Disclaimer: I don't own any of the FF8 characters or locations that might
be mentioned in this fic. I do, however, own the original characters and
locations.
Chapter 2
It was Tuesday morning, and Rinoa had just passed her first night in the asylum. The rooms for doctors and nurses were on the tenth floor, the one on the very top. She hadn't slept well at all that night, a combination of nervousness and strange noises from the floor blow keeping her awake. She now stood near the nurses' station with a cup of coffee in her hands, enjoying the silent moment she had to herself.
A sudden shriek from down the hall ruined this moment, and caused Rinoa to spill her coffee down the front of her shirt. A couple of nurses ran down the hall toward the sound, throwing open a door to one of the rooms and rushing in to see what was happening. Almost immediately one nurse came back out and ran to Rinoa, her face pale and her breathing shallow.
"I have to go get some sedatives. No one else is on duty now, you've got to go help her!" With those words she headed into a locked room behind the nurses station.
Rinoa, taking a deep breath in preparation, headed down the hall and inside the door that was cracked open slightly. What she saw inside made her gasp.
The room was blank, with bare walls and two single beds spaced evenly apart. A young girl with honey blonde hair and hazel eyes was cowering in corner on the other side of a bed, a wide bruise covering one of her cheeks. She was gingerly touching her throat and gasping for breath as she trembled in fear. In the middle of the room, an older woman with faded red hair wrestled with the nurse, who was trying desperately to restrain her. The woman was clad in a hospital gown with her hair hanging in her eyes while she batted and hit at the nurse, all the while barking like a ravenous dog. Just when the nurse seemed to have her under control, the woman bit deeply into her arm, blood pouring out and causing the lady to release her hold. By this time the second nurse had returned with the sedative, and heavy-built man wielding a straight jacket. The man grabbed at the woman, but was still having trouble getting her into the jacket.
"Don't just stand there, do something!" the nurse yelled at Rinoa, but she could only stand there watching.
The man finally got her partially strapped into the jacket, leaving just enough space for the nurse to inject the sedative now that it was safe. Once the injection was through, the woman still carried on, but showed signs of slowing down as they dragged her to an unmarked, windowless room.
The commotion inside the patients room had calmed down, the only sounds being that of the roommate's whimpering and the bitten nurse's cries of pain. The second nurse shot a disgusted look at Rinoa, then helped the other nurse up, examining her deep and painful wound.
The younger blonde looked over at Rinoa, and said, "Where is she? Where are they taking her?"
"I-I don't know," Rinoa stuttered before running out of the room toward the bathrooms. By then the other patients had come out of their rooms and were crowded into the hall in curiosity. They watched the new intern flee from the disturbing scene with judgmental eyes. Well, all except one.
A young girl, possibly no more than a teenager, slowly began walking to the bathroom where Rinoa had disappeared. She opened the heavy wood door with a loud squeak and looked around for the woman that had overseen her group session the day before. Rinoa was propped up against the wall by a sink, suddenly looking tired and very withdrawn.
"It happens," the girl began in youthful, but gravelly voice. "You'll get used to it."
Rinoa looked toward her companion with questioning eyes. The girl wore hospital pajama pants, and a black tank top, which Rinoa assumed was what she wore to sleep in. She had short, dark purple hair that was curled in at the ends, and had what looked like a black and white striped half-sleeve on one of her forearms.
"Name's Isabella," the girl said, as if reading Rinoa's thoughts. "If you're gonna work here, you'll have to start remembering names."
Rinoa laughed slightly, shaking Isabella's hand. "I don't know how much longer I'll be working here after that incident."
Isabella shook her head. "Don't worry. Like I said, it happens. You just have to get used to it. Especially with Molly. When she doesn't take her meds, she always gets violent."
Rinoa nodded slowly. "I see."
"Let me show you around, give you the low-down on who's who and why they're here. How does that sound?"
"Great, thanks," Rinoa said, smiling through her obvious fatigue. "I like your hair by the way."
"Thanks, you should've seen it last month. It was green."
