The train shudders into life and I let my palm fall from the cold glass window. Outside, Rinoa stands still; the figure of some dutiful wife, I suppose. She is motionless, hand raised sorrowfully, waving goodbye. Every inch of her stance gives out the correct messages; she loves me, she will miss me, my absence will trigger her heart into a deep aching at our painful separation. I am so tired. Can I wave back? I am just so tired.
What is wrong with me?
She adjusts her black dress almost absentmindedly as I turn in my seat to watch her disappear into the distance. Her dark eyes rise to meet my gaze, hands stalling as she slides them over her hips and hers is a look of blazing hope. She still wishes I was hers, I suddenly realise. Beyond all of this accepting bullshit, all of our midnight chats; a part of her still wants me inside her. She wants the whole shebang; Knight to protect her, Knight to screw her senseless. I'm just so tired...
What is wrong with her?
I smile almost sadly at her retreating figure, a tiny movement of my hand betraying any sadness I feel at leaving her behind. Was it only a year ago on that balcony, when she raised her hand and I felt so differently? Her finger pointed to the sky and I turned to her, smiling, loving; ready to take a kiss? 12 months ago, but oh, so many years. My heart is empty. Nothing is sinking in right now. Maybe I will miss her properly later, but now, I cannot think. I have no thoughts and yet I am saturated by them. Fuck's sake. I'm being like I was a year ago; all internal ramblings and little sense.
I'm just so...tired, right?
She is gone. The train has moved on too quickly and all I can see is greenery; fields filled with small animals, flowers and crops. Trees dot the horizon and the intense colour of the sky makes me squint and shade my eyes. It is a beautiful day, as Quistis would say. Small talk is her forte. How strange, that I am alone, as I had always craved to be and to fill the silence I am inventing the voices of my friends. Squall Leonhart, lonely? I know of a few people who would never believe in such a thing.
"Always hard, leaving such a pretty thing behind." A voice batters its way through my thoughts and I look up with surprise. It seems some busybody has taken a break from his morning newspaper in order to insert helpful inputs into my private life. A fine example of the reason that I hate travelling on public trains instead of in the usual SeeD carriage. Quistis did away with such luxuries, the bitch, saying that they make us easier targets. Better to blend into the crowd, apparently. Better to confer with idiots.
"Hm?" I murmur coldly, trying not to invite conversation. I don't want to talk about Rinoa. I am tired of talking about Rinoa. I am tired full-stop.
"That woman." He nods with a gentle smile. "The girl you waved to. Must be difficult to say goodbye to her."
"Probably." I mutter sardonically, rubbing my hands on my jeans and gazing out of the window.
"I mean, you'll miss her. I can tell, youthful love..." He sighs dreamily. "Aah, I remember it well..."
I try to resist the urge to sink Lionheart into his skull. She lies temptingly by my side, yet I resist. "We're not in love."
"...and denial wasn't usually a part of it." He muses. "Unless your parents were involved, in which case, it was always 'no'. No, mother, I don't have a boyfriend. No, dad, we're not having sex. No, mum, of course I'm not pregnant."
"Listen." I say sharply, rubbing my forehead with exhaustion. "We're not in love, we're not having sex. Alright?"
"Yes, that's exactly the attitude I'm talking about. I'm not your father...I hope!" Guffawing laughter. "No need to play it veiled with me."
I've had enough. I force myself to resist the cheap comment that the conversation is indeed like one I might have with Laguna and sigh noisily. I can take this shit from Selphie, but not some interfering stranger who knows nothing about me except that I was part of the SeeD force that defeated Ultimecia. Not from someone who thinks that that means I'm easy meat for a bit of a teasing chin-wag.
"Do you have a son?" I ask innocently.
"Mm, I do. He's exactly like this about his girlfriend. It's all 'nooo, Dad, condoms? What on earth for?' Lying hound."
"...I'd be far more interested in fucking him than that woman I left behind, do you understand?" I ask pointedly, watching him intently for a reaction. His eyes widen so far I wonder if they're going to engulf his entire head. There is a long, blissful silence before he decides that the next stop is his. He leaves with a frantic haste and whether the point of departure is actually his or not, I haven't a clue. All that matters is that I am left wonderfully alone once more. And so, so tired.
