Chapter XVI: Staying With You

It was a case of twenty-four. There are none left. Squall only had one beer, being the designated driver and all. That leaves twenty-three empty bottles, their contents spread just about evenly in only four individuals. He does the math quickly and figures it's almost six bottles each. That's nothing for Irvine. He can see the cowboy cracking his jokes without a slur and finding his audience's over-zealous amusement particularly hilarious. Squall knows that Irvine is just fine. Zell has fallen awfully quiet, save for his occasional outbursts at Irvine's punch-lines. Corealie is out of her mind. He doesn't even understand the words that are coming out of her mouth anymore – in fact, he has his doubts on whether or not she's still speaking English. All he can tell is that she's very, very happy to be here.

And her. That very perfect blush has settled so very nicely on her. She's smiling an awful lot but in between Corealie and Irvine, hasn't said a whole bunch. He lightly touches her leg and over the clamour of the more vocal ones, asks, "You okay?"

Rinoa turns to him, still smiling, "Uhm ..." She begins to nod continuously and then adds, "I need to pee."

He wishes he could just make out with her right there. Grinning, he replies, "Yeah, well ... beer does that. You want to find a bathroom?"

"Uhm ..." Again the same adorable pause, "I can't get up. I have no legs."

"What?"

"I mean ... they don't feel there anymore."

"FREAK!" Corealie snaps and slaps Rinoa's thigh, "RIGHT THUR!" And just as sudden as her outburst, Corealie returns her attention to Irvine who seems to think that a smashed Corealie is the funniest thing he's ever seen. Ever.

Trying his best not to pay too much attention to Corealie, Squall returns to Rinoa, "So, you need help getting up?"

He gives her a hand but quickly realizes she needs more than help getting up. She needs help staying up. For a second or two, he wonders how she's ever going to manage peeing, "Oh, wow, no. Un-un, not working." Rinoa mumbles, leaning into him. She grasps his waist firmly, "Wait." Her head is pressed against his chest. He feels ... awesome. But slowly, she pushes him away again, "I'm good." Rinoa walks away slowly in the direction of the woods. After a few steps, she stops, "Squall, I dunno where I'm going."

Squall turns to Irvine and yells over Corealie's hyena impression, "Meet back at the jeep in like ... five-ten minutes." When he's satisfied with the cowboy's nod, Squall nudges Rinoa forward.

They move slowly up the sandy trails to a small cabin near a few picnic tables. Through the awning of trees, the sky is hardly visible and this haven wasn't meant for night visitors hence – not much light. After Rinoa finishes up, they hike back to the entrance together and Squall realizes the problematic situation they've brought upon themselves. Even the inebriated girl gets it and utters an "Uh oh" as she looks up towards the fence they scaled over before. It was hard enough getting the case of beer over ...

"Can you climb it?" Squall asks and then doesn't even know why he bothered asking, "No, you can't. Okay. You're gonna stand on that boulder. Can you do that for me?" She's very cooperative, albeit, a little lacking in dexterity. Balancing himself on the fence, he manages to safely get her to cross and then jump down himself. After that little exertion, she's leaning against the trunk of the jeep looking beyond pooped, "Tired out?" He thinks it's pretty funny. She seems downright depressed.

"How's Corealie gonna do it?" Now he's depressed too. That thought hadn't even crossed his mind. How the fuck is Corealie going to get over that Goliath of a fence without killing herself and injuring others?

"I don't know, babe." Squall replies, rubbing his forehead, "Fuck. I'm gonna go try to find something."

"No," Her voice is so soft and scared, "Stay with me."

Stay with me. She hates that. The way she said it. It was baring a little part of her that she didn't want him to see yet. Things are happening so quickly now because she's become much too slow, his arms are around her. With a shutter speed of thirty, any sliver of light sticks, drags and the photograph obtained is one of slick lines of color swivelling into each other and melting into other hues. But vision is nothing to her anymore as she dares to close her eyes. Close her eyes and savour his lips against hers, so very simply. This is bananas, she thinks to herself. His arms tighten around her and feeling his ice cold hands slip under her shirt and onto her bare back cues an electric shiver down her spine. She likes it. That scares her.

