Why, thank you. I'm glad you liked it, everyone. I'm surprised I got
reviewed at all, being in such an obscure coupling. Had I done
Quistis/Seifer, no doubt there would have been more.
If anyone could mention a summary that would better fit the story, I would gladly consider it. I'd like one that will bring up more searches in the 'Find' menu.
Enjoy the second installment.
(¯`'·.¸(¯`'·. quistis .·'´¯)¸.·'´¯)
I loathe trains. Selphie couldn't be freed to pilot the Ragnorak and deliver me to Galbadia, so I was given a train ticket. And though the SeeD car is very posh and decorated, I'm afraid the cushions leave much to be desired.
Of course, my rigid stance didn't help. Shoulders back, feet tucked, spine straight. That invisible thread pulling on my head and all. No doubt I could be comfortable if I sprawled upon that bed, but the stewardess might stop by. Can't look undignified, not even for a waitress.
I was extremely uncomfortable, but my pride is maintained.
Yes, I do have pride. An insubstantial amount, I might say, and in limited places, but I keep my pride together, and in return, it keeps me intact. I keep my pride in certain things.
For instance, I shoulder my own problems now. This used to not be so, of course, and now I'm getting as bad as Squall was at one point. But you see, I'm beginning to see his logic back then. No one should have to carry another's burden. Trying to give it to someone else says that you can't take the heat.
I'm Quistis Trepe. I can take it.
It's a very sensible, self sufficient point of view, looking at it objectively.
I also take pride in appearance. The fact that people see me as a responsible collected young woman is important to me. I am of a calm manner. Cool as a cucumber. Crisp as iceberg lettuce.
I'm a venerable salad.
I'm beginning to wonder if the whole appearance thing is turning into a chore.
I indulge in a certain vice, though. Pride in my looks. Vanity, some may call it. Though I am never going to advertise the fact the fact that I have a great body, I can soothe myself in knowing that I have one. My bathroom could house a Bath & Body Works.
Oils, soaps, shampoos. . .I have great skin. It takes work, but I can tell myself truthfully that I am somewhat attractive.
The stewardess popped in. "Miss, would you like a beverage? We have an excellent selection of-"
"No. No, I'm fine. . ." I interrupted before she can continue her tirade of drinks and wines. Wines. I would love a drink. ". . . Perhaps a red burgundy. A small glass, please."
Drinking? What was I doing drinking? I'm not overly fond of the activity. And before a mission, too; I should've been ashamed of myself.
I . . . think I already was.
That thought hit me with a shock. Ice water. I am Quistis Trepe. Am I ashamed of being Quistis Trepe?
I don't know.
An electronic bell sounds. **Deling City, next stop. If this is your planned destination, please gather all personal belongings and prepare for arrival. Have a nice day.**
I look around. My personal belongings were contained in a small suitcase. I didn't have many, and my most valuable was my whip. Save the Queen, ruby and gold. Blood and flame. Crimson . . . and . . .
What was I thinking about? This is ridiculous.
The stewardess returned with my wine. For all of her mousey hair and self, a shining new ring was on her finger. I accepted the wine with a thank you, but as she turned to leave, something within me made me speak.
"What's he like?" I blurted out. Uncharacteristic of me. She turned around and looked at me confusedly. "What?"
I pointed to her ring. "I asked what he was like." Why was I asking in the first place? Maybe because I had my mind on Squall's wedding. Maybe because if I couldn't love, I wanted a second-hand account.
I hoped it was because of Squall's wedding.
The girl must have spotted a girl moment, because she grinned and launched into a praise filled description of her affianced. He was sweet and kind, but tough as nails when necessary. He was funny, handsome, and even if he had a somewhat lacking common sense, he knew how to make her smile. And he was a good kisser.
I filed away this information. You never knew, you see, when you might have to play a besotted and rather sappy waitress during a mission. Seriously.
I nodded and cooed appropriately for another five minutes before I informed her that I had to get off, and perhaps we'd meet again. She said similar farewells and we went our separate ways.