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"The basic layout of the building goes like this. The first floor is for the lobby and general offices. That's where Mr. Kramer's office is. He's the head honcho around here, though he rarely makes an appearance on the upper floors. Chicken. Anyway, the second floor is for elderly, or disabled people. You know, people that would have problems getting down a bunch of stairs if there was ever a fire or something. The third and four floors are for girls and boys under the age of eighteen. Third is girls only, fourth is boys only. Then we have this floor, the fifth. This is a coed floor for men and women over the age of eighteen. Floor six is doctors' offices. Floors seven and eight are separate wards for men and women, seven for women and eight for men. Those are for people that were sexually abused or assaulted, and aren't quite comfortable with members of the opposite sex yet. Finally, there are the ninth and tenth floors, both of which require I.D. checks to gain access. The tenth floor you should already know about. The ninth floor is where they keep the 'criminally insane'."
Rinoa raised an eyebrow at her new friend. "The put the criminals underneath the doctors' and nurses' quarters? That's reassuring."
"Don't worry, no one's gotten out of there in ten years," Isabella explained.
"You certainly know a lot about this place. How long have you been on this floor?"
"I just transferred here six months ago from the third floor," she replied.
"So you're only eighteen? How long were you on the third floor?"
"Since I was twelve," she answered. "Mine was an unusual case. I had no parents, or relatives, and my foster parents wouldn't keep me. So they took me in here."
"What happened to you parents, if I may ask?"
"My father was killed, which brings me to my mother. She's up on the ninths floor."
Rinoa tried to hide her shock, but didn't do a very good job of it. Instead, she decided to change the subject. "So, you were going to tell me who's who?"
She nodded, then pointed to Zell, who was sitting on a couch across the rec room watching TV. "Zell has multiple personality disorder, but a special case of it. He has these two different personalities, one of which he acts out through him, the other he acts out through his bear, Chester. It's very strange, and technical, and I don't understand all of it. Zell's really a sweetheart, though, he wouldn't harm a fly. I don't think there's any reason to keep him in here, but his parents admitted him when he was a teenager, and they don't want him released until he's 'normal' as they put it."
Isabella searched the room for a moment then pointed at the young blonde that had been attacked earlier. "That's Georgia, she's just a little older than me. As you already know, she's roommates with Molly, and they have quite a strange relationship. When Molly doesn't take her pills, she gets really violent, almost psychotic. She really belongs on the ninth floor, but because of her health, they keep her here. No one wanted to room with her, because of the way she was, but when Georgia came, they had no other place to put her. They took to each other instantly, like mother and daughter. Georgia had never had real parents, and Molly had lost her daughter, which I hear is almost identical to Georgia, to an accident. So Georgia gets to pretend she has a loving mother, and Molly gets to pretend she has her daughter back. That's why Georgia puts up with all the violence."
"Finally, there's that man over there," she pointed to an elderly man with longish gray hair. "That's Mr. Jenson."
"What's he here for?"
"He's the oldest living nymphomaniac," Isabella replied.
Rinoa barely stifled her laughter. "Are you serious?!"
She nodded. "Yep. He was admitted by his wife a few years back, because she was tired of his promiscuity. They originally intended to have him on the men-only floor, but decided it wasn't a good idea to put a nympho on a floor with sexually abused patients. He's made a lot of progress since he came here, though he still tried to buy porno mags off some of the other patients."
Rinoa crossed her arms across her chest as she leaned against one of the tables in the rec room. There was a question on the tip of her tongue, a curiosity eating away at her, but she was hesitant about asking. Finally she turned to her companion, who was sitting on the table with her feet rested on a chair, and a cigarette in her hand. "What about Squall Leonhart?"
Isabella smiled. "So, I see you've heard of him. He's another one of the famous patients here at Angel Haven. There is little known about him, really. Someone at the office is keeping things under wraps. But I'll tell you what I know. Basically, Squall's a genius. Mostly artistic, but he's good with numbers and stuff, too. I guess when you get right down to it, he's too smart for his own good. They say when your I.Q. reaches certain levels, that sometimes normal, everyday parts of you brain malfunction. Einstein couldn't tie his shoes, for instance. Squall's problem is little different, though. He's schizophrenic. He hears thing sometimes, or sees things. He had a tendency to slip off into his own little world where he can't tell what's real from what's not. He'll become obsessed with certain ideas for months on end, convinced that it's real, that there's truth to it, and if he just digs a little farther, he'll eventually find the truth. It makes him difficult to deal with. The entire time he's been here, he hasn't made a single bit of progress."
