DISCLAIMER: None of it’s mine except the story, I make no claim to the rest cuz that belongs to Square, though having said that, if anyone wants to get me a birthday present you could do a lot worse than the rights to the Final Fantasy franchise…

The Loop

He was asleep, he was vaguely aware of that, somewhere in the back of his mind. He had had this dream before.

He was watching Zell, who was standing in front of the window, framed by the sky, which was coloured burnt orange and pink by the rising sun. He had just come from the shower, and he had a towel wrapped around his waist. He was looking over his shoulder with that feral grin, his tattoo largely obscured by the wet golden hair that hung down about his face.

And then Squall was approaching him, putting his hands on his lover’s narrow waist, resting his chin on his shoulder, and feeling strangely at ease with the contact. Zell sighed and leant back against him, and Squall ran his hands across the flat muscled stomach, tracing the scars that were drawn across it, the mark of a seasoned mercenary.

Then Zell turned in his arms and circled his own about Squall’s neck, and they kissed. It was a loving, knowing kiss, filled by an understanding that only the nature of their lifestyle could nurture. It was also a passionate, fearful, and desperate kiss; in their line of work, they never knew which would be their last. Love and narrow escapes had taught them not to take these moments for granted.

They broke apart, and Squall noticed with a frown that Rinoa was standing next to him. He looked to the sorceress and his former lover, and then back to Zell, who was now wearing a sombre black suit. His hair was dry, and still down, and he shook his head and pulled away from Squall’s embrace. His face was occupied with an expression of anger, loathing, and a deep painful sadness.

It hurt Squall to see him like this, and he reached to him to offer him comfort, but he didn’t know what was wrong, and Zell pulled further away from him, and just behind him Squall could see a marble headstone with the name Dincht carved into it.

Squall paused and looked at the stone behind his lover. He couldn’t see the rest of the name, was it Zell’s? Was that why Zell pulled away from him? Was Zell dead? He shook his head confusedly, Zell was fine, he was right in front of him.

A feather blew across Squall’s vision, and Zell turned to watch it pass, and as he turned, the scenery around him changed.

They stood now, Squall, Zell, and Rinoa, in a familiar field of flowers, the wrecked columns of a white marble house visible in the background. And then Zell cocked his head as if someone were calling him. He began walking in the direction of the unheard noise, and Rinoa followed him, adopting the same manner.

Then Rinoa stopped as if she’d just realised something, but Zell kept on walking, until the flowers around him began to spark, and then they burst into flame, and the shape of a man larger than Zell appeared silhouetted by the orange light of the fire.

The man stepped out of the flames, and he was recognised immediately. Zell’s face twisted in disgust at the man, who wore a white trench coat with a bloody red cross that drew down into a sharp point emblazoned on its shoulders.

Seifer grabbed Zell, and spun him round to face Squall, pinning the smaller man’s arms to his sides. He pointed the gunblade Hyperion at Squall in a gesture of challenge, then ran his tongue along the dark lines of the black lightening of Zell’s tribal tattoo. Then he stepped back into the flames, pulling Zell with him, and the fire died down, and it was as if it, Zell, and Seifer, had never been there.

Squall ran to the spot, but there was no sign of Zell, he crawled around in the flowers looking for some clue as to where the missing blonde could be. When he found nothing he turned to Rinoa for assistance.

Rinoa lifted her hand to point, reluctantly, as if she’d rather not tell him what she knew. Then a feather blew past her face, carried by the wind, and she turned to follow its path as it blew in a circle about her. And as she turned more feathers appeared, until the air was churning with them.

Then the feathers changed, they turned black as if burnt, and moved as if billowed by hot air. A look of realisation passed across Rinoa’s face, and she looked to Squall fearfully for help, and he ran to her. But as he drew near the feathers changed again, into the swirling black robes of figures dancing wildly in a circle about Rinoa.

And Rinoa was screaming and crying, and Squall ran at the dancers, trying to break through the ring, but he was thrown back. So he drew Lionheart and swung the blade in a shining arc at the dancers, but the blade met nothing. It passed through the spinning black forms as if there were only shadows.

