mercdeleon

[mercdeleon]

"Yeah, she's alright. A bit early, a bit small because of it, but no worse for wear."

Squall sat on the very edge of the hospital bed, watching as his wife and daughter bonded. He blinked, raised the back of his hand to wipe away tears with his sleeve.

Sure, they didn't have a crib. They thought there would be more time. But, in true Garden fashion, shit happened. This was just the best form of it.

"I'm gonna call dad when you're resting again. Ask him to help. Possibly get Dean from down the street, if he's free. Shelly's husband. The one who makes that coffee cake you really like."

He brushed a bit of black hair out of Michele's face. "Everything's going to be okay. Paternity leave is all ready to go, as well. Just gotta call it in. And I'm pretty sure Zell's got a good idea already, considering I almost bowled him over on the way out."

There would be time for apologies later.

"You must be exhausted." Squall was tired just from looking at her.

continued from x with @corditeheart

The last thing Squall expected that day at work was a call from Xu's cellphone. Not that he did not enjoy when she called him, but they both preferred to text, instead. It saved on the anxiety. It did not demand the other's immediate response.

This, however, was not a text-worthy matter.

Two months early, and in the middle of an antique store, everything changed.

"Take messages. I gotta go." It was a command given as he ran out the door, and bypassed the elevator in favor of running down concrete stairs, jumping over the railings where he could to buy himself seconds.

The trip back home to Dollet was the longest one possible. Every red light. Every pedestrian crossing. Every minor inconvenience that made him want to tear his hair out and start smoking again.

By the time he made it to the hospital, he was almost positive that he was too late. Instead, he was shown to a temporary room, where Michele waited in a hospital gown, ready to pop and bored and in pain and frustrated and every emotion in between.

He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. It was time. They knew what they were going to do. The plan just had to go through. "I'll be here when you wake up." And she is rolled down the hall. The anesthetist lets him stay until she is under, at least. Then, waiting resumes. It's not nearly as long as it would have been had this been a traditional birth. But since when were either of them traditional? Squall paced. Got shit coffee. Fidgeted. And, forty-five minutes later, a nurse called him back.

"You're both very lucky," she said. "If it was any earlier, there would have been some serious complications. But, thankfully, everything went well." The nurse led him to a room Squall had only seen in dramas. Rows of little clear-plastic cribs, swaddled infants in color-coded blankets. She checked the chart, and stopped him in front of one, small, pink-swaddled child.

"Congratulations, sir. You're a father."

Squall swallowed the lump in his throat. "May I hold her?" "Of course. She already got her immediate vaccinations, as well. So she might be a little groggy." He hesitantly reached down and picked up the child. She weighed so little, was so fragile as she squinted up at the world.

"Hello, there." A slow smile formed on his face. "Good afternoon." He paused, then looked back to the nurse. "And Michele?" "Recovering. She should be coming out of anesthesia shortly, if you want to be there." "Can I? Can I bring her, too?" The nurse nodded, and Squall gently cradled the child to his chest, careful of her face.

Down the sterile halls, past nurses and doctors and wheeled carts. Into a small post-op room, where Michele Lenohart nee Xu lay exhausted. He settled in the uncomfortable hospital chair next to her bed and gently bounced their new daughter in his arms.

"You need a name," he mused aloud, watching as the child began to return to the waking world. Blank eyes looked around... and she began to cry.

Squall smiled. "Me, too, kid. Me, too." There was a gentle shift in the hospital bed, and Squall looked up to see Michele coming to.

"Is that--?" "Yeah." He stood carefully and stepped to the edge of the bed. "It's her. Our little bean. Leah Raine." Squall was proud, even if he looked like he could cry at any moment. "Do you want to hold her?"

[mercdeleon]

"Yeah?" Squall chuckled. Maybe it was the drugs. Maybe it was the euphoria of being in comfortable, familiar company. Regardless, he seemed happy

Laguna watched Ellone leave, unsure if she had heard the statement or not before going to fulfill Squall's request, or if he had hallucinated the phrase. Saw Michele Xu placed her hand on her stomach.

The president of Eshtar took a hesitant step closer, looked between his son and the Lieutenant Commander, trying to find the truth silently between them.

"...Is there something going on that I don't know about?"

Squall looked up at his father, then to Michele before squeezing her hand. Better now than never, he supposed.

"Yeah. You're going to be a grandpa, old man."

The only sound was medical equiptment as Laguna took a moment to process the information presented. A child. He was going to be a grandfather. His son was going to have a child. A child. A child.

"And neither of you were going to tell me?" "I mean, we had plans to. And then shit happened."

"You couldn't even have called?!" "...We all know you'd have hated that."

"But... But...!" Squall sighed. "Chill. We weren't gonna keep it a secret. We just had our own stuff to figure out first. We don't even know what it's gonna be. Not that we really care much, so long as it's healthy."

Either her hands were unnaturally warm, or he is freezing; Squall cannot be certain what is the lingering Trabia chill, and what was the standard hospital cold.

His fingers curled around her hand to try to hold it. The action was stiff. It ached. Why wouldn't it? He was a man coming back from the brink of death. Everything was a bit of a challenge without fighting morphine.

Did he need anything? A coffee with whiskey. 48-hours uninterrupted sleep. His medication. The person who wiped out his survey squad's confirmation of execution. An electric blanket to curl up in.

The hardest part of being half-knocked out by medication was prioritizing those things. And then, she mentioned the rescue squad.

They stayed. Of all the people who did not have to, they stayed.

Personal comfort could wait.

"Yeah. Let me talk to 'em." Squall attempted to sit up in the bed, then gave up with ground teeth to bite back a grunt of pain. "...Let me talk to 'em while lying down."

