Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Living with Heart ❯ Living with Heart ( Chapter 3 )

 

Living with Heart

Act III

 

It was a little after one in the afternoon. Squall lounged without an immediate care in the world, forcing his mind not to dwell on any matter that he didn't have to deal with for at least another couple hours.

 

Rinoa had traipsed off to the nearest mall, not even seeing him before she left with her guard Natalie Gray. Mr. Cranston had informed him of her departure, receiving a call from Miss Gray.

 

Squall wasn't sure if he should take her sudden shopping excursion as a good sign or not. Either she'd forgiven him wholeheartedly in sight of fickle moods and the excitement of buying loads of clothes in a foreign country, or she'd decided to give him the silent treatment and distance really was the key to dulling her magic on him.

 

Whatever the reason, he had a few hours of time to kill before Laguna would be arriving. A part of him was inclined to stay indoors and work on the strategic reports Cid had requested he put together during his time away. However, he'd caught a glimpse of a small courtyard surrounded by the greenest grass he'd ever seen.

 

It was sunny, but there were trees for shade. It was a hot day, but there was a constant breeze. It was only a couple hours, but it was the first time in a long time that he'd taken the time to relax.

 

The world seemed to have stopped around him. Eyes closed, he rest his head against his folded bomber jacket turned pillow. Beneath the shade of an odd looking tree of white bark and star shaped leaves of a deep plum color, the brunet lay quietly.

 

James Cranston had watched in slight confusion as his charge said he was going to spend time in the courtyard, which was actually a garden, but the flowers were further down the pathway that lead off the courtyard.

 

The blonde guard kept his distance, not exactly picking up on any socializing vibes from the boy, figuring the kid to be the silent type. He'd briefly thought that Squall Leonhart might have been too arrogant to talk with him, a spoiled son who was used to a hired guard standing silently in the shadows, but that wasn't the case.

 

After showing the pale young man to the northeast wing of the Loire Estate, which the President had reserved solely for the brown haired boy's use, that had been the end of the tour. James didn't think the boy wanted to be there, or something along those lines. The little princess had apparently dragged Natalie all over before declaring they should head into the city to scout the best shops. Natalie was not the shopping type, and for that, James had expressed his deepest sympathies.

 

He was a fair judge of character when he had enough time to get a handle on people. The pampered princess was one of those people he could classify within the first minute of meeting. This kid Squall though was proving a little troublesome.

 

So far, he knew the boy wasn't very good with women, suffered from sorceress induced migraines, was stronger than he looked, and was nearly mute. It wasn't much, but as he took a seat on a stone-carved bench approximately twenty feet away, he was steadily adding to his list.

 

For Squall, the world was still as he remained motionless, simply lying in the grass, arms limp at his sides and head cradled by the worn leather and soft fur collar of his jacket. All at once, time flowed again and the world stirred to life.

 

Bright grey eyes opened to the blue sky blotted out here and there by dark purple foliage. It wasn't too bright for his eyes to take. The sun was shining from a western angle, whereas he stared at the eastern sky.

 

He could feel the warmth of light, shaded in areas like a leopard's fur. There was a distinctly sweet scent to the heavy humid air. He couldn't place the sweet smell, but the air held an underlying smell of rain. The humidity was far from unbearable, but surprising given the clear blue skies above.

 

The breeze reached right to the ground, blowing along trimmed blades of grass and tickling the exposed skin between his plain white t-shirt and black leather pants. Strands of his chestnut hair flopped along his forehead, not really forming to any style and moving around to rest freely with the change of wind.

 

He imagined he could feel the movement of the earth as it slowing spun. If he were able to spend more time like this, simply lazing about, he might actual enjoy this trip. However, he suspected that before nightfall, he'd receive a few calls from Balamb Garden, requesting he take on a few extra projects.

