Trust My Heart
by: Cathy-chan

Note: the format has changed due to the changes in fanfiction-dot-net. Instead of seeing those star marks (like from Ch. 5) you will see "FLASHBACK:" within a section. That's an indication that that section is a flashback. (duh :P)

Chapter 8: Father and Son

Bradley's eyes opened at the sun's rays streaming outside from a veil of morning fog. It was the thought of seeing Quistis again that had him fully awake. They were to meet in the afternoon; he had a lot of time in his hands. Cautiously, as to not move his broken arm too much, he stood up from the bed and put his clothes on. Without much of a conscious decision, he slipped on his working gloves and headed downstairs to the garage.
All his life, he had done a lot of jobs to make ends meet. Some were fulfilling to do, while others seemed pointless. Most, if not all, required his hands and arms; to do things such as pick up heavy objects, use metal tools or assemble machines. He found most of the jobs in the old satellite. After the war, it was no longer used for conflicts in politics. Instead it was used as a long-range, communication system linked to every important city in the world. Though these were just jobs; he had a career in mind.
No matter how futile it seemed at times, he still dreamt of becoming a Guardian Force Researcher. He had no training or academic knowledge about the mysterious creatures; just the things he had uncovered after stumbling upon a GF's remains in his youth. The fossils were still kept secret in an alcove not too far from his home town. He stayed in Dollet for that reason. He couldn't move to a big city or tell anyone else of his discover, not until he had a valid theory on GFs. In the meantime, fixing cars and miscellaneous machinery in his auto shop kept him busy and kept the bills payed.
He recalled Dr. Kadowaki's advice --more like a command-- to not do any work as he reached for a wrench. He recalled the sober warning in her voice; as if a little labour would tear his arm off. Could he stay sane if he spent the next hours without working? Like hell I can! he answered. How am I suppose to run this shop today and for the next half of the year then? On the other hand, much as it annoyed him, he couldn't overlook the good doctor's prescription. After quickly thinking it over, he settled on doing mild work that didn't have a lot of movement or strain.
Just then three figures arrived at the garage's entrance. Bradley had no need to turn and see their faces. His quick instincts told him of trouble. An old trouble returned after his three years of trying to block it. Emotions came and went in him: anger, shock, anxiety. Following what seemed like a long moment, he turned and lifted himself from a crouched position. His gaze met a familiar face. His grey-ocean eyes didn't reveal the panic growing in his mind.
He watched the man at the forefront step forward. His hair, almost similar to his only less golden, swayed in the mild wind. They were physically identical, save that one of them was two dozen years older. So were other attributes --charisma, manner, intelligence-- but only to a small extent. Bradley hoped dearly that the similarities were only skin deep.
"Raddy, don't ya know me? I know yer mem'ry's not so bad's to forget yer own pop."
Bradley grimaced openly from hearing his old nickname. "I remember," he answered coolly. His voice was harsh and serious. There was no trace of an jovial accent in his voice. "Unless you're here for a car tune-up, leave. Actually, save me the trouble and just leave."
"That's not a kind way to greet yer pop, Raddy," he drawled in a baritone voice. "Got very rude over the years, didn't ya? Whatever happened to that nice boy of sixteen that greeted me home before?"
"Whatever happened to honouring your wife, my dead mother?" he countered with a slight tremor in his voice.
More wrinkles appeared on his face as he frowned. "Ya blame me for her death? I heard. She died of an illness last year, right?" He bowed his head. "I'm sorry for what happened to yer mom, Bradley."
"No, you're not." His hand tightened around the wrench he held. "You want something from me. I don't care about you or your problems. Get out of my sight or--!"
Joseph interrupted him with a short guffaw. "Ye've grown a backbone. I'm impressed! But ye'll do what exactly? Take on me and my men with that on ya?" He grinned and pointed at the cast arm. "Ye've got guts and heart, Raddy, but ya got no smarts." He paused and looked directly into his son's face. "Ye'd do well to listen to yer ol' man; specially since what I hafta say concerns ya."
He let out a short, dry laugh. "And what does your dishonest...'day job' have anything to do with me? You mean to say you want me to get trapped into your schemes again. It isn't going to happen." With no more words of dismissal, he returned to his work.
Behind his back, he felt his father come too close for his comfort. "So are them girls in the town still chasin' ya around, Raddy?" he said casually, as if the harsh words were never spoken. "Seems ye've set yer sights on a beautiful, blonde one, eh? She's a real lady, ain't she? SeeD too. Heh! Ain't that sumthin'..."
For a fraction of a second, Bradley's hand stopped, then continued to do its work.
"Quistis Trepe..." he persisted conversationally. "Even her name's pretty."
"...What does that have to do with anything?"
"Her Garden's been bombed, right? Seems to me they've been through a lotta 'ell since ye came and visited them."
It didn't took another word to know what his father implied. Disturbingly, it also didn't took a lot of imagination to visualize his father and his men secretly setting up explosives in Quistis' Garden. Despite all he knew of his father's past, it still shocked and appalled him. Was Joseph Atkins truly capable of murdering SeeDs?
"My 'dvice to you is," he supplied coolly when no response came, "that ye'd better watch yer back."
Bradley turned around and stood up. "And what if I felt like turning you over to the SeeDs? Aren't you afraid of that?"
Joseph shook his head. "Aren't you afraid they'd be happier callin' ya a liar and arresting you instead?"
He didn't answer, though anger and contempt flashed in his eyes.
"Don't think that yer new girlfriend won't turn ya over. She is one of them above all else, y'know. Even if ya didn't do nuthin', they'll still point fingers at ya." He grasped his son's shoulder roughly. "Everything's gonna go down hill for ya, son, if ya keep tryin' to push me away. Why not join me and my men? We could use a boy with some quick wits."
"No."
"I ain't a murderer. I'm merely returning the favour."
"They arrested you because of what you did to Grandon. It's called justice. You're lucky I didn't graduate from Galbadia. I would've had the privilege to hunt you down for the shameless criminal you are."
His father's cruel grin became a sneer. "Laura really made sure ye've got yer rights and wrongs cleared, didn't she? But I know what ye're like. Ye're more like me. Think about what I said, Raddy." Before nodding to his men and walking away, he spun back. Bradley was caught off guard as his father harshly grabbed him on the shoulder and whispered in his ear, "Pretend this conversation never happened...If you don't, I might have to forget you're my son."
And with that final word, he and his crew vanished into the morning fog.
They left no trace of their coming, save the tension still charged in the air. He felt uneasy; it came from anger more than fear. Past hatreds had reemerged from the depths of his nightmares. His father had returned once again to ruin his life. It sickened him to think he shared the same blood as The Grandon Bomber.
Yet that was not at the forefront of his thoughts. He had a sickening feeling that Joseph and his men's assault on Balamb Garden was far from complete. He had to stop them. But how?

