I've been tellin' myself for months, you've either gotta update BoD or UD. Well, somehow, I just have to do this one right now. Oh yeah. This chapter—it's another one that's been in my head for years and I think it'll fit right in with the timeline. I can't guarantee it'll be long, sorry, but hey. It's something. Sorry for the wait!

After watching the sunrise, and surprisingly spending a rather strange moment with Laguna, Squall found himself trying to make heads or tails of the meaning of it all. Nothing groundbreaking or special had really happened, and they'd only chatted about trivial things like watching the stars. So what was the reason for this inexplicable inkling that something had changed? Why did he suddenly feel different somehow?

Laguna took a curious glance at his son, concerned. "You don't look so good. What's the matter?"

Squall shook his head—there it was again, that strange feeling. Warm, and a little bit scary, and about a thousand other things he couldn't put his finger on.

"I'm fine," he lied. As long as he didn't know what it was, there was no point in making an issue of it. Laguna didn't seem to buy it, however, and turned fully to face him.

"Hm… Oh, duh!" he exclaimed. "You probably haven't eaten since before you got here. Come on, we'll go inside and get you some breakfast."

Squall blinked; the man did have a point. Maybe he was just hungry. At Garden, he'd always eaten on such a rigid schedule, so he never experienced prolonged hunger. It was probably just messing with his head, and combined with the fact that his sleeping schedule was probably also off now, it wasn't a stretch to imagine that his body was protesting the changes.

Rifling through the ingredients in the pantry and refrigerator of the kitchen, Laguna began accumulating a collection on an island in the middle of the room.

"I'm not a great cook, but if there's one thing I do great, it's pancakes!" he said, and Squall briefly wondered how a man functioning on so little sleep could manage to sound so happy all the time.

"Would you like that?" he asked. Squall shrugged, reiterating his famous catchphrase once again, and Laguna found it increasingly hard not to laugh each time he said it. His mirth was cut short, however, as he noticed the inconvenience of his hair constantly falling in his face as he tried to cook his son a decent meal. And it would be the first thing he ever made him too— so it had to be just right.

"Squall, can you do me a favor?"

"Huh? What is it?"

"I usually use some bands to tie my hair back while I'm doing stuff like this. I think I left one on my nightstand next to my bed. Could you go grab it for me?" he explained, sifting a powdery mixture into a bowl.

"Yeah, sure," he replied, and made his way down the hallway to the suite area.

After locating the one with the very important looking crest on it, he creaked the door open and stepped inside. Contrary to his expectations, the room was relatively clean, or cleaner than he thought it would be. The dresser was decorated in part by what looked like various souvenirs from travels, as well as a few different bottles of cologne. A pair of socks and shoes lay discarded haphazardly by a chair near the bed. Making his way across the room, he scanned the small piece of furniture next to Laguna's bed, thankfully finding the small black item he was searching for. As he reached a hand out to touch it, he stumbled suddenly as his foot caught on an unseen obstacle. He cursed under his breath at the throbbing in his foot. What the hell was that?! Looking down at the floor, he saw it—something black and metallic peeking out from under the sheets and quilt that skirted the floor. Something oddly familiar. He lowered himself to the ground and pulled the offending item from its hiding spot beneath the shadows. When it came into the light, his eyes flew open in disbelief.

'A machine gun?! What the hell is this doing here?!'

And before Squall was swept up into a panic wondering just exactly what his father's daily life consisted of to warrant such extremes, he realized it wasn't just any old machine gun. No wonder it had seemed familiar; in a way, Squall had used it himself a few times. It made sense that he wanted to keep it—though underneath the bed was certainly a questionable hiding spot.

'That's right… This is the same one he used all those years ago. Back when Big Sis was little. Back when…I…' He sighed.

There it was again. The weird feeling that he thought he was able to shake earlier had come back with a vengeance. Just what was bringing it on? This wasn't a lack of sleep or nutrition, it was something situational. And every time he felt it wash over him, it was because… of course. It had to do with Laguna. But what was this feeling? And what did it mean? He held the gun higher up to his gaze, inspecting it. Somehow, he just couldn't help wondering if maybe… He glanced around nervously. If someone caught him messing with this thing, what would they think? He probably shouldn't even be messing with it to begin with. It wasn't his, and this wasn't his room. Then again, it's not like he was doing something dangerous. With all the security here, and the room being so high up, there would be no conceivable reason for even the President to keep a loaded machine gun under the bed. So it was more than likely disarmed; just a keepsake his father liked to keep close at hand for memories' sake. …Though he didn't like the idea of anyone catching him trifling with it any less.

'But still… I wonder…It can't be too hard, can it?'

How did Laguna hold this thing again? He positioned his arms around the barrel, one underneath, one on top, trying to mimic the way he remembered from those strange dreams Ellone would slap him and his friends in. No, this wasn't the right way. He fiddled with his hands again; Laguna always held it kind of low, he recalled. It was one underneath the top of the barrel, and then another one supporting right around the—

BRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTT!

