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Chapter Nine:
Take a Bow…
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6:38 pm, October 10th
Quistis had a gut feeling.
It had become an increasingly-rare occurrence over the last years but, when it happened, something bad seemed to follow. She tried not to believe in self-fulfilling prophesies; she wanted to trust that the future was hers alone. But when this hollow feeling emanated from within, everything was thrown into question. It had started about twenty minutes ago, just so happening to coincide with Squall's little stunt.
The queasiness had been slow moving, creeping at a snail's pace before taking hold of her body. When she was the unit commander back at Garden, she'd feel this way any time one of her charges was around danger. There had been too many close-calls and sleepless nights, but they'd all managed to make it through in one piece; she wished she could say the same of her psyche, however. Those under her often teased that she'd been reincarnated from a witch or some other magical being in another life and her feelings were simply residual traces of that time.
She didn't believe in that stuff. It wasn't real, it wasn't tangible.
So, she tried to downplay these sensations, growing tired of the comments. They were never nasty, actually the opposite. For some reason, all the students respected her and trusted her instincts. That made the job of being their superior easier, but being their equal rather difficult. That's why she always felt alone, nobody would ever know how difficult those days were. Well, that wasn't true, somebody did…
No matter how respected the Gardens were among the different the nations as a top military school, they were still just a school. Nothing could prepare her (or any of them) for the actual military or for actual combat. She'd suddenly gone from being someone revered and respected to just another soldier. A name. A low-ranking nobody. When she'd enlisted, she'd gone through training and then was assigned to a squadron with Squall. The chances were astronomical; she took it as a sign. She also believed that there would be a mutual familiarity. There wasn't. It was a real war zone with real battles. It wasn't training exercises with a pass or fail grade, it was life or death. No matter how brilliant she was on paper, it didn't quite translate well on the front lines.
So when her tour ended, she had used her grades and her Garden decorations to land a job with the DEA. Squall had left too, without explanation or reason. She'd believed he would stay on for another tour considering that he seemed like a natural - every skill that she lacked, he possessed tenfold. But he had said nothing, gave nobody his reasons, and headed back to Deling City. Within a week, he had a position she could only dream of and the road from there on out seemed to be paved entirely of platinum for him; she would have been be lucky to have found a bronze-plated alleyway. While he was able to distance himself from the military, from war, she had a harder time. She was extremely proud of him, still priding herself on being his first 'commanding officer' although she doubted that he would say it was anything but a classroom assignment.
She'd never tell him, but she followed his progress. She would smile at each accolade, feel pride with every medal. He didn't seem fazed either way, but she was thrilled for him. She wished he felt a fraction of what she did with each honor. To her, she'd always remember that ten-year-old boy she met at the library after beating him in a game of Triple Triad. To date, that was the only game she'd ever won against him. She'd like to say he was being polite by letting the girl win but she knew better. That wasn't Squall. After that, they didn't speak much until he was fifteen and they placed into Garden's top honors classes together.
It was early September when he was moved up into her class and she was no stranger to her gut feelings by then. The first time she experienced that with Squall was a survival weekend since the boys and girls went on separate trips. She'd always remember it; she worried about him the entire duration – a weekend that, much to her chagrin, had lasted four days.
When he came back safe and sound with the rest of the class, she realized it wasn't gone; the feeling was still very much there. It wasn't the normal bit of foreboding she felt for everyone – it was simply the first day of a very long period in her life.
She'd like to say it had completely faded. And it did at least until his next medal, the next promotion, or the next big case. Even so, it wasn't completely like that — she'd also moved on, had boyfriends, relationships, a very brief engagement, and even an uncharacteristic one-night stand. It was nothing she was proud of, but the point was, she had moved on; she'd even been in love once. But when she was facing her teenage years face-to-face, it was hard not to relive those memories or ponder on the 'what ifs.' Because all these years, every time she saw him, he was always alone. She hoped that it was by choice. Actually, she knew it was by choice.
