Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Defining Love ❯ Defining Love ( Chapter 28 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

By: DB2020

Note: the opening of this chapter is at a time earlier than when Seifer arrived outside Cale's apartment in the end of the last chapter.

Defining Love

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Irvine concluded his heated conversation with the perpetually belligerent ex-knight by mashing the end-call button on his cell phone. Resisting the urge to toss the innocent device into the air and shoot it to pieces, he cursed instead.

He suspected Almasy had some sort of sixth sense for knowing the most inopportune times to stir up trouble. He had been in the middle of meditating for his competition. After the distress he had so recently been caused, he would be unable to clear his mind no matter how long he worked at it.

Hearing from the arrogant blond in the first place had been aggravating enough, but to know Squall's phone was in the forceful man's hands meant the pair had come into contact that day.

Playing the role of a concerned friend, he decided to visit Squall's apartment. From what he could gather after Almasy's line of questioning, his commander had gone AWOL.

Knocking as a courtesy on Squall's apartment door, Irvine didn't actually wait for anyone to answer before he entered his code and swiped his card. Honored with being one of very few people permitted entry at all times, as he stored his card in his wallet he remembered why Selphie's privilege had been revoked after a strange incident involving a birthday surprise.

“It's me,” he called out as a precaution. Hastening inside, he took a quick look around the main flat. It was almost four o'clock and the asocial mercenary would have a scarce number of places to go on a Wednesday afternoon.

With a sigh, Irvine migrated to the master bedroom. He hadn't expected to find Squall at home because it was just common sense for the ex-knight to have checked there before calling him.

Absently wondering if he was overprotective by nature or by necessity, he surmised that regardless of how mandating his friendship with Squall was at times, the selectively capable commander needed all the help he could give. He didn't consider it a burden, just worrisome. If Almasy's interference were truly a result of jealousy, then the recent turmoil in Squall's life was by chain reaction a result of his insistent matchmaking.

Glancing inside the spacious bedroom, violet-blue eyes landed on the unoccupied bed. “Squall?” he called out again, noticing the way the comforter was disturbed.

Receiving no response, he stepped back into the hallway. An uneasy suspicion formed in the back of his mind as he looked to either side of the dim corridor. The question that was bothering him the most was what had happened during the time Squall had apparently been in contact with Seifer.

Gravitating instinctively, as if knowing he would find something in the spare bedroom, he bypassed Lore's room completely. Standing motionless in the open doorway, he surveyed the room. A closer examination wasn't necessary to draw obvious conclusions. He stalked forward and angrily yanked at the strewn bedding. Fabric whipping the air, he gathered the sheets and quilt up.

More than not wanting Lore to find the soiled bedding, he didn't want any trace of the bastard ex-knight in the apartment.

Taking it upon himself, Irvine laundered all evidence of Seifer and Squall's meeting. He knew the answer to his question and couldn't imagine a worse one.

Vengeance suddenly foremost in his mind, it wasn't until his cell phone began ringing that he snapped out of his daydream involving the sorceress' lapdog full of bullet holes. Grumbling under his breath, he was slow to realize Lore was the one calling.

“What's up?” he answered as calmly as possible.

“Hey,” Lore greeted stiffly. Hesitating, there was dead air for several moments. “Did Seifer call you?” he finally asked.

Barely containing the curses that his lips felt prone to forming at the mere mention of Seifer Almasy's name, Irvine coughed to cover his slip. “He called about your dad,” he replied. He followed casually with, “Is your dad with you?” The second place he would have thought to search for the commander was with Lore.

“No,” Lore answered in a worried tone. “I talked to Dad a couple hours ago, sort of.”

“What do you mean by sort of?”

Lore confessed guiltily, “I only talked long enough to let him know I'd be staying with Grandpa tonight.”

Leaving the washer to do its job, Irvine exited the bathroom and traveled back to the studio flat of the apartment. “Do you know where your dad is right now?” he asked rather demandingly, forgetting for a moment who he was speaking to.

“No.”

Irvine scoffed. “Then that makes two of us,” he commented.

“Three,” Lore corrected. “Seifer wanted to know too.”

Developing an automated response, Irvine squeezed his phone tightly. “You sound less upset about yesterday,” he said to keep their conversation going.

“I'm not,” Lore admitted. “Is my dad missing or something? Should I be worried?”

Not wanting to panic the boy, Irvine settled for a noncommittal response. “If Almasy's involved, it usually means trouble, but your dad is pretty smart when it comes to avoiding trouble.”

“Yesterday,” Lore began hesitantly, “what was that about? I mean, why was my dad…”

“Not putting up a fight?” Irvine readily supplied. They both knew it was the exact opposite of putting up a fight. When he had walked in, the rivaling swordsmen had both appeared ready to fuck each other right in the apartment's entryway. Lore had no doubt overheard just how consensual an affair it had been.

“Yeah.”

“I'm on my way to see you by the way,” Irvine said off topic as he left the apartment. “Are you at the palace?”

“No. Grandpa likes to stay at a smaller place. It's in the first district still.”

“Okay, text me the address so I can save it.” Waiting a moment, Irvine's phone signaled a received message. He glanced at the address and nodded to himself when he recognized the street. Refocusing on his conversation, he explained, “Your dad has a lot of really confusing feelings for Seifer.” He longed kick the blond's ass.

“Confusing how?” Lore snapped. “He lied to me. He could have told me what was going on.”

Frowning, Irvine remarked, “What? He was supposed to tell you that he was involved with someone you disapproved of?

“It would have been better to tell the truth,” Lore reasoned ardently.