Rinoa sighed. "I guess this isn't going to be easy. I have an appointment with him tomorrow. A one-on-one session."
Isabella patted her on the back. "Don't feel bad. Even the wonderful Dr. Trepe couldn't cure him."
"So, if I may, what are you here for?"
"Me?" Isabella repeated. "I have a little obsession."
"What?"
Isabella took the lighter from her pocket and ran her thumb over the top, flicking on the small flame. "I burnt down many of my foster parents' houses."
"And they let you have a lighter in here?!"
"They didn't let me. I traded for it. There are a lot of restrictions in this place, but it's pretty much like prison. Whatever you want, you can get, so long as you're willing to part with something of your own."
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ +++
It was five forty-five a.m. when a gentle shaking awoke Squall Leonhart. His eyes cracked open to narrow, glittering slits. Through the normal morning blur he identified the nurse, and grumbled a string of curses at her for disturbing him.
"Wake up, Squall. You have an appointment with Ms. Heartilly in fifteen minutes."
He rolled over onto his stomach and buried his head beneath a pillow. He was too sleepy to be going anywhere at that time of day. And besides, it wasn't like he had intended to go in the first place.
As he heard the nurse quietly close the door behind her, he heaved a sigh of relief and squeezed his eyes shut again. Maybe this time the overly persistent bitch would just give up.
He was just settling into a nice, comfortable slumber when he suddenly felt the bed move beneath him. Before he could gather his wits, he was on the cold, linoleum floor, having rolled off of his bed. He was instantly jerked up by the arm, his confusion suddenly fading as he saw two of the building's largest guards standing before him. One had a death grip on his arm, and the other was just putting down the mattress of his bed, having tipped it over and dumped him into the floor.
Squall rubbed at his eyes, trying to make sure this was really happening, and asked, "What the hell's going on here?"
"You're coming with us."
He attempted to struggle but with both of them holding him back, he had no luck. After a few moments of this unsuccessful tactic, he finally gave up and decided to march to his destination with dignity. Or at least as much dignity as you can have when you're being dragged through the halls of a mental asylum by two guys the size of baby elephants.
One might expect that after that kind of treatment you'd be shoved into some kind of torture room, but the room Squall was shoved into next was completely different. He suddenly found himself standing in a wood-paneled room filled with framed degrees, photos, and dried floral bouquets. It was an office he knew all too, well, and he immediately turned around and tried to open the door, only to find that he was locked in. He turned back with a sigh, expecting to see Dr. Trepe's patient smile, but was instead met with a smug little smirk that he'd seen only once before.
"You." he began in a voice seething with contempt.
She just smiled at him. "Nice to see you could make it, Mr. Leonhart. And may I say, I just love your casual wear," she said, gesturing to his sleepwear, which consisted of black boxers and a white T-shirt.
"You're lucky I don't have an anger management problem," he growled.
She just laughed. "Have a seat."
Grudgingly, Squall took a seat on the couch in front of the desk and put a pillow over his lap, feeling embarrassed about his state of dress. Rinoa walked out from behind Quistis' desk and took a seat in the chair across from the couch. "Did you sleep well last night?" Rinoa asked sweetly.
He didn't say anything, just scowled at her.
"I see. We're going to play this game, are we? Well, I'll have you know that I took the whole day off, so we're going to sit here until you talk." She was bluffing, of course. She only had an hour before she had to report to Dr. Trepe.
"Talk about what?" he grumbled.
Rinoa sighed. "I tried to dig up your files, but Dr. Trepe has them locked away somewhere. So I'm not entirely familiar with your case, I must admit. So let me just start off by asking you this. You've been here for three years, am I right? Do you ever intend to go home?"
He didn't answer. He just stared at her with those eyes that seemed to blaze with cold blue fire.