How she felt hadn't been a secret since they were seventeen and before then, she didn't exactly hide it well. But he'd never teased her for it; he'd always been respectful, even if he didn't reciprocate the feelings. Still, in all the years of knowing him, he'd always kept his private life guarded, and what little she knew came from clues that were often dropped from outside sources. But no matter what happened, he'd always been her friend and with Squall Leonhart, that was a title few earned. Honestly, that honor easily equaled any award she'd ever earned during her tenure.
Still, Quistis didn't know if this fact made it easy or harder. She would always be grateful that he remained her friend, let her in when he'd shut so many others out and even after he could've easily turned his back, he didn't. There was always going to be that part of her that was protective, who wanted to look out for him even when he didn't want it. Those feelings would never completely fade. They'd been such an integral part of her adolescence and honestly, she wouldn't want them to – they were a part of everything that had gone into making her into who she was today.
But there was also that feeling – that one in the bottom of her gut, the feeling of foreboding that was slowly sneaking up on her. The moment she heard the tumbler in the door's locking mechanism fall was the exact moment her stomach sank. She couldn't blame his actions on impulsiveness or even age or circumstance – this was Squall. Still, that didn't stop her from worrying and just when she felt like she couldn't stand out here another minute, it started.
The yelling.
Okay, this was Squall and 'yelling' was probably far too much of a reach, but 'loudly speaking in a bout of irritation' didn't quite have the same effect, nor did it pack the same visual punch. She couldn't make out a lot, but she still caught the gist of it — Squall must've asked Rinoa something, something she that refused to tell him. The one word that Quistis could constantly make out was him repeating 'couldn't' with disgust. Honestly, beside the few times she'd heard him shouting military orders, she'd never heard Squall raise his voice this much. It took a lot of emotion to get a verbal rise out of him.
She swallowed, trying to quell these growing fears but, once this dam broke, the contingency plan had to be placed in motion. Outwardly, the agent carried herself like nothing had changed as she made her way next to the break room. Between the two uniformed guards and the loud voices behind the door, passersby had started to take interest. To keep this from becoming an even bigger spectacle, she had to make sure her presence known. Taking control, she placed her hand, waving them on as if their concern was unwarranted.
Of course she couldn't say for sure if it was or wasn't and that's why she felt her actions were more for show. However, the one thing she could say with absolute certainty was that she felt as if she'd been demoted to nothing more than crowd control. Growing tired of her newfound role as traffic cop, she contemplated knocking. On two separate occasions, she even put her hand parallel to the door, but she could never quite get herself to take that one final step. Maybe she should've knocked, but she'd stopped – way to demonstrate her indecision in front of the guards. She closed her eyes briefly, taking just enough of a step back to place a little distance between her and the door. She trusted him. What was Heartilly going to do - cast some sort of spell on him?
It was a difficult reality to accept, but she had to; Quistis Trepe was coming face-to-face with dormant emotions, compounded by all the years that had passed. She couldn't even say if they were real anymore or lingering fragments that she'd never made peace with. But just like then, through Garden, through the military, and into their adult lives, the truth remained resolute. He did need her - he needed her as backup if she was called. He needed her as someone who he could trust with his life, someone who would always have his back. She owed him that much.
Luckily, all her problems (at least in some regards) were resolved as soon as the door flew open.
Quistis literally jumped back, afraid of being taken out as he charged into the hall. Behind him, the door slammed so hard that she could feel the rush of wind through her hair. She had no idea what was his problem, but there most definitely was a problem. Turning her head slightly, she looked into the larger part of the station. And that's when she noticed - it was a spell so powerful that it seized control of every living thing within its grasp.
Okay, maybe it wasn't a spell per se, but whatever it was transformed a station full of cops into statues. Although they were in the hallway, there was a glass partition separating them from open area. All eyes were squarely fixed on them, from the officers, to a few detainees in main holding, and even a few female escorts making bail, conveniently before nightfall. Then again, they could've just been staring at Squall - it was rather common occurrence even when he wasn't alerting the entire station to his presence.
Still, that remained the question at hand - what the hell happened?
For someone who always carried his emotions in check, even while taking fire in the Northern sector of Esthar, surrounded on all sides… Quistis refused to believe that this Heartilly woman had managed to garner this reaction - there had to be more behind this. Then again, she was basing this on five year-old memories of someone she'd thought of as more of an ideal than a human being.
