Chapter Twelve

Squall jerked awake as he felt the bed shift. There was a curse, cut halfway off by a yawn and two feet padded softly against wood. A door closed across the room. It had been Seifer leaving the bed.

Squall rubbed a hand over his face and sat up. He'd fallen asleep somehow. His grogginess told him it hadn't been for very long however. Not surprising due to all the thinking he had done. Every sentence, every action between himself and Seifer had to be reanalyzed.

It had gone back and forth all night. First it had been his fault; he'd been the one initiating the contact which must have been too much for Seifer's control. Then it had become Seifer's fault; Seifer had been the one to take him to the gardens and then fallen asleep which had then caused the separation insecurity in the first place. But wasn't it his fault that Seifer was tired enough to fall asleep on the damn ground? Seifer had spent hours and days trying to rehabilitate him to being blind. No, it hadn't been his fault; he had never asked Seifer to do so.

It all followed the line down to the accident. If the accident hadn't occurred none of this would have happened. But he couldn't remember the accident. Was there even a specific person to blame? Most likely not. It hadn't made him feel any better to realize that. It had only angered him further. He knew bad things happened. He'd seen as much in the war tenfold over. Rationally he knew there was no real explanation. But he didn't want to think rationally. Thinking rationally didn't make him feel any better.

His conclusion hadn't made him feel better either. He had to stop initiating contact between himself and Seifer. Otherwise he was giving signals he shouldn't be giving based off of how convoluted their interaction had become. They didn't need the situation to get any more complex than it already was.

He moved his hand across the sheets to feel for the edge of the mattress but it was closer than he realized and his balance shifted fatally at the lack of support. He had time to flail his other arm up before he and the hardwood floor met intimately.

"God," he hissed quietly and tried to right himself. He suddenly wanted Shiva's talons so he could slash and claw at the floor. He wanted to destroy something. He reached for the Guardian Force before he realized she was gone; then realized what he was thinking. What was he doing? He hadn't junctioned her in months.

He shoved the boots under his arm away in disgust and used the bed to lever himself up. He'd barely gotten to his feet before the door across the room opened. "Ah, you're up," Seifer commented. His voice was as cheerful as it had been last night. Obviously he had decided to forget about the touch on the jet. The blonde had always tended to pull selective amnesia when it was convenient. "I'm going into the office in two hours, but that should be enough time to get you a little settled."

Everything slammed back at those words. It was Wednesday; Seifer was going back to work today. Squall curled his fists against the anger roiling through him. Of course the blonde was. He had even encouraged Seifer to go.

"Well come on, start with the closet and the bathroom. You can shower while I cook some breakfast."

He wanted to say that he didn't want to start the tedious memorizing first thing, but how else was he going to even start the day? He wanted to say he didn't want Seifer to cook him breakfast, but how else was he going to eat? Familiar despair cut through his anger. Why had he even gotten up? He sat down the bed. What was the point of any of it?

There was silence for a moment before a screech broke it. "Remember where the closet is?" Seifer asked, still across the room. He sounded a little less cheerful. Squall didn't bother to answer. "Well it's not huge. But your shirts are hung on the rod in the middle. Mine are to the right. Cubby holes on either side; your things I put on the left. Just dump the dirty things on the ground underneath the shirts."

After his speech, Sefier quieted. And waited. Squall crossed his arms and forced himself to participate in the conversation as wanted. "The laundry room. What direction do I turn the knob for with the wash cycle?"

"I'm positive you don't need to be worrying about that," Seifer voice said, followed by another soft screech as he closed the closet. "Bathroom," he said and when next he spoke it was muffled, filtering from the adjacent room. "Shampoo is farthest from the faucet, conditioner is closest and the soap is in the middle indent. Razor's out of the way so don't go looking for it. Towels are on the wall next to the faucet. I've added one for you, the one closest to the shower. And your toothbrush and shit is in the drawer closest to the shower as well." The end of the words got louder as Seifer moved from the bathroom back into the room. "You shouldn't spend the day sleeping."

"Why does it matter what I do," Squall replied and pulled his legs up onto the bed as well. "Just go to work."

"You should get familiar with the house. A few hours and then it will be easier tomorrow. And easier the day after."

'I didn't ask for your advice."

"No. But I'm giving it anyways." There was the slight sound of feet on the hardwood floor before Seifer spoke again, near where the bedroom door was suppose to be. "Food will be done in ten."

