(¯`'·.¸(¯`'·. .author's note. .·'´¯)¸.·'´¯)
I'm back, yes yes. My grandmother's computer has got to be the most ancient machine in the world. It runs on . . . shudder from the pain . . . WINDOWS 95. It doesn't even have word, I'm writing this in notepad. The horror.
How did I get through this chapter? I wrote bits and pieces of it at a time, and then stitched the whole thing together. Not good for flow, I'm afraid. But the content of this chapter is very fun. . . I put in another PG-13 reference, so beware. That having been said, enjoy.
(¯`'·.¸(¯`'·. quistis .·'´¯)¸.·'´¯)
I was warm, and a dry, slightly stiff warmth was tucked gently around my neck. My muscles were uncomfortable and aching, but I suppose it was to be expected . . . I sat up, and the typical subpar motel comforter fell off of me. The curtains were closed, and the dim light offered no clues as to where I was.
I was in a motel, yes, but where was . . .
Laguna. Where was Laguna?
I jerked my feet off the bed and vaulted off, but they weren't ready to support my weight and I stumbled into the wall with a slight thump. I blinked slowly, my eyes finally taking in my surroundings. My glasses . . . where were they?
Still squinting my eyes, I peered around. They could very well have gotten lost in the past . . . however long it had been since I'd been conscious. Wait . . . they'd been placed on the bedstand . . . with a note.
I adjusted on my glasses and open the curtains to let in minimal light, and peered at the slightly crooked print that was most certainly Laguna Loire's.
Quistis,
We're in Deling, the dodgy end, so don't relax. If I'm gone, then I'm at a payphone or getting food. This was the only place that would let us in with all the blood we had on us, but it's certainly not the place to take the kids. Keep your whip close, Quistis, just as a precaution. There's another change of clothes for you on the dresser, and whatever you do, DO NOT LEAVE THE ROOM.
Laguna
PS: Don't turn on the TV. Trust me on this one.
Amazing how he changed when he wrote. He really was meant to be a journalist, I was beginning to doubt his original choice of vocation . . . I suppose I'll never cease to wonder why he doesn't make use of that marvelous vocabulary of his.
A change of clothes? I looked down. My clothes still, and just as dirty and bloody as before. I felt my lip twitch. Leave it to Laguna to drag me and my battered self across a desert and tuck me into a bed in a shifty motel room, yet be too shy to change my clothes. Of course, if he had changed my clothes, it would have been extremely awkward, so perhaps this was a boon.
Even if it was . . . sweatpants. Oh, Hyne, I had to wear those?
I showered, and took the sheets off the bed, wrinkling my nose at the sight of the blood. That would be quite hard to get out in the wash, really, I knew from experience. Of course, no doubt the motel staff had plenty of similar stains to deal with. . . I peered out the window. Dodgy end, indeed.
I dunked my clothes in the bathtub, and after scrubbing them as best I could, left them to soak with a few bottles of complimentary shampoo.
So Laguna has told me to stay. I wonder why, really, I wasn't the one in danger. He was. The only reason I was obeying the note to begin with was because I had more of a chance of him coming back here than me finding him in the vast expanse of 'out there.' Either way, he was getting a severe scolding when he got back. And why on earth did he mention the television?
I peered at the object in question. It didn't seem threatening, even if it was chained to the wall. I wouldn't have even noticed it if Laguna hadn't mentioned it. Obviously, he had turned it on to bad effect, or he wouldn't have warned me about it, but since he had been alive when he wrote that note, it hadn't bodily harmed him.
I did trust Laguna, yes, but this was a matter of curiosity, not trust. He wouldn't have told me not to if there wasn't a reason, but . . .
My hand hesitated over the power button. . .
*click*
My mind registered the images flashing across the screen for a good five seconds before I turned it off, my face a bright crimson. . . . had that even been physically possible? Well, that . . . ah, that couple had managed . . . I blinked several times, and sat down. Well.
Laguna had warned me. I suppose that . . . that . . . that sort of thing would be quite . . .common in places such as . . . this. But still . . Oh my.
I shook my head. Horrible images. It was a good thing that Kiros wasn't here. I wouldn't hear the end of it. . . or Laguna, that would be rather tense . . . or Irvine, he'd be worse than Kiros . . . Oh, Hyne, it was a good thing that I was alone, though I'd rather that I hadn't even touched the damned television.
*knock knock knock*
I jerked my head up, and thought quickly. Pitching my voice slightly lower, I answered gruffly, "Who is it?"
I heard soft cussing outside, and a familiar voice. "Er . . sorry, I think I got the wrong room . . . damn, I was positive it was 847 . . . maybe it was 748 . . ." Laguna's voice began to trail down the hall.
I raced to the door, opening it narrowly. "No, no, it's the right room. I just don't trust this place very much."
Laguna smiled wanly. "He - ey, thanks. I was getting worried. I've been to about . . ." He frowned. "I dunno, really, but I had to check alot of rooms before I found the right one." I shook my head, and stepped out of the way as he staggered inside.
Staggered? I scanned the room for a clock. Two thirty, obviously in the afternoon. My eyes narrowed. "Laguna Loire, have you slept at all in the past twenty four hours?"
He twitched. "Uh . . ."
I crossed my arms. "Laguna."
The guilty look on his face deepened. "Uh . . Yeah?"
"Why haven't you slept?"
"I had stuff to do! I had to find a semi-secure line to call Kiros with, and then I had to get you some clothes, and then I had to take care of all the guys who were trying to break into the room and make sure it didn't happen again and then I had to-"
"No excuses."