 

Cid hadn't gotten back into the swing of being Headmaster again, and Xu had just taken office. Compiling a master book of strategies and logging all battle information on his battles during the war was just the tip of the iceberg. He had a feeling he'd be doing just as much work while he was away than as if he he'd stayed at Garden.

 

Turning on his side and furling slightly, the pale brunet shifted to a more comfortable position, settling in to spend the next hour just as he was. Given his years of adjustment and experience under far more uncomfortable sleeping arrangements, the belts about his waist and dagger strapped to his thigh went unnoticed.

 

James sat stiffly, realizing he was in for an uneventful afternoon. There was little cause for worry when they were well within the secure barrier of the Loire Estate. He was more for traffic control, when they were in the heart of the city with enthusiastic citizens crowding and vying for a chance to meet the boy.

 

It still seemed unreasonable to consider all the stories about this kid to be true.

 

What sort of weapon was a gunblade?

 

Tales of the less than masculine boy's fighting feats seemed embellished. A neon sword thing that fired bullets, a single SeeD capable of taking down Adel… it just didn't fit. Then there was Ultimecia, a sorceress even more powerful than the tyrant Adel. There was little more frightening than the reign of terror Esthar was under only twenty-two years ago.

 

Adel was more masculine than this guy from Balamb, and he was supposed to believe that the sleeping beauty on the grass over there had defeated miss butch herself? Believing that it happened at all was stretch enough.

 

The minutes ticked by, one after the other, after the other.

 

James reached a hand up to pull at his collar behind his tie. Wearing a black suit while in direct sunlight was not his idea of comfortable. He was starting to feel the heat.

 

It was for this reason that the tall man stood and made his way closer to the lame form of his charge. Loire's kid hadn't moved for the past twenty minutes, causing him to suspect the boy to be asleep.

 

Something he hadn't expected was for the boy to stir suddenly when he was no more than a few steps away. The hand that grasped a knife's handle instinctively did not go unnoticed, however the presence of any weapon in the first place had. Against the inner of a slim thigh, the small black sheath was camouflaged.

 

“Hope you don't mind,” James said, uncertain about the small feeling of elation when a deft hand subtly retracted from the weapon at the sound of his voice.

 

Squall shifted, propping himself up on an arm and making to sit up. A sharpened gaze wandered the premise quickly, curious as to when he'd actually fallen asleep.

 

“Don't get up on my account. It's too hot to sit in the sun,” the blonde explained amicably.

 

With a small shake of his head, Squall conveyed that it was fine. “You don't have to watch over me,” he mumbled with underlying guilt. He hadn't given any consideration to Mr. Cranston.

 

“It's my job kid. If I weren't here looking after you, I'd be in the residence looking after someone else or standing stiffly for a four hour shift.”

 

Frowning, Squall glanced up, still half sitting with an arm supporting him. “I'm sorry, we can go back inside,” he spoke softly.

 

James returned the displeased expression, wondering what the pale boy had to be sorry for. Staring up at him like that with sincere regret in those stormy eyes, James felt that the lean brunet suddenly seemed fragile. It was an odd sense, like something had changed within the last few seconds, completely contradicting the direction his observations had been taking him in classifying Squall's character.

 

Before Squall could make to stand up, the broad guardsman placated with a frantic gesture of hands that he should remain.

 

“It's nice in the shade,” James soothed to an oddly appeasing boy. Striding closer, closing the short distance between them, he plopped down nonchalantly against the trunk of the tree.

 

Unabashed, Squall stared at his bodyguard for a long moment. He studied the older man's strong features, trying to figure exactly how he'd deal with him. Cid wanted him to secure his father's favor, and had hinted that if he could, make nice with as many well positioned dignitaries as possible. Should that be applied to Mr. Cranston?

 

Somehow, Squall thought it'd be problematic if he made nice with his bodyguard in the sense that Cid meant him to with high placed officials.

 

Then again, given that asking Laguna to introduce him to any advisors or congressmen was suspicious, he might need a connection like the one Cranston might have to offer.