Shaking his head, Irvine admonished, “You're old enough to understand that this isn't something your dad is proud of. You know how he hates disappointing you.”

“I was more disappointed by his lies.”

“I think you're the one lying now,” Irvine stated matter-of-factly. “I think you're really upset because you were in a situation where you wanted to protect your dad, but just couldn't.”

Lore didn't respond.

“It was an intimidating and shocking situation for you. I know you don't want to hear this, but you're only sixteen and you're still a kid in a lot of ways. It's not your fault for freezing up.”

“But I've always said I'd protect him!” Lore exclaimed abruptly. “I know it's not my job, but that's how I feel. I want to protect him, so why didn't I? All I had to do was walk up to them and let them know I was there.”

“It's not your fault,” Irvine reiterated.

“I'm not so sure of that,” Lore returned.

“It's not your dad's fault either, so go easy on him.” Irvine wondered whether this was the first falling out the perfect father-son pair had ever had. While he was far from enthused about the circumstances, a bit of unrest might serve to do some good for the stubborn duo who had never dealt with the darker side of family relations. Being so close and having such a strong attachment to each other meant lies and deceit were potent agents to breed distrust if Squall and Lore didn't learn to accept that it wasn't always about warm feelings.

“It's hard to talk to him now,” Lore mumbled morosely.

Chuckling, Irvine assured, “Talking isn't the hard part. Saying what you really want to say is the problem. He already knows that you know, so you'll have to discuss it sooner or later.”

Intoning a sound of agreement, Lore then asked, “How come you're coming to see me?”

Irvine stepped off the elevator. “I'm trying to find Squall,” he answered, his worry increasing as he recalled the manner he had found the guest bed in. “If he shows up anywhere, it'll be where you are.”

“Something is going on,” Lore surmised uneasily. “Has something happened or is this more of that unnecessary worry you're always telling me I have?”

Taking a deep breath, Irvine tried to think of how best to explain the current situation to Lore. “I honestly don't know,” he finally replied. “I just don't like not being able to get a hold of your dad.” Agitatedly he added, “Almasy having your dad's phone really pisses me off too.”

“You sound pissed off,” Lore commented.

“Sorry. None of what's bothering me is `cause of you.”

“But you're mad about something. Is it really just about Seifer?”

“Yes, it's really just about him,” Irvine answered. “Listen, I'll see you in twenty minutes or so, let's talk then.”

Seifer waited with bated breath, wondering if he would be permitted within the police parameter or not. The officer on crowd control didn't seem too bright, but he had no idea who else was inside the building. He imagined someone with half a brain could figure out he who he was, even if his face had been out of circulation for years.

Officer Shilo sought confirmation before letting the tall blond through. “Steiner, I got someone here who knows Leonhart.” Silent as he listened to the voice carried to the earpiece he wore, he shifted on foot. “Yeah, well if we can get him to talk, ain't that better?” He cleared his throat. Holding his cuff away, he addressed the man claiming to be family to the pretty boy without a tongue. “We might release him and he'll come to you out here.”

Impassive, Seifer didn't seem to hear the officer's words.

“I'm still here, where the hell else am I going tonight?” Shilo muttered in an impatient tone. “Okay, I'll take him inside then. Meet him off the lift.” Shaking his head in exasperation, the officer produced a small device from his belt. Holding the device up to the invisible barrier, he waited a moment. “Come on over,” he directed surreptitiously.

Seifer moved smoothly, his long legs only needing to take a single step to stand abreast of the young officer.

Resetting the barrier, Shilo hurried to lead the blond inside.

Seifer forced himself to slow down after he rushed up the steps of Bernhein's apartment building.

“I'm Officer Shilo,” the patrolman informed as he led the way to the lifts on the far end of the small lobby.

Seifer was about to introduce himself when he realized how obvious it would be that he wasn't family. “Is he okay?” he spoke instead, hoping he could at least keep the lie going long enough to set his sights on Leonhart. He didn't understand where his concern came from or why he couldn't simply leave with the knowledge that his rival was alive.

“That depends on what you mean by `okay',” Officer Shilo commented. “The paramedics already tended to him, so I don't know what's what. My partner told me had some pretty nasty scars, but he's fine now.”

Seifer scoffed. “He's always had scars. What injuries did he sustain?”

Lips forming a thoughtful frown, the patrolman informed, “I don't know. The lieutenant can tell you more.”

Seifer stood in front of the glowing lift, eyes cast upwards at the ceiling. He could feel his heart beating fiercely and it was becoming quite annoying.

“It's the second floor,” Shilo said. “Officer Steiner will direct you after this.” Nodding in parting, he turned and strode away to resume his post.

Grumbling in annoyance, Seifer mumbled his instructions to the lift almost indiscernibly. Whisked away, he crossed his arms as though the short ride were taking too long. Within a few seconds he stared down at a stocky middle-aged officer who wore the same streetwalking uniform as the previous lawman. “Officer Steiner, I presume,” he greeted smarmily, his mood too dark to care who he insulted.

Gaze narrowing suspiciously, Officer Steiner studied the formidable man with unflinching eyes. Raising his chin, he questioned, “You got ID?”

Quirking a single eyebrow, Seifer returned, “Just like every other law abiding citizen.” A ghost of smirk betrayed his conscious effort at being a smart ass.

Clucking his tongue, the older man adjusted the waist of his pants while sizing the younger and larger man up. “I don't see the family resemblance,” he muttered. Eventually finding interest in the narrow pink scar running diagonally betwixt green eyes, he stared pointedly.

“It's not polite to stare,” Seifer chastised condescendingly. He crossed his arms in a wordless statement that it would take an army to remove him.

