Author's Note: I see the light at the end of the tunnel! I can taste the fresh air! I can hear the birds singing! Thanks for hanging in there with me.

A Promise for Christmas
Chapter Nine

I wish I had earplugs.

Never mind the fact that earplugs would interfere with my awareness of my surroundings. At a time when awareness is paramount to the success of this mission, I understand it is an outrageous request, even one unvoiced. Rinoa would have laughed if I'd mentioned it to her, even in jest. Then she would have patted my arm, the way she does when she's trying to convey without words that she understands, and that it's okay.

It's not okay. I think my brain is turning to mush, deteriorating within the confines of my skull and sloshing around inside. The only word for it is 'insidious'.

I hate Christmas carols.

Squall gritted his teeth but did his best to keep his expression mildly pleasant as the 'sleigh', a float mounted behind a vehicle decorated as a polar bear, passed beneath an overpass illuminated by strands of green and red lights. Garlands draped the sleigh, and some savvy chemist had procured a long-lasting concoction that mimicked the natural dusting of snow on the sleigh itself.

The music came from a hidden speaker system at the head of the parade. Santa's sleigh, the focal point of the parade, came near the end of a twelve-minute-long array of elves, reindeer, snowmen, toy soldiers, and other holiday paraphernalia. Squall wondered if some children weren't secretly traumatized by the sight of larger-than-life gingerbread men prancing around with people dressed as various food items. There were candy canes and sugar cookies, and even, at the head, one towering female figure dressed in glittering white as the Spirit of Winter.

Unfortunately, the technical geniuses had managed to hook each float in the parade into the central sound system, and the repetitive, cavity-inducing sweetness of Christmas carols and ditties jarred Squall's brain as they inched along the path. The minutes ticked off in his mind, counting down to the finale at the Presidential Palace, but time dragged as he waved to endless cheering children and their bemused parents.

Beside him, Laguna eschewed the idea of remaining seated on the bench. He stood, waving both arms to alternate sides of the parade route, booming out a cheery "ho ho ho, Merry Christmas!" at intervals. Birdlike cries of "it's Santa! It's Santa!" filled the air every time, and Squall was almost grateful. At least the noise temporarily blocked the music.

There was a short lull in the parade when they went through the new high-speed tunnel. According to the specs, it would be a two-minute rest for the performers before they entered on the other side. Squall had originally vetoed the idea of the tunnel at all. The narrow confines and the lack of outside visibility made it a prime target for an attack, but Laguna had argued that a last-minute change in the parade route would lead to more confusion and, therefore, more vulnerability. It had made sense, as so little that came from Laguna ever made sense, and Squall had acquiesced with little complaint. It would give him a breather, at the very least.

"Would you sit down already?" The music, the bright lights, the constant flash of cameras, made Squall irritable. The nerves from the threat of attack did nothing for his mood, either.

Laguna glanced down, startled by Squall's tone of voice. His eyes, misty green, were surprised from behind the mustache-and-beard wig. "I'm pumped. The energy of the crowd, you know? It's infectious."

Infectious, Squall thought dourly, tugging at the choking collar of the dress. Why hadn't he thought of wearing something underneath? If it came to battle, he didn't really want to be caught fighting in a Mrs. Clause costume. It was as infectious as a fungal plague.

"No trouble yet," Laguna continued blithely.

Squall rubbed his temple but quickly snatched his hand away. He checked his fingers. No smudged make-up. Thank Hyne. The last thing he needed was to hear from Rinoa about ruined make-up afterwards. "That doesn't mean there won't be any trouble. We still have another thirty minutes."

"Lighten up," Laguna suggested. He draped an arm along the back of the sleigh, seemingly unconcerned by the world. "It's Christmas."

"You could die," Squall reminded him. "That is their goal."

The mention of death threats didn't disturb Laguna's mood. He grabbed a water bottle from a recessed compartment, drank deep. "You came. I assume you have a different 'goal', as it were, in mind?"

Squall didn't roll his eyes. It wasn't worth the energy. "Kiros never asks for anything. And even you should recognize that look in Ellone's eyes when she's worried. Above that, it was a breach in protocol, and it's my duty, as representative of Balamb Garden, to be here."

"You could have stopped the parade."

It was impossible to tell what the man was thinking. Squall had the fleeting desire to bare his teeth in pure, animalistic reaction. "I tried. You said no."

"According to Article 7, Subsection 12, Line 41, of the International Garden Association Regulations, any one country, when threatened by imminent danger from forces requiring the request and direct intervention of the nearest Garden representative, or a delegate of the Garden, must acquiesce to any and all stipulations of the leadership of that Garden when such stipulations are made in due course of time and with reasonable evidence to support such need."

For a moment, Squall could only stare. Santa Clause, was all he could think. Santa Clause is spouting Garden code at me.

Moreover, Santa Clause was spouting accurate and relevant Garden code verbatim.

