked an eyebrow as he finished his cigarette. Gingerly, he put it in the ashtray before adjusting his glasses to eye the man sitting at the other end of the table. "So, James," he said, dropping the formalities that Quistis had chosen to use, "tell me, what exactly did you do with your parents on Sunday night?"

James looked thoughtful for a moment before answering. "Nothing really out of the ordinary. I had dinner and then I played video games until I went to bed."

"Mmm-hmm." Squall leaned back in his chair. "That's interesting, because I spoke to your mother earlier and she said that you were the come and go type, and that you've been away from home for quite some time, now. Are you suggesting that she's lying to me?"

Dead eyes went wide at the notion of being snared into the accusation. Squall watched as the tiniest shudder escaped the man. He drew the cigarette down to the butt as he hesitated, trying to find the right words to back himself out of the corner he wound up in. "I'm telling the truth, sir. I didn't actually see my parents that night, because we were in different rooms but I was home."

Squall couldn't help but let out a dry, cynical laugh. "The sooner you cut the bullshit, James, the better. Really."

James' breathing had sped up notably, and Squall could see beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He knew that he had the younger man right where he wanted, backpedalling into the unknown, an unrehearsed part of the play he had tried so desperately to memorize. Rage had slithered across James' face, and he was infuriated with them, disbelieving of the situation he found himself in... It was the first honest thing Squall had been able to decipher from the man.

"It's you guys who need to cut the bullshit!" he retorted, mask crumbling away. "Hyne knows I've done nothing wrong."

"Mr. Grayson, if you're looking to prove you're not a suspect in this, you need to stop lying to us," Quistis stated, her calm resolve fraying around the edges. "We are not here to play games."

"The only people playing games are you two," he seethed. "I was at home the whole night. What more do you want from me?"

"Saying the lie repeatedly doesn't make it the truth!" Quistis was almost yelling now. Her voice quaked as her own anger rose to the occasion. "Man up!"

"Screw you guys! I'm fucking done!" His dead eyes betrayed him, a glimmer of fiery life flashing deep below the surface of the listless grey pools. "If you want answers, maybe you should look deep into your souls and ask Hyne for them!"

Squall had to restrain himself from laughing, then; the absurdity of the statement held a certain kind of humour, coated in irony with regards to the man whose mouth it slipped out of. Asking Hyne for answers would have been no more useful than asking a wall, except that the wall was concrete and real. Maybe I should ask the Tooth Faery, too, he thought, smiling inwardly. He let the notion pass, deciding that it would be best not to add further insult to the already volatile man.

"James," he said, calming the air that Quistis had stirred in her vehemence, "please, just think for a moment. Things aren't exactly looking good for you. You may want to reconsider what you're saying."

"There's nothing else to say." James remained adamant about the veracity of his story. "Are you done yet?"

"You have a very important decision to make right now," Squall continued. "You're toying with your own fate, here. Think carefully." He gathered up his notes and rose from his seat, cuing for Quistis to follow suit. "We'll be back."

The two SeeDs exited the interview room without another word. Quistis shut the door behind them, letting out an exasperated sigh. James was frustrating at best; their questioning had quickly eroded his cocky demeanor, giving light to the aggravated young man underneath. He held a lot of contempt, and Squall wondered if it was just at the position he was, or something else, something much bigger...

"I don't know what else to say to this guy," Quistis said. The station was quiet at that late hour, save for a few other homicide detectives working their own cases. Grabbing a drink from the water cooler, she continued, "If we push him too hard, he's gonna shut down."

"He's already shut down," Squall corrected, voice saturated with fatigue. "We have to think of a better approach before he walks out on the whole thing. I just...I'm not sure what exactly that entails right now."

He sat down in a vacant chair, exhausted. It was too late, he was too tired, too unprepared... He wished he had a way to build up a body of proof against James before he confronted him, but instead he was left with nothing but circumstantial evidence, not enough to do anything with, barely enough to even justify this questioning. His worst fear was that the man, armed with the knowledge that he had become a suspect in the case, would go into hiding following the encounter.

It was the last thing he wanted to have happen.

"He has no sense of remorse," Quistis noted. "That's the problem. In his head, he can't rationalize exactly why he needs to talk to us. If what Nima said about him is true... If he really thinks that he is aspiring to become like Hyne—god, I don't know what we can say to him."