Rinoa resisted the urge to squirm beneath his gaze, and instead held her composure. "Look, Squall. I'm not your enemy. I'm just trying to help you get out of here. Don't you want that?"
"Get out of here to go where?"
"So you can talk. Get out of here to go home. Who admitted you, anyway? Your parents?"
He shook his head. "Why don't you ask Dr. Trepe? I'm sure she'll have more answers for you then I do." With that he stood up and headed for the door again, but Rinoa was right on his heels.
"Where do you think you're going?" she demanded as he tried the knob again. "It's locked. It will remain locked for another fifty minutes, so you might as well sit down and get comfortable. You're not going anywhere."
He turned back to her, the scowl on his face deepening and growing rage seeping through his eyes. "Let me out of here! You can't keep me caged up with you like some kind of animal!"
Rinoa approached him slowly, the smile on her face widening the closer she got. When she was right up in his face, she said, "I was given permission to get you in here and keep you in here by any means I deemed necessary. You are NOT going anywhere."
That said, she allowed herself a moment to study the reaction of her patient, but she found her eye wandering to places that held no such relevance. She could feel her heartbeat quicken considerably, and a rush of excitement ran through her body. Realizing that it wasn't at all healthy to drool over a patient, she fought to draw her attention back to his face, which still showed no sign of emotion. Or so it seemed. She just barely noticed the tiny gleam of fear, or nervousness in his eyes. That was enough. She backed away from him and placed a hand on her hip, presenting a silent question.
Squall hung his head, somewhat in defeat, and returned back to the couch. She followed him, glorifying in her triumph, before sitting down in her chair again.
"I'm sorry to have to lock you in here," Rinoa began softly. "But I just want to help you."
"I can't be helped."
"It's that kind of attitude that probably landed you here in the first place. I know things are hard. They probably seem impossible right now. But you've got to believe that things will get better, or they never will."
He rolled his eyes. "What have I got to complain about? I have these wonderful twenty-foot gates to keep me safe, I have my own personal staff shoving pills down my throat every chance they get, and a great roommate that talks to his teddy bear and snores loud enough to wake the dead. No, everything's perfect, I'm perfectly content."
"Yeah, Zell told me you keep stealing his teddy bear," she mentioned, giving him a suspicious look.
"Yeah, I take it, then tell him if he doesn't stop snoring, the bear gets it. It usually does the trick, even if it does keep him up for the rest of the night with paranoia."
Rinoa giggled slightly. "That's mean!"
"You think it's funny," he pointed out.
"I know, but I shouldn't laugh. Anyway, let's get on with this. We've wasted enough time."
Forty-three minutes later, Rinoa stood from her chair and smiled down on her patient. "So, are you going to start coming to group therapy now?"
"No," was his simple answer.
"Look, if you promise to keep showing up for our sessions, say. once a week, then I'll see about getting you out of group therapy. Deal?"
Squall nodded as he stood. "Fine. But there's nothing more for us to talk about."
Rinoa watched him as he tried the handle again, this time finding it unlocked. She stared at him with saddened eyes, feeling a hole start to whittle away into her heart. Not much had been said during their session, but she had gotten him to talk a little. What she gathered so far was that he had lost all hope. He had no dreams of the future, no plans for applying the genius he was known for. He intended just to sit alone and watch himself be sucked into a fantasy world that would ultimately destroy him. Worst of all, he didn't care. She suddenly had the feeling, though she didn't know why, that this was more that just professional. This was personal, and she was determined to help him.
"I'm not gonna give up on you, Squall," she said quietly before he walked out the door.
He stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. "That's what Dr. Trepe said, too."
She collapsed back into the chair she had been sitting in and sighed. It wasn't good to be getting so attached, or involved with a patient, especially on the first session, but she couldn't help it. There was something about him, about his depression, and sadness, that made her want more than anything to take it away. She recalled Isabella's words as she sat there. Whatever you want, you can get, so long as you're willing to part with something of your own. She realized that it would work the same in this case. She wanted to help Squall, but to do so, she might have to give up a piece of herself.
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A/N: Well, what do you think? I'm sorry if the part with the original characters bored you, but I wanted to make the setting more realistic, and 3D, instead of just revolving around the characters you already know. And yes, more FF8 characters will show up, but I wanted to spread them around a bit.