Squall shook his head. Not enough sleep, he concluded. It wasn't Santa Clause he was talking to, it was Laguna. Laguna in a fat suit. And air-headed as Squall thought Laguna was, there were reasons the man was president of Esthar. "This isn't an official Garden-sanctioned offer of assistance, or response to a request for assistance."

"There will be records of your presence here."

"There are records of my 'presence' wherever I go," Squall said impatiently. "What are you arguing about? Should I not have come, and let you get blown to smithereens on Christmas so that the children can cry that Santa's dead? Or should I have cited code and cancelled the parade so that the children could cry that Santa hates them?"

Laguna's voice, in contrast, was mild. "Which one of those bothers you more?"

Silence reigned between them. Squall struggled to put his thoughts into words and finally lowered his head to his hands. "I don't know. What is it with you? You and Rinoa ganging up on me or something? Trying to make me 'believe' in Christmas is a useless cause."

"I never knew you when you were young enough still to believe in Christmas." Laguna's voice was soft, a mixture of regret and nonchalance. "Maybe I just wish it was something we could have shared."

A guard trotted up beside the sleigh. "President Loire." He saluted. "Commander Leonhart. No trouble reported up ahead. You should have smooth sailing the rest of the route."

"Thank you." Laguna replaced the water bottle and stood, fixing a bright smile on his face as they neared the end of the tunnel. "Whatever your reasons, Squall, you did come."

Squall didn't need a reminder. He practiced his smile and lifted his hand to wave to the cheering children greeting them. He had to sniffle, though, and for once was grateful for the music that drowned out the sound of weakness.

Mrs. Clause didn't cry.

The parade was almost over.

The sleigh came to rest at the designated entrance to the Presidential Palace. They would ascend the flight of stairs, pass unseen by spectators through a short corridor, and emerge on the balcony above the masses for the final show. Laguna, as Santa, would make a short announcement to the boys and girls. There would be a small fireworks show, confetti and glitter, and then Santa and Mrs. Clause would bid all a good night filled with Christmas dreams come true.

Guards flanked the stairs up to the doorway. Squall waited for the sleigh to come to a stop, subtly testing the weight of his gunblade at his hip. Lionheart was a comforting presence at his side. A quick scan of the crowd revealed Rinoa, standing with Ellone, dressed warmly against the chill of the winter evening. Squall breathed slowly to calm the suddenly nervous patter of his heart. Rinoa was always telling him about the power of positive thinking. Everything would be all right…

They made it up the stairs and had another two-minute respite as they made their way to the balcony. Kiros materialized beside Squall as he suffered the indignity of walking around in a dress. "Final sweep shows clean, Commander."

Squall nodded stiffly, eyes never still as he scanned the surroundings. Even the building interior wasn't impervious to infiltration. "All exits covered?"

"Yes, sir. Double guards, IDs on display. Everything checks out properly."

It was a mild relief to know that Kiros was in charge. "Radios on." Through the hidden earpiece, Squall listened to the various checkpoints relay back. "Keep your eyes open. Here we go."

Laguna downed more water just before the wide double doors that would herald their entrance to the balcony. "Are the fireworks and confetti sprinklers ready?"

"Yes. Tech committee responds everything is set." Squall had to remind himself that Kiros handled not only the security, but also the details of the parade. It was almost too much for one man to bear.

A harried-looking parade organizer waved to Laguna and Squall, giving them the thirty-second countdown. Laguna looked to both Squall and Kiros, his face uncharacteristically stern. "This is it, gentlemen. Let's protect Christmas."

Squall saluted in SeeD military fashion before Laguna's words fully registered. He tugged once at the collar of his dress before following Laguna through the flung-open doors to the immense cheers from below.

Blinding lights, sparkling off garlands and tinsel and fake snow, made him squint as they approached the designated staging point at the front railing. Microphones, hidden in the decorated rail, would pick up their voices when activated by remote. Actors in reindeer, snowmen, toy soldier, and candy cane costumes flanked them at parade rest, and the music swelled with a cheery herald of the season.

Laguna raised both hands to the crowd gathered below. Squall tried to look for Rinoa, but he couldn't pick her out of the mass of upturned faces. Sweat dampened the palms of his hands, and he carefully wiped them on the back of his skirt. Something felt off, and he tried to look around for the source. His eyes tracked the movement of the crowd, searching for anyone approaching the balcony with purposeful movements, or any group of people converging below. He saw nothing to trigger his alarm, but something still wasn't right.

Voices quieted, and Laguna's words boomed out through hidden speakers over the gathered assembly. "Welcome, Esthar! What a wonderful day! What a wonderful night! What a magical time! It's Christmas!"

The screams and shrieks from below were deafening. Squall scanned the upturned faces but saw only the expectant, adoring expressions of small children, enthralled by the elaborate setup. Deep in his heart, Squall felt an answering twinge in the face of such pure and sweet rapture.

Laguna's arm wrapped around Squall's shoulder, jolting him aware of the situation. "Mrs. Clause and I are here to wish you all a very merry Christmas."

