Who:  Squall Leonhart, Irvine Kinneas
Where: Cid's Office (3rd Floor of Balamb Garden)
Why:  Squall's starting to make Irvine question his sanity. (On a side note, the Rock Opera 'The Crimson Idol' is an excellent, but highly disturbing soundtrack for this scene.)
Date of Log:  September 17th, 2000.




Squall is seated at one of the desks, a sheet of paper in one hand, and his attention elsewhere. It's quite in the office, and dim from the night outside and the glow of moonlight off the snow. The Commander doesn't notice the quite tranquility as he stares at something opposite him.

Having heard by way of rumor that Squall had been seen drifting up to the 3rd Floor, Irvine had decided to follow, having given him space and nap time already. The elevator outside the office softly chimes to herald someone's arrival. This is followed by footfalls and finally a knock on the door, followed by it opening, the cowboy peering inside uncertainly. "Squall?"

Squall's head jerks up at the ding, and he tosses the sheet of paper on the table, not knowing who to expect. More work? Vincent, wanting the report? The face that pocks in is... one of the last he wants to see right now, and he pauses, before asking, "What?"

The 'greeting' if you want to call it that gives Irvine pause. But, this is his friend, and he's not just going to leave yet. The way Squall reacted earlier had him more then concerned. "Hello to you too." It wasn't said angrily, just sort of wryly. "I told you we needed to talk." Closing the door again, he leans against it, folding his arms over his chest.
      
Squall takes the stance, somehow, as meaning 'and you aren't leaving until we do that' which makes him narrows his eyes. "Uhm, hello. Sure, what about?" Maybe by being casual.... he can't quite pun a finger on why he's edgy now... he knows why, but putting words to it is something he's been avoiding. Sitting back, he slouches in his seat, the exit cut off for him.

Irvine hadn't meant for it to seem that way, but ah well. "How'd you get my gun back?" He's got a lot of questions, but this seems like a damn fine start. He's not sure what can of worms he's opening here. Kawn, however, is a touchy subject for him as well and he doubts he'll put Squall on too much of an edge. Well, he hopes. So far, his gaze is unreadable, if it can be seen in the dim lighting.

And there's a pause as the Commander digests the topic. "We... fought, I got it away from him." Eyes, glowing in the dim light, flick briefly in the direction of the discarded paper. "It's all in the report if you want to read it now." Yes, the sterile report in clipped military tone, details his trip to Baron, and the encounter with Kawn, a Criminal.

Pushing away from the door now, Irvine crosses the room to reach for the paper, the sterile report on all of this. He's mostly looking at Squall the closer he gets, however. Searching for something, some inkling that the Commander knows what really happened between Kawn and the gunman. So far only Selphie knows the real truth, and Vincent suspects.

Squall only tenses, very slightly, as Irvine approaches, and he sits back to let the gunman read. It's a fairly bland report, one of Squall's best. Relations with Baron and Figaro... blah blah... meeting of various people... meeting of Kawn, amung other names... twenty four hours of memory loss... 'minor altercation in Baron Inn boarding room' involving criminal and something called Number 076.

Irvine blinks slowly as his eyes run back and forth over the page, absorbing the contents to memory. Memory loss? Without lifting his head, cornflower blue eyes flick upwards over the top of the page to glance at Squall again. "Memory loss?" This truly disturbs him, seeing as it seems fairly close to Kawn's mention in the report. Knowing that he claimed something similiar with his previous situation, he can't help but feel a tight ball of anxiousness start to form in the pit of his stomach.

The gaze that meets the glance is hardened, two orbs of glass light by light fire. And Squall says nothing for a moment, before answering, simply, "Yeah." Yes, memory loss. But does he know more? He's certainly odd about something, and his mood's not improved a whit, it seems.

Hmm, shall they dance about the subject then? Irvine is apt to think, no, and decide to drop it, possibly. It's not one he relishes, but knowing the kind of torments he's been suffering, not to mention the nightmares that make him awaken screaming in the middle of the night, he decides to continue. No one should have to suffer with that kind of secret. He sets the paper down, asking in the most neutral tone of voice he can muster, "What happened with Kawn?"

"We were with a group of people," Squll says, shrugging. "He was weird. Tried to rob me, we fought, Number 076 helped, and we let him go." It's about as brief as the report, with only the name of the 'criminal' mentioned being added. He's now focusing on Irvine's earring, if one traced the line of sight.

They are kinda sparkly, so yes, it would stand out if the light hit it right. The reply seems as concise as the report, though colorless, detail-less. Kawn being weird is an understatement too. "You mean sick fuck." The gunman says aloud without meaning to. Residual anger, a name he'd actually used while in the presence of the 'criminal'. Well, so much for keeping this neutral.

