A/n: Sorry it's been such a wait people. Thanks for being patient. This chapter's a bit longer to make up for all the time i took updating.

'What lies before us and what lies behind us are tiny matters to what lies within us . . .'

It had been almost a week since the Garden Dance; since the horrific event that occurred, memories of which were still as harrowing and vivid in a certain gunslingers head as if it only happened half a minute ago. He knew he had to stop thinking about it, that it wouldn't do any good him to dwell over past matters, but every time he went to think about something else, the horrible images would push their way back into his head. To onlookers in the Cafeteria, Irvine would've appeared to be staring into the steam rising out of his coffee, but although looking, he was not seeing. The only vision he could see was that of the girl he cherished the most in the world, slumped on the cold, tile floor of the womens restroom, covered in injuries and stained with blood, her complexion a sallow white. Irvine continued gripping his coffee cup tightly, until he felt a pair of small, soft hands wrap around his own and around the cup. For a moment, he thought it was Selphie, but that was before he snapped back into reality. When looking up, the sharpshooter instantaneously registered the pair of chocolate brown eyes looking at him to belong to Rinoa. He was fully aware that she was concerned and worried about his state of mind; it showed all too well in those wide orbs of hers which were currently study his face.

"Irvine? You've spaced out again . . ."

He mumbled an apology under his breath, before hanging his head again, supposedly looking back down into the swirling black depths of his drink, but actually getting lost in his mind for the one-hundredth time that day.

Feeling several flashes of minor pain in his hands, he realised Rinoa was digging her nails into him slightly, leaving small, crescent shaped marks in his tanned skin.

"Talk to me! Stop . . . thinking! It's too Squall-like."

Irvine felt a small smile beginning to tug at the corners of his lips.

"I thought you loved Squall . . ."

"I do! But you're Irvine, you know, the lovable cowboy, the one with all the dirty comments, the gentleman of the group."

The 'lovable' cowboy laughed at his friends description of him, finally glad to have his mind taken off of the sullen thoughts he was drowning in only a few minutes earlier.

"So, if that's me, then whats your depiction of Zell?"

Rinoa leaned back in her chair, letting her small, satiny hands fall from around Irvine's larger ones and bringing them up to stretch her arms out, accompanied by a yawn.

"Hmm . . . Chicken Wuss."

Irvine laughed again. He could see why Squall had fallen for the pretty girl sitting in front of him. She had a habit of making people happy, whether you wanted to be or not.

Rinoa let out a small giggle before putting a hand up to her mouth and speaking through it.

"Don't tell him I said that, will you? He'd totally kill me!"

The sharpshooter shook his head softly from side to side, the smile on his face ever so slowly fading as the melancholy thoughts settled back in, creating an almost visible dark cloud hanging over his head. Taking his hands away from the coffee cup, he realised that the liquid was cooling down rapidly; after all, it had been a good 10 minutes since he had purchased it from the ever-gossiping dinner lady at the front till. Not one to waste money, Irvine picked up the cup and downed the contents in a few gulps, the bitter taste leaving a well-placed adrenaline rush in his system.

" . . . Rinoa?"

The raven haired girl looked up from playing with a sugar sachet on the table and placed her large, brown eyes upon her friend's indigo-purple ones, giving all her attention instantly.

"Yes?"

Irvine hesitated. He wasn't exactly used to talking about things. After-all, nothing had ever really gone all that wrong in his life up until now. He hadn't had the hap-hazard life that Squall had led, so he had no real reason to be clamming up and keeping things to himself.

"Irvine, I can tell you want to say something, so just . . . say it."

. . . Okay . . .

"It's these . . . images I keep gettin' in my head. I can't sleep without seeing Selphie lyin' there as she was when Quistis found her in the toilets. I can't even blink without seein' it. Hell they even haunt me when my eyes are wide open . . ."

Rinoa placed her hand on top of Irvine's right, which was resting, fingers splayed out across the table top, the tips turning white through him pushing down.

"You're worried about her, we all are. But . . . she'll pull through. She'll wake up Irvine. I know she will. Anyway, we're going to see her later and who knows; maybe she'll be sitting up in bed with a smile on her face, waiting for you."