Laguna nudged Squall meaningfully, and Squall stared in horror at the other man. This wasn't part of the plan. Laguna's green eyes were friendly, but there was a hidden meaning in those emerald depths. Squall gulped and, pasting a smile on his face, waved to the excited children below. At the last minute, he remembered that Mrs. Clause didn't speak in a manly baritone, either.

"Hello, children! Merry Christmas! I hope you all cherish your time with each other and your families!"

Fireworks exploded suddenly, and Squall cursed that he'd lost his focus. No good, no good. But something inside him was twisting, turning. Something was scattering, something else coming together. It was like all the pieces inside of him, held so rigidly together, were flying apart with the glitter and the confetti that sparkled in the air. The boom of fireworks, the answering shrieks and gasps of the crowd, reverberated in his soul, and Squall tipped his head back to stare at the black expanse covered with manmade lights.

And saw them. Shadows against the reds and greens and golds, silhouettes hidden against the glare of fireworks. The hum of engines were an ugly, manmade drone almost entirely masked by the crowd and the music and the fireworks cannons.

"Get down!"

Squall reacted unthinkingly. He grabbed Laguna and shoved him to the ground, against the curve of the balcony railing for what meager protection it offered. Lionheart materialized in his hand, the hidden slit in the skirt working better than it ever had in practice. The wig went forgotten as Squall positioned himself to face the first motorized pod that crashed into the far end of the balcony.

Not unlike the one-man hovercraft machines used by Galbadia Garden when they attacked, these were small, highly maneuverable crafts that looked incapable of sustained distance flying. Unlike the ones in Galbadia Garden, these had the distinct look of Esthar products, and they looked less clunky than the other model. Two men leapt off each pod, dressed all in black with full face masks. Squall noted with some relief that the first wave, at least, were armed with primitive weapons.

Squall crossed the distance in a charge, determined to engage the battle first. Other pods were coming down rapidly, crashing into the balcony with less coordination that one would assume possessed by such machines. Squall barked into the radio as guards started to swarm the balcony. "Teams A, B, C, cover the president and get him to the secure location. Teams D and E, guard the balcony edge. Ground teams disperse the crowd, get them away from the palace. Follow the pre-arranged evacuation routes. Team F, find Rinoa and Ellone and get them inside. I've made first contact."

The first assailant went down before he could even untangle his weaponry from its sheath. Squall reversed the first brutal slash into a strong backslice that caught the second Disruptor in the side. The man dropped with a cry, and Squall leapt forward to yank the mask off the man's face.

There was nothing distinguishing about the man. Middle-aged, plain, nondescript. He could have come from anywhere from Trabia to Centra, his features unassuming in every way. Squall levered his bloody blade against the man's throat. "Who's in charge?"

The man snarled. "Death to the president and all who stand in our way!"

"Your way of what?"

"He will not be allowed to corrupt our city."

That made little sense to Squall. "Shut up." He dealt the man a vicious blow with the side of his blade, knocking him senseless. If the man hadn't bled to death by the time the battle was over, paramedics could see to him before the police rounded him up for questioning.

Corrupt the city? It was an obvious reference to Laguna, a dissatisfaction with the powers that be taken to the extreme. Squall set the matter aside to engage a second wave of Disruptors coming from the sky. Esthar guards fought, some in uniform, some in street clothes, and a few in costume as gingerbread men and candy canes. Long-range weapons were rendered mostly useless on the balcony, as close quarters and the quickly shifting patterns of people made it just as likely to hit an ally as an enemy.

Radio feed came constantly into Squall's earpiece. Laguna was sequestered in a heavily-guarded room. The crowd was following direction well enough, although the sound of screaming children was loud through the radio. No breaches into the palace itself had been successful, though the main worry was that the Disruptors would infiltrate the palace and attempt to set bombs or destroy the symbol of the presidential power.

Most importantly, Ellone and Rinoa were safe.

"No sign of a leader yet." Squall barked into the communicator as he went to support a team of guards hard pressed by a small knot of well-trained attackers. "Hold off these low-levels until further notice. Keep the Palace secure."

Kiros' voice came through the radio, cool as always. "Commander. I've gotten a good look at the machines they used to fly in. They are modifications of a new line of quick transpo Esthar mechanics planned to release early next year. The main plant is just east of the Palace. They can't go far through the air, so best guess says they're coming directly from the manufacturing center."

"Understood. I'm en route now."

Squall grabbed the nearest abandoned hovercraft, scooped up an abandoned gun. Thank Hyne for Esthar mechanics, he thought as he engaged the simple controls. There was a moment of gut-lurching panic when the craft shot upwards and he thought he was going to topple off backwards, but he shifted his weight and balance and shot off around the perimeter of the building to the east.

At least the flow of incoming hovercraft seemed to have halted. Squall radioed in the news to the beleaguered ground troops protecting the palace and zeroed in on the plant. Part of his mind understood the folly of haring off alone. Part of him considered that it might even be a trap, but Squall decided he could handle the consequences.

These people had ruined Christmas, and now they had to pay.

~5.23.10