Disclaimers: All FF8 characters are respectfully copyrighted to their rightful owners, Squaresoft. No copyright infringement intended for the usage of their characters in this work of fiction. No profit is being made by this fan fiction; please do not redistribute unless otherwise stated so by me personally.
Warning: The story will eventually depict homosexual relationship(s). I don't write my characters as horny rabbits about to jump the sack, love at first sighters, or Shakespear-spouting lovers, but if you have a problem with being a mature and respectful reader about NON-heterosexual relationships, I suggest you STOP READING now. And really, don't be an idiot and flame me after I've warned you. It'll irritate me if you do, but I won't be losing any sleep over you. Possibly just some brain cells at your lack of comprehension.

Part Three:

He would drift in and out of consciousness, his touches with the outside world brief and filled with a sort of numb pain. His body would struggle with the pain and the drugs pumping through his blood, while his mind fought with the clinging darkness that called to him, promising a painless sleep that would never end.

And distantly, in the safety of the darkness in his mind, he was wondering what there was outside that he kept coming back for, because his body was not relenting without a fight.

The first time he came to, he could hear distorted voices speaking near him as if through a static and hazy interception.

"--condition is worsening--his body--haywired and completely shutdown--"

"--caused this to happen?"

"--exertion--he's unstable."

"--you tell?"

"His body--the signs--unstable."

And the second time.

"--hear me?"

He could feel gentle hands smoothing over his brow; a light, feathery caress that made him wonder what he had done to deserve it. He couldn't remember anything he'd done these past few months to deserve anything filled with such warmth and tenderness.

"Zell, don't you dare--not going--let you fucking give up--"

The light touches drifted across his forehead, his cheeks, his lips and he felt another hand, warm, so warm, slip into his own. He wished, for a moment, that he could curl his own fingers around the warmth, but his body would not allow him to respond.

He could only feel and hear.

But the desire to lift his heavy eyelids ended when the darkness came once more to reclaim him, and he descended hard and fast into its embrace, not feeling the cold tear slide down the side of his face, or the trembling hand that was brushing it away.