Chapter 2
It was Tuesday morning, and Rinoa had just passed her first night in the asylum. The rooms for doctors and nurses were on the tenth floor, the one on the very top. She hadn't slept well at all that night, a combination of nervousness and strange noises from the floor blow keeping her awake. She now stood near the nurses' station with a cup of coffee in her hands, enjoying the silent moment she had to herself.
A sudden shriek from down the hall ruined this moment, and caused Rinoa to spill her coffee down the front of her shirt. A couple of nurses ran down the hall toward the sound, throwing open a door to one of the rooms and rushing in to see what was happening. Almost immediately one nurse came back out and ran to Rinoa, her face pale and her breathing shallow.
"I have to go get some sedatives. No one else is on duty now, you've got to go help her!" With those words she headed into a locked room behind the nurses station.
Rinoa, taking a deep breath in preparation, headed down the hall and inside the door that was cracked open slightly. What she saw inside made her gasp.
The room was blank, with bare walls and two single beds spaced evenly apart. A young girl with honey blonde hair and hazel eyes was cowering in corner on the other side of a bed, a wide bruise covering one of her cheeks. She was gingerly touching her throat and gasping for breath as she trembled in fear. In the middle of the room, an older woman with faded red hair wrestled with the nurse, who was trying desperately to restrain her. The woman was clad in a hospital gown with her hair hanging in her eyes while she batted and hit at the nurse, all the while barking like a ravenous dog. Just when the nurse seemed to have her under control, the woman bit deeply into her arm, blood pouring out and causing the lady to release her hold. By this time the second nurse had returned with the sedative, and heavy-built man wielding a straight jacket. The man grabbed at the woman, but was still having trouble getting her into the jacket.
"Don't just stand there, do something!" the nurse yelled at Rinoa, but she could only stand there watching.
The man finally got her partially strapped into the jacket, leaving just enough space for the nurse to inject the sedative now that it was safe. Once the injection was through, the woman still carried on, but showed signs of slowing down as they dragged her to an unmarked, windowless room.
The commotion inside the patients room had calmed down, the only sounds being that of the roommate's whimpering and the bitten nurse's cries of pain. The second nurse shot a disgusted look at Rinoa, then helped the other nurse up, examining her deep and painful wound.
The younger blonde looked over at Rinoa, and said, "Where is she? Where are they taking her?"
"I-I don't know," Rinoa stuttered before running out of the room toward the bathrooms. By then the other patients had come out of their rooms and were crowded into the hall in curiosity. They watched the new intern flee from the disturbing scene with judgmental eyes. Well, all except one.
A young girl, possibly no more than a teenager, slowly began walking to the bathroom where Rinoa had disappeared. She opened the heavy wood door with a loud squeak and looked around for the woman that had overseen her group session the day before. Rinoa was propped up against the wall by a sink, suddenly looking tired and very withdrawn.
"It happens," the girl began in youthful, but gravelly voice. "You'll get used to it."
Rinoa looked toward her companion with questioning eyes. The girl wore hospital pajama pants, and a black tank top, which Rinoa assumed was what she wore to sleep in. She had short, dark purple hair that was curled in at the ends, and had what looked like a black and white striped half-sleeve on one of her forearms.
"Name's Isabella," the girl said, as if reading Rinoa's thoughts. "If you're gonna work here, you'll have to start remembering names."
Rinoa laughed slightly, shaking Isabella's hand. "I don't know how much longer I'll be working here after that incident."
Isabella shook her head. "Don't worry. Like I said, it happens. You just have to get used to it. Especially with Molly. When she doesn't take her meds, she always gets violent."
Rinoa nodded slowly. "I see."
"Let me show you around, give you the low-down on who's who and why they're here. How does that sound?"
"Great, thanks," Rinoa said, smiling through her obvious fatigue. "I like your hair by the way."
"Thanks, you should've seen it last month. It was green."