 

Continuing to stare, Squall became unaware of the fact as he was drawn into self reflection. Why did he suddenly feel so reluctant, and dare he admit it, dirty about returning to the form of life he'd lead prior to the war. Were four months of reprieve, which by any sane standards weren't a vacation in the least, enough to make him become as reluctant as all those years ago? Perhaps it was the returning of memories he'd rather forget. He truly needed a Guardian Force, and soon, before it all came back.

 

James ignored the attention at first, but found himself unable to not return the stare after a minute. He saw an array of fleeting emotions pass through eyes that held an uncalled for anguish.

 

Squall found that the longer he thought about it, the worse his feeling of dread became. Hyne, he hadn't felt like this since… since he his first time.

 

In the end, the brunet decided that in Esthar, Cid would be unable to monitor him like usual. He could simply report that for whatever reason, his time could only be spent playing the part of Laguna's son.

 

The heavy weight in the pit of the Squall's stomach didn't seem to ease, but he felt relieved at the prospect of not resuming his more seedy responsibilities.

 

Just as James was about to add autistic to his list of observations and inferences, stormy eyes seemed to refocus with a sharpened sense of guard. “You okay?” he questioned, obviously referring to the other's moment of absentee staring.

 

“Fine,” Squall mumbled. If he weren't putting on airs, then the older man would quickly learn that bouts of internal focusing were commonplace for him. Turning as if nothing had happened, Squall settled back on the ground, surprising even himself with his exposing manner of resting with another person so nearby. Then again, wasn't that the point of Mr. Cranston being there in the first place?

 

It was almost an hour later, when Squall's breathing had slowed and only the soft breeze made any noise that Laguna arrived.

 

Long hair bound in a loose band, several tendrils had fallen out throughout the day, Laguna stood a at the top of a long bank of stairs. His jade green dress shirt was void of tie and unbuttoned enough to display the hollow of his neck. His cuffs were unbuttoned and the sleeves slightly wrinkled from rolling the material up at various times throughout the workday. In one arm, he held his suit jacket, not having worn it since early that morning.

 

Hazel green eyes scanned the area, not quite expecting to find his son, who he'd been told was somewhere outside around the northeast wing. He remained in place, hands pocketed in black slacks, jacket hanging limply as a breeze swept along and brushed loose strands along his face.

 

The fine lines of age were revealed as he squinted slightly, crows feet that could be found on men half his age.

 

Although it was a beautiful day, not uncommon in Esthar, Laguna hadn't really figured Squall to be the type to enjoy something like sunny weather. Then again, according to Kiros, there was a lot he didn't know about his son.

 

Spying the form of the young boy, he was further surprised. Was Squall asleep? It didn't seem plausible, but even after blinking several times, his eyes showed him the same sight. He supposed it wasn't shocking. Squall was here without anything to do except wait around for his arrival, so why not spend it outside or take a nap, or both.

 

Last he'd seen Squall was the day after the celebration ball, and the dark bags under stormy eyes did not seem to be fitting of such a delicate pallor.

 

Practically skipping down the stairs, not even careful of the steep slope they presented, the President hurried closer. All day long, he'd been detained with his Minister of foreign affairs. There hadn't been a single minute that he hadn't remembered Squall would be at his estate, waiting for him.

 

Why had that prospect made him almost giddy? Why had the day droned on as if time had slowed, almost torturously keeping him from seeing his son?

 

Each step closer to that tree, where Squall was curled on his side and the guardsman sat attentively made him feel a little more lightheaded.

 

James continued to sit idly, finding nothing better to do than think to himself and stare at the young man a couple feet away. At the sound of doors being opened, he glanced towards the courtyard and found President Loire standing at the top of the stoop of stairs that lead inside.

 

When the President was closer, James stood and saluted. “Sir,” he greeted.

