Hello m’dears! It’s been, like, months or sumthin since my last fic update… sorry ‘bout that. First FF.net was completely buggered, then I was away, then my comp was completely buggered. But, enough of the excuses. Here’s the next chapter of Spir@l to occupy you, my fans, until the next part of Laddie Marmalade is ready, seeing as that seems to be what you all want to read…

Unintended

It’s hard to sleep when you’re used to having someone share your bed, and suddenly they’re not. It’s harder to sleep when you still want them to share your bed. Harder still when those few moments of supposed oblivion, when you escape from the troubles of the real world, see you dying repeatedly at the hands of your absent lover.

By now Zell was past giving up on sleep; he was avoiding it. But he was so tired, and at the same time constantly aware that if he let himself drift off Squall would be there, in his head, to hold him, and love him, and he’d be happy for a while at least, before that peaceful dream transformed into the world of blood and fire and swirling poppy petals and cherry blossom. And his death. But it would be like that morning again, before Squall had had to brief the SeeD candidates, when they were together in Squall’s room.

For a while, everything would be right.

It was Squall that was doing this to him, his need to have Squall near him. It was dependence, like the one that had nearly killed the commander before. It was as if he could go with Squall, or without everything else.

He lay still for a moment, watching the shadows move across his bedroom wall as cars passed in the street, and thinking about the last time they were together before it went wrong.

Eventually he pushed himself up and untangled himself from the sweat-dampened sheets. Zell poked his head out the door to make sure Irvine hadn’t decided he needed to camp at the top of the stairs. No Irvine, but the smell of cigarette smoke and the noise of canned TV laughter drifted up the stairs. He was obviously down there watching his crappy Galbadian sitcoms.

The tattooed blonde folded his arms across his chest, it was cold now he had gotten out of bed, and tiptoed along the hall to the bathroom to relieve himself. As he washed his hands the medicine cabinet fixed above the washbasin caught his eye.

With Squall, or without everything else?

If Squall could slash his wrists with a gunblade, Zell could certainly pop a few pills. Shakily he reached up and slid the mirror on the cabinet across. It was empty. Obviously his friends had pre-empted that move and stolen all the medication from the house. He wasn’t too upset; he didn’t think he really meant it anyway.

He crept back to his room but paused at the top of the stairs to listen to the noise from the living room. He could hear Irvine’s sleepy laugh every now and then above the noise of the television.

Naively, his three friends thought he was unaware of their babysitting scheme, but even Zell wasn’t so dense he couldn’t notice that they each turned up at the exact time everyday, and would apologise profusely to each other if they were late. Two and a half weeks later that still hadn’t realised he’d caught on.

He stood by the stairs thoughtfully for a moment then went into his bedroom, picked up the blanket he had kicked onto the floor, wrapped it around himself, and went down stairs.

In the living room, Irvine had fallen asleep on the sofa, a half-smoked something-that-didn’t-smell-much-like-a-cigarette had burnt itself out in his hand. Zell rolled his eyes and dropped unceremoniously onto the couch beside Irvine.

Zell wriggled his arm free of the blanket then lent across Irvine and plucked the roll-up from his fingers. He sniffed at it to make sure and smiled. Just what he needed to relax.

He put the joint between his lips and groped about for Irvine’s lighter. He lit the end of the paper then took it from his mouth and watched it burn for a couple of seconds before blowing the flame out. Then he took a long drag on the roll-up and sank back into the chair to watch ‘Pals’, Irvine’s favourite Galbadian export. In the end he just watched the heavy smoke from joint, ‘Pals’ had been running far too long, it used to be good, but now it was tired. They should have cancelled it after the fourth season. The term ‘flogging a dead horse’ was too good to use in referral to that show now. No wonder it was now relegated to a late night slot.

