-Two months later-
"Just stay in the car, Seifer. I've got your coat, stay there."
For once, he appears to be listening to my words instead of laughing at them or paying them complete ignorance. I can't resist a smile at the apparent progress, however fleeting it may appear to be. Hyne knows there's been enough bad news over the past eight weeks. Where to start, though? I guess I could say that everything has changed one way or another. The relationship between myself and Garden is finished, more or less. Quistis and I haven't spoken in two months, though this is not without attempts of reconciliation on her part. She has tried to contact me, despite her assurances that our bonds were to be severed and unfortunately it is me who has kept our separation intact. It is me who has left Balamb behind. That said, I have had few options at my fingertips these past weeks and ultimately it came down to a simple choice. As I first predicted it might be and as Quistis feared, it was the mission or Seifer. For once in my life, I went with my heart. This wasn't about saving the world anymore, nor being the legendary crusader. What's the use in being a hero, if you can't save those you care about most? What it came down to is that I refused to cash Seifer's life in for a reputation boost and a few thousand gil. That's what I did in the War and now, I'm paying him back for it. I guess I've just finally realised that he means more to me than anything Balamb Garden could give me, or any punishment they could bestow upon me. I'll protect him with everything I've got and that's why I've left Quistis in the dark.
Seifer's treatment began six weeks ago. For all that I hated tearing his world apart by the mere suggestion that he had a couple of screws loose, I felt even worse when I turned out to be correct. After I'd forced Seifer to get himself checked out, -and in saying forced, I truly mean it with every inch of its implication-, the results came back in my favour. The doctors had considered him for some time; checked his symptoms and his past history, in concordance with my evidence and testimony and his fierce assertions to the contrary, and found the truth quite unmistakable. Even I was surprised at the speed of the diagnosis of schizophrenia. As far as I was aware, and maybe my reaction came in shock and protection of Seifer, that disorder was far too serious an illness for him. I had my mind set on something relatively smaller; a trauma-induced sickness or a mild depression. Schizophrenia to me was a terrifying word; one that spoke of entire lives being ruined by a species of imaginary demons and darkness. It was something from which sufferers did not recover; it was a permanent stain, a hole never to be mended. I think I may have fought their diagnosis as hard as Seifer did. In vain, though.
They diagnosed all the same. The signs, they said, were both so painfully aware and so obviously accelerated that they felt the risk of an early diagnosis was worthwhile just to get him the swiftest onset of treatment. They were all so sure, so utterly positive that it could be nothing else. Details they'd taken down from as early as the Orphanage days had pointed at a scarily early onset of mild symptoms; irrepressible and incomprehensible anger made worse by his rejection from the rest of his society, Balamb Garden. In short, it was his fear of other people's harmful intentions towards him that caused him to lash out and the mocking and tormenting he received from the other students and Instructors did nothing to help. When the doctors spelled it out, I could understand their reasoning. He covered all the bases of paranoid schizophrenia; the perceptive errors. He had his delusions of grandeur; being a Knight once more and an incredible leader on the brink of world takeover. The doctors said that the phone conversation I'd walked in on, carrying the Chinese takeaway, was probably all in Seifer's head as well; nobody on the other end of the line. He'd single-handedly crafted those 20,000 identities of the men and women for his fantasy army. Rinoa's involvement and her gift of protection, comfort and love had all been in his mind. There was no army and no Sorceress. He was no Knight. He had his delusions of persecutions; me, the angry policeman, the hungry spy. Every waking moment of the day, he thought different things of me; that all my words came to him via Quistis, that I'd been somehow altered by her to present to him the arguments that I did. Sometimes I was just nosy, other times I was the devil himself come to take him away. I was the enemy, no matter how hard I tried to make him see that I was trying to help. I was making a victim of him, waiting for a moment when I could take him as my prey.
He had the auditory hallucinations; conversations with recruits, telepathic communication with Rinoa and Edea, whispered messages telling him that I should be gotten rid of for his own safety. Thoughts were in his brain that he could not recollect thinking; directions to himself that he was convinced came from Rinoa, or some other angel looking over him. He said often that he wanted to kill me, and then referred to the incident later as being the will of his Sorceress. Poison, he said, or brutal murder. Both he'd considered during the course of my stay, but he insisted that it had never been his idea. He'd been commanded and he felt compelled to serve. Along with the violent outbursts of anger that were apparently unprovoked or inappropriately extreme, the doctors had him down as a classic paranoid schizophrenic. Simply put, his falsified beliefs made him carry out acts of violence incomprehensible by others. There were other affects that he possessed that had lead them to schizophrenia; his opposing reactions to emotional events, for one thing. He laughed at sadness, became furious when complimented, and so on. Those in the white coats called these side effects. They had no doubt about it; Seifer was a schizophrenic, his sub-type paranoid.