Huffing, Officer Steiner said, “I couldn't help but notice your scar. I might think you were Seifer Almasy if I didn't know any better.”

“Would you?” Seifer muttered with an air of subtle arrogance. Wondering briefly if he was going to have to beat an officer up in order to reach Leonhart, he was surprised by how easily he decided that he was willing to do whatever was necessary.

Two apartments down along the long and wide corridor of the second floor, a door slid open and out stepped a very pale, very haggard looking Squall. Dark brown hair was askew in a manner that suggested an entire night of restless sleeplessness and stormy blue eyes seemed void of all emotion. The fighter's lithe body seemed lifeless beyond its functional animation.

Closely following was someone Seifer had never seen before, a man just shy of six feet with sandy blond hair and sharp brown eyes. Dressed in plainsman clothing, he wore black slacks, a white dress shirt, and a black tie held with a silver clip. The gun holstered at his hip and air of authority he commanded suggested he was the man in charge.

Green eyes watching closely, Seifer waited for his rival to look up and see him. It wasn't like the brunet to gaze at the ground while walking, but he supposed an array of strange behavior was warranted under the strenuous circumstances.

Delayed in realizing his surroundings, Squall was close to arms length from Seifer before noticing the ex-knight was even there. Head snapping up, he took a surprised step back, right into Lieutenant Garber. Brows furrowed, he silently questioned why the blond was there.

Seifer studied lackluster grey-blue eyes for several long moments. He didn't like what he saw. He especially didn't like how the prick standing behind Leonhart placed bracing hands on his rival's narrow shoulders. “Need a lift?” he spoke in greeting, his eyes flickering to the man behind the brunet.

Receiving a heated glare from jade green eyes, Lieutenant Garber casually removed his hands from Mr. Leonhart's shoulders and pondered the intricacies of why Seifer Almasy would take such offense. “I'm surprised you're the first to arrive.”

“Just lucky I guess,” Seifer spat uncivilly.

Studying the ex-knight curiously, the lieutenant introduced, “I'm Lieutenant Garber. I'm in charge of this crime scene and hope you don't mind answering a few questions.”

Detecting some sort of challenge, Seifer smirked. There was little need for an introduction when the lieutenant obviously recognized him. “Not at all,” he replied, stepping closer. Without a shred of subtlety, he slipped an arm around his rival's shoulders and pulled the unresponsive man closer. Though he had never wished Bernhein dead, he wasn't about to face another contender after the playing field had so recently been cleared.

Response delayed, Squall squirmed against the blond's muscular side and tried to break away without overtly signaling his distress. His mind was numb and he didn't have the energy to deal with Seifer while processing everything that had happened that night.

Seifer kept his hold firm, unwilling to release his rival. He had quite a few questions he would like to ask himself, but his urge to dash away with Leonhart was growing stronger. When the perpetually stubborn man ceased struggling, he became rather alarmed.

Squall stopped squirming, his mind lost amidst replaying visions of Cale dying. It had been an unnecessary death, a death wasted on protecting him. Hearing the sound of each gunshot as clearly and distinctly as if it were actually happening, his heavy eyelids twitched once, then twice, and then a third time. Grey-blue eyes staring forward, Squall did not acknowledge Seifer's presence or even see the lieutenant standing a foot away. With the last gunshot, long lashes fell to cover weary eyes, the image of Luca with a gun filled his head and he felt sick as he counted the number of missed opportunities he had to prevent the events of that night.

Lieutenant Garber gazed concernedly at the president's son. Though he had never been a soldier, after ten years on the force, he understood what it was like. The difference between death on the battlefield and death at home was vast. Without mental preparation, the experience was devastating. Too empathetic to the brunet's situation, he let out a gruff sigh and turned his attention to Seifer Almasy. “I'm not going to keep him here. He's not talking, but he wrote it all down in detail. I want him to come by the station tomorrow, but he's free to leave tonight.”

Squeezing tighter, Seifer tried to force a reaction out of the smaller man. When the brunet continued to stare blankly, his frown deepened. “Perhaps your questions for me can wait as well,” he proposed, becoming increasingly concerned that the weathered fighter was seriously out of sorts.

“I suppose it can,” the lieutenant agreed. Reaching inside pant's pocket, he produced a card and handed it off. “That's the precinct's address. Anytime before noon is fine.”

Card held up between his index finger and middle finger, Seifer gave a mock salute before forcibly directing Leonhart away towards the lift.

Providing a ride home, Seifer monitored Leonhart's state through a habitual series of sidelong glances. It was a long fifteen-minute ride and by the end of it some life seemed to have returned to grey-blue eyes. Proof of his rival's returning senses was in the man's ability to walk without his guide.

Trailing behind, Seifer studied his silent rival's somber form. Prepared to baby-sit for the night, he wondered what the rulebooks said about bringing up outstanding issues during such a time. Did he dare apologize for something that Leonhart probably didn't want to even think about?

Never one to follow protocol, Seifer spoke up, “Listen Leonhart, about before, I'm sorry.”

Squall came to a stop in the middle of the hallway, only a few doors away from his apartment. Shoulders tensing, he seemed about to say something, but began walking again instead.

Having practically groveled, Seifer was annoyed at the lack of response. With a lengthened gait, he caught up to the brunet. “Hold it,” he said, gripping the shorter man's upper arm.

Reacting as though the ex-knight's touch were acid, Squall tore away and glared. Not needing words, he successfully sent the message that he did not want to be touched. He had had quite enough after being escorted from Cale's apartment building.

Running on a short fuse, Seifer's temper was easily ignited. “Get over it,” he hissed, not specifying which incident he was referring to.