After he was gone Squall drew his knees up and rested his head on them. Now that the blonde was out of the room he allowed himself to wallow in his hurt and anger at the world. He could tell it was especially bad today.

Some days he felt he could deal with all of it. Not today.

The transition, he told himself. It was just because he was in a new place. But knowing the cause didn't help his emotions. He felt raw with all the emotions.

He'd learned early in his life to keep his emotions locked down. It had been how he'd kept himself safe from the cruelty of the world. The war had taught that no emotions were just as crippling as too much emotions and Seifer had helped him loosen his hold on them in Esthar during their one month vacation. They'd lowered the wall a little. But now he felt that he had no control at all over them; that the wall had crumbled completely.

And it was crippling him. He was saying and doing things he didn't mean, reacting on impulses, lashing out at people who didn't deserve it. He wasn't himself anymore. How could anger or terror have such a hold on a person? Those two emotions had taken over his life. They were always present, always leaning over him and breathing on his neck. And they fed the darkness all around him. When the emotions roiled darker the blackness seemed to thicken and press in.

He pressed his forehead harder onto his knees. Knowing that they correlated didn't matter. He could analyze it for hours; he could find the logical explanations. He could know that anger and terror were what was hindering him in navigating the darkness, that without them it could be easier. But knowing didn't make the emotions disappear. They were still there, pushing against him and controlling him.

Thinking about it didn't help either. It cycled the terror and anger back on themselves. But he couldn't stop thinking about it. He wanted to know why. Why him? Why had this happened to him? Hadn't he done enough for the world? Was this how he was repaid for all he had done? He'd never really put faith in a god, in Hyne, but now he wondered if perhaps there was some sadistic power somewhere, pulling the strings. How else did this make sense?

Was it repayment for all the men he'd killed in the war? He'd never let it bother him before. War was war; you obeyed commands from your superiors and didn't over think them so you would be able to sleep at night. There was always going to be war. Men would always die. Seifer had given him that piece of advice when they were cadets. Let yourself really think about those men as people with families and it could destroy you. So he hadn't. They'd only been targets.

He'd blinded men before. He'd stabbed one man in the eye deliberately. He'd thrown fire at another's eyes. If they had survived they would have been blind. Were they still living? Or had they killed themselves because they couldn't handle it? Did they have someone who had tried to help? Did they blame him?

Had he just been another target?

Or was it even worse than that? Had it just been a freak accident?

"Come on Squall!" Seifer shouted from the other room.

He was digging himself into a deeper hole of misery. He needed to stop thinking. He would eat breakfast and then he would sleep. He wouldn't have to think if he was asleep.

He got off the bed and slowly made his way to the door. Once past the doorway he could hear Seifer rummaging around in the kitchen. Something was sizzling. He kept his face turned away and tried to remember where the couch was. Somewhere near the door, across from the TV. He turned and edged along the wall, one hand pushed forward until his fingers jolted against a smooth surface. There he turned to face the room, tucked his head down and stepped away from solidness.

It took ages to get to the coffee table. Then he had to maneuver around it to get to the couch. Once he'd found the soft cushions he collapsed down on them. Even that small effort had exhausted him. He'd just turned on his side and curled his feet into the cushions when a there was a clatter from the kitchen and Seifer spoke. "Sleeping on the couch isn't any better than sleeping on the bed."

"Leave me alone," he snapped and tucked his head down further into the soft cushions.

He ignored the sound of a pan hitting the stove a little too hard and tried to blank his mind, an exercise he'd been taught to help push himself towards sleep. Might as well stop thinking now. It worked quicker than usual because he woke up to Seifer talking on the phone an undeterminable time later.

"-to lunch." Seifer was saying. "Maybe tomorrow. He's pulling in again... Of course I know. But you can't just coddle him. He'll end up resenting you." He was close, somewhere by the TV wall. "Damn tie." That was muttered as if he was saying it to himself. "No," he said louder "I've never been good at these things. So will tomorrow work? ... Good. I'll bring him on my lunch break. One? Alright."

Shoes were clipping on the floor, moving towards the kitchen. "Yeah, alright. You too."

After a minute when no more words were spoken, Squall tilted his head up. "Who was it?"