Treatment was more or less instantaneous, for many reasons. It would have been impossible for them not to recognise him as the Sorceress' Knight, so soon after the War. I believe that were it not for the bondage of practice law on their field, they would have made arrangements for his sudden death at their hands for the good of the public. The last thing they wanted was the world's most wanted man running around bearing such a dangerous, unpredictable disorder. Of course, this is why I've kept silent to Quistis. Luckily for Seifer and myself, it is not possible for them to carry out such a move. Legally, anyway. This responsibility and power lies with the government, not with the hospitals. As far as the doctors are concerned, the law binds them to treat Seifer as a normal schizophrenic patient. This is the reason for their fervour. If they cannot kill Seifer for the good of the planet, then they damn well want him under control as quickly as possible. Perhaps this is the true reason for his diagnosis, in addition to the clarity of his symptoms. They want to make him better so that he doesn't hurt anyone else. Hey, it's not Mother Theresa, but it'll serve. Patient confidentiality keeps the precious information from leaking out for now, but I have taken other measures to keep his treatment as secure and anonymous as possible. If details of Seifer's illness ended up in government hands, either those in Esthar or in Balamb, they'd have orders out for Seifer's death quicker than a blink. They'd die for such an excuse to finally rid the world of him, those crafty bastards. He escaped last time, but they've wanted to hunt him down ever since. This would be their ultimate ticket and I cannot let it fall into their hands. I suppose that this is one situation in which my name does come in handy. The nurses in charge of Seifer's treatment have become taken with my identity and their conjured image of a reward for their service to my friend. Helping the great Squall Leonhart save the life of a loved one? That'd be a good story to tell their grandkids in forty odd years. It also has the added effect of insinuating that my father is knowledgeable and comfortable with my obtaining help for Seifer and thus they need not make a fuss about it to him. Hopefully, that'll lessen the chances of anything ending up in the government Laguna rules over.
Neither I nor Seifer has told them much. I've vaguely mentioned that Laguna finds Seifer's illness a difficult subject to discuss as he wishes for no alarm to spread amongst the citizens of Esthar, and thus requested of the nurses and doctors that they avoid the topic with him. As far as they're concerned, it makes perfect sense to them and they've kept quiet. The other untruth I've passed on in order to shroud the treatment in secrecy is that myself and Seifer are involved. I did worry initially that telling the involved hospital staff that Seifer and I were lovers would make them more likely to sell the scandal for a quick buck, but I've come to realise that they think they can make more out of my continued favour. It's made them more loyal to my cause, thinking that they're working to save the life of my loved one, my significant other. So much juicier than a friend, so much bigger the reward. It suits me. If they can save him from death, I'll keep my end of the bargain. All I want is Seifer back. I don't care about Gardens, governments, missions or money. All I want is to save Seifer. When did I become such a sentimental old hound, huh?
The question I've been asking myself, though, is what does Seifer want?
I slide into the passenger seat of the newly bought, battered vehicle; a black car that serves its purpose and keeps the pair of us suitably anonymous. Handing over his long black coat, I watch him take it with an unusual calm look in his eyes and throw it to the backseat. I know he hates his treatment, but that wouldn't set him apart from any other patient of his type. It's not pleasant, put it that way. The frequent, varying medication and the regular counselling sessions he can tolerate, but the frantic exploration of more dramatic treatments on the part of the worried doctors is not to his liking. It worries me. I first thought that he was progressing well, due to the change in his behaviour when he was around me, but I am assured that this is because he trusts and is comfortable with me. The doctors say that he is not responding to the mild treatment as well as they had hoped and that they are considering more intense methods. Like fuck that's the reason. They just want him recovered before all hell breaks loose and their heads are on the starting block. They're scared of what he could do with his illness, that in his hands it's made all the more dangerous. I see it differently and I am not a subdued participator in the progress of Seifer's treatment. The proposal of using ECT, especially so early on, is one I will not be allowing them to easily mould into a concrete decision. That's something we have to think carefully about. I want to make Seifer better, but in my opinion, he hasn't had enough time to progress anywhere just yet. A mere six weeks isn't anything, in the scheme of things, and whether it's a safe use of electrical current or not, I'd rather see him through the drugs and the friendly chats first.
