Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction / Other Fan Fiction ❯ Protecting the Lion ❯ Intimate Pictures ( Chapter 5 )

Chapter Five

Intimate Pictures

 

Inside the large and lavish conference room, each comrade was settled and waiting for the last two members to arrive. No one knew how much time they were going to have before Squall and Seifer showed up, though it seemed a general assumption that they would come in together.

 

Quistis had asked Selphie to set up whatever was needed to view the contents of the evidential CD. The jumper-wearing pilot had skipped off to retrieve what was needed, returning in record time with unparalleled excitement at seeing the pictures.

 

The copper haired woman was bent over the long rectangular conference table, crisscrossing wires while hooking her own personal camera up to a larger screen at the head of the table. She worked on the final set up with her tongue stuck out in concentration, trying to remember which port was outgoing and which was incoming. Seemingly occupied, it wasn't such a complicated process that she couldn't keep some of her focus on the conversation going on around her. The heavy and angry mood was oppressing to her naturally cheerful personality. Hearing redundant arguments flung back and forth as her friends bickered, she finally straightened up and questioned, “What's the big deal?”

 

“In case you hadn't noticed Selph, Seifer's back!” Zell shouted, his fists slamming onto the black tabletop.

 

“Isn't it great? We're all back together again. Everyone from the orphanage!” Selphie exclaimed. Aware of the baleful feelings radiating through the room, she did her best to smile brightly regardless. Flopping down into on of twelve plush leather chairs, she wallowed in her excitement.

 

Seated beside the energetic pilot, Irvine glanced indiscreetly into the small woman's lap. Selphie's short yellow jumper was riding tantalizingly high, and he was determined to sneak a peek.

 

Quistis sat solemnly across from the younger three, her arms crossed in refusal to argue further. After a tense moment when it became apparent her companions were expecting her to explain what was going on, she said while staring stubbornly at the center of the table, “You guys should know that the incidents haven't stopped. It's gotten more serious.”

 

Irvine's attention was effectively pulled away from his little lady's smooth thighs. “You mean the commander's stalker?” It was baffling how anyone could possibly evade their detection. It was rather insulting actually. Squall's lack of concern on the matter had resulted in a less than suitable manhunt.

 

“Yes,” Quistis replied with a nod.

 

“Was it more mail?” Zell asked with concern, fists unclenching as he set his anger aside.

 

“No,” Quistis assured. “Though, I think I should mention the details about the last little present left behind.” She bit her lip and gave a pleading look of apology to the small group. “I know you all should have been told, but Squall asked that I not make a big deal of it.”

 

Amethyst eyes pinned the head instruct in place. “What exactly don't we know yet?” Irvine drawled.

 

Adjusting her glasses, Quistis admitted, “The package was a box rigged to explode an inhalant.” The only outsiders privy to such information were the SeeDs she had commissioned to analyze the toxin, and since they were loyal Trepies, there was little danger in rumors spreading. “It was a paralyzing toxin, something called Pillar's Web.”

 

Irvine's eyes widened. He was familiar with a wide range of poisons and toxins, since many of them could be utilized as bullets. He knew the head instructor wasn't being completely honest with the group. Pillar's Web was a dangerous substance, lethal if taken in excess or straight from a Caterchipillar. He was unsettled to recall that there were aphrodisiac side effects.

 

Quistis was almost certain the sharp shooting cowboy knew exactly how the toxin worked. If the perpetrator had intended to use the toxin for more than paralysis purposes, then they were dealing with a stalker who was pursuing the commander for some sexually perverse purpose. Sharing a long look with the gunman, she tacitly requested that the other two not be worried unnecessarily. Continuing, she informed them of the most recent incident, “Last night someone broke into Squall's quarters.” Pointing to the disk in front of Selphie, she added, “That disk was left behind.”

 

“What!” Selphie cried in shock. “Someone took pictures of him?”

 

“We don't know that yet,” Quistis said firmly.

 

“Oh my,” Selphie murmured. Her first reaction to what the regal blonde had said was to see for herself what was on the disk. All the color suddenly drained from her face.