But not as much as the flagrant wail of laughter that pierces their stillness. Squall jolts into Superman mode and takes a where-do-I-punch stance. After the initial shock wears off, both realize it's only Corealie getting closer, "JUS-JUST ... juh-" followed by another obnoxious scream. Squall takes a mental chill pill and rolls his eyes – a drunk theatre kid. What the hell had they been thinking? He sees Irvine staggering towards the fence, nearly doubled in laughter, pointing in Corealie's general direction. Corealie. She's not doing so well with the walking thing.

Bleary-eyed and staggering, she grabs the metal-link fence with both her hands and calls out to her younger cousin, "Wh-wh-what d'you call a judge wif no fingers?" Rinoa stares back and there's a pause, "Fuck, I fucked it up al-fucking-ready." Corealie hits her face into the barrier and takes the liberty of slurring it out again, "Wat ... d'you call a judge ... wif no tumbs ... thaa ... thumbs? You're gonna love this one ... justice fingers." When the raven-haired girl doesn't even show the slightest amusement, she tries again, "Justice fingers. Just his fingers. Hello? JUST HIS FINGERS! NO THUMBS!"

To Squall's bewilderment, Rinoa does actually start to giggle. The three on the other side of the fence howl with laughter. Everyone is getting a kick out of this except him. Ambushed by a sudden pulsing pain in his forehead, he attempts to get things moving, "Uh, yeah ..." he begins, mainly addressing Irvine, "How the fuck are we supposed to get her over the fence?"

"I'm MacGyver!" Corealie retorts as she begins to climb the fence on her own. Well ... climbing ... Squall assumes that's what she's trying to do; she could be humping the fence for all he knows.

"Can either of you stop her before she kills herself?" Being the only sober one has too many disadvantages. Next time, Squall decides, he's just going to bring a case for himself and not give a fuck, "Irvine, boost her up off that rock on your side, I'll make sure to catch her on my side." It takes about eight minutes for Corealie to clear the fence and right when she steps onto solid ground, she's away again (despite balance and depth perception abandoning her entirely) staggering towards Rinoa.

"Yooou. I missed you!" The older cousin sing-songs, "We've been apart for so looong." Her arms are outstretched in an expectant hug.

As Irvine and Zell leap over the barrier in turn, the cowboy turns to Squall, "Wasn't this fucking fun?"

The question is met with a glare and pressing words, "I have a headache."

"And I have to pee. Again." Rinoa calls out urgently from the jeep.

AS THEY PULL into his driveway, Squall turns to the backseat where Rinoa, Zell and Corealie are all safely strapped in, "Ok, Corealie. We're going to play a game."

"I fucking love games!" Corealie exclaims, kicking the back of the passenger seat, "I love dem!"

"Yeah. We're going to play the 'who-can-be-quieter' game." He explains cautiously, "Basically, the first person to say anything is the loser. You can't talk. The winner gets a ... a ..."

"I want a Nintendo DS!" Corealie screams excitedly, "Wif NINTENDOGS!"

The louder she gets, the more his forehead feels like it's going to explode, "Yeah, ok, shh, the winner gets a DS with whatever ... game ... ok, whatever. But if you lose, I'm going to fucking kill you. Ok?"

"DEAL!" And in the exhilaration of the moment, she throws out her hand to shake Squall's, in good faith, catching Rinoa's face instead. Horrified that she may have wounded her baby cousin, Corealie gasps far too dramatically, "I'm sooooooooo sooooorryyyyyy! Are you ok? Do I kissh it better? I can kissh it better. Are you shuuure?"

