Warnings: Language, OOC Laguna, Squinoa

Disclaimer. Not mine, never mine

Note: Wanted to get this up quick because I don't know when I'll get another chance. Anyways, here it is, so you be the judge. sigh I need a beta. . . Sadness. Well, hope you enjoy .- Oh, also, I won't be responding to reviews here anymore, because peoples accounts have been being deleted for it. So, email me with any questions or whatever. No need to be shy, but I am kinda slow, so, you're warned

Squall

I sit at the red kitchen table, idly stroking Seifer's head and staring out the window. The morning fog hasn't quite lifted, and the sky is a dead gray color. The still silence that only exists during these few morning hours permeates the apartment. I feel like I'm the only person that exists, like there's nobody else around or alive in the world. Which is ridiculous, because I know my roommate is getting dressed in his room about ten feet behind me,

I lift a cup of coffee to my mouth and take a sip without really thinking about it. I don't particularly care for the taste of coffee, but still it's difficult for me to start a day without it. I make to set the mug back on the table, but I notice that it's already made a wet brown ring on the cheap plastic. I frown at it slightly. Usually I remember to put a stack of napkins down first.

I rise with a yawn and dump the rest of the coffee down the drain, turning on the water to rinse away the residue. When the water runs hot I take a new dish rag from the cupboard and soak it before wringing it out and wiping up my mess. With a sigh I regard the light brown spot on the previously white dish rag, and then toss it into the sink without bothering to rinse it off. If it stains I have a dozen more to replace it, something Rinoa doesn't quite understand. Then again, I suppose she's had maids taking care of her messes since she was born, so it's forgivable.

Suddenly a shout breaks the still calm of morning. "No! I said in the litter box! In the litter box!" Ah, Seifer's first words of the day. I don't imagine it will be long before he makes his presence known.

Unfortunately, my imagination is correct. He stomps out of his room, a look of intense exasperation stamped over his face. With a sound of disgust he drops a paper covered parcel in the garbage can, and I wrinkle my nose. Now I'll have to empty the trash a day early to keep the place from smelling like cat crap.

He turns and drops into his seat. Briefly I wonder if he's capable of simply sitting. He always collapses into the chair, like his legs have suddenly decided to give out on him. Wonder if he realizes he's doing it. My speculation is cut short as he decides to speak to me.

"That damn cat, I swear. . ."

"You're the one that wanted him," I point out.

"Well I want him, I just also want him to not take a crap in my best shoes."

"Having problems?"

He snorts. "Just with the litter box. Otherwise he's fine. Slept on the bed last night, in a civilized manner," he say's, looking pointedly at the dog during this last part.

"Come again?"

He sits up straight. "Yeah. He just curled up in a corner, no problem at all, whereas I had to fight your stupid Dog for my blankets and pillows. It was actually. . ."

"Seifer was on your bed?"

"Well yeah, I didn't see a problem with it at the time. Why, something wrong with that?"

I look the man over for the first time, really look at him. Seifer won't get on my bed, never has, and probably never will. He usually sleeps on the old couch I keep in my room. I've tried everything, from treats to threats and everything in between. "Why would he sleep on your bed?"

He blinks, and then says, "Animal magnetism?"

I stand there open mouthed, trying to think of something to say. ". . .but, why you?"

Seifer shrugs. "Try hating him for a while. Should work."

I look over at the dog, who stares up at me without the slightest clue that he's betrayed me, and then back at Seifer. "I thought you hated him?"

At this he makes a disgusted face. "Well yeah, but I couldn't just leave him out there to listen to you and Precious Rin going at it."

The hell? He heard us? My cheeks heat up and I know I'm blushing. It doesn't help that he laughs when he notices, a loud unrestrained baritone. I scowl at him, and turn to go back to my room.

There's a sudden 'shit!' from behind me, and Seifer stands up fast and races for the door.

"...." What?

"Orientation!"

And then he's gone. I had forgotten about this: all new employee's are "treated" to a one on one session with Caraway in which he asks them questions and lectures them on their various duties. About half the newly hired people quit after orientation. Caraway calls it 'survival of the fittest'.

The clock says that it's seven in the morning, so I decide to go back to my room and review a case I'm supposed to be working on. I get to the threshhold, and then stop and turn to look at Seifer's open door. I frown and let the dog into my room, where he jumps on his old blue couch and lies down, taking up all available space. Slowly I walk across the room and pause in front of the entryway. From where I'm standing I can see a large mahogany desk with a silver laptop and a stack of law books. I bite my lip, and then decide what the hell. I step into the room, half expecting Seifer to come back for something and catch me red handed. The danger of getting caught gives me a burst of adrenaline, and I find that I kind of like it.