Steely blue eyes sharpened dangerously, confrontation serving to focus his mind on the present.

“Seriously,” Seifer added, not backing down. “Are you going to become one of those traumatized weaklings who don't know to deal and never speak again?”

“…” Too angry to resent any new insults, Squall simply continued to glare.

Sighing in exasperation, Seifer softened his expression and tried to convey some level of understanding. “I get that you're upset right now,” he said, his frustrated tone betraying his lack of patience. “I'm upset too.” At the look of disbelief that entered sharp eyes, he added, “Hey, I thought you were in one of those body bags, so yeah I was a little upset.”

Cold fury in his eyes, Squall opened his mouth to call the ex-knight's obvious lie, but he thought better of it at the last second. Never believing for a moment that the blond could possibly care about his continued existence, he decided an argument over such an issue was pointless and disrespectful to the person he should be focused on.

Practically hearing the brunet's melodious voice speak in his head, Seifer became angry when he was denied a vocal response. “Dammit, would you say something already?” The silent man hadn't said a single word to him yet.

Bowed lips only pressed together more tightly. Squall turned away and progressed closer to his apartment.

“I'm not a nice guy,” Seifer reminded, closing in on the stubborn man again. Reaching out quickly, he managed to snag the back of Leonhart's sleeveless black shirt before the swift fighter could evade his grasp. Yanking the brunet's lithe body off balance, he proceeded to pin the man to the wall. “What makes you think I'm going to start going easy on you now?”

“Disappear,” Squall whispered, maneuvering away.

Crease forming between his brows as evidence of his confusion, Seifer almost let the brunet escape before remembering himself. “Not so fast,” he muttered, forcing the capable fighter back into place. “Just what is that supposed to mean exactly?” Shaking his head, he concluded that it was difficult enough coaxing words out of the laconic loner on a good day. On a bad day it was damn near impossible.

“I don't want to see you again,” shapely lips whispered softly. The strength of meaning behind his words delivered in such a sincere tone that he might as well have shouted in fury.

Seifer just laughed, though he couldn't ignore the twinge of pain he felt in his chest. “Tell me something I don't know,” he returned. Smirking at having finally coerced the brunet to open up, he added, “What you say is generally a lot different from what your body tells me.”

Abashed, Squall did not take the ex-knight's implication lightly. Shoving the man away, he made a dash for his apartment. It took energy to argue and keep his defenses up, energy he just didn't have. He couldn't deal with Seifer that night.

Entirely amused, Seifer chased after his rival, which he had become quite good at after his eventful day. Given his close starting proximity, the only way Leonhart could have escaped was if he had taken pity on the man. Latching on to an upper arm, his blood became excited when the feisty brunet threw a punch. Catching the expected attack, he used their combined momentum and hauled the fighter towards the doorway. Having been the last to leave, he had made a few minor adjustments to the security system. He had foreseen a future involving being locked out.

“Let go,” Squall hissed, wrenching his fist free and attempting to do the same with his arm. “Stop it. Leave me alone.” He knew there was a way of breaking the ex-knight's strong hold, but he couldn't remember it. His somatic responses were failing and his mind was too jumbled to remember his training. He just wanted to be alone.

“Not tonight,” Seifer admonished, keying in his own code. No key card necessary, he was recognized as the master controller, something he took a brief moment to relish. Not wasting too much time, he ushered the brunet inside.

Jerking away, Squall tried to detach from the manhandling blond, but only succeeded in hurting his arm.

With some guilt, Seifer tried not to squeeze too hard, but the resisting swordsman was making it difficult. “I don't think anyone's home,” he commented calmly, as though he weren't in the middle of a power struggle. Grunting seconds later, he lost his wind when a bony knee married his diaphragm. Quick to react, he snatched the offending leg before it could be utilized in an escape. Coughing, his anger flared and caused him to respond more roughly than he intended.

Squall hit the floor hard when the ex-knight heaved his leg up. Managing to at least hit his back evenly, his head was the last to succumb to the evils of gravity. An alarmingly loud crack sounded as his occipital bone's durability was tested. Disoriented for a few moments, he lost track of his assailant. Remaining listless, he waited briefly before attempting to move. He cringed at the pain flaring through his skull as he turned onto his side.

Huffing a disgruntled note, Seifer chastised, “See what you made me do?”

“Bastard,” Squall hissed, tentatively sitting upright.

“You started this,” Seifer pointed out. Extending a hand, he offered assistance to the fallen man.

Having spent a decent portion of his life glaring at the arrogant blond, Squall didn't need to be completely focused to know when to give a glare. Ignoring the offered hand, he carefully knelt and then stood up. Rubbing the back of his head gently, he scowled at the realization that he had lost. The selfish ex-knight would be impossible to remove from his home.

“Where are you going?” Seifer questioned as the brunet moved away. Making to follow, he nearly collided with the smaller fighter when the man came to an abrupt halt.

“Leave,” Squall murmured quietly. In an even softer voice, he added, “Please.” He just couldn't deal with Seifer's antics, especially when those antics were no longer harmless. To have the ex-knight there after what happened with Cale was wrong in every respect.

“I won't bother you tonight,” Seifer responded. Clapping a hand to a delicate shoulder, he stared at the back of wayward brown hair. “But I am staying.” The urge to touch Leonhart at that moment was quite strong, but he resisted out of sympathy.

Having expended his last resource, Squall could only do one thing after asking politely. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his mind. Forgetting that his head was throbbing and that he should perhaps make certain his lump wasn't dangerously large, he turned and struck the imposing blond.

Cursing, Seifer swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “You're still up for games, huh?” he muttered. With a scoff, he challenged, “You can't make me leave.”

