Chapter 12 – Memory Never Dies (Part 2)

A/N: This is the second part of a chapter which was so monstrously long that I cut it in half. Probably I should have chopped this chapter in half, too - but I'm still sticking with the 'three-chapters-per-update' method, and I didn't want to leave too blatant a cliffhanger (because, you know, that pisses me off too). So I left it as-is. Sorry.

Be warned, here the OOC-ness may be harder to ignore - just keep in mind that it's deliberate (hopefully).

As in the previous chapter: please pay attention to whether something is in italics or not. It does help.

The doctor, stretching and stifling a yawn as she came in for the start of her 0600 shift, stopped to stare down unbelievingly at the dozing nurse. But in the end she decided to leave her there undisturbed for the moment, on the basis of past experience. The young nurse had a distinct tendency to flap about in a panic when surprised, and the doctor would have a far better chance of figuring out what needed doing without the distraction.

The sight which she beheld from the doorway into Squall Leonhart's ward, however, changed her mind.

"Get in here, you lazy lout!"

As a rule, a patient's hand glowing like a magnesium flare and dripping blood on the floor was something a nurse should notice.

—ox-oxo-xo—

"…I'd rather not talk about that."

Quistis sighed. Squall sympathised a little. The few people who he could remember from his time as a hunter would certainly attest that he didn't talk much. But at least he knew when it was important to talk… and it had been an important question.

Almost immediately after the festival's close, Quistis Trepe had left for Esthar, looking for something in Esthar's academic archives. It was the prospect of those archives that had lured her to head a training mission in Esthar City, leading the cleanup of the thousands of monsters which the Lunar Cry had dropped on the Estharian continental enclave. A year later, she had returned, with her first thesis under her belt.

"…His ring?" Rinoa wasn't so shy concerning the subject. She toyed absently with her replica, dangling between her ample breasts on a silver chain. "Well, he told me after rescuing me during the battle with Galbadia Garden that it was a lion, not a monster. He said it was strong, and proud, and it was what he wanted to be… or something like that, anyway."

"And its name was Griever…?"

Squall nodded.

Quistis stood. "…Thank you for telling me." Took a deep breath. "Headmaster Leonhart, I wish to tender my resignation from SeeD."

Rinoa gasped, clapping her hand over her mouth. Squall recoiled slightly. "…Why, if I may ask?"

"Doctor Odine has offered me a research partnership. He read my thesis, and wants to give me a lab to research the nature of the GFs."

Squall eventually nodded, his features almost unchanged. "Immediate secondment to the Estharian Government's service for research purposes. Your current contract as a member of SeeD expires…" he typed a query into his access workstation, "…huh. In five months in any case. We can keep you on the records until then, if you have no objections…"

Quistis saluted, probably grateful for the extra salary. "That will do perfectly. Thank you, Squall. I'll see you tomorrow, before I head out." And she turned around, leaving his office.

Rinoa glared at him. "You didn't even TRY to stop her…!"

Squall stared back at her. "It was her decision." She growled at him, storming out. He sighed, and immersed himself in paperwork without further thought. He shook his head sadly; the warrior who had taken down the most powerful sorceress in history, and he was rotting away in mountains of paper…

("You're about to lose her, you young fool!"

"…"

"Don't you even care?"

"…" (I care. Of course I care! But…)

"You should care. And not just because you're losing her… but because she's losing you!"

"…?"

Dr. Kadowaki indulged herself in a facepalm at his expense. "She's a sorceress, Squall, and you're her knight. If she loses you…")

And he was back in his room, Squall standing over his prone, oblivious younger self, lost in thought. Dr. Kadowaki's words had sunk in deep.

He had a duty. To SeeD, to the world…to Rinoa… To himself. And duty, if nothing else, was something he understood. He had to do it, he remembered, but more importantly… As scared as he was by the prospect… He wanted to.

Unnoticed by the young Headmaster, the sorceress had entered his room.

"Squall…we need to talk—" Sitting up, he held a hand out to stop her, eyes fixed firmly on her feet.

"I know…but let me go first." He began to shiver, his stomach churning with a rising tide of unnamed horror. "Rinoa…you've shown me so much of myself…my emotions." A wry smile danced across his sweating features. "Usually against my will. You've brought me so far. Usually, kicking and screaming."

"I know, and—" He stopped her again.

"I can't remember… ever being happy. Not as a child. Not since. All I know, Rinoa, all…I…know – is how to be a killer. Or a loner, I guess. Not that's any better." He drew a deep, shaky breath, his hand still up to forestall any interruptions from his girlfriend. "I never…learned how to be a person, Rinoa…"

He looked up into her chocolate, misting eyes at last.

"If…I don't want to lose you," he swallowed, "then… I need to learn." Swallowed again. "And… I need you to teach me. You…the others…everybody, I guess. But mostly you."

Rinoa's mouth worked, trying to form words…

"Will you…help me?"

...And then her lips stretched, and her eyes shone and her tears ran, and the chasm took shape before his mind's eye, cloaked all too inadequately by the ethereal, thin-as-nothing shroud of that which could only remain forgotten for so long, stretching all the way into the future and she flew into his arms, babbling joyfully as if he'd paid her the single biggest compliment he could ever in a million years think of.

It was not until months later that he began to comprehend that, in fact, he had.

"So…what were you going to say?"

"I don't wanna say it any more… Let's just say…you were about to lose me." The sorceress tilted her head up to plant a fond kiss on the tip of his nose.

He slumped, drenched with relief. "…Close call, huh…?"

"Yup."

This was no longer the calm and collected search for dusty old memories, the finding of which would serve no purpose other than to allow him to wake up and be on his solitary way. No, this was more like the adolescent Squall's gradual remembrance of his early childhood – the inexorable ripping open of old scars, seemingly bared for no purpose other than to poke and prod at the festering mess beneath.

And there was no choice, none at all.

On Rinoa's advice, he called Selphie to the office. Back for a vacation from the slow rebuilding of Trabia Garden, he had been loath to enlist her help – after all, much as he approved in principle of her first choice of co-conspirator, the Trabian SeeD had enough problems of her own. But Rinoa had insisted.

"…So, what with the workload and the meetings and everything… I haven't had the time to learn how to relax—"

She burst out laughing. He gaped at her (or at least came as close as he was physically capable) for a long moment… And then he understood, the truth bubbling up and slashting from his tongue with the cutting force of a swordstroke. Squall could only hope she heard him through her giggling fit.