"Rinoa. We're all going to lunch tomorrow." Squall grunted and pushed himself up into a seated position. "I've got to get going. Breakfast is wrapped on the right side of the fridge. Lunch is on the shelf below that, also on the right side. Call me if you need something." Squall leaned against the back of the couch as Seifer walked back and forth through the house at a fast clip. Squall ran a finger along his watch's face: it was quarter-to-ten. "Cane is on the kitchen bar. Braille books are on my desk. Don't do anything stupid." And with that, the front door opened and closed. A minute later there was a sound of a car pulling out of the driveway.

And now he was alone. He hadn't been this alone since before the accident. There had always been someone nearby all the times. What if he had another panic attack? What if got lost somewhere? He knew the house was too small to get lost in, but the fear was still there. Darkness roiled a little closer.

Obviously he hadn't gotten over the trauma of the garden as well as he had thought.

He inhaled sharply then forced himself off the couch and trailed the furniture back to the wall, then to the bedroom and shower. He'd have to keep himself occupied if he wanted to forestall the dark thoughts lurking near the surface. Sefier would only be gone for a few hours. He just had to keep doing things until the other man got back and not think too closely on the damn separation anxiety.

The bathroom was small. He measured it off, making mental images of how close things were to each other, then stripped and made a tidy pile of his clothes on the sink cabinet.

He spent the time in the shower trying to remember who had washed his clothes in Esthar, and why the thought hadn't occurred to him before. He certainly hadn't washed them, but he didn't have that many pairs of shirts and socks. Someone had picked up the pile he'd been throwing the dirty clothes into near the bed, washed them, and put them back into the room's dresser drawers. The cleaning staff hadn't been allowed in. Obviously it had been Laguna or Seifer.

After he'd angrily dried himself off, he edged back into the bedroom and found the closet. He would have preferred to stalk – stalking dispersed some anger at least – but he couldn't even do that anymore. Stalking around in an unfamiliar place was a good way to break his nose running into a wall. He knew; he'd tried it in Esthar. It was only luck that he hadn't really broken his nose.

He dumped his clothes on the closet floor and pulled on some new ones. When he reached for a shirt he paused. Where did his shirts end and Seifer's begin? A hand run over all of them showed there was no space to distinguish. Finally he picked the shirt farthest to the left, knowing that at least that one would be his.

Once dressed, he stooped and felt at the pile of clothes on the closet ground. There was his he'd just dropped and another pile strewn about that must have been Seifer's clothes from yesterday. He gathered them all up, felt for any dropped articles, and then moved to find his way to the laundry closet. It was across from the kitchen. Easy enough.

Only it wasn't. He had to free a hand to feel the walls but that made him suspicious that he was dropping things from his one arm grip. And he'd unthinkingly freed his right hand while the wall was to his left. By the time he'd found the laundry closet he was sorry he'd even attempted it. He slammed the closet doors open and dropped the laundry on the machine in front of him. Then he put his elbows on the machine and leaned his head on his arms.

He didn't even know where the soap was or which direction the wash cycle was in. Why was he even trying to do this?

Feeling the helplessness creeping back in he lifted his head again and slowly felt along the machine to see which one was the washer. From there an exploration of the top of the machines led him to a shelf above them. There were two bottles, one large and one small, next to a wide box of dryer sheets. He was trying to decide which bottle to use when his fingers found something taped to the bigger bottle. Frowning, he turned the bottle so it faced him and ran one finger over the object. It was a piece of paper with indented bumps.

God, Seifer had labeled the bottle with a Braille card.

He shoved the bottle back and turned away. He left the clothes on the machine with the closet doors opened and crossed into the kitchen. He found the bar, realized the chairs were on the other side of the wall, cursed, and moved out of the kitchen and around to one of the bar chairs. He resisted the urge to push over the chairs and instead forced himself to feel around the counter. Nothing. Just the cane. He moved back to the kitchen and moved his fingers over the counters. He found one card by a light switch and a couple on the drawers underneath the counter and the cabinets above the counters. He didn't bothering trying to identify the indents and what they spelled.

He didn't appreciate the cards. He knew he should but he didn't. It was just more reminders of what he couldn't figure out on his own. He dug his nails into his palms and went back to the laundry closet, took the bottle down from the shelf and felt Seifer's word out.

S-O-A-S

Grinding his teeth, he felt the last letter again, compared it to the first letter and found his mistake.