She turned back to Agent Leonhart who seemed to be oblivious to everyone's contemptuous looks. And just like that, Quistis found that she'd fallen right back into old patterns. All other variables faded as she put all her efforts into study him. It was his own fault, and it didn't matter how upset he was because he was the one that looked rather like the horse's ass. Before he found himself in the middle of career suicide, she had to get a read on the situation. He wouldn't buy that for a second, call bullshit on that – but whatever, it was his own fucking choice.
Maybe it was, but earlier she remembered that it was her duty to always have his back and sometimes that included the times he didn't ask for it. She'd done several things over the last few years she wasn't proud of - maybe, just maybe, if someone had her back she wouldn't have made those choices. Quistis had always felt that the need to be perfect was like a never-ending burden she had to shoulder, but the only one applying pressure was herself. She wouldn't let him fall like she had; she wouldn't let him go down with her.
He was fuming. Silently, he stood there, jaw clenched, looking toward the ground. All at once, he ran a hand through his hair - a telltale sign of his frustration. Except this time, it was more vigorous than what 'running it through' implied. Honestly, she wouldn't have been too surprised if he'd come up with an entire clump between his fingers. He rarely vocalized his anger, but he showed it – that is, if one knew him and, back in the day, she'd considered herself an expert Squall observer. Of course, she would never admit this fact – not now, not ever.
Then it happened - he made a move. Thankfully, everyone had returned to their work, or at least had the foresight to look as if they had, by now.
"Nobody goes in or out of the door without me. Even if she knocks, don't answer. If she wants to play difficult, game on." Even though he spoke in a surprisingly-calm manner, his voice was laced with acrimony.
In that brief moment, Agent Trepe almost had a pang of sympathy for Rinoa, only because could relate to being on the receiving end of Squall's ire, although if Rinoa was holding out on information, she couldn't say that it wasn't deserved.
He suddenly took off and she tried catching up, her long strides resembling a brisk walk or a slow jog – whichever it was, she was attempting it in heels. "Squall, what's going on?"
It equally caught her off-guard when he stopped abruptly. Even though they'd made eye contact, judging by the way he looked at her, it was as if she wasn't even there. "What's going on!? There's a dead agent and the only person who can keeps pointing out that she 'can't' say a fucking word. What the hell is wrong with people today?"
"So, what are going to do?"
"I'm throwing her a fucking party," he shot back, almost tauntingly. Worse yet, there was something about his behavior that she took as condescending. Quistis was truly taken aback; taunting, condescending, sarcastic – these weren't like him… well, that wasn't exactly true. It just wasn't like him to be this way towards her. His tone was loud enough that anyone walking by would be privy to their conversation.
Maybe he knew that he'd been caught up in something, that it wasn't like him to be this way either; she saw the moment his anger broke. His emotions had been misdirected and although he wouldn't apologize in so many words, she knew that he regretted his behavior towards her.
She wouldn't blame him, she never really did. He'd lashed out in anger, he was human – moreover, he was a person who was trying to do the right thing. The next words out of his mouth weren't an apology, but they were the closest to an 'I'm sorry' she'd get from Squall Leonhart.
"Look... It's just that Heartilly wants to do this the hard way. She might have won this round, but I damn well hope that victory will be spent being locked away at the federal level."
It didn't matter how low he'd intended to be, as he continued, the volume he was speaking at had increased. She guessed that it correlated to his level of bitterness, but regardless of what the root cause was, she started to feel guilty. Here, the deceased was an agent from her DEA office, and yet Squall was the one placing all the weight on his shoulders.
…Typical, noble, commendable, and, damn it all, perfect. These were the exact traits he'd demonstrated after graciously losing his favorite Triple Triad card to an eleven-year-old girl.
"Squall, I understand, I really do, but you need to keep your voice down." Without question, those were words she never thought she'd have to tell Agent Leonhart.
