In Love and War unfinished OLD

by Luna Manar

In an effort to bring Rinoa home, General Caraway demands the return of Angelo, who is legally under his possession. Rinoa and Squall return to Deling City, and both must help to solve a mystery older than time itself.

3. Day 3--Spies

Day 3

It was just past midnight when Squall came out of his ultimately fruitless "talk" with Caraway. Surprisingly, the discussion had not left him particularly irritable, though by no means did he feel any better about anything that had happened in the past day. Perhaps his relative calm was because he had actually managed to say what he'd wanted to say to Caraway. He'd surprised himself with just how much he'd talked, when an hour ago, he'd been certain he didn't have any reason to talk at all. Since when did I start babbling like that? It isn't useful unless someone's going to listen…

Still, even as he walked down the shadowy hallway that led to Rinoa's room, he was tense enough to pay keen attention to everything around him: the intermittent humming vibration of the ventilation system, perhaps an air conditioner with a loose fan; the soft swwp sounds his boots made as they brushed against the carpet; his own quiet breathing, and the echo of all these sounds about the walls of the house, how they varied in pitch as each bounced back to him from a particular corner, and how these variations changed as he moved from one end of the hallway to the other.

Despite Rinoa's assurances, he felt no safer in the mansion of a suspicious man than he would have in a hotel room in a city governed by a suspicious man. If anything, he felt all the more in-danger. But Rinoa had needed rest, and it would have been pointless to try to rent out another room. The explosion had left nothing to serve as evidence as to what had caused it. Squall had never heard of such a thing as a magically designed bomb, hadn't any idea how someone would go about fashioning such a thing, but he'd seen stranger things in his lifetime. What he didn't understand, and what bothered him, was who the explosion had truly been aimed at—himself, Rinoa, or the both of them?

And unless Caraway had told someone, how on earth had anyone known they were here?

These things still on his mind as he came to the door to Rinoa's room, Squall had to remind himself to open the door quietly, so as not to wake her—assuming she was asleep. She hadn't "spoken" to him at all in the past hour, and her mind had remained silent, so it was fairly safe to assume that she was. He momentarily doused his troubled thoughts in case they might unintentionally reach her. The last thing Squall wanted was to worry her more, much less wake her up in the middle of the night at the fault of his own anxiety.

The almost absolute darkness of Rinoa's room made the meager light of the hallway seem like sunlight beaming in through the half-open door Squall slipped silently through. He had to wait a moment for his eyes to adjust enough for him to make out the vague outline of her bed in the far corner of the room. Rinoa was a black figure laying there in the acute darkness, Angelo a featureless mound of fur beside her. He could see enough to tell, as he approached, that she was curled up with her back facing him, and knew by her mental acknowledgement of his presence that she was indeed not asleep. Nor, he got the impression, had she been for some time. If she'd slept at all.

She turned around on her side to face him as he came to kneel by the side of the bed, watched him fold his arms atop the edge of the mattress, heard him sigh wearily as he rested his chin in them. She didn't need to ask where he'd been for the past hour. Even if she hadn't been able to hear his agitated thoughts and feel his frustrated emotions, she would have guessed he'd tried to talk with Caraway. It appeared, not surprisingly, that he'd had little luck trying to get anything out of the general. Rinoa reached out and lightly ran her fingers over Squall's hair in a note of sympathy, continued to do this when she felt him relax a little at the gesture. Poor Squall was none too skilled at dealing with people at all, much less someone he was angry with, and it was obvious he had painfully frayed his patience.

Squall hid his face in his arms. Somebody give me a gun, some rope, and four chocobos—that man needs to be shot, drawn and quartered.

Rinoa hid an amused, wry smile in the darkness, brushed Squall's hair away from his hidden face, continued to toy absently with the soft strands as she whispered aloud in answer. "Too bad you left your sword back at the Garden."

This brought little more from him than a dry snort of a laugh, a shaking of his head that caused his bangs to waver such that it looked as if an oddly colored grass had grown up over his coat sleeve. A nearly inaudible "mrrm" that Rinoa guessed was supposed to be a groan—or a poor imitation of one—confirmed his utter annoyance. Good thing I didn't bring it, or I might have killed someone already. Again, he was half-serious.

"Don't feel too bad," she consoled. "I learned a long time ago Caraway's the most impossible man in the world to reason with."

"Not really," Squall mumbled, his voice further muffled by the sleeves of his jacket. I think he deludes himself more than anybody else. He's a really, really bad liar, though.

"Not that I disagree," Rinoa almost laughed, "but I'm not quite sure I follow…"

Squall lifted his face from his arms and again, but didn't exert the effort to tilt his head up at all, instead rolled tired eyes upward to stare past the hand that was playing with his hair and into Rinoa's shadowed visage that was just becoming discernable in the darkness of the room. "…'slike he starts making excuses for everything he does," he explained, words slightly slurred from both fatigue and a certain unwillingness to pay any more attention to formal speech, which he'd had quite enough of in his talk with Caraway. "Then he starts telling me stuff about what he did years ago and why—like I'd care—but he really isn't talking to me at all when he says it. He's talking to himself. It's actually kind of creepy, in a way…" He closed his eyes. "He reminds me of those mentally disturbed doctors or mad scientists or abusive teachers or whatever, the villains you see a lot in old movies… I'll bet he looks sophisticated as hell in public." Another sigh. He was looking up at her again.

"He's not too far from it," Rinoa muttered, not a little bitterly. "Disturbed, I mean. The only people who know he's messed up are his daughter and her boyfriend." She smirked. "Guess that makes us the heroes of the story, right?"

"Not me," came the tired growl. "I'm tired of being The Good Guy. Someone else wants to save this country, fine. I'm just here to make sure you get your dog back." Squall glanced over at sleeping Angelo, who seemed oblivious to their quiet conversation. "I already saved the world. If this guy wants to screw up his city, it's not my problem." He lifted his head from his arms and gently shook away Rinoa's hand. "But I don't wanna stay here if stuff like this keeps happening."

"I'm not leaving without Angelo," Rinoa returned firmly.

"I know that. I don't like this place. Too much has happened here."

Did you tell him about us? Rinoa's thought was sudden and not really meant for Squall to hear, but he caught it anyway.

"He figured it out. I think he knew before, though. I just don't think he wanted to admit it to himself."

"He didn't like it, did he?"

"Not exactly, but I don't give a damn what he thinks."

Neither said anything else for a minute or two, and Squall noticed again the intermittent humming of the ventilation shafts above them. It was beginning to get on his nerves.

"How come you didn't sleep?" The conversation jumped again. Squall placed a hand over Rinoa's, watched her expectantly.

Rinoa shrugged, threaded her fingers through Squall's. "Couldn't stop thinking about everything, I guess…"

"What 'everything?'"

"I mean everything." She laid her head down, blinking slowly. "About how we're going to get Angelo back, about what a filthy jerk my dad's being, about the explosion, who might have done it—" A woeful edge crept into her voice, "—all the clothes we lost because of it…" She smiled when she felt Squall's mental strain as he kept himself from rolling his eyes. "…and like you said, everything else that happened here: Edea being possessed by Ultimecia; me being foolish enough to go after her by myself; those gargoyles." A small giggle. "Carbuncle." Her smile faded quickly, though. "Talking about Seifer before Irvine tried to shoot Edea. Everything that happened after that. You know."

Squall didn't look at her. "Yeah. I know."

Rinoa watched him for a moment, a hint of sadness and frustration tugged at her. "It still bothers you. Every time it gets brought up, you block it out and change the subject—and don't look at me like that. I noticed it a long time ago. I'm around you too much not to."

Squall lowered his eyes, hung his head to stare at the fabric of the bed's comforter. His hair fell forward to shroud his face. His voice was a snarl that might have been intimidating if it hadn't been so weak. "Whatever…"

"Please, Squall," Rinoa keened insistently, "don't 'whatever' me about it, this time. It isn't like you can hide it from me, anyway."

"I'm not trying to hide anything," Squall jumped to defend himself. That would be pointless. "I just don't wanna talk about it, okay?"

"Why? Because you don't want me to know?"

"Because I don't wanna think about it. You're right, it bothers me." Though his words were irritated, he stared at her, and his eyes begged her not to push the subject any further. "I don't want it to haunt you, too. It isn't worth freaking out about." He got no response, directly, and it took him a moment to piece together her scattered thoughts and feelings into a coherent answer. Once he had, he sighed quietly at the meaning of her thoughts, if not any words that had come from it.

The more you don't tell me about it, the more I think about all the things they could have done to you. A lot those things are not pleasant at all.

Again Squall looked down at the mattress. Please, don't make me talk about this now. I'll tell you later, just…not now. I'm too nervous to handle it now. Later. When we're not in so much danger. Or at least when I don't feel like we are. Later.

Rinoa nodded slowly. "Okay…I'll accept that. But sometime. I'm not going to just let you keep slipping though my fingers about this."

"Anything else, Your Highness?" Royal Pain In The Ass. Squall was kidded her with a wry smile, though Rinoa got the impression his annoyance with her prying wasn't completely feigned. "I'm your humble knight."

"Humble, nothing!" Rinoa reached out and playfully messed up his hair. "El rei leon with a military diploma."

Squall squinted and blew his bangs from his face. "It's one in the morning. Are you gonna move over, or do I have to kneel here all night?" And where did you learn that name? You've been talking to Jorge too much.

Rinoa looked a little nervous, despite the light air of Squall's first, verbal question. "Are you…I just don't want him walking in, and—" I talk to Jorge about once every decade. He used that phrase to refer to you when I was around him. I think it's cute. Besides, he's your student. Sue me.

Squall cast an uninterested glance over his shoulder, toward the door. "So, what's he gonna do? Beat me up?" Sure. How much? I hate nicknames.

"Right. I'd like to see him try. That would make my day." Why?

"Oh, man. An excuse to knock his lights out would be…what am I saying? I sound like Zell." I don't know. I just don't.

"He can do things like that to you." Well…then get over it! It's just a term of endearment.

"Who, Caraway, or Zell?" No. I like my name the way it is.

"Both." You're no fun.

Brief silence.

"Whatever." Whatever.

"Whatever." Whatever.

Both SeeD and sorceress broke into quiet laughter at their own thoughts and words.

Squall recovered first, but Rinoa, still giggling, took his other hand in her own. "Only we would sit here at one in the morning having double conversations with each other and end up at the same conclusion for both of them."

"Yeah…" Smiling in the darkness, Squall stood slowly, reluctantly pulling his hands away as he sat down on the edge of the bed, went about ridding himself of boots and jacket. He felt particularly lazy at the moment and simply tossed the articles to the floor next to him. With the jacket gone, grey short-sleeves left his arms bare to the cool air of the room, and a brief, hackle-raising chill rushed through him. "Does this room have a thermostat anywhere?" he asked over his shoulder.

"No," Rinoa chirped, eyes closed, intoning silently that this was yet one more of the many annoying inconveniences that had plagued them since even before their arrival.

Figures. "Terrific. This thing have covers?" Squall half-expected her to say no.

Instead, she said nothing, but sat up, brushed her hair out of her eyes, and stood up just long enough to throw back the edge of the thick comforter.

She misjudged the toss, however, and accidentally threw the covers over the sleeping Angelo, who woke with a startled 'snrrf' at being suddenly enveloped by a poofy layer of fabric. "Oops." Laughing quietly as Angelo crawled out from under the fold, Rinoa briefly hugged the dog about the neck.

Squall watched all this take place with silent amusement. He remembered what had happened on their trip in the cargo bay of the Dollet sea ship. "Is he gonna be sleeping in here?"

"Yes," was the immediate answer. "Don't worry …it's a bigger room, and there's ventilation…so I doubt your nose will keep you up."