"…We're child soldiers, Selph. Cold-blooded killers, all of us. Quistis forgets to be kind and caring the moment a mission presents itself. Zell snaps at the drop of a hat. Irvine's only mostly kidding when he does his 'lonely sharpshooter' spiel, and you… you laugh and dance because it's that or cry. Or start to enjoy the slaugher too much." He'd been pretty certain she was listening, and he was proved right when her mouth slammed shut and her emerald eyes sharpened to awls. "It's not just me. We're ALL broken, one way or another. I'm just the most obvious example, unless maybe you include Seifer." He leaned forward over his desk, clenched knuckles crackling under the strain as they pressed against its polished surface, matching her stare for furious stare.

"I almost lost Rinoa before I could figure all this out. And I could still lose her, because I have not the slightest idea of how to turn myself into a decent human being! And I will NOT LET THAT HAPPEN." He leaned back, trying to rein in his own irrational fury. "I've got Rinoa to help us, but…" he hesitated, searching for the words, "…she's not broken like we are. There are a lot of things she's not going to know how to even look at."

Her hard gaze dimmed in its intensity. He heaved a tiny sigh of relief.

"…Out of the five of us…well, you're the most sociable. We both know it's just another mask – and don't even think about arguing, I see you in there – but at least you pretend better than the rest of us."

Her gaze racheted back up to 'fry-the-commander' intensity…and Squall's chuckle surprised even himself. He really had gone beyond the pale, he realised. Hopefully she wouldn't attempt to kill him - Irvine would likely gun him down from five hundred metres without warning, after hearing about her death at the Commander's hands.

"But let's just pretend that I didn't say all that, and cut to the bit where I ask you to help teach us ALL how to relax." He sat back down, his smile fading. "…So can you help us?"

She was looking at him, something in her eyes which he could not remember seeing before… something he recognised as if it were a part of himself. And for the tiniest of moments, she gave him a smile which eerily reminded him of the one Rinoa had given him yesterday…

And then the mask slammed up, and little-ball-of-sunshine-Selphie was locked securely back in place. "Sure, anything for the orphanage gang! I can't wait! This is gonna be soooo much fun!"

Squall being Squall, it was several years later before he learned about the 'Sir Squall' fansite which mysteriously appeared on the Garden's network the next week. Later, he reflected that he had probably been better off not knowing. He was uncomfortable enough being referred to as 'Sir' Squall in the first place. Knowing that Selphie had come up with the whole thing would have been particularly embarrassing…

By this point, Squall was virtually dry-heaving. Compared to this, even area-scanning a malboro was a mild stomachache. If clawing out his eyes could work here, he might have tried. Over all his life, all the pieces he had hold of, he could only remember one time at which he had felt worse.

Zell and Irvine were next. As it turned out, though, they had already given some thought to the problem – that was, how to relax (as opposed to the darker, more abstract thoughts which Squall had been dwelling upon).

And so, the weeks and months fell into a routine of a new sort. Headmaster Leonhart slowly learned to escape the paperwork-trap which had ensnared his predecessor. (When Xu complained, he directed her to Dr. Kadowaki; subsequently she reluctantly contented herself with hiring more staff to deal with the increased workload.)

Every couple of weeks, Squall would take Rinoa out to a romantic dinner. In the beginning, she would specify in minute detail each requirement of the night that he must ensure was tailored to her satisfaction – what flowers, what clothing, what music, which dance… But Squall was a quick learner, and a powerful motivation led him to research the topic thoroughly and with a lack of shame which would have left his younger self with his forehead practically welded to his palm. And so, three months after their bargain had been struck, he successfully completed his first ever 'surprise date'…

(Squall opened his eyes, looking down to find a young black-haired sorceress in his bed. A beautific smile spread across his face.

She stirred, stretching languorously in his embrace. "Mmm…" Rinoa looked up at him, a mischievous smirk on her face. "We're making some progress here…" And she slithered further under the blankets.

"H-Hey…")

…Huh. Squall realised he was blushing, the widening chasm forgotten for a brief, blessed moment. The hunter had never been the sort to pay too close attention to the female body and its attractions. It seemed that wasn't always the case…

At least once a month, Selphie would drag him out – along with anyone else who was available – to a party. It might be a nightclub, or one of the frenetic house-parties with which students and SeeDs alike filled their infrequent free time. It was never anything like the staid balls which Squall's diplomatic duties forced upon him.

In the beginning, he was the archetypal wallflower. And he never did loosen his dignity enough to prance about like a fool on the dancefloor like the others. But as each party went on, Squall could usually be found at the centre of a group of card-players, taking Triple Triad challenges or talking about cards to other aficionados.

It was that habit, noted by Irvine, which shaped the guys' strategy. Every Friday night, without fail, the two of them would drag him out of his office (by the scruff of the neck, if required) and head to Zell's recently purchased house in Balamb Town. It was Squall's first introduction to a game which he'd heard mentioned once in Dollet – a card game by the name of 'poker'. Irvine taught them the basics, and Squall quickly mastered them…until they began playing for shots of whiskey (supplied by Irvine, via methods he adamantly refused to disclose and Squall semi-reluctantly refrained from ordering he disclose).

It took Rinoa and Selphie a while to cotton on to those drunken gatherings; Irvine and Zell had laboriously stressed the 'guys-only' nature of the things, and Squall took them at their word. Of course, once the ladies found out, they just started coming too, dragging an irate Mary with them. (Irvine and Zell raised a fuss, the first time it happened; Squall just shrugged and offered them a drink.)

And then Quistis and Ellone started coming, at which point any pretence of 'poker night' went flying out the first-story window and they merely proceeded to get on with what Squall had wanted in the first place. They all simply got the chance to relax and enjoy each others' company.

That feeling was getting worse…almost on a par now with the worst moment he could remember…

—ox-oxo-xo—

Ellone's eyes drifted open, seeking the shadow hovering over her.

"Are you awake?" Quistis came into focus.

"…Yeah, I'm done…" Peeling off the blankets, she heaved herself out of the bed with a grunt. "It worked. I was able to talk to him directly."

The blonde tottered over to her bag, digging out clothing. "How is he?"

"Remembering everything. It seems he can't wake up until he does." She let out a ragged sigh, almost a sob; she'd never realised that Squall had ever actually, consciously given up on her. The prospect that he actually had to remember everything… that was something she would simply rather not think about. But needs must... "Poor guy. I hope he's strong enough…"

The scientist whirled round to stare at her, almost tripping over her half-donned skirt in the process. "Didn't you say—"

"Yeah, I did… If Fujin and Pandemona are right, then The Lion is gone – and since Gilgamesh is gone, then they probably are right. The danger of its escape has passed…" She stifled a tired yawn, wishing she didn't feel obliged to tell her friend even this much. If Quistis hadn't been the vehicle for her most recent sojourn in the past, if some part of her hadn't told her she needed to know the risk… "If he fails now…he'll just never wake up."

