Blond Silence 0/?
By Nix Winter
Disclaimer: Wah… still don't own ff8! But one day I will be King… no wait, that's Aragorn. I still don't own ff8, but one day I will write for a living! Yeah. That's me.
Red drum: You are so right! I'll write Episode Zero, then write four.. and there are going to be vampires in this story….
Zero
Squall could feel it right between his shoulder blades, a nasty chill prickle. He was being followed. He shoved his hands down into his pockets and slowed a little.
A rumor about a blond phantom had drawn him to Esthar. The war behind them, everyone had come back from the time compression. Everyone except Seifer.
Where did one look for someone who didn't want to be found? So many times, Squall had dreamed of Seifer sitting on the docks, fishing with Fuujin and Raijin. He'd dreamed it so many times that Rinoa had finally drew his dream out of him. That had been the end of them sleeping together.
They'd enjoyed each other, and she'd been the one to pull back, always a little wiser than he anyway. She'd said that she loved him and understood that he loved and that she would never abandon him. He believed her. He trusted her. That's why he'd slept with her in the first place. He needed her. She wanted that connection. He was eighteen. It wasn't hard.
She had even come to Esthar with him, seeking this phantom. Without her, he wouldn't have even known about the phantom artist of Esthar. She'd always had connections and a smile she could turn to information when she needed too. And she was a sorceress.
She was also in a building high above where they were with some very good binoculars. Her voice whispered in his ear. "You have a little puppy following you."
She didn't always make good sense either. "Hmmn," he acknowledged. Any kind of puppy following him would likely be rabid. He didn't much like Esthar.
"Nawsh," she cursed, "The puppy is blond and he's wearing a gray trench."
Squall missed a step, then turned into an alley. Seifer was dead. There wasn't any other way to really understand why he hadn't come home. He had to know that Edea, others controlled by the sorceress had been pardoned. Staying in hiding so long only made it seem as if he were guilty. Squall laid a hand on his pistol, heart in his throat. What ever imposter thought to make profit from Seifer's memory was going to pay for it.
"He followed you in," Rinoa said. "He's so thin. Not Seifer, even if he's got Seifer's coat."
And then
A horrible
Realization came to Squall.
Seifer had come back from time compression and someone had killed him. Loss, a gaping hole of grief opened in Squall and he caressed his pistol. Whoever had Seifer's coat would be talking shortly. Just a little deeper into the darkness and Squall would have his answers.
"Violence does not become you," Rinoa said. Lovers or not, they still shared a bond that let her read his emotions better than he could himself. He didn't even want to know how she did that.
He slowed, hyper aware of the slimy pavement under him, the recent rain, the stink of garbage from a barbeque place, of the scent of leather from his own jacket, Rinoa's perfume clinging to the white fur that made him stand out in the darkness. And then, of the steps behind him, shuffling, heavier to one side than the other, the rattle of breath, and he hated this person, whoever it was, some pathetic creature that could steal Seifer's memory as if it were no more than some half used wine bottle. Seifer, gods he wanted Seifer so badly, wanted to fight with him and hold him and never argue again, to forgive him for leaving the orphanage, to forgive him for being tricked by Ultimicia, and most of all to ask Seifer to forgive him. He couldn't do those things, could never have that forgiveness, but he could protect Seifer's memory from people.
Spinning, he threw up a light spell, glowing with a slight red tint in the darkness of his rage.
The man revealed by that light stood straight, blond hair nearly to his shoulders, dark circles under his green eyes, tangled red and pale scar etched up the right side of a so familiar face. There in the center, between feral green eyes was the scar Squall had put there, a single red line.
The red spell light flickered, casting shadows and Squall panicked. A ghost. "Seifer?"
Slender fingers rose before the ghost working calling a spell and Squall stood there, watching the light build, hand on his pistol. His entire world was this spectral Seifer, cheek bones so visible, power drawing up for one final battle. "Seifer! What are you doing? I don't want to fight you! I didn't come looking for you to fight you! Stop it!"
Squall heard Rinoa's words so very blurred, so very distant. She screamed of monsters and of not turning and he understood. Seifer had drawn him here to kill him! Everyone he'd ever loved was the same! They were always just waiting to betray him.
Seifer threw the spell, a fire spell just as it had been that day they'd fought and scared each other. Seifer always cheated with fire! And Squall fired his pistol.
The bullet hit. Dark splattered on dirty gray coat, and a hand reached to the disappeared silver from the center of Seifer's shirt. He fell, going backwards from the momentum of the bullet. Dirty blond hair brushed forward by his face, until his head tilted back and Squall fired again, hitting his shoulder, spinning the fall.
"Seifer!" Squall screamed, his own head tilting back, pistol at his side. "Seifer!"
Rinoa was panting, chest heaving when she reached the alley, a blue sorceress light around her. Wordless she pointed behind Squall and he turned, surreal.
His light cast shadows over shards of fading ice bomb. That's where Seifer's fire had gone. His mouth opened slowly, just enough space for his soul to escape. Seifer had been defending him. Then his soul sucked back in and wrapped itself around his heart enough to chock it.
He turned back to Rinoa who knelt on the filthy side walk, knelt in Seifer's blood and sang her magic. It wasn't like in the stories. Magic wasn't that easy. Her fingers moved, tracing light and signs, her voice hummed and blue healing formed, drawn from the life energy of Esthar, from the life energy of her own soul, she fought to heal the holes in Seifer.
Squall dropped to his knees on Seifer's other side, offered his hands palms up, offering his own life energy for Rinoa's use. She drew from him, drawing reddish energy from him, pulling what she needed. If only magic were as easy as they promise in school books.
The spell sank into Seifer, rolling him, spinning him. His fingers rested on the ground while the rest of him rose and Rinoa raised the dead in an empty alley in the cheap part of Esthar. Seifer's chest rose. She ended the spell, sagging forward, hands on the wet ground, and Squall caught Seifer as he dropped, drawing him into an embrace.
The blond leaned his head back, shaking fingers reaching for Squall's eyes, until the gritty tips brushed so lightly over dark eyelashes. The left side of Seifer's mouth lifted and his hand caressed down Squall's face.
There were no words for Squall. None of the things he had wished to say to Seifer could reach his tongue. Both arms around him, he held him so tight, tight enough that he could feel him breathing, feel the returned warmth, the solidity of him, and Squall thought he'd never release him again.