He'd taken a few steps forward, ending up in an archway that was roughly the size of a double door. It also happened to be a rather central spot as two hallways converged near the spot and it also separated the reception area from the main open-area of the station. At this point, everyone who was able to continued watching the feds make spectacles out of themselves. Most at least did so under the guise of work, but a few were openly staring. Quistis even noticed that the newly-bonded female escorts had taken their own sweet time. In fact, judging by the way they were unabashedly staring at him, she'd presumed that they were either working on a group rate or organizing a fan club. Fine, so Quistis might have been imagining ridiculous scenarios for her own amusement… that was until she thought she saw the one scantily-clad in leopard print hold up her telephone and mouth, 'call me' to Squall (which she in fact did). No matter what people were pretending to do around them, the fact remained crystal clear - she and Squall were still center stage spotlight.
His eyes surveyed his surroundings as he seemed to be contemplating something. The thing was that she saw something she hadn't expected while making a public display – indifference.
"Thank you, Quistis, but you're no longer my commanding officer and I certainly know you're not my mother. Stop telling me what to do."
Just as if it had been on cue, a loud crash thundered from the building's east end - enter stage right - Detective Almasy. If she thought that Squall had been angry, he was a purring baby kitty-cat compared Almasy. It defied all logic, but she could physically feel his seething from here.
"What the fucking hell!?" While storming by another desk, he leaned down and with one fell-swoop of the hand, its contents went flying.
At this point, she heard Squall whisper under his breath. "Oh good, dad's here. The dysfunctional family is complete."
Quistis kept her head faced down the hall, but her eyes knowingly darted towards Squall. There was no way in hell that Squall and Seifer's anger held common ground. There was only one thing that would make Seifer fly into a blind rage right now – and that was Agent Leonhart himself.
"What did you do?"
"My job."
In this case, she knew that it couldn't be a good thing. It was obvious with his flippant answer that any back-and-forth was out of the question. Maybe it was because they knew each other's mannerisms down to the last raised eyebrow or maybe, just maybe, it was because Seifer had just sent something else flying into the air in anger. The closer he got, the more Quistis realized that they were on borrowed time. Squall decided to play nice, at least giving her a little bit of head's up on the situation.
"There are two agents en route from the FBI satellite office. Rinoa Heartilly has been officially placed into federal custody. She's not going to jail, she's going to prison."
…And that would do it. Quistis had no idea how to mediate this as she wasn't exactly impartial anymore. Any sympathy she had towards Heartilly was gone.
Quistis took a cautious step back as Seifer obliterated all boundaries of personal space. The men stood face-to-face as every eye was on them. The Timber officers knew that Seifer was the textbook definition of a loose cannon; personally, Quistis wouldn't have been surprised if they'd started an office pool the moment Squall had first sauntered through the door.
To accentuate each word, Almasy pointed, purposely poking into Squall's chest to antagonize him. "Don't you fucking speak to me. Let me in to see her."
Squall defiantly folded his arms. "Miss Caraway is in federal custody. Maybe if you'd said please and thank you. Sorry."
"Heartilly, you ass, her name is-"
"Almasy!" A roar emitted from a nearby office, as a man stormed into the main area. "What in the ever-loving hell's all the commotion about?"
"Finally," Squall said under his breath, keeping his eyes glued on Seifer.
Quistis glanced between all three men - the two currently locked in a testosterone-fest and the middle-aged stranger demanding answers. Squall was on his own; it was her job to present herself and her agency with utmost class and dignity, apparently her colleague was busy doing… the exact opposite.
Turning towards the older man, she managed a few steps forward. He didn't carry the air of authority, yet Quistis was positive that he held it. Honestly, she believed that he had to have seen better days – ten years ago, this man was probably an entirely-different person. There was just an aura about him; it was a feeling that she'd had a few times with other low-level superiors whose fortune didn't go their way – one mistake or one wrong move later, and they found themselves imprisoned in a dead-end job. She'd estimated that he was at least three-decades her senior, judging by the light brown hair that was receding on either side. The suit he wore hung loosely around his body, maybe a side-effect was the job's stress (or the stress of dealing with Almasy) but he looked tired, defeated, and even trapped.
Even while being called out, Seifer refused to yield as his words dripped with venom. "Captain Martine, these are the feds – just like you said… especially this one."
"I apologize about the commotion, Captain Martine, is it?" Politely smiling, Quistis extended her hand to the man. "It's been a long day for all of us… unfortunately, one of many to come, but I'd like not to get off on the wrong foot."
