Connections

Squall's prized, new automobile pulled into the ugly district of the Diabolos at 9:53 a.m. sharp. He parked expertly in a shadowy corner where his beauty had less chance of being stolen or accidentally scratched. An expensive car had to be well cared for. He hadn't even discussed terms of insurance yet. He locked the doors, set up the anti-theft system and walked away, throwing cautious looks over his shoulder. He took one last look at his car before entering the Diabolos HQ and leaving the heavy metal warehouse door slamming behind him.

El Diabolos greeted Squall himself with open arms when the young employee entered the office, "Amigo! I was beginning to think you wouldn't show! Have a seat." He gestured towards a chair in front of his messy desk. A lit cigar was dangling from an ashtray and was distributing an overall rank smell in the room, "Come on, sit! You want a smoke?"

The smell of one cigar was already making him nauseous so he had to turn down the offer, "No thanks. I … don't usually smoke." He wouldn't deny that he had never touched cigarettes (or even drugs) but that was long ago. In his screwed up teenage-hood. He shook away the memories. They weren't worth remembering, "Let's get this done quickly. Sorry, I've got other business to take care of at noon, on my own personal account."

"Sure, sure." The big honcho took the cigar between his forefinger and thumb, shook off the burning ashes and brought it to his lips to take a big drag. He deposited it back into the ashtray and cleared his throat, "Ok then. Now, Ms. Quistis Trepe is waiting in the business sector of this godforsaken town. Pick her up and bring her back here in twenty-minutes. Don't get delayed; this is an important deal for the Diabolos. Now … you can't use the rust buckets that we've got here. That would be completely scandalous. Quistis is a fine chica of high-class bitches. So, we've gotta use something more … chic."

"Like a BMW 6th series, model 645Ci?" Squall asked cockily smirking, his arms folded against his chest.

"Are you fucking out of your mind?" El Diabolos roared, "We don't have that kind of money! You think I just won the lottery, you loco sonofabitch?" The head of the gang slammed his angry fist on the table. The idea of the young one was completely preposterous. Why would they be in the worst district of town and own one of the most prestigious cars ever confected?

"You don't. I do." Squall eased the tyrannous man back into his chair, "I've took brief connections with my old friend yesterday evening. She's paid her outstanding debt and I just bought myself a new car. No need to get all hyped up."

El Diabolos rubbed his temples in great annoyance, "Don't do that to me, amigo. I nearly had a heart attack. And don't mention your friend around these parts anymore. We're through with The Syndicate. Anyways … go pick up Miss Trepe at the corner of Trent and McKenzie. Don't keep her waiting for too long."

Squall exited the warehouse thinking, "Not friends of Rinoa Heartilly anymore? That's interesting. Not friends … so enemies? And if they're plotting with Trepe, chances are she's not too fond of Rinoa either. Looks like Rin might be in a tight spot soon …" He unlocked the doors, disarmed the alarm and got into the driver's seat.

Squall raced across the dingy part of town into the heart of the city. He slowed down where police activity was visible, like any good citizen. It was no time before he reached the corner of Trent Avenue and McKenzie Street. A striking blond wearing a tight, short, dark skirt and a white blouse that complimented her already attractive curves sat, cross-legged, on a bench. As soon as she saw the BMW's passenger window roll down she leisurely got up and strode to the car, "Diabolos?" She asked.

"Bingo." Squall answered, peering curiously in her green eyes that stood behind her frameless, oval glasses. She opened the passenger door and got in right beside Squall. He was semi-surprised at her forwardness and no longer felt like the driver. More like the associate. It made him slightly uncomfortable but did a good job at remaining poker-faced.

"You're Squall Leonhart, correct?" She had hidden her statement in a question and he knew that. Trepe had done her homework. She was a woman not to be reckoned with. She had a certain 'Rinoa Heartilly' air about and he guessed that was why they hated each other so. Both fighting pitbulls for the piece of meat. It was a probable theory. Quistis was someone of self-confidence, of prestige and of gut.

"That would be correct. I see you've taken the time to get in-depth information." Squall complimented while watching the road that was cluttered with bad Sunday drivers. He made it a priority to swerve around them as quickly as possible.

He missed Quistis' wry smile trying to hide her surprise at the scar that ran diagonally from his nose to near his left eye, 'Holy … it mirrors Seifer's …' She thought distractedly but managed to reply to his comments, "Yes. Well, do you mind if I apply make-up as you're driving?" She took out a small make-up bag from her purse as though she already knew he wouldn't object.

However he did, "Yes, actually. This is a brand new car and I've had bad experiences with female passengers putting on mascara while I was driving. So, please refrain from doing so." Quistis obediently put the bag back in her purse, slightly shocked at his refusal.