I got off the train. The station's occupants hurtled me left and right, but with appropriate use of my elbows I managed to reach decent air once more. Or, as decent as you can get anywhere in the general vicinity of Deling City.
Ah. Deling, shall we say, was not a fond place for me. I had given Rinoa a deserved scolding, and then crawled right back to ask for forgiveness. Another example of my emotional weakness back then. I had endangered the mission with my foolishness. I'd managed to fix this folly, of course . . . but in the process I had rearranged the General's living room a bit.
I hopped a bus to Caraway's mansion, and I hoped he wouldn't recognize me as the one who had inadvertently broken his glassware.
Huge and tacky stone buildings were the construction of choice here in Deling. Trying to look Italianesque, succeeding in looking haughty and rich. Caraway's mansion was no different, I'm afraid.
A butler with a pinched face greets me, and I give some stupid password-a phrase involving a demon's angel lover-to gain access to the parlor. This much was just as I remembered it, actually. Except for the fact that the china cabinet was locked. Ah.
I sat at attention, waiting for my client to arrive. I wished I'd taken more than one drink on the train. Or ordered a bottle. I was shaking for some reason. Maybe I was cold.
Yes. It was autumn, after all. Extremely early autumn, perhaps, but I sill had the right to be cold in the fall. Even if the temperature was about eighty something degrees.
"Ah. Quistis Trepe?" I turned my head sharply. It seemed that my awareness was down a bit today.
The general stood in the doorway. Ah, more medals, I see. Surprising; he didn't look like he'd seen any military action lately. Must be some presidential thing.
I stood and shook hands. "It's a pleasure to work with you again, sir." I said formally. Formalities are skill at which I excel. He smiled briefly in return.
"Likewise, Ms. Trepe. May I be so bold as to ask that we forego the pleasantries and head straight to business?" He straightened his coat and sat across from me. Well, so much for dazzling him with my intelligence.
"Of course, General." Wait one moment. . . didn't he care at all about . . ? "Although, I'm surprised you aren't inquiring after your daughter."
He flinched slightly-not really visibly, but I could tell that I'd hit an undesirable topic. "I'm sorry, sir, I shouldn't have brought that up." I was sincere in my apology. "It was uncalled for-"
"No, no, it's quite alright. I . . . I doubt she'd call herself that anymore," he replied wistfully. "She's not . . . exactly . . . the most affectionate daughter I could hope for . . . Is she well?"
I hesitated. He was Rinoa's father; shouldn't he know about the wedding? Would I get away with it without Rinoa finding out who told him? Most likely not, but I really couldn't see how he could go without knowing . . . "You do remember Squall Leonhart, yes?" My voice betrayed nothing of my doubts about telling him this.
Caraway looked faintly interested. "Yes, I do. Intelligent, and a damn good fighter, pardon the language." Probably wondering what he had to do with his daughter. He obviously hadn't heard the news.
I didn't hesitate a moment. I sipped delicately at my water, before continuing. "They're engaged. Rinoa and Squall."
Caraway stilled. He stared at me, as if not believing me. I really can't put myself in his shoes, nor do I want to.
He shook his head slowly. "I . . . see. Thank you for telling me this." He looked down, and blinked a few times. He looked back up at me. "Is . . . are they . . . happy?"
What? Oh, of course. "They are very much in love, General." Very much in love.
The General shook his head, and stared out the window. We sat in silence for a while longer, until he handed me a manila folder containing more specific orders, and summoned a maid to show me to my room.
The suite I've been given is far too cheerful. White and rose. I go through my nightly rituals and slip between the sheets, relishing in the cool cotton on my skin.
My life is too complicated for even me.
. . .
I've been awake for far too long now. Normally I'm out like a light. But then, I haven't really tried to sleep yet either.
My psyche has always been fairly predictable. But . . . now, it heads off- track every moment it gets. As you've noticed, not doubt.
. . . I wondered why . . .
I'm beginning to wonder about a lot of things lately.
I shift between he comforter and the sheets. This room is so . . . empty. I'm alone. It's so silent.
I've been musing about myself too much. I am imperfect, despite all attempts and appearances. I am incapable of love. So what? I can take anything you throw at me. I can handle it, can't I? Do I have a choice in the matter?