The audience was brief. The exhausted Commander thanked them for their work, for their speed and timeliness. For staying. For going above and beyond their duty in one of Garden's more thankless roles.

"I won't forget this, you know." He remembered everyone who had saved his life. What was another handful of names and faces?

And when it was over, he nearly collapsed back into the thin hospital mattress. Simply taking should not have been that exhausting.

Laguna was quick to pull the curtains on the room, blocking out as much of the hospital's glaring lights as possible. "You need rest. To sleep. Let the saline warm you up without fighting it."

"I'm not fighting it. It's just moving too damn slow." Squall tried again to adjust into a more comfortable position, then gave up. "Ellone? Could you go out to the nurses and request another blanket? And 150mg of Venlafaxine. They'll know."

And now that he could relax, he looked back to Xu.

"...How are you doing?"

[mercdeleon]

continued from x with @corditeheart

The last thing Squall expected that day at work was a call from Xu's cellphone. Not that he did not enjoy when she called him, but they both preferred to text, instead. It saved on the anxiety. It did not demand the other's immediate response.

This, however, was not a text-worthy matter.

Two months early, and in the middle of an antique store, everything changed.

"Take messages. I gotta go." It was a command given as he ran out the door, and bypassed the elevator in favor of running down concrete stairs, jumping over the railings where he could to buy himself seconds.

The trip back home to Dollet was the longest one possible. Every red light. Every pedestrian crossing. Every minor inconvenience that made him want to tear his hair out and start smoking again.

By the time he made it to the hospital, he was almost positive that he was too late. Instead, he was shown to a temporary room, where Michele waited in a hospital gown, ready to pop and bored and in pain and frustrated and every emotion in between.

He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. It was time. They knew what they were going to do. The plan just had to go through. "I'll be here when you wake up." And she is rolled down the hall. The anesthetist lets him stay until she is under, at least. Then, waiting resumes. It's not nearly as long as it would have been had this been a traditional birth. But since when were either of them traditional? Squall paced. Got shit coffee. Fidgeted. And, forty-five minutes later, a nurse called him back.

"You're both very lucky," she said. "If it was any earlier, there would have been some serious complications. But, thankfully, everything went well." The nurse led him to a room Squall had only seen in dramas. Rows of little clear-plastic cribs, swaddled infants in color-coded blankets. She checked the chart, and stopped him in front of one, small, pink-swaddled child.

"Congratulations, sir. You're a father."

Squall swallowed the lump in his throat. "May I hold her?" "Of course. She already got her immediate vaccinations, as well. So she might be a little groggy." He hesitantly reached down and picked up the child. She weighed so little, was so fragile as she squinted up at the world.

"Hello, there." A slow smile formed on his face. "Good afternoon." He paused, then looked back to the nurse. "And Michele?" "Recovering. She should be coming out of anesthesia shortly, if you want to be there." "Can I? Can I bring her, too?" The nurse nodded, and Squall gently cradled the child to his chest, careful of her face.

Down the sterile halls, past nurses and doctors and wheeled carts. Into a small post-op room, where Michele Lenohart nee Xu lay exhausted. He settled in the uncomfortable hospital chair next to her bed and gently bounced their new daughter in his arms.

"You need a name," he mused aloud, watching as the child began to return to the waking world. Blank eyes looked around... and she began to cry.

Squall smiled. "Me, too, kid. Me, too." There was a gentle shift in the hospital bed, and Squall looked up to see Michele coming to.

"Is that--?" "Yeah." He stood carefully and stepped to the edge of the bed. "It's her. Our little bean. Leah Raine." Squall was proud, even if he looked like he could cry at any moment. "Do you want to hold her?"

[mercdeleon]

Either her hands were unnaturally warm, or he is freezing; Squall cannot be certain what is the lingering Trabia chill, and what was the standard hospital cold.

His fingers curled around her hand to try to hold it. The action was stiff. It ached. Why wouldn't it? He was a man coming back from the brink of death. Everything was a bit of a challenge without fighting morphine.

Did he need anything? A coffee with whiskey. 48-hours uninterrupted sleep. His medication. The person who wiped out his survey squad's confirmation of execution. An electric blanket to curl up in.

The hardest part of being half-knocked out by medication was prioritizing those things. And then, she mentioned the rescue squad.

They stayed. Of all the people who did not have to, they stayed.

Personal comfort could wait.

"Yeah. Let me talk to 'em." Squall attempted to sit up in the bed, then gave up with ground teeth to bite back a grunt of pain. "...Let me talk to 'em while lying down."

The audience was brief. The exhausted Commander thanked them for their work, for their speed and timeliness. For staying. For going above and beyond their duty in one of Garden's more thankless roles.

"I won't forget this, you know." He remembered everyone who had saved his life. What was another handful of names and faces?

And when it was over, he nearly collapsed back into the thin hospital mattress. Simply taking should not have been that exhausting.

Laguna was quick to pull the curtains on the room, blocking out as much of the hospital's glaring lights as possible. "You need rest. To sleep. Let the saline warm you up without fighting it."

"I'm not fighting it. It's just moving too damn slow." Squall tried again to adjust into a more comfortable position, then gave up. "Ellone? Could you go out to the nurses and request another blanket? And 150mg of Venlafaxine. They'll know."

And now that he could relax, he looked back to Xu.

"...How are you doing?"

The first thing he noticed was that everything felt clean.

Not specifically that the sheets had been laundered, or that there was a specific smell. But the air just felt different, like it had never been allowed to get dirty.

He clocked it immediately as a hospital.

Squall slowly became aware of the tingle of paramagic. The beeping of medical equipment. Everything sounded muted in the way that one might hear things underwater.