Martine accepted it, although begrudgingly and looking none-too-pleased. "…And you are?"
"…Again, my apologies, Quistis Trepe, DEA. It was one of our operatives that was caught in the explosion today."
She turned back to Squall and was thankful that he'd returned to his senses, allowing Seifer to win their impromptu game of chicken. No matter what, she knew that Squall wasn't about to jeopardize his entire career over the likes of Seifer Almasy – she was positive about that.
By now, he'd taken the place next to her, and she made a motion with her head. "And this is Special Agent Squall Leonhart with the FBI. He's currently been taking point on our side."
"Point, eh? At least you're not trying to play off the equality bit," Martine's brusque voice mirrored his mind-set. It was obvious that Seifer wasn't the only one who had a distain for feds.
The female agent watched as the captain gave Squall the visual once-over, also noting that neither man attempted a handshake - at least they found common ground on something.
"So, you're in charge, huh? Nice to know, now I have a face to go along with the shitty job you're doing. Care to explain why you turned my station into a warzone, Mr. Point?'
"Your detective here wants to speak to my witness. The one I'm currently holding for transport into federal custody."
"Look, Leonhart was it?"
"Leonhard, Leonhart - same diff," Seifer snidely added from the sidelines.
Quistis didn't break her façade, remaining the utmost professional, although she glanced at the detective, hoping that he'd remain on his best behavior. His only reaction to her was a lopsided smirk and wink. She wished she hadn't looked. Turning back, it hit her; she now had two of them to worry about – and these men couldn't be more different…or more alike. She couldn't exactly explain that statement, but it rang completely true. Honestly, this day had started bad, moved into horrible, and now spiraled into the fifth level of hell.
Clearing his throat, the expression on his face read more bothered than concerned. "Agents, this isn't an issue. At least, I've yet to see one."
She also could tell that Martine's words weren't meant to be taken as a polite suggestion; the thinly-veiled disgust said it all. So far, her old friend seemed to be back to his normal self – it was a welcome change considering that she honestly wasn't too thrilled of this newer, and not-so-improved, Squall 2.0 version.
It seemed Martine took the momentary silence as an excuse to continue, "…And Special Agent Leonhart, we're all aware of the hierarchy that doesn't exist. This witness is in your custody, right? Maybe you should show a little goodwill and let my detective say a few words. In return, you can stay in there and monitor what's being said. It seems like a fair compromise all around. Think of this of the adult version of 'I'll show you mine, you show me yours,' if you didn't quite understand my suggestion from all the way up there."
Quistis spoke up, hoping to cut this off before it ended in fisticuffs. "Detective Almasy, Miss Heartilly's still in the break room." She faced Squall. "I do believe it sounds like a fair trade and does show good faith."
Of course her words were virtually worthless if the other two parties didn't agree.
"Whatever."
Thankfully, Quistis still could still speak Squall 101; it was basic down to its very core, and looking at Seifer, his self-confident smirk of victory said it all. This was the second thing he'd won in the matter of a few minutes. He knew that Agent Leonhart wasn't a happy camper, ergo Detective Almasy was.
And so her decent continued onward to the seventh level of hell…
"Thank you, Captain Martine. I believe you've successfully bartered a truce." The man uttered some sort of flippant goodbye, before he turned and left.
"Oh good, Leggy-Fed's stamp of approval – my lucky day," he threw another wry wink before turning to his newfound friend, "Now, be a good little boy, and listen to your girlfriend. Something says she gets feisty when she doesn't get what she wants, right? I'm picturing handcuffs and whips… yeah, definitely. I actually got a very vivid picture going on with her and a whip and a few chains." He walked up, giving her a slight nudge in the ribs. "Called it right, didn't I Leggy? Whips and chains?"
Quistis merely rolled her eyes, her action wasn't subtle my any means as she physically pushed him away, none too gently either. That aside, she found herself in a surprisingly-comparable situation to Squall, eager to take this man down a few pegs. The guy just had a way of grating on everybody's nerves, except Rinoa. For some reason, he'd taken to her and she couldn't explain it – no, she didn't want to explain it. Even his loyalty was misplaced; he had gone out of his way to protect her, something else that she couldn't figure out. A the moment, she had no inclination of trying to figure out what made Almasy tick because, as of now, she needed her head cleared as they headed back to the break room. There was relief in sight, because when as the other FBI agents arrived to transfer custody, their part would be mostly over.