Irvine knew it was possible, but he didn't pin his hopes on Rinoa's words, although they had brought him a little comfort. Rinoa, him, Squall, Quistis and Zell were all due to catch a ferry over to Dollet Hospital in about an hour. All he had to do was wait, hang on and hope that somehow, Rinoa was right.

…………………………………………………..

Zell dangled his arms over the edge of the ferry, feeling the soft ocean spray that was being kicked up from the boughs of the small but sturdy ship. It took about half an hour to get to Dollet using the local boat, and would've taken less time if they'd flown the Ragnarok, but apparently, two of it's many high-powered engines were damaged, and due to be fixed. Zell had decided to come out of the sheltered seating area, simply because he didn't like to sit down, and because he found the interior too depressing, with its chipping paint and rickety seats. The small fighter wasn't exactly happy in the first place. One of his best friends was still in a coma and that weighed on him more than anything else in the world. He continued to let his arms dangle, watching the way that the ships bottom sliced through the murky waves, creating and leaving behind a thick, white froth. The blonde didn't notice Quistis, who was standing about three feet away, and had been for a few minutes.

"How does your hair stay put in all this wind?"

Zell jumped a little, startled by a sudden voice. Yes, the wind was strong, and seemed to blow through one ear and out the other, causing the unholiest of dins, but he had still heard his friend speak.

"Oh, hey Quisty."

The blonde instructor walked steadily closer to the short fighter, keeping a straight line despite the ship lurching every which way, threatening to throw her off balance.

"Aren't you cold out here?"

"Nah. I'd rather be out here than in the cabin area."

"Oh? Has someone upset you?"

Zell ceased looking at the waves getting swallowed under the bough and, bringing his head up off the railing, he looked at Quistis.

"No. It's just a bit . . . gloomy in there. No-one's talkin'."

"Well, under the circumstances, I'm not all that surprised. I don't think anyone's particularly fond of going to hospitals to visit an unconscious friend."

Zell winced inwardly.

"You didn't have to be so blunt."

"I didn't mean to be, actually. Maybe you should come back in. We'll be docking soon, and you'll catch your death out here."

Quistis offered Zell a small smile, which he returned, grateful for her slight-motherly attitude towards him. He pushed himself away from the edge of the ship and rested his cold hands in his jacket pocket, following his female companion back into the warmth of the seating area. Squall was sitting next to Rinoa by the small, round window, with one of his leather clad arms wrapped possessively around her petite shoulders. Irvine was sitting on a wooden bench, two spaces away from the couple, with his head in his un-gloved hands and his black cowboy hat placed next to him. He hadn't brought his long, worn cattleman's coat with him, for reasons unknown, and looked rather chilly sitting there with a tight black t-shirt and blue, faded bootleg jeans on. Even Zell had opted for slightly warmer attire, putting on a loose khaki jacket that had been hanging in his closet for ages, along with longer, baggier jeans to cover his calves. He'd never been a fan of the tight trousers that Irvine found so appealing.

Upon realising that he was just standing in between benches, Zell walked to the end of the small area, towards the drinks machine situated there. Slipping three Gil into the coin slot, he jabbed the button to order coffee, whilst waiting for it to pour, he turned around and asked if anyone else wanted a drink.

Rinoa spoke up, "Can I have a hot chocolate? You're paying, right? Thanks Zelly!"

Zell rolled his blue eyes a little, before taking his waiting, plastic cup of liquid, and dealing with Rinoa's request, then walking over to where she was seated.

The ebony haired girl smiled sweetly up at him and took the drink out of his hands.

"Thanks. You shouldn't be drinking coffee, you're hyper enough."

"Cheers for the advice."

The next few minutes were spent in silence, until an old, rusty, toll bell in the corner of the room rang three times, signalling that the small ferry was now docking at Dollet harbour.

………………………………………………….

"You're free to go in and see Miss Tilmitt now," the same, podgy man, Doctor Lauder, whom they had all seen last week, stated. Irvine glanced back at his friends, who seemed to be waiting for him to speak. Giving them what they wanted, he opened his mouth, quietly stating that he wished to go in on his own. As the sharpshooter walked towards the room that the once-perky girl whom he so cherished was situated in, Rinoa's words flashed through his fogged mind, leaving a pang of hope in their wake.

". . . maybe she'll be sitting up in bed with a smile on her face, waiting for you . . ."