"But Qui - stis, everyone thinks we're dead, and . . . and . . ." A look of intense worry and shock passed over his already exhausted expression. "CRAP I gotta call Squall still, and then I gotta get us transportation to someplace else safe, cuz here definitely isn't good, and then I - "
I ignored his ramblings. "I'll handle things."
He drooped visibly. "Fine, yeah . . . " Laguna snatched some of the obligatory stationary off the television, and using it as a table, began to scribble down phone numbers. The television wobbled precariously, and Laguna kicked it sullenly.
I remembered the explicit images that had flickered across the screen minutes just before. Despite several mental kicks to my head, my face warmed considerably.
Laguna blinked, and his face became strangely serious. "You . . . you turned on the TV, didn't you?"
I felt my face begin to heat even more. "I . . ." I shook my head. The truth, Quistis. Truth between you and Laguna. "I'm doing my best to pretend it never happened."
"Good idea. . ." Laguna muttered, his cheeks flushing slightly, clearing his throat. Obviously, Laguna had been witness to something similar.
"Quite." I remarked as dryly as possible, shaking my head. Well.
Laguna muttered something to the effect of a double cheese sandwich with barbecue chips and sulked in the general direction of the window. I eyed the phone uneasily. "I hope I can reach outside phones with that."
No answer from my moping companion. I turned back to look, but he had flopped over on the dubious recliner, and was tracing pictures in the dust on the glass panes. I sighed and picked up the receiver. Well, I at least got a dial tone . . .
Laguna began to hum something unrecognizable. Perhaps I just hadn't heard it before. Perhaps the tune was just muffled because of the distance. Perhaps it was just that Laguna was tone deaf and had no business humming in the first place.
I gave my head a quick shake, and turned back to the ring tone. Someone had to answer, surely . . . a small click on the receiving end let my anxiousness let up slightly. "Hello, is Squall there -
"Quistis? Is that you?" A voice with a slight drawl, accented with extreme shock, cut me short. I sat down lightly on the edge of the motel bed, and tilted my head.
"Irvine?" I asked unnecessarily, my relief at hearing an understanding voice showing through. After all, he was the only one as of yet to know all the details of my situation.
Laguna's head shot up at Irvine's name, although I couldn't read his expression. I nervously felt my lip twitch as I continued. "Oh, thank Hyne, I was hoping to get one of you, I - "
Irvine's voice cracked as he raised it above mine. "They said Laguna was DEAD, but the others don't know that you were probably staying with Laguna, and I was sure you were . . ."
"Dead? They . . . they did?" My mind raced. Of course.
Laguna, while stressing earlier, had mentioned that everyone thought us dead . . . I hadn't really been paying attention to him, however, and the fault there was mine . . . everyone thought us dead, then, and well they should. The Apocalypse had been, quite literally, blown up. Who could have known that we'd escape? It certainly wasn't planned . . .
It made perfect sense. I should have figured it out before.
My mind snapped back to the present. "No! I'm fine!" I blurted out, before calming my voice and saying, "Laguna and I got out of the ship in time before the bomb went off -"
"BOMB?!" A loud crash in the background belied Irvine's somewhat violent reaction, and I winced away from the receiver. Irvine went on, oblivious. "They said it was a crash!"
I leaned against the headboard, finding myself slightly amused. "In a sense, it was, I suppose, but the Apocalypse 'crashing' would be like . . . " I searched for an adequate comparison. " . . . Squall losing to a bite bug."
"Damn." Irvine muttered, his shock and, to my slight startlement, relief. "Oh, damn . . ." His tone changed suddenly to horror. "SQUALL. Quistis, he's a wreck."
I froze. Squall had just gotten his father back in a sense, and now thought that he had lost him again. Maybe to him it was a good thing. . . But maybe not . . . I winced.
"I mean, whatever the hell that guy's running on, they should either sell it or make it illegal," Irvine complained somewhat apprehensively. "It's like he's on auto-pilot, he isn't talking, and on his free time he just kinda . . . I dunno . . . thinks." The sentence ended awkwardly, and a heavy sigh floated over the line. "It's bad, Quistis."
Squall was . . . depressed . . . or something. How could I, an orphan, possibly know what Squall was feeling? Squall himself had been an orphan just two weeks ago, did he even know what he was feeling? " . . . Oh Hyne . . ." I murmured anxiously. What was I going to do about this?
"We can't get anything out of him," his tone changed to ticked. "We don't know anything, remember? How can we comfort him if we're supposed to be so damn clueless?"
Perhaps it was better that way, then. Squall wouldn't want pity, or sympathy. "Let me talk to him."
" . . . But-"
"Irvine." I said firmly. "Trust me."
"Fine . . ." A shuffling over the line. I waited. I couldn't hear much, Irvine's hand must have been covering the phone, but I heard muffled voices, and a few raised ones. It was a full ten minutes before I heard Squall's voice. "Who is it."
I shrank back. His voice was. . . dead . . . not monotonous, no, but . . . the cold precision with which he spoke frightened me. My eyes narrowed of heir own accord. "Squall, it's - "
"Quistis." Squall's cold voice lightened slightly, but slightly, "You know what happened? To Laguna?"
My voice was fainter then I would have liked. "Yes, well, I - "
"He's dead. I know it wasn't a damn crash, Quistis, I know it. And the entire thing pisses me off."
"You know, I was going to give the whole damn thing a try, too." Oblivious to my interruption, Squall's venting persisted. "I was actually beginning to look forward to the whole general idea. But no, he decides to get himself blown up. Sounds real pitiful, doesn't it?"
I blinked alarmedly. "No, there's -"
The full effect of his words hit me then, like the full force of the storm that was his namesake. Squall was . . . grieving. He was grieving.