Bradley was not the only one wracking his mind. Quistis had her own thoughts and troubles to ponder. She had slept a few hours only because she needed rest for the next day.
Early in the morning, she had interviewed students who were close by a few hours before the explosion. She had asked them several questions: Did they see Bradley at the ship's aft? Did they see him with anything strange when he worked on the bridge's outer shell? She received a negative shake of the head for each.
Then, after gathering a bit of courage, she looked inside the envelope Seifer gave them: the file about his brief problem with the law. No one was killed or hurt after the armoured boat sank. The ones who saw and reported the crime stated that Bradley, the youngest out of the four, barely did or touched anything. After that, she printed out the image of Bradley Squall found in the SeeD Criminal Files...It could be Mr. Atkins himself...or not. The image was filed as "ATKINS" but....something about the image rang a discordant note in Quistis' head. There was no mistaking the resemblance, yet, with the majority of the man's face in the image covered with wayward hair and swollen bruises, it was hard to be absolutely certain.
By the time she finished looking through all the evidence, and compared it with hers, the fog had disappeared outside; it was an hour before sunset. Unfortunately, even with the morning and afternoon to mull over it, her investigation had uncovered more questions than answers. Either Bradley Atkins was a master criminal that left no evidence. Or he was being falsely accused because of his past and relations.
Then it occurred to her. She stood up from half a day's work behind her desk. Her mind felt numb. The throb on the her temples blocked her mental processes. "I need a break!" she whispered to herself. As she was heading for the cafeteria, she realized it was not food she needed. She needed open air. She stepped out onto a green field through a massive gap on the ship's wall. It was the very place she and Bradley entered when they saw the Garden in trouble.
She breathed in the fresh air slowly, and felt her muscles begin to calm. She suddenly remembered she was to meet Bradley hours ago. But she couldn't, not if the Garden's entire population were thoroughly convinced of his convicted felony. What she needed was more clues...more evidence. Maybe I'm at the wrong place to look for answers. The clues she had collected so far had all pointed to Dollet. She sighed; If only I could go there now.
Out of nowhere, a Balamb messenger came looping around a small hill. Since the system for distant communications were primarily in the bridge, the messenger was meant to go to nearby cities to hire mechanics, engineers and cleaners for the Garden's repairs. But, by what Quistis could see of the young girl's expression, she had another thing in mind to the tell the commander besides hiring news.
"What is it?"she asked the messenger as soon as her motorcycle came to a halt.
"There's gunfire at Dollet with a good number of men involved!" The messenger's voice squeaked with panic and fear. "I gotta go tell Commander Squall, he'll know what to do." Before passing through the gap, she turned and added, "...T-that's not the important thing, though." She looked down nervously at her uniform. "S-Someone said they saw the guy you were with, this Bradley Atkins guy. H-He was shooting too....like the rest of those thugs."
The girl's message would leave no doubt that Bradley was the criminals' accomplice.....She couldn't understand why, but she herself was still not convinced. Perhaps it was from the resolve she found the previous night because she he suspected that something else was at work.
She had to know the truth. And if Bradley was indeed innocent then she still needed to see him because his life was in great danger. Trusting only a hunch and her heart, she mounted the bike and sped towards Dollet.