The women began dressing, silence broken only by feminine morning rituals for several minutes. No doubt the scientist was slotting that snippet of knowledge into the jigsaw, a jigsaw of which only Quistis had seen all the pieces. It was her nature, and Ellone didn't envy her. "…And when were you planning to tell Selphie and the others?"

"Depends… Do you know when hell's meant to freeze over?" She sighed. "If he just takes too long, I'll try to help him. If he dies, I'll tell them then. Until then…"

Quistis gave her a grave nod, silent agreement to abide by their habitual code of silence. Why talk about it when you don't have to?

—ox-oxo-xo—

Of course, learning to relax was merely a start. The time spent with his friends was invaluable in recapturing his adolescence. But, as he had known from the moment he decided to embark on the project, Squall simply didn't have the time to linger. After all, the world – and his duties – moved apace.

Over the years, the young Balamb Headmaster had been forced to deal with the Estharian Government – and thus with his estranged father – on a regular basis. One might have thought that their renewed contact would bring them closer together; however, Squall had never been one to let go of grudges, and the one he harboured against President Laguna Loire was at the very core of his soul. (And besides, it wasn't as if Rinoa could talk. She never really forgave her father either…) And fair enough, the elder Squall judged, though certainly not with the same acrimonious stubbornness that the younger Squall affected. If he had to put up with 'the moron' for political reasons, why not just put up with him for famillial reasons? It just didn't seem that important to him. As such, Headmaster Leonhart religiously avoided President Loire on any occasion he could get away with it, despite numerous well-meaning attempts by both Laguna himself and Squall's friends to reunite them.

It was Kiros Seagill, the canny aide who was usually the one forced to actually attend to the boring details of Laguna's presidential duties, who was the first to recognise that Squall was quite likely physically incapable of ever forgiving the father who had unknowingly abandoned him. So, at least, he intimated in a carefully conducted private conversation with the SeeD commander. It was with this in mind that he offered his friendship – wrapped in words like 'alliance' and 'duty', but friendship nonetheless. He seemed surprised with the acceptance, however lukewarm, which his offer received.

Squall had realised, some time past, that an important part of what he was missing was a male-adult role model. Not Laguna, that pointlessly exuberant clown. Not Cid, that ineffectual knight. And Kiros Seagill's steady, easy maturity was exactly what Squall Leonhart had needed. His example shone like a searchlight in darkness, showing Squall something of what he could turn out to be if only he put his mind to it.

The ex-Galbadian aide helped him to finish what the ex-Galbadian sorceress had started.

Squall Leonhart finally grew up. Finally became the leader which almost everyone else had been convinced he was meant to be. And with that acceptance, came the happiness that he'd longed for all his life – the happiness he'd all but convinced himself was simply impossible for him to attain…

The moment that he had seen Rinoa floating dead in space, visage darkened forever, faceplate shattered. The nightmare which had haunted him for months after the end of the war. The illusion which sent him into a catatonic state so deep that, upon recovering him from the time warp in which he'd been trapped, Rinoa had initially believed him dead. The single worst memory that he could recall.

This feeling…now it was worse than that.

Their lives went on, as lives tend to do. It was after a long and leisurely courtship, almost four years, that Squall and Rinoa married (in a grotesquely over-orchestrated ceremony of the sort that world leaders tend to find it almost impossible to avoid). They still yelled at each other a lot - not that he really minded; Squall had learned to appreciate, even during the Sorceress War, the merits of a good tension-easing argument…

("…Rinoa… Just stay close to me."

She swooned. "Oh… Those words!"

"What?"

"That's what started everything."

"What are you talking about?"

"You don't remember?" Rinoa seemed to be bristling over something.

"Something I said?" It was the best he could come up with.

"Oh, just forget it!" she snapped at him.

Realisation dawned… "No, it's because of the GF. That's why I forgot."

"That's just an excuse." …After all, she had mentioned more than once her admiration for the Timber way of marriage. Squall smirked.

"Feeling better?"

Almost against her will, she sheepishly smiled. "Yeah.")

If nothing else, it kept things interesting. And Rinoa usually remembered to keep the scratches out of public view.

Zell and Mary married about a year later, in a much more intimate ceremony which coincided with the blond martial artist's long-coming resignation from SeeD; Zell took over the car-rental, while Mary set up a small bookstore which (given the former librarian's proclivities) soon grew into a respectable public library which just happened to sell books as a sideline. Unlike the knight-and-sorceress couple, Zell and Mary almost immediately got on with the business of starting a family. (Truth be told, they actually got started a little early…) Meanwhile, Irvine and Selphie performed an intricate game of on-again to off-again to just-friends to friends-with-benefits to on-again and so on down the line, between Balamb and Trabia and back again, with an outward display of indifference which fooled almost no-one but themselves. The others would amuse themselves in light-hearted fashion by taking sides and laying bets. Squall, being Squall, would just roll his eyes and silently wish they'd hurry it up.

On the political side of things, SeeD was one of the most influential players in the new power balance which slowly – but always, always hectically – began to take shape. Esthar had the aftermath of the Lunar Cry and the Galbadian assault on their capital to deal with; Galbadia had lost a hefty proportion of its armed forces in its aggression, not to mention their major leaders. Amidst the rubble of Galbadia's empire, old nations proceeded to break away from their weakened overlords. Dollet and Trabia began to open negotiations with Esthar, and Timber began to sue for independence in earnest. And the most powerful mercenary company in the world suddenly found itself squarely in the middle, their services clamoured for by all sides.

In the beginning, SeeD's message had been simple: fight, and we'll kill you. Simple, direct… but strangely, not all that effective. However, as Squall began to grow, his latent skills in the art of character analysis soon blossomed into a positive talent for diplomacy. By two years after the end of the war, Squall had at least one meaningful connection to his father: an informal triumverate consisting of the Estharian President, the Balamb Headmaster and Mayor Dobe of Fisherman's Horizon, formed to snap the world out of its cycle of conflict. Within the year, they successfully agitated for General Caraway to steer Galbadia out of its devastating civil war, and Timber was formally liberated at last (incidentally, ending finally the minor SeeD contract which had begun the whole ordeal for Squall and his comrades – not that any of them paid any attention to it by that point).

Four years after Ultimecia, all six major nations had signed and ratified non-aggression pacts with the others, with SeeD as the peacekeepers and Fisherman's Horizon as the mediator agreed upon in the event of future disputes – and with at least marginally sane leaders ruling on all sides, the world began to recover at last from the horrors of two world wars and a Lunar Cry.