Unfortunately, just because Quistis had nothing else to say to him, didn't mean that he'd return the favor. Honestly, she had this strange feeling that now that the end was near, he wasn't keen on being forgotten.
"Aww, you know Quistis, if I may call you Quistis. I feel-."
"No. You may not." Fine, she did have one more thing to say after all.
The result was to be expected. It didn't work.
"Noted, Quistis, but back to what I was saying. I'm really starting to get this underlying feeling of love at first sight. I'm actually not kidding. I know, may be hard to believe, but love is one of those things that I just don't joke about. You know, people do odd things even if they can't explain why at the time. Also, I'm growing on you, admit it."
"Yes. Like algae."
"We kid, see? But while we're on that subject, you and I? See, I have this way of putting you under some kind of spell. You can't help yourself. Me - the dashing, young knight. You – the decent-looking leggy fed. It's a classic fairytale. Hey, we even have your boyfriend, the Evil Orc, who has the personality of a wooden plank or a brick wall – or a wooden wall. Take your pick since you know him best, but I think you see where this is going. When you decide to dump the troll and stop swamping it up, give me a call. I don't have a castle with a moat, but I have a fifth floor apartment that overlooks a canal. Close enough."
Again, Quistis counted on silence truly being golden. Thankfully, they'd run out of time, finding their way back to familiar territory. She had spent the better part of twenty minutes resting on a wall adjacent to the break room after all. It appeared that even Seifer had run out of jabs or maybe he was worried about what Rinoa would think. For someone who declared himself a knight a minute ago, he'd more or less failed epically. Then again, she hated defending the man on any level but, the more she thought about it, the more she realized that Seifer hadn't failed Rinoa, Rinoa had failed herself. If anything, the knight had gone out of his way to try to save her.
Not that it mattered - they'd solve this case even without the girl.
That explained Seifer's newfound interest in her. If the so-called damsel-in-distress was upgrading her accommodations from Timber PD's cozy little holding cell to a full-blown prison, maybe he was just cutting his losses and moving on to his next damsel, although the detective would surely learn that Quistis wasn't in distress. If he got too close, he'd quickly find out that he'd be the one in distress.
Staying back, Quistis let Squall continue to lead. If Seifer wanted to complain that was his business, she'd let them hash it out – they were doing so well at that already. Speaking of which, he had a brief exchange with the guards before Squall motioned that they were dismissed. The guards' body language indicated they were familiar with detective Almasy but, then again, she had a feeling that he was somewhat legendary even outside of this station, like everyone knew him – or of him.
Seifer didn't verbally respond to Squall, but the look they exchanged… it was brief but, if looks could kill, there'd be no survivors. It seemed as if they brought out the worst in each other. She was becoming concerned that his would come to blows, but she had to shake the thought from her head. They might've been posturing, doing this macho thing, but neither of them was stupid enough to risk their careers.
Opening the door, Seifer pushed his way into the break room first. Squall then motioned Quistis to go ahead; even in the midst of chaos, she believed that he remained gentleman as he followed close behind. The minute she walked through the door, she felt something was immediately amiss and it was more than the room's atmosphere. By now, the tension between the two men was off-the-charts and it didn't take her long to figure out why. In one quick glance, it was obvious that Rinoa was no longer sitting at the table. She wasn't standing at the sink. Or she wasn't looking out a window. She simply wasn't there.
"What the ever-loving fuck, Leonhart!?"
Squall was pissed. Quistis knew him well enough to know what he was feeling and believed that he was incapable of polite civility. Storming out without a word, he left them standing in the room, but not for long. The duo quickly chased after him, catching up just in time to witness him about to tackle the guarding officers. The men, the ones she'd noticed Seifer was chummy with, had been casually strolling down the hall. She stayed back, knowing it was best to give him space, especially because he was being pursued by Seifer. It seemed that the detective was ready to defend his brothers in blue if it became necessary. Before he'd allow them to take the fall, he'd most likely turn the blame back onto the feds. Either way, it seemed like the entire station was about to be treated to an encore presentation of the earlier show.