 

Quistis watched with trepidation as the usually chipper pilot stared aghast at the small screen on the digital camera. She became terribly curious and alarmed when Selphie kept clicking a small button and began to blush.

 

After several moments, Selphie tore her green eyes from the small screen. Her cheeks were scarlet. “I don't think Squall will want to see this,” she said.

 

“Let me see!” Zell cried, jumping from his seat and moving to stand behind the flippy haired girl.

 

“Just put it up on the screen, so we can all see,” Irvine directed, grabbing the back of Zell's shirt before the boxer could move around the back of his chair.

 

“Yes,” came the ex-knight's baritone voice. “So we can all see.” Seifer stood in the doorway at the far end of the room. He towered behind the commander, who was stubbornly glaring at the floor and refusing to move. Gripping the brunet's shoulder firmly, he shoved the smaller man forward a step. “Come now, don't be so shy. You'll never make any friends that way,” he jibed quietly, only loud enough for Leonhart to hear.

 

Squall grudgingly walked forward, ignoring the fact that he ought to swing his gunblade at the blond's head instead of complying with the man's direction. His brows furrowed as he noticed how odd Selphie seemed to be sitting. Stiff and tense, he couldn't imagine why the pilot seemed so flushed with fever. There was something wrong. Everyone appeared as though they'd been caught red handed.

 

Wary and curious at the same time, Squall strode towards the far end of the table and took his place beside the head instructor. He almost asked what was wrong when the copper haired woman flinched at his proximity. Studying the group keenly, he didn't venture to voice his concern.

 

With a great deal less grace and reserve than the commander, Seifer plopped down into a one of many ritzy chairs. Inching his chair unnecessarily closer to the sulking brunet, he was amused to find himself the target of the man's malevolent glare. He was surprised at how unconcerned everyone else seemed with his presence there. Fujin and Raijin had been quite right. He had envisioned Leonhart setting an entire brigade on him the second he stepped onto Garden's soil.

 

Though Seifer was certain he was far from welcome, the reactions he'd received were almost disappointing. He was still unsure whether he intended to take Trepe's proposal seriously or not. Life would no doubt be quite interesting if he remained near Leonhart.

 

“Let's see what all the fuss is about,” Seifer said, leaving his thoughtful reverie for another time.

 

Jerking her head to face the ex-knight, Selphie stared wide-eyed. Uneasily, she debated what to do. The images were terribly suggestive. “Okay,” she finally mumbled, gazing apologetically at the commander.

 

Grey-blue eyes narrowed in suspicious apprehension. Squall was about to protest, realizing that the cause for the girl's odd behavior was on account of the content on the disk. It was too late though. The large panel screen lit up and the image came into focus. It took a moment for Squall to register what he was seeing. Frowning, he was confused by what was a picture of himself sleeping. He didn't understand Selphie's reluctance. There was nothing to be so uptight about.

 

Excluding an unimpressed commander, every set of eyes was glued to the head of the table where the screen was mounted. No one spoke, just gaped. It was the ice prince, the man who never let his guard down, looking utterly defenseless and unguarded. Apparently too tired to have turned the bedding down, the commander was curled up closer to the foot of the bed while sleeping. Stripped of his bomber jacket and many belts, his thin white shirt rode up a pale and slim torso.

 

Gulping, Selphie pressed a button on her camera and replaced the picture with the next.

 

Frowning more deeply as his mood darkened, Squall watched in frustration. He didn't understand why everyone was looking at the pictures in such a shell-shocked manner.

 

The next image displayed a better view of the commander's sleeping face. Dark hair was softly draping to the side, the longish strands splayed against the blanket beneath. Pout lips were relaxed and almost smiling. Dark lashes were gently dusting pale cheeks.

 

Another picture showed that the sleeping man was curled around a dark cat. The cat, which the group knew to be Gabriel, Rinoa's latest companion for Angelo, was resting its head under Squall's chin. None of them had known the commander was so fond of the creature.

 

After a few more pictures, Squall was beginning to feel uneasy. The photos began to take on a different meaning. One photo was obviously focusing on his ass, which was when he began to feel true embarrassment. The fact that in his sleeping position his leather pants were hugging him tightly only made it worse.