Six years after Ultimecia, Esthar had begun construction of its own Garden, its planned location at the centre of a rapidly expanding commercial port set near the southwestern coast of the Mordred Plains; a mammoth tunnel was in the process of being bored through the raised plateau which partitioned the area from Esthar's enclosed territories.

Eight years after Ultimecia, Timber's first lumber plantation was pronounced ready for harvest…and left alone to grow wild as a commemorative gesture. A train line from Balamb to the newly built Trabian capital (a small capital, but a capital nonetheless) was also completed, and began to run services. And the Deep Sea Research Centre was finally scuttled following an intensely negotiated, long-awaited treaty between Esthar and Galbadia. All three events, largely symbolic in nature, were nonetheless celebrated the world over, as people began to finally believe that their world might actually turn out all right…

This was purely agonising. Even returning to himself after The Lion's rampages had been better than this - at least then he could reasonably hope to black out after a little while. He was teetering on the jagged edge of the chasm, spanning now in all directions, its depths hidden now by the merest gossamer cloak of brimstone. The abyss leered at him, taunting him with the knowledge he had no choice but to suffer…

…And nine years after Ultimecia, Squall's worst nightmare came to its inevitable crux.

And the torture went on, inexorable, unstoppable.

Sorceress Rinoa Heartilly Leonhart began to turn.

—ox-oxo-xo—

If there were any justice in the world, any at all, Fujin should be a bubbling puddle on the floor, liquefied by the sheer heat of Selphie's megawatt-glare. "You. Did. WHAT?"

Fujin merely grimaced slightly.

"He actually has to…" her stomach flipped and churned, "RELIVE everything?" She had to stop for a moment, to force the bile back down.

Sure, she'd wanted Squall to remember. Why else would she have gone to the trouble of telling him so much about his past, and their adventures together, if not to get the old Squall back? But there was a world of difference between the long, slow process of assembling and piecing the jigsaw back together over the course of years – something that Squall and Selphie had both needed to do before – and having that memory forced whole down his throat…

"REQUIRED." The silver-haired former White SeeD at least had the grace to look a little penitent. "MUST REMEMBER…OR DIE."

…It could kill him. It could actually kill him.

She wished that she could bring herself to be surprised.

Entering the infirmary's waiting room with a breakfast tray balanced on each of his hands, Irvine darted Fujin a grainy-eyed glare. It was about the most he would comment this early in the morning, but it sufficed to let them know he had heard their charged exchange. Nida entered behind him, also with two trays; sliding them onto the desk, he stooped to plant a kiss on the top of his wife's head. Fujin leaned her head back into his chest for a moment, eye closed… It occurred to Selphie that Fujin was way more tense than she had realised – even tenser than her malevolent attentions could account for…

"You love him too, don't you?"

Irvine smirked. "That sounded wrong…" Selphie's sudden blush sent him into a silent chuckling fit.

"NIDA… PANDEMONA…" Well, that shut him up. Fujin shared a laden glance with Nida, trading nods. She was suddenly reminded of decades past, when Fujin and Raijin would do the same thing; she supposed it was necessary when dealing with someone who talked as little as she did.

"You know…" Nida was continuing, sparing his wife the need to speak. "I never could get up the courage to speak to the Commander about Fujin. I was going to…but you remember how scary he was in those days, right?"

Selphie shrugged slightly. She guessed he was referring to the time around that first SeeD test after Ultimecia's defeat, the test Squall had grudgingly allowed Fujin and Raijin to take. It had come as a surprise to her that Fuj and Rai had never actually attempted to pass the test; it was only that, she recalled, which convinced the Commander to let them rejoin Balamb Garden for long enough to finally sit it.

"But…" He took a deep breath, actually blushing himself a little. "He knew already. Fuj told me about Seifer, about how Matron—" She wasn't surprised to hear Nida refer to Edea Kramer as Matron despite the lack of a childhood connection; the way she heard it, most White SeeDs referred to her as Matron. "—wanted him to join White SeeD. About how Fuj and Rai wanted to go with him. And she wanted me to go with her."

Irvine straightened over his hashbrowns. "So you were together that far back?" He never had paid as much attention to the relationships of those around them as she had. Then again, few people did…

"We got together at the ball after my SeeD test," Nida shrugged, as if it should be no surprise. And in retrospect, she could see why he hadn't mentioned that fact before – a great deal of Garden would have gone ballistic if they'd known that the pilot's girlfriend was fighting on the other side. "The thing is… Squall knew. He didn't say anything, not a single damn word that whole time… but he knew." He shared a gentle smile with his silver-haired love.

"The first I knew…"

"Fujin…stay behind a moment."

She turned, her porcelain brow creased into a slight frown. The other newly christened SeeDs retreated as ordered, Raijin darting a puzzled look over his shoulder on the way out. Nida cleared his throat. "Do you…need me to leave, Commander?"

"No." Commander Leonhart strode over to his cluttered desk, pulling out a handful of sealed manila envelopes from a draw and slipping something else into his pocket. He came to a halt before the one-eyed SeeD, dropping into 'at ease' stance without appearing to think about it. "SeeD Fujin Kazeno… Your first mission." He handed her an envelope. "You are to be seconded to the White SeeDs indefinitely, with an option for permanent transfer to White SeeD to be offered six weeks after your mission begins. Further details on the mission are enclosed…"

Nida tensed. Why would Commander Leonhart wish to spy on White SeeD…?

"…But for the moment, your basic mission will be to familiarise yourself with White SeeD's command structure and procedures, and serve Matron Edea as she sees fit. SeeD Raijin Kazeno will be performing the same mission, under the same conditions." He handed her another envelope. "You will deliver his orders. You will be leaving in two days' time. Your mission commander will be…"

And he handed out the third and final envelope…

"…SeeD Nida Glimsche." To Nida. "Your replacement will be boarding us at Fisherman's Horizon tomorrow morning." Stunned, Nida could do nothing but salute; Fujin followed suit, trying not to gape. The Commander returned the salute, his features changing not a whit.

"Oh…and one last thing…" He dug into his pocket, fishing out a small purple-hued charm and holding it out to the newly-christened SeeD.

If anything, Fujin was even more pessimistic about humanity and its capacity for cruelty than Nida had ever been. To see her face when the world proved her wrong was quite possibly the most beautiful thing he could ever imagine bearing witness to.

Sitting nonchalantly in Squall's leather-clad palm was the keystone to the GF Pandemona.

It wasn't a broad smile, by any means. But it was genuine, and gentle, and maybe even a little fond. And it encompassed the not-quite-secret-enough lovers like the friendly embrace that Squall would never in a million years give them. "Good luck." And then, dropping the priceless gem into Fujin's trembling hand, he turned away and strode rowards the platform to the cockpit and its helm. "Dismissed…both of you."