"If you say so." He was admittedly skeptical. He hadn't known he was allergic to dogs until he'd suffered two days in a small cargo room with Angelo, during which time he'd gotten next to no sleep. He wasn't exactly thrilled at the idea he would once again be spending the night in the same room with the animal. He moved to the other side of the bed, and shifted the subject a little, to discuss a different annoyance. "Everything else aside, do you think Caraway's going to let you buy Angelo back?" He pulled the covers up over his shoulders; he was very cold all of a sudden. "I don't wanna stay here any longer than I have to."

Rinoa seemed to have noticed the chill, too, had wrapped herself up as snugly as possible. "You've said that already. I think he will. He's going to take his sweet time about it, though."

Angelo settled himself at Rinoa's feet, curling up as he had before, oblivious to the chill of the room. His ears pricked up to listen to the quiet conversation.

"I really don't understand this guy. He's too smart to be acting this…stupid."

"I've been saying the same thing since I was twelve years old. Welcome to the family."

"Sorry if I'm not too ecstatic about it."

I never thought of you as much of a family person, anyway…not at the moment, at least.

The discussion was lost to silence. I'll pass on that subject. I'm not thinking that far. It hurts my head.

I don't blame you.

How long do you think we'll have to stay here?

I really don't know. You're obsessing about this.

I really don't want to be here.

Somehow, I don't think dogs, generals and magic bombs are the only reason you don't like it here.

Three things, really…

What are those?

Squall opened his eyes and turned to lay on his side, facing her. This whole Angelo thing…it's annoying. I wish your dad would just sell the damn dog to you and not make an issue out of it. Two, I really feel like something's after us. Maybe I'm being paranoid—I don't know, exploding hotel rooms have a tendency to put me on edge. But the other thing is…I just don't like even thinking about this place…just being here kind of gives me the creeps.

I see…and the other one?

That's it. I said there were three.

No, there's a fourth one. Rinoa was smiling slightly.

What?

You can't act innocent forever.

…Yeah, well, I wasn't going to say anything…I'll live.

You'll get grouchy after a while.

I'm always grouchy.

You'll get more grouchy.

Take a look at who you're talking to.

Laughing silently, Rinoa moved closer to him and hugged him affectionately. I love you, Squall. She didn't need to see him to know he was allowing himself a small grin. Grouch though you are, you're my grouch.

Right. I'm grouchy enough for both of us.

Nothing helps a bad mood like spreading it around. Nuzzling into his neck, sighing wistfully, Rinoa felt Squall's arms close about her shoulders, and much of her tension faded, she relaxed her body with another fatigued sigh.

Squall wasn't especially tired, himself; weary, but not sleepy. But Rinoa's relaxed state had its effect on him, and he found himself drifting after a few minutes of silence. The cold of the room was less noticeable, the warmth of darkness and body heat slowly curling around him served to deepen quiet serenity. So much had happened that day, and now, to just lie here, to fall asleep peacefully and away from the chaos, was a relief that came somehow unexpected.

In a short while he was so sedate, in fact, he almost did not notice when the door to the room slowly opened. Heavily, Squall managed to open his eyes to thin slits, enough to see the dim light beyond the door filtering into the room to outline a tall figure that stood motionless as a statue in the entrance. He knew at once it was Caraway, and forced himself to keep his eyes open. Gently, he coaxed Rinoa's consciousness from light sleep to waking awareness, all the while remaining motionless save for his breathing. At Rinoa's initial confusion, he quickly explained, wordless thoughts warning her of her father's presence in the doorway. This served to rouse her completely out of sleep, and she opened her eyes slightly. She did not move otherwise.

…What is he doing? Her first thoughts in coherent words were nervous, suspicious of the man she knew stood staring at her from yards away.

Just standing there, right now.

Rinoa felt Squall tense beside her, took some assurance in the tightening of his protective grip. She tried to keep herself rational. What could Caraway do about them, anyhow? Nothing at all. It wasn't his decision. If he had a problem, he'd be too cowardly to march in the room and object. Not with Squall here.

She closed her eyes again, staying motionless beside her love, who was tense and attentive as any waiting predator. Forget Caraway. As long as Squall was with her, she probably wouldn't have to deal with her father.

But Squall warned her awake again, she opened her eyes just enough to see Griever's outline lying beside her on the mattress. Caraway was stepping through the door. His paces were slow, uncertain, he kept glancing this way and that as though afraid someone was watching him.

If only he knew, she thought wryly, that I can see him without even having to look at him. She vaguely wondered if, and doubted that, Caraway understood the magnitude and flexibility of her abilities, much less when combined with Squall's power. She could see through her knight's eyes as she was doing now, take control of another person's mind if she so desired and exerted the effort. No, Caraway only knew her as "his" daughter. What a fool. He was so ignorant of his own family because he was too wrapped up in himself to notice the place of the people around him.

Just keep quiet if he comes close, Squall instructed her, a hint of disdain lining his thoughts.

Rinoa said and thought nothing back to him, simply acknowledged him. Inwardly she shrank a little. Squall had heard her angry thoughts, and his firm if subliminal reprimand sobered her resentment somewhat. It wasn't any help to allow her caustic feelings to simmer, and letting herself grumble about her father served no purpose but to make her anger worse. It solved nothing, and she knew it. Reveling in her own power would do no good, either. Chastened, she kept silent and watched.

The Figure Caraway did not come too close, stopped feet away from the bedside and stood staring mutely. Squall kept his eyes nearly closed, but trained on the man nonetheless. Inwardly, he began to get irritated. You've confirmed your fear, Caraway. You can't do anything about it. So get out of here. Quit staring like it helps. Under this annoyance was the silent hope that Angelo would not wake and give Caraway a reason to come closer.

He won't, Rinoa relieved him of the worry. I've made sure of that.

Caraway continued to stand where he was, apparently there for the sole purpose of standing, staring, and thinking. A few minutes passed, and Squall could stand the silent scrutiny no longer. After warning Rinoa that he was about to do so, he opened his eyes the rest of the way, blinking as the light from the hallway caught his vision. Slowly, watching Caraway warily, he lifted his head from the pillow some and eased himself up enough to lean on one shoulder. He did not break his embrace with Rinoa.

Almost immediately, Caraway averted his stare to the side, pretended uselessly that he had not been looking at them at all. No sound came from him. It was as though his presence was a mere apparition.

As Squall's eyes adjusted, he began to make out some features of the silhouette of the general. Still he could not see Caraway's expression. He released an audible sigh, continued to watch to see if the general would look at him. No such luck. Ever so quietly, as though to avoid waking the apparently sleeping Rinoa, Squall murmured, as much to himself as to the general, "You just had to make sure, didn't you?" Either way, it was a rhetorical question.

Again there was no answer. Caraway did not look at them again. He simply turned away and walked slowly back to the door, pausing only briefly before exiting into the hallway. Quietly, he shut the door behind him.

Squall relaxed again, settling down with every intention of sleeping. And it occurred to him that the shutting of the door had been the first action he had seen on the general's part that had shown any hint of honest respect.

Miss Satel was the only semblance of a servant in Caraway's Mansion, had in years past been something of a family member to the Heartillys. For years, she had acted as cook, maid, and keeper of the house in Caraway's absence, and to look at her, one might assume she was any kindly old soul. She was the sort of "elderly" figure a person would treat with the utmost respect no matter what they thought of her, simply because of her appearance and compassionate manner. If the subject of her age ever arose, she would smile and cast a sideways stare that gave one no choice but to believe her, would always declare she was "one past fifty."

Miss Satel had been one past fifty for five years now.

Rinoa had told Squall all of this on their way down the stairs that morning, and it was a tumult of information that Squall's mind did not choose to register immediately. He'd acknowledged Rinoa, of course, and he had listened. He was simply in no mood to process any such knowledge at the present moment.

Squall had not slept well. He hadn't been particularly tired when he'd managed to fall asleep, and even afterwards his mind had been fitful. It had jostled him awake from dreams bordering on nightmares that he had been unable to retain the memory of by the time he opened his eyes. He hardly had to think to make an educated guess as to what the dreams had been about, however—and what had caused them. Not all of his tension was caused by restlessness alone.

Even now as he sat idly at one end of the kitchen table, staring at his breakfast but not touching it, multiple worries tumbled about his mind.

Who had set the magical explosion, why, and what did Caraway have to do with it? More and more, Squall was beginning to suspect that it actually had little to do with Rinoa and himself. People who were the base target for hit men, unless they were some sort of celebrity (or a well-known power, for that matter), weren't the victims of bombs. No, bombs were the cheap, easy way of getting rid of an inconvenience, and were far from foolproof. Any number of things could go wrong with such a tactic—it could fail to detonate (magical or not), or there would be some way of escaping harm, as Rinoa had done by shielding herself. Likely a magical explosion such as that would not have harmed Squall at all if he had been there; he had Guardian Forces enough to give him protection from the strongest of normal magic. Rinoa was not so well fortified, but as she had demonstrated, there were other ways of keeping oneself from harm. Even the right thing to hide behind might do. If whoever had set the explosion had known Rinoa was a sorceress, they were either very foolish or very careless. Hence Squall doubted that there was some great conspiracy against him, or even Rinoa. If that were true, their attacker—or attackers— wouldn't have risked the unreliability of an explosive. Squall found it questionable that Rinoa was even the intended target; judging from Caraway's odd behavior before the incident, and his obstinate attitude about the subject afterward, it seemed more likely that the attempt was misdirected. Once again, Squall felt hunted. He couldn't make any real assumptions one way or the other, but he could not shake the feeling that something—someone—knew where he was and when, at all times. But he hadn't enough information. Perhaps the attack had been random, and they'd been caught in the middle of an act of terrorism. Perhaps they'd walked in on an entirely different situation altogether, the likes of which Squall hadn't the foggiest idea.

Which led on to the next troublesome thought. If someone knew he was here, then he or she also knew that he was not at Garden. And how many times had he left for a day or two, only to return to find another battle in progress, or worse, one that had played itself out without him. What was happening at the Garden, now?

He reminded himself that he wasn't the sole protector of Garden or SeeD—they were formidable forces on their own. With the losses Galbadia had suffered, Squall doubted even that great empire had the nerve to make another attempt on Esthar any time too soon.

Yet another curiosity—the entire country of Dollet was again free of Galbadian rule. So why was this city still called Deling City? Why was Caraway still allowed to so much as live there, to say nothing of his current rule over it?

Why was the general being so obviously elusive, and continuing to play the ignorant party when it was just so clear that Squall had at least partially found him out? If the man was involved in something dangerous, why was he being such a snake about keeping Rinoa with him?

Just what the hell was going on?

Squall cursed himself for being so deep-minded. He'd promised himself that he wouldn't become involved in anything other than the task of helping Rinoa bring Angelo back to the Garden. Then again, he hadn't expected anything such as this would happen. Should he have? He couldn't wander around everywhere thinking that every second, someone was out to get him. Yet, at the moment, that was exactly how he felt. Given the circumstances, how could he not think about it all? He closed his eyes and rubbed ruefully at his brow with the edge of one hand. He was so confused.

"Are you not feeling well, Mr. Squall?"

The question startled him out of his reverie, and he looked up and over his left shoulder to find Miss Satel peering at him with concern. Only then he realized he'd had his hand at his forehead. He hadn't noticed the action. It was a habit of his when he was thinking about something unpleasant. "No," he answered flatly, in a low tone that was not rude, but nor was it too polite. "I'm fine." He went back to staring at his untouched food.

If there was a way to mentally giggle, Rinoa managed it in that instant.

Squall cast her a sideways glare, watched her grin wryly at him from the seat to his right. What's so funny?

"Oh, you." She surprised him by answering his question aloud. He looked over his shoulder nervously, to his momentary fear saw that Miss Satel was still standing there, watching the both of them with a hint of knowing amusement on her face. This only made Rinoa laugh again, this time audibly. "It's a little obvious you have something on your mind." As she said this, Angelo, who had long since finished his own breakfast in the corner of the kitchen, raised his head quizzically from where he lay on the floor between Rinoa and Squall. He sat up, his ears swiveling with interest.