 

Being saluted, Laguna felt uncomfortable, not used to it even after twenty-two years. “Erm, at ease,” the longhaired man muttered.

 

“He's not a soldier,” came a soft reply.

 

Both men who were standing turned their focus to the boy between them.

 

Squall sat up, glancing up at his father. When he stood, nearly the same height as Laguna, slightly shorter, he held the older man's gaze. Any ideas of how he should be acting were forgotten momentarily as hazel green eyes seemed to be filled with adoration, a truer depth of which Squall had never known.

 

“I didn't believe you actually came, even after Kiros said you'd arrived,” Laguna fumbled excitedly, unable to stay completely still as he wanted nothing more than to give the smaller man a tight hug.

 

“I said I would come,” Squall replied evenly.

 

“Well, Cid said you'd come. I barely got to see you that day,” the President said before quickly adding, “Not that I'm complaining. I know how busy you were.”

 

“Not half as busy as yourself. I hope I'm not cutting in to your time too much,” the pale boy replied.

 

“Not at all!” Laguna exclaimed earnestly. “Something sort of came up unexpectedly, but I've got the rest of this week off.”

 

Squall was beginning to wonder just how Laguna ran an entire country with such ease. The man appeared youthful and vibrant, not the least bit stressed after twenty-two years in office, a job that demanded total attention and no vacation time. Yet, here the raven-haired man was, smiling gaily without a care in the world. It made him feel inept, like the stress he'd felt while Commander was a weakness.

 

Yet he could not possibly hope to spurn his father for this undeniable strength of character, something he'd failed to notice behind the more obvious klutzy qualities. Those eyes seemed so innocent, so happy. It was a certain gleam he hadn't seen in the mirror since his older sister had been sent away. Somehow, it was refreshing.

 

“I hope it's alright that I've brought Rinoa,” Squall said seriously, recalling that the invitation had been for him, neither including nor excluding guests.

 

Laguna's smile seemed to falter ever so slightly. “Any friend of yours is welcome,” the older man replied. In truth, he was a bit downtrodden that he didn't have his son all to himself. But considering the aloof nature of the boy, he was counting his blessings that it had worked out this far.

 

It was a little awkward. But, Squall figured their first night would be spent making small talk, like on a first date. There was only so much they actually knew about each other. If Rinoa returned soon, then he might not have to worry about the odd absence of speaking on his part. Then again, he might be forced to speak at great lengths to keep her happy.

 

 

**

 

It was during a rather informal dinner of takeout in the kitchens that the issue was raised.

 

Laguna, who was seated on a stool, had apologized for any inconvenience, but figured his son for the type that didn't care for dining formalities. The President had explained that for the three of them, dining in the proper room would have been uncomfortable and unnecessary.

 

Rinoa was quite upset about not having a whole staff of cooks on hand, brashly asking what sort of lifestyle the President of Esthar lead that had him preferring eating from cartons at an island counter in an empty kitchen.

 

For Squall, who generally just grabbed an apple or energy bar for his meals, the setting was fine. He had other issues on his mind anyway.

 

It was the greatest relief and the first highlight to learn that he and Rinoa would not be sharing a room. In fact, they weren't even in the same wing.

 

The raven haired young woman was not happy about that at all, calling on her knight to defend her stance on premarital sharing of the bed, which they hadn't even done back in Balamb, but she assumed would be okay away from prying eyes.

 

Having known his place, Squall had remained silent, picking away at a carton of lo mein.

 

“I don't see the big deal Laguna,” Rinoa placated, “If you're okay with it, then why not let us be together?”

 

Increasingly frantic about causing any friction between someone Squall cared about, the longhaired president wasn't exactly sure how to put his foot down on the matter. “Estharian tradition is very complex, different from anywhere else.”

 

“But you said that most people have outgrown that,” she pointed out, seemingly unaware of the circular arguing they had going.