That he could hear anything was a miracle. He could easily have still been in the Trabian wilderness, face-down in the snow, covered until the spring thaw.

But the tracker had done its work. The rescue team had found him, if two days later. If only just in time.

He knew he was lucky to be alive at all.

His eyes closed, as if to blink, before opening again with new sounds. People entering the room. Nurses checking vitals, changing out the IV.

Eyes closed. A new sound, who knew how long after, woke him. A hand in his. Fingers at his forehead. Squall roused himself to see Michele Xu, and he smiled.

"Hey." He felt freezing; hospitals were always so damn cold. His fingers curled around hers, slowly, stiffly, as if he had not used them in days.

It was supposed to be easy.

"Shit happens." He wanted to shrug, but his shoulders wer immobilized by bandages. "Gonna suck sending those letters out." Squall looked past her, saw Laguna and Ellone, and gave the best nod of greeting he could.

"Mr. President." "...Squall." Laguna swallowed a lump in his throat, but stayed back. This was Xu's moment. He'd have his time later. "You scared us, you know." "Kept you on your toes, old man." He relaxed back into the pillow. "How long was I out?"

[mercdeleon]

"Yeah, I got this."

It was the least he could do. If he had been sober, Squall might have let himself feel worse about not having anything else for his situationship's birthday but a beer, a bar tab, and an IOU.

Fifty gil. Squall had spent more on takeout before. Once the whole thing was settled, he jogged out of the bar to try to find Seifer.

There he was, straddling a revved bike without a helmet, looking like a bundle of teenage dreams and bad mistakes. He paused, watching the other for a moment. Was this the right thing? Was he too drunk? Was this impulsive?

Are you coming, or not?

The question pulled Squall from his thoughts. He approached the bike and threw his leg over the back of it, settling behind Seifer. No backing down now.

"Let's go."

Did he want to?

Staying meant getting drunker. Meant eventually going back to Garden. Meant going back to his life quicker than he really wanted to.

And Seifer was a comfort in times like this. A goof as he pretended to tuck away an invisible paper into his breast pocket. The bad boy. The thing he should not have. The thing he wanted.

Fuck it.

"Yeah, let's." What was the worst that could happen?

Squall downed the rest of his beer easily. "Do you wanna stick around here for a bit, first?" He didn't.

[mercdeleon]

"I can have room for a few regrets, I think."

Not that he didn't already have plenty. But if he could brush it off as character development, a few more surely would not be too horrible. They did it to Cadets all the time.

Squall poked at the pie a little, moving it around his plate as he considered the situation. Time to go back to Garden. File the paperwork, hide it away. Send the check.

And then what?

"...What are you doing after all this? Hopefully not sitting around and just waiting for someone to knock on your door."

Squall appreciated Seifer's choice to stay quiet until the waitress left.

"I will. She'll hate we're talking now, probably, but..." Maybe she would appreciate it. Maybe a bit of dry, biting humor would get her spirits up.

"I... can't tell you how much I appreciate what you did for us, finding them." He poked at the pie. "You did what teams of people on payrolls didn't. Couldn't. Possibly wouldn't. And you did it in a fraction of the time they dragged their asses."

He took a deep breath and a bite of pie so as to chew over his words. What could he say in public? What was he willing to say aloud?

"Thank you, Seifer. I owe you. Contracts and paperwork aside, I owe you."

Hopefully, Seifer would not run too far with that. Or rub it in his face. At least not in public. After they got out of here, back to Balamb, he could handle that better.

"...It's good pie. You'll like it."

[mercdeleon]

The first thing he noticed was that everything felt clean.

Not specifically that the sheets had been laundered, or that there was a specific smell. But the air just felt different, like it had never been allowed to get dirty.

He clocked it immediately as a hospital.

Squall slowly became aware of the tingle of paramagic. The beeping of medical equipment. Everything sounded muted in the way that one might hear things underwater.

That he could hear anything was a miracle. He could easily have still been in the Trabian wilderness, face-down in the snow, covered until the spring thaw.

But the tracker had done its work. The rescue team had found him, if two days later. If only just in time.

He knew he was lucky to be alive at all.

His eyes closed, as if to blink, before opening again with new sounds. People entering the room. Nurses checking vitals, changing out the IV.

Eyes closed. A new sound, who knew how long after, woke him. A hand in his. Fingers at his forehead. Squall roused himself to see Michele Xu, and he smiled.

"Hey." He felt freezing; hospitals were always so damn cold. His fingers curled around hers, slowly, stiffly, as if he had not used them in days.

It was supposed to be easy.

"Shit happens." He wanted to shrug, but his shoulders wer immobilized by bandages. "Gonna suck sending those letters out." Squall looked past her, saw Laguna and Ellone, and gave the best nod of greeting he could.

"Mr. President." "...Squall." Laguna swallowed a lump in his throat, but stayed back. This was Xu's moment. He'd have his time later. "You scared us, you know." "Kept you on your toes, old man." He relaxed back into the pillow. "How long was I out?"

Laguna listened. It was the hardest he had listened to anything in some time.

Not that listening made anything better. It made him more anxious. It made his leg bounce, and then cramp, and he dismissed the act with a pull of the face and kneading the muscle with his fist. It was something to do. Something that was not just sitting entirely still.

It felt just like another flavor of doing nothing, regardless.

"He'd want you to be safe, here," he finally said, trying to pacify Xu in the only way he could. "Every time a mission happens, there's a risk. It's just-"

He was cut off by Xu's phone buzzing, and he almost stood to grab it before her. A call meant information. Anything.

She paused, listening to the call, and Laguna bit back the urge to ask what was being said. But he saw it in her eyes.