Squall looks as though his first impulse is to counter it with a denial, but... well, kawn -is- a sick fuck. The harshness of the statement from his friend makes him slump further into the chair. "Yeah... he is," he agrees vaguely. He doesn't want to talk about it, about what he knows and what he thinks happen. Either of them is bad. "Look... it's in the report."

"That isn't," Irvine says, glancing around for a place to slump too. Standing here like this makes him feel exposed, even in the dim lighting. Of course, he's still under the assumption that the memory loss is such as in his own instance, not quite true. He hadn't wanted to talk about it either, even when Vincent prodded him. That gives him pause however, if what he suspects did occur, then it'd be far too fresh a wound. "I'm sorry, I'll drop it. So how about telling me what else is bothering you. You nearly ran from me last week, and you dashed away from Moja today."
      
It's not a good move, really, and Squall's posture and expression don't improve at the change of topic. He starts to say something, stops, thinking. Then, looking at the ground. "I know, Irvy. I'm sorry." That's nearly all he wants to say on the previous matter, for trying to get up the guts to ask the other about -how you can find out if you've been raped by a man- is too horrible to consider. But at least, that part, needs to be said. At least.

That was unexpected too, coupled with his childhood nickname. Irvine actually has to look away. Even months later it's not something he can even think about without a lot of emotion. "Well, so am I," is said quietly in reply, assuming perhaps that Squall is, in partiality, admitting to the same having had occured to him. Finally, he just sets himself on the edge of the desk, falling rather quiet.

Squall's bad at fielding conversational balls even in the best of times, so the silence stretches out a bit. It's a little more peaceful for the Commander, at least something is off his mind. Letting Irvine know so he didn't just wonder. And vague enough to not address things in additional details. Recalling the topic change with an internal wince, he stirs, muttering, "I'm just stressed, don't worry about it. Lot on my mind." The trip to Baron... added to, but was not the sole start. It was more a crippling blow than anything, and comparatively from before he left, it shows.

Irvine considers that. And truth be told, he doesn't believe it. Though usually seeming to be frivolous and insensitive, he does have that odd empathetic mode occasionally, and such is being displayed now. "You've been stressed since you got back from ShinRa." Oh there's such a temptation to ask about that, really. Turning now to face the Commander, Irvine steadies his voice to sound concerned, but not nagging. "Come on, Squall, it's Irvy. You don't have to play the strong Commander to me. I saw you when you were four and skinned your knees on the stairs at Matron's. What's going on?"

Since ShinRa. Squall frowns at that, thinking... yes. Yes, that's when. Oddly, he wishes he could tell Irvine about it, lay it all out and ask what to do. It's not being strong that stops him, it's the mess in his own head. But, verbalize. "I..." Amazing start, and a grinding halt. He shakes his head helplessly, grasping at anything coherent in his mind.

Irvine watches Squall intently. The start/halt is given a 'gone on' sort of look, but the gunman doesn't verbalize anything, content to be patient and give Squall whatever time he needs to gather his thoughts and spit them out. He's not going to give up either. This is a friend, and since the Ultimecia conflict, this gunman has understood what that kind of bond means. And for all the pushing the others from the Muppet Baby Orphange group can do, Irvine feels better just taking his time talking to the Commander, one former loner to another.

"Ever since... I was in there," Squall tries, fixing his gaze on something solid. "I've felt like we're going to get lost. In this world. Like we don't belong and there's no solid ground. And the only things I can think of make me bad. All the things we could do... to get out from under other people. Make us slaves or... rulers. It feels like one or the other. Be dependant on someone else like ShinRa, or crush them first. One makes us slaves and the other makes us... no better. -Me- no better. It's my decision, my power, and Irvy, I -hate- it." He takes a shuddering breath. "I keep thinking it's better to get them first, but Shadow said it would kill everything I love and I'd be alone. Again, because I just wanted us all to be safe."

Whoa. This is heavy. Of course, the responsibility heaped onto Squall's shoulders was never something Irvine wanted, ever. Watching the Commander finally reveal those inner fears and demons, the gunman is briefly reminded of his age. (God, he's not that much older then I am. We're both frigging kids... what sort of sick joke is this to be played on him?) Silence follows for a moment as Irvine attempts to take what Squall's given him and mold it into something understandable. He came, he asked, he can't run away now. He sits on the edge of the desk again, thinking, the hat brim tipped low. "Squally..." he even starts regressing into the childhood names. "... I can't give you any definiative answers. I can't just wave a wand and make it all go away either, though if I could I would." Another brief pause. "You have to trust yourself though. If you start to doubt, that's all you'll ever do." He should know... he falls victim to it constantly. Looking up now, he tries to catch Squall's gaze. "And if you let anyone tell you what you are, then that's what you'll become. No one said this was gonna be easy. But you do have people you can fall back on, this burden doesn't -have- to be yours alone."