"It's all ego. We're not on an equal playing field, as far as he's concerned." Squall rubbed his tired eyes, hoping to elicit some semblance of wakefulness from them and failing miserably. "We need to play that up. Boost him up to a point where he feels confident enough that we are worthy of his story. I can tell he's not just another criminal. This guy has some major fantasies about himself going on in his head."

He eyed the door and thought of the man behind it. His thoughts raced back to Seifer, and how delusional his rival had become under Ultimecia's influence. It had been impossible to convince him that he was anything other than a valiant knight, carrying out the will of the absolute. Every fibre of his being wanted to believe that he was doing the right thing, that he wasn't just some lapdog to the sorceress, that he meant something and was important and powerful and everything that he couldn't be while he was trapped inside of Garden.

"Well, what do you want to do?" Her voice tore him from the brief reverie. "We can't just leave him there."

Squall scoffed. "I know that."

"Well...? Any ideas?"

"Dammit Quisty, I don't know." He shook his head and let out a long, slow breath, trying to steady his mind. "We don't have many options. We'll just have to do what we can."

With that, he stood and made his way back to the interview room. He put his mask back on, the guise of calm when he was anything but underneath. His eyes moved over James, who had slumped back in his chair, seemingly disinterested, a self-righteous masquerade. Squall sat back down in his seat, calmly setting his notes on the tabletop, which had been battered by frustrated detectives and irate suspects. Quistis entered behind him, having taken a few extra seconds of respite to quell her frustration and gather herself.

Once she was seated, he began again, his voice slow and steady. "So, James, are you willing to speak with us or should we stop wasting our time?"

James looked up at him with a half-smirk, half-sneer. "You SeeDs, you are so hilarious. You act like saviours of this world, but the reality is you're the ones who are destroying it. What purpose do you serve? Chasing petty criminals in the absence of a sorceress; I don't know whether to laugh or cry."

"This isn't about me or my partner," Squall said, biting back the anger that had latched onto his skull. "This is about you, and it's about Leigh Ellsway. Now, are you going to cooperate or not?"

"Fuck you. This interrogation is over."


Squall slammed the door behind him, shaking the photos on the walls as he stormed back into his townhouse. He tore his shoes off and threw them into the closet, emotions boiling over to the point where he couldn't think anymore. The interview had been nothing short of a disaster; James' cocky, stubborn attitude had gotten under his skin like an itch that he couldn't scratch, a tick that was parasitic in nature.

He didn't get anything from the interview, not a DNA sample, not a word about Leigh...a confession wasn't even a remote possibility. He felt the anxiety wash over him as the question repeated itself in his mind.

Now what?

Walking into the kitchen, he glanced at the clock on the wall. It was now 03:16—far later than he had wanted to stay up—but all of his tiredness had dissipated, leaving only resentment in its wake. He was angry at James for his arrogance, angry at Quistis for letting her temper slip, angry at himself for fucking everything up... He wondered how he had ever managed to be successful in the past; he felt like a complete letdown, now, unable to accomplish even the simplest of tasks. Maybe he was past his prime? He certainly felt like he was. This assignment wasn't supposed to be difficult, it wasn't supposed to go on this long, and yet, here he was, seven months and ten victims later, murders now tallying fifteen with no end in sight.

He opened the cabinet above the refrigerator, revealing a well stocked selection of liquor, a calling from days past that he couldn't quite seem to surrender. He grabbed a bottle of vodka and retrieved a glass, pouring himself a shot. The raucous, bitter taste shocked his tongue before descending into the pit of his stomach, and he tried desperately to fight off a grimace. Not a moment had passed before he took another shot, the second one going down easier than the first, and stuttering his fury and replacing it with a dull sensation of discontent.

This isn't going to fix anything.

He took the bottle out into the living room and turned the TV on before throwing himself back onto the sofa. An infomercial flashed across his screen, the overly upbeat voice of a woman drilling into his head with a shrill fervour that made him want to pull his hair out. He quickly turned the offending appliance off again and let out a groan. He was at his breaking point; this day had been too much, from the meeting with James' mother, to the text from Rinoa, to the phone call from his father, to the flood of damning memories, to the emotional encounter with Quistis and failure of an interview that followed...

You are SUCH a fuck up. Really. He took another swallow of the vodka, forgoing a glass and drinking right from the bottle, not caring how dismal he looked. All he wanted was to numb out his thoughts enough so that he could fall asleep and not have to fight with himself for the rest of the night.