Whenever a comrade died, whenever someone he knew fell in battle, Squall wouldn't cry, or do anything so obvious. He'd grow cold, and then get angry. Mad. A cold fury, and then he'd get revenge. Vengeance for the fallen. In this case . . . I hesitated. "Squall, Laguna -"
"I even got to the point of actually asking 'Why me?'" Squall laughed harshly. "Yeah, it's sad. And everyone pity's me. They don't have a damn idea about why I've been pissed and they still pity me. I don't want their pity, and tell me Quistis, why the hell did the bastard have to get himself blown up, any-
For the first time in over six months, I raised my voice. "HE'S ALIVE, SQUALL." I took a deep breath. Silence. I took advantage of his stunned quiet. "Will you listen to me for one moment, PLEASE?!"
Squall hesitated, and I heard a slight rustle. " . . . alive." Untrusting, uncertain, hoping.
"Yes, Squall. He's right here." I spoke unthinkingly, and winced.
"Right there?" Squall's sharp mind caught my slip instantly. Of course, my prize student . . . "How?" he demanded.
" . . . Do you want to talk to him?" I changed the subject, and fortunately enough for me, the subject was suitably distracting.
" . . . talk to . . . him?" Squall practically croaked. "Laguna?"
I asserted gently. "Yes, Squall. Laguna."
" . . . "
If it was anyone else, they would have dropped the subject. Luckily, it was me, not someone else, and I knew Squall well enough to know that his answer was as much of a 'yes' as I'd ever get from him. "One second. . ." I said softly.
I looked back to the window. Laguna was industrially working on his piece- de-resistance, and I sighed. I'd told him to get some sleep, not doodle on overly dirty pieces of furniture. I cleared my throat. "Laguna."
He looked over blearily. "Yeah?"
I waved the phone in his general direction. "It's your son. He wants to talk to you."
Laguna tried to bolt up, but ended up having to use all fours to scramble to his feet. "He wants to talk?" He squawked ridiculously, righting himself. "Squall?"
I hid my amusement behind my hand, and turned away. "Unless you've been hiding another son, yes, it's Squall."
Laguna looked at the phone apprehensively, and took it slowly.
"Hello?"
I left. I told myself I had to take care of a few things, but really, it was to leave the father and son in whatever privacy they could get.
(¯`'·.¸(¯`'·. .laguna. .·'´¯)¸.·'´¯)
Today had not been my day.
Hadn't been my day yesterday, either, but the point was, things were going badly.
I'd had to walk almost a gazillion miles across that barren landscape, and after night fell I finally looked up to see city lights on the horizon . . . and I'd been going the wrong way the whole time.
So, I'd walked to the city, and had to settle with some really crappy motel. I mean, really crappy. The surrounding area practically reeked of . . . of . . . well, actually, it just reeked. I'd put Quistis into the bed and left to find her some decent clothes - cause yeah, she looked like crap - and I couldn't figure out her size . . . so, I got medium sweatpants. Medium sweats fit everybody.
Well, a buncha idiots decided it'd be a great idea to break into a room and bag some free stuff. To be more specific, MY room. Actually, it was more Quistis' cuz she got the bed, but that's beside the point . . . Anyway, they jumped me, so I had to ah . . . you know, make sure they didn't bother Quistis, cuz she was still sleeping. The maids just kinda shrugged, so I guess that kind of thing happens a lot around here.
Anyway, I wrote a note to Quistis, and went off to call Kiros. Kiros was ticked, for some reason. It wasn't like it was MY fault someone tried to kill me, sheez. So I let him know where we were.
He said to lay low, that my being 'dead' to the world could have advantages. Like, no one trying to kill me for awhile. So my hopes of a quick rescue and a warm bowl of tomato soup back in my room were dashed, and I dragged my poor little self back to the motel. Where I, of course, forgot the hotel number.
Then I'd gotten told off by Quistis, and had to listen to her half of a conversation with that Kinneas guy, and then I messed up while drawing my Moomba picture on the window.
And now, I thought unhappily as I took the phone from Quistis, I have to talk with Squall, which is a major emotional task for me. I had a feeling that once this conversation was over, I'd be in no condition to do anything. . . Gee, great.
"Hello?"
"You're alive." Squall's frank voice held a considerable amount of shock.
I nodded. "And kicking."
" . . . "
Well, it wasn't what I'd expected, even though I hadn't really been sure what to expect. "Gee, don't sound so excited," I said wryly. "I'm touched, really."
" . . . whatever. Sorry." Squall sounded almost . . . wistful? Maybe I'm not reading his voice right.
I tilted my head, frowning. "For what?"
"Nothing. . ." Squall's voice went completely flat. To me, anyway; Quistis could've gotten some meaning out of it, probably.
The silence widened. "Hm," I muttered inarticulately, just to fill the void. Yeah, uncomfortable silences seem to dominate my conversations these days.
. . .
Squall started abruptly. "I would've gotten revenge, you know."
I sat down on the chair by the window again. Hard. Revenge? "What?"
"If you'd really died." Squall sounded serious, and I wondered how he'd actually taken my 'death.' "I would've gotten revenge for you."
Revenge? For me? Well, I guess that's how fighters work. Still, though, Squall? "Seriously?"
There was a rustling over the line, and his tone went from serious to bemused in less then ten seconds. " . . . I was already working on it, actually."
"That would be something to see." I grinned as the mental image pounced on me. "Squall Leonhart, on the mad rampage for vengeance." A small laugh escaped me.
Squall cut my laugh short "Why's it Leonhart?"
What? "Hm?"
He rephrased the question. "Why's it Leonhart, instead of Loire?"