No, I don't have a choice. I have to take it. I'm not that inadequate.
. . . am I?
Being here is more proof of my inadequacy, you know.
You see, I'm here on a bodyguard mission. An easy type of mission. A mission type usually reserved for the lowest class SeeDs, classed at 9 or 10, level 13 or 14. So what am I, a Class A SeeD, level 98, doing here?
Perhaps they don't trust me. I, Quistis Trepe, am a failure, and thus, untrustworthy. I wish this wasn't so. Do the others really think this of me?
I really don't want this anymore. Any of this.
I sit up slowly, the sheets pooling around me. The blue darkness shimmers on my hair, which blocks my eyes. I straighten my back. I clear my throat; sounding unusually loud in the quiet of the night.
"I," I declare shakily, "am Quistis Trepe."
That phrase . . . my solace, my consolation . . . it brings me no comfort. It doesn't comfort me. It always has before. What's wrong with me?
I blink, and wryly, the corners of my mouth turn up. It seems I have done something right after all. I am truly and properly depressed.
I fall back upon the pillows and close my eyes. Thinking that sleep wouldn't come for a while, of course. And I was wrong.
As usual.
The sun woke me up. It peeked cheerfully at me through the curtains, and I yawned loudly in response. Dawn had just broken.
A fond childhood memory of mine, one of the few I have, comes to mind. Matron was waking us up, and I was watching as she knelt over a cuddled form. It might have been Zell, or Seifer, I forget which, but whomever it was, Matron had woken them up with a smile, saying, "Rise and shine, wake up! Look, the sun greets you!"
The muffled, childish response was less than enthusiastic. "Tell the sun to stuff it."
I believe I sympathize with those emotions.
I had washed my peach outfit, and Caraway wouldn't know I'd worn it just the other day, so I pulled it on. After neglecting it for so long, I remember exactly why I wore it so often back then.
I had loved this outfit dearly, when I had fought in it with Squall, Selphie, Zell, Rinoa, and Irvine, traveling the earth in the Ragnorak, fighting for the world against the evil of Ultimecia. Such wonderful times . . . I had been the happiest, I think, during then.
No time to reminisce . . . my mission begins at noon. I had about six free hours before I report for duty.
The various threats surrounding the treaty signing had been taken very seriously, it appeared. Extra precautions would be taken. The actual signing would be at noon, in a private chamber, and a single expertly trained bodyguard would be allowed to each leader.
I was Caraway's.
Then, the formal signing would occur later in the evening, for sake of the public. Extreme security measures would be taken for this event, but I didn't concern myself with those details. My place was with the General, that's all I had to know.
A bodyguard job.
I blinked back that thought.
I headed to the dining room-I hopes of breakfast-and took a seat. A maid asked if I need anything, and I requested a coffee. I would have preferred a drink, but this early in the morning, and before a mission, it would be unwise.
(¯`'·.¸(¯`'·. laguna .·'´¯)¸.·'´¯)
"Hey, Ward, can't we take the train? I mean, the Apocalypse is great for travel and all, but trains are so much cooler." I yawned loudly.
" . . . " Ward twitched. Yeah, real communicative. But that was a no. I wriggled in my seat.
Yeah, Esthar made three ships eighteen years ago, to send Sorceress Adel into space. One was the Nirvana, which got hit by an asteroid just three months after the mission. The second was the Apocalypse, my personal travel thingy.
The last was the Ragnorak, which Squall had inadvertently found a few years after it had disappeared.
Yeah. He'd supposedly leaped out of a spaceship to find a girl. Rinoa Heartilly.
Daughter of Julia Heartilly.
Eh. This was great. Squall had seen me trysting with his girlfriend's mother. Perfect way to go, Laguna. Just wonderful.
I yawned. Kiros hadn't popped up yet this morning. No doubt still with my secretary, since she, too, had called in sick. Yeah, well if those two are sick, I'd love to catch the disease.
So, since they weren't there, I'd had to wake up early to read all this crap. For the private signing, we were allowed a bodyguard. Caraway and I weren't allowed weapons.