Miss Satel laughed, too, a raucous cackling that might have sounded evil if it had come from anyone else. "Oh, not to worry, Mr. Squall! It's no surprise you're mulling things over, what with that scene at the inn and all this business about bombs and whatnot. Must be a terrible bother!"

Squall didn't look at the woman, simply nodded somberly and picked at his food with his fork, pretending to eat and all but ignoring Angelo's nosy attempts to get his attention. He gave the dog a brief scratch between the ears and a piece of bacon, then waved the animal away. Angelo whined and laid down again, gnawing appreciatively on the treat.

Rinoa scolded Squall silently, You could at least try to be personable. And quit playing with your food. If you're not going to eat it, then don't mess with it.

Irritably, Squall leaned back in his chair, tossing his fork onto his plate. It landed with a clatter. Yes, O Queen of Etiquette.

Rinoa sighed audibly but let the subject drop. Fussing at Squall for little things wouldn't do any good right now. He was too busy brooding over too many worries.

Speaking of that… Squall crossed his arms, closed his eyes for a moment in both fatigue and thought. Kind of weird that she hasn't asked me to take my coat off, like every other formal place I've been to. Does she not care, or is she the only person in this world who understands just how cold it is in this house?

It took all the self-restraint Rinoa had no keep chewing and not laugh. Only you would think about something like that at the breakfast table. And only you think it's cold in here, Squall.

Miss Satel again walked up behind Squall. "Is there anything I can get for you, Mr. Squall?"

He waved her away. "Not really." People have an obsession with surnames and titles around here, he observed meaninglessly. The fact annoyed him. He didn't like anyone calling him "Mr." It didn't sound right to him.

Rinoa finished her meal, took her napkin from her lap and placed it on the table, and stood, pushing in her chair as she did so. "I'm going to get cleaned up," she announced, and turned to leave. Squall was about to get up to follow her, but didn't get the chance to move an inch for her stern command in his mind. Stay.

Squall watched after her as she left, confused, at first not certain if the word had been meant for him at all. When Angelo got up and followed her from the room, he scowled and leaned forward slightly, propping himself up with one arm on the table. He grumbled sardonically to himself, with every doggish inflection, "Woof."

She hadn't said so, but Squall knew she was tired of his foul mood, and eager to get away from it until he calmed himself down. Only a moment later, though, he realized her other reason for telling him not to follow her—and it was quite a valid one. Much as he didn't care what Caraway thought, it wouldn't do very well for him to follow after Rinoa only just after she had left to "get cleaned up." He hadn't thought about that until after Rinoa had already gone from the room.

He continued to grouse to himself. Everything about this trip has been a pain… Squall watched Miss Satel take Rinoa's emptied dishes away, and only a moment later found himself addressed by the old woman again.

"Won't you eat anything, Mr. Squall?" It was a question to which she already knew the answer—that much was evident in both her tone of voice and her expectant expression.

Squall shook his head no, found his place cleared even before he had the chance to speak the single word. Instead he stayed where he was, spoke up only enough to be heard. "Could you not call me 'Mr.'? I hate it when people do that." Half of him hoped the woman's hearing was faded enough not to have picked up his words.

No such luck, but her reply wasn't the rebuttal about being rude that he had expected. "All right then." The tone was not angry, nor even irritated. Squall was glad about this; normally he wasn't too careful about the way he spoke to people, but in such a case as an old woman like Miss Satel, he would have felt guilty, had he offended her. He might have decided to get up and leave then, not to follow Rinoa but to go somewhere else. He didn't, though; where else had he to go? His indecision ultimately subjected him to Miss Satel's attempts at conversation. "So tell me, Squall, how long do you think you two will stay here?" She was the first person that had asked him that question without the pretense that he wasn't wanted. She was also the first person to ask about "you two." Before it had simply been "you."

"I don't know. As long as it takes for us to get Angelo back, probably." Squall felt that he was about to be dragged into a stream of smalltalk, and his mind scrambled for a viable excuse to leave the room, and a destination thereafter. He drew a blank.

"Surprising she would end up with a boy like you," she went on, rather ungraciously. "Rinoa is so personable, but you…just seems so unlikely, given your disposition."

Well, at least she was honest about it. "It's a long story," he muttered in response, trying to dissuade her from speaking with him while still looking for a good excuse to dismiss himself.

The response he got was almost the opposite of what he'd intended. "Well, knowing the general, you'll have time on your hands before that happens. We haven't seen Rinoa in nearly a year. Not since she left with you." She put some emphasis on the last word and continued as she went about washing the dishes. "We've heard very little about her since. I doubt her father would notice, but she seems to me to be a bit more established than she used to."

Something about the way the woman said this bothered Squall, and he turned halfway in his seat to look at her. "What do you mean?"

"A year ago, she would have come here kicking and screaming about Angelo…well, not quite, I suppose, but close enough. She used to battle with her father over everything. Quite hotly, too. Were it not for those two friends of hers, I doubt she would ever have learned to plan something out before making a fight about it."

Zone and Watts, Squall remembered. I wonder what happened to them?

"She seems quite certain of herself, now," Miss Satel went on, oblivious to Squall's thoughts. "And I do believe her conviction is quite unnerving the general."

Yeah, that and me. I make him nervous.

"She appears more a woman, now, than she does a girl."

Squall nearly jumped in his seat, Miss Satel's choice of words startling him more than he would have expected them to. Just words, you moron, he chastised himself, calming internally. Outwardly he'd shown no more hint of his surprise than a glance with his eyes in Miss Satel's direction. "She's been through a lot," he replied for the sake of replying, his voice louder than it had been before. Experience does that kind of thing to you. Compared to what she's had to deal with before, this Angelo thing is nothing. He hadn't noticed that his mind had stopped trying to come up with ways to slip away from this conversation.

Miss Satel had long since finished washing the dishes, had put them on a plate rack to dry, and was apparently busying herself by rummaging through a huge spice drawer and setting about reorganizing it. Squall wondered if she wasn't finding reasons to stay and talk to him. She laughed quietly as she "worked." "For what it is worth, I am proud of her. She has done better for herself than if she had stayed here. I do wish she and her father would patch things up, yet. Such a terrible pity, for them to still be at each other's throats after all this time."

Squall stayed silent, having nothing to say to this. He agreed with the woman wholeheartedly.

"Tell me about her."

He sighed a little, folding his arms on the edge of the table and leaning on them. "What about her? You can't just describe a person. Too much detail. " He looked out the huge windows on the other side of the room, watching cars roll down the road on their way to various destinations. Then, after a moment in which Miss Satel did not answer him, he spoke in a distant tone, "She's not what you'd expect." He looked away from the window and at the woman-still-organizing-spice-bottles.

Miss Satel coughed out a short, yelping laugh. "Ho! Good dear, she certainly isn't. But you'd have a hard time knowing that, unless you spend much time with her. In my experience, she can be quite a chore to live with at times."

Not really… "I guess."

"'I guess'? Oh, dear, now, you must have more of an opinion than that?"

Squall turned back around, shaking his head. "You'd get annoyed with anyone if you lived with them for long enough. It's just the way that kind of thing works. It's not something that should become an issue."

"Hm! If only the general and his daughter had had the same attitude about such things in the past! You're a smart boy, Squall."

Squall found himself having no comment with which to respond. "Whatever."

"Hah!" Miss Satel laughed again. "I understand what she sees in you, Squall."

Who folded his arms, scowled straight ahead. He knew he was being analyzed, and he didn't like it. "Yeah?"

"Oh, yes." She seemed quite confident. "You, you're a thinker."

Squall didn't give her the chance to say anything else. "We've been through a lot together. We don't need a bunch of reasons why." You build life out of semantics and it falls apart on you.

"What does she do nowadays, then?"

"…All that stuff you hear about Galbadia and Esthar—she helps us out with some of it…" He tried to be as vague as possible. He didn't feel like going into detail about just what Rinoa's occupation was about, and, admittedly, didn't trust anyone enough to speak about it.

"Ah, yes, you're military, are you? She's certainly there because of you, I would think. She's hardly material for an officer."

"She could be if she wanted to…and if she started earlier. She's got ability. She can take care of herself."

"Is she ever in danger, there?" The question was spoken as though asking the time of day.

"Sometimes…"

"Has she ever been injured?"

Squall was uncertain what this woman was trying to get at—if it was anything at all, or if the questions were simple curiosity. His answers were cautious, but honest. "Yeah…nothing she couldn't handle. Not recently, though, if that's what you mean." Unless you count what happened last night…

"Does she make trouble for you?" This question was tainted with a note of amusement.

"Not any more than I make for her." Squall scowled as this answer seemed to bring about a spell of cackling laughter from Miss Satel. He wondered if he hadn't just been the butt of some joke.

"That, I will believe." Finished with the reorganization of the drawer, the old woman walked over to a seat two places down the table to Squall's left, stiffly pulled out the adjacent chair and sat down in it, seeming relieved that she was no longer standing. "She always has been a right-back-at-you sort of person." She looked Squall in the face, smiling kindly. He avoided her stare. "Why come with her on a trip like this, when you must have more important tasks to do out east?"

Because I was afraid something like what happened would happen. Because I don't like her dad, either. A lot of reasons. Why is she asking me all this? "Just…wanted to stay with her." He realized too late how that sounded, elaborated quickly, "I know how she is about Caraway. I wanted to be here if something happened. If she needed me. Why does it matter?" He lost patience in his own answers.

"I'm sorry." Miss Satel laughed again, but this time at herself. "I'm interrogating you, aren't I? I don't mean to, Squall. You see, I have not seen Rinoa in so long. For months I have wondered what has become of her…" For the first time since Squall had met her, Miss Satel's face creased in concern.

"Then why are you asking me?" Squall cast an almost angry stare at her. "Why don't you ask her?"

"You have been with her for all this time, haven't you?" Miss Satel's expression and voice indicated no accusations; she wasn't asking him for the sake of being judgmental.

He relaxed some. "Yeah…" What's up with her? She seems like she's worried about something.

Miss Satel folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them—something, Squall couldn't help but notice, that Rinoa did when she was admitting something. "She was a precious child. Now I hardly know her. She has never worked well on her own. My hope would be that, outside this house, she doesn't have to. And I worry…what has happened to her, to make her so strong? She was never a petty girl, but until that business with her Forest Owls group, she was untouched by any real danger. Now, it seems almost as though she is used to it." She looked up again to face Squall's intent stare, peering at him inquisitively.

Squall had watched her as she said all this, leaning on one arm and absently resting his other over the top of the back of his squarish, wooden chair. He said nothing, simply met her stare.

"I know she is not fragile," the old woman's voice became but a whisper, "but you must understand, I have known her since she was born. I care for the child… She is a capable girl, but I worry for her." She smiled at him, hopefully. "Surely you understand that?"

"Sure." He waved his hand vaguely without removing his arm from the top of the chair. "So what are you trying to ask me? Or say to me, or whatever."

Miss Satel looked away from him and again to her hands. "She seems to trust you. I've not known her to misjudge anyone. Yet I know nothing about you."

Squall showed the first sign of amusement in this conversation. "I'm not the Bogeyman."

"No, I should hope not. But that isn't it, exactly…"

"What is it?"

"You said she is often in danger?"

"As much as anyone at the Garden."

"Yes, yes… Tell me, Squall… Would you give your life for her?"

Squall had half-expected a question such as this, and nodded ever so slightly. "If I had to."

"But?"

"Not in a second, if that's what you're worried about. I'm not gonna throw away everything just to look heroic. That's not courageous, that's stupid. I think…unlike some people." I'm not a hero wannabe…I'm not a Seifer. "Rinoa's more resilient than you think." He watched her smile again, guessed that her worries had been at least somewhat relieved. Then, almost as though it were unimportant, he added quietly, "And she's never alone."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Rinoa. She's never alone…" Squall knew his words were confusing, even nonsensical, but didn't elaborate.