S-O-A-P

Just to be sure, he felt along the other bottle on the shelf, but there was no card taped to it. He'd piled the clothes on the dryer so he opened the washer's lid and held the soap's cup so one of his fingers was inside its lip. He filled the cup full enough that his finger was immersed to the first knuckle and then reached down to poured it out into the machine. He wiped his finger on one of the clothes and pushed them into the machine. Finally he closed the lid and felt for the cycle knob. He found the Braille card just above the knob. It took him longer to decipher this card. He couldn't remember some of the letters but by the other letters in the words he decided it said 'Knob Up Pull Out'. It was the only wording that made sense.

He turned the knob so that the embossed arrow on one end of the knob was facing up and pulled it out. Immediately the washer started. He grimaced at it and shut the closet doors.

He went back to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. There were two shelves above two drawers. He took the plate that was on the top shelf on the right out before realizing he didn't know where the microwave was. Cursing, he felt along the cupboards above the cabinets with his free hand. Fortunately for his temper it was close to the refrigerator, above the stove. He shoved the plate in and fingered the pad next to the door. There was no way to tell which button was what. He slammed the door back open and took the plate back out so he could slam the door shut again. He'd just have to eat the damn thing cold. By the time he'd found the silverware drawer and a fork, ignoring the Braille cards, he was ready to dump it all in the sink and forget eating. Only his hunger made him set it on the bar and walk around to sit in a bar chair.

He ate the cold eggs and sausages methodically, dumped the dishes in the sink and went to stand in the middle of the bedroom. He'd done all that needed to be done. It had all taken maybe an hour. There was still five or six hours before Seifer would be back, if not more. What could he possibly do next?

He ended up lying on the bed.

The trick of blanking his mind didn't work this time. He couldn't stop thinking about the Braille cards Seifer had made. What kind of life was this? He couldn't do anything on his own anymore. He'd wanted to believe it when everyone said it would get easier but he knew it never would. This was his life now.

No, this wasn't living. It was only an existence. And all it did was put a burden on others.

Why hadn't they just let him die? He knew that if the doctors hadn't done anything, the shock would have killed him. He'd listened to the report they'd given Irvine and Quistis and could piece two and two together. It would have been easier on everyone if he had. Instead they had saved him and he hated them for it. He would have been content with his life if he had died that day.

As soon as that thought coalesced, another followed it. If he'd died that day he would have died knowing all he had done when he'd used the Guardian Forces to forget Seifer. He would have died before ever getting the chance to apologize.

No, he wouldn't have been content.

But he didn't want to live this way.

He tried to remember where his Gunblade had last been. You didn't have to see to fall on a blade. Or to cut. If he cut his wrist veins deep enough he'd be dead in an hour.

He didn't know where the Gunblade was.

An overdose of medicine would work as well.

But he didn't know if or where Seifer kept any.

There were always knifes in the kitchen.

Those might not cut deep enough.

He was making excuses. He wouldn't be able to kill himself. The very idea was revolting. He wanted to live; he just didn't want to live this way.

When he realized he was crying, the anger snapped tight. He jerked upright and reached down for the boots he'd left beside the bed. He grabbed one and chucked it as hard as he could. It made an unsatisfying thump as it hit a wall. He grabbed the other, twisted, and threw it towards the open room. This time it hit something that tumbled to the floor with a crash. He leaped up and followed the sound. It led him to the desk along the wall. He shoved the chair out of the way and upturned it, then moved to the desk itself. The Braille books were right where Seifer had said they would be.

He threw his whole shoulder into chucking the books. But even throwing those didn't help. He swiped an arm across the desk and sent everything on it crashing to the ground. Something shattered. The sudden pain in his eyes stung as he stalked back to the bed, not even caring when he ran right into it. He shoved it as his breath sawed in and out and the top mattress dipped off the bottom one to tilt against the floor. The soft mattress didn't satisfy his sudden violence.

The closet was next. He tore the doors open, wrenching one off its slide. He pulled and its hinges broke. He let the door fall to the ground and dragged the shirts down and off their hangers. He dumped clothes out of their cubby holes from both sides. When they were empty he smashed a fist into one of the cubby holes wall. It crumpled outwards, yielding to his knuckles with little resistance.

He paused as he heard a sound. It was a sob. He was sobbing.

With a cry he collapsed down onto the pile of clothes and buried his face in them to muffle the sounds. But he couldn't stop the tears.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Seifer?"