 

Though embarrassed, Squall's real concern was how the photographer had managed to take so many pictures at such a close range without waking him up. It was a pathetic failure on his part. Obviously he had been too tired and slept too deeply. The question better asked was why Shiva hadn't noticed the unwanted presence sooner.

 

When a gloved hand entered the frame, everyone held their breath. The hand hovered closely over Squall's body, shifting along with each succession of shots as if caressing the commander. It began low and worked its way closer and higher. Finally, it came only centimeters from Squall's face.

 

There was a collective sigh of relief when the photographer's hand, which had been about to touch the commander's mouth, was encased in the mouth of an apparently less than happy cat. It would seem that Gabriel had woken up and taken revenge for either being disturbed or finding a trespasser.

 

“Fucking hell, that cat's more like a dog!” Seifer exclaimed victoriously, grinning smugly at the stalker's foiled attempts.

 

The ex-knight's abrupt outburst seemed to draw the others from their transfixed staring. The slide show had felt like some heated and forbidden home video. There was a similar flushed tone to everyone's cheeks. Seeing the commander in such a manner had been unsettling in many ways. The strange attractiveness that could easily qualify as sex appeal was not something the group of friends often thought about when facing the commander, since it would be inappropriate. Zell and Irvine were particularly unsettled, since they were not immune to the allure presented in the pictures.

 

The group was mainly upset with how seriously dangerous the previous night had been for their beloved commander. This was no ordinary stalker and it was obvious the creep had very perverted intentions. Considering what Squall was to them, they had a general feeling of protectiveness and possession over their leader. Seeing some stranger attempting to be so insidiously intimate was enraging.

 

With no more pictures to view, the companions were left to discuss what they had just witnessed. There was awkward silence as they uncomfortably shifted in their seats, inappropriate images of their commander dancing through their heads.

 

Embarrassed that he'd fallen prey to some fan girl, Squall cleared his throat and looked over at Quistis, almost shyly. He was about to say something, when a knock disturbed the quiet absence of words between the six of them.

 

The doorknob was turning open when Quistis hissed harshly, “Selphie!”

 

“Wha-” the green-eyed girl started, but caught on quickly. She hastily pulled the power cords from her camera. Just as a serving girl wheeled a large cart of assorted foods into the room, the screen went blank.

 

With a meek bow, the young attendant left the cart and said quietly, “Please call down to the kitchens if there is anything more you require.”

 

The small disturbance seemed to be a jolting trigger that brought everyone to their senses.

 

Zell was tired of the odd air that had settled between them so early in the day. Usually he wouldn't be getting up for another half hour, at which time he would have gone to the kitchens where Balamb Garden's lovely head chef, Greta, would fix him hotdogs for breakfast. Stomach growling, he promptly stood to serve himself some food.

 

Aside from table manners, Zell was fairly considerate when it came to food. After retrieving his own plate, he wheeled the cart closer and served everyone else. Having ordered without either Squall or Seifer present, water and toast had been the only secure choice to make. Zell was willing to share his hotdogs, but doubted the commander would accept any of their food. The blond boxer figured the ex-knight could starve, which would suit him just fine. “Dig in,” he said before sitting back in his own seat and starting on a hotdog.

 

Buttering an English muffin, Quistis spoke with forced collectiveness, “This person managed to get that close and you say you never saw a thing?”

 

Scowling, Squall didn't reply right away. He knew what his folly had been and didn't need salt rubbed in his wounds. He couldn't explain that he had been too tired to keep his wits about him, since that was obviously the response the head instructor was looking for. It was a trap to get him to admit he needed protection. He was too disturbed and as his throbbing headache took a turn for the worse, he was not game for debating his former instructor.

 

Knowing his response was expected, Squall stalled while reaching for a bottle of water in the center of the table. Twisting the cap off with more concentration than necessary, he took a small sip, wetting his throat and lips. Throwing his sensitive pride aside, he finally admitted to his weakness, “I suspect that I was too out of it to have heard anything.” Though the intruder had definitely been trained, it did not excuse his blunder.

