Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Home for the Holidays ❯ Chapter 1

Home for the Holidays

All Characters borrowed without permission from SquareSoft will be returned, only slightly traumatized, upon request. Written for love, not profit.

`Hero' Universe. Warnings: Yaoi, foul language, and Holiday Stress

For Darksquall. Sorry this took so long.

 

Chapter One

 

*

Squall covered the mic portion of the phone with his hand. “How do you feel about spending Yule with Selphie and the gang?”

 

“The gang being Irvine and their kid or everyone?”

 

“Sounds like everyone.”

 

I thought about it. “Is my other choice being boiled in snail slime?”

 

Squall turned back to the phone. “Seifer can't wait.”

 

“Give me that!” I lunged for the phone but I could already tell it was too late. I could hear squeals of joy long before I got the receiver in the vicinity of my head. I shot my lover a venomous look, but he just shrugged.

 

I can't really lay all the blame on Squall; he'd been trying every variation of `no' for at least twenty minutes. The problem being, in Tilmit-speak, `no' means `yes', and `hell no' means `I'd love to'. “Selphie,” I said, “we can't make it. We have plans.”

 

“Spending the day in bed doesn't count as plans, Seifer.”

 

Damn, there went my present for Squall.

 

She continued merrily, “No one should be alone at Yule! And what about your birthday?”

 

“Selph,” I said, thinking fast, “let me talk to Irv.” I'd just tell him no, and let Irvine explain it to Selphie. He's the one who married her, after all. I wondered briefly if Kinneas had meant to do that, or if that was just another time Selphie wouldn't take `no' for an answer. I spared a moment to feel a bit sorry for him, and their son, Trabian, too.

 

“Seifer,” Irvine's golden voice purred over the line. “Thanks for talking Squall into this, it means a lot to us to have the whole Orphanage Gang together for Trabian's first Yule.”

 

Holy halfassed Hyne in a handbag. I hoped `the whole Orphanage Gang' didn't include Cid and Edea, that would be awkward as fuck. Bad enough Zell and I could barely make nice with each other. Wait, what? “'Trabian's first Yule'? Tray doesn't give a shit if we're there or not! I've only seen him once since he was born, and Hyne, I was wearing a pink prom dress at the time.”

 

I lost a bet over masquerade costumes, okay?

 

“That's why it's so important he meet and bond with you now. I don't want our son thinking all his gay uncles are drag queens, too.”

 

A muscle in my jaw twitched. “Put Selphie back on. I have to apologize for making her a widow the next time I see you.”

 

Kinneas laughed and suddenly I had Selphie chirping back in my ear. I surrendered to the inevitable as gracefully as I could, and dutifully scribbled down train connections and the address to the rustic farm house she'd rented for a story book Yule celebration.

 

“We want to get you guys something for your apartment, too. What is your décor like?”

 

“'Décor'? Guys don't have a `decor', `Elf.” How gay did she think we were?

 

I could almost hear the eye roll. “You are as bad as Squall. Wait, you can't be, he's color blind.”

 

“You're color blind?” I asked the love of my life. You'd think I'd notice these things. On the other hand, our home was largely decorated in black leather. Silly me, I thought he just liked the stuff. Squall shrugged, which was no answer, but knowing him, he probably wasn't sure. Selphie yelled over the phone for me not to ask Squall, as he didn't know anything anyway. Ok, fine.

 

“Don't you have a theme, Seifer?”

 

I looked around. “'Somewhat beat up' is a theme?”

 

“I'll just tell everyone `black and white' like always,” she sighed.

 

“Hey, our whole place isn't done in black and white!” For one thing, the bathroom came with some truly hideous babyshit brown tiles.

 

“Yes, that's good, Sweetie. I'll handle it. Oh, and don't bother wrapping your gifts, Quisty and I will do it for you once you're here.”

 

“Wrapping? Gifts?” I was starting to feel the icy hand of dread on the back of my neck. Or maybe that was Squall's hand, he'd perched on the arm of the sofa and was reaching for the phone, which I gladly relinquished. “We are supposed to bring gifts,” I told him.

 

“It's a Yule thing,” Squall explained to me before turning to the phone. “Yes, you win, we'll be there. Yes, for reals. No, we won't make up a lie and bail. Yes, I know you can track us down anywhere. Yes. Yes. Hyne, yes! Hanging up now, Selphie.” Which he did with a snap of the phone.

 

“If you'd done that 40 minutes ago,” I pointed out, “We could be having sex by now. And be free on Yule.”

 

“I'll make it up to you,” Squall promised, shimmying out of his white tee.

 

 

*

 

Shopping is something best done alone, late at night, just a man, a credit card, a toll free number from the infomercial. You give the nice lady all your pertinent numbers and 10 business days later you are the proud owner of a waffle iron that doubles as a donut maker. If you don't mind your donuts looking a bit waffley. This is how a man shops.

 

Unfortunately, we didn't have 10 business days before we had to catch our train, and Squall and I both knew horrible, dire, and highly illegal things would happen if we missed that train or showed up empty handed. So, off to the shopping center we went.