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"The basic layout of the building goes like this. The first floor is for the lobby and general offices. That's where Mr. Kramer's office is. He's the head honcho around here, though he rarely makes an appearance on the upper floors. Chicken. Anyway, the second floor is for elderly, or disabled people. You know, people that would have problems getting down a bunch of stairs if there was ever a fire or something. The third and four floors are for girls and boys under the age of eighteen. Third is girls only, fourth is boys only. Then we have this floor, the fifth. This is a coed floor for men and women over the age of eighteen. Floor six is doctors' offices. Floors seven and eight are separate wards for men and women, seven for women and eight for men. Those are for people that were sexually abused or assaulted, and aren't quite comfortable with members of the opposite sex yet. Finally, there are the ninth and tenth floors, both of which require I.D. checks to gain access. The tenth floor you should already know about. The ninth floor is where they keep the 'criminally insane'."
Rinoa raised an eyebrow at her new friend. "The put the criminals underneath the doctors' and nurses' quarters? That's reassuring."
"Don't worry, no one's gotten out of there in ten years," Isabella explained.
"You certainly know a lot about this place. How long have you been on this floor?"
"I just transferred here six months ago from the third floor," she replied.
"So you're only eighteen? How long were you on the third floor?"
"Since I was twelve," she answered. "Mine was an unusual case. I had no parents, or relatives, and my foster parents wouldn't keep me. So they took me in here."
"What happened to you parents, if I may ask?"
"My father was killed, which brings me to my mother. She's up on the ninths floor."
Rinoa tried to hide her shock, but didn't do a very good job of it. Instead, she decided to change the subject. "So, you were going to tell me who's who?"
She nodded, then pointed to Zell, who was sitting on a couch across the rec room watching TV. "Zell has multiple personality disorder, but a special case of it. He has these two different personalities, one of which he acts out through him, the other he acts out through his bear, Chester. It's very strange, and technical, and I don't understand all of it. Zell's really a sweetheart, though, he wouldn't harm a fly. I don't think there's any reason to keep him in here, but his parents admitted him when he was a teenager, and they don't want him released until he's 'normal' as they put it."
Isabella searched the room for a moment then pointed at the young blonde that had been attacked earlier. "That's Georgia, she's just a little older than me. As you already know, she's roommates with Molly, and they have quite a strange relationship. When Molly doesn't take her pills, she gets really violent, almost psychotic. She really belongs on the ninth floor, but because of her health, they keep her here. No one wanted to room with her, because of the way she was, but when Georgia came, they had no other place to put her. They took to each other instantly, like mother and daughter. Georgia had never had real parents, and Molly had lost her daughter, which I hear is almost identical to Georgia, to an accident. So Georgia gets to pretend she has a loving mother, and Molly gets to pretend she has her daughter back. That's why Georgia puts up with all the violence."
"Finally, there's that man over there," she pointed to an elderly man with longish gray hair. "That's Mr. Jenson."
"What's he here for?"
"He's the oldest living nymphomaniac," Isabella replied.
Rinoa barely stifled her laughter. "Are you serious?!"
She nodded. "Yep. He was admitted by his wife a few years back, because she was tired of his promiscuity. They originally intended to have him on the men-only floor, but decided it wasn't a good idea to put a nympho on a floor with sexually abused patients. He's made a lot of progress since he came here, though he still tried to buy porno mags off some of the other patients."
Rinoa crossed her arms across her chest as she leaned against one of the tables in the rec room. There was a question on the tip of her tongue, a curiosity eating away at her, but she was hesitant about asking. Finally she turned to her companion, who was sitting on the table with her feet rested on a chair, and a cigarette in her hand. "What about Squall Leonhart?"
Isabella smiled. "So, I see you've heard of him. He's another one of the famous patients here at Angel Haven. There is little known about him, really. Someone at the office is keeping things under wraps. But I'll tell you what I know. Basically, Squall's a genius. Mostly artistic, but he's good with numbers and stuff, too. I guess when you get right down to it, he's too smart for his own good. They say when your I.Q. reaches certain levels, that sometimes normal, everyday parts of you brain malfunction. Einstein couldn't tie his shoes, for instance. Squall's problem is little different, though. He's schizophrenic. He hears thing sometimes, or sees things. He had a tendency to slip off into his own little world where he can't tell what's real from what's not. He'll become obsessed with certain ideas for months on end, convinced that it's real, that there's truth to it, and if he just digs a little farther, he'll eventually find the truth. It makes him difficult to deal with. The entire time he's been here, he hasn't made a single bit of progress."