Hope.

"Talk to me, Lieutenant Commander."

---

Lack of sleep made the going all harder.

Squall pushed through the snow, feeling his limbs lag and joints ache with the cold. They had started to burn with the excruciating movements. Bad sign; it always felt warmer before things started to shut down from the cold.

He had hours, maybe, to get to that god-damned safe house.

In the back of his mind, he wondered just what might be happening at Balamb. Surely, word had gotten there by now. Someone knew. The monitors in his team's arms would have flat-lined instantly. His own tracker should be sending out signals, unless it had gotten caught in the crossfire.

By now, his dad would be there. Probably Ellone, too. Maybe Kiros. Hell, sure, why not imagine Kiros there trying to be the anchor to keep his father stable? Irvine and Selphie had been on their own missions. They wouldn't even know he was compromised.

Michele was there, pulling rank. Woken from sleep, looking bedraggled and probably throwing on the closest things from the closet. Her brow knit, eyes keen. Beautiful.

Squall could have sworn his heartbeat was not so loud in his ears a minute ago. Nor as fast. Or that it was getting faster and louder-

Wait.

He looked up and squinted through the newest flurry. That was not his heartbeat. That was a helicopter. And if he could see half as well as he could hear, he might have picked it from the sky.

Instead, he pulled one of the precious few flares from his pack and tore the paper off of the end. Struck it against his boot until the thing roared to life. Held it high.

It grew louder. Louder. The dark pinprick against the sky grew larger until the helicopter descended enough for three SeeD operatives in full winter gear to jump out.

"Commander! Good to see you alive!" "Get me the hell outta here." Squall barely managed to get the words out before falling unconscious again.

[mercdeleon]

Laguna listened. It was the hardest he had listened to anything in some time.

Not that listening made anything better. It made him more anxious. It made his leg bounce, and then cramp, and he dismissed the act with a pull of the face and kneading the muscle with his fist. It was something to do. Something that was not just sitting entirely still.

It felt just like another flavor of doing nothing, regardless.

"He'd want you to be safe, here," he finally said, trying to pacify Xu in the only way he could. "Every time a mission happens, there's a risk. It's just-"

He was cut off by Xu's phone buzzing, and he almost stood to grab it before her. A call meant information. Anything.

She paused, listening to the call, and Laguna bit back the urge to ask what was being said. But he saw it in her eyes.

Hope.

"Talk to me, Lieutenant Commander."

---

Lack of sleep made the going all harder.

Squall pushed through the snow, feeling his limbs lag and joints ache with the cold. They had started to burn with the excruciating movements. Bad sign; it always felt warmer before things started to shut down from the cold.

He had hours, maybe, to get to that god-damned safe house.

In the back of his mind, he wondered just what might be happening at Balamb. Surely, word had gotten there by now. Someone knew. The monitors in his team's arms would have flat-lined instantly. His own tracker should be sending out signals, unless it had gotten caught in the crossfire.

By now, his dad would be there. Probably Ellone, too. Maybe Kiros. Hell, sure, why not imagine Kiros there trying to be the anchor to keep his father stable? Irvine and Selphie had been on their own missions. They wouldn't even know he was compromised.

Michele was there, pulling rank. Woken from sleep, looking bedraggled and probably throwing on the closest things from the closet. Her brow knit, eyes keen. Beautiful.

Squall could have sworn his heartbeat was not so loud in his ears a minute ago. Nor as fast. Or that it was getting faster and louder-

Wait.

He looked up and squinted through the newest flurry. That was not his heartbeat. That was a helicopter. And if he could see half as well as he could hear, he might have picked it from the sky.

Instead, he pulled one of the precious few flares from his pack and tore the paper off of the end. Struck it against his boot until the thing roared to life. Held it high.

It grew louder. Louder. The dark pinprick against the sky grew larger until the helicopter descended enough for three SeeD operatives in full winter gear to jump out.

"Commander! Good to see you alive!" "Get me the hell outta here." Squall barely managed to get the words out before falling unconscious again.

Securing a flight to Balamb took one of the longest hours of Laguna's life.

The next Good evening, Mr. President he heard would garner the well-intentioned speaker a broken jaw. The plane cannot take off quick enough, even if Kiros had assured them that the crews were moving as fast as possible.

Even flying seemed to happen in slow-motion. Even as they crossed larges swaths of land and water in minutes. Even as they touched down, and he had to wait to undo his seatbelt and have the cabin door lower and the stairs unfold. He would have rather jumped from the plane. Into the car. Driven himself.

But no. Everything took a million times longer than it should. Ellone kept a hand on his shoulder the whole time, holding him in place. He needed her to keep him steady just as much, he supposed, she needed him.

An aid went off to get coffee from Balamb's single 24-hour dive, and he went directly for Garden. The sooner he got there, the sooner there would be news that Squall had been found, that he was alive, and that this was all a freak accident.

But he entered the cafeteria, guided by a tired and flustered SeeD, and saw the dead look in Michele Xu's eyes.

No news. Nothing.

He pinched the bridge of his nose to hide the pained expression that crossed his face, and slumped down in the nearest chair.

"Tell. Me. Everything."

---

The night seemed to stretch on forever.

Sleeping was not an option. Squall knew that if his heart rate got too low, he was as good as dead. If the fire went out, he was doomed. When the first flare died, it needed replacing. He needed to stay alert. Needed to stay awake.

This is what survival training was all about. He just never thought he needed to use it.

In the meantime, he scouted out his injury. The wound had frozen, forcing the blood to clot and scab. He could only imagine how waxy and discolored the skin around his wound looked. How, likely, he would need part of it removed, skin grafted over it from a cadaver or possibly his own body.

