A/N: Fair warning--this is kind of a weird chapter. Revolving POVs, schizophrenic mood swings--humor to fluff to squickiness/gallows humor--chauffeur abuse, non-smoker abuse, Irvine actually gets pissed (twice), and a major character goes into convulsions. Hey! Something for everyone! Bring the kids!
Fox and Hound
Chapter 5
For a normally reticent man, Squall Leonheart gave voice to an impressive string of obscenities as he slammed the phone receiver back into the cradle.
Startled, Zell gave the commander a puzzled look. "S'matter, Squall?"
Turning to his associate, the gunblade warrior informed him, "That was Kiros. Kinneas didn't show."
"The hell?!"
Squall nodded, grimacing. "You heard me," he said. "The bastard pulled out--disappeared without a fucking trace."
The tattooed martial artist frowned worriedly. "Any chance one of the Sisterhood could've taken him? Maybe they found out about the assassination--"
"No," the commander said, shaking his head. "Kiros found an envelope in the SeeD compartment. It contained his advance for the job."
Frowning, Zell pondered this information for a moment. "How could he have gotten past Kiros?"
"Encounter None," Squall said sourly, "The son of a bitch must still have a GF--that's the only way he could've done it."
"But why?" Zell wondered, "Why would he suddenly back out like that?"
"Who know why Kinneas does anything?" Squall said, shrugging. "He probably met some slut and decided that getting laid was more important than fulfilling his contract."
The tattooed blond shook his head dubiously. "That doesn't sound like Irvine--I mean, I never liked the guy, but he was always totally professional on missions. Like, I never even saw him look at a girl when he was on the hunt--"
"Whatever," Squall said, interrupting Zell's reminiscence. "We'll worry about Kinneas later. Right now, I want you to go to Deling City and head up the assault on the Sisterhood."
"What about ShadowFox?" Zell inquired. "Shouldn't we send someone else to take Irvine's place?"
The commander ran a gloved hand through his hair--making it look even more unruly than usual. "There's no time, " he said, "No time to get anyone else in position. The Fox is due to make her attempt on the Junction Ellone device tomorrow night. Kiros will just have to handle things in Esthar." The SeeD gave a short bark of laughter, "He's more reliable--not to mention more stable--than Kinneas, anyway, so we're probably better off."
Zell shrugged. If that was the case, why had Squall even bothered with Irvine in the first place? Oh well…none of his business. He wasn't paid to think, but to kick whatever asses needed kicking. "Can I take the 'Rok?" was all he said.
Squall nodded an affirmation. "Get Nida to pilot--not Selphie," he added.
The martial artist did a double-take. "Nida? But Selphie always--"
"Are you in the habit of questioning orders?" Squall asked quietly, a dangerous glint suddenly appearing in the steel blue eyes.
Zell gave his commander a sharp salute. "No sir!" he said, a hint of anger sharpening his voice. Turning on his heel, he stormed out of Squall's office without waiting to be dismissed.
The SeeD commander watched the angry blonde leave. He hated pulling rank, but he didn't feel like explaining himself--he wasn't even sure he could explain himself. He was operating on gut-instinct and intuition at the moment, and something told him that it would be a really bad idea to send the only untainted woman in his circle into an area where literally dozens of sorceresses would be dying--and in need of a recipient for their powers. Not that he questioned Selphie's loyalties…but then, he hadn't questioned Rinoa's either--and look at what had happened there. No. It was always better to err on the side of discretion.
And Kinneas…what do I do about him? Squall had promised to kill the sniper if he fucked up this mission--well, backing out entirely could certainly qualify as fucking up. But how to find the little shit? Ah…there was the problem. The commander doubted that even Kinneas would be stupid enough to return to his home in Trabia--however, there might be a clue there as to where he might have gone. Yes…a trip to Trabia was definitely in order.
Kinneas, you stupid fuck, when I get through with you, you'll be begging me to kill you.
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"Kane residence." The unmistakable monotone of Finn, Jared's bodyguard/chauffeur, reached Irvine through the receiver of the pay phone.
"Finn!" the sniper greeted him, "S'Irvine. Um…Is Vonnie there? Can I talk to her? Please?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Kinneas, Miss Siobhan isn't here," the chauffeur replied with all the warmth of an answering machine. "Was she coming out to visit Mr. Kane?"
"Cut the crap, Finn," Irvine growled. "I know damn well she's there. She always goes to Jared when there's trouble--"
"Is Miss Siobhan in trouble, sir?" Finn asked with the same amount of concern that he'd use to inquire about the weather.
