Cheers anon, glad you liked it enough to review. This is basically rounding off a trilogy of fics that started with Hero, so I wanted to make it a fast paced one. It's not all blowing stuff up, but that comes later. I might take another look at that introduction though.
Nerves had never bothered Lieutenant Kirk Semper before. Either in the field or in front of his commanding officers, he'd always been quietly confident. He could be competent without threatening. It was a trait that had marked him out for rapid promotion from the ranks, and he'd let it. Why not? He had nothing to prove to himself. He'd earned it the hard way, against Lunar Cry abominations and in anti-bandit operations up in North Frontier Province.
At twenty-seven, he held command rank in the Rapid Strike Corps ('The Stampers')- and they saw off more then two-thirds of their applicants. That and a psych report claiming he possessed a high empathy score for a soldier, had been enough to springboard him to palace special duties. Now he was standing here, and his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. How had he got into this mess?
The room he was standing in was one of the most select spaces in the Presidential Palace. The solder didn't know it, but every lobbyist in Esthar City would have given their right arm for an audience there. It was small- perhaps only four or five people would fit comfortably in here. The walls were oak panelled, with a picture shelf crammed full of portraits and paintings. The biggest of these showed a young woman with her dark hair cut in the style of twenty years ago. She was hung looking over the pool table, from where she stared frankly out across the room. Apart from the pool table, now covered in stacks of hardcopy, someone had added a stained couch and small gleaming fridge. On the top of that, a kettle was rattling to the boil.
The Lieutenant's escorts- he tried not to think of them as guards- loitered casually by the door waiting for their dismissal. They didn't come in, quite. They were getting an eyeful while they had their chance, Kirk decided. Or perhaps it was free entertainment on a routine shift, watching the officers dress each other down. He couldn't see Captain Valois though, or the Colonel. There were only three people- the men sitting there- who really used this room.
The kettle clicked.
The chief looked up from the couch and saw him hovering in the doorway;
"Oh, get in here Kirk," he said impatiently, "Ward, get the kettle will you? I'm getting a caffeine itch."
The other man on the couch, the big one, clambered up from it and stooped to pick up some empty mugs from the floor. They chinked emptily between his fingers as he padded over to the fridge. The lean man behind the pool-table passed him another as he ambled by; the big one's fingers touched his wrist before he took it. The man sighed, once and heavily, and wheeled his seat about to face Kirk. His hands rapped the table sharply, as if to say; right, now we can start.
Almost relieved it was beginning, Kirk made his salute; "Mr President-"
A long finger was jabbed at him;
"You. Come in, sit down, and shut up," the President said flatly.
Whenever President Loire was arguing on holovision he would never stay still. He would point and jab, weaving his arms around like a windmill. Though he sat still now, his body bristled with suppressed energy. It was, Kirk thought as he scuttled forwards, like looking at smoke curling up from an angry volcano, knowing that inside its bowels fire was churning.
"Laguna, you've jumped the gun again," the chief spoke sardonically. The President gave him a blank look.
"This is supposed to be a private interview?" his friend prompted.
Laguna seemed to see Kirk's escort for the first time. There was a hissing sound as Ward poured for four. Laguna waved off the security agents;
"You people can go now, thanks. Get some coffee or something."
His security chief glanced aggressively at Kirk, who tried to look suitably pacified. Their eyes met, and her look turned condescending.
"Yes Mister Laguna. But we'll be down the hall if you need us."
With that parting shot she followed her people away from the little den. Kirk watched the floor until the last guard's steps had died away, curling and uncurling his hands. Then the chief kicked something to his feet.
"Pull up a seat and get comfy, Lieutenant."
Kirk pulled the thing toward himself; it was an embroidered footstool of all things. He hunkered down awkwardly, resting his arms across his knees.
"Would you like milk or sugar with your tea, Lieutenant?" the President asked, looking right past him.
Kirk didn't want any tea at all. He did want to know why he wasn't being screamed at in Interrogation anymore. Or if the man in front of him was going to come over the table at him. His body itched. Two reflexes tugged at it, one wanting to salute again, the other to fall into a defensive crouch.
"I- uh, sir-"
Their gazes locked. Kirk found himself staring down into wide brown eyes that pulled you in and pinned you there.
