Chapter II – Simple Twist of Fate

People tell me it's a sin
To know and feel too much within
I still believe she was my twin
But I lost the ring
She was born in spring
And I was born too late
Blame it on a simple twist of fate

Squall downed another shot and cringed, feeling his tongue twist and swell as the hot liquid slithered down his throat like a snake made of fire or a rancid worm that left a trail of acid behind it. He took a deep breath through his nose, and when he blew the air back out from his mouth the feeling passed.

"Doing ok there fella?" the bartender asked.

Squall looked over so abruptly that a shudder went down his spine and his head and neck wobbled. He shot the bartender a look that was equal parts accusatory, rueful, and giddy with the alcohol. He had one eye closed as that was the only way now that he could see anything straight.

"No," he laughed. "No, not at all. In fact when I'm done here I might… walk out in the water and not come back to the dry land."

"Yeah I think you're done for tonight, Mr. Leonhart," the bartender replied.

"I'm not done," Squall slurred back. "Not yet. I will be later though. Done for good. I'm done already anyway. Goddamnit what have I done?" his gaze fell to the bar and he breathed deep and fast now like he couldn't get air. Slowly, or maybe not so slowly at all – he couldn't tell – he slumped forward until his forehead was pressed against the bar. It compressed his nose so that he could barely breathe, and after drawing a few of those deep labored breaths through his mouth, his head toppled to the side and he was resting his face against the bar like a pillow.

"D'you wanna talk about it?" the bartender asked. He doubted the reply would be anything approaching coherent, but he'd been doing this awhile and knew how to handle an overserved bar patron. Get them distracted talking until they come back to reality a little bit.

"Not really," Squall responded, and picked his head up. His clavicles still rest against the bar and with some effort he brought the heels of his palms up to push himself back upright. "I fucked it all up, man. I don't know how I let it get this bad."

"What'd you do?" the bartender was wiping down the bar surface with a rag. There was no one else left now, only Squall.

"This was for me. This whole thing was for me, they did it for me because they thought I needed a break. And I did. Do you know what it's like?" Squall rambled.

"Well I'd have to know what 'it' is," the bartender responded.

"Being the 'hinge of peace' or whatever the hell it is they're calling me now," Squall said bitterly. "I didn't ask for it. Maybe I did. I don't know. It's just… It's a lot."

"I imagine it is," the bartender said in a low voice. "The whole world on your shoulders, everyone looking to you for answers, for solutions."

"Yeah!" Squall slammed his open palm on the bar. "Finally someone who understands. Garden is the reason there's peace in the world. And who leads Garden? The headmaster. That's me," he jammed a pointer finger into his own chest, and then looked down at it like it was someone else's. "And I do it alone. All by myself because my wife… My ex-wife. I mean… she's still my wife right?"

"Come on buddy," the bartender stepped around to the front of the bar and placed a hand on Squall's shoulder and another on his upper back. "We need to get you to bed," he said.

"Yeah," Squall muttered. He looked down with his one eye and saw that the bar was wet where he'd rest his face against it. "Thank you," he said as the bartender escorted him into the lobby where the porter was waiting. "Wedge," he called, and an average looking man clad in a black and red jacket and cap standing by the elevators perked up. "Can you help me out here? Mr. Leonhart needs to get to his room."

"Of course," Wedge nodded.

"Hey, do I know you?" Squall slurred. "I could swear I know you. From somewhere. From a long time ago," he looked deeply into Wedge's eyes.

Wedge was becoming uncomfortable. "Nope, I'm sure you don't," he replied, and took custody of the headmaster. He gave the bartender a nod and took Squall into the elevator and up to his room, leaving him in bed on his side. Face up or face down would have both been dangerous.

The sunlight was painful, to the point that Squall wondered what he was even doing out here with this throbbing head. It was a little past noon and he sat reclined in a comfortable beach chair in front of the water, clad only in swimming trunks and an open short-sleeved button down. It was bright red with a yellow floral pattern. He fumbled for the sunglasses hooked on his front pocket and put them on. He'd been sitting here for a couple of hours now, too drunk to care about the sunburn he was getting.

Then it was night and he was at the bar again, skin red and peeling and stinging with every touch. He was staring at the same bartender through the same one eye and repeating the same lament as yesterday and the day before. He was determined to finish out this vacation. They had wanted him to blow off some steam and they would get their wish.

Then he was in bed, dreaming drunkenly of Rinoa and Seifer making love. He woke up halfway, lurched over the side of the bed and vomited onto the carpet. He rolled over, traces of the discharge lingering around his mouth, and went back to sleep only to see them again. He woke up sober, crying, whispering her name amidst many whys and I'm sorrys and what have I dones.

The week passed and on Sunday the Ragnarok touched down in the same place as before. Squall walked out of the hotel with the same pounding head and the same sunburn he had nursed and fed for the better part of a week, both of which had gotten stronger day by day. He got into the same sleek black Garden car as had taken him here, with the same driver behind the wheel.

"Sir, your bags?" the driver asked.

Squall waved the question off. "Doesn't matter. Don't care," he said. The only thing he'd come out with was a bottle of red wine, from which he took a long pull and then gave a rough throated hiss through the bottom of his mouth.

The car pulled away from the hotel, and the trip back to the Ragnarok passed without a word. Squall stumbled to his bedroom on the ship, which had been converted from one of the smaller storerooms, and fell into a blessedly dreamless sleep. When he woke up again there was no one on board. He walked the corridors looking for the normal crew, bottle of red wine in hand which he now took only short pulls from and mostly just to ward off his headache. When he got to the cockpit he saw out the front viewport that the ship was docked in its usual place in the special hangar at Balamb Garden. The idea of facing the reality of how things would be now was something less than bearable even with the alcohol, and so he went back to bed.

When he woke up again the bottle of wine in his hand was empty. His head was still pounding and his stomach was sour and hollow but he'd gotten so used to it that it was almost comfortable now. He couldn't stay on The Ragnarok forever, and so as discretely as possible he walked down the boarding ramp, through the 2F hallway, and to the elevator where he went to 3F.

Xu was sitting behind her desk when the elevator doors opened.

"Welcome back," she said nonchalantly.

"Uh, yeah thanks," he replied, glad to be out of the reach of the sunlight. The walk here had been brutal.

"You look terrible," she said flatly.

"I know," he replied. He had probably lost fifteen pounds since he'd been here last. He knew that. What he didn't know was that he was white a ghost and his eyes were so bloodshot that it looked like they were bleeding.

"Do you want something to eat?" she asked.

"Not really," he said, and crossed the distance to his office door. Without him having to ask, Xu buzzed him in and he was through the doorway before either of them could say anything else. By noon though she had sent him up a plate from the cafeteria – a sandwich and a side of fries with a pickle and an unsweet tea. He ate like a man starved which he was – he had eaten probably three or four times in total in the last week – and drank the tea down in what seemed like a couple of large gulps. The edge immediately came off of his headache.

When he was done, he pressed the intercom to Xu's desk. "Thank you," he said. "You're all I have left, Xu," he said.

What felt like a long silence had him momentarily questioning whether she was still there, but then she came back. "That's not true. You still have Zell."

Squall thought for a moment and keyed the intercom again. "You're all I have left, Xu," he repeated, and then fell back into his chair. He sat there for a long time with his eyes closed wondering if sleep would come, until it finally did.

To Be Continued...