Disclaimer: You all know they aren't mine.

A/N: It may take a while but this fic will be finished. I dislike abandoning things but writer's block can mean extended breaks. Thanks to those who left reviews for the first chapter all that time ago.

(Seifer's pov)

Transition

By the time I'd caught up, Squall was settled and silent. Not much of a variation on the morning's theme to that point I must admit. We were in the SeeD carriage for privacy, and I was thanking Hyne there were no cadets travelling with us on the reopened line to Esthar. The last thing I needed was some pesky kid irritating the fuck out of me because it'd inevitably lead to me snapping and Squall stepping in to defend the weak in his oh so valiant way. From there it wasn't hard to reach the final stage involving me sleeping on the couch tonight because I'd been stupid enough to make a comment on his being so noble. No, right now was not a good time for an argument though I sure as hell felt the need to hit something. I'm just not into breaking trains like Zell, so restraint is my new best friend though I sure as hell don't think it'll be a lasting relationship.

I might have said the silence was beginning to get oppressive. However the phrase beginning is more than a little misleading since Squall morphed in to an elective mute almost the moment I opened my eyes, if not before. The entire car journey from Garden to Balamb had been like this, him glaring out the window while I attempted some kind of pathetic small talk, trying not to shit myself from fear he'd gone and done it, iced up on me again. Even the sound of the stereo that I'd finally turned on in place of my idle chatter – I was beginning to sound like Zell the way I'd been going on for Hyne's sake – failed to conceal the frostiness. I was waiting the whole journey for ice to start freezing up the windows like Shiva's touch, and that shows you just how ridiculous I was being.

I know deep down that he's not meaning to push me away, that this silence is his defence while he tries to regain his equilibrium. He's been cool, calm and to all outward appearances, in control from the moment I laid eyes on him this morning. If it'd been a few years back I might've been fooled, but he's opened up since then, to me at least, and I know the situation so I know he's too cool, too calm, too in control for any of it to be real just yet. Part of me wants him to break down in my arms again because at least then I'm doing something in offering comfort.

I think that's what's hardest to take. The fact that there's nothing can be done to save him, for all our glorious technology. It's a bitter irony that the President of the most advanced country in the world is being struck down by the one thing they can't fix… yet. I feel obliged to add the yet, even if I know any innovation will be too late for Laguna. I'm not ready to give up hope completely, not this soon. Even if this time there isn't anything to fight, even if there's no one to conquer before living happily ever after, I have to hope. That's what has the emotion behind Squall's mask swirling and roiling, smashing against the rocks of his outward façade like the sea at the height of Balamb's storm season. It's the only thing that's letting me know he's still there, letting me know he's struggling as much as I am between hope for a miracle and acceptance of the inevitable. Struggling to resolve precisely what the right balance between the two is, the balance that will ensure our sanity's survival for these first steps into our changed world. It's a world that, for us at least, has been turned on its head.

This wasn't something I ever imagined happening. It wasn't something I was even remotely prepared for because Laguna does seem eternal. If you've ever met him, you'll know he can make anybody feel comfortable; he can bring a smile to anybody's lips. He can be a friend, father, commander, whatever the situation requires. It's a quality I greatly admire in him. Or at least that was how it was. And it breaks my heart to realise that it'll be past tense for him even before he dies, because that's how this illness will work, it'll strip away everything we know… knew.

I don't think there's any way to convey how it feels. He was an aspect of our lives that we could rely on to never change. Of course we knew he was older, he was Squall's dad after all, but somehow that never correlated with the knowledge that someday, somehow, he might be gone. It certainly never evoked an image of what Ellone described: a man who, in time, will need help to get dressed, to do his laces, to go to the fucking toilet. Laguna was never the most dignified of people, but he never deserved this. No one does.

Watching Squall, the flashes of emotion sparking through him, warring across the landscape of his mind… I wonder if I'll be as strong as I hope, as he hopes, but most importantly as he needs. They're different things you see, Squall's not an optimist, he won't hope for much and he's certainly not one to acknowledge that he might need something to get through this without regressing to that kid I once called 'puberty boy'. I'm not stupid, contrary to popular belief born of my consistent failures to make SeeD. I do know what's coming. I know how stressful it's likely to be and already I'm craving a cigarette, a habit I thought I dropped months ago. I'm craving like a pregnant wench three months down the line wouldn't know, and yet I don't dare. Not because Squall would be furious, though he would, but because it's a relapse, a weakness, and I can't afford to show any weaknesses right now if I don't want to be shut out.