 

Quistis raised a hand to her chin as if in thought. “So, not only is this person dangerous on their own, but you are in a rather vulnerable state to begin with,” she reasoned soundly.

 

“I'm not in any danger,” Squall shot back. He wasn't alarmed at what had happened, just embarrassed that his solitary moment of weakness was being flaunted in his face. Shiva had woken him up, and he had little doubt that his Guardian Force would not be so delayed ever again.

 

“Squall,” the head instructor began incredulously, “someone broke into your apartment and took pictures of you while you were asleep. He passed your security and managed to escape. At what point does this guy become dangerous? How about when he has a knife to your throat or manages to use Pillar's Web on you?”

 

Sullenly, Squall regarded his friends. “I understand the repercussions this could have if photos such as these ever made it to the press, but that is the extent of what any of you should be concerned with. My safety is not your problem,” his words were mainly directed to the head instructor.

 

“Are you serious?” Quistis responded.

 

Zell, Irvine, and Selphie were partly engrossed in eating breakfast, but were still intently listening to Squall and Quistis argue. Seifer took it upon himself to set a plate of toast before the commander, similarly interested in listening to the debate unfold

 

Quistis pressed, “What happens with the media has no relevance right now. This is about your safety. Did you not see those pictures? This guy was practically all over you and you were so tired that you might as well have been in a coma. If Rinoa's cat hadn't done something, you'd have slept through the whole ordeal.”

 

Rolling his eyes at the melodrama, Squall corrected, “I would have woken up before any real threat arose.” He was less confident than he let on, but was willing to bet that Shiva wouldn't let it happen again.

 

“You can't expect some pet to act as your protector,” Quistis shot back, keeping her tone conversational. She was trying to run the commander into a corner. Her specialty happened to be interrogations.

 

Clenching his teeth, Squall prayed for patience. “Gabriel is not my protector.” He wondered if Quistis would back off if he admitted to having a rather unconventional bond with his Guardian Force. “I have more caution than you give me credit for.”

 

“Oh?” the blonde intoned dubiously. “And what's that? You have the kitten for a guard dog, what more credit should I be giving?”

 

There was a quite mumbling of agreement from the spectators on the other side.

 

Glaring at his three friends, effectively silencing them, Squall sighed. A shiver wracked his sleep-deprived body. Sinking back into the comfortable padding of the chair, he shook his head slightly. The lights seemed to grow brighter, but that was just his migraine flaring. Deftly reaching into his jacket pocket, he procured a small white bottle. Pressing a palm to the cap, he twisted the top off and tapped out a couple of dark green oval shaped pills. Tossing the pills into his mouth he took another sip of his water and swallowed. If his actions were worrisome to his friends, he showed no sign of caring. He gave Quistis a look that said, “I'd rather be giving a public speech right now than telling you this.”

 

Running a hand through his hair, Squall finally spoke, “It was a fluke that I didn't wake up right away. I don't know why, but I was warned a little late, and it won't happen again.” He was trying to be vague and reassuring at the same time, but he knew it hadn't worked.

 

Crystal blue eyes leveled the commander. “It wasn't a fluke. You can't expect to be alert all the time. It's just not possible, not even for those of us who receive sleep on a regular basis.” Her voice was softer, as if pleading with him to see reason.

 

In that moment, Squall decided he might as well come clean. The motley crew seated around him were his friends for a reason. He knew they would label him as abnormal, even they might not accept it right away. “I am able to keep alert. I have Shiva. She keeps watch and wakes me up when necessary. She was just a little late last night.”

 

There was silence. Squall usually enjoyed silence, but the atmosphere was terribly uncomfortable as he waited for someone to respond.

 

“What?” Quistis finally managed to ask.

 

“Damn,” Seifer commented. “I always knew you were a cold bastard, but I didn't think the ice queen had anything to do with it.” He gave a hardy chuckle before raising a hand to ruffle Leonhart's hair again.

 

Glaring daggers at Seifer, Squall's lips pressed firmly together in a frown. Even after the blond removed the hand, he continued to glare harshly.