Seifer tore his eyes away from the phone for the fifth time and glanced to the side at his assistant, Cody. "What is it?" he asked. Squall hadn't called once and he had no idea what the man was doing. Probably sleeping and unaware of Seifer's frantic worry, but all Seifer could picture was the brunette in trouble. What if he had cut himself on a knife looking for a fork? What if he'd slipped in the tub while taking a shower, hit his head, and drowned? What if he'd had left the house and got hit by a car? Or fallen over something and hit his head on the hardwood floor?

The possibilities were endless and Seifer was going crazy by the minute thinking of them.

Cody spoke again and Seifer forced his attention back on the man. "If you need to leave, I can cover anything else that comes in today. The meetings are all done for the day."

Seifer didn't have to think long. "I'll leave it to you then." He closed the file he had been trying to read, swiveled around to place it in its folder in the filing drawer and stood to grab his jacket. "Call me if anything important comes in. I'll be back in tomorrow morning otherwise."

Cody was nodding, still standing near the open doorway. Seifer left his bag, turned the light out and ushered Cody back so he could shut his door. "Remind me to give you a raise," he muttered as he shrugged his jacket on. Cody smiled and headed back to his own desk which was adjacent to Seifer's office's glass wall.

Seifer rushed out of the building and pulled his phone out. Images of Squall in a number of situations pounded through his head. He dialed Squall's phone and listened to the rings as he unlocked his car and got in. When the phone when to voice-message he cursed and started the car.

He reached the house in record time and dashed inside. "Squall!"

No answer came. The house stared back innocently. There was no body lying anywhere or puddles of blood. He shut the front door and dropped his keys on the table next to the door. He'd taken one step forward when he heard a cough from the bedroom, the kind of cough that grated on the vocal cords. It sounded painful.

"Squall?" He rushed towards the bedroom. The chaotic site that greeted him stopped him with one foot in and one foot out. It was a train-wreck. It looked like someone had attempted to rob him. Another grating cough pulled his eyes to the closet.

Squall was sprawled on the pile of clothes he must have torn from the closet with his face buried in his arms. Even by the door, Seifer could tell he was crying; crying much harder than Seifer had ever seen him do. This was beyond the tears in the hallway and in the Esthar gardens.

Squall coughed again as Seifer approached and knelt down next to him. This time Seifer could pinpoint why the coughs sounded so awful. It was the way some of the women he'd had as clients coughed after they'd cried. It was the kind of cough that threatened to bring up the contents of your stomach because you'd cried too violently for too long. "Squall," he murmured softly and set a hand on Squall's back. Squall turned his head to the side, away from Seifer. It freed his face from the pile of clothes and Seifer could suddenly clearly hear the whistling of his breath as he inhaled and exhaled wetly. "Shhh," he soothed helplessly. "Don't make yourself sick."

He flinched when Squall suddenly turned his head towards him. The red glassy eyes were a nightmare. "Please Seifer," Squall whispered, struggling to talk past the tears. "You have to end it."

Seifer's mind stuttered to a halt. "No," was all he could think to say. "No."

Squall turned his face back into the pile of clothes and started sobbing again.

Seifer sat staring at his back, frozen. He didn't know what to do. What was he suppose to say? He'd never seen Squall lose it like this. Never! He hadn't thought Squall capable of losing it like this.

What had he done?

He got up and frantically rushed into the living room, fumbling his phone out of his pocket with shaking hands. He called Rinoa and paced into the kitchen as he waited for her to pick up. The dishes in the sink caught his eye as he paced in.

"Hello?" Rinoa suddenly said over the phone.

"Rinoa!" he gasped, "You have to come over. You have to help me! I don't know how to fix it. He's lost it and I don't know what to do. He's…" He turned and hurried out of the kitchen.

"Slow down. What happened? Is it Squall?"

"He's sobbing his fucking lungs out and I don't know how to make it stop." He looked in through the bedroom door again. Squall hadn't moved but he was still crying. Seifer turned away and paced into the living room. "If he doesn't stop he's going to make himself sick. You have to make him stop."

"Seifer, I'm at least two hours away. We're visiting Dylan's family."

He whirled in agitation and looked into the room again. "Goddamnit!"

