XVI
"You know, there was some old Dollet author who wrote... that all great figures have a conflicted relationship with their fathers. We want to raise the seeds of the future, Edea. But these children... by and large, all of their parents are dead or gone. Do you ever wonder what that can mean for them? How hard it must be?"
--Cid Kramer

(I don't believe this. We're at war, and there is nothing to do. ...absolutely nothing to do.)

Squall stared at the ceiling of his room, bored. It had to be at least ten, but he couldn't get to sleep. He had thought of going to the training center--but, without a gunblade, it would be pointless. And, since Diablos hadn't decided to come out of the netherworld, there was no way to make sure he would be safe, unless he asked someone to come with him. The problem with that was that everyone was asleep.

(Except Laguna. Kiros tells me he never gets to sleep this early. But I am not going to ask him to escort me through the training center.)

The problem was, when Squall had nothing to do, he started thinking.

(...and whenever I start thinking, I usually don't enjoy it.)

The earlier meeting had been interesting enough. After they had all heard Squall's explanation, everyone had decided to help out. Even Seifer. Even Laguna. Rinoa had refused the offer for a trip back to Deling City in the Ragnarok, and nothing else would do but for her to contact her father immediately and tell him in no uncertain terms that she would be staying with Balamb Garden. It had almost been comical to watch the conversation--Squall doubted that General Caraway had been able to get in more than ten words--most of them "but".

Caraway couldn't commit troops without some kind of due process, but for his just-rescued daughter, he was willing to get the ball rolling.

That, naturally, led to darker thoughts. (I wonder what it must be like to have a father,) Squall thought--a question that had come up more and more recently, as Rinoa had tried to mend relations with hers. (I wonder who mine was?)

A thought struck him. A memory: the conference room/passenger seat in the Ragnarok. Kiros had said "You look very much like your mother." (So--Kiros knew my mother? How? I don't even know my mother. Then--) then Ward had said something which, since he had lost his voice years ago, Kiros had to translate as "It's a good thing you don't look like your father." He had said it in a whisper, like a conspiritor. As if he was sharing Squall in a joke he couldn't have understood.

(It's an interesting mystery,) Squall thought sternly at himself. (One that I'd like to solve some day. But we're at war, and this isn't the time--)

"Talk to me when it's all finished," Laguna had said. "I have a lot to tell you. But I won't blame you if you don't want to hear it." (...I never got a chance to talk to him again. Maybe I should--sometime.)

Something began to nag at the edge of his mind, but he pushed the thought away. It swam amid half-formed strategies and vague leads, insistent. (No. That's impossible. More--it's absurd.) But the thought wouldn't go away.

(Kiros knew my mother. Ward knew my father. Laguna wanted to talk to me. Could it--? No. No. There are any number of reasons it's unlikely... Squall, stop it. Just stop thinking...)

But it all fit--didn't it? (...but think about it. Remember, Kiros went to Winhill once. He met Raine. She looks... enough like me. Maybe. enough to make him think... But she married Laguna, and he's still alive, so any children they might have had wouldn't have gone to an orphanage. So that can't be it.)

Squall turned over, trying to convince himself of that. (But--Laguna went to war. And Ellone was with Raine, and she went to the orphanage when Raine died. She said that Laguna was sad that he wasn't able to be by Raine's side when she died... no, no, no, dammit, NO! Stop it, Squall!)

But it all made sense. It all made perfect, risible, horrible sense. Kiros knew his mother. Kiros knew Raine. Eighteen years ago, when Laguna was off to war, Raine died--(and Ellone said that Raine wanted to show Laguna her new-born baby.) If Ellone had gone to the orphanage, where would that baby have gone? What would have happened to him?

(She never said it was a baby boy,) Squall argued with himself--but it was a futile protest, a lame excuse for disbelief. (...everything else fits. It would explain why Kiros said that crack about my father in a whisper... he was afraid Laguna would hear. And why Laguna would understand if I didn't want to talk about it... isn't that the classical line for parents who have abandoned their children?
(This can't be right. It can't be.
(It has to be.
(Just stop thinking...)