Squall doesn't meet the gaze, even as the other seeks it. He leaves forward, putting his face in his hands, dry-eyed for all the tension and confusion in his mind. "I see it around me, Irvy, I don't need anyone to tell me who or what I am. I see it, what one thing or another could do. It's coming up everywhere I look, everyone I talk to reminds me. It's like... there's some plan or destiny, and it changed and no one told me and I can't get away from it. Or if I want to." He finally lifts his gaze, fingers sliding down his face as he stares at the gunman with that ghosty gaze of his. "What if it's a sacrifice, Irvy? What's our role? What if... my role will bring us back so nations and people don't want to take us over or use us, if what I do make sit all right, even if it means becoming a monster? It'd be right, wouldn't it, in the end?" This is -eating- at him, the words coming now and painting a picture of his mind for the past few weeks.

Staring at Squall for a long moment, Irvine resists the urge to mutter 'he's mad'. Now, that' wouldn't be right. He's not, he's just not. The gunman refuses to believe that. "I don't understand, Squall. What are you seeing? What are they saying? Who?" Fate. The only fate the gunman believes in is that he's meant to be with Selphie, otherwise, fate can take a flying leap. "And there is no fate. No fate but what you make for yourself." He tenses then, meeting that gaze finally. Such a haunted visage in front of him and the cowboy has to resist the urge to be very un-manly and just hug the kid, the fellow lost orphan, near him. "Squall. You're not a monster. And no means justifies every end. You don't have to sacrifice yourself. There must be a better way."

"No, there's no control," Squall murmurs, holding the other's gaze now like a lifeline. Maybe he has sort of... lost it, at least temporarily, but one wonders what he was really like when he didn't verbalize this. "There's... things. Kawn called me a murderer, and Irvy I wanted to, I wanted to shoot him, had your gun right up to his temple." He lifts a hand from his face and mimes a handgun at his own hairline. "Bang, like that. It would have been justice and murder at the same time, wouldn't it? Just me knowing. Ends justify the means. I... put us on top, and we're safe. I lose everything but the end, Irvy, the end. Right?"

"I want to kill him too, Squall. Does that make me a murderer, after what he did to me? I'll tell you now if I did have my gun to his temple, I don't know if I'd be able to resist," Irvine counters quickly. "It's called being -human- and having human failings." Squall's seriously begun to frighten him, but not fear for himself, no, the cowboy is actually afraid for the Commander. He shakes his head vehemently, not about to go along with this idea that any sort of sacrifice is worth the end. "No, Squall. Don't martyr yourself for us, dammit." He's almost feeling he's in some great finale showing, welcome to the show, he's here to witness the last rites of the Squall he knows. For a moment, the fear that he can't steer him away from this track brings that cold feeling to the pit of his stomach again. Ah, the ties that bind.

Squall searches the other's eyes, 'gun' hand lowering gradually. "The 'famous Squall Leonheart'. A -King- said that, in the paper. Irvy. What am I famous for now? Because of Garden, what we can do to help other countries fight their little wars, like we used to help and then go home, get paid, get the exam scores. They talk about it as if we could change the world. People fear and love that, fear and love -us-. And the ones that love us -want- us, like ShinRa. What am I martyring, Irvy? My willingness to be walked on, beat down, scarred?" The glowing eyes flare as he talks, but as he pauses, they narrow down again and he sits back as though it took him effort to move. "...You don't know what I'd be missing."

No, Irvine wouldn't know, because that's something he doesn't want. He seems to calm, at least outwardly. Inwardly, his heart's been hammering in a terrible rhythm almost from the moment Squall started telling him all these maddening designs. "Are you going to let that King tell you what you are then? Define you for you? Yeah, so you're fucking famous, Squall Leonhart, because you're the Commander of Balamb Garden. But the second you start buying into what they're saying, then yes, they own you. Lock, stock, and gunblade barrell. May as well roll out the red carpet over yourself and let them have a good tromp." He halts the tirade, inhaling suddenly, surprised with himself, really. ShinRa comes to mind now. "We've never had a moral high ground before, you know. I don't know why I'm even preaching this at you. We're mercenaries, hiring out to the highest bidder. Could we take on ShinRa, the other realms? Probably. Should we?" The question is left dangling there. Irvine doesn't actually have an answer to that.