 

Shrugging, Seifer ignored the fact that he was now ruffling his rival's hair almost habitually. “Lighten up. It's a joke, ever hear one before?” He waved a hand dismissively.

 

Folding his arms, Squall slouched further into the chair, wishing he could close his eyes right then and take a nap.

 

“Oh!” Selphie cried, waving her hand in the air again as if waiting to be called on. “I think I might know what he's talking about.”

 

Everyone turned his or her attention from the brooding commander to the energetic young woman.

 

“Come on darlin', don't keep us waitin' all day here,” Irvine drawled, wishing the object of his affection could show at least a modicum of decorum.

 

“Diablos talked to me once,” Selphie said cheerfully, nodding her head in agreement with herself.

 

“Selphie,” Zell began, “you never have him junctioned.”

 

Copper brown hair flopped and bounced as the happy girl shook her head in an exaggerated manner. “Not true. I have fought with him a few times. And the last time I had him junctioned, he talked to me.”

 

Everyone stared at the pilot for a moment, waiting for her to elaborate.

 

When it was apparent that Selphie was done telling her story, Irvine prompted, “Darlin', what did he say to you?” He spoke with a slight emphasis on each syllable.

 

Giggling, Selphie scratched the back of her head in a slight show of embarrassment. “He told me to shut up.”

 

Zell was on the ground at this admission. His laughter filled the room as his fist pounded the carpeted floor.

 

Laughter turned into grunted choking noises as the spiky haired blond found his chest pinned to the floor by the end of a nunchaku. Everyone was reminded of why Selphie was not someone to be trifled with as she crushed her friend to the floor without so much as dropping her broad smile.

 

Rubbing his sternum, Zell climbed back into his chair while muttering under his breath.

 

Irvine decided that when it came to their favorite introverted friend, nothing was ever normal. “Well, I for one remember reading all about the development of bonds between the fighter and the guardian force.” His violet eyes watched the brunet across from him. It seemed that a silent battle was going on between Squall and Seifer, and only at his words of accepting belief did the commander stir.

 

When the slender man turned blue-grey eyes on him, Irvine felt a heated wave wash over him. He couldn't help but remember those pictures and wonder just what the ice prince would look like so unguarded while conscious. Internally, he scoffed as he tilted his head and angled his hat lower to hide any blush that might have crept to his cheeks. The only time Squall would ever look like that and be awake for it would be….

 

Irvine gulped as his rather perverted mind suddenly concluded that Squall might look rather enticing writhing about in the throws of passion. Silently he wished the commander would focus those intense eyes elsewhere. He was afraid that his thoughts might somehow be read. He nearly sighed audibly when Quistis spoke again.

 

“I'm not sure what you mean Squall. I've read about Guardian Forces extensively and never have I come across an actual instance where the host and the guardian were capable of communicating, aside from during a summoning.” Her glasses flashed in the light as she shift her body to better face Squall.

 

“I've had Shiva for a long time. You know how compatibility grows with time,” Squall answered, having sought his own answers long before.

 

“Do you speak with her? Or is it something else?” the instructor asked, a note of intrigue in her voice. As the type of person who always sought knowledge, she couldn't help but find this information very interesting from a scientific viewpoint.

 

“Have you ever tried to speak to any of them?” Squall asked, not willing to sit there and give details about something he felt was rather private. When the blonde didn't answer him, he continued, “I won't explain it. If you're curious, find out for yourself. The point is I wasn't in danger.”

 

The entire notion was a surprise to Quistis. Aside from processing the idea, she had to figure a way to counter the argument. The truth of the matter was that even if Squall had an entire platoon of SeeDs posted outside his door, this stalker had gotten far too close. They were no nearer to catching the culprit than when the first hints of the intruder's activities surfaced. Quistis wasn't even certain she could pin point the first incident, seeing as Squall's fan base was so large. There wasn't a day that passed without loads of mail and attempted break-ins. The difference was that no one had ever succeeded in getting very far, until now.