It was too quiet, and his mind was starting to get away from him, plunging from one regret to the next with the ferocity of a lion stalking its prey. He needed to drown it out, and the alcohol wasn't enough. He walked over to his computer, which was situated in the corner of the room, and awoke it from its sleep. The monitor came to life, the glare assaulting his retinas against the dim lighting. He opened the music player and mulled over his library.

Music had not held much meaning for him until recent years. Before that, it had felt extraneous, serving no real practical purpose to him. He had often wondered why people loved it so much, because it was nothing more than a mathematical arrangement of sound and rhythm, compiled and composed into segments and labelled. He felt ashamed to admit it now, but it was only after that first night Irvine dragged him out to Deling that he truly understood the messages music could carry. The raw onslaught of emotions the girl in that song conveyed to him as he felt his body lose itself to the ecstasy...they were burned into his mind forever.

He landed on a song that had always managed to calm his core, a soothing melody that he could only fault for being too short. The guitar came in first, soft but not slow, pushing the melody forward subtly as the vocals started up. "Bones sinking like stones, all that we fought for... Homes, places we've grown, all of us are done for..." The composition echoed with a rich ambiance and he felt himself grow lighter, the weight of the day melting with the sound. He closed his eyes for a moment and let the song sweep away his stress.

He continued to sip on his vodka and let the alcohol create a fog in his mind, shushing the insistent voice in his head that wanted to make sure he knew what a disappointment he was. It was nice to finally hear nothing but music and the faint sounds of the city outside his window. This was all he wanted, and he didn't care that it was considered pathetic and maybe even a bit depressing to drink alone on a weeknight.

His eyes fell on a picture of him giving Ellie and piggyback ride, and he couldn't shake the wayward smile that painted his expression. Selphie had taken the photo—maybe a year ago, now?—as a part of her exploration with all things artistic. That was the first weekend he had taken Ellie back to Garden to visit his friends there. She had looked so cute that day, a dandelion resting behind her ear, pale blue eyes alive with wonder, raven hair pulled wildly in every direction by the warm Balamb wind. If there was any highlight to this week, it was the fact that, despite the circumstances, he would be able to see her a day early.

After a few more songs and several more drinks passed, he finally felt the tiredness creeping back into him. He turned off the computer and went to the kitchen to put the bottle back into the cabinet, feeling the warm and numbing buzz pull him away. A yawn escaped him as he made his way into his bedroom and undressed down to his boxers. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he couldn't help but sigh. His body had lost its sharpness, becoming slightly gaunt in lieu of physical training. His gunblade sat against the wall, locked in its case and virtually untouched for months.

He shook his head, unimpressed but too tired to care, crawling into his empty bed—alone again—and falling into an uneasy sleep.


"Daaaaaadyyyyyyyy!"

Squall couldn't help but smile as Ellie ran toward him, jumping and grabbing onto his legs. He knelt down to pick her up and planted a quick kiss on her cheek, which in turn drew out a tiny laugh. "Hello, Ellie," he said. "How are you doing?"

"Good! I missed you!"

"I missed you too," he told her and felt her pull closer to him. He returned the hug with equal eagerness. Ever since Rinoa had taken Ellie with her to Deling, Squall had vowed to never take the moments he had with his daughter for granted. She was the one thing in his life that he considered precious, the one thing that he would never lose. Not again.

"Hey there, Squall." A soft voice danced its way down the landing and into his ears. He looked up at that moment and saw her, and for a second he felt his heart change tempo.

Rinoa looked at herself in the hallway mirror as she put her earrings in, raven hair cascading down her back in loose mermaid curls. She wore a simple black dress that draped across her porcelain frame and accentuated her newfound curves, her figure no longer that of a teenager but rather of a woman, beautiful and stunning and completely perfect in his eyes. Even the way she moved conveyed the look of someone with confidence and poise.

"Thanks for taking her tonight," she told him. "We really appreciate it."

Her words crashed over his ears like waves crashing on the shore and suddenly his mind was brought back to exactly why he was taking Ellie a day earlier than usual. The very thought made his heart sink like a stone, down to the bottom of the sea that was their relationship, or what was left of it. He knew he had no right to feel the way he did; he had seven years worth of chances and he fucked up every one of them.

"No problem," he managed. He forced a wan smile, empty and false, as he tried to mask his disappointment.

Rinoa spun to face him and struck a small pose. "So? How do I look?" she asked, trying to refrain from giggling.

Amazing. "Good."

"Good, huh?" Her soft pink lips smiled at him. "Well, I'll take what I can get, considering it's coming from you."