 

“Rinoa,” Squall interjected hesitantly. “As the president's son, certain traditions are expected to be upheld.”

 

“But I'm like a mile away from you,” she pouted, “How can you agree to this?”

 

Squall sighed in dejection as his headache intensified. “It's like a formality,” the brunet tried again.

 

“A formality!” she accused angrily, “Is that what I am to you?”

 

“No,” Squall asserted quickly, learning from the last time what came next. He could do without the blinding pain. “It's just like structural partitioning, it doesn't dictate where you have to sleep.” What exactly was the big deal? Her room wasn't near him, but that didn't mean she couldn't stay with him, or vice versa.

 

The silence permeated the large kitchen. There was an odd understanding between father and son, an understanding that they both had no clue. They looked at each other with some sort of connection between them. Steely blue eyes stared into hazel green, both seemed to be wondering the same question; was she going to start yelling or was she satisfied?

 

“You want me to sneak into your room like some mistress?” Rinoa hissed, her voice shaking with anger as her eyes brimmed with tears.

 

Suddenly the highlight of Squall's trip turned into a nightmare. There was no build up, unless the dull headache counted. All at once a white light seemed to flash before his eyes, blinding him as searing pain shot through him. It wasn't just the jabbing needles in his head, but rather his whole body suddenly felt like it had submerged twenty thousand leagues under the sea. The air was forced from his lungs, his heart rate rapidly declined, as it became such a struggle against the vice like grip to give off a beat.

 

Lame chopsticks fell from his hand, clattering lightly to the counter top. Unable to make any noise, it wasn't until he attempted to stand up and crumpled to the ground that his predicament became apparent.

 

“Squall!” Laguna cried, leaping from his seat so quickly that the stool overturned.

 

“Oh my god, Squall!” Rinoa chimed hysterically, frozen in a panic. She watched as her boyfriend curled up and writhed in pain, unable to believe it was happening.

 

In a swooping flutter, Laguna crouched over his son's form. “Get a doctor!” he yelled, seemingly to no one, perhaps Rinoa. There had to have been at least one bodyguard in the room or within hearing range.

 

James was already on his phone, making a second call for Dr. Odine specifically.

 

“Stop it!” Rinoa cried at her boyfriend, “This isn't me! Just stop it!” She refused to believe that this was her fault, dreading the idea that her moods really affected her knight so negatively. This wasn't at all like it should be.

 

Squall tried to take a gasping breath, unconcerned that it felt like all his ribs had broken. He needed air, but his chest was being crushed. He couldn't think, no rational thought forming amidst the blinding pain in his head.

 

The sandy blonde guard stalked closer from an open doorway, his strides calm and measured. He walked right passed the President and incapacitated son towards the hysterical young sorceress. Beneath his calm demeanor, his nerves were rather jittery considering he was approaching a sorceress.

 

In a deft jab of his fingers, striking in just the right pressure point, he put the girl into an unconscious state. He was careful as he caught her and set her limp form on the floor, propped against the wall.

 

The effect was immediate, just like the initial onslaught.

 

Suddenly able to breath, Squall gulped in air, but coughed it right out as his lungs protested the expansion. A lurching pain came over him, as if punched in the gut right after scarfing down hotdogs like Zell. However, the meager contents he'd eaten throughout dinner thus far were not what he choked back down. The coppery tang of blood filled his mouth. His lips and hand were coated with it as he couldn't help but continue coughing.

 

Clambering to his knees, Squall ignored the gripping hands at his shoulders. “M'fine,” he managed between coughs. His vision danced, but it was a lightheaded blur that would pass once his breathing returned to normal.

 

“Gods, you're coughing blood,” Laguna muttered. He was torn between the distant rift he felt between the type of persons he and Squall were. Aside from his hands upon narrow shoulders, he'd never touched to boy in so much as a hug. He was ashamed to hesitate because he feared Squall didn't want him any closer than an arms length shake of the hand or pat on the shoulder.