"What the hell happened!?" Squall demanded, grabbing the man by the arm. "Where is she?"
He'd jerked back in surprise, being run-up on wasn't something he'd expected. He shook the agent off of him, giving his own version of the death glare.
"Where's who?" the other one asked in confusion.
Quistis knew it went without saying that this answer was going to set off Squall. "My witness - you were left in charge to watch."
"We didn't even see her. Nobody went in or out of the door as you ordered."
Seifer stepped in between Squall and the officers. "Hold up. Biggs and Wedge followed your orders, maybe you should've been the big-shot fed and taken care of your own prisoner. Seems to me you're the one who fucked up."
"Me? It was your job to put her in a secure location. Your buffoons couldn't handle watching your own ass."
"Shut up," Seifer warned, "You seem to forget our job was to assist. Remember, we're just the piece of shit on your shiny, over-priced shoes. So, nice try asshole. Say what you want but when the push comes to shove, Timber PD wasn't the ones who left her in the non-secured break room when you're more than aware that we have a holding cell that does the job. Hell, you know she's scared and then found out her only option was prison… well, I'll just say that even an untrained monkey could see that one coming."
"You're a-"
"Stop it!" Quistis stopped Squall before anything else was said. Looking over to the person the reception desk, she decided to take charge. "Lock the doors - nobody goes in or out."
Everyone was gathering around the commotion, finding themselves under the main archway again. The captain must have been notified as he angrily pushed his own officers out of the way to get to the main attraction.
"What the hell happened now? I thought we settled this shit."
"Captain Martine, the place is on lock down, the suspect has escaped." Quistis did her best to relay the info, although her mind was so far removed, she was still trying to figure out what had happened.
"Witness," Seifer chimed in, fully well knowing the result.
"Get a team inside and a perimeter search go-"
She didn't think that the words had fully left Martine's mouth before it became a blur. Honestly, she couldn't say what happened; it looked as if Seifer put up a hand to mock Squall, but he read it as aggression and immediately went to neutralize the situation. No matter what happened, within a blink of an eye, the two were engaged in a full-blown brawl.
It was the worst-case scenario. What she thought would never happened was happening.
Neither were holding back, obviously the events of the day weighing on them. A few officers tried to break it up, but were only taken down in the process.
"Squall, stop it! You've worked too damn hard!"
"Yeah, girly says you've worked too damn Leon-hard," Seifer teased, nursing his bloody lip. Seifer had just made it back to his feet as Squall had fallen back onto the desk, but he wasn't the type to go down easily so he lunged at the man at full-force. It seemed like they were determined to play this out.
They fell onto a nearby desk; she couldn't make out what was going on between the crashing and the cheering. Judging from the comments, it seemed as though Seifer had flipped him, now having the upper hand. She'd like to pretend that it was her imagination, but she wasn't known as a creative type in certain circles. Squall yelled out and it sounded like he was in pain; maybe that was enough for Almasy to realize that this was serious.
By the time Quistis pushed her way through, there were two guys holding down Squall as detective Almasy was on the ground next to him. She had no idea how Seifer had managed it but, it seemed that she'd greatly underestimated his capabilities. As for Squall… he looked like hell. He had what appeared to be a large gash on his forehead, she couldn't tell how bad it was with the blood covering his entire face.
Looking down, Quistis could make out broken glass, but couldn't say if that is what had cut Squall — it could've been from virtually anything lying around. It made her feel physically sick to her stomach. She'd seen so much worse, but this got to her, the needless, senselessness of it all. Seifer had made his way to his knees, wiping his lip as he looked at Squall.
They'd both fucked up and they all knew it.
Martine kicked the scattered items on the floor towards Squall, as if he was trying to add insult to injury. If Squall was hoping for leniency, it wouldn't be found from this guy.
It didn't seem like the captain gave a rat's ass about Squall's injuries, grabbing him by the shirt collar as the other two officers held him up. "Get the fuck out of my station."
"Sir please…" Quistis knew it was beating a dead horse, but she had to try, had to hope.