"Look I'll start back. Try to get him comfortable and uh… I don't know; get some juice down him maybe?" The sorceress sounded at a loss. "Usually you just let them cry themselves out but with Squall I don't know. You're not pulling my leg right? It's kind of hard to imagine Squall..."

"Imagine seeing it," he snapped "He's freaking me the fuck out."

"Do what you think best. I'll be there in two hours."

"Wait-," he said, but she'd already hung up.

He snapped his phone shut and slipped it in a pocket. He ran a hand through his hair nervously and then stepped back into the bedroom. Nothing had changed. He cursed Rinoa silently and went over to sit down next to the brunette. "Squall? What's wrong?" Squall didn't answer. Seifer felt like the world was crumbling. He's seen Squall in a fury, he'd seen him maddingly calm, seen him frightened, seen him aroused, seen him playful, seen him grieving, seen him frustrated.

Never had he seen him so broken.

Seifer blinked at reflexive tears and carefully curled his hands around Squall's shoulders to pull the limp weight off the clothes pile and into his own lap. Squall didn't do anything to help him so he arranged the feet to rest to the side and tucked the brunette head under his chin, wrapping both arms around him for support.

Nothing changed.

He made soothing sounds and rubbed a hand along Squall's back. "Please stop crying," he murmured against Squall forehead. "Please." He rocked slightly and stared at the room's mess over Squall's head trying to think of what could have happened. He'd only been gone for two or three hours.

The sobs did eventually end to be replaced by silent tears. Those eventually dried out as well, as if Squall's body could no longer produce them. Then he just lay in Seifer's arms like a rag doll. When there had been sodden silence for a while, Seifer stood with Squall's weight and carried him out of the room to the living room couch. He leaned Squall up against one couch arm. "Stay awake for a second," he cautioned and then rushed to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and looked for juice. All he had was orange juice. It'd have to do. He pulled it out and poured a glass. He left the bottle on the counter and took the glass to Squall who had collapsed sideways onto the couch's arm.

Seifer sat and pulled him upright again. "Here. Drink this." He tipped the glass against Squall's lips. Squall tried to turn his head away but Seifer followed with the glass. The brunette let out a moan but took the glass from his hands. It trembled as he raised it and gulped the liquid down. Then he held it out and when Seifer took it he sagged into Seifer's side and rested his head on Seifer's shoulder.

Seifer leaned forward slightly to put the cup on the coffee table before leaning back. "Squall?" he asked softly.

"What?" Squall's voice was raw and low.

"It's going to be okay."

Squall's shoulders shifted and he inhaled heavily and for a moment Seifer thought he would start crying again. He didn't. Perhaps he simply didn't have any tears left to cry.

In five minutes he was asleep.

Seifer shifted Squall's weight onto his back on the cushions and stood up. He stood looking down at his face. He wanted to lean down and brush his lips against Squall's, wanted to reassure the brunette somehow that he was here. He hadn't done it when the man was awake. Now, with him asleep, it would just be wrong, a stealing of something not offered.

He sighed and went to the closet in the corner to grab a blanket. He spread this over Squall and then went to change out of his shirt. His collar and all of one shoulder was soaked and sticking to his skin unpleasantly. It took him a moment to find a shirt that wasn't soaked since Squall had torn them all down from the closet then wept all over them, but eventually he pulled one out from the bottom of the pile. He was buttoning up the shirt and surveying the damage to the room when there was a soft knock on the front door.

He started a little and glanced at his watch not really believing it had been two hours since he'd sat down and pulled Squall into his lap but his watch flashed the time up at him in confirmation. He glanced at the room again then went to get the door.

He opened it and put a finger to his lips in a shushing motion. Rinoa nodded and turned to wave at the car idling in the driveway. "Dylan?" he asked quietly as the car backed up and drove off down the street. He turned and shut the door behind them once Rinoa was in. She nodded to his question.

"How's he doing?" She caught sight of the brunette as she was speaking and walked over.

"He's asleep," he said needlessly as he followed her. Rinoa had knelt down by the couch and placed a palm against Squall's cheek. The brunette's face was swollen and dark bruises were forming under his eyes. "Just in the last five minutes."

Rinoa exhaled and leaned forward to place a chaste kiss on Squall's forehead. Seifer felt a flash of envy run through him. He squashed it down and looked away. "He did drink some juice." What gave Rinoa the right to do what he couldn't?