When stepping into the room with a heavy heart, and flicking his eyes towards the simple bed in the middle, Irvine found that one shouldn't place hopes so high upon such easily spoken words. There was no smiling girl waiting for him, just the silent humming of monitoring machines and a small, motionless figure wrapped in crisp, white sheets, looking far too vulnerable. Walking over to where Selphie lay, his steel capped boots clicking noisily on the hard tile floor; Irvine pulled out the old, wooden visitors chair and sat down, not once taking his eyes off the cataleptic girl in his presence.

"Hey babe . . . I've been missing you."

His voice, though kept low and quiet, seemed to reverberate off the stones walls, breaking the heavy silence in the room for a few seconds, before it began pushing down upon his shoulders again. Although he knew, deep down, that Selphie could hear him and was possibly hanging on his every word; Irvine was reluctant to speak again. He felt somewhat stupid, as one does when talking to an answering machine, but immediately mentally slapped himself for that thought.

This is Sefie you idiot . . . my Sefie.

The auburn-haired teen clutched onto her tiny, pale hand tighter, entwining his long fingers into her own. He wanted to see her fingers bend, and take hold of his hand like he was doing hers, just to feel some sort of response, but none came, as fully expected.

"It's been damn borin' without you around Sefie. Not much has happened. Er, I've been skippin' lessons, so I can't very well tell you about that side of Garden life . . ."

Irvine smiled to himself upon imagining how Selphie would react to this little proclamation.

"I know, I know. I'll get a warnin' from Seifer. Another one. He still hasn't let up on me for that little stunt I pulled in the hallway . . . But . . . I don't regret serenadin' you for one second . . . I really do love you, y'know. You're the first girl I've ever said that to . . ."

Suddenly feeling an overwhelming need to be close to the petite girl on the bed, Irvine didn't hesitate to push away his chair and gently place himself on the bed next to her, before laying back and wrapping his arms around her figure. The sharpshooter pulled Selphies comatose form towards his body, so that her head rest close to the confines of his heart, and his nose lay buried in her soft chesnut hair. He tightened his hold on her, relishing the feel of her body fitted so snugly next to his.

"Wake up. Sefie, please wake up . . ."

Irvine felt his eyelids becoming heavy with the onsets of sleep. He hadn't been able to get any lately, due to anxiousness and worry over the girl in his arms, but now she was here, and he was hugging her tight, he finally gave in and let his mind shut off.

Soft, full lips brushed against his own, sending the smallest of shivers down his spine, to the base and back up again. A petite hand sought out his, and intertwined slim, pale fingers together with long, tanned ones. Irvine brought his arms around the perfect form resting close to him, inhaling the familiar sweet scent of wild berries that he knew to belong to the one girl he loved dearly; Selphie Tilmitt.

The small gap in between their faces began to shrink, as the brunette girl moved in and pressed her lips against the gunslingers, gently at first, then in a more needy fashion. Irvine relished in the soft pressure of her slightly open mouth against his and, lifting his free hand up, he ran his fingers through her silken chesnut tresses, before bringing his hand around and cupping the back of her neck. Their shared kiss deepened, tongues caressing each others in a tentative, almost naïve manner, failing to lose any tenderness in the sudden mutual intimacy between the two. A small hand found its way from resting on Irvine's back around to his front, slowly slipping beneath the thin, cotton material of his black t-shirt. Bringing his hand away from its resting place behind Selphies neck, Irvine followed her lead, running his larger hand down the side of her body, tracing her curves as she was doing to him. Carefully, he brought his hand up and underneath the hospital nightgown, as they continued to exchange kisses tenderly, making the feelings for each other intensify. When Irvine came to rest upon what seemed to be slippery, warm skin, he immediately jerked back, pulling his face away from Selphies in the process. Shocked and startled, he looked down to where he had been touching, only to find lacerated flesh, dripping with blood, slit open and raw at the edges. Scared, he moved away, prompting him to look at Selphies face. What he found only tripled his fear. Her hair was all burnt off, her scalp blackened and charred, leading down to her face, which was in the same condition; a sickeningly ruined, burnt mess.

For the first time, Irvine noticed Celia standing off to the right of him, at the end of the standard hospital bed, her brightly coloured Crescent Wish aloft in one hand, and the other perched on her cocked hip. She had an evil glint in her cerulean eyes and a grin that stretched across her tanned features.