Part of him wanted to try and get the damn bullet out himself. The smarter part reminded him he couldn't even see it.

Morning came slowly, and with it - thankfully - the snow died from raging blizzard to gentle flurries. Squall stamped out the remains of the puffer-coat-fire and kicked down the small barricade of snow that had been growing in front of his cave over the night. The flare was almost dead; he doused it in the cold white.

"Let's go, buddy." He pulled his coat closer and trudged onwards. If his bearing had been correct, he should at least see the safehouse by afternoon.

And if he was not? Hopefully Garden would find him by nightfall.

[mercdeleon]

Securing a flight to Balamb took one of the longest hours of Laguna's life.

The next Good evening, Mr. President he heard would garner the well-intentioned speaker a broken jaw. The plane cannot take off quick enough, even if Kiros had assured them that the crews were moving as fast as possible.

Even flying seemed to happen in slow-motion. Even as they crossed larges swaths of land and water in minutes. Even as they touched down, and he had to wait to undo his seatbelt and have the cabin door lower and the stairs unfold. He would have rather jumped from the plane. Into the car. Driven himself.

But no. Everything took a million times longer than it should. Ellone kept a hand on his shoulder the whole time, holding him in place. He needed her to keep him steady just as much, he supposed, she needed him.

An aid went off to get coffee from Balamb's single 24-hour dive, and he went directly for Garden. The sooner he got there, the sooner there would be news that Squall had been found, that he was alive, and that this was all a freak accident.

But he entered the cafeteria, guided by a tired and flustered SeeD, and saw the dead look in Michele Xu's eyes.

No news. Nothing.

He pinched the bridge of his nose to hide the pained expression that crossed his face, and slumped down in the nearest chair.

"Tell. Me. Everything."

---

The night seemed to stretch on forever.

Sleeping was not an option. Squall knew that if his heart rate got too low, he was as good as dead. If the fire went out, he was doomed. When the first flare died, it needed replacing. He needed to stay alert. Needed to stay awake.

This is what survival training was all about. He just never thought he needed to use it.

In the meantime, he scouted out his injury. The wound had frozen, forcing the blood to clot and scab. He could only imagine how waxy and discolored the skin around his wound looked. How, likely, he would need part of it removed, skin grafted over it from a cadaver or possibly his own body.

Part of him wanted to try and get the damn bullet out himself. The smarter part reminded him he couldn't even see it.

Morning came slowly, and with it - thankfully - the snow died from raging blizzard to gentle flurries. Squall stamped out the remains of the puffer-coat-fire and kicked down the small barricade of snow that had been growing in front of his cave over the night. The flare was almost dead; he doused it in the cold white.

"Let's go, buddy." He pulled his coat closer and trudged onwards. If his bearing had been correct, he should at least see the safehouse by afternoon.

And if he was not? Hopefully Garden would find him by nightfall.

He wants to say that data means nothing without physical proof, but she beats him to it.

Laguna paced the floor of his study, trying to listen to her with a level head. He failed.

"Squall would not let himself get killed like that. He's too smart. Too clever. He's.... why was he even out there in the first place?" The same questions as every parent who lost their child on a Garden assignment.

They'll find him.

"They better." Not a threat against her. At least, he did not mean it to be one. It was an expressing of frustration and fear and the manifestation of hours of sorrow.

"...I'm sorry. I just... I'm scared." And his leg was killing him from all the stress. "I haven't told Ellone yet. I don't want to scare her. She'll be a mess. I'm going to have to, though. Once I have a flight secured for us out to Balamb." Which, now that he knew there was hope, would be in the next hour.

"We'll meet you at Garden. I'll bring the coffee." Because he would not be sleeping. Not until he knew Squall was safe, or found. ---- Night fell far too soon for Squall's comfort. He had been smart enough, at least, to scour the packs of supplies that had been brought by his now-dead comrades for starters, flares, and ration packs. The safehouse, he remembered, had been around five or so miles from their last point. Not a horrible hike on a simply cold day. But thigh-deep in snow, and nursing a bullet wound, it felt like walking the whole continent.

Surely someone had noticed the vitals going offline. Found their coordinates. Where the hell was the rescue ops?

Perhaps he should have stayed put with the others. Waited. The sensible part of him scoffed at the idea. He would have been a sitting duck in the middle of it all, with no shelter.

Staying would have been suicide. The small cave he found, at least, offered a chance of survival.

So he lit a fire with a starter and the stuffing of a dead man's puffer jacket, lit a flare to place outside as a signal to anyone searching, and ate from his rations. Traveling would have to wait until daylight.

[mercdeleon]

He doesn't mind. He knows what this is just as much as Seifer does.

Squall followed the guidance of Seifer's hand against his back, feeling the hard wood and metal of the futon under his knees through the terribly thin mattress. For a moment, he wondered - again - how Seifer lived like this. As if he was not part of the reason. As if this was not all he could afford thanks to Garden.

The moment did not last long. Seifer's tongue ran along his spine, and the feel of his breath against his back caused Squall's cheeks to burn. He bit back a moan, lowered his shoulders, pushed back his hips against Seifer. He could feel him hard against him.

It only made him all the more needy.

"Seifer..." Squall can only imagine how undignified he looks and sounds, the tone of his voice begging while his body gives up any pretenses.

"Please."

He did. He really, really did.

Squall fought between the want to keep Seifer in his mouth, doting on the man from a stance of submissiveness that society had stripped from him, and the desire to obey the command.

Either way, he would get what he wanted.

So he pulled back, denying himself one pleasure with the promise of more. The bed - term used loosely - was more than he had expected that night. He had expected the cold, impersonal wall. Or the rough, cheap carpet that would surely take off some skin.