Oh. The last name bit. I bit my lip, and tried to go over my memories with as detached a view as I could. I explained slowly, and haltingly. "Leonhart was Raine's maiden name. While those at Winhill knew we were married . . . well, they didn't really like me very much. Raine was . . . well liked, and. . . a lot of people felt cheated when she married an outsider."
"So when she died, they sent me off with her maiden name instead of her married name."
"Yeah . . ." That about covered it. I cupped my hand over the phone to hide my yawn, and tried to clear my head. Man, Quistis was right, as usual. I really did need some sleep. "Um . . . so you wanted to talk, why?"
"I just needed to make sure you were actually alive." Squall said simply. Ah. That was a good thing, I guess . . . Squall continued, "How?"
He really need to work on his conversation skills, cause he's confusing the crap outta me. "How what?" I asked, hoping I didn't sound too stupid.
"How are you still alive?" Squall said impatiently. Oh. Right. "The news keeps panning over the remains of your ship, and it isn't pretty."
ARGH! That's right! They blew up my ship! MY ship! I shook my head, deciding I was too tired to get too angry over it. "Yeah . . . I got lucky . . .I found the bomb, and so we parachuted." I thought over that for a second. "That was pretty cool, actually, but on the way down we both got belted with debris."
"Oh." Squall's voice was nuetral. I guess he was hoping for more action or something.
"Well, when the newsies get a hold of it, it's gonna be blown up into considerably more than what it was . . ." I groaned. "Oh crap, I can see it now . . . 'President of Esthar narrowly escapes certain death due to his search for the Twinkies.' Kiros is gonna hate this . . ."
Squall sounded incredulous as he choked out, ". . . Twinkies?"
"I was hungry!"
"Sorry . . . I don't like Twinkies." Squall sounded slightly morose. Don't know what about though. It's not a big deal, not liking Twinkies. Ward prefers HoHo's.
"Listen . . ." Squall said slowly. I perked my ears. His voice was lower, softer, and a bit more constrained. Translation: Yo, some deep, important crap is about to be said. Squall hesitated. " . . . I guess it's okay with me . . ."
"What? The Twinkies?"
"NO!" Squall practically shouted with exasperation. Okay, I was wrong. "The whole . . . the whole father son thing. I'll give it a try."
Oh, OK. That wasn't so . . .
Wait . . . what?
"SERIOUSLY!?" I pumped the air with my fist. As usual, whan I get excited or nervous - in this case, both - I began babbling my thoughts outloud. Well, most of them, anyway. "Whoa, so cool, and oh man . . . what does a father DO? Ooh! I know, we can go FISHING. I can't really fish that well, actually, last time the fish I caught was like, small, even though Ward got a big fish, and . . ." I paused. "Um, wait, what's with the sudden change of heart?"
Squall gave a snort that in different circles might have passed for a chuckle. "I think it was Quistis, actually . . . she was right about a few things." I shook my head. Yeah, she was right about more than a few things. Squall continued. "Quistis always manages to knock sense into me."
"Me too," I agreed, trying to think around the bouncing thoughts of fatherhood flying around my head. "I think it's how she gets her kicks."
Squall made a noncommital sound. ". . . She likes you."
"Uh . . . What?" What made him sound so grumpy in a hurry? "Who?"
"Quistis. She likes you, for some reason." WHA - AT? "She calls you by your first name, she joked with you. She approves of you, at the very least."
No. Nuh uh. Yeah, Quistis might TRUST me, and hell yeah, I trust HER, and yeah, a wanna do a bit more than just 'trust' her if you know what I mean, but Quistis is a woman of higher class. She wouldn't even think of an old guy like me in, you know, THAT way.
I slowly shook my head, realizing the motion would go unnoticed over the phone. "She's kinda cold. Doesn't laugh to much," I said, before brightening. "I DID get her to smile, though."
"More than we could do." Squall said a bit less sullenly. "She'd fake it around us. She got really depressed right after Time Compression. We worried."
"Yeah," I said. The rainy night less than a week ago, and Quistis laying sprawled on the hillside, flashed through my mind. " . . . and rightly so . . ." I muttered unthinkingly.
"What?" Squall demanded, catching my slip. Damn him and his good hearing.
"Nothing, just . . ." I winced. "Er, nevermind."
"More of the infamous unspoken agreement?" Squall said dryly.
I winced again. "Yeah, actually. . ."
The door opened. My head jerked up, and Quistis walked in. She frowned at me. Oh yeah . . . I was supposed to be asleep . . . not that I was against being unconscious at the moment, but this was the longest conversion I'd ever had with Squall.
" . . . whatever." Squall muttered. Maybe it wasn't such a good thing, actually.
"Umm . . ." Quistis was still glaring at me. I spoke fast. ". . .Quistis is trying to get me to hang up the phone through the sheer power of her gaze . . . and its kinda working . . . so . . ." I trailed off.
"Don't get yourself killed," he said abrubtly.
"Aww, does this mean you care?" I grinned.
Squall snorted good-temperedly. "Don't press your luck."
" . . . damn." I hung my head and snapped my fingers in one hand, mock dejectedly.
He hung up. I hung up. No good-byes necessary.
I think it was then that the full portents of that conversation hit me . . .
I don't know what Squall was doing on the other end of the line, but I was laughing as hard as my sore ribs would allow.
(¯`'·.¸(¯`'·. .author's note. .·'´¯)¸.·'´¯)
As you can see, I switched o my normal computer and reformatted, so you don't have to deal with crappy Courier New font and bad paragraphing.
Fwee . . . I just got two new games for Christmas, so my writing might slow down a TINY BIT . . . but, the point is . . .