"I came back to finish her off, Irvy."

The sharpshooters mind began to reel in the confines of his skull, building up unwanted pressure, as Celia continued talking in her shrill, fast paced voice.

"She's not in the way anymore. Come here Irvy."

Irvine looked towards Selphies charred corpse, pushing himself away from the still sizzling mass that was the girl who had been very much alive a minute ago in his arms.

"Irvy? Come here! Irvy! IRVY! IR . . ."

". . .VY?"

Irvine jerked upright, blinking sweat out of his eyes, his hands clutched tightly to the bed sheets underneath him, to find a worried looking Rinoa gazing down upon him like some sort of guardian angel.

"Irvy? Irvine? Are you okay?"

Suddenly feeling the need to be sick, Irvine rapidly leant over the side of the bed and began to retch violently, the images he'd seen in his nightmare proving to be too much. He heard Rinoa let out a small, concerned-edging-on-disgusted noise, as a pool of vomit splashed near her dainty feet. Once the cowboy was sure he wasn't going to gag anymore, he sat up slowly, still on the bed next to Selphie.

Shit.

Turning to look at her, he half expected the remains he'd seen in his dream.

Dream? That was a fuckin' nightmare, Kinneas. And we all know nightmares aren't true.

Lifting his hand up from the side of his body, he reached over to stroke Selphies fine golden brown hair, grazing a thumb across one pale cheek as he did so. She still looked vulnerable, and somewhat . . . lonely, laying there on her own; unable to wake up from whatever slumber land she was caught in. Irvine hoped with all his heart that it wasn't one similar to the likes of the one he'd been trapped in. It had started off okay, and if it had carried on down that track, Irvine probably would've considered it a 'hot' dream.

Getting up from the edge of the bed, the gunslinger walked over to the small sink in the corner of the room, deciding he need to get rid of the particularly bitter taste that was hanging around uninvited inside his mouth.

"If it were up to me, Irvine, I wouldn't have woken you, but-,"

"I'm damn glad you did wake me," Irvine interrupted, before bending his head under the running tap, spraying out a stream of glistening, fresh water into his open mouth.

Rinoa tilted her head to the side, and brushed away a piece of stray ebony hair, a confused look adorning her pretty little features.

"Whats wrong? Why were you sick suddenly?"

"I'll tell you later."

"Oh okay," the small girl replied, looking over her shoulder at the room's half closed door as the large, podgy doctor walked in. His small, pig-like eyes seemed to linger on Rinoa, before making their way over to Irvine, and swiftly moving on to eye the mess on the floor. Greying eyebrows creased downwards, before he lifted his gaze back up to look at Irvine, who had a feeling he would've gotten the blame even if the vomit didn't belong to him.

"Sorry. I . . . err . . . wasn't feelin' good."

"So I can see. I'll send someone in here to clean it up. In the meantime, you come with me; I have a few things I'd wish to discuss."

The gunslinger shoved his hands somewhat awkwardly into his jean pockets and followed the stout doctor of the door and into the small, private waiting room off to the side.

"Take a seat please, Mr Kinneas."

Irvine stared at him for a moment, wondering why the sudden formality had come about.

" . . . Right. What's this all about?"

"You're friends have informed me that you are a close acquaintance of the patient in question, is that right?"

"Selphie? Yeah, we're close."

"Then I assume you know how this . . . ordeal . . . happened?"

Irvine leaned forward in the blue, plastic chair he had seated himself in a few moments earlier. He had decided, almost immediately, that he did not like this doctor, practitioner, consultant . . . whatever he wanted to call himself. The short, balding man glared at Irvine with sharp, bird-like features, his cheeks red and wind-cracked, akin to a sailor's complexion. The gunslinger avoided his gaze and glanced down to the small I.D card hanging around the medical mans neck by a thin thong of small, joined aluminium beads. He looked a lot younger in the photo, his cheeks a lot less ravaged, but no less plump. With bushy eyebrows raised and mouth in a tight lipped position, it looked as though the photographer had taken him off guard in the snapshot. Irvine had to suppress a chuckle.

"Well, Mr Kinneas? I haven't got all day, I'm a very busy man," Doctor Lauder said, with a tone as sharp as a cleaver.

Recalling the question, the cowboys mind became sombre again, as he searched for an answer that wouldn't raise suspicion.