I know he doesn't want any more treatment, but he knows he doesn't have much of a choice. Somewhere in the last two months, he sacrificed all decisions to me as some kind of payment, I think, for my standing by him. It was a ridiculous sentiment, given that I could not under any circumstances bring myself to leave him, but he insisted that I do what I thought best to make him better. I sometimes wonder whether he believes he's truly sick at all or whether he's just humouring me. It would be strange, wouldn't it, to go through all of these hospital visits and medicinal treatments if you didn't think there was anything wrong with you? I don't know. I know he can't help but insist, frequently, that his Sorceress is coming for him and that the time he spends in hospital is wasted whilst he could be refining his plans for the world. He wouldn't be much of a schizophrenic, I suppose, if he wasn't loyally glued to his story in the face of me and the doctors. He reacts to much of what's happened to him since his diagnosis with scorn and disbelief, but then, there are these moments where I think he understands his illness.
"How are you feeling?" I venture, selecting first gear and setting off on the twenty minute journey to the border of Esthar, where the insignificant and relatively unreputed hospital stands. Though not lacking in excellent quality, it provides suitable protection to us both given that it is neither the largest nor the more expensive facility on the Continent.
He looks at me, jade eyes tranquil and settled. "Like a man awaiting a sentence." He chuckles lightly. "And salvation alike."
"It's going to be okay, Seif. I'm going to look after you."
"You weren't exactly the Sorceress I had in mind." He replies softly, with an edge of humour in his voice.
"I never did look good in a dress." I quip in response, watching the slow smile creep over his face at the rare fall of a joke from my lips. "No, I know. I know I wasn't. I think you need more than magic just now, though."
"I'm a Knight, Squall. You are too. You know that a Sorceress is more than a few magic spells; she's an anchor, a harbour in the storm." His voice is serious, but not threatening. The meds are helping to get his temper under control, but more than that, I've found him much less prone to violent outbursts since we became more involved. I was advised by the doctors to keep a safe distance of detachment from Seifer, although he obviously was comforted by my presence. They said that he was dangerous, that he could without warning be provoked into uncontrollable anger and that he was an untapped volcano. I could get hurt, apparently. I showed them the scar on my forehead and told them that he was no more dangerous now than he ever was when sane and they eventually quietened on their campaign to keep me out of his bed. Yes, I understand that if there's the slightest suspicion on his part that I'm about to hurt him, logical or no, he'll strike out at me. I know that and I'm prepared for it. But where Seifer is concerned, he's borne me no resistance and seems to be soothed when he rests his head on my shoulder at night. Are we lovers? I don't know, it's never been set down in words or needed to be. Lovers is too simple a term for our situation, maybe. We kiss, we touch and we share a bed. In these ways, we are your conventional couple. There are no sexual relations, we do not go on dates and I spend a fair proportion of my time calming his irrationalities and forcing medication on him. In those, we are not. Whatever we are, I would not be otherwise. I'm not ashamed to admit that I love him; as a man, as a lover, as a psychopath or whatever your chosen terms would be.
"I never was all that good a Knight, Seifer." I reply, glancing at him as the green scenary speeds by; reminiscent of my journey out to Esthar, when the world was an entirely different place. "I help Rinoa all I can, but I never had your passion."
"I know. That's why she wants me. I think it's because you're gay, though. Being a Knight is very sexual, and it must be difficult to feel that kind of passion for her. I mean, you were fine at the whole heroic business; I know about your throwing yourself into space for her. The true love bit is hard for you, isn't it?"
I am thoughtful for a second. "When you started talking, I was tempted to cut you off and call you an idiot because you wouldn't believe how many times I've heard my loyalty questioned by my sexuality. I think you've probably got a point, though. I love Rinoa, but not the way a Knight should love his Sorceress. It's all very clinical and probably not what she wanted at all."
"Like I said, it's why she asked for me. This is why I love being bi; you get the best of both worlds. I have my Sorceress awaiting me for a bit of a romp and some battling, and I have you gagging for me on the other side. Perfect."
"Shut up," I mutter softly, the pathetic insult representative of the lack of hurt I feel at his statement. I'm too familiar with his delusions now to be upset with them. "You've just got me, Seifer, and I'm not sorry for it. You'll have to lose the whole hot chick in a dress idea, though, sadly. I'm all you've got."
"Hey, don't count your chickens. You might look good in that kind of get-up, you never know."
"Tell you what, you do your best to help them make you better and I'll consider it."
"You're joking." He says flatly, looking at me with raised eyebrows. "That's not much of a bargain, Squally. I'd expect you to marry me if I get through this."
I shrug nonchalantly. "Get through this, and I'll do that too."
He chuckles under his breath. "I'll hold you to that." He replies and I am not sure if he believes my sincerity. I nod slightly, turning into a corner and whisper in response,
"Make sure you do."
There's another chuckle, slightly more malicious in note. "You mean that, huh? Don't bullshit me, Squall. Don't lie to me." His voice takes on a dangerous tone and I know where the conversation is headed. I should have known to avoid subjects like my own feelings for him, as he has difficulty sometimes believing that I'm being honest. I've been cold so long that it'd be hard for any of my friends to have faith in my new-found emotional capabilities, I suppose. For Seifer, though, disbelief is a black cloud on his mind. It challenges his entire understanding of the world. A suspicion of me leads to the conclusion that his complete understanding of me is false. One lie and I am the enemy, no matter about the past seventeen years of history. I sometimes think that he trusts me because we've spent our lives linked in with one another, but then it's easy for him to discount that in one of his episodes. Suddenly, I am no longer the Squall he knows, and he reacts badly to the stranger he believes has taken my place. I think the doctors thought it'd be difficult for me to understand and in a lot of ways it can be. I just try to see it through Seifer's eyes. Textbooks lose their meaning to general observation and the rules I start to pick up just by being close to him. And I should have known not to pander about my emotions. Stupid, stupid idiot.
I look at him, gauging the danger. "I've told you how I feel about you. I was telling the truth."
"I don't understand that." He says simply, making every effort to keep his temper in check. "What the hell for? How can I believe you if it doesn't even make sense?"
"I know what it takes for you to believe in something that doesn't seem likely to you, Seifer. It must be bloody difficult." I change gear as I speak, keeping my voice even and my words clear. Not because he's stupid, but because his sense of ambiguity is so much more sensitive now. This makes talking about something as abstract as emotion all the more difficult. I cannot prove that I love Seifer because merely telling him is not evidence.
"But what I feel for you is based on who you are. If you can't understand me, that's fine, but you can understand yourself."
Slowly, and for little reason that I can see other than to comfort himself, he works his hand over towards me and rests it between my thigh and my knee. Tiny movements punctuate his words. "I'm a bad tempered cynic who isn't worth your time, that's what I see. That's the truth. All I am is Rinoa's servant, now; that's all that's left of me. She just wants the bold hero who can see her through until the end. The brash, the brazen. I'm the fire. All I am is what she would want me to be, and I see nothing in that for you."
"Without a doubt, you're the most tempestuous human being I've ever met," I concede and he gives a laugh, squeezing my leg as he does so. "But I want that. Think a woman is the only one who can appreciate that rebellious streak, that glint in your eye? I want that. The sarcasm, the temper and the fire gnawing away at you. That's exactly why I like you."
"Because I'm likely to burn you, scorn you, break you? 'Fuck's sake, Squall. You just want to play the martyr, you little masochist." He looks at me seriously, not relenting to my explanation. It is an effective way of leading Seifer around his illness. If he's willing to discuss why he believes that you're lying, then his anger is kept at a minimum and there's a chance that he may begin to understand his disorder. When he erupts into temper, there is no chance for that. I've found that the best way to deal with his paranoia is to spread it out openly and engage him in talking about it, try to override it if you can.
"I don't think about it like that." I respond reasonably. "You're all I've ever wanted, Seifer, all that you are. That hot-headed, furious, wild spirit of yours. I want the heat of it, the sensuality of it. If I were worried about being burnt, I'd go screw Quistis; be comforted by a frozen Ice Queen who would never raise an emotion in her heart for me. I want your fire, Seifer. That's what I want. I don't want to act a role and I'm not fulfilling some hidden fantasy. Straight out, I just want you. Why do you think I could never leave you alone?"
"You always used to give in to me so easily." He considers, resting his other hand against the window and looking towards the deserted landscape with almost a mournful expression. Sometimes I think he can see his own prison, the black walls that encase him. Sometimes.
"I just wanted to be around you. I still do. I'm not asking you to understand, or to believe me, because I know that what's going on in your head isn't something which I can override with a few words. I just want you to know that I love you for who you are, not because of some benefit for me or some misapprehension. Those things which you blame yourself for are the qualities that make me love you. I'm under no disillusion about you, Seifer. I see the blackness and I want that, too. Anything that makes you you is no fault to me."
"Yet you call me a psychopath, you say that I'm abnormal and you make me go to that fucking place. I hate that place."
"Seifer, if you woke up one morning and you couldn't see at all, what would you want to do?"
"See someone. Get it fixed. That's a stupid question, Squall."
"And if you couldn't do it yourself, would you get someone else to help you? Would you let somebody else find you the help you needed?"
"Of course I would. What's with the bloody psychobabble? I'd rather you started praising me again, I quite liked that bit." Again, he squeezes his hand against my thigh, hints of amusement touching his gleaming eyes.
"Well, right now, you can't see properly. Your eyes work but your brain isn't giving you the right information. It's going to hurt you more and more unless it's sorted, and that's what I'm doing. You can't do this on your own, and you need to get it fixed. I know you don't like it, and I don't imagine that I would either. But it's going to make you better and that's the important thing. You can't understand right now because you don't believe that you're ill. But you will. You will. That's why I'm here, that's why I make you do this."
"You're fucked up, Squall. Truly. Every time I ask, I get that same stupid answer and you can't even try to be original. I'm not sick and I'm just wasting time. Rinoa isn't going to be happy with you, you know. She needs a Knight, not a medical certificate and a bottle of pills."
"I've suffered the female wrath before and lived to tell the tale," I quip softly. "Just, please, let me handle this. Give me time."
"Have you got her permission?" His voice picks up and something about his tone tells me that if I could only affirm this question, he would drop the entire subject for good. Seifer would do pretty much anything for Rinoa right now, due to his illness. Any advice from her scarlet lips would be lapped up and followed to the exact letter, with not another complaint. I cannot lie. I will not lie. I would rather answer a thousand repetitions of that question than drive him further into his shell by giving him a solid reason not to trust me. If I do anything to justify his delusions, then I risk losing him to this illness forever.
"No." I answer smoothly. "I haven't."
He studies me for a while, perhaps surprised that I haven't taken the easier route and told him otherwise. "You really are taking her place." He tells me, as I drive the car into the parking lot of the pristine, white building. He doesn't even register that we've arrived, all focus on his accusations.
"If I only could, Seif." I reply, not looking at him. "I'd be anything and everything to you if I could."
"You can't be her." He responds; voice firm, but not dangerous.
"I know." My voice is resigned and I turn the engine off. The purr fades into the afternoon air and the eeriness of silence takes hold of us both. The sun filters in through the side windows, casting our small scene in a dusky light and I sometimes think that I'll remember forever Seifer in these moments. His hair, washed lighter by the summer sun, shines in its bright glare and his eyes are calm, reflective and alive. I see so many sides of him, but this is the way I like him best; on the precipice of anger, falling away from its red-hot clutches. Under control and thoughtful, recovering, maybe. I hope. I can only hope. "I know."
"But be who you like." He continues, his words carefully chosen. "I accept you, around me. Be whoever you choose. Try to be whatever you want to me. Please, just stay. Don't leave me."
I turn to him, forcing down my own emotion. Such words would sound insignificant within the conversation of an average couple, but that submission has not been easy for Seifer to hand over. His disorder rests on his clinging to anti-social tendencies, afraid of social interaction. He is so frightened of being close to people, so afraid of their intentions and their ridicule, that to accept me into his life is letting down a huge wall. To ask me to stay would have two months ago been almost unthinkable. It is, I think, the first time since his diagnosis that he has shown me any kind of indication that he wants or needs me. He has been content to cuddle me, to behave with me as lovers would, but it has always been difficult to determine what he means by this. To hear him say aloud that he needs me by his side stirs something within me and there is a lengthy lapse of time before I can respond.
Pulling him close, I hold onto him for as long as I feel I can get away with before he wishes for his own space back. Hooking one hand around the back of his neck and upwards towards his ear, I move back slightly and kiss him; roughly, deeply, with the feeling I cannot put into words for fear that he will misunderstand it. When his hands move confidently to surround my face, I allow myself to hope that I have reached him.
---