by NightsDawne
[Shameless begging bit: For those of you Squaresoft fans who are also into FF7 and Xenogears, I have two stories started in those catagories, but I'm looking for guidance as to whether they should be continued. Face And Ghost is a Vincent/Lucretia story written in a lame attempt at H.G. Wells style. Hyuga's Manslut Adventures is a comedic yaoi parody about the endless pairings poor Citan is forced into in fanfics. R&Rs will let me know if I should go on with them. Pleeeeeeease? Okay, done now]
Chapter 3: Drinking Buddies
Squall staggered back from the men's room, grabbing the shoulder of a passing patron for balance before stumbling upon his barstool. Irvine looked up at him, tilting back a bottle of beer. Squall paused to carefully judge the position of his body to the stool before dropping down on it and tapping the bartop. "Gimme another."
Irvine set his bottle down. "I'm thinkin' you oughta slow down, bud." He nodded hazily. "You're a lightweight."
Squall waved a finger in the vague vicinity of Irvine's face. "Don't tell me what to do. I'm your commander."
"You're drunk."
"And I'm still your commander." Squall picked up the glass of whiskey the bartender set in front of him. "I'm starting to get the hang of this stuff." He tossed it back, then gave a gasp of satisfaction before he started choking.
Irvine smacked his back. "Yeah, at least you didn't spit it out this time. So, you feelin' any better?"
"I'm feeling.. wonderful." Squall grinned crookedly at both of his best friends. "We should do this more often."
"Oh yeah, Rinoa'll just love the new you. I'm the one who's gonna get his ass kicked by your girlfriend."
"You worry too much, Irvine. You need to loosen up. Relax. Learn how to have fun."
Irvine raised a brow. "Alright, who are you and what did you do with Squall?"
"Hey, you keep bugging me to open up. I'm sharing my deepest thoughts here." Squall put a brotherly arm around Irvine's shoulders, starting to slide off the stool.
Irvine pushed him back onto his seat before he hit the floor. "Your deepest thought is that I worry too much?"
"Um... yeah, you do now that you mention it." Squall looked for the bartender. "Hey! Two whiskeys!"
"I got a beer, Squall."
Squall shoved the beer off the bar. "Now you don't. Have a whiskey. My treat."
Irvine shook his head with a grin, picking up the shotglass in front of him. "Nobody's gonna believe that you're such a party boy."
Squall grinned back, picking up his glass. "Shut up and drink."
Irvine leaned against the outside wall of the bar, listening to the sounds of Squall getting sick around the corner. "You shoulda slowed down."
"You should have warned me." Squall staggered out of the alley, wiping his face with a cocktail napkin. "That stuff is poison."
"You okay?"
"No." Squall slumped against the wall, pressing his cheek to the cool bricks. "I feel like I have the flu, was just forced to run ten miles in full gear, and then got kicked in the nuts."
Irvine snickered. "Lightweight."
"Shut up. How can you laugh at my misery? You're supposed to be my best friend." Squall groaned, wrapping his arms around his protesting stomach.
"Sorry. You wanna go home?" Irvine stepped over when Squall nodded weakly, putting an arm around his friend to support him. "You'll feel worse in the mornin', I promise."
Squall whimpered, leaning against Irvine as he was guided to the car. "I can't believe this was my idea."
"Well, ya wanted ta kill braincells. You're just feelin' their death throes." Irvine opened up the car door, pushing Squall's head down a bit so he wouldn't bang it on the roof as he slumped in the seat, then walked around to get in the driver's side. "Roll the window down, you'll feel better." He started up the engine and pulled out as Squall did so, the commander hanging his head out into the cool night air with a sigh of relief. Irvine looked over at him. "Let me know if you're gonna puke again."
Squall watched the lane divide vanishing and reappearing from under the wheels of the car. "You sure you're sober enough to drive?"
"Not really. But I'm not as drunk as you." Irvine squinted at the road. "Relax, ain't like there's a lot of traffic."
"Whatever. I just want to get home and pass out." Squall sat up, dropping his head back against the headrest and moaning. "Maybe I could just pass out here."
"Be my guest. But I ain't gonna carry you to your room. You're heavy."
"I'll just sleep in the car." Squall closed his eyes, turning onto his side and trying to get comfortable. It was no use. He rolled back into a sitting position, dropping his head on Irvine's shoulder.
"You okay, Squall?" Irvine glanced down at Squall's pale face. "You gonna puke?"
Squall tried to nod and move his head away from Irvine at the same time, but his stomach took over all body control insistantly. He felt Irvine try to push him off, the car swerving. He heard a sound like a giant aluminum can being smashed, the car lurching upward before coming to a violent stop. "I think we just crashed," he mumbled, then everything went black.
Irvine opened his eyes, confused by the blur of light strips passing in front of him. For a moment he thought he was on an elevator going up at dizzying speed before he realized he was laying on his back. The light strips took a sudden swerve to the left and he came to a stop. A masked face bent over his, flashing a birght light into each of his eyes. "Pupils equal and reactive. Do you know your name?"
Irvine groaned. "Irvine Kinneas."
The woman nodded. "Good. Do you know where you are?"
Irvine hazarded a guess from the surgical mask. "Hospital?"
"Do you know what day it is?"
"Um.... Thursd-- no, Friday?"
She gave a little nod. "Who's the headmaster of Balamb Garden?"
Irvine frowned. "Cid Kramer," he mumbled, trying to turn away, but something hard around his neck prevented him from doing so.
The woman put her hand on his forehead. "You've been in a car accident. Just relax." She moved down to his waist, tapping his hand. "Can you feel this?"
"Yeah."
She leaned over him, tapping his other hand. "How about this?"
"Mmhmm." Irvine tried to raise his head as she disappeared from view. Something was tightening around his arm. He could feel his boots sliding off.
Another masked face, this one male, came into view, the man putting something to his ear. "Relax, Irvine."
"Where's Squall?"
"BP 92 over 60, pulse 120, respiration 28, temp 96.2" The man's eyes smiled a bit. "Don't try to talk except to answer Dr. Galoway's questions, alright, Irvine?"
"Can you feel this, Irvine?" Dr. Galoway slid her fingernail along the sole of Irvine's foot.
"Yeah. Is Squall okay?"
"How about this?" She did the same to his other foot.
Irvine sucked in his breath. "Hell yeah. It hurts."
"Mike, let's get him exposed. Be careful of his right leg, I think he's got a femoral fracture. I want x-ray down here and get some lactated ringers up wide open."
"Where's Squall?" Irvine grabbed for Mike's sleeve as the nurse turned away. "I want to know where my friend is."
Mike looked out to the hall. "Peggy, where's the one who came in with him?"
Irvine heard a female voice respond in a hurried tone. "He's in trauma bay 2. I'll get you an assessment as soon as they have him stabilized."
"Stabilized?" Irvine pulled on Mike's sleeve. "Is he okay?"
Mike pulled Irvine's hand loose and laid it back on the gurney. "He's got a great team working on him. They'll take care of him. Now just lay back and relax, alright?"
Irvine looked up at the ceiling as Mike started cutting his clothes away, swallowing. Trauma bay. Stabilized. The words did nothing to comfort him.
Dr. Galoway's face came back into view. "Irvine? We called the Garden to let them know you're here. Is there anyone else you're going to want called?"
Irvine took a deep breath, letting it out quickly when it hurt. "President Loire. Call President Loire."