The room, like mine, is 'L'-shaped. The doorway leads into the top of the 'L', and then the bottom of the 'L' is to my far right. The desk is facing the door at the top, and then there's nothing except for a dresser at the far wall. I know that in the bottom turn of the 'L', the part I can't see, there is a bed and a night stand, maybe with a lamp. Several posters adorn the wall, one of the members of 'Rammstein', one with 'Linkin Park', one with a cute pink cartoon rabbit with a caption under it that reads 'Hi. Cram It.', and one that I particularly like, a large blood red cross that has dragons bursting out of the sides, the red from the cross looking like blood on their bodies. I stare at it for a while, taking in the color differences and the odd looking dragons. Upon closer look I notice a hastily scrawled 'S. Almasy' in the corner. I look at it again, impressed. He's quite the artist then, if he can draw something of this caliber.

Suddenly there's a heavy thudding noise behind me from the bed area. I freeze, expecting Seifer to be behind me, but then realize he wouldn't have been able to make the noise because he would have had to go past me to reach the bed. I turn, more relaxed, and shake my head at the unknowing cat. A heavy book entitled 'Practical Law' lays on the floor where it was shoved by the feline.

"Scared me," I mutter, walking to him. I leave the book where it is, not knowing where Seifer had originally placed it, and kneel next to the bed. The cat begins purring immediately as I scratch behind his ears. His fur is short, a deep orange color with lighter orange stripes. His eyes are like a burning green fire in his head. He looks nothing like a griever. "Griever. . ." I trail off, frowning. The memory, or flashback, or whatever it was I had yesterday is still vivid in my mind. Maybe I'm just imagining things. I hadn't gotten enough sleep the night before, perhaps. Except that's a lie. You've never needed more than four hours sleep, and you know it. 'Oh shut up', I snap at my stupid conscience. All right, here's what happened: I really did have this experience in my 'past life', and Seifer was only there because I'd been with him at the time. Simple as that. You're full of shit, you know. I sigh. 'Yeah, I know'.

The kitten suddenly wriggles off the bed and races for Seifer's shoes. I smirk as I realize his intention, but I figure I might as well help Seifer. I pick up the cat and place him in the litter box. The cat looks startled, and tried to leave, but I don't let him. Finally he decides he needs to crap before doing anything else, and lets it all loose. He covers it and looks at me warily, probably expecting a repeat of Seifer's performance, but I just lift him out and put him back on the bed. He purrs gratefully as I continue my examination of Seifer's room.

A quick search of the night stand drawers reveals nothing other than a bottle of whiskey and some blank notepads. I sigh with frustration. I know that he knows me from before my accident, and there has to be proof somewhere. I'm going to find it.

I drop down and look under the bed, blinking to let my eyes adjust to the light. There are two boxes here. I take note of their positions and grab them out. One is a clear box with a white plastic lid, and there's just old receipts in here. I put it back. The next box is cardboard, and has 'Things to Never Look at Again' written across the top in neat lettering, and underneath that in smaller letters, 'unless dead drunk'.

I open the box carefully, so as not to rip it, and am met with what looks like several notebooks. This is fairly close, but they aren't notebooks though, per ce. There are sketch books with dates on the covers, journals, and a couple scrapbooks. I take out two or three books and am about to leaf through them when I hear a knock on the door.

My adrenaline level spikes. I hastily close the box and shove it under the bed and then run out of the room, blood pounding in my ears, miraculously not tripping. I dash across to my room and stuff the books I'm still holding under my pillow, my heart thumping wildly in my chest. Seifer, the dog, follows me to the front door. I wait a second for my heart to stop beating and to catch my breath. It's going to be him and he'll know and he's going to kill you and . . . 'I know!', I shout at that damned inner voice. And with that, I open the door.

". . .Rinoa?"

My fiancee smiles widely before throwing herself at me and hugging me tightly. I hug her back, as surprised as I can remember being.

She let's go and stands back. "Do I get to come in?"

Oh, right. I stand back and let her in. Seifer sniffs her and then goes back to my room for his snooze on the couch.

"Daddy gave me a credit card so I decided to go shopping," she say's while dropping her purse on the round red table. "I got you a present, love."

I blink, my heart still trying to calm down. "Oh?"