Zell dabbed the joint out in the ashtray and settled against Irvine. The longhaired cowboy mumbled something about ‘Sefie’ and draped an arm across the smaller man. Zell closed his eyes and smiled, leaning his head against his friend’s chest. Apparently hearing a heartbeat is relaxing, it reminds you of being a baby, or being in the womb. It reminded Zell of being with Squall, and eventually he drifted off. It was his first dreamless sleep in a long time.

Irvine woke with a smile. He’d had a happy dream, and after happy dreams he always woke up with a… No matter, Sefie had already found it. He could feel her pressing against it. She was just teasing him now, touching it but not doing anything about it. Obviously she wanted him to instigate.

Still smiling, and still with his eyes closed, Irvine pushed his hand under the sheet and down Selphie’s back. It had been a while since they had last been together and it seemed she had been working out. Her back was tight with muscles, and when she shifted she felt a little heavier than he remembered.

“Irvine…”

The Galbadian’s eyes snapped open. Selphie didn’t rasp like that, even when she had just woken up. Neither was she blonde, tattooed, or Zell. Irvine squawked and scrambled away. Zell yawned, rolled over onto his back, and stretched.

“So that’s why you and Selph tend to be late to breakfast.” The blonde brushed his hair out of his eyes and gave Irvine a knowing wink.

“Shit Zell! Whatta ya doin’?”

“Calm down Irve, I weren’t tryin’ it on. I jus’ came down las’ night an’ fell asleep.” He shrugged. “Bes’ night I had in ages.” He smiled and added: “Squall didn’t kill me,” as he snuggled down into the cushions of the sofa.

Irvine stood studying him for moment. He did seem better than usual. He was smiling, and that was the first time he had said Squall’s name in over a week. “Good,” he said at length. “Quisty’ll be here soon. Does your newfoun’ good mood mean you’ll be doin’ more than sittin’ watchin’ crap today? I think Ms Trepe needs to get out more. You do too,” he added as an afterthought.

Zell glared, but agreed, but also made it clear he would have went out today anyway, even if Irvine hadn’t suggested it.

It was late-morning when Irvine finally made it back to Garden. Really he should go straight to Squall and give his daily Zell-report. The idea of telling Squall that he and Zell had slept together and it had given him a stiffy made him just a little uncomfortable. Squall was very protective of his boyfriend, even if he wasn’t sure they were still together. He even took the medicines from Zell’s bathroom personally in case Zell tried to commit suicide. No one told him whether Zell had noticed that they had gone, so he was happy to assume the thought had never crossed his mind.

Irvine bounced up the steps trying to make it appear as if all was well, but it wasn’t. He couldn’t help that little thrill of excitement when he realised that it wasn’t Selphie with him that morning. In fact, he had convinced himself that he never really thought it was her, he just made that up so he didn’t feel like he was doing anything wrong while it was happening, just to give him an excuse to explore a little further.

The constant re-running of it in his head meant the result of his happy dream was still plaguing him, and he looked a little out of place in a place as hot as Balamb with his long coat buttoned up.

He’d go take a shower first, then he could take care of his problem, and think up something to tell Squall when he saw him. It also gave him an opportunity to think up a reason to see if he could get his ‘shift’ changed. If he spent another night with Zell he might regret it.

But what was to stop it happening during the day…?

He reproached himself angrily. Of course it wasn’t going to happen. It was entirely coincidental. He was making a problem where there wasn’t one. If anything happened now it would be his fault for thinking that it might in the first place.

Irvine found himself trying to dispute the fact that he’d always had a crush on Zell, but his reputation meant he couldn’t do anything about it.

“Why not?” he had asked himself. “It wouldn’t be the first time you went with a guy.”

And there he had to stop, because he couldn’t think of an answer to it except: “So I didn’t have a crush on him?” Which didn’t make sense because he did now, and he found himself thinking that by thinking about it he had caused the attraction to occur.

For some reason he found himself hiding when he saw Selphie hurrying in his direction in the corridor, and after he had showered and changed, he didn’t dare go to see Squall out of guilt.