"Never at all?"

He shook his head slowly. "…Not ever." He watched her reaction closely, trying to discern if the gravity of what he was telling her was sinking in at all. He didn't expect it to. For now, that was fine.

Miss Satel could not help a nervous smile. "I'm afraid I don't understand…"

"Of course you don't," he told her levelly. "There's too much to explain. A lot more has happened than you'd guess. Like I told you…" He paused very briefly, then lowered his voice. Quite obviously, his words were not a continuation of his previous sentence. "You want to know what her life is like, then ask her; there are some things I can't tell you." His eyes darted almost imperceptibly to the door of the kitchen, and Miss Satel followed his stare.

Caraway was coming toward the door, an unusually somber expression on his narrow-eyed face. How Squall had seen the man coming was lost on her.

"Excuse me," Squall muttered darkly as the general walked into the kitchen, and got up from his chair. He nudged it back under the table with his foot, cast Miss Satel a look that bordered on being apologetic, and left the room, not so much as pausing to glance at Caraway as he passed.

At this point, it didn't matter where he went, as long as it wasn't here.

General Caraway waited until he had heard the door to the front of the house close before he said a word to Miss Satel. "Did you talk with him?"

The old woman shook her head. "He is difficult to follow in conversation, General Caraway…" She scowled, an admonishing edge to her next words. "You've misjudged him. Badly, I'm afraid."

"Why?" Caraway seemed rather fettered at the accusation. "His way of life itself is too dangerous for her. I won't have my daughter hardened to battle like some soldier!"

"Forgive my insight, General, but I'm afraid you're far too late for that." Miss Satel's voice became one of disgust, and she stood, walked to stand a few feet from Caraway, though keeping her distance from him, as though he reeked of some foul smell. "You are right—he is dangerous. He speaks with the air of one who is friend to peril. But I warn you, Caraway, you misjudge him—" She held up one finger, seemed ready to shake it at him.

"I want her safe, Miss Satel, that is all that matters to me." Caraway's interruption earned him another scowl, this one darker than the first. She spoke needles to his ears.

"Staying here with you is no safe haven for her. You are too far in over your head as it is. This is no place for her, now. You must take care of your own matters, first. I told you this would amount to nothing, and you have not listened. Yet you are about to make trouble out of nothing. It is not Rinoa you should be worrying about right now, it's you. What has happened here is in no small part your fault. The boy has a right to be angry with you. Look in his eyes when you talk with him about Rinoa, Caraway."

"I have. And I see nothing. It is why I'm worried that—"

"You see nothing!" Miss Satel exclaimed.

"He is too cold, Miss Satel."

"If there is anyone here who is being cold, it is you." She turned her back on him, sat down again in her seat. She propped her elbow on the arm of the chair, leaned into it with a fluid motion that belied her age. When she spoke again, it was almost to herself. "I fear, General, too cold to recognize a caring heart when you see one. I am just an old woman. Yet, I have trouble asking him the questions you want me to ask of him. There is no doubt in my mind that he truly loves Rinoa. Were I you, I would at least try to see him for something other than a trained attack artist. He has been nothing but honest and outright with you since day one. Still, you do not trust him. It is you who hides." She turned in her seat, fixed the general with a doleful stare. "What has happened to you, Caraway Heartilly? Did Julia's death rob you of all your senses? Have the Galbadians brainwashed you into being so unearthly rigid?" She released a heavy sigh, shook her head sadly. "You have never been so naïve as I see you now."

"I am not naïve, Vera," he argued, addressing Miss Satel by her first name in his fervency. "She is in as much danger with the likes of SeeD and Garden—particularly with him—as she would be if she spent every night in a dragon's lair."

At this, Miss Satel cackled, almost wickedly, and answered him with a disappointed expression and wry words of admonishment. "General, no matter what the circumstances…" She sported that sure, sideways smile that was such a trademark habit of hers, held up one finger to lean it toward the general, not quite pointing at him. "My dear Caraway, Rinoa is safer with that boy than she would be if she had an army of dragons to protect her."

Damn… Squall kicked at a stone that was conveniently near his boot, watched it clatter down the walkway leading from Caraway's mansion. He'd had to end the conversation with Miss Satel as best he could. He could hardly have continued on such a note with Caraway in the room, and now he feared that by leaving so abruptly, he'd made himself seem as though he had some great secret to hide. Perhaps he did. But their talk had ended awkwardly, without a chance to explain himself, without a chance to truly understand what it was that she had wanted of him.

He felt bad. For no other reason than he thought he'd confused old Miss Satel, likely frightened her as well. That's what I get, I guess. Vaguely he wondered whether she had mentioned their conversation to Caraway once he had left. It didn't matter. Caraway saw Squall as a threat—that much was obvious—and there was little Squall could do to worsen that situation. It seemed like an excuse, though—all this fuss over a dog, a hotel room, and a princess-slash-sorceress's "boyfriend?" Squall wondered not for the first time if Caraway saw Rinoa as anything but a princess that was not acting like one. One would think the general had more pressing matters to waste his resources on. And yet…

Squall couldn't help thinking that everything—this hot little feud that existed in a family that could hardly be called one, Caraway's constant attempts at putting up a façade that he hadn't the practice to maintain, and even the talk with Miss Satel that had taken place only a minute ago—all seemed shaky, displaced. The only person whose attitude Squall understood was Rinoa's, and that was by default. Caraway certainly had all the quirks that Rinoa complained about, and Squall could understand why she despised him so. But something about his refusal to admit to anything at all, was uncharacteristic of him. He was attempting something that he wasn't good at: lying. It was as though he was doing so because he had been told to, not because he would have in the first place. The same with Miss Satel's questions, which had seemed…recited. She'd looked almost ashamed of asking them. He'd gotten the impression from the beginning that she had tried not to hurt his feelings.

But all these conclusions were nothing more than speculation, and Squall knew it. He couldn't, and would not, make an issue out of something that might not exist at all. Perhaps Miss Satel was simply worried about Rinoa's wellbeing. Perhaps the general had simply used Angelo to bring Rinoa back because he wanted "his" kid home with him. Perhaps General Caraway was simply nothing more than an aristocratic asshole. Perhaps it didn't amount to anything—Just get the dog and get out of here.

But what if it did?

Squall had developed a feeling that gnawed at his insides; he hated that feeling. It always meant that something wasn't straight, and that the distortion was a potentially dangerous one. Why the hell am I thinking this much?

"Well, let's see—" Squall turned around to see Rinoa walking towards him from across the lawn. Apparently she'd chosen some other exit from the house, and had come around. She stopped in front of him, smiling. "You don't talk much, you have a troubled past, you have a habit of thinking too much, your mind goes at crazy and reckless speeds from one thought to another, and, oh, did I mention somewhere in there that your name is Squall Leonhart?" She placed a gentle hand on his chest, over Griever, and beamed kindly up at him. "He's just that way sometimes, you know." She leaned against him. "Plus things haven't exactly been going right since we got here." She cocked her head to one side as she looked up at him, added wearily, "Surprise."

Squall ignored the fact that the last word had been sarcastic. His brow raised slightly in a bemused expression that brightened his solemn face a little. "Yeah…you're wearing yellow."

Close to him as she was, Rinoa hadn't expected this answer and laughed. "Yes."

"And denim? I don't think I've ever seen you wear shorts, except with that…blue thing you wear, a lot. With the wings on the back?"

"Yes, I know what you're talking about. I only wore it every day of last year, just about. Anyway, I still have some things here that I left behind. …Is there a problem?"

"…No, no," Squall stammered. "You just…never wear anything that isn't blue. And I thought you don't like jeans. Or you didn't. I mean—" He stopped himself, realizing he was blundering like a fool, and just smiled. "You look nice." He shook his head, glanced over her once more. She still sported his ring as always. Only her attire was different. But what a difference.

Rinoa giggled at his dumbstruck expression, then hugged him tightly about his middle, practically jumping at him. "That was priceless."

"You're playful this morning." Squall regained his composure, but didn't manage to rid himself of a small smile, nor did he try to.

"To offset your bad mood," she kidded, leering up at him with a disapproving expression that did not last for long. "Come on. Let's not let all this stuff get to us, okay?"

"I'll try. What are we doing?"

"Standing here talking, and I'm hugging you." She tightened her hold on him, grinning pleasantly.

"Besides that…" You know what I mean. Nevertheless, he found himself embracing her in return, closing his eyes with a sigh of quiet relief. It was good to know she wasn't still irritated with him. He lowered his voice to a murmur, leaned forward enough to speak close to her ear. "You act like you have something in mind." When she looked up at him, about to answer, he interrupted, still keeping his voice low and smiling softly. "And don't think you can deny it." He'd caught the playful excuse she was about to give him, utilized a phrase she so often used on him. "Out with it."

Her smile faded a little, not from worry but thoughtfulness. "Actually, what I have in mind can't happen until evening. I have a friend here, who leads a band that plays at the Gate…it's near the carousel clock. You've probably seen it."

"Yeah…but I remember it being Gate Club, not just Gate." Squall was admittedly skeptical; the word "Club" did not hold a good impression in his mind, and he was wary of any place that sported the title.

"It's not that kind of club! Don't worry so much. I wouldn't go to places like that anyway."

"I know, I know—" Squall held one hand up a little defensively. "—sorry. What's the guy's name?"

Rinoa laughed a little. "His real name or the one he goes by?"

"The one he goes by, I guess."

"Skip. It's not anything original. His real name—now that's original." She rolled her eyes, though she seemed more amused than exasperated. "How's Roseblat for a given name?"

Squall sneered. "Not exactly what I'd call flattering." He folded his arms, closed his eyes. "This is why I'm glad I got to choose my name. Or my last name, anyway." Roseblat. Hell. "I'm afraid to ask about his last name."

"Brown," she answered dryly. "Talk about contrast. Roseblat Brown. Terrible, isn't it?"

"Yeah." As they spoke, they had started walking, almost unconsciously, side-by-side along the curb. Squall hadn't really taken notice of their meandering until now, and glanced around him with a bored expression. "So we can go see this friend of yours tonight, what about now? Not to bring a sore subject up, but aren't you going to start trying to work things out about Angelo any time soon? Nothing will happen if you don't, you know."

"I know…" Rinoa hung her head a little, stared at the ground for a few paces before looking at him again. "I still don't know what to say to him… He's a spoiled brat and won't do anything that he doesn't want to unless you can find a way of forcing him."

Yeah, I agree with that, but a lot of this is just because you don't want to face him. They passed another, older couple on the sidewalk, and Squall instinctively continued his muted conversation with Rinoa. It was a reflex, a paranoid one; he didn't like the idea of anyone listening in on a one-on-one discussion he was having. Particularly with Rinoa. And he doesn't like me, anymore, I can tell you that. But that's actually the part of how he's acting that I halfway understand, and…I don't want to hang around if I'm not wanted. "I just don't wanna cause any more trouble than I have to. Seems to follow me around wherever the hell I go." His voice sank to a snarl of mild irritation. "I should have the surgeon general's warning plastered to my hand or something."

Giggling, Rinoa acknowledged his point. "Oh, people never listen to those things, anyway," she said, still grinning.

Squall appreciated the sentiment, but disliked their sidetracking from the original subject. "No, they don't—are you gonna talk to your dad any time soon?"

"I'm not sure…" She looked a tad guilty, for a moment. "I keep telling myself I'll do it 'tomorrow.'"

"Tomorrow doesn't exist. You can only live in Today," Squall pointed out. "And I'm not gonna talk to him for you."

"I didn't ask you to." Rinoa frowned. "I just wish I knew what to say…I don't have a plan of…of anything. And I know you don't know what to do any more than I do…"

Squall stopped suddenly, looked up. Rinoa felt his thoughts transition from the Dog Dilemma to something else, and a brief wave of nausea made her falter. But that feeling was gone; Squall had fought it away.