He looked back when Rinoa laid a hand on his arm. "You did fine Seifer," she said with a smile. "He probably just needed to get it all out. Knowing him, he's been holding it all in for weeks."

Put like that, the whole scene made more sense. Seifer glanced back down into Squall's face. Still…

"I'll give my arm and leg never to see it again," he muttered. Rinoa squeezed his arm before letting her hand drop away. "Rinoa?" he said, still looking at Squall. "How am I going to leave him alone? I was only gone a few hours and I came home to this." He turned away and crossed his arms. "I might have made a mistake bringing him here."

Rinoa was silent for a long time. She followed him when he took the empty cup to the kitchen and rinsed it out before capping the juice and putting it back in the fridge. Only after he'd decided to rinse the dishes in the sink did she finally speak up. "I don't know the answer Seifer. But I don't think this was a mistake either. Let's just see what happens next."

"He ate," he said and held the dishes up for evidence. "He got this out of the fridge, found a fork and ate."

"See?" she said. "That's already better than he was.

"Well he also did this," he said and led her to the bedroom.

"Oh," she said when she'd peeked in and he could tell she was at a loss for words. He couldn't help but laugh, a slight release from the afternoon's emotions. She tossed him a look and then stepped further in to pick up a book from the floor. Its pages were bent from being open on the ground. She flattened them and tried to close the book. "I've never known him to throw things," she said, looking around again.

Seifer stepped into the room as well. "Only when he's really upset." Rinoa looked at him sideways and he lifted one side of his mouth. "He threw a paperweight at me once. I ended up bleeding all over the bathroom sink." He ignored Rinoa's raised eyebrows and cleared his throat. "But no, I've never seen him go to this extreme."

Rinoa bent and picked up another book; pages fell out as she raised it. "Selphie says something similar happened in Balamb two weeks after the accident. He destroyed some furniture and gouged at the walls of his room with his Gunblade. They had to tackle him and wrestle the blade away before he stopped."

"I hid the Gunblade," he said, frowning. And it would stay hidden. He crossed to the bed and shoved it back up on its frame. He explained briefly what the scene had been when he'd come home as Rinoa helped him try to straighten the room, but he left out the part when Squall had asked him to end it. That would be between him and Squall tomorrow.

The desk lamp was cracked and the light bulb shattered. He coiled the cord around the base and set it to the side of the desk to deal with later. The books he took from Rinoa and set near the lamp. He'd have to look through them and see if any were still salvageable. The clothes would have to be washed.

He gathered up half and carried it to the laundry. When he opened the lid to the washer though there were clothes already loaded in. He frowned, dumped his armload to the ground and glanced towards the living room. Rinoa came out with the rest of the clothes in her hands but stopped when she saw his load on the ground. "What?" she asked.

Seifer looked up at the bottle of washer soap and saw it was pushed further back than it had originally been. He glanced over to Rinoa and nodded down at the washer. "I didn't put this load in."

Rinoa came over and looked in at the clothes. Then she caught sight of the taped card on the soap bottle. She reached a hand out and turned it so she could see it better. "Is this Braille? Did you put this on here?"

"Yes." Seifer opened the dryer and pulled the wet clothes over into it.

Rinoa laughed when he saw the Braille card taped above the washer knob. "That's wonderful," she said. She traced the bumps with her fingers and her smile faded again. "He can understand what these mean?"

"A little. It takes him a long time to put them together into words but he can."

Rinoa sighed and took her fingers away. "Hyne, I can't imagine starting my life all over again like that."

He had nothing to say to that so he started a new load of wash and motioned for Rinoa to put her load on the dryer's top. He closed the closet doors to mute the sound and headed back to the living room to check on Squall. The brunette hadn't moved an inch.

Rinoa's comment came back to him. Knowing him, he's been holding it all in for weeks.

"He's not doing okay," he said. "He never was. We've been fooling ourselves."

AN: Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter. It was a tough one to write. Well I'm still hoping to get this story mostly done by the end of the year. Hopefully not long after the New Year. I've scheduled actual times to write during each week so hopefully that will help me get these chapters out faster. Cross your fingers. For any new readers, thanks for the views and favorites: seeing the high number of views always helps me smile! And for any readers that have been following for all these long years, thank you so much for sticking with me. Oh, I have changed my profile too so go check out that page and its spoils. :) As always reviews are greatly appreciated. Let me know what you think.

Best!