And with a slam, Squall toppled over backwards onto the ground, the machine gun clattering off to the side.

'…trigger. Shit,' he hissed at the pain in his head. It was loaded after all?! Propping himself up slowly, he was met with a row of bullet holes sprayed into the wall of Laguna's room.

"Squall! What happened, are you okay?!" cried an utterly distraught voice, and Laguna came skidding into the room. But whatever the boy could have said wouldn't have made a difference anyway, as the man was already helping him to his feet, his eyes sweeping critically over his son's form. Just as soon as Laguna appeared, so did what looked like about half a dozen men in suits, all with handguns drawn.

"Step away from the President!" one of them shouted authoritatively.

Laguna waved his hands in an effort to calm them down. "No, guys, it's ok, really! It was just an accident. Squall is—well, he's not gonna hurt anyone, trust me. At ease."

The weapons remained in the air. "But Mr. President—"

"I said at ease," he repeated, an intense edge to his voice Squall had never heard before. He couldn't make out what kind of look his father had given the man, as Laguna had protectively placed an arm on his shoulder, easing him behind his back and out of the range of shot. But whatever was written across his face had gaggle of security officers lowering their weapons in a heartbeat. With a curt nod, the group left the room and, Squall supposed, back to wherever the heck it was they had been before. They sure had shown up pretty quick. Squall guessed it was a testament to just how efficient and effective Esthar was compared to the rest of the world.

"What the heck just happened?" asked a soft, bewildered voice. In the doorway, still dressed in her nightgown and trying to straighten her bedhead, was Ellone. She surveyed the room and gave her brother an almost skeptical smile.

Laguna looked to his son. "Squall?"

His gaze shot to his lap and he blushed. Damn it, this was so embarrassing.

"Um. Sorry. I uh, I tripped on it," he stuttered, "And well, I was just looking at it… and I guess I pulled the trigger by accident."

Laguna stepped over to where the machine gun lay, picking it up.

"But it shouldn't have gone off like that. The safety setting should have…" he mumbled, toying with it. By the look on his face he was unhappy with whatever he was or wasn't getting from flipping a switch on the side of it a few times.

"Aw, no wonder, the darned thing's broken! I can't believe it! Squall, I'm so sorry about all this."

Squall slapped a hand to his forehead. Leave it to Laguna to apologize for something he didn't even do. Though maybe leaving a mammoth of a gun like that in his room wasn't a good idea. Or was it? If he was the only one who went in there, then logically it shouldn't be a problem, because no one else would mess with it. So really, the point was that Squall shouldn't have been poking around. Laguna had the right to keep what he wanted in his own space, right?

"No, it's not your fault. I shouldn't have messed with it. And I'll pay for the repairs to the wall, too," he added.

Laguna cocked an eyebrow, then shook his head.

"Fix it? No way! I think it looks really cool. Now I have something to remind me of your stay here every time I see it," he smiled. "And hey, don't apologize like that. The most important thing to me is that you're okay, got it?"

He wasn't sure if he was supposed to laugh at that or not. But there it was again; that unnamed feeling that had started to coil its way through him when Laguna had smiled and squeezed his shoulder a moment ago. Each time he felt it, he got a little more used to it. It wasn't so bad, actually. Just something he had to get comfortable with. A lot like being with his friends, come to think of it. Squall remembered what it was like when he first met them all—he didn't know what to think of any of them, and yet they were all so drawn together with each other. He could even say it was fate, if such a thing existed. But bit by bit he found himself growing attached to the comrades at his side, in a way he never counted on feeling for anyone ever again.

'So wait… Is that what this feeling is? Is this what it's like to have a parent?'

A piercing noise filled the air, the sharp beeping of a device screaming out, driving pain into Squall's ear with each pulse.

"Oh no, the pancakes!" Laguna shouted, and tore off towards the kitchen.

"Mr. President!" someone yelled.

Ellone threw back her head and laughed.

Bear with me on this one, because I'll have to explain this. See, from what I can see about Squall, he's not been very emotionally attached to anyone since he was a kid. So I feel like, suddenly having to place himself in the dynamic of a family would be very disorienting to him. It's something he's just not used to at all, especially since he's not had a parent figure he could ever clearly remember. Being cared for, bonding with someone like that, it's all sort of shocking to him, and he's not sure how to process it. Especially since Squall is very inclined to anxiety and the like. So it's sort of like, he likes it deep down, but it's different, so it causes him stress. So that's kind why he seems all robotic, "what-is-this-emotion-you-call-love-beep-boop" and stuff. It's all a bunch of psychological mumbo jumbo, sorry if it sounds weird.

Also it's almost 5 a.m., so on a much less mature note, OH MY GOSH SQUALL IS SO F*CKING TSUN-TSUN DERE-DERE IN THIS CHAPTER HOW DID THIS HAPPEN