 

Our third circle of the choked parking lot, I voted we go back to the apartment and hope for a decent infomercial and overnight delivery. Not that it mattered, because we were immediately caught in a traffic jam caused by one large trendy car driver who was convinced someone up the way was bound to leave eventually and thus she would score a primo parking space. Naturally, she planted her oversized sporty vehicle exactly in the center of the aisle so no one could pass on either side. “I have a suggestion,” I said.

 

Squall's hands tensed on the steering wheel. “Does it involve fireballs?”

 

“No, but that's an alluring alternative. I say we leave the damn car right here. We can be done shopping before this bitch moves.”

 

Anything he had to say on the subject was eclipsed when an exhausted looking woman dragging several hyper excited children and a multitude of bags arrived at her car. It was several car lengths behind Trendy - right next to us, in fact. Proving logic was not Trendy's long suit, she immediately threw her car in reverse and tried to force the entire line of 6 vehicles she'd been holding prisoner to back up and let her have the space.

 

“Tell me you have Firaga stoked,” Squall said, shifting gears and turning around in his seat, hunting for a way to avoid the idiots in front of us. Sadly, we were hemmed in by matching idiots behind us. It was bookends of Stupidity.

 

Now we were all well and truly trapped, and Trendy was determinedly inching backwards. I think the person immediately behind her must have just given up, put her car in neutral, and put her faith in Hyne, because Trendy was actually pushing that car back towards our front bumper. In the large pickup behind us, the guy threw up his hands and gestured back, indicating he had no room to move, either. 

 

The shopper, unaware of the small scale war about to erupt over her parking space, continued throwing kids and purchases into the back of her car. Not that she had a chance in hell of ever being able to pull out.

 

“So,” I said conversationally, “once they hit us and the actual damage beings, how far do you think the violence will escalate?”

 

Through gritted teeth, Squall said, “The term you are searching for is `carnage'.”

 

“Thought so.” Squall loves his car, his gunblade, and me, and I'm not exactly sure about in which order. I did know the Torama would cost the most to replace. I bailed out, waving my hands in aircraft signaling fashion. “Lady, lady, look around you for fuck's sake!”

 

 The woman in front of us rolled down her window. “I've called the PeaceKeepers!”

 

 “Good, they'll be here about August. Let me handle this.” I don't know how she thought they were going to get through the traffic to arrest anyone.

 

The guy in the big pickup truck had gotten out, too, probably in the same humor Squall and I shared. This was going to get ugly fast. Squall jumped out to talk to him, but I didn't hold out much hope of either of them calming the other. The shopper joined in, correctly pointing out in a whiny tone that if someone would move, they could have her parking space.

 

Trendy started yelling at that, and rolled down her passenger side window, leaning across the seats to scream at me, “That's my parking space!”

 

“You can't have it, you crazy bitch!” Someone yelled. Probably not me. Or Squall.

 

I summoned up my best dealing with nutbars expression. “Lady, you are about to cause a riot. Just move on.”

 

“It's mine!”

 

“I'm not giving it to you, you greedy twat!” Ah, it was the shopper voicing her opinion.

 

 “You tell her, Honey!” Clearly, the pickup truck guy was going to be no help.

 

“Yeah,” Peacekeeper Summoner chimed in. “Go back in and shop some more, M'am!”

 

“Noooooo,” the shopper's kids wailed, echoed by Trendy and several others.

 

“You can't have that space, I saw it first. That makes it mine!”

 

“I saw your momma's ass first but that doesn't make it mine,” I snapped. I took a deep breath. I hate breaking one of my own rules, namely `Never argue with idiots'. “This is how this is going to go. You are going to drive away now. Or I am going to start casting spells. At the end of my casting, you are going to be a very unhappy person. And a pedestrian. Are you following me?”

 

She stared at me, and I grinned at her. I held up my left hand, where the silvery green lights of a Stop spell were forming. “I'm going to cast Sleep on you,” I lied, “and drag you out of there by the hair, and drop you in the largest pile of crap I can find, head first. Then I'm going to cast Mini on your piece of shit vehicle, and throw it as far as I can. I used to play outfield in softball, I have a pretty good arm. Or you can stop acting like a spoiled child and drive away.” I was actually going to cast Stop on her, put the car in neutral, and hope Squall, the pickup truck guy and I could push her heavy assed vehicle out of everyone's way.

 

Trendy eyed my hand and a teeny flicker of intelligence, or self-preservation, kicked in. She threw the vehicle in gear and resolutely looked forward. A millisecond before she drove off, Squall called, “Stop! Don't let her leave!”

 

“Holy Halfassed Hyne!” I lunged through the window to grab for the gear shift.

 

Squall actually swung up onto the back of her trendy van thing and hung there, one handed, while he kicked at Peacekeeper Caller's car. “She's locked bumpers with the car behind!”

 

Little details like that didn't bother Trendy; she stomped the gas, dragging me, Squall, and the unlucky little car with its screaming driver along. I let the Stop spell fire off, thwarting Trendy's attempts to close the window on me, but I was too distracted to aim for her or the engine and she kept going. I fell back, on my ass but clear of the maniac, in time to see Squall remedy the bumper situation with a slash from Lionheart. The Peacekeeper Caller's car rolled to a stop, Trendy's bumper fell off with a crash, and Squall jumped lightly off the back and ran over to me.

 

 And right past me. “Seifer,” he called out. “Get the car, I see a parking space!”