No longer am I on Hiatus! I am back in business, my loyal readers!
I'm back, yes yes. My grandmother's computer has got to be the most ancient machine in the world. It runs on . . . shudder from the pain . . . WINDOWS 95. It doesn't even have word, I'm writing this in notepad. The horror.
How did I get through this chapter? I wrote bits and pieces of it at a time, and then stitched the whole thing together. Not good for flow, I'm afraid. But the content of this chapter is very fun. . . I put in another PG-13 reference, so beware. That having been said, enjoy.
(¯`'·.¸(¯`'·. quistis .·'´¯)¸.·'´¯)
I was warm, and a dry, slightly stiff warmth was tucked gently around my neck. My muscles were uncomfortable and aching, but I suppose it was to be expected . . . I sat up, and the typical subpar motel comforter fell off of me. The curtains were closed, and the dim light offered no clues as to where I was.
I was in a motel, yes, but where was . . .
Laguna. Where was Laguna?
I jerked my feet off the bed and vaulted off, but they weren't ready to support my weight and I stumbled into the wall with a slight thump. I blinked slowly, my eyes finally taking in my surroundings. My glasses . . . where were they?
Still squinting my eyes, I peered around. They could very well have gotten lost in the past . . . however long it had been since I'd been conscious. Wait . . . they'd been placed on the bedstand . . . with a note.
I adjusted on my glasses and open the curtains to let in minimal light, and peered at the slightly crooked print that was most certainly Laguna Loire's.
Quistis,
We're in Deling, the dodgy end, so don't relax. If I'm gone, then I'm at a payphone or getting food. This was the only place that would let us in with all the blood we had on us, but it's certainly not the place to take the kids. Keep your whip close, Quistis, just as a precaution. There's another change of clothes for you on the dresser, and whatever you do, DO NOT LEAVE THE ROOM.
Laguna
PS: Don't turn on the TV. Trust me on this one.
Amazing how he changed when he wrote. He really was meant to be a journalist, I was beginning to doubt his original choice of vocation . . . I suppose I'll never cease to wonder why he doesn't make use of that marvelous vocabulary of his.
A change of clothes? I looked down. My clothes still, and just as dirty and bloody as before. I felt my lip twitch. Leave it to Laguna to drag me and my battered self across a desert and tuck me into a bed in a shifty motel room, yet be too shy to change my clothes. Of course, if he had changed my clothes, it would have been extremely awkward, so perhaps this was a boon.
Even if it was . . . sweatpants. Oh, Hyne, I had to wear those?
I showered, and took the sheets off the bed, wrinkling my nose at the sight of the blood. That would be quite hard to get out in the wash, really, I knew from experience. Of course, no doubt the motel staff had plenty of similar stains to deal with. . . I peered out the window. Dodgy end, indeed.
I dunked my clothes in the bathtub, and after scrubbing them as best I could, left them to soak with a few bottles of complimentary shampoo.
So Laguna has told me to stay. I wonder why, really, I wasn't the one in danger. He was. The only reason I was obeying the note to begin with was because I had more of a chance of him coming back here than me finding him in the vast expanse of 'out there.' Either way, he was getting a severe scolding when he got back. And why on earth did he mention the television?
I peered at the object in question. It didn't seem threatening, even if it was chained to the wall. I wouldn't have even noticed it if Laguna hadn't mentioned it. Obviously, he had turned it on to bad effect, or he wouldn't have warned me about it, but since he had been alive when he wrote that note, it hadn't bodily harmed him.
I did trust Laguna, yes, but this was a matter of curiosity, not trust. He wouldn't have told me not to if there wasn't a reason, but . . .
My hand hesitated over the power button. . .
*click*
My mind registered the images flashing across the screen for a good five seconds before I turned it off, my face a bright crimson. . . . had that even been physically possible? Well, that . . . ah, that couple had managed . . . I blinked several times, and sat down. Well.
Laguna had warned me. I suppose that . . . that . . . that sort of thing would be quite . . .common in places such as . . . this. But still . . Oh my.
I shook my head. Horrible images. It was a good thing that Kiros wasn't here. I wouldn't hear the end of it. . . or Laguna, that would be rather tense . . . or Irvine, he'd be worse than Kiros . . . Oh, Hyne, it was a good thing that I was alone, though I'd rather that I hadn't even touched the damned television.
*knock knock knock*
I jerked my head up, and thought quickly. Pitching my voice slightly lower, I answered gruffly, "Who is it?"
I heard soft cussing outside, and a familiar voice. "Er . . sorry, I think I got the wrong room . . . damn, I was positive it was 847 . . . maybe it was 748 . . ." Laguna's voice began to trail down the hall.
I raced to the door, opening it narrowly. "No, no, it's the right room. I just don't trust this place very much."
Laguna smiled wanly. "He - ey, thanks. I was getting worried. I've been to about . . ." He frowned. "I dunno, really, but I had to check alot of rooms before I found the right one." I shook my head, and stepped out of the way as he staggered inside.
Staggered? I scanned the room for a clock. Two thirty, obviously in the afternoon. My eyes narrowed. "Laguna Loire, have you slept at all in the past twenty four hours?"
He twitched. "Uh . . ."
I crossed my arms. "Laguna."
The guilty look on his face deepened. "Uh . . Yeah?"
"Why haven't you slept?"
"I had stuff to do! I had to find a semi-secure line to call Kiros with, and then I had to get you some clothes, and then I had to take care of all the guys who were trying to break into the room and make sure it didn't happen again and then I had to-"
"No excuses."