Fine brows drawing together with unexpressed anguish, Squall couldn't even begin to explain that he was suddenly filled with the urge to fight because it erased everything from his mind. Attacking again, his motivations had nothing to do with actually being angry.

Laughing with amusement, Seifer caught the fist aimed at his head. Jumping back, he pulled the smaller man with him. He stepped to the side and employed a deft maneuver to place Leonhart in a firm locking hold. “Be careful, I'm looking for an excuse to lay my hands on you.”

Grunting with his effort, Squall reared back to smack Seifer hard in the chin with the back of his head. Doing more damage to the back of his already injured head than to the arrogant blond's hard chin, it still served to stun the man long enough to break free. As revenge for everything and anything, he planted his fist in the ex-knight's gut, which was very much like punching a solid wall.

Seifer could feel the force of Leonhart's striking fist through his entire midsection. The man was small, but could pack one hell of a punch. Hunched forward, he backhanded the brunet into the nearby wall. “I can go all night,” he taunted.

Straightening, hand braced against the wall he collided against, Squall glared at the cocky blond. Licking blood from his lip, he stood away from the wall. “Prove it,” he spat, fists raised to signal he was ready to go again.

Blood on fire, Seifer was strangely turned on by the magnitude of strength he saw in stormy blue eyes. There was no fear, not a single trace of the vulnerability revealed after he had penetrated the man with force. There was no one stronger than his rival, not even himself. They were indeed equals among the highest elite. Their strength and skill was mirrored in everyway. The thought of exploring sex with such an ironically compatible person was beyond exciting.

Realizing his desires were escalating, Seifer decided to find an outlet through fighting, lest he end up raping the man. He motioned for Leonhart to attack, hoping his concentration wasn't affected by his growing hard on.

Squall's chest tightened painfully and before images of Cale could surface in his mind, he lashed out against Seifer.

Heart racing, Seifer stood posed in a defensive stance for several anticipating moments. Covered with a thin sheen of sweat, his body was aching with complaints of heavy bruises and more than a few cuts on the inside of his mouth. Green eyes stared sharply as an exhausted and disoriented Leonhart slowly clambered up from the ground.

In disbelief, Seifer watched the fierce fighter stand unsteadily, unfocused eyes targeting him as an opponent. Having had quite enough, he was prepared to deal a final blow regardless of how cruel it might be. Before he could make his move, a sluggish and thoroughly beat up brunet swayed. Not thinking twice, his legs strode forward and his strong arms supported an unconscious pretty boy.

“It's about fucking time,” Seifer groused, slipping an arm behind slack knees and sweeping the stubborn man up off the ground. A cursory scan of the domestic battlegrounds showed knocked over furniture, a few spatters of blood, several holes in the walls, and a television that probably wouldn't turn on again. There was a reason why fights weren't staged indoors, but he doubted the strangely aggressive swordsman cared very much about anything that night.

Walking off towards Leonhart's bedroom, Seifer carried the physically drained man. He had known such an end was only a matter of time, but hadn't thought their fight would last so long. The apartment would have crumbled down around them had gunblades been involved. As it was, he had sustained more than his fare share of scratches and bruises and lost the top few buttons on his white dress shirt. Dodging was Leonhart's forte, though he could block almost anything if he reacted quick enough.

Glancing down at the effeminate creature in his arms, Seifer was both content and unsettled to see the same amount of damage. “I suppose I'm to clean you up now,” he murmured to himself, pushing the bedroom door open with his boot.

Gingerly, Seifer laid the light form of his rival down on the bed. His hand cradled the back of the man's head gently, his fingers disturbed by the feel of swelling. Thinking it best to give the brunet a potion before possible head trauma cause the unconscious man to slip into a coma, Seifer straightened up and began to turn away. Not even managing to take a first step, his wrist was caught by a weak grasp.

With a deep frown in place, Seifer turned back to his rival. Staring down, he met dim eyes with question in his own. He was surprised the former commander was conscious again. Reversing the loose grip, he took Leonhart's thin wrist in his grasp and sat on the edge of the bed. The sinking of the mattress seemed to stir the brunet for a moment, but the injured man did nothing more than peer at him from beneath drooping eyelids.

Green eyes searched for some indication of what his rival wanted. He couldn't read such a clouded gaze when it was fogged and not entirely rooted in reality. He could not follow into the depths of Leonhart's vast mind and was left wondering what the man wanted from him when it was plainly obvious he had been stopped from leaving for a reason.

“What is it?” Seifer asked. Leaning over the still form of his rival, he directed the slack arm he held up to rest back down on the bed, pinning it pointlessly if only to reinforce his domineering position.

Squall stared at the ex-knight. His body screamed at him to not move an inch. Pain radiated from too many places to pinpoint any one location. He knew there was something he should be remembering, but nothing came to mind. Something had happened, something bad, but he couldn't figure out what it was. As the blond leaned over him, heat stirred inside his sore body. He had the strangest desire for the musky scented blond. His lips needed to be kissed, but that was hardly a request he was going to make.

Eyes flickering to pout lips, Seifer stared intensely at the attractive shape. The bottom lip was slightly swollen on one side, a hint of blood in the corner. Acting on compulsion, his tongue met the small cut on enticing lips, licking the wound clean.

Letting out a small gasp, Squall flexed the fingers of his left hand and felt Seifer's grip tighten on his forearm as a result. Not quite willing to instigate anything, he lay quiet and submissive as the blond's tongue slid deeper, moving inside his mouth and finally meeting his own tongue.