It doesn't take ten minutes for the guilt to set in. I'm a heartless bastard at times. The man was probably only trying to be friendly, in a rude and unwanted sort of way. I used to have the same callous manner with Cid, as I recall. How much have I changed, after all? In some ways, I've come on, but in others...I feel I've gone backwards. Or maybe I'm just tired. Perhaps it's as simple as my lack of sleep. Had I had my usual 8 hours, I'd have been right as rain and probably indulged in some decent conversation with the old git.
Yeah, that's right.
I take a pitying sip of my instant coffee, bought at the station and burning my hands. My gloves are in my jacket, I don't always wear them anymore. I like the feel of scalding coffee. Stops me falling asleep, at any rate. Oh, by Gods do I hate insomnia. I'd prefer to battle Ultimecia every remaining day of my life than spend every night lying awake and exhausted. It's all his fucking fault. Quistis' words suddenly come back to me at this morning's briefing:
"Detach, Squall. Don't think of him as Seifer. He's a terrorist now, clean and simple. He's your target. You may have to kill him. Forget all you know about him, sever all that you feel about him. You must be cold and empty towards him. He is the enemy, remember?"
Easy for her to say. I know me and Seifer had our fights but in a curious way, I've always held a torch for him. I'm not asking her to kill Rinoa or Selphie. It's the same, isn't it? Seifer may have been on the opposite side, but I could never hate him. He was still my friend, even if he didn't know nor understand what he was trying to do to me. That's why it's like asking Quistis to kill a friend of hers, demanding that she just detach and shoot. Suddenly, I feel for Irvine; sitting in that hidden crevice, gun aimed perfectly to execute the killing of our Matron. It's not fair, how can it be? Maybe I feel too much now; gone from one extreme to the other. It used to be so easy for me, so straightforward. Aim, kill. Aim, kill. Now, I've got feelings mixed up in it all and it's like there's a knot in my brain that I just can't find.
It's still Seifer's fault that I can't sleep, though. Well, indirectly. I suppose I don't have insomnia so much as persistent, horrific nightmares that keep me from going back to sleep. Last night's was a beauty. I lean my head against the cold pane of glass and watch my breath cloud its surface. So, the part where Seifer gave me head wasn't exactly of nightmarish proportions and neither was it a particularly infrequent dream. I'm a teenage guy, for Hyne's sakes. He has the kind of mouth that could provide great head, so shoot me. No, it was the rest that spooked me. The thunder, the nakedness and the screaming. All of it left me feeling so open, so exposed. It was as if he'd raped me. Like he'd got into my head without asking my permission to be there, like he'd stripped me bare; leaving on show every thought I'd ever had as he devoured them all like an viper swallows its prey.
Not exactly a pleasant sort of feeling.
He so rarely showed me any kind of suffering. Those kinds of emotions he kept locked somewhere within himself, far away from the prying eyes of those who assumed that he didn't know how to hurt. So often it happens with those who torture that we are engulfed by our disgust, and we forget that they can be tortured themselves. Seifer let them forget. He didn't want anyone to be distracted from the wisecracks, the insults and the one-upmanship that made him feel so strong. He didn't want their attention diverted from that onto feeling sorry for him. Pity was never something he took well; it dented his pride, hurt his esteem, brought him down and made him small. Seifer preferred to be seen as the playground bully than the poor child with the shitty circumstances. At least being feared, being spat on, that gave him an existence. It made people feel something for him, allowed him to get under their skins, rather than being the ghost that everyone focussed their sorrow on but didn't feel.
Maybe he was a bit screwed. Maybe we both were. I'd have done anything to be a ghost, to be ignored and to go unseen. He would have done anything to be me; valued, doted upon, worshipped. He was always Screwy Seifer, and he hated it. I was always Heroic Squall and...well, hate isn't a strong enough word. Hyne, what a pair. There's just so much we haven't explored yet. I think that's the bottom line of that nightmare. We've spent our lives together, but when it comes down to it, we don't know shit about each other. I want to know more. I understand the others too well, but Seifer remains an unchartered mystery. Some of it I've discovered and held close to me like precious stones, but most of it is guesswork, assumptions. I don't want to stand on such unsteady territory anymore. I want to understand. I want to know it all. I knew it all in the dream, didn't I? Yet I knew nothing. In one moment, I held all the keys, I understood every particle of him as if each was my own, but then it all vanished into dust and he changed. I was in the dark again. Such a strange dream and yet there seems to be logic within it. Logic that I can use for the future. Oh, yes. I want to understand him as I did for that fleeting second. I want to know it all.