Yeah . . . like I was going anywhere without a decent firearm.
My old machine gun had coughed it about five years ago. I'd searched for ages trying to find one just like it, and in the process, had found a few other cool toys. Like my Uzi. I had two of them, but hey, if I ever had the need for two Uzis, I'd be dead already, cuz one Uzi is plenty for everything.
I also had a boot knife. Not too good unless the baddies were practically on top of me, but it was a hell of a lot better than having to resort to a fist fight.
I yawned again. Damn, I was tired!
It was like that time when Kiros and Ward and I had gone to that bar, only our drinks were drugged or something, because Kiros fell flat on his face. Guess it didn't take as much for him, but Ward and I managed to stay up and kill all the bad guys before we fell over snoring.
Yeah, and Ward snores really, super loud. . .
Snoring. . .
. . .
I jerked forward. "WAHHH!"
Ward looked down on me. The Deling airstation was out the window to my right. Hadn't we just left Esthar, though? I looked around. "Whoa, did I fall asleep?"
He nodded. I twitched, and crossed my arms. "Man, you gotta TELL a guy these things!" I stretched a bit, and leaped to my feet. "Okay, let's go! When's this thing start, anyway?"
I glanced at the stuff Ward was holding. "NOON?! Aww, man, I got up this friggin' early for nothing? That sucks. That is uncool."
Ward grinned. I scowled at him. "Sure, big guy. Yak it up. See if you make the President of a global superpower cry."
I shook my head, and grinned. "I'm going for a walk. Been a long time since we were Deling last, huh?"
Ward frowned slightly. " . . . "
"Yeah, yeah. I'll be back." I hauled on my favorite jacket. I love that jacket; partly because . . . okay, mostly because of the fact that Raine had fixed it for me.
You know, I'd gotten dressed this morning, and I ended up wearing stuff like I used to wear. You know, brown pants, boots, my blue jacket. Weird. Creepy weird, almost.
I laughed for no reason. "You should stay here, Ward. You'll get bored pretty quick, comin' with me."
Vaguely, I knew I shouldn't go out, with all the baddies out to get me, But hey, I was just going to the bar and back. A little time to myself, as a civilian for the first time in . . . forever. Well, almost forever. You know.
The streets were a bit more quiet. More civilians, yeah, but less soldiers. I guess since Galbadia wasn't officially in a state of war, it wouldn't do for martial law to be in effect. Either that, or Caraway was beginning to get Galbadia's ass together.
That would be great, hey? About time they got someone who wasn't power hungry and idiotic. They had to get someone decent sooner or later, considering they'd had bad straws for the past century.
I stepped into the hotel. It hadn't changed much. I loved it back in the old days. . . I walked down to the bar. Dang.
Memories. Wow. Kiros and Ward and us fighting in the army. In fact, a few soldiers were there, in the corner.
I reached into my pocket. My old dog tags; still there. Not because of any attachment to the military, just because. . . I'd always had them. Tokens, good luck charms? Maybe. But I still had them. I wondered whether or not I should actually get a drink this early.
Why the hell not?
I ordered half a bottle, and hoped I could hold it as well as I had eighteen years ago. Of course, Ward had always won the contests we'd had by a few bottles, but I'd beaten Kiros by a long shot.
I took a decent drink. Not even fazed. Hah, take that.
I stayed sober, but as my peace of mind slowly deteriorated, I found myself making that half a bottle last a very, very long time.
(¯`'·.¸(¯`'·. .author's note. .·'´¯)¸.·'´¯)
There it is. Mostly angst, I'm afraid. But the hero and heroine haven't met up yet, what did you expect? If you'd like a spoiler . . . too bad. 'If My Heart Weren't Broken' may be my first posted fanfiction, but I'm not stupid. The next chapter, however . . .
Things get interesting.
If you're feeling good, don't worry. You'll get over it.
Love is compared to war all the time. I can't count the phrases on my fingers; there are too many. Make love, not war. Love is like war--simple to begin, but the devil to get out. All's fair in love and war.