"So…" Irvine muttered, "That would be a 'yes'."

Nida and Fujin Glimsche shrugged in unison, each more than a little embarrassed after sharing a tale which had stayed private for nearly thirty years. "He didn't have to let me go with her. And he didn't have to give Pandemona back to her either. Let's just say…we owed him." He turned to face Selphie, his face hardening. "We owed him too much to let him fall victim to The Lion, then or later. This was simply…" he shrugged again resignedly, "the only other option there was."

Selphie slumped in her chair, simply unable to stay mad at them. For Squall – the SeeD or the hunter, there was no difference between them in that respect – the prospect of turning into a monster could be considered nought but anathema.

For reasons which no doubt differed only slightly between them, each made a point of not looking overlong at the ward wherein Squall…well, 'rested' was probably the incorrect term. Not that there was anything to see, apart from the closed door, limned with a dim blue-white glow. Only medical staff were allowed in there now…and by this point, even they could only enter after donning welders' goggles.

—ox-oxo-xo—

Fortunately, Squall had been far from the only one to foresee that it would happen; even more fortunately, the change was far from instantaneous. So, when Rinoa recovered from her first, relatively minor descent, she traded in the Odine bangle she'd worn for nearly a decade for the upgraded bangle which arrived from Esthar almost immediately. This bangle had no hidden catches; the only way to remove it was with a solution of an extremely rare radioactive compound, mingled with Quistis' own blood and applied by Squall's thumbprint.

With the immediate danger dealt with – for now – Squall could stop panicking and think. Not that it was easy – far from it!

The old Squall, the emotionally isolated adolescent, would not have dealt well with the current situation at all. And indeed, Headmaster Leonhart didn't take it particularly well either. But, once the immediate crisis had passed, he found himself thinking about solutions. Not mere 'must-save-Rinoa!' courses of craziness such as he'd indulged in during the Second Sorceress War – real solutions. Meaning that since he continued to reject the idea of entombing his wife in the Sorceress Memorial, and Odine had not been able to make any further progress in stripping the powers away from a sorceress, an entirely new way would need to be found. And so he handed most of his duties to the long-suffering Xu, and dove headfirst into the clouded waters of academe.

He read and researched anything and everything there was to find about sorceresses – their powers, their origins, their methods. And after a while, something odd struck him:

'Sorceresses could not divide their power…or give up their power except when on the verge of death…'

…Who actually came up with that?

After all, a sorceress could do many, many things; the legends were often inflated, being legends, but there were enough sorceresses available for historic reference to determine that many of their so-called 'mythical' powers were well-grounded in fact. And a sorceress could easily absorb the powers of another sorceress – Adel and Edea, not to mention Ultimecia herself, stood as proof of that. So, who was to say that they couldn't divide their power in the same way, if they wished to? Or, more importantly, that they had to be dealt a mortal wound and be forced onto the edge of death in order to relinquish their hold on it?

It became a particularly important question when taking into account what else had occurred to him:

Ultimecia: the ultimate sorceress. That is, the final sorceress.

Ultimecia was the final repository of every last fragment of the sorceress power. And she had passed it on to Edea, adding to her own power…who passed it, along with her own power, on to Rinoa…who passed it all on to Adel…who passed it all back, along with her own power, to Rinoa.

Odine, of course, had done his own research on the subject. And he confirmed what Squall had been dreading: prior to and during her time as dictator of the Estharian empire, Adel had ruthlessly hunted down and inhumed every last sorceress…all except Edea, who had escaped the purge only because of her isolation and secrecy.

Rinoa was the last sorceress left.

It was only a matter of time before either Rinoa, or whichever incredibly unfortunate woman she passed her power to when she died, or whoever she passed it onto in turn, would become Ultimecia. And… as embarrassed as he was to think it, Mr. and Mrs. Leonhart (or as that damned movie had dubbed them, 'the Lionheart and the Angelwing') represented the pinnacle of sorceress-knight relations. Edea had lasted only a few years, and Cid had merely been busy setting up SeeD. Squall, on the other hand, had spent years devoted almost entirely to his wife, bending all of his efforts to ensure her happiness and stability. Rinoa had more than doubled Matron's record in remaining uncorrupted by the malignant effects of a surfeit of sorceress power.

In other words: nine years could be considered, more or less, the best span a sorceress of Rinoa's power could hope for – and for most women, that span would likely be far less. It wasn't just Rinoa, therefore, who was in dire peril should no solution be found.

His friends would likely live long enough to face the Third, and Final, Sorceress War. (Squall didn't even think of including himself in that scenario; he couldn't even consider the prospect of living past Rinoa.) They would live to see the war in which only White SeeD had been there to fight, right at the end, before their past selves arrived to pull down Ultimecia and end it all. They would see SeeDs's destruction. And, so close on the heels of the First and Second Sorceress Wars, chaos would follow on the heels of their pyrrhic victory.

It was strange, he thought distantly.

It felt like…like his self was sloughing away from its shell, tumbling in pieces into the chasm… And yet here he was, watching them fall.

Pain was beyond him now. Most things were beyond him. All there was left…

Galvanised by the prospect, Squall took Rinoa to consult with Cid and Edea, who had long been researching the subject. To find that Edea and the White SeeDs, who had taken a less academic bent than Squall or Quistis, had stumbled upon a very old myth.

It seemed that according to this myth, a mother-sorceress had somehow combined with her father-knight to pass her power equally onto her three daughters; Squall didn't exactly understand it, but then, it was translated from the original language of the Centran Empire, nearly a thousand years past. Rinoa getting far more excited about the old myth than he had, Squall decided to travel on alone to Esthar to consult with Quistis and Odine, and see if their research had turned up anything worthwhile. (Not that Rinoa could have gone with him anyway – putting her in the same territory as all three of the components required to free her of the Odine bangle would be foolhardy.)

The scientists' research instead confirmed something which he had truly not wanted to hear: in the entire recorded history of all of the current nations, there was not a single known case of a sorceress voluntarily giving up their own powers and surviving. According to Quistis, it was simply unavoidable – all previous research (much of it conducted by Odine, and Adel herself in her early days) indicated that the sorceress power was so deeply intertwined with the sorceress's soul that only the external manipulations of another sorceress could suffice to separate that power while leaving her life intact. (According to Odine, Adel had perfected this technique as a way to ensure that no fragment of the inhumed sorceress's psyche could travel into her and so 'pollute' her mind with its presence.) Odine remained confident that one day he could engineer a device which was so exquisite in its control that it could actually achieve this – but it was likely to take decades before even Estharian technology advanced far enough for the feat to be achieved.