Squall turns back around in the driver's seat and rubs his face with both hands. He lets out a last sigh and then asks, dreading the answer, "Are you ready to play the game or not, Corealie?"

The process is fairly painless as the obnoxious one is dead set on getting her prize. Squall leads them into the safe, sound-proof basement. Incidentally, upon arrival, as though being quiet completely drained her, Corealie throws herself on the three-seater and immediately passes out. And then there were four. It got awfully quiet then. Zell glances at the comatose girl inquisitively then at Squall, "Did she just ...?"

"I fucking hope so." Squall interrupts harshly.

IN THE DARKNESS of the kitchen, Squall downs two painkillers with a quick chase of water. The tiny digitalized clock of the microwave blinks the ungodly hour of 4:42. He presses his face against the humming surface of the refrigerator door before opening it. Light explodes outwards and the median of pain in his forehead goes rampant to other sections of his skull. He quickly places the water jug back onto a shelf and closes the door again.

Taking great care in being completely silent, he descends the basement stairs slowly and cautiously – lighting being absent there as well. Pausing in his doorway, he squints around the room trying to discern the figures of Irvine and Zell. One of them has innovated himself a make-shift bed from lazy-boy cushions and the other is just sprawled out in a corner. Probably Irvine. Corealie is snoring loudly from the couch. Corealie. He rolls his eyes. What a pain in the ass.

Squall steps into his room and closes the door behind him. With great effort, he pulls his t-shirt over his head and casts it on the floor. He moves stealthily towards the bed, setting himself down quietly and then laying down. His bare back meets his cold crisp sheets and he's momentarily confused. Looking to the side, he locates his missing comforter, completely and entirely wrapped around Rinoa. Or what he thinks is Rinoa, he can't really see any indicative parts of her, "Rinoa?"

There is only a slight mumbled response.

He begins to unroll her from the blanket, "What're you doing?"

"Sleeping."

Squall smiles, kissing her forehead, "Can you share?"

Her whole body feels like an enormous boulder subjected to forty times normal gravity. She is dead tired and a little drunk but not a whole lot can keep her mind off the idea that she is wrapped up in Squall's bed spending the night. Or morning. Or whatever. Squall. Isn't he like ... the captain of the soccer team? This is bananas. B-a-n-a-n-a-n-a-s. That might have been one too many 'n-a's. It doesn't matter. In his bed. Then the thought that she's been here before crosses her mind. Oh, but never mind that, she was frigid then ... and not drunk. And he doesn't have a shirt. Fancy that.

She's really pining for a kiss right now – a strange desire for her to maintain. Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's just the moment but she doesn't see the harm in taking initiation at all. Tugging on the silver chain around his neck, Rinoa pulls him towards her and gently pushes her mouth onto his for the briefest of moments. She nestles her head back into the pillows and peering into his near imperceptible blue eyes, "Squall?"

"Yeah?" He leans with her and trails his lips on her neck.

She sighs under the weight of his body and asks, "Do ... do ... you like me a little or do you ... like me a lot?"

Squall rests his forehead against hers for a moment and whispers, "I like you a lot." The tips of his fingers tuck her hair behind her ears and lightly graze her delicate jaw. There's a pause and he kisses her nose.

For a moment or two she's ecstatic. He likes her a lot. Then her whirlwind of euphoria gives way to a tornado within her internal organs. Gravel lines her stomach and mixes in with the chocolate cake-shake, gray spots ease into her vision and she feels a weight of lead settle over her eyeballs, "Squall?"

He chuckles a little, "Yeah?"

"I feel really sick."

"What?"

"I'm gonna puke."

"Shit." He immediately rolls off of her. He likes her a lot but can't bring himself to break the vomit barrier yet. As soon as he's off, she bolts off the bed and into his bathroom. Over the sounds of her struggle and retching, Squall groans, rubs his face with both hands.

He pulls himself up to get her a glass of water and mutters to himself miserably, "I don't know why I didn't see that coming."