Rinoa sighed. "I guess this isn't going to be easy. I have an appointment with him tomorrow. A one-on-one session."
Isabella patted her on the back. "Don't feel bad. Even the wonderful Dr. Trepe couldn't cure him."
"So, if I may, what are you here for?"
"Me?" Isabella repeated. "I have a little obsession."
"What?"
Isabella took the lighter from her pocket and ran her thumb over the top, flicking on the small flame. "I burnt down many of my foster parents' houses."
"And they let you have a lighter in here?!"
"They didn't let me. I traded for it. There are a lot of restrictions in this place, but it's pretty much like prison. Whatever you want, you can get, so long as you're willing to part with something of your own."
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ +++
It was five forty-five a.m. when a gentle shaking awoke Squall Leonhart. His eyes cracked open to narrow, glittering slits. Through the normal morning blur he identified the nurse, and grumbled a string of curses at her for disturbing him.
"Wake up, Squall. You have an appointment with Ms. Heartilly in fifteen minutes."
He rolled over onto his stomach and buried his head beneath a pillow. He was too sleepy to be going anywhere at that time of day. And besides, it wasn't like he had intended to go in the first place.
As he heard the nurse quietly close the door behind her, he heaved a sigh of relief and squeezed his eyes shut again. Maybe this time the overly persistent bitch would just give up.
He was just settling into a nice, comfortable slumber when he suddenly felt the bed move beneath him. Before he could gather his wits, he was on the cold, linoleum floor, having rolled off of his bed. He was instantly jerked up by the arm, his confusion suddenly fading as he saw two of the building's largest guards standing before him. One had a death grip on his arm, and the other was just putting down the mattress of his bed, having tipped it over and dumped him into the floor.
Squall rubbed at his eyes, trying to make sure this was really happening, and asked, "What the hell's going on here?"
"You're coming with us."
He attempted to struggle but with both of them holding him back, he had no luck. After a few moments of this unsuccessful tactic, he finally gave up and decided to march to his destination with dignity. Or at least as much dignity as you can have when you're being dragged through the halls of a mental asylum by two guys the size of baby elephants.
One might expect that after that kind of treatment you'd be shoved into some kind of torture room, but the room Squall was shoved into next was completely different. He suddenly found himself standing in a wood-paneled room filled with framed degrees, photos, and dried floral bouquets. It was an office he knew all too, well, and he immediately turned around and tried to open the door, only to find that he was locked in. He turned back with a sigh, expecting to see Dr. Trepe's patient smile, but was instead met with a smug little smirk that he'd seen only once before.
"You." he began in a voice seething with contempt.
She just smiled at him. "Nice to see you could make it, Mr. Leonhart. And may I say, I just love your casual wear," she said, gesturing to his sleepwear, which consisted of black boxers and a white T-shirt.
"You're lucky I don't have an anger management problem," he growled.
She just laughed. "Have a seat."
Grudgingly, Squall took a seat on the couch in front of the desk and put a pillow over his lap, feeling embarrassed about his state of dress. Rinoa walked out from behind Quistis' desk and took a seat in the chair across from the couch. "Did you sleep well last night?" Rinoa asked sweetly.
He didn't say anything, just scowled at her.
"I see. We're going to play this game, are we? Well, I'll have you know that I took the whole day off, so we're going to sit here until you talk." She was bluffing, of course. She only had an hour before she had to report to Dr. Trepe.
"Talk about what?" he grumbled.
Rinoa sighed. "I tried to dig up your files, but Dr. Trepe has them locked away somewhere. So I'm not entirely familiar with your case, I must admit. So let me just start off by asking you this. You've been here for three years, am I right? Do you ever intend to go home?"
He didn't answer. He just stared at her with those eyes that seemed to blaze with cold blue fire.
Rinoa resisted the urge to squirm beneath his gaze, and instead held her composure. "Look, Squall. I'm not your enemy. I'm just trying to help you get out of here. Don't you want that?"