Silently cursing, he returned to Garden…to find Rinoa, poring feverishly over his research notes.

("I have it!"

"…Have what…?"

"It was that old Centran myth! That's the answer!" He was still standing stock-still at the door, wondering whether he would have to restrain her again. She was still frantically shifting pieces of paper, eyes darting everywhere but at his.

"…What is the answer?"

"I can divide my power! I'm a sorceress, Squall – all I have to do is focus myself hard enough, and I can do it!" She giggled and did a little twirl, happy at the prospect of an end to her ordeal. "And not just in half, either… I bet I can split in in hundreds of pieces!"

If the whole situation wasn't so heartbreaking, he might have relaxed with the relief. But… "Rinoa… I talked with Quistis and Odine. You may be right…you might be able to do it. But, Rinoa…" She looked up at him, stilling at last. He forced the words out: "You wouldn't survive it. The power would take your life with you as it leaves."

"…I know, Squall…" Clutching the Griever replica beneath her throat, taking a slow, shuddering breath. Now he could see behind the joyous façade. (…She's terrified.) "I just…know, in my heart… This'll work, this has to work…" And she burst into tears, stumbling round the desk and falling into his shaking arms. "I…I can't keep going on like this! Please… please let me end it…!")

("…What might happen next time? What will I end up doing? Will I end up fighting everyone?" If she had begun by trying to make a point, she was now caught up in her gloomy, overly dramatic musings to the point where she had forgotten it. "…Scary thought, isn't it?" Well, more or less.

(Rinoa… Even if you end up as the world's enemy, I'll… I'll be your knight.) It didn't cross his mind at the time that perhaps she wasn't the one being overly dramatic…)

As it turned out, he had not been the only one of them to grow up over the course of those nine years. Had it truly come down to it… he would most likely have held to that silent promise.

Rinoa had decided not to let him make that choice. She had decided to do the right thing, the thing which would save the world. And when it came right down to it… It was her choice to make.

He would never, never forgive himself.

All there was left now…was a kind of sick certainty. He would fall. He would fail.

—ox-oxo-xo—

The others – Quistis, Ellone, Zell, and even Seifer (though not Raijin, as he was still needed for his new-found piloting skills) – had found themselves, each driven by their own reasons, to join the rest of the gang in their vigil in the infirmary's waiting room. It was, Selphie could not help but feel, a bit of a pity. Here they were, the orphanage gang and the Posse all together in one place… and there was no celebration, no cheerful words or reminiscence, nothing but a fraught silence which weighted the air like a shroud. Which, given the nature of that reunion, was sadly unsurprising.

After all, one of their number was absent. Hidden away behind a door, the tiny viewing window of which could probably light the entire waiting room by itself at that point; even they had to squint now, when they looked at the door. Every so often the doctor, or one of her nurses, had to stagger outside to administer medical attention to their own suffering corneas.

He won't give up. It burned in her heart. He won't give up. It seared through her mind. He won't give up. It blazed at the core of her being. She could believe nothing else. She didn't know about the others; too many of them had done their grieving years ago, and remained reluctant to hold too much hope. But to Selphie Kinneas, when it came right down to it, it was all about Squall himself - and once Sir Squall Leonhart finally got around to deciding with all his heart to achieve something, he never gave up. Never.

She didn't know if the others believed that. And it didn't really matter. Because whether they did or not, they were all there, sitting in that waiting room, waiting.

What else could they do?

—ox-oxo-xo—

The sheer earthshaking audacity of Rinoa's (and, reluctantly, Squall's) plan – not to mention the ramifications on the entire world if it worked – required the approval of both the Estharian and Galbadian governments. After all, the end result would be a veritable tidal wave of sorceresses not witnessed since the dawn of recorded history. If improperly handled, the affair could culminate in a bloodbath of epic proportions.

President Laguna Loire and President Gunter Caraway were briefed in on the plan; while unhappy about the potentially destabilising effect it would have on all nations (not just theirs), they reluctantly acquiesced – though not entirely for the publicly stated reason that it would set back Ultimecia's otherwise inevitable ascent for centuries. The former general, because he did love his estranged daughter, and would do almost anything to prevent her from becoming the woman who quite nearly destroyed the world. Laguna, because he did love his estranged son, and would do almost anything to avoid loading the love of his son's life into a distant prison such as the one that Adel had suffered. It was something that Rinoa and Squall had counted on, whatever their personal misgivings regarding their fathers – not only to agree to their plan, but to keep it secret for as long as possible from their friends. They did not look forward to the inevitable confrontation when they found out.

Of course, they could not be fooled for long. Esthar and Galbadia did not an entire world make; the other nations had to be let in on the plan. And in any case, as in most cases when dealing with secrets of such magnitude, there were simply too many pieces of the puzzle left out in the open for their friends not to figure out enough of what they planned.

The confrontation was every bit as painful as they had feared. Squall, head hanging in shame as he was verbally lambasted on all sides for giving up on her yet again. Rinoa, her valiant defence of the plan dissolving into a waterfall of tears as she finally revealed the weakness that she had hidden so well from the others. But in the end, no matter their feelings, they simply would not be turned. And as first one, then another, then finally all of them pledged not to stand against the inevitable, Squall's heart dropped further and further.

It was really happening. They were really going to do it.

He was really going to lose her.

It took months for the various nations' preparations to be completed. SeeDs and government forces had to be mustered and deployed to find the sorceresses as they developed their powers – not just to stop them if they couldn't handle the sudden infusion of corrupted power, but also to protect them from potential lynchmobs. The most isolated of villages and settlements had to be warned about the proper way to deal with the new sorceresses (don't kill them, because they'd just have to pass the power on before they died; don't mistreat them, because they might lose control and lash out; contact the authorities and let them handle it – oh, and if they have a knight, don't separate them). Monitoring safeguards had to be constructed and adapted to ensure that no experimentation was conducted on unwilling sorceresses – and to ensure that those who were willing were not allowed to twist those experiments to nefarious use.

All in all, it was almost a year after the first time Rinoa began to succumb that the plan was finally ready to be executed. Not that Squall spent his time simply twiddling his thumbs, or sinking into depression. No, he spent most of that year hunting feverishly for any way to free her of her burden without being forced to go with that plan. So did Rinoa, though she did so only infrequently, determined to enact her only apparent escape as she was; indeed she spent a great deal of her time reminding Squall that he'd agreed to this. So did the others, with an intensity that reeked of desperation almost on a level with Squall's.

All in vain. He would fall. He would fail.