He spent most of the day in the Training Centre, trying to divert his attention from Zell. It worked, after a fashion, and he began thinking about Squall attacking him instead, and every creature he fought reminded him of either Squall or Selphie.

If he wasn’t in the Training Centre, he was in the secret area of the Training Centre, smoking and thinking about what he was going to do. Selphie assumed her boyfriend was on an errand for Squall since she hadn’t seen him, except from a distance and only for a few seconds that morning. Squall assumed Irvine was with Selphie, and Zell was the same as he had been for the past two weeks, so there was nothing for the cowboy to report.

In his time alone, Irvine had convinced himself of several things. One was that he was in love with Zell. He’d have to be to risk angering Squall and losing Selphie. The second was that Zell had no aversion to him. Their night together seemed to have done him good, even if they were only asleep. That was the sign of a good relationship anyway, wasn’t it, to be able to spend a night with someone without having sex? It showed there was a strong emotional connection between them.

Irvine decided he would go to Zell’s early. Selphie would be there; he could reassure her that nothing was wrong, keep up the pretence that everything was good in their world.

* * * * * * *

It was early evening when Squall drifted off to sleep at his desk. He had a dream. He was standing with Zell in a field of flowers. Poppies. Around the edge of the field there were trees, covered in soft pink flowers.

He was standing behind Zell, with his arms wrapped around him, and Zell was laughing and kicking at the flower heads. Then Rinoa was there, and Zell’s face changed. He was looking at her almost with disgust. Then he turned that look to Squall and pulled away, his black suit a stark contrast against the marble headstone behind him.

Then there was a feather, riding on the wind between them, it caught Zell’s attention and he turned, watching it pass. He reached up to grab it in his gloved hand. It looked as if he had it, but as he snapped his fingers shut it darted from his palm. He turned to Squall and giggled, before tearing off through the field, the poppies moving around his bare shins like bloody water.

Zell was chasing after the feather, dancing and jumping through the field, snatching out at it and always missing. Rinoa stayed beside Squall, watching Zell with contempt for his immaturity, an expression that changed to a dark smirk as the flower petals sparked, and twisted into flames.

Zell slowed in the fire, but before he stopped, his arm snapped up as if someone had grabbed him by the wrist, and he was running through the flames like he was being pulled along, and Squall and Rinoa were chasing after him. Rinoa looked surprised now. She had expected someone, but not the one who was taking him.

Irvine was holding onto Zell’s arm and running, Zell tried his best to keep up, but he was being half-dragged by Irvine who looked desperate and wild. Then he stopped abruptly and stared ahead. Zell went pale and the pair began to back into the flames. Irvine had his rifle, he lifted it, fired, then it was knocked from his hand.

He looked back fearfully at Squall and Rinoa who had paused. Squall looked confused. Rinoa looked relieved. Irvine ran back the way he had came, pulling Zell with him again, but someone caught Zell’s other arm and yanked him back, free from Irvine’s grip. Zell was pulled into the flames, kicking and shouting, and then they died down and he was gone.

Irvine was on the ground, panting Zell’s name in a panicked voice. Squall was standing over him, confusion written across his face.

Rinoa’s voice cut through Squall then, she screamed, he turned, and swirling black shapes surrounded her. Dancing figures in black robes, chanting and calling in one of the old Centran languages.

“Seifer!” It was anger, and fear, and panic in her voice. “You promised…” Then the figures fell upon her and ripped her to shreds.

Squall reached down and hauled Irvine to his feet. Before he could speak there was a searing pain down the length of his back. He screamed and dropped Irvine.

Squall woke with a start. A thin line of pain burned along his back. Panting he reached round and rubbed at it. It felt sore and tender. That wasn’t the dream he was used to. It didn’t go like that. He didn’t die, Irvine wasn’t supposed to be there.

That wasn’t his dream.