"I couldn't find Quistis anywhere!" Selphie reported to Squall. "And Sandra's bike's missing too. She swore she left her it with Quistis."
"That means she left," Squall responded. The almost-perpetual frown creased strongly in his forehead. "She couldn't be thinking of..."
"Of helping Bradley? Well...." Selphie paused, then said, "If I loved Brad as much as I think Quisty does, I'd be after him right now, trying to squeeze some answers outta him."
Rinoa scowled worriedly as a unnerving thought came to her. "Or help him with his cause."
"...WHAT?!" Squall bellowed.
Suddenly, she felt it wasn't such a good idea to speak her thoughts. "I-I'm just thinking....that if she really, really loves this guy, then maybe she won't really care if he's a criminal or not."
"No way! That's not like Quistis!" Zell responded. "I know she gives a damn whether a guy's evil or not. Quistis would never think like that!"
"Maybe not, but she still went after him," Irvine said. "By herself, I might add."
"My, my," Selphie sighed. "She's been acting really rashly these days, hasn't she?"
Irvine grinned. "It's love, man. It's love."
"I don't give a damn if 'it's love.' She clearly disobeyed my orders and for that, she is going to get herself killed." Squall marched speedily to the door. "Get your gear ready, everyone. We're going after Quistis."
"Er....don't you mean the criminals?" Zell pointed out.
"Qusitis first. Everything else later. The people with Atkins are the same people who sabotaged Balamb Garden. We're going to get them back for ruining our Garden! And that's not even half of what's coming to them if they harm Quistis!"

"Damn!" He had been shot. It took a while for him to realise it. Blood seeped through the back of his right shoulder. It was a good thing he was left-handed. And it was a good thing he discarded the sling around it. But without the sling, the arm carrying the gun was also in pain. He could almost feel the broken bones dis-aligning again. There was an advantage to the outcome to his gun-shot wound, though. Compared to the mind-numbing pain of the gun-shot, the sting in his recovering, bandaged leg was not so bad. He was hiding underneath the stone bridge. Luckily it was a year of low tides; the stream came to below his knees. Joseph and his men were close by; he could hear their taunting voices somewhere near by.
"C'mere, Raddy," one of his father's men jeered. "We promise we'll let ya see yer mama."
"Yah, Raddy-boy," another one added. "Ya can tell 'er in 'ell yerself that ye both got killed by the same guy. Eh, Joseph!?"
Bradley clenched painfully at the gun's handle. His fury almost blocking out the pain in his shoulder. It clouded his logic. He wanted to leap up and take back every dishonourable word spoken about his dead mother. The last one that spoke was one of the teenage boys that went to juvenile prison with him. The older man hadn't changed much in three years. If anything, he had become more sinister. His instincts were right when he suspected that Joseph's band was allied with the three that destroyed the SeeD tank three years ago.
He couldn't just leap and shoot back. He was outnumbered and he had the disadvantage. Nearby, they were still taking blows to his and his mother's dignity. To block out the men's shouts, he berated himself in his mind about his plan. He should have known that following them to their hideout and attacking them from there was beyond insane. Didn't he warn himself before that attacking them in his current condition was a bad idea? Yet he had to do something. His instincts were flashing red-alert. It told him that they were concocting a finale for Quistis' poor Garden. Moreover, he had a restless feeling that they were going to act on their plan very soon. It was a stroke of miracle he was able to incapacitate two of them, but it didn't took long for the rest of them to chase after him. It almost seemed too simple, luring them out of their hideout. He knew Joseph was more cunning than that.