Seifer moved at an agonizingly slow pace. He tasted blood, the coppery tang hardly a pleasant flavor, but the warmth and slickness of his rival's mouth was too arousing to stop. His lips pressed against Leonhart's while his tongue invaded the man's mouth. Careful at first, he initiated a gentle kiss that was little more than their tongues twining while their lips consequently meshed slickly.

Breath hitching, Seifer braced his free arm on the other side of the reclining fighter's form. Short of climbing atop the man, he leaned his upper body closer. Before he could move further, he broke away. With a deep breath, he looked down and reined his desires in.

Squall remained listless, his eyes closed and his body on fire. It suddenly grew cold without the blond kissing him, but he didn't complain.

“I'm going to grab a couple potions. For Hyne's sake, don't go anywhere this time,” Seifer muttered, standing swiftly from the bed before he lost control and mauled the tantalizingly defenseless invalid.

Remembering he had left a set of potions in Leonhart's kitchen, Seifer walked briskly under the assurance that it would be impossible for the brunet to slip away without his noticing. His unease was not alleviated though, causing him to break into a jog once he snatched the clear vials from the countertop. Rushing to the bedroom door, he filled the entrance and looked to the bed as though expecting it to be empty.

Grumbling inwardly, Seifer ran a hand through disheveled blond locks and berated his ridiculous behavior. He approached the bed while uncapping one thin vial. As he gazed downward, it seemed to him that Leonhart was sleeping, gentle breaths escaping barely parted lips. Hesitating for a moment, he eventually sat back on the edge of the bed, but his disturbance didn't seem to stir the man, which neither suggested nor refuted the possibility that Squall was asleep.

Downing the first vial of healing liquid, Seifer waited for the tingling sensation to subside. Health restored in the strange instantaneous manner than was quite unnatural for the body to deal with, he glanced down at the former commander. “Your turn,” he murmured.

Squall stirred, his eyes opening partway to look up at Seifer. He was still trying to remember. “I forgot,” he said quietly. “I forgot something.”

With an appeasing nod, Seifer helped prop the brunet's head up. Before the second vial touched expectantly parted lips, he retracted it. A quick glance into stormy blue eyes informed him that Leonhart wasn't going to protest anything he did, which was somehow both arousing and entirely un-sexy at the same time.

Lacking the sexual tension and barely contained passion that had been between them in recent weeks, Seifer wondered if he could coax some sort of reaction out of the apathetic man. Tilting the contents of the second vial into his own mouth, he hastily bent to administer the tasteless liquid in an unceremonious fashion.

Squall swallowed reflexively, choking a bit as he did so. It wasn't easy to drink something while having a second tongue invading his mouth.

Chuckling darkly, Seifer nipped at his rival's lower lip while questioning, “Better?”

Replying awkwardly, Squall intoned a quiet, “Hmn.”

“Good,” Seifer returned, making his move. He pushed Leonhart back down, slowly straddling the man and kissing soft lips greedily. “I'll comfort you,” he explained, hand ghosting beneath the black tank top his rival had on.

As heat pooled in his loins, Squall began to have the distinct feeling that something was terribly wrong. He wasn't even sure why Seifer was in his bedroom or why the ex-knight was kissing him, and he understood even less about why he was kissing the man back. Arching into the rough feel of a calloused hand brushing over his nipple, an overwhelming sensation of guilt assaulted him.

Squall couldn't tell if his body had healed properly, because he still felt pained. Turning his head away, he rejected the lustful exploration of his mouth. He needed to remember what had happened. Why did he feel on the brink of tears with a welling lump in his throat and burning sensation in his eyes?

Not willing to give up, Seifer placed his lips upon a slender neck. He let his thumb brush over a hard nipple, winning a soft moan from the brunet. “That's it,” he encouraged, sucking hard at a beating pulse.

In an abstruse situation where his mind would not work quickly enough and his body seemed far more interested in accepting the heated touches Seifer lavished him with, Squall stared contritely to the side. His chest hurt, the pain near unbearable in contrast to the pulsing pleasure that ran through him.

Wryly admitting defeat, Seifer broke away and hovered for several moments before hanging his head and sighing. There was no point in continuing any further.

Pleasure taken away, Squall stiffened abruptly, staring wide eyed across the room. Cale's face filled his mind and he finally remembered. He remembered breaking up with the man right before it happened. He remembered the desperate words of someone in love asking to wait two whole years to try again. He remembered the handsome professor trying to express a little less compassion towards a student and failing miserably. He remembered a jealous Luca aiming a gun at him and hesitating in pulling the trigger long enough for a foolhardy Cale to shield him.

Blinking slowly, Squall saw the expression on Cale's face after it happened. The man had been concerned only so far as to assess he was okay and then the foolish islander had smiled with relief. Why hadn't he reacted first? Had he subconsciously decided Cale wasn't important enough to protect?

Seifer swallowed thickly, diffident as crystalline tears fell over long dark lashes. Leonhart was crying and it was an awing sight that left him dumbfounded. The man had cried from the pains of sex earlier that day, but there was an astonishing difference between tears of physical pain and tears of emotional pain.

Eyes opening, Squall stared through swimming tears. The lump in his throat only grew and the heavy weight in his chest only crushed his heart more. Turning on his side, he curled up dolorously and grit his teeth in an attempt not to sob aloud.

Brows knitting with growing unease, Seifer sat back and stared silently. He felt chagrinned for even thinking of having sex with the bereaved brunet in such a state. Unable to think of single consoling word to say, he backed away and stood from the bed. He couldn't be a witness to Leonhart's vulnerable state. It was just too personal.