"Drop it Agent Trepe, or you'll be on your ass after him. I'll give you another shot, but he's gone." He tightened his grip on Squall's collar. "Now get out of my face, out of my station, and out of my city."
"I'm bleeding." Squall repeated, looking stunned as he peered down at the blood trailing from his face to his jacket.
"Good." Martine pulled him to his feet, and then pushed him away forcefully. It looked like Squall was disoriented, nearly tripping over himself, but luckily regaining his footing in time. Martine then made a gesture with his hands, although she wasn't sure what its significance was. It wasn't flipping him off, but she guessed the meaning was similar.
Squall's face held the same contemptuous look she'd seen earlier, but he didn't speak. This was slowly killing her, she wanted to reach out and help, but she couldn't. She had to remain distant as he turned and started walking to the door.
"Yo, Fed-Boy, take your trash. We were even nice enough to put it in a garbage bag - the symbolism was just too good to pass up." Seifer yelled as Squall headed out into the reception area. "Go running home with your tail between your legs."
Squall didn't acknowledge him, which Quistis believed was one of his better decisions all day. He reached out, grabbing the black trash bag that was sitting at the edge of the reception desk. She assumed they'd thrown all of Squall's files in there. It was tearing her heart not to say something, anything, but this was about damage control. Then again, even she knew that it was impossible, he'd already screwed himself.
She had to remember that - even if she refused to accept it. Now it was time to do the impossible, to solve the case, find the runaway witness, and save Squall and his career. If there was a way, she'd find it – even if it meant playing nice with Almasy.
He didn't look back at Quistis, didn't turn to stop look at Seifer, or even once think about going back to Martine and beg for forgiveness. Hardly. Instead, he walked to his sedan in the parking lot. Unlocking the door, he tossed the garbage bag into the passenger seat before getting in. After closing the door, he pulled down the visor.
"I'm bleeding," Squall mumbled, glancing at the mirror.
There was no malice in his voice - no yelling or anger. The moment his shoes hit the parking lot, he'd reverted to his normal self but, to be fair, his usual state-of-mind often involved dislike for someone. Well, almost reverted back to normal as the blood snaking its way down his face was new. If this left a scar, he'd be extremely pissed.
"That son-of-a-bitch actually made me bleed." he reiterated, his words and the tone of his voice betraying the facts.
He knew that the cut was accidental; it was something they'd both had a hand in doing. Honestly, Agent Leonhart wasn't the type to worry about vanity, but that certainly didn't mean he'd be thrilled to have a physical memento from this day. As for how it happened, he honestly couldn't say what cut him but thankfully it looked clean – if there was anything to be remotely 'thankful' for.
He took a deep breath, still trying to collect himself. He knew he had to leave this station much sooner than later. However, his first order of business was to get the blood out of his eyes.
"I'm going to kick his ass. I liked this suit." Leaning forward, he skillfully managed to shimmy off his jacket. Wadding it up, he placed it directly on his head. He'd make damn sure that Almasy would get the dry cleaning bill for this later.
Quickly fastening his seatbelt, he turned on the car and again, without so much as a glance back, he pulled out onto the road, trying to get as much distance between him and the Timber PD as possible. His stay wasn't exactly what one would call a pleasant experience. Then again, even with the blood, he'd venture to say that he got off easy; Quistis was going to be the one with the uphill battle. He still didn't know what to make of any of that, he needed time to sort many things through – she was one of them.
He continued driving, albeit not-too-gracefully as he attempted to juggle the tasks of steering, shifting, and keeping his ultra-expensive bandage in place. He then looked down to the garbage bag on the seat. If he didn't already look like the world's greatest fool, he certainly felt like one.
"Shit." Now he was angry. He slammed the steering wheel with his palm, chastising himself for his blatant stupidity. Between shifts, he reached down to grab the bag, tossing it into the back seat. Of course there were bandages in there; that little realization would've been nice to have had before removing his jacket.
"… I'm sorry. Is your head bad?"
He let out a small snort.
"Yes and no. It's all relative, right? I'll survive. Just stay down, but see what types of medical supplies are in there - he was supposed to throw some in. I'll still need to stitch up your arm so it heals correctly."