And then, the chosen day arrived…

They were all there, of course, in Balamb Garden's rebuilt Quad under the heavily overcast evening sky. Cid and Edea, Cid's face haggard, Edea looking old and frail as she hadn't in all the time they knew her. Zell, his wife and two kids in tow. Selphie and Irvine, their hands welded in a death-grip. Quistis and Odine, the former's face determinedly stony, the latter busily taking notes. Commander Xu, attempting to comfort Quistis, not fooled for a minute. Laguna sobbing, Caraway grey-faced, with Ellone tearful between them, standing with the other five major leaders (most of whom looked distinctly uneasy, feeling out of place); Kiros, Ward and Watts, among their attendants. Even the Posse had made it – Seifer, arms crossed and trying not to look like he cared; Raijin, his hand gripping Seifer's shoulder. Fujin, pressed into Nida's side in a public display of affection which was most atypical for the reserved couple.

Even were they alone, the Quad would have seemed crowded. Yet by far the greater portion of the available space was filled with others. Hands slicked round rifle-grips and sword-hilts. Tongues curling and lips writhing round spell-mantras. Air buzzing and heavy with the eagerness of over a dozen Guardian Forces, all hovering on the knife's-edge of their summons. And that did not include the snipers and long-range battlemages, tucked away in some places the location of which not even Squall was aware of (because Xu was very good at her job).

After all, there was no guarantee that it would work. He would fall. He would fail.

What was missing?

A small dais had been set up years ago, its foundations permanent, on the site of the original Garden Festival stage, the one which had been totalled in the Garden's collision with Fisherman's Horizon. It was the emptiest place in the whole area. Only four people stood on it.

Not with the memory, not directly...something else...?

Nudged impatiently by his research partner, Doctor Odine started and impatiently shoved his notes in a robe pocket; rummaging round in said pocket, a small aerosol canister was produced. Its contents were liberally sprayed over Rinoa's restraining bangle. The elderly scientist retreated from the dais, already continuing his note-taking.

Quistis stepped forward, penknife in hand, other hand ungloved. The blade's point lanced a vein at the base of her palm; the blood dribbled haphazardly over one side of the already-glistening jewelry. The younger scientist left the dais, applying a potion to the cut and redonning her glove.

The time had come. He would fall. He would fail.

…Wait.

He would… what? Curl up and wait for the abyss to swallow him whole?

(He would fall. He would fail.)

(20:00 hours precisely. Sorceress Edea, shooting to her feet with a vicious snarl as the Triumphal Arch's portcullis slammed down to block the float. The carousel, rising to the roof of the presidential palace. The second portcullis, dropping to pin the sorceress in her triumphal cage. The stage is set, screaming for its violent climax…and the bright young star has stage fright.

"Irvine Kinneas!"

And just like that, the optimum moment of surprise had slipped away.

"I…I can't…" he mumbled, jagged shards of his pride making it almost impossible for the sharpshooter to speak. "I'm sorry, I can't do it. I always freeze like this… I try to act cool, joke around, but I just can't handle the pressure…"

"Forget it. Just shoot."

"My bullet… The sorceress… I'll go down in history. I'd change the history of Galbadia… Of the world!" Irvine's self-litany had managed to get him to face his target…but—

"Enough! Just shoot!"

"I can't, dammit!" The sniper's head sank miserably into his trembling hand.

Squall stood there, his world collapsing around him, and his fury drained away into the numbing grey fog. And what was left, was…pity. He took pity on a man who just maybe, in the end, wasn't cracked up to be here any more than Rinoa was.

"Irvine, calm down." His tone, no longer harsh, no longer hard, strove to steady the poor, frantic gunman. "Everyone's waiting on you. I don't care if you miss. Whatever happens, just leave the rest to us." His words seemed to still Irvine's shivers, though his eyes were still hidden under that stetson, the hat which had never looked so much like a child's costume as in that moment. "Just think of it as a signal. A sign for us to make our move."

He snuck a sidelong look at his mission commander, his eyes pleading for reassurance, for acceptance, for forgiveness. "Just a signal…"

(That's it.) He nodded gently, calmly. "Please."

Irvine looked down the telescopic sight, almost as if in a trance. "…Just a sign."

And the bullet flew, straight and true and dead on target…and pinged harmlessly away as it ran full-tilt into the ethereal, adamantine sphere of will which the sorceress had no doubt thrown up within seconds of the second portcullis' descent.

The failed sniper slumped to the ground. "…I'm sorry."

Squall's death was nigh. He had no chance, none at all, of taking on the sorceress – let alone Seifer and an entire battalion of the Galbadian army – and surviving the attempt. But then, he had known since the moment that Irvine had first hesitated. Clad in the certainty of his impending demise, heart and mind embraced like a lover in its numbing clasp, he forgave Irvine Kinneas. "It's OK. Your aim was perfect. Just leave the rest to me. I'm goin' for the sorceress.")

It was the first time he had felt such numbness. But it was far from the last. That speech he'd given, before ordering the Garden into a ramming course directly into Galbadia Garden's prow, had been saturated with it. That leap into endless space, that somehow ended with Rinoa in his arms, would have seemed insanity to him without it. When everything else was stripped away from him, it was all that was left. It was him.

And it was what he had all but abandoned. It was what The Lion had tried to steal from him.

(He would fall. He would fail.)

What The Lion…

(He would fall. He would fail.)

…What The Lion was still trying to steal.

The village's inhabitants, creeping out of their houses at last, to gape at the half-dismembered carcass of the behemoth which had plagued them for weeks, bleeding all over the central square…and the hunter, walking away without a word. The long-overdue company of Dollet soldiers, gaping at the decaying corpses of dozens of anacondaurs – and crying out at the sight of the single neat row of graves lining the sides of the hamlet's main road…and the hunter, dropping the worn shovel beside the last grave and wearily retrieving his bloody gunblade. The prisoners, hearing the locks on their cells snick open, emerging to the spattered remains of the bandits which had captured them for the ransom…and the hunter, silently dropping a pack filled to the brim with pillaged potions and antidotes at their feet.

The labourer, hands clasped to his stomach to stem the bloodflow…the hunter, blade dancing death around the labourer, shattering belhemels and bissecting blood souls with Lionheart's every sweep. The farmwife, one hand clenching despite the agony against the flaccid grip of her dead husband, surrounded by her dead children, dead and gone and she soon to join them…the hunter, completely ignoring the wheezing gasps and sticky twitches of the eviscerated, dying wendigo, holding onto her other hand. The child sorceress, weeping and wailing for the loss of the little brother who had been her knight…the hunter, carrying her sodden, quivering form in his arms as her hometown came into view over the hill's crest.