Polyester sheets and a thin mattress? It's a bonus.

He wiped drool from his chin on the back of his hand and stood. The pull of denim against him made Squall's breath catch, which he hid with a sighed Whatever in response to the order.

His belt, worth more than the whole apartment, decided to be fickle and catch. It took far longer to undo than necessary to come off and be carelessly discarded. The cheap, white commissary tee joined it on the floor. And finally, the jeans. And as he was relieved of the pressure, Squall sighed. Thank fuck.

"Want me looking away?"

[mercdeleon]

He wants to say that data means nothing without physical proof, but she beats him to it.

Laguna paced the floor of his study, trying to listen to her with a level head. He failed.

"Squall would not let himself get killed like that. He's too smart. Too clever. He's.... why was he even out there in the first place?" The same questions as every parent who lost their child on a Garden assignment.

They'll find him.

"They better." Not a threat against her. At least, he did not mean it to be one. It was an expressing of frustration and fear and the manifestation of hours of sorrow.

"...I'm sorry. I just... I'm scared." And his leg was killing him from all the stress. "I haven't told Ellone yet. I don't want to scare her. She'll be a mess. I'm going to have to, though. Once I have a flight secured for us out to Balamb." Which, now that he knew there was hope, would be in the next hour.

"We'll meet you at Garden. I'll bring the coffee." Because he would not be sleeping. Not until he knew Squall was safe, or found. ---- Night fell far too soon for Squall's comfort. He had been smart enough, at least, to scour the packs of supplies that had been brought by his now-dead comrades for starters, flares, and ration packs. The safehouse, he remembered, had been around five or so miles from their last point. Not a horrible hike on a simply cold day. But thigh-deep in snow, and nursing a bullet wound, it felt like walking the whole continent.

Surely someone had noticed the vitals going offline. Found their coordinates. Where the hell was the rescue ops?

Perhaps he should have stayed put with the others. Waited. The sensible part of him scoffed at the idea. He would have been a sitting duck in the middle of it all, with no shelter.

Staying would have been suicide. The small cave he found, at least, offered a chance of survival.

So he lit a fire with a starter and the stuffing of a dead man's puffer jacket, lit a flare to place outside as a signal to anyone searching, and ate from his rations. Traveling would have to wait until daylight.

"Yeah. Let's go check out upstairs."

---

It was, put simply, perfect. Halfway through lunch in-town, they had decided to proceed forward, and money was pushed around between accounts to put down the larger-than-expected deposit. They could afford it; it just simply had not been expected.

And life proceeded as normal, with escrow happening in the background. Squall was put onto the mission Xu had been formerly assigned to without issue. He pulled a bag over his shoulder, kissed her goodbye quickly, said he'd see her in a week, and headed out the door.

It was supposed to be a quick, easy job in conjunction with Trabia Garden. The weather had taken a quick, unexpected turn for the worse a day in, but that was no issue. They had equpitment for the cold. The safehouse had heating. The communications always had batteries.

Squall wiped accumulating snow from his goggles in vain to improve visibility. The blizzard was nearing white-out conditioned. He had a mind to tell everyone they were turning back; it was not worth the hassel, and they could continue after waiting out the storm.

"Commander!" One of Trabia's men had to shout past his scarf to be heard. "Permission to take us back to the safehouse? The equiptment can't see past the sn-"

The request was cut off. Squall turned to look towards the speaker to find him on the ground. For a moment, he thought it might be a badly timed prank. Then, through the freezing white, he saw the snow around the man turn red.

Sniper.

"Everyone, down!" Squall felt a burning in his left shoulder, and he fell forward into the snow. He knew this pain. He knew how the burning would radiate, and the pain after it, once the adrenaline wore off. He could only think the sniper was as blinded by the snow as he to miss.

For a few, agonizing seconds, he could hear the team moving, scrambling. And then... everything went dark.

When Squall came to, he was under three inches of heavy, wet snow. He groaned, then swore, feeling the pain in his shoulder. Ah, yes. Shot. Shot by who? How long ago? What about the rest of the team? Everything was too damn cold. He could barely feel his fingers.

This was never supposed to happen.

He forced himself up out of the snow, rather keen to take on any lingering gunman than stay for the frostbite to kill him. The blizzard had ended, and the snow reflected off of blinding white snow. Around where he had been, many snow-covered lumps say undisturbed. Three, four, seven. The whole damn team.

Maybe the sniper had been better in the snow than he gave them credit for.

He could contemplate that later. For now, he needed to get back to the safe-house. He needed heat, and food, and to contact Trabia Garden.

----

Laguna Noire answered the phone like he had ben expecting Xu's call. He had. He had been expecting it for hours. Ever since he got an anonymous tip that Squall Leonhart had been shot in Trabia. Ever since he had reached out, and confirmed that Squall had been deployed there, and his squad had lost communication in a blizzard.

Ever since his heart dropped into his stomach, and he prayed the next call would be from his son.

He would take one from her, instead.

"Michele." He did not think to address her formally when he was barely keeping himself together. "Please tell me you know something."

[mercdeleon]

Did he want to?

Staying meant getting drunker. Meant eventually going back to Garden. Meant going back to his life quicker than he really wanted to.

And Seifer was a comfort in times like this. A goof as he pretended to tuck away an invisible paper into his breast pocket. The bad boy. The thing he should not have. The thing he wanted.

Fuck it.

"Yeah, let's." What was the worst that could happen?

Squall downed the rest of his beer easily. "Do you wanna stick around here for a bit, first?" He didn't.

He hadn't thought that far ahead.