It had been a rushed morning. After the essentials, they had ran to the car parking lot and began a hasty drive to a quiet breakfast place to meet with someone important … a potential ally. However, they were late. Very late and it was mostly Rinoa's fault. She had been so hard to wake up this particular morning.

The road was littered with the odd pothole, not in a very decent condition, "Ok, I just have to put on my make-up!" Rinoa declared, fumbling in her purse for her cosmetic bag.

Squall rolled his eyes, "You don't need to, you look fine."

"Lies." Rinoa snapped back but quickly softened up, "But it's a sweet lie. Still a lie! Slow down, if you go any faster we might go back in time. And if there's a cop we're just as good dead." She reminded him but he ignored her. She flipped open the mirror of the car and took out her tube of mascara. She began applying it expertly and was just about done when Squall hit the biggest hole in the street. She let out a wail of pain as the eyelash candy burned at her cornea.

"What, what? What is it?" Squall asked in a frenzy of panic and he pulled over to the side of the road, "Are you ok? What happened?"

"The … mascara … in my eye … IT BURNS!" She shrieked in utter pain, "And it's all your goddamn fault, Leonhart!" She hissed and covered her wounded eye.

Squall looked absolutely dumbfounded, "That's it? Precious time is slowly trickling by while I'm listening to you complain about a mix of chemical on a stick that prodded at your eyeball for a split second?" His voice and anger rose in a violent crescendo, "REMIND ME AGAIN OF HOW THIS IS MY FAULT?!"

"Well, you could try slowing the fuck down when I tell you to, you big ignoramus!!" Rinoa yelled back, "And as I recall you were the dumbass who scheduled the fucking meeting so early in the morning!" She let off a whimper of pain, "Oh, I'm going to cry …"

Squall looked at her incredulously but then snapped out of it and rolled his eyes for numerous times that day, "Cry. It'll wash the shit off your precious eye." In response she hit him in the arm. They weren't always like this. It happened on occasion when there was a disagreement or when things were going completely wrong. Needless to say, they were arrived very late at their meeting.

Squall was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of nostalgia. Did he miss her? Or did he just miss being a criminal in progress? The feeling of building up to something big? Maybe it was just … her. He shook his head, attempting to rid himself of her haunting image in his head. No, it couldn't be her. He had vowed to despise her, to seek out revenge. Falling in love with her again was not in the set of options.

Miss Trepe sat at his side, remarking how clear the weather seemed to be, "It's going to be another beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky. Do you usually chauffer people around like this on such wonderful days?" She glanced his way, smiling.

"Well, taxi drivers do it. I do it. It's called a job." Squall answered smartly, "I'm a Jack of all trades and driving is one of them."

Quistis kept smiling and nodded slightly, "Right, of course. I suppose the right question would be … 'Do you enjoy driving people around on such wonderful days?'" She tried to catch his eyes but they wouldn't leave the road before him.

"No, I don't particularly like this work but I promised El Diabolos that I would do it and I don't go back on my word …" He trailed off aimlessly, "Anyways, it doesn't matter whether I like it or not, I still have to do it. Don't I? And why are you asking so many questions? You look like someone who is above discussing such issues with a measly civilian."

She laughed and waved away his comments, "Well, looks can deceive. Don't judge a book by its cover, Squall …" She smiled, still trying to read him by making eye connection. "And either way, you aren't just a measly civilian. You've got a badge of talent on you, Squall. With that badge … you can do anything …" She left her proposition hanging from her lips, hoping to pique his curiosity.

"I haven't a single badge, Miss Trepe." Squall stated boldly. He had gone down this road before except with a different person. "You've got a pillar of potential. If you develop that potential, we could make it a temple." That's what she had once told him. He had believed her, trusted her on that notice. A pillar of potential was more honest, more believable than a badge of talent. Squall knew she was trying to sooth him with her fluffy words, "What I have is something called potential." He replied coldly.

"Call it what you like." Quistis gave up on luring him to her, "It's something that could get you a new job. I've got some plans that include you, Squall … now the question remains, do you want to be part of them?" She made the offer sound seductively enticing. Squall had to remind himself not to jump onto the ship without checking for holes.

"That would entirely depend." He replied and pulled in near the Diabolos warehouse, "I have my prices … and terms. You're here …" He motioned to the building but she made no move to get out of the car.

"We'll discuss that later. Here's my card." She handed him a small business card and he tucked it in the breast pocket of his jean jacket without even glancing at it, "Call me. And don't worry. I've got plenty of money. Bye-bye pretty boy." She got out of the car and shut the door. He watched her making her way to the building. Bye-bye pretty boy. The words made unwanted memories surface. Betrayal runs too deep to be forgotten.