"But Qui - stis, everyone thinks we're dead, and . . . and . . ." A look of intense worry and shock passed over his already exhausted expression. "CRAP I gotta call Squall still, and then I gotta get us transportation to someplace else safe, cuz here definitely isn't good, and then I - "
I ignored his ramblings. "I'll handle things."
He drooped visibly. "Fine, yeah . . . " Laguna snatched some of the obligatory stationary off the television, and using it as a table, began to scribble down phone numbers. The television wobbled precariously, and Laguna kicked it sullenly.
I remembered the explicit images that had flickered across the screen minutes just before. Despite several mental kicks to my head, my face warmed considerably.
Laguna blinked, and his face became strangely serious. "You . . . you turned on the TV, didn't you?"
I felt my face begin to heat even more. "I . . ." I shook my head. The truth, Quistis. Truth between you and Laguna. "I'm doing my best to pretend it never happened."
"Good idea. . ." Laguna muttered, his cheeks flushing slightly, clearing his throat. Obviously, Laguna had been witness to something similar.
"Quite." I remarked as dryly as possible, shaking my head. Well.
Laguna muttered something to the effect of a double cheese sandwich with barbecue chips and sulked in the general direction of the window. I eyed the phone uneasily. "I hope I can reach outside phones with that."
No answer from my moping companion. I turned back to look, but he had flopped over on the dubious recliner, and was tracing pictures in the dust on the glass panes. I sighed and picked up the receiver. Well, I at least got a dial tone . . .
Laguna began to hum something unrecognizable. Perhaps I just hadn't heard it before. Perhaps the tune was just muffled because of the distance. Perhaps it was just that Laguna was tone deaf and had no business humming in the first place.
I gave my head a quick shake, and turned back to the ring tone. Someone had to answer, surely . . . a small click on the receiving end let my anxiousness let up slightly. "Hello, is Squall there -
"Quistis? Is that you?" A voice with a slight drawl, accented with extreme shock, cut me short. I sat down lightly on the edge of the motel bed, and tilted my head.
"Irvine?" I asked unnecessarily, my relief at hearing an understanding voice showing through. After all, he was the only one as of yet to know all the details of my situation.
Laguna's head shot up at Irvine's name, although I couldn't read his expression. I nervously felt my lip twitch as I continued. "Oh, thank Hyne, I was hoping to get one of you, I - "
Irvine's voice cracked as he raised it above mine. "They said Laguna was DEAD, but the others don't know that you were probably staying with Laguna, and I was sure you were . . ."
"Dead? They . . . they did?" My mind raced. Of course.
Laguna, while stressing earlier, had mentioned that everyone thought us dead . . . I hadn't really been paying attention to him, however, and the fault there was mine . . . everyone thought us dead, then, and well they should. The Apocalypse had been, quite literally, blown up. Who could have known that we'd escape? It certainly wasn't planned . . .
It made perfect sense. I should have figured it out before.
My mind snapped back to the present. "No! I'm fine!" I blurted out, before calming my voice and saying, "Laguna and I got out of the ship in time before the bomb went off -"
"BOMB?!" A loud crash in the background belied Irvine's somewhat violent reaction, and I winced away from the receiver. Irvine went on, oblivious. "They said it was a crash!"
I leaned against the headboard, finding myself slightly amused. "In a sense, it was, I suppose, but the Apocalypse 'crashing' would be like . . . " I searched for an adequate comparison. " . . . Squall losing to a bite bug."
"Damn." Irvine muttered, his shock and, to my slight startlement, relief. "Oh, damn . . ." His tone changed suddenly to horror. "SQUALL. Quistis, he's a wreck."
I froze. Squall had just gotten his father back in a sense, and now thought that he had lost him again. Maybe to him it was a good thing. . . But maybe not . . . I winced.
"I mean, whatever the hell that guy's running on, they should either sell it or make it illegal," Irvine complained somewhat apprehensively. "It's like he's on auto-pilot, he isn't talking, and on his free time he just kinda . . . I dunno . . . thinks." The sentence ended awkwardly, and a heavy sigh floated over the line. "It's bad, Quistis."
Squall was . . . depressed . . . or something. How could I, an orphan, possibly know what Squall was feeling? Squall himself had been an orphan just two weeks ago, did he even know what he was feeling? " . . . Oh Hyne . . ." I murmured anxiously. What was I going to do about this?
"We can't get anything out of him," his tone changed to ticked. "We don't know anything, remember? How can we comfort him if we're supposed to be so damn clueless?"
Perhaps it was better that way, then. Squall wouldn't want pity, or sympathy. "Let me talk to him."
" . . . But-"
"Irvine." I said firmly. "Trust me."
"Fine . . ." A shuffling over the line. I waited. I couldn't hear much, Irvine's hand must have been covering the phone, but I heard muffled voices, and a few raised ones. It was a full ten minutes before I heard Squall's voice. "Who is it."
I shrank back. His voice was. . . dead . . . not monotonous, no, but . . . the cold precision with which he spoke frightened me. My eyes narrowed of heir own accord. "Squall, it's - "
"Quistis." Squall's cold voice lightened slightly, but slightly, "You know what happened? To Laguna?"
My voice was fainter then I would have liked. "Yes, well, I - "
"He's dead. I know it wasn't a damn crash, Quistis, I know it. And the entire thing pisses me off."
"You know, I was going to give the whole damn thing a try, too." Oblivious to my interruption, Squall's venting persisted. "I was actually beginning to look forward to the whole general idea. But no, he decides to get himself blown up. Sounds real pitiful, doesn't it?"
I blinked alarmedly. "No, there's -"
The full effect of his words hit me then, like the full force of the storm that was his namesake. Squall was . . . grieving. He was grieving.