She smiles. Hyne, I love her smile. I think it's what attracted me to her in the first place, when I woke up in the hospital. She reminds me of a cheerful Mona Lisa. I always think when she smiles that she has a little secret, and she's going to let me in on it. The way her eyelashes lower over her eyes, and the corners of her mouth turn up just enough to make me want to smile back. So I do. I always do, even though it makes my face feel awkward and stiff and out of sorts.

She sways towards me, her hips moving to some silent perfect rhythm. I wonder if she does it on purpose. I don't have time to think about it though, because she holds out a small box to me. I take it somewhat apprehensively. She laughs. "There's no bomb inside. Go on open it, I think you'll like it."

And so I take the lid off and extract a ring box. Oh god, if she's gotten me a diamond ring I'll kill her, I'll kill myself, I'll drop it down the drain, I'll throw it in the ocean like that woman from 'Titanic'. . . I open the box apprehensively, and feel my eyes widen in surprise.

"There! Do you like it?"

"Hyne, Rin. . .it's. . ." perfect, is the word that goes through my head. It's silver, and surprisingly heavy for its size. It's a roaring lions head, with a cross extending where the lions body should be, a lot like the necklace I was wearing when I was found wandering the streets and haven't removed since then. The cross wraps around the finger and it ends in the lions mouth. I stare at it, turning it over in my hands.

Rinoa smiles again. "I thought you would love it. It was made to match your necklace. I know that you don't like fancy stones, so I figured it would have to do. It's inscribed on the inside, see?"

I hold the ring close to my face to make out the lettering. 'To My Lion'. I grin wryly. 'Funny that she would call me that too.' The thought springs into my head without warning, and I blink. Why would I think that? Maybe I should take a nice nap, snap my thoughts into some kind of order.

"Thank you Rin."

Her eyes twinkle, and she tosses an arm around my neck while staring deep into my head. I shiver as she runs her free hand lightly over my face and into my hair. Bringing her mouth close to my ear she says quite seductively, "Don't thank me with your words, love," and then smiles at me. Oh Hyne, that damned smile. . .

I swallow and follow her to my room.

Laguna

Damn Caraway all to hell anyways. I slump in the armchair in his plush waiting room, my arms crossed over my chest. I've been here for three hours now, and he's been 'busy' for the duration. I huff loudly. Probably a good thing he's so busy, because when I get through with him he's going to be completely. . . heeeeey, is that an antique cuckoo clock?

I get up and walk across the lobby, cussing as I slam my knee into a corner table. I apologize to the wealthy looking older woman sitting there, and she dismisses me with a 'hmph'. I rub the back of my neck, embarrassed.

But I was right, it is an antique cuckoo clock. It's shaped like a bird house, and the pendulums swinging from the bottom have gold pine cones hanging from the end. The roof is painted a dark green, and the numbers arranged in a circle around the door are gold plated. The hour hand hits eleven, and I wait for the little bird to pop out. But the clock doesn't make a sounds or movement. I sigh. Cheap imitation, just like everything else in this building. Cheap imitation leather chairs, cheap imitation sugar for the cheap imitation coffee, cheap imitation encyclopedia's in a cheap glass case, cheap imitation boss.

"Laguna Loire?"

I turn and smile at the sharply dressed attendant. "Yes?"

"Mr. Caraway will see you now, sir."

"About freaking time," I mutter under my breath.

"Sorry sir?"

I wave at her. "Nothing, nothing, sorry."

She nods. "Right this way please, sir."

I follow her, ignoring the scandalized look the rich older woman gives me. We go down several hallways, and step into an elevator. I look at all the buttons, wondering what would happen if I pushed every single one of them. There are just so many: buttons for floors 1-48, Emergency, Alarm, Door Stop, and one with an odd star shaped symbol on it. Hm, wonder what this button does? I reach out my hand to press it, but the elevator stops.

As we step off I ask the lady what it does. "Oh," she says, "when we have children riding the elevator we let them push that button to get it out of their system. It just makes a 'ping' noise."

Ping? I wonder if she'll let me press it on the way down. A button that goes 'ping'. . . fascinating. I'll have to get one for my office. I wonder what kind of 'ping' it makes? A sharp one? A soft one? One like a submarine, maybe?

"Sir?" The lady asks.

"Aye?"

She stares at me oddly for some reason, and then motions me into a room.

"Laguna Loire, Mr. Caraway."