"Dammit Finn! You know she is!" the sniper exclaimed. "Now please stop playin' the faithful family retainer and let me talk to her, for Hyne's sake!"
"I assure you, Mr. Kinneas, we've neither seen nor heard from Miss Siobhan. We weren't even aware that she was coming down."
This conversation was going nowhere. Fast. Giving up on getting his lover on the phone--for the moment--Irvine tried a new tactic.
"Let me talk to Jared, then," he said with a weary sigh.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Kinneas, but Mr. Kane is in Centra on business for the museum."
"GODDAMMIT FINN!" the sniper shrieked in frustration, "THAT'S BULLSHIT, AND YOU KNOW IT!" Jared never went anywhere without Finn. Irvine knew it, Finn knew it--hell, everyone knew it.
"There's no reason to raise your voice, sir," the chauffeur said in his normal deadpan manner. "I'll be glad to relay any message to Mr. Kane when he returns."
"And when would that be?" the sniper asked, his voice dripping with venom.
"In about two weeks, sir," came the serene reply.
"Finn?" Irvine said after a brief pause.
"Yes, Mr. Kinneas?"
"GO FUCK YOURSELF!" Irvine screamed into the phone before slamming the receiver into the cradle with all the force his rage could muster. The sniper allowed himself a tight smile. "Hope your ears ring for a week, you stubborn bastard," he muttered.
Shouldering his duffel and picking up his guncase, the sniper headed towards the ticket counter. He purchased a ticket to Deling City, paying cash, even though it nearly cleaned him out. Irvine knew that when Kiros reported back to Squall, the commander was going to be extremely pissed over the sniper's sudden change of mind, and therefore, leaving as little of a paper trail behind him as possible definitely seemed like the prudent thing to do.
Once on board the train, the sniper stowed his gear and settled into a seat by a window. As the train began to chug out of the station, Irvine reached into a pocket of his duster, fished out the half-empty packet of Siobhan's cigarettes, lit one, and exhaled a thick cloud of spiced smoke.
"Hey, buddy," an irate voice called from across the aisle. "D'you have to smoke that thing in here?"
"Yeah," the gunman replied, not bothering to look at the miffed non-smoker, "I do." The gunslinger took another deep drag from the cigarette, spewing out a heavy cloud of smoke that hung over his head like a raincloud.
"Put it out, asshole," the voice said angrily, "Or I'll come over there and do it for you."
If there was one thing Irvine hated, it was self-righteous non-smokers. Vonnie was right, it was high time that smokers took at least part of the world back for themselves. Looking across the aisle, Irvine met the gaze of a skinny-assed middle-aged guy with a crew cut and a very red face. Some sort of businessman, judging from the briefcase that leaned against his legs like a pet dog.
Tilting his head to one side, the sniper gazed at his adversary through slitted eyes. A slight smile curved the corners of his lips.
"Try it," he said pleasantly, "and I'll rip your damn arms off and beat ya to death with 'em…buddy." The slight smile slowly broadened into a feral grin.
The businessman's eyes widened, and he suddenly became extremely interested in gazing at the scenery passing outside his window.
Oddly depressed by his victory, Irvine settled back into his seat, forcing himself to finish his smoke and resisting the urge to apologize to the man. There was no joy in intimidating the weak--it was like something Seifer would do.
Find Seifer, and you'll probably find ShadowFox.
Well…that wasn't his problem any more. ShadowFox and her knight could live a long and happy life…settle down in a whitewashed cottage with a picket fence, have 2.5 kids and a fucking dog for all he cared. All Irvine cared about now was making peace with Vonnie and spending…oh, the next three or four months making love to her.
WE CAN ONLY PROVIDE YOU WITH SO MUCH STAMINA, YOU KNOW, Diablos protested.
REALLY! Cerberus 3 agreed. THREE OR FOUR MONTHS IS A LITTLE…EXCESSIVE…DON'T YOU THINK?
Well, you'll just have to do the best you can guys, Irvine told them, smothering a grin. Pulling his hat down low over his eyes, the sniper drifted off into dreams of stormy grey eyes, silky ivory skin, and mahogany hair scented with jasmine.
********************
Siobhan could hear Irvine's angry sign-off and the slam of the receiver from the other side of the room. She winced in sympathy for the chauffeur as Finn turned to her with a wounded look.
"I did not enjoy that, Miss Siobhan," he said severely.