As Seifer drew the bedroom door shut from in the hallway, he heard the first sob and frowned at the strange feeling of sadness that overcame him. Deciding to get a drink of water, he moved into the main flat, only to stop and survey the area. He wondered how soon someone would show up and draw obvious conclusions from such a scene. Though he hardly cared what anyone else thought, he didn't fancy having to walk around with bulletproof armor just to ensure Kinneas didn't snipe him from afar.

Complaining through a series of muttered insults, Seifer made quick work of sliding the rectangular area carpet back into place, righting the couch, examining the television, and forcing one of the coffee table's leg into proper alignment. Blood was easy enough to remove from areas of the carpet when the fibers resisted stains, but the walls sported dents and holes that could not be hidden. When he was finished, it was still quite obvious that something had happened. The television wouldn't turn on and he wouldn't have trusted the coffee table to stand up under the weight of a cup of tea.

Pacing back and forth in front of the balcony door, Seifer debated what he should do. He was inclined to staying the night, but was not exactly comfortable sharing a room or apartment with someone who was crying.

“You can take a shower if you want,” a quiet voice called from the other side of the large room.

Turning swiftly, Seifer stared at a damp haired brunet. He frowned at the sight of his rival fresh from a shower, wearing a new pair of jeans and a grey hoodie. “Look at you,” he commented sarcastically, wondering where the broken man had gone. He couldn't make sense of Leonhart's abrupt meltdowns and speedy recoveries.

A faint blush of embarrassment graced Squall's cheeks. He stood before his rival feeling uncomfortable after exposing himself so completely. “I needed to sober up,” he returned noncommittally.

“You weren't drunk,” Seifer refuted, choosing to take the brunet's meaning quite literal.

Squall scowled, not willing to admit he showered to stop himself from crying. As silence fell between them and he became keenly aware of jade green eyes staring at him intensely, he feigned interest in the neatened room. “You cleaned,” he commented with mock surprise.

Quirking a brow, Seifer rejoined, “I have been known to clean my messes up from time to time.”

Seeing no reason to keep talking, Squall strode across the room towards the kitchen.

“You should be in bed,” Seifer stated matter-of-factly, moving to follow the seemingly recovered swordsman.

Squall scoffed, amused that the blond sought to give him advice. “And you shouldn't be here,” he said, his prickly tone betraying his intent to pick a fight.

“As appealing as going home to look over my budget funds is, I think being here takes precedence.”

Squall regarded the ex-knight with a doubtful expression.

Clearing his throat, Seifer hastily added, “By a very small margin.”

Leaning back against the island counter, Squall hugged his arms and gazed at the floor. At length, he spoke his mind. “If I were a fool, I'd believe you cared. As far as I can tell, your ego can't take the fact that I didn't enjoy having sex with you.” Glancing up, he stared sharply at the blond. “A good man died tonight and you're here because you want to prove yourself in the bedroom. Everyone has a little shame, Seifer. Just how little do you have?”

“Don't flatter yourself, Leonhart,” Seifer countered. “You weren't such a great lay that I'm in any rush to do it again.”

“But you do intend to do it again?”

“Of course.” Seifer crossed his arms, unwilling to back down or hide his true intentions. Reflecting back on his words, he realized it sounded like he was in quite a hurry to sleep with the brunet again. Mockingly, he tagged on, “I've never left a woman unsatisfied.”

Squall closed the distanced between them in a split second, his fist wiping the arrogant smirk off the ex-knight's face. The sound seemed to echo in the still apartment. Chest heaving as he took a deep breath, he warned, “That's a line you're not allowed to cross anymore.”

“Anymore?” Seifer remarked, squaring his shoulders and rubbing his jaw sorely. Sometimes it wasn't worth pissing the former commander off.

“I'm not a woman,” Squall affirmed ardently, his eyes piercing the ex-knight with cold fire.

Annoyed and spiteful, Seifer could not keep from antagonizing the brunet. “Is that how Bernhein saw it?”

Again, Squall struck the offensive blond. His stomach knotted at the taunting use of Cale in such a petty argument. “Get out,” he hissed, no longer willing to tolerate the man's presence.

“No,” Seifer returned simply. “If hitting me makes you feel better, go for it. You've been a sadistic little fuck all night anyway and I have more potions in my car.”

“You won't leave?” Squall questioned tersely.

Seifer shook his head slowly, smirking with amusement.

Studying green eyes, Squall tried to resolve exactly what was going on in the cocky man's head. After several tense moments, he took a step back. Taking hold of his sweatshirt, he lifted it and removed it from overhead, his damp hair spiking outward as a result.

“What are you doing?” Seifer questioned in uncertainty.

“Undressing,” Squall supplied evenly, making to take the t-shirt he had on underneath off as well.

Seifer reached out and stopped the brunet. “Why?” he followed, not releasing the pale swordsman's hands.

Frowning, Squall regarded the taller man with a placating look in his eyes. “To have sex,” he elaborated. Pulling his hands free, he again made to take his shirt off.

“Stop,” Seifer ordered, needing a moment to figure out what Leonhart truly intended.

Impassively, Squall elaborated a bit more, “You're here for sex. You'll leave once you get it.”

With a disapproving expression, Seifer took a step back. He turned away, rubbing his sore jaw in disbelief. Glancing sidelong, he grumbled, “For fuck's sake Leonhart, that defeats the entire purpose.”

Brows furrowed as he tried to comprehend what possible purpose there was beyond satisfying the man's exorbitantly large ego, Squall gazed with doleful eyes.

“Shit,” Seifer swore as he stole a glance at pretty grey-blue eyes. The sadness within those usually vibrant orbs betrayed the underlying state the mourning swordsman was truly in. “You know, fuck you Leonhart. I should be the one insulted,” he accused. Pacing away, he turned to meet those same watchful eyes before looking elsewhere.

