DISCLAIMER: It’s not mine, and no amount of begging is going to change that.

Missionary

“What’s the mission?” Squall sat back into his chair, pulling his laptop towards him and looking up to Rinoa on the monitor, his face was a picture of concern. Rinoa kept up her mask.

“There are rumours about an attempt to assassinate me. Sorceresses aren’t very popular in Galbadia at the moment, particularly in Deling.”

Zell glanced at Squall, who had stopped tapping the details of Rinoa’s request into his computer to look at the woman’s pixellated image on the screen. “Assassination?” His tone was one of disbelief. Zell knew that Squall’s feelings for Rinoa meant he couldn’t even imagine that someone would want to harm her. It pained Zell to know that Squall still thought of Rinoa as affectionately as he did, and he couldn’t stand there while that fact was being rubbed in his face.

“I’ll leave you guys to it.” He dropped the grin even as it was twisting his face, it didn’t seem appropriate at the moment. He stopped at the door, looking back hesitantly at Squall, but when the dark-haired commander nodded at him, he obediently left.

Outside the door he stopped for a moment. The double doors were made of thick, heavy wood, but if he wanted he could listen in at the keyhole. He stood up shaking his head.

He wouldn’t do that. He loved Squall, he trusted him. He leant against the door, running a hand through the blonde spikes of his hair. Squall still loved Rinoa. He knew it, that’s the way it would always be. What he didn’t know was who came first, and who was Second Best. That could be what the dream was telling him, that he came second to Rinoa. Maybe that’s what it meant when Squall killed him at the end.

He looked at his watch. They were serving the evening meals in the cafeteria. He went to get something to eat, scuffing his boots dejectedly along the polished floor. He’d ask Quistis about the dream again if she was in there. He already knew what she would say. She had said it last time he’d told her about the dreams after all.

“If it bothers you that much, tell him.” Quistis was giving Zell an almost worried frown, these dreams he kept having were getting to him.

“I can’t, he’ll think I’m stupid.” He lifted a hotdog to his lips, and then put it back onto his plate without taking a bite.

“Now you are being stupid,” was Selphie’s answer to this. “Seriously Zell,” Zell snorted at the notion of something serious coming from the mind of this particular friend. “Tell him. I mean, he won’t laugh at ya or anything will he? This is Squall for Hyne’s sake!”

Zell pushed his plate of untouched food away from him. “Maybe. But won’t he think I don’t trust him?”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s not like Squall to trust anyone anyway.” Zell levelled a glare at Selphie. Selphie huffed in return. “Well so-rry! I was only tryin’ ta lighten the mood.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re right. Squall don’t trust anyway but Rinoa.” He pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. “I’ll seeya at the ball.” He left the cafeteria. He should go to his room and get changed; the ball required the stiff dress uniform, not the dark everyday combat one.

Back in his room he stripped off the black uniform and took his second shower of the day. Then he styled his hair into his trademark spikes and took the more elaborate uniform from his wardrobe and dressed. It was grey and blue with gold trim, similar to the one Squall wore almost everyday, but his served the same purpose as Zell’s black one, the difference in colour was a display of rank.

He gave himself a quick look over in the mirror then left. He would meet Squall in his quarters. Zell often spent the night there, but Squall was reluctant to make him a more permanent feature of the rooms. On good days Zell agreed with him. Squall was always quiet, and rarely opened up to Zell, even if they were alone, and he sometimes needed to take a break from the almost depressive mood that filled Squall’s apartment when he was in a thoughtful mood.

On other occasions, when Zell had less confidence in the stability of their relationship, he was sure that Squall didn’t want him to move in, it was a too formal arrangement, it was hard to back out of. And he was sure that Squall wanted to keep the way open for Rinoa, if it seemed possible to mend their broken relationship.

* * * * * * *

Zell. Dawn. Rinoa. A grave. Flowers. Fire. Black. Swirling, dancing figures. Black. A scream. Alone. Fire again. Quistis. Seifer. Fighting. Zell. Dead.

* * * * * * *

Squall started awake.

He had fallen asleep at his desk. He put his hands onto the varnished surface and pushed himself up. He blinked the fuzziness out of his vision, and was faced with Zell, kneeling down opposite him. He was resting his head on the desk as well, watching Squall sleep, a fierce wolfish grin across his face.

Zell sighed. “What am I ever gonna do with you?” He tutted and shook his head like the mother Squall never had. “Nice nap?” Squall grunted. “Well it’s good to see your communication skill are on the up. Now we’re late for the ball, and Quistis promised me a dance, since I’ve got more chance of scorin’ with Raijin than gettin’ one off you.”

He got up, brushing carpet fluff from the sharp lines of his uniform. He walked across the room and unhooked Squall’s uniform, which was suspended from the picture rail by a coat hanger.

Zell pushed the clean clothes into Squall arms. “No time for a shower. C’mon!” He took hold of Squall and began hauling him out of his seat.