" . . . I don't know what happened. One minute, we were dancing an' kissing an' laughing; the next . . ."

In his minds eye he heard Quistis' startled screams coming from inside the woman's rest-room, calling out his name in alarm. Saw himself pushing open the door, which seemed immensely heavy at the time, stepping inside, lowering his eyes and seeing . . .

"Mr Kinneas?"

"Huh?"

"What happened to Miss Tilmitt?" Doctor Lauder repeated, impatience lingering in his voice. Irvine recalled the vivid dream his mind had conjured up only a few moments back, whilst lying asleep next to the girl he loved so dearly. Celia's words echoed through his head, almost sounding too real. Disturbingly real.

. . . ."I came back to finish her off, Irvy." . . . .

". . . We found her like that . . . Quistis an' I, that is."

"I see."

An uneasy silence seemed to fill the air between them, before the doctor raised his eyes from the constant clipboard in his arms and began to speak again.

"I understand she was self harming-,"

"Who told you that?" Irvine snapped, defensive mode turning on.

"The scars upon her arm told me all I need to know. I've seen it all before, Mr Kinneas. It's really rather obvious, don't you think?"

The sharpshooter didn't know if he imagined the snide tone in the doctors voice, but was just as soon about to reply with a rude comment when he was cut off by the older man starting up again.

"Of course, it's a possibility that this is just an extreme case of Self-Injury. That Miss Tilmitt targeted herself for a severe elemental attack. After all, she is capable, and does carry every single type of magic that was used against her body."

"Woah, what? You think she did this to herself!"

"It seems terribly likely. Patients in her state of mind tend to-,"

"I know this patient, Doctor Lauder," Irvine spat out, "An' she would NOT have done this-,"

"Did she or did she not try to kill herself only a few weeks ago?" The overweight man interrupted.

"That's not the point! She was fine, everythin' was fine! Someone did this to her, I know it."

"You just believe that then, but please keep your mind open to what I have suggested."

"No I won't. You're a fuckin' idiot! You don't know what you're talkin' about!"

"Please leave Mr Kinneas. I will not be spoken to in such an insolent manner."

The sharpshooter got up violently, sending the plastic chair clattering to the floor in the process, making the Doctor flinch in shock.

"Don't worry, I'm leavin' already."

………………………………………………………….

Irvine turned over and pushed his face into his pillow, huffing out a breath of hot air, which just made him even more restless and irritated. It was a hot night, too hot, and the lanky gunslinger was finding it an incredulous task to fall asleep. Rolling over for what must've been the hundredth time that night, his lightweight, cotton sheets got entangled around his body, trapping him in a fabric prison. Making an overstatement with a noisy sigh, he kicked his legs furiously, breaking free of the covers grasp and sending them fluttering silently to the floor. Getting annoyed, Irvine pushed himself up from his current laying position and sat on the edge of the bed, long legs swung off to the side, feet placed firmly together on the carpet below. Grabbing a rather worn looking, grey t-shirt up from its crumpled place on the floor, Irvine gave it a shake and slipped it on over his head, pulling it down around his torso. Walking over to the dark oak drawers in the right hand corner of his room, he pulled open the top section and hooked out some baggy black shorts, giving them the once over before putting them on.

Irvine ran a hand through his tousled, auburn locks before grabbing his key-card from the top of his drawers and silently slipping out his dorm room. He hadn't even really decided fully where he was going, but he ended up walking 5 doors down the cold, empty hallway with bare feet and knocking on a certain blonde fighter's door. The hinges creaked and the entrance swung open almost straight after the sharpshooter had placed three quiet knocks.

"Huh?"

"Can I come in?"

Zell ran a hand through his slightly dishevelled, flaxen spikes and opened the door wider, without any words, signalling that it was fine, before shutting and locking it behind him.

For a moment, the undersized martial artist stood in the middle of his room, moving unconsciously from one bare foot to the other due to force of habit. One odd glance from his taller friend, however, sent him straight into questioning mode, curious as to why the sharpshooter had turned up in his dorm in the early hours of the morning.

"So . . . what's up?"