 

The hesitation was fleeting, his concern overwhelming him. Hardly considering his son to be fine, he steadied the boy as they slowly rose.

 

Squall found himself pressed against a firm chest, his balance set for him. Able to react for the first time, he fumbled for the small thin vile of hi-potion held in his belt. Before he could uncap it, it was taken from his hands.

 

Laguna had the potion from his son no sooner than the boy fumbled for it. His hand was steady and deft. He uncorked the vile of clear liquid with the underused technique of gripping the small stopper with his teeth. With one arm wrapped around the lithe frame of the brunet, he brought the potion to blood stained lips.

 

If Squall hadn't been occupied with his breathing, he'd have refused the older man's help. However, at the cool feel of the magic infused liquid being poured passed parted lips, he drank. Swallowing down traces of blood and hi-potion, it was naught five seconds before the only trouble he had was shortness of breath, which was cured easily enough by simply breathing.

 

“Rinoa,” Squall said, pushing away from the older man who held him.

 

Angry as Squall thought he should be over the unconscious state of his sorceress, he couldn't help but feel relief. And because of that relief he felt guilty beyond measure. She was sweet and innocent, everything he wasn't. She deserved so much more than a used knight like himself. If she didn't seem so smitten with the fairytale idea of having him as her knight, then it wouldn't be such a great difficulty to break it off. General Caraway would understand, but she never would.

 

Squall carried the raven haired woman back to her room, closely followed by a red haired woman named Natalie, James, and his father.

 

“Maybe we should wait for the doctor,” Laguna suggested as his son shifted to hitch the dark haired sorceress higher. Squall wasn't that much bigger than the unconscious young woman. He couldn't imagine she was very light, at least not for someone of the brunet's stature.

 

“She'll be fine once she wakes up,” Squall mumbled. He raked a soft gaze over Rinoa's relaxed face. She looked even more innocent while sleeping. It suddenly seemed terribly wrong for him to be anywhere near her.

 

“I meant for you,” the President corrected.

 

It took a moment for the softly spoken words of the President to settle in. “Me?” Squall questioned, coming to a full stop and regarding the longhaired man incredulously.

 

“Yes,” Laguna asserted, still firmly set in his resolve to play a part in Squall's well being, if only for this instance. The boy looked sickly pale, more than usual. It was distressing after watching the brunet cough up blood.

 

If the raven haired President didn't know any better, he'd say the mere idea of wanting to call a doctor was an unknown concept to Squall, as if the boy didn't know where to begin.

 

“No, I'm…” Squall hesitated, quite unused to the look of absolute caring and concern focused on himself. “I'm fine,” he finally managed, shaking head to rid himself of his momentary lapse. “The potion took care of it all.”

 

Before Squall could turn to continue down the high ceiling corridor, James spoke up. “This is not the first time she's gotten out of hand. As her knight, it's your duty to keep her under control.”

 

Squall shot the broad framed bodyguard a sharp glare. “You're lecturing me on how to be a knight?”

 

“She doesn't listen to you,” James shot back, finding that this was a serious issue, being the greatest threat to his charge's life.

 

“Maybe I should take her,” Natalie suggested. In the dimness of the hall, lights off for the sake of energy conservation, her bobbed hair looked maroon instead of its brighter crimson color.

 

“Could you handle her?” Squall asked incredulously, eyeing the redheaded woman with disbelief. Her frame looked smaller than Rinoa's.

 

“On my back, no problem,” Natalie assured. Her suit was tailored to fit her and purposely hide any muscle definition that might allude to her body structure. As a palace guard, she could handle more than most people, SeeD included, even if she didn't look like it.

 

Shaking his head, Squall refused the offer. He found that he was a little upset at Mr. Cranston's words, feeling scolded for neglect. “I'm taking her to see Dr. Odine tomorrow,” he said as though it had already been planned.