Squall shrugged. "Adjusting things for good-behavior. Your supplement. Housing. Could probably even see about getting that 'unhirable' taken off of your record." What else, exactly, could he offer Seifer? What else might interest him?

"Think on it." Squall took another swig of beer. "Maybe you'll be more creative than me."

Was this, potentially, a can of worms he would regret opening? Absolutely. But he was buzzed. And feeling generous and not a little guilty over not having something for Seifer's birthday after everything.

And he was one of the most powerful men on the island. If anyone could give one hell of a gift, it was him.

[mercdeleon]

Squall appreciated Seifer's choice to stay quiet until the waitress left.

"I will. She'll hate we're talking now, probably, but..." Maybe she would appreciate it. Maybe a bit of dry, biting humor would get her spirits up.

"I... can't tell you how much I appreciate what you did for us, finding them." He poked at the pie. "You did what teams of people on payrolls didn't. Couldn't. Possibly wouldn't. And you did it in a fraction of the time they dragged their asses."

He took a deep breath and a bite of pie so as to chew over his words. What could he say in public? What was he willing to say aloud?

"Thank you, Seifer. I owe you. Contracts and paperwork aside, I owe you."

Hopefully, Seifer would not run too far with that. Or rub it in his face. At least not in public. After they got out of here, back to Balamb, he could handle that better.

"...It's good pie. You'll like it."

"I'm trying to separate work from play."

Which he was. And while he was still no expert at it, Squall thought he was doing a half-decent job. He got out. He didn't sleep in the office anymore. He had Michele.

"But yeah. Sparring. Pizza. Maybe we go down to the beach and I pick you up to toss you into the water." All said with a joke; as if he was tall enough or strong enough to do that.

Squall resumed eating, entertaining the idea of spending casual time with Seifer Almasy. It had been years. So much had changed. And yet, outside of the office and Garden and everything, there was something lingering from the camaraderie of orphans. Of classmates. Of friends.

Yeah, he'd have a slice of pie, too.

"She's doing... well, like shit." There was no use sugarcoating it. "Pretty sure you saw the newspapers. She got out of the hospital about a week ago. Going to therapy, on meds. She hates it."

He hated it for her. This was not Xu. Seeing her like this hurt. It made him angry. Angry enough to repair a bridge and call a hit. Angry enough to do the dirty work himself, somewhat.

"Want me to tell her you said 'hi'?"

[mercdeleon]

"Yeah. Let's go check out upstairs."

---

It was, put simply, perfect. Halfway through lunch in-town, they had decided to proceed forward, and money was pushed around between accounts to put down the larger-than-expected deposit. They could afford it; it just simply had not been expected.

And life proceeded as normal, with escrow happening in the background. Squall was put onto the mission Xu had been formerly assigned to without issue. He pulled a bag over his shoulder, kissed her goodbye quickly, said he'd see her in a week, and headed out the door.

It was supposed to be a quick, easy job in conjunction with Trabia Garden. The weather had taken a quick, unexpected turn for the worse a day in, but that was no issue. They had equpitment for the cold. The safehouse had heating. The communications always had batteries.

Squall wiped accumulating snow from his goggles in vain to improve visibility. The blizzard was nearing white-out conditioned. He had a mind to tell everyone they were turning back; it was not worth the hassel, and they could continue after waiting out the storm.

"Commander!" One of Trabia's men had to shout past his scarf to be heard. "Permission to take us back to the safehouse? The equiptment can't see past the sn-"

The request was cut off. Squall turned to look towards the speaker to find him on the ground. For a moment, he thought it might be a badly timed prank. Then, through the freezing white, he saw the snow around the man turn red.

Sniper.

"Everyone, down!" Squall felt a burning in his left shoulder, and he fell forward into the snow. He knew this pain. He knew how the burning would radiate, and the pain after it, once the adrenaline wore off. He could only think the sniper was as blinded by the snow as he to miss.

For a few, agonizing seconds, he could hear the team moving, scrambling. And then... everything went dark.

When Squall came to, he was under three inches of heavy, wet snow. He groaned, then swore, feeling the pain in his shoulder. Ah, yes. Shot. Shot by who? How long ago? What about the rest of the team? Everything was too damn cold. He could barely feel his fingers.

This was never supposed to happen.

He forced himself up out of the snow, rather keen to take on any lingering gunman than stay for the frostbite to kill him. The blizzard had ended, and the snow reflected off of blinding white snow. Around where he had been, many snow-covered lumps say undisturbed. Three, four, seven. The whole damn team.

Maybe the sniper had been better in the snow than he gave them credit for.

He could contemplate that later. For now, he needed to get back to the safe-house. He needed heat, and food, and to contact Trabia Garden.

----

Laguna Noire answered the phone like he had ben expecting Xu's call. He had. He had been expecting it for hours. Ever since he got an anonymous tip that Squall Leonhart had been shot in Trabia. Ever since he had reached out, and confirmed that Squall had been deployed there, and his squad had lost communication in a blizzard.

Ever since his heart dropped into his stomach, and he prayed the next call would be from his son.

He would take one from her, instead.

"Michele." He did not think to address her formally when he was barely keeping himself together. "Please tell me you know something."

Xu was so much better at getting out of these sorts of situations than he was.

Squall let her drag him away from the realtor, who he had fully expected to need to be diplomatic with for the next three hours. Only when alone did he take a deep breath to let the mask fall off.

He was exhausted.

But the kitchen was nice. Spacious. about the size of the living room in their current shared one-bed apartment. There is room to cook, to entertain, to eat in the damn thing sitting down if they even chose to. The natural lighting was incredible, thanks to the windows.

"I thank many of my adult years to take-away," he joked back. Yeah. He could imagine cooking in there. Or having the top littered with menus, them looking over them with beer in hand and not enough energy to do much else.