Irvine knew, in himself, what was wrong, but suddenly telling Zell about the nightmare he'd had in the hospital seemed somewhat childish and blown much too far out of proportion by his inquiring, suspicious mind. Sighing once again, inaudibly, he pulled out Zells large, comfy lounger from under his desktop, which looked worn and threadbare with age. Funny, because he hadn't pictured his hyperactive buddy to be fond of sitting down all that much. Aware of the ocean blue eyes bearing down upon him from the middle of the room, Irvine remembered Zells question and thought it best to say something, rather than just sit slumped and looking miserable.

" . . . I couldn't sleep . . . I guess."

Zell folded his arms dramatically over his slightly tanned chest, which surprisingly, was not over-toned, given his exuberant role as a fighter.

"Don't tell me you wanna sleep in my bed now, Kinneas."

Irvine raised one, delicate eyebrow in mock horror before letting out a low chuckle at his friends quip, which had managed to loosen the air between them.

"Seriously Irvine, what's wrong? I can see right through you, y'know."

Whilst waiting for some sort of reply, be it truthful or not, the blonde flopped down on his unmade, ruffled bed and folded his arms behind his neck in an easy-going fashion.

The gunsman rested his elbows on the soft armrest, leaving his wrist area to hang down, unsupported, long fingers brushing the creased fabric of his shorts. With feet placed firmly on the floor and legs hanging apart in a usual manner, he began to talk, if only to get rid of the unusualness of his blonde friend not speaking one hundred words a second.

"It's Sefie . . . I'm really worried about her."

Zell shifted from his laid-back position and took a more appropriate one for listening to his friend. Sitting up, he crossed his legs underneath him, leaving only his feet sticking out either end, much like a toddler. Resting his elbows on each knee, he placed his head in between cupped hands, with an attentive look upon his boyish features. At Any other time, Irvine would've smiled, but not now, not when such sombre thoughts filled his head and took over his mind.

"She's gonna wake up, man-,"

"But when? It's already been two weeks. She doesn't respond at all. I just want to hear her, feel her hug me back, kiss me, hold my hand, anythin' Zell! . . . I need her . . . I was a fool not to see it."

"We all miss her, but I guess we've just got to wait it out together, and support each other."

The auburn haired teen turned his head to the side, away from Zell, as he felt his amethyst tinted eyes glaze over and become moist with tears. Bringing his left hand up, he wiped all evidence of sorrow away in one smooth motion. Not because he was afraid to cry in front of one of his male companions, but because he was afraid that if he started weeping, he might never stop.

"I haven't slept for days, and when I do, it's only for a short amount of time. I get these . . . these images and memories of Selphie. Horrible ones that I don't want but that I can't push out. Yesterday, when we all went to visit her, I got on the bed, so I could just hold her, y'know? To feel her next to me and know she was still there. Anyway, I must've fallen asleep because I had this . . . nightmare." Irvine paused and looked over at Zell, who was still in the same position and listening with a solemn look on his face, his black tattoo standing out starkly against skin that looked dusky in the shallow lamplight.

"I sound stupid. Like a little kid. I mean, who has nightmares at my age?" The gunslinger scoffed at himself, looking down upon his clenched hands.

"Hey, you don't sound stupid. I have nightmares. Everyone does; it's a subconscious thing, I think."

"But . . . it was so real. So real that I threw up, I actually, physically brought up my stomach contents over a dream!"

"Nightmare-,"

"Whatever it was, it was plain nasty. I can't get it out of my head."

As Zell stared at Irvine, it was visibly obvious that he was stressed, tired and tense, so he made it a point to try and be as best a friend as he possibly could at this time.

"Talkin' helps; you wanna talk about it?"

The sharpshooter appeared to be staring at a spot on the wall, just behind the blonde, a vacant look in his tired eyes, his face pale and expressionless. Whether he had heard his friends invite or not, he began to speak in a voice so quiet, one had to strain to hear.

"Zell, have you ever had one of those dreams about someone you really, really love?"

The martial artist uncrossed his legs from underneath him, beginning to feel the torment of his whole body weight resting atop them.

"What, like a hot dream or a clean one?"

Irvine looked into Zells unsure cerulean eyes, illuminated grandly by the dim light in the room. He was a little amused at the boys' response, but continued on, none the less.

"Both, I s'pose."

"Well, then yeah."

"Have you ever had a nightmare about someone you love?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, that's what I had. It was like a dream and a nightmare rolled into one. I . . . I was kissing Sef, and y'know how it when your mind plays tricks an' turns it dirty . . . Anyway, I reached under her hospital gown and-,"

"This is still the dream, right?" Zell interrupted out of habit, though Irvine, lost deep in thought, didn't hear his friends question.