They were standing not far from the outside entrance of the gates of Deling City. Before them yawned one of the giant, spear-toothed maws of the archway.

Squall stared at the needle-sharp points of those teeth, suddenly lost in a memory of watching them from above, watching the gates fall three stories to bite at the asphalt road, trapping Sorceress Edea within their bars. Rinoa nudged him, but he would go no further.

"Come on…" She pulled on his arm, and he looked down at her with narrowing eyes. Still he would not budge. "You've had worse happen to you. You can't just avoid everything that reminds you of a bad experience. It wasn't even on this side of the road."

Seeming to shrug off his reverie, Squall sighed quietly, nodded. "Yeah…sorry." He made a point to tell himself not to think about it. Any of it. "Anyway, all I'm saying is, if we're gonna stay here a long time, I want to know." They'd started walking again, picked up the pace a little as they passed under the first set of gates.

"Well, define 'a long time.'"

"I don't know. Three weeks? A month? Anything like that. I just don't wanna be hanging around hoping we'll be leaving the next day when we're not going to be. I hate waiting on things like that. If I know ahead of time, I'll find something to do so I don't end up sitting on my ass the whole time." This is almost as bad as all the emissary crap I had to deal with in Esthar last year. Squall loathed to even remind himself of the mindlessly boring alliance negotiations that lasted hours, the day-long waits in the extravagant, but equally boring hotel rooms. Never again did he want to have to amuse himself by staring out the window and watching small aircraft fly past.

"I don't know," Rinoa answered him after a long silence. "But…plan on it, I guess. "

"Great." Squall kept himself from glancing across the road at the opposite walkway. "Now I just have to find something to do." No sooner had he said this when a harsh, metallic-sounding crack startled both of them into a dead stop.

It seemed to Squall that his heart missed a couple beats. That sound was hauntingly familiar. A reflex born of instinctual alarm caused him to whirl halfway around, his scowl darting to the peak of the giant archway. He froze. He watched the huge, black spikes of the gate start their plunge downward, saw them drive into the paved ground with a crash. Behind him, the same sound of a hitch being released, the creaking sound of massive chain reels rang in his ears. The second gate followed the first, trapping the doomed inside the archway. It was suddenly dark out. Golden eyes targeted him, froze him in place. He couldn't move. A crowd was screaming at him. He was so cold, he could not breathe. He was falling.

Squall!

Rinoa's sharp voice in his mind brought him back to the present. He became aware of her hand on his shoulder, and turned his head to stare numbly at it. His heart still pounded in his ears. He fought back a tremor.

"Are you still with me?" Rinoa narrowed her eyes at him skeptically, uncertain if he'd fully brought himself out of his short, conscious nightmare. Her hand tightened on his arm.

Squall drew in a slow breath, embarrassed and determined to steady himself. He looked back to the archway. Indeed, the gate had started to fall, but unlike the scene Squall's mind had conjured, the huge metal barrier had caught itself in mid-plummet, and was on its way back up. The chain reels creaked, but not in the rapidly descending fashion Squall had imagined he'd heard. The gate at the other end of the arch had not budged to begin with. "Yeah," he murmured quietly, removing his gaze away from the harmless spectacle and folding his arms. His stare lowered, narrowed to mere slits, scowling at the offending ground. "I'll survive." He closed his eyes, closed out the vision, closed out the memory. Closed out the nightmare.

Rinoa watched him carefully, worried for him. Though he'd done little more than stand and stare at the gates when he'd first heard the sound, Rinoa had felt his livid panic and seen the images his mind had conjured, and knew that a far more violent reaction had taken place inside of him.

Someone shouted at them from across the street. "Hey, you guys alright over there?" Rinoa looked to see an aging, rather plump-looking man emerge from a door that led inside the wall of the arch. He looked to be a maintenance worker, with a thick belt lined with every genre of hand tools strapped snugly to his large middle. He flicked a cigarette to the ground and stepped on it, adjusted a worn, dark blue hat atop his head and cast them a crooked grin. "Looks like I gave you a little scare. Sorry about that." He indicated the gate, which had resumed its usual position at the top of the arch. "Was working on a stuck cog. Got it working again, as you can see, but I forgot to put the locks in place. Damn near scared the hell out of me when the whole thing started to drop. Glad you two weren't under it, if I hadn't been able to stop it right away."

Squall seemed to be ignoring the worker, so Rinoa answered, calling across the way. "Oh, we're fine. Just a little startled, that's all. Next time look before you work. You should have put up some construction tape or something."

"Yeah, sorry again. Hey—" The man motioned vaguely at Squall. "Haven't I seen you somewhere before?"

It took a mental reminder from Rinoa for Squall to realize he was the one being spoken to. "Maybe." He glanced in the man's general direction. "I couldn't tell you."

"Eh, well," said the old worker, "I guess I'll think of it later. Back to work for me. You two have a good day." He waved briskly, turned around and disappeared through the door again.

Whatever… Squall wasted no more time standing there. He wanted to be out from under that damned place. Without a word, he started a swift walk for the other side.

Rinoa had to run a few steps to catch up with him, and decided it would be wise not to speak again until they were well away from the doorway of Squall's recent, nightmarish past.

*

Angelo was bored.

He lay on his stomach, head between his paws. For the past two hours, he had waited in this fashion by the door of the mansion's foyer. The dog released a very human-like sigh through his black nose, and once again trained his equally black eyes on the door. He gave a quiet, frustrated whine. Rinoa hadn't returned once since she'd left that morning. She and Squall—the one Angelo had come to think of as Rinoa's significant other—had been acting oddly as of late, and their strange air of anxiety unsettled him. He wanted to understand what was upsetting them. It was not unusual for Squall to be dark of demeanor. That was common enough. But Angelo knew that a frown usually meant unhappiness in people, and he had seen Rinoa frown five times in the past two days. Even Rinoa's father and Miss Satel seemed unnerved for some reason.

So he was worried. He could not see an immediately evident explanation for everyone's foul mood. No one was missing. No one was sick. No one was hurt or in danger. What was the problem?

Angelo had heard his name many times in the past few days. He knew that some great discussion was about him. He knew words, too, like stop, you, me, easy, wrong, problem, can't. Many others, but he had heard these more frequently and when they were said, it was usually just before or after his name was mentioned.

There were other words, too. Words he didn't understand like keep, sell, situation, complicated, and lie (when not followed by the word "down," or "here."). None of these words were descriptions he could understand or things that he could do, hear, see, taste, feel or smell. He'd heard these used close to his name, too.

There had been an odd scent about the house. It smelt of tension, perhaps danger. If this was what everyone was reacting to, then Angelo could understand why Rinoa was so uneasy. But Angelo didn't know what caused the smell, and therefore he couldn't do anything to stop it. He'd tried. He'd searched the entire house for the source, but the tense odor seemed to come from everywhere. Strangely, when Angelo left the house, the smell vanished. It wasn't a wonder Rinoa and Squall stayed away from the house so much. But why, then, did they leave him here?

Angelo's ears pricked up. Someone was at the door. But not the foyer door. A knocking was coming from one of the three doors at the other end of the house. Angelo listened. The middle back door. He stood up, turned and gazed down the long hallway, past the stairs and kitchens, powder room, and into the den at the far reaches of his clear vision. Beyond the wall of the den was a hallway, with three doors to the outside: one on each end, and one in the center. The two on the end led to small balconies with stairs to the ground not ten feet below. The center door led to another balcony, this one with no stairs. The knock had been from the outside. How had someone gotten onto the middle balcony without stairs? No one had gone out that door. Angelo would have heard that.

The knock came again, and this time Angelo heard booted feet rushing across the wood floor to answer it. The sound of the door opening came, and with it were muffled voices. None of those voices were raised in jovial greeting. They were all solemn and lowered and one had a very, very strange accent. Angelo could not make out any words. The remnants of a breeze from the briefly opened door wafted into the foyer, and Angelo tentatively tested the air. He licked his nose in puzzlement. Along with the usual outdoor scents were the smells of four living things: Caraway, and four others that the dog did not recognize, all male.

Curiosity peaked, Angelo padded down the hallway, head low as though stalking through underbrush. He decided to have a little fun and "spy" on the guests. It wasn't like there was anything better for him to do.

As he came closer, the voices became clearer. Yes, there was definitely something very strange about one of the voices. It was not normal. Too low, too sylibant, too throaty. It was not the voice of a human. It was the voice of an animal. And it was speaking human language!

Angelo crept to the wall that barred him from the room with the activity. He could hear the voices clearly, now, though he understood only a little of what was said. Caraway's voice, tense and anxious, burst forth in a whispered torrent of reprimand.

"You were supposed to arrive last night. And who gave you permission to bring these things into my house? Haven't you heard of the front door?"

"Too conspicuous," answered another human voice in a light, patient tone.

"You call this inconspicuous?"

By now, Angelo had managed to inch along to the edge of the doorway, sliding along on his belly like a furry reptile. He peeked his muzzle around the doorframe, pricking his ears to hear and twitching his nose to smell.

Standing at the balcony door, opposite Caraway, where two humans—and two monsters who had somehow squeezed themselves through the entrance. One man, he who had spoken a moment ago, was lithe and pale, narrow eyes and cropped black hair painting a visage of slyness. The scent of his uniform smacked of Galbadia. The human beside him was a child, very

young and small. He had his head bowed to the floor. He seemed in a stupor, unaware of or uninterested in all that was around him. And he looked somehow familiar…

The monsters were equally large and little. The smaller one was a shady-looking creature, devil-like. It was short, pink, toothy, and its huge yellow eyes scanned the room with unholy curiosity.

The large one was a blue-tinted dragon, hunchbacked and jut-jawed, with an arrow-point tail twice as long as its body was tall. It stood upright, at least ten feet at the shoulder, shifting its weight from one foot to the other. Short wings that looked more like webbed hands wavered restlessly at its back. It was from this beast that the next human words came, in a voice guttural as a boar's.

"Therre wur…comp-li-cayshunss," the creature gargled, unnatural intelligence alight in its eyes. "We…wur not awarre of ssurten…difficultees. It sseem't prrudent that we sshould rrecalculate owerr pozisshyon. G-g-kh! The daughter is a ssorceress, and a SseeD iss wwithh hur! Theesse, you did not mmenchyon to uss. What we wannt to know nnow, iss why? Why not tell uss?"

"How should I have known!" Caraway snapped in frustration. "You said the explosion was to be a diversion! You nearly murdered my daughter! I should be the one asking the questions, because I am the one who must deal with her, and her…companion." He finished abruptly. "I have no obligation to answer to you."

"Of course you don't," said the human stranger calmly. "I am not a villain, my good general. As I explained to you before, I intend no one any harm. And no harm will come to anyone, so long as you allow me to do my business unhindered. I assure you, if I had known that your daughter would be staying anywhere else but her own home, I'd have consulted you, first."

"How close are you to being done, here?"

"Close. We abandoned the excavation last night because of variables we have already cited. We will try again…later. We have yet to determine a date."

"And…no more blowing up buildings, if you please."

The younger man offered a dismissive wave. "Oh, very well. We will think of another way. I wouldn't want any undue casualties. Human collateral damage is not a stain I intend to leave on my resume." He pressed his palms together as if praying. "But I promise you, the beast will be removed. We will solve your problem before it starts, General Caraway."

Caraway nodded slowly, but only seemed to sadden at the reassurance. "I am no general," he murmured. "I am just an old fool whom nobody knows is a fool."

"Oh, come, come, now," the strange man scolded. "Cheer up! You'll be rid of us in a few days, eh?"

"I am still a pawn of your brutal society, Jack."

"But a living pawn." The man turned away then, in preparation of walking out the door. "Just be glad about that, General. There may not be a sorceress war any longer, but we still exist. Galbadia lives on, and as long as it does, so shall our 'conquest' of this world, as you so call it."