"Sorry, Finn," the sorceress apologized meekly. "I didn't think he'd get that angry." The sweet-natured cowboy almost never got angry--and he held the ever-inscrutable Finn in such awe that she was genuinely surprised that Irvine had gone off on him in the way he had.
HE WANTS YOU BACK, LITTLE ONE, Drake rumbled, HE'S NOT GOING TO GIVE UP SO EASILY.
Don't I know it. Damn the man. Why'd he have to be so stubborn? Why couldn't he just stay the hell out of this? She'd thought that he would be safely on his snipe hunt in Esthar by now--waiting for a quarry who wasn't going to show--but apparently, something had caused a change in her lover's plans. But what?
PERHAPS HE KNOWS NOW? Drake suggested.
Possibly. But Siobhan didn't think he could have pieced everything together quite so soon.
"Would you like for me to pass a message on to Mr. Kinneas the next time he calls?" Finn inquired, breaking into Siobhan's ruminations. "Or am I to continue to deny your presence and thus be subjected to more abuse?"
The sorceress smothered a smile. Poor Finn…he must really be nettled over Irvine's angry remarks to make even that mild complaint.
"He won't waste time calling again," Siobhan answered. "If I know my Cowboy, he's on his way here, even as we speak."
The chauffeur lifted one dark eyebrow--an almost unbelievable show of emotion for him. "And what do we do about that?"
The redhead shrugged. "How the hell should I know?" she asked waspishly. "Go get Jared and the others--maybe they'll have an idea. I'm fresh out."
After the study door closed behind the chauffeur, Siobhan sank wearily down onto an overstuffed leather sofa, resting her forehead on the cool upholstery of the arm. A cold, wet nose shoved itself against her hand, and the sorceress reached out blindly, burying her fingers in a thick ruff of fur.
Fuzzy images filled her mind: Irvine, surrounded by trees in their autumn finery, Exeter slung casually over one shoulder, a half-grown grey wolf capering joyfully at his side; a hand wearing fingerless gloves slipping morsels of food under the table to an always hungry mouth; the same hand giving a tummy rub to an ecstatically thrashing, furry body; and finally, the bedroom of the house in Trabia, two sleeping figures whose clasped hands rested on the back of a third, smaller and shaggier form that lay between them. Along with the images came the mood that Siobhan always interpreted as "wistful longing"--the same mood that usually accompanied the image of an empty food dish.
Sliding onto the floor, the sorceress wrapped her arms around the great wolf, burying her face in the soft ruff of fur that smelled of mountain air and pine needles.
"I know, Fur-face," she murmured, "I miss him too."
Another, clearer, image was thrust into her mind--this one with the "I want" mood emphatically attached: a family portrait, Irvine, Siobhan and Mistral at the sorceress's "thinking spot." The gunman pulling Siobhan close to steal a kiss while the wolf licked first one beloved face, then the other, until the lovers parted, laughing, to roughhouse and wrestle with their playmate.
"I want that too, Mis," Siobhan said sadly, "but it's not going to happen, love." She sent her own image to the wolf: Herself, glowing with a golden aura, a pair of titian-colored wings extending from her shoulders: Irvine, looking at her, an expression of horror and disgust etched clearly upon his face; the sniper turning his back and walking away.
"See, fella? There's no way."
Another image: the same as before, Siobhan in sorceress mode, but the gunman's violet gaze glowed with love and desire. Reaching out with one hand, he reverently stroked the russet wings before enfolding the sorceress in an embrace that was both tender and protective.
The sorceress smiled against her shaggy comrade's fur. "Wishful thinking, boy," she scoffed. "Besides, you're forgetting something--"
She projected the image of a black-garbed figure, hooded and masked, poised in a fighting stance. Irvine approached the figure, shouldered Exeter, and fired. The masked figure crumpled and fell silently to the ground. A shrill whistle sliced through the air, the sniper turned and walked slowly toward another figure clad in black--a man with a scarred face. The second man clipped a leash to the barbed collar around the sniper's throat and led him away.
Siobhan cradled the wolf's head between her hands. "Give me a happy ending there, if you can," she challenged.
Mistral looked up at her mournfully, his moon-silver eyes gazing into her own. No new image came to replace the tragic tableau of the sorceress's projection.
"Didn't think so," she said bitterly, idly scratching the wolf behind the ears.
The room suddenly went red, and Siobhan felt s if she were drowning in blood. The coppery stench of it was all around her; the salty taste of it coated her tongue and lips. So much blood…dripping in slow rivers from her fingertips…
HERE ISSS YOURRR HAPPY ENDING, a voice hissed in her ear. LOOK… A corpse-white hand, fingers tipped by cruel, black claws pointed straight ahead.