"Farewell," says the dying man to his reflection in the mirror... "We shall not meet again." --Paul Valéry
If anyone could mention a summary that would better fit the story, I would gladly consider it. I'd like one that will bring up more searches in the 'Find' menu.
Enjoy the second installment.
(¯`'·.¸(¯`'·. quistis .·'´¯)¸.·'´¯)
I loathe trains. Selphie couldn't be freed to pilot the Ragnorak and deliver me to Galbadia, so I was given a train ticket. And though the SeeD car is very posh and decorated, I'm afraid the cushions leave much to be desired.
Of course, my rigid stance didn't help. Shoulders back, feet tucked, spine straight. That invisible thread pulling on my head and all. No doubt I could be comfortable if I sprawled upon that bed, but the stewardess might stop by. Can't look undignified, not even for a waitress.
I was extremely uncomfortable, but my pride is maintained.
Yes, I do have pride. An insubstantial amount, I might say, and in limited places, but I keep my pride together, and in return, it keeps me intact. I keep my pride in certain things.
For instance, I shoulder my own problems now. This used to not be so, of course, and now I'm getting as bad as Squall was at one point. But you see, I'm beginning to see his logic back then. No one should have to carry another's burden. Trying to give it to someone else says that you can't take the heat.
I'm Quistis Trepe. I can take it.
It's a very sensible, self sufficient point of view, looking at it objectively.
I also take pride in appearance. The fact that people see me as a responsible collected young woman is important to me. I am of a calm manner. Cool as a cucumber. Crisp as iceberg lettuce.
I'm a venerable salad.
I'm beginning to wonder if the whole appearance thing is turning into a chore.
I indulge in a certain vice, though. Pride in my looks. Vanity, some may call it. Though I am never going to advertise the fact the fact that I have a great body, I can soothe myself in knowing that I have one. My bathroom could house a Bath & Body Works.
Oils, soaps, shampoos. . .I have great skin. It takes work, but I can tell myself truthfully that I am somewhat attractive.
The stewardess popped in. "Miss, would you like a beverage? We have an excellent selection of-"
"No. No, I'm fine. . ." I interrupted before she can continue her tirade of drinks and wines. Wines. I would love a drink. ". . . Perhaps a red burgundy. A small glass, please."
Drinking? What was I doing drinking? I'm not overly fond of the activity. And before a mission, too; I should've been ashamed of myself.
I . . . think I already was.
That thought hit me with a shock. Ice water. I am Quistis Trepe. Am I ashamed of being Quistis Trepe?
I don't know.
An electronic bell sounds. **Deling City, next stop. If this is your planned destination, please gather all personal belongings and prepare for arrival. Have a nice day.**
I look around. My personal belongings were contained in a small suitcase. I didn't have many, and my most valuable was my whip. Save the Queen, ruby and gold. Blood and flame. Crimson . . . and . . .
What was I thinking about? This is ridiculous.
The stewardess returned with my wine. For all of her mousey hair and self, a shining new ring was on her finger. I accepted the wine with a thank you, but as she turned to leave, something within me made me speak.
"What's he like?" I blurted out. Uncharacteristic of me. She turned around and looked at me confusedly. "What?"
I pointed to her ring. "I asked what he was like." Why was I asking in the first place? Maybe because I had my mind on Squall's wedding. Maybe because if I couldn't love, I wanted a second-hand account.
I hoped it was because of Squall's wedding.
The girl must have spotted a girl moment, because she grinned and launched into a praise filled description of her affianced. He was sweet and kind, but tough as nails when necessary. He was funny, handsome, and even if he had a somewhat lacking common sense, he knew how to make her smile. And he was a good kisser.
I filed away this information. You never knew, you see, when you might have to play a besotted and rather sappy waitress during a mission. Seriously.
I nodded and cooed appropriately for another five minutes before I informed her that I had to get off, and perhaps we'd meet again. She said similar farewells and we went our separate ways.
I got off the train. The station's occupants hurtled me left and right, but with appropriate use of my elbows I managed to reach decent air once more. Or, as decent as you can get anywhere in the general vicinity of Deling City.