"It's useless, you know. You're too disorganized to rule a world."

"Perhaps. For now. But one day, I pledge, Galbadia will triumph. Maybe not in my lifetime or yours, but one day. There is no empire that has survived so long, General Caraway, not even the fabled Centra, and we will continue to survive and flourish."

Caraway responded only with silence and a leer full of contempt.

"Come, boy," the stranger barked, and beckoned to the child, who obeyed mindlessly.

Angelo sniffed again at the air, carefully. The child's smell…also familiar.

Caraway watched mutely as the dragon ducked its head neatly under the doorway, tucked its wings by its sides and wriggled through to the outside, followed closely by the man, child and other demonic creature, all of which climbed atop the dragon's hunched spine and rode it to the edge of the balcony, where it leapt off—and was seemingly gone. No sound of flapping wings, nor thump of claws on the ground not far below. Nothing.

Angelo scurried away quickly when the general retreated for the hallway. As quietly as he could, the dog hurried back to the foyer, where he set down beside the door once more, looking no more, no less bored on his patient vigil than he had an hour ago.

Caraway stepped into the hallway and made his way to the stairwell. He didn't give Angelo a second glance, or a first one, for that matter.

Before the general had disappeared up to the second floor, Angelo thought he heard a choke—and then the sound of a crying man vanished behind one of the mansion's thickest doors.

"You know, it's nice," Squall murmured as they rounded the corner to the first strip mall of the inner city, "…just to be away from everything for a little while. By ourselves."

Rinoa turned away from a window display she had been scrutinizing. "We don't get much time to take walks like this back at the Garden," she said. Then, nodding, "I thought it would be good to forget about everything for a day."

"Just as long as I don't end up playing the coat rack, again." Scowling deeper, Squall glanced with disinterest at a passing window shopper. "I've had enough for one week. Of everything."

"Squall, don't pout. You know I wasn't planning on that."

"I also know you can't resist a good sale when you see one."

"If you wanna say something, just say it."

"I wasn't saying anything."

"Then why were you fussing?"

"I'm not fussing. I thought I just gave you a compliment."

Oblivious to Squall and Rinoa's quibbling, the stretch of shops were just beginning to buzz with customers. Busses ferried people to and fro, pigeon hawks waited atop old smoke stacks for an opportunity at lunch. It was a very different city in the daytime. Bright, peopled, but not too crowded. Pleasant.

It was an easy-going atmosphere that Squall wished he felt. Oh, he wasn't particularly anxious about anything specific, and his short spat with Rinoa didn't last long. Despite everything that had happened, he wasn't in a bad mood. In fact, he felt unusually perked, ready to do something. He dared to think that he might actually have some entertainment while he was here. Rinoa was right, of course—just a day to forget about everything.

He still felt like a ghost, walking these streets.

As far as everyone here knows, I died here…if anyone even remembers what I look like. Even Caraway had shown obvious surprise at Squall's appearance. There was something the SeeD didn't like about this place, a lingering nightmare, of sorts…

He forced himself to put the feeling in the back of his mind. It's not important… His brooding was interrupted; he felt Rinoa come up behind him, her hands slip under his jacket to slide soothingly up his back, stopping at his shoulders. He closed his eyes, chastising himself even as her touch eased his discomfort. She could feel his worries, his fears, his suspicions. How often it was that he forgot this seemingly obvious fact. She had only to pay attention while he was lost in his dark muse of apprehension. Had anyone else had this ability over him, he would have considered it intrusive. With Rinoa, he felt simple relief that there was someone else in this world who truly understood why this city made him feel like he was sinking. Drowning in memories.

He stood with Rinoa at the street curb, waiting for the next opportunity to cross without running the risk of being flattened by the vehicles of never-watchful drivers. Already he'd passed up three chances. His mind was too preoccupied with itself and Rinoa, who was further distracting him from the traffic by holding onto him tightly from behind. He was thankful the general population seemed too busy with their own affairs to notice the embarrassing antics of the young woman tacked to his back. Smirking, he half-turned to snatch at her. "Do you mind? I'm trying to cross the street, here."

She evaded him deftly and continued to hang onto his waist. "And I'm trying to have a little fun," she returned. "Squall, stop moping and thinking so hard for once. Get a grip. We're here to have a good time, remember?"

"Sorry."

Rinoa laughed and, without warning, dashed across the street. Well guess what? You're It!

After recovering from his momentary bewilderment, Squall abruptly forgot his woes, allowed himself a wry smile, and chased after her.

Such a wonder, that He would have chosen such a fool. Well, I suppose I should have expected it from him, all death and destruction that he is. He would choose a charge such as that boy. Idiot. Ungracious imbecile! A boy—hardly nineteen, for that matter—and this girl. They're powerful, for certain. But why, why, my love, why choose such obvious imperfection? I know why. They are like we were, once. I know. That attracted you, didn't it? Fool. You are such a fool. What else have you unlearned in my absence? That love is a dangerous and futile effort among opposites? Ha! How right you were! How I should have listened…

But there they are, flirting and romping with each other through streets of the pompous, without a care, with pure freedom. Freedom of children.

That bitch Phoenix. You dare to call them your children. You, who are not even as old as I, dare to call any earthly thing your child! Why bother? All ends in death, even for us, we who call ourselves immortal. It must. There is no other way. No other end. Hyne was right. She was absolutely right. We should have listened to her.

I can smell Hyne's power in the boy and his mate. Yes, those two are eternally connected—of such bliss I wish I could have retained the memory! Alas, it has left me.

But what did you see in them, I wonder? Love, why did you choose this boy? Why Phoenix's 'child'? He has strong emotions connected to this place. I wonder what memories drive him to feel so powerfully? I can't recall ever seeing him here in my brief periods of wakefulness. Yet, I can feel he has been here before, and recently. I shall have to investigate this matter. Much has happened during my slumber.

Is it they whom you have sent to save me, love? I can only hope you are right, and I am the one who is delusional.

Sleep. It is coming again…

"Gotcha!"

Squall swung around the corner of the alley, ambushing her, and caught Rinoa around the waist just as she turned on her heel to flee. Smirking triumphantly, he leaned back against the brick wall of the building, breathing heavily as he relentlessly clutched a giddily grinning Rinoa against him. "You're 'It,'" he rumbled breathlessly.

"Okay. I give up." Rinoa giggled in shrill glee as she squirmed in a not-too-serious attempt at escaping Squall's arms. "You win," she panted, ceasing her struggles and leaning back into his supportive embrace. None the worse for wear, Squall took the time to catch his own breath.

It had been hide-and-seek with no bases. Particularly interesting, since Rinoa could make herself appear and disappear at will, while Squall had the ability to sense her location, invisible of not. Eyes closed, he took advantage of this small moment of quiet, filling his senses with her presence, more than a simple sense of her location. A reminder to himself, a wonderful one, that he belonged to no one but her, and that as long as he was with her, everything would be all right. Replacing the fading adrenaline of their game, an absolute peace in the act of standing there, holding each other for no other reason than they wanted to. Squall tilted his head back, finally calming his drumming pulse and heavy breaths. He smiled. Love did not get any simpler than this. And it was wonderful.

"I could just stand here for the rest of the day," Rinoa mused aloud.

Squall nodded silently. It sounded like a good idea to him. Maybe, for once, nothing interesting will happen.

"Ho, look-ie here," came a raucous voice from above them, "isn't this sweet?"

Squall, startled out of his sedate daze, opened his eyes to see someone crouching on the roof of the building he was leaning against. The sun was high, and he couldn't see much of the man except a dark blue silhouette, but he could discern the shape of a knife in the shadow's hand, and knew instantly they were in trouble. Thought too soon. Damn. Of all the types to catch them romancing in an alley, it had to be the local street thugs.

Rinoa heard Squall's thoughts, and was ready when he pushed her away from him. They both spun around to stand back to back in the center of the alley as nine of the alley crew fell from above, with a dozen or so more remaining on the rooftops, all armed with knives or brass knuckles. Squall plucked three of them from the air as they jumped down, hurling each man aside and sending them skidding on their backs; one such unfortunate soul was thrown straight into the wall, his head cracking against the brick. The unlucky boy—couldn't have been older than sixteen—fell into a heap and did not move.

The others were out of Squall's reach, and two of the downed gangsters eventually got up and rejoined their comrades. Squall and Rinoa were surrounded. It was a narrow alley, and there was not much room to move.

Neither Squall or Rinoa had much fear of the brutes, some of which were a head taller and much broader than Squall. As the lanky-looking thug who had spoken moments before—apparently the oldest of the gang—circled them, Squall assessed their situation, creating escape routes in his mind, gauging his ability against their arsenal of manpower. He counted his blessings and hoped he didn't have to kill anyone else to get Rinoa and himself out of this. He relaxed and let his hands down by his sides, deciding not to give any further indication that he was quite ready and able to defend himself. Better to let them underestimate him, and Rinoa. There would be fewer casualties that way.

Any ideas? Rinoa asked him silently, pressing her back against his when the gang's skinny leader came a little too close to her for comfort.

Just wait for an opportunity. Best if you don't draw attention with magic. It's one thing if there's a SeeD in town. It'll be another if they find out you're a sorceress.

Sounds like a good idea.

"Rough couple," the talkative thug was saying, oblivious to their unheard conversation. He was a scruffy-looking guy, sandy-haired and somewhat scrawny. He came around full-circle to stare Squall in the eyes. "Took out Little Nick. Bad move, my man." He waved his dagger-armed fist in Squall's face. "Gonna have to pay for that, you know."

Squall sneered. "If money is what you want, I don't carry cash."

"Who said I wanted your money?" The thug displayed a grin full of yellowed teeth, and glanced around at his gang, which laughed. "Pocket change ain't my style. Naw, man, I don't want your wallet. I want your coat."

Squall raised his eyebrows. "My coat?"

"Sure. Thing's gotta be worth two 'er three thousand gil, somethin' like that. An' it'll keep me warm at night, see? I'm a practical kinda guy, man, I take what I need. Way I figure it, if you rich enough t' buy yourself a coat like that, you can get another one anytime. So I take the coat, we let you go. I get a new coat, an' you get your lives. That way, we'll all be happy. Simple 's that."

Squall glanced around. He counted twenty three thugs in his immediate range of sight. "I don't think so," he snarled quietly, formulating a plan in his mind. If he could get the knife from the skinny one's hand, he could use it, could get himself and Rinoa out of the alley in a manner of seconds and leave only injured, not dead, gangsters behind.

"Aw, now that's not the kinda attitude we take kindly to 'round here." The thugs gave a collective murmur of threat, some taking a step closer to their "victims," a few more jumping down from the rooftops. "Just hand over the coat," said the skinny one, "and you and the pretty lady can go free. We won't have to add any more scratches to that girl-catchin' scar-face a' yours." Smirking, he waved his knife at Squall's face once again.

Now, Rinoa! Get down!

Squall's hand struck out and caught the skinny thug's wrist, twisting it and snatching the knife away in the same movement. Ducking a swing from one of the bigger, taller men, Squall slammed the butt of the dagger into the back of the lanky thug's knees, forcing him to the ground. He watched Rinoa slip through a breach in the circle of men that had surrounded them, and hurried to follow her. He stood and caught the arm of another thug who had tried to stab him, kneed the man in the groin, and ducked between two more confused gangsters. A gun went off somewhere, and the ground exploded next to him.

He and Rinoa got halfway down the alley before they found themselves surrounded once again, by more men—and a couple women, Squall noticed—who had jumped down from the roof to cut them off. Now the group was giving them a wider berth, and parted when their lanky spokesman pushed through their ranks. The leader snatched another knife from one of his buddies, and stalked toward Squall with deadly intent in his eyes.

Squall relaxed and, even before the man could reach him, tossed the dagger he'd taken to the ground. "I don't want any trouble," he growled. "Believe me, you're only hurting yourself by trying to trap us here. Let us go, and we won't cause any problems."