Whenever a comrade died, whenever someone he knew fell in battle, Squall wouldn't cry, or do anything so obvious. He'd grow cold, and then get angry. Mad. A cold fury, and then he'd get revenge. Vengeance for the fallen. In this case . . . I hesitated. "Squall, Laguna -"
"I even got to the point of actually asking 'Why me?'" Squall laughed harshly. "Yeah, it's sad. And everyone pity's me. They don't have a damn idea about why I've been pissed and they still pity me. I don't want their pity, and tell me Quistis, why the hell did the bastard have to get himself blown up, any-
For the first time in over six months, I raised my voice. "HE'S ALIVE, SQUALL." I took a deep breath. Silence. I took advantage of his stunned quiet. "Will you listen to me for one moment, PLEASE?!"
Squall hesitated, and I heard a slight rustle. " . . . alive." Untrusting, uncertain, hoping.
"Yes, Squall. He's right here." I spoke unthinkingly, and winced.
"Right there?" Squall's sharp mind caught my slip instantly. Of course, my prize student . . . "How?" he demanded.
" . . . Do you want to talk to him?" I changed the subject, and fortunately enough for me, the subject was suitably distracting.
" . . . talk to . . . him?" Squall practically croaked. "Laguna?"
I asserted gently. "Yes, Squall. Laguna."
" . . . "
If it was anyone else, they would have dropped the subject. Luckily, it was me, not someone else, and I knew Squall well enough to know that his answer was as much of a 'yes' as I'd ever get from him. "One second. . ." I said softly.
I looked back to the window. Laguna was industrially working on his piece- de-resistance, and I sighed. I'd told him to get some sleep, not doodle on overly dirty pieces of furniture. I cleared my throat. "Laguna."
He looked over blearily. "Yeah?"
I waved the phone in his general direction. "It's your son. He wants to talk to you."
Laguna tried to bolt up, but ended up having to use all fours to scramble to his feet. "He wants to talk?" He squawked ridiculously, righting himself. "Squall?"
I hid my amusement behind my hand, and turned away. "Unless you've been hiding another son, yes, it's Squall."
Laguna looked at the phone apprehensively, and took it slowly.
"Hello?"
I left. I told myself I had to take care of a few things, but really, it was to leave the father and son in whatever privacy they could get.
(¯`'·.¸(¯`'·. .laguna. .·'´¯)¸.·'´¯)
Today had not been my day.
Hadn't been my day yesterday, either, but the point was, things were going badly.
I'd had to walk almost a gazillion miles across that barren landscape, and after night fell I finally looked up to see city lights on the horizon . . . and I'd been going the wrong way the whole time.
So, I'd walked to the city, and had to settle with some really crappy motel. I mean, really crappy. The surrounding area practically reeked of . . . of . . . well, actually, it just reeked. I'd put Quistis into the bed and left to find her some decent clothes - cause yeah, she looked like crap - and I couldn't figure out her size . . . so, I got medium sweatpants. Medium sweats fit everybody.
Well, a buncha idiots decided it'd be a great idea to break into a room and bag some free stuff. To be more specific, MY room. Actually, it was more Quistis' cuz she got the bed, but that's beside the point . . . Anyway, they jumped me, so I had to ah . . . you know, make sure they didn't bother Quistis, cuz she was still sleeping. The maids just kinda shrugged, so I guess that kind of thing happens a lot around here.
Anyway, I wrote a note to Quistis, and went off to call Kiros. Kiros was ticked, for some reason. It wasn't like it was MY fault someone tried to kill me, sheez. So I let him know where we were.
He said to lay low, that my being 'dead' to the world could have advantages. Like, no one trying to kill me for awhile. So my hopes of a quick rescue and a warm bowl of tomato soup back in my room were dashed, and I dragged my poor little self back to the motel. Where I, of course, forgot the hotel number.
Then I'd gotten told off by Quistis, and had to listen to her half of a conversation with that Kinneas guy, and then I messed up while drawing my Moomba picture on the window.
And now, I thought unhappily as I took the phone from Quistis, I have to talk with Squall, which is a major emotional task for me. I had a feeling that once this conversation was over, I'd be in no condition to do anything. . . Gee, great.
"Hello?"
"You're alive." Squall's frank voice held a considerable amount of shock.
I nodded. "And kicking."
" . . . "
Well, it wasn't what I'd expected, even though I hadn't really been sure what to expect. "Gee, don't sound so excited," I said wryly. "I'm touched, really."
" . . . whatever. Sorry." Squall sounded almost . . . wistful? Maybe I'm not reading his voice right.
I tilted my head, frowning. "For what?"
"Nothing. . ." Squall's voice went completely flat. To me, anyway; Quistis could've gotten some meaning out of it, probably.
The silence widened. "Hm," I muttered inarticulately, just to fill the void. Yeah, uncomfortable silences seem to dominate my conversations these days.
. . .
Squall started abruptly. "I would've gotten revenge, you know."
I sat down on the chair by the window again. Hard. Revenge? "What?"
"If you'd really died." Squall sounded serious, and I wondered how he'd actually taken my 'death.' "I would've gotten revenge for you."
Revenge? For me? Well, I guess that's how fighters work. Still, though, Squall? "Seriously?"
There was a rustling over the line, and his tone went from serious to bemused in less then ten seconds. " . . . I was already working on it, actually."
"That would be something to see." I grinned as the mental image pounced on me. "Squall Leonhart, on the mad rampage for vengeance." A small laugh escaped me.
Squall cut my laugh short "Why's it Leonhart?"
What? "Hm?"
He rephrased the question. "Why's it Leonhart, instead of Loire?"