" . . . I ran my hand along her stomach, but . . . it . . . the flesh . . . it was . . ."

The blonde fighter opposite the auburn haired teen shifted in his position, noting the change in Irvine's breathing and the way his pupils became oddly dilated. A light sheen of sweat had broken out on his forehead. If not for the dull light shining from the lamp fixture, the obvious change in his behaviour and disposition would not have been noticeable.

". . . Torn open . . . her stomach was slashed an' torn open. It was so vivid: the feelin's, the smells. Everything was hyper-sensitive. I remember looking up at her face . . . I never thought I could conjure up anythin' as nasty lookin' . . . I s'pose that's what you get when you're a SeeD. Seen it all, yet your own mind can still shock you."

"Got that one right, man."

" I don't wanna go into detail, because . . . I don't think I could handle those images again . . ." Irvine felt his mind fog over, as if the same nightmarish illusions were pushing at his brain, trying to make a permanent residence there. He shook his head gently, his wavy, auburn hair taking on a life of its own with the soft movement. The dull beating in his head seemed to disperse, leaving him very aware of his blonde friend waiting for him to continue.

"Anyway, it was then that I noticed she was there-,"

"She?"

" . . . Celia. Standing in the corner, holding her weapon in her hand. She was smilin' this terrible, knowin' grin. Everything was so accurate. Right down to a yellow bruise she had on her left hand. But . . . she said something . . ."

Zell shifted his position yet again, until he was sitting normally. His comrade looked like he was spacing out again, so the small martial artist spoke up.

"Well?"

"Huh?"

"What did she say?"

Irvine looked up from his hands, still clenched together, resting in his lap, and placed his violet hazed eyes on the blonde sitting opposite. He heard the same words being repeated in Celia's high pitched voice as he spoke them himself.

" . . . 'I came back to finish her off, Irvy' . . ."

A frown appeared on Zells boyish features, his eyebrows drawn together tightly. The lamplight glowing from his bed side table cast dark, eerie shadows upon the teens face, which heightened the effect of his facial tattoo, making him seem much more menacing than he really was. He got up from his sitting position, and stood on the spot, fists down by his sides but clenched as if ready to do battle.

"I knew that bitch had somethin' to do with this!"

"Wait, Zell, it was only a nightmare. We both know that they're not true. You said so yourself."

"But it's obvious! Who else could've done it!"

"The doctor thinks she did it to herself-,"

"What! No way. That's crazy talk!"

"I know . . ."

Zell walked to the other side of his room, sighing and ruffling his hair in frustration, before dropping his arms back down irritably, then raising them again to rub the back of his neck. Irvine had seen this side of his friend all too many times before out on the field, usually during a particularly hard mission with Seifer or if there was something in the assignment no-one could figure out. He put it down to the boys highly strung nature and impatient ways. It was always the same; even back in the orphanage, although Zell was much better known then for his crying than his fighting. The blonde walked back to where he had been seated on his bed and gave out another frustrated sigh before throwing himself back on top of his blue duvet, none too gently. Almost as soon as his head hit the comfortable fabric, he hoisted himself up to a sitting position, using his elbows as leverage, a questioning look appearing on his face.

"Didn't you ever suspect anythin'?"

"Well, I never really thought about who could've done this to her at first. I mean, there were a lot of juniors at the dance; it could've jus' been a prank gone wrong, but . . . it was always there in the back of my mind. I only saw Celia once that night, when Sefie an' I were dancin'. . ."

"What I don't get is why no-ones doin' anything. I mean, shouldn't Headmaster Cid have launched some sort of enquiry into this?"

"He never knew about the bullyin' situation. You know Sefie, never wants to make a big deal out of personal matters. I'm not sure if he's even aware she's in a coma."

"Someone should tell him. Not the whole bullying thing, but at least that she's in hospital."

"We'll do it in the mornin'. As for Celia and her followers . . ."

"They better watch they're backs, because there ain't no way I'm lettin' this one go."

The two friends caught each others knowing glare, a hint of what was to come in a clash of sapphire and amethyst eyes, both minds turbulent with thoughts hell-bent on seeking truth and revenge.