They had planned it out down to their every step. They had put together an extraordinary team of talented gunmen, three safecrackers and an asphalt-eating driver that could outrun a cop in a Toyota Firefly with flat tires and a low supply of gas. The plan was foolproof. Infallible. Perfect. Flawless. It was a downright art and they were proud of it. The only thing that Squall Leonhart ignored was that Rinoa had made a plan of her own.

They were hitting the Gamaway Bank. An Estharian owned bank that had over 10.5 millions dollar in a single vault. There would be an equal share among the teammates so no outbreak of greed would ensue. It left them all with nearly a million dollars in their pockets. Two million in the hands of Rinoa and Squall's growing empire since both would sacrifice their share.

There was a small set of rules that had been distributed to all members of this bank-robbing organization. One: Do not harm any hostages unless they are an immediate threat to an associate of the team. Two: Do not panic under any circumstances and go into a shooting frenzy. (Rinoa had added that one in due to one of her personal experiences with a gun) Three: Everyone who falls behind gets left behind. It seemed heartless but after the alarm sounded, every police officer would be on their trail and one lost asshole was better than eleven lost assholes with 10.5 million dollars.

Squall would go in with the five gunmen and three safecrackers. The bank had two floors; the first floor was obviously where there were the tellers in their booths and where the daily customers did their transactions. There would be a staircase behind the booths that led to the personalized staff of the bank where more important clients did large transactions from different accounts. There were also the offices where stock trading took place and the manager's office. Down the hall from the administrator's office, there would be an alcove with two or three steps that led to an adjacent, split second level. All that remained to do was to walk down the narrow hallway to a locked door, swipe the manager's cardkey, crack the safe, and bail.

As soon as the safe would be forcefully opened, it would set off the alarm. It would be completely impossible to avoid this as only the head of the bank has the nine-digit code to properly disarm the safe and he was in Esthar probably enjoying a martini at his private pool. So for the sake of simplicity, the five gunmen would stall the reinforcements for two and half minutes. Long enough for Squall to exit by the bathroom window to give Rinoa the signal to begin the distraction. The three safe crackers would exit by a back door with the loot and meet with the driver who would discreetly wait.

After the distractions would be set off like fireworks, the police's attention would be diverted for a split second. The five gunmen would escape through the backdoor and enter the getaway van. They would pick up Squall and Rinoa (who would've met up) down in the ally. The van would use the back streets and disappear within the view of the officers. It would then gradually take back the high roads and look like another blank face of society, back to the 'hideout'.

There were things that could go wrong but those events were controlled by luck, something that they did not have power over. The plan would work if human error and casualties were avoided and if their luck remained either neutral, or good.

"You don't look like you've gotten much sleep last night." Squall remarked as he watched the morning news, only hours before the master plan was to be put to the test. She had been looking this way for the past few days and he was beginning to worry. There was no approaching her when she was like this. She was distant, cold.

"Yeah, well, I'm fine." She replied and his eyes wandered from the screen to her. She brushed a few locks out of her hair as her gaze fixated on the wall behind the television set, "We should be going … come on."

He bent down to kiss her but she stopped him, "No, don't." It was almost a plea and it had been the first time that she had pushed him away. He was slightly taken aback. 'Maybe she just doesn't feel well …' He thought uncomfortably. 'Am I losing her?' He was.

"What's the matter?" He asked, peering into her cloudy eyes. They didn't used to be this way. Her cocoa eyes used to be clear, simple, carefree. Now they looked as if they were bearing the weight of tons, "Don't worry, everything will go fine." He reassured her, assuming she was worried on how everything would go down, "We've been planning this for months, Rin. Nothing can go wrong. Everyone knows what to do … it's right."

"Yeah …" She said weakly, without the least bit of conviction in her voice, "It's right. We should really go … come on." She pulled herself off the couch

The plan could have really proved to be flawless. Every step was to perfection. The first phase was accomplished without resistance. They shot down all the security guards and held up all the people in the bank, keeping a keen eye on them to make sure that no one would do anything stupid. The bank manager was forced to separate himself from his precious keycard, which they immediately used to gain access to the room that the safe was placed in.

Squall awaited the sound of the alarm in the bathroom. With three safe crackers, it should only be a matter of seconds. The five gunmen had the people under control and there was barely anything left to worry about. The alarm rang, he smashed his fist through a window, sending shambles of glass exploding outwardly. He climbed out and fell to his feet. His eyes darted to the roof of the building on his left but he saw no Rinoa. Instead she was twenty feet lower than she was supposed to be, a few feet away from him.