"Maybe the ones who want to own us," Squall says calmly, against the tirade. He's calm, sort of in a vacant way, but his eyes still hold their haunt. "I don't buy in, it right in front of me. Our technology, what we can do, our knowledge. They want that. Some want to take it from us. General Heidegger, said he would see Garden under the ShinRa banner. I attacked him then. Seemed pretty clear. Kefka... treated me... like a -thing-." The calm breaks and he fixes on the earring again. "No, we've never had moral high ground, Irvy, because no one wanted to conquer us or subdue us. We were never a -thing- before. It was understood then. It isn't now. We didn't take it -personal- then, it was a job..." He trails off, thoughts bumping and jostling ahead. Now, maybe, he takes it personal.

"We don't have a choice now, Squally, you're right," Irvine says quietly. Having never been a prisoner of ShinRa, he doesn't know what sort of torment the Commander was put under. However, hearing just that little bit starts to clue him in. "From what I've heard and seen, ShinRa treats everything like something they either must conquer or destroy." However, remembering Rion, and their conversation, he's not so convinced that the corporation is totally evil anymore. Sodom and Gomorrah have at least one person worth saving in his eyes. His head turns slightly, the light catching that paticular earring to flash a moment. He's not quite looking at Squall either anymore. "And I don't think our struggle with them will ever really be at an end. We're not an autonomous unit anymore, above all the realms, but we don't have to be like them. We don't have to give in to them, at all, be it conquering them or allowing ourselves to be conquered."

Squall listens silently, and his expression... crumbles, and is caught. The walls that served him through his youth help now. Or at least prop up. "You asked," he says, his voice quavering through a stoic resolve to give the man what he came here for. In full. "You asked what was bothering me, and you don't know what to do either. I don't have a choice, you say. I know. I knew before you came in here. I knew... that I don't know." A faint, entirely mirthless grin drifts across his face. "How's that for fucked, huh? What are you going to say now, Irvy?" He stirs, moving to stand. "It'll all work out? Trust myself? -I- -don't- -trust- -myself-. I can't think anymore. I don't want to think anymore. I need a herd of T-Rexaurs to even start not thinking enough."

Irvine closes his eyes briefly. Yeah, he asked. He had thought he could help, but this is beyond him and he's starting to see that. He's no leader. "I wish you could trust yourself, Squally, but that's not something I can give you, seeing as I don't even have it in myself." He's suddenly glad to be just a sniper, let the masters of war point him in the right direction and he'll point the gun. But Squall. He doesn't get that option. The gunman doesn't say anything at the perceived jibe. What could he say next after that? Oh but something eventually does come to mind. "Stare too long into the abyss and the abyss stares back into you. Perhaps you should stop staring." Stop thinking. Stop worrying. Is Squall even capable of that? As long as Irvine's known him he's been one to brood and -think- way too much. "Do what you think you have to Squall. Gods know I can't stop you. I'm just your sniperboy. Call me when you need someone assassinated." Bitter, though he didn't mean for it to be. He pushes off the desk then, intending to leave.

They've been using their childhood names, falling back on old times, but now when Squall uses it he -sounds- like the Squally of the orphanage. "Irvy..." Plaintative, small. Powerless. Irvy don't walk away, Irvy don't leave it all to him now. The Commander stands, staring silently but for the name uttered.

Irvine has heard that tone before, from Selphie, the night she had that horrific nightmare and felt scared and small, like the little girl she'd been back at the orphanage. The gunman halts, he can't walk away from that, not now, not ever. He turns now, wondering what he'll see written on the Commander's face now. "Yes?"

"It'll be ok in the end, won't it?" Squall asks, his expression... hopeful, by force. Irvy will tell him it's ok, that it'll end alright. Give him some light to see by, he's lost.

Seeing the little boy inside the man, Irvine nods. "It'll work out. It always does. We've overcome vast odds before... Ultimecia." They survived Ultimecia, dammit. They saved the world, or the world as they knew it then, they can survive this too.

Squall nods too, sealing the agreement. "Yes. Ultimacia. Ok, Irvy." Ok, yes. Be still my thoughts, he's trying to think and he can't do it with all the noise. "G'night then," he adds, in some weird attempt to make the preceeding conversation -normal-.

Standing there for a moment longer, Irvine isn't so easily convinced that things are, you know, ok. "Good night," is offered hesitantly. Now to escape downstairs, to the arms of his Selphie and try to either forget this conversation or peice it together and make something out of it. Hmm... he hadn't even mentioned the engagement to Squall. Somehow, though, no, it's not appropriate. Not now. He backs up a few steps before turning to leave.

Squall stands there for a long time after the door closes. On his own two feet, feeling the floor beneath him and other extremely simple focii. He's not so easily convinced either, but it feels good to believe that for a little while.