A place they could call Home and be a normal couple expecting a kid in.

Xu's hand went to her stomach, and he saw the look in her eyes.

"Sounds good. I saw a place while we were driving around that looked nice."

The kitchen led out into a dining room, which was attached open-plan style to a living area that looked out to the generous backyard. He paused in front of the windows and gave a small smile.

"You know, when I was a kid, back at the orphanage? I used to dream of living with parents in a house like this." Instead, he got Garden. And the rest was history.

"...I like this one, Michele. I really, really like this one."

[mercdeleon]

It does not take much convincing for him to abandon the seach.

Squall leaned in to the pull and kicked back his jeans, letting them dangle unceremoniously halfway off of the way-too-nice bed. He kissed up her abdomen, between her breasts, along her collar and neck and finally to her lips. And she tasted like comfort and desire and a little bit like the strawberry from earlier.

He would have her no other way.

His hands guided her legs around his hips, inviting her ankles to lock behind him.

Don't worry about it. He wouldn't, then.

He broke the kiss and nuzzled into her cheek, affectionate. One last check in, just in case.

"Ready?"

Her begging was a rare treat.

Squall gave a soft hiss as her nails dug into his skin, leaving marks that would surely take hours to heal. It was worth it, however, to hear her moan his name like that.

"Good girl."

He pulled away from her again, this time to fumble with the button and zipper of his jeans. They are too fiddly - too stubborn - for his lack of patience. For his eagerness to be free of them. To have her legs around his hips. To lose himself inside of Michele Xu in a room where they did not have to be mindful of neighbors, or care about the repercussions of being heard.

Finally, he got the damn thing to cooperate. He pushed the denim and cotton down from his hips, down to his knees before abandoning the endeavor. A moment's pause, and he tried to reach into the pockets for his wallet. For the condom he knew was in there.

"Shit... one moment..."

[mercdeleon]

He wanted to help her with the seatbelt. He kew she will probably bite him if he did.

She is not helpless. Not invalid. Not incapable of doing basic things like putting on her seatbelt.

So his eyes only flit to the corners to watch her and make sure she really does not need the help before pulling out of the parking spot, out of the garage, out of Garden.

The drive is quiet, and it drives him mad. At least the sound of office life had been able to distract his mind from the horrible affair that was their spat in front of the therapist. The silence punctuated by their phones going off was not that, and let his mind wander too easily.

Xu finally spoke, and Squall knew it would be rude to not say anything. Or would it be rude to respond? Or did she even want him to? Where was the line of propriety?

"I think we still have a bottle at home." Wine was more her thing than his, even if she had somewhat weaned him off of the cheapest of cheap beers. The bottle he thought of could have been a memory from weeks ago.

He pulled into the apartment building's parking garage, found his usual spot, and parked.

"Need a hand?" Oops.

At least he hadn't kept her waiting too long.

Leftovers. Right. He had forgotten about those in the irritation of the day. But instead of lingering on the reluctant topic of forgotten dinners, he accepted the coffee, and offered her the bag of pastries.

"An éclair and a bear claw. You can have whichever of them you want. They were out of the strawberry-sprinkle ones, since it's end-of-day." Only partly a joke; something about that overly-sugary frosting cut the bitterness of Caf Coffee better than anything else.

He took a sip of the coffee, making a mental note of bottom-of-the-pot bitterness. It would hold him over until they got home and made something better.

He leaned against the hood of the car. Sip. Breathe. Spin the cup between his hands. Repeat. This was driving him mad.

"Wanna get out of here?" The sooner they left, the sooner they could put today behind them. The sooner they could properly talk. The sooner things would get a proper resolution.

[mercdeleon]

At least he hadn't kept her waiting too long.

Leftovers. Right. He had forgotten about those in the irritation of the day. But instead of lingering on the reluctant topic of forgotten dinners, he accepted the coffee, and offered her the bag of pastries.

"An éclair and a bear claw. You can have whichever of them you want. They were out of the strawberry-sprinkle ones, since it's end-of-day." Only partly a joke; something about that overly-sugary frosting cut the bitterness of Caf Coffee better than anything else.

He took a sip of the coffee, making a mental note of bottom-of-the-pot bitterness. It would hold him over until they got home and made something better.

He leaned against the hood of the car. Sip. Breathe. Spin the cup between his hands. Repeat. This was driving him mad.

"Wanna get out of here?" The sooner they left, the sooner they could put today behind them. The sooner they could properly talk. The sooner things would get a proper resolution.

The rest of the day was both simultaneously too slow, and had too much going on.

Conference calls that could have been emails. Emails that really, really should have been meetings. Spending more time coordinating those meetings than the matter initially should have warranted. Emails immediately returned, clearly unread, and now to be sent back with "Per my last email" as the header.

By the end of it all, Squall was as exhausted as he was restless. When it came time to go home, even Hyne could not keep him behind the desk.

He paused before getting to the elevator, holding off on hitting the button to take him to the parking garage. Would it seem too eager? Too controlling? Xy had already left her office; the right was out. Was she waiting on him? Would him detouring cause her to be even more upset?

Where did he draw the line?

Squall went down to the caf, carefully picking over the end-of-day snack pastries before settling on a bear claw and a éclair. Should he get coffee? Would it make her wait longer? Xu didn't care much for caf coffee as it was...

He purchased the snacks with a tap of his card against the reader, then went down to the parking garage. She was at the car, staring into space, a caf coffee cup on his roof.

"Hey." Soft, but loud with the echoes off of concrete. "Sorry I kept you waiting. Got something for us until we figure out dinner." He lifted up the bag as if it would excuse him.