Oh. The last name bit. I bit my lip, and tried to go over my memories with as detached a view as I could. I explained slowly, and haltingly. "Leonhart was Raine's maiden name. While those at Winhill knew we were married . . . well, they didn't really like me very much. Raine was . . . well liked, and. . . a lot of people felt cheated when she married an outsider."
"So when she died, they sent me off with her maiden name instead of her married name."
"Yeah . . ." That about covered it. I cupped my hand over the phone to hide my yawn, and tried to clear my head. Man, Quistis was right, as usual. I really did need some sleep. "Um . . . so you wanted to talk, why?"
"I just needed to make sure you were actually alive." Squall said simply. Ah. That was a good thing, I guess . . . Squall continued, "How?"
He really need to work on his conversation skills, cause he's confusing the crap outta me. "How what?" I asked, hoping I didn't sound too stupid.
"How are you still alive?" Squall said impatiently. Oh. Right. "The news keeps panning over the remains of your ship, and it isn't pretty."
ARGH! That's right! They blew up my ship! MY ship! I shook my head, deciding I was too tired to get too angry over it. "Yeah . . . I got lucky . . .I found the bomb, and so we parachuted." I thought over that for a second. "That was pretty cool, actually, but on the way down we both got belted with debris."
"Oh." Squall's voice was nuetral. I guess he was hoping for more action or something.
"Well, when the newsies get a hold of it, it's gonna be blown up into considerably more than what it was . . ." I groaned. "Oh crap, I can see it now . . . 'President of Esthar narrowly escapes certain death due to his search for the Twinkies.' Kiros is gonna hate this . . ."
Squall sounded incredulous as he choked out, ". . . Twinkies?"
"I was hungry!"
"Sorry . . . I don't like Twinkies." Squall sounded slightly morose. Don't know what about though. It's not a big deal, not liking Twinkies. Ward prefers HoHo's.
"Listen . . ." Squall said slowly. I perked my ears. His voice was lower, softer, and a bit more constrained. Translation: Yo, some deep, important crap is about to be said. Squall hesitated. " . . . I guess it's okay with me . . ."
"What? The Twinkies?"
"NO!" Squall practically shouted with exasperation. Okay, I was wrong. "The whole . . . the whole father son thing. I'll give it a try."
Oh, OK. That wasn't so . . .
Wait . . . what?
"SERIOUSLY!?" I pumped the air with my fist. As usual, whan I get excited or nervous - in this case, both - I began babbling my thoughts outloud. Well, most of them, anyway. "Whoa, so cool, and oh man . . . what does a father DO? Ooh! I know, we can go FISHING. I can't really fish that well, actually, last time the fish I caught was like, small, even though Ward got a big fish, and . . ." I paused. "Um, wait, what's with the sudden change of heart?"
Squall gave a snort that in different circles might have passed for a chuckle. "I think it was Quistis, actually . . . she was right about a few things." I shook my head. Yeah, she was right about more than a few things. Squall continued. "Quistis always manages to knock sense into me."
"Me too," I agreed, trying to think around the bouncing thoughts of fatherhood flying around my head. "I think it's how she gets her kicks."
Squall made a noncommital sound. ". . . She likes you."
"Uh . . . What?" What made him sound so grumpy in a hurry? "Who?"
"Quistis. She likes you, for some reason." WHA - AT? "She calls you by your first name, she joked with you. She approves of you, at the very least."
No. Nuh uh. Yeah, Quistis might TRUST me, and hell yeah, I trust HER, and yeah, a wanna do a bit more than just 'trust' her if you know what I mean, but Quistis is a woman of higher class. She wouldn't even think of an old guy like me in, you know, THAT way.
I slowly shook my head, realizing the motion would go unnoticed over the phone. "She's kinda cold. Doesn't laugh to much," I said, before brightening. "I DID get her to smile, though."
"More than we could do." Squall said a bit less sullenly. "She'd fake it around us. She got really depressed right after Time Compression. We worried."
"Yeah," I said. The rainy night less than a week ago, and Quistis laying sprawled on the hillside, flashed through my mind. " . . . and rightly so . . ." I muttered unthinkingly.
"What?" Squall demanded, catching my slip. Damn him and his good hearing.
"Nothing, just . . ." I winced. "Er, nevermind."
"More of the infamous unspoken agreement?" Squall said dryly.
I winced again. "Yeah, actually. . ."
The door opened. My head jerked up, and Quistis walked in. She frowned at me. Oh yeah . . . I was supposed to be asleep . . . not that I was against being unconscious at the moment, but this was the longest conversion I'd ever had with Squall.
" . . . whatever." Squall muttered. Maybe it wasn't such a good thing, actually.
"Umm . . ." Quistis was still glaring at me. I spoke fast. ". . .Quistis is trying to get me to hang up the phone through the sheer power of her gaze . . . and its kinda working . . . so . . ." I trailed off.
"Don't get yourself killed," he said abrubtly.
"Aww, does this mean you care?" I grinned.
Squall snorted good-temperedly. "Don't press your luck."
" . . . damn." I hung my head and snapped my fingers in one hand, mock dejectedly.
He hung up. I hung up. No good-byes necessary.
I think it was then that the full portents of that conversation hit me . . .
I don't know what Squall was doing on the other end of the line, but I was laughing as hard as my sore ribs would allow.
(¯`'·.¸(¯`'·. .author's note. .·'´¯)¸.·'´¯)
As you can see, I switched o my normal computer and reformatted, so you don't have to deal with crappy Courier New font and bad paragraphing.
Fwee . . . I just got two new games for Christmas, so my writing might slow down a TINY BIT . . . but, the point is . . .
No longer am I on Hiatus! I am back in business, my loyal readers!