And then, I remember. I'm not being sent out there to get acquainted with the inner workings of Seifer's heart. My mission is not to get into his brain. My objective, as always, is to work out whether he's a threat so that my Garden can choose to kill or not kill him. Oh, fucking great. Just for the record, this is precisely why I always argued that emotions were a waste of time. Fucking ironic. The minute I acknowledge my emotions, my professional life gets in the way of it and insists I have to kill the source of them. I can't exactly disobey my orders for a roll in the hay with Seifer, either, even if the opportunity does come up. That'd be a damn expensive fuck. One minute, happy as Larry, the next; all 3 Gardens under attack from new Sorceress and her army. Don't think 'Oops!' would quite cover that one.
Great. Bit of a dilemma, then. I take a long sip of coffee and pull a face as the solidifying remains hit the back of my throat. I swear that Balamb station makes the worst coffee in the world. Even Laguna can't surpass them in that respect and his coffee is dreadful. I sigh in a fashion that can definitely be accused of being over-dramatic. To get to know Seifer, or to detach completely? Quistis is right; I may end up having to kill him and if I've gotten acquainted to him, that isn't going to be a comfortable situation. But then, there are two options. If I ignore him and he's perfectly innocent, he's unlikely to forgive me for acting like a spy and going all professionally cold on him, so I've lost him as a friend. If I ignore him and he's guilty, and I kill him, I know that I'll regret not getting to know him before I lost him. Giving up that chance when I still had it. Fuck, fuck, and fuck.
And they say life's a blast.
This decision would have been a lot easier without that dream, mind. I had my professional head on yesterday; I was all up for a bit of recon, doing some research and then reporting back. It was a shock that it was Seifer, but my thoughts were instantly sizing up the mission and whether I was capable of it. Now, they're far too focussed on sorting my feelings for Seifer to even think of what I have to do once I arrive in Esthar. I'm back to being a human being, rather than a stone-cold SeeD and investigator. The two sides of me don't sit well on my shoulders and I never truly know which is best to adhere to. Usually, I keep them as far apart as possible, so as to avoid having to choose between them. Today, it's inescapable. I have, checking my watch, just over an hour to decide on a course that might well affect the rest of my life.
Happy hunting, Squall Leonhart.
---
At some point during my lengthy analysis of the merits of both professionalism and hot green eyes, I realised with a sudden start that the pleasant green scenery had altered to grotesque lime building work. This of course, could only mean that I had arrived in Esthar; land of luminous technology, where the streets hum with a kind of blinking electricity. Personally, I despise the place. There's something phony about it that irks me, something man-made and thick with starch. The lack of nature around the place makes me feel suffocated; it's like living on Pluto. Nonetheless, I try not to be too disgruntled to the staff in the train station as I disembark, choosing to feel sorry for them for having to live in this neon city. I see recognition on their faces as I pass them; in the slight nodding of heads, the flash of remembrance to eyes. It's a reaction I'm far too used to for my liking. What I wouldn't give to have someone fail to identify me as Squall Leonhart.
I step out into the merciless world of Esthar and feel the urge, ever familiar, to cover my eyes. Every time I come here, I swear the buildings get just that little bit brighter. I can understand why my father would enjoy living in this artificial universe, such is his childish joy at all things mechanical, but Seifer being here doesn't fit. He never liked storms, true enough, but he was addicted to other aspects of nature; the sea, the cycle of the sun and the rejuvenation of fresh, uncluttered air. I can only assume that he's here because he has to be. Trudging through the city streets, I try to collect the loose ends of my thoughts and decide what to do whilst I still have time. I've rarely had this feeling of being so unmade, and I wish I could damn him for the effect he has on me. I'm not a child, or a lovesick teenager and I resent him for making me feel I have to remind myself of that. Rinoa thinks I should give my heart a break; that everyone has to fall in love sometimes and I shouldn't be so strict and critical of myself. Rinoa doesn't understand what it's like to be man, I think. Hearts has never been what Seifer and I are about. It's always been a blazing, magnetic pull of dark lust; blood, scars, heat. It's not coffee and cake in an Italian cafe, it's...far too much male strength and a dogged refusal to admit that the crashing of blades could be anything other than straight out, burning hatred.