 

Before the instructor could figure an argument, a surprisingly sharp Seifer saved her the trouble. The ex-knight crossed his arms, as if in mock of the smaller brunet's body language. Then he spoke, “The point of having someone stand watch while you sleep, is that if anything should happen, they can take care of it and let you rest. Shiva can't do that. She cannot physically protect you unless she is summoned and in order to do that you have to be awake.”

 

Selphie spoke right after Seifer, cutting off any possible protest Squall might have, “Is that how you do it? Does Shiva know what's going on all the time?” Most uncharacteristic, her tone was quite somber.

 

“I don't follow,” Squall replied, not sure what the pilot was talking about.

 

“The second something happens or a problem suddenly springs up,” Selphie began in better explanation, “you show up right away to deal with it. Even if it's in the middle of the night and no one has sent for you, you show up looking so tired, but already prepared to deal with it.” Her green eyes searched the commander's, aghast with some horrible realization. “Those times, when you should have been resting after days of working, it was because Shiva told you?” She was almost pleading with him to deny it.

 

Arms still crossed, Squall shifted his hands unnoticeably, so that they were instead clutching his jacket. It was a nervous habit of his to wring his hands on anything they could grasp. Usually, he was able to have the calming feel of Lionheart's hilt. He didn't like the almost pained look in the girl's green eyes. There was only one way he could think of to sooth the way she felt. Schooling his expression, his eyes stared coldly. “The sooner I can deal with a problem, the sooner it can be resolved,” he reasoned.

 

The flaw in everyone's argument that the commander should be resting more and taking more time off was that there was simply too much work to be done and too much chaotic aftermath from the war. As much as the group felt their leader should take it easy, they could not deny the necessity of the man's unwavering attention to every detail. More than relying on the commander, they all needed the stubborn fighter to keep pushing harder. It was horribly unfair, but Squall was the leader for a reason. Only Squall could pull it off flawlessly. The notion that being both headmaster and commander was temporary was an overused excuse used to sooth their guilty consciences, and they were slowly realizing the extent of how their expectations were harming young man.

 

The lack of response to Squall's easily countered standpoint was like a silent agreement among the companions of their guilt.

 

Seifer was in a different boat and hardly felt remorse for nearly destroying the world. Ignoring the do-gooders futile bickering, he plowed along with his own interests in mind. “With the ice prince's agreement aside, lets get down to business.” Not missing a beat, he reached out and picked up a piece of toast and placed it in the slightly open mouth of the commander, who had been about to say something. “Eat up sweet cheeks, you're looking a bit scrawny,” he commented while he ruffled the brunet's hair once again.

 

The mildly startled group had to remind themselves that Seifer's favorite pass time was annoying the commander.

 

Irvine suppressed a grin as he watched the surprised reaction of his sullen friend. The toast was hanging in the air with one corner held loosely between parted lips, while grey-blue eyes held the confusion of a child. “Is this a case one of us will be assigned?” the sharpshooter asked, going along with Seifer's suggestion and ignoring the wishes of the commander.

 

“No,” Quistis answered as forerunner of the investigation. “I'm certain Squall would never allow that.” Turning her gaze to the commander, she raised her eyebrows in question. A subtle nod was Squall's only confirmation as he set the toast on the plate. She could only push him so far before he'd pull rank and dismiss everything. Expending the use of the most prominent members of Balamb Garden to head an investigation that he didn't want going on in the first place would be too much.

 

“So what now?” Zell asked, leaning back and rubbing his belly contently.

 

“Now,” Quistis began, “I will continue in the usual course of action. There will be a more rigorous investigation. No details given to outside sources. It'll be conducted under the radar. The last thing we need is public inquiry. Without calling in professionals, it's pretty much up to myself and a few others who I've included to resolve this.”

 

“Who else?” Irvine asked, wondering why outsiders could help, but not them.

 

“There are a few rather talented members of the Trepies. I'm not proud to say I'm extorting their use, but in any case, they would jump off a cliff if I asked them to. I've recruited three of them. They are all rather talented in data analysis, so they're particularly useful. If I ask for absolute secrecy it will be given.”