Letting his shirt drop, Squall stood calmly in place. It was apparent they wouldn't be having sex. He was relieved and grateful, but burdened with the knowledge that he had no way of making Seifer leave. “Don't compare to a woman,” he mumbled quietly.

Seifer scoffed, knowing very well such comparisons were the effeminate man's pet peeve. “Just because I topped you, it's suddenly taboo? You were pregnant for nine months. Was having my dick up your ass really more emasculating than that?”

“Just lay off,” Squall snapped, stooping to snatch his sweatshirt up from the ground.

“You're absolutely right, I shouldn't compare you to a girl. It was insensitive of me to insult the entire female population. You're more difficult than any woman I've ever known.”

“If you're not here for your ego, why the hell are you staying?”

Whirling around on the obliviously perceptive fighter, Seifer answered instinctively and without forethought. “Because you need someone…” He trailed off. It was a disturbing to realize his motivations weren't entirely self-serving. He didn't understand how such selflessness had happened.

Hugging his sweatshirt close, Squall waited for the blond to finish.

Giving a gruff sigh, Seifer turned away. “It's not as if I liked the guy or anything, but you did. Seeing as he just died….” Glancing back, he almost cringed at the sight of misting eyes, staring straight at him. He saw the dark circles contrasting peakishly pale skin and knew a shower could only keep such an exhausted body awake for another five minutes.

Squall felt himself coming apart again. Delayed in realizing his unbecoming state, he turned away abruptly and sniffed back welling tears. He was a thirty-four year old man and had already cried enough times in one day to last a lifetime. If he kept it up, he would have to let Seifer call him a woman because he would have the same hormonal balance as one. “Would you please just go?” he requested somewhat hoarsely, clearing his throat as casually as possible afterwards. It was hard to swallow, the same lump forming as before. He rolled his eyes, hoping to discourage his tear glands from disobeying his demands any further.

For the first time that evening, Seifer considered leaving. He had sought Leonhart out for sex, only to end up staying for reasons beyond his understanding. Bernhein's demise was rather unexpected and even he was reluctant to disrespect the deceased. He could at least wait until the professor was six feet under before moving in on the former commander.

Continuing to rub his jaw, Seifer debated his options. He could stay with an unsettlingly distressed Leonhart and be around when the cavalry arrived or he could leave and bide his time while Leonhart grieved. Sighing as he began to lean towards retreating, his attention shifted to the slender backside of his rival. It was such a vulnerable sight, open to attack.

Thinking that he could easily take the brunet right then and there, Seifer stepped closer with such thoughts in his mind. The reticent man responded to him physically, answering his heated touches even during the most inauspicious of times. There was no real need for the same passionate fire as before, not when there was still pleasure.

Reaching out, Seifer set a firm hand on the smaller swordsman's narrow shoulder. Squeezing a bony shoulder, he whirled the distressed brunet around. Gazing down into glossy eyes, his confidence crumbled.

Teeth clenched tightly, Squall's jaw muscle flexed as he continued to hold back welling emotions. He couldn't believe Seifer was seeing him such a state, but keeping up appearances was quickly becoming insignificant. He initially wanted to blame Seifer for his failed relationship with Cale, but there was absolutely no sense in pointing fingers. He had been the one to cheat on Cale and reject the man's love. Why hadn't he loved Cale?

Wanting to back away as dimming eyes seemed to request something from him, Seifer stood rooted in place to prove he wasn't afraid of facing raw emotions. He couldn't read minds, only body language. Leonhart's current body language was too foreign for him to decipher the distressed signal.

Mechanically, Squall stepped forward. Face meeting the musky scented collar of the robust man, he turned his head to the side and pressed closer. He was too tired to think and another shower was not likely to work. “Take me somewhere,” he murmured softly. He didn't care where, just some place he didn't have to think and no one else would see how weak he was.

Shocked for several long moments, Seifer didn't even move his raised arm, his hand still positioned as though holding Leonhart's shoulder. Grounded back to reality, he felt his body shiver when delicate hands reached up to grasp his wrinkled dress shirt. Suddenly given the cipher code, he read the brunet's body language clearly. Leonhart wanted to be comforted, sad eyes asking for kind words and vulnerable body asking for a kind touch.

Finding such irony in the situation, Seifer almost laughed out loud. He didn't have a kind fiber in his body, yet Leonhart was clinging to him desperately, tacitly requesting his comfort.

Practically begging to be taken elsewhere, Squall raised his head and looked up into green eyes pleadingly. In the far reaches of his barely functioning mind, he knew requesting Seifer's help was dishonoring Cale's memory, but it had been the ex-knight who showed up unexpectedly in the first place.

Breath hitching, Seifer reacted to those pleading eyes before he could think twice. Arms encircling his rival's seemingly frail form, he awaited some sort of response. When the brunet simply rested back against his chest, he felt his body shiver again. He wound his arms tighter. Somehow it felt extremely good.

Swallowing thickly, Seifer spoke, “I'll take you to my place.” It was the only place he could think of.

TBC…

Author's notes: It has been far too long once again, and I apologize. I had a little project that kept me from even thinking about this chapter, so much so that when I finally got back to writing it, I couldn't remember where I intended to take it. It turned out how I wanted, though I'm not sure I committed enough time to making everything as plausible as possible. I'm sorry if it felt really out of sync and out of character. I know Squall wasn't himself at all, but I do hope it was bearable. I can't say it enough, but the reviews you've all taken the time to give have been wonderful. I'm so grateful to have such awesome readers. ^_^