"Shut your mouth, pussy rich boy!" Someone yelled from the rooftops.

The leader picked up his discarded dagger, and held both weapons ready, one in each hand. "That was a damn fool thing you did. You think I'm messin' with you, you son of a bitch?"

Rinoa started to say something in Squall's defense, but he held her back, pleading with her not to speak.

"Just let us go," he repeated, shaking his head. "It's the last time I'm gonna ask."

"What'chu think you are, man? You think you can get past all of us? You think I'm gonna buy your shit? Gimme the damn coat, an' I'll think 'bout lettin' you go."

Rinoa couldn't help herself any longer, she pushed past Squall's restraining arm and stepped forward. "If you need a coat, then ask for one! You don't have to steal it." She turned around to address the rest of them. "We'll be happy to buy one for each of you, if you need coats. Please…" She looked at the thin leader again. "Put away your knives and guns. We'll help you if you don't hurt us." A shadow overtook the alley as the sun hid behind a cloud.

The leader sneered, almost laughing. "Bullshit. That's bullshit, lady."

"It is not," Rinoa returned stubbornly. "I'm not lying to you. If you'll just put your weapons away, we'll get all of you coats, and meals if you need them. You don't have to steal anything or hurt anyone."

Squall could hardly believe his eyes. The group seemed to be buying it—not that it was a lie, but it surprised him to see the previously incensed leader hesitating, glancing from side to side as if to seek assistance from his homeless army. "Well…I dunno." He took a sudden, threatening step toward her, and Squall quickly interposed himself between them. "Gimme the proof," the lanky man spat. "I wanna see that shiny blue credit card you say you got. Show me this ain't no bullshit."

Squall sighed. He supposed it couldn't hurt. Credit cards were fairly secure. Waterproof, magnet-proof and DNA-tagged so that they couldn't be stolen, they wouldn't function unless their true owner was holding them. He fished in his pocket for the object, pulled out the blue-colored, paper-thin circuit card and held it up for the thug to see.

The leader's eyes went wide, and he snatched the card away, staring at it. "I ain't never even seen one o' these things before." He looked up at Rinoa, dumbfounded. "You mean you for real?"

Rinoa grinned. "Absolutely."

"You ain't never seen one," called the outspoken voice from the roof, "so how y' know what you're lookin' at 's real? Could be somethin' else, they're jus' trying to call it a credit card!"

"Yeah, an' he killed Nick, too! What 'bout that, Marley?"

The lanky leader, evidently Marley, spun around and hissed, "don't call my name, fool! I'll shove th' card up your sorry ass if y' don't shut up!" But he turned immediately on Squall and hurled the card back at him. "Take y'damn card back, man!" he barked. "We don't want it, an' we don't need it! What I need right now, is that coat o' yours. My man's right. We can't trust you. Now pay up, or I'll shut you up!" Again he brandished his knives.

Squall sighed again, shaking his head. He'd almost dared to hope Rinoa's idea would pull through.

A sharp series of barking sound echoed down the alley, and one of the thugs howled in pain and anger, kicking out at a growling canine that had suddenly rushed in from behind and bitten him squarely in the calf.

"Angelo!" Rinoa started forward, but Squall caught her and held her.

"Get off me, bitch!" The man under assault from the dog's teeth kicked out and backed away a few steps. Angelo let go, and slipped through the opening in the wall of people, running toward Squall and Rinoa, and taking up a protective stance in front of the former. Angelo barked loudly, baring his teeth at Marley and snarling when the man came a step closer.

Marley laughed, waving a dagger at the dog. "Lookit th' pooch! Guess we're gonna have two coats to wear when we're done here, eh?"

Rinoa again had to be restrained by Squall. "Don't you touch him!"

Marley lunged at Angelo, who backed up toward Squall, still barking. Marley's hand got too close, and Angelo rewarded him with a sharp nip on the knuckles. Marley yelped in pain. Rinoa cried out for Angelo to get away. Squall seemed preoccupied, staring at the scene dispassionately.

Marley slashed at Angelo, but missed. The dog whimpered once, then continued barking. "'Zat your dog?" Marley shouted to Squall. "'Cuz in a second, that mutt's gonna be a dead carcass!"

Squall looked up from the ground he'd been staring at, and smirked slightly. At first he said nothing. A peculiar sound, like that of squeaking hinges, sounded somewhere in the distance. "He's not my dog," he answered finally. The alley had become suddenly, queerly silent. Calmly, Squall raised his hand and pointed at a place somewhere behind Marley and his entourage. "That's my dog."

A deep growl, like distant thunder, shook the alley, causing gravel to rattle on the asphalt beneath the gang's feet. Slowly, each member of the crew turned around to see what Squall was pointing at.

Marley's jaw dropped. "Holy—!"

Three heads, grey as ashes with eyes of sickly yellow, glared down at them. Three sets of dripping, fanged jaws snarled a warning thick with fetid breath. The monster, a huge, three-headed demon-dog, all flesh and muscle and lashing a massive, reptilian tail, flattened its ears and howled hideously. Cerberus tossed his heads, towering over the humans in all his dark splendor. Barely able to fit in the alley and yet somehow managing to do so without much difficulty, the Guardian Force lunged forward and snapped at the thugs viciously, snarling and snorting and yowling in rage. At Squall's request, he was aiming more to terrify than to injure. He did a good job of it.

Marley whooped and scurried out of the way as the monstrous dog snapped at him with one of its heads. "The dude's a SeeD! Scram! Get the hell outta here!" Not willing to stay to say more, Marley whirled, and sprinted with his comrades down the alley and around the corner, running as fast as his thin legs could move him. The rest of the gang scattered, shouting, cursing and screaming, from the nightmare dog that howled and lunged for them from the alley.

Once the thugs were gone, Cerberus gave one final, tri-throated howl for good measure, and vanished into a cloud of slowly dissipating mist. The distant, unnamed gate slammed shut moments later.

Squall finally let go of Rinoa, who knelt by Angelo. "You all right?" he asked her seriously, watching as she hugged her dog gratefully.

"I'm fine," she answered after a few seconds, glancing over her shoulder. "You?"

"None the worse." A little pissed off, though.

She nodded in agreement. I can imagine. A quick check revealed Angelo was free of injuries, and after standing again, Rinoa and Squall wordlessly turned and ran in the opposite direction of the gang's alleys, eager to put some distance between themselves and Marley's crew. Angelo followed close behind, whining softly all the while.

Have I been awake, all this short time, or have I been dreaming? My thoughts, my visions, follow this boy and his lover. Is it a muse? Or am I hallucinating once again? I once thought I'd found a tunnel of truth in this chaos…was I wrong? Love, hear me! Tell me what is true, what is real! This boy who carries the aura of your presence, there is something peculiar about him. It is…a scent, a smell. Sweet, not unlike that of death. Is he truly a living being? The sorceress who binds him is living, but I sense death in her companion. Yet he is not dead. I cannot place the feeling, this strange scent. Who is he, love? He has tasted death, like no other living being has…if he is alive, at all. Something strange. That is it. I sense no life, there. Only life force. Can it be? Is he living the same existence as I have been these thousand years? If it is so, then his is a waking dream.

I will concentrate. I will study this boy, he and his partner. I will discover this mystery, and in doing so, I will finally awaken, and begin my last desperate search for you, love! I will rise again, and find you. After that, we will never be apart, again. I swear it!

"How did Angelo escape your house?" Walking side-by-side with Rinoa, Squall passed the subway for the twelfth time that day. It was just past 9 PM. The sun was almost gone behind the buildings of the western horizon, and the streets had gone from packed to busy within the past two hours. Deling City was once again sinking under the familiar cover of night. The bright lights of the buildings obscured the stars, giving the sky a faceless, empty appearance. Even the giant moon, silver and imposing in the eastern half of the sky, did little to brighten the sullen appearance of the heavens. Street lamps crowded the moon's brilliance, tall structures covered otherwise clear patches of black sky. But despite the warring lights that lit up the night around him, Squall's thoughts were dark with uneasiness, and even a little sadness. He stopped at a crosswalk and glanced at Rinoa, who was staring down at Angelo by her feet, and hadn't heard his question. A few cars passed them while Squall waited for her to come out of her own shadowed thoughts.

Angelo whined softly, seeking Rinoa's attentions. When nosing her hand did no good, he licked at her fingertips, his whine growing louder and more insistent.

Startled, Rinoa knelt by Angelo and scratched his head affectionately, smiling a little at his contented expression of pleasure as she rubbed behind his ears.

Squall watched her, wondering silently whether she hadn't heard him at all, or if she was ignoring him. Cautiously, his mind prodded at her consciousness in an attempt to politely let her know he was trying to speak to her.

She noticed the mental "poking" after a few seconds, looking up at him over her shoulder while still petting Angelo. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"

Squall shook his head, waving his hand vaguely. "It wasn't that important. I was just wondering if you knew how Angelo could have gotten out of your house. Would someone let him out?"

"Not on purpose." She finished scratching Angelo's ears and started undoing a tangle in the dog's bushy mane. Angelo stood obligingly still. "He doesn't like to be kept in for a long time. He probably slipped out when nobody was looking." She smoothed out the un-tangled fur, and stood up, turning around into Squall's gentle embrace. She herself hadn't expected it, but took it in stride, figuring he'd known she needed the reassurance right now. Suddenly overwhelmed, she hid her face in his shirt, willing away tears what sought escape from beneath her eyelashes.

Squall sighed into her hair, threading his fingers through the dark strands and closing his eyes, standing with her in the yellow beam of one of the street lamps. The cold color framed their outlines, reflecting hot steel in his dark brown bangs, dull gold in Rinoa's jet-black tresses. He held her so close, he had to lean over slightly, with her tucked away protectively in his arms. Nuzzling the top of her head with his scarred brow, he whispered to her softly, voicing her thoughts aloud to himself. "…It's just not fair, is it?" He felt Rinoa tremble in his grasp.

It shouldn't have to be like that, she lamented silently. My father has enough money to give all those people homes, but they've grown up believing that all rich people are enemies, because of people like my dad. It's so bad, they can't imagine that anyone so wealthy could be kind, so even people who want to help them get threatened. She coughed while trying desperately to suppress her tears. "Why can't people who have a lot of money use it to help other people, instead of hoarding it all for themselves and spending it on things they don't even need?"

Squall said nothing; had no answer. They'd spent the entire day walking, hanging around shopping centers and talking about everything except what had happened to them earlier that day. Yet, both of them knew the incident had weighed heavily on Rinoa's mind, and more, her purpose for being here.

Squall wondered quietly and—he hoped—without Rinoa's knowledge, why she wasn't taking a firmer stand against her father. Why wasn't she demanding for him to release Angelo to her, demanding to be let go, herself, from his obsessive attempts at keeping her in the golden cage of the Caraway Mansion? It seemed unlike her, not to fight against something she thought was clearly, morally wrong. But it was her decision to make, not Squall's. She'd confront her father, he supposed, when she felt ready. At least for the moment, there was no hurry.

"Who knows," he muttered distantly, half-opening his eyes and staring vacantly, his thoughts focusing while his sight blurred. "Maybe someday it'll get better."

"Think so?" Blinking away wetness, Rinoa looked up at him for the first time in minutes.

"It could. Depends if enough people out there make it their business to change it." In the end, people will always do what they think will make life easier on them, he added to himself. If it becomes easier to feed and educate people than it is to throw them in prison, everyone will flock to the cause. But right now, it's easier just to lock them up and forget about them. Until that changes, there will always be people like Marley and his gang. Squall watched Rinoa's eyes glisten, and knew with a pang of regret that his thoughts had not been secret ones.