Ah. Deling, shall we say, was not a fond place for me. I had given Rinoa a deserved scolding, and then crawled right back to ask for forgiveness. Another example of my emotional weakness back then. I had endangered the mission with my foolishness. I'd managed to fix this folly, of course . . . but in the process I had rearranged the General's living room a bit.
I hopped a bus to Caraway's mansion, and I hoped he wouldn't recognize me as the one who had inadvertently broken his glassware.
Huge and tacky stone buildings were the construction of choice here in Deling. Trying to look Italianesque, succeeding in looking haughty and rich. Caraway's mansion was no different, I'm afraid.
A butler with a pinched face greets me, and I give some stupid password-a phrase involving a demon's angel lover-to gain access to the parlor. This much was just as I remembered it, actually. Except for the fact that the china cabinet was locked. Ah.
I sat at attention, waiting for my client to arrive. I wished I'd taken more than one drink on the train. Or ordered a bottle. I was shaking for some reason. Maybe I was cold.
Yes. It was autumn, after all. Extremely early autumn, perhaps, but I sill had the right to be cold in the fall. Even if the temperature was about eighty something degrees.
"Ah. Quistis Trepe?" I turned my head sharply. It seemed that my awareness was down a bit today.
The general stood in the doorway. Ah, more medals, I see. Surprising; he didn't look like he'd seen any military action lately. Must be some presidential thing.
I stood and shook hands. "It's a pleasure to work with you again, sir." I said formally. Formalities are skill at which I excel. He smiled briefly in return.
"Likewise, Ms. Trepe. May I be so bold as to ask that we forego the pleasantries and head straight to business?" He straightened his coat and sat across from me. Well, so much for dazzling him with my intelligence.
"Of course, General." Wait one moment. . . didn't he care at all about . . ? "Although, I'm surprised you aren't inquiring after your daughter."
He flinched slightly-not really visibly, but I could tell that I'd hit an undesirable topic. "I'm sorry, sir, I shouldn't have brought that up." I was sincere in my apology. "It was uncalled for-"
"No, no, it's quite alright. I . . . I doubt she'd call herself that anymore," he replied wistfully. "She's not . . . exactly . . . the most affectionate daughter I could hope for . . . Is she well?"
I hesitated. He was Rinoa's father; shouldn't he know about the wedding? Would I get away with it without Rinoa finding out who told him? Most likely not, but I really couldn't see how he could go without knowing . . . "You do remember Squall Leonhart, yes?" My voice betrayed nothing of my doubts about telling him this.
Caraway looked faintly interested. "Yes, I do. Intelligent, and a damn good fighter, pardon the language." Probably wondering what he had to do with his daughter. He obviously hadn't heard the news.
I didn't hesitate a moment. I sipped delicately at my water, before continuing. "They're engaged. Rinoa and Squall."
Caraway stilled. He stared at me, as if not believing me. I really can't put myself in his shoes, nor do I want to.
He shook his head slowly. "I . . . see. Thank you for telling me this." He looked down, and blinked a few times. He looked back up at me. "Is . . . are they . . . happy?"
What? Oh, of course. "They are very much in love, General." Very much in love.
The General shook his head, and stared out the window. We sat in silence for a while longer, until he handed me a manila folder containing more specific orders, and summoned a maid to show me to my room.
The suite I've been given is far too cheerful. White and rose. I go through my nightly rituals and slip between the sheets, relishing in the cool cotton on my skin.
My life is too complicated for even me.
. . .
I've been awake for far too long now. Normally I'm out like a light. But then, I haven't really tried to sleep yet either.
My psyche has always been fairly predictable. But . . . now, it heads off- track every moment it gets. As you've noticed, not doubt.
. . . I wondered why . . .
I'm beginning to wonder about a lot of things lately.
I shift between he comforter and the sheets. This room is so . . . empty. I'm alone. It's so silent.
I've been musing about myself too much. I am imperfect, despite all attempts and appearances. I am incapable of love. So what? I can take anything you throw at me. I can handle it, can't I? Do I have a choice in the matter?