"Get out of here to go where?"
"So you can talk. Get out of here to go home. Who admitted you, anyway? Your parents?"
He shook his head. "Why don't you ask Dr. Trepe? I'm sure she'll have more answers for you then I do." With that he stood up and headed for the door again, but Rinoa was right on his heels.
"Where do you think you're going?" she demanded as he tried the knob again. "It's locked. It will remain locked for another fifty minutes, so you might as well sit down and get comfortable. You're not going anywhere."
He turned back to her, the scowl on his face deepening and growing rage seeping through his eyes. "Let me out of here! You can't keep me caged up with you like some kind of animal!"
Rinoa approached him slowly, the smile on her face widening the closer she got. When she was right up in his face, she said, "I was given permission to get you in here and keep you in here by any means I deemed necessary. You are NOT going anywhere."
That said, she allowed herself a moment to study the reaction of her patient, but she found her eye wandering to places that held no such relevance. She could feel her heartbeat quicken considerably, and a rush of excitement ran through her body. Realizing that it wasn't at all healthy to drool over a patient, she fought to draw her attention back to his face, which still showed no sign of emotion. Or so it seemed. She just barely noticed the tiny gleam of fear, or nervousness in his eyes. That was enough. She backed away from him and placed a hand on her hip, presenting a silent question.
Squall hung his head, somewhat in defeat, and returned back to the couch. She followed him, glorifying in her triumph, before sitting down in her chair again.
"I'm sorry to have to lock you in here," Rinoa began softly. "But I just want to help you."
"I can't be helped."
"It's that kind of attitude that probably landed you here in the first place. I know things are hard. They probably seem impossible right now. But you've got to believe that things will get better, or they never will."
He rolled his eyes. "What have I got to complain about? I have these wonderful twenty-foot gates to keep me safe, I have my own personal staff shoving pills down my throat every chance they get, and a great roommate that talks to his teddy bear and snores loud enough to wake the dead. No, everything's perfect, I'm perfectly content."
"Yeah, Zell told me you keep stealing his teddy bear," she mentioned, giving him a suspicious look.
"Yeah, I take it, then tell him if he doesn't stop snoring, the bear gets it. It usually does the trick, even if it does keep him up for the rest of the night with paranoia."
Rinoa giggled slightly. "That's mean!"
"You think it's funny," he pointed out.
"I know, but I shouldn't laugh. Anyway, let's get on with this. We've wasted enough time."
Forty-three minutes later, Rinoa stood from her chair and smiled down on her patient. "So, are you going to start coming to group therapy now?"
"No," was his simple answer.
"Look, if you promise to keep showing up for our sessions, say. once a week, then I'll see about getting you out of group therapy. Deal?"
Squall nodded as he stood. "Fine. But there's nothing more for us to talk about."
Rinoa watched him as he tried the handle again, this time finding it unlocked. She stared at him with saddened eyes, feeling a hole start to whittle away into her heart. Not much had been said during their session, but she had gotten him to talk a little. What she gathered so far was that he had lost all hope. He had no dreams of the future, no plans for applying the genius he was known for. He intended just to sit alone and watch himself be sucked into a fantasy world that would ultimately destroy him. Worst of all, he didn't care. She suddenly had the feeling, though she didn't know why, that this was more that just professional. This was personal, and she was determined to help him.
"I'm not gonna give up on you, Squall," she said quietly before he walked out the door.
He stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. "That's what Dr. Trepe said, too."
She collapsed back into the chair she had been sitting in and sighed. It wasn't good to be getting so attached, or involved with a patient, especially on the first session, but she couldn't help it. There was something about him, about his depression, and sadness, that made her want more than anything to take it away. She recalled Isabella's words as she sat there. Whatever you want, you can get, so long as you're willing to part with something of your own. She realized that it would work the same in this case. She wanted to help Squall, but to do so, she might have to give up a piece of herself.
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A/N: Well, what do you think? I'm sorry if the part with the original characters bored you, but I wanted to make the setting more realistic, and 3D, instead of just revolving around the characters you already know. And yes, more FF8 characters will show up, but I wanted to spread them around a bit.