"If I were anyone else," she said quietly after a long silence, "I would start a movement right here and now." Her head bowed, her tears hidden behind closed eyelids. "But I have a different life, halfway across the world. I'm a sorceress, not a resistance leader. I have to be over in Esthar, helping to keep things straight there so the whole world stays peaceful. I can't stay here and help…I have to go back to a beautiful Garden and a shining, legendary city where no one is homeless." She looked up at him, searching his eyes for answers she knew he could not offer. "It seems like I should be happy to do that. When I think about it, it only makes me sad. Here, no one has the life that everyone has in Garden and Esthar. A strong and loving person would help if they could…" She paused for long enough to wipe tears from her eyes. "As soon as I get Angelo back," she managed, "I'm going home…away from this place. Why does that make me feel so horrible?"

Squall betrayed a slight, rare smile, a look gentle enough to diffuse any onlooker's doubt in his ability to feel compassion, despite the hard face and cold light. With a softness true to his expression, he brushed away the dampness from Rinoa's cheeks.

"Because," he said softly, "you are a strong and loving person."

Rinoa sighed shakily, half in relief, half in sorrow, salt again stinging her eyes. She closed them, feeling his lips brush her cheeks to kiss her tears as they fell. She knew he tasted those tears in his heart, as well; with his connection to her, he could feel every pain, every joy and every wish Rinoa experienced. So she held him tightly, sharing the helplessness, the sadness she felt inside her. For all her magical strength, she was powerless to help the alleys of this city.

Angelo nosed his way between their knees, standing tall and looking up at them both expectantly while they ignored him. The dog made no sound. It seemed he knew of their bond, and was not offended by it. Instead he waited patiently, panting softly and keeping his ears and nose pricked for anything interesting that might occur in this relatively quiet of nights.

A car lumbered by. A van. The dog and his two people seemed little more than colored sculptures on the sidewalk. No one walked past.

"I…I think we should go see Skip to…tomorrow," Rinoa sighed rigidly. "I don't want the chance he might see me like this." She smiled wanly. "Wouldn't be a very happy reunion of friends."

"Yeah…" I wonder if it's safe to stay at Caraway's Mansion tonight? Squall mulled silently to himself. He was listening to Rinoa, but his mind had wandered over the past few silent minutes, mostly into places he would rather it not go. The longer he was here, the more he was beginning to think that no place was safe.

"We should get back, anyway. It's dark out, and we don't want to run into any more…of them." Rinoa could not bring herself to use the word 'thugs' or 'thieves.' "We should at least get to someplace with a lot of people."

Squall glanced in the direction of the strip mall, wondering if Rinoa had read his mind, or she had simply been thinking about where to go in the first place. He decided not to ask. "If we go back to Caraway's Mansion, we'll be closed in. I'd rather be out here, where I can see…" He cocked his head over his shoulder, checking behind him, his body tense with a chill of paranoia.

Rinoa agreed silently, if only because she had no real preference, and because she knew Squall hated the feeling of being "caged"; though Squall was not social to begin with, an open-air strip mall milling with lots of lights and nighttime patrons would no doubt feel much safer to him than the enclosed campus of Caraway's abode. More room to move. Not so many walls to confine them.

"This way, Angelo." She beckoned to the dog as they turned to leave the spotlight of the street lamp. He willingly obeyed, taking up his usual steady trot by her side as they started off for…wherever. Rinoa wasn't sure she even cared at this point. She was tired, and the dull ache in her heart didn't want to go away. She cast Squall a sideways glance, marveling solemnly at the fact he was confident and clear enough about where he was going. She knew he was feeling her pain, as well. It never ceased to amaze her how he could handle it without feeling so spent and exhausted as she did.

Squall returned her look as they walked, the smile he'd worn not a few minutes ago still teasing at the corners of his mouth. It was a saddened joy he expressed in his eyes; he shared the weight in her heart, and he was proud, even glad to. Difficult as it could be, it was his privilege. She needn't have to bear any sadness alone.

Rinoa smiled back, still weary. But his expression gave her courage, and she picked up the pace. Maybe going to see Skip tonight wasn't such a bad idea after all.

The Deling City Merchant's Row consisted of ten straight city blocks, teeming with stores and restaurants, with the famed (and now scarred) Galbadia Hotel crowning the end of the giant shopping strip. It was different from the market area, which was open only in the daytime; patches of people hovered around bar entrances, florescent lights buzzed in advertisement of all manner of business, from the casual to the obscene, from the practical to the luxurious. A couple stray dogs wove between the legs of pub and diner customers, snuffling about on the ground in search of tidbits. Car horns honked in friendly greeting, and in aggravated impatience, as people crossed the roads from every which where, heedless of crosswalks or the slow-moving traffic. Drunk teenagers hung out the windows of rental cars and the lesser hotels, crowing at any girl who looked interesting, insulting each other's manhood, tossing cigarette butts to the sidewalk. If one were to judge from the condition of the strip itself, it would have appeared that Deling City was no less well-off than it had been years ago.

At least here, Rinoa thought with something like relief, nothing much had changed.

They walked past the majority of the shops without pause, Rinoa keeping a handful of Angelo's mane loosely in her hand to keep him from giving into the temptation to fraternize with the restaurant strays. Squall watched everything with a distrustful eye, pacing himself carefully amidst the throng of people milling about the sidewalks. But even he couldn't resist stopping to peer curiously into the window of a weapons store, and Rinoa had to pull him away by the sleeve of his jacket to keep him from wandering inside.

Finally, after passing a number of more questionable nightclubs, they arrived at the entrance to The Gate. It was an easy place to find, as much noise as was blaring from beyond its doors. Stage lights provided most of the illumination inside, spotlighting whichever band or standup comedian might be in charge of entertaining the night's customers. Rinoa snatched up Squall's arm and pushed back his sleeve to look at his watch. It was less than an hour before midnight. Skip and his group would be up soon.

As Squall shouldered through the narrow doorway, he was stopped short of entering by a tall, broad-shouldered bouncer, who glared at him around a thick nose. "You gots an I.D, kid?"

Rinoa tried not to laugh as Squall sighed, and fished around in his left rear pocket for his rarely-used Garden identification. He handed it to the guard, who snatched it away, leered at it skeptically for a moment. Then the bouncer's eyes caught sight of Balamb Garden's SeeD emblem in the upper left corner of the card, and his previously vicious expression lost some of its macho confidence. Eyebrows raised, he handed the I.D. back to Squall. "Er…there's a 200 Gil entrance fee for non-members," he informed them hesitantly, glancing behind his unusual customers and clearing his throat. "And, uh, we don't allow pets, 'less you're blind or somethin'."

Rinoa turned around to face Angelo while Squall went about paying to get in. "Wait outside for us," she told him with a smile, scratching him once more behind his ears while he whined happily. "And stay out of the street. Go home if you get bored. We'll be here for a while." She gave him one more head scratch and stood. Angelo woofed agreeably and parked himself outside the door, turning his attention to the constant stream of passing people to entertain himself, watching the throng curiously, hoping for the occasional friendly pat from a passerby.

Squall and Rinoa finally passed the entrance and entered The Gate, with the bouncer staring, dumbly humbled, after them.

Inside the relative darkness of the building, The Gate was a cacophony of noises, accentuated in dim blue light. Shouting, laughing, clanking glass, chairs scraping against the false-wood floor, blaring TVs and a heavy baseline all threatened to drown out the mediocre singers who currently occupied the stage. Squall passed a "please seat yourself" sign, and did his best to oblige it, eventually settling for dusting off a used table in the center of the busy place and stealing an empty chair from another table so both he and Rinoa had somewhere to sit. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and beer, and once again Squall looked at Rinoa dubiously, as if doubting the sanity of her choice in restaurants. At least there was no strip bar, and the patrons here seemed older than him for the most part, not the lot of teenage whoopers he'd seen outside. And it was a relatively clean place. Better than he would have expected any nightclub to be. Still, he spied banners on the walls, advertising drinking games on Fridays and "naked night" on Sundays. He didn't care to read the details of either one. He cast another skeptical scowl in Rinoa's direction. "You said your 'friend' works here?"

"Skip is a singer in The Gate's signature band." Rinoa sneered and leaned away as a drunk-looking man swaggered past her. She scooted closer to Squall, holding onto his arm, deciding to make it apparent that she was not available for anyone's fancies. "He's usually one of the last ones up," she went on, then admitted, "I haven't actually been inside here, before. I wasn't old enough to get in. But I've heard him and his group. They're really not that bad. They sing remakes of a lot of classic stuff and have a few of their own songs."

Squall leaned forward a little on the table, glancing at the current solo entertainer on-stage, wincing at the bad music and worse singing. His eyes fell from the spectacle. "What a life," he muttered. "Spending your nights singing to a bunch of people who aren't even listening. Cranking out lyrics that mean nothing to anyone except yourself, and pretending you don't notice that people don't care, all because you need the money. How does anyone stand it?"

Rinoa frowned. "Someone else might ask the same thing about being a SeeD. Following orders whether you like them or not, training for days on end without much rest and even less margin for error. That doesn't seem like much of a life, either."

"That's different. There's a lot more to being a SeeD than just hard work."

"And there's probably that much more to being a performer than you think." Rinoa tilted her chin up a little to assert her point. Her narrow eyes met his stolid stare and held it, undaunted.

The profound moment was broken by the waitress. "Welcome to The Gate," greeted a tall young woman with short, bleached-blonde hair. "My name's Dima. What'll you have?" She looked at Rinoa first.

"Oh, just water." Rinoa smiled the order away. "I don't drink."

Liar. Squall gave her yet another uneasy look. You did at the victory celebration and this year's Garden Festival. I saw you.

Not much, and those were special occasions. She returned his stare gamely.

This isn't?

"And you, sir?" The waitress pressed, oblivious to her customers' silent exchange.

Squall sighed and gestured slightly with one hand, shaking his head. "Red wine," he growled, just loud enough to hear.

"Any particular labe—"

"I don't care," he snapped, adding under his breath, "Whatever's strongest." The fur of his jacket seemed to puff up about his shoulders. He leaned on one arm, looking like nothing so much as an indignant cat with his hackles on end.

Rinoa hid a small laugh as the waitress sauntered off. Squall, you look positively prickly.

You know me, he grumbled, thoughts dripping with sarcasm. Huggable as a hedgehog. Squall was very aware that he'd just made an ass of himself in public once again. He hated places like this. And people asked him why he didn't get out more. But it was better than counting the seconds in Caraway's Mansion…

"So this guy has a band," he said tonelessly. "How will I tell him from the rest of them?"

"Thought you'd never ask." All-smiles now, Rinoa pushed her bangs back with her hand so they stuck straight up. "He's Zell's spitting image, except his hair is black." Laughing at Squall's blank expression, she smoothed her hair back in place. "And he doesn't have a tattoo on his face. You'll know. It's pretty hard to miss him."

With a minimal of applause, the solo singer on the stage gave way to the next in line. A slender, dark-haired woman of medium height strode onto the stage, clad in a blood-red, somewhat revealing outfit.

Squall's glanced at this newcomer. He nearly forgot to take his next breath.

God. …Is that who I think it is?

Rinoa, having been watching him, turned to stare at who was causing the poisonous feeling of dread that was gripping him, now. "What's wrong?"

He winced. Why is this place filled with unpleasant memories? He put his hand to his face as the waitress brought Rinoa her cup of water, his glass of wine. Neither of them touched their orders. She's an ex-student from Balamb Garden, he explained briefly, vaguely, not looking at Rinoa or the woman on the stage. Her name's Meila.

The new singer took the mic, and her familiar voice confirmed her identity. The words to her music seemed to overflow with irony.

She walked in

Day One

He followed her to Heaven

'cause that's where daisies go…

Squall fought an angry burning in his chest, like the fear of a child who has stolen, in danger of being discovered. So this is where she went. Damn. What have I done?

Memories were so brutal. He had a life, now, a love, a sense of purpose. Why couldn't the past just leave him alone?

His watch beeped. It was midnight.