Squall Leonhart's fingers, gently brushing away the encrusted gore from Selphie Kinneas's green-tinged cheek. "Yes, it hurts. Yes, I hate it. Yes, I avoid it. I am human."

…What The Lion could never steal. What The Lion would never comprehend, even if it could steal it. Because without it, Squall Leonhart would have been and would always be that which he had devoted his entire life to protecting other people from: a monster.

The chasm's walls reared up around him, and the fog rose to swallow him, and the shroud was torn asunder…

And this time, when that sick certainty cradled him in its numbing embrace…it was at least his own.

—ox-oxo-xo—

"What the—!" Variations on the theme burst out from half-a-dozen throats.

That eye-tearing actinic light, blasting out from the viewing portal, had just brightened even higher…and turned as golden as the noon sun.

—ox-oxo-xo—

The time had come. As Rinoa nervously raised her hand, the sopping bangle hanging from her wrist, Squall's mind suddenly shuddered, hovering on the edge of perceptory overload. There was him, watching the scene from without, wrapped in his numbness. There was him, watching the memory from within his younger self, wrapped in his numbness. And then… Squall raised his own hands, the left clasping hers comfortingly, the right taking hold of the bangle, pressing a thumbprint into its bloodsoaked metal; the circle came away in his hand.

Rinoa shivered, began to whimper, clutching at her head… …There was him, enduring it all, thrashing about in near-mindless panic as the sorceress power strained to slip its bounds and sink its talons into her, from within her mind.

("Calm down, Rinoa. I won't let her harm you. Focus on me…that's right, you can do it…")

("Calm down, Squall. You're only going to send her into a panic…" It was Ellone, his face cradled in her hands, hovering over his unconscious form in the Headmaster's sleeping quarters. "She can hear you, you know she can, you don't need to shout…")

(His heart crumbling to dust, trying to pour all his remaining feelings into his voice, making it as soothing and hypnotic as possible as she twitched and snarled before him…)

(The grieving Headmaster regathering himself with an effort, trying to find the remainder of his crumbled heart, trying to find something to give to the woman who had already died…

And, under the pain and despair, within the grief, he found it.)

And just about every mouth in the Quad dropped, hanging slack, even the weapons sagging in nerveless hands for a few seconds. Even he was impressed. Not in all his memories, past or present, or even in the countless piles of research he had combed, had Squall ever found anything like this. The Balamb Headmaster was wreathed in the outlines of what an aura spell might have looked like…if its golden glory were magnified a hundredfold. It coiled like flame from his shoulders, it flared out from his brow like a crown crafted into the sun's image. Even Rinoa's emerging wings were tinged with that glorious aura, their usual lunar radiance acquiring an incongruously sunny tint.

("That's it…" He was too focused on Rinoa to notice. And if he had, he would not have cared.)

("That's it…" He could not help but notice, given her awe and wonder and relief. But he was too busy cradling Rinoa in his numbness – the one thing he had left to offer her, the one thing she could take – to care overmuch.)

("That's it…" Ellone slumped back, letting the tears fall at last. What she had sensed through Rinoa's eyes, through Squall's eyes, in that moment… after he woke up, she told him it was the single most beautiful, heart-breaking thing she had ever witnessed.)

"So…" Rinoa straightened at last, drawing her first easy breath for minutes. "This is you…" Her voice still shook a little, for the sheer emotion. "…this is who you are…?"

"…Whatever." Drowning desperately in her magnificent mahogany gaze, he smiled.

("…Whatever.") Drawing her essence as deeply into himself as he could, he smiled.

Almost unbidden, the smallest of smiles pulled at his lips.

She jumped, ever so slightly – and then burst into a fit of giggles. "Oh, thank you Squall…" And Rinoa threw herself into his arms with characteristic abandon, her lips crushing against his for the last time.

There were no words. There were no tears. There was no point.

Leaving his arms at last, she moved away far enough to give the dozens of guns pointed squarely at her head a chance to hit her without Squall getting in the way. Those guns tracked her as a lazy flutter of her wings sent her drifting gently into the air, kept tracking as Rinoa Heartilly Leonhart's ever-more-brightly glowing form ascended into the low-hanging clouds.

Left back on the ground, Squall's blazing silhouette brightened in lockstep, becoming almost impossible to look upon. (His eyes, like magnets, remained rivetted on the centre of his life.)

(Squall cried out as Rinoa's very essence seemed to expand and thin and tear, his viewpoint rent in hundreds of directions in a single instant—)

For a moment, the entire sky shone.

And then there was a rain of white feathers.

—ox-oxo-xo—

They had been kept out all morning – first by the doctor's orders, and then by the manifestly dangerous intensity of that light. And much as they admitted the necessity, they were not happy about it in the least. So, when that golden light winked out like someone had found the 'off' switch, the lot of them leapt off their chairs and rushed in a stampeding mass for the infirmary ward's door…

—ox-oxo-xo—

He remembered everything.

He remembered…everything.

The ring… Squall became aware – had, in a sense, always been aware – that his lefthand had been clenched into a fist for some reason. Upon a cursory examination, he noted absently that its gloved surface was slick and gummy with blood. But that was irrelevant. He opened his palm, not without some effort. And there it was.

The ring… it was the key to it all.

The Lion towered over him, claws out and glittering, jaws open and slathering, poised to strike…and he completely ignored it, fishing out his long-lost ring from between his stiff, aching fingers and carefully sliding the sticky band of custom-crafted platinum onto the middle finger of his bloodsoaked left hand.

—ox-oxo-xo—

…And, shoving a half-blinded nurse out the way, piled through the door and into Squall's room. Their eyes gravitated as one toward the single cot.

His eyes were open and lucid, his mouth set in a sardonic smirk, his left hand raised…the Griever ring adorning his middle finger as he…

Wait a minute. Was he flipping off the ceiling…?

"You lose."

And Squall Leonhart disappeared, leaving behind nothing but an IV tube of AB-type plasma dribbling forlornly onto the mattress.

A/N: See? – monster. I tried experimenting with different POV methods in Chapters 11/12 – it seems to be pretty effective, but GODS it's cumbersome when you have to write it… You see why it took me a damn month to get around to updating? (Not to mention the whole Squall/Rinoa tragic-romance aspect, which simply could not be avoided at this point. A little cheesy for my taste, but still had to be written.)

Anyway… If the rest of it goes to plan – and by now, given that I've more or less cleared the last major hurdle on this, it probably will – I'll be releasing the next and final update (hurrah!) in a couple of weeks. Again, my apologies for the delay in this latest update; I sincerely hope you think it was worth it. (And, if you've already taken all that time to read this ridiculously overlong chapter, you might as well take a little more time to leave a review on the subject, no?)