Not for the first time, I set my thoughts on how it is going to be when he opens that door to me. The very first time he's seen me, his villain, in a year; how is he going to respond? Perhaps this is nothing but the work of the dream. Yesterday, I would have said keenly that I know Seifer and that most likely, he would not kick me from his doorstep but glower darkly, smirk and invite me in for tea and barbed insults. Now I'm not all that sure, but it has to be the nightmare that's making me question everything. It was nothing but a mere sleeping illusion. A hormonal, senseless dream. I tell myself that worrying for nothing is what I'm doing as I listen to the dull drill of my boots hitting the white pavestones beneath me. No doubt Seifer will be as he has always been; a fireball in my face to tempt and taunt and annoy the living fuck out of me. Just as always. And I will respond with ice and strained tranquillity, trying to hide it when his words reach me, only for him to see directly through the veil. Maybe Quistis is right; this isn't a straight choice between emotions and the mission, I can have both. As long as I keep to my own little cold, untouchable ways, I can feel for Seifer and kill him in the same moment.
The buzz of the streets around me fails to intrude upon my thoughts; I am used to it already. It has my father's way about it; this insistent, consistent low hum that is cheerful and yet droning simultaneously. I am used to hearing others talk to fill my silence. Constant chatter around me is something I have learned to block out entirely and my inner monologue remains uninterrupted. It's at times like this that I emphasize with the seventeen year-old I was, understand him where others cannot. My life then was far safer, or indeed my heart was. I cannot say that I enjoyed myself more then, but it's easier said than done to stop myself becoming him again when the going gets tough. As if there were two sides of me; ridiculous, I scold myself. You're one person only, Squall, don't be greedy. One is bad enough as it is. I snort under my breath and keep moving, glancing occasionally at the small piece of lined paper in my pocket that holds the key to Seifer's location. I don't know all that much about Esthar, apart from its hideously designed architecture, but I do know that the location mentioned in Quistis' neatly printed directions is not amongst the upper crust of residences. Not that that surprises me what with him being an official war criminal. I am, however, unprepared for the sight of the building itself.
Prison might be a more welcoming place for a home than this apartment block.
Even for Esthar, the wild mixture of blue and grey that covers the surface of brick is nauseating; flaking as it is to reveal and underlay of dull salmon. It is a conventional layout; not as high as other buildings around it, and with about 10 floors. From the slim width of the building, I presume that each flat is pushing the boundaries of the word 'small' and from a simple glance, I note that about 40 per cent of the windows are splintered or smashed. I whistle through my teeth, hand flexing on the outer door handle; waiting as if I expect to wake up. Unsurprisingly, nothing happens and with a shake of my head, I go inside. Flashing my eyes over the list of call buttons just inside the lobby, I take in nine other ordinary names, names that would not stand out but for the fact that they are not the one I am looking for. Then, I spot him. 'S.A.', the only one without his full name down. I cannot say I'm surprised; it would be like advertising for punishment. I wait a moment, trying to capture it, before I press the button. What I am pausing for, I don't know, but it feels as if I'm about to make a monstrous life change with this one, simple movement and thus, I feel I should wait. Don't assume that all thinkers are intellectual; I muse a hell of a lot of bollocks, mostly. Finally, with irritation at myself, I stab the little white button and await a response; heart pounding hotly against my ribs as if I am in battle. Forcing myself to take two long, very deep breaths, I relish the feeling of calmness that washes over me until it is shattered by the broad, brazen tones of Seifer Almasy:
All eloquence clearly intact, he drawls gruffly, "Who the hell are you and what the fuck do you want?"
Touché.
---