No, I don't have a choice. I have to take it. I'm not that inadequate.
. . . am I?
Being here is more proof of my inadequacy, you know.
You see, I'm here on a bodyguard mission. An easy type of mission. A mission type usually reserved for the lowest class SeeDs, classed at 9 or 10, level 13 or 14. So what am I, a Class A SeeD, level 98, doing here?
Perhaps they don't trust me. I, Quistis Trepe, am a failure, and thus, untrustworthy. I wish this wasn't so. Do the others really think this of me?
I really don't want this anymore. Any of this.
I sit up slowly, the sheets pooling around me. The blue darkness shimmers on my hair, which blocks my eyes. I straighten my back. I clear my throat; sounding unusually loud in the quiet of the night.
"I," I declare shakily, "am Quistis Trepe."
That phrase . . . my solace, my consolation . . . it brings me no comfort. It doesn't comfort me. It always has before. What's wrong with me?
I blink, and wryly, the corners of my mouth turn up. It seems I have done something right after all. I am truly and properly depressed.
I fall back upon the pillows and close my eyes. Thinking that sleep wouldn't come for a while, of course. And I was wrong.
As usual.
The sun woke me up. It peeked cheerfully at me through the curtains, and I yawned loudly in response. Dawn had just broken.
A fond childhood memory of mine, one of the few I have, comes to mind. Matron was waking us up, and I was watching as she knelt over a cuddled form. It might have been Zell, or Seifer, I forget which, but whomever it was, Matron had woken them up with a smile, saying, "Rise and shine, wake up! Look, the sun greets you!"
The muffled, childish response was less than enthusiastic. "Tell the sun to stuff it."
I believe I sympathize with those emotions.
I had washed my peach outfit, and Caraway wouldn't know I'd worn it just the other day, so I pulled it on. After neglecting it for so long, I remember exactly why I wore it so often back then.
I had loved this outfit dearly, when I had fought in it with Squall, Selphie, Zell, Rinoa, and Irvine, traveling the earth in the Ragnorak, fighting for the world against the evil of Ultimecia. Such wonderful times . . . I had been the happiest, I think, during then.
No time to reminisce . . . my mission begins at noon. I had about six free hours before I report for duty.
The various threats surrounding the treaty signing had been taken very seriously, it appeared. Extra precautions would be taken. The actual signing would be at noon, in a private chamber, and a single expertly trained bodyguard would be allowed to each leader.
I was Caraway's.
Then, the formal signing would occur later in the evening, for sake of the public. Extreme security measures would be taken for this event, but I didn't concern myself with those details. My place was with the General, that's all I had to know.
A bodyguard job.
I blinked back that thought.
I headed to the dining room-I hopes of breakfast-and took a seat. A maid asked if I need anything, and I requested a coffee. I would have preferred a drink, but this early in the morning, and before a mission, it would be unwise.
(¯`'·.¸(¯`'·. laguna .·'´¯)¸.·'´¯)
"Hey, Ward, can't we take the train? I mean, the Apocalypse is great for travel and all, but trains are so much cooler." I yawned loudly.
" . . . " Ward twitched. Yeah, real communicative. But that was a no. I wriggled in my seat.
Yeah, Esthar made three ships eighteen years ago, to send Sorceress Adel into space. One was the Nirvana, which got hit by an asteroid just three months after the mission. The second was the Apocalypse, my personal travel thingy.
The last was the Ragnorak, which Squall had inadvertently found a few years after it had disappeared.
Yeah. He'd supposedly leaped out of a spaceship to find a girl. Rinoa Heartilly.
Daughter of Julia Heartilly.
Eh. This was great. Squall had seen me trysting with his girlfriend's mother. Perfect way to go, Laguna. Just wonderful.
I yawned. Kiros hadn't popped up yet this morning. No doubt still with my secretary, since she, too, had called in sick. Yeah, well if those two are sick, I'd love to catch the disease.
So, since they weren't there, I'd had to wake up early to read all this crap. For the private signing, we were allowed a bodyguard. Caraway and I weren't allowed weapons.
Yeah . . . like I was going anywhere without a decent firearm.