Siobhan's gaze followed the pointing claw and discerned a crumpled, red-stained figure sprawled on the ground ahead of her. Only dimly aware of Mistral's frantic barking somewhere in the background, the sorceress waded through the blood covering the expanse of floor between herself and the motionless figure.
A man in blood-stained buckskins lay at her feet. Long auburn hair, soaked in crimson, was plastered over his face. A tattered black Stetson rested on the floor a few inches away.
"No," Siobhan said flatly, her voice firm with denial.
YESSS! the voice of the Other exulted.
Kneeling next to the still figure, Siobhan smoothed the blood-soaked hair away from the face. Amethyst eyes, glazed over with death, glared up at her in silent accusation. The full lips that had caressed her own so many times, gaped in a grimace of terror and pain. The throat and neck, formerly a playground for nuzzling and nibbling, was now a shredded ruin of blood and gristle. She was vaguely aware that other wounds ripped through the chest and abdomen, but she didn't look any further. She'd seen enough.
Calm despair settled over the sorceress like a layer of ice. She gazed at the dead man, feeling curiously detached.
How odd, she thought, Shouldn't I feel something? Shouldn't I be sad? Angry? Hysterical? SOMETHING? She felt nothing, however--just an odd, detached, numbness.
I wish whoever's screaming would shut the fuck up--it's enough to wake the dead. She peered down at the dead man on the floor--who remained unmoved by the caterwauling. OK…maybe not…but all that damn noise was giving her a migraine. The incessant barking wasn't helping, either.
"Siobhan!" a voice called to her from a great distance.
She looked in surprise at the dead man. Surely he hadn't called her name…She stifled a giggle at the thought. No…her friend here wasn't going to call her or anyone else…he had a bitch kitty of a sore throat.
A sharp, stinging blow caught her on one side of the face, rocking her head to the side.
What the hell? Why don't they slap whoever's doing all that screaming? She thought. Then she noticed that the screaming had cut off abruptly the moment that she had been struck.
Siobhan glared up at her assailant. Jade green eyes separated by a diagonal scar burned into her own. "Seif?" she said, confused, "What the fuck?" She looked down at the floor, but the dead man and the blood were gone.
THE ENDING FOR ALL TRAITORSSS, the voice hissed. IF THE COWBOY COMESSS…HE ISSS MINE!
Aww…fuck this…fuck this right in the ear! she thought as a leather sheathed hand gripped her own, pulling her to her feet. Siobhan swayed unsteadily for a moment, fighting the Other for control, before collapsing to the floor again, her arms and legs flailing wildly, refusing her repeated commands to support her.
A veritable jewelbox of eyes gazed worriedly down at her: jade, ruby, sapphire, jet, tiger's eye, onyx, moonstone…but no amethyst. Why the hell were all these stones staring at her? She decided she didn't really care when a hard-edged something crashed into her wrist.
Fuck, that HURT!
"Shit!" Jade swore softly, gazing wildly around the room. "Finn, get Jared out of here. He doesn't need to see this." Onyx led Sapphire out of the study, and Jade grabbed something off the floor. A moment later, Siobhan's jaws were wrenched open, and something hard and cylindrical…and tasting of leather…was jammed between her teeth.
"Sorry, kiddo," Jade apologized, "best I could do on short notice." A slender arm came out of nowhere, smashing into Jade.
Heh…
Siobhan felt her wrists gripped by strong, gloved hands and pinned firmly at her side.
"Someone get her legs!" Jade shouted, "she's kicking the shit out of me!"
Jet disappeared, and after a moment, strong hands grasped her ankles, stilling her wildly thrashing legs. Siobhan's back decided to arch at an almost impossible angle, the vertebrae cracking loudly in protest.
"If either of you ladies have any healing spells junctioned, "Jade said calmly, "Now would be an outstanding time to FUCKING USE THEM!"
Ruby and Tiger's Eye started at Jade's shouting, but moved closer, hovering mere inches above Siobhan. Her eyes rolled back into her head as a wave of darkness crashed over her. The sorceress drowned in the void and knew no more.
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A/N: When the hell did I lose control of this fic? I swear, NONE of this was in the original game plan. After weeks of silence, my muses suddenly got very chatty and began throwing all this shit at me--and all I could do was tread water and take dictation (and mix a few metaphors). Does this sort of thing happen to anyone else?
Well…you guys know the drill by now…read & review. I live for feedback.