FLASHBACK:

"Really, Pop? Is that 'ow it goes? Can ya really outsmart 'em like that?"
Joseph laughed and ruffled Bradley's unruly hair. "Sure, son! That's 'ow it is, y'know? Ya gotta do everythin' to win, 'pecially when it comes ta fightin.' If fightin' dirty's whot's it's gonna take to win, then fight dirty, I say!....But that ain't 'nuff."
"It ain't?! What else's there, Pop? C'mon, tell me!"
Bradley's father guffawed. "Ye sure ya wanna know, Raddy?"
"Ya, Pop! I wanna fight jus' like you!"
"Aaalrighty!" Joseph leaned in closer to his teenage son's ear. "The thing is....ya gotta have more'n one ace up yer sleeve, y'know? Tha' could mean, fer example...not lettin' yer opponent know ye've got a gun." He revealed the pistol hidden beneath his shirt. "Or..." He dramatically paused, and saw his son hold his breath, "havin' more'n one gun."
"Huh? Ye don' have 'nother gun, Pop. Ye told me yerself."
From his large, calf-length combat boots, his father deftly tugged and tossed another, smaller gun into his other hand. Bradley's gaped at his father, wide-eyed and impressed.
"Hmmm...yer right, son. I did tell ya I had only one gun. Don't mean it true, boy."
Bradley titled his head to one side, and pondered his father's words for a few seconds. Then slowly he said, "...So...ye gotta lie to win?"
His father flung a large arm around his son. "Like I said: 'everythin' to win'!"

Ironically, he had his father to thank for surviving this battle. Joseph taught him the nuances of firing arms at sixteen, while Galbadia taught him the morality and ethics needed to use them. It took many suspensions and scolding from his instructors until it dawned on him that his father's philosophies were flawed. Very flawed. Downright heartless, in fact. Unfortunately it was too late and by then, he had committed a major crime.
Bradley knew his father had something else in mind besides senseless violence. But what?
His father's men were having a blast, literally and figuratively. In the midst of their verbal assualts, they were firing their Uzi's in wild abandon, thinking they could frighten him out of his hiding place. He was not afraid for his own life, but rather the lives of whoever would have the misfortune of meeting one of the multiple, random bullets. He had to bait them away from the city to a more secluded area.
But how? He was in no condition to outrun a dozen men. He needed a better plan. Damn his weakness in strategic planning! It was the one class he had difficulties with when he was a Galbadia Garden student. What he needed more was help, but asking for that was as impossible as...say... summoning Ifrit without Junctioning with him first. No one else knew of his schemes to stop his father except him, and Joseph's men would shoot him down before he could even attempt to reach the authorities. Just when he was about to think the situation was utterly hopeless, a large and different commotion erupted from his assailants. "What the hell...?"
"Shoot her down, you fools!" he heard Joseph bellow. Amidst his father's furious commands was the sound of wheels screeching, and the engine of a motorcycle. A second later the sound of a fast whip lashed through the air.
Bradley swore under his breath, then quickly shook his head in denial. No way! Never her. She can't be that reckless!
"Bradley!" Quistis shouted.
His next swear word was covered by the blast from his pistol as he stood, turned and fired. His calculations proved accurate; he managed to shoot the man reaching for her arm as she circled around the outlaws on her bike.
The gunshot caught Qusitis' attention. Without coming to a halt beside him, she hauled Bradley on to the vehicle by his arm as she drove the motorcycle through the stream. The bike's wheels tore through water at a relentless speed. She didn't slow down until Bradley's attackers were well out of sight.
"We have to go back," Bradley yelled over the sound of the motorcycle. "They're going to attack Balamb Garden again. I'm sure of it!"
In front of him, he saw Quistis give a negative shake of her head. "No, you can't do anything in the state you're in. We have to hide for now and think of a plan."
Despite their dire situation he almost grinned. Perhaps summoning a Guardian Force without Junction was not impossible after all. Here he was with someone helping him. And better yet, it was a woman who could think of a plan better than any he could call forth in his foolish head. But the grin left as fast as it appeared. He was suddenly feeling a completely different emotion. "Dammit, do ye realise how styoopid tha' was!?!" he yelled through a thick accent.
Quistis counted herself fortunate that Bradley couldn't see her face. Because she couldn't stop herself from smiling. She was right, the thickening of his accent revealed all of his emotions. If he was not injured so badly she would have gladly baited him back. Instead, she asked, "Can you think of anywhere around we can hide?"
Bradley didn't respond for a moment. "...The Communications Tower. There's a hidden area there only I know of."

To be continued...

Author's Note: Well, what did you think? Wow, it's been such a long time since I last posted a chapter. It's been --what? Almost a year, something like that, but I just HAVE to finish this story! No matter what, don't care if it takes another 2 years --knock on wood--! ...Can you tell the "gun scenes" were influenced by Viggo Mortensen's character in "Indian Runner" or is it just me??