 

Light eyebrows creased over violet eyes as Irvine absorbed the head instructor's words. “You have obsessive stalkers trying to catch another obsessive stalker, all the while giving them classified details about our dear commander?” he asked in a tone that expressed his disapproval.

 

“Yeah Trepe, that doesn't sound like you,” Seifer piped in, not actually disapproving, but wanting to goad the woman.

 

Straightening in her seat, Quistis defended herself, “It's not like there are many options.” She frowned and glared at the sharp shooting cowboy. “Squall is too damn stubborn to let me enlist any help outside of Garden, and he won't let you guys help since he'd consider it a waste of time and disregard for your own responsibilities. I mean what do you want? He doesn't even think this is a problem.” Having spoken in nearly one entire breath, she inhaled sharply.

 

“Hey,” Seifer cut in before Trepe could continue. “Could you stop talking about the guy like he isn't here?” he requested, gesturing to the brunet beside him. The blond frowned when his eyes fell upon a still commander. Seifer reached out for a forgotten piece of toast that had a tiny bit of the corner missing and picked it up. Looking from the toast to the tightlipped and almost vacant expression on Leonhart's face, Seifer reached his other hand down beneath the table and pinched the slender man's inner thigh. This earned him an immediate reaction, as the pale man jerked away and opened a previously clamped mouth to yell at him. Seizing the opportunity, he again pressed the toast past parted lips. “Eat,” he commanded.

 

The exchange seemed to go unnoticed by the others. Zell and Selphie had begun to discuss plans to capture the unknown person who had taken such intimate photos of their leader.

 

“Zell, Selphie, I was serious when I said you can't be involved,” Quistis chastised.

 

“Like hell we aren't going to do something,” said Zell.

 

Back and forth across the table, the four friends fought to find a suitable choice of action.

 

The noise was irritating to Squall's severely throbbing head. The pills had yet to kick in. He knew he was in for a rather nasty migraine and only hoped the medicine would begin working soon. That afternoon's press conference was going to be murder. There were going to be more personal questions than usual. He suspected it wouldn't just focus on the treaty with Esthar and his shocking relationship with President Loire, but that it would also be the beginning of the public's knowledge of Rinoa's disappearance.

 

The mere prospect of the cameras and questions was setting Squall on edge. His mind was wandering, unable to focus with all the noise. He took a sip of water to wash down the dry and tasteless bread that the insolent blond had forced into his mouth. His stomach thanked him for the meager rations, but he suspected his steadily growing migraine would force it back up soon enough. There was too much work to be done to continue arguing with everyone. He wanted a resolution found quickly, preferably one of his own making.

 

Mind grappling for a solution that would set his friends at ease while also keeping them uninvolved, he drew a blank. Shaking his head, dark brown tresses splaying about, he realized it simply wasn't possible to satisfy everyone. Clenching his jaw, Squall resigned himself to the only solution he could come up with at the moment. “There will be no investigation,” he murmured, voice hardly above a whisper.

 

“You can't-” Quistis began to protest, willing to sit here all day in order to convince Squall, but she was cut off when the young man hushed her with a weary glare.

 

“It's not request,” Squall continued, not wanting to flat out state that he was pulling rank. “I will accept one of your conditions, if you will comply with my order.”

 

For a moment everyone else just looked at the commander, confused by his words. Slowly they began to suspect his meaning.

 

Frowning, Quistis weighed her options. If she didn't enforce some level of protection, then she feared the worst possible outcome somewhere further down the road. If it were all the stubborn commander would give her, then she'd take it. Resigned to the compromise, the she grinned and turned her attention to Seifer. “This makes is official Mr. Almasy. I have the contract in my office. You can sign it later, perhaps during the press conference, when we can go over the details.”

 

“What?” Zell cried in outrage. “Are you seriously going to let this guy stay here?”

 

“Zell, please, just let it go,” Squall spoke softly, hating that he had given. Arguing after he'd already relented would be beating a dead horse. The fact that he was accepting his rival's protection was hard enough already.

 

For the rowdy martial artist, the commander's request seemed to be all he needed to keep his opposition to himself.

 

 

TBC…