Normally Squall would have knocked Zell away if he tried to undress him without sexual intent, he hated to be treated like a child. At the moment though he was still in a sleepy daze, so he allowed the blonde to strip him, and quietly obeyed when Zell told him to hold up his arms, or lift this leg.

“So, tell me about Rinoa.” Squall had woken up now and beaten Zell off so he could buckle his own belt.

“What about her?”

“What did you guys talk about?”

“The mission.”

“Aww, c’mon, I want details!”

Squall regarded Zell thoughtfully, then gave his lover his own take on the dangerous grin. “Here.” He took a file from his desk and handed it to Zell. “You’ll leave tomorrow morning, take the train from Balamb to Timber, from Timber to Deling, then go to the Caraway mansion where you’ll be briefed by the Sorceress Rinoa.” He smiled amiably. “Since your so eager, for the details.” He added smugly, kissing Zell lightly on the nose, then brushing past him.

Zell stood looking blankly at the yellow-brown cardboard file he was holding. Ha-ha, he was thinking, Squall made a joke. He knew quite well how Zell felt about the Witch.

He didn’t hate her really; he was threatened by her. He would be until he knew definitely that he was higher than her on Squall’s list of priorities. He also had a healthy amount of resentment aimed at her, he had done since she had left and hurt Squall. She had left to look for Seifer. She said she didn’t love him, and both Squall and Zell believed her. She just needed to know what had happened to him, but Squall couldn’t take the rejection, he felt as if she had chosen Seifer over him, and he had delivered an ultimatum: me or him. She hadn’t been able to take the restriction. It almost killed Squall, literally, he had scars to prove it.

“I don’t want this mission, Squall.”

“Are you disobeying me, Dincht?” That was Squall’s commander voice, it was only ever used for two purposes in Zell’s company, and one of those purposes never occurred outside of Squall’s apartment. This one was the one that meant he didn’t care, Zell was going whether he liked it or not.

* * * * * * *

The ball was always the same if your date happened to be Commander Squall Leonhart. Zell loved him, but sometimes his mind thought things that he didn’t want it to, such as: Squall is bloody boring. At this moment it was thinking Squall is a bloody boring bastard! Bastard! We’re not sleeping with him for a month, that ok Zell?

He didn’t want the mission. He couldn’t treat Rinoa with the respect he had to, he was SeeD, but he was Squall’s lover first. He found himself thinking to much to take Quistis up on her offer of a dance, and just contented himself to stand by Squall’s side, leaning against one of the marble pillars in silence, watching the other people dance with their partners, while the closest he could get to his when there was anyone else in the room was standing next to him.

“I’m going to bed.”

Squall watched Zell depart, it stung. He knew he had hurt Zell tonight; forcing him to take a mission with Rinoa, refusing to dance with him, refusing to show him any affection when anyone could see. He couldn’t help it; he just couldn’t take the attention. Zell’s probably the wrong person to be in a relationship with if you don’t want attention. But then, you can’t help who you fall in love with.

Love. It’s an easy word to think, a little harder to say, almost impossible to truly mean. If he truly loved Zell wouldn’t he have given him his dance? But then, Zell loved him, he had told him as much, and what Zell said, Zell meant. And still, Zell found it hard to accept his refusal. Love required some sign that it was actually there. What sign had Squall given Zell, except that he wasn’t going to touch when anyone else could see?

* * * * * * *

It was late summer. Balamb was close enough to the equator to stay warm all year round, but it was far enough North for the weather to remain cool and mild. Zell was at the train station, alone, a ticket to Timber in the pocket previously weighted down with Gil.

Squall hadn’t apologised to him last night, but then he hadn’t expected him to. Sometimes, in those moments where his brain made comments he didn’t really believe, he thought Squall wasn’t even human, but Squall said nothing if he didn’t mean it, and apologies were so easy to say, but almost impossible to mean. If he didn’t mean it, Zell didn’t want to hear.

What he did want to hear was that Squall loved him. But Squall had danced with Rinoa, and he hadn’t with him. Something told him that he was Second Best. In some races, coming second wasn’t enough, and in some races, coming second just made the fact that you lost so much worse, with the prize being so close. And in some races, if you weren’t going to win, there was just no point in running…

* * * * * * *

Squall sat up in bed, staring at the wall in front of him. Why was it so hard to say sorry? Why was a dance so much to ask for? He knew the answer, of course. It was her, the Witch. He smiled at himself for using Zell’s name for Rinoa.

Last time he’d danced it was with her, and when that relationship had broken up it had almost destroyed him. He held his hands up in front of his face and forced himself to stare at the scars on his wrists. Rinoa did them, not Zell. Rinoa, not Zell. Zell had been the one who had picked him up, put him back together.

If it wasn’t for Zell, he wouldn’t have scars; he’d be dead.