For what was probably the first time since he had been a child, Squall felt as if he needed to talk to someone. (Someone help me... I'm confused... lost...) another memory. (Someone? So I'll end up depending on others after all...)

Before he knew it, Squall was up and pacing, trying to work off the nervous energy it gave him. (Nervous? I can just imagine Kiros saying--you've changed, man--telling Laguna that when they were in Winhill--Winhill. My hometown?--stop thinking...
(I have to talk to Laguna,) Squall thought.
(Now?
(Why not?)

Stepping over to the door, Squall stared at it for a moment, reluctant. Turning to the window, he noticed the black ship heading away--finally. He wondered if they had finally gotten frustrated with not being able to do anything to Balamb Garden. He turned back to the door, opening it slowly.

Seifer was in the hall, waiting for him.

(What now...?) Squall thought dully.

"Squall, uh..." Seifer started awkwardly. "I just wanted to say, well... that... I..."

(Seifer? Apologizing?) If Squall could have been surprised at that moment, he would have been. But, as Seifer struggled to find something to say, it put him in a very awkward position.

"Forget it," Squall said. (What's done is done. ...I really can't deal with you and Laguna in the same night.)

Seifer nodded. "Yeah. Well, see you in the morning."

Seifer headed off towards the training center, and Squall glanced at his gunblade sheath with a twinge of envy. Seifer's gunblade was much thinner, much lighter than his had been--not something he would have chosen. But at least he still had a weapon.

The VIP rooms were down a little side hall--that would be where Laguna would be, Squall guessed. Only the best for the president of Esthar. Laguna would have been placed in the first one, the nearest, the most convenient. Walking up, he gave the door a couple of good thumps.

Kiros opened the door, and Squall saw Laguna sitting in a chair by the far wall.

"I was just leaving," Kiros said, stepping outside and giving Laguna a significant look.

Laguna looked over, jumping up faster than Squall had ever seen anyone jump. He was grinning from ear to ear--flushed, though; a nervous grin. (You knew,) Squall thought. (You knew all this time. Were you waiting for me to ask?)

Kiros shut the door behind Squall, leaving him alone with Laguna. "You wanted to see me?" Laguna asked, walking up to Squall--a slight limp; his leg cramped when he was nervous and it was hard to mask--and locking the door. "I'm sure Kiros will make sure no one bothers us."

"I... need to talk to you."

Laguna's smile faltered, but he tried not to show it. He failed. "Uh-oh. Sounds serious." He grinned again. "I'm not under Garden arrest or anything, am I? 'cause I'm pretty sure I get immunity from that, or something..."

The joke trailed off. Squall stared at him for a moment, trying to convince himself not to wipe that idiotic look off Laguna's face.

(You do know, don't you? And you probably know why I'm here--and you're damn well not going to tell me? Not going to say anything?)

"So?" asked Laguna. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

Squall had planned on starting off the conversation civilly enough, but something inside just snapped.

"You bastard!" he yelled. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Then he punched Laguna in the chest.

Laguna staggered against the wall with a blank look on his face--a wounded soldier's look, a look that says where have my legs gone? And why is my face in the grass, and what hurts so badly? Squall punched him again, then collapsed against the opposite wall shaking, trying to regain some of the composure he knew he had--and failing miserably. Tears of anger, frustration and pain rolled down his face; he had no more idea how to stop them then he did of how to continue the conversation.

"You... figured it out, then," he said, arm pulled across his torso where the blows had landed.

"Yes," Squall growled--because he didn't trust himself to speak normally without his voice cracking.

Awkwardly, Laguna walked over and hugged him; a gesture Squall was getting heartily sick of.

"I guess it wouldn't make much difference if I said I was sorry, would it?" Laguna asked. "I'm sorry, man, I just didn't know how to--"

"Get away from me," Squall said through gritted teeth, not feeling any too charitable at the moment.

Laguna looked hurt, and backed away. But he continued.

"I did try to find you. Kiros and Ward helped, too. But, I didn't think that I could just come introduce myself. What would I say? Hi, guess who this is? I couldn't just walk in and demand you accept me!" Laguna tried to explain.

