*Sigh* I swore I'd never write this...

This is so Rose's fault. It's been a really, really, long time since I've played FF8, and I wasn't even as impressed with it as I was the other ones. Be that as it may, on a whim I downloaded a few vid files from the game, and saw Squall dancing...*sigh*. This is -so- Rose's fault. Anyway, keeping in mind that it has been a really long time since I played the game, this is just a rough little ficlet that I'm working on because I can't sleep. Set somewhere towards the end of the game.

**

It had been a very long time since he'd woken this way, with the bewildered sense of unreality that came with waking up in a strange place. Shifting onto his back, he blinked in the dim light, feeling the slight tremors that told him the airship was still in motion.

The fine hairs on the back of his neck prickled uncomfortably with the sense of being watched and Laguna was fully awake in an instant, adrenaline surging. His soldier instincts might be rusty from lack of use but they had never been forgotten.

Warily, he reached out to turn on the bedside lamp, his other hand creeping stealthily under his pillow in search of cool metal handle of the knife he'd hidden there. The moment his fingers brushed the light switch, his wrist was caught in a firm grip.

Instinct called for him pull away, to twist the offending hand backwards, break it if necessary to subdue the enemy, and he might have done it, fallen straight back into the easy familiarity of old patterns if it hadn't been for one soft word.

"Don't."

Recognition came and Laguna relaxed in minute degrees, sinking back against the pillows.

"Squall?" he asked uncertainly, "Did you need something?" Cold instinct had deserted him, leaving him alone with his admittedly feeble social skills and he silently cursed his own ineptness. If ever he had needed to be able to make a proper conversation, now would be the time.

His eyes had adjusted somewhat to the darkness and he could see the young man sitting next to his bed, eyes focused on him and just looking at them made him ache, filling him with memories that were yellowed with age. This strange, sullen boy with Raine's eyes.

The son he'd never known.

It was his own fault, he knew, for trusting too much, for not being enough of a soldier. Or perhaps being too much of one, putting duty before those he loved. Strangers had raised his son, his son was a stranger himself, and that knowledge would haunt him the rest of his life, no matter how long or short it might be. His son.

Raine's son...

...was staring at him, an intensity in those familiar, unfamiliar eyes, some strange light that Raine's had never possessed.

"I was watching you sleep," Squall said finally, "I'm not used to seeing you from this side."

"Really?" Laguna murmured, shaken at the flatness of the boy's voice. Devoid of emotion and again it was so unlike Raine that it pained him to hear it. How would this young man have been if she'd been able to raise him, he wondered, his eyes involuntarily searching out hints of her in their son's face. Would he have smiled more often, sweetly, as she had, would he have been as practical, as greedy for affection as she had been? Yes, he could see her here and there, the tilt of the nose, the curve of the jaw and she was so real, so -alive- in this young man's face.

And nowhere else. If Squall had even the tiniest memory of the brave, caring woman who had been his mother it wasn't revealed in that detached voice or in those cool, distant eyes. It was as if Squall had locked all his emotions away inside, and Laguna had to wonder what this boy had been through that would cause him to do that.

Oh, Raine, I'm sorry, he thought, unable to tear his eyes from the shell of the human being who was her son, this travesty of her blood and it was almost enough to make him weep, if he hadn't known that Squall would hold him in contempt for his tears.

Instead, he stared back mutely at his son, wondering what the boy wanted. Information, likely, Squall was a good soldier if nothing else, and Laguna wished he could take pride in that, instead of it increasing the emptiness that was eating away at his gut.

"Who are you, really?" Squall said quietly, his head tilted slightly as he regarded Laguna with faint curiosity. "We've come halfway across the world and back looking for you, been dragged through your memories...why is it that you're truly so special?"

Laguna was taken aback at the question, so unlike what he was expecting. Strategic planning, perhaps, something for the upcoming battle, but not this, the first purely emotional response he'd ever seen from Squall.

Perhaps there was more to the boy than he'd first thought.

Squall was still waiting, and Laguna shook his head, somewhat helplessly. "I wish I could explain it all to you but there's just not time right now. Afterward, I promise you." He left unspoken that there probably wouldn't be a time later for him to explain. This moment might be the only time alone he ever spent with Squall, his son whom he'd only learned existed a short time ago.

He had hardly been able to believe it when Elaine told him. How she had returned home to Winhill to find a baby brother and dead mother. How they'd gone to the orphanage together only to be separated when Ellone had been adopted. And how Squall knew nothing about it.

Squall was frowning thoughtfully, and Laguna thought he might protest but instead he said, "You look so familiar to me...why do I know you?"

Laguna said nothing, having no answer to that he could give. A glance in a mirror would answer far better than he ever could, if Squall knew what to look for. There was so much of himself in the young man's face, a fascinating mixture of him and Raine. He wondered suddenly if Raine had ever had a chance to see the boy, if she'd held him for just a time or if she'd died without ever looking at her son. Laguna closed his eyes, unable to bear the sight any longer.

The softness of a mouth brushing against his own shocked him and he jerked back reflexively. Hands caught at his shoulders, stilling him and rubbing gently, as if he were a wild chocobo being soothed for riding, and the tip of a tongue traced his lips.

"Shh, it's all right," Squall murmured, his breath gusting over Laguna's still damp lips. "It's all right," he repeated, more warmth in those few words than Laguna had heard in everything else he'd heard Squall say put together.

"Wait...don't..." he stammered, seized with a sudden terror of what was happening. This was Raine's son, -his- son, and he was pushing Laguna backwards onto the bed, his hands agonizingly cool and soft as they delved beneath the scratchy blankets in search of warm skin.

A warm, wet mouth pressed against his neck, and Laguna arched into it unthinkingly.

"Wait..." Laguna tried again. "You don't understand."

"I don't want to understand. I don't care. I just need this."

"We can't..." his voice trailed away as Squall lifted his head, piercing him with Raine's eyes.

"I'm going to die," Squall said, softly. "We're all pretending it's not true, all of us. Faking that we'll come back, but we all know better. You know better. We're going to die and I..." he hesitated, "I want this."

One of Squall's hands slipped between Laguna's legs, firmly squeezing the warm bulge he found there, and Laguna barely had the presence of mind to be grateful he'd worn pants to bed.

"I want this...and you want it too."