I sneer at the man. I always hated him, ever since our days in the military. I hate his perfect brown hair, his perfect smile, his perfect clothes. It's so damned perfect I could puke.

"Yes," he says in a brusque, no-nonsense manner. "I know very well who he is." She waits for a second, and then leaves.

He leans back in his expensive executive chair and motions for me to sit across from him. I do, grudgingly, and then scowl at him. He folds his hands over his desk and leans foreward towards me.

"Loire." He says the name with a drip of loathing. "Whatever brings you here on such a . . .fine day as this?"

It's all I can do not to punch the man. I stand up and lean towards him. My hands clutch the edge of the table tightly, so my knuckles turn white. "Caraway. Care to tell me about Squall?"

His mouth twitches, just enough that I would call it a smile. Or possibly a smirk. He stands up and, with his arms clasped behind his back, begins walking around his office. While examining a horribly ugly oil painting he says with a sneer, "Oh, yes. Squall. Nasty bit of an accident he had. You should have seen him, his whole head bleeding, body black and blue. Completely delirious. Rinoa found him wandering the streets, called me immediately. Six weeks in the hospital, he was."

I clench my teeth several times before I can talk. "And I suppose you have a reason for not telling me that my son had been found?"

Caraway tsks at me. "Yes, I heard he had gone to talk with you. Still trying to pull that daddy story, are you?" He laughs scornfully. "You're not his father, and you never will be, Laguna. Get that through your sick head. It's too bad your whore of a sister had to die, at least she knew how to raise a child. Maybe he would have cared about you, then."

I can feel myself grasping the desk's edge tighter. "Don't you ever talk that way about Raine!"

"Laguna, Laguna, Laguna. . ." he bends to sniff a flower. "I'm only telling you for your own good. Honestly, did Squall ever call you 'father'? Did you ever get a father's day card from him?" He shakes his head. "Of course not. He never cared about you. I was doing him a favor. He's happy now, can't you see that? He's going to marry my daughter, and he'll be happy."

I can feel my head tremble. "Your daughter is nothing but a whore, James. She'll fuck anyone who has the money and the inclination. I don't know how you got her to marry my son, but I will NOT allow it!"

He whirls around, eyes blazing. "You will allow it, Laguna! What are you going to do to stop it? I'll tell him what a liar you are. You're nothing but his uncle, Laguna. Why don't you tell him who his real daddy is? What a whore his mother was? I hear she was paid for fucking the father. Tell me, is this true?"

I can almost see red. How dare he? What the hell does he want from this? I punch the desk with my fist. "Hyne! Wasn't it enough to steal Julia? Can't you just leave me alone? Why do you have to mess up my whole life?"

He looks incredulous. "Heavens, Laguna, are you still on about Julia? It's been eighteen years, for Hyne's sake. Get over it."

"I will not get over it!"

"Then I pity you."

"Go to Hell, James. I'm going to tell Squall exactly what you've been up to!"

He smirks. "And I'll tell him you're crazy. He's known you for just a little over a day. He's known me for three years. Me, his kind, caring benefactor, healer of his wounds and father of the girl he loves. Honestly, Laguna. . . which one of us do you think he'll believe?"

I stare at him, and he chuckles. He's right, so horribly right. "Caraway, you. . ."

"Terribly sorry Laguna, time's up. I have to have a one on one with a certain Seifer Almasy." He frowns thoughtfully. "Oh wait, wasn't that the young man that was sleeping with Squall?" He shudders. "How disgusting. Squall is better off with me, I'll wash this homophobia nonsense right out of his system."

My eyes widen. "You know about them?"

"Of course."

"Then why would you put them in the same dorm?!"

A laugh. "I never did like Seifer. Brilliant law student, I'll admit, but what an asshole." He shakes his head. "It just makes it all a little bit more interesting, don't you think?"

I can't even find the words to express my outrage. "What. . .you. . .that's. . ."

"Sir, a Seifer Almasy is waiting in the lobby?" The thin blonde woman that brought me here waits politely.

Caraway goes back to his desk and picks up a folder. "Of course. Thank you, Quistis, please show him up immediately." She nods and turns to go. "Oh, and Quistis?"

"Sir?"

"Bring me some coffee."

"Yes sir."

"And show Mr. Loire to the door."

"Yes, sir. Is that all, sir?"

He grunts something and waves her off.

I lean close to him. "This isn't over, James."

He sneers. "I'm terrified, Laguna."

I narrow my eyes at him, but leave with the young woman. What a fine mess this has turned out to be. . .something needs to be done.