Squall turned to face Laguna. "How long have you known?"

"Years," Laguna answered. "Since before I hired SeeD. That's why I requested you. I--had to see you."

"Well, I hope you weren't disappointed," Squall said bitterly. He was getting a tighter rein on his emotions. Bitterness was an old companion.

"No," Laguna said. "I wasn't. I was... really proud." He took a longer look at Squall. "You look like her," he said.

Squall said nothing.

Laguna sighed, staring at him awkwardly. "If you don't mind, would you think about talking a bit?"

"What is there to talk about," Squall growled in a low voice, wiping tears off his face and cursing himself for letting so much weakness show.

Laguna took a step back. "Son--"

"Shut up!" Squall snapped. (You're not my father. I haven't ever had a father--you think you can flips a switch and change that now? You can't be my father... you gave that up for Esthar.)

"Squall," Laguna corrected himself. "Please. Could you just listen for a bit?"

"What are you trying to say, Laguna?" Squall said, dragging his voice back down to some normal register of control. "You've already said you're sorry. You think it changes anything?" (You're wrong. You can't undo eighteen years of this with two words.)

"It doesn't change anything, I guess," Laguna said. "It was just... whenever I thought about you, I saw her instead. I couldn't face that."

(So I'm nothing but some sort of icon to you? A memento of a mother I knew even less then you?) "So that's it."

Laguna stared at him for a moment. "Aren't you even going to listen?" he demanded. "I'm trying to explain, dammit--please!"

"Explain what?" Squall retorted with a voice that was a bit more--controlled. The old shell was closing down over him again, tighter than it ever had been. It had broken once, from shock and surprise. It would not break again.

"That--" Laguna paused. He was visibly shaking. "That I do... love..."

"Don't." Squall shook his head. (Don't bother. There's no room for you, Laguna. I chose my life, just like you chose yours. Don't expect it all to change just to accommodate you. I can't just forgive--
(--no point in holding grudges.) Squall did a mental double take. (I can't have been serious.
(...he is my father. I can't change that.
(But I sure as hell don't have to acknowledge it.)

"How many people know about this?"

"Ellone does. Me, Kiros, and Ward. And now you." Laguna looked at the floor, hair falling down to obscure his face. "Just the five of us. I... won't tell anyone, if you don't want me to."

Squall thought about it. "No. Don't." (I... won't have it. I won't have people thinking there's something here that isn't. This can't be a part of my life. It's not... true. ...even if it is.)

Laguna nodded unhappily. "That's your choice," he said. "Maybe sometime... maybe I'll be able to make it up to you."

Squall turned to the door. Weapon or none, the training center sounded especially good. Laguna had already seen him break--he wasn't going to compoung the issue by ripping him apart. He needed to work this, and he might as well use the monsters to do it.

"I'm leaving now," he said, the closest he could manage to a polite goodbye. Laguna made no sound from behind him as he stepped into the hall and shut the door.

-

Squall stepped into his room several hours later. His mind was no more cleared than it had been before--but he was aching from the training, physically exhausted. He would be able to sleep, at least--though it wouldn't likely be a restful sleep.

He took a step toward his bed--and paused.

There was an object, wrapped in black silk and silver ribbon. A gift--that was clear. But the size and the shape spoke to him--reminded him of something. The weight was right when he picked it up, the balance was right as he turned it--and when he unwrapped it, it fell from numb fingers onto the mattress.

There, in the middle of his bed lay his gunblade, perfectly normal, as if it had never been broken, never been lost. And it wasthe same gunblade--there was the familiar, tiny dent in the third bullet cartridge, the lion's head hanging from the chain on the hilt, the winged lion embossed on the blade. It was sharper, though--and looked stronger, somehow. It gleamed in light that wasn't the lamplight from his desk, and wasn't the moonlight from outside. It was beautiful--and deadly, now somehow more so.

But one more thing hand changed. On the last link of the chain, the one that attached to the Griever medallion, there was a tiny, perfect engraving of a serpent.