It was raining.

Even in his hazy unconscious state he knew that. He could feel the heavy drops splashing down from the buildings above onto his face and running down his pale cheeks to join the puddle surrounding him. It diluted the dirty blood, washing it into his hair and staining the white fur of his collar crimson. The little ripples that flowed and spread with each successive drop sounded as loud as the ocean waves to Squall as he lay there. The silence seemed haunting after the noise and activity of the parade. The clanging of metal upon metal as their gunblades met with a shower of sparks. The scream of a girl with coffee coloured eyes as his world flipped on its head and the ground met him. Somewhere along with all the noise he could have sworn he heard a familiar voice call out for him. A voice he had heard only at night and now only in his dreams.

The remarkable stillness after the noise was one that only comes after a storm where the earth has washed it's self out having spilt its self hatred down on to the people that lived on it's surface. And afterwards the calm and forgiveness that came in the clear dawn skies.

Looking up at the nameless buildings that loomed above him Squall began to think. Blurred hazy half thoughts that made no sense. Or rather the individual facts made sense at face value. Squall was sure he was supposed to question them and find a horribly complex riddle but his head hurt too much for that. He was happy to lie still with a calm acceptance and not know why he was there.

For once the world wasn't pushing him on and he was happy to lie still and watch it pass by. Between the tall eaves of the buildings he could see a glimpse of wispy cloud spread over the marbled blue by the wind. It twisted itself over and around forming shapes and quickly dispersing them. The clouds shapes seemed to be purely random, totally unconnected with him or anything else, there was something satisfying watching them, like viewing another persons complicated life without having the trouble of involvement. Or summoning the emotions and pretence of care. There was no strategy to plot, no questions to be answered, weapons to use or team-mates who expected you to know what to do and say when you were as clueless and frightened as they were. He was still, quiet, alone and peaceful.

He sighed and closed his eyes, looking up into the eaves of the buildings was making him dizzy. He didn't move, partly because he wasn't sure he could and partly because he didn't want to.

Then along with the water that fell steadily, a few stray petals floated down decorating his chocolate hair with the pearl flecks, a last reminder that hours before there had been chaos. It was then that the warm scent of reality began to intrude on his fuzzy world. He jerked as if in an attempt to sit up feeling that he was falling.

In the blink of an eye Squall had gone from accepting the fact he was on his back on the cold tarmac, stiff and sorer than any night with Seifer had left him. His mind having been released from the blackness began to fill with the white light of panic and unanswerable questions.

He didn't know how he was alive. He was just thankful he was, even if he was in a sorry condition. But the simple laws of physics told him clearly and calmly like the last sanity in his life that a fall from such height should have broken his neck and splattered his remains over the pavement. It was wonderment at life being hardy enough to sustain itself when the bodies occupant hadn't been particularly fussed either way. He'd been prepared, since he was a child, to die. It always seemed a shame to train a person up for their death as though the final moments would over shadow any greatness achieved in the means to the end. But then Squall had been taught to be the perfect puppet so he couldn't even regard this fact as sad. It was simply written he would die in the throes of battle. He was a mercenary and that is what they did best. After all how many aged students did you see at the Garden?

He'd also been trained not to miss companionship or feel the need to surround himself in a cotton candy world of friends. With each person you collected you added a whole new list of worries to go with them that often far outweighed having numbers on your speed dial when you were lonely.

There had been only one failing in his other wise flawless training. His tutors had almost created the perfect warrior so devoid of emotion and compassion that he was simply a machine without the need for complicated technology. When he was injured his body repaired itself with little expense, he was cheaper to feed than building a machine and he was disposable. Their failing was that nobody could take away lust. Especially not that of a seventeen year old boy.

So when seeking release Squall had stumbled upon Seifer, who in one night had proceeded to undo the careful work of seven years. He'd broken down Squall's barriers and taught him about foreign things such as love and humanity. Something that Seifer rarely displayed in his own character. He'd even taught him to respond to the most powerful emotion. Fear. For the first time in his life when Squall had fought Seifer he'd felt the sick cold coils of fear deep in his stomach. He'd been nurtured by Seifer's passion and occasional cruelty in such a way, that when Seifer was taken out of his world and turned against him it had nearly destroyed him.

But unfortunately the years of training had had the final lasting effect and despite his wishes his body had compelled him to follow orders and fight.

And now he was lying in a gutter experiencing fear once more mixed with blind panic while the water dripped, regardless.

It annoyed him. Everything suddenly hurt too much to move, and far more than he should be caring about. And that annoyed him. It was making his feel wretched, yet another feeling Squall carefully labelled as abnormal and tried to set aside. The job was done, his strings were cut, and the puppet lay discarded in an alley simply waiting for the motion to begin again. He had a reputation as a vicious loner who was so fiercely independent, but without someone to back him up hand him his quest and knight's armour he had no idea what to do on his own.

With this barrage of unease Squall went back to his previous logic with the clouds. He must be injured. The blow to his head as it hit the ground could obviously account for these alien feelings. He was surprised the world wasn't spinning and filled with stars if this was the condition he was in.

He couldn't have known that the fairy tale plot he lived usually required a raven-haired someone who was supposed to have been there to wish him awake from beside a hospital mattress. To hold his hand as he slept and pray for him. His own angel. Someone to tell everything was all right, Balamb still stood, and his comrades awaited him. Whisper that their quest had just begun. Their journey. Their adventure. And their Love.

Unfortunately in the cruel twist of the same fate that requires parents to kill Santa Claus in front of their children, it seemed to have ignored the fallen hero. It didn't grace him with a soft mattress or kind words. Only the last few drops of rain from a storm and the hard ground. He had attempted to rescue his princess, kill the evil witch and return triumphant. But he had failed. He was alone. So he lay there, motionless.

Eventually the water stopped dripping.

And as Fate realised she'd over looked the legend she added her own twist. Brave warrior became princess and was granted his own fallen knight.

The first Squall knew of it was when he heard a soothing voice and felt strong arms wrap themselves around him and pull his battered body into a sitting position. He felt warm breath tickling his ear, whispering soft re-assurances he was going to be all right. That everything was going to be all right. Then a warm tingle shot down his back in a way that vaguely reminded him of sex and he felt the muscle and bone knit itself together. He leant into Seifer, his nostrils filled with soap and peaches. It relaxed him and feeling unwisely safe in the arms of his enemy he let his mind drift back to the blackness.

His prince had come and in the last few seconds of consciousness he really believed that everything was going to be all right.

*Grins evilly* When he wakes up he's gonna get chained to a wall though...we all know what I think of that. I will repost this one day with a suitable song...at the minute I'm listening to Starsailor so that's what I've put which hardly fits...but I though with the fell from view and the minds thing......Anyway R&R!

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