 

“He's on his way now, why not tonight?” James questioned, testing to see how serious the kid was.

 

Jaw clenching, Squall felt as if he were being forced into it now. However, when he began to fear the consequences of Rinoa's wrath, he realized just how imperative the situation was.

 

“Very well,” the young man replied tersely, turning to continue walking.

 

**

 

An hour later, Squall reluctantly closed door to Rinoa's room. Following the doctor's orders, he was to leave her alone, the danger apparently too great. The fact that Odine had used the phrase `grave peril' was something of a shock for the former Commander. Granted, the episode in the kitchen was certainly only a glimpse of what could happen, it still was surprising that Rinoa could be a threat to him, not after all their time together.

 

“Squall,” came the slightly distant call of President Loire.

 

For Squall, who had been gently leaning against the double doors, the sudden inward opening of both solid barriers sent him stumbling back. Before he could turn to correct his balance, he found himself pressed against the longhaired man's hard chest for the second time that night.

 

“You should have woken me up,” Laguna said, finding that he was far less conscious of saying the right thing when he was still half asleep.

 

Caught at an odd moment, or what should have been odd given their proximity, Squall found himself mumbling an apology without even thinking about it. His mind was preoccupied, rather alarmed that his body was responding to the feel of the older man's warm chest. It was slight, but he recognized it for what it was, almost unwilling to admit it.

 

Head bowed, the brunet stepped back, blushing and loath to reveal it.

 

The President had dozed in one of the plush armchairs within the large bedroom, tired from a long day and the monotonous droning of Odine's observations. It wasn't like him to fall asleep so easily, but lately his schedule had been grueling, leaving an old man such as himself want for extra hours of sleep.

 

“Are you feeling okay?” Laguna questioned with concern, daring to reach out and nudge the boy's chin higher.

 

Laguna felt compelled to do it, simply riddled with his feelings over having a son and the recent heart stopping fright he'd been given little over an hour ago. However, when his thumb strayed without his mind's consent, stroking along the soft skin of the young man's jaw he realized there were underlying reasons for his initiation of contact.

 

Squall felt as though he'd been petrified, completely incapable of movement. He wasn't frightened, just uncertain. In all his life, he'd only ever been shown one type of affection. It was the same affection that someone like Laguna Loire could not possibly have for him, yet he knew better than anyone how to read the signs.

 

“Do you…” Squall whispered softly, barely moving his pout lips. He stopped himself before he went too far, asking if the older man wanted him. `Do you want me?' he asked silently in his head.

 

“Do I what?” Laguna asked, finding himself entranced by stormy blue eyes as a heated shiver work its way up his spine. Why did he feel like this young SeeD knew more about the odd emotions stirring within him than he did?

 

Biting his bottom lip in a moment of scrambled thought, the brunet tried to reason proper words to take the place of his real question. “Do you care?” he questioned instead, finding that it was possibly the second boldest question he could have asked, boarding on a fine line, dependent upon his tone of voice. Most things could be said with innumerous meanings, from serious to playful or from seductive to chastely curious.

 

Laguna felt his heart beat rapidly, hurting when he realized why his son might doubt his sincerity. “Of course!” he rushed to impress the fact, speaking a little loudly and once again not really considering his general anxiety over behavior that might run the boy off. “I know I have no right to start being your dad now, and no real reason to care, but I do. Hyne help me, but I'm a foolish old man with too many regrets, and I can't help but long to start over.”

 

A little startled, Squall found himself staring wide eyed, not sure what to make of the older man's proclamation. He didn't know why, but he felt a little hurt that on the President's agenda he was just some pitiful attempt to correct past mistakes. He hadn't come to think of himself as anything more to the older man, so why did he suddenly feel resentful of the fact?