My old machine gun had coughed it about five years ago. I'd searched for ages trying to find one just like it, and in the process, had found a few other cool toys. Like my Uzi. I had two of them, but hey, if I ever had the need for two Uzis, I'd be dead already, cuz one Uzi is plenty for everything.
I also had a boot knife. Not too good unless the baddies were practically on top of me, but it was a hell of a lot better than having to resort to a fist fight.
I yawned again. Damn, I was tired!
It was like that time when Kiros and Ward and I had gone to that bar, only our drinks were drugged or something, because Kiros fell flat on his face. Guess it didn't take as much for him, but Ward and I managed to stay up and kill all the bad guys before we fell over snoring.
Yeah, and Ward snores really, super loud. . .
Snoring. . .
. . .
I jerked forward. "WAHHH!"
Ward looked down on me. The Deling airstation was out the window to my right. Hadn't we just left Esthar, though? I looked around. "Whoa, did I fall asleep?"
He nodded. I twitched, and crossed my arms. "Man, you gotta TELL a guy these things!" I stretched a bit, and leaped to my feet. "Okay, let's go! When's this thing start, anyway?"
I glanced at the stuff Ward was holding. "NOON?! Aww, man, I got up this friggin' early for nothing? That sucks. That is uncool."
Ward grinned. I scowled at him. "Sure, big guy. Yak it up. See if you make the President of a global superpower cry."
I shook my head, and grinned. "I'm going for a walk. Been a long time since we were Deling last, huh?"
Ward frowned slightly. " . . . "
"Yeah, yeah. I'll be back." I hauled on my favorite jacket. I love that jacket; partly because . . . okay, mostly because of the fact that Raine had fixed it for me.
You know, I'd gotten dressed this morning, and I ended up wearing stuff like I used to wear. You know, brown pants, boots, my blue jacket. Weird. Creepy weird, almost.
I laughed for no reason. "You should stay here, Ward. You'll get bored pretty quick, comin' with me."
Vaguely, I knew I shouldn't go out, with all the baddies out to get me, But hey, I was just going to the bar and back. A little time to myself, as a civilian for the first time in . . . forever. Well, almost forever. You know.
The streets were a bit more quiet. More civilians, yeah, but less soldiers. I guess since Galbadia wasn't officially in a state of war, it wouldn't do for martial law to be in effect. Either that, or Caraway was beginning to get Galbadia's ass together.
That would be great, hey? About time they got someone who wasn't power hungry and idiotic. They had to get someone decent sooner or later, considering they'd had bad straws for the past century.
I stepped into the hotel. It hadn't changed much. I loved it back in the old days. . . I walked down to the bar. Dang.
Memories. Wow. Kiros and Ward and us fighting in the army. In fact, a few soldiers were there, in the corner.
I reached into my pocket. My old dog tags; still there. Not because of any attachment to the military, just because. . . I'd always had them. Tokens, good luck charms? Maybe. But I still had them. I wondered whether or not I should actually get a drink this early.
Why the hell not?
I ordered half a bottle, and hoped I could hold it as well as I had eighteen years ago. Of course, Ward had always won the contests we'd had by a few bottles, but I'd beaten Kiros by a long shot.
I took a decent drink. Not even fazed. Hah, take that.
I stayed sober, but as my peace of mind slowly deteriorated, I found myself making that half a bottle last a very, very long time.
(¯`'·.¸(¯`'·. .author's note. .·'´¯)¸.·'´¯)
There it is. Mostly angst, I'm afraid. But the hero and heroine haven't met up yet, what did you expect? If you'd like a spoiler . . . too bad. 'If My Heart Weren't Broken' may be my first posted fanfiction, but I'm not stupid. The next chapter, however . . .
Things get interesting.
If you're feeling good, don't worry. You'll get over it.
Love is compared to war all the time. I can't count the phrases on my fingers; there are too many. Make love, not war. Love is like war--simple to begin, but the devil to get out. All's fair in love and war.
"Farewell," says the dying man to his reflection in the mirror... "We shall not meet again." --Paul Valéry