"I said," the President spoke in a voice gone brittle, "Do you want milk or sugar with your tea?"
There was a creak springs as the tall, spare man on the couch stretched his feet out languidly.
"You're confusing the boy, Laguna. You didn't ask him if he wanted anything to drink first."
The tableau was broken, the startled President of Esthar's eyes looking up and inward;
"Oh. Haven't I?"
"Don't worry; Ward's made one for him anyway."
Ward began passing out the mugs. He passed Kirk's to him stoically, as if keeping his real feelings in reserve until they were needed. Kirk took it in both hands, strangely stung that it wasn't thrust at him. He was feeling more and more like a kid called in to see the disappointed headmaster then an officer facing court-martial. Even the President was restrained.
Agitated, he sipped at his tea too quickly, scalding his tongue. The chief noticed, he saw. He put the mug down abruptly; suddenly furious with everyone and the arm's length they were keeping him at. His demand was louder then he'd meant it to sound in the confines of the stuffy room.
"What am I doing here?"
Laguna picked a datapad from the pool-table and held it out. Kirk saw his own words scrolling down the little green screen.
"Your incident report- the first version, not the one that came through the War College. We've been discussing it all night, and I have to tell you there really is only one thing I can do."
He was glad he'd put the drink down now. It would have tasted too bitter in his mouth anyway.
"With the power invested in me as Commander-in-Chief I'm hereby relieving you of your position in the Special Protection Force. You're being transferred to new duties."
"What?"
Laguna's eyes strayed back to the portrait of the watching woman on the wall. He wheeled his chair to stare down at Kirk abruptly, pinning him with that stare again.
"I'm assigning you to head up the strike platoon that goes in when we find where Ell…, my daughter, is being held. You'll report directly to Kiros or me."
"But… why?" he asked stupefied. The words welled up out of Kirk's mouth, though he'd not meant to speak. After all, what else could he say? The President answered him with another question;
"Your report Lieutenant, anything you'd like to add to it? To me?"
Kirk didn't meet the President's eyes when he spoke, but he said his piece as gently as he could.
"We launched five minutes after the Speaker's auto-transponder cut out- that was the explosion- and the manhole cover was bolted when we arrived. We could have blown through the thing eventually but-"
"The gutterbot had hit what, two cars by that point?" Kiros interjected.
"Three," Kirk said "It was morning rush hour."
He stopped talking, not quite able to spell out the split second choice he'd made.
Laguna spread the fingers of his hands wide across the table and studied the backs of them quietly.
"Kirk, whatever happens to my daughter is something you'll have to live with for the rest of your life. Punishing you won't relieve you of the responsibility for it. I haven't ever punished someone for saving innocent lives," he said hoarsely; "And I won't start now."
He seemed very tired as he said this, and didn't look up at the others around the room.
"Dismissed, Lieutenant,"
Kirk stumbled out of the den in more of a daze then when he'd gone in. Promoted, by the Gods! Admittedly sideways, but still… when the best he'd hoped for was a dishonourable discharge, and the worst was a prison cell… the man didn't make any sense… Hyne, he was all mixed up right now.
The Lieutenant looked towards the chief to explain things. He made a helpless gesture to the older man.
"What?"
"How can he talk like that and mean it?" Kirk asked him, bewildered.
Kiros paused and looked at him; "He believes in people," he said at last, "If they let him down, he's more sorry then angry. That comes out when he's talking. It tends to throw people when they first meet him."
Laguna sagged in his chair.
"That," he said, "Was one of the hardest things I've ever done."
Ward patted him carefully on the shoulder.
"…." he said.
"I suppose you could put it like that."
- fell
Down onto ice. The wet cold helped wake her, melting through her office clothes and the blindfold they'd put on her. And the wind. It whistled in her ears and she groaned. A lazy wind Laguna would have called it- it went through the body not round. Why had they taken her shawl when she wanted to wrap it around herself? Underneath whatever they'd given her she could feel a monstrous headache building. She just wanted to curl up somewhere warm and sleep it out.
Outside her cloudy head people talked. She heard the crunch of feet on ice, and someone stooped with a grunt and scooped her up by shoulders. They had big, heavy hands with strong fingers that grasped painfully tight. Smaller, spindly hands clasped at her ankles, and she felt herself being moved. She leant her head dazedly against her first carrier's chest and hoped she'd be sick. She felt more then heard a door being opened, and then she was jolted uncomfortably down steps. Groggily she tried to count how many. It might be important later.
