FicWad

There was little sleep to be had. Squall had long since inured himself to the reality that it would be months, perhaps years, before he would sleep without nightmares. Though he understood that eventually he would be able to sleep through the nocturnal replays of recollection, that time was not now.

Not even close, really. Not even close.

He did, as was his duty as Commander, do his part to create the illusion that all was well. He retired to his quarters as if to sleep, dozed as much as exhaustion could drive him to, and at least stayed in his room until after midnight. But in the dark hours, when the active complement of the Garden was reduced to watchmen and navigators, he abandoned the pretense of rest and walked the silent halls, too aware of the lives in his hands and too aware of the inherent failure of his wakefulness.

Squall went first to the outer balconies. The Garden, flying over ocean under a clear night sky, provided as restful a vista as could be imagined. But the stars harbored murderers and the moon was darkening, the pale pink of it deepening in recent weeks, light shining on the ocean's bloodstained glass -

It was becoming habit to shy away from reminders. He turned from the night air and headed for the Infirmary. He could not continue with his mind in pieces and sleep snatched an hour here, a few minutes there. There were drugs that could handle any illness; he would find something there to cure his wakefulness. The halls were dark, camera monitored by watchmen in offices who had the sense not to spread rumors, and the Infirmary was full of the heavy silence of many sleepers. Too many wounded from the last battle and there would be more, until the possessed Galbadia Garden was thrown down. Their wounds clawed at him, forced him to question every command decision, re-examine, determine if he had used their talents and skills wisely or foolishly.

"Squall." The whisper, dry and hoarse, carried in the silence. He detoured from his intended route into the pharmacy. Few called him by name anymore.

Zell was also wakeful. Small surprise there. Squall averted his eyes from Zell's hands; the setting of them had jarred on the trip back and they'd rebroken more than once before anyone else had noticed. He was under orders to remain in the Infirmary, under observation until the damage had been healed. Squall kept his voice low, but did not whisper. "Yes?"

It should not be possible to see color so clearly in such dim light as was left to allow staff to navigate the various beds in the night, but Zell's eyes were very, very blue. Wrapping himself in Shiva again, Squall knew. Not that it did him half the good it should have. "Not you, too?" The three words carried with it an abandonment of hope, and behind the polite mask of his expression Squall kicked himself for thinking Zell might /sleep/. If anything his nightmares had to be worse than Squall's own.

There was little point in lying. Squall nodded. "I came for something to make me sleep."

Zell's laugh was short and bitter. "If you find anything strong enough, give me some too, wouldja? The painkillers make it hard to think."

Squall regarded the setting of Zell's hands. "How long?" he asked.

"Two, three weeks, Kadowaki said," was the reluctant admission. "Squall...I'm gonna go nuts in here."

/A little late for that/, was Squall's private assessment. He admitted what Zell refused to; who they had been had died. Who they would become was the only issue still up for debate. "We go as soon as Galbadia's gutted," he said. "If he's not there, in command." Which was Squall's personal assessment. Edea could not possibly have had such a grasp of tactics as had been seen in the last battle. Seifer had to be there, in the other Garden, at the helm.

Zell's jaw dropped. "Wait," he whispered. "Wait for me, damnit, you owe me this -"

Squall sat on the edge of the bed, shaking his head 'no'. "There's no time," he said, indicating the too-full Infirmary. "I've got to get him out of that damn hulk if we're to have any chance at all. Get him out of his shell and hunt him down or we. Are. Dead. I can't wait a few weeks for you."

The words were simple statements of the obvious. There should not have been any reaction but - perhaps reluctant - agreement. But Zell seemed to fall in on himself at the sound of them, as if they shattered some illusion he'd been using to make himself fight. He didn't sob. But he didn't sob, Squall could see, because he was forcing himself to control his breathing. The tears he had less control over, and they spilled freely and unheeded onto the sheets. "I have to go," he whispered - not to Squall, or as far as Squall could tell to anyone in particular. Just to hear the sound of the words. "I can't...sleep, I can't /fight/...why the hell did you get me out of there if I'm no damn use to you?"

Because I love you/. The words would never be said, now. The nightmares neither of them could sleep through had twisted every permutation of the words into mocking knives aimed right for the heart. Seifer's last - /Hyne, let it be the last - victory. "To give you your chance," he said instead. "If he's still alive when you're healed, you'll come and have your crack at him. If I get to him first I'll hand you proof I took care of it. Either way, he's not the real enemy. He's her puppet. I won't face her without you."

He knew the words were neither a light nor an easy promise. Seifer had beaten him in every fight up to now. But something had changed in Squall, chained to the electric rack of the prison, something had changed during the forever of torture and confinement. The rules had changed. He had learned - and the game was new. He would never allow that to happen again. Whatever the cost, that would never happen again. Squall pulled one hand free of the gloves that almost never came off now, unbearable as human contact had become, and put his palm against Zell's tear-wet cheek. Acknowledgement. Acceptance. And watched the blue eyes close.

Promise. Zell had no need to ask; Squall had no need to confirm. And if it felt to Squall like the turning of a particularly twisted knife in the heart - that he could touch no other, and Zell could be touched by no other, and yet never have it be more than this - he gave no outward sign. Personal feelings were allowed only so much leeway. Broken as Zell was, he was the best at what he did. His hands would heal, and then there would be reckoning. For now, the tears slowed but did not stop, dripping over Squall's fingers as Zell lay back onto the Infirmary bed. Bandaged and set hands could not hold in return, but Zell turned his head toward Squall's hand.

And Squall waited. Until tears dried and breathing slowed to something steady and even, and then he carefully removed his hand and stood up. Somewhere far inside, someone was shaking at the wetness in his bare hand. Someone was screaming - rage, pain, it probably didn't matter. Terror, possibly. He knew himself changed from who or what he had once been. The prison hours were stark and vivid in every horrific detail, and had become some kind of internal divider between 'then' and 'now'. He wondered if who he had been 'then' would have cried, as Zell cried. He wondered if it mattered.

He slipped the glove back on and checked through the pharmacy stores for tranquilizers. He'd try different ones until he found something that worked, if need be. Pills palmed in gloved hands, he checked on Zell before leaving. Sleeping, deep enough not to wake at approach. Either that or Zell was faking sleep and not in a mood to say more. Which was also fine. Squall returned to his own room and tested the pills he'd retrieved.

He woke, groggy and bleary, at roughly four the following afternoon. Somewhat to his surprise, Irvine and Quistis had run interference for him, fielding problems until he emerged. This was a pleasant shock until he found out /why/.

Zell had slipped overnight into catatonia, cause unknown but Squall could guess.

Somewhere beyond hearing, someone was laughing. Somewhere else, the screams were of rage.

There was a war to fight, and win. Squall sighed, accepted the report, and got on with it.