I take a moment to reflect that my internally focused brooding sessions are becoming every bit as bad as Squall's and almost smile, but only almost, it gets lost somewhere on route to my lips. Reflection past, I allow his restless shifting to draw my attention back to our present. It's a present where he has his back to me, and I'm wishing I could only think of it as a sign of his trust. Really though, he's presumably glaring out the window, and he's holding himself so stiffly I feel that were he to topple over he'd retain the exact pose he has now. Now that does curve my lips into a faint smile, still only faint though, because the atmosphere's too oppressive, because in time scale it's too soon, to allow for anything more.

Reaching out I trace a fingertip down his spine, watching him closely as he shivers and shrugs off the ghostly sensation. I think he's too absorbed in his thoughts to even register I'm here right now; beyond the security I hope I offer him in my presence. Hyne, I'm turning into such a fucking sap I need shooting. Then again, at least I'm not saying any of it aloud; in the privacy of my own head I can't be heard. It makes me wonder if that's how it might be for Laguna, trapped in his head while his body fails… Surely it's the brain's cognitions, not just the motor functions that're attacked though? I don't know just yet, I'm only guessing, hoping.

Slowly my hand makes the return journey over his back, barely more a caress than my breath against his skin might be, before travelling down his arm to his hand. He doesn't make any motion to shrug me off this time, so I take a chance and slide my hand into his, clasping it tightly and entwining our fingers.

For the longest time there's no response and I'm tempted to withdraw for fear I've overstepped what he's willing to allow right now. Then, at the exact second I'm about to pull away, his hand closes about mine in turn with a grateful squeeze. He doesn't look at me, doesn't say anything, but he doesn't let go either and that's enough.

Leaning back in my seat, sinking into the newly replaced cushions with a long exhaled sigh of relief, I let my head tilt back to rest against the window, closing my eyes. Of course it's impossible to stay thus for long; the pane feels like it's drilling Morse code into my skull and I have to shift again, but even that doesn't negate the thankfulness I feel that I'm not shut out. So adjusting my position without as much as a grumble (he should be proud), I instead rest slumped low with my face turned to his back, watching the play of muscles beneath the material. He might be still but he's not relaxed and that reminds me that whatever monumental land mark I believe his acceptance of my hand to be, he's still hurting, far more so than I, and that won't just go away.

Closing my eyes again, blocking out the undeniable visible evidence of his tension, I listen. I listen to the dull rumble of the train down the tracks carrying us closer and closer to a dose of reality neither of us is all that keen to receive. I imagine I can hear the distant screech of the seagulls that nest in the rocks either side of the line, the ones I'd be able to see were I staring outside as Squall is. It's a little bit of peace and normality in an ever-changing world. What I can really hear is him; his near silent, measured breathing. In here the silence is so much more invasive than it was in the car, it's permeating every pore of my being… and yet it's also easily chased away by the feel of his hand in mine, letting me in.

I'm not sure how much longer the trip will take… But since I'm also sure I've only resisted checking my watch for about five minutes I guess it's a safe guess to say there's still a few hours in store. What's waiting at the other end of the line…? I'm not sure. Kiros and Laguna might come to meet us, security be damned and all that, or there may simply be a courtesy car to drive us up to the palace. I almost find myself hoping for the latter to put off the inevitable… But then at the same time perhaps a 'sooner the better' policy might work? I know that at some point, either today or tomorrow, Squall and I will find ourselves across a desk from Kiros listening as the man does his best to inform us of what will happen, what is happening, everything.

It's going to be a permanent move in the end, or at least one that'll have us relocated for years. I'm not sure Squall's come to that conclusion himself yet, but I know he will in time, because icy as he may be, family means everything to him. That reminds me of Ellone, and why I'm so angry with her for running away, hiding in Winhill and leaving Squall to deal with all this. I'll deal with that later though; right now I think I'll nap. Yeah, me, Seifer Almasy, taking a nap, bet you didn't think you'd ever hear that? Truth is though; I need it. I need to be fresh later to deal with things. And it occurs to me that I might not have too much time to rest in the coming weeks, so I'd better take it while I can.

When Squall shakes me and I groggily realise the train is slowing to a stop, it takes me by surprise. I hadn't really expected to fall asleep. I thought I'd have too much on my mind. I certainly hadn't expected to arrive so soon. Time won't wait though, and it's with haste I follow him as he abruptly departs, emerging into the brilliant sunshine that suddenly seems as oppressive as the silence has been the whole trip. It's mere moments before my eyes light on Kiros. He's waiting for us with some members of security. There's no Laguna. I can feel Squall tense beside me as he reaches an identical conclusion to my own. It seems that, like time, the chat won't wait either.

It's with no small amount of guilt that I feel pleased when his hand again seeks out my own before we step forward to greet what's coming.

To be continued…