 

“You said I was better off,” Squall muttered, tearing his eyes from the President's gaze and staring at the man's chest. He noticed that the usually informal man had unbuttoned the dark blue dress shirt a bit, revealing more than just the stern hollow of his collar, but a bit of that chest he'd been pressed against only moments before. For a man pushing fifty, the former soldier was surprisingly toned, making Squall wonder if there was a daily routine behind it.

 

“I know,” Laguna whispered, feeling as though their conversation that night of the celebration had picked right back up. “You were better off than to be with someone like me,” he affirmed. “But I'm selfish Squall, you have no idea how selfish I am.”

 

Uncomprehending blue-grey eyes rose to once again stare into unguarded hazel green ones. It was a mystery how this man had done all of what he had with Esthar and the first sorceress war, and yet remained as innocent as a child. There was no mistaking the open innocence in those eyes. Squall knew that was not something a person could fake.

 

“Selfish?” the brunet questioned, secretly trying to distract himself from dwelling on matters such as how attractive the President was, not exactly masculine but not nearly as effeminate as himself.

 

Once again, Laguna remembered that he was trying to be mellower. The young boy was rumored to hold distain for most every character quality he had. His own observations informed him of the radically introverted nature of this former Commander, knowing for himself that it was complete opposition to his own. That was the reason for his anxiety over thinking before he acted or spoke, knowing he needed to tailor his behavior to better suit the younger man.

 

He felt as though he were trying to keep a ball form rolling down a slope, knowing it was unstable but not willing to set up barriers and box it in. He couldn't force Squall to accept him, or even be around him more than the few hours they'd already shared at his estate. Yet, he was desperate for more, wanting so much more than he deserved and anxiously stepping on pins and needles to not screw up.

 

“I know I'm probably not someone you like to be around, but please give me a chance. I'm selfishly begging you, please.”

 

Brows furrowed, Squall wasn't sure what to say. In general, he didn't like to be around anyone, it wasn't like this man before him was exceptionally unpleasant. In fact, quite the opposite, or at least opposite to what he'd expected he'd feel after spending his first day there.

 

“What exactly do you want from me?” Squall queried, now knowing that the President wasn't after him for his connection with Garden, but some sort of paternal bond.

 

Dejectedly, Laguna averted his eyes to the floor, staring off to the side in silence. “I don't know,” he admitted. Swallowing thickly, he fought the rising burning in his eyes, knowing that tears would drive every last nail into his coffin. “I brought you here for something, but I don't know what it is yet. Knowing you're my son means so much to me, but I don't understand it.”

 

“It's okay,” Squall said softly, sensing the older man's distress. The last thing he wanted to do now was put on an act, consoling his father in a way he'd learned to do for so many others. Yet, he found that as the emotional President became increasingly distressed, he couldn't help but search for soothing words. “I'll admit that I'm here because Cid suggested it, but I don't feel like a prisoner. I'm here for however long you'd like me to stay.” Upon second thought, Squall added, “Within reason of course, I do have to return at some point.”

 

Laguna chuckled at this, wondering if the boy could read his thoughts.

 

“Then you'll indulge my selfishness?” the longhaired man asked with a note of finality.

 

“Certainly,” Squall replied, even chancing a tiny smile, barely an upward tug of his lips.

 

In a calculating manner, Laguna searched the eyes of his son, this rumored SeeD that was actually becoming a legend even among Estharians who were rarely impressed by anything. He thought he could die a happy man in that moment, foolishly giddy over the nearly imperceptible smile on the boy's beautiful face.

 

Gulping, Laguna reacted instinctively, later praying that Squall's indulgence would encompass his more brash tendencies. In a swift movement, he gathered the smaller young man in his arms.

 

The lack of struggling resistance only encouraged the longhaired man to wrap his arms around the aesthetically deceiving SeeD, seemingly a fragile boy of surprising beauty. He shivered at the feel of soft breath ghosting his neck, wondering how close pout lips were to touching his flesh.

 

Laguna didn't know how long it lasted, only that it ended far too soon.

 

TBC…