He put Ellie down and quietly told her to get her things. She nodded and ran off towards her bedroom, little feet thundering on the hardwood floors and down the hallway with all the enthusiasm she could muster. "She's just like you," he said in a half-mutter. "Full of energy."

"Yes, I suppose she is sometimes," Rinoa agreed. "But sometimes, she's a lot like you. You know, when she gets in a cranky mood." He raised an eyebrow at her and she couldn't help but laugh, a deep and hearty laugh that warmed up the entire room. "I'm kidding. Seriously, though, the other day, she was practicing writing out the alphabet with the most meticulous detail I've ever seen. I thought she was gonna break her crayon in half, she was holding it so tightly. I asked her why she was writing it so carefully and she told me it was because she wanted to do a good job so she could become really smart just like Daddy."

Squall tried to adjust his glasses in an attempt to hide the blush that was threatening to rise. Rinoa saw right through it, though, and swatted at him in mockingly. Quickly, he withdrew his hands from his face and saw her smile as she took in the sight of his flushed cheeks. "Uh...," he stammered awkwardly, trying to grasp for words, but they wouldn't come, and he managed only to worsen his situation.

"God Squall, it's alright," she said. "Learn to take a compliment!"

He half-grinned in response, feeling some small relief as he heard Ellie come running back down the hall. "Daddy, I got my backpack and my coat on and I even tied my own shoes!" She beamed at him, hoping that he would be proud of her accomplishments. He looked down at her feet and noticed that while she had managed to correctly tie her laces, the shoes were on backwards.

He was about to point out her mistake when he caught a glimpse of Rinoa, urging him to push the thought to the side. He hadn't realized how strongly Ellie wanted and valued his approval, and he hoped that he hadn't inadvertently put too much pressure on her. The last thing he wanted was for her to grow up feeling like she wasn't good enough for him; he didn't want her childhood to emulate his own. "Good job, Ellie," he told her. "Are you ready to go?"

Ellie nodded. Rinoa knelt down and gave her a kiss. "Be good for Dad, okay? I will see you very soon!" Her gaze turned to him. "See you Sunday?"

"Yup," he said curtly before taking Ellie's hand in his own. "I'll drop her off after dinner, as usual."

"Thanks." Her attention moved back to Ellie, as she said the words he knew were no longer intended for him. "Love you."

"Love you, Mommy!" the girl's sing-song voice chimed out.

Squall led his daughter carefully down the concrete steps out into the cool evening air, back to his car which was parked across the street. He looked up momentarily to see a man with a bundle of flowers standing at the sidewalk. He was tall—maybe half a foot taller than Squall—and slender but not at all skinny, well dressed, gelled hair, clean shaven, the smell of expensive cologne wafting off him. Squall's head started reeling, and he wasn't sure if it was the perfume in the air or simply the idea of this man—dating my Rinoa, he thought traitorously, and immediately chastised himself—that caused it.

"Hey, you must be Squall," he said and extended a hand, plastic smile painted across his face. "Name's Aeron. Nice to meet you."

Squall stared at the man's hand before simply nodding in acknowledgement. This was his replacement, some walking mass of potpourri with a faux hawk? He noted that the man didn't even get the right flowers; Rinoa liked white calla lilies, not roses. Even still, Aeron had a strangely manufactured flawlessness to him that made Squall feel incredibly insecure. He felt a twinge of anxiety building up under his skin. His mind was racing as fast as his heart as the anxiety turned into envy and began to simmer.

Ellie piped up in all her childlike innocence and exclaimed a cheerful "Hi Aeron!" and brought her father tumbling back into reality.

"Hello, little missy!" Aeron reached down and messed up Ellie's hair, eliciting a wild giggle from the girl. "Is your mom inside?"

"Yessir!"

"Alright, then, I better not keep her waiting," he said. "Have fun with your dad!"

"I will!"

Squall's blood pressure rose at the interaction between the man and his daughter, an instant dislike growing on his mind like a tumour. Something about Aeron wasn't—couldn't be—right. He was too suave, too composed, too well put-together, too...something. Maybe it was the fact that their brief encounter had effectively reminded Squall about all his own failings and inadequacies, and all at once, his mind started screaming at him you smell like an ashtray, you can't see a fucking thing without your glasses, you can't maintain a relationship with anyone for shit, you look like a train wreck, you're way too short, you're in shit at work... He tried to push the thoughts aside as he buckled Ellie into her carseat, but they kept coming back like ocean waves, persistent and deafening.

"Are you alright, Daddy?"