And the circle began to close in on Rinoa, and she screamed again, and then Squall could no longer see her, only hear her screaming in pain, and then she was silent. And slowly it all faded, and there was as little trace of Rinoa as there was Zell.

Squall fell to his knees, letting Lionheart fall heavily to the grass, but it hit with a loud clang, and the ground Squall was kneeling on was no longer the grass of the flower field, it was hard black rock.

He heard a voice shouting his name. A familiar, woman's voice. Quistis. He looked about, trying to see through the darkness that had descended.

“Squall! It’s starting! Squall, quickly!” He could see her now, her whip snaking out and capturing a robed figure in its coils. A jerk, a crack, and the man fell with a broken neck. She called again. “Squall, hurry, it’s starting!” He still didn’t understand, not until the rising flames of something that looked worryingly like a funeral pyre illuminated the scene.

There was Quistis, Selphie, Irvine, and other people Squall vaguely remembered from Garden, and they were wearing SeeD uniforms, and they were fighting. Their enemies, Squall cast about trying to identify who he should be attacking, were people in black robes. He couldn’t identify them as male or female, their androgynous clothes and hooded faces made them totally anonymous.

Then he heard another voice calling him, and he took hold of Lionheart and used it to push himself to his feet. He couldn’t see where the voice was coming from, but he knew it. The sound of that voice could make his knees buckle, send pleasant chills down his spine, or, edged with fear as it was now, turn his blood to ice and knot his stomach with dread. It was Zell.

He saw him then, close to the pyre, two large wooden stakes driven into the ground, and Zell between them, chained to the posts. He looked exhausted and weak, as if the only things that kept him on his feet were the battle commencing around him, and the chains that wouldn’t let him fall to the ground.

Squall ran to him, dragging Lionheart at his side, the blade scraping and sparking against the stone of the floor. Then a large body stepped between Squall and his goal, and a blade flashed up at his face; it was Hyperion.

He brought Lionheart up instinctively, blocking the motion of the other gunblade, which glanced away, jarring his hand. He became lost in the actions of the battle, moving naturally into attack stance and reeling off slashes, parries, and thrusts in such a smooth string of movement it was as if he had learnt the routine by rote and practiced it in expectation of the fight he was now drawn into.

And Zell was there, all the time straining at his bonds, spitting curses at Seifer, calling encouragement to Squall, and wanting so desperately to be free to help his lover and his friends.

It happened suddenly, no one had expected it; Squall had performed the action by instinct when he saw a robed figure carrying a knife approaching Zell. He swung Lionheart for Seifer’s throat, but Seifer jumped back, dodging the blade, but he couldn’t escape the bullet that had been fired from the gunblade. He fell, clutching his throat, and Squall set upon the man approaching Zell.

Squall dispatched the robed man easily, and then pressed himself tightly against the slender body in the chains, putting his arms tight about his love. He was sobbing and apologising and he didn’t know why, neither of them knew why. Zell was telling him that it was fine; it was ok, that they were together again and that was all that mattered, so could he please stop crying. But then Squall understood something Zell didn’t.

“I’m sorry, Zell.” Realization dawned. “I’m so, so sorry.” Squall wasn’t there to rescue him. “Forgive me?” He was there to stop the resurrection. “I’m sorry.”

“Squall…?” His voice was barely a whisper, Squall wouldn’t have heard it if Zell’s lips hadn’t been so close to his ear.

“I’m sorry.” Squall stepped away from him, and he slumped forward sobbing hopelessly, he sounded hoarse and strangled.

“Squall, please…”

Squall squeezed his eyes shut as Lionheart flashed up, trying to hide from the sight of Zell’s body suspended limply in the chains that bound him to the two wooden posts, which stood high on either side of him. Trying to hide from the blood that stained his blade, and his clothes, and his hands. Trying to hide from the fact that he had just killed his lover.

And Squall couldn’t open his eyes, afraid that this time, this time, it might not be just a dream.

A/N: Well, I hope that was as confusing to read as it was to write. Sorry, but it’s a dream, so I can get away with it. Anyway, I was trying to tie it in with the opening video of the game, I dunno if I managed it though. Pretty sure I didn’t.