"What the Hell are you doing there?" He gawked at her, "Rinoa … what the Hell?" Now was a good time to break the second rule that his girlfriend had put into the set. It was now a good time to panic and yell and shout and shoot at random objects.

"I've got it covered." She answered in a way that wasn't her. There was something oddly different about the look in her eyes. A mixture of fear, determination … and pain.

She raised a pistol, equipped with a silencer. His eyes went wide, "You've got to be kidding me." He gasped and took a few steps back.

"I'm sorry baby. I'm a girl with big ambitions … and you, you're just small time." The words scathed. It was like a switchblade digging into your forearm, letting the blood run and watching to see what would kill you first; the blood loss or the pain. She fired. Upon the impact of the bullet, the final blow his body fell backwards onto the cold floor. He thought he distinctly heard someone say, "I'm sorry."

But the memory is so botched now. Why would she have apologized? For the sake of having a clean conscious? Who cares anyways? It's past pains now.

Squall reminisced bitterly at the wheel of his car, only to realize that he had been parked outside the warehouse for over fifteen minutes. He immediately shifted into reverse and backed out into the streets. El Diabolos had never asked him to escort Miss Trepe back and so he assumed that his services weren't needed anymore.

RINOA HEARTILLY SAT on her couch drinking her sorrows away with the little bit of liquor that she could find in her apartment. It was in the morning and she knew that she shouldn't even be touching the alcohol but the desire was stronger than her will. She had felt this way before … during her teenage years. The feeling of being so horribly alone. A bitter laugh escaped her throat. It was obviously meant to be. She would die this way, wouldn't she?

She had a longing to call Nick and to pretend he was Squall but she knew that wouldn't be ethical. Of course, why should she care? Because it wasn't just the point of ethics anymore. Because she knew that even despite how hard she pretended and used her imagination like any good little child, Nick would never be Squall. His hands weren't as rough, his muscles not as sculpted. He didn't have the clear blue eyes, the strong jaw line, the coarse sexy voice … Rinoa closed her eyes. "Oh God … is it possible to be this desperate?" She was on the verge of tears.

God seemed to answer his question, "Why yes, Rinoa … it is. Because he's the last man you've had sex with and when was that … a year and a half ago? Now, you only have to start collecting tropical fish and learning about their natural habitants to be considered a full-fledged loser. Congratulations." She groaned and actually contemplated getting herself a tank full of betas and watching them kill each other.

"It would be entertaining." She rationed with herself, "And completely ethical. It would let out inner violence if I cheered them on. I could make bets with myself. Ohh … I such a sad, sad thing. Someone end my misery …" She whimpered and took another swig of her Jack Daniels. It went down hard and painfully but she swallowed as though it was nothing, "I might as well take a vow of chastity. Well … kind of late but better than never, ain't that right?" Suddenly she was annoyed at herself, angry even, "This is ridiculous, get over him, Rinoa! It was why you betrayed him in the first place! To cut the ties and lose the risks … you didn't want to fall in love so you severed the relationship, you buried it … now forget it and move on."

But she knew she couldn't. It was too hard, "You have to! This is what you call being stupid … are you waiting for him to come along and offer you sex? No, pick another guy before you start to grow a beard or something!" She didn't make a move, "You need a man to fulfill your every desire!" The independent woman in her roared out, "That man is alive and walking around … his name is Squall Leonhart!" She smacked herself in the forehead, "No … damn, the thoughts always take a wrong turn!"

"Forget it." Familiar lyrics to an old song sounded in her head, "N'importe où dans le monde, chaque second je pense a lui. N'importe où dans le monde, je suis son ombre où qu'il soit."

AS RINOA WAS fighting an inner battle, Squall was just dropping into Mr. Maxwell's office to see how the research was going and to determine whether or not he would double the commission. As he strode in through the door, the cowboy jumped up and shook his hand warmly. Squall guessed that by his obvious joy that he had found a suitable residence, "So, how goes my projects?" Squall questioned.

"Boy, son, have I got the perfect place for you."

NOTE!!: I would really appreciate it if people reviewed, I don't care if it's two words, just tell me what you feel about this story! Please! Each review I get pushes me to write more.

Note to Reviewer darkcloud: This story was inspired from GTA, so obviously it should sound a bit like it, though it is NOT a crossover.

Additional Disclaimer 1: I do not own the song 'Même Les Anges', it is sung by Audrey de Montigny that participated in Canadian Idol.

Translation to lyrics of 'Même Les Anges':

Anywhere in the world, every second I think of [him].

Anywhere in the world, I am [his] shadow. Wherever [he] may be.

Sidenote: Why yes, I am French, what's it to you?