Why are you bothering? whispered a taunting little part of her, the one she only talked to in dreams now. You know you'll only wait till Laguna and Squall come to get you again. A picture flashed through her mind; a little girl's chubby fists beating at a plasteel-armoured chest. If they do.
-Suffocation
Shut up, she told it. Of course they'll come- I'll be helping them. The thought gave her a sort of soggy confidence back.
They stopped moving her suddenly, making her head pulse. She could hear their panting. Unfit or maybe old she realised. There was a click of metal, as if a bolt were drawn back, and damp air passed across her face. Then they were moving again- a well-oiled door. Her head seemed to be clearing a little though. It was then she realised she couldn't read the people around her. The drugs they'd pumped into her should have unwound her careful thought blocks, but she sensed… nothing.
They set her down without a word, though carefully enough. She felt the clumsy fingers untying the knot of her blindfold. They gripped her head, steadying it. Something, a paper, was shoved in front of her face:
"Focus my lady."
It was a woman speaking, shaking the pages of the paper at her. Her face was hidden with a cheap carnival mask, and a dark scarf and a light coat's hood swaddled the rest of her. It must be very stifling to wear all that, Ellone thought blearily.
The woman continued reciting instructions to her;
"Look forwards. Read what's in front of you. What date does it say?"
She looked at the paper and read out the date. It was tomorrow's- todays?- edition of the Esthar City Intelligencer. They had a good picture of her on their front paper, she thought woozily. She kept reading as they turned pages in front of her; Chocobo racing results, a piece on the Galbadian economic downturn, a corruption investigation inside the city police department. Finally the masked woman cocked her head, then and held out her hand.
"Rafale says he'll have heard enough by now. You can stop talking my lady."
"Who has?" Ellone started to ask. But the clumsy hands gripped her head again and forced it down. She felt a sting at her neck, and heard the hiss of a hypogun. Back she tumbled, down into a black pit.
"Uurrffff…"
"Irvine? You're awake!"
Irvine opened his eyes a bare crack, still not fully awake, but Selphie knew his breathing patterns. She flew across to the bed and wrapped her arms around him, drawing a startled grunt from the patient. He sat up fully and gave her an affectionate squeeze across the shoulders. He was groggy from too much sleep; like an engine, his mind needed warming up. He rubbed at his eyes and yawned. Selphie pulled back and stroked his face.
"Look at you yawning, Irvine!" she scolded, "You," and she poked him in the ribs, "Had me scared sick all night."
"Then you should have woken me up," he protested sleepily, reaching up to untangle his hair. His fingers found it neatly knotted up and he frowned, puzzled. He explored it with his fingers, letting Selphie carry, on more sombrely now;
"We tried! They found you on the field next to that burnt out wreck. I didn't understand; you'd Junctioned Ifrit, you were only scratched. But after we'd healed you, you wouldn't wake up…"
Irvine interrupted there, with a man's limited attention span whatever his girl is telling him;
"Sel, why is my hair in pigtails?"
Selphie knew that reasonable let's-be-fair tone too well to be fooled by it. She covered her mouth with one hand, trying to keep a guileless face.
"…what? Well, uh, you were asleep for hours, and I was nervous and a little bored. Even after I realised what was happening, I just needed something to do with my hands."
"Godsdamnit woman! Keep your wandering hands off my hair!" Irvine was completely awake now; "I only have to tell you this about twice a week…"
He began picking the braids out of it, cursing the lack of a mirror. Selphie adopted the thunderous expression of one who'd been unfairly put upon;
"Don't you talk to me like that Irvine! Not after I've spent all day and night by your bedside. You haven't even told me what Sis wanted so much she had to put you into a coma for twelve hours!"
Something half-remembered stirred unpleasantly inside Irvine's head. He stopped unbraiding and looked sharply over at Selphie;
"What did you say?"
The woman picked up on his abrupt change of mood; "You were in a time dream weren't you?" she asked him uncertainly. "It happened just like it did back then, I'm sure it was. I was so angry with El… Irvine? Hon?"
Irvine looked down at her, memories exploding behind his eyes;
"Oh crap," he said.
