-One week later-
"You almost looked like a GF."
I glance at him, eyes lifting from the road before me as I try to absorb the bizarre statement. Seifer looks back with an amused look on his face and it strikes me how different he looks compared to a few months before. His hair is growing out slightly and wearing into a grungy, rebellious teenager look; somehow, it suits him. I never realised how alien he'd look with longer hair but I have to admit to liking the way it curls around his ears and inches towards his eyes. In order to disguise himself further from the inquisitive public, those glasses he owns have been helpful. I was right, he doesn't need them but they have the added effect of deterring people from recognising him. I was worried that my presence might attract even more attention to us both and so I made some minor alterations to my own appearance; tying my hair back, never wearing black, a hat wherever possible to cover the scar on my face. It's ironic to think that those scars wound up being the biggest threat to our secret life together. If only we'd known that four years ago.
"Huh. It was a few leaves, Seifer." I respond, my lips curving up into a smile. I love the drive back from the hospital; Seifer always relieved for the ordeal to be over and more affectionate to me than normal. He softens visibly when it's all over and spends most of the time in the car joking with me, or often, atme. "I think it'd be insulting to a GF, being associated with me and a few leaves. Not much of a spell, is it?"
He laughs roughly and slowly extends his hands over his head to grasp the back of his seat. "Certainly magical, though. You, coming back from your training all flushed and wet from exertion, walking along the cobbled path as if you owned the world."
I snicker. "They read you crappy romance novels in there, or what?"
"I never did tell you about my romantic dream, Squall. Shut up." He teases playfully, wiggling his hips provocatively in the seat. "Were you with Nida or another cadet? I can't recall, but it doesn't matter. You were all hot and leathery, water in your eyes, hair over your face, gorgeous. You walked sex. I watched you do it, trying to work up the courage to go out there and tell you much I fucking wanted you, but when I saw that boy drape his coat over your shoulders, I couldn't do it."
"What boy? I don't remember that." I frown at him, trying to recall the incident more clearly. I remember coming back from a bit of sparring, probably with the grats. It was cold as I walked back into Garden, adrenaline wearing off and body left exposed to the cold, autumn air. When he'd started talking about it, I remembered clearly stepping over the pebbled path and having the bronzed leaves all around me flutter skywards with the breeze. They'd spun all around me and I'd been annoyed about it. Orange skeletons everywhere, so thick I could barely make out the shape of Garden before me and I remember scowling a lot, feeling my inner mood fall even further downwards from its post-battle depression. The scene comes back to me all too clearly, but I don't remember anyone else being there.
"Your memory has always been terrible." He comments. "Trust me, someone was there. They gave you their long coat; blue with some sort of gold embroidery over it..."
"You're thinking of my SeeD uniform; graduation was only about three months later."
"No. It was definitely a coat you had on; longer than that starchy thing. It looked good; breezed with the wind, lapped against those gorgeous legs of yours." As if to emphasise his point, he pinches one of my thighs cheekily and smirks. "You walked through that little kingdom of autumn."
He gets like this after his therapy sessions; all poetic and ridiculous. I sometimes think he does it to wind me up for putting him through this, but on the whole he's far more settled with his treatment. That's not to say he's improving rapidly, because his progress tends toward steady and slow but his outbursts have been less frequent and he makes fewer references to Rinoa and his falsified plans. Only when he's really riled does he ever lose his temper nowadays; the meds doing their job. He accepts that he has to go to his sessions and he doesn't make such a fuss about them anymore. It's only ever this kind of wicked relief when it's done and dusted.
"Kingdom of autumn, hm?" I repeat, again glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. "Definitely crappy romance novel material."
"You think I could have myself a career lined up?" He grins. "I'd write about you. Sexy Squall with the leaves flying all around him; hair in wet strands hanging around blazing blue eyes. Like a beast of fire, a spirit of nature; walking onwards with the worshipping crowd of burnt orange fireflies buzzing in your way."
"I'm sure someone would read it." I comment mildly, and with a reciprocated grin, I add, "And then vomit."
With a snappy gesture, he flicks the radio on and stretches back in his seat. "Too quiet an atmosphere in here. And hey, I know lots of people who'd like to read about you, baby. I could write about what you look like naked, and then everyone would want a copy. I'd be rich."
"And dead, don't forget that." I quip, sticking out my tongue at him.
"I could even take pictures and give the adoring public something to really thank me for. Can you imagine the sales? I'd call it Squall: The Lion Sleeps Naked Tonight." He bobs his head slowly to the rubbish that filters through the grates of the radio as I sigh heavily.
"I'd work on your sales pitch, that title is terrible." The doctors have told me not to joke with Seifer, to banter with him. Our conversations are supposed to stay solemn and professional, so as not to make his delusions worse. I understand their point but I think if I were to treat Seifer in such a cold, clinical way, he'd become far more distressed. From what I know of schizophrenia, it's worsened greatly by low mood. All the same, I feel it best to make sure he knows that the conversation is not based in reality. "I'm sure you'll figure out what you want to do, Seifer, after all this is done."
"Stay with you." He says simply, looking out the window at the passing cars. "That'll do, for now."
I can't help the smile that crosses my face. "Count on it."
"Y'know, not because I actually like you or anything. Just because I've got nobody else. You understand." He looks back at me with green eyes aflame and I roll mine with feigned hurt.
"Oh, sure. I'm just a stray dog to you, I know." He smirks lazily and I can't help continuing, "Keep me for the menial jobs like fetching and bringing you the newspaper, but god forbid actually liking me."
As I talk, I'm aware of the song dissipating on the radio and a harsh local accent streaming over it. The tone is aggressive and informational, and it only takes a matter of seconds for the pair of us to realise that the subject of the announcement is serious. My voice fades out as the other gets higher and almost instantly, I wish I could shut the radio off.
"A statement issued by President Loire today contains details of the difficult choice that he has been facing this past week. After secret details about the war criminal were leaked through to the government by an anonymous source, it was only a matter of time before today's announcement would have to be made. We can only speculate about what will happen to Seifer Almasy once he is taken into governmental possession, but listening to Loire's speech this story, I would have to say that the future looks bleak for the former ex-Knight. This exclusive report brought to you as it happens, only on-"
The hollow, horrible click of the radio as Seifer shuts it off cannot drown out the sound of my heart racing. My eyes open without my even realising they had been closed and I am thankful for the fact that I have maintained my position on the road. I'm afraid to even look at him, knowing that this is going to provoke a bonfire of paranoid energy. I pray that we can only get home before the nature of the news bulletin sinks in; I've never been inside a car with Seifer and one of his episodes and I don't want to start now. Yet I know it's too much to hope for and his opening words chill my blood in a way that I believed only Shiva could.
And how the hell does Laguna know…?
"You told him."
I look at him searchingly, trying to calm him with my eyes, but to no avail. "Seifer, you know that isn't true."
"Come off it." He spits. "Suddenly Daddy finds out from someone who fucking won't give his name, someone who knows what's wrong with me, someone who knows where I am, and you don't think that sounds a little bit suspicious!"
"Hyne, I..." I breathe, slowing the car down a little before continuing. "Why would I continue to hide you? Why would I go to all this effort to keep you protected, only to run along to my father and tell him everything? I'm not stupid."
"Who was it, then? Answer me that, if you're not stupid."
"I don't know! I wish I did, so I could wring their fucking neck!" Ashamedly, I wipe my hand at my face brusquely before trying to control my temper. The thought of losing Seifer to Laguna's will terrifies me; my dad has never taken a liking to him after all that happened in the War, and before that. He's just being protective but he never understood the boundaries of the relationship between Seifer and I, and I know he'd like to chance to rid Esthar of him forever.
"I'd like to wring your fucking neck." He retorts callously, staring at me with wide, angry green eyes. "You little bastard; lying to me, telling me that everything was going to be okay whilst going behind my back and telling your father all about it!"
"Seifer, listen to me, I didn't do it-"
"Oh, sure. No, sure you didn't. It's just fucking coincidental, isn't it? It just happened that it was your father and they can't identify the informant who knows everything that you know!"
"Seifer-" I'm struggling to keep control of the car with him shouting at me; raising his voice and his hands simultaneously, lost to illusions crafted by his mind. Once he gets an idea into his head, that's absolutely it. I have to fight to keep his temper down, to try and win some submission, because I can never convince him that he's wrong. It's not his fault that schizophrenia is a sort of cognitive stubbornness, but it does make it very hard to have a normal discussion with him and especially so whilst driving down a motorway.
"Run along to daddy dearest, Squall, that's right; it's only me you're betraying, after all. Poor old redundant Knight, eh? Is that what you thought? You felt sorry for me, thought you'd play the hero like you always do and dupe me into believing that you really cared for me? Did you? Is that it?" With every question he prods his finger into the steering wheel, eyes blazing and nerves wound like a string. I struggle to keep the vehicle under control, swerving more than once and hearing a chorus of bleeping horns as I bring the car back into the correct lane. The barriers flash horribly close to my eyes and I swallow dryly, trying to force down the internal panic.
"Seifer, I'm here. I'm here. It's alright, just calm down." I manage to break in, reaching across the seats and grasping his hand firmly. Relinquishing my grip on the steering wheel with only the slightest touch of nausea, I hold his palm within mine, squeezing his hand. "It's okay, now. Think, please. Just think."
"I am thinking. What I'm seeing is someone who lied to me and you know how difficult it is for me when people lie to me. You know that and you did it anyway. You told me that you loved me and it was all bullshit. You have no idea how much that hurts to know; none." Hand distracted from prodding by the presence of mine, he makes no attempt to wrestle his free. Everything about him still steams rage but he has settled against the seat once more, his expression more hurt and mournful than furious. I force back the sigh of relief to have the vehicle back under control and glance sidelong at him.
"No. It wasn't a lie, I do love you. I promise you that I don't know how my father knows but I won't let go without a fight. That will not happen." I keep my voice calm, hoping that the message will reach him somewhere in that network of confusion and magnetism; a place where he is mysteriously drawn to lies and deception and where logic holds no appeal.
"How the hell can I trust you, Squall? You've asked for so fucking much already and I'd be a fool to just let you off yet again. I don't even know what's lies and what's not; you've confused me completely. I can't just let this go, you could do it again. You could hurt me again and again and endlessly. I don't want to let you in and I don't want to trust you, if that's what's going to happen. I should only trust her, Rinoa. I should never have believed you."
The words feel as though they might as well be bullets for all their impact. I chew on my lip and try to force the tears back, ignoring the aching of my heart so that I can address him logically; professionalism over emotion. I should be used to it by now but Seifer brings out too much vulnerability in me. I can't ignore how I feel about him when he's present; it's too much feeling to choke down.
"I've always loved you and that isn't going to stop. We've done too much to each other already for that to break down. I never cared that you hit me or hurt me or made me feel stupid; I loved you anyway. You tried to kill me and I you, and we still love each other. What does that tell you? I love you, Seifer. I've no wish to score brownie points with my father and I don't want to be reconciled with Garden. I've got no motive. More than that, I've one hell of an anti-motive because I don't want to be without you anymore. My life doesn't work without you there. I would never, ever dream of telling Laguna about you. I've more sense and much more heart than to do something like that."
He seems as though he isn't listening, staring out the window with a blank, unfeeling expression. I lose the battle with emotion and feel the tears free-falling down my face, licking them away soundlessly. I hate crying. I don't think I have since...well, Time Compression. It makes me feel undone inside and it only ever happens when I'm cornered into something unbearable. Back then, it was facing the reality of a lifetime spent upon a small, floating sphere of rock. When Ellone left, it was the realisation that I was going to be on my own again. It's always about being shoved into a place that terrifies me and having no way out. It's emotional and mental claustrophobia. And so it is now; the likelihood of losing Seifer to one of his dreams and never being able to reach him again makes me sadder than I'm prepared to admit and I struggle to keep my breathing low and unobtrusive. Regardless, he goes on;
"How can I trust you? I can't...not anymore. How the hell can I believe in you? What can I trust?"
I'm ashamed to hear the low note of my voice crackling as I struggle to reply, "When have you ever known me get emotional, Seifer? Like this?"
He looks at me, eyes roaming and absorbing the tear tracks on my face and the look of desolation in my eyes and then he sighs. "You love me."
"Yes." I squeeze his hand weakly. "I've told you that and I mean it."
"Then what are you so upset for? It's just how I feel, it doesn't mean anything. How can it hurt that much, just my thinking that you did it?"
"It means everything to me, Seif'. I haven't put myself through all of this only to have it thrown back at me the minute something goes wrong. Yes, you're ill and you're subjected to these awful thoughts and ideas and I know that that's not your fault. I accept that. It just doesn't stop it hurting when I'm accused of betraying someone I love. I love so few people, Seifer, that I don't like having my love challenged. I'm capable of feeling emotion so rarely that it hurts me when it's accused of being false. I can't pretend to feel when I don't, you know. Only the other way around." The tears continue to stream down my face and I hate myself for them; it's not his fault I'm upset. He can't help it and I shouldn't be burdening him. It just feels like a dam has broken on my emotion and now, I'm letting out the past ten years of emotional repression. Guilt flows alongside misery and the more I try to stop, the more the tears keep falling.
"I can't be won over with words, and you know that; no matter how much it hurts you. I just want you to know that I want to believe that it isn't true. I really want to and I don't know why I can't just now, but I can't. It's why you think I'm ill and it's why I'll continue trying to get better and I'm sorry for hurting you. I don't know why I'm like this and I just don't want you to be upset anymore. I used to want to make you cry, you know? When we were younger, Squall Leonhart's tears were like gems to me; the sign of something long hunted for but never, ever easy to win. Now that I have, I don't want the prize anymore. I can't stand seeing you so upset, please stop."
"I'm sorry," I say, and it comes out in a whisper. "I'm trying."
Slowly, he moves across his seat towards me and wraps one arm around me, laying his head down at the juncture between my neck and my shoulder. As the car speeds onwards and I try to gain control of myself, he nuzzles in closer to me, still holding my hand and hums a soft, gentle tune under his breath.
"Matron used to sing me that song," I eventually say, identifying its slow, sweet melody as a nursery rhyme of some kind. "After Ellone left."
"I know. It was the only thing that made you stop crying." He whispers against my throat, his blonde hair tickling against my skin.
I can only find it within myself to nod slowly, again having to fight against the onslaught of emotion. The car drives on, the scenery continues to flow past, the air continues to rush around outside and Seifer continues, on and on, to hum.
---
"President Loire?" The clipped, professional tones of my bored secretary filter through the open doorway and I turn around from the large window to see to her. Locking her eyes on my thoughtful gaze, she asks, "Am I interrupting?"
"Oh. No. I was just thinking, it's nothing important. What is it?"
"I've got someone here to see you." She informs me gently. "He hasn't an appointment but I thought I should just send him through."
I muse this over, depressing notions rising inside me at the thought of yet another militaristic strategist, here to tell me of the best way to kill Seifer Almasy for the good of my country. That or another of my supporters, here to tell me that his worship of me will only be enhanced by my heroic decision to rid the globe of this terrifying villain. I don't want to be a hero, not for this. It's all wrong. I should be a father before a politician, but I'm locked into this reality now and if truth be told, I don't know how to escape. It's been nearly a month since I made my announcement and it went nationwide on every radio and television station known to Esthar. Nearly 30 days of stalling and waiting and biding my time, slowly sliding down a cliff with no hope of ever seeing the view from the top again. I don't want to have to kill him but it's only a matter of time before I have to do it, before society pushes for it and chaos breaks out. I can only hope that Squall, a professional himself, can understand a politician's duty and how it can override a father's wishes.
Without waiting for my reply, or seeing it as an agreement, she sees herself out and goes to fetch the mysterious visitor. I turn back around to the window, watching the blinking glow of the city in the distance. I love technology, but there are times when I could kill for the lush greenery of Winhill. I miss the countryside, the people. Being the leader of a country has its perks, but it can be horribly isolating.
"Laguna." An all-too familiar voice breaks through my thoughts and I whirl around, guiltily delighted at the sound of my son's voice. My son...Hyne. Still feels strange to think it. I've never quite grown accustomed to the idea of having a child, let alone having the world's hero as my son. There's too much I don't know about him; so much that I want to find out and yet still, we remain so removed.
"Squall..." I breathe in a husk of air, quite taken aback by his surprise visit. Hoping that his intentions in coming here are positive, I say, "Please, sit down."
He remains standing, as if he hasn't heard. I take the pause to glance over him; those features that I recognise immediately as being Raine's being the most striking. He has her general countenance; the open, honest face with the touch of vulnerability belying inner strength. The eyes are hers; wide, blue, captivating. She never looked as sad as he does, I suppose, but I've only myself to blame for his current misery. I clear my throat, wondering how to ease the situation.
"How are you?" I grasp at straws, knowing that it's a meaningless filler of conversation but trying desperately to introduce a friendly sense of sociability to the tense atmosphere of the room.
"I just want to know your intentions." He says blankly, looking at me with dull eyes. He's keeping every ounce of emotion within himself, locked away somewhere I cannot hope to reach, and he looks exhausted. Is looking after Seifer so tiring for him?
"With Seifer?"
"Unless you have anyone else I care about on death row, yes, I'm talking about Seifer." He replies icily, shuffling one foot against the pale blue carpet. I sigh and sit down behind the desk, waving a hand at the seat before me to force him to sit. Knowing his place, he does so, but not without a show of reluctance. Once there, he keeps up an intimidating look that gives me an understanding into why half of Balamb Garden is terrified of him.
"You've heard the speeches and followed the controversy, I presume?" I hate myself for treating this like a business meeting, but I feel that I'm being given little choice. He is so clinical, so coldly professional, that I feel incapable of relaxing around him. My own son. I shake my head slightly, feeling something hurt inside.
"I've come to find out its logical end." He says; voice flat and emotionless. "I assumed that of anyone, you'd know what to make of the mess in the papers about the whole thing."
"Squall, just ask me what you want to know." I eventually respond, feeling already exhausted with the precision of his words, the look of steel in his eyes. I've always been fond of a sense of warmth and familiarity in family, something I'd been trying to develop with Squall and this meeting is anything but comfortable. "You don't have to be so formal.
"Fine." He tosses the word away carelessly, eyes flashing with a momentary surge of anger. I recognise the flare of temper with a pang inside; another of Raine's characteristics. I doubt he's even aware of how much he resembles her, but then he talks about her with Kiros, not me. How would I know? I've neglected him all of his life and as a punishment, it looks as though he'll reject me for the rest of mine.
"Are you going to kill him?" He asks firmly, bluntly; straight to the point.
"Not personally, I hope." I immediately respond, followed by the instinctive urge to kick myself. The attempt at humour doesn't go down well and he looks ready to strike me; only the desk separating me from the whirlwind of sudden fury.
"I'm sorry." I say, over and over, watching the look in his eyes change from raging to sorrowful, accepting of a fate which cannot be changed but made miserable by this realisation. "I...what can I say, Squall? You already know the answer to your question. I have to, you know that."
He nods, the tiniest gesture, and I feel terrible at the way that I've broken this to him. There must have been a thousand better ways to do it, perhaps even one from which he could have left with some kind of positive feelings towards me. But, no. I had to do it this way, didn't I? I don't know how to tell him that if I could, I'd leave Seifer alone, let them have their happy existence and not interfere. That I don't want to do this, but have no other option. That I'm a politician first, and a father second? It makes me shudder to think of it.
"You don't have to." He replies, and I raise my eyebrows. As if to answer my unspoken question, he explains. "I've never asked you for anything. I've never blamed you for not coming back for me. Yes, I've kept us distant until I felt I could deal with getting to know you, but I've not shut you out completely. My point is that now, I'm asking for something. Not as a businessman, as a son. I'm asking my father to do something for me."
"Squall, I-"
"I'll call you Dad, I'll turn up to family gigs, whatever." He goes on, raising one hand for silence. "And I know that it's a huge thing I'm asking for, but please, please understand how much I need you to do this."
"How do you feel about Seifer?" I ask, and with my eyes I request a truthful answer. It's a question I'm frightened of, not wanting the burden on my shoulders if it turns out his emotions are strong, but I need to know. Something inside me needs to know just how devastating a destruction I'm about to wreck upon my son.
"How can I answer that without you thinking I'm naive?"
"Squall, I would never think that. You're too withdrawn with your emotions for you ever to waste them on someone. If you tell me you're attached to him, then I'd believe you absolutely."
He visibly relaxes at this information, probably having been used to challenges on his faith. "I love him, for everything that he is. His being schizophrenic doesn't make me love him less; it's just a new shade of Seifer that I've learnt to deal with, to love in itself. Every facet of Seifer is something that I can love, that I feel drawn to love, and that I can't not love. I'd spend my life with him and then ask for more time."
"I feel that way about your mother," I say, steepling my fingers and feeling, for the first time, like a father should. "But it doesn't always last. Things can tear that apart; physical and emotional boundaries can form without you even sensing it. Your feelings are susceptible to change, Squall. Mine didn't, but that doesn't mean yours won't."
"Don't patronise me. He's tried to kill me more times than I can recall, we've hurt each other more times than we've eaten hot lunches. I've spilled more blood over him than I have over anyone else I've ever fought. I love him still. I understand what you're saying, but I believe that the time would have come before now were we to be parted. I don't want to lose him, Laguna. Please, don't take him away from me." His voice is barely a whisper, seeping vulnerability and pain. I can't bear to see my son this way, to have to close the matter on such stubborn, resistant terms. I know I cannot agree to what he's asking; that my country must come before my heart and Squall's. It's the way of the politician, a path he's known well and must understand. That path has kept him away from Seifer before and if it must do so again, then that is the way it has to be. He's been too late in loving and though my heart aches at the thought of refusing him this request, I muster up the courage to do it.
"Squall, I can't do what you're asking." Studying him with firm eyes, I reach for his hand and find it not there. "I'm sorry, if I could, I would. I can't, you know that. It's too much to ask. I'll do everything I can to keep it humane, but..."
"Dad, please..."
"I can't, Squall. I can't. He's getting worse, isn't he? Temper fraying more often than not, anger raging, stuck in the mud all the time? He's getting worse, he's exhausting you, and it has to end. It's the right thing to do, no matter how much it hurts now. You're better off without him."
All I hear with my eyes tightly shut is his breathing deepening, hastening; more ragged with his emotion. A dull roar pounds in my ears and I can feel a migraine coming on. Against ever moral fibre I possess, I bark out the remainder of my decision. I simply cannot bear the conversation anymore; breaking him into pieces before I ever began to know him, having him sat before me as a reminder of the guilt I'll carry for the rest of my life. I need him out of here, I need to escape.
"Please, just understand what I'm saying. Just trust it. No more words, Squall!" I raise my voice as he tries to interrupt and still with my eyes closed, I go on,
"Please. No more of this. Please, just leave me. Go, now! I can't...just go. Try to understand."
After a few minutes, I find myself finally able to re-enter the reality which at the